Murder On The Menu: The 1st Nikki Hunter Mystery (Nikki Hunter Mysteries) (4 page)

Chapter 4

T
uscaloosa Avenue is in one of Atherton’s average neighborhoods where the more humble houses start at three million dollars. I couldn’t help wondering how many of the residents were from old money, never having to do anything but manage their stock portfolios, and how many had worked sixteen-hour days building businesses that eventually allowed them to live in these homes.

Everything in life is a trade-off. I gave up the security of working for someone else and took on the stress of managing my own business, covering my own medical insurance, and paying for my own office space. Now I can’t leave the job behind when I go home, but I get to make all my own decisions. I keep asking myself if it’s worth it. So far the answer is yes.

I like the independence of working alone, although sometimes it makes me feel isolated. Living in a community of boat dwellers helps quell the loneliness. People who live aboard are, for the most part, gregarious. And of course my best friend, Elizabeth, is also my neighbor. She lives aboard a forty-six foot trawler berthed at the base of the companionway that leads from the shore down to the docks.

I pulled into the Howard’s circular driveway and parked in front of the enormous white colonial. I felt slightly out of place, but discomfort brings out the bulldog in me, so that was okay.

When Kate answered my knock I was surprised. I’d been expecting a butler in a tux.

“Good afternoon,” she said.

“Hi, Kate. Is this a good time for me to look at Laura’s room?”

“Of course. Please come in.”

She was composed and gracious. Probably a great hostess.

I stepped into the foyer and shivered as the frigid air enveloped me. Maybe having the air conditioning on high was one of Kate’s strategies for keeping her skin youthful. I know …
meow
.

As she led me up a broad staircase I admired the architecture, but I would never want to be responsible for anything so spacious. If I ever get tired of living aboard my sailboat I’ll probably look for a one-story, two bedroom cottage with a small fenced yard. Something easy to maintain, where I can have a dog or two.

Laura’s suite of rooms was at the top of the stairs. Kate opened the door and said, “I’ll leave you alone.”

“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it. It’s really hard to snoop with someone looking over your shoulder.

The first thing I noticed was the faint scent of roses. A quick look around told me there were no long-stemmed beauties present. Maybe Laura had used an air freshener or a rose-scented perfume.

The room was pristine. I needed to know if Laura had kept it that way or if the maid had cleaned up after her death.

I stopped Kate on her way down the stairs. “When was the last time this room was cleaned?”

She turned toward me and raised an eyebrow. “I have no idea,” she said. “Our staff was instructed never to go into Laura’s room. She liked her privacy.”

“Have the police been in here?”

“Yes,” she said. “But they didn’t find anything. At least they didn’t say they were taking anything.”

I stepped back into the room and closed the door behind me, allowing the experience of being in the murdered woman’s space to sink into my consciousness. The room had been painted a soft mint green and the molding and window frames were a pale violet. An unusual combination of colors, but somehow it worked.

I moved my gaze around the room from left to right. Near the door was an elaborate entertainment center with shelves of CDs, DVDs, and VHS cassettes.

The wall beyond the entertainment center was covered with mirrored panels, and the floor was polished hardwood. There was an open door beyond the mirrored wall through which I could see an elegant bathroom. To the right of the bathroom door was a cheval glass turned at an angle toward the mirrored panels.

There were two large windows, and between them stood a mahogany dresser over which hung another mirror. Centered on top of the dresser was a heavily varnished wooden box.

The king-size bed against the wall to my right was covered with a patchwork quilt that looked handmade and homey. Propped up against the pillows was a stuffed Shrek doll. Above the bed was a framed photograph of a tropical island, azure water and waving palm trees. There were end tables on both sides of the bed, each with a mission-style lamp on top of a white lace doily.

A set of double doors to the right of the bed had been left open, allowing me a glimpse of the huge walk-in closet. Shoes were lined up in pairs with the toes pointing toward the wall, and the clothes were all on hangers, nothing on the floor.

If the space you live in reflects your self-image, keeping your bedroom tidy might suggest that you feel good about yourself. Of course, if that was true I was in big trouble. Maybe neatness was a futile attempt to control the chaos of everyday life. That sounded better to me.

On the other side of the closet was a small desk, on top of which I spotted a framed family photo that looked like it had been taken at least ten years earlier. Laura, Kate, and Derrick, all facing the camera with their arms around each other, all of them smiling, but none of their smiles reached their eyes.

I crossed the floor and stepped into the luxurious bathroom. I flipped up two light switches, one of which started an overhead fan. I turned that one off, since I didn’t need the distraction. The other switch illuminated a sun lamp bulb mounted in the ceiling and a row of very bright lights over a mirror that spanned the wall behind the sink. The oversized tub was equipped with Jacuzzi jets and the adjacent shower had two heads, plus a hand-held massage unit. It looked to me like the bathroom of a very sensuous young woman.

The contents of the cabinets and drawers told me that Laura had purchased expensive cosmetics and rose-scented, French-milled soap. The medicine chest contained the usual items including a bottle of Excedrin PM, but no other drugs and no type of birth control. I lifted the lid of the toilet tank and looked inside, finding nothing that didn’t belong there. As I came out of the bathroom I flipped the cheval glass over and checked the back.

I moved to the dresser and opened the varnished box. The theme song from
Titanic
began playing as I examined the contents. The box contained some expensive jewelry and some garish costume pieces, separated by a divider in the center. I pawed through the assortment with interest, but the music was getting to me. I hate sad movies. I closed the box and opened the top dresser drawer.

I was once again struck by the fragrance of roses, and discovered that Laura had used sachets in her lingerie drawer. On the right was a collection of sporty white cotton briefs, sox, and jogging bras. On the left were black, purple, and red lace demi-bras, thongs, and a strapless navy blue bustier. In the other drawers I found Laura’s neatly folded sweaters and tee shirts.

