The Craigslist Murders - Brenda Cullerton [67]
Is she kidding? Charlotte thought to herself. Had the woman hit somebody with the hammer? Her husband, maybe? Slipping out of her coat, she sat down to catch her breath. After avoiding the CCTV camera in the lobby, she’d walked up ten flights of stairs. She began to remove her fur hat, but one look in the hallway mirror changed her mind. Her hair was a wreck. She hadn’t washed it in two days.
The clamor of raised voices soon had her moving on the balls of her feet towards the back.
“Please, Mrs. Craven, I swear I didn’t know …”
Craning her neck, Charlotte watched as Gina pulled a young guy toward a bathroom. There were shards of porcelain all over the marble floor.
“You didn’t know not to use the brand-new $10,000 toilet?” Gina said, ominously. “Of course you knew. Everyone knows.”
Surely the woman hadn’t taken a hammer to the toilet just because a worker had pissed in it?
“Look, it won’t happen again. Just please, don’t fire me. I need the job,” the kid said, beseechingly.
Gina sniffed. “Sorry, you should have thought of that before,” she snapped. “Now, get yourself over to the service elevator. You’re done here!”
Charlotte dashed back to the spot where Gina had left her. As the blonde stepped towards her, she gave her a bright, innocent smile.
“Trouble with the help, Gina?”
“Sorry, Kate. But I couldn’t help it. I wouldn’t dream of using that toilet now! Not after he sat on it.”
As they walked into the living room, Gina pointed at Charlotte’s brand new green yoga mat.
“Hey! You really do take it with you everywhere, don’t you?”
“I’d die without it!” Charlotte replied. “I have this teacher who’s just amazing.”
“Ashtanga?”
“Is there anything else?” Charlotte asked with a smile.
“I’ve tried a bit of iyengar, too,” Gina added. “I love it. The last time I even flew my coach down with us to Mustique. We had the place just down the beach from Mick Jagger. Do you know the island?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Charlotte replied demurely.
“Well, we had them paint my bedroom a lovely muted shade of orange. Just like Madonna does when she travels. I find it really helps a lot with meditation and the stress of jet lag …”
“Right,” said Charlotte, holding her mat and gazing in awe at the vast, loft-like space that had opened up in front of her. OK, the woman is a monster, thought Charlotte, but how can I kill someone with style like this?
While Gina traipsed off to get the silver, Charlotte inspected the room more closely. The colors were superb: sea grape lacquered walls, deep violet trims, Gaetano Pesce’s tufted sofas, upholstered in jewel-tone satins, and flourishes of hot pink. Other nods to the “now” included a pair of low-slung slipper chairs in celery linen and a few very nice Paul Frankl deco pieces. A magnificent palace-size Kerman rug was thrown casually over the black-and-white-pinstripe-painted floor. She saw some Renaissance pieces that would have had Max drooling: two gilt and jewel-encrusted Italian Rococo mirrors and an embroidered stump work toilet box that had to be 16th century. There wasn’t a single false note. Well, except for Gina.
“Do you like it?” the girl asked, setting down a brown wooden box on the rug.
“I think it’s brilliant,” Charlotte replied, honestly.
“A friend helped me,” she said proudly. “ ‘Let go and embrace what you really want!’ he kept telling me.”
“Well, your friend’s a pro,” Charlotte said, opening the box of silver. Gina sat down in a half lotus next to her as Charlotte ran her fingers over the monogram on a heavy fork.
“They were a wedding gift from my parents,” she explained. “But Buccellati is so much nicer, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so,” Charlotte answered, replacing the fork in its slot. “I’ve never been married, of course. So …”
“Oh! I’m surprised,” the girl said. “You’re so attractive!”
Charlotte chuckled. “Marriage isn’t the answer to everything, you know, Gina!”
“Don’t tell me. I mean, I love Steve, don’t get me wrong, we just disagree on some fundamental things.”
“Really,” said Charlotte, looking her in the eye. “Like