Death By Design Read online

  “Why are you sharing this with me?

  “I called June to tell her what was happening, and she suggested I talk to you since you were in New York.”

  “I’m just here for a few days before I head back to Lexington. I don’t know how I can help you. Perhaps you need to hire a detective.”

  “Can you please come by and just look at my apartment? I went out this morning and when I came back, some more of my things had been moved. I want you to see it. I was so frightened I ran out of the apartment, and was going to a friend’s house when I saw you on the street by accident. But it couldn’t have been an accident, could it? I think I was meant to run into you.”

  In defiance of my doctor’s orders, I had drunk two champagne cocktails, and was feeling pretty loosey-goosey. Sure, why not? I had nothing important to do. “Where’s your apartment? I can’t walk very far.”

  Bunny’s face brightened. “Let me pay the waiter and then I’ll get a cab. I live on the west side.”

  Seemed okay to me. But while she went outside to get a cab, I made a quick call to my old friend, June, aka Lady Elsmere, just to see if Bunny Witt of the Philadelphia Witts was on the up-and-up and thank her for taking the liberty of offering my services to one of her harebrained friends.

  Now I mean it. Quit thinking that. I’m really not paranoid.

  3

  “You live at the Dakota?” I asked incredulously as I stepped out of the cab and onto the sidewalk with the assistance of the Dakota doorman. Looking around, I muttered, “This is where John Lennon was killed.”

  “Who?” asked Bunny while paying the cab driver.

  “You know, John Lennon. One of the Liverpool Lads.”

  Bunny’s expression remained blank.

  “John Lennon was shot right here four times in the back by Mark Chapman. Right here. John Lennon. One of the Beatles.”

  “Oh, the Beatles. That was before my time.” Bunny smirked.

  “Well, I didn’t realize I’m such an old fart. You do know the movie Rosemary’s Baby was filmed here?”

  “I remember reading something about that.”

  “Haven’t you ever seen it?”

  “I don’t watch TV or read much. Don’t have time.”

  What little respect I had for Bunny took a nose dive, and I hadn’t had much to begin with, but I wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to see the inside of the Dakota. So I meekly followed her through the massive portico and into the courtyard to the elevators. We got on one.

  My heart started racing. When the elevator door opened, would I see Ruth Gordon standing there with a glass of herbal tea . . . or maybe the Trench sisters going to the basement, where they killed and cannibalized children from the apartment building?

  The door opened.

  I drew a breath. No one was there.

  Bunny walked off.

  I poked my head out, looking back and forth. No Ruth Gordon. No Trench sisters. Such a disappointment. The hallway looked normal, even inviting.

  Bunny walked over to a door a few feet away. “I’m very lucky to have an apartment overlooking Central Park,” she purred.

  I followed Bunny, looking behind me several times, just to make sure no one was there.

  Stop that grinning. I AM NOT PARANOID!

  We entered a bright, modern-looking apartment with cheerful paintings on the walls and artfully arranged, neutral-colored furniture. What can I say? Bunny had expensive taste. And her expensive taste was really, really boring. Yawn.

  I followed her into the master bedroom. She showed me the cavernous chamber that served as her closet. Jeez, I could fit my entire master bathroom and walk-in closet into hers. I had no idea one person could own so many pairs of shoes.

  I personally owned two pairs of good shoes to wear with nice outfits, one pair of high heels which I never wear anymore but refuse to throw out (hope springs eternal), one pair of winter boots, one pair of really good walking shoes, one pair of farm boots, and various pairs of shabby flip-flops. This worked out to a total of ten pairs of shoes, not counting bedroom slippers.

  “See here. See how the blouses are hanging backwards?”

  I peered closely. Sure enough, there were two blouses with the fronts facing right instead of left.

  “Who has access to your apartment?” I asked.

  “I have a personal assistant and a part-time cook.”

  “They have keys to the apartment?”

  “Only my assistant does.”

