4 DEAD ... If Only Page 16

  I wheeled around and began to open doors on the floor, quickly but quietly. Two empty bedrooms, with only a bed and dresser in each room, were sparsely decorated in more muted shades of grey. A small off-white rug on a dark grey granite floor provided the only warmth in each room. Apparently the Mannings were minimalists and super-duper boring in their tastes. Compared to them, the décor in a dentist’s office was exciting.

  Then I hit the third bedroom. It was anything but boring. Once I opened the door, I stood frozen for a moment just outside the doorframe. Then I crossed the threshold and closed the door behind me with a soft click. But I didn’t move inside the room, but rather, leaned against the inside of the door panting heavily, trying not to gag.

  Laying on the king-sized bed, white satin covers askew, was a woman I recognized as Pamela Manning, the now very dead Pamela Manning.

  Even against the white background of the linens, her skin seemed shockingly pale as she lay at an angle across the messy bedding. Rake thin and dressed in a red silk belted robe, one arm was extended over her head. A dark blue rubber tourniquet was tied tightly around the other outstretched arm just above the elbow.

  A syringe, still a quarter filled with a clear liquid, protruded from a needle halfway inside the crook of her arm. She didn’t have a peaceful look on her face, like I would expect from someone doing high-volume drugs. She actually looked a little scared, with half opened eyes, and a touch of shock about her mouth.

  Her cell phone lay at her side. Was she the person who called Manning this afternoon? I had to know. Besides, if it was her phone, I might be able to find Manning with it. With hesitant steps, I crossed over to the bed and picked up the phone, careful not to touch or disturb anything else. I shoved it into my pocket and backed up. Still staring at the body, I groped behind me for the door handle. Using the hem of my uniform, I wiped the handle clean of any fingerprints, unable to tear my eyes away from the horrible sight, a woman dead before her time. That’s always been my take on drug casualties, the needless waste.

  I stepped into the hallway just as the two men came tearing out of the study. I moved back inside the dead woman’s room again. The men raced down the main staircase. I knew where they were going. I took the time to wipe the outside doorknob, and flew down the staff stairs taking them two at a time. I was back in the kitchen a split second before they opened the door from the dining room.

  They came inside like two parents about to tell a twenty-three year old Hell’s Angel to get out of their house and leave their thirteen-year old daughter alone.

  Did they know about Pamela Manning’s death? I touched the phone inside my white smock. I pushed forward from the hall-door, as if I had been in the kitchen the entire time.

  “Hey!” The man in the grey suit took charge, his demeanor intimidating and angry. He shook the résumé in my uncle’s face. “Just who are you and what’s going on here? There’s no interviews scheduled --”

  “Ah,” interrupted Tío, completely at ease, “Aqui, tiene.”

  He handed a small, white cup of espresso, complete with two small brown sugar cubes and a lemon slice decorating the saucer, to the angry man. Then Tío, bless him, rattled off a lot of nonsense in Spanish about how he’d added a touch of chocolate to the beans and so forth, playing the part to the hilt. But, of course, he didn’t know about the dead body upstairs.

  “The interview will not take place.” I snatched the résumé from the man’s hand, using my haughtiest Lila Hamilton Alvarez tone of voice.

  “This kitchen is unsuitable, completely unsuitable for the standards of Chef Manuel Rodriguez. Why there’s not even a six-burner stove or a Sub Zero refrigerator. In a nutshell, it is subpar. We’re leaving. Right now.” I looked at the two men and waggled my finger in their stunned faces. “Do not even try to convince us to stay. It is useless.”

  I grabbed Tío by his sleeve and tugged him toward the dining room door. Tío managed to snatch up his chef knives with his free hand, as I dragged him to the door. We were followed out by two stuttering men.

  “But who sent you here? I don’t remember Mr. Randolph --”

  I ignored them and marched with Tío through the dining and living rooms and toward the front door. Tío followed without looking at me or betraying his own surprise at our hasty exit.

