The Design Is Murder (Murders By Design) (11 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Even with my gimpy knee, I happy-danced across the street to relate the good news to Tom. He flung down his brush—on a wad of yesterday’s newspaper—and wasted no time in hurrying over to 595 to inform his crew the game plan had changed, to put what they were doing on hold and transfer their equipment to 590.

Afraid to stay in the house with the snakes and the exterminators, Teresa waited outside while Tom and I went over the change in plans. Then I hurried back to 595 as fast as my knee allowed, and together Teresa and I packed a bag for her trip. That took a little longer than it should have. Afraid a snake lurked inside her walk-in closet, she refused to step foot in it. So I did the selecting, and she disapproved of half the things I brought out. Through trial and error we finally filled a carryon with two or three outfits and collected some underwear to toss in too. When she quietly balled up a new black teddy and stuffed it in a corner of the bag, I pretended not to see a thing. A pair of spike heels went in next, and we were finished.

Luckily Southwest had a late afternoon flight to New York with a few empty seats available—one of the advantages of Florida’s off season. We booked her on it, and I drove her to the Ft. Myers airport.

Once free of the house, Teresa morphed into a different woman. Actually the transformation began inside, right after Stew’s phone call. While I stood on snake guard, she changed out of the ratty T-shirt and jeans into a snug print dress and red heels, and spritzed herself with Opium. She was brushing out her hair as we got into the loaner, and most of the way to the airport kept busy putting on her face. Not easy in a moving car, though I did try to control fast stops and starts, especially while she was applying the mascara. Five coats.

A mile from the airport, she screwed on some dangly earrings then added an armload of bangle bracelets and a great big I-gotcha-smile.

I tore my attention from the road for a second to glance over at her. She looked as sunny as the day.

“There wasn’t any snake, was there?” I said.

She hesitated, but not for long. “No. But it’s your word against mine.”

“You need to get to New York so bad you cooked up a whole scheme?”

“Why not? I can’t leave Stew up there all by himself—or worse, not by himself. Look what happened when he went to Vegas without me.”

“You know something, Teresa? You missed your calling. You’re a fabulous actress.”

She shrugged off the compliment. “I’ve been acting my whole life. It was the only way out of my village.”

“I see.” And I did.

Her charade had been anything but honest, but she hadn’t committed a crime. At least I didn’t think so, and actually without intending to, she’d done me an enormous favor. For both reasons, I had no intention of tangling with her over this, but she didn’t have to know that.

“What happens if Stew finds out what you did?”

“He won’t unless you tell him.”

“I won’t say a word, but he’s a sharp guy. He may figure things out for himself.”

“Then he’ll be flattered. Besides, I’m going to make him very, very glad to have me there.”

Of that I had no doubt and dropped her off at the Southwest gate with something like a blessing though I couldn’t quite bring myself to say, “Have a wonderful time.” Maybe the thought of Connie Rae’s little purple notebook full of girlish confidences stopped me. One line especially kept playing over and over in my mind—the one in her round, childish scrawl saying her husband knew that without heart surgery she would die.

Anyway, after we waved goodbye, Teresa sashayed into the terminal, and I checked my watch. Darn it. One house problem under control and another waiting to be solved. But this upcoming one I was looking forward to. I had a date with Harlan Conway to plan the new house. But I’d never make it back to town in twenty minutes, and a late arrival would be sure to irritate The Great One.

Before airport security asked me to move, I made a quick call and left a message on Harlan’s voice mail, doubting if any excuse, however legitimate, would matter to his prickly ego.

Well, nothing I could do about that except drive the loaner five miles over the limit all the way back to town. Rossi would have had a fit had he known, but it did get me there only ten minutes late.

Two surprises awaited. Harlan wasn’t annoyed, and his office turned out to be quite spartan, a single room in the industrial park off Pine Ridge Road. In addition to a computer desk and a couple of filing cabinets, a large drafting table faced with a pair of upright chairs were the extent of the furnishings. Though initially surprised by the modesty, I forgot all about it when I glanced up at the walls. They were breathtaking. Against a taupe background, he had hung double-matted line drawings of his architectural achievements. There were several mega-mansions, a hospital, a bank, even a small museum. All had pride of place, and I was fascinated, studying first one and then the other.

