Murder Under the Italian Moon Page 2

  "Did you do something? You look…"

  "My hair, Mom. I had to lighten it. The part called for a blonde."

  "Oh!" My son the actor. I had to smile.

  Passengers crowded around the luggage carousel. Lots of tired eyes and sleepy faces. "Did you stop by the house while I was away? I know it's silly, but I worry about Flash. Then I see her and all is well and promise myself I won't do that again."

  "No. Sorry. We've been shooting in Palm Springs. We're behind schedule." He ran his fingers through his straight hair, now cut short. He seemed tired.

  "I'm sure Mrs. Russell has everything under control."

  He patted my arm, his eyes alight with mischief.

  I always suspected him of having a crush on Ruby, and she was one of his biggest fans.

  The conveyor belt started moving. I craned my neck, even though Kyle was tall enough to see over the people in front of us. A familiar sound wailed from somewhere behind me. A violin?

  I froze. A remembered strain of Ponte Vecchio's sidewalk music floated through my mind.

  "I won't be able to stay." Kyle interrupted my thoughts. "I'm dropping you off and driving back."

  "Tonight?"

  He checked his watch. "This morning. It'll be morning by the time we get to the car and drive to Dana Point."

  A handful of worn-out passengers from Flight 1902 were still waiting when my luggage finally tumbled out at the very end of the carousel, looking as tired and beat up as I felt.

  We managed to get into Kyle's Porsche by 1:30. I'd suggested taking a taxi, but my son was adamant.

  "Chill out. I've lost sleep for less worthy causes."

  Deep down I was thankful, even felt special.

  The Porsche was Kyle's high school graduation present. Nick had bought it at a police auction. Restoring the twelve-year-old convertible became father and son's grand project. Not that either one knew much about cars in general, or Porsches in particular. After many trips to the library and to used-parts dealers, the car began to look like new. Better than new. They decided on a rich shade of brown for the exterior and invested in some leather seats. By graduation, the Porsche was in mint condition. Kyle kept the car in top shape, even after all these years.

  During the ride home, I told him about my strange encounter on Ponte Vecchio.

  "And he had just vanished?"

  "Pretty much. None of the other vendors acknowledged his earlier presence or his existence, for that matter. Very, very strange."

  "What did the chart look like?" Kyle kept his eyes on the road.

  "The way it used to before the computer era, I guess. I left it in my coat pocket. It's in one of the suitcases."

  We traveled south on the 405. I always got excited when the San Diego Freeway merged with the Santa Ana. I told people that was when I could smell the brine. But that was a stretch of the imagination—the Pacific Ocean lay hills and canyons away. Then the ocean side of the freeway flattened, with fewer tall buildings and more tall trees. Even without daylight, I searched for a flash of blue water. I wouldn't see any. The ocean was as black as the sky. Still, it was one of my homecoming routines.

  We pulled up to the security gate of my complex a little after 3:00 a.m. Kyle punched in the code, and the ornate wrought-iron gate slid open. The Porsche glided over the private road lined with palm trees and stopped in the guest parking.

  I was still digging in my bag when my son used his key to unlock the front door of my town house. The moment I stepped across the threshold, a pungent stench hit my nostrils. I gagged. The smell of ammonia and cat feces was overpowering. The cat litter hadn't been changed in a very long time.

  "Flash? Mommy's home. Here, kitty, kitty." I waited for a black shadow to dart into my arms. Nothing.

  Kyle fanned himself with the weathered newspaper he'd picked up by my front door. "Phew, it's making me wanna puke. Why didn't you take Flash to Cat's Mirage?"

  "Ruby offered to take care of her."

  I opened the French doors leading to the back patio. Mail lay scattered across the thick glass dining room table. How odd. In the past, Ruby kept it organized every day.

  "Mom, let's run through the place and make sure everything's okay. I've got to get going."

  "Of course. I'm sorry."

  Kyle followed me up the stairs.

  We walked through the house and opened most of the windows. The smell of the filthy litter box improved only a little. "Everything looks fine. Better get going, and please take it easy, will you? I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you on your way back to Palm Springs."

  "I'll call you." He hugged me and left.

