Gilt Trip by Laura Childs Page A

Zane. Zane certainly had access to Jerry Earl, and lots of employees entertain murderous thoughts about their boss. But most of the time they were just . . . thoughts. If Zane really had murder on his mind, would he kill Jerry Earl smack dab in the middle of a fancy party? With a hundred guests milling around? Or would that be the
ideal
time to kill someone? When people were tipsy and raucous and there was a houseful of potential suspects?
    â€œI can assure you,” said Zane, “I did everything humanly possible to ensure the success of Mr. Leland’s party—not disrupt it. I helped select the highest-caliber caterer, bartending staff, florist . . .”
    â€œYour taste is to be commended,” said Beetsie.
    Before Zane could respond, the phone on the desk started to ring. Margo reached out and grabbed it.
    â€œHello?” Margo squawked into the line. Then she smiled and nodded. “Oh yes, Detective, one moment.” She put a hand over the receiver and said to Zane, “I’m going to take this in the other room. Please hang up when I pick up the extension.”
    Zane nodded. “Of course, ma’am.”
    Margo set the phone down next to a large gold mask that rested on a black metal stand and hurried out of the room. Carmela, Beetsie, and Zane waited in silence until they heard Margo call out. Then Zane replaced the phone on the hook.
    â€œWhere were we?” Beetsie asked.
    â€œFlorist,” said Carmela.
    Zane rolled his eyes. “That vendor proved to be slightly problematic. Mrs. Leland wasn’t one bit happy with the zinnias. We ordered lavender and pink and the florist delivered yellow and white. Ghastly. Not a bit of pop. And the dahlias were wilted.”
    â€œFirst thing I noticed,” said Beetsie. “The poor things were losing petals by the minute. Reminded me of a Pomeranian I once had, shedding hair constantly until all that was left was his poor dimpled pink skin.”
    With the conversation taking a sudden jog, Carmela wondered if she’d gotten as much information as she could. The answer was probably yes. Both Margo and Beetsie seemed prone to theatrics and veering off course.
    Carmela aimed a smile at Zane. “Thank you for answering my questions. I’m sure this hasn’t been easy for you.”
    Zane scrunched up his face and said, “I want Mr. Leland’s killer brought to justice as much as anyone. So if there’s anything else I can do, any way I can help, please let me know.” He reached down, picked up the teacups, and set them on the tray.
    â€œThank you,” said Carmela. “We’ll be sure to keep you in the loop.”
    Zane scurried out of the office. By the way the teacups clinked and clattered against each other, Carmela guessed he was happy to escape.
    Margo’s footsteps sounded in the hallway.
    â€œMargo, dear,” said Beetsie. “Did the Detective . . .”
    Margo staggered into the room, looking white-faced and stricken.
    Now what?
Carmela wondered.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Beetsie gasped. “More bad news?”
    â€œStrange news,” said Margo. “That was Detective Gallant on the phone.”
    â€œWhat did he want?” asked Beetsie.
    â€œHe asked about tattoos,” said Margo. She managed to walk another couple of feet then sat down heavily behind the desk, looking more than a little upset.
    â€œTattoos?” said Beetsie.
    â€œWhy was he asking about tattoos?” said Carmela.
    â€œI can’t quite believe this,” Margo gasped, “but apparently the medical examiner found two tattoos on Jerry Earl’s body! Jerry Earl didn’t have any tattoos when he went off to prison!” She shook her head in total disbelief. “What on earth do you think it means?”

Chapter 8
    C ARMELA , ever the practical one, said, “I think it probably means somebody tattooed Jerry Earl with a ballpoint pen while