"Oh Maddie!" She hugged back, hanging on tightly.
"It's okay," I said. "Are the twins okay?"
She nodded. "They're inside watching TV. I gave them cookies."
"We'll figure this out," I promised her.
"Yeah, I've already figured out these two are putzes. Putzes, you hear me!" Mrs. Rosenblatt shot toward the duo at Mom's trunk.
Hardy popped his head up long enough to scowl at Mrs. R.
"I'd like to see the warrant," Dana told them. Then she whispered to me. "Don't worry—Buffy Macintyre also went to law school. Almost passed the bar too, before we got canceled."
Oh boy.
I was about to warn her that didn't actually qualify her as Mom's legal counsel, but she'd already approached the two detectives. "Warrant please?" she asked again, hand out.
Laurel straightened up and reached into her jacket, which must have been sweltering in this heat, and handed her a sheaf of papers.
"It says we can search the car and garage."
"For what?" I asked, glancing over Dana's shoulder at the legalese.
"Evidence," Hardy shot back, popping up from the trunk again.
"What exactly do you expect to find?" Dana asked.
"Carpet fibers," Laurel said with a smirk.
"Wait—" I said, thinking back to the night before when we'd found Allison Cash. "You mean you think my mom put Allison Cash in her trunk?"
"You said it. We didn't," Hardy answered.
The two shared a knowing look, as if I'd just confessed.
"This is insane," I said, shaking my head. "What possible reason would my mom have for killing Allison Cash?"
"You tell me," Laurel said, shooting a look at Mom.
Mom's eyes went wide beneath her baby blue eye shadow. "I didn't even know her. I've never met any Allison Cash!"
Hardy opened the rear passenger door of the car and stuck his head inside. "We have a red substance here in the backseat," he said to his partner. "Let's get a sample. Could be blood."
"Blood?" Mom squeaked out, going pale beneath her heavily applied bronzer.
Dana Dashel, counsel for the defense, was at Hardy's side in a second. "Do you have probable cause to take a sample?"
Hardy blinked at her. "What?"
"Isn't this outside the scope of the warrant? Is there legal precedent? Has my client been informed of her rights?"
"Uh…" Hardy looked stumped.
"It looks dried." Laurel crouched to examine the red stain. "Could have been here for some time. A couple days even," Laurel determined, pulling her phone out to take a photo. "Dang it, selfie mode." She clicked a couple of buttons. "Crap, now it's stuck on video. How do you just take a picture?"
"Let me do it," Hardy said, taking his phone out. He pushed a button and talked into his phone. "Siri, take a picture."
A pleasant voice answered from the device. "Today's starting pitcher for the LA Dodgers is Clayton Kershaw."
Hardy frowned at his phone. "Not pitcher, Siri. Pic-ture," he enunciated slowly.
"There is a strawberry picking tour five miles from your location."
"I don't want strawberries. Just take a picture of the blood, Siri!" Hardy yelled.
"The Bloods are a notorious Los Angeles based gang," Hardy's phone went on to inform us before he stabbed it into silence with one stubby finger.
I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Instead, I glanced in the backseat of Mom's car through the window.
"That's not blood," I told them, looking at the small stain on the backseat.
Four pairs of eyes turned my way.
"It's fruit punch. Mott's for Tots brand."
Dana snickered. Hardy frowned. Laurel fumbled with her phone to take a note.
And Mrs. Rosenblatt flapped her arms some more. "See, I told you she's innocent, you schlemiel!"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
While Laurel and Hardy took their time categorizing whips of nondescript things from Mom's car into plastic baggies, I called Ramirez. Unfortunately, it went straight to voicemail, but I left a message letting him know his colleagues were executing a search warrant on his mother-in-law. While I knew there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it, he could at least check to make sure anything that came in from my mom's car was properly processed. While I didn't think Laurel and Hardy would actually manufacture evidence—one needed an imagination for that—I had no doubt they'd botch it, lose it, or taint it. And the last thing I wanted was for them to come back a second time. I knew the carpet fibers would prove Mom innocent. I just hoped they did it quickly.
Dana and I waited until the detectives had done everything they could to annoy Mom, then finally left. I assured her that Ramirez would take care of everything, as I gathered up the twins and left her in the capable hands of Mrs. Rosenblatt, who promised me she'd spend the afternoon doing an aura cleanse for Mom. While I wasn't entirely sure that was going to help much, Mom seemed comforted by the idea, so I went with it.
Once we got the kids buckled into my minivan and had the AC blasting, Dana turned to me. "We definitely need to talk to Carla Montgomery now."
I shot her a look. "I don't know. Didn't you see those two with a warrant? This is getting real. I'm worried that maybe we should just leave it to the police."
Dana blinked at me. "You're kidding, right?"
I grinned. "Okay, so maybe not those police, but I'm sure Ramirez is doing everything he can."
"Sure. Everything he can. But I bet we can do more."
"I don't know…"
"Look, it's just a child psychologist's office." She paused, getting a wicked gleam in her eyes. "And we've got the perfect in." She turned slowly in her seat to eyeball the twins.
"You seriously want me to drag my children along to interrogate a potential murderer?"
Dana rolled her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic."
"Me the drama queen? Now who's kidding?"
She ignored me, continuing with, "I'm sure Carla Montgomery didn't kill anyone over a two-thousand-dollar bracelet."
"Unlikely," I agreed.
"But, she could very well provide the link we're looking for between the fakes, Benton, Carrington and Cash, and Van Steinberg."
I pursed my lips together, hating to admit she was right.
"We can at least go talk to her," Dana added.
I glanced back at Livvie and Max again. "I guess it couldn't hurt to just go talk to her…"
Famous last words.
Fifteen minutes later we pulled up in front of a tall glass building in mid-Wilshire. After parking in the underground garage, we took the elevator up to the seventh floor, which housed the offices of Dr. Carla Montgomery.
As soon as we entered the waiting room, we were immediately assaulted with the sounds of whining kids, impatient parents, and Moana from a TV mounted near the ceiling. The walls were colored in a bright mural of unicorns and dragons surrounding a tall castle, and toys bins and bookshelves lined the walls. Several chairs and a sofa were occupied by parents who all looked slightly harried and tense, and kids who all looked bored and tired. I spied a redheaded boy who I recognized as the youngest sibling on a family sitcom, and a little girl in the corner looked an awful lot like the kid with the scraped knee on a Band-Aid commercial I'd seen recently.
"This place looks expensive," I mumbled to Dana, second-guessing my decisions for the second time that day.
"Relax," she whispered back. "We're just here to talk. We're not actually patients."
"Isn't that what patients do? Pay to talk?"
But she pretended not to hear that as she walked up to the reception desk, where a woman in a pale peach top and headset sat. "May I help you?" she asked in a friendly voice as we approached.
I opened my mouth to speak, but Dana was faster.
"We're here to see Dr. Montgomery about our twins."
I shot her a look. "Our twins?"
Dana smiled brightly. "We're a little worried that they're being bullied in preschool. You know, about hav
ing two moms." Dana put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed. "Aren't we, honey?"
I forced a smile. "Yes, dear."
"Anyway," Dana said, turning back to the receptionist. "A friend of ours told us that Dr. Montgomery is the best."
"Oh, she is," the receptionist assured us. "Do you have an appointment?"
Dana pursed her lips and frowned. "No, I'm afraid we don't. We were hoping to just meet with her for a couple of minutes and see if she's a good fit for our kids first. Good rapport is so important, don't you think?"
"Uh, yes. Yes, of course." The receptionist turned to her computer monitor. "I'm sure Dr. Montgomery can see you."
"Wonderful!" Dana beamed, sending me a wink.
"Next Thursday," the woman behind the computer finished. "She has an opening at three that afternoon, if you'd like to fill out our new patient intake forms?"
"Next Thursday?" I cut my eyes to Dana. I knew this was a bad idea.
But Dana Dashel, LGBTQ Mom of the Year, was undeterred. "Oh, that feels like a long way off. Is there any way she could squeeze us in for a just a teeny moment today?" she asked, holding two fingers up a smidgeon apart to illustrate her point.
"Well, she's awfully busy today…" the receptionist hedged, gesturing to the packed waiting room.
"We'll just be a few minutes. Really. I mean, just to see if the kids take to her?" Dana shot her a bright smile. Then she leaned in confidentially. "Melanie Mississippi told me at brunch the other day that Dr. Montgomery was a miracle worker with her daughter."
"Oh, she did?" the woman said, perking up at the name. "Oh, well, if it's just going to be for a teeny moment…let me see if maybe Dr. Montgomery can fit you in between clients. Hang on just a moment, will you?" she asked. She rose from her chair and slipped into a back room.
Dana nudged me. "Never hurts to name-drop, right?"
"Melanie Mississippi?" I asked
"Pippi's mom."
"You don't actually know her, do you?"
Dana shrugged. "I could. I mean, her daughter's agent used to work at the same management company as Ricky's agent's assistant, who introduced me to my last producer. Six degrees or something."
I was about to argue the math there, when the receptionist came back. "Dr. Montgomery is booked full today, but she said if you'd like to meet with her now, she can give you fifteen minutes between clients?"
"Fabulous!" Dana said, clapping her hands. "Max? Livvie?" she called to the twins, who were knee deep in the toy box under the TV. "Follow Mommy."
The kids looked from Dana to me, slightly confused. Then, in toddler fashion, ignored us both, going back to the toys. Finally we each scooped one up and followed the receptionist down a short hallway to an open door.
Dr. Montgomery's office was more adult than the waiting room, painted in warm golden tones. A soft suede sofa took up one end of the room, filled with pillows in pale calming colors. A low table with tiny chairs sat in the center of the room, the top filled with crayons, markers, and coloring pages. The twins made a beeline to it, and I prayed the colors stayed on the paper and not Dr. Montgomery's expensive looking sofa.
A glass and chrome desk sat at the far end of the room, a woman behind it standing as we entered. She was tall, in her mid to late fifties, and wore a loose short-sleeved blouse and dark slacks that ended in pointy-toed heels.
"Dr. Carla Montgomery," she said, extending a hand to each of us.
"Maddie," I introduce myself. "And this is my—"
"Wife," Dana inserted for me, stepping forward to shake the doctor's hand. "Dana."
"Very nice to meet you both," she told us, gesturing to the sofa for us to sit. "And these are your children?"
"Yes," I said, "Max and Livvie. Twins."
Dr. Montgomery greeted them both, though they hardly looked up from their scribbled creations.
"So, what can I do for you today?" Dr. Montgomery asked, taking a chair opposite us and crossing her legs.
"We're concerned about the kids at preschool. You know—how other kids' opinions of their gay moms may affect them," Dana said, her strawberry blonde brows pulling together in mock concern.
"I see," Dr. Montgomery said, nodding sagely. "Have the children expressed unhappiness to you?"
I opened my mouth to say no, when Dana ran right over me with a responding, "Yes!"
I shot her a look.
"Well, they have to me, anyway," she amended.
I shut my mouth with a click. I guess I was supposed to be Bad Mom here.
"I see," Dr. Montgomery said again. "What sort of emotions have they expressed?"
"Well…" I could see Dana trying to come up with something on the fly.
She looked to me.
I just gave her a shrug. Hey, she was the parent who the kids complained to.
"Uh, well," she started. "They ask 'where's Daddy?'"
"At work!" Livvie piped up from the coloring table.
Dr. Montgomery gave me a raised eyebrow.
"Uh, that's what the other kids say," Dana explained. "Their daddies are at work."
"Catching bad guys," Max jumped in.
Dana shot me a look. "Uh, and Max has this delusion that his dad is a superhero." She leaned in to address the doctor. "So sad."
"Daddy's catching bad guys!" Livvie repeated.
"The delusion seems to have spread," Dana said, shaking her head.
"I see," Dr. Montgomery said again, though I could feel the concