Trust Me

Such a quiet person. So reliable. An artist without an ego.”
    “A very rare individual,” Augustus murmured. “Bland but rare.”
    “Tell me the whole story again,” Stark ordered. “From the beginning.”
    “I’ve already gone over it a zillion times for the police.”
    “Do it one more time for me.”
    Desdemona sighed, wadded up a hankie, and stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans. “I went to Right Touch after you left this morning. The back door was open. I could see that the freezer door was open, too. I assumed someone had come to work early. Apparently that’s just what happened. Poor Vernon must have got the morning schedule mixed up. He showed up early and surprised the burglar “
    “Who shot him and stuffed his body in the freezer,” Henry added in a strained voice. “And then the son-of-a-bitch tried to kill Desdemona.”
    “Oh, my God,” Bess wailed. “I still can’t believe it. Desdemona could have been killed.”
    “Now, now, my dear.” Augustus patted her shoulder. “She’s safe. It’s all over.”
    Stark realized that he was gripping the edge of the small table so tightly the plastic threatened to crack beneath his fingers. He made himself loosen his grip.
    Desdemona could have been killed.
    Chaos filled his insides. He fought to cram the nightmarish feeling back into the cauldron where it belonged.
    “You’re sure you didn’t recognize him?” he made himself ask.
    She shook her head. “No. His features were all sort of twisted up. The police said it sounded as if he were wearing a nylon stocking over his face. He was tall and thin. His clothes were filthy.”
    “Some street person desperate for money to buy drugs,” Kirsten whispered.
    “That’s what the cops think,” Macbeth said.
    “Why break into Right Touch?” Kirsten asked. “Desdemona doesn’t keep cash on hand.”
    Desdemona dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “The police said he was probably hoping to find something he could sell.”
    “He was in your office when you arrived?” Stark asked.
    “Yes. He came out with the gun in his hand. I threw the soup kettle at him. He shot at it, but I think he must have been rattled. The shot went wild. So did the second one.”
    “Jesus,” Henry said softly. “Two shots. Thank God you made it to the freezer.”
    “Vernon Tate wasn’t so lucky,” Desdemona said sadly. “The killer must have surprised him just as he was putting his ice swan into the freezer.”
    “The killer might have shot him and then put him in the freezer to complicate the investigation,” Augustus said thoughtfully. “I recall a similar situation in a play I did a few years back. Dinner theater production down in California. A mystery called Freeze Dried. Had the lead. Remember, Bess?”
    “I remember,” Bess said. “You were brilliant, dear.”
    “Thank you. Role was that of the police investigator,” Augustus continued. “Body was frozen in the snow. Had to deduce the actual time of death with some mighty clever sleuthing. Wasn’t easy, I can tell you.”
    “I’m sure modern police techniques have come a long way since you did that play, Dad,” Macbeth said.
    “I’ve called my clients and cancelled everything through the weekend,” Desdemona said. “Fortunately, all I had on the schedule was a small reunion brunch for a group of sorority sisters and a couple of luncheons. I transferred the business to another caterer.”
    “When can you get back into Right Touch?” Stark asked.
    “The police told me they’d be finished in there sometime tomorrow,” Desdemona said. “But it’s going to take a couple of days to clean up.”
    Stark glanced around the room. “Where’s Tony?”
    Bess looked up from her latte. “Didn’t you hear? Tony left a message on my answering machine sometime during the night. He said he was taking an early-morning flight back to Hollywood. Apparently he got a call from his friend down there. The soap is going into production after all.”
    “The Hollywood people bought him a ticket,” Augustus explained. “Told him it would be waiting for him at the airport.”
    “Is that a fact,” Stark said very softly.
    “Wish that lad would stop pinning his dreams on a soap opera career,” Augustus muttered. “Hollywood is no place for a Wainwright.”

    Shortly after noon the following day Desdemona sat down behind her office desk. She surveyed the chaos that surrounded her with a sense of dispirited gloom.
    The police had finally finished