Designed for Death (17 page)

To cool down, I eased into a half jog, slowed to a power walk, and finally into a stroll, sniffing the salt air, letting the gulf breeze whisk away the good, healthy sweat. But it could do nothing to rid my mind of the two muggings. They took over my brain, crowding out the shiny thoughts of future success, pulling me back into the moment, into the elusive
something
that puzzled me and wouldn’t go away.

At home, the Audi in the carport reminded me I’d stashed accessories for Treasure’s condo in the trunk. I plucked her key from my condo desk, coded my way into the car and lifted out two tote bags filled with baskets, vases, colored soaps, candles, toss pillows and a ceramic egret for the kitchen countertop.

To complete my workout, I ran up both flights with the bags, left them on the walkway outside 301 then ran back for the silk greens and pastel flowers piled in the back seat. I unlocked the condo and dropped everything on the glass dining table. After being closed for days, the place was a little musty, but in this heat and humidity, I didn’t dare open the sliders to let in some fresh air.

The sun, inching toward the horizon, filled the living room with a lovely late-day glow. I soon forgot the mustiness. This was a fun part of my job, like playing house when I was a kid. I found myself humming under my breath. “All I want is a room somewhere…ladedadadedadada.” The hibiscus blossoms, each one the diameter of a pecan pie, I’d put in the lanai where—

What was that?
A footstep?

I froze, a flower forgotten in my hand. My ears turned into antennae.
Nothing.
Had I imagined a noise? Hardly daring to breathe, I stood motionless, focusing on the blossom I held. The petals, deep rose near the corolla, softened into pink at the frilled edges. Microscopic veins threading through each petal carried nutrients to the tips of the blossom…
Wait a minute.
I dropped the hibiscus onto the table. The flower was silk. No veins. No nutrients.

There it was again. Stealthy. Muted.
In here.
Drawers opening and closing. Someone rifling the bedroom.

A drawer slammed shut suddenly as though the searcher hadn’t found what he wanted and was running out of patience. The bedroom door opened, and I heard the slap of bare heels on leather. I could sprint for the entry, but I might not get there first. The kitchen was closer, just two steps away. Ears cocked, I stole over to the kitchen cabinets and reached into the utility drawer for the scissors. Pointing the sharp ends away from my body, I eyed the front door again. Could I sprint over, free the lock and dash out before whoever made that noise caught me and twisted my neck?

Too late.
The footsteps came closer. I crouched out of sight behind the counter. The searcher walked into the living room in a drift of sandalwood and musk.
Tabu.
Good grief. Only one person I knew drenched herself in that heavy stuff.

A peek around the edge of the cabinet gave me a straight view to the front door. She wore short shorts and leather sandals with bandages peaking out between the thongs. A bandanna top tied under her breasts exposed a wide swath of midriff.

Still clutching the scissors, I jumped up. “AudreyAnn, what are you doing here?”

She whirled around, her hand on her heart. Well, actually on her left breast. “My God, Deva, you nearly gave me my death.”

“Likewise.” I came out from behind the counter. “Looking for something?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Mind if I ask what?”

She heaved a sigh, causing a spectacular up and down movement of her chest. Much like a tidal wave on a turbulent sea. “A gift from Dick.”

I arched my brows. “An engagement ring?”

“Very funny.” Her lower lip quivered. “I don’t need your smartass cracks, Deva. It meant the world to me.”

She was right. The crack had been mean-spirited. Ashamed of myself, I tried to make amends. “I’ll be working in here for a while. I might come across whatever it is, but I don’t know what you’re looking for.”

“A gold bracelet. With one charm. A little ruby heart. He gave it to me the last time we…we… I was too upset to take it when I left. It has to be here somewhere.”

A parting gift? Or a parting shot. The second choice had my vote, but I said, “I’ll look for it. Promise.”

“Thanks.”

She had one leg out the door before I asked, “How’re your feet?”

“Better. Healing.”

But not your broken heart.
She’d stepped out onto the walkway when it hit me. “Hey! How’d you get in here?”

“Dick gave me a key.” She reached in her shorts pocket and held it out. “I won’t need it. Maybe you can use an extra.”

I tucked the key in my pocket with the other one.

