Murder Under the Italian Moon Read online

  "We traded," he said.

  "You traded what?"

  "We traded cars, my Porsche for her Ferrari."

  I shook my head. This was a car, not a toy. I couldn't believe he "traded" his car for hers so casually. I closed my eyes, found my composure and spoke with a strained voice. "Kyle, this is serious. You need to sit and tell me the whole story. Start from the beginning. I want dates and places. This is important." The last sentence came out a little louder than intended. He took a deep breath and launched into his story.

  "Ruby came to Palm Springs. She showed up at the hotel, late, a few nights ago." He paused to count on his fingers. "Three nights ago. You know Ruby, all bubbly and excited, said she had to make a delivery for Tom out of state. She was on her way back and knew we were filming in Palm Springs, so she decided to stop and say hi."

  "And?"

  He paced, still avoiding my eyes. Not a good sign.

  "Kyle," I shouted, and fought to control my voice. I could almost hear his brain processing what I had told him about the shooting, and wondering why Ruby hadn't mentioned it to him.

  "That's why."

  "Why what?"

  "All the mystery, the games…" He looked straight into my eyes. "Ruby acted strangely the entire time she was there to see me. It felt uncomfortable. She cracked jokes and made her usual snarky comments, but she sounded different. Like her heart wasn't in it. She told me that the Ferrari had been broken into, things taken, and that Tom was mad. He wanted to get rid of the car. Pronto. She knew how much I liked the Testarossa and the fact that I was in Palm Springs was a good omen. Those were her exact words." Kyle cradled his head in his hands. "We had drinks in the hotel bar—she said she wanted a martini something bad—and then she got really sleepy. I had a suite, so I took her up to my room and let her crash on my bed. I ended up sleeping on the couch in the sitting area watching a movie. In fact, I slept terribly that night. My back was all kinked up from the couch, and I had a terrible headache. I arrived late to work since my alarm wasn't set." He got up and paced the room, avoided looking at me. "Ruby had left when I got up. There was an envelope on my night table, with the keys to the Ferrari and a note saying she had to go, she had taken the Porsche and we could work out the legalities later. I was going to call the Russells when you got home."

  "The Russells' phone hasn't worked in days, and last night the house burned to the ground. Did you try her cell?"

  His face turned white. He sat on the couch again, pulled something from his pants pocket and placed it on the coffee table. "Ruby's cell phone." He pointed to the small object he had laid next to the crystal bowl. "She left it in Palm Springs, in my hotel room."

  A long pause. I waited.

  "Did you say the house burned? How? Mom, you think it was an accident?"

  We looked at each other, our eyes mirroring the same thoughts. How did the house burn? And where was Ruby with the Porsche?

  "Kyle, I have a bad feeling about this whole situation. We need to tell the authorities. Did you check to see if Ruby left something else in the car?"

  He shook his head. "I was so excited, wanted to show you the Ferrari. She never mentioned Tom being dead or her being the one who killed him. You think she's using?" He looked at me, searching my eyes for answers.

  "You mean drugs? I doubt it. I haven't seen her in over a month, but I doubt it. Let's go take a look at the car, and we'll call the authorities. We can make a phone report of the car swap. And let's put her cell back in the glove compartment of the Ferrari. It's not our phone." We headed toward the door and I noticed Flash under the couch, watching us with a look of annoyance.

  The underground common garage was always dark. Today wasn't any different. The white Ferrari created a bright spot. Kyle unlocked the driver's side and examined the glove compartment. I couldn't get myself to touch the damn thing.

  "Anything?"

  He wasn't listening. His eyes focused somewhere behind me, his whole expression morphing. I could swear even the color of his pupils grew darker.

  I turned around.

  Audrey, the next-door neighbor, breezed toward us. Where did she come from? It didn't seem to matter to Kyle. In his hurry to get out of the car I heard him hit his head on the metal doorframe. He didn't let out a sound. His face had the idiotic grin of a prime candidate for a broken heart.

