Killer Kitchens (Murders by Design) (14 page)

BOOK: Killer Kitchens (Murders by Design)
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“Down,” Serge ordered.

Down I went, hoping the damn gun wouldn’t accidentally go off. Folding my legs to one side to ease the pressure, I waited for a chance to act. Serge’s Glock was stashed in the pocket of his jacket, so I could probably risk going for my gun. But I hadn’t used the Cobra in over a year. Could I release the safety, take aim and shoot fast enough? Or maybe shooting wouldn’t be necessary. I’d just aim, force Serge to keep his hands in the air so he couldn’t get at his own weapon and hold them at bay. Then Francesco could call the cops. Where was he, anyway? He sure was taking his time finding out why Jewels needed him.

The kitchen door opened and slammed shut. Serge reached into his jacket pocket again.

“Hey, Jewels,” a voice called. “What’s up?” The voice didn’t belong to Francesco.

As sensuous as a tango dancer, a tall, limber young guy came striding in on the balls of his feet, looked at the Glock in Serge’s hand and came to an abrupt stop. The tango was over.

“What—?”

“Who the hell are you?” Vito asked.

“Joey. Francesco’s driver.” He tipped his head at Jewels. “Her brother.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s your brother-in-law?”

“You all right, Jewels?” Joey asked, ignoring Vito’s question.

She nodded, white-lipped and trembling.

“You scared her,” Joey said to Vito, but with the gun leveled at him, he didn’t move into any kind of attack mode.

“She’s got reasons. Down on the floor next to Jewels. We want you should get Francesco over here. And we’re not waiting all night.”

While Joey hunkered down and gathered his sister in his arms, Serge kept his weapon trained on us and said to Vito, “Go get that phone off the bed.”

He went after it, came back and handed it to Joey whose initial assurance had slipped. These guys were serious. Though scared, I was curious too. Who were they? What did they want with Francesco?

The front door opened—Francesco was a front door kind of guy, no kitchen doors for him—and slammed shut.

“Jewels! I finally got the baby calmed down. That damned phone woke him...
whoa
.” He came to an abrupt stop but recovered fast. “I wondered when you guys would show. Figured it was just a matter of time.”

“You
expected
them?” I asked, indignation busting through my fear. “I’ve been alone in here every night this week. What did you do, set me up?”

“They’re not after you,” Francesco said. “Ain’t that right, boys?” He stood defiant in what looked like a hastily pulled on pair of shorts, his muscular legs apart, arms folded across his hairy bare chest. His eyes never leaving the suits, he asked, “You all right, Jewels?”

She whimpered out a reply.

“So?” Francesco challenged. “What can I get you guys? An Amaretto? A cold beer? There’s some Heineken out in the fridge. The one you passed in the garage.”

“This is the nuttiest damn house I ever been in,” Vito said, “but we’re not here to hang out. We’re here to talk business. Casino business.”

Francesco nodded. He didn’t look surprised. “There’s casinos and casinos.”

“Don’t get smart. We’re taking Emerald City. The owners don’t like what you’re doing out there.”

“What’s that, Vito?”

Over the weeks since I’d been working with Francesco, I’d gotten to know him pretty well, and though his stance hadn’t changed, I could tell from the uncertainty in his voice that some of his cocky bravado had fled.

Vito took his time answering, examining his manicure—I hated shiny nail polish on men—hitching up his tight pants before saying, “They don’t like you working with the Asians, helping them break into Florida gaming. The Florida boys got enough competition from the Seminoles. They don’t want no more.”

So Francesco was more than just a real estate investor. I’d had no idea, but guaranteed, Rossi knew. No wonder he’d wanted me to drop the project. Disgusted at my own stupidity, I blew out an exasperated breath.

Francesco simply put his hands in his shorts pockets and stood there quietly.

“Out where I can see them,” Serge ordered.

Francesco took his hands out of his pockets. “No problem. The problem is you guys coming in here in the middle of the night, scaring my wife. She’s got a kid on the way and—”

“Yeah.” Vito snorted. “We know all about the kid.”

