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

wheels compared to all that?”
    Our waiter approached with menus. I did a good imitation of Kay Hawkins and waved him away.
    “The car paid for the lot free and clear,” Rossi added. “It was an excellent decision, one I’ll never regret.”
    He held my glance with his, daring me to contradict him. How could I? The Maserati was his to do with as he wished. And what he wished was to make me happy.
    The waiter returned just as I burst into tears.
    “I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I’ll come back later.”
    “No,” Rossi said, “that’s not necessary. The lady’s too happy to order right now, so I’ll do the honors. Shrimp cocktails to start?” he asked me.
    I nodded.
    “And a filet for the lady, medium well. A T-bone for me. Medium rare. Chop salads. That should do it. Oh, and two merlots. You choose the vintner.”
    “Very good, sir.”
    I found a tissue in my handbag and mopped my face.
    “You
are
happy, right?” Rossi asked, his eyes on me warm but worried.
    “You know I am.” I sent him a watery smile. “But I’m practical too. What will you use for a car?”
    “You forgetting the Mustang?”
    “No, but—”
    “Don’t let the dinged body fool you. Under the dusty hood purrs a world-class engine. Besides, for occasions calling for a touch of class, like tonight, we can use the Audi.”
    That did it. I laughed out loud, startling the waiter as he was about to serve our shrimp.
    “Enjoy,” he said, placing the appetizers in front of us and hurrying off.
    “He’s running scared,” Rossi said with a smile, picking up his fork and digging in.
    “This has been a rollercoaster of a day,” I said. “Up, down. Up, down.”
    “What do you mean? Exactly.”
    “Well, first Kay Hawkins came into the shop to tell me not to spread gossip around Whiskey Lane.”
    “Was that an up or a down?”
    “Very funny. Then there were the snakes and—”
    Rossi’s fork struck the tabletop. Hard. “The snakes?”
    “Yes, in the back of the truck. Pythons. Cages full of them.”
    “You’ve lost me, Deva. Would you please start over again? From the beginning.”
    “Like an investigation, you mean?”
    “Deva.”
    In between delicious bites of cold Gulf shrimp, I related my adventure. Rossi didn’t think a truck full of pythons was a big deal. After all, he pointed out, they
were
in cages. But he was intensely curious about Mr. Mike Hammerjack and said, “An ex-con might be the biggest snake of all.”
    “He’s fulfilled his debt to society, and now he’s out on parole. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
    “Perhaps.” Rossi shrugged. “He may be rehabilitated. On the other hand, he may just be good at following rules. Bottom line, he’s a convicted criminal. An embezzler. You said ten to twenty in the state penitentiary? And he’s somebody you’re thinking of doing business with? Not good, Deva, not good at all.”
    Experienced in law enforcement, Rossi understood the criminal mind. I’d be foolish not to listen to him. “Well, our business would be for a good cause, but I have wondered exactly what he did.”
    “Why don’t we find out?” Pushing his shrimp cocktail aside, he removed his cell phone from a pocket and pressed the station’s call number. “This is Lieutenant Rossi. Connect me with criminal investigation.”

Chapter Fifteen
    Two days later I stood uneasily in the foyer of 595 Whiskey Lane, holding a portfolio containing color boards, paint chips and fabric samples.
    Only a few days had passed since...well, since Connie Rae had passed, and despite the phone call summoning me there today, I was uncertain about how I’d find the bereaved husband.
    I needn’t have worried. Stew Hawkins strode out of his bedroom wing with a smile on his face and no sign whatsoever of grief.
    “Glad you could make it, Deva. I want to get the place fixed up as soon as possible. No point in letting what happened keep us waiting.”
    Wow.
That gave new meaning to the word
cold.
Did Stew have no