Jean Harrington - The Monet Murders

Just like me. I sighed and gave in on the spot. “What did you have in mind?”

The last bites of her burger abandoned, Lee leaned forward, eyes aglow. “Well, I’m free Wednesday and Friday afternoons from two to five. I kind of thought if you’re working all alone, you might need to leave, you know, to go to customers’ homes and stuff. I could keep the shop open. At least two afternoons a week.”

“Lee, has anyone ever told you that you’re a steel magnolia?”

Her brow furrowed. “No. What do y’all mean?”

“You’re strong.”

“I wish my daddy thought so,” she said, looking as wistful as an abandoned child.

“If he didn’t before, chances are he does now. Though you’d better be careful walking home at night. He might follow you.”

“It’s okay, Deva. He won’t hurt me.”

Hoping she was right, I glanced out onto Sugden Square. Couples strolling arm in arm had replaced the tourist families. As night deepened, the lights on the tree trunks transformed the palms into glimmering sculptures. A lovely sight, but I couldn’t keep staring at it without answering Lee’s question. Yet how to answer her? The last thing I wanted was to hurt her feelings, but with my entire future at stake, the truth was my only option. I pulled my gaze from the square and looked across the table.

She was a beautiful girl, anyone could see that, but I suspected her wardrobe consisted of jeans, Reeboks and T-shirts. Loose T-shirts. Daddy wouldn’t have allowed anything else.

“Well, for openers, interior designers sell the sizzle. The steak comes later.”

“Y’all confusing me, Deva.”

“What I mean is it’s an image business.”

She nodded, her brow creasing as she waited for me to make my point.

Oh boy, this wasn’t going to be easy, but I had no choice except to plunge ahead. “To put it in as few words as possible, you need a signature look.”

“A what?”

I blew out a breath. “Clothes.”

“Oh. I don’t have any,” she said, sagging back onto the metal chair. “Nothing but jeans and tops.”

She looked so upset, I quickly added, “I can help you with that. So say we agree…you work in the shop Wednesday and Friday afternoons.” I held up a warning hand. “On three conditions.”

She nodded before I could count them off.

Index finger: “You bring your homework. When the shop’s quiet, you get in some studying.”

Third finger: “As soon as I’m out of the red, you go on the payroll.”

Ring finger: “Before you start, I buy you a black dress and high-heeled sandals. Black is fabulous on blondes. Wait and see. And a string of chunky faux pearls.”

“I’ve never had no black dress before.”

We’d have to work on those double negatives, too, but not tonight.

“Tomorrow’s Wednesday, why don’t you stop by at two, and we’ll shop for a dress?”

The smile on her face drove away any misgivings I might have had-except for one. “If you’re going to work with me, there’s something I should warn you about.” I hesitated. What I had to tell her might kill our association before it began. I gave a mental shrug. No way to avoid that. She deserved to know. “I’m involved with the police.”

Before I could say another thing, she raised her right hand then dropped it, palm down. “Don’t you go worrying yourself one little bit, Deva. I read the newspaper this morning. I know all about that dead body you found.”

So, apparently, did everybody else in town. On Thursday, for the second day in a row, the Naples Daily News headlined the double crimes. By Friday, local TV channels were focused on little else. Even CNN gave the story a mention, but except for questioning me at the scene, the police hadn’t contacted me.

I’d hung the bells back on the shop door, and each time they jangled I expected to see a cop in the doorway. So maybe it was a good thing for my nervous system that walk-in business was practically nonexistent.

Anyway, Friday was Rossi Day, and I was curious to see his place. How he lived, the colors on his walls, the furniture-the pictures of his old girlfriends-would all have a tale to tell, and I couldn’t wait to hear it. Anyway, considering his execrable taste in clothes, whatever his motive for hiring me, I probably had my work cut out, which was fine. A healthy person didn’t need a doctor, right?

At eleven I changed the arrow on the Open sign in the shop window to two o’clock and locked up.

It was good to know that if I didn’t make it back by two, Lee would reopen for me. As expected, she looked breathtakingly beautiful in her new black dress, her blond hair shimmering over her shoulders, her long, slim legs showcased in the new high-heeled sandals. What were a few double negatives in light of all that? She’d be a wonderful, reliable asset to the business, I was certain of it. Now I just had to drum up enough business to keep her.

Rossi lived in East Naples, in Countryside, a gated community with a security system that rivaled the Kremlin’s. When I finally got through the guard check at the entrance gate, I drove along a curvy street lined with mailboxes and well-groomed lawns. A single-story stucco like its neighbors, Rossi’s house had curb appeal-new-looking beige paint, Mexican tile roof, shrubs trimmed to within an inch of their lives, walks swept clean of even so much as a fallen leaf.

I sat in the Audi staring at the property for a while. Not bad. I resisted the thought that Rossi had tidied it up just for me. Still, the possibility that he might have made me smile. Why, I had no idea. At least none I was willing to admit to. Now for the interior and a peek into Rossi’s psyche, if not into his underwear drawers.

I climbed out of the car, walked up the brick path to the front entrance and rang the bell-a no-nonsense buzzer. The door flew open.

“Lieutenant! You’re supposed to be at work.” I eyed him suspiciously. Had he lied to me about Wilma, his cleaning lady? Was this a trap? I sighed and walked in anyway, telling myself every man in the world didn’t find me irresistible. In fact, most didn’t, and Rossi was probably in that vast number.

“I worked all night,” he said. “Just came home to grab a shower.” He looked so heavy-eyed and fatigued I believed him.

“I can come back later. You have more important things to do than-”

“No, no. Life goes on even during police investigations. Come in. Come in. I’ve been waiting for you.” He waved me inside with a wide swipe of his right arm.

“If you’re sure. We can make it fast.”

“Not to hurry, Mrs. D. I have time.”

I walked through the small, bland foyer into a living room that was a virtual sea of light beige. Walls, furniture, rug, lamps. Straight ahead, open glass sliders led to a pool sparkling in the morning sunlight, its vivid aquamarine a jolt of visual relief. The only one. I glanced around. Not only was everything beige, everything was immaculate. Not a newspaper, a coffee cup, a discarded slipper or a wilted flower anywhere.

“Your cleaning lady just leave?” I asked.

“No, I told Wilma to skip this week.”

“It’s this clean after a whole week?”

“Two weeks.” He let his glance roam over me and changed the subject. “No dress today?”

“You don’t like slacks?”

“Yeah, I do. They’re a good tradeoff.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No legs, but-”

– ass. “Don’t go there, Rossi.”

“No.” He ran a hand over his stubbly jaw. “I was definitely out of line with that one. See what you do to me, Mrs. D?”

He did look distracted. He must have the murder on his mind. Not to mention the Monet. No doubt he needed to get back to work as soon as possible. I didn’t want to waste his time. “Where’s your bedroom?” I asked.