Murder With A Twist Part 5

"Blonde, pretty in an obvious kind of way. Wore short skirts, high heels, and if I remember correctly, chewed a lot of gum," Daphne answered.

"And who is his new secretary?" Olive asked.

Daphne laughed. "You just got off the phone with her not two minutes ago, and you've already forgotten her name? Now do you see why no one told you about Betty? The new secretary is named Mary. Mary Crenshaw."

"And what does she look like?" Olive asked.

"Gray hair, badly permed," Daphne said. "She wears sensible shoes, support hose, and, I think, dentures."

"Excellent," said Nigel. "No need to worry about any nasty gum-chewing habit."

Daphne grinned. "Exactly," she said.

"I don't see anything funny about this," Olive snapped. "Frankly, I think the three of you are being very unsupportive, sitting here and making jokes."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Nigel came to my defense. "That's not fair, Aunt Olive," he said. "Nic has been doing exactly what you've asked-which is to find Leo. It's not her fault that he hasn't turned up yet."

Olive ducked her head a bit. "You're right. I'm sorry, Nicole. I didn't mean to imply you weren't helping."

"You didn't imply it," Nigel corrected. "You said it. And besides, Nic doesn't make jokes. She just laughs at mine."

I smiled at Olive and squeezed Nigel's arm. "Who says chivalry is dead?"

"Shut up, woman," Nigel said. "I wasn't done talking."

Daphne and I laughed. Olive didn't. She seemed out of sorts for the remainder of our visit, which was mercifully cut short after Skippy got into the trash. After fis.h.i.+ng several candy wrappers, receipts, and a partially completed ledger out of his mouth, Nigel and I made our excuses and left.

On the way back to the hotel, I bought Skippy a large rawhide toy as reward. He really was becoming one of the family.

eleven.

That night, Nigel and I went to Mario's, a favorite restaurant of mine from my days with the department. It was a small place tucked away on a side street in Little Italy, but it served the best dish of linguine con le vongole anywhere in the city. I was surprised to find that the owner, Gino Santini, remembered me. He was a large man, with a ready smile and mop of bushy auburn hair that was beginning to go gray. He came out from behind the hostess stand and greeted me with a giant hug when we entered. "As I live and breathe! Detective Nic Landis!" he said. "How are you?"

"Hi, Gino. I'm fine. But actually, it's Martini, now. I retired and got married. This is my husband, Nigel," I said, indicating Nigel.

Gino extended his large paw of a hand to Nigel and said, "Well, congratulations to you. Nic, here, was one of the best detectives in the city, and the prettiest too. We miss having her around. But I suppose our loss is your gain."

Nigel said something about agreeing to that, but Gino didn't hear him. He had suddenly noticed Skippy. "What in the name of all that is holy is that?" he asked.

"That is Skippy," I answered. "He's new."

Gino looked down at Skippy. Skippy wagged his tail, sat down, and presented his paw to Gino. Gino laughed and accepted it. Looking back at me, he asked, "Table for three?"

"Yes, please," I answered.

Gino led us to a table in the back. Although we walked past several occupied tables, no one gave Skippy at second glance. There were some parts about New York that I really missed. Gino seated us at a table in the back corner. He handed us our menus and insisted to treating us to a bottle of wine. As we looked over the selections, I heard someone calling my name. I glanced up and saw Marcy and Arnie walking toward us. "h.e.l.lo," I said, smiling. "How are you guys doing?"

Nigel stood up and greeted them as well. "Are you here for dinner?" he asked. "We've just sat down. Can you join us?"

They demurred for a few minutes, saying that they didn't want to intrude, but soon we had convinced them to join us. After Gino had taken our orders, Marcy turned to me. "So have you made any progress in finding your cousin's husband?" she asked.

"Cousin-in-law's husband," I corrected. "There's an important distinction. But no, we haven't found him. Why? Have you heard anything?"

"Well, I don't know if it's related, but guess who turned up dead this morning?"

"Who?"

"Fat Saul."

"How?"

"Shot."

I wasn't surprised. Fat Saul lived a violent life. It wasn't too hard to guess that he'd come to a violent end.

"Where was he found?" I asked.

"At a building site downtown. It's still under construction, but it's another one of those high-end residential complexes. The flooring crew found him in one of the apartments. The coroner thinks he was killed sometime late last night," said Marcy. She took a sip of wine. "We haven't released the details of his death to the public just yet, so keep this to yourself."

"Sure. Did Saul have any ties to anyone on the work crew?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Not that we can find. But it's early days yet. Besides, Saul wasn't exactly the kind of guy you admitted knowing."

"How was he shot?" I asked.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess, 'with a gun,'" Nigel said. Turning to me, he smirked. "See? I should totally be an equal partner in this. I'm a natural."

"Yes, dear. Very impressive. However, what I meant was, did it seem like an execution or the result of a fight?"

Nigel raised his eyebrows in admiration. "Oh! Good question!"

"From the looks of it," said Marcy, "there had been some kind of struggle. He was shot in the stomach. Bled to death."

"Painful way to go," I observed.

"Yeah. I'm all broke up," Marcy replied. "The way I see it, it's one less psycho I have to deal with."

"Any idea as to who might have wanted him dead?"