  “How does the cook get in?”

  “She always works the same days as the assistant.”

  “Which are?”

  “Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”

  “And the cook can only get in via the assistant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who else?” I asked, taking a small flashlight out of my purse. Of course I carry a flashlight in my purse. One never knows when she will need one. “Relatives, Dakota maintenance people?”

  “Of course, the building super has keys for the maintenance people, but I have to be notified before they enter the apartment,” replied Bunny, watching me turn on the flashlight and peer at the carpet.

  “Relatives?”

  “No one else.”

  “How do you receive visitors? Do they just come up?”

  “They usually make an appointment with my assistant, or the doorman calls to get permission to allow them inside the building.”

  “Is the cook or assistant pissed off at you for any reason?”

  Bunny looked astonished. “Goodness, no.”

  I gave her an appraising eye. “No tiffs at all?”

  “My assistant has been with me for years and the cook worked for my mother. They are not part of this. They would have no reason to be.”

  “When you travel, who looks after the apartment?” I asked, gawking through her expensive garments. It appeared Miss Bunny was a bit of a clothes horse.

  “The building super. My assistant usually travels with me.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “This is her day off.”

  “What about the ex-husband?”

  “I had the locks changed after he moved out, and all the people at my residences have been instructed not to let him in again.”

  “Good girl. So many women don’t get the locks changed when love goes bad. It proves to be a fatal mistake sometimes.”

  Bunny nodded. So she wasn’t so dumb after all.

  “What about boyfriends? Current or exes?”

  “I’m not seeing anyone at the moment. No one from my past could get in, even if they had a duplicate key from an earlier time.”

  I clucked in approval.

  “What about the relatives of the help?”

  “The cook is a widow who has a successful son in the theater.”

  I cut in, “If he’s so successful, why is his mother still working for you?”

  “As I told you, Josiah, she’s a widow, and she likes to cook. It gives her something to do, and she’s been with my family for two generations now. She’s like a second mother to me.”

  “And the assistant?”

  “She has no kin that I know of. I wish you’d get off this train of thought. My employees have nothing to do with this.”

  “I know. I know. The mysterious man in the shadows. Has anyone been in your apartment in the past two days?” I asked as I moved around the closet, flashing my light here and there.

  “Today is Saturday, so my employees were here yesterday.”

  “And when was the carpet last vacuumed in here?”

  “Yesterday. My assistant vacuumed my bedroom and closet right before she left.”

  “And no one but you has been here since then?”

  “NO!”

  I flashed the light over to a corner of the closet. “I believe you, Bunny. If you walk carefully over to where my light is pointing, you will see the partial imprint of a man’s running shoe in the carpet.” I looked around and saw only two pairs of tennis shoes th
at belonged to Bunny. I pulled them from their slots and turned them over, checking the tread marks. “None of your athletic wear matches the tread, and look at this.” I bent over as much as I could, placing one of Bunny’s shoes next to the imprint. It dwarfed Bunny’s shoe. “Whoever was in here was tall.”

  “I’m frightened. What do they want? Nothing is missing.”

  “Could be some freak with a shoe fetish. I would advise you to have the apartment professionally swept for listening devices and hidden cameras. Then I would suggest you have cameras installed. After all, you’re rich. Kidnapping is not out of the question,” I said.

  Bunny looked aghast at this suggestion. “I don’t want to stay here tonight.”

  “I think you should stay with a friend until you get security beefed up.”

  “When are you leaving for Kentucky?” asked Bunny.

  “I’ll be flying out in two days. I am loaning two Roberto Capucci dresses for a fashion exhibit in Lexington, and I have to get them ready.”

  “Really! So am I. I’ve got several dresses in the exhibit.” Bunny pulled out several Halston and Charles James dresses. “What do you think?”

  I gingerly felt the crepe of the James dress. “I’ve only seen a Charles James in pictures. This is beautiful.”