I turned my attention to the bed. Picking up the Shrek doll I turned it over in my hands. There was a Velcro closure on the back. As I tugged at the Velcro I inadvertently squeezed the belly of the doll and a raspy voice croaked, “This is my swamp.” Smiling, I pulled open the Velcro at the back and Shrek said, “Thank you very much. I’m here till Thursday.” There were two AA batteries and a tiny speaker inside the doll, but no evidence that would lead me to Laura’s killer.

I set the doll aside and looked under the pillows, inside the pillowcases, between the sheets, between the mattress and box spring, and under the bed. I stood on the bed and carefully removed the framed photo from the wall, checking the back for anything hidden there. After straightening the bed I peeked under the throw rugs.

On one of the bedside tables was a Nora Roberts paperback. I flipped through the pages wondering if Laura might have been hoping to meet up with a hero and live happily ever after. I have mixed feelings about romance novels. I think the unrealistic expectations they create are responsible for a lot of failed relationships, but I also love the happy endings.

I emptied the nightstand drawers, then looked behind them, finding nothing of interest. I tugged the heavy bed away from the wall so I could see behind the headboard.

I was feeling frustrated and my lower back ached. I wondered if a quick dip in Laura’s Jacuzzi would be inappropriate.

I entered the walk-in closet. Laura had everything the well-dressed débutante would wear, plus an assortment of spandex and leather garments that almost made me blush. I wondered if Laura had separated the aspects of her life as successfully as she had separated her wardrobe choices. I was glad Kate had chosen not to join me while I searched her daughter’s room.

I checked all the pockets, and then pushed the clothes aside and looked behind them.
If you’re going to do something, do it well
. That was my maternal grandmother speaking. She passed away when I was thirty, but I still hear her voice.

I finished my search of the closet finding nothing more fascinating than a pair of navy and white T-Strap Ferragamos.

I rummaged through the desk and found an assortment of mundane office supplies. In the Pendaflex drawer was an accordion file of bank statements. I opened the most recent envelope and scanned the deposits and withdrawals. There were two automatic deposits listed, noting that the source of the deposits was the ‘
Fanny Pack
’. That was interesting. The
Fanny Pack
was a local strip club. I wondered if I should bring this up with Kate, and decided to wait until I knew more, and perhaps until Kate was suffering less. I set the file by the bedroom door.

I removed each drawer from the desk and checked the bottoms, sides, and backs, hoping something had been taped there like in the movies. No such luck. I got down on my hands and knees and looked under the desk. I hauled it away from the wall, careful not to disconnect the telephone. As I was pushing it back it occurred to me that there was one essential item missing from this room. Laura didn’t have a computer. Her father owned a software company. Maybe it was her way of showing contempt for him or for what he chose to do with his life.

Nothing in the room provided any insight into why Laura had been killed. I don’t know what I’d expected to find. Maybe a hidden stash of methamphetamines. It wasn’t likely she’d had advance knowledge of her impending death. Not like she could leave some kind of a clue behind. That would be too much to hope for.

I sat down on the bed and studied the entertainment center. Most of the videotapes and DVDs were in cardboard or plastic boxes advertising the enclosed movies, but there was one VHS box without a label. I got up, turned on the VCR, and inserted the Fuji cassette. After I got the TV on the right channel and remembered that I had to push
play
, the video began.

On the screen I saw Laura, dressed in a brown jumpsuit and wearing some kind of helmet. There was a parachute strapped to her back, and she was seated in what appeared to be the cargo hold of a small airplane. In spite of the helmet her long hair blew fiercely around her face as she leaned forward looking out the open door. The camera remained focused on Laura and a male companion who was similarly attired. The man was wearing goggles, obscuring his features.

After a few minutes Laura put on her goggles and smiled at the camera, then stepped out of the airplane as casually as I get out of bed in the morning, although somewhat more gracefully. The man jumped out behind her and was closely followed by the person with the camera.

During about thirty seconds of free-fall the camera remained on Laura. She was grinning wildly. Of course it was probably impossible to fall at a hundred and twenty miles per hour without the corners of your mouth reaching for your ears.

I watched the video until Laura and her friend were safely on the ground. The tape ended before the guy took off his goggles, so I never got a look at his face. All I could say for sure was that he was above average height, and appeared to be in pretty good shape.

I rewound the tape, took it out of the VCR, and tucked it into my purse.

I glanced through the rest of Laura’s movie collection. It was predominately Disney, but included
Miss Congeniality
,
You’ve Got Mail
, and, of course,
Titanic
. She read romance novels, slept with a Shrek doll, and watched Disney movies. She also got automatic deposits from a local nudie bar. Human beings are riddled with contradiction, but what I was seeing here suggested that Laura fantasized about a return to innocence, at least while she was at home.

I was tempted to snoop around the other upstairs rooms, but I’d already been there for two hours and I didn’t know who else might be home, so I retrieved the file of bank statements and went downstairs.

I found Kate in the living room. She was gazing at a large flat panel TV, mounted above the fireplace. The home movie she was watching had been paused. On the screen I saw a younger Kate Howard, her arms around a chubby toddler who was gazing up into her mother’s eyes. Laura’s cherubic smile was indeed as Kate had described it; like the sun, shining adoringly on her mother.

I felt my heart catch in my throat. What must it be like to have endured the loss of that child’s affection years ago, and now to live with no hope of ever reclaiming the perfect love they had once shared?

I softly cleared my throat to announce my presence. “I’m finished,” I said.

Kate slowly turned to face me. Her eyes had a faraway look.

“I’d like your permission to take Laura’s bank statements and this skydiving video.” I took the cassette out of my purse and held it up.