The Monet Murders

I shrugged at Lee and said, “Well, I did have a call to make, but I suppose it can wait. What needs redecorating?”

“My life. My whole life.”

Uh-oh. This had the ring of another client-to-designer tell-all. But this time, I’d welcome the revelation, whatever it might be.

“I’ll be right there.”

“Wait, Deva. Do not hang up. I’m at Ritz Hotel. On floor twelve. Ask for Ilona Szent-Gyorgyi.”

“Your maiden name, why?” But only the silence of a dead phone answered my question.

Chapter Twenty-Four

At the Ritz-Carlton Beach Hotel, ballyhooed as America’s finest resort, I valet parked the Audi and strode across a huge, echoing lobby scented with tropical florals and the odor of money. Trying not to be impressed by all the fake European opulence, I rode an elevator to Suite 1209. The purpose of this visit had me puzzled, but to be honest, I couldn’t wait to find out why Ilona had summoned me.

She answered the door to her three-thousand-dollar-a-night suite with her mouth in a pout, a lace-edged handkerchief dabbing at her eyes. “So good that you come to me,” she said, leading the way into a coral and gold living room with a sweeping view of the Gulf.

“This is gorgeous,” I said, glancing around at the faux, but well-done, eighteenth century decor.

“Is adequate,” Ilona said. “Have seat, Deva. I must talk to another woman or go crazy. Megbolondulok we say in Hungary.”

“Sounds the same in English,” I answered, taking the seat she indicated, but my attempt at humor fell on deaf ears. I suspected Ilona only heard the sound of her own needs. “All right. I’m here. Now tell me why.”

Ilona sat opposite me, one arm flung lightly across the back of her loveseat. “You, I trust with the truth.”

“Which is?”

“I leave Trevor. We are no more. I already speak to divorce lawyer.”

I bolted upright. And on down cushions that wasn’t easy. “You just took my breath away, Ilona. It must have been a quick decision. You never let on.”

“Nem. Not quick. I plan to leave him long time ago. Before Christmas. Now I no can stand any more.”

“That’s too bad, Ilona. Trevor loves you very much.” I thought I’d toss that out, even though I had no idea, really, what Trevor did or didn’t love. About what he liked, on the other hand, I had a really good idea.

Ilona threw her hands in the air, as usual sending light rays sparking around the room. Her marriage might be dead, but there was a lot of life left in those wedding diamonds. “Love? Love? You want to know what Trevor love? No, you innocent working girl. I no say.”

“Let me guess. Cookies and milk at bedtime?”

She ignored my attempt at a wisecrack. “But I treat him fair. I ask only for what our, how you say, pre-nup contract say is mine. Sunrise at Royan belong to me. I ask for no more.”

“That’s fair,” I replied, trying to keep the acid out of my voice. I glanced outside, the Gulf water, a soft aqua so like Monet’s sea, shimmered in the distance. The painting had been appraised at twenty million. The hidden one- which I was convinced was Sunset at Royan-must be worth at least that much. Even fenced, the black market price would fetch plenty. Clever. Very, very clever. And high payment, indeed, for a mere two years of wedded bliss.

“Can you keep secret, Deva?”

I nodded. “Of course. Keeping secrets is part of my job.”

“This one is serious. For rest of my life.” She paused to think that over. “Well, for a while anyway. I have new man.”

I wasn’t really surprised. Goddesses like Ilona might go braless but not manless. At least not for long.

“My new man, he is so different from Trevor. He has cultivation. Sophistication. He can speak of music and art and medicine. Psychology, too. I have headache, he understand. I need pill, he give. I need back rub, he rub. Not like Trevor. All he know is money. And sex. So coarse. The things I could tell.” She shuddered, a little ripple running from her shoulders to her hips.

I asked the only question that mattered. Actually, I went for the jugular. “You love this new man?”

“That question, Deva, it is so American.”

“Really?” I tamped down my annoyance. “I thought everybody in the world needed love.”

She waved a dismissing hand and shook her head. “To choose a man for love is ridiculous. Respect, that is ticket. But I tell you something else. Another secret.”

I leaned forward on the overly soft down cushions. “I’m all ears.”

“A man must love a woman. That is what matter. Then he is in palm of hand.”

“An interesting concept,” I said, leaning back and sinking so deep into the cushions my thighs disappeared. Love on one side and respect on the other. Like bathroom taps: hot and cold.

“My new man call just before you get here and insist I go to him today. He cannot wait to see me. To hold me to him. I say yes, though he should wait. But he cannot help himself.” She glanced at her watch. “I ordered tea for us but I cancel. He expect me in little while. I would like you to meet, but is not possible. But you meet soon, I promise. I trust you, Deva, with everything-even with my new love.”

Humph, she did, did she? I guess she didn’t see me as any kind of female threat. In that she was absolutely correct. In the looks department we were apples and oranges. Though come to think of it, while I might be a Macintosh, she was no navel orange. A luscious exotic would be more like it. In other words, no contest. Her boyfriend would be safe with me. The burning question was, who was he?

“Want to tell me his name?” I asked, striving for an arch girl-talk tone.

“I want to, but I no can. We must wait for divorce before we tell.”

With difficulty, I pulled myself off the sofa and swooped up my handbag. “I have to run. Don’t worry about the tea. You don’t want to keep your man waiting.”

“He wait,” she said, utterly confident. “Something else there is. Before you go, I have little favor to ask.”

“I’ll help you if I can,” I said. For that two grand, I did owe her a favor, and maybe, just maybe, she didn’t know about the hidden canvas.

“My clothes, my jewelry, my shoes, even, are in house on Gordon Drive. I want you to go there, pack everything and bring it to me here.”

I shook my head. “Ilona, that would be breaking and entering. I can’t do that. I could end up in jail.” The irony of what I’d just said wasn’t lost on me, nor was the kernel of truth in it. “Why don’t you go get your things yourself?” I’d seen the stuff in her closet. She’d need an eighteen wheeler to move all of it out of there.

“Trevor, he no allow. He forbid me to step foot in house. He’s such a pig. What can he do with my clothes, I ask you?”

Burn them? “Bitter, is he?”

She nodded and sighed, deeply enough to send her chest into a spectacular up and down boogie. “You sure you will not do it?”

“I’m sure.” I fake peeked at my watch. “Now I really must go.”

“Well, I tell my new man I tried. I can do no more.” To my surprise, she jumped up and gave me a farewell hug and a kiss on the cheek. I resisted the urge to wipe it off.

“I appreciate that you listen,” she said. “I needed to talk.”

“Not a problem, Ilona. I’d help you with the other but-” In the foyer, my hand on the doorknob, I turned to her. “Just between us girls, I think it’s damn sporting of you to ask Trevor for the Monet and nothing else.” I paused, a Meryl Streep with perfect dramatic timing. “But what a shame you can’t have both Monets.”

Ilona gasped. A quick intake of breath. Nothing more. But it was enough to reveal what I had probed for- she knew.

In a flurry of “Ta-ta’s” and air kisses, I hurried to the elevator and jabbed Down.

After a valet pulled the Audi up under the Ritz canopy with only a faint squealing of brakes, I tipped him, drove