Condo Crazies: Murder At The Albatross Page 13

  Devin seemed mesmerized by this cartoonish woman, came to life. “Ah, yes, Officer Magillicuddy. Come in. Judge Burlingame is in the living room.”

  “Bridey, please. We’re supposed to be neighbors.” A long, toothy smile didn’t do much to enhance her looks. She took long strides into the living room. “Judge Burlingame, I’m Bridey Magillicuddy.” She towered over the petite, older woman.

  “Good to meet you, Officer Magillicuddy.”

  “Bridey, please. Short for Bridget.” She nodded down at the judge. “You may remember my father, Clancy Magillicuddy. He was the detective assigned to you after a defendant put out a contract on your life.”

  “Yes, of course I remember your father. He stepped in front of a gunman to protect me. Very brave. How is he?”

  Bridey’s plain face lit up. “After he retired from the force, he got into training police dogs and, if that’s not enough, he’s got fourteen grandkids to keep him busy.” She looked at her watch. “Have to get back to my post,” she said briskly. “It’s been an honor meeting you, Judge Burlingame. My dad’ll be so pleased when I tell him.” She shook Phoebe’s hand vigorously, nodded at Devin, and with a few long strides, let herself out of the apartment. Devin looked at Phoebe and burst out laughing. “Never a dull moment at The Albatross, eh, Judge? He looked at his watch. “Unless you need me for anything else, I’ll be leaving. Have a good evening. The door closed softly behind him.

  Phoebe rested her head on the wing chair’s back. Clancy Magillicuddy…after all these years. She remembered the chaotic courtroom scene. The brawny, young policeman who’d taken an assassin’s bullet intended for the pugnacious young judge as she pronounced a two hundred and twenty-three year sentence on mobster, Itchy Zinso. The return fatal shooting of the gunman by court officers had been a nightmare; Phoebe remained at the downed officer’s side until the medics had taken him away. She’d visited the injured officer in the hospital a few times. It was the very least she could do…she owed her life to him. That was when she’d taken the D.A.’s advice, armed herself, and learned defense tactics. The “Ice Princess,” as the newspapers dubbed her, was always ready for trouble after that day.

  Her thoughts returned to the present. “Wonder how loosey goosey Monica’s going to like sharing her apartment with the efficient Bridey,” Phoebe mused.

  Chapter 54

  “Party?” Bridey Magillicuddy fixed a stern glare on the wigless Monica, her thick lenses reducing the size of her eyes to those of a mackerel. “We’re on duty here, Dennison. This isn’t a social visit. There’s been a murder, one attempted murder, and written death threats. And you think having a party is the answer to finding the perp?” She sniffed and turned back to the monitor on her bedroom desk. Her contempt was palpable.

  “It pulls people out of their units. They like free food and drinks, especially retired condo people. Breaks the monotony of their lives. Besides, they’re nosy and Monica is a distraction.” Prescott Dennison scowled at Bridey’s back. “Monica’s one sexy broad. Don’t believe me? Ask Chester Cheney.”

  Bridey whipped around. “You’re bragging about being groped by a senile old man? I thought you were just an egotist. Now I think you’re just damned stupid.”

  “Listen, Magillicuddy, I’ve found out more about these residents through my parties than I would have sitting in this stuffy apartment.” He waved his hands expansively at the overly furnished room.

  Bridey looked around. She had to agree with Dennison. The furnishings were vintage 1970s—peach-colored rattan furniture smothered by plump, turquoise, geometric pillows, plastic flowers in garish vases. At least there were no lava lamps. “And it’d give you a chance to meet a possible suspect,” Prescott continued.

  Bridey sighed. “Okay. I’ll come, but only for a short while. Set it up and tell me what time it starts.” She unfolded herself from the chair and stretched her tall frame. The heavy gray cotton dress showed no sign of wrinkles. It covered most of her body, exposing orthopedic-looking shoes.

  “You have anything else to wear? That schmatta doesn’t do your beauty justice,” Prescott said, snidely. “Seriously, Magillicuddy, Monica shouldn’t have such dowdy friends. She’s a hot tamale and you’re a…a flapjack. Monica doesn’t hang with Plain Janes. ”

  Bridey stiffened. “Monica’s a slut. No wonder people come to your parties. It’s like going to a brothel without having to pay for services.”