"Only half of New York. And not just the dodgy part. Fat Saul was an equal opportunity b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

I thought for a moment. "Have you talked to Frank and Danny Little? With Danny out of prison, maybe they wanted to take over the business. When I last saw Frank he was sporting a pretty nasty black eye, a gift from Saul over Leo skipping town. Maybe Frank was tired of taking a beating from someone not his older brother."

Marcy nodded. "Yes. I thought about that too. They both check out. They've got a group of people who swear they were with them all night, not that that means anything. That bunch would swear to Jesus Christ at the Second Coming with their fingers crossed behind their backs. Still, Saul made a lot of money with his business. It's a hard motive to discount."

"How lucrative was his business?" Nigel asked.

Marcy shrugged. "Who knows for sure? I doubt he ever filed a legit tax return. But let's just say that had he visited L.A. before his untimely death, he might have had his fair share of starlets throwing themselves at him."

"It's a shame he missed that," said Nigel.

I poked him. "Be serious," I said, before turning back to Marcy. "Any chance you'd mind if I talked to Frank about this? Not in any professional capacity, of course," I added when I saw her hesitate. "I just think that I ought to convey my sympathies over the recent loss of his business partner."

"In person, I a.s.sume," Marcy guessed, with a smile.

"I think it's more appropriate."

Nigel nodded in approval. "Very Emily Post." Giving my hand a squeeze, he added, "Aunt Olive would be so proud of you."

twelve.

The next day found us once again on Frank Little's doorstep. This time, however, my knock was not immediately answered. I had resorted to leaning on the doorbell when Frank finally flung open the door.

"What do you want, Landis? I mean Mrs. Martini," he groused when he saw me. "I thought we were done catching up."

"What can I say, Frank? You enchant me. I want to talk to you about Fat Saul, your dearly departed business partner."

Frank's small eyes narrowed further. "What about him?"

"Well, I heard he turned up dead in a building complex downtown."

"Yeah, so?"

"Do you really want to have this conversation out on your front steps?" I asked.

Frank considered this and then opened the door wide to let me in. "Just ten minutes," he said.

"I know the drill," I answered, as I followed him once again down the hall to the kitchen. As before, Frank was not alone. However, this time there was only one other person sitting at the still-sticky kitchen table. With a frown on his face and a bottle of scotch in his hand, sat Danny Little. Danny was older than Frank by about ten years. Everything about him was an exaggerated version of Frank. His frame was bigger, his hair thicker, and his propensity for cruelness suggested in the more p.r.o.nounced slant of his mouth.

Seeing me, he began to sputter. "Jesus, Frank! What the h.e.l.l are you thinking bringing a cop in here?"

"Why, Danny!" I said with a smile. "I'm flattered that you remember me after all these years."

"Aw, ease up, Danny," said Frank. "She's ain't a cop no more. She got her leg shot up and got married."

"It was the only way I could get her to say yes," Nigel explained with an apologetic air. "Drastic, but effective."

Danny turned his attention to Nigel. "And who the h.e.l.l are you?" he barked.

"Nigel Martini," came the reply.

Danny eyed Skippy next. "What's with the dog?"

"He's a Seeing Eye dog," Nigel said.

Danny looked at Nigel. "You blind?"

"No," Nigel answered. "Why?"

While Danny struggled to make sense of Nigel, I sat down at the table, taking care not to touch the sticky surface. Nigel and Frank did the same. Danny gave up on Nigel and poured out a drink for himself and Frank. No one offered us one. I was not offended.

"I want to ask you about Fat Saul," I said.

"What about him?" asked Frank.

"What happened to him?"

"He got himself killed."

"He did that all by himself ?" I asked. "Really? I thought maybe he might have had some help with that."

"Did you now?" Frank asked. "Don't see how it's any of your business."

I sighed. "Frank, the faster you answer my questions, the faster I leave. So, again, what happened to Fat Saul?"

Frank took a large sip of his scotch before answering. "Someone killed him," he finally said. "I don't know who, and I don't know how. The police won't tell me anything. All I know is that they left Saul to die like some animal."

I leaned back in my chair. "Frank, you know as well I do that Saul did far worse to other people over the years. Don't pretend like he didn't have his enemies. There are some who might say his mode of death was fitting."

Danny did not agree with my sentiment. His mouth twisted, and his eyes hardened. He leaned across the table and jabbed his forefinger at me. "I'd be real careful if I were you, Landis," he said. "You're not in the department anymore. That protection is long gone." He made a point of looking at my leg. "Not that it served you too well before," he said with a semblance of a smile. "You never know. Next time, it might be more than just your leg that gets shot up."

"Which reminds me, dear," said Nigel, as he crossed his legs and casually studied his fingernails. "We really should send flowers to that man's grave while we're in town. I know he shot at you first, but it's the decent thing to do."

Danny looked at Nigel in surprise before turning back to me. "Did you kill someone?" he asked. "Really? Because, no offense, but you don't look the type."

"None taken," I said politely.

Nigel patted my hand. "It's what first attracted me to her, actually," he confessed.

Danny blinked in confusion.

"If you're done threatening me, Danny, I'd like to ask Frank a few questions," I said. "What do you know about Fat Saul's death?"