Death Takes the Cake Read online

  The blonde tugged at the sleeve of his jacket. “Come on, Nicky, or we’ll be late.”

  I couldn’t resist giving him a big, bright smile and saying, “Bye, Nicky.”

  His cheeks colored. I wondered if it was from embarrassment or irritation. He muttered good-bye, nodded to Liddy and Shannon, and the two of them left.

  Liddy put my thought into words. “That’s the kind of young bimbo you told me he went out with before you two got together.”

  I tried to keep my voice light. “It looks like he’s reverted to his real type: pre-cellulite.”

  Shannon reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Let’s kill him.”

  Liddy and I snapped our heads around to stare at her.

  Shannon laughed. “Just kidding. Jeez, can’t the mental patient make a joke?”

  Twenty minutes later, while we were having coffee, my cell phone rang. I looked at the faceplate, saw the incoming number, and put it down on the table without answering.

  “Him?” Liddy asked.

  I nodded.

  Shannon said, “That’s the spirit, honey. Let him sweat.”

  Ten minutes after that, when we were figuring out how much 20 percent of the bill was so we could leave that amount as a tip, my cell rang again. It was a number I didn’t recognize, so I pressed the button. “Hello.”

  “Don’t hang up,” NDM said. “I figured you wouldn’t answer if you knew it was me, so I’m using a pay phone at a 7-Eleven.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,” I said.

  “I wanted to explain about Yvonne.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “You’re interviewing her because she’s a suspect in your murder story.”

  On his end of the line I heard him expel a breath. “I understand why you’re upset.”

  “I’m not upset,” I lied. “You have the right to go out—or stay in—with every actress in the Hollywood Casting Directory.”

  “The truth is . . . I didn’t call you as soon as I got back because I think maybe we should take things a little slower.”

  Hurt swept over me like one of the ocean waves that was trying to swallow the beach outside the restaurant’s windows, but I kept the pain out of my voice. “I agree. We had some fun for a couple of months, that’s all. Look, I have to go. And good luck on your murder story.” I hung up before he could reply. While I still had my dignity.

  After Liddy, Shannon, and I sat for a few moments without talking, Shannon said, “I’d suggest that we go to one of our houses and get stinking drunk, but I’m on medication.”

  We laughed, and I felt better. Having good friends makes up for a lot of life’s disappointments.

  On the drive back from the restaurant, my cell phone remained silent.

  It began to dawn on me that Liddy was silent, too. With a smile and a brief exchange of good-byes, Liddy left Shannon at her house and put the car in gear again to take me home. We’d gone less than a block when I was about to ask Liddy if something was wrong, but before I could speak, she swerved over to the side of the road and cut the engine. She threw both arms around the steering wheel and made a sound that was something between a gasp and a groan.

  “Liddy, what’s the matter?”

  When she turned to face me, I saw tears welling in her eyes. “It’s awful. For the first time in twenty-four years of marriage, Bill is lying to me.”

  “Oh, no!” Her pain hit me like a physical blow. “What makes you think so?”

  She pulled a tissue from her purse and wiped her eyes. “Every Tuesday night at seven thirty he plays poker with five of his guy friends. The location rotates—last week it was at Jimmy Dodd’s house, in Coldwater Canyon. I called there about nine. I could hear men’s voices in the background, but when I asked to speak to Bill, Jimmy started coughing and talking with a kind of wheeze that he didn’t have when he answered the phone. And the men’s voices stopped, like they’d been shushed. Jimmy told me that he’d come down with a bad cold so the game was moved to somebody else’s place, but he said he didn’t know whose.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “I wasn’t checking up on Bill—that would never have occurred to me. My stomach was upset and I just wanted him to pick up some Pepto for me on his way home.”

  I felt the juices in my own stomach begin to churn with apprehension, even though I couldn’t believe the first awful thought that leapt into my head: Bill was seeing another woman. I reached out to squeeze Liddy’s hand in comfort. “Honey, there’s probably some innocent explanation. Did you try to reach him on his cell phone?”