  “Monica’s a classy, southern gal,” Prescott said, coolly.

  “You’re nuts.” Bridey responded. She looked down at her dress. “I have another outfit with me. I’ll come to your party but I’m not staying long.”

  “Good.” He looked at her closely. “Do something with your hair, will you? And I’ve got makeup you can use.”

  “We’re not roomies, Dennison. Now get out so I can get back to work.” She sat at the desk and resumed viewing the tape of last night’s filming on their floor.

  “Eight o’clock,” he said, then started out of the bedroom.

  “Dennison?” Bridey squinted at the screen.

  “Yeah?”

  “In case you’re feeling like a big shot—this Plain Jane cleaned up the ring with your butt. Any time you want a rematch, let me know.” A peal of laughter followed Prescott before he could slam the door shut.

  Chapter 55

  Latasha was pouring champagne into glasses when Devin escorted Yetta into Monica’s unit and listened to their conversation.

  “Ohmygawd. Who are these people, Devin? They don’t all live here. How do I know the killer isn’t here?”

  “A lot of them are Monica’s friends. It’s her birthday. You know Monica. Any excuse for a party.” Devin patted her hand. “You’re safe here.”

  “I think I ought to go back to my condo,” Yetta fretted. “How do I know someone’s not going to stick a shiv in my back?”

  “Yetta, look at me.” Devin turned her around to face him. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. Stay with me. I’m your date for the evening.”

  Latasha forced a grin away from her lips. This was entertaining. She could tell Yetta enjoyed Devin’s company, but didn’t want to admit it.

  “So now I’m dating a cute gay goy? Oy. My mother is turning in her grave. Okay, Date, let’s eat.” She nodded at the plate of pateˊ and crackers. “Is that champagne? This Monica must have money to put out a spread like this.”

  Latasha looked around the room to make sure everything was perfect—platters of mini-quiches, tiny filet mignon sandwiches, and delicate pastries.

  Yeah, Monica’s got lotsa money. An’ if this don’t pull in the perp, Monica’s gonna be payin’ it off for the rest of her life.

  When Yetta and Devin stepped out of range, a few new faces caught Latasha’s attention. A woman in a burka was sliding appetizers under her veil. Nearby, there was a tanned young man with designer sunglasses perched on his head, chatting up a storm with Monica, who laughed at his every word and patted his arm often.

  A few muscle-bound types circulated around the room, eating from mounds of plated food in their hands and talking to residents and visitors. They were Latasha’s reinforcements. It was a barter system she had developed when she needed bodies. The guys liked her food and donated their time to off-duty surveillance. She knew the visitors would be closely watched.

  Monica patted her boy toy’s face, and Latasha listened closely. She watched as he eyed Monica’s generous bosom and flashy pendant diamond necklace.

  “Adrian, you naughty boy,” Monica drawled, “you say the most delicious things. I have to see to my guests. Don’t you disappear now.”

  “I ain’t leaving you, momma. I’m stickin’ around.” Adrian Spaltro swaggered over to Latasha, now bartending, and pointed to a bottle of Pyrat rum. “I’ll have that.”

  Latasha sized-up the young man making the request. He was arrogant and brash. She filled his request, handed it to him, and caught the eye of one of her boys. With a barely perceptible nod, she singled out Adri
an.

  The off-duty cop dressed in khaki pants, muscles rippling under a new-for-the-occasion Tommy Bahama black shirt, clapped Adrian on the back. “Hey, I’m Domenic. Didn’t I see you at the bowling alley with some blonde chick?”

  “Yeah, the mayor’s daughter. I met her at a bar.”

  “Some looker.” Domenic took a tiny swig from his beer bottle. Latasha thought this kid Adrian was too stupid to suspect Domenic was anything more than what he appeared.

  Adrian shrugged. “Lotsa girls in Palm Beach, but they’re not like Jersey girls. Jersey girls are hot.”

  “Jersey? Hey, Exit 109 here. Red Bank.” Domenic pointed to his chest.

  “Yeah? Exit 114, Middletown. How ‘bout that?”

