Читать книгу Belinda Blake and the Snake in the Grass - Heather Day Gilbert - Страница 14

Chapter 7

Katrina called bright and early the next day. “Tell me all about your date with Mister Manor House.”

I groaned. “It wasn’t really a date. And I didn’t have time to go shopping, so I wore that floral maxi dress.”

She gave a prolonged hmm. “What shoes did you wear with it?”

My sister knew me well.

“Doc Martens,” I practically whispered.

Katrina took a few moments to ream me out for my shoe choice, declaring that no matter where I traveled, I should always pack a pair of leather heels. Then she gave me mental whiplash by launching into a lecture about how I needed to keep my pepper spray on me at all times. Apparently Mom had told her that I’d turned up a dead body outside my carriage house.

“You should’ve told me, sis! I’ve met a few psychopaths in my sessions, and I’ve seen how they think. I mean, what if this was a serial killer?”

“Thanks for that uplifting thought. I’m sure I’ll sleep really well once I get back to my new place.”

She huffed. “You really need to be careful, Belinda. I know you’ve done some dangerous things in your time, like parachuting and mountain climbing and going on that African safari, but this is different.”

“Those things were hardly dangerous. And I doubt this is, either. I like my new little house and there’s no way I’d consider moving again so soon. Do you know how hard it is to land an old stone carriage house like this, much less in Greenwich?”

“Doesn’t matter where you live if someone’s out to kill you,” Katrina said sagely.

“How’s Tyler?” I asked, changing the subject. Katrina usually loved talking about her obstetrician husband—either deriding him or extolling him, depending on her mood.

“You would not believe the size of the TV he just bought,” she started. And I was off the hook, just like that.

* * * *

Rasputin didn’t waste any time slithering out to greet me when I walked into the living room, proving without a doubt he was hungry. I went into the kitchen to retrieve the thawed, smelly rat I’d set out the night before.

Using the metal calipers Reginald had showed me, I grabbed the rat’s flaccid neck and practically ran toward Rasputin’s cage. I opened it and dangled the corpse in front of Rasputin, but he stayed curled in the corner, acting all casual about catching his dinner.

I realized that might be the key—he had to feel like he was catching something alive. I wriggled the rat in front of him and he started sliding my way. Rejecting the impulse to drop the rat and slam the cage shut, I wriggled the rodent harder and the next thing I knew, Rasputin had grabbed and flipped it into his golden, squeezing coils, constricting it. I gently tugged the calipers free and shut the cage so he could eat in peace.

There’s a first time for everything, my grandma was fond of saying. But I hoped this was the last time my exotic pet-sitting career demanded I handle a floppy, thawed-out rat. Sure, I was partially awed to see a constrictor in action, but the larger part of me was convinced I’d die if Rasputin decided to give my neck a squeeze like that on our next “walk.”

I thoroughly cleaned the calipers, countertop, and everything else the rat had touched. Then I retrieved the latest video game I needed to review and popped it in the game system in my room. Reginald had agreed to let me use it while I stayed over, so I could work both jobs at once.

The game was off to a slow start—it was a Tomb Raider wannabe, but the main character’s storyline was nowhere near as engaging as Lara Croft’s. In fact, I didn’t care if I ran this animated chick right off the beautifully detailed cliff.

My mind was elsewhere. Had Dietrich been telling the whole truth? Why would Margo have allowed him to paint her nude (although unrecognizable as such), after their breakup had occurred? What if they’d gotten back together and they hadn’t told anyone yet, and then what if, in a particularly stalkery moment, Dietrich had decided to kill her so her soul could live forever in his paintings or something?

I took a sip of my lime carbonated water. I was letting my imagination run away with me. Dietrich had seemed completely harmless. This wasn’t some warped, real-life version of The Picture of Dorian Gray. Dietrich had loved Margo for a long time, according to both him and Stone. She’d dumped him. He had been sad, but most likely he hadn’t taken a notion to exact revenge several years later.

No, Dietrich didn’t fit the strangler persona.

I glanced out the window. It was another sunny November day in Manhattan, so it was probably sunny in Greenwich, too. It seemed almost profane that Margo Fenton would be laid to rest on such a cheery, cloudless day.

I jerked at my controller, now fully engaged in the game as several armored Samurai charged me. At this point in the game, all I had was a long sword, but it would have to do.

For the next two hours, I focused on the game. Then I flipped it off and took copious notes on everything from the main character’s clothing to the nearly invisible pixelation on her skin. I evaluated the soundtrack, the likelihood I’d want to replay the game, and I compared it to other games of the same style. I’d taken numerous computer classes in college—mostly for fun—but they had come in handy with my freelance review gig.

When my stomach growled, I realized I was starving. The thought and smell of heading into the rat-thawing kitchen revolted me, so I phoned the local deli and ordered a turkey grinder. Tossing my pajamas to the side (a favorite perk of working from home), I threw on a long sleeved T and jeans, socks and Crocs, and headed out.

Fall was the one time Manhattan really tickled my fancy. Some crisp afternoons you could see the moon, smiling down on the city from a brilliant blue sky. It was a reminder that nature existed all around us, even if it felt like most of the Big Apple was manmade. Today I enjoyed some friendly banter with the deli cashier, took my grinder to a bench in the park, and sat under the trees to eat it. Truth be told, I missed home. The leaves had long since fallen there, but the air would hold that unmistakable tang of winter and the clear night skies would be spangled with stars.

My phone rang and I glanced at it. Stone.

I cut the pleasantries. “How was the funeral?”

He groaned. “Gruesome.”

Gruesome seemed to be a favorite word of his. “How so?”

“Her parents were a mess. I mean, literally. I think Adam Fenton was wearing his college rugby shirt, and Ava Fenton looked like she hadn’t washed her hair in days. I know none of that can be helped—they were grieving—but someone should’ve stepped in and helped them look a little more presentable for their own daughter’s funeral. After today, my mom has determined to help Ava join the land of the living. She’s visiting her tomorrow—along with a stylist she booked for the occasion to touch up Ava’s roots, which Mom said were atrocious.”

“Your mom’s a regular saint,” I said.

He missed my irony. “She does what she can. Hey, there was one weird thing, though. Frannie Rutherford has been best friends with Margo forever. I knew they’d had a fight of some kind before my last billiards party, but she didn’t even show for the funeral today. I would’ve thought she’d let bygones be bygones at this point, you know?”

“That is odd.” Although I appreciated the way he was including me in his ruminations on Margo’s death, I wondered why he was sharing this with me. I didn’t even know Frannie.

He went on to explain. “Anyway, I called her up and asked if I could swing by tomorrow.” He paused, and I felt a knot of trepidation in my gut, almost like I knew what was coming. “Actually, I have a huge favor to ask, Belinda. I sort of asked if we could swing by.”

“But I don’t even know her, Stone,” I shook my head, although he couldn’t even see me.

“Well, about that.” He cleared his throat, and his voice took on that persuasive tone I found myself bending for a little too easily. “She sort of inferred that you were my new girlfriend.”

I laughed out loud, not sure whether to be angry, offended, or flattered. A homeless man plopped down beside me and I scooted over to give him space. “So you mean you want me to act like your girlfriend?”

“I wasn’t saying that.” I thought I could hear a smile behind his words. “You can either act that way or shoot down the notion; whatever you want. I could see how it would be advantageous, though. That way she wouldn’t figure out you’re tagging along for a covert interrogation mission.”

“So that’s what we’re calling it?” Since our relationship had thus far been platonic, outside the few electrifying touches and glances Stone had given me, I agreed to go with him. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Thanks, Belinda.” In a softer voice, he added, “Or should I call you sweetie?”

I nearly choked on a bite of sandwich and the homeless man shot me an inquisitive look. I swallowed and tried to play it cool, staring at the leaves rattling on the trees. “You’re a funny guy,” I deflected, though I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be Stone’s actual love interest. “Anyway, trust me, I’m great girlfriend material.” I gasped, wishing I hadn’t let that tidbit pop out of my mouth.

Stone laughed. “I’ll just bet you are. Hey, are you heading back to the carriage house anytime soon?”

Relieved at the change in subject, I said, “I do need to get back to my place to type up an article I’m submitting. I’ll bring Rasputin along and stick around a little while. He’s pretty sedate, now that he just ate a huge rat.”

Stone made a fake gagging noise. “That’s too much information for me. Anyway, are you going to need a snake-friendly ride? I could send Red to pick you up.”

“Actually, I’d love that, if it wasn’t too much trouble. I think I’ll head back tomorrow, if that works for Red.”

“Sounds like a plan. Maybe Red could pick you up around eight in the morning? Then I’ll have him swing by your place later, around one, so we can visit Frannie.”

I felt lame, accepting free rides from the young laird of the manor, but I told myself I was repaying him by bringing my interviewing prowess to the table. After all, I was helping him uncover someone who’d murdered his friend, right on his property. Besides, he was the generous kind of wealthy guy who probably thought nothing of sending his chauffeur out on pickup errands.

“Sure. I’ll be ready.”

I hung up and polished off the last few bites of my sandwich. Although I’d considered offering it to the homeless man, he was curled up at the far end of the bench and seemed to be ignoring me.

I dug around in my purse and pulled out a five-dollar bill, which was the grand sum of my cash. “Excuse me,” I said, pushing the bill his way. “For you.”

As the man roused and grabbed for it, his bleary, alcohol-reddened eyes clamped on mine. He didn’t even say thank you, but I hadn’t expected it.

That was another huge difference between me and my sister. I was always stopping to give money to the homeless, and she always told me not to. “You know they’re just going to waste it on alcohol or drugs, BB,” she’d say, using my initials as a pet name to soften me.

I didn’t really care how the homeless spent it. All I knew was that I had a little money and they didn’t, and I couldn’t walk on by and do nothing.

I felt the same way about Margo’s death. I’d found her, so it seemed I should go one step further and search for the one who’d viciously strangled her. For her family’s sake, and for my own peace of mind as I tried to settle in at the carriage house.