Diva 03 _ Diva Paints the Town, The (7 page)

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Authors: Krista Davis

Tags: #Murder, #Winston; Sophie (Fictitious Character), #Mystery & Detective, #Fiction, #Women Sleuths, #General, #Dwellings

BOOK: Diva 03 _ Diva Paints the Town, The
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I found the key to Mordecai’s house, locked my kitchen door, and we jogged out to the street.
“Then he said we should come back to Mordecai’s to see if Emmaline came home, what with it being so cold and all. But when we got there—oh, Sophie—I guess he misinterpreted the evening, and he attacked me.”
I caught a glimpse of her under the streetlight. I’d never seen her so distressed.
“Honestly, he turned into this octopus and was just horrible, and he wouldn’t let me go. I just wanted to catch up with an old friend. I never meant to have an affair. So I pushed him to get away, and he fell and hit his head. I never should have left him, but I was so angry and upset.”
We’d reached Mordecai’s front door, but I fumbled with the key and the unfamiliar lock in the dark.
“Why did I leave?” she moaned. “I should have stayed to help him, but I ran out and fled for home. I was furious. Then I started to worry that he had been hurt, so I called his cell phone five times—he never answered. Of course, I figured he was pretty upset with me, and wasn’t taking my calls, so I went back over to Mordecai’s. But he wouldn’t come to the door. I tried looking in the windows, but it’s nearly impossible to see inside this house. I’m afraid he’s sprawled on the living room floor, bleeding to death.”
The front door swung open, and I relaxed. “It never occurred to you that he could have just gotten into his car and driven home?”
Nina swallowed hard. “Before I went to your house, his car was still parked where we left it.”
We stepped inside, and heard the faint, hollow clank of metal.
Nina placed her hand on my arm. “What was that?”
Assorted lights were already on and nothing appeared amiss. I shrugged. “Kurt?” We headed straight for the living room, but there was no sign of him.
“There”—Nina pointed at the fireplace—“right there is where he fell. He hit his head on those fancy fireplace thingies.”
Gilt bronze andirons featuring lyres graced the fireplace and looked like they could be dangerous. Kurt was nowhere to be seen.
“Kurt,” I yelled, “it’s Sophie.” Silence surrounded us. “I think he left. Did he have a lot to drink? Maybe he took a cab home or called a friend to drive him.”
“We should search the house. What if he staggered someplace and fell again? It would be terrible if he died because we didn’t look around.”
It was the prudent thing to do. The two of us took a quick tour of the house, most of which appeared to have been undisturbed for years, if the dust was any indication. He wasn’t in any of the five bedrooms or two bathrooms, and he wasn’t bleeding to death on the stairs leading up to the third floor. We made a quick round of the first floor again, but he just wasn’t there.
“What about the basement?”
“Honestly, Nina, if you had hit your head and you felt woozy, would you go into a basement?”
“No. But . . .”
“You’re not going to let me sleep tonight unless we search every corner, are you?”
She had already opened the basement door, and was peering down ancient stairs. I followed her, but there wasn’t much to see. Smaller than my basement, it was typical for a historic home. The washer and dryer sat near a wall, and a large furnace took up most of the space.
“
Shh.
” Nina stuck out an arm to stop me.
A distinct scratching sound came from behind the wall. “
Eww,
mice.” Nina shuddered and motioned for me to head back up the steps.
“Are you satisfied?” I asked.
“I guess so. But then, what happened to him and what was that noise we heard?”
I had to admit the clank was peculiar. “It’s an old house that creaks?” I didn’t believe that, and from the look on Nina’s face, she didn’t, either. “It was probably Kurt sneaking out the back door. He most likely went home. Like we’re going to do right now.”
“Can we check his car one more time?”
“Sure. Would you feel better if you slept at my place?”
She thought about it. “No. Maybe he’ll call me back. He was a total worm, but at least I’d know I didn’t kill him.”
I switched off lights as we walked toward the foyer. “Will you stop saying that?” Locking the door behind us, I said, “The fact that he’s not bleeding to death on the floor ought to clue you in that he’s alive. Dead people don’t usually walk away.”
