Condo Crazies: Murder At The Albatross Page 10

  How on earth had Prescott morphed into Phoebe’s niece, Monica Stevens? Is Monica really her niece? And should I care if she is or not? Phoebe must be aware her niece is in drag. Maybe it has to do with the murder. Maybe—

  The elevator doors slid open at the penthouse level. Devin stepped in and pressed the lobby button. He was still in deep thought when the elevator stopped at the seventh floor and Phoebe stepped in.

  “Good morning, Devin.” The old lady nodded at him.

  “Morning, Phoebe.”

  Phoebe looked at him piercingly, as if suspecting his unease. “How are you?”

  “Fine, just fine,” Devin said brusquely, doing his best to cover his knowledge of Monica Stevens.

  The doors slid open and Valentina sailed in, drenched in Chanel perfume that overwhelmingly announced its presence in the small conveyance.

  “Buenas dias.” She frowned at Phoebe. “Judge, you know I am not a complainer-r-r-r, but last night was ter-r-r-ble! It was a pesadilla. No, worse than a nightmare. The r-r-r-uido, the laughing, the television so loud—grosero. Just plain rude. I am sur-r-r-prised, Judge, you have such a niece.”

  Phoebe nodded once. “I have taken care of that, Valentina.” She was the first one out when the elevator reached its ground floor destination, leaning on Oliver to hasten her departure from the building. Valentina and Devin turned into the mailroom.

  “This used to be a nice place to live.” Valentina looked at the judge’s retreating back.

  “Still a good place.” Devin peered into his empty mailbox.

  “No, Deveen, it begins to remind me of Cuba. Too many bad people. And this new, rude, noisy one—” She rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t sweat the small stuff, Valentina. Life’s too hard as it is. I have to run.” He smiled at the Latina as he turned to leave.

  ***

  Valentina’s mailbox was in the lowest bank, and she stooped to unlock it.

  “Encantador, simplemente encantador,” a woman’s husky voice said behind her. “Latinas are so lucky to have such lovely asses.”

  Valentina whirled around to face The Albatross’s newest resident. “Are you cr-r-razy?” she snapped. “Besides stereotyping Latin women, you’re just plain rude—rude and crude.” She glared at Monica Stevens.

  “Honey, if I were you, I’d love to be stereotyped.” Monica looked down at the now livid Valentina. Brightly dressed in a silk turquoise jacket and orange slacks with large sunglasses perched on top of her tousled long, bright blonde hair, Monica would be conspicuous in any setting, even a tropical one.

  “Listen, you…you…lesbiana!”

  “Oh, my!” Monica covered her mouth in mock horror. “How would you know that, unless you are…are you propositioning me, lovely lady?”

  Valentina’s jaw dropped open. Before she could respond, Porfirio opened his office door, clipboard in hand.

  “Buenas dias,” he said cheerfully.

  “How nice. Another Latino. Y’all can talk to each other now in Spanish. Must be good to have another immigrant here with you, Miz Valentina. I have to be goin’. Have a good day, y’all.” Monica walked away, exiting the building into a waiting limousine.

  “Nice lady,” Porfirio said, looking at the departing limo.

  “You were just insulted, Por-r-r-firio, don’t you know that?”

  The building manager shrugged. “Why? What are we? We are immigrants.”

  “You can call yourself an immigrant.” Valentina snapped her mailbox shut. “But I’m as Amer-r-ican as apple pie, and anyone who says anything different better watch out!”

  Chapter 41

  “Prescott, aren’t you overdoin’ it, just a tad?” Latasha looked at the undercover cop next to her in the limo. “I said get things goin’ at The Albatross. I didn’t say set the place on fire.”

  Prescott took off his sunglasses, lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag blowing the smoke upward.

  “Put that out. I have allergies.” Latasha pointed to the limo’s ashtray.

  “You said, ‘find a suspect.’” Officer Dennison reluctantly stubbed out his cigarette. “And I think I’ve found a few.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’ve made enemies at The Albatross. Chester hates me. Yetta despises me. The Latina doesn’t take compliments too well.” He chuckled at the memory of Valentina’s response to his questionable remarks. “It’s a long list but no winners yet.”

