The Design Is Murder (Murders By Design) by Jean Harrington Page A

happiness.
    “So Hilton Head is a good vacation destination?”
    “I can’t rightly say, Deva. I didn’t see much of the town.”
    “No?” I smiled but tried to hide it.
    “Uh-uh. Just the little bitty beach in front of our hotel and the dining room. Though we mostly ordered in room service.”
    “And how was the room service?” I arched an eyebrow.
    She perched on the Chiavari chair behind the bureau plat. “I wish I could say, but if my momma were alive, she’d be shocked if I did.”
    “That good?”
    “Yes, ma’am.” She blushed and changed the subject. “When we got home, though, we had some bad news waiting for us.”
    “Oh? Sounds serious.”
    She nodded, frowning. “It is, even if Paulo says it’s a first-world problem.”
    I sank onto the zebra settee across from her. “Lee, explain, please.”
    Her lips trembled ever so slightly. “We’re being evicted.”
    “From your apartment?”
    “Yes. And the owner didn’t tell us why. Just wants us out as soon as our lease is up—at the end of the month. It’s not fair. We thought the lease was being renewed, and we’ve taken such good care of—”
    “I know you have.” I blew out a breath. “Now what?”
    “Well, we’ll look for a temporary place if we have to. But what we really want to do is buy a house. Paolo says we can afford a condo to start. Something like yours at Surfside, with two bedrooms and a lanai and a pool, would be just about perfect.”
    “Funny you should say that. My place is going up for sale as soon as I get around to putting it on the market.”
    “Really?” Her eyes widened into two blue pools. “Wait till Paulo hears that. Do y’all mean it?”
    “Absolutely,” I said, deciding in that instant.
    Though I hadn’t a clue as to how much Rossi would pay for the Calista lot, I did have an idea of what a lieutenant in the Naples P.D. earned. So unless he had more surprises in store, we’d need the equity from both my condo and his house in Countryside to build our new dream home.
    “My goodness,” Lee said. “I leave for a week and come back to all kinds of changes.”
    “True.” I laughed. “There’s been a lot of excitement around here in the last few days.”
    We spent the next couple of hours straightening merchandise and greeting drop-in browsers. We were catching up on girl talk when a tall, statuesque brunette with excellent carriage strode past the front window. A moment later, James Stahlman’s fiancée, Kay Hawkins, pushed open the shop door, sending the bells into their usual frenzy.
    Holding her shoulders as square as a sergeant-at-arms, she smiled a small smile at the sight of me. “Deva, I was hoping you’d be here. We need to talk.”
    “Kay, how stunning you look.” And she did, in a smart black sheath and leopard print pumps.
    After I introduced Lee, Kay checked her watch. I could have told her it wasn’t quite eleven.
    “Is lunch possible?” she asked. “My treat. I know it’s early, but I was hoping you might have some free time. We really need to talk.”
    “Of course. I’m sure Lee can spare me for an hour or so.”
    I reached underneath the sales counter for my purse, wondering what this emergency visit was all about. I thought we’d nailed the color scheme for James’s house—basically an ivory envelope with flashes of cobalt and coral. There hadn’t been time to select fabric for his sofas and chairs, or to shop for lamps and other accessories. In interior design, hurry wasn’t the path to a polished effect, and I hoped Kay understood that. More than a little concerned she would insist on a rush job, I accompanied her along Fifth Avenue to the Magnolia Café, too preoccupied to enjoy the breeze or the sunshine or the flowers along the way.
    As we settled into a booth, she dealt me another surprise. Raising her chin, she flung her chestnut hair from her face and said, “I’m going to be honest here, Deva. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have hired you to redo