Unfortunately, Kurt’s SUV was still parked where they had left it. “Maybe he walked down to King Street for a drink.”
Nina nodded. “I could use one myself right about now.”
We parted ways in front of my house. Agitated and wide awake, I made a toasty hot chocolate to warm up, and rubbed my feet, now little more than frozen blocks, in front of the dying embers of the fire while Mochie head-butted me for attention.
Although I thought it obvious that Nina hadn’t killed Kurt, I slept uneasily, tossing and turning. Maybe it was guilt for not doing anything for Mordecai while he was alive to appreciate it. Maybe it was worry about Kurt.
I finally gave up on sleep. Since I planned to do some cleaning at Mordecai’s, I passed on a shower and pulled on old jeans and a sweatshirt that had belonged to Mars. It hung almost to my knees and made me resemble a gray penguin, but it didn’t matter. It was still dark outside when
I trotted downstairs. I poured bracing coffee into a thermos, and fed Mochie canned shrimp and crab. I snarfed a dry piece of toast, pleased with myself for not eating any butter or jam. The streetlights were still on when I crossed the road to Mordecai’s, armed with dusters and cleaning supplies and towing my vacuum cleaner.
I unlocked the door and was greeted by silence. Not even a clock ticked. Although I’d been in the house the day before, there was something creepy about being there alone. Some people thought they could feel a spirit in my kitchen, and I wondered briefly if Mordecai’s spirit still lingered in his house. I paused to listen for a clank like Nina and I had heard the night before, and scolded myself out loud. “Stop it! There’s no one here.”
Brushing morbid thoughts aside, I left my cleaning supplies in the living room and checked the backyard for poor little Emmaline. Mordecai had carried her everywhere. It seemed as if her sweet little paws never touched the ground. She must be in shock to be out in the cold, all alone. But there was no sign of her out back.
Just as Mordecai had predicted, china, stemware, and serving pieces waited in the butler’s pantry to be used. There was something unsettling about it, as if the plates had been carefully stashed there to wait for his death. I washed them all. Who knew how long they’d been collecting dust in the cabinets?
Somehow the living room felt empty. Unlike the family room, where Mordecai had clearly lived, the living room appeared to be stuck in a time warp—as though it had been abandoned years ago. Thick dust clung to everything, but there wasn’t much in the room.
I strode to the middle of the living room and checked it against Mordecai’s diagram. The sofa was against the wall, across from the fireplace. Faded blue velvet wing-back chairs flanked the sofa, and an antique painting of a landscape filled the wall above it. The biggest Oriental carpet I’d ever seen covered a good bit of the hardwood floor. A table and two graceful chairs with oval backs filled a spot in front of the windows that looked out to the street, and an antique secretary with ball-and-claw feet and latticework doors stood against the wall. Artfully arranged knickknacks were visible through the glass doors, and I wondered if they’d been touched at all since Mordecai’s wife passed away. I was willing to do a little dusting, but my generosity had its limits when it came to the sport of cleaning, which I despised.
I left the knickknacks alone. As long as no one opened the doors to the secretary, they probably wouldn’t notice anyway.
As I tried to wipe surfaces clean without kicking up the dust of the ages, I was glad the room appeared to match Mordecai’s sketch, and that I wouldn’t have to search the house for something that was missing. After dusting, I ran the vacuum and decided I’d had enough cleaning.
Although an enormous Louis XV sideboard filled the wall that led to the dining room, the long coffee table would be ideal for serving Mordecai’s menu to a small group. Not exactly a big job for his final request.
Day had dawned outside. I checked the backyard again for any sign of Emmaline, but she wasn’t there. When I returned with the food in the afternoon, I could put out a little bit to see if she would show up.
