Decorating Schemes Read online

  “Oh dear,” Madeleine said, her smooth brow creased, her warm clasp on my arm a comfort. “I’m so sorry to have brought up the subject. It wasn’t my intention—”

  “Please don’t apologize. You couldn’t have known. And really, I’m fine. I know Mom’s with the Lord and finally out of pain. It was a blessing for her, even though Dad and I do still miss her every day.”

  “I understand. My late John died of cancer. It was a mercy when he entered a coma at the end.”

  Her tender smile rang a bell in my memory, and suddenly I knew whom she’d brought to mind. “Has anyone ever said you look a lot like Grace Kelly?”

  “The actress who married the European prince?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “My goodness! That’s quite a compliment. She was a lovely woman. Thank you very much, Haley. And no. No one has ever mentioned it before.”

  “Well, it’s about time they did. And they would have if they watched the classic movies channel as much as I do. The resemblance is pretty major.”

  Madeleine blushed and changed the subject. We discussed the trip to Indonesia, the schedule of Sunday services, a couple of other church ministries, and the everyday details of life and shopping in Wilmont.

  Then Penny made her presence known.

  “Madeleine dear,” the postal clerk bleated. “I see the pastor’s daughter has you cornered. Do forgive the poor child. As you can imagine, we humor her—her father, you know. Go on, Haley. Go back to your little scraps of cloth and bits of wood.”

  The newcomer looked from Penny to me and then back to Penny again, the mildest hint of alarm in her expression. “I didn’t feel cornered for a single second, Miss Harham. Haley has been most informative, and I’ve enjoyed our conversation more than I can express.”

  Twin red blotches bloomed on Penny’s sallow cheeks. “Well! If it’s information you want, then Haley’s hardly the one to turn to. She’s little more than a child. You want someone with years of experience to provide you with adequate details. Here. Why don’t I—”

  “My daughter is near Haley’s age,” Madeleine said, her position firm in spite of Penny’s best efforts to drag her away. “I find Deanna quite well informed as a general rule. I also see no reason to question Haley’s capabilities. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Miss Harham, I’ll take a minute to step into the ladies’ room.”

  “Oh, sure, Madeleine dear,” Penny said, her brownnoser’s tone oilier than ever. “Let me show you—”

  “No, thank you. I need no help in that department.”

  I spun to hide the laughter I couldn’t quite snuff out, but when I crashed into roly-poly Bella Cahill, her blue eyes full of mischief, all my efforts at self-control went down the drain.

  “Only Penny would get in the way of a woman with a need for speed to get to the john,” the outspoken senior said.

  That did it. I howled and Bella giggled. Her mane of electric royal-blue hair shook like mutant peacock plumes caught in a helicopter’s drag. The shaggy cut is a self-inflicted imitation of the choppy Hollywood style she acquired on her seventieth birthday. She’d had it tinted a fierce shade of magenta, but for some strange reason, it soon faded to Pepto pink. When she got tired of that subnormal result, she decided to experiment, and these days we can’t begin to guess what side of the color wheel she’ll attack next.

  “You’re bad, Bella,” I finally said.

  She pulled herself up to her full height, never losing her Pillsbury Dough Boy curves, then winked. “Thank you. I’m so bad, Haley girl, that I’m hip—that’s what the kids say these days, you know. And Penny’s just plain nasty. So who’s the snooty Nordstrom’s model you were talking to?”

  “Hey! That’s not nice. Besides, you’re the former model among us.”

  Bella shrugged and smoothed her white gi, her latest fashion statement, over her abundant middle. When she learned last year that I practice martial arts, she joined a class at Tyler’s dojo. I suppose the gi is better than the neon-orange-and-red animal-print spandex bike shorts she favored for a while last summer.

  “Takes one to know one, you know. So who is she?”

  “Your curiosity never ceases to amaze me. But what I don’t get is why you didn’t just go up to her and introduce yourself. I’m sure she wouldn’t have minded.”

  “Fine, but who is she?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Her name’s Madeleine Ogleby, and she moved to Wilmont a few months back to be closer to her daughter. The daughter married someone local.”