“Yeah?” Francesco’s eyes narrowed.

“Yeah. Donny told us.” A nasty gleam shone in Vito’s eyes. “He said it was his.”

Uh
-
oh
.

Francesco lost it. He lunged at Vito. No contest. Vito gave him a right hook that sent him flying across the room right into the block-front chest of drawers. Dazed but otherwise unhurt, Francesco scrambled to his feet. “You crazy? That chest’s worth a fortune. You coulda ruined it.”

Serge aimed the pistol at Francesco’s head. “Don’t move. We got more to say.”

“You said enough.” Francesco had gotten his groove back. “You’re telling me my wife’s having Donny’s kid?”

Vito cocked his head at Jewels, who was sobbing into her maternity skirt. “Yeah. She’s been Donny’s squeeze since she was sixteen. Ain’t that right, Jewels?”

Fists balled, Francesco strode over to Vito. “I oughta kill you.”

“That’s not nice.” Vito waved a finger left to right in front of Francesco’s face. “Just so you’ll know we don’t talk for nothing, I’m showing you something.”

Vito reached into his breast pocket and removed the black book that I would bet was the same one he took from AudreyAnn. “In here’s every name, every number, every contact you ever made in Florida. We’ve got it all. You been working like a mole. There’s names here from Hong Kong to Orlando.” He upped an eyebrow. “Rich pickings, huh? We know that’s just the beginning. The toehold. Thanks to Donny.”

“Yeah.” Serge cleared his throat. “Donny sang for us. Just like Pavarotti.”

Letting go of Joey, Jewels hoisted herself to her feet. “You killed Donny for that?” she asked Serge, her voice quiet as a snake moving through grass. “For some numbers?”

Serge laughed, an honest to God belly laugh. “Why the hell would we do that? Donny was the goose laying golden eggs. We didn’t kill nobody.” He waved the Glock in Francesco’s direction. “He stiffed Donny. You didn’t know that? You dumb or something?”

Ignoring the Glock, ignoring Serge’s laugh, Francesco stared at her. “That true what they say? The kid’s Donny’s?”

Her eyes dull with untold sins, she nodded, just once. Once was enough. Francesco’s shoulders slumped.

“Did you kill him because of me?” she asked

Francesco let out a humorless guffaw. “I didn’t know about you and him. I heard he was spilling his guts to these guys. He betrayed me. He betrayed his whole family. He was too stupid to live anyhow. Cost me plenty. Look how he tossed a butt and torched my building. A dumb move.”

“You sure about that?” Vito’s face wore a nasty grin.

Francesco’s eyes narrowed. “Got something to say, say it.”

Vito shrugged. “That torch job was no accident. You don’t cooperate, this house is next.”

Francesco was making an effort to control himself, but his hands were clenching and unclenching. He nodded at Vito, a thoughtful, evaluating nod. I wondered what he was thinking of—his furniture or his family?

Finally, his hands still grasping fists full of air, he said, “My wife and kids live here. You go after women and kids now?”

Family
.

“Nah. We’d wait till Jewels was gone outta here. Why do you think she wanted to go up north a few weeks ago?”

Francesco swiveled his attention to Jewels. “That right?” he asked.

Wordless, she nodded.

Francesco’s glance lingered on her baby bump. “I’m glad I stiffed Donny. He had it coming, more ways than one.” He straightened his shoulders. “But who’s gonna know? Vito and Carmine—” so that was Serge’s name, “—ain’t going into any court singing like Pavarotti. Not even like Sinatra. I’ll lay odds on that. And you can’t be forced to testify against me.” He shot a glance filled with contempt at Jewels’s brother cowering against the Townsend. “Guaranteed, Joey won’t say squat.” He upped his chin at me. “So that leaves only little Miss Decorator over here.”

He swiveled his attention from Jewels to Vito. “We can work together. I leave the Florida casinos alone, you leave me and Jewels alone.” He held out a hand. “
Capisce
?”

“Just like that? I dunno,” Serge said, stowing his gun in his jacket again. “We got reports to make.”

“Yeah, you guys are the messengers, not the capos. I got that. Well, go back to Lazzo with my offer.”

