Death Comes to Dogwood Manor Page 13

  “Yeah…my dad saw a text from the old man’s assistant. Apparently he told her to find someone else to finish the job at Dogwood. He was going to fire my dad, only he didn’t have the balls to do it face-to-face. And for what? Dad wasn’t responsible for the project delays or the cost overruns. Solomon kept changing the specs on him. The nerve of that guy!”

  Cole yanked open the back door, which sent it banging against the wall. He stormed in ahead of me, apparently forgetting all about the bags on the ground.

  “You forgot your supplies,” I called out.

  He returned a second later and glanced at me sheepishly. “Sorry. I get worked up when I think about it. Bullies like that make me wanna puke.”

  I paused, mid-stride. His words sparked another memory—one of the encounter at Homestyle Hardware yesterday. Hadn’t I thought the very same thing when I heard Cole argue with the cashier? He’d seemed all too ready to take advantage of the girl’s age and inexperience in order to get his way.

  “Just a second,” I said.

  He threw me a backward glance. “Yeah?”

  “I happened to be in Homestyle Hardware when you got into an argument with the cashier yesterday. What was that all about?”

  The sheepish look returned. “You saw that, huh? Not one of my finest moments, I’m afraid.”

  “You really lit in to her. What was the big deal with the ant traps?”

  “Here’s the thing.” He leaned close, as if prepared to share a secret with me. “Not a whole lot of people know this, but that ant killer is the only thing on the market that really works. It’s magic. It’ll kill ants you didn’t even know you had.”

  “But the girl said the stuff was dangerous. Aren’t you worried about using arsenic at your house?”

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t for my house, it was for my garage. And I don’t even have a pet. Plus, I don’t like being told what I can and can’t use on my personal property. It doesn’t sit right with me.”

  He suddenly turned and began to walk away, our conversation over.

  Something about the explanation didn’t ring true, though. I’d have to ask him about it later when I wasn’t so pressed for time.

  I reluctantly followed him into the workroom, where I stacked my sacks next to his on the sink. Cole had moved to the studio, and his voice rang out as he hollered for his father. At that moment, something else sounded. It was my cell phone, which I’d stashed in my pocket. I withdrew it and glanced at the caller ID before tapping the screen.

  “Hey, Lance.”

  “Hi again.” Lance’s voice was warm, despite my earlier snappiness. “I’m over here at Dogwood Manor, and I found something interesting. Any chance you’re up for a little drive?”

  I glanced down at the raw concrete, which looked like a sheet of old, scraped dimes. “Actually, you’re calling at a good time. The contractor’s here with his son, and they’re going to marble the floor of my studio. So, I have to stay off of it for at least an hour.”

  “Good. Then head on over here, and I’ll meet you on the second floor.”

  “Uh-oh.” I remembered something else. “Not so fast. I might have to help Erika and Beatrice move furniture. They’re working on it all next door, at Ambrose’s place.”

  “Okay, then. But if you find out they’ve got everything under control, I sure could use your help. I found something, but I don’t know what to make of it.”

  Hard to say what made me feel better: having Lance ask for my help, or hearing the whoosh of a ShopVac when Shep and Cole began to suction debris off the floor. Either way, I probably could spare a few minutes away from the mess, and it might even turn my morning around.

  CHAPTER 16

  After checking in with Erika and Beatrice next door, who swore they didn’t need my help to fix the watermarked couches or to organize accessories, I headed for the parking lot to find my car.

  I’d just missed Ambrose, who was on his way to Baton Rouge to visit a certain wholesale fabric supplier. Apparently one of his clients had purchased designer shoes with six-inch heels, even though her dress only included a two-inch hem. It’d take him most of the morning to track down extra fabric and fix the girl’s mistake.

  Since I had no reason to linger at my shop, I quickly drove to Dogwood Manor, where I spied Lance’s Oldsmobile as soon as I arrived. The car wore its usual layer of dust and grime, along with a film on the windshield where the cleaning fluid couldn’t quite wash away the muck.

