The Monet Murders (9 page)

“Get your hands off her,” Merle shouted, scrambling to his feet. “She’s not for the likes of you.” Swift as a ferret, he darted forward and grasped Lee around the waist, his surprise move wrenching her out of Paulo’s arms. “Your granddaddy’s from Alabama. And
his
granddaddy fought for the Rebs. What would they say, seein’ you so shameless, in the arms of this n—”

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare!” Lee shouted, raising her voice to her daddy for what I suspected was the first time in her life.

“This is my home, gal. You remember that.” Merle waved an accusing finger at each of us in turn. “Breakin’ and enterin’ without a search warrant. That’s a criminal offense. I intend to prosecute all of you. That includes you, lady.” His finger lingered in front of my face. “This ain’t the first time we’ve tangled. As for you,” he said, a finger under Rossi’s nose, “I’m reportin’ you. I’ll have your badge.”

“You’re within your rights, Mr. Skimp,” Rossi said coolly, not a single one of his feathers ruffled. He turned and smiled at Lee. “I’m glad we found you well, Miss Skimp. Would you care for a ride back to town?”

Clinging to Paulo’s arm, Lee nodded.

“Before we leave, I have something to say to you, Mr. Skimp.” Silent until now, Simon stepped forward. At the quiet control in his voice, Merle took a hasty step backward. “I happen to be an attorney as well as a witness to this…ah…incident. Lieutenant Rossi did not break in. When this man,” Simon nodded at Paulo, “heard the victim cry for help, he came to her rescue. If necessary, I will testify to that in any court in the land. So pursue this beyond today and your ass is mine. Not that I want it, Merle,” he added dryly.

“You got no right—” Merle began.

“Daddy,” Lee said, tears running down her face, but before she could utter another word, sobs overtook her.

“I wouldn’t hurt you, gal. You know that,” Merle said, not looking as if he understood how much he already had. His pinched, sun-baked face bore the signs of a lifetime of hard work, yet glancing about the neat but shabby condo, I realized he hadn’t profited much from his labors. I would have felt sorry for the guy, except for the sight of Lee leaning against the kitchen sink, sobbing into her hands, her shoulders shuddering. Paulo hovered close by, ready to catch her should she fall, but plainly not knowing what else to do other than sweep her back into his arms.

I found a tissue packet in my purse, pulled out five or six and pressed them into her fingers. She wiped her eyes, her sobs subsiding into quiet tears.

“I’m so ashamed, Daddy. And on Christmas Day. Momma wouldn’t have wanted this.”

“Your momma was a good, pure woman. She wouldn’t have wanted you keepin’ company with
that!
” He pointed a finger at Paulo.

Her tears dried up in that instant, and I could see her spine stiffen. “You’re my father, and the Bible says to honor you. But you surely make it hard for me, Daddy.” Her eyes luminous with tears, she looked up at Paulo. “I want to leave now.”

“Stay away from your daughter, Mr. Skimp,” Rossi ordered. “When she’s ready, she’ll get in touch with you. Don’t contact her before then. If I hear there’s a problem, I’ll nail you. Understood?”

Merle nodded, the sag of defeat in his lowered shoulders.

“I’ll call you, Daddy,” Lee said softly. “I promise. But I won’t come out here ever again.”

His glance focused on the linoleum floor, Merle didn’t respond as she hurried past him.

In the parking lot, I called to Rossi as he was about to get into the Mustang. “Did you eat that pizza?”

“No, it’s waiting patiently for me, Mrs. D.”

“How many have you had this week?”

He shrugged. “I lost count.”

“That’s what I thought. Well, this is a holiday and you’re off duty—after performing an act of mercy.”

He had a quizzical expression on his face like he didn’t know where this was heading.

“So…you think the chief would mind if you joined us for Christmas dinner? Prime rib. Yorkshire pudding. Two kinds of pie. Brandy sauce.”

“What chief?” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

Chapter Ten

Back at Surfside, striving for a little holiday atmosphere, I lit my Christmas candles and poured drinks for the men. A beer for Rossi, a Coke for Paulo, a glass of the Pinot Grigio for Simon.

Lee brought a cheese tray and a bowl of cold shrimp into the living room, set them on the coffee table, then joined me in the kitchen while I surveyed my wreck of a dinner. I told myself that in the nearly two hours since we’d been gone, the roast hadn’t morphed from a Julia Child centerfold to roadkill. But looking at the meat sitting in its congealing juices, I had trouble staying positive about it.

Okay, Plan B.

“I’m bagging the Yorkshire pudding,” I said to Lee. “Too fussy. Too time consuming. You like potatoes?” I peered at her, standing there pale and deeply troubled in her FGCU T-shirt and jeans.

“Sometimes.” She sounded unsure. About potatoes, probably. About her future, for a certainty.

I opened the fridge and removed some Idahos from the vegetable bin. “If you want to tell me what happened,” I said, “I can listen while I cook. I’ll scrub these, nuke them for six minutes then put them in the oven with the roast.”

“No potato for me, Deva, if y’all don’t mind.”

“Not for me, either,” I said staring at the roast with distaste. “Maybe we should just have pie.”

She gave me a halfhearted smile and sank onto a chair at the kitchen table. “It all started out just fine. Daddy picked me up yesterday so we could spend Christmas Eve together. I cooked supper for us and all, and we talked about my momma, how much we miss her. Then I made a mistake.”

The Idahos scrubbed clean, I popped them in the micro and set the timer. “What did you do?”

“I told him how I felt about Paulo.”

“Oh, I see.” I wiped my hands on a kitchen towel and poured us both a glass of wine. Lee was about to refuse but I said, “Consider it medicinal. Under the circumstances.”

She treated me to another wobbly smile and took a sip. “Nice.”

“So you told Daddy…”

“He went crazy, Deva. Plumb crazy. Started raving like a madman. I calmed him down by saying nothing had happened.” Lee’s pale face turned pink. “Nothing has,” she murmured with a quick glance out to the living room. “So the rest of the night was fine. Then today when I said I had to leave to come here, he started up again. That’s when I called y’all, but he grabbed the phone and forced me into the bedroom. I was about to climb out the window when I heard Paulo’s voice.”

Thoughts of my own father, of how pleased he had been when I told him about Jack, flooded my mind. What a shame Lee wouldn’t have a similar happy memory. “Your daddy needs to understand you’re a grown woman now,” I said as gently as I could.

Lee placed her glass on the table. Twirling the stem between her fingers, she stared at it as she spoke. “I’m not sure he ever will. Until he does, I have no Daddy.” She sipped the wine. “It’ll be better that way,” she added, but from the pain in her eyes I could tell she didn’t mean it.

“Be careful at night walking home from work.”

She nodded. “When Paulo can’t meet me, I’ll get a ride home with Brad, the pub manager.”

“Good.” I doubted Merle would try messing with Brad again.

I lifted the meat off the platter and put it back into the roaster. No question, it would be overdone, but overdone would be better than room temperature. Though not by much. When the Idahos were nuked, I tucked them in the oven along with the meat and a foil-wrapped loaf of garlic bread. The tomatoes and asparagus would have to take their turn in the micro. Plan B had its flaws.

Simon sauntered into the kitchen. “I’m going upstairs for another bottle of the Pinot. Won’t be a minute.” He glanced from Lee to me then back again. “Girl talk?”

I nodded.

“Rossi wants another beer. I’ll get it for him,” Simon opened my fridge like he owned it, removed a can of Bud and disappeared from the kitchen.

“The food’s under control for now. Let’s join the men,” I said.

“Gracious, I’m forgetting all the manners Momma taught me,” Lee said, jumping up and following me into the living room.

