Diana seemed more concerned about her roses than the anonymous phone call that had sent the police to dig up her flower beds.
“I’m sure it will end up the tip was nothing more than a hoax,” I reassured her. “They can’t really think you had anything to do with Kevin’s death.
“Well, they surely can’t think it was me anyway, because I told them I was with you at the time.”
“You what?’
Holy crappola.
In clearing myself by providing the Whole Foods receipt to Detective Malone, I’d proved I wasn’t in Ruby Point at the time of the murder.
I’d also unknowingly blown Diana’s alibi.
“Diana, hon, we weren’t together.” I couldn’t believe she’d outright lied to the police.
“I know.” She continued to absent-mindedly pat Mr. Wiggles.
“Here’s the problem, sugar. Detective Malone came asking about exactly where I’d been because I was supposedly the last one to see Kevin alive and I provided him with my receipt from the grocery store as proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“Of where I was and at what time.”
“Guess that blows my alibi then, huh?” She didn’t seem terribly upset by the revelation.
“It does.” I hoped she realized Malone was not going to take kindly to her playing loose with the truth. “Why would you lie about where you were, Di?”
“None of their business where I was.” She set Mr. Wiggles on the floor, gave him a final pat, and began picking up the kitchen.
She was right. None of their business. I couldn’t argue with the concept. “It will look bad that you lied, hon,” I said gently. “You want to talk about it?”
“Can’t say that I do.” Diana slid another dish in the dishwasher. “Thanks for your concern, though.”
Okay, fair enough. She didn’t want to discuss where she’d been. I was sure she had good reason not to share her whereabouts with the police. I hoped she knew what she was doing, because there was a killer on the loose.
Chapter Fifteen
They had arrested Diana. Melinda called me. Mel and her friend Darby had heard it at the Koffee Klatch. It was understood that we still weren’t speaking, but bless her heart, she didn’t want me to hear it on the news.
I couldn’t understand why Diana hadn’t called me herself.
She knew I would call her attorney or bring her lipstick, or whatever a best friend was supposed to do in these circumstances.
I had one appointment scheduled for this morning but it was Fluffy, who I could easily reschedule. Mona Michaels would be offended but then Mona was always offended. This would just give her an actual focus.
I looked up the number for the Laguna Beach Police Department and dialed. The woman who answered the phone was matter-of-fact but not terribly helpful. Apparently, Diana was being “processed.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but it couldn’t be good. It sounded kind of like something you did to meat to turn it into sausage. I was pretty sure real life was nothing like the crime shows on TV, but if they were close at all it probably had something to do with determining her bail.
I just didn’t know. But I knew somebody who would know. I fished Detective Judd Malone’s card out of my bag.
I dialed the number but got voicemail. Again. He was probably screening my calls. I decided time was a-wasting while I was trying to figure things out, and I’d just go to the police station.
It was in a row of brick buildings not far from my office. City Hall, Police Station, Fire Station, conveniently located next to each other all in a row. They weren’t huge buildings, but then, as a rule, Laguna Beach had a very small amount of crime. As a rule.
There was an information desk visible from the lobby and I approached it. The two uniformed ladies seated there glanced up. One looked like Arnold Schwarzenegger with boobs and the other a bit like Gidget. With a gun.
“Can you tell me where Diana Knight has been taken and if I can see her?” I asked.
“She’s being processed.” The expression on Gidget’s face told me she knew I’d been the caller she’d talked to a few minutes ago.
“What exactly does that mean?”
They glanced at each other and, I don’t know if they both rolled their eyes, but it sure as shootin’ looked like it from my angle.
“It means they’re processin’ her.” The female body-builder stood to full height and I had to look up a bit, but I’m not easily intimidated.
“Well, that’s just it, isn’t it, hon? I’ve not had the opportunity to be a guest of your fine facility and so I don’t know what that means.” I smiled brightly.
Gidget and Arnold did not.
We were at a standoff, but tenacious is my middle name.
“Is Diana here?”
“Yes.” Arnold set her mouth. Missy, Mel’s bulldog, had a similar underbite, but the bulldog had a pleasanter temperament.
“When she’s ‘processed’ she’ll have her bail set, right? How long does that usually take?” I tried to hang on to my temper.
“We don’t usually process murder raps here. They’re usually referred to Orange County,” Gidget said over her shoulder.
Yeah, right. Murder raps, usually. This was Laguna Beach. We had drunk drivers and disturbing the peace. Perhaps public intox and the occasional break-in. I’d been in town for more than four years and hadn’t heard of even one murder.
Until Kevin.
And there was about to be another one if they didn’t tell me soon where Diana was.
I heard the door open behind me, but didn’t turn to look. I didn’t want to break eye contact and give the uncooperative clerks a chance to walk away from me.
Finally the noise behind me got so loud I had to look over my shoulder.
What the heck?
There were at least thirty reporters and photographers crowded into the small lobby. They were intermittently checking their cameras, shouting out questions, and elbowing each other.
I moved aside to let Arnold and Gidget deal with them. While the two were busy with the swarm, I slipped down a hallway beside the desk.