  She shook her head. “It was on the dresser next to the dish of coins. He must have forgotten it when he changed clothes after work. But a couple of minutes after I called Jimmy’s house, Bill’s cell phone started ringing. I could see that it was Jimmy’s number calling him.”

  “What did Bill tell you when he came home?”

  Liddy grimaced. Her voice took on an angry edge. “At ten o’clock I sat by the front window, in the dark, watching the street. About fifteen minutes later I saw a car I recognized—Jimmy Dodd’s white BMW—drive up and park across from our house, almost under the streetlight. He just sat there for more than an hour. Bill came home at eleven thirty and opened the garage door with his remote, but before he could go inside, I saw Jimmy come running across the street, waving at him. They talked for a couple of minutes, and then Jimmy hurried back to his car.”

  Oh, Lord. This looks like Jimmy was telling Bill about Liddy’s call.

  “I went to the bedroom and pretended to be asleep,” she said. “When Bill came in, I faked a drowsy voice and asked, ‘How was the game?’ He whispered that he’d won twenty-four dollars, then he told me to go back to sleep. He went into the bathroom and took a long shower—probably to wash away the evidence of another woman.”

  Even though my first flash of apprehension was turning to a cold lump of dread, what Liddy was telling me didn’t “compute” with my thousands of mental pictures of Bill and Liddy together. Those two were still so in love they beamed with happiness when they looked at each other, and when we’d gone to the movies together two weeks ago I saw they still held hands.

  While I was trying hard to think of a not-so-terrible reason that Bill had lied to her, Liddy went on with her story.

  “The next morning at breakfast he mentioned—oh, so casually—that Jimmy had the flu so the guys had to play at Craig’s house.”

  That had to be another lie, or why would Jimmy Dodd have waited all that time for Bill to come home? I was getting the urge to hit Bill Marshall, popular Beverly Hills dentist, with something heavy.

  “Tuesday was six nights ago,” I said. “You’ve been listening to my problems and never even gave me a hint of what you were going through. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Liddy propped one arm on top of the steering wheel. “Pretending this was an acting exercise was how I’ve managed to seem normal. I was afraid if I told you what had happened I couldn’t help but break down in front of Bill and cry, and accuse him. He’d probably deny he’d been with another woman and then I’d never find out the truth. But I couldn’t keep this to myself any longer. I had to tell my best friend.”

  “I want to go on record as saying I do not believe Bill is cheating on you,” I said. The truth was that I didn’t want to believe it. “It does look as though he lied,” I said, “but let’s not assume the worst. What can I do to help you?”

  “Tomorrow’s Tuesday. If Bill says he’s going to the game I’m going to follow him.”

  The inside of my skull felt like a fire station when the alarm bells go off. “No! Please don’t do anything right now. I’ll help you figure this out, but we need a couple days to think about it calmly.”

  “Calmly! I don’t think I’ll ever be calm again.”

  I squeezed her hand again, hard enough to get her attention. “Liddy, this is too important to make a mistake. Promise me you won’t try to follow Bill. We’ll figure out what to do.”

 
“All right,” she said reluctantly. “But not knowing what my husband is up to hurts a hell of a lot worse than childbirth when I had the twins.” With tears in her eyes, Liddy turned the key in the ignition and started the car.

  While we drove the rest of the way to my house in the heavy silence of shared fear, I thought about Liddy and Bill. If we found out that Bill really was cheating on Liddy, what would she do? Leave him? Or forgive him but forever have a big chunk of her heart ripped out? It was doubtful that things between them would ever be the same. And if there was another woman in Bill’s life, was this something serious? Might he actually want to leave Liddy? Years ago, when Mack told me that one of his cop buddies was having an affair, I told Mack that if he ever did that and I found out, he’d better come home wearing a Kevlar vest that went all the way down to his knees.

  Discovering NDM and the young blonde in the restaurant. Now Liddy and Bill . . . what an awful day this had turned out to be.

  But the shocks weren’t over yet.

