Kiss of Death

THE RED-EYE TO New York landed in Newark at 5:40 Saturday morning. With no baggage to claim, by 6:35 A.M. I was inserting the key into the lock on the front door of my apartment. I pushed it open—and saw something that made me gasp: Detective Matt Phoenix standing in the hallway outside the kitchen, Magic draped over his shoulder, facing backward, the way he likes to ride. His long black tail swished slightly as it trailed down the front of Matt’s green sports jacket.

Magic scrambled down from Matt’s shoulder and galloped toward me. As soon as I knelt down and scooped him up in my arms, he rubbed the top of his silky head along the line of my jaw and started to purr.

Matt took a key from his jacket pocket and handed it to me. “Here. Nancy gave me your key so I could come over and feed the cat.”

“Of course she is! This isn’t a shoplifting case,” Matt said. But he wasn’t looking at me. His attention was fixed on the broad figure of the man who had come through the door behind me carrying my duffel and his own suitcase. Matt arched his eyebrows quizzically and said, “Hello?” His tone turned the word into a question.

Walter set the bags down, stepped around me, and offered his hand to Matt. “Walter Maysfield. I’m an old friend of Miss Morgan’s.”

Reacting to our angry tones, Magic struggled out of my arms, jumped down, and loped off down the hallway. I wanted to reassure him, but first I had to find out about Nancy.

“There’s nothing I can do. She’ll have a bail hearing on Monday, then the judge decides . . .” His voice trailed off, and the fact that he didn’t finish the sentence sent a jolt of alarm through me.

“Decides? You mean decides how much the bail will be?” He didn’t answer, increasing my alarm. “She will get bail, won’t she? They wouldn’t keep her in jail!”

“You’re right,” Matt agreed. He looked at me, and I nodded. Peace was declared, at least temporarily.

“I was in Florida. Thank you for coming over to take care of Magic.” I turned to Walter. “Let me show you where to put your bag.”

Walter, too, noted Matt’s expression. With an amused twinkle in his eyes, he answered the question Matt hadn’t asked. “I’m jus’ visiting for a spell.”

After I showed Walter the den, where I intended to make up the couch into a bed for him, the three of us sat down at the kitchen table. As we drank coffee and ate from the box of apple turnovers Penny had baked and sent over with Matt, Magic came out of hiding to join us. He jumped onto Matt’s lap, coiled himself into a circle, and went to sleep. I frowned at Magic’s closed eyes and twitching whiskers, and thought: little traitor.

I refilled the coffee mugs and we each took another apple turnover. It must be true that carbohydrates are a natural tranquilizer; as I ate the pastry, I felt calmer.

“What happened?” I asked. “When Penny telephoned, all she knew was that you’d arrested Nancy. No details.”

“G. G. and I got a call from a pair of uniforms who’d found a one-twenty-five situation at the Vernon Towers.”

I knew that 125 was the New York penal code for a violent death. Vernon Towers was one of Manhattan’s newest luxury co-ops, on West Sixty-first Street, within the area of the Twentieth Precinct, Matt’s headquarters. According to Nancy, Arnold had been one of the building’s first residents.

Matt nodded. “The girl was hysterical. She finally quieted down enough to tell us that she came into the apartment looking for her mother. They hadn’t moved in yet because it was still being decorated. She’d come downstairs from her father’s place, where they were living. Her mother was lying on the floor, head covered with blood. Nancy Cummings was there. A neighbor heard Didi screaming and called 911. When the beat cops saw the situation, they secured the apartment. It was an obvious homicide, so we were called in.”

Matt’s tone, which had been coolly professional, softened. I saw a look of sympathy in his eyes. “Blunt force trauma to the back of the head. She was struck with an unopened five-gallon can of paint. Forensics confirmed that the blood and hair on the can came from the victim.”

After a moment, I said, “Nancy can’t even kill a spider—she puts them outside on her balcony. She couldn’t murder anyone! She must have told you that.”

“She said she didn’t do it.” Matt shrugged with an attitude that implied, “That’s what they all say.”

“Not home. Didi gave me his cell phone number. I reached him in his car. He said he was on his way back from seeing a client.”

I tried to keep the horror of the situation from clogging my mind. I needed to think. Lawyer! “Nancy needs a lawyer,” I said. “Who’s protecting her rights?”

I shook my head in frustration. “The best criminal lawyer I know is Arnold Rose, but he’s the ex-husband of the victim.”

“Not so ex, according to the daughter,” Matt said. “She told me her parents had gotten back together. That must have made Nancy angry. Jealousy is a classic motive.”

“You should prepare yourself for bad news,” Matt said. “According to the daughter, Nancy and her mother had had some nasty fights. With a history of animosity between those two women, I think the D.A. will feel he’s got a strong enough case to charge Nancy with murder. A smart attorney might be able to deal it down to man two. Depending on the charge, Nancy’s probably going to spend anywhere from seven years to the rest of her life in prison.”

“Stop it!” Even though it was still half full, I removed Matt’s coffee mug from in front of him. He got the hint, said goodbye, and left.

As soon as I heard the front door close, I crossed to the kitchen wall phone and dialed the Flynn home, hoping that G. G. was there. I was in luck.

“Hi, G. G.,” I said. “No, this time I don’t need to talk to Brandi—you’re the one. Settle a bet for us. Of all of them that you’ve dealt with, who’s the defense attorney you and Matt absolutely hate the most?”

I felt guilty about tricking G. G., but I pushed the feeling away. Nancy’s life was at stake, and I had to do everything possible to help her.