Though each was clearly peeved by my pushing on the subject, none struck me as hiding something hugely major—like, “I’m the murderer, so what do you think you’re going to do about it, Ballantyne?”
Not exactly evidence of innocence. The L.A.P.D.’s Scientific Investigation Division wouldn’t make book on it. But I felt reasonably definite that I had to drape my accusations around more credible suspects.
Kleer’s Warner Center office was mid-Valley, and I now had to travel south to Century City to see Jonathon Jetts and his wife, Bella.
I headed south on the 405 Freeway and made my way once more to the Avenue of the Stars. I was prepared this time for the Jambison & Jetts shrew of a receptionist. When she peered over her haughty puggish nose as if she despised my deodorant, I scrutinized her severely, then shook my head. “Sorry to mention it,” I whispered, “but you might want to go look in the restroom mirror. There’s something in your hair.” Like the scrunchy that held the black mass straight back off her face, but I didn’t mention that. Instead, I felt a guilty sense of pleasure as she grew pink and squirmy.
“Thank you,” she managed with a weak smile. “I’ll let Mr. Jetts know you’re here.”
A few minutes later, after I’d sat alone in the reception area thumbing through law journals containing articles by-lined by names of Jambison firm attorneys, Jonathon Jetts appeared. “Please come this way, Ms. Ballantyne,” the short and stocky, man intoned heatedly, as if he’d had to burn his way through icebergs to come out and get me.
“Kendra,” I said as I followed him down the hallowed, art-decorated hallways of the firm.
“Pardon?”
“Call me Kendra, Jonathon. Might as well keep things informal.”
He sneered as if he’d rather dive under those icebergs than play nice with me, but I simply smiled.
He showed me into an office a few doors down from his wife’s, where I’d hung out the last time I’d been here. His was equally vast, and also contained a matched row of decorator file cabinets. His desk was more traditional than Bella’s modern one, a wood reddish in tint, carved in design, and polished in finish. His sitting area furniture sported fabric of deep green rather than primly appointed white.
Instead of inviting me to get comfy in his conversation pit, he motioned me to a high-backed, starchy-seeming chair facing his desk, then took his own comfortably upholstered seat behind it.
“So you want to talk about returning some of our clients to us, Ms. Ballantyne,” he intoned, ignoring my earlier invitation to put us on a first-name basis.
“Perhaps,” I said. “But only if that’s what they want, of course. And I’ll have to advise them whether I consider it in their best interests.” I paused for effect, tossing him a guileless grin. “That’s why I’d like Bella to join us in this conversation. She’s a much nicer person than you, so I want to make sure she’s prepared to handle any cases we send back this way.”
Jonathon Jetts appeared utterly outraged. His brown eyes bugged apoplectically. “Are you a nutcase, Ms. Ballantyne?”
“Absolutely, Jonathon. Aren’t you?” I kept smiling sweetly, not moving my gaze from his. “Shall I call Bella, or will you?”
His response was to lift his phone receiver and press a couple of buttons. “Can you come in here?” he ordered someone, presumably his wife. Sure, he’d phrased it as a question, but I doubted the person he’d directed it to would take it that way. “She’s coming,” he said as he slammed down the phone.
He was right. Bella Quevedo-Jetts appeared in the office less than a minute later. She glanced quizzically from her husband to me, then back again. “Hello, Ms. Ballantyne,” she finally said, holding out her hand.
“I’m Kendra, Bella,” I said. She was probably a nice enough person to react more favorably to my friendly overture than her harrumphing husband.
I’d already risen from my less than comfy seat and eagerly gave her proffered hand a slight but professional pumping. She wore all white today, a silky dress whose paleness emphasized the silver streak in her smooth black hair.
She smiled uncertainly. “What brings you here today, Kendra?”
I gave her the same song and dance about defecting clients that I’d given Jonathon. “Now that Ezra’s gone, we’ve been working to convince them all to stay with Yurick & Associates, and I’m sure some will. But they were really Ezra’s clients.”
I looked for some reaction on the faces of husband and wife. Husband stayed scowling. Wife seemed a smidgen weepy.