  The limo drove slowly through Jupiter Island. Prescott looked through the darkened windows at the posh estates lining the ocean. “How’d you get this limo for a meeting place?”

  “From friends who owe me a favor,” Latasha replied. “I figured this would grab some attention for sure. People who live in condos see everything, but they can’t see through these dark windows.” She shifted topics. “Listen, Pres, no more noisy parties. From now on, do your undercover work so the entire building isn’t thrown into an uproar.”

  “There may be a problem. One of the residents may have recognized me.”

  “Who?”

  “Devin Dillon. Met him when I was working undercover at a gay bar a couple of years ago in Key West.”

  Latasha frowned. “Did he say anything?”

  “No, but there was that one second he looked at me—”

  “Dillon is a pretty cool guy. If he suspects you’re not the judge’s niece, I don’ think he’ll blow your cover. I wouldn’t worry about him.”

  “Yeah, well…I threw him into the mix with a comment about gay designers.”

  “Damn, Prescott. ‘Stir things up’ don’ mean goin’ ape-shit.”

  “Just doin’ my job, ma’am.” The cop tossed the pack of cigarettes from one hand to the other.

  Latasha picked up the handset next to her. “Dwayne, let me off at the station and then take the passenger back to The Albatross, please.”

  She turned back to Prescott. “Keep in touch. I’ll expect two calls from you each day. One at nine a.m. and the other at ten p.m. I don’t hear from you at those times, we come lookin’ for you. And see if you can contain some of your drama, huh? This ain’t no stage here. There’s a perp who’s already murdered one person and attacked another.”

  The limo rolled to a smooth stop at the police station’s back door.

  “Be careful. This is for real, Pres.” She pointed to the Nordstrom bag filled with empty, gift-wrapped boxes on the limo floor. “Take that back with you. It explains where you’ve been.”

  “Yes, Detective, ma’am.” Latasha shook her head and slammed the door shut.

  Prescott slid back into the limo’s plush seat, tapped out a cigarette, and lovingly lit up. He exhaled the smoke slowly, enjoying the release it gave him. He thought the detective’s concern about his safety was ridiculous. Yeah, a woman was killed but she was old and frail. He knew what he was doing.

  He fumbled in his Fendi pocketbook for a compact and took stock of his makeup. Carefully, he reapplied his lipstick, Estee’s Sienna Glow, a good color for him. Went well with the blonde wig that had just the right sunshine yellow color and frost to pull attention away from his angular jaw line. The limo drew up under The Albatross’s portico. He slid his sunglasses back on. Showtime!

  Chapter 42

  Tom Delaney held the lobby door open for the tall, flamboyantly dressed woman who waited, expectantly, for this courtesy. He didn’t pay much attention to who came and went out of The Albatross, but he knew he’d never seen her before. She wasn’t forgettable.

  “Well-l-l, thank you, suh.” The newcomer drawled in a husky voice as they entered the lobby. “I don’t believe I’ve met you. I’m Monica Stevens.” She extended a manicured hand, her nail polish the color he’d forbidden Carly to use—Morticia Addams dark brown or black or maroon. Or a combination of all three.

  “Hello, Ms. Stevens. Tom Delaney.” His hand registered the woman’s firm grip. He turned into the mailbox alcove off the lobby, and Monica followed him.

  “I’m new here.” Monica drew her mailbox k
ey out of her pocketbook. “Been here long?”

  “A few months.” Tom pulled a few envelopes and commercial fliers from his box and relocked it. He would have walked out of the room but Monica blocked the opening, smiling at him.

  “Lots of junk mail, isn’t the-ah?” Monica drawled. “Is Mrs. Delaney likin’ The Albatross?” She returned her unused mail key to her bag and walked back into the lobby with him.

  Tom finally focused on his inquisitor. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  Monica peered beneath long lashes at him, reached for a lock of her silky blonde hair and twirled it around one finger. “I asked, Tom, if Mrs. Delaney liked it here.”