  I stood by the front door until his headlights came on. Then I wasted no time changing the litter box. I called my cat a few more times, and when I headed for the bedroom, something stroked my leg,

  "Flash." I picked her up and rubbed my chin on her silky black head. "Are you mad at me for going away?" She cried while I carried her down to the kitchen. She felt so skinny. Could she be sick? Finally, she began to purr. Poverina, poor baby. I put her down and went into the laundry room for her dish. Both of Flash's food containers were empty, and her water bowl held only dust. I filled the water bowl and the dry-food container. What could have happened to keep Ruby from coming to the house? She wasn't the type of person to neglect a cherished pet on purpose. Maybe she called me at the hotel to prepare me for this? Nonsense. Why not call Kyle instead? He could have hired help.

  I was tempted to phone Ruby and give her a piece of my mind. Knowing her, she must have found something very special to distract her. Her husband wouldn't appreciate a phone call at 3:45 a.m. I'd have to wait.

  Still, I didn't like it. Idiot that I am, I wanted reassurance Ruby was okay.

  The ringing of the phone woke me. A ribbon of sunshine draped across my hand when I picked up the receiver.

  "Hello?"

  "Mrs. York? Donatella York?"

  I stifled a yawn and glanced at the alarm clock. 11:00 a.m.

  No one called me Donatella. "Who is this?"

  "I'm Lieutenant Devin, Orange County Sheriff's Department. I'm with the Homicide Division, ma'am."

  "Homicide? Mio dio!"

  "I need to speak with you at your earliest convenience."

  "Excuse me. Did you say homicide?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I need to speak to you about the Russell case."

  "Ruby Russell?" I missed the rest of Devin's answer because I dropped the phone and lost the dial tone.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I needed to think about Ruby and about this cop, Devin. This homicide cop. He hadn't mentioned Ruby by name, but then again, I didn't know anyone else named Russell aside from Ruby and Tom. Barely awake and already under stress. Welcome home, all right. The quickest way to find out what was going on would be the direct approach. I picked up the phone and dialed Ruby's house.

  Her recorded voice caught me off guard. "…but if you leave your phone number and a brief message…" I hung up. Pure torture. Listening to her voice and not knowing if she was dead or alive. I tried her cell, but it rang several times before going to a message that her mailbox was full.

  The doorbell rang. My heart skipped a beat. Lieutenant Devin? So early? How did he get through the gate? Cops must have special passes. I fought my sense of dread and opened the door.

  A boy, maybe five or six years old, stared at me. A new neighbor? I smiled, not sure what to do. Long time since I'd been around kids his age.

  "Hi. You didn't get your paper." He handed me the Dana Point News.

  I forgot my subscription was scheduled to restart delivery today. "Thank you." I took one end of the rolled-up paper, but he held on tight. Did he expect a tip?

  "I live next door." His hair and complexion were unusually light, and he had the eyes of a child more grown up than he should have been. "My name is David." He let go of the paper. "Do you live here?"

  I nodded, more puzzled than before.

  "Where's the other lady?"


  An uneasy feeling kept me from answering the child's question. Footsteps sounded and a tall, dark-haired man walked up to the house and stood behind David, watching me.

  "You must be Lieutenant Devin." I looked down. "I'll talk to you later, little boy." Calling him a little boy seemed to irk him; he frowned like older people did.

  I invited the lieutenant in and closed the door on David's disappointed face.

  "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Mrs. York."

  "Yes, well, what is happening with my friend? I didn't quite comprehend what you were telling me—jet lag. I'm very concerned. I should have heard something, a phone call."

  "I understand you've been out of the country."

  "How do you know? Have you spoken to Ruby?" I still couldn't get myself to ask what I was dying to know: Is Ruby all right? "I got home from Italy last night—well, this morning. It's such a shock. I don't understand why Kyle didn't know. Kyle's my son."

  He followed me into the living room and sat on the armchair across from me without hesitation. The lieutenant seemed to feel very comfortable. Too bad I didn't. I had expected a man in his position to be an endless source of information. Wrong. Seeing him so relaxed made me anxious. Why? I had nothing to hide, but growing up in Italy I always harbored great respect and a good dose of fear around people in uniforms. Devin wore civilian clothing.

  "I'm sorry to be the one to break the news to you." His voice sounded only a tad above a whisper. Not intimidating at all. A learned expedient?

  I waved my hand. "It's okay." I braced myself for what would come next.

  "One of the neighbors interviewed after the accident suggested your name as the closest friend to the Russells."

  "True. That's true." I took a breath. "Lieutenant, why don't you get to the point? Tell me why…I mean, what has happened to Ruby?"

  "Ruby—Mrs. Russell—you mean after she shot her husband?"

  "What?" I opened and closed my mouth, the smoothness of his statement still piercing my eardrums. "No. No. Wait. You said…I thought…Ruby shot Tom? Ruby isn't dead?"

  "Ruby?" He looked straight into my eyes and I noticed his.

  Devin's eyes were gray, slightly almond shaped. Or maybe he cultivated an eternal squint to confuse people. Then again, my knowledge of detectives' habits was limited to ancient Columbo reruns on sleepless nights.

  "Why did you assume Ruby to be the victim?" He tapped his fingers on the mini recorder he'd taken from his jacket pocket. The drumming sounded soft yet as precise as a metronome's rhythm. Time passed. The man knew how to wait.

  I sat up straight and reached for my cup. I clamped my hands on the mug, head down, eyes closed. Ruby was alive. She shot her husband. Emotions rushed through my mind like debris in a hurricane. What was wrong with me? I couldn't decide if I felt relief or disappointment.

  "Please, forgive me. This morning, when you called, I was sound asleep. I assumed…" I finally raised my eyes to him.

  He relaxed against the back of the chair, returning my stare, his eyes as unreadable as before. "I apologize if I misled you. It happened in his office. He was cleaning the gun."

  Tom had a gun? What for?

  "He set it on the desk to answer the phone. Mrs. Russell—Ruby—picked it up, unaware the safety mechanism wasn't on. Supposedly, Mrs. Russell had never handled a firearm before. The gun went off, the bullet hit Mr. Russell in the back of the skull, and he died instantly. Mrs. Russell called 911, but there wasn't anything anyone could do. Any particular reason why you assumed it was Ruby who died, rather than her husband?"

  The chart of a dead woman. "No." He couldn't be telling the whole story. It made no sense. Ruby would have called me. But then, she had. Was that what she needed to talk to me about that last night? Dear God, why didn't I try harder to get my call through to her?

  "Mrs. York, there's nothing personal in my questions, only routine. I didn't mean to upset you." His voice sounded as monotone and calm as before.

  It didn't matter, I was drowning in feelings of guilt. Guilt about what? Not being there for her? Not returning her phone call? Getting upset about her neglecting Flash? "When did it happen? Ruby left a message for me at the hotel just before I left Florence. Maybe she wanted to tell me about Tom." I expected more. I wanted Detective Devin to assure me I had nothing to blame myself for. I needed absolution.

  "Four days ago—you and the Russells have been friends for a long time, right? I'd like your opinion of their relationship. Did they argue a lot? Were they happy?" The sound of his voice was getting under my skin. It forced me to pay closer attention than I preferred. And he knew it, I could sense it.

  "Happy? What's your definition of happiness? Does it have a size? A color? A smell? Does it come in packages, by the pound or by the inch?" I talked like an opinionated, philosophical jerk, but I seemed unstoppable.

  He ran his fingers over his forehead without disturbing the annoying perfection of the slicked-back style.

  Could I do it? Run my fingers through his—Dio mio! What made me think about that? Something about this man pushed all my more regrettable buttons. I swallowed hard in my dry mouth.

  He studied me, but I couldn't decipher a thing from his eyes. "The shooting has been ruled accidental."

  Nick's death was accidental. And Ruby was with him when it happened. Just like she was with—

  Stop it.

  "But still…you're here."

  "Just to make sure nothing has been overlooked, Mrs. York."

  I nodded. He smiled, barely moving his lips. The smile spread, reaching his eyes, and suddenly Lieutenant Devin of Homicide became a real human being. A good-looking, well-dressed human being in a gorgeous charcoal suit with a perfect cut and constructed shoulders. French cuffs peeked out from his sleeves, and light gleamed from the small pyramid-shaped cuff links. Not what I expected a detective to wear. Columbo again.

