False Premises (6 page)

“She’s a piece of work, all right. She nearly had me convinced, too. And now she has Dave under her spell.”

After another pause, he muttered, “I don’t hate all women, Gilbert. I just said that in anger.”

“I realize that.” Although, frankly, I still wasn’t all that sure that he didn’t hate
me.
There were times when he was nastier to me than he was to anyone else. We’d had some bad arguments in the two-plus years since we’d first met.

Forcing myself away from that line of thought, I said, “Here’s the plan. I’m going to call Linda.”

“Linda?”

“Officer Delgardio.”

“Hey, that’s right.” Steve brightened a little. “You have an in with the cops.”

“I prefer to think of her as a friend who happens to be a police officer.”

“Whatever.” He reached into his jacket pocket. “Want to use my cell phone?”

“No, thanks. I won’t talk on the phone while driving. I’ll call from my office, and I’ll let you know what she says.”

“Okay, but . . . we’ve got to move fast, Gilbert. Bet you anything Laura’s packing up to skip town, even as we speak.”

“There’d be no point in her leaving town
now,
Sullivan. She can’t rip off her insurance company when she knows we’d testify against her. And if she were worried about getting arrested, she wouldn’t have returned to Crestview in the first place. She’s obviously certain she can buffalo her way through this.”

We’d arrived at Sullivan’s office, and I pulled over to let him out. He grumbled, “If it comes down to it, I’ll keep a watch on her place myself tonight.”

“You’re going to stake out her house?!”

“You bet I am!” Leaning down to my eye level, he explained, “The woman stole three hundred thousand dollars from me!”

“
That
much? Jeez!” I couldn’t stay and help him to calm down; I was already late for an appointment with a client. I merely repeated, “I’ll let you know what Linda says.” Sullivan frowned and shut the door, and I drove off.

Was I giving him good advice? Maybe we
should
have driven straight to the police station. For one of the few times in my life, I felt hopelessly outmatched. All of the rules of normal human interactions were suddenly useless to me; they were based on the assumption that the other person had scruples. And yet Laura Smith was willing and able to lie about anything through those perfect teeth of hers. She had no compunction to play by the rules, whereas I didn’t even know how to function without them.

I had a vision of Sullivan charging into his van and going back to confront her again the moment I was out of sight. That possibility frightened me to the bone. In Denver just a year or two ago a man had shot his neighbor’s dog in the dog’s own yard. When the neighbor stormed to the shooter’s porch, he too was shot to death. The district attorney wouldn’t bring the case to trial, because it fit the definition of the “make-my-day” self-defense law.

“Oh, Steve,” I murmured, feeling helpless and confused. “Be wise.”

Chapter 4

A centerpiece should be precisely that—an enticing and soul-centering piece of your household décor that captures the eye and draws you and your guests to your table, be it for a fancy feast or for a simple coffee break in an otherwise hectic day.

—Audrey Munroe

With Linda Delgardio unable to meet me until eight P.M. and Steve Sullivan merely keeping “a distant eye” on Laura’s house—at least according to what he’d assured me on his cell phone— I rushed home after work, eager to unwind and tell my troubles to my cat, Hildi. My sleek black cat sometimes proved to be a better listener than Audrey Munroe, who could be so obsessed with preparing her show segments that she became oblivious to the fact that I, too, had a life.

For me, there was nothing quite as inspiring and soul-cheering as the walk I took from my street parking on Maplewood Avenue into Audrey’s exquisite foyer. When designing this small, high-ceilinged entrance room, I’d angled the height of the chandelier so that, from Audrey’s slate walkway, the illuminated crystals glittered and beckoned through the transom like bright, dangling diamonds.

I unlocked Audrey’s ornate leaded-glass oak door and stepped inside, breathing in the sweet, warm air. In keeping with the Italianate design of this redbrick home, the floor was an Italian marble mosaic that made the footfalls of hard-soled shoes sound regal. The plaster walls were painted a light gray that Farrow & Ball had enticingly named “skylight.” The paint gave such depth and substance to the walls that they instantly seemed to embrace me. From the carved dome ceiling, the crystal chandelier sparkled and bathed the room in shimmering light. Centered along one wall was a small square antique oak stand; on it, a stunning porcelain vase held a fresh-cut bouquet of white roses. On the opposite wall hung a mirror in a carved antique frame. Although lovely, that item now only reminded me of Laura’s fake antique, and I averted my gaze.

I slowly removed my coat and hung it in the closet, where I also stashed my purse. In my current mood, I was in no hurry to enter the main living space. This foyer and the gorgeous kitchen were the only rooms that Audrey ever allowed to remain in pristine condition. There was never any way of telling just what awaited me, furniture-wise, in the room on the other side of the French double doors.

Steeling myself, I opened the door and discovered that, indeed, Audrey was in the throes of one of her research projects for her show. She had shoved most of the furnishings against the walls and had spread out six tablecloths on the floor. Each cloth sported a centerpiece of varying size and composition. Audrey was seated in a semi-lotus position beside them, surveying the table arrangement directly in front of her. Hildi sat right next to her.

Hildi promptly meowed a greeting, feline, no doubt, for: I had nothing to do with this mess. She was no more fond of Audrey’s frequent furniture rearranging than I was, although this particular project had given her so many accessible play toys that her suffering was minimal.

Without so much as a hello, Audrey asked, “What’s your opinion on centerpieces, Erin?”

