Murder Under the Italian Moon Page 7

  "No, it's already cooked and labeled. Pick what you want, it goes in the oven and we can eat in about thirty minutes."

  I didn't move.

  "Lella, I have a couple who comes once a week. Peter cleans the house, Jim does the cooking and the laundry. They're good people. I've known them for over ten years. The food isn't poisoned." The smile lingered on his lips, but his eyes studied me. I stepped forward and he moved from the freezer. "You pick the meal you want and I'll get the wine. You okay?"

  I nodded and read the labels. Quite an impressive menu. All neatly pre-packaged so that whomever Larry brought home could admire the set-up. Why was I so angry? I was angry because I stepped into his car anticipating some kind of sexual overture. Instead he offered a TV dinner and a glass of wine. I pulled out a baking dish labeled PORK CHOPS AND POTATOES. It seemed like a safe choice.

  "Got it." I turned, but the kitchen was empty. That was when I noticed the photograph on the refrigerator door. It was a picture of Larry sitting next to a gorgeous girl, half my age and, at first glance, a natural blonde.

  I stood, holding the frozen dish in my hands, asking myself once again what the hell I was doing there.

  "That's Olivia, my daughter." I hadn't heard him approach.

  "I didn't know you had a daughter."

  "Yes, there's a lot you don't know about me. We have all the time you want. Ask away."

  "Olivia," I repeated. "She lives with you?"

  "Sometimes. Right now she's backpacking through Europe with a friend." He pointed to the baby grand. "That's hers."

  "You're divorced?"

  "No."

  "Married?" I wanted to die the minute I asked—before hearing the assumed answer.

  "No. It happened in college. We both knew we made a mistake, but we decided to keep the baby. We have a friendly relationship and joint custody. Olivia's mother lives in Florida with her husband of fifteen years. How about I take that dish before your fingers freeze?"

  I handed him the food and walked away. I didn't want to be here, in his house. I wanted to go home. I wanted the home-turf advantage. Home-turf advantage for what? I walked to the massive window, where I could see the lawn and the fountain we passed driving up to the house. Outside that circle of light I saw only darkness.

  "I have quite a view by daylight." He stood behind me and again. I hadn't heard him coming. Was he barefooted? I turned to glance at his feet, and my head hit the stem glass in his hand. He reacted quickly, so the wine spilled on the wooden floor instead of his shirt.

  "I'm so sorry."

  "You should be. It's your glass. Mine is over there." He smiled at me.

  "Where can I get a rag to clean up?" I found it difficult to talk, embarrassment flooding my brain.

  "Lella, a few drops of wine isn't going to ruin the floor. Forget about it. Let's sit down, relax and enjoy our drinks until the food is ready." He took my hand and walked me over to the linen couch. I envisioned myself spilling wine on the white cover.

  "The slipcover is machine washable."

  "I'm going home." I didn't have the pluck to look at him. "Where did I put my purse?"

  I moved slightly and he stood. "Lella." He put his hand on my shoulder.

  "Don't touch me." I pushed him with both fists. He fell back on the couch and I fell with him, my face inches from his. We looked at each other, my furor to his coolness, my transparency to his secrecy, my insecurity to his boldness. Our mouths locked and none of it mattered. Like in the car, tasting his lips, I felt more urgency.

  His body slid from the couch to the floor, taking me with him. His erection pressing against my belly aroused my lust to the point of physical pain. I put my hands on his shoulders and pushed myself away from him. I savored the wetness of our kiss, inhaled the scent of his aftershave and the scent of his skin.

  His hands traveled the length of my body, reached my elbows and gently nudged me away. We looked at each other without smiling, the want in his eyes as heady as the need I felt. He moved so that we lay side by side, facing each other. I didn't want any space between us. I wanted my body against his. I kicked off my shoes without changing position and locked my legs around his, drawing him even closer. The fabric from his slacks felt warm and soft and I found myself stroking the cloth, back and forth, with my toes.

  He cupped my face in his hands, tilted my head back and brushed my throat with his lips. Eyes closed, I felt his fingers move under my dress, forcing it off my shoulders. When he unhooked the front clasp my bra slid off my hard nipples. It occurred to me in that instant that I used to fantasize and hope, without much conviction, about finding passion and desire again, at least once, before getting too old to care. Here I was, drowning in passion and desire, the need for sex so strong my whole body quivered in anticipation.

  I pulled his shirt from the waist of his pants without undoing his belt and began to unbutton it. I was a woman on a mission, and I soon had him out of the garment. I put my hands on his belt buckle, hesitated an instant and then moved to the zipper. His hands beat me to it. I heard his shoes hit the floor and when I opened my eyes he was totally naked next to me.

  I wiggled out of my dress and dropped myself on top of him. My nipples brushed his chest, and he shivered. We looked at each other, our eyes filled with a new haste, our bodies throbbing in anticipation. I arched my back and guided his hands to my hips. He gently pulled down my lace panties. His hardness pressed against my flesh. I reached my first climax before he fully entered me. When I bit his neck to muffle my scream, somewhere in the white kitchen the oven bell chimed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I woke and for a moment didn't recognize anything, including the room. Then I remembered I was in Larry's bed. In the dim light of the early morning I found myself alone. No sign of Larry. I was not a morning person, but I felt wide awake. Too nervous to try to go back to sleep, I listened to the silence of this house, a house I didn't know any more than I knew its master.

  With my eyes closed, I relived the moments of the night. I couldn't remember how we went from the main room to this bed, but I clearly remembered the unending hunger of our bodies and the sense of content fulfillment I felt before surrendering to sleep. The absence of sounds in the house puzzled me. So Larry had no pets—oh, no. Flash. I forgot about my cat. Did I fill her dish with dry food before I left for the evening? I had to get home. Larry would have to drive me.

  I craned my neck in hope to see if he was in the bathroom. Where could he be? His scent lingered on me like a second skin, yet I couldn't get myself to call his name. After hours of lustful sex, conflicting feelings crowded my mind, and I had more unanswered questions now than before. And for the icing on the cake, this was the dreaded morning after.

  Enough with the bashful modesty. I stepped out of bed and headed straight for the shower. I couldn't tell if Larry had used it before me. It looked staged for a glossy cover of House Beautiful. And this obsession with white—white towels, white marble floors. Between the double sinks sat a silver tray with toothbrush, comb and miniature bottles of toiletries. I kept a similar stash in my guest room. We spent the night in his guest room?

  Wrapped in one of the comfy white bath sheets, I went back into the bedroom and saw that my clothes, including my lingerie, were folded and stacked neatly on a small bench by a large, round window that dominated the room. The view was breathtaking, and I heard birds singing in the trees dotting the property. What a neat freak Larry appeared to be, with all the spotless white and the orderly folded clothing. Living with such perfection day in and day out would drive me batty.

  I dressed in last night's clothes; when I pulled up the zipper to my dress, the smell of freshly brewed coffee hit me. I didn't want to look in the mirror. I didn't like my looks in the morning, and without my faithful lotions and potions I felt exposed.

  Barefoot, I followed the aroma of coffee and soon heard Larry's voice coming from the kitchen. I tiptoed in, not sure what kind of welcome awaited me. He was fully dressed, shaved
and apparently conducting business. All this before 8:00 a.m.

  He stood on the inside of the kitchen island opposite the barstools, talking on the phone, a pad and pen in front of him. When he noticed me standing there, he winked and motioned me to sit. I perched on a kitchen stool and waited for a smile, a nod, something more than a wink to let me know our hours of passion meant more than an elaborate one-night stand.

  Larry appeared to be focused on whoever was on the other end of the phone. "Okay then, we'll see you soon. Thanks." He put the phone down and turned to look at me, a wry smile on his face. "Lella, we need to talk."

  Those few words were all I needed for my insecurities to sneak back into the kitchen and reclaim my brain. I felt ugly, old and more than a little pathetic in yesterday's clothes.

  "Oh." I sighed.

  "You don't think I'm a detective, huh? Because of my lifestyle? What? You can't solve crimes unless you live in a crime-ridden neighborhood?"

  Blood rushed to my face. I gulped air and averted my eyes from his.

  "I'm not going to bother asking you where you got your information. I was a homicide detective for nearly twenty years. I still am, but on extended leave of absence, without pay, I may add, by choice. The day I came to your house was my last day at work. I'll give you that I have nothing to do with the Russells' case. Then again, there really isn't a case." He pushed an empty cup in my direction, poured coffee and placed cream and sugar next to it. "Tom's death was an accident, and the books were closed, but apparently a neighbor kept calling and fussing about the department not doing a thorough investigation. I was going to be in Dana Point the next day, so I told my sergeant I would talk to you—the one person we didn't interview, sort of a goodwill gesture to keep the Russells' neighbor happy."

  "Mrs. Snoopy." I found my voice.

  "Mrs. who?"

  "The woman living across from the Russells. She came over to talk to me when I went looking for Ruby." Was I imagining things? His whole demeanor shifted when I mentioned Ruby. "You said it wasn't your case, yet you were back there after the fire. Talking to Mrs. Snoopy again."

  "Are you conducting your own investigation?" His voice sounded detached, but I could tell he was ticked off at me. Without saying another word he gathered his pen and pad, then stopped and looked at me, his eyes dark slivers of complexity.

  "Let's have some coffee and toast. That's all we have time for. We need to get to Santa Ana before 9:00 a.m., and traffic is heavy this time of day."

  "I need to get home. I'm not sure if I left enough food for my cat."

  He must have thought I was making up an excuse to leave, as I'd done last night. He came to my side and drew me into his arms. Larry put his fingers under my chin to lift my face and kissed me on the mouth. A light kiss, closed lips, yet he lingered and in a fleeting moment I thought that if he let go of the kiss it would mean letting go of us.

  "Lella"—I was still a happy prisoner of his embrace—"we need to talk about Kyle."

  I freed myself from his arms so I could look at him. "You know my son? I had no idea."

  "I don't know him personally. But Kyle got himself in trouble." He kept his face above mine, his mouth in my hair.

  "What kind of trouble?" I couldn't tell how serious this was.

  Larry disentangled himself and walked away. He avoided looking at me.

  "Aren't you going to answer? What kind of trouble has Kyle gotten into?" I was madly curious, and very concerned. But he wasn't talking. How dare he? We didn't say anything else. We drank our coffee in silence, sort of waiting each other out. When he headed out the door I followed.

  I wondered if Kyle had been caught speeding as usual and got pulled over in Tom and Ruby's car without the necessary paperwork. A strong possibility. We walked the same wide corridor we'd come through the evening before. He entered a door next to the bedroom we slept in. I glimpsed a room on the opposite side of the hall. It looked like an office, with a large desk facing the windows. The view was spectacular, but that hadn't been what stopped me. A flat-screen computer monitor sat atop the desk. From the screen, in full color, Ruby smiled at me. No sound, just the image. I stood on the threshold, too stunned to move.

  "It's my office." Larry's voice came from behind me. As usual, I didn't hear him approach.

  "That's Ruby." I found myself whispering, not sure why.

  "Yes, I know. I keep my computer on my department website. The site isn't available to the public. Old habit. This morning Ruby Russell showed up as 'missing.'"

  "It's about time."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "I've been trying to find her since I returned from Italy. I was beginning to wonder why I'm the only one who doesn't know where she is."

  "Are you saying you haven't seen her since your trip? Aren't you two best friends?" Something in his voice alerted me that he knew a lot more about my so-called best friend than he was telling me. He put his hand on my arm. I fought the urge to brush it off, instead I let him guide me back to the kitchen.

  "Yes, that's precisely what I'm saying. What happened to make the police decide she's missing?"

  "Concern, I suppose. After the house fire they may have tried to find her to let her know. I don't have those details."

  "She was in Palm Springs three days ago. She went to visit Kyle, and he let her talk him into exchanging cars without transferring the paperwork."

  Larry grabbed my arm hard. He spun me to face him. "Lella, we need to get going right now. Kyle is due in court this morning. You've got to tell Bonnie what you just told me before the arraignment."

