Murder Melts in Your Mouth (9 page)

“Hi, Luce. Yeah, you okay?”

“Aunt Nora?”

As Michael disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, I went into the darkened room and clumsily hugged my niece. “It's okay, honey. We're here.”

She blinked. “What's wrong?”

“Just somebody knocking on the door. Probably a person wanting to borrow the telephone. Nothing to worry about.”

With a smile, she slid off the sofa. “Mick will beat them up. I want to watch!”

She scampered ahead of me toward the kitchen, and we arrived just as Michael picked up the plumber's wrench from the counter. He hefted it like a weapon and reached for the doorknob. Whoever pounded on the door was using his fists now, and kicking, too.

I grabbed Lucy from behind and pulled her against me.

Michael yanked the door wide and stood firm, ready to fend off an invasion if necessary.

Lucy shrieked. “Grandpa! And Grandmama, too!”

Like floodwaters from a burst dam, my parents swept past Michael with their luggage and their minions.

“M
uffin!” my father cried. “We thought you'd sold the place! Our keys don't work in the locks!”

“I had them changed,” I said to thin air. Because my father swooped down and seized Lucy in his arms. She yelped with joy.

“Grandpa!”

“You remember me?”

“Of course, I do! Do you think I'm dumb or something?”

“Nora, darling!” my mother cried breathlessly as she tottered into the kitchen on the highest of Jimmy Choos. “You won't believe what happened to us!”

All lush blond hair, perfect lipstick and outré fashion statement, my mother was still a beauty. Tonight her bosom was hoisted into a hot pink halter top, over which she'd thrown a Pucci print chiffon fluttery thing that concealed her fondness for desserts. Her snug Capri pants were strategically beribboned to draw attention to her delicate ankles, kept trim by hours of ballroom dancing. Gold bracelets tinkled on her wrists, and several rings decorated her slender fingers. Her sandals were silver and displayed her pink pedicure to perfection. Mama looked ten years younger than her sixty years.

She air-kissed me. “We've had the most extraordinary evening! The Ritz kicked us out! Can you imagine? Some mix-up with our credit card.”

“I tried writing them a check,” Daddy chimed in, “but they weren't having that, either. Well, I don't have to take any guff from a hotel manager, do I? So I told your mother we'd just come home, that's all.”

“But—”

“We knew you'd be overjoyed to see us,” Mama said. “It's been years and years!”

“Twenty-three months and twelve days,” I corrected, quelling the urge to run screaming into the night.

“And we've missed you every minute, darling!” Mama patted my cheek.

“Muffin, can you pay the cab?” Daddy indicated the sour-faced man in the doorway. “I'm a little strapped for small bills.”

I grabbed my handbag from the chair, but Michael was already digging cash from his pocket. The cabdriver's eyes widened at the size of the wad, and he made a beeline to Michael's side. They had a muttered conversation.

“Time for a celebration!” Mama said. “Do you have any champagne in the icebox, darling? We'll have a lovely reunion, just the family, snug in the house together!”

“Not just family,” I said, observing another gentleman who'd come thumping through the door laden with suitcases. He actually wore a sarong beneath a flowered Hawaiian shirt. Around his neck gleamed a row of Polynesian puka shells, but his haircut looked like the one Rawlins just got—courtesy of the nearest military barber. I asked, “Who's this?”

“Oh, our wonderful Oscar!” Mama waved her hand like a magician conjuring up a rabbit.

“Good evening.” Oscar's accent sounded heavily influenced by south Jersey, not an exotic island.

“We'd be lost without Oscar.” Mama spoke sotto voce, as if everybody in the room couldn't hear her confession. “He's practically family now.”

“He's your mother's new spiritual adviser,” Daddy said.

To me, Oscar looked decidedly uncomfortable in his island garb. In fact, he seemed downright embarrassed and shifted in his sandals. His otherwise bare feet were glaringly white.

“And he's learning to be your father's valet. He can bartend, too. He's a genius with gin. Karma brought us together!” Mama raised her voice as if he were deaf. “Oscar, dear, you can take the suitcases upstairs! Through that door and—good heavens, Nora, what have you done to our home?”