Vito drew in a breath.

Francesco eyed him, smiling. “Yeah, I know all about Lazzo. You tell him he wins. He’ll like that.” He yanked up his low-flying shorts. “Yeah, he wins. Francesco Grandese is pulling out of Florida. The climate’s not good for my furniture, anyway. So I’m out of here.” He pointed a stubby finger at Jewels, who still sat huddled on the floor. “So is she.”

Then he upped his chin at me. “The price for that is her. You gotta get rid of her or no deal.”

 

Chapter Thirty-One

Showtime
. I whipped the Cobra out of my jeans and held it steady, both hands at shoulder level the way Dad taught me. One of Boston’s finest, he would have been proud. Though even with my weapon at the ready, I wasn’t sure I could handle all this. Suppose I had to kill someone? Could I do it?

Serge’s hand crept toward his jacket pocket.
If
I
had
to
.

“Make a move and I’ll shoot your balls off,” I said, sweeping the room with the gun.

“You ain’t shooting nobody,” Serge scoffed. “The safety’s on. Get her, Vito!”

Vito hesitated. In that millisecond, I released the safety. He took a step toward me, and I shot him in the foot. He fell to the floor, the odor of gunpowder and his howl mingling in the air.

Ignoring the ringing in my ears, I leveled the gun at Serge. “Don’t try it. I learned from the best.” His hand, halfway inside his jacket, fell to his side. I glanced over at Jewels. “Call 911. Ask for the police.”

She slumped against the Townsend and shook her head. “I can’t. Frannie’s my husband. I took a vow.”

A vow? Wearing Donny’s baby bump and she was talking of vows? Unbelievable. A tiny part of me wanted to shoot her in the foot too for being such a hypocrite.

“Murder trumps all, Jewels,” I said, sounding like an Irish priest I once knew.

Hands on her abdomen, she gazed up at me as if she were hoping my absolution was the real deal. “I can’t call the cops on my own husband.”

“That’s right, baby, you can’t,” Francesco said, his expression lighting up as if he had just won the Power Ball.

Was she crazy? We needed help, and we needed it fast. I couldn’t hold off four men forever.

“Joey, get the phone,” I said. “Make the call.”

Either too scared or too shocked to move a muscle, he stared at me blank-faced.

He was useless. I turned back to Jewels.

“Francesco killed your lover. The father of your baby. You don’t owe him a thing.” I wasn’t sure that was exactly true, but in a room full of enemies, this wasn’t the time for semantic fine-tuning. “Call 911, or I’ll blast out the front window. That should bring the neighbors running.”

“Let’s talk this over,” Serge said, a United Nations diplomat all of a sudden. “No sense getting hostile.”

Vito moaned. “I need a doctor.”

No one made a move to help him, including me, Annie Oakley, but I was worried. I didn’t know how badly he was hurt, and I didn’t want him to bleed to death while Serge pontificated.

“The phone, Jewels, the phone,” I said. “You don’t have a choice. Make the call or you’ll be aiding and abetting. Helping a murderer. Think of your children.”

That must have convinced her. She slowly nodded. “I know. I have to do it for them.” Color returned to her cheeks. Ignoring me and my gun, she stared at Francesco as if he were a stranger. “Why did you kill him, Frannie? Your own cousin? What for? Casino money? Why did you need so much?” She raised her arms wide and waved them around. “For this junk?”

“Junk!” Like a man stabbed in the gut, Francesco screamed out the word. “This stuff is priceless. There’s only ten Townsends in existence. You know what that means?”

“No, and I don’t care. Donny, I cared about Donny.”

Francesco stared at her baby bump again as if he couldn’t keep his eyes away from it. “Yeah. You proved that. But that don’t matter to me. You’re my wife. I’ll pass the kid off as mine.”

“No, you won’t.” She shook her head. “This baby isn’t yours. She’s mine. And Donny’s. You’re her father’s killer. I don’t want you near her.” She jerked upright. “Where’s the phone, Joey?”

