Dirty Rotten Tendrils (15 page)

“Is that why you’re going out
where
?” Connor asked, turning his vivid eyes on her. “Whispering Willows?”

She glanced at me for help.

“Jillian,” I said in an exasperated voice, “I told you we were going to A Window on the Square.” I lifted the box in my arms. “We have a delivery to make. Let’s go.”

Still steaming, I walked away, with Jillian hurrying to catch up. Fortunately, Connor was smart enough to realize he wasn’t going to get anywhere, and he didn’t follow.

“Do you think he caught on?” Jillian whispered, as we stopped at the intersection.

I glanced back to see Connor heading toward the courthouse. “Who knows? At least he doesn’t seem interested. But the next time I tell you not to say anything, don’t say anything!”

While we waited for the light to change, I looked to my right and saw workers installing decorative black wrought-iron balconies under the second floor windows of a narrow old building that housed Pete’s Diner
.
It was a cozy place that served up a standard fare of Greek and American food. But the plain tan front had been painted a deep red with black trim and gold embellishments, and a new sign said COMEDOR DE PEDRO in gold script with the image of a bull-fighter on either end. I had a feeling it was another sign of Cody-mania.

“What happened to Pete’s Diner?” Jillian asked. “And who is Pedro?”

“
Pedro
is Spanish for
Peter
,” I explained, as we detoured up Lincoln Avenue half a block to the east to check it out. “And Comedor de Pedro means ‘Peter’s dining room.’”

“Comedor de Pedro. How classy and Continental.”

“It’s still Pete’s Diner, Jillian.” I pointed to items on the menu posted near the door. “Moussaka, lamb, roasted potatoes, gyros, lemon rice soup . . . it’s the same menu.”

She pulled out a chair at one of the black wrought-iron bistro tables now arranged in front and sat in it. “I feel just like I’m in Madrid.”

“You’ve never been to Madrid.”

“Magazines, Abby. Who needs to travel when we have magazines? Oh, look across the street! A French coffee shop. Ooh-la-la!”

I turned to see. Overnight, the Daily Grind had become La Journalier Routine. Underneath the new name, apparently for those who didn’t read French, was the word COFFEEHOUSE.

“If I remember my French,” Jillian said, “La Journalier Routine means—”

“The Daily Grind.” Imagine that.

 

 

While Jillian sorted through a rack of sale items at A Window on the Square, I delivered the arrangement, picked up a check in payment, then tried to slip out of the shop without my cousin. Unfortunately, she has excellent peripheral vision.

However, my misfortune of being stuck with my chatterbox cousin took a surprisingly fortunate turn. Not only does Jillian have superior side vision, she also has nearly perfect recall for gossip. And on our way to Whispering Willows, she recounted gossip she’d heard from Lila Redmond that morning that shed a whole new light on the Lip’s death.

“W
hat do you think?” Jillian asked, after displaying the last of four knit dresses she’d unrolled from her giant tote bag.

“I like them, but it’s what Lila likes that counts, right?” I answered, playing along with her fantasy. “Are you sure that’s her style?”

“She’ll love them. Do you know she travels with her own personal secretary? Can you imagine what a help that is? I’m thinking of hiring one for myself.”

Jillian pulled out her cell phone and recorded a voice message. “Note to self. Interview secretaries.”

“Why do you need a secretary? You’re not that busy.”

“I will be once word gets out that I dressed La Lila. I’m thinking of having a frank discussion with her about her hair. Lila brings her personal stylist with her—Marietta—but the woman gives her the same hairdo over and over—like yours does. Except this morning, Lila was so upset, she sent her stylist scuttling from the room before she could finish silkifying.”

“ ‘Silkifying’ isn’t a word. And what’s wrong with having the same hairdo every day?”

Jillian patted my shoulder. “Don’t feel bad, Abs. Not everyone is blessed with imagination. But getting back to Lila’s story, what happened was, she thought she was going to appear with Cody on TV, but then she got a call saying he was going on with his lawyer instead. Can you imagine all the work it takes to prepare for a TV appearance—and then to have your boyfriend decide to go on without you? That’s a deal breaker in my book. I hope she dumps him.”

“To be fair, Jillian, it wasn’t all Cody’s fault. His lawyer advised him to do that.”

“No, he didn’t. If his lawyer said that, then he’s a liar.”

“And you know this because . . . ?”

“Because I heard Lila’s end of the phone conversation. Cody shut her out to punish her.”

“For what?”

Jillian’s smile was secretive. “You’re not going to believe it.”

“Try me.”

“Well,” she said, pushing up her coat sleeves and turning to face me, “it seems the Lip made advances.”

“What kind of advances?”

“You know. He put the moves on Lila. Propositioned her, in fact.”

“No way.”

“Abby, I swear it’s true. I heard Lila defending herself to Cody. She said that the Lip cornered her when she was alone and propositioned her. When she turned him down, he groped her and tried to kiss her.”

“When did this happen?”

“Okay. Here’s the story. They first met Lipinski last Friday when he flew out to LA to see them. Then on Saturday, they all flew back here together, and his chauffeur picked them up and took them to his house on Lake Michigan to relax until the hearing. That’s when it happened, but Cody didn’t find out until after they left court on Monday. Lipinski went back to the hotel with them to have lunch and discuss strategy, but Lila refused to join them. Afterward, Cody and Lila had a huge argument about it and that’s when she told him why she didn’t want to be anywhere near the Lip.

“And really, who could blame her? The man was revolting. Greasy hair, phony smile, lizardlike eyes . . . Anyway, Lila regrets telling Cody because he’s been nasty to her ever since. He’s acting like it’s her fault. Apparently he’s insanely jealous. Lila can’t even look at another guy without him having a tantrum. Seriously, can you believe Cody treating Lila Redmond like that? He has to be up-the-wall and over-the-top crazy. He was a nobody six months ago and now he’s acting like
she’s
the nobody.”

Jillian sat back with a huff. “Poor thing. To suffer the Lip’s groping and then to be punished for it! You’d think Cody would’ve fired Lipinski instead of taking it out on his girlfriend.”

“Fire his attorney right before the hearing?” I asked. “Cody wouldn’t be that crazy.”

I pulled into the nursing home’s parking lot and turned off the motor, still sorting out Jillian’s startling news about the Lip. Accosting his client’s girlfriend was sinking to new lows. But why would Cody punish Lila? Why take it out on the victim and let Lipinski off the hook? Had Cody decided that firing his lawyer and starting from scratch with a new law firm would cost him too much time and money?

On the other hand, maybe he hadn’t let the Lip off the hook. If Cody was jealous enough to punish Lila Redmond for Lipinski’s misconduct, what was to stop Cody from taking his fury out on Lipinski, too?

That was where my thought process ran into a wall. How could a celebrity, even a minor one, have slipped into Lipinski’s building without being seen? Cody’s fans trailed him everywhere.

“Are you coming?” Jillian asked, tapping on my window. “The elder-geezers won’t keep forever.”

 

 

When we entered Whispering Willows, Nadine was the only one in the reception area; she was talking on the phone behind the counter. She glanced up, saw me, and waved us over.

“Remember,” I whispered to Jillian, “don’t use any negative words. They’re
seniors.
”

“We already had this conversation, Abby.”

“Right, and then you called them elder-geezers.”

Putting her hand over the phone, Nadine said to us, “You have to sign in.” She slid a guest book toward me. “The rules have changed.”

By her tightly pursed lips, I had the distinct impression she was blaming me. I signed for both Jillian and myself, and indicated that we were there to visit Mrs. Hammond.

“She’s in the recreation center,” Nadine whispered.

Perfect.

“What do you want me to do?” Jillian asked, as I led her up the long hallway.

“Smile and don’t say a word.”

“Seriously, Abby, I want to help.”

Could I trust my cousin to be tactful and not insult any of the patients? It sure would make the job go faster with both of us working the room.

I took copies of Dave’s photo out of my purse. “If you really want to help me, take one of these photos and start with the people on the right. Go around the room, show the photo, and ask if they know who Dave Hammond is. If the answer is yes, ask whether they saw him here Monday when he came to see his mom. Got that?”

She nodded.

One of the nursing staff came up to me with a friendly smile. “May I help you?” The little silver tag on her green uniform said
Kim.

“We’re here to visit Mabel Hammond,” I said.

“Mrs. Hammond is sitting by the window on the far side of the room. And you are?”

“Abby Knight, and this is Jillian Knight-Osborne. We’re friends of the family.”

“You’re sisters?” Kim asked.

“Cousins,” Jillian corrected. “First cousins, to be exact. Our fathers are brothers, giving us the same genetic—”

I nudged her. Kim didn’t want our life stories, but she was eyeing the papers in our hands, so I turned mine so she could see the top photo. “If you don’t mind, Kim, we’d like to show a photo of Attorney Hammond to your residents. I’m here at Dave’s request to find someone who can verify that he was visiting his mom Monday evening.”

“That’ll be fine,” Kim said, “but you should know that two detectives were here yesterday afternoon for the same reason.”

The detectives were hot on Dave’s trail. “Would you mind telling me what you told them?”

“I told them I don’t work evenings—my shift is over at four o’clock—and that I can’t imagine Dave having anything to do with a murder.”

“Do you know if anyone else here reported seeing Dave Monday?” I asked.

“No one that I spoke with did, but you’re welcome to talk to the patients in the center.”

“Great,” I said. “What about those still in their rooms?”

Kim gave me a sad smile. “I’m afraid their conditions are such that they wouldn’t be of any help. But if you need anything else, I’ll be just up the hallway.”

“Thank you.” I glanced at Jillian, who was gazing into the open doorway of a patient’s room. “Let’s go, Jill.”

She was oddly silent as we walked toward the back of the building. “Are you okay?” I asked her.

She glanced at me, blinking back a mist of tears. “I don’t want to get Alzheimer’s, Abby.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to get it, either.”

A rare admission. “Thank you, Jillian.”

“Someone has to remember what an adorable child I was.”

I took my notebook out of my purse, tore off a sheet, and handed it to her. “Write down the names of everyone who claims to have seen Dave.”

“I am so on it.” She pulled out a pen and headed for four people sitting at a card table and working a jigsaw puzzle.

I watched her talk to the group for a few moments, and when no one jumped up and ran screaming from the room or otherwise seemed upset by her questions, I started on the left side. I paused to chat with Dave’s mom, but sadly it wasn’t a good day for her. It had been a year since I’d last seen her, but she didn’t remember me at all. How heart-breaking it had to be for Dave. Was that perhaps the cause of his distress?

Fifteen minutes later, Jillian and I met at the back of the room. “Any luck?” I asked.

“No.” Jillian handed me the blank paper.

“Me neither.” With a frustrated sigh, I tucked the paper and notebook back into my purse and surveyed the patients. Where was the woman who had called me?

“Can we leave now?” Jillian asked. “I feel like I need to cry, and if I cry, I’ll ruin my makeup, and if I ruin my makeup, I’ll have to—”

“I get it, Jillian.”

As we walked down the hallway toward the front door, we met Kim coming out of a patient’s room. “How did you do?” she asked.

“We struck out,” I told her. “But maybe you can help me with something. I got a call at work yesterday evening from a woman who said she was from Whispering Willows, but I couldn’t find her today. I assumed she was a patient, but she could be one of the staff. Do you have any idea who it might be?”

“What time was the call?” Kim asked.