On my way out, I paused for a moment in the family room. Bernie and Mars had shoved aside some of the clutter. I’d been so alarmed late last night when we searched the house that I hadn’t even noticed a basic window seat of unstained wood resting on a tarp near the window. It was bigger than I’d expected, nearly sofa size. I had to give Bernie a lot of credit for whipping it up so fast, since I knew Mars couldn’t have been much help. Bernie had been right—it would be charming with loads of cushy pillows.
Anyone else would have kept it simple, but I appreciated Bernie’s nod to the ever-present need for storage by putting hinges on the top. I lifted the lid . . . and slammed it down.
My heart beat in my chest like it was trying to run away by itself. Swallowing hard, I opened the top again. Kurt lay on his back. All hint of color had drained from his face, but his hair matted in one horrible red spot, and a dried cherry stain marred his forehead.
I closed the lid, gently this time, and my thoughts flew to Nina. She would be devastated. I didn’t want to implicate her in anything, but I had no choice. I had to call the police. Amid the jumble of panicked thoughts racing through my head, it dawned on me that Kurt probably wouldn’t have crawled into the window seat to die. Someone had put him there. Someone who could still be in the house.
Like a shot, I fled out the front door to the sidewalk. I paused for a second to look up at the windows of Mordecai’s house, afraid I would see someone peering out at me. Chills ran through me and spurred me to race home and call 911.
When I hung up, I phoned Nina. She might be hysterical and say the wrong thing to the police, but she had to know that Kurt was dead and that the cops were on their way. Despite the early hour, I got her answering machine. I nearly left a message, but then I wondered if it would look bad. Besides, wasn’t this the kind of news best delivered in person?
I hung up and took a deep breath to calm myself and fetched a down jacket in case I had to wait outside. I had no intention of going into the house without a police escort. Willing myself to be calm, I locked my door, crossed the street, and was waiting in front of Mordecai’s porch when a squad car pulled up.
I expected to see Wolf, but a woman stepped out of the car and regarded me icily. “You again. You call about finding a dead person?” Her name tag identified her as Tara Borsos. She tossed a long, dyed-blond ponytail over her shoulder, and sized me up with eyes ringed with so much makeup that a raccoon would have been ashamed. Despite the fact that she wore a wool uniform, she appeared to be a size zero, which made me want to suck my stomach in.
“Just inside. Follow me.”
I hurried up the steps and opened the door.
She seemed to be taking in everything. “The door wasn’t locked?”
“It was this morning when I arrived—at least I think it was—but when I found Kurt’s body, I left in a hurry.”
She followed me into Mordecai’s family room and stopped cold. “Whoa. What happened in here?”
“An old man lived here, and he died a few days ago. We haven’t had a chance to do much cleaning up yet.”
She sniffed the air. “He died a few days ago? Didn’t you say he was dead the night before last when I caught you in his backyard? How did you know he was dead then if you just found him this morning?”
I understood her confusion. “No, no, no. The owner, who died a few days ago, is at the funeral home.”
“So there are two dead men?”
“Technically—yes.”
“A lot of dying going on in this house. And you knew both of them?”
“I knew my neighbor, but I only met the second dead man, Kurt Finkel, yesterday.” Why did I sound like such a goofball? “He’s in there.” I pointed at the window seat.
“This box?” She lifted the cover.
I averted my eyes. Poor Kurt. Did he have children? His family would be crushed. Except for his attack on Nina, he’d come across as a nice guy.
When I glanced back, Tara was studying me. “Do you see him now?”
What kind of moronic question was that? I peered into the box. It was empty.
SIX
From “ THE GOOD LIFE” :
Dear Sophie,
 
I love fabrics with patterns but I’m scared to death to combine them. I want to make pillows for my sofa but I don’t know where to start.
 
—Bewildered in Bee Ridge
 
Dear Bewildered,
 
Choose fabrics with a color in common. If using a periwinkle blue, for instance, be sure it’s in all the patterns. But vary the kinds of patterns. Mix a floral with a plaid and a polka dot. And vary the sizes, too. If you use a fabric with tiny bees embroidered on it, combine it with a medium plaid and a large floral.
 
—Sophie

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