  She wore a dress made of a gauzy fabric, not short or fitted. The dress moved with her, fluttered around her lithe body, quivered with her every step. She carried some plastic grocery bags, her little brother tagging behind her, licking a lollipop.

  "Hi!" My son offered her his hand. "Kyle York."

  "Audrey Bernard." She smiled, bending a little forward to show that her arms were full of groceries.

  He smiled back, and I felt invisible. I wasn't invisible to David. The kid flashed me a big grin. The contrast of his lips, bright red from the lollipop, against the pallor of his complexion somehow looked ghoulish. He noticed the Ferrari.

  "Awesome!"

  "You like it?" Kyle clicked something on the keys he held in his hand. The trunk opened, spooking David. The three of them laughed like old friends.

  David craned his neck. "What's this?"

  I looked. The plush carpeting covering the storage compartment of the trunk was ripped off on both sides.

  I gawked at the sight. "What happened?"

  "Thieves," Kyle concluded. "Tom's stereo equipment was stolen. That's why I got such a hot deal."

  "Can I help you carry something?" Kyle glanced at Audrey.

  She zapped him another smile and handed him one of the grocery bags. With David trotting behind them they walked toward Audrey's place, leaving me alone by the nefarious Ferrari. I assumed Kyle locked the car with his remote, as I walked back to my home alone and more confused than before.

  Maybe Larry could—forget Larry. Wait a minute, Mrs. Snoopy told me that Devin was headed to my house. That was a long time ago, and by my personal clock it was an eternity. Did he change his mind?

  Flash jumped on my lap, and I turned on the local news channel. They mentioned the house fire, and the fact that luckily there weren't any victims. No mention of foul play and no mention of Ruby missing either. Something wasn't right. How come no one seemed to be looking for Ruby? Larry never asked me if I knew where she was. Was she only hiding from me? Why? Hiding in plain sight? She was in Palm Springs three days ago and the Porsche was in my garage the night before. If Kyle hadn't been driving it, Ruby must have been here. So, where was she now? She couldn't hide in the ashes of her house. Kyle asked me about the possibility of Ruby using drugs. I said no without hesitation. What made me such an expert? Ruby had these peculiar…episodes, had had them for four years—ever since Nick's death. Forgetting a whole day of her life. Buying things and then claiming someone else did it.

  Six months before my recent trip to Florence, Ruby popped in, and I had to listen to her banking snafu.

  "Lella, I'm losing it." She shouted the last words, and her eyes had a feverish glow.

  "What happened?" I rolled my eyes, unruffled by her sense of melodrama.

  "I bounced a check, damn it." She clutched her glass of Chardonnay like a life preserver, her knuckles turning white.

  "So? Is that all?" I laughed. "What's the big deal? Maybe Tom wrote a check and forgot to tell you."

  "This is my personal account." She lowered her eyelids. "God's punishing me."

  "Let's leave God out of the banking business."

  "I wrote the check to my hairdresser. I got a notice this morning saying my account was overdrawn and I'd have to pay a penalty. I thought it was a mistake. I mean, such a small amount. I called the bank." The glass was still in her hands. "No mistake—at least, not from their end. The manager told me two more checks I'd recently written weren't going to be covered. I jumped in the car and drove down there." She drank the rest of the wine and handed me the empty glass.

  Without a word, I went to refill it. Why would Ruby have her own account?
I doubted she had any personal income. We'd been friends for years and she never mentioned a thing about this oh-so-personal account. Where did she get the money? Could it be severance pay from the Register? When I came back, Ruby was staring at a photo of Nick and me I kept on the Italian credenza. I gave her the glass, and she turned away from the picture, flushing. Perspiration had formed on her upper lip, and her skin glistened. Her hands trembled and the wine in the glass swashed around in slow motion, a lazy wave fading before reaching the shore.

  "The teller showed me a large withdrawal. 'How did that happen?' I asked. She was nice about it. 'Ruby,' she said, 'you withdrew the money two days ago. Don't you remember? I had to okay it because you came in without your checkbook again. You were wearing a red dress.' I went home, saw my red dress in the dry cleaning pile and here I am."