  How could I be so superficial? He'd just told me my best friend killed her husband, and I obsessed over his choice of threads? My glance went from his suit to his left hand. No wedding band. Probably in his late forties. I offered him coffee. He declined.

  "I'll leave you one of my cards, just in case." His smile lingered.

  I walked him to the door. My fingers clutched his business card like my sanity depended on that piece of printed paper.

  LAWRENCE DEVIN. Larry? I liked the sound of his name.

  He left and I ran upstairs, put on the pink sweater to match my dress, changed my shoes, grabbed my purse and the car keys and set forth to see Ruby. I tried to remember if I'd left gas in the car when I left for my Italian trip.

  The little boy, David, stood by the rows of mailboxes. I kept the car on idle and went to check mine.

  "Is that your mailbox?" His pale blue eyes looked puzzled.

  "Of course it is." I rummaged for my key. "Why?"

  "The other lady gets her mail in there too." He frowned, like a little old soldier standing guard. How odd.

  "Oh, you must mean my friend Ruby. Yes, she did that while I was gone. Sort of. My mail and my cat." I sighed. Why was I talking to the little boy about Ruby's shortcomings?

  I unlocked the box and looked inside: empty, except for a note from the mail carrier. Due to the volume, my mail waited for me at the post office, and if I wanted delivery to resume, I should call and request it. Great. Apparently Ruby stopped picking up the mail at about the same time she quit taking care of Flash. Answers. I needed answers. Good or bad. Anything would be better than wasting my time guessing and worrying. Why wasn't she picking up the phone? Ruby liked to talk, a lot. She called me at strange hours and from strange places. A lot more must be going on than what the detective shared. Could she be out of town? Where? I was determined to get answers, even if had to camp outside her door.

  I eased into the northbound traffic flow on Golden Lantern. Dear God, I'd been gone less than a month and another ridge was already ravaged by construction, new dwellings sprouting on the hilltop. Kyle and I used to fa
ntasize Laguna Niguel was the playground of the Green Giant. At night, he planted the seeds that grew into row after row of pink houses. Lately it looked as if he'd dumped the whole bucket of seeds all at once. So many houses. All looking alike. Reminded me of Lego blocks, as colorful and as generic. Just what we needed. More houses. Southern California was already overcrowded, according to my friends. It didn't matter to me. I loved the place in spite of the traffic, the high housing costs, the earthquakes and everything else that came with the territory.

  Past Crown Valley, the scenery changed. No more pink houses. I approached the Nellie Gail Ranch. My stomach began to churn. Ruby moved here when she married Tom. The logical place for their fairytale wedding. Of course, the house didn't look exactly like this when they first bought it. With her background in fashion, Ruby had exquisite ways with colors, textures and spaces. Walls got removed, replaced and redesigned. Even the windows had to be "improved" to match the walls. Strangely, the kitchen was spared. Possibly because Ruby didn't care much about cooking, and Tom didn't have much luck when he tried to make remodeling suggestions. It all turned out fantastic. A big difference from Ruby's former place. Before marrying Tom, she lived in a garage turned cottage in Laguna Beach. Like Nick, she was an editor for the Orange County Register in Santa Ana.

  Four years, and the thought of my husband's death still tore me apart.

  I turned right and floored the gas pedal, my breathing short and sharp. Faster. Faster. I didn't want to feel the pain. I wanted to forget. Forget how I chose the clothes for his last dressing by the undertakers, careful not to let my tears mar his silk tie. Forget the touch of my fingers on his lifeless lips. Forget the coldness of the bed his body had warmed. Forget the empty garage where he used to keep his car.

  Above all, I wanted to forget how he died.

  Would it be the same for Ruby? No. It would be worse. It must be worse. She killed Tom. Accident or not, she was the cause. She'd have to live with that every day of her life.

  Until death do us part. My wedding vows. Strange time to think about weddings and vows.

  I drove along. Horses trotted on the bridle path. Young girls with long blond locks rode honey-colored mounts. California girls. California lifestyle. I made a left on Nellie Gail Road. Tears welled in my eyes. If only I could crawl somewhere and hide, the way cats did when they were sick. I couldn't. I was a grown woman on my way to comfort a friend. Better find a smile to put on my face.