“Over my dead body.” Francesco lunged for her, moving so fast he was on her before I could stop him. If I shot now, I’d risk hitting Jewels.

In the confusion, Serge whipped out his Glock and fired. Either he was a poor shot, or he was rattled. He missed me. The bullet struck the front of the Townsend, ripping a hole in one of the perfectly matched mahogany panels. Before he could get off another shot, I took aim, squeezed the trigger and hit him in the arm. He screamed. The gun fell from his hand and slid across the polished floor.

Francesco leaped off Jewels. Howling like a banshee, he knocked Serge out of his way, dashed over to the desk, and ran his hands along the mutilated wood. “Look what you done. Look what you done! You wrecked it. Wiped out a million bucks. Or more. I oughta kill you for that.” He swiveled away from the desk and, forgetting me, forgetting Jewels, forgetting everything but his own red hot rage, he went for Serge.

“Stay,” I yelled. “Another step and you’re a dead man.”

Hands clenching and unclenching, face purple, Francesco stopped inches from Serge. He gathered his saliva, took careful aim and let go right in his face. “
Bastardo
!”

With his good arm, Serge swiped a sleeve across his cheek. “That goes in the book. Next to the numbers. You’re a walking corpse.”

“Speaking of corpses, Francesco,” I said, “where did you get the cyanide? From Norm?”

Francesco blew out a lungful of sheer disgust. “
Norm
? I didn’t get nothing from Norm. Not even good advice. I got my own sources. Norm ain’t one of them.” His glance swept the room, landing finally on the gun lying in a corner.

“That’s enough,” I said. “Jewels, get the gun. Hurry.”

She jumped up and ran for the Glock. Poking a single finger into the trigger, she carried the gun back to me upside down and held it out. I took it and said, “Now get the phone. Call the police.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Without a warning, there he suddenly stood, legs apart, gun drawn like a Deadwood sheriff. At the sound of his voice, a tidal wave of relief surged through me. I’d been scared stiff and hadn’t even known it.

“Rossi. Thank God.” My arms, unused to being held rigid at shoulder height, had tired. I gladly lowered both guns. “How did you know where I was?”

“That can wait. But I’m glad to see you’re so well armed.” His voice was bantering, his eyes smoldering. Which I took to mean he wasn’t happy at finding me here, but would be damned if he’d let on right now. Later, he’d let on later. I heaved a sigh, the relief mingling with resignation.

In the distance, roaring closer by the instant, police sirens shattered the velvet quiet of Rum Row. Blue cruiser lights flashed onto the driveway and car doors slammed.

“I need a doctor,” Vito said.

“Me, too,” Serge echoed.

“We’ll see that you’re both treated,” Rossi said. “Now can somebody tell me what happened here?”

Francesco pointed a finger at me. “She shot them. For no reason. She’s crazy. Right, Jewels? Right, Joey?”

Obviously a company man, Joey gave him a scared little nod.
Great
.

But Jewels was no company man. “My husband,” she hissed out the word, “is a killer. He poisoned his cousin Donny. With cyanide.”

“She’s making that up,” Francesco protested. “The poison was in my shrimp. Not Donny’s. Who knew he’d scarf it all down?”

“You did, Frannie. You knew that was his favorite. He always went for the shrimp first. Couldn’t get enough of it. You knew he’d go out to the kitchen and grab yours before anyone else did.” She paused for a second to brush away the tears streaming down her face. “You knew that. And you sat eating salami and listening to Puccini while he died. I swear if I ever hear Puccini again I’ll vomit.” Her voice cracking with outrage, Jewels stepped closer to her husband and thrust her wet face close to his. “You know something else? I’m glad he—” she pointed a shaky finger at Serge, “—shot that desk. I’ve always hated it.”

Francesco snorted. “No comments allowed. You got no taste. No class either.”

“That’s enough.” Joey grasped a handful of Jewels’s skirt and tugged her back out of danger. Though regret at losing what Francesco could do for him was plastered over his sexy, tango-dancer face, he finally found the guts to come to his sister’s defense. Blood kin must have meant more than money to him after all. “My sister’s telling the truth,” he said to Rossi. “I heard him confess.”