  I parked next to the jalopy, then hopped out of my car. The scaffold on the east side of the manor’s façade looked skeletal now, with no construction workers or extension cords or heavy-duty power tools to fill it.

  Around me, an eerie silence took the place of the clanks and whirs and bangs. The only other sound came from a few cicadas, who took advantage of the shade offered by the rosebush near the front door. Two days had changed everything.

  I headed for the stairs once I entered the house. When I reached the top, I paused on the second-floor landing to take in the view. Even unfinished, the mansion had beautiful bones, with smooth plaster walls that provided a blank canvas for artwork, a turreted ceiling that looked like something from a Grimm Brothers’ fairy tale, and a wide hallway that led to the mahogany-paneled library. Such a shame no one could work on the renovation now, since it was so close to being finished.

  No doubt Ivy, Herbert Solomon’s widow, would take possession of the mansion at some point. Then again, Shep Truitt could place a lien against the property until he received his fee. Erika Daniels could do the same thing. The possibilities were endless, and none of them boded well for the beautiful mansion.

  Once I took in the view, I moved to the east hall, where I spied an open door at the very end, above the library. I approached the door and saw Lance standing there, a pile of moving boxes and wooden pallets all around him. He stood with his back to me, as he read from something in his hand.

  “Hello.” I spoke softly, although we were the only two people around.

  He whirled around. “Great. You’re here. Come on in.” He motioned for me to enter by waving his hand.

  The room was cavernous. A domed ceiling rose high above our heads, its surface painted with a giant mural of a riverbank scene. The picture was awash in blues and mauves, and it depicted an old-fashioned paddle wheeler with gingerbread fretwork that separated the upper and lower decks. The handrails all wore the same patriotic bunting, which was striped red, white, and blue.

  “The ceiling’s beautiful,” I murmured, surprised to find something so finished in the otherwise bare room. “What room is this?”

  “Looks like this was supposed to be a master bedroom. And that’s nothing.” Lance indicated the packing boxes all around us with another sweep of his hand. “I’ve been sitting here, going through this stuff. It looks like Solomon ordered a brand-new bedroom suite months ago.”

  “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “No. This is.”

  He stepped toward me and handed me a piece of paper, which bore the unique typeface for Harrods of London. It was a receipt for purchases made in January—a full eight months ago. Under a line titled “Remit,” someone had written the princely sum of 690,000, which was almost $800,000, followed by Erika Daniels signature.

  “Holy schmolly.” I gave a long, low whistle. “Erika spent almost a million bucks on bedroom furniture! How is that even possible?”

  “Apparently, you have to shop at Harrods. But that’s not what I want to know.” Lance looked confused as he glanced around the room. “Why didn’t Solomon just stay up here? It looks like he started to, since some of the boxes are open, but he never moved in.”

  I followed his gaze. Sure enough, someone had pulled a mattress off of a pallet, but they’d left the plastic wrapping on. “I see what you’re saying. Why did he use that dinky room downstairs, when he had al
l this wonderful stuff waiting up here for him?”

  “Not only that, but why did he spend so much for this room in the first place? Everyone told me he hated to spend money. He doesn’t seem like the type of guy who’d splurge on furniture that no one else was going to see.”

  “I may be able to answer that one.” I slowly walked over to the mattress, which was angled to the wall, and ran my hand along the plastic. After dusting it off, I sank onto the nearest corner. “I’ll bet he was planning to use this room with his mistress.”

  Lance puckered his brow. “What do you mean, ‘his mistress’?”

  “That’s right…you don’t know, do you? Ivy Solomon came to visit me yesterday. She said she caught her husband having an affair.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell me that?” His squint hardened to a scowl.

  “I’m sorry, but I forgot. I was dead on my feet yesterday, since I’d worked all night on Monday. It won’t happen again.”

  Gradually, the scowl softened. “Okay, then. You need to let me know stuff like that. So, what’s all this about a mistress?”

  “His wife said he’d hired his hairdresser to be his administrative assistant. But she found out later the girl was his mistress.”

  “Do you have a name?”

  I shook my head. “Ivy wouldn’t tell me. But she did say she was going to call you. She’s gotten all of your messages.”

  “Good. I’ll add that to my list of questions for her.”

  “It’s the only reason I can think of for the expensive bedroom furniture.” I glanced again at the beautiful ceiling overhead. “Someone once told me Herbert Solomon forbid Ivy from ordering new curtains for their house in Baton Rouge and she had to sneak behind his back to buy them. Sheesh.”

  “Maybe your guess is right, then.”

  “It’s only a theory, but it makes sense.” I rose from the mattress. “Well, I should get back to work. Unless you need me for anything else…”

  “No. I think we’re good. I’m gonna lock up the room and then I’ll walk you out.”

  I moved to the door as Lance pulled a plastic bag from his back pocket. After dropping the receipt into it, he folded the bag into thirds and shoved it back in place.

  Neither of us spoke as we walked along the hall toward the stairs. As soon as we reached the landing, Lance’s cell phone broke the silence.

  Once he pulled the ringing phone from his pocket, he squinted at the screen before answering it. “Detective LaPorte here.”

  Some mumbling on the other end, which I couldn’t decipher.

  “I see,” he finally told the caller. “How’d you get my name?”

  He shifted his weight forward as he listened for a moment.

  “Thanks for letting me know,” he said. “I’ll check it out as soon as I get back to my office. I really appreciate the call.”

  He nodded at something else the caller said, then punched a button to hang up the phone. “Well, that was interesting.”

  I tried not to look too curious, since I didn’t want him to think I’d been eavesdropping on his conversation. “Really?”

  “Yeah. That was some lady from New Orleans. An antiques dealer.”

  My ears pricked up. “You don’t say.” One of my hobbies was searching for antiques in the narrow shops that lined Royal Street, since the city was chock-full of antique treasures. “Why would an antiques dealer from New Orleans call you?”

  “She said she saw something last night on eBid that bothered her.” Lance slipped the phone back into his pocket. “Somebody put a bunch of architectural items on sale there.”

  “That’s nothing new. The site has a whole category for architectural salvage. People put tons of stuff on it.”

  “Yeah, but the lady said she found a corbel that belonged to Dogwood Manor.”

  “Don’t tell me…it was carved with a dogwood flower.”

  Now it was his turn to look surprised. “Yeah. How’d you know that?”

  “I saw a corbel just like that in Shep Truitt’s truck yesterday. We ran into each other at Homestyle Hardware. It was sitting right in his truck bed, and he tried to hide it from me.”

  A moment later, I grimaced. I’d forgotten to tell Lance about that encounter, too. No doubt he’d berate me for forgetting to tell him something else.

  “Miiisssyyy. You’ve got to start letting me know about those things. Everything you hear about Dogwood Manor…everything you see…it’s all part of the investigation.”

  I did my best to look contrite. “I really am sorry, Lance. I mean it. Everything’s been out of whack since Mr. Solomon died. I know it’s no excuse, but it’s the only one I’ve got.”

  Slowly, he exhaled. “Okay. How did you know the corbel came from Dogwood Manor?”

  “Because it had a dogwood blossom carved on the front. It must be the same one the lady told you about on the phone. And Shep acted really paranoid when I tried to check it out.”

  “According to the antiques dealer, the emblem was pretty recognizable. She knew Herbert Solomon had died, and she wondered why someone would strip parts from the mansion only a day later.”

  “So she called the police?”

  “She wanted to warn me about all the scavengers who steal things down here, which I already know about. People will take anything and everything that’s not nailed down from those old mansions. They even take statues and stuff from the cemeteries around here. She thought someone probably stole the corbel from Dogwood Manor and then placed it up on eBid to make a quick buck.”

  “That’d explain a lot. So, what’re you going to do?”

  “First things first. I need to bring Shep Truitt into the station for a little conversation. Then I’ll have to get those things pulled off eBid. They’re all part of the Solomon estate.”

  I glanced at my watch. More than thirty minutes had elapsed since I’d left the Factory. Hopefully, Shep and Cole had finished staining the floor by now. While I cared about Lance’s police investigation, I also cared about a certain photographer who was due to arrive at my studio soon.

  “I need to get back to my shop,” I said. “And that’s where you’ll find Shep.”

  “I think I’ll follow you over there.”

  “That’ll work.”

  With that, we both bounded out of the mansion and headed for our cars. It was a good thing Lance had affixed a light bar to the roof of his car, because he needed the extra help to keep up with me.

  CHAPTER 17

  Thankfully, we both arrived at Crowning Glory in one piece, and I threw open the door to the studio to find a beautifully stained floor. I quickly glanced around and spied Shep across the way.

  “Mr. Truitt?” I called from the doorway. “Someone’s here to see you.”

  Shep glanced up. “It’s okay. You can walk on the floor. The stain dried a lot faster than we thought it would.”

  Nevertheless, I plucked off my flats, then tiptoed over to the counter, where I lightly hopped up on a bar stool that’d been put back in place.

  The floor looked wonderful. Swirls of gray approximated the wavering veins that ran through a slab of marble, and the color deepened from light to dark, with most of the stain hitting smack-dab in the middle.

  Lance also tiptoed to the counter, which made me smile, given his height. He reminded me of a giraffe trying to pussyfoot from one marbled rock to another without falling through a crack.

  “Could you come here, Mr. Truitt?” Lance said, once he reached the bar stool next to mine. “I’d like to speak with you for a moment.”

  When Shep noticed Lance, he immediately frowned, but he did as the detective asked. “Is something wrong?” he said, once he reached the counter.

  “I got a call this morning.” Apparently, Lance wasn’t going to waste any time on niceties. “A very disturbing phone call. Someone placed thing
s on eBid last night that looked like they came from Dogwood Manor.”

  Shep’s gaze flew to me. “And you think I took them? Is this because of what you saw yesterday at the hardware store, Missy?”

  “It is,” I said.

  He’d already figured out the reason for Lance’s questions. Not only that, but he didn’t deny being involved in the transaction.

  “I told Detective LaPorte we saw each other at Homestyle Hardware and that you had some pretty interesting things in the back of your truck.”

  “I got those things from the Dumpster.” Shep sounded insulted.

  “So, the corbel did come from Dogwood Manor?” Lance asked.

  “Of course it came from there. But it’d been thrown away.”

  Lance looked askance. “Why would anyone throw it away? Those things cost a lot of money.”

  “Because it was the corbel that fell on my hand.” Shep raised his right hand and lightly wiggled his fingers.

  Only then did I notice the missing bandage. Although bruised, Shep’s fingers moved freely, as if they’d never been smashed.

  “My hand is gonna recover, but the corbel got damaged. The bottom broke completely off of it when it fell down in my truck.”

  “What was it doing in your truck in the first place?” I asked.

  “I was going to repair the underside. The wood was rotted clear through the bottom. But someone hauled it to the Dumpster while I was at the ER, so I never got a chance.”

  “But there were other things in your truck,” I said. I’d spied a whole stash of architectural elements back there.

  “All headed for the Dumpster.” Shep pulled a key ring from the pocket of his jeans with his other hand. “We can go out to my truck right now. Some of the stuff is still back there. You’ll see…it’s too damaged to use. People will buy the stuff anyway, though, because they all want something antique-y to put in their gardens.”

  Lance quickly rose. “Let’s go, then. I’d love to see what else you have back there.”