Free Designed for Death by Jean Harrington

page and put my art supplies back in their box. A lanai slider slammed open. Grim-faced, Dick hurried out of 102 and raced around the pool toward Marilyn. He bent over to murmur in her ear.
    Whatever he said had a galvanizing effect. Her face rigid as stone, Marilyn leaped up and stalked off, the buttocks of her enviably shaped behind pumping up and down like pistons.
    About to start after her, Dick spotted me under the umbrella trying to look like a little sketch artist who hadn’t noticed a thing. He didn’t buy that and marched over to me, wasting no time in getting at what bothered him.
    “Marilyn been talking to you?”
    “Of course. Why do you ask?”
    “I mean talkin’. She’s upset.”
    Stalling for time, I examined my manicure. With only ten fingers to look at, that didn’t take long. “We’re all upset these days, Dick.”
    “Yeah.” He eyed me suspiciously but let it go and broke into a good imitation of a smile. “I’ve got some news.”
    “Really?” I said, thrilled to have the subject change.
    “Homicide’s released Treasure’s condo. They got everything they need. So I want you to doll the place up. You know, have the rug cleaned. Add some color. Get some plants and stuff. It’s like a ghost town up there.”
    “Can we do that? Legally, I mean. Doesn’t the condo belong to Treasure’s family?”
    “What family?”
    “She said she had a brother.”
    “Well, she lied to one of us, then. She told me she didn’t have any relatives. What was the line she used? Oh yeah, ‘I depend on the kindness of strangers.’” Dick snorted in disgust. “She sure depended on the wrong type.”
    He turned to go, but I had to ask him a question that had been on my mind for the past three days. “What about a funeral?”
    “If no one claims the body, the city’ll bury her and seize her assets to cover the cost.”
    “A pauper’s grave. We can’t let that happen, Dick.”
    Like my words were gnats, he waved a hand in front of his face. “I got enough troubles. If you’re worried about a funeral, ask that detective when he rolls around again. He’s spending enough time here. Pretty soon he’ll be taking dives in the pool.”
    Poor Dick. He had money troubles and woman troubles, two of the worst kind, but I needed some answers. “Before we make any changes, we have to find out if the unit belongs to Treasure’s estate.”

    Impatient now, he snapped out, “It belongs to me. I told you she has no heirs. I hold the mortgage, and the payments are two months overdue. I also got a big bill coming from the decontamination company. So I got to make all that up. Until the estate clears probate, the unit can’t be sold, but until that happens I’m using it as a model. If the lieutenant wants to stop me, he can let me know. After probate, if the unit doesn’t sell, Marilyn and I’ll move in and sell 102. Or anyway, one of us will move in.”
    Without waiting for more questions, he stomped off and headed for home. He had work to do in there. Lots of work.
    He didn’t get too far when he stopped and yelled, “Hey, what’s that box of Kleenex doin’ in the pool?”
    For some questions, there are no good answers. So I took the Fifth and, sketching finished, thighs burned a fiesta coral, I went inside just in time to grab the jangling phone.
    “Mrs. Dunne?” Rossi was all business today.
    “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?” My chilly tone hopefully conveyed that his questions last night still rankled.
    He paused for a couple of seconds. “Forensics wants a blood sample.”
    “What!” Nearly shocked out of my Speedo, I sank onto a stool to catch my breath. “Why, for Pete’s sake? I didn’t leave any blood in 301.”
    “You were the first on the scene. We need to eliminate you as a possible suspect.”
    “But the blood up there must be Treasure’s.”
    Another pause. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I trust you. So keep it under wraps, okay?”
    “What?” I clutched the phone