I was eager to get back to Rossi. To see if he’d discuss the case. At least I told myself that was the reason. When we entered the living room, Paulo leaped to his feet, his eyes shining on Lee. Rossi? He remained sprawled at his ease in a club chair, looking perfectly at home. He raised his beer can in a silent salute but didn’t say a word about the case. Or anything else, for that matter. Which, to tell the truth, was about what I expected.

Anyway, Simon returned with more wine and shortly thereafter, Lee helped me serve dinner. The meat had the texture of Goodyear rubber, but Simon and Rossi both had seconds of everything. Paulo ate very little, throughout dinner hardly tearing his gaze from Lee sitting across from him.

As we lingered over dessert, she said, “I want to thank y’all for what you did today, coming for me and everything. And for this beautiful dinner, Deva, that almost got ruint. But I have to tell you something y’all don’t know.” She drew in a deep breath as if talking about the “something” wouldn’t be easy. “My daddy’s a good man. My momma, she was sick for years, and he took mighty fine care of her. It cost him near every penny he had, but he didn’t complain. Not once. So I owe him for that. For other things, too.” She upped her chin, as if defying herself to go on. “I’m all he has left, but he really doesn’t have me anymore. So I worry about him.” Her voice faltering, she looked down at her lap. “There’s more to Daddy than what he showed today.”

Unbidden, a thought popped into my head. If Merle Skimp had spent everything he’d worked for on medical bills, would he—out of desperation—have dared steal the Monet? Watching Lee make a case for her daddy’s goodness, I found it hard to continue the thought, yet it refused to go away.

When I glanced across at Rossi to try to guess what he might be thinking, he winked and picked up his fork. He had another piece of pumpkin pie to deal with. I should know by now that Rossi never gave anything away.

One by one, the candles guttered in the angel holders and died. I was about to light some lamps when Paulo rose from the table and came over to kiss me on the cheek. “Thanks, Deva. That was delicious.”

Lee looked up at him, all limpid, inquiring eyes. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes.” Avoiding the plea in her voice, Paulo turned to Rossi. “Lieutenant, will you take Lee home?”

“My pleasure,” Rossi said, smooth as silk.

“But Paulo…” Lee whispered his name like a prayer.

“I have to get back,” he said, and with a little bow to all of us, he left, taking Christmas with him.

“He’s ashamed of me.” Lee sank against her chair back. “I’m white trash, and he knows it.”

“Not so, Lee,” Simon said. “You need to look deeper.”

“You can’t go any deeper than your family,” she said, shaking her head. “You sprang from them. They made you what you are. Who you are.”

Simon swallowed a forkful of brandied whipped cream. “Exactly. Think about it. Paulo may feel the same way about his own folks.”

Lee stared at him, thoughtful and wide eyed. “You think that’s what’s troubling him?”

“Could be. He might be seeing himself through your father’s eyes.”

“Daddy’s still fighting that war, isn’t he?”

“Most likely,” Simon said quietly. “Problem is, the battle’s just beginning for Paulo.”

“For me, too,” Lee said, picking up her fork and polishing off her pie.

A steel magnolia.

Rossi pushed his empty dessert plate back from the edge of the table. “Mrs. D, that was the best meal I’ve had in weeks. No, make that months. I owe you one. And now, I think I’d better check my calls and get this young lady home. So—” he stood, “—if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

He offered his hand to Simon, who grasped it. They didn’t exactly Indian wrestle, just hand clasped,
mano a mano.

Despite her distress, Lee looked over at me and grinned.

I shook my head, and her grin got wider. What was she signaling? The two men were vying for me? No way. I couldn’t believe it, but I admit I enjoyed considering the possibility.

The macho handshake over, Rossi walked around the table to say goodbye to me. Did I have a kiss coming? Maybe a peck on the cheek? No. Just a quick smile—and a single finger secretly stroking my palm. “You made my Christmas, Mrs. D,” he said in his best crime-busting voice.