  I pulled the front door open then shoved my uncle outside. Tío gathered up our umbrella, while I turned back to the no longer angry but confused grey-suited man. I gave the word snooty new meaning as I squinted at him through my reading glasses.

  “There is absolutely no way Chef Manuel would even consider taking this job, sir. Entreat us how you will. I shall try not to look upon this as a personal insult to a man of his fame and stature. I will merely say he does not work under these conditions. Possibly in the future, Mr. Randolph will leave the staffing of his kitchen to the more experienced in the field. There is nothing worse than an amateur meddling in these affairs.”

  Tío was halfway down the walk and I ran to catch up with him.

  “Hurry, hurry, hurry, Tío,” I whispered.

  I glanced back at the two men standing in the doorway, befuddled and unsure of what had happened or what to do. Before they came to their senses, I wanted to be long gone. Also, if they did know about Pamela Manning’s death, they were very cool customers. I don’t like cool customers. I shoved Tío into the car, started it up, and went from zero to sixty to get out of there.

  Chapter Twenty

  One Step In Front Of The Other

  I slept little that night and awoke with a start shortly after eight a.m. It wasn’t just the shock of finding Pamela Manning’s body the night before, although that was bad enough. It was the fear of being caught, and by Devereux. We had no friends in the NOLA Police Department, an oddity for us. We were used to being liked. Not so here in Louisiana.

  I’d relayed what I’d found to Gurn and the Alvarez clan as soon as we arrived back at Mrs. Llewellyn’s home the night before. Even though Tío knew something was up, he had no idea it was as serious as it was. He was not happy. Nobody was.

  After much discussion of the pros and cons, it was decided not to report the death to the police. If Devereux found out Tío and I were there, he’d probably arrest us for something, anything. I didn’t have the time to spend in jail if I was to catch Manning. Fortunately, I hadn’t used our real names and did manage to get the résumé back, but still this was very dicey.

  Within many companies, Manning’s Rottweiler would have had nothing on me about lodgings. I would have been in a major doghouse, held entirely responsible for what happened. But such is not the case at D.I. Even though I’d done a lot of convincing to get everyone on board with the idea, once they agreed, we shared mutual responsibility for the deed. It was one of the upsides of our family business. My credibility was still intact, even though in the privacy of my own room, I’d done a little barking at myself. Woof. Woof.

  I redeemed myself somewhat in my mind with Pamela Manning’s cell phone. Hers was an older one, not a smart phone, but at least we had something. Richard started ripping it apart the minute he got his geeky little hands on it.

  Her last call had been around the same time I saw Manning answer the phone and leave Colbert’s Motors. Not exact proof, but we believed we now had Dennis Manning’s phone number. As to tracking his movements, via his cell phone, that was proving more difficult. Richard couldn’t trace a GPS on him, no matter what. Maybe it was a throwaway phone. Go to Target or Wal-Mart, and you’ll find plenty of them. And all untraceable.

  Remembering all this caused me to shudder violently. Both cats were curled up at my feet, but jarred awake by my sudden movements. I reached out for Gurn in the next bed, but saw it was empty. A note on his pillow explained he had gone out to a nearby firing range with the Smith and Wesson, with plans to return around eight-thirty. Reluctant to start a day I knew would be long and hellacious, I returned to my small, narrow bed reminiscent of my summer camp days, and lay back down. The more I ca
me to, the more I could feel the tension rising in my gut. Less than forty-eight hours to find Manning or he would be gone forever.

  Truth be told, I was tired and feeling stuffed. Tío outdid himself the night before, even with the delay of serving dinner until after nine o’clock. Mine is a hardy stomach, and finding a dead body did nothing to deter my appetite. In one single sitting, I probably Étoufféed back the four pounds I’d just lost.

  I could feel the sticky morning air even with the overhead fan going. Sitting up, I glanced out the window. The sun was fighting to burn off low, grey clouds and there wasn’t a wind stirring.

  The gorgeous tree with the red-orange flowers was as still as a painting in the Louvre. It had to be over ninety degrees and ninety percent humidity. The air felt weighty and oppressive, and not a breeze to stir it.