  "What did you do with the money?"

  She didn't answer.

  "You're getting all worked up over nothing. Tom will put money into your account to cover your bills. As for the rest, you're still going to experience memory gaps, but you said before you're having fewer. It takes time and patience. The doctor explained it to you from the beginning."

  "If it weren't for Tom"—she paused—"and you, I would have put an end to this a long time ago."

  "Ruby, you're alive." I stopped short of adding that Nick wasn't so lucky. I knew she sensed it.

  She nodded and left.

  It wasn't like Ruby to have money and an account she never spoke of. A personal account; pocket change or big bucks? Maybe she needed it for a sense of security. Why? She had Tom for that.

  They'd met about the time I started making potpourri sachets for the gift shop at the mission. Ruby was still wearing her neck collar back then. It made it hard for her to drive, especially in reverse. She'd just left her doctor's office and was backing out of her parking spot when she hit Tom's car, a white Ferrari Testarossa. Stuff dreams are made of.

  I sighed, enough dreaming for today. I didn't know how long I had been sitting and reminiscing. The room flaunted an early shade of dusk, and my body and spirit felt fully drained, refusing to move, almost in a daze. I still had no idea how the Porsche ended up in the parking garage the night before, only to be gone by morning.

  The front door swung open, and Kyle pranced in. "Mom, why didn't you tell me about your neighbor? She's great."

  I sensed that wasn't the original description he had in mind, but even in the dimness of the living room he must have noticed the fire shooting from my eyes.

  "Kyle, dear God, is that all you can think about?" I knew as soon as I said it that it wasn't fair to lash out at Kyle because I was frustrated.

  But instead of answering my question he launched into Audrey's bio without pausing to ask if I cared to listen.

  "Do you know that Audrey used to live in Arizona? She was telling me about high school kids going down there from California during spring break. She may drive over to Palm Springs and watch us filming. David, her little brother, would come along, and then we'll all take a ride to Arizona. I've never been there." At some point he must have realized this was a one-way conversation, because he stopped talking for a minute and then shifted gears. "What's the matter, Mom? Are you still concerned about the Ferrari? Don't worry. I'll get everything straightened out, I promise. In the meantime, are you hungry? Want to go grab something to eat down at the marina? Maybe Audrey will join us. Hey, stop with the eyes already. Don't look so upset."

  The phone rang.

  "I'll get it." He rushed over to the house phone. "York residence. Carolyn, it's me. What do you mean where in the hell am I? At my mother's house. You called here. Oh, I forgot to charge it. That's why it goes to voice mail. Sorry. Okay, don't get so ticked off. No, I didn't forget. I was on my way out the door. Yes, I'll be there soon." He hung up. "Shit, I'd forgotten all about meeting Carolyn. I've got to get out of here." He ran upstairs.

  Carolyn, his agent. He'd probably forgotten some social event. In their world, social commitments were as important as business meetings. In fact, there wasn't one without the other. Kyle came back, his overnighter under his arm, clothes spilling out.

  "Sorry about the mess I left, Mom. I'll make it up to you." He walked by the kitchen and grabbed a banana. "Can you tell Audrey—never mind. I'll call her. Got to run. Ciao." He slammed the door shut.

  I ran after him and caught him by the car. "Kyle, we need to resolve the car situation. It's important. Where are you heading?"

  "LA. I'll be back tomorrow. I'll stop by on my way back. Smile, Mom. It's going to be okay." He smiled, and I shook my head, smiling back. I watched the white Ferrari Testarossa drive up the road to the gate and decided to check my mail before going back into the house for the evening. The beauty of the sun setting over the Pacific soothed me a little. I realized I hadn't thought about Nick until just then. I wasn't sure if that was good or bad. The complex looked deserted. Not surprising, since it was dinner time. Dinner for one would be what came next in my empty house. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Lella. The lights came on, intensifying the hues of the setting sun against the white walls of the villas.

