Murder With A Twist Part 7

"I bought us a bell. Merry Christmas."

fourteen.

Next we headed to Lizzy's apartment in the West Village. Nigel finally found a cab driver who would take Skippy. Initially, Skippy climbed into the front seat, but the driver quickly advised us not to press our luck, and so Nigel sat up front while Skippy and I squeezed into the backseat. After giving Lizzy's address to the driver, we settled in for the ride. The driver, whose license identified him as Sam, kept a wary eye on Skippy from the rearview mirror. "I imagine you see a lot of strange things in your job," Nigel said politely to Sam.

Sam glanced at Skippy. "Some stranger than others," he said. "Hey, listen. Are you sure he's a dog? 'Cause he don't look like no dog I've ever seen."

"Oh, yes, quite sure," said Nigel. "His mother was my dog growing up."

"Yeah?" replied Sam. "What kind of dog was she?"

"Toy poodle."

Sam sputtered. "Jesus. What kind of dog was its dad?"

"Determined," answered Nigel.

_____.

Sam dropped us off in front of Lizzy's apartment. She lived in the West Village, a once-rowdy neighborhood that was trying to shake its frat-boy image. This effort enabled the realtors to charge more for the properties on the basis that it was an "up-and-coming neighborhood." When Nigel asked me what that meant, I told him it meant there were more Starbucks than liquor stores. Nigel sighed, and said he would never understand some people's ideas about progress.

Outside of the building a man stood smoking a cigarette. I had a brief impression of a large frame, hooded eyes, and a beak nose before he saw Skippy. He quickly flicked his cigarette to the ground and walked away. While it was a reaction I was getting used to, I didn't appreciate having to wrest Skippy away from eating the smoky remains.

We entered the lobby of the building and pressed the b.u.t.ton for the elevator. As we waited, a middle-aged woman carrying a bag of groceries joined us. Seeing the curious glance she shot at Skippy, who still wore the antlers and proudly held the Salvation Army bell in his mouth, Nigel smiled at her. "He's a ChristmasGram," he said indicating Skippy. "It's a new service the mayor is providing for the city's shut-ins."

The woman continued to stare at Skippy. "Seems to me you're just ensuring that they'll stay shut in," she said.

The elevator arrived and Nigel, Skippy, and I got on. The woman did not. "I'll catch the next one," she said.

Lizzy's apartment was on the tenth floor. As I pressed the b.u.t.ton, Nigel asked, "Do you really think we're gong to find Leo here?"

"Doubtful," I answered. "If Leo was hiding from Fat Saul then he certainly wouldn't be stupid enough to hide out at his girlfriend's house. However, she might know something that could help us."

"Fine by me," said Nigel, "But after we're done with Ms. Marks, why don't you come back to the hotel with me. I have some lovely etchings I'd like to show you."

I smiled up at him. "I'd love to. You know how I love your etchings."

Lizzy was home. From the speed with which she answered my knock, I suspected she was expecting someone else. Well, that and the fact that she was wearing nothing but a sheer peach-colored negligee and an expectant smile. I had a brief image of a curvy blonde with lots of tanned skin before the door slammed shut. "Who the h.e.l.l are you?" she hollered at us.

"We're friends of Leo, Ms. Marks," I answered. "Leo Blackwell? Please, open the door. We need to talk to you."

There was a brief pause. Finally, she answered. "All right. But hang on a second. Let me grab my robe."

Nigel c.o.c.ked his eyebrow at me. "Is this what you usually encountered when you had to make house calls?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No. I usually encountered hysterical girlfriends with crying babies."

"Oh," he said, looking back appreciatively at Lizzy's door, "I'm beginning to see what you mean by an up-and-coming neighborhood."

A few minutes later, Lizzy opened the door-a little less exposed and a lot less enthusiastic. I guessed her to be in her forties-but she wasn't going out without a fight. Her hair was long and wavy, falling well past her shoulders. She had a pretty face, one that appeared to be taut and duly preserved, but it was her body that caught attention. It was somehow both thin and curvy, soft and firm. From the brief glimpse I'd had of her negligee, it was also a body she was proud of. "Okay, now who are you?" she asked as she yanked the belt of her silk robe into a tight bow.

"I'm Nigel and this is Nicole. We're looking for Leo Blackwell," Nigel said. "I'm so sorry to disturb you, but is it okay if we come in for a minute?"

Lizzy's gaze s.h.i.+fted to Nigel, where it remained. Her hazel eyes radiated approval, as well as a few other baser emotions. Nigel produced his most winning smile. Her stance softened further.

"What makes you think I know where he is?" she asked.