  The sliding metal of the front door and the return of the lock snapped my head in that direction. I waited, hand under my pillow resting on Lady Blue. Gurn tiptoed in, saw I was awake and beamed at me. He came over to the bed and leaned down, maybe for a morning’s kiss. I grabbed him and pulled him down on top of me, where we rolled around for few seconds. This was a man worth waking up to.

  “So tell me, Mr. Hanson, how’s life treating you?”

  “Better, now that I’ve got you in my arms.” He looked down at me and waggled his eyebrows.

  I let out a disappointed sigh before I spoke again. “But we have to get going. We have a meeting with Lila at nine at Mrs. Llewellyn’s place, remember?”

  He sat up, in an attempt to cool things down. “That’s right. Your hot body threw me off my game.” He got up and pulled the spiffy, clean Smith and Wesson from his knapsack and held the barrel to the ceiling. “I was at the firing range around six-thirty this morning. This is a first-rate gun.”

  “I’m so glad.”

  “The front and rear sites are about as accurate as you can get.”

  “I’m so glad.”

  “It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to carry this gun.”

  “Not happening.”

  “In addition to, not instead of the Detective Special. Please, Lee.”

  “Carry two guns? Who do you think I am, Rambo?”

  “Think about it. Given what’s going on and who we’re dealing with, it couldn’t hurt. I’ve got more than one, myself.”

  He turned away and pulled the magazine out of the gun, checking the chamber to make sure a bullet wasn’t in it. I sat up and studied the man who was fastidious in so many ways, yet easy going in the important ones. He liked my family. He liked my cat. He even had one of his own, with whom I was often in sort of a competition for his affections, if I may call a female feline a ‘whom’. That stated, he seriously liked me. No, correction. He loved me. I have come to believe that.

  Gurn has two jobs that transect in the weirdest way possible, a certified public accountant and a commander in the Navy Reserves. What’s up with that? I mean, how come a CPA has a direct line to Washington D.C. and is summoned there periodically, sometimes in the middle of the night? Okay, so he’s got a cute little plane, but still. One of these days, I may get the whole story. Or not.

  That stated, I loved him.

  I waffled. Maybe I should consider upgrading my handgun. Mine was from the sixties. Time marches on, as my crow’s feet remind me every day.

  “Okay, put the sucker in my bag and I’ll give it serious thought, okay?”

  “That’s all I ask. Think about it seriously. I’ll even include some ammo, free of charge.”

  Gurn gave me a glorious smile and once again, I remembered that compromise is the key to a successful relationship. Not a sellout but a compromise.

  “I have a suggestion, Gurn. After our meeting, let’s walk by Manning’s new digs; see if anything has been discovered.”

  “I’m kind of curious myself. You’re sure she was dead?”

  “They don’t get any deader. Trust me. Oh! And Andy should be on the plane, right?”

  “Supposedly, he took a six a.m. flight with copies of the papers. I figure I’ll give the legal eagles ‘til three o’clock before I started calling for an update. Last night they said they’d drop everything and get right on it. I made coffee. Take your shower. I’ll run over to Beignet’s for some to go, and bring the car around. Downstairs in fifteen minutes?”

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  I fed the cats, emptied the litter pan, showered, put on my new teal dress and navy flats, and threw my shoulder bag around my neck, all in less than ten. And they say women can’t get ready in time.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Another Set of Surprises

  Due to traffic, we pulled into Mrs. Llewellyn’s driveway five minutes late despite me being ready ahead of time. Delphine greeted us at the door.

  “Good morning, Miss Alvarez, Mr. Hanson. The other members of your family are in the breakfast nook, where a hot breakfast is awaiting you.”

  “Thank you, Delphine,” both Gurn and I said in unison and then looked at one another. This to the manor born stuff was a little hard to get used to.

  “And Mrs. Llewellyn asked me to apologize for her absence again this morning. Her meeting ran longer than expected last night and she decided to stay at her pied-à-terre downtown. She should return mid-morning and hopes to see you both then to welcome you to New Orleans. She asked me to convey an invitation for a late lunch, if you are free.”

