Viv dropped the lion-head door knocker to announce her arrival. She tried again. Tap, tap, tap. She'd called ahead, so she knew Beverly expected her. Finally the door swung open, revealing a young woman wearing black jeans and a white t-shirt. Her sneakers were so white they appeared to sparkle. Glitter on the shoelaces, Viv thought. Interesting touch.
Her clothes resembled what the messenger man wore, the one who'd dropped off the letter earlier that day. Viv assumed the black and white casual was some sort of uniform. Looks like the Nelsons have a full-time staff…
The young woman spoke first. "You must be Vivienne Rose. Beverly is expecting you." The use of her employer's first name surprised Viv. If she were the owner of this expansive estate, she wouldn't encourage the use of her first name. Ms. Rose, she'd insist.
Following the young woman through the entryway, Viv glanced around. The furniture had been moved since Carmine's wake. The piano, no longer shoved into the alcove, took center stage. A pure statement piece, she could see her reflection in the high-gloss lacquer finish.
Viv imagined people congregating around a jazz player who crooned Sinatra hits; people mingling with cocktail glasses. Men in bow ties, women in slinky black dresses. That's so Palm Desert. Playground to Hollywood's elite.
The young employee gestured for Viv to follow her down the wide hallway toward two closed double doors. She opened both to reveal a grand sunroom filled with tropical plants. "I'll be going now," the young woman mumbled, leaving Viv to fend for herself.
The scent of plumeria wafted toward Viv. She inhaled deeply, appreciating the moist air in her nostrils. Twelve-foot palms rose overhead. Two wax palms had grown so tall, they pushed against the glass ceiling.
"Do you have a sunroom at your house?" came a voice from behind a fiddle leaf fig. Viv walked closer. She found Beverly Nelson seated on a wicker sofa, leaning against plush pillows.
"I don't have a sunroom," Viv answered, "but my neighbor has a smaller version than yours. He likes orchids."
"Many people in Palm Desert have sunrooms. So pleasant to come home to, especially during the hotter months."
And some lucky folks have property that backs up to a golf course. Viv looked out the window over the vast expanse of grass. "You seem to have everything you need to feel at home," she said.
"Oh, let me assure you, I wasn't raised this way. It was Carmine. He provided well for our family. This is my favorite of our houses."
Viv tried not to stare, but her eyes lingered on Beverly Nelson. She wore a loose-fitting caftan that draped to the floor. The fabric was gauzy and white, with beads sewn in a swirling pattern from the plunging neckline to the hem. No widow's weeds for her. Flat white sandals with straps over her toes peeked out from the dress. She looked comfortable but wildly expensive.
Beverly didn't seem to mind Viv's gaze. She glanced to the left and the right, biding her time. Then she raised her hand, gesturing for Viv to sit down. Gold bracelets on Beverly's arm made a slight clinking sound as they cascaded to her elbow. "Thank you for coming so quickly."
Beverly inhaled deeply. Before she could speak, the young woman came through the double doors. She brought a metal tray held in both hands. Three oversized glasses with short stems and large bowls sat next to a pitcher, filled with a shimmering pink liquid. The rim of the glasses glistened with salt. The pitcher's frosted glass looked cool and inviting.
The young woman settled the tray on the coffee table and then turned to leave.
"Thank you, Maria," Beverly called after her.
Then turning to Viv, she said, "Pour yourself a strawberry margarita. So refreshing this time of year." She pointed to the tray. Viv, who immediately declined, explained, "I have to drive, so I'd better not."
Beverly smiled slightly and then took a glass and filled it for herself.
I'm not here to be social, Viv reminded herself. Feeling slightly impatient, she began to speak. "You mentioned needing help…"
Beverly took a long sip. "I thought of you as soon as I realized my quandary. It started with the phone call. You were there when Carmine's body was found. When you didn't come to talk to me at the wake, I wondered. But then I did a background check—one can't be too careful these days. I read that you run a doula agency and that you helped solve a recent murder."
Viv kept her expression blank. It didn't surprise her that Beverly knew about Desert Doulas. That was public information. But her involvement in a murder investigation had not been publicized.
She took her time answering, while Beverly reached for the pitcher. She poured herself another margarita. Filling the bowl-shaped glass to the top, she licked the salt from the rim as the bracelets slid up and down her arms. After a long gulp, she said, "That's much better." The half-filled glass remained balanced in both hands.
"I can't emphasize enough how I don't want to involve the police," Beverly stated.
A chill came up Viv's spine. The woman's voice had acquired a new intensity. No longer sounding like the grieving widow, but a woman in charge.
"Why don't you tell me how I can help?" Viv suggested.
With a quick nod, Beverly explained. "It's come to my attention that my husband Carmine was murdered. Not because he did anything wrong but because he threatened to go to the police."
Viv's eyebrows raised. "Was he a whistleblower with a company?"
"Oh no. Self-employed all his life. Most of his associates are family members. That's another reason for a discreet investigation. I don't want to upset anyone unnecessarily. I just want to punish the person who killed my husband." She took another long sip.
"Let's just say there's a group of wheeler-dealers here in Palm Desert who all know each other. They dabble in creative financing. Nothing illegal, understand."