  “Hmm... I wonder who.”

  “All I know is that the daughter’s name is Deanna.” I looked back toward the restroom but saw no one in the hall, and the cracks beneath the restroom doors now showed dark. “Anyway, Madeleine seems very nice, and I think you’ll like her.”

  “Is she into karate? Jujitsu? Or maybe she’s more the kickboxing type. What do you think?”

  “I thought you’d decided she was snooty and elegant. I don’t agree with you, but I also doubt a woman like Madeleine is into anything more than a brisk walk with her cute pooch every morning and evening. Didn’t you get a good look at her?”

  “Gotcha! That’s why I said she’s snooty. I don’t think even a single one of her perfect hairs can move.”

  I glanced up through my eyelashes at the obedience-challenged curls on my forehead. “Wish I could say the same about mine.”

  “No way. Not me.”

  No joke. Bella’s blue mop is as far removed from Madeleine’s silver French twist as avocado green Formica countertops are from dark Ubatuba granite ones. “Anyway, it’s getting late, and the leaning tower of laundry is calling my name. Besides, I’d bet Dad’s ready to run away from home, thanks to Midas. His Golden Majesty wasn’t happy when I wouldn’t bring him along.”

  “What your dad needs is to get back into action,” Bella said. “He’s a hunk, and we don’t have too many of ’em our age around anymore.”

  Dad? A hunk?

  Yeah, right. With his balding head, small paunch, and unfortunate habit of losing his reading glasses when he most needs them, my father doesn’t strike me as anyone’s idea of a hunk. No matter what age. But who am I to judge?

  “If you say so. And you’d better get back home yourself. That demented cat of yours has probably torn the place down by now.”

  “Now, Haley girl. Bali H’ai is the sweetest baby. I don’t understand why you’re so down on her.”

  “Bali H’ai is sweet, and I just flew in from the sixty-ninth moon of the planet Dream On. I’ve been on the wrong side of one too many of her attacks, Bella. Way I see it, I’m the epitome of Christian forgiveness when it comes to your cat. Haven’t you noticed how far I stay from the gray beast?”

  Bella tipped up her exquisite straight nose. “You’re just a feline Philippine.”

  “A what?”

  “You know. Those Bible folks who didn’t know what for.”

  “You mean Philistine. That’s someone with no appreciation of the finer things.”

  She smirked. “If the Birkenstock fits...”

  “Yeah, yeah. Fine. Just chalk it up to my love of dogs.”

  Bella lives in deep denial. She’ll never accept that my opinion of her cat is a result of my close encounter with repulsive green slime on one ill-fated occasion, after which Bali H’ai pounced on me. Bali H’ai’s extreme response that time was the same as it always is. And I’m hardly her only victim.

  “Okay, Bella. Why don’t you go home to your kitty cat so I can get back to my pooch?”

  “Is everyone else gone?”

  “Do you see anyone here besides us?”

  “Nope. Which means I’m outta here.”

  “I’m right behind you.” I locked up and went out into the crisp, late spring day, the fragrance of Puget Sound salty and fresh all around. “Beautiful day.”

  “It’ll be open-window sleeping tonight,” Bella said, her voice full of glee. “I love nothing more than a cool, breezy night. So does Bali H’ai.”


  Sure she does. Bali H’ai’s favorite pastime is dumpster and trash can diving, which Bella facilitates when she leaves her windows open. I’d have to check the green plastic garbage bin our fair hamlet provides its residents and make sure it was firmly braced. “See ya.”

  “God bless you, Haley girl.”

  “Thanks, Bella. You too.”

  I hurried to the manse. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, slip my feet under Midas’s warm belly, and dive right into a great read.

  Which is what I did, after I took care of the trash can and moved the tip of the mountain of grimy clothes, but I managed to read only about a page before I fell asleep.

  The ringing phone woke me up.

  Muzzy-headed and fuzzy-mouthed, I said, “Hullo?”

  “What did you tell that KGB-agent cop?”

  “Run that by me again?”