  After Liddy dropped me at the curb and drove off, I heard Tuffy inside the house, barking. He was reacting to the fact that a woman was at my front door, ringing the bell.

  Getting no answer, my unexpected visitor turned away and started back down the path to the street. Her brown hair was long now, and streaked with bold platinum highlights, and she no longer wore glasses, but even after twenty-five years I recognized Regina Davis coming toward me.

  4

  “Hello,” I said. I think I was smiling. At any rate, I was giving it a try.

  Regina Davis responded with a huge grin and embraced me.

  “Oh, Della, it’s so wonderful to see you again. It’s been toooooo long.”

  I returned her hug with a polite squeeze of my own, then stepped back to survey her. She looked elegant in dark chocolate wool slacks, a tan suede jacket, and a cream silk blouse. At nearly six feet tall she towered over me. I straightened my posture to increase my height a bit. I wanted to believe that she had put our college trouble behind her, but I couldn’t help remembering the hatred in her eyes the last time we’d seen each other, just before she transferred to another university.

  “How are you, Reggie?” I hoped I sounded warm.

  “I’m great,” she said. “The company is flourishing, and now I’m getting the chance to see you again. By the way, I used to know that boss of yours, Mickey Jordan. I didn’t expect him to have a son that gorgeous. The moment Addison mentioned your name I decided to agree to the contest and the TV special, but I let him keep on trying to persuade me because he seemed to enjoy selling so much.”

  The sky had darkened and the temperature had dropped.

  “Come inside,” I said. “I’ll make you some coffee or tea—”

  “Forget that,” she said. “I want a serious drink.”

  After letting Tuffy out into the fenced backyard, I poured Reggie a tumbler of her requested Jack Daniels and gave silent thanks that hard liquor did not go bad; that bottle had been untouched in my cabinet for at least eight years. I filled a glass with ice and Diet Dr Pepper and joined Reggie in the living room, where she’d settled herself on the comfortable old couch that had been one of Mack’s and my first purchases shortly after we were married.

  “I didn’t know that my old college buddy Della Stewart had become Della Carmichael until I read an article in Appetites magazine about the new cooking show. It included a brief biography that mentioned your maiden name and said you’d married a police officer, but that you’re a widow now. . . . How sad.” She sipped at her drink. “Policemen are very noble—I think they should be paid a lot more. I always vote for bond issues that give them benefits. Was he killed in the line of duty?”

  “Mack died of a heart attack,” I said.

  “That’s terrible, too, of course.” Another swallow. “I’m divorced. Twice, actually. Both men were darlings. Very sweet, like big, affectionate puppies. But after that early stage when you’re deaf, dumb, and blinded by love—or lust, or whatever—I discovered that they didn’t have much ambition. Running the food business Daddy left me, sometimes I’ve got to put in eighteen-hour days. The way they wanted to work up a sweat was by playing tennis, or golf. And they drank.”

  Another sip of Jack Daniels. “After Tim—my first husband—I met Rick.” She giggled and lowered her voice to a confessional whisper. “To tell the truth, I was a naughty girl an’ Tim an’ Rick overlapped a little bitty bit.” She took another swallow and brought her voice back up to normal level. “The point is, I thought I was marrying a very different kind of man the second time, but Tim and Rick turned out to be virtual twins, just with different faces. When I realized that, I was so horrified I went into therapy to discover why I married the same man twice, when I was so sure they were completely different types.”

  “What did you find out—in therapy?”

  She laughed. “Considering I had to pay two hundred dollars a session, I didn’t learn enough.” She gestured at the bottle and I poured a little more Jack Daniels into her glass. “So let’s talk about you. I remember reading your wedding announcement”—she giggled again—“way back in the Dark Ages. It said you were a high school English teacher. Ewwww, that must have been awful.” She shuddered in revulsion, but simultaneously aimed a lopsided smile at me. “I didn’t hear anything about you for years, and then I read you were going to be on television, starring in your own cooking show. Good for you. I watched your first one, and was planning to write you a note of congratulations . . .” She lowered her voice again. “But then there was that murder—right in front of everyone. I thought congratulating you might be in poor taste, under the circumstances.” Her voice went back up in pitch. “Now, only a few months later, fate has thrown us together. After all this time. Isn’t this just a kick?”