“You knew him pretty well before, didn’t you?” I directed my question to said female spouse.
She nodded slowly, hazarding a sideways glance at her obviously unhappy hubby. “He and I were close for a while,” she said sadly.
“I know he wasn’t always the easiest person to get along with,” I encouraged. “But despite his gruff ways sometimes, he seemed to me to have a good sense of humor. And deep down, I gathered he was quite kind.”
That obviously got to Bella, who teared up and slouched down in her seat, which appeared unusual for this elegant and poised professional. “Yes. At least he was kind to me, most of the time, even though he could put on airs and become difficult and demanding. But he especially loved Pinocchio, my Amazon parrot. That was why he adopted his Gigi, you know.”
“Why was that?” I inquired, even though Polly Bright had made a similar statement.
“Ezra and I saw a lot of each other for nearly a year, and I think he cared for Pinocchio even more than he cared for me. When I told him we couldn’t see each other anymore on a personal basis, he seemed all torn up. And angry. And when I actually married Jonathon, he made it clear he’d decided to outdo me and get a bigger and better bird. A macaw.”
“Gigi?” I asked.
“Gigi.” She nodded affirmatively without disarranging a solitary hair in her perfectly coiffed do. “She was an adult macaw and moderately well trained, and though she was not the most expensive bird he could have found, I’m sure he attempted to outdo me in that department as well. Ezra tended toward ostentation in his spending habits even when he wasn’t attempting some subtle revenge.”
She glanced at Jonathon, and so did I. His conservative and styleless suit looked economical enough to have come off the rack at Sears. He doubtless drew down a hefty salary as a name partner at this prestigious firm. Perhaps he squirreled it away for the day he’d cease earning acorns here. I’d once seen the word “husbank” as what appeared to be a misprint on the dedication page of an excellent mystery novel, although as I’d considered the word, I’d wondered whether it was intended to genuinely describe the financial association between the author and her spouse. I doubted it in that situation—but I suspected that one reason Bella selected Jonathon over Ezra was for his superior husbank potential.
“I see,” I said to encourage Bella to keep speaking. “So he acquired Gigi in a game of one-upmanship?”
“Yes, especially because he then made it clear that his bird was bigger and better than mine. Gigi could beat poor Pinocchio in a parrot fight any day. Despite Gigi’s prior training in civility, he at first egged her on when she nipped with that big beak of hers and started squawking.”
“That’s nasty!” I exclaimed. “No wonder the poor bird had control issues even when Ezra was alive.”
“He encouraged her to be like him,” Bella said with a sad laugh. “Ezra believed in approaching every challenge by intimidation. That’s one of many reasons I eventually broke up with him. Not that I took him seriously. Only people who didn’t know him well wouldn’t know that he was all talk, but little action—despite what he fomented in Gigi. And he soon rued what he’d allowed her to get away with. He needed to retrain her without knowing how. He asked me, maybe hoping I’d step in and visit him at home to help. But I wouldn’t have been much assistance. That’s when I introduced him to Polly Bright. I’d met her at some meetings of bird fanciers I attended. Since I liked what she said in person and in her books about training me
mbers of the parrot family, I got her to teach me how to work with Pinocchio. She really knew her stuff—and wasn’t afraid to brag about it!”
Having met Polly, I laughed along with Bella.
And then I continued with my inquiry, keeping my tone light despite the heaviness of the answers I sought not so subtly now. “So when you dumped Ezra, he decided to settle the score by outdoing you in the bird ownership department. And when he left here, he took a paralegal and a bunch of clients. Sounds as if he really got you good. I don’t suppose you decided to get him back … ?”
“All right,” Jonathon finally interjected. “I have work to do, and I’m sure you do, too, Bella. Are you here to see if we’re willing to resume the business of some of the clients Ezra stole, Ms. Ballantyne? If so, I’m sure you already know the answer is yes. If not, please stop your ugly innuendoes and state your business so we can finish this little session.”