“You want my ‘opinion,’ singular? Such as if centerpieces work best on a table or on the floor?”

She didn’t crack a smile. Instead, she grabbed the Tiffany notebook that she perpetually used to jot down ideas for Dom Bliss—her nickname for her highly rated TV show. “In terms of what their purpose and function should be.”

“Ah.To decorate the table.”

Again, she gave no reaction to my sarcasm. The woman could outstubborn me even at my most obstinate moments, so I might as well cooperate with her. I took a seat beside Audrey on the lush Oriental area rug. To pamper myself, I brushed my fingertips along the wool bristles, admiring the deep, rich, firebrick red, suitable for a king’s robe, and the royal navy blue in their sometimes-geometric, sometimesfloral pattern. So much time, talent, and craftsmanship had gone into producing this one hand-knotted carpet.

With a sigh, I answered, “Personally, I consider centerpieces a must. When I’m revealing a newly done-up dining room or even a kitchen with a table, I always accessorize with a centerpiece. I make sure that it pulls in an accent color or echoes some of the room’s lines.” I paused and reconsidered my statement.“Actually, sometimes I just want the centerpiece to draw the eye to a particularly nice tabletop. I use a white centerpiece on a dark wood tabletop, or dark on light.”

Audrey made a couple of swift notations, then surveyed the six tableclothes.“I’ve been trying these various centerpieces on the different shapes of tables . . . trying to decide if I like them better as symmetrical or asymmetrical, according to their table shape. What do you think?”

With regal grace, Hildi strode over and settled onto my lap. While stroking her soft fur, I answered Audrey.“For room designs, I’m a big believer in asymmetrical designs . . . but I like symmetrical centerpieces the best. I sort of like the idea of dinner guests being more or less equidistant from the centerpiece.That’s really just a matter of personal taste, though. What is important is that the size of the centerpiece be in scale with the size of the table.”

She nodded as she again took notes.

“You did a great job with the floating-candles one here . . . particularly for not actually lighting them when Hildi is in the room to play with the flames,” I added.

“That’s my favorite centerpiece of the six.” She peered at me over the frame of her reading glasses.“Any tips for the centerpiece composition itself?”

I gave a shrug. “You’re more creative with this type of thing than I am.That simple arrangement you made last Christmas with the pine boughs and the small gold-spray-painted pumpkins and gourds was glorious.”

She grinned at me.“Thank you!”

“But, in general, I love fresh-cut flowers, candles . . . the classics. I’m partial to crystal or porcelain bowls and vases. But ceramics can be wonderful, too. When it comes to everyday centerpieces, I like the old standbys . . . the bowl of fresh fruit for an everyday centerpiece, the fresh-cut flowers in an attractive vase . . . one that doesn’t tip over easily.”

Audrey nodded, but she was still looking at me expectantly, so I continued. “If this is a dinner party where people don’t necessarily know one another well, an unusual centerpiece can be a nice conversation starter. The only type of centerpiece I truly hate is a big, tall contraption where you have to crane your neck to see someone seated on the opposite side.” I paused.“Or are you primarily interested in talking about centerpieces for special occasions?”

She winked. “That’s okay, dear. Special occasions are my forte.” Indeed, most of the arrangements that she’d done in this room were clearly intended for Easter. She’d used pastel colors for her flowers, dyed eggs, even some jelly beans. One especially nice arrangement incorporated a mirror base and a string of tiny white lights.

She closed her notebook. “Heard anything new from Wonder Woman?”

“Pardon?”

“Your guest from my presentation last night. The one who sent that odd-looking young man flying across the room. Did she ever call you back?” She rose and stretched.“And was she all right?”

“Physically, yes. In all other areas, the jury’s still out.”

“Have you eaten dinner already?” Audrey asked absently, glancing at her watch. Apparently she’d already lost interest in hearing about Laura.

“No, I have to—”

“You’re in luck,” she called as she left the room. “We had Chef Michael on today’s show.”

That cheered me up immediately.“Yum!” I said quietly to Hildi as she stepped off my lap to follow Audrey into the kitchen.“Dom-Bliss leftovers!”

The scents as I entered the kitchen made my mouth water. Even without the delectable aromas, this spacious room was utterly scrumptious, its colors, textures, and glittering surfaces making such a glorious feast for the eye. A red-to-yellow palette brought such warmth to the room—from the coppery-red hues of the maple floor and copper oven range hood to the creamy ivory walls above stately yellow-ocher ceramic tiles. Clear-glass-and-white-wood cabinet doors lovingly mimicked Audrey’s eight-pane windows, giving such a clean, airy feel to the space. On the kitchen island, below the regal oval-shaped antique copper chandelier with its lovely alabaster ceramic candles, a Naples yellow bowl filled with Macintosh apples served as the centerpiece.

“What can I contribute?” I asked, heading toward the spotless stainless-steel refrigerator. “A spinach salad, maybe?”

Audrey removed a steaming dish from the oven and replied, “Absolutely.” She set the dish on the Caledonia granite countertop near an indigo glass vase that brimmed with marigolds.“Plus all the details.”

“Details?”

“About your enigmatic, judo-flipping friend.” She turned to face me.“You didn’t actually think I was going to let you off the hook with that skimpy story, did you?”

I had no good response to that question, so I merely gave her a sheepish smile, feeling my cheeks grow warm. Lately I seemed to be making a regular habit of misjudging people.