Cooking Spirits: An Angie Amalfi Mystery (Angie Amalfi Mysteries) (23 page)

The others burst into a cacophony of words about how
beautiful the dress looked on her.

“Let’s see it with a veil,” Cat said to Kellie. “I’d like to
see silk tulle with a trim of individual flowers hand-cut from lace. Something
delicate, and that will look beautiful with a diamond comb to hold it in
place.”

Kellie raised her eyebrows a moment. “I know just the veil
that will go perfectly with that dress. And I’ve got a small comb of fake
diamonds to give you an idea of how it’ll look.” She dashed off to the back
room.

“She’ll need a diamond necklace with the dress,” Bianca
said. “I have one she can borrow.”

“And I’ll get her a blue garter,”
Frannie
said with a wink.

Kellie came out with the veil and put it on Angie.

“I’ll have to pin my hair back,” Angie said.

“Of course,” Cat replied. “The crowning glory, literally.”

Angie had to agree. The dress was both demure because of its
traditional lines, yet cut low enough, with material that clung close enough,
to be sexy.

“It works. How much does the dress cost?” she asked.

“You don’t want to know,”
Serefina
said. “But
Papà
will be sure he paid for a quality
dress for you.”

Angie twisted and turned, tried walking, danced around the
room by herself…everything was perfect. She loved everything about it, and
couldn’t remember ever seeing a dress so beautiful. “I love it. I want it!”

Cat looked at Kellie.
“Sold.
Also,
my sister will need wedding shoes—four inch heels, platform soles, and why
don’t we have them custom made? I think white satin with lace hand embroidery
would be excellent.”

“Of course,” Kellie said with a swallow. “I’ll fit Angie for
the shoes now.”

“They’ll be ready on time?”

“It should be no problem at all!” Kellie said.

“You’re making this too easy,” Angie said.

“It’s hardly rocket science,” Cat said.

The shoe fitting complete, Cat told Kellie all the sisters
would be back in a few days to pick out the bridesmaids dresses.

Kellie struggled to find a smile and could only produce a
sickly, “How wonderful.”

Even Angie felt a bit sorry for her, knowing what the woman
was going to have to deal with.

As they all stepped out of the store, Cat looked at Angie.
“I have no idea why you were fussing so much about finding a dress. It was
simple. You’re such a drama queen, Angie!”

o0o

Finding the right wedding dress filled Angie with renewed
energy and
joie de vivre
. She and her mother and sisters went out to
lunch to discuss bridesmaid’s dresses, and as Angie expected, each had a
different opinion regarding color and style.
Fun days ahead.

After lunch, Angie went home. She knew she should look at
wedding invitations and party favors, table decorations and so forth, but she
didn’t feel like sitting.

No matter what she told herself she “should” do, she only
wanted to do one thing. Finally, she gave into temptation.

She changed into a business-like gray Donna Karan suit with black
Prada shoes and a black Gucci handbag. With them, she wore gold earrings, a
necklace, and bracelet. She wanted to look like someone the administrator of
Restful Gardens, where Carol Steed lived, would have no problem allowing inside
to meet
with a patient.

The administrator was a friendly, older woman. Angie stood
straight, head high, and hoped the administrator would realize she wasn’t there
to try to scam anyone and handed her the note from Enid
Norbel
.

“I would gladly allow you to see Mrs. Steed,” the
administrator said. “But she isn’t here at the moment. She’s on home leave. She
stopped in at eight a.m. for her pills, and will be here again at eight p.m.
But other than that, she’s home.”

“She has that much freedom?” Angie asked.

“As long as she checks in with us every twelve hours to take
her meds, which keep her every bit as healthy as you and I, and has a home care
nurse with her at night, there’s no reason not to allow her to go wherever she
wants. This isn’t a prison. Our residents have their rights.”

Angie drove straight to 60 Clover Lane.

An elderly woman, tall, medium build, with short gray hair,
opened the door and gave Angie a quick once-over. “I guess you Jehovah’s
Witnesses are coming up in the world,” she said. “I’m an atheist.” She stepped
back to swing the door shut.