“All right,” I said, “forget the innuendoes. I’m actually here to ask one important question.” I aimed an apologetic glance toward Bella. I’d already made up my mind about her, kind of. I only hoped I wasn’t wrong.
Her husbank was another story.
“What I’d really like to know is which of you killed Ezra Cossner and your former paralegal, Corrie Montez.”
As I’d anticipated, my impudent inquiry elicited a roar of rage from Jonathon. “You’re way out of line, Ms. Ballantyne. You’d better leave, or I’ll call building security to eject you.”
I studied his unattractive face for a sign of fear peeking from behind the outrage. I did likewise with his lovely and poised wife.
“I’ll leave,” I said, standing as if to prove it. “I figure that my reputation has preceded me. Did you know I’ve solved three murders in the last few months? If you’re guilty in these two, you can be sure I’ll find out and prove it.” I turned to Bella Quevedo-Jetts. “I really hope you’re not involved,” I told her. “Thanks for seeing me.”
“Good luck, Kendra.” She sounded sincere, which kind of convinced me of her innocence—and that she considered her husband not guilty as well. Of course, she could be wrong about that.
Other than his being a husbank, I didn’t see what she saw in Jonathon Jetts. And if I had to select a guilty suspect, he’d be way at the top of my useful little list.
WHEN I ESCAPED from Century City, the afternoon was well on its way toward being over, but I still had time to visit my office before commencing the evening’s pet-sitting. As I drove, my mind twisted over and over around my suspect inventory.
Who done it?
Saying a hasty hello to Mignon after reaching our building, I hightailed it into my own digs and shut the door. I didn’t have time to engage in amenities with others at the Yurick firm. I had too much to do.
I first spewed my notes from the T.O.-VORPO settlement conference onto my computer to ensure I’d have an ongoing record. Everyone there might despise me, but I was still hopeful I’d been instrumental in causing them to band together in their mutual dislike of me. Maybe they’d hammer out mutually agreeable terms to cease their ongoing overt animosity. Bye-bye courtroom and lucrative legal fees, hello compromised development. Everyone a winner except this firm and my paycheck. Oh, well.
And then I turned to that list that inevitably loomed in my mind. I tweaked it so Jonathon Jetts swam up to one, while his wife Bella sank to the bottom.
I considered all the suspects I’d managed to see today—I’d visited with nearly everyone I considered viable. Except Jeff. But I still didn’t want it to be him.
As I had with the settlement meeting, I pecked out notes on my computer keyboard about all I’d said and heard, and extracted from everyone I’d spoken with and essentially accused of murder.
When I was done, one particular statement stood out.
I mused over it for several long minutes.
And then the answer came to me. Or so I surmised.
If so, it could explain everything! But I had work to do if I intended to be certain.
Chapter Twenty-eight
THAT NIGHT, WHILE Lexie and I lay alone in our apartment bed, I figured out how to fix things. A bit dramatic, but I’d been known to pull no punches when acquiring a killer’s confession.
I commenced my preparations for the anticipated event the next day—and night, when I returned to the offices once again after everyone had left.
The following day was Saturday, and as I wasn’t yet ready, I resorted again to the same routine.
Sunday, I considered a visit to Darryl’s resort, since Lexie was being left home alone an awful lot, mostly at odd hours. I did the obvious thing and asked my pet-sitting protégée Rachel to care for my Cavalier. Both acted elated.
And me? Yes, my horrendous schedule was becoming a habit, but there was no help for it.
Although I expected that the end was in sight. And I felt surer of it late Sunday, when the breakthrough I’d been betting on finally occurred.
That meant that I made several calls, come Monday. And then I was ready to rock and roll …
“GORGEOUS GIRL,” I crooned to Gigi near the middle of Monday night.
I’d moved her into the bar, the better to enjoy her company as I waited for what was to come.
I heard a knock at the door to the office building, and I took a deep breath beneath my oversized white sweater. Or tried to, considering how constricted I felt by the proceedings I predicted.
“Show time,” I said, sticking my hands down deep into the pockets of my pink denim slacks.
“Aawrk,” Gigi squawked in response.
