I wondered about J.T. and if he also wasn’t who he seemed to be. What if the brothers were hiding from someone, and whatever it was J.T. thought Kevin had given me had something to do with their secret identities?
I pulled out my laptop and settled in on the couch. Dogbert joined me and tucked himself against my side.
How do you start looking for someone when it seems everything you know about him is false?
I never oversleep. Generally an early riser, I set my alarm only as a back-up. However, the last few nights of fitful sleep must have caught up with me.
I rushed through getting dressed. Another warm, sunny day was on the horizon, so I opted for a yellow print Banana Republic sundress and my Ferragamo flats. I grabbed my bag, picked up my daily list, and headed out the door.
By noon I’d met with the caterer about the Fur Ball and visited with Katie at Tivoli Too, the facility where the event was to be held. When that was over I felt a little more caught up and decided to go by the office to pick up some client records.
Once there, I grabbed the files I needed and hurried past the reception desk. I could see Paris trying to get my attention, but I didn’t want to get hung up when I’d promised Dogbert that walk.
“Caro.” She followed me to the door. “Caro.”
If she’d been a dog she would have nipped at my heels.
I turned. “What is it, hon? I’m kind of in a rush.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask one of you about this, but I can’t seem to catch anybody. You’re busy with more and more clients every day. And Kay is busy because she’s got this potential pending sale on the Mitford property. And Suzanne is, like, not very responsive at all. You’d think being a psychic and all she’d know what I wanted to talk to her about, and I wouldn’t have to tell her. She should just, like know. You know? Maybe she does and that’s why she won’t answer me. She can’t be bothered. All I know is she totally ignores me. How rude is that? And David, well, he’s just David. You know. I don’t take it personally.”
Oh, my gosh, I didn’t think she would ever take a breath.
When she finally did I broke in. “So you’ve been trying to discuss something with one of us about the office? What did you need?”
“Well, it’s this mail.” Paris lifted a stack of unopened envelopes carefully without using her fingers. Obviously her manicure hadn’t completely dried. “I don’t know what I should do with it.”
“Whose mail is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” I was about to lose what little patience I had left, whether it was her fault or not. “Who is it addressed to?”
“No one.”
Now I was completely exasperated.
“I mean, no one person specifically. It’s mail for Suite C.”
Suite C was the empty office between the real estate broker and the psychic.
“It’s addressed to ‘ACME.’” She held up one of the envelopes to show me. “I don’t know who ACME is.”
“Well, who usually gets the mail?”
“A courier mostly.” Paris restacked the mail. “This guy comes in once a week and picks up the mail, but he hasn’t come for the past three weeks. So it keeps piling up.”
“Contact the owners and see if the lease has expired. Who keeps track of the leases?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have anything to do with that.” All of a sudden the stack of envelopes she’d been straightening collapsed and the mail began sliding every which way. She tried to catch it, but that just made things worse.
I lunged for it but couldn’t move quickly enough. “Well, call the number we have to report building problems to. They should be able to put you in touch with the leasing agent or the owner.”
“Okay. Thanks, Caro.” The mail continued to cascade off the desk. “I knew you could help.”
“You’re welcome.” I picked up a bunch of the envelopes that had fallen on the floor during the avalanche and handed them to Paris. The top one had been marked ‘Return to Sender.’
Paris reached to take it, but something drew my attention. “Wait.”
I pulled the letter back to look at it. The handwriting on the envelope was Kevin Blackstone’s distinctive scrawl. I’d seen it on the checks he wrote to PAWS and I’d been looking at it every single day for the past two weeks trying to figure out his shorthand code.
“Let me see those.” I put my files down and held out my hand for the rest of the mail.
I flipped through the envelopes. Most were addressed to ‘ACME Pharm.’
“What is ACME Pharm?” I looked up at the blonde.
“I have no idea.” Her pretty face was creased into a frown.
“I’ll take care of these, Paris.”
I probably shouldn’t have butted in after Malone had told me in no uncertain terms to stay out of his investigation, but really, the police needed to see this. I knew it was borderline messing with the US Mail, which I’d always heard was a federal offense, but I wasn’t going to open any of the letters. I would just deliver them to Detective Malone at the police station.
This time I didn’t bother to call Malone. I stuffed the letters in my bag and drove directly to the police station.
Arnold and Gidget were at the desk. I now knew their names were Sally and Lorraine, but in my head I still thought of them as Arnold and Gidget. The two women had turned out to be great allies in taking care of Diana.
“Hi, Caro,” Arnold greeted me.
“Here to see Diana?” Gidget asked.
“Not at the moment, hon. I need to see Detective Malone right away.”
“I’ll check, but I think he’s gone to lunch.” Arnold lumbered by to peer at an old-fashioned check-out board on the back wall. “Yep, out to lunch.”
I let the obvious comment pass.
“I’ll wait.” I settled on the bench with my bag of letters. I resisted the urge to pull them out and look them over.
Malone walked in the door just then with a Shake Shack bag in his hand.
“Ms. Lamont.” He nodded. “You here to see me?”
I thought we’d transitioned to a first name basis. So much for that. “I am.”
“Come on back then.” He pushed through the door and held it open for me.
I’d been in the police station more times recently than I’d like, but I’d not been to Malone’s office. He led me down the hallway in the opposite direction from the holding cell where Diana held court.
“Have a seat.” He shifted a chair from behind the door and offered it.
“Go ahead and eat.” I pointed at his Shake Shack bag. “Don’t let your burger get cold.”
He set the bag aside. “What brings you here, Ms. Lamont? Another suspect? Some other piece of evidence you’ve withheld? Another theory?”
He didn’t say “crackpot theory” but it was implied.
“There’s no need to be rude, Judd.” I used his first name with purpose. “I tried to reach you for several days about the notebook, and you didn’t return my calls.”
“Shouldn’t have taken it in the first place, Caro.”
He was right, I shouldn’t have, but I did try to return it. I chose not to respond to that. “And you continue to not answer my calls in a timely fashion. So I’ve brought you some more evidence that fell into my lap, which is not at all the same as either inadvertently violating a crime scene or withholding evidence. Are you interested?”
He waved for me to go on.
I may have tipped my nose up a bit as I continued. “At the office today, Paris, our receptionist, mentioned that the suite I always thought was vacant is actually rented. And the mail is usually picked up, but hasn’t been for three weeks. It’s been piling up.”
“Go on.”
“Well, she pulled out all of these envelopes, and I couldn’t help but notice that several of the ‘Return to Sender’ letters are addressed in Kevin’s handwriting.” I handed over the bunch.
“You s
ure?” He picked one up and stared at it.
“You can compare the writing with his notebook to be sure, but I know it is. Kevin paid by check for his services from PAWS, and I’ve seen his handwriting.” I didn’t mention I’d also been staring at the pages I’d copied from his notebook.
“We’ll check it out.” His expression didn’t change much but his sense of alertness did. He pulled out of his slouch and sat forward in his chair.
Finally, something had gotten his attention.
“You know, if Kevin helped Kendall’s friend get a fake ID, it’s possible Kevin wasn’t who we thought he was.”
“Not lost on me.” He pulled his Shake Shack bag forward and stood.
Clearly I was dismissed. I pushed back my chair and left.
I took the opportunity to look in on Diana while I was there. She was busy doing an interview with Entertainment Today. The television cameras took up a lot of room in the holding cell.
She looked good. Bella must have dropped off her PUP (Protecting Unwanted Pets) t-shirt. She’d paired it with a long silk skirt, knotted the t-shirt at her waist and managed to look glamorous.
I caught her attention and mouthed, “I’ll come back.”
She smiled and nodded and then went back to her impassioned plea to the public to not take on animals they couldn’t take care of, to spay and neuter their animals, and to lend support, either money or time, to their local shelter. She was a dream-come-true spokesperson for animal rescue, and I’d be willing to bet before the end of the taping, she’d work in a plug for the Fur Ball.
As I ducked out and headed toward the parking, my cell rang.
I knew from the caller ID that it was Mama. I could let it go to voicemail, but I’d decided I needed to put my big girl pants on and deal with her myself. I would just explain to her that now was not a good time for a visit.
“Hello, Mama.”
“Hello, sugar.” Her Texas drawl reached across the miles, and I felt my blood pressure climb a notch. “I can’t believe what you’re going through with this murder and all. How are you holding up?”
I took a deep breath. She means well. She means well.
It was my mantra. And she did mean well. It’s just that we were like oil and water. More like Texas crude and champagne. She was the champagne, I was the crude.
At least in her mind. She saw me as strong, important, even valuable, but not always appropriate for polite society.
“I’m doing just fine. How are you? How is Daddy?” I didn’t tell her I’d talked to Hub, and I was sure he wouldn’t have ratted me out.
“We’re all well.”
“Glad to hear it.” I waited for the purpose of her call. I knew there was a purpose. I only hoped the purpose didn’t have a plane ticket and an itinerary attached. Or yet another potential date to spice up my social life.
“Carolina, sugar, I’m callin’ to tell you I don’t think I’m going to be able to come to stay with you right now after all.”
“Re—eally?” I gulped.
“Yes, darlin,’ it seems Hub has scheduled this big event, and you know he’s completely inept at these things.”
As Grandma Tillie used to say, “Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit.”
Hub, the lovely brilliant man, had pulled it off. I was safe, at least for a while.
“I’m afraid I’m stuck here until this shindig is over with. So much to do, invitations to get out, a decorator to hire. I’ve looked at several venues but none with the right ambiance for this very special event.”
She was off and running. I have to admit, I tuned out just a bit at this point. I was so relieved, and the occasional “uh-huh” satisfied my mother that I was listening.
Hub had saved my bacon. I was sending him a case of Glenlivet the minute I got off the phone.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
You know the saying, “you don’t always get what you want?” After sitting in Malone’s office where I was teased by the smell of his food, what I wanted was a Shake Shack burger and a date shake. Date like the fruit, not like going on a date. I hesitate to say it’s to die for, given all that’s been going on, but suffice to say it’s a unique delicacy.
I was on my way there, but as I was getting in my car, I noticed Shar Summers pull up in her white Thunderbird convertible. I waited until she parked and got out, then walked over to check on how Babycakes was doing with guests.
Okay, I confess I had an ulterior motive. After reading through the notes in Kevin’s book again, I’d come up with a theory about Shar’s secret, and I wanted to test it.
“Hi, Shar.” She’d unfolded herself from the convertible, and tucked the Chinese Crested into her pink Juicy Couture dog tote that proclaimed “Will Beg for Juicy” in big letters on the side.
“Oh, Caro, you startled me.” The girl and dog were attired in matching pink sequined tank tops and headbands. “I didn’t see you walk up.”
“I just wondered how Babycakes was doing.” I pushed my sunglasses up on my head so I could see her better.
“Pretty good. Though she’s still a nervous little girl.”
The dog looked up at me with pleading dark eyes. She shook nervously, her whole body quaking. My instinct was to touch her, but I knew better than to reach into the carrier.
“You have to be firm, Shar,” I told her. “That’s the secret.”
She nodded, her sparkly headband winking in the sunlight.
“Speaking of secrets.” It was an awkward segue, but I didn’t have time for subtle. “Kevin shared some secrets about his neighbors, and I wondered if you could confirm some things for me.”
“Secrets about who?” Her voice was definitely squeaky now.
“Well, you for one.” I took a deep breath. “Your real last name is Schwartz, right?”
“Sure. A lot of actresses take stage names. Like Marilyn Monroe was Norma Jeane Baker and Doris Day was Doris Kappelhoff, and Greta Garbo was Greta Gustafsson and—”
I held up my hand to stop her. The kid knew her Hollywood history. I had to give her props for that. “My question is about your age.”
Shar stilled. “M-my age?”
Bingo.
“Yes, your age. You’re not seventeen, are you?” The entry had said, nt 17. And if it were true, she wasn’t seventeen, but older, and word got out, the producers of her television show might have a problem with renewing her contract for another season.
What had clued me in to this possibility was her tendency to dress so young. Frilled dresses, flats, soft dewy make-up. It could just be that her taste ran to those things, kind of like her over-cute home furnishings. Or it could be she wanted to give the impression of being younger than she was.
Most teen girls, on the other hand, seem to want to dress like they’re older. I had one thirteen-year-old cousin back in Texas who often dressed like she was thirty. That was if her daddy didn’t catch her and make her change her outfit.
“I, uh, I . . . ” Her voice trailed off.
“Shar, hon, if Kevin knew you were older than what your producer believes, and you had a fight with him about it, it would be better to tell the police about it than to let them find out from someone else.”
Her lip trembled. “There wasn’t anyone else around.”
Ah-ha. I thought so.
“When was it you and Kevin fought?” I asked. Could it be the little bitty TV star had tased Kevin?
“The day before he died.” Her quivering lip had turned into a full-body tremble, and soon she was shaking as badly as her dog. “He said he wouldn’t tell.” Her eyes filled and tears began to stream down her cheeks.
Seemed I was having that effect on a lot of people lately.
“It’s okay, Shar. It’s okay.” I reached into my purse for tissues but I’d given them all to Kendall.
I finally got Shar calmed. Then I made her agree to call Malone and tell him what she’d told me. I was hoping he would take the information in Kevin’s notebook more seriously if he realize
d how damaging some of it could be.
Then I went home, hoping Dogbert hadn’t given up on me and moved in with the neighbors, and wondering what in the heck Kevin Blackstone had been up to that had led to three people being killed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Malone was parked in front of my house when I got home. What now? Had sending Shar to talk to Malone tipped him past the breaking point? Maybe he was going to try to arrest me for meddling. Whatever.
I waved at my next-door neighbor, Kitty Bardot, who was also just pulling in. She had her two Bengal cats in the car with her. Beautiful felines.
I could only imagine what she and the rest of the neighbors must think with all of the times the police had been to visit me lately.
I ignored Malone and hit the remote for the garage door opener. I pulled in, closed the garage door, and went through the house to the front door. When I opened it, Malone was standing there.
Black leather, five o’clock shadow, bad attitude. Too bad about that attitude thing. I didn’t even know what I’d done this time. Except maybe question a suspect.
“Gosh, Detective, we’ve got to quit meeting like this,” I said in my best Mae West voice.
As was usually the case, Malone had no sense of humor.
“Come on in, then.” I held open the door. “Would you like a coke or a tea?”
“I’m good.”
“Are you really?” I smiled my best don’t-underestimate-me smile.
It seemed I’d gone over the edge. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was the worry. Maybe it was the craziness of donut addicted yoga instructors, dog groomers on the lam, and twenty-five-year-olds lying about their age. And three dead men.
Whatever it was, I was living on the edge and I couldn’t seem to help myself pushing and trying to ruffle his feathers.
“Hmm.” He still didn’t smile.
“Alright. What have I done this time?” I pointed to the couch and sat in the chair. “I brought you the mail with Kevin’s handwriting as soon as I was made aware of it. I opened nothing, I lost nothing, I kept nothing. I sent Shar to tell you her deepest, darkest secrets so you could judge for yourself what kind of information Kevin was collecting.”
Desperate Housedogs Page 19