As I made my way deeper into the department, the noise subsided. I didn’t know how to get to the jail part of the building and wasn’t sure if I was even heading in the right direction, but clearly I wasn’t going to get any assistance from those two. I figured if anyone stopped me I’d claim I was there for my Detective-Malone-ordered fingerprinting.
I came to another hall where uniformed officers moved along with purpose, but I’d learned my lesson about asking questions. I kept going. Further down was a door with a sign above it that said Chief of Police.
That was it. I’d get some answers there or I’d . . . I’d . . . well, tarnation, I didn’t know exactly what I’d do, but I’d do something.
As I started toward the office, I noted an open doorway on my left.
Diana sat in the room with a desk and two chairs. I didn’t think I’d ever seen her sit so still. This was a lady who was always in motion.
My heart plunged to the tips of my toes.
I loved Diana like she was my own grandmother. Granted she was nothing like my no-nonsense Grandma Tillie had been. While Grandma Tillie had enjoyed the fruits of a successful life there was no fluff to her at all. Diana had lived the Hollywood life with glamorous parties, handsome leading men and all kinds of glitz.
Grandma Tillie would’ve called it nonsense.
Even arrested, Diana was perky in pink, her silver hair styled. Diamonds flashed on her folded manicured hands.
Grandma Tillie would’ve called it showy.
Still, in some essential ways the two would have had a lot in common. They would have gotten each other. On the surface they were both tough cookies, but at their core, where it concerned the things they believed in, they were all heart.
There didn’t seem to be anyone paying attention so I slipped inside the room.
“Oh, my gosh, Diana, I got here as so
on as I could,” I said. “The lobby is full of reporters.”
“How many are there?”
“I don’t know, probably twenty or so.” It seemed to me the number of the varmints was irrelevant.
“Any big news people? Anderson Cooper? He’s awfully cute.” She sighed and smoothed the leg of her white chinos.
“I couldn’t tell. I didn’t recognize anyone.” I moved forward and gave her a hug. “Are you doing alright? Mel said they’d arrested you. Have they actually charged you?”
“Mostly I’ve just been sitting here waiting.”
“I can’t imagine how all those reporters found out so quickly.” I sat across from Diana in the hard grey chair, hoping I was out of view of the doorway.
“I know how, Caro dear.” Diana smiled a conspiratorial smile. “I called them.”
“You what?” I nearly fell off my chair.
“You know what they say. There’s no such thing as bad press.”
I had to say from experience that I heartily disagreed with that adage, but suddenly the lobby full of reporters made sense.
“Don’t worry, as soon as they set bail, we’ll get you out of here.” I reached across the desk and patted her hand.
She took my hand in hers. “Caro, honey, I’m not going anywhere.”
“What?”
“I figure we can get a little extra media attention for the Fur Ball. Good idea, yes?”
Good idea, no.
What would be a good idea was for Diana to explain where she’d been instead of with me. It would be a good idea for the police to do whatever they needed to do in order to get her “processed” and released.
It would be a good idea for me to find Malone.
Chapter Sixteen
The next day Diana’s arrest was the headline story in the Los Angeles Times, got a mention on CNN, and was the lead story on “Inside Scoop” the television version of tabloid reporting.
America’s Sweetheart Charged in Homicide
Hollywood’s Girl-Next-Door Arrested in Death of Next-Door-Neighbor
Silver Screen Star in the Slammer
And then because they couldn’t resist: Don’t Tase Me, Di!
Those were the main headlines. Along with some full-color pictures of Diana from the past and the present. Then below the fold was a replica of the Fur Ball poster—date, time, and other details were even legible. Maybe Diana’s idea for free media exposure had worked.
The only problem was this wasn’t a publicity stunt, at least not to the arresting officers. They were about to book her with real murder and she was locked up in a real jail cell.
Diana wouldn’t let me get her out, but I could work on getting some answers. If I could point the police in the direction of the real killer they’d have to let Diana go.
First things first. I called Malone. I wanted see if he’d found out anything about the landscape guy and if he was questioning those who were mentioned in Kevin’s notebook.
Dang. I got his voicemail. I left a message at the beep, though I didn’t think he was going to hurry up and call me back.
I didn’t have any appointments scheduled for that morning so I decided it was back to Ollie’s. I had questions about what he’d seen, as well as the missing page in the book.
I could take his basket back to him. Maybe he had some more of those cookies on hand. My mouth watered at the thought.
In fact, speaking of cookies, I could return the favor. In a way.
I had a recipe I used for dog cookies. It was a healthy way to provide a treat when I was working with canines who needed encouragement. I called them—PAWS Good Dog Cookies.
Ollie had plenty of dogs to treat, so I’d bet he’d appreciate some for his furry friends. I packed a dozen or so in a box, set them in the basket, and loaded it into my car.
The day was overcast and damp. The forecast predicted a drizzle all day so we’d get a good soaking. Thankfully not the torrents we’d had with the storms last year that had caused so many mudslides.
The security guard at the gate peered out to see who it was, but then recognized me and waved me in. I parked in the drive this time and rang the doorbell. It pealed out “God Save the Queen.”
“Hello there, lovely lady. What brings you back to my lair?”
I think he was trying hard to carry off the Mr. Dangerous routine but now that I had a picture of him as a cookie-baker in my head, the bad-boy persona was ruined.
“I wanted to thank you for the cookies and the return of the items I dropped.” I paused. “I also wanted to ask some questions.”
“I thought you might, luv.” Ollie wiped his face with one beringed hand. “I thought you might. Come on in, then.”
He held open the door and motioned me inside.
The living room was as I remembered, opulent with rich dark colors and heavy antique furniture. Ollie appeared to be dressed in either the same clothes as the last time I’d seen him, or an exact replica.
His eyes were covered by sunglasses and his long black hair was loose today, not in a ponytail. I now recognized the quintessential signature look. Old Eighties rocker.
“Thanks for seeing me.” I carried the basket of dog cookies in and placed it on his heavy Baroque-style coffee table.
Elvis galloped to meet me.
“Hi there, fella.” I sat down and stroked his pitch-black fur. Diana was right. The animals were well cared for. Elvis’ coat was healthy and silky, as if it had recently been brushed. “You are one handsome fella.”
“Thanks, duck.” Ollie snickered at his own joke. “I’ve been told such, but not lately.”
“You heard they arrested Diana?”
“No, luv, I’d not heard.”
“Yesterday afternoon.” My voice shook a little. “She’s still in jail.”
“Bollocks.” The guy paced and turned in circles, muttering to himself. I wondered about his stability.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay. I’m just utterly gobsmacked, luv.”
I very much appreciated the word. Gobsmacked. I was feeling gobsmacked myself.
“I’m trying to help her but she won’t let me post bail.”
“Stubborn old girl, she is.” He dropped into the nearest chair and then no sooner had his bum hit the seat than he stood again and resumed pacing and circling. “Bollocks.”
“Ollie, can we talk about the day Kevin was killed?”
“Alright then, what do you want to know?” Ollie sat and Elvis parked himself right up against his master’s legs as if sensing his agitation.
“Did you see anything? Anything at all? This is very important.”
“Alright.”
“There was a landscaping worker that Kevin and I talked to. Did you happen to see him?”
Probably not, but it was worth asking.
“No, duck, I was having me a kip in front of the telly.”
I must have looked confused.
“A sleep. A nap, luv,” he explained.
“Ah.”
“I woke up and I was out back having a look about. Takin’ some fresh air.”
“About what time was that?” I asked him.
“No idea.” He shrugged. “I saw you come. So . . . before. No, it was after you’d gone. You know it’s all a blur to me, luv.” He shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs.
“Take your time.”
“The yoga lady goes there most every day, and she was there after you left.”
“Mandy?” It was a good thing I was sitting down.
“Yeah, yeah, the workout wench.”
“You’re sure?” One of the other dogs was awake now and came to check me out. She was well-groomed Sheltie and I slipped her a treat.
“Absolutely sure.” He absently stroked Elvis’ head. “Mostly I notice because whenever she goes there, Blackstone puts his dogs out back. Doesn’t do that with any other visitors. But always when the workout woman is there.”
“He shut his dogs outside thi
s time when she was there?”
“Hmmm.” He seemed to be in deep thought. “I did yoga once. Kind of liked it. Do ya think I should try it again? Don’t know I’d want to work with her though. Not a very calm sense about that one.”
“Ollie, did you tell the police you’d seen Mandy at Kevin’s house?”
“They didn’t ask. The coppers and I aren’t on very good terms,” he mumbled.
I suddenly noticed Ollie was snacking on the dog cookies.
“Those are—” I started to explain they were for the dogs but then there wasn’t much in them other than shortening, cornmeal, cheese and flavorings. Nothing that would hurt a human. I left it alone.
“What about the next day?” I sat back. “The day after Kevin was killed. The day we met.”
“You.” He tapped his foot. “Just you. That’s all, luv.”
“Not someone after I left?” I wondered if he’d noticed the police car.
“Oh, the yoga lady took the yellow tape down the police had put up.”
Well, that explained why no crime scene tape. Mandy’d probably thought it was an eyesore. “Anyone else?”
“No, ‘fraid not. These are good.” He held up a cookie, took a bite, and then picked up another and offered it to Elvis.
Okay, so the guy was a little off kilter. Ollie might not be a very reliable witness, but I believed him when he said he’d seen Mandy after I’d left.
Mandy, who had claimed to not know Kevin very well at all. According to Ollie she was a regular visitor at Kevin’s, which matched completely with the rumor Walt had heard about Mandy and Kevin.
I had one more topic to cover before I left.
“Ollie, the little book.”
“Yeah.” He moved around the room, passing out cookies to the rest of the dogs.
“Did you look through it?”
“Yeah.” He continued his cookie distribution without looking up.
“So you saw the entry about yourself?”
“Right.” He’d served everyone and dropped into the chair next to me. “And you and your cousin.”
Desperate Housedogs Page 11