He watched me, a smile playing about his lips. “You like what you see.” It wasn’t a question.

“It’s eye candy, Harlan. I do have one major concern though,” I said, sitting across from his drafting table to rest my knee.

“Yes?” One of his eyebrows lifted as if he couldn’t believe that, after viewing his work, I could have any serious concerns.

“What Rossi and I have in mind doesn’t begin to compare with any of these projects.” I waved my arms at his walls.

“Not a problem,” he said. “I understood that the night I saw your building lot. I fit in small projects like yours around my major clients. In fact I find the change of pace refreshing.”

“So for what I have in mind, a set of drawings won’t take you long?”

“No. A few days at most. Now I have a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“During preliminary planning sessions, I like to meet with both clients. But the lieutenant chose not to join us today?”

That one
was
a question. Time for me to take an acting lesson from Teresa.

“He’s so terribly busy...he said you’d understand...one hardworking professional to another.”

He frowned but nodded. “Very well. Ultimately, the lady of the house is the one I aim to please. So what do you have in mind, Mrs. Dunne?”

He leaned across the drafting table, and if I were the susceptible type, those dazzling blue eyes with their impossibly long lashes—no five coats of anything on those babies—would have had me in a flutter. But with Rossi in my life, I reacted to Harlan Conway as if I were a piece of wood. All I wanted from him was a set of house plans.

I cleared my throat and plunged right in.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Life was seldom perfect, and when it was—watch out. I learned that lesson a few days later when I had:

Two major projects under control.

Plans for a jewel of a new house in the works.

An Audi dealer who promised Tony’s insurance would cover repairs to my car.

A knee that had stopped throbbing and a forehead without a lump.

And last, but far from least, I had Rossi to love.

Then Tom Kruse called me at the shop and stole the line I’d used on him the other day. “We have a problem.”

“What’s wrong now?”

“I can’t tell you over the phone. I think you better get over here. Make it fast, okay?”

Ready for high fives a moment earlier, I hung up not wanting to slap anything except my own forehead. Lee took one look at me and hurried over to the desk.

“Everything all right?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I thought so earlier. Now I’m not so sure. I hate to leave you alone in the shop again today, but the painting contractor needs me. Sounds like he has an emergency.”

“Don’t worry about a thing, Deva. I’ll manage just fine.”

“I know you will. You always do.”

“Besides,” she added softly. “I won’t exactly be alone...”

Busy retrieving my purse from the lower desk drawer, I didn’t recognize the import of her words immediately. It took a second, and when the message hit home, I let the bag flop back into the drawer and leaped to my feet. “Are you having a baby?”

Her smile beamed from ear to ear. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re having a baby! Omigod!” I caught her in a bear hug and held her tight.
Too tight?
I let go. “Did I hurt you?”

She laughed. “Paulo said the same thing this morning. I’m fine. Just fine.”

She looked it too. Always lovely, she had taken on a radiance hard to miss. Why hadn’t I noticed it before now? Too busy with my own concerns, that was why. For shame.

“When?” I managed to ask while I swiped a finger at the tears springing into my eyes.

“In December. Around Christmas.”

“What a wonderful time to have a baby.” Especially in southwest Florida. The days were cool, the nights cooler.

“We wanted you to be the first to know. And Paulo asked me to mention something else.”

“Yes?”

“The bank has approved us for a mortgage.”

“Wonderful!”

“Yes, we’re thrilled.” As if to prove it, her smile went from ear to ear. “So are you still willing to sell us your condo in Surfside?”

“Of course. I’d love for you to have it. That would be a perfect solution all around. Let me speak to Rossi. He won’t be putting his place in Countryside on the market anytime soon, so I’m pretty sure I can move in with him until the new house is ready. Don’t worry. We’ll work something out.”

I reached back into the desk drawer and lifted out the purse. “You’re going to be a beautiful mother, Lee. And just for the record, I want to be called Aunt Deva.”

She nodded. “I wouldn’t have him call you anything else.”