"Well, according to our sources ..." Nigel brook off. "I do hope we have the right apartment. We have some rather important financial information for Mr. Blackwell that I think he'll be pleased to hear. I'd hate to think we've missed him again."

"No, you have the right apartment," she said, her voice now an octave lower. "I know Leo. Well, come on in. Any friend of Leo's and all that."

She opened the door wide. "Follow me," she said, as she sashayed down a narrow hallway. Nigel and I entered, shutting the door behind us, and followed. The rhythmic sound of her kitten heels on the parquet floor echoed in the small foyer before being swallowed up by the living room's thick wall-to-wall carpeting. There she indicated for us to sit on the red velvet couch, while she took a seat opposite us on a gold damask club chair. Between us was a low, black coffee table in the shape of either a diseased kidney or a wilted lima bean. Apart from the ghastly decor, the apartment was perfectly nice. There was a good-sized kitchen, with new chrome appliances and granite countertops. Off the living room was another room, the door of which was ajar. From my vantage point, I could see a large bed, a bit of a mirrored wall, and a side table. On top of it were two suitcases, partially packed, and several piles of clothes waiting to be added.

Lizzy slowly crossed her long legs, letting her robe slip off them in the process. A tattoo of a dove adorned her left ankle. A kaleidoscope of b.u.t.terflies decorated the right. I suspected more creatures were soaring in the wings. Lizzy lit a cigarette and slowly exhaled. Her eyes never left Nigel's. "We haven't met before, have we?" she asked after taking a drag. "I think I would have remembered meeting you." Her eyes moved to Skippy. "Especially the dog. He's a bull mastiff, right?"

"That's right," Nigel said. "Well spotted. Not too many people are familiar with the breed."

Lizzy gave a throaty laugh. "Honey, you'd be surprised at the things I'm familiar with. So, how can I help you?" she prompted.

"Well, we're trying to find Leo Blackwell," I said. "I understand you might know him?"

"I know him," she said with a slow smile.

"Excellent! We're on the right track. We can't seem to get hold of him," Nigel answered. "But then we were told to look you up," he paused to cast an appreciative eye over her tanned legs. "They sure didn't exaggerate about you," he added with a wolfish grin.

Lizzy slowly ran her tongue over her full lips and returned the smile. I produced a polite cough. "So, we were wondering if you know where Leo is?" I asked.

Lizzy glanced over at me, almost surprised to find me on her couch. "And who are you?" she asked, her tone a shade less friendly.

"Girlfriend," Nigel answered.

"I also go by Nicole."

Lizzy took another look at me. This one was more searching. Whatever she was looking for she didn't find. "Doesn't look your type," she finally said to Nigel.

"I get that a lot," I answered.

"What can I say?" Nigel admitted with a shrug. "I'm partial to sloe-eyed girls with gimpy legs."

Lizzy looked pointedly at Nigel's ring finger. "Nice wedding ring," she said.

"Thanks," he said, with a wink. "It was a gift from my employer, if you know what I mean."

Lizzy threw her head back and laughed. "Oh honey, do I ever. But let's cut the c.r.a.p, shall we? You aren't friends of Leo's any more than I'm friends with that pathetic wife of his. You're Nic and Nigel Martini. In town to attend the sainted Audrey's birthday party bash. Don't you two read the papers? You should. You were the lead item today on page six of the Post."

fifteen.

Nigel sat back into the couch and crossed his legs. "I told you the Times was overrated," he said to me. "You miss all the good stuff."

"Well, now that introductions are out of the way, do you have any idea where Leo is?" I asked.

Lizzy took another drag off her cigarette before answering. "Why the h.e.l.l should I tell you anything? I don't owe the Martini family one d.a.m.n thing. They're no better than the rest of us. Bunch of hypocritical sn.o.bs."

"From your palpable hostility, I gather that you are acquainted with the family," I said.

Lizzy looked away and shrugged. "Not really, no. Just what I read in the papers. And what I hear. Who told you about me?" she asked.

"Frank Little," I answered. "Seems Leo owed him some money."

Lizzy's eyes widened at this. "And Frank thought that I knew where Leo was? I told him I haven't seen Leo in days. Did he really send you here?"

I nodded. "He said he didn't think you knew anything, but we wanted to double check."

She seemed to relax a little at this. "Well, he's right. I don't know where he is. Frank and I go way back. He knows he can trust me. But why the h.e.l.l do you care where Leo is? Seems to me that Leo would be the type of guy the Martini family would like to see disappear."

"His wife is worried," I answered.

Lizzy scoffed. "His wife. Please. She's not worried about Leo. The only thing that little b.i.t.c.h is worried about is her reputation. She can't stand the idea of him not being there for her silly, little society party. The women in that family are no good. They only like their money. But as much as they have, it's never enough. No amount is."