“Wait, please!” Angie put out her hand to stop the door.
“This isn’t about religion, and I’m not selling anything! My name is Angelina
Amalfi. Are you Carol Steed?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I spoke to your daughter, Enid, and she told me it would be
all right to ask you about the house across the street.”

Carol didn’t smile. Her face sagged and her eyes were
piercing. “Why? It’s not for sale.”

Uh oh,
Angie thought. “I…I’ve heard some interesting
things about it, that’s all.”

Carol snorted. “I imagine you have. People tried to lock me
up because of that house. They say I see things.” She moved closer and dropped
her voice. “They say I see ghosts in it. If I were you, unless you want
everyone saying you’re crazy the way they do me, forget you ever saw it.”

The words were disturbing, but Angie reminded herself the
woman was mentally ill. “I understand you once lived there. I’d like to talk to
you about it if you have time.”

“I don’t mind, but I didn’t live there for very long. Come
on in.” She led Angie to the living room.

The house was as tiny inside as it appeared from the street.
The windows faced the ocean, providing a view that was the house’s best
feature.

As soon as they sat, Carol started talking again. “After
Edward’s mother passed away, we moved into the house. Edward had some
remodeling done.
Made it nicer.
More
modern.”

“But then Edward died?”

Her mouth clamped shut a moment before she said, “Yes, he
died.”

“And you moved out of the house?”

Carol scowled. “How did you—?”

“Let’s talk about what happened back then,” Angie
interrupted. “You rented it out, right?”

She thought a moment,
then
smiled.
“To Eric.
He loved it very much, you see.
Loved
the view.
He said it was worth a million dollars just for the view. But
I wouldn’t sell it.
No, sir!”

“And then?” Angie asked, doing her best to keep her voice
and her expression soft, gentle, and encouraging—a veritable Diane Sawyer
handling a delicate interview. “Your baby was born, right?”

Carol nodded. “Yes. Enid was born.”

Angie drew in her breath. “What happened next?”

Carol’s lips turned downward, and even after all these
years, Angie saw the emotion the memories caused her. “Eric brought home a
wife. He had to marry her, he said. She pressured him, you know. He was very sorry.
He told me that.”

“Sorry for what?”

“It was long ago.”

“You didn’t like it that he brought another woman into your
house, did you?”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t my business. That’s what she told
me—that his marriage wasn’t my business.
The tart!”

“I can imagine how you must have felt,” Angie said. “You
must have hated her.”

She watched the light go out of Carol Steed’s eyes, as if
she were shutting down. She tried a new tact. “Can you tell me anything about
the house?”

“It’s a beautiful house. Eric lives there.” Then her eyes
took on a crafty look, and she put her fingers up to her mouth. “Or…he did,”
she whispered.

“Things seem to move around strangely in that house. Did you
ever see anything like that?”

She stared at the floor.
“Of course not.”

Angie leaned close and practically whispered, “You can trust
me, Mrs. Steed. I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“No! I’ve never seen anything!”

“But you used to tell people you saw ghosts.”

“Me?
Never!”

“What do you remember about the Flemings?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you ever see any problem around
them,
see anyone threatening them, or anything like that?”

Carol remained still, not answering or moving.

Angie asked gently, “Did Edward ever haunt the house?”

“Edward? Did you say Edward?
My husband?”
Carol chortled. “He wouldn’t have the balls.”

“Who do you think is haunting it?”

Carol’s gaze turned cold and black, and Angie had the
feeling the madness had lifted and all that remained was pure malice.
“No one, of course.
There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“But if someone were to, who would it be?”

“I suppose it would be Eric. He loved the house.”

“Not his wife?”

“Wife!
She was no wife to him! She
had no business being with him! She never understood or loved him.”

“Didn’t they have a good marriage?”

Carol cocked her head. “If they had, he wouldn’t have killed
her, would he? She was a bitch in this
life,
I hate to
think she’s still making him miserable in the afterlife.”

“I believe I’ve seen things moving around in the house where
they lived,” Angie said softly. “Haven’t you seen such things, too?”