Him.
This time I needed tissues to mop up my tears. “I’d like to have a baby too some day. A little boy maybe. I don’t know if I’ll ever be that lucky but I’m hoping so. I can see him now. He has red hair and a tough-sounding name. Rocco Rossi. What do you think of that?”

“I think you’ve picked out a daddy.”

“I have. So maybe I better marry him and find out what life has in store.”

“That’s what my momma would say.”

I hugged her again—more gently this time. For sure, her news had shaken up my thinking. Planning a house was one thing. A good thing. Planning a whole life was better, far better. After all, my doctor hadn’t said I’d
never
have a child, just that the odds were greatly against it. Who knew? I might just beat those odds.

Humming “I Will Always Love You,” I left the shop already making plans for the future—a baby shower for Lee and a small, intimate wedding for Rossi and me. On the lanai of a brand new house overlooking a Gulf inlet with an orange sunset gilding the water.

But those ideas were for a golden tomorrow. With an effort, I yanked myself back to today as I drove the loaner over to Whiskey Lane and a house with a more immediate wedding in its future. Usually calm in the face of any job-related glitches, Tom had sounded beyond harassed. I couldn’t imagine what had gone so wrong he needed me there for immediate back-up.

I found trucks clogging the driveway of 590. I’d expected to see Tom’s vehicles parked there, but why Tony’s Tiles? I shrugged and, with my stomach in a knot, parked on the street behind a gorgeous Honda Gold Wing.

Though not a biker, I stepped out of the car and gave the Honda an awestruck once-over. Lustrous and gleaming in the sun, the bike had every bell and whistle possible. It even had a helmet sitting on the seat as if the owner knew no one in the neighborhood would bother to touch it. Still, a motorcycle, no matter how glamorous, seemed out of place on hushed, elegant Whiskey Lane, and I wondered who owned it.

Inside, the house hummed with activity and looked as if it were peeling; wallpaper, loosened by hand-held steamers, hung in strips everywhere. What a beautiful sight! If the men removed all the paper in the public rooms today, the painting could begin in earnest tomorrow. Encouraged, I asked the same lanky young painter of the day before if he’d seen Tom.

“Earlier,” he said, zapping a wall with a burst of steam. “He was talking to some lady. They might be out in back.”

A
lady?
Kay might have dropped by to check on the job. Dealing with her demands was probably what had Tom so agitated.

Wrong.

I found him in the kitchen on his cell phone. Eileen was there too, slumped in the breakfast nook, a cup of green tea sitting unnoticed on the table in front of her.

“He’s not picking up,” Tom said. “I got his voice mail again.” He closed the phone and stashed it in his pants pocket. “I know the dog had to be walked, but this is an emergency. If we don’t hear from him in five minutes, I’m calling the cops.”

“What’s going on, Tom?”

“I wish the hell I knew.”
Hell?
From Tom-who-never-swore?
He glanced over at Eileen. “You tell her,” he said. “I’ve got wallpaper to strip off.” He stomped across the kitchen toward the door. “Boy, you sure got us mixed up in a good one this time, Deva.”

“Eileen?” I asked.

“She’s not dead,” Eileen said in a toneless voice.

“
Who’s not dead?
”

“Marilyn Stahlman.”

“James’s
wife?
The one who was lost at sea?”

Eileen, the color of the tea in her forgotten cup, nodded. “She’s come back. Like a ghost.”

“Where’s Mr. Stahlman?”

“That’s the problem,” Tom said, pausing in the doorway. “We can’t reach him. He’s out somewhere with that mutt of his.”

Mutt.
Charlotte with her impeccable ancestors would woof at that.

“Where is this woman? This Mrs. Stahlman?”

“She said she wanted to take a shower,” Tom said, “and ordered me and the crew out of the house.”

“Whoever she is, she has no right to do that.”

“Understood. But just so you’ll know, dealing with long-lost wives isn’t part of my job.”

Beyond agitated, Tom was positively angry. Having him walk off the project would be a full-blown disaster. So in the interest of damage control—and to satisfy my curiosity—I headed for the master suite and a look at this woman who had come back from the dead.