And Viv did understand. She knew that people who had to say “nothing illegal” were in fact not exactly legal either. Otherwise why bother to explain.
Beverly continued. "The claim is that my Carmine threatened to expose one of those high-powered men. And in order to shut him up, they killed him." Tears formed in her eyes. She took another swig of her margarita, this time draining the glass.
"Please help yourself." Beverly pointed to the tray again. Her words were slightly slurred.
Viv refused demurely. "I want to keep my wits about me. You did say you needed my help."
"I want you to bring Joey Baker to me." Her lips pursed.
"Any particular reason?" Viv asked.
"I don't need a reason, do I? Just bring him. I know that you have connections with that mentalist at the Pair-a-Dice. Maybe he can help get you an introduction. Joey practically lives at the blackjack table, so it won't be hard."
Viv was shocked. "Are you asking me to go undercover?"
"More like become an acquaintance. Baker is known for having loose lips, especially when he drinks. He'll gamble for hours, hoping to beat the odds. As he plays and runs a bar tab, he chats up the people next to him. It doesn't matter who you are. But he's known to target women of a certain age. Ones who have money in the bank, who day gamble into the early evening.
"If you fluff yourself up a bit and go for that friendly granny look and then sit next to him at the blackjack table, I think he'd talk to you."
Viv wondered if she should feel insulted.
The sound of a door opening came from the other side of the room. She watched Beverly lean toward the beverage tray, her ample bosom exposed by the neckline of the caftan. Beverly filled her glass for the third time. "Hello, dear. I have your drink already." She held it aloft as an invitation. Her hand slightly swayed as Viv held her breath.
A man dressed in white shorts and a white polo shirt, along with white court shoes, walked into her line of sight. He came closer. Without acknowledging Viv's presence, he reached out to steady Beverly's hand. Then he leaned over to kiss her cheek.
Viv recognized him immediately.
He turned to her, offering a half smile. Once he sat next to Beverly, his thigh touching hers, he spoke.
"Let me introduce myself." He glanced quickly at Beverly before continuing. "My name is Peter Langford. My friends call me Pete. I run a local accounting business here in Palm Desert. That's only part-time, of course. I spend half of my time in DC, where I also have a consulting firm."
Viv held out her hand. "I'm Vivienne Rose. We haven't met officially. I was at the HOA meeting when Carmine Nelson's body was discovered."
She expected him to be shocked. But he only nodded. "That's right. A terrible night. Now I remember you. And that guy you were with. A boyfriend?"
The question about Rex felt awkward, way too personal to Viv. "We are neighbors," she explained, without adding any more detail.
Beverly’s words seemed to stick on her tongue, the alcohol in the margaritas taking effect. "I've already mentioned that we're suspicious and that I need her help," she told Peter with a slur.
"Not from the police," he quickly added. "We talked about that." His voice was full of reproach.
"Not the cops. I'm not stupid, honey." Beverly patted his knee, the bracelets jingling. She removed her hand and slumped further against the cushions. Her glass began to tip. Pete leaned over her lap to take it out of her hand.
"Be careful there, baby. Slow down on the booze." He placed the empty glass on the table and then turned to Viv.
"So here's the thing. Carmine and I go way back. I've been his accountant for years. I knew his finances inside out and I'm here to tell you, he's clean as a whistle. Never been audited. He was that honest.
"I also know that Joey Baker is the opposite of Carmine. Joey's always been on the take and he cuts corners every chance he gets. He'd steal the pension from an old lady if he thought he could get away with it. In fact, he marks older women, oozes his charm. Pretty soon they hand over their savings and he up and disappears."
"That's awful." Viv felt her stomach clench.
"Not the half of it," Pete continued. "Carmine got tired of Joey. He'd had enough. They must have gotten into an argument that led to Carmine saying he'd go to the cops. Now that in itself is extreme, since Carmine was no snitch and he hated police.
"Joey killed Carmine. That's not debatable in my estimation. You bring him to us and we'll do the rest. And don't worry. He's not worth the effort of protecting."
The hair on her neck rose. Now she was convinced that Joey Baker must have killed Carmine.
Pete reached into his pocket. He removed a piece of paper that had been folded in half. "We're hoping this will be enough, a retainer for your services."
Viv took the paper and unfolded it. Ten thousand dollars.
"You know I'm not a licensed private investigator, right?"
"Don't want someone with a license," he said emphatically. "Our only rule is that when Joey cons you, you lure him to your house. Then call us. We'll do the rest. No cops. That has to be understood. Palm Desert is a small town. We don't want anyone to get any ideas that we have a relationship with law enforcement. Can I say that enough?"
"I've got it." Viv nodded. "So when do I start?"
"How about tomorrow? I'll send you a photo. Keep it on your cell. Just so you can identify him in the casino. The lights are terrible there. Joey starts gambling around noon…" He was interrupted by a loud snuffle followed by a throaty snore.
While Pete was talking, Beverly had eased her body onto the sofa cushions. She rested her head on a decorative pillow, her lips puffed in short bursts. Viv tucked the check in her purse and rose to leave.