Murder in the Air (22 page)

“Yes, dear, so I’ve heard. A few of my friends called with the news.” Evelyn released a deep sigh. “To think Daniel and I trusted him. Now I wonder if he was the one who hit me and left me for dead.”

Lydia decided not to tell Evelyn about the keying incident. “Life is full of surprises.”

“And poor Nicole, letting herself be hoodwinked by that boyfriend of hers. I’m afraid I’m partly to blame there. Polly was all for taking away Nicole’s car and cell phone when she started seeing that Ringo, but I pointed out that Nicole was over twenty-one and would probably move out if she did.” She sniffed. “I even suggested that she let Nicole bring him to Daniel’s birthday party.”

Daniel’s birthday party! Could Ringo have doctored the chocolates, knowing that with Daniel dead, Nicole’s mother would soon inherit much more money, money she might be willing to share with her daughters?

“Evelyn,” Lydia said aloud, “you gave Polly sound advice, so please don’t think you have anything to do with Nicole’s breaking out of her perfect image. Gillian thinks it’s a reaction to years of being regarded as the good twin.”

“The Angel Twin,” Evelyn mused. “We never knew she hated it so.

Chapter Nineteen

“Stefano’s dead.”

Lydia stared up at Sol standing in the doorway.

“Oh!” She felt light-headed, as though she was about to faint. Sol grasped her in a tight embrace. She closed her eyes and imagined he was a tree she could burrow deep inside of, protecting her from the next assault or murder.

He helped her to the sofa, where she sprawled against the back cushion as weak as an invalid. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered.

She began to weep. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Annoyed by the intensity of her response, Lydia swiped them away with the backs of her hands.

“Why am I’m crying?” she demanded. “Stefano turned out to be an awful person. He tortured people in Yugoslavia. Here he sold drugs.” She pointed to the paintings hanging around the living room. “And he put up every damn one of them.”

Sol went to the liquor cabinet and poured out a healthy dose of scotch. “Here, drink this.”

She nodded, swallowed, and asked, “Do you want some?”

“Not tonight. I have to get back to the precinct. We saw the body and looked around his apartment. The body’s been removed for autopsy, and the crime scene team’s checking out his place. My men are lining up interviews. I’ll be at it till all hours of the morning.” He sat down beside her and gave her a bittersweet smile. “I had to stop by and tell you.”

Lydia blinked, trying to take it all in. “But why? Who?”

“Someone shot him in his apartment around six o’clock. A neighbor heard the weapon discharge and called 911. No one saw anyone.”

“But it was still light out,” Lydia said.

Sol frowned. “Many illegals live in his neighborhood. I doubt anyone will come forward to testify, even if he saw the killer.”

“Denise said Stefano had enemies from his country who wanted to kill him.”

Sol raked a hand through his wavy hair. “We’ll talk to her, but I suspect that’s a story he made up to explain away some of his drug activities.”

“Do you think this has anything to do with Daniel’s murder?”

Sol shrugged. “It’s too soon to say. Most likely it was a drug deal gone bad.”

She noticed his five o’clock shadow, and it struck her that he probably had to shave twice a day to keep it at bay.

With an effort, he got to his feet. “I’ll go grab something at the diner then go back to the station.”

“Don’t be silly. Your meal’s all prepared.” She saw him hesitate. “You have to eat, Sol. Please. I’d like you to stay.”

He nodded and followed her into the kitchen. They didn’t speak as she heated up what she’d prepared in the microwave. Lydia watched him eat, taking neat, precise bites. When he was finished, he used the bathroom then headed for the front door.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, and kissed her quickly on the mouth. She stood in the hall and heard him drive off, feeling as though she was seeing him off to battle. What had driven him to choose this dangerous line of work that dealt with the dark side of society? She felt a wave of empathy for the wives and children of policemen everywhere.

The phone rang at ten o’clock, startling her from her nap. It was Mick.

“Hi there, Lydia. I hope it’s not to late to call.”

“No, no,” she demurred automatically.

“What did Molina have to say about Allen Holtstein?”

“Allen?”

“Right. You were going to bring up his name, find out if the cops have checked him out as a suspect.”

“Mick, I didn’t get a chance. Stefano Ligoris is dead. Someone shot him.”

“You don’t say! When did this happen?”