I hoped she remembered her role. And then I went to admit the person I’d grown positive was the murderer.
Not that I truly needed to, since the killer had a key.
“Hi, Kendra,” said Polly Bright when I opened the door. As always—almost—the celebrated parrot psychologist was clad in flowing garments of garish shades—orange and purple and green this evening. A huge tote bag swung from her hefty shoulder. “How’s poor Gigi? I’m sorry to hear she still hasn’t settled down after all the terrible things she experienced.”
“Me, too,” I responded ardently. “Come in. I really hope you can help. I remembered what you said about startling her and shifting her environment to earn her attention, so I’ve relocated her to the conference room.”
Confess now, I ordered nonverbally as I preceded Polly into the former restaurant bar. Naturally she didn’t blurt out that during two of her most recent visits, she’d shot people to death in this very building and also aimed at me.
Gigi was calm and stood serenely on her large wooden perch, surveying the two of us via one gleaming eye, then the other.
“She looks all right to me.” Polly appeared puzzled. She drew closer and eyed Gigi up and down from below, since the top of the evil bird expert’s head, crowned by her strangely shaded red-hued hair, was shorter than Gigi on her perch.
“Appearances can be deceptive,” I intoned. “The thing is, I had a visit from Jeff Hubbard today, and she became so nervous that I thought she would fly off her perch and nip someone. Namely me.”
“Oh. I see.” Polly nodded knowingly, and I nearly asserted my accusations when I noted the delighted twinkle in her ordinary brown eyes. I still hadn’t cinched it, but my certainty mounted that my theory was true.
“No, I’m not sure you do see,” I said with a sad pseudo-sigh. “Jeff and I were an item for a very short while. I really came to care for him, so I didn’t want to believe he could have killed Ezra and Corrie. But all the evidence seems to point toward him.”
“That’s what I gathered from the news,” Polly said solemnly, sinking her pudgy body onto the seat of the nearest booth. “What evidence have the police found?”
“A couple of things,” I answered evasively, sitting on the edge of the seat opposite her. “One of the things I wanted to talk to you more about is the ability of macaws to repeat things they hear during an emotional moment. Your books say they aren�
�t as good as, say, African Grey parrots at doing that. But you told me it is possible, right?”
“As I mentioned to you, every bird has a different personality,” she preached, her expression solemn, as if she imparted invaluable information to a sycophant who’d begged for facts. “My books also point that out. Most macaws don’t pick things up that fast, but obviously Gigi is different.”
An interesting observation, considering that the news vultures hadn’t been informed about that particular piece of purported evidence. Nor had anyone else.
Polly could have inferred my meaning, of course, but I hadn’t expressly mentioned Gigi while inquiring about emotional macaw repetitions. In fact, I had intentionally posed my inquiry to be nonspecific.
So how would Polly know that Gigi was so different?
“I see,” I said contemplatively. “You know, I’m not sure I believe you. I’ve read a couple of your books, and they appear to be drivel to me. I mean, how can a fraud like you make a living pretending you’re a parrot expert?” I smiled snidely at her. “You seem to change the facts to meet the situation. I don’t believe that Gigi picked up Ezra’s dying scream, ‘Stop it, Hubbard,’ the moment before he died.”
Polly’s pudgy brow pursed, and her double chins wiggled. “That’s not what she picked up. I mean—”
My wicked grin widened. “No, it isn’t. It was the sound of Jeff’s cell phone. How did you get Gigi to repeat it, Polly?”
She stood and stared furiously down at me. “How did you know?”
“I read your books and asked you questions. I worked with Gigi myself. And I believe now that even if macaws sometimes pick up sounds they hear once, they’re more likely to repeat things taught over and over. But when did you play Jeff’s cell phone ring to her?”
“Mornings,” she spat. The brightness of her cheerful demeanor and clothing now seemed awfully ominous as she loomed over me. “Very early mornings when the cops weren’t here and no one else had arrived yet. I had to get up even earlier than the birds, so to speak, but fortunately only a few times. Gigi is, in fact, pretty good at picking things up fast.”
Fine-Feathered Death Page 22