  “I said, what did you tell that KGB-agent cop?”

  His dentist would put three kids through college on the bill for cracked enamel on Dutch’s gritted teeth.

  Then he added, “Haley, were you sleeping? At 2:00 in the afternoon?”

  “Uh... no. I... I was...” My bedside clock said 2:00 p.m. Then I spotted my abandoned novel. “Oh yeah. That’s right. I was... I mean, I am reading. A really good mystery too. You oughta pick it up. Really, you should. It’s all about a Social Security Administration something-or-other who has to find out who’s bumping off old folks to get their monthly checks, and only those whose cases she handles. But then her mother gets swept off her feet by a fake oil tycoon who’s so broke he only wants her pension and may kill her for it, and the daughter’s gotta make sure—”

  “Stop! I’ll have all the time in the world soon enough, if that crazy woman gets her way.”

  “What woman? Did some poor infatuated creature come on to you? Oh, I get it! It’s like my book, only backwards. She’s stinking rich and wants to set you up for life. That’s so sick, Merrill. I get why you’re so fired up.”

  “What are you, deaf?”

  “Not yet, but I could be. Your bellows come through loud and clear.”

  “Then how about you tell me what you told Lila Tsu about me.”

  “Oh, that woman. I didn’t tell her anything about you.” Lila had done the telling by the questions she asked. “Mostly I’ve talked to her about my innocence. And my dog.”

  I thought back farther, to those horrible weeks when the detective had me pegged as her prime suspect. “Oh. Well, yeah. I have told her a couple times that you’re nuts. That was when you were trying so hard to get me arrested for a murder I didn’t do, but that’s only the truth. You are insane.”

  “I should’ve tried a lot harder.”

  “Give me a break, Dutch. You know I couldn’t kill a flea. Well, I can and do kill fleas. Midas takes that flea-killing pill every month, but—”

  “Would you stop babbling long enough to listen to me?”

  “I don’t babble—”

  “Yeah, you do, and I have no patience for it right now.”

  “What’s up with right now?”

  “What’s up with right now is that if I don’t do something quick here, Detective Lila Tsu’s gonna lock me up for good. She thinks I—”

  “You killed the girl!”

  “I didn’t kill her!” he roared. “How could I have? I haven’t seen KC since she was about six weeks old.”

  “So you really do know her. That puts you way ahead of the game when it comes to suspicion. Thank goodness I’m out of Lila’s crosshairs this time.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not, and I had nothing to do with my goddaughter’s death.”

  “Whoa! Not only do you know her, but you’re also sorta kinda related to her? Oh boy. You’re in trouble now, Merrill. Karate Chop Cop’s gonna be all over you like gilt on French Provincial froufrou. Take it from me. Been there, done that.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t have a problem with Lila following me—that’ll show her I have nothing to hide. What I do have a problem with is more negative publicity or any jail time. My business nearly died thanks to a slick con artist and the media-circus trial afterward. And you know it. I don’t need anyone to lob false accusations my way. Those will just drive the last nail into my career’s coffin.”

  “Well, Dutch, how does it feel to be on that side? How does it feel to be accused of something so hideous you’d never even think of it—not until you learn it happened? How does it feel to have everyone look at you like you’re a monster?”

  Silence.

  “Well, Dutch Merrill? How do you like being innocent and having everyone believe you’re everything but? How do you like being where you put me?”

  He stayed silent. He’d been the most vocal of all when Lila and her dark blue Smurf crew of cops saw me as the likely killer of Marge Norwalk. I would never have hurt Marge; I loved her like a second mother, but that didn’t stop the suspicion, and I was even jailed. All because Marge left me everything she owned.

  “Pretty rotten,” he said after a bit. “But this is different. You were there, on site, when Marge was killed. I was nowhere near the Marshalls’ place yesterday. I was stuck in traffic on I-5.”

  “And do you have anyone who can back up your alibi?”

  No response.

  I went on. “That was my problem. For less than ten minutes, no one could say they’d seen me. You, on the other hand, more than likely had plenty of time to do... whatever you did to the girl, get back in your car, drive down I-5 one way, get off at a convenient exit, then head this way again.”