Francesco shrugged, a nonchalant, I-don’t-give-a-damn shrug. Like a bully in a schoolyard he challenged, “Prove it. Prove I stiffed Donny. It’s your word against mine.”

“And mine,” I added. I glanced over at the two patients who were slumped on the floor. “They heard you too.”

“I was lying,” Francisco said, jerking a thumb at Vito and Serge. “I knew they were packing. They had me scared. A guy’ll say anything when he’s scared.”

Quietly, their guns drawn, two police officers entered the room. With a quick nod, Rossi indicated Francesco and told the first cop who strode into the room, my old friend Officer Batano, “Cuff him then read him his rights. And we need an ambulance.” Batano’s partner, petite Officer Hughes, hit the phone.

As Batano and Hughes sprang into action, Rossi lowered his gun and glanced around the living room. “Why are there no chairs in here?”

 

Chapter Thirty-Two

Later, back at my condo, with the sun already shooting fingers of light into the horizon, Rossi settled into a club chair. The emerging rays played off his face, emphasizing its cragginess and the fatigue he wasn’t about to give in to. He removed his notebook and pencil stub from his shirt pocket and flipped the pad to a blank page.

“All right, let’s hear it,” he said. “Start at the beginning. Take your time. Don’t leave anything out.”

I squirmed uneasily on the sofa. Facing an annoyed Rossi made me more than a little uncomfortable. Besides, all I wanted to do was take a shower and go to bed, not relive a crime. Staying awake for twenty-four hours challenged my system in ways it wasn’t used to. Worse, tired-eyed, but otherwise looking like he could go another twenty-four without any trouble, Rossi had no intention of letting up until I told him everything I knew. But first I had a question of my own.

“How did you know I was in the Rum Row house?”

“I didn’t. Cookie Harkness was out walking her dog and spotted two men entering the Grandese garage. She called the police. Luckily Batano was on duty and recognized the address. He notified me immediately. I’m glad he did, though I damn near dropped my weapon when I saw you there. I thought you were home in bed safe and warm.”

His update over, he sat with his brow furrowed, pencil poised relentlessly on the top line of the pad.

“Cookie helped out, hmm? Funny, there for a while I thought she might have been the culprit,” I said.

“That so?” His expression, not to mention his tone of voice, telegraphed annoyance, but I ignored it and continued. Having this over with would be the fastest way to get some sleep.

“Years ago, she had access to cyanide and could conceivably have gotten hold of some. It seemed logical that she might have tried to kill Francesco in the hope of wiping out Norm’s gambling debt at the same time. But if that had been her intent, when Francesco didn’t eat the poisoned shrimp, she would have raced into the kitchen and made sure no one else did. She might be a snob, but she’s not a monster.

“So my interest shifted to Norm. After all, he was the one Francesco was putting the squeeze on. Then Nikhil Jamison told me Norm had been cooking the company books, and I realized he had a gambling addiction. Also he’d persuaded Nikhil to bring him cyanide to kill the critters in his attic. Or so he said. At that point I was pretty sure he was the murderer. Of the wrong man, of course.”

“Of course.” Rossi did sarcasm well, but I didn’t bother to challenge him on it. Too time consuming. I’d save my protests for another day. After I got some sleep.

“Earlier though, AudreyAnn had me worried. Chip too. After all, they were in the kitchen when Donny died and had plenty of opportunity.” Not for the first time that night, I shook my head at my own stupidity. “But neither one had a strong enough motive. At the time of the poisoning, Chip didn’t know Donny and AudreyAnn had been living together. Then—after Donny’s death—he found out and tried to kill himself, not somebody else. At that point the finger of suspicion swung back to AudreyAnn...but when Chip nearly died, she admitted Donny had been a mistake. She had been glad to leave him and get back to Chip. Seeing how distraught she was, I believed her. There wasn’t enough hatred in her heart to do the dirty deed.”

“Anything else?” Rossi lowered the foot he’d slung across his knee and shifted in his chair, pencil stub still at the ready. I had a sinking feeling he could last several more hours.