  I rounded the corner and stopped. There stood the man I had been thinking about more than I should have, Larry Devin.

  CHAPTER TEN

  His hand rested on my knee, the same spot as the night of the kiss. "Rested" didn't describe the feelings that simple contact stirred up. We'd been driving in silence for maybe half an hour, and my head swirled with dozens of questions, questions I couldn't find the nerve to put into words. I kept the conversation in neutral, ignoring the furious thumping of my heart.

  "Where are we going?"

  "Orange."

  "Orange? We're in Orange County right now, aren't we?"

  "The town of Orange. Are you hungry?"

  "Famished. I skipped lunch. I was too busy with Kyle, my son—"

  "How about we forget about family and friends for tonight? The day is almost over. Let's celebrate the evening, and I can promise you all the issues, the problems we left behind tonight, will be there in the morning. Deal?"

  "Deal." Did he say in the morning? He assumed I would spend the night with him? I couldn't possibly do that. I wasn't prepared for an overnight stay. It all happened so quickly that in the excitement of the moment I forgot to take my cell phone. Did I feed Flash before rushing out the door? If Larry sensed my hesitation, he didn't acknowledge it. His hand went from my knee to my cheek. He had this way of stroking my face with the back of his fingers, such intense tenderness. I wished I could stop the passing seconds, encapsulate the moment, so I could revisit that bewitching feeling in times of loneliness. Ah, those magic fingers must have the power to stop intelligent thoughts from becoming spoken words and also made the lack of cell phone or overnight necessities seem okay, because I didn't object about a thing.

  We left the freeway and traveled a street I didn't recognize. Few cars passed us in either direction. I couldn't see any shape of buildings, only lights fleeing by. With the speed of the Mercedes, lamp posts looked like fireflies on a caffeine rush. The road narrowed to a single lane, and we climbed a hill. Gravel skittered under the tires. Both sides of the road had tall trees, so tall and so perfectly spaced they formed a natural canopy.

  What was a good Italian Catholic woman doing here with this man of mystery, anyway? The real question pounding my mind was: What was this fascinating man of mystery doing with this silly, love-struck widow?

  The sight of a gate interrupted my mental tug of words. Not a fancy or elaborate gate like the one at my complex, but a simple, sturdy-looking metal barrier. Larry reached overhead, hitting a button, and the gate opened slowly, no grinding or squeaking. It whirred quietly, and we drove through the yawning gap. He must have heard my involuntary gulping.

  "I live here."

  I realized we were high on a hill, and I could see thousands of lights twinkling below. I searched frantically for something to say, something to ask, but all I came up with was, "Uh,
huh."

  "And no, I didn't buy the house with the cash from the lottery." I sensed a smile in his voice. He'd answered what was going to be my next question. He reached for something above his head again, and the hill in front of us became alive with lights, the gurgling of a fountain and a garage door opening to let the Mercedes in.

  I followed him up two steps and then through a door that led to a laundry room the size of my kitchen, but with a lot more cabinetry. From there we went into a large room with tall windows and taller walls.

  It must be what real estate agents call "a great room," but it was more than great. It was grand. My prediction of a seduction chamber died at the sight of the contemporary chairs and couch that weren't made of black leather, the common denominator of bachelor pads. I saw white linen with huge, overstuffed pillows. I moved slowly, feeling awkward and out of place.

  Not knowing what to do with myself, I followed Larry like a puppy exploring new surroundings. We turned a corner and I noticed a baby grand piano in the farthest side of the great room. Larry played the piano? We reached the kitchen, also white and wonderful, like the ones in the home and garden magazines Ruby subscribed to. Wait until Ruby heard about my escapade.

  Larry removed his suede bomber jacket and dropped it casually on one of the tall kitchen stools lined up against the huge kitchen island. He opened the door of the side-by-side freezer. The light reflected on his shirt, forming a whimsical aura around his silhouette.

  "Lella, you can choose what you like to eat."

  "You're going to cook?" My voice grated into my ears in the expanse of the room.