  “You did talk to the cop!”

  “Why? Because I know how she’d think?” I gave a short, bitter chuckle. “Think, Dutch. I know how Lila and cops in general think because I’ve had more than my share of contact with them.”

  “I can’t argue that.”

  He again fell silent, and since I had nothing to add, I did the same. It became the most bizarre phone nonconversation I’d ever had. I’d already awarded him the Nobel Prize for lousiest condolence call last year, and now he was the leading contender for the weirdest-performance-during-a-phone-call Oscar. The man has a gift.

  I glanced at my clock. It was almost 2:18. We’d argued for only ten or fifteen minutes max. The silence had now lasted for about three minutes, and I was getting antsy.

  “Ah... Dutch?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s the deal with the heavy-breathing phone call?”

  “Huh?”

  “Yeah. Your last three minutes, eloquent as they’ve been, underwhelm me.”

  He muttered something I didn’t quite catch—I’m glad. Then, “You’re a weird one, Haley Farrell.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who called and then sat and breathed for an eternity. If you don’t have anything more constructive to say than to accuse me of accusing you, then I’m done.”

  His sigh sounded heavy, pain-filled. A shot of sympathy rushed through me. I knew where he stood. “Listen. I’m really sorry you’ve become Lila’s prime suspect here. I guess there’s no doubt the girl was murdered, is there?”

  “She bled to death. Perfectly healthy fourteen-year-olds don’t do that out of the blue, even after giving birth. Yeah, I’d say someone did something to her. Detective Tsu wasn’t sure what yet, and neither am I. I just know I didn’t kill a girl I held in my hands when she was barely days old.”

  I kept quiet.

  Another heavy sigh. “She’s my former partner’s oldest daughter. Ron was so proud when she was born, and Lori too. They couldn’t not show her off.”

  “You said she’s your goddaughter.”

  “I was pretty proud too. That day in church was one of the most amazing days of my life. They were dedicating her to God, and I promised to watch over her. But...”

  When he didn’t go on, I said, “But...?”

  “But Ron and I didn’t see business the same way. I didn’t want to run things the way he did, so we argued, dissolved the partnership, and went
our separate ways. Last time I saw Katherine Cecilia Richardson was two weeks after the christening.”

  “But you said she looked familiar when Lila moved her hair aside.”

  “She’s a carbon copy of Lori, her mom.”

  “And you say things went sour between the girl’s dad and you?”

  “Ron came up with a scheme I couldn’t stomach, and when I refused to go along with him, he didn’t want to go my way either. We had words.”

  “Hmm...”

  “Yeah, hmm. That’s just how Detective Tsu sees it. She figures that since my business is in trouble, while Ron is rolling in more dough than Croesus, I must have let bitterness eclipse common sense and decency and taken revenge on little KC.”

  “It’s happened.”

  “Yeah, but not this time. Not to, by, or in any way because of me.”

  His voice rang with conviction and determination. I knew how he felt. And I told him so again. “When I speak with Lila, and I know the glamour girl’s probably about to glide up onto my front porch any minute again, I can honestly say I didn’t see you anywhere near the Marshall home when I got there.”

  “Gee, thanks. That place is acres and acres huge. You could hide Buckingham Palace and the Taj Mahal there, and no one would know.”

  “Hey, it’s the best I can do.”

  He sighed again. “You’re right. This isn’t your problem—at least, it isn’t if you’re telling the truth.”

  “What would I have to gain from lying?”

  “Well, if you killed KC yourself...”

  “Now you’re really reaching, Merrill. Why would I do that? I don’t even know her. You at least have a connection to her, weak as it may be. That is, if you really haven’t had contact with her or her family for as long as you say.”

  “Don’t start that kind of deal. I didn’t hurt KC, and I’m going to prove it. Even if it means I’ll have to rehash that old mess with Ron.”

  “Hmm... seems I’ve heard that somewhere before. Good luck.”

  “Your skepticism warms my heart.”

  “It’s better than an accusation—which is all I got from you.”