  Tom looked at her sharply. He didn’t like being asked personal questions, especially about his ex-wife. “My mother doesn’t live with me, Ms. Stevens.” His eyes took in the angular features, heavy makeup, and thickset body for the first time. She reminded him of the body-builder women he’d seen at the gym—muscular and not so feminine.

  “Aren’t you the coy one.” Monica laughed.

  An uncomfortable feeling stole over Tom. She was blocking the elevator’s call button and he began to feel trapped.

  “I’m having a little party in my condo tonight and I’d sure love it if you’d come.” Monica smiled at him, revealing a set of ultra-white teeth, obviously the result of a dentist skilled in veneers.

  Tom was spared any excuse he might have thought of by the entrance of another woman into the lobby. Kate Parker. He turned to her with relief. “Honey, I’ve been waiting for you. Where’ve you been? Doesn’t matter. You’re here now.” He turned to Monica. “Can’t make the party but thanks for asking.” He hurried to Kate’s side, taking her arm and propelling her out the door. “Let’s go, honey.”

  Kate saw the consternation on Tom’s face, and too surprised to offer any resistance, allowed herself to be led out the door and into the parking lot. “What’s going on, Tom?” She stopped short.

  “Please, Kate, just keep walking. I have to get away from that woman.” He stopped and turned Kate around to face him. “Look over my shoulder into the lobby. Is she still there?”

  Kate followed his instructions. “She’s by the door. Why? You avoiding her?”

  “Avoiding?” He snorted. “Running away, more like it. Man, she’s a barracuda. She still there?”

  “She’s talking to Porfirio. Looks like he’s trapped for a while. Want to go back in?”

  “God, no. Not if she’s still there.”

  “We can’t stand here all day,” Kate said.

  “No, we can’t.” Tom looked at his watch. “It’s noon. You had lunch yet? We can go to Waterway.” He stopped. “If you’d like to, that is. I’ve wanted to ask you out and maybe this was meant to happen so I could.” He drew a deep breath. “Believe in serendipity, Kate?” He looked at her earnestly.

  ***

  Kate looked at the lobby again. Monica was still talking to the building manager, who was gesticulating wildly with his hands, obviously agitated. She turned her attention to the man standing before her. He wasn’t Jack the Ripper, and she hadn’t had lunch.

  “Actually, I do. I’ve always believed things happen for a reason.” Maybe she had misjudged him. Everyone deserved a second chance, and there could be a seed of truth in her ex’s claim she was too quick to jump to judgment. “I’m starved. My car or yours?”

  Chapter 43

  Two hours flew by at Waterway, and to Kate’s surprise, the company had been quite good. Besides sharing the decadent chocolate Killer Cake, she and Tom had a lot in common: their daughters, their love of cooking, they were both big Yankee fans, and they had actually been to the same Springsteen concert. They finished a leisurely lunch and went out to the floating dock for drinks. For her, it had been a relaxing couple of hours spent in the company of a pleasant man. And from the expression on Tom’s face, it had been good for him too.

  There was a lull in the conversation. Tom looked out at the water, then at Kate. “Kate,” Tom paused, “I’d like to take you out on a real date, to the River House.” He looked for her reaction. “Without the girls,” he added.

  “I’d like that,” she said, matter-of-factly.

  He was so different from her ex. He listened attentively to her plans for Kate’s Kitchen with Latasha, and how she hoped to keep Alexis with her during the summer months, working with catering, prepping, and serving.

  “I know she’s going to college in a couple of months and she’ll have her own life, but I want to be with her as much as I can,” Kate said, ruefully. She was about to launch her child into adulthood, away from home.

  “I wish Carly’s mother cared about her as much as you do Alexis.”

  Kate touched his hand. “Just show her love and care, Tom. You can’t be a mother to her, but you can be a great dad.” She sat back. “Hey, here’s an idea. Would you like to keep Carly busy as well? She and Alexis can prep together. I’d pay her the same hourly wages Alexis is getting.”

  He sighed and relaxed back in his chair. “That would be wonderful. I won’t have to worry where she is or who she’s with. Thanks, Kate. I owe you.”

  “And don’t think I won’t collect.” Kate raised her brows at him. “We can use a strong back at Kate’s Kitchen occasionally.”