  Gurn and I started to say thank you in unison again, but hesitated, trying not to laugh. He nodded to me and I took the lead.

  “Please thank Mrs. Llewellyn for us, Delphine, but we have some urgent business we need to take care of today. Possibly we can meet for drinks or something this evening?”

  Delphine nodded with a smile, “Of course. I will relay the message to Mrs. Llewellyn when she returns later this morning. May I show you to the breakfast nook?” She gestured with her hand in the direction of one of the doors off the foyer.

  “That’s quite all right,” Gurn said. “We can find it on our own.”

  “We’ll just follow the sounds of chomping,” I added.

  “In that case, if you will excuse me, I have some brief errands to attend to, and will bid you a good morning.”

  “Absolutely.” I suppressed the urge to curtsy. “You just carry on. And good morning to you.”

  We watched her take her handbag from behind a vase on a table, open the door, and with a smiling glance in our direction she left, closing the door silently behind her.

  “She seems to make you nervous.” Gurn took me by the arm and pulled me toward the door Delphine had pointed out earlier.

  “I know and I’m not sure why. I mean, I grew up with Guadalupe working at our house, but she never treated me like the queen mother. I was just one of her kids. Still am. I even get her Mother’s Day cards.”

  “Well, Delphine has a different style, more like Anthony Hopkins in ‘Remains of the Day’.

  “Was that a great movie or what? Although I’m surprised you know it.”

  “What are you talking about? You made me watch it twice.”

  “Oh, that’s right.”

  “I have to admit, it’s pretty good.”

  And that inane conversation brought us into what was laughingly called the breakfast nook, a room nearly as big as my entire garage apartment back in Palo Alto. It was a circular room, decorated in a way that gave the illusion of being inside an amusement park’s old-fashioned merry-go-round. Spaced along the sides of the curved walls and galloping in still life, were four white, life-size wooden horses, looking very authentic and old.

  Their original condition only added to their beauty and wonder. Time worn, with flecks of paint missing here and there, the horses’ colorful plumes, jewels, and harnesses stirred the childhood memories of giving yourself over to a ride on a carousel.

  Candy-striped poles, worn in places where decades of small hands gripped tightly, spiraled up toward the ceiling and finished off with multi-colored felt banners representing
real or imagined royal houses. Everything about the horses seemed to invite you to jump on and take a ride, even at my age.

  I ripped my eyes from them and looked at the walls. They were decorated in elaborate panels of muted red, blue and yellow wallpaper. Overhead, similarly striped fabric came from the top of the walls and gather at the center of the ceiling in a twisted knot, finishing off in gold braids and tassels. A huge mirror-ball hung down from that and rotated slowly, casting blings of light everywhere. Beneath it sat a white round table and six chairs at which Mom, Tío, and Richard were already seated and eating.

  After our usual greetings, and us not saying a word about my discovery the night before, I turned to the side table holding steamers of scrambled eggs, grits, bacon, hash browns, toast and a carafe of coffee. Being the good doobies we were, we offered the beignets, as well, but it was a little like bringing poker chips to Vegas.

  I turned to my brother. “So is Vicki still in her room resting?”

  “No,” Richard said. “I accidentally woke her up when I came in around five am and crashed. She’s been up ever since, ate earlier, and is out in the garden, reading.”

  “Sounds like she’s better,” I said.

  “The dress suits you, Liana,” Mom said, as I perused the table for some goodies.

  “Thank you, Mom. You’ve got wonderful taste and I love everything you gave me.” I turned to Mom after picking up a plate and loading it down. Suddenly I was starved.

  “So our hostess is on yet another board doing yet more good works? She gets around.”

  “Yes, she left a message with Delphine last night. She should be back sometime soon.”

  “Well, for an absentee hostess, she sure can lay out a table.” I sat down and took a huge bite of eggs and buttered grits. Yum.

  “That would actually be Delphine,” Mom corrected. “And should she ever decide to move to the Bay Area, I would be hard pressed not to invite her to work for us.”