Mama gave a spin to get a better impression of her surroundings, and she came to an unsteady stop, as if stunned by the massive changes.

“I keep the place dusted,” I said.

“Where's my English sideboard? The table that was your great-great-grandmother's? And the chairs from Jackie Kennedy's estate?”

“You gave all the good furniture to Libby when you left the country, remember? I brought my own things from the condo so I could live here.”

“The house is practically empty!”

“I'll admit there isn't nearly enough to fill all the rooms. In fact, the second floor is—”

“I think it's charming,” Daddy announced, slipping one arm around me and planting a fatherly kiss on my cheek. “I like the clean, uncluttered look of the old place. Very sophisticated. We'd expect nothing less of you, Muffin.”

My mother wasn't quite convinced. “You didn't give away our bedroom furniture, Nora? Not the dresser from Ben Franklin—the one Teddy Roosevelt carved his initials on? They were family heirlooms! Worth a fortune!”

The cabdriver harrumphed and went stomping out into the night.

“Mama, you gave—oh, never mind. There wasn't a way to get the bed out of the house without cutting it into pieces, so it's still up here. But that's all. Libby has the rest of the furniture in storage.”

“But the bed's still there? Perfect!” Daddy cried. “Very romantic!”

My mother smiled at last. “It'll be like camping, won't it? We'll have a cleansing experience, darling. Oscar loves nothing more than a good cleanse. He's got a few nagging health problems we're trying to address—digestive and performance issues, nothing serious. He'll be perfectly comfortable in any little corner.”

“Yes,” I said, “but—”

“Wonderful! And with all those tiresome household matters out of the way, we can focus on what's truly important—a party celebrating the reconnection with our family!”

“It's awfully late,” I began.

“Nonsense, darling. I feel like dancing! Can't we have some music? Surely you didn't do away with the old piano? Oscar, do you play? I'd love some Cole Porter!”

She began to hum “Too Darn Hot” and do her Ann Miller impersonation, which was really pretty good. She floated around the kitchen table, high kicking and waving her Pucci like wings. Lucy followed, pirouetting and flapping her arms.

“Whee!” Lucy cried. “A party! Can we have cake?”

Daddy beamed with pride and wrapped his arm around me. “A party breaks out wherever your mother goes.”

“It's a gift!” Mama broke off singing. “Lucy, we had so many adventures while we were traveling. I can't wait to tell you all about the anaconda that slithered into our tepee one night!”

“Mama,” I began, determined to avoid spending the next eight hours soothing the nightmares out of my niece.

“And the twins!” Mama gushed. “I bet they've grown! Are they still interested in ancient death practices? Because I brought them each a Sri Lankan exorcism stick, and I'm dying to try them out. And this must be Maximus! Oh, what a strapping, darling boy you are!”

She snatched little Max from my arms and cooed, nose to nose with the startled baby. “What beautiful curls you have. I only wish I'd met your father!”

Max responded by flinging out one chubby hand and exclaiming, “Da!”

Everyone followed the direction of Max's gesture, and our collective stare landed on Michael.

He stood frozen by the door, the wrench forgotten in his hand as he absorbed the return of my eccentric family. He'd been invisible until that moment. His face was blank, but a certain sort of fear glimmered in the back of his eyes.

In a rush, I said, “Uh, Mama and Daddy, this is—this is—he's—”

“I'm the plumber,” Michael said.

A few seconds of doubt ticked by before Daddy cleared his throat and said, “Muffin, why do you have a plumber here at this hour? Don't you know home improvements cost extra at night?”

Mama had placed her hand on her throat as if she needed help catching her breath. She gave Michael's tall frame a thorough examination and obviously couldn't decide whether she should be intimidated or impressed. With a frown, she said, “I know all the plumbers in this neighborhood. Heaven knows, they've all been here and caused more problems than they fix. But I don't know this one.”

Her gaze narrowed on him.

“I'm new,” Michael said when he found his voice.