  Their bonding was interrupted with the opening of a bedroom door off the hall. A tall woman in a strapless black sheath captured the attention of the entire room. Tiny crystals sparkled in her shoulder length, silky, black hair. Full breasts swelled against the sprinkling of diamonds and amethysts entwined in a platinum mesh necklace. All eyes turned to the exotic woman as she walked slowly into the center of the room, a faint smile playing on full, red lips. She turned her gray, almond-shaped eyes on Monica.

  “Cousin Monica, what a lovely party. How nice of you to welcome me like this.” Her smile broadened as she looked at Monica and leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss on Monica’s cheek.

  Latasha gaped. Nearby, Domenic leaned over to one of his cop buddies and whispered, “Holy crap, it’s Magillicuddy!”

  “No way,” the officer answered softly. “Magillicuddy could never look like that.”

  “Telling you, it’s her.” He guffawed. “Look at Dennison. Magillicuddy got him again.”

  The paralyzed Monica came to life. “Cousin Bridey, you look amazing.”

  “Oh, this ol’ thing.” Bridey scoffed. “Just an old rag I brought with me.” She linked her arm through Monica’s. “I just love being here with you, Cousin Monica.”

  Before Monica could answer, Latasha came forward with a tray of hors d’oeuvres and hissed at them, “We’re workin’ here, not horsin’ around. Work the crowd, you two.” Latasha watched from close by as Adrian moved in on Bridey.

  “Hey, babe. I’m Adrian Spaltro. What’s your name, sweet thing?”

  Bridey disengaged herself from Monica. “Hi, Adrian,” she said in a breathless Marilyn Monroe voice. “You can call me sweet thing, but I’d like Bridget better.” She flashed Adrian her most seductive smile. “Oh, look!”

  Latasha stopped in front of Monica, pushing a cart with a birthday cake ablaze with candles. “Hap-py Birth-day, to yeeww!” The pleasantly inebriated guests sang. Monica smiled and waved to the room.

  “Blow out the damned candles,” Latasha said through clenched teeth. “And then get back to doin’ your job.”

  “Make a wish, Cousin,” Bridey called out from the sofa. Her long, shapely, and slightly muscular legs crossed at the knee caught the attention of men in the room.

  Monica darted a look at Bridey Magillicuddy sitting thigh-to-thigh with young Adrian Spaltro.

  For a moment, Latasha was worried Prescott had forgotten his role as Monica. “Blow out the candles,” Latasha hissed again.

  Monica tore her eyes off Bridey, took a deep breath, and extinguished the candles with a wet spray of air. Latasha blinked, wheeled the cake away, and placed it on the table for any hapless residents hungry enough to risk a few germs. She looked around the room, placing people and her undercover cops.

  Yetta was within touching distance of Devin. Notably missing were Chester Cheney and Valentina Lopez. Latasha wasn’t surprised. Chester’s last visit to Monica’s apartment wouldn’t make him want to return, and Monica’s comments about Castro’s virtues and the similarity of Valentina Lopez’s and Jennifer Lopez’s last names and provocative rears just didn’t sit well with Valentina.

  Latasha cut slices into the birthday cake, covertly watching Magillicuddy. Last night’s video tapes revealed a dark, slender figure, face hidden deep in a hooded jacket, leaving the basket with the fish head outside Monica’s door.

  Latasha knew Bridey had studied the video and the list of possible suspects. Bridey was a sharp cop. She grew up in a cop’s home; cop work was in her blood. She had called Latasha with her findings and a plan to draw out the murderer. It was a long shot, but why not try it?

  Chapter 56

  “You suddenly become Angelina Jolie and Marilyn Monroe rolled into one?” Prescott glared at the plainclothes policewoman as she sat at the table with monitors and computer equipment. It was almost impossible to believe this was the same colorless, formless, sexless Bridey Magillicuddy he’d known for the past two years. Shiny black hair in a casual updo held in place with big tortoise combs, expertly applied Bobbi Brown makeup, what looked like real, sizable, glittering diamond stud earrings, tight running suit outlining a toned slender body and full breasts—she was mind-blowing.

  “How far do you think I’d have gotten on the force if anyone knew I’d modeled for Victoria’s Secret?”