“About four, five hours ago. I don’t know anything else.”

“I’ll make a few phone calls, find out what I can, and get back to you.”

“Thanks, Mick.”

But he’d already hung up. She wished he hadn’t sounded like a little boy setting off to an amusement park.

True to his word, Mick called back almost an hour later. “The cops have no leads, but they think the shooting was drug-related.”

“Thanks, Mick. I’m going to sleep now.”

“Hold your horses. I haven’t told you the news. They found digitalis and a hypodermic needle in Ligoris’s apartment, along with pieces of antique jewelry. From the description the police have, it’s what Evelyn said was taken when she was hit over the head.”

“It sounds too good to be true,” Lydia said dryly.

“Come on, Lydia, you give criminals too much credit. Actually, they’re a lot stupider than they make them out in books.”

“Why would he keep evidence of a murder he committed weeks ago? And not fence the jewelry?”

“Who knows why? Maybe he was saving it till he could show the antique pieces to someone in the city. What’s important is that it looks like this guy attacked Evelyn and killed Daniel.”

To Lydia’s astonishment and dismay, the official reaction to Stefano’s murder was the same as Mick’s.

“I can’t believe Stefano killed Daniel, attacked Evelyn, and came after us that Sunday morning,” she told Sol Saturday evening as they sipped wine and awaited their appetizers in the new French restaurant on the bay.

Sol leaned along the banquette to kiss her neck.

“My dear, the evidence points the way. There it sat in Ligoris’s apartment, waiting for us to bag it and close the case.”

Between the wine and Sol’s attentions, Lydia felt her resolve melt away. “That’s wonderful, only it seems too pat, somehow. All that proof just waiting to be found.”

“Try not to think, Lydia—at least about homicide cases. We’re here to enjoy ourselves, remember?”

She nodded, determined not to bring up the subject again. Sol deserved an evening free of distractions. And, miracle of miracles, since he’d picked her up almost two hours ago, his cell phone hadn’t rung once.

Their escargot appetizers arrived, and they ate them with relish as the chatted about other topics. Non-homicide topics. Lydia talked about Barbara and Andrew’s budding romance, of her upcoming trip to visit Abbie, her newly married daughter in London. Sol spoke of his daughter Heather’s visit during the month of July.

Their main courses arrived. When they’d finished tasting each other’s dishes, Sol said, “I’ve plenty of activities planned when Heather comes.” He paused. “And I’d like her to meet you.”

Lydia was touched. “I’d love to meet your daughter.”

They went home in a mellow mood and made passionate love until two in the morning. Afterward, Lydia fell into a deep sleep, from which she emerged when Sol shook her shoulder.

She opened her eyes and saw him smiling down at her. He was dressed.

“I have to go.”

She felt panicky, as though she’d overslept for something important. “What time is it?”

“Eight-thirty. Go back to sleep.”

“No, I’ll get up. Make you some breakfast.”

“No need. I’ll stop for something on the way into work.”

“Work?” Lydia pulled her curls behind her ears, thinking she must look a fright. “It’s Sunday morning.”

“I know, but I’ve tons of paperwork to catch up on.” He bent down to kiss her cheek. “And I want to have another chat with Denise. I’ll call you later.”

Reggie entered the room and jumped on the bed. Lydia stroked him as the front door closed. She felt saddened. Abandoned. Was this how it was going to be with her and Sol—a night together and then off he’d go, working all hours of the week to solve yet another murder?

She used the bathroom, then went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. As she filled the coffee pot with water—enough for one person—Lydia berated herself.

What did you expect—a proposal of marriage? An offer to spend Sunday together? No to the first, yes to the second.

She still knew very little of Sol’s life when he wasn’t chasing after clues and interviewing suspects. She had no idea what his apartment looked like.

But he wanted her to meet his daughter, which was more than she’d offered. Get a grip! she told herself. Sol cares for you. He wants to spend time with you. Stop acting like one of those wimpy women, and find something to do by yourself. Like you’ve been doing since Izzy died.

She got dressed and found herself mulling over Daniel’s murder and the events that had followed. If Stefano had killed Daniel, then the only thing that made sense was that Denise was equally guilty—which was why Sol wanted to question her.

