Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [51]
He was now a paid assassin for the United States government.
CHAPTER 18
Mitzi Cardell woke with a headache and sour stomach. She’d had a series of nightmares that had caused her to toss and turn, and she’d awoken a few times with a gasp, her chest pounding. It was good that she and her husband slept in separate beds.
He’d gotten up early to catch a plane to attend a business meeting in London. She had pretended to be asleep when he kissed her on the forehead and said, “I’ll be back soon. I love you.”
With him gone, she got out of bed, went into her private bath, and viewed herself in a large theatrical mirror surrounded by bulbs. She didn’t like what she saw. “Calm down,” she told herself, using ineffective words.
She went downstairs dressed in a robe and slippers and went to the kitchen, where a member of the staff was cleaning up after John’s breakfast.
“Mr. Muszinski got off all right?” Mitzi asked.
“Oh, yes, ma’am. Would you like breakfast now?”
“What? No, no, thank you. Not yet.”
She went to her office and dialed her father’s number in Savannah.
“I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said.
“I’ve been up for hours, sweetheart. John told you I called last night?”
“Yes. What is this all about?”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
She heard him shut a door and return to the phone. “Ah’ve done some checking on this private investigator who visited Waldine Farnsworth. He’s a former Savannah police officer, now retired.”
“You told John that he was asking Waldine about Louise. Louise Watkins?”
“Evidently. I’ve already had some of my people take a look at this detective and his interest in Ms. Watkins. Seems he’s working for the girl’s mother.”
“Working for her? What does that mean?”
“From what Ah gather—and Ah really don’t know that much yet—the mother hired this detective to find out who shot her daughter when she got out of prison.”
Mitzi had been wound as tight as a spring since getting out of bed and during the conversation with her father. Now, she drew a deep breath and leaned back in the chair.
“Mitzi, honey, you there?”
“Yes, Daddy, I’m here. That was so long ago. How could anyone think they can find out who shot her after all these years? It was some drug addict, a drug gang sort of thing. Happens all the time to them. We have plenty of that here in D.C.”
“You’re absolutely right about that,” he said. “Even Sherlock Holmes couldn’t solve that shooting.”
Tension gripped her again and she leaned forward. “Do you think he’s also prying into her stabbing that fellow outside the club?”
“That’s what I understand, but I need to check on it further. Like I said, I’ve already had some of my people look into it.”
She leaned back again and fell silent.
“Mitzi?”
“Yes, Daddy, I’m here. Please find out what this is all about.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do. I’ve already taken steps to cut this private eye fellow off at the knees, so to speak. My suggestion is for you to put it out of your mind. Believe me, honeybunch, nothing will come to it. It’ll all blow over if it hasn’t already.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” she said, not at all convinced that he was. “What’s this detective’s name?”
“Brixton. Robert Brixton. He’s got himself an office in town, been a private investigator for a couple of years. The way I figure it, he’s just tryin’ to generate some business for himself. You know how these private eyes are, low-life, real low-life.”
“Of course. Is there anything else?”
“Not at the moment, sweetheart. Now you do what I suggested and put the whole silly thing out of your pretty little head, heah?”
“Yes, Daddy, I hear. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, and I’ll get back to you if I find out anything else.”
“Good, Daddy. Thanks again.”
She hung up and turned to face the window. At least the sun was shining, she thought. Wearily, she went upstairs, took a long, hot shower, dressed in the outfit she would wear to lunch with Jeanine Jamison,