Did he know his surreptitious signal had just sent my blood pressure soaring? No doubt. Nothing escaped Rossi.

Lee scooped up her backpack, hugged me tight, then with a “See y’all Sunday at the shop, Deva,” she left with Rossi.

“Alone at last.” Simon wore his biggest smile of the day. Definitely the biggest one since I’d invited Rossi for dinner. “How about a nightcap?”

“Sounds good, but first the dishes, okay?”

“Let me help.”

Together we cleared the dining room table and loaded the dishwasher. After setting the roasting pan in the sink to soak clean, I found a bottle of Grand Marnier lurking behind a box of cornflakes. Simon poured us each a double thimbleful, and we carried our glasses into the living room. With a grateful sigh, I collapsed into a club chair’s down cushions. It had been a long day.

Simon put his Grand Marnier on the coffee table. “Be right back. There’s something for you in the bottom of that wine bag.”

He returned a moment later. “For you,” he said.

I looked up. Nestled in the palm of Simon’s outstretched hand was a box in that unmistakable shade of Tiffany blue.

A tiny blue Tiffany box.

My mouth fell open.
Oh God, it’s a ring.

My heart began a rumba, pounding away as if I had a mariachi band in my chest.

I didn’t want a ring. I didn’t want a commitment. I didn’t want a new love.

I didn’t?

Did I want to go through life alone? A widow forever? Sleeping alone? Eating alone? No one caring if I lived or died? All potent reasons to marry again, but…

Fingers trembling, I undid the white bow. The ribbon rippled to my lap. I glanced over at Simon perched on the edge of Nana’s couch, an expectant gleam in his eyes. What about the most important reason to say ‘yes’? What about love?

“Go on, open it,” he urged with a smile.

I heaved a sigh.
A ring, egads
. While I didn’t want to erase the happy smile from Simon’s face, I didn’t know if I even wanted to go out with him. Never mind accepting a ring.

Removing the blue lid with care as if a joke box snake might leap out and bite me, I said, “Tiffany boxes are so exciting. Every woman loves them.”

“You’re not every woman, Deva. Far from it.”

The rumba revved up a notch. Once I opened his gift, our relationship would change forever. We’d go from being friends to lovers…or enemies.

Trapped by Tiffany’s, with no way out, I reached inside and lifted out the inner box. In one swift move, I pulled off its lush velvet cover. And gasped.

“A pendant! It’s beautiful!”

“It’s a Paloma Picasso,” he said.

Fashioned of gold, spare yet intricate, retro yet new, the design was absolutely gorgeous. I loved it.

Relief like an exotic drug swept through my veins. I leaped up and, box in hand, threw my arms around Simon and kissed him. He swept me into a body hug and repeated his stellar performance of the evening in the carport. No question, the man had talented lips.

When we came up for air, he asked, “Does this mean I’m invited?”

I stared at him, blank faced. Though I knew, I asked anyway. “Invited to what?”

“To stay the night.”

I could have kicked myself. Like a teenaged tease, I’d sent the wrong vibes. Now what?

Wriggling free of Simon’s embrace, I stood, tugging his hand until he stood, too.

“Toward the bedroom?” he asked, one eyebrow arched hopefully.

“Toward the door,” I said, trying out my playful turn-down voice. “With an apology. The pendant was such a thrill I got carried away.”

“But obviously not to the moon.” He let me lead him toward the door, didn’t complain, didn’t try to change my mind. His lack of protest lessened my guilt. Wasn’t he supposed to sweep me off my feet? Carry me up the steps of Tara? Or at least get pissed?
Nada.
Not even looking annoyed, he touched a finger to his forehead in mock salute and left with, “Thanks for everything, Deva. Be in touch soon.”

Humph.
I locked the front door and flicked off the living room lights. At least Christmas with all its angst was over.

And if my love life was over, too, whose fault was that?