But what if Denise wasn’t guilty? It was a ridiculous question, given that she’d suspected Denise of murdering her father only days ago. Denise had been on drugs for most of her life, was probably using currently. From what Polly had once implied, she’d prostituted herself when she and Bennett had nothing to eat. But would she agree to be part of a plot to kill Daniel and Evelyn? Lydia didn’t know. She only knew that it made no sense that Stefano was the murderer.

And if Stefano wasn’t the murderer, then someone else was.

Lydia speed dialed Barbara’s number. Her friend sounded groggy when she picked up on the third ring.

“Good morning, my dear,” Lydia greeted her.

“Hi, Lyddie. What time is it?”

“Time to get out of bed. Are you busy today?”

“Andrew’s going to his grandson’s baseball game. I’m joining them for dinner.”

“Are you up for some sleuthing in the interim?”

“Of course! What did you have in mind?”

An hour later they were breezing along Rte. 97 on their way to Whispering Pines.

“How do you know the Holtsteins are home?” Barbara asked.

Lydia smiled. “I tried calling them twice and the line was busy. If Rochelle was doing the talking, as I suspect, she’s indulging in long conversations. Meaning, she’s not in any rush to leave the house. And if they have plans for the afternoon, she’ll need at least an hour to get dressed, put on her makeup—stuff like that.”

Barbara grinned. “Great deduction, Sherlock. And our story’s that I’ve a sister looking for a nice apartment, not too far from me.”

“We’ll check out the models first, to be on the safe side.”

“Fine with me,” Barbara said. “I always love to look at models.”

Lydia drove past the Whispering Pines Luxury Apartments sign and parked in one of the sand-covered spaces allotted to visitors viewing the models.

“They’re actually apartments,” Barbara mused, gazing at the three-story building. “I hope my sister likes apartment living.”

A slender young woman, her long blonde hair rippling down the back of her pink cashmere sweater, welcomed them and introduced herself as Mindy. Lydia and Barbara smiled and headed for the tiny models on display, but Mindy blocked their way, a pile of forms in her hand.

“We ask each visitor to please fill these out first,” she said sweetly but firmly.

“It’s for my sister,” Barbara explained, hoping to avoid the paperwork.

“Please fill out whatever you can,” Mindy instructed, waving a two-caret engagement ring adorning her French-style manicured hand. “The owners like to have everything on record.”

Barbara frowned, but did as instructed. Only then did Mindy direct them toward the four model apartments.

“We’ve only twenty units left,” she said, “and five of those have holds on them. So if you think your sister might be interested, have her call me ASAP.”

“Will do,” Barbara tossed over her shoulder.

They burst into giggles as soon as they were alone, then got down to the serious business of checking out each apartment.

“Some lovely decorating touches,” Barbara commented as she moved closer to inspect a wall unit.

“Right,” Lydia agreed, “but the furniture doesn’t come with the apartment.” She bent down to feel the carpet. “Cheap. And the walls are paper-thin. I bet you can hear your neighbors’ conversations.”

“Or worse,” Barbara agreed. “And the rooms are small.”

Lydia opened the folder and checked the prospectus. “Still, the rent for a two-bedroom apartment isn’t astronomical. Not a bad deal for a couple over 55 who have sold their home and don’t want to put all their money into buying another house or condo.”

“Like the Holtsteins,” Barbara said.

Ten minutes later they were back in the office, and had to wait until Mindy finished talking to other potential renters.

“Very nice, especially the large two-bedroom,” Barbara said. “I’ll have my sister call you.”

Mindy graced her with a huge grin. “My favorite. Have her call me ASAP. They’re going like hotcakes.”

“We’re friends of Allen and Rochelle Holtstein,” Lydia said. “They told us it’s wonderful living here.”

Mindy’s grin dissolved into a frown. “Really? You’d never know it from the hard time they’re giving us.” Her diamond-adorned hand covered her mouth. “Sorry! I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that they’ve decided to move and they’re using every trick in the book to break their lease.”

Lydia feigned surprise. “I didn’t know they were moving. We were planning to stop by and say hello.”

“They’re going to Arizona, where living is cheaper.”

“Really?” Lydia exclaimed, no longer pretending to be shocked.

Mindy placed her hand on Lydia’s arm. “They are, and please, please don’t repeat what I’ve just said!”