told Rossi about—and headed upstairs. I hadn’t been in Treasure’s condo since the murder, and technically I’d be trespassing, but I couldn’t keep avoiding it, not with Dick the Prick eager to turn it into a sales model. “Add some color,” he’d said. “The sooner the better.” I knew he didn’t mean any major overhaul, just jolts of energy here and there, enough to temper the pale, Hollywood-in-the-Thirties look. The State of Florida wouldn’t care—at least that’s what I told myself.
All was quiet on the third floor; Simon must have gone to work. I let myself into 301 and stood inside the doorway for a moment as the memory of Treasure washed over me. The noon sun flooded the white living room with light, just the way she’d wanted it.
I forced myself to look down. Except for leaving a strong chemical odor, the cleaners had done an excellent job. Once again, the carpeting was a smooth, unsullied ivory, all traces of blood gone.
I closed the sheers over the lanai glass, muting the glare. Dick was right about the need for changes. As is, the condo was a one-woman show not a saleable middle-class getaway.
Clipboard in hand, I jotted some notes. Soft shades of pink and rose and cinnamon would be good for accessories, but the room lacked darker tones, too. Sales models worked better if colors were a bit masculine. That called for a few baritone notes in green to please any check-writing men who wandered in.
The condo’s major sales feature, the lanai, with its gorgeous gulf view, definitely needed romancing. A sole lounge chair sat in the middle of it, the white cushions hinting more at loneliness than innocence…like Treasure. Upscale patio furniture and outsized green ginger-jar planters were called for, but I’d consult with Dick on costs before ordering a thing.
In the kitchen Treasure had wanted “white as a snowball,” I’d add a little green as well. Green Spanish glass bottles. An enamel teapot to sit on the stovetop, silk herbs in terracotta pots, cookbooks.
The guest bath and bedroom had been given a coat of flat white and left at that. No problem there. Unfurnished, the bedroom looked spacious, a sales feature that wouldn’t cost Dick a cent.
Like last time I was in here, I tiptoed down the hall to the master suite, my heart catching at the sight of the bed shimmering in the light. Too bad it couldn’t talk; it would spew out a novel. Gingerly rounding the foot of the bed, I crept up to the closed bathroom door. For certain, history wouldn’t repeat itself, but my hand trembled on the knob just the same. I screwed up my courage before taking a chance and flinging the door wide.
The bathroom was immaculate. And empty. My heart settled back into its normal rhythm. Dick, or more likely a decontamination cleaning crew, had done a masterful job. The tub and tiles were spotless, the walls softly aglow with their five coats of Old World glaze.
Releasing a deep breath slowly, I kept my mind on business and away from murder. Okay. “Color,” Dick had said. I’d stack bright towels on the shelf next to the tub. Heap silk pillows on the bed, the glossier the better. But in what shade?
For inspiration, I opened one of the mirrored closets where Treasure’s negligees hung in a bright array. A luscious lavender peignoir caught my eye. I slipped it off the hanger and draped it across the bed. A snapshot I didn’t recall seeing, a handsome man in a Lucite frame, stood on the bed stand. I took it over to the window for a better look.
Dick didn’t have his facts straight. The guy in this picture looked so much like Treasure, he had to be her brother. Or at least a relative, a cousin or an uncle or… I took a deep breath. I needed it to push out the questions that had been troubling me since Faye’s visit to the clubroom.
Learning the identity of this man might put my suspicions to rest—or confirm them—but I didn’t have a clue as to how to get in touch with him.
Except for Faye,
All was quiet on the third floor; Simon must have gone to work. I let myself into 301 and stood inside the doorway for a moment as the memory of Treasure washed over me. The noon sun flooded the white living room with light, just the way she’d wanted it.
I forced myself to look down. Except for leaving a strong chemical odor, the cleaners had done an excellent job. Once again, the carpeting was a smooth, unsullied ivory, all traces of blood gone.
I closed the sheers over the lanai glass, muting the glare. Dick was right about the need for changes. As is, the condo was a one-woman show not a saleable middle-class getaway.
Clipboard in hand, I jotted some notes. Soft shades of pink and rose and cinnamon would be good for accessories, but the room lacked darker tones, too. Sales models worked better if colors were a bit masculine. That called for a few baritone notes in green to please any check-writing men who wandered in.
The condo’s major sales feature, the lanai, with its gorgeous gulf view, definitely needed romancing. A sole lounge chair sat in the middle of it, the white cushions hinting more at loneliness than innocence…like Treasure. Upscale patio furniture and outsized green ginger-jar planters were called for, but I’d consult with Dick on costs before ordering a thing.
In the kitchen Treasure had wanted “white as a snowball,” I’d add a little green as well. Green Spanish glass bottles. An enamel teapot to sit on the stovetop, silk herbs in terracotta pots, cookbooks.
The guest bath and bedroom had been given a coat of flat white and left at that. No problem there. Unfurnished, the bedroom looked spacious, a sales feature that wouldn’t cost Dick a cent.
Like last time I was in here, I tiptoed down the hall to the master suite, my heart catching at the sight of the bed shimmering in the light. Too bad it couldn’t talk; it would spew out a novel. Gingerly rounding the foot of the bed, I crept up to the closed bathroom door. For certain, history wouldn’t repeat itself, but my hand trembled on the knob just the same. I screwed up my courage before taking a chance and flinging the door wide.
The bathroom was immaculate. And empty. My heart settled back into its normal rhythm. Dick, or more likely a decontamination cleaning crew, had done a masterful job. The tub and tiles were spotless, the walls softly aglow with their five coats of Old World glaze.
Releasing a deep breath slowly, I kept my mind on business and away from murder. Okay. “Color,” Dick had said. I’d stack bright towels on the shelf next to the tub. Heap silk pillows on the bed, the glossier the better. But in what shade?
For inspiration, I opened one of the mirrored closets where Treasure’s negligees hung in a bright array. A luscious lavender peignoir caught my eye. I slipped it off the hanger and draped it across the bed. A snapshot I didn’t recall seeing, a handsome man in a Lucite frame, stood on the bed stand. I took it over to the window for a better look.
Dick didn’t have his facts straight. The guy in this picture looked so much like Treasure, he had to be her brother. Or at least a relative, a cousin or an uncle or… I took a deep breath. I needed it to push out the questions that had been troubling me since Faye’s visit to the clubroom.
Learning the identity of this man might put my suspicions to rest—or confirm them—but I didn’t have a clue as to how to get in touch with him.
Except for Faye,
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