“You have beautiful eyes,” Mama said. “I might call them choirboy blue. Is that your assistant waiting outside?”

“Assistant?” I asked. “Outside?”

“Yes, waiting in the car out there. A very large man.”

“Delmar,” Michael said. “Yeah, my assistant.”

Delmar, I knew, was Michael's new bodyguard. A man the size of a dinosaur and possessing almost as much intelligence as a prehistoric beast. Why he was waiting outside for Michael, I didn't want to imagine.

Before my mother could continue her cross-examination, I quickly said, “The plumber came to get his—uh—wrench, see? And now he's leaving.”

“Right,” Michael said. “I'm leaving.”

Lucy said, “But he's not a—ow! Aunt Nora, you're pinching me!”

“Sorry, Luce. My mistake. The plumber is going home now, that's all. Say good night.”

Smarter than the average six-year-old, Lucy said, “Oh, okay. Good night, Mr. Plumber. Come back soon!”

Michael disappeared.

And if I hadn't been so furious with him, I might have followed.

 

Growing up with my parents had been a lot like living in Tornado Alley. They were constantly in motion, tearing up any obstacles that got in their way, and leaving chaos in their wake.

As a young child, I'd loved the excitement. Every minute, they were either throwing a party or cooking up an idea for one. We played games of their own invention, painted pictures, produced pageants and plays, ate exotic meals delivered by caterers and drank watered-down wine on birthdays and special occasions. We missed more days of elementary school than we attended, and the truant officer had been a frequent guest at teatime. I played the cello at an early age and learned enough Chinese to make conversation with the woman who washed my mother's delicate laundry. Libby taught herself to draw and paint with extraordinary talent. Emma had been a gifted horsewoman before she'd learned her multiplication tables.

I never remember feeling unsafe or unloved as a child. Just happy.

But as soon as puberty arrived, my sisters and I were quickly dispatched to boarding schools. My parents had been wonderful when we were children, but teenagers were beyond their ability to cope.

As an adult, I found them irresponsible and infuriating.

That night, they snatched a bottle of wine from the fridge and roared up the stairs with their bartending, spiritual-advising valet. The three of them disappeared into their bedroom. The sound of their laughter floated down the hall to my room, where I lay in bed with Lucy, grinding my teeth and wondering if it was too late to run away and join a circus. At least it would have only three rings.

I slept badly.

The next day dawned with Maximus howling for his breakfast like he was being starved by prison guards. While Lucy slept through his noise, I threw on my shorts and a T-shirt and carried the baby downstairs. The other bedroom doors remained firmly closed.

While I warmed cereal for him, Maximus entertained himself with a banana, and we both enjoyed some fresh air from the open kitchen window. I turned on the television and braced myself to hear the news that Lexie might have been arrested.

But the phone rang.

“You won't believe the dream I had,” Libby's voice said in my ear. “It was a nightmare, actually.”

“Let me guess.” I turned off the television and handed Maximus his binky to keep him entertained while I spoke on the phone with his mother. “You dreamed Mama and Daddy got thrown out of the Ritz.”

“Nora! You're psychic! I've always wondered if you harbored more inner gifts than you let on!”

“The only thing I'm harboring at the moment is a couple of fugitives. They arrived here last night.”

“What are you talking about? Honestly, darling, sometimes I worry—”

“They're back,” I said. “Mama and Daddy have returned. For some strange reason, the Ritz doesn't trust their credit history, so they came here. Beautifully suntanned, I might add, and dragging a new spiritual adviser who's a cross between General MacArthur and Don Ho.”

“Are they trying to borrow money? Because I have five children to support.”

At the moment, I was supporting her five children, but I decided not to quibble. “They haven't asked yet, but I wouldn't be surprised.”

“They will,” Libby predicted. “Be careful. They're wily.”

“They want to have a party.”

“Oh, heavens. Are they going to hire that magician again? Mr. Spectaculation? Because let me tell you, he wasn't the least bit spectacular with me.”

“They want to invite all their friends for dinner and dancing. They told me while I put fresh sheets on their bed last night.”

“They don't have any friends left!”