  She held her empty glass out toward me. In a babyish voice, she said, “Can lil’ Jackie D come out to play?”

  “How about something to eat? I can make us—”

  “No, thanks I’m on a diet.” She smiled and indicated her glass. “A liquid diet.”

  By the time Reggie was willing to leave, she could barely stand. She was so wasted I was afraid that if she got behind the wheel of her car she might kill herself or someone else. I picked up her purse—a black Chanel clutch bag that cost as much as two of my mortgage payments—removed her car keys, and told her that I’d drive her home in her car.

  When I was behind the wheel of her Jaguar and had secured us both in seat belts, she gave me her address in Beverly Hills. I used my cell phone to arrange for a taxi to meet me at her house.

  On the way, Reggie babbled about men. Lurid confessions. Having been married to a police officer, I thought nothing she could say would shock me.

  I didn’t pay much attention until she started to talk about Mickey Jordan.

  “We had a thing a few years ago, between his marriages. Short men really are the best lovers,” she murmured. “But tall men are good too. My new man is tall. Lots of hair, and beautiful teeth.” She yawned. “He’s almost perfect . . .”

  “Almost?”

  She raised her left hand and waved it around. “Gold ring. Third finger.”

  “He’s married?” I heard the disapproval in my voice. “Why don’t you find a single man?”

  Yawning again, she mumbled, “This is the one I want—because he thinks he loves his wife.”

  “But if she found out, it could break up their marriage.”

  As her eyes began to close, she whispered, “Revenge is sweet.”

  “Reggie, what did his wife ever do to you?”

  I didn’t get the answer. She’d fallen asleep against her Jaguar’s soft leather seat back, and I was left with a feeling of sadness. Regina Davis hadn’t changed at all; she was still a thief.

  Late that night the telephone rang. I was just about to fall asleep with Tuffy stretched out beside me and my little gray and gold calico cat, Emma, curled up on the next pillow.

  “Hi,” said NDM. “Are you in
bed?”

  “No,” I lied. “I just got home.” Let him wonder where I’d been.

  Would he wonder where I’d been?

  “Ahhhh.” It sounded as though he was wondering. “I hope you had a good time.”

  “Wonderful,” I said cheerfully. “Look, I don’t want to rush you off the phone, but I have a few things to do before—”

  “Oh, right. Why am I calling? Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?”

  “No,” I said. Pleasantly.

  He was silent for a moment, but I could hear him breathing. “Okay. You have to do your show Thursday nights, so how about Friday?”

  “Sorry, but I’m busy.”

  “Are you going to be busy for the rest of your life?” His tone was tight.

  “I plan to be,” I said.

  “Just because I said we should slow things down a little?” I could practically hear him steaming.

  “When we were seeing each other, I didn’t know you were still going out with other women.”

  “I wasn’t, then.”

  “You have every right to live your life exactly how you want to live it. But I don’t want to be part of a harem.”

  “That’s a ridiculous thing to say. The problem is you were married so long it’s obvious you’ve forgotten how to date.”

  I thought about that. He had a point. “You’re right, but I’m not in high school anymore. I have no intention of getting married again, so don’t worry that I’m after you for that, but from now on when I go out with a man, I want to know that he’s only dating me—until one or both of us decides we want to move on in different directions.”

  “Serial monogamy.”

  “That’s it.” I made my tone as sweet as his had been sarcastic. “In fact, tomorrow I’m going out to buy new bed linens and some Victoria’s Secret lingerie, and put them away for my next relationship.”

  There was a click on his end of the line.

  My little performance had worked—I’d deliberately made him so angry he lost his self-control and hung up on me.

  It was a Pyrrhic victory; I’d won the battle and lost the war. I refused to be just one of the women with whom he slept, but I was going to miss his touch, his scent, and the excitement I felt in his arms.