  “Y’know, I think I’d enjoy it.” Tom raised his glass to Kate. “Here’s to working with you in the future, and maybe playing too?” he asked, mischievously.

  “Hmm. Time will tell on that one,” Kate replied coolly, but a small smile lingered on her lips.

  Chapter 44

  “Earth to Kate,” Devin called out.

  “What?” Kate looked up from the menu she was compiling.

  “Penny for your thoughts. No, actually, ten bucks. You were really in a trance,” he teased.

  “None of your business, Mr. Dillon.”

  “Ha, I thought you and Tom might make good music together.” He put the soup ladle on a plate and looked at the wall clock. “Your chowder is ready for storing. I have an appointment to run to.” He removed the apron he was wearing and reached for his suit jacket. “Keep the home fires burning. See you later.”

  He rushed out the door and into the elevator. He was late, and the elevator was slowing at the sixth floor. The stops to the ground floor were getting increasingly annoying. And, as if he ordained it, the doors opened to reveal a tropically dressed Monica, in an all-white slack outfit complete with large yellow-framed sunglasses under a wide-brimmed yellow sun hat. She had a large yellow pocketbook tucked under her arm.

  “Well, good mawnin’, Devin. How’re y’all this glorious mornin’?” Monica drawled in her husky voice.

  Devin nodded at Monica. “Morning.” There was finality to his greeting that was lost on the woman.

  “So, off to another day of interior decoratin’?” Monica continued.

  For an answer, Devin smiled tightly. Her voice set his teeth on edge. The doors opened and he made his way to the lobby doors without a further response to the brash woman’s question. He made it outside and was heading to his car when he heard the clack of her heels behind him.

  “Devin, wait.”

  He stopped without turning around.

  Monica caught up and went around to face him. “Sugah, we haven’t had a chance to properly meet and tawk. I’d like to invite you and a few others for drinks in my condo tonight.”

  Devin drew a deep breath. “No, I can’t make it.”

  “Ohh, tomorrow night?”

  Devin looked at the woman before him. There was no doubt this was the same person he’d met at Tropics Bar in Key West. The sunglasses, blonde wig, and southern drawl didn’t disguise him enough.

  “No, not tomorrow night, either. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but when we met in the Keys, you were Prescott Dennison. Now you’re Phoebe’s niece. Because I respect Phoebe, I haven’t said anything about you to anyone. Maybe there’s a rational reason for you being in drag here, and if there is, I don’t even want
to know what it is. All I know is I don’t want to be involved. So back off, Monica.” He left Monica staring at his back.

  ***

  Well, look who grew a pair. Our little designer isn’t as mild as he appears after all.

  Monica watched Devin’s white Mercedes glide into the street. Her scarlet tipped fingers adjusted her gaudy sunglasses. The slam of a car door diverted her attention. Chester Cheney was heading for the building. Curtain up.

  “Yoo hoo, Chester, Chester,” Monica trilled. “Wait up.”

  Chester turned to the call of his name. His face broke into a big grin when he saw the tall, amply-endowed, designer-clothed body gracefully walking toward him.

  Monica reached him and slid her arm through his and they continued to walk to the building.

  “Now, Chester, honey,” she pressed his arm against her breast, “I was plannin’ a small gatherin’ in my condo tonight…”

  Chapter 45

  “Seems like we can’t catch a break in this case, Judge.” Latasha’s patience was wearing thin. “An’ I’m not sure puttin’ Prescott in an apartment at The Albatross is gonna get us additional information. But we gotta ride this out and hope he comes up with somethin’ better than what we’ve got, which is nothin’ right now.”

  They were a contrasted pair, but the elderly lady with her halo of white hair, dressed in a light grey skirt and blouse and sensible walking shoes, and the stocky, black woman in a dark blue business suit had no audience. They walked slowly along the path around Pelican Lake, sidestepping duck droppings, and in some cases, the ducks themselves. Phoebe’s constant companion, the silver-headed Oliver, supported her weight as the elderly magistrate kept pace with the younger detective. Heads bent toward each other, they exchanged information in low tones.