Carol’s gaze hardened, and her lips spread into a creepy
grin. “Oh? And have you also seen a unicorn in the garden?”

Angie decided it was time to leave. She considered leaving
her phone number, but then a better thought struck. She reached into her purse,
pulled out the small metal case that held her name and address cards—she had
had them created for job interviews and still had a lot left. She handed it to
Carol. “My business cards are inside if you’d like one. You can call me and we
can talk.”

Carol handed it back. “We’ve talked quite enough.”

Angie dropped the case back into her purse. “Good-bye, Mrs.
Steed.” With that, she hurried from the house, glad to get away.

o0o

Angie went straight to Homicide to see Paavo. She hadn’t wanted
to involve him in ‘her’ murders, as she called them. But now, as far as she was
concerned, she couldn’t keep it to herself any longer.

“The murderer has to be Carol Steed, the owner of the Clover
Lane house,” Angie said as soon as she sat down. She was glad to find Paavo
still at work. “She had access, opportunity, and motive. Everyone who knew Eric
back then said he was quite the charmer as well as being smart and rich. He had
lots of women around him. One of them was Carol Steed! They had an affair and
she got pregnant. She gave her daughter a picture of Eric and said he was her
father.”

“Hold on, Angie,” Paavo said. “I take it this is about Eric
and Natalie Fleming?”

“Of course it is!” she said. “The motive was the hard part,
but now it all makes sense. Carol Steed got rid of her husband of fourteen
years. Maybe it can never be proved that she killed him, but even news reports
of the time wrote that bad luck caused his head to hit a rock in just the way
to cause a fatal injury. I suspect Carol hit him in the head—maybe with a rock
or a brick or a swing of a shovel. Then he either fell off the cliff or she
pushed him off.”

“Wait…” He regarded her with a frown. “You’re suggesting
this Carol Steed actually killed three people?”

“Yes! That’s what I’m trying to explain,” Angie cried.
Yosh
heard this and turned around to listen. “Then, after
Carol Steed killed her husband, she moved Eric Fleming into her house, probably
expecting to live there with him,” Angie said, summarizing the story. “But it
never happened. Instead, Eric got married and stopped using drugs and drinking.
That was bad enough, but I suspect Carol went completely over the edge when she
learned that Eric and Natalie were moving to a house they were having built.
Soon after that, they were both dead.”

“So you’re saying Carol Steed killed them out of jealousy,”
Paavo said.

“I think she did.”

Paavo nodded. It all fit together. “Once the murder-suicide
idea started to be pushed, it became a domestic
dispute,
and a low priority since both parties were dead. I imagine money was tight, and
other, more pressing cases probably took over for attention. But the detectives
were bothered enough that they put the case in the cold files, even though they
had no physical proof of a third party being involved.”

“That’s what I suspect,” Angie said. “I also wonder if that
was why Carol named her child Enid. People might have thought she named her in
honor of Edward, but the name is just as close to Eric. Oh—I almost forgot!”
She carefully lifted her business card case from her purse and put it on
Paavo’s desk. “Carol’s fingerprints are on this case, along with mine, in case
you need them.”

“I’ll need a set of your prints before you leave,” Paavo
said, “to make it easier on the crime lab.”

“Of course.”

“You’ve turned into quite the investigator, Angie.” Paavo
used his handkerchief to lift the case into an evidence bag. “The lab can run
these prints against whatever they might have from the original crime scene.
Sounds like it’s time to talk to Carol Steed. She’s old and mentally unstable,
but if she’s also a murderer, she took away the lives of two young people who
thought they had finally found happiness, and possibly her husband’s as well.
It’s tragic.”

 “Yes,” Angie said, “my thoughts, exactly.”

“But unless we get a confession from Carol it’s unlikely
we’ll be able to arrest her, let alone have the DA prosecute. Even then, a good
defense lawyer would make mincemeat of a confession from an elderly, diagnosed
schizophrenic. Absent physical evidence, she’s home free.”

“She’ll get away with triple murder,” Angie said in a grim
voice. “Although, I think being mad is a terrible kind of punishment in
itself.”