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Michaela checked herself in her full-length mirror in her dressing room. She had on a black wool dress and three-inch black boots, a beautiful Eisenberg Ice rhinestone brooch she’d inherited from her grandmother and matching earrings. She rearranged her short dark curls and applied a bit more mascara to make her vivid green eyes pop. She moved back and surveyed herself critically in the mirror. She looked pretty good for a forty-four-year-old retired homicide detective, she decided. Not bad for an old girl. She moved closer to the mirror and tried to press out the wrinkles around her eyes and the permanently-etched frown mark on her forehead. It didn’t work. The rest of her face was unlined, and all in all, she looked okay. She reached for her Avon facelift-in-a-bottle and smeared it over her makeup. The stuff really worked, firmed up the face for about two hours, and then all was back to normal. Anyway, she liked it, and it smelled good. Besides, she was meeting Slade later at Biddy’s to talk about Allison’s case, and she was warming to him again. Do I really want to go there? The two of them had enjoyed a torrid affair several years ago that had ended after about three months when Mic had decided it was more about sex than substance, and she really wanted to know her lovers and be able to connect with them.
Mic called Angel, and the two left the house and hopped into Michaela’s SUV. The truck had ample room for Angel who loved riding shotgun in his seat belt. The pair headed over to Dottie’s house, driving a bit slower than usual because of the snow and ice. Dottie’s house was a short drive, usually only five minutes, ten or twelve minutes in traffic or if she caught the lights. Tonight, it was even longer because of the snow and ice.
Michaela pulled into Dottie’s circular drive and looked up at the mansion. It was impressive to say the least. The 7,600-square-foot Mediterranean residence had been designed and built by noted Richmond architect William Lawrence Bottomly. The property was custom built and designed for the Borghase family for “vacations” when they visited their tobacco holdings in Virginia. The three-story stucco mansion, complete with two elevators, had twenty-four rooms with seven bedrooms and seven baths.
Michaela opened the car door for Angel, rang the bell and was greeted at the door by Cookie Vagglia, Dorothy’s long-time housekeeper, who at sixty-something had her hands full taking care of, or perhaps keeping up with Dottie and the enormous house.
“Mic, how’re you doin?” Cookie greeted her warmly. She ruffled Angel’s ears, and he looked at her with adoration in his eyes. Angel loved Cookie, and he knew he was about to get a huge plate of treats.
Michaela watched the pair and laughed. “I guess you know what Angel is expecting.”
“Indeed I do, and he’ll be getting them shortly,” she promised as she squatted on the dog’s level, and he gave her a quick lick on the face.
Mic laughed and asked, “How’s Dottie?”
Cookie gave her an exasperated look, as she shook her head, “Angel’s not a problem. It’s the countess. She is in the library, and she’s on her third glass of sherry.” She rolled her eyes. “She seemed to have had a very bad day. I guess Henry and I’ll be up all night.” She gave Mic a tired smile.
Mic shook her head. “I’ll talk to her. I’ gather she had a rather upsetting afternoon?”
“Yeah, she did,” Cookie agreed “but I’m not too sure what happened. And by the way, Michaela, you look exceptionally beautiful tonight!” Cookie added. “Not everyone can wear black as well as you!” Cookie gave her an appreciative look.
Mic smiled. “Thanks, Cookie. It takes me longer and longer to look good these days. Gone are the days when I plastered on some lipstick and mascara and took off.”
“You’d never know it,” Cookie insisted. “Let’s go check on the countess.”
Mic nodded and entered the grand hallway with Angel at her side. “I don’t know what happened, but I’m going to find out. Just be sure she eats to balance the wine and gets to bed safely. No need for a broken hip.”
Cookie shuddered at the thought. “The countess with a broken hip could be the death of me.”
Mic laughed and nodded as she looked around at the grand entry foyer as she removed her black leather gloves. Even though she’d been there a million times, she was always impressed with the beauty and architecture of the mansion. It was like having a bit of Rome in Richmond. The grand foyer boasted a curved staircase, priceless objects d’art on antique tables and Renaissance murals adorned the walls. The furniture was vintage Italian from Dottie’s ancestral home outside of Rome and many impressive pieces of Italian marble served as pedestals and tabletops. Opposite the living room, the dining room offered mirrored Fresno ceilings with a motif similar to the Sistine Chapel. Mic swore she could see all the miracles of the Catholic Church along the walls. The dining table seated an easy sixteen for dinner, and a beautiful terra cotta floor completed the authentic look of an Italian dining room fit for royalty who did, of course, live there.
Cookie accompanied Mic and Angel as they walked through the grand hall to the back of the mansion and made a right as they entered the library. The library had a beamed ceiling and arched library shelves and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Dottie’s beautiful, snow covered courtyard. Dottie sat next to the fireplace, a crystal goblet of sherry in her hand and a cut glass decanter on the table next to her. She had on a navy blue silk dressing gown and rested in a Queen Anne leather recliner. She raised her glass in greeting when Mic entered.