She left, shutting the door quietly. For the first time since I’d learned about AudreyAnn’s affair with Dick, she had my sympathy. It couldn’t be easy, living with one man, in love with another. Though in my book her affair was dead wrong, that didn’t lessen her pain. Maybe made it worse. My turn to heave a sigh. One without big wave action. A good sports bra takes care of stuff like that. Truth is, I’d never create a tsunami no matter how much I inhaled.

Alone again, I went back to work on the greens. The hibiscus arrangement completed, I reached for a stem of English ivy. It cooperates so nicely, bending and cascading over the container, always looking as if the light were perfect, the soil just damp enough, the fertilizer the correct Ph balance. That’s silks for you. I love them even though the industry standard calls for fresh arrangements only. No exceptions. You’ll never find faux flowers in
Architectural Digest.
But Dick wanted plants in here, and…

Another muffled thump. What
was
that? I cocked my ears in the direction of the master suite. There it was again. A soft thud but no, not from the suite. From Simon’s place next door. I must be nervous or something. Of course I’d hear sounds. In a condo building, a certain amount of noise traveled from one unit to another. I tucked an ivy stem in place and curled up the end like it was reaching for the light… Wait a minute, Simon would be at work now. Had Cynthia returned? Maybe she’d only taken the Ferrari on a shopping spree and hadn’t really left at all.

There it was again. Closer than Simon’s place.
In here.

I let go of the ivy stem and grabbed the scissors.

A door creaked open, its seldom-used hinges aching in protest. I inhaled a sudden whiff of aftershave. Something pungent and cheap. Old Spice? Senses at terrorist alert, I tightened my grip on my weapon.
Turn around. Face the danger.
Immobilized by fear, I waited too long, the scissors useless in my clammy fist.

A hand of steel grabbed my wrist, pinning it to my side.

“Drop it,” a deep voice commanded, “before you stab somebody.”

“Dick! For Pete’s sake, you nearly scared me to death.” Twisting out of his armlock, I whirled to face him, mad enough to sock him on the jaw. “What are you doing here?”

“I own the place, remember?” He glanced at the scissors. “Be careful with those things.”

“That’s not the answer I want, and you know it. Sneaking around like that, coming up behind my back. Good grief.”

I put the scissors close by on the table, but I doubted I’d need them. He’d overheard my chat with AudreyAnn and knew she’d nail him if anything suspicious happened to me.
I think.
So I was pretty safe. I sank onto one of the dining room chairs and tried to calm down. “Where were you? Hiding in the entry closet?”

“Yeah.” He had the grace to look sheepish.

“Why?”

“I was looking for something. The door opened and I got a whiff of that perfume…so I hid out in the closet. I figured AudreyAnn had come back for the bracelet, and if she caught me in here alone, she might want to…you know…start up again. Marilyn’s mad enough now. She’d kill me if she ever found out.”

I eyed him openly, not even trying to hide my disdain. But after a split second, not wanting to play judge and jury, I looked away. “So why didn’t you leave when she went into the bedroom?”

“That’s when you came in, and I was kind of embarrassed. You know, about hidin’ out. But you’ve been fiddling with those greens so long, I was afraid I’d suffocate.”

“Poor baby.” I arched an eyebrow. “Did you find it?”

“Find what?”

As I stared at him, his face took on the familiar color I’d christened Deep Dick Red. With a sigh, he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a gold chain bracelet. A tiny ruby heart dangled from one of the links.

“Now that you have it, what are you going to do with it?” I asked.

He looked at me as if I couldn’t put two and two together. “What else? Give it to Marilyn.”

Egads, Dick was such a dick. “Supposing AudreyAnn sees it on Marilyn’s wrist?”

“She’ll know we’re over. Once and for all.”

Who could argue with logic like that? “Do me a favor, Dick?”

“Sure. I guess I owe you.”

“Look in the closets before you leave. And behind the shower doors. Under the bed, too. I need to finish the arrangements, and I don’t want any more surprises.”

“No problem.” He glanced around. “You’re doin’ a good job. The place looks better already.”

Though I didn’t agree, I nodded anyway. At least the sounds I’d heard hadn’t come from Simon’s condo. So chances were good that when I went downstairs, the Ferrari would still be gone.
Not that I care, Jack
.

Chapter Seventeen

“It’ll be a funeral to die for,” Faye said when she called me the next day.

