The Monet Murders

can. Then we’ll do the test a second time. That’s the one that’ll count. Understood?”

I nodded, ignoring the trickle of sweat between my shoulder blades.

The questions began. “Did Mr. and Mrs. Alexander employ you as an interior designer? Did you steal the Monet seascape? Do you know Mrs. Alexander’s maiden name? Did you know the Alexanders’ cook, Maria Cardoza? Did you find the Monet cut from the frame? Do you know who stole it? Did you contact the police? Did you find Maria Cardoza’s body? Did Maria Cardoza ever cook you a meal? Did you kill Maria Cardoza? Do you know who did kill her?”

On and on, he droned. All told, with periodic stops while he marked the graph sheet, the practice test lasted for nearly an hour. In between the benign queries there were four lethal ones-did I steal the painting; did I know who had? Had I killed Maria; did I know who had? Those were no, of course. After we ran through the list once, Darth examined the printout then he turned off the polygraph machine, removed the cuff from my arm and the monitor from my finger.

“You did very well,” he said.

I looked at him in surprise. “What’s the matter, Mr. Butterworth, aren’t you going to give me the test?”

His smile said it all. “I have, Mrs. Dunne. We’re finished.”

“Wasn’t that a practice run?”

“Well,” he said, his smile growing broader, “if you put me on the machine and asked that same question, the needle would spike.”

“You lied.”

“Yes,” he said, “I did. But I’m sure you didn’t.”

* * *

“So I passed the test, but dammit, Rossi,” I said when we hit the parking lot and headed for the Audi, “that guy lied to me. I bet you knew he was going to.”

“Pretty standard procedure, Mrs. D. If the subject thinks it’s only a practice test, he relaxes. It goes better.”

“So now I’m a subject. Of what? Speculation? All I did was check on my design job. I found the crimes. I didn’t commit them.”

Rossi stopped midstride and, planting his feet wide apart on the tarmac, stood facing me. “It looks like a woman. It moves like a woman. I’ll bet it feels like a woman. Too bad it sounds like a child.”

“You have a hell of a-”

He held up a warning hand, palm out. He had a long lifeline. “Stop there. This is a murder investigation. I’m sorry you were lied to, but I’m sorrier Maria Cardoza is lying on a slab.”

Heat rushed into my face. If I had a mirror, I’d be looking at a boiled beet.

Rossi stared at me without blinking, waiting, no doubt, for his pound of flesh. I gave it to him. “I’m truly sorry. You’re absolutely right. Forgive me for losing sight of what matters.”

He grinned. “Maybe. All depends. Want to hear the terms?”

“Why not?” Though I could guess.

“After the investigation is concluded-not before-you’ll have dinner with me.”

“Where? Mel’s Diner?”

Mel’s was the local greasy spoon. I let my voice purr with disdain, but I was faking it. Fact is, though I hadn’t been out with anyone since losing Jack, at least not on an actual date, I was surprised to realize I’d enjoy going to dinner with Rossi. And somehow, I knew that would be okay with Jack.

“No, not Mel’s,” Rossi said calmly, not letting my disdainful tone affect him. Or at least not enough to let it show. “Someplace where I have to wear a jacket. The one in the closet on the fifteenth hanger.”

“I know the one.” I heaved a sigh to make him think the decision came hard. “St. George and the Dragon?”

“Great. It’s dark as a cave in there.”

“You’ve been?”

“I’m the detective. I ask the questions. And there’s something else. I spoke to the chief while you were taking the test. He’ll recuse me from the case if you and I…ah…give the appearance of impropriety.”

Relief flooded through me. So he had been sincere in hiring me. There was no trap, after all. Still I asked, “What does recuse mean, Rossi, in plain English?”

“It means just the suspicion of collusion can prejudice the outcome.”

“That’s English?”

He put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Except for police business, I won’t be contacting you until the case is resolved. No dinner. No house redo. No nothing.”

“But that’s all it’s been. Nothing.” I’d only told one lie all day, and this wasn’t it.

He slammed a fist against his chest. “That cuts, Mrs. D.”

“You know it’s true.”

“So far.” His mouth tried for a smile but failed. “I also know a detective has to be above reproach. Like Caesar’s wife. See how much you made me forget?” His expression sobered. “I’m sorry to put off the redecorating. But it’s not forever. Now let’s get going. I’ve got work to do.”

* * *

I drove back to Rossi’s house and dropped him off so he could pick up his car, a dusty, dinged Mustang.

“That’s quite a vehicle,” I said, “for Mr. Clean.”

“Part of the disguise, Mrs. D.” He climbed out of the Audi, taking the scent of his aftershave with him. I would have asked what it was but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I’d been aware of it for the whole damn drive. Before closing the door, he leaned across the front seat. “Not to worry. For my social life, I have different wheels.”

Does he think I’m a snob? For some reason, that bothered me. It bothered me a lot. “I only mentioned your car because it doesn’t fit your squeaky-clean image. Besides, Jack always had dirty cars. I’m used to them. There’s something very liberating about tossing a banana peel on the backseat and leaving it there.”

“To rot?”

“Precisely.” The shocked look on Rossi’s face made my day. “Ciao, ciao, bambino.”

I waved goodbye and laid rubber, the screech of the tires on his quiet street music to my ears. Halfway down the road, I eased my foot off the gas pedal. Maybe Rossi had been right earlier. I did have a childish streak. To make up for my outburst, I drove back to the shop five miles under the limit. I was disappointed not to be able to tackle his bedroom right away. I sure could use the business, but I was surprised to realize how much I’d miss seeing Rossi. He was growing on me. Like moss. I laughed and checked my watch. Two- thirty. If all had gone according to plan, Lee would be at the shop now.

On Fifth Avenue, I spied an in-season rarity, a parking space. I nosed into it, holding up a parade of traffic as I pulled in, pulled out, pulled in, pulled out, until, finally yanking on the wheel for the last time, I nestled that baby in place. Triumphant, I waved thanks to the row of waiting cars, locked up and crossed the street to Fern Alley.

Off Shoots, the junior clothing shop next door where we’d found Lee’s new dress, buzzed with customers. Good for Irma and Emma, the hard-working twins who owned it. Their ad for holiday dresses in the Naples Daily had attracted a lot of interest. A green strapless gown in their display window caught my eye. It would be perfect for New Year’s Eve, but I wasn’t going…and then I saw him. Dreadlocks. The handsome young guy who promised not to drop his empties in my planters. Why was he hanging out in front of the shop? Sitting cross- legged on the sidewalk with a clipboard on his lap?

He was so intent on what he was doing he didn’t hear me approach until I came alongside him. When he spotted me, he looked up and gave me a dazzling smile.

“Hey, design lady!”

“What are you doing crouched in front of my shop window? You’ll scare people away.”