"The same might be said about Leo," I observed. "However, far be it for me to speculate on the course of true love and all that. I just want to talk to him. Given recent events I thought he might turn up."

Lizzy blew a textbook smoke ring before asking, "What recent events?"

"Fat Saul's death. He was looking for Leo. I don't think it was a social call. With Saul gone, Leo might feel like celebrating. Maybe taking a trip." I looked pointedly toward the suitcases visible beyond the open bedroom door.

Annoyance flashed across her face. "Leo had nothing to do with that," she said quickly.

"Really?" I asked. "And how do you know this?"

"Because I know Leo," she answered. "He may play a bit fast and loose at times, but he's no killer. Leo just likes a good time, is all. He talks big, but he's a softie. I don't know who shot Fat Saul, but it wasn't Leo."

"You knew Fat Saul, too, right?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yeah. I knew him."

"Well, then you know he wasn't the most rational of men," I said. "Especially, where money was concerned."

"Look, Fat Saul is a ... was a hot head," Lizzy said correcting herself. "He always was. But Leo always paid his debts. That little wife of his was happy to bail him out every time."

"Except that this time she couldn't," I explained. "This time Leo owed more than what Audrey could withdraw on her own. She'd have to get her aunt and uncle to co-sign everything, and Leo knew that."

Lizzy frowned. "How much did he owe?"

When I told her the amount, her eyes narrowed in anger. She started to say something, but stopped. She glanced at her watch. It was an expensive piece, comprised of white gold and diamonds. "Look, I've got to be somewhere," she said abruptly. "I'm sorry I can't help you. I don't know where Leo is. I haven't seen or heard from him in days. And I don't expect to. Like I said. We're friends, but nothing more." She squashed out her cigarette and stood up. "Now, as fun as this has been, I've got an appointment."

"Yes, I can see that," I said after another glance at the bedroom. "Well, thanks for talking to us. If you happen to see Leo, please tell him we're looking for him."

Lizzy was at the door. Opening it, she turned to me and said, "Like I said, I don't expect to see him anytime soon. I'm sure you'll see Leo long before I do."

"I'll be sure to send him your best," I said, before we stepped out into the hall. The door swung shut in our faces with an unceremonious bang. Skippy barked in protest. Turning to me, Nigel said, "Wow. She certainly didn't like you."

"I'm all broke up. Interesting what she said, though, don't you think?"

"About my family? Very," Nigel agreed as we made our way toward the elevator. "I wonder if she's met Aunt Olive?"

"I doubt it," I said. "But that's not what I meant. She knew that Fat Saul was shot. But the police haven't released that information to the public yet; not even Frank knew how he died."

Nigel came to a sudden stop and kissed me. "If we weren't already married, Mrs. Martini, I'd ask you again. Now let's go and get a copy of the Post. I don't think I've ever been a headliner before."

I kissed him back. "Don't be so modest, darling."

sixteen.

As Lizzy had said, we were the lead item on page six. It read: Nigel Martini is back in town, ladies! However, this time the former playboy of Manhattan has brought along his wife, former detective Nicole Landis. The two were spotted in the trendy bar at the Four Seasons with what some patrons described as a 'small reindeer.' (Bartender! We'd like what they're drinking!) The two are in town for cousin Audrey Blackwell's mega black-tie birthday bash this Sat.u.r.day. The guest list is rumored to include the former and current mayor, as well as a few Oscar hopefuls. Although Audrey and hubby Leo appear to be happy lovebirds, there are rumors of trouble in paradise. Could Manhattan's latest poor little rich girl be in for more heartache?

Three small pictures ran with the story. In the first, Nigel was coming out of a nightclub. A scantily clad blonde bombsh.e.l.l was draped on his arm. In the second, I was being wheeled out of the hospital after the doctors dug the bullet out of my leg. Gunshot wound to the leg notwithstanding, I looked terrible. I made a mental note never to wear plaid again. The third picture was from Audrey and Leo's wedding. Olive was right. Leo looked like a dirty married bachelor.

"Pretty girl," I said to Nigel when he came out of the shower. I tossed him the paper. He picked it up and glanced at the picture.

"I've always thought so," he agreed. "But you should avoid plaid at all costs."

"I meant the bimbo on your arm, you dingbat."

Nigel looked back at the paper and adjusted his towel. "Her?" He pretended to study the picture. "Oh, yes. I remember her now. Debbie McGuire. We met at the Botanical Gardens' annual Cherry Blossom Festival. Sweet girl. Lovely cherries. Thought 'horticulture' was a charity program."