  "Who's Bonnie and what's this about an arraignment? Was Kyle arrested because of the Ferrari? "

  "We'll talk in the car. It's very important we leave now."

  "Important to whom? I want some explanation. Stop with the half-truths. Who are you protecting?"

  "Lella, please. Time is of the essence. For Kyle. We must get going. You can get mad at me, it's okay, but we need to talk to Bonnie before court."

  I picked up my purse and found my high-heel sandals under the couch in the main room. My stomach gurgled; maybe it was hunger mixed with anger and fear. I wished I'd eaten the toast. Larry came from the back room ready to go.

  We got into the Mercedes and dashed through the gate, leaving the house on the hill at a dizzying speed. Larry didn't say a thing until we exited the one lane road and entered the Costa Mesa Freeway.

  "Lella, the information regarding Kyle and the car could make a big difference with how the arraignment goes for him."

  "Stop treating me like I'm some simpering child. What's going on?"

  "Arraignment is when a person accused of something goes in front of a judge and there's one lawyer representing the state and one representing the accused. They both tell their side, and the judge decides if there is enough evidence to keep the person in jail. The judge also decides if bail should be granted or if the case should be dismissed altogether. Bonnie Fisher is the lawyer representing your son. She's the best in the business. Keep your fingers crossed."

  "Evidence for what? What did Kyle do? How do you know all this?" My voice had an edge, the edge of panic. I was being punished for spending the night with Larry.

  "Lella, Kyle was driving Ruby's Ferrari when he got pulled over. There was an alert out for the car. His arrest was posted on my computer like everything else that comes through the department."

  "And you didn't tell me?"

  "I'm telling you now. Tell me the details about the car swap."

  "Why can't this Bonnie get the case dismissed? It's his car now. Ruby's driving his Porsche." Now the panic in my voice resounded loud and clear.

  "Since we can't find Ruby, she can't corroborate his story. All we can hope is a judge will see this is a simple misunderstanding and release Kyle on bail until we sort through it. Lella, I'm on your side. Talk to me."

  I repeated the sequence of events just as Kyle had told me. I even explained that I felt we needed to get a pink slip for the ca
r, so that there would be no doubts. Not that I approved of the exchange, but it was what Ruby and Kyle had worked out.

  By now I recognized some of the street signs and knew we were approaching Santa Ana. We didn't speak for a long time, and I was getting more and more nervous. Larry kept his hand on my knee. I was sure it was meant to be a comforting gesture, but it wasn't working.

  What had Kyle gotten himself into? By now he must have explained to the police about exchanging cars with Ruby. With all the computers, the cell phones and cameras on every street corner, the police should have found ways of verifying his story. That's what they do on those investigative shows on television. Something didn't feel right. Either Larry didn't know the whole story, or he wasn't telling me everything. Kyle must have been pulled over right after he left my house. What if he tried to call me? Had it not been for Larry, I would have been there to answer the phone. Dio mio. What else was Larry hiding from me? Too many coincidences. Did he set me up? That didn't make sense either. My heart thumped erratically against my throat. How was it possible? Twenty-four hours ago I was bitching about my ordinary life. I deserved the punishment but Kyle had done nothing, nothing worth jail time.

  The residential street we drove on looked peaceful, but the older homes were now offices, and the majority housed lawyers. Larry slowed down in front of a two-story home on the corner, pulled into the driveway and circled to the back of the house. Still silent, he came around, opened the passenger door then escorted me through the back door of the light green house.

  We walked on plank floors, shiny and sturdy, into a room that may once have been a parlor but now appeared to be a sunny office.

  "There you are. I was getting nervous. This must be Mrs. York, Kyle's mom?" The woman giving the welcome speech didn't look like a lawyer to me; she wasn't at all what I had expected. A little taller than me, pudgy, but in an endearing sort of way. I couldn't tell why, but I liked her. Gray and blond hair fought for dominance, the gray apparently winning. No tailored suit. Instead, loose brown slacks, flat shoes and a soft beige sweater. Comfort clothes.