  “These are the rejects. I’ve already sent fifteen dresses to be in the exhibit. I’m flying out as well in a couple of days. We might be on the same plane.”

  “Oh, goodie,” I replied. If Bunny caught any sarcasm in my tone, she ignored it. “Will you wait while I pack a bag and walk out with me? I don’t want to be here alone.”

  I shook my head. “No overnight bags. If someone is watching, you don’t want to let them know you’re leaving. Borrow stuff from your friend. Just take what cash, medicine, or documents you’ll need. Let’s try to give whoever is watching the slip. I’ll be waiting in the living room.”

  Bunny didn’t look totally convinced, but she did as I directed.

  While I waited in the living room, I took the opportunity to sit down. My legs were turning to jelly, but my mind was turning facts over fast, so I turned on a lamp and went through her mail to see if there was anything unusual like hate mail. Nothing. I then studied the locks on her front door. Good, sturdy deadbolts. Nothing looked forced, but Bunny had an old security system that even I could disable.

  Twenty minutes later Bunny came out of the bedroom with an enormous Dooney and Bourke handbag.

  “Whatever important items you are not taking should be in a safe or better yet a safe deposit box.”

  “Anything like that is already in my safe.”

  “Who has the combination?

  “Just me.”

  “Did you call anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Not even your assistant?”

  “No one.”

  “Okay. Let’s see how long it takes your stalker to figure out that you’ve left New York. Just leave a note for your employees that you’re staying with a friend and that you’ll be in touch. Don’t mention where you’ll be staying. You should also have all your phone numbers changed before you leave for Kentucky. In fact, I think you should leave your cell phone here and purchase a new one. I understand a person can be tracked through their cell phone.”

  Bunny pulled a cell phone out of her bag and left it inside a desk drawer. “What about the doorman?”

  “Leave that to me.” I replied. “Is there a service elevator?”

  “On the other side of the building.”

  “What about stairs?”

  “The same.”

  “Let’s walk down a flight and then catch the service elevator. This is Saturday, so no one should be using it.”

  I escorted Bunny down the hall to the stairs, and we silently entered the staircase to go down one flight. Then we entered the third floor hall and made our way to the service elevator without anyone seeing us–or so I hoped.

  Once outside, we took several cabs to make sure we weren’t followed, going downtown and then doubling back uptown to her friend’s address. Her girlfriend was waiting on the sidewalk and escorted Bunny inside the building.

  After that, I made my way to Asa’s (my daughter) apartment, hoping I had seen the last of Miss Bunny of the Philadelphia Witts–not the Boston Whitts.

  4

  My name is Josiah Reynolds. And, before you ask, my grandmother had a thing for giving the females in the family Old Testament names. I’m an art history professor by education and a beekeeper by necessity.

  Truth be told, I’m not a nice person. Oh, I rarely set out to hurt anyone. I don’t like cruelty, but if you try to hurt me, I’ll cut you.

  I used to be soft. I’m not now. It’s a crazy world, and I try to skin it any way I can. I’ve stopped trying to save the planet. I just want to hang on to what I’ve got and everyone else can just go to hell.

  Sound bitter? Yeah, you can say that. You know my story, but here’s one new tidbit. I had just left an appointment with a specialist in New York when I ran into Bunny Witt. It seems my kidneys are starting to go on the blink.

  Thanks so much, Tellie Pidgeon. You started my rotten tale of woe. Because you bumped off your husband and tried to pin it on me, it allowed Fred O’nan, a crooked cop, into my life, and what a crappy ride it’s been since then.

  They’re dead now. Both Tellie Pidgeon’s husband and Fred O’nan. They were taking up space anyway as far as I was concerned.

  But O’nan didn’t die soon enough. He pulled me off an eighty-foot cliff. I fell forty feet before I hit a ledge. It’s been a long climb back up the cliff metaphorically, trying to get my body back into some semblance of normalcy.