“That only left Bonita, poor Tomas’s widow. She was the X factor in all of this. The one I knew the least about. But with all those other hot leads, I put her on the back burner until the day she showed up on Francesco’s doorstep with that toy truck and the threatening note. She might not have known about the hidden money, but she certainly knew about the propane explosion. So what that was all about, I couldn’t fathom. Do you know?”

“Are you asking for my opinion?”

“Always. You’re the pro. So what
was
that about?”

“Vito playing a head game with Grandese. Nothing more. The two boys had a job to do. Convince Grandese to either pull out of the casino business or to leave the state. Threatening his son was one way to accomplish that.”

“So Bonita was just Vito’s innocent messenger?”

“Correct.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I took her off my suspect list.”

“Your
list
?” Rossi lowered the notepad and stared at me in disbelief as if nobody he knew had ever made up a list.

“Yes. After all, Rossi, even though a person is sweet and mild, you can’t be sure of what’s in their mind.”

“Is that right?”

I could have made icicles from the tone of his voice. No wonder. My amateur theories were outrageous, and I knew it. While I had speculated about what had happened, Rossi, the forensic specialist, had investigated with the aid of an entire police department. But ever the good listener, he let me continue without serious interrupting—just the few jibes—and if he realized I was toying with him he didn’t let on.

Sometimes, like now, it was hard to know what he was thinking. For sure he was a puzzle, and I would never have all the pieces to him. Maybe that was part of his allure, a man of enduring mystery. And fabulous pecs.

I slid along the couch and rested my head on the padded arm, signaling that I needed to sleep.

But Rossi was a bulldog after a juicy bone. “What else?”

More. He wanted more. I heaved a sigh to let him know this wasn’t easy and soldiered on, either that or be here until high noon. “When Francesco and Jewels went to Rhode Island for Donny’s funeral, Francesco asked me to house sit. He knew I valued his antiques...the Townsend alone is worth millions. Even with the damage, it probably still is. He wanted someone on the property to keep an eye on things.”

Rossi snorted. Not a pretty sound. “Why didn’t you suggest he hire a security guard?”

“Well, he already had the most expensive alarm system money could buy. It’s state of the art, so I thought that was enough security. For the house and for me. Someone had to be there to let in the workmen each morning, and he knew I’d be coming and going anyway, purchasing things for the rooms. Besides I love his antiques as much as he does, and that made him feel good about leaving them.”

Rossi shifted in his seat and frowned.
Excellent
.
Fanny
fatigue
at
last
.

“Was making Grandese feel good a priority of yours?” he asked.

Despite the buzzing in my head, I bolted upright. Was Rossi jealous? I loved the possibility but didn’t let on that I even suspected it. I could be cool too when I had to.

“For your information, Lieutenant, a big part of an interior designer’s job is to make her clients happy. I always strive for that. If sleeping in Francesco’s house for a few nights—”

“A week.”

“—cemented our relationship—our business relationship—I was willing to do so.” I waved a finger in the air. “Write that down too.” I slid along the sofa cushions again and closed my eyes. The inquisition had gone on long enough.

“Deva.”

I didn’t even peek at him.

“Deva. Do you know you are a brave and wonderful woman?”

My eyes snapped open. “Really?”

“Yes, really. And stretched out on that couch, you make me realize all over again what sensational legs you have.”

I arched an instep and glanced down at my calf. “Sensational, huh? Rossi, are you easily impressed?”

His gaze sweeping over me was like a long, breathless caress. “With you, yes. I’m always impressed with you.”

“Thank you.” I lowered my lids again. Actually they refused to stay open.

“There’s more.”

“More?” I forced my lids apart so as to enjoy the full effect of his next compliment.

“Yes, I’d like to wring your neck.”

I winced.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to...a figure of speech.”

Just a year ago, my friend and client, Treasure Kozlowski, had been strangled. To mention neck wringing, Rossi must be more tired than he let on.

“I mean it,” he said. “I’m sorry. But the fact is your involvement with Grandese placed you in danger. I warned you about him, but you wouldn’t listen. Are you always going to act like that?”