“Aren’t they all?” was on the tip of my tongue, but I choked back the retort. “Where and when? I’ll put up a notice on the Surfside bulletin board.”

“Tomorrow, lovey. Moorings Beach at twelve. The obituary’ll be in the morning paper.”

“I’ll look for it and be sure to post the notice. Chip’s planning a luncheon for afterwards. A lasagna feast, actually. So invite anyone who’s coming to the funeral. We’ll meet in the Surfside clubroom after the ceremony.”

“Marv. I’ll bring dessert.”

At high noon the following day, the Surfsiders, ready for action in assorted cutoffs, shorts, halter tops (AudreyAnn) and T-shirts, assembled on the beach. Huddled together under the row of Australian pines that divided Moorings Beach proper from the parking lot, a group of six or seven other people waited on the tarmac. I recognized Hedda and Roy, the handsome blond waiter from the Foxy Lady, but not the rest.

A bright blue Taurus drove into the lot. Two young women in sundresses and sandals stepped out and stood next to Hedda and company. I’d never seen them before but assumed they must have known Treasure.

I huffed out a worried breath. Treasure’s sendoff was about to begin without a hearse, a cortege, a church, a clergyman, a eulogy. Without a casket. Without a body.

Not even organ music rising in the air.

What was left? Then I realized I was underestimating Treasure. Forget the organ music. She would do the rising herself.

“Jeez, he’s back. Can’t I get rid of that guy?” Dick muttered as a travel-stained Mustang badly in need of a wash cruised in next to the Taurus.

Lieutenant Rossi emerged from behind the wheel. He’d dressed for the occasion in yet another Costco version of the Hawaiian shirt—this one in black and blue palm fronds. If his fiancée picked out his clothes, she sure had horrible taste. What would he look like in a white shirt, chinos and polished loafers for once? Not like a fugitive from a circus, anyway, I sniffed. Making no attempt to speak to anybody, he stood alone and aloof, leaning on the hood of his car, twirling one of those stubby pencils between his blunt fingers.

I’d been dreading this moment, afraid memories from Jack’s funeral would flood back and I’d fall to pieces. But somehow I didn’t. Maybe I needed ice and snow and incense and organ music and a mahogany casket holding my beloved to relive the worst day of my life. Instead, the sun beat down with its usual ferocity, turning the sky azure and the gulf waters true blue. Gulls rode the wind currents, the pines murmured to each other in the salty air, and Simon smiled at me as we stood there waiting for Treasure to arrive.

“Okay, here we go, everybody,” Neal said suddenly as a panel truck drove into the lot followed by a familiar Camaro.

The cortege.

“I freakin’ don’t believe it,” Dick said.

“Dick, pack it up.” This moment belonged to Treasure, and I wanted him to keep quiet and respect her memory.

From behind me, I heard a high-pitched whistle as if someone had spotted the unbelievable. I turned and caught a glimpse of Chip staring openmouthed. “Holy cow!”

What else can you call a funeral hearse with big red, blue, yellow and green balloons painted all over its sides and the words Heavenbound Burials, Unlimited lettered underneath, along with telephone and fax numbers, an e-mail address and a web site?

Fayette had raided the male side of his closet today. Looking positively clerical in a black sports shirt and black slacks, he exited the Camaro, his bald pate shining in the sun, huge rhinestone sunglasses hiding his eyes. The driver hopped out of the panel truck. He wore a white dress shirt, black slacks and a black tie. Treasure had admired well-dressed men. She would have liked the tie. He hurried to the back of the truck and opened both doors.

In unison, as if we all had been to this kind of funeral before and knew exactly what to do, the Surfsiders, the Foxy Lady entourage and the two young girls in sundresses—everyone except Rossi—gathered at the back of the truck and peered in.

A gigantic fire-engine-red balloon sat there filling up the space, straining at the tethers, eager to lift off and ride the skies.

As gravely as any mortician anywhere, the truck driver, an athletic-looking man in his early thirties, turned to Fayette. “I’m George, your funeral director.” He extended his hand, wincing a little when Fayette gripped it. “Have you selected a place for the ascent, sir?”

“Yes. The water’s edge,” Fayette said, his voice cracking.

“As the next of kin, would you like to carry the deceased to the site, or would you prefer to have me escort her?”