  “Victoria’s—” Prescott’s mouth fell open.

  “Yeah, Victoria’s Secret. For three years. Then I got tired of being perennially hungry and applied for the force. The first week I pounded that beat I had more coffee and doughnuts than I had all my life.” Bridey wrinkled her nose at the memory. “Poundaged myself into a stupor. So, I started training and took up boxing.” She looked up at him. “You remember that match, don’t you? When you didn’t want to box with me ’cause you were afraid you’d hurt me?”

  Prescott closed his eyes and sighed. “You’re never going to let me forget about it, are you?”

  “Sorry.” Bridey tried to squelch the memory of her partner’s humiliation at her victory in the ring after she’d planted a punch to his jaw that dropped him to his knees and unable to get up.

  “Yeah, like I believe it. So, what’re you up to?”

  “Adrian Spaltro is coming by to work out with me in the gym downstairs.”

  “The kid at the party? Why?”

  “That kid, Adrian, was ratted out by Delores Pruitt to Carly Delaney’s dad about being alone in the condo with the girl. Tom Delaney read Adrian the riot act and two days later, Delores was dead. I talked to Tom and he told me Adrian was hanging out in the parking lot last week, waiting for Carly to come out. Tom told him off again. That was the night the fish head was left outside your door, and when I looked at the floor video, the perp’s face was hidden inside a hood but the body could be Adrian’s. The part I can’t figure out is why the fish head was left at your door. How did Adrian come to be invited to your party, anyhow? He’s not a resident.”

  “I, um, met him at a bar.”

  “Straight or gay?”

  “The kid or the bar?”

  “The bar. I want to know which bars he goes to, who his contacts are, and what he does for fun.”

  “It was a straight bar. He was there with some young guys. They were hitting on older women who looked like they might have money. I was there as Monica meeting a friend for a drink. Spaltro took one look at my cubic zirconium bling and made a beeline for me. I invited him to the party.”

  “Why?”

  “When he told me his name, I remembered it from the list Ezuma laid out for us. I thought it would be good bringing him back to The Albatross. See what I could get out of him.”

  “You didn’t think it would be good for the rest of us to know that?”

  Prescott shrugged. “Didn’t get that far in my planning.”

  Bridey’s appearance may have changed, but her piercing stare was as intense as ever as she looked at Prescott. “If we’re in this together, Dennison, I need to know what you know. He hasn’t made a move on you?” It was a cop’s question, not an idle one.

  “I’d like to live to see another day. An Italian stud thinks he’s being duped by a queen, I will be minus a few appendages I’ve grown attached to.”

  “I’m moving in on you, Dennison.”

/>   Prescott looked at her suitcase in the corner. “You already have.”

  “I mean with Adrian. He’s interested in me, and I intend to keep his interest going. He’s a good-looking young kid but not too bright. Sooner or later, he’s going to make a slip. I need to know if he’s behind what’s going on in this building. Or if he knows who is.” She looked at her Rolex watch. “Gotta go. I told Adrian ten o’clock.” She stood up. “What?”

  “Good looking Rolex knock-off,” he said, nodding at her watch. “Big diamonds, even looks like real platinum. Where’d you get it?”

  Bridey laughed. “It’s the real thing. Gift from one of the guests at a Victoria’s Secret runway show. He was a regular.”

  “Regular what?”

  Bridey flashed him an unreadable smile and ignored his pointed question. “Gotta go,” she repeated, picked up her sweat jacket and let herself out of the apartment.

  Prescott stared at the closed door. He’d been totally blindsided. How could he not have noticed her body before, or her finely chiseled features? He needed to get his head together or she’d get the next promotion. He walked dejectedly into his room, sat at the vanity, and contemplated his reflection. He picked up a tube of stage makeup and began the long process of becoming Monica Stevens. What had started out as a fun assignment was becoming a chore. Damn that Bridey Magillicuddy.

  Chapter 57

  “Alexis won’t have anything to do with her father.” Kate frowned into the murky depths of her espresso cup. “I can’t believe I actually tried to get her to spend time with Stewart, but she refuses.” Kate looked up at her coffee klatch companions. “She says he’s responsible for her life changing ‘irrevocably,’ so why should she even want to look at him?”