I nodded. “Probably. You want a floor mat, date a floor mat.” I swung my legs over the edge of the sofa. “What you’re forgetting is that I helped you solve a murder.” I put my hands on my hips. “Say something about that, why don’t you?”

“When I file my formal report, you’ll be given full credit for your role in the case.”

Mollified, I nodded though truthfully as long as I had been a help to Rossi, I didn’t care about getting credit from anybody else. I had other, more immediate concerns. For openers, my biggest client was in the slammer. Though with Rossi’s warnings echoing in my ears, whenever I’d placed an order for the Rum Row house, I covered the cost with Francesco’s retainer. So I wouldn’t have outstanding bills. Nevertheless Deva Dunne Interiors wouldn’t profit from dealing with Mr. Grandese after all. Nor did I want to, knowing Jewels had two babies to raise alone. On the plus side, Francesco’s collection of museum quality furniture was worth millions.

“Jewels
will
be able to keep the furniture, won’t she?” I asked Rossi.

He nodded. “Under Florida law, she keeps her home, no matter what happens to her husband.”

“Good. What’s in that house will yield enough to support a dozen children. And I hope Chip gets to keep the money he found at La Cucina.”

“I agree. So far no one has staked a claim. A few more days and the money should be his.”

“Unless Francesco decides to go after it.”

“He’ll be fighting for his life. I doubt he’ll want to tangle with any other lawsuits. But if he does go down that rocky path, I fully intend to testify on Chip’s behalf.”

That made me feel a little bit better, but not completely. I liked Francesco, his outrageousness, his wit, his enthusiasm. Killing his cousin in cold blood didn’t seem to fit the person I knew, or thought I knew. Which told me I had a lot to learn about criminal behavior. More than I would ever master. My being in the house when the two thugs arrived and blew the lid off Francesco’s cover was sheer, dumb luck, not detective work. Rossi had every right to be annoyed. Okay, angry.

“What’s going to happen to Serge and Vito?”

“The two goons? They’re being charged with breaking and entering. Possession without a license.”

“That’s
it
?”

“To get the charges lowered, they’ve agreed to testify against Grandese. They’ll be singing like birds. Even misdemeanors on rap sheets like theirs will send them up for a long stretch. So with their testimony and yours, and that of Jewels and her brother, it’s doubtful Grandese can wiggle out of this one.”

“Norm can’t wiggle out of his lawsuit either. Not with what Nikhil discovered.”

“True.” Rossi reached into his shirt pocket. “And you can’t wiggle out of this.”

“Out of what?”

With the same two fingers he used to extract his notebook and pencil, he removed a white envelope from his shirt pocket and handed it to me.

“What’s this?”

He smiled a Cheshire cat smile, like he knew something I didn’t, which most of the time was exactly the case. “You’ll have to open it to find out.”

With my pulse revving up, I slid a finger under the flap. This wasn’t going to be an electric bill or a cancelled movie stub, so what could it be?

“Before I look, give me a hint, Rossi.”

“Let me put it this way, there’s a lei in your future.”

“A
lay
?”

Without waiting another instant, I reached into the envelope and pulled out two airline tickets.

“Oh, Rossi,” I said leaping off the couch and flinging myself on him. “Aloha!”

*

Help interior designer Deva Dunne solve more edge-of-your-seat mysteries in Jean Harrington’s Murders by Design series, available now!

Designed for Death

Interior designer Deva Dunne’s latest project comes to a screeching halt when blood
on
the carpet leads her to the body of her client, an exotic dancer with a mysterious past. But the murdered woman is not the only resident of the posh beachfront condominium with secrets, and investigating officer Lieutenant Victor Rossi considers them all suspects.

The Monet Murders

Interior decorator Deva Dunne never dreamed she’d see a Monet hanging
on
someone’s dining room wall. Then she snags a client with
two
Monet seascapes. Her thrill lasts until she finds one of the paintings missing, cut from its frame, and the cook shot dead…

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ISBN: 978-14268-9537-1

Copyright © 2013 by Jean Harrington

All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

 

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

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