  Now the docs tell me my kidneys are on their way to bye-bye land. I was warned this might happen, but I never thought it would. Now I have to face the music.

  Ah, Jumping Jehosaphat! In other words–ah, shit!!!

  But the crap, no pun intended, doesn’t stop there.

  Before O’nan was killed and swept over the deadly falls of the Cumberland River, he shot Matt, my best friend, before trying to drown me.

  Matt has been in Los Angeles recuperating while waiting for his baby to be foaled out of dam, Meriah Caldwell, the famous mystery writer.

  So when I got the call from Matt that he was finally coming home to Kentucky with his new baby, I leapt for joy–not really–since I can barely walk sometimes, but in my heart.

  Finally, the appointed day arrived for Matt to fly into the Bluegrass Airport.

  My pal and Matt’s ex-boyfriend Franklin stood beside me wearing a fringed leather jacket, and clutching an enormous bouquet of flowers while we waited for the plane to land.

  I guess I should explain that Matt was with Franklin and then broke up with him after Matt fell in love with Meriah Caldwell. (Yeah, Matt swings like a pendulum, whereas Franklin is on the gay and narrow path.) Things went as far as Matt and Meriah getting married, when Lacey Bridges entered the church and shot Doreen Doris Mayfield DeWitt in revenge for Doreen murdering her husband, Addison DeWitt, who also happened to be Lacey’s boyfriend. Still with me?

  Then, to make things worse, Lacey killed herself as well. Needless to say that put a damper on proceeding with the wedding. It’s difficult to say your “I do’s” when flicking brain matter off your wedding dress.

  After that debacle, it’s not clear who broke up with whom. Sometimes Matt says it was Meriah, and other times he says it was his doing.

  All I know is Meriah hightailed it back to California with her tail tucked between her legs, a head full of mixed memories, and pregnant.

  I never cared for Meriah, but I will say that when Matt got hurt, she pulled out all the stops for him. Meriah had Matt flown to Los Angeles and nursed him back to health while paying all the medical bills.

  I guess they couldn’t work things out, since Matt was returning to Kentucky with his newborn–a baby girl.

  I had hoped Franklin and Matt could repair their relationship, and naively assumed things
would be on the upswing now. Boy, was I wrong.

  5

  I gave Franklin a once-over. “Trying out for a part in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers?”

  He gave me a sour look.

  “Rodeo in town?” I continued. I was on a roll.

  Franklin feigned conspicuous interest in the fringe on his jacket.

  “Casting call for a remake of High Noon?” I glanced down at his canvas shoes. “What–no cowboy boots?”

  Franklin looked the other way.

  I sang, “I’ve got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle . . .”

  “I’m not listening to you,” interrupted Franklin, walking away.

  “Going to a square dance? No? I hear the ’60s calling. They want their fringe back.”

  “It’s pure vintage and cost me a bundle. I see you dressed up a bit yourself. Black pantsuit with a silver blouse. Nice accessories. You’ve even got on a decent pair of black shoes. Do you have on a pair of granny panties without rips in them?”

  “Donna Karan, if you please. I got the outfit in New York, and my undies are none of your business.”

  “Ooh, hoity-toity. You splurged on a rich bitch outfit. I hope you’re wearing a bra without gravy stains.”

  “I’ve got on a nice suit that camouflages my flaws instead of shouting them out like that Daniel Boone jacket you’ve got on.”

  “That’s where you’ve gone wrong, dearie. I don’t have any physical flaws,” smirked Franklin.

  “HA!” I shot back.

  “That’s your comeback–ha?”

  “I know it’s lame, but I’m nervous. Matt’s return has me rattled.”

  “I am too, but everything is ready. I’ve been over that shed you call a house with a fine-tooth comb, and not a thing is out of place.”

  “Did you put the handicapped bars up in the bathroom?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Especially the shower?”

  Franklin gave me a stony look. “Of course.”