Part 31 (2/2)
”Mom was a fragile woman, at her breaking point. And Joy pushed her over the edge. After Joy's tongue-las.h.i.+ng, Mom sank into a deep depression. Three weeks later she killed herself.”
Ca.s.sie wiped a tear from her cheek with a bony knuckle.
”And so you killed Joy to avenge your mom's death,” I said as gently as I could.
She looked up at me, blinking in disbelief.
”Are you crazy? I didn't kill Joy.”
”Then why did you go to work for her? You can't expect me to believe you went there simply to take a break from hairdressing.”
”I was collecting evidence against her. I kept records of every shady business transaction, every lie she told, every scam she pulled. I wanted to destroy her business. And, if I played my cards right, send her to jail.
”But I didn't kill her. Not that I wouldn't have liked to,” she added wistfully. ”I just didn't have the nerve.”
I didn't know about that. With her tats and nose ring and black leather biker togs, she looked like a pretty tough cookie to me.
”You can't seriously think I poisoned that chocolate?” she asked, sensing my skepticism.
”Maybe just a little,” I confessed.
”Oh, for heaven's sakes. It wasn't me. It was Tonio.”
So that's who she'd been protecting yesterday.
”Joy was threatening to turn him over to the authorities.”
”For driving without a license?”
”No way. It was much more serious than that. I heard her tell him she was going to press criminal charges.”
”For what?”
”I don't know. All I know is that she said he'd be spending the next five to ten years behind bars. If that isn't motive for murder, I don't know what is.”
So Tonio was lying when he told me Joy had been threatening to report him to the DMV. Last I checked, you don't do five to ten for driving without a license.
”I'm sure Tonio killed Joy to shut her up,” Ca.s.sie said as she got up to go back into the salon.
And I must confess, I was inclined to agree with her.
Chapter 27.
After a pit stop at McDonald's for one of their yummy low-calorie Southwest Salads, I headed over to see Tonio.
According to Ca.s.sie, he was still living in Joy's apartment in Westwood. I drove over, taking a chance he'd be home.
There are two kinds of high-rises that line the Wils.h.i.+re Corridor: Expensive and Ridiculously Expensive. Joy and Tonio's place was one of the more modest affairs.
No circular driveway. No doorman out front. No marble lobby straight from Versailles. Just a simple buzzer at the front entrance.
I buzzed the apartment marked AMOROSO, and seconds later Tonio's gravelly voice came over the line.
”Who is it?”
”Jaine Austen,” I called out.
I had a lie all prepped and ready to go: I was there to pay a belated condolence call.
But before I had a chance to roll out my whopper he said, ”What a coincidence. I was just about to call you. Come on up. I've got your paycheck.”
My paycheck? What a darling man. Surely someone so thoughtful couldn't possibly be a killer, could he?
(I tend to grant automatic sainthood to anyone who hands me a paycheck.) Tonio greeted me at the door to his fifteenth-floor apartment in jeans and a black T-s.h.i.+rt, the sleeves of which were rolled up to reveal bulging biceps. His normally slicked black hair was tousled and his face was in definite need of a shave.
Very Stanley Kowalski in Mourning.
He led me into a s.p.a.cious living room with sliding gla.s.s doors opening onto a terrace over Wils.h.i.+re Boulevard. Even fifteen floors up I could hear the traffic whoos.h.i.+ng by below.
The place was furnished froufrou ornate, just like Joy's office, chock-a-block with dainty antiques in peaches and pale green. Tonio stood looming against the pet.i.te furniture, a hit man in a china shop.
I followed him to the far end of the room, which had been set up as an office area.
Taking a seat behind an ornate desk, he tore a check from a checkbook and handed it to me.
”Joy's business account is tied up in probate, so I'm paying you myself.”
Indeed, I looked down and was thrilled to see a check made out to me in the amount of three thousand dollars. From a joint checking account belonging to Joy and Tonio.
”This is really very kind of you,” I said.
By now I was feeling like the heel of the century for suspecting him of murder.
”By the way,” he asked, as I stood there basking in the glow of my money, ”how did you get my address?”
”Ca.s.sie gave it to me. I felt bad about not spending more time with you at the memorial service, and I wanted to pay a belated condolence call.”
”Oh, right. The memorial service.” His eyes clouded over. ”That was a pretty rough day.”
”How are you holding up?”
”I'm managing,” he shrugged.
He picked up a picture of Joy from the desk, the one from her ads, shot through layers of Vaseline, and let out a deep sigh.
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