Free The Design Is Murder (Murders By Design) by Jean Harrington

no wheels, you sound very cheerful.”
    He laughed. “I am. I’ll explain later. See you soon?”
    “A half hour.”
    “Perfect,” he said and rang off.
    I think I could guess what Rossi wanted to celebrate. He’d bought the Calista Sands house lot. With a spark of excitement pulsing in my veins, I finished my makeup, brushed out my hair and waved goodbye to Lee. Tonight, she’d close up and make the daily bank deposit.
    Parked in the small lot behind the shop, the Audi didn’t look in shape for an evening on the town. At the very least, it needed a wash. No time for that, but how about gas? I checked. Less than a quarter full. Why was I always running on low? Truth was, my loyal little buggy was a gas guzzler. Long in the tooth with a hundred and ninety thou on the odometer, it needed to be traded for a newer model. Maybe a different color this time, a muted green with tan leather seats.
    I sighed and turned on the ignition. Truth was I couldn’t afford a new car. The old bomber would have to last for another year or two.
    After stopping for gas, I drove directly to the station. Constructed of gray granite, with weathered Bermuda shutters tilted over its windows, the building looked more like a resort hotel than the local headquarters for crime busting. But that was Naples for you.
    Outside in a patch of shade, Rossi was waiting with a smile on his lips. One of those small ones that didn’t reach the eyes, but I’d learned to read him. The smile spoke volumes. He was delighted about something.
    He slid onto the passenger seat and gave me a discreet kiss on the cheek. “Let’s go, sweetheart. Party time.” His glance swept over me. “Hot dress.”
    From long experience, I knew it wouldn’t do any good to ask what he was so elated about. Rossi kept his secrets well. Super well, darn it. When he was ready, he’d tell me. For now, I was happy driving along the Tamiami Trail with his hand on my right knee.
    At the restaurant, he said, “Let’s valet park tonight,”
    “But the car’s such a heap. I’ll be embarrassed.”
    His hand on my knee tightened. “Looking the way you do, once the valet lamps you, he won’t even know what he’s driving. Besides, I can’t wait to get the full effect when you stand up on those gorgeous pins of yours.”
    Who could argue with that?
    Anyway, we strolled through Sully’s well-designed foyer with its white marble floor and intimate groupings of blue-and-white-striped sofas.
    The dark, woody bar was located off the foyer to the right. After making a margarita stop there, we followed the hostess to a small table for two in a quiet corner of the restaurant. I loved the way Sully’s décor played with opposing elements: rustic wood walls punctuated with black-and-white sports photographs in elaborate gilt frames.
    Once we were seated, Rossi reached across the table for my hand. “I’d order a bottle of champagne, but we don’t have a designated driver. Unfortunately.” He grinned, “Or fortunately. I’d much rather be alone with you. A glass of merlot instead?”
    “That would be lovely. So would knowing the reason for this dinner. It’s story time, Rossi.”
    He tried for nonchalance and failed. “I bought the Calista lot today.”
    Ah
,
I
knew it.
“Is that what this is all about?”
    He nodded somewhat gravely. “It is.”
    “Wonderful! I love the location, the neighborhood, the view, the whole idea of living there some day. But—”
    “You want to know what it cost.”
    “Well, yes. If we’re going to share a life and a house there, don’t I deserve to know?”
    “There’s no need to worry. It’s paid for.” He cleared his throat. “I sold the Maserati.”
    “What!” I reared back in my chair. “Your pride and joy? Uncle Beppe’s bequest to you? How could you do such a thing? You love that car.”
    “I love you more. I want you to have a house of your own. I want you to design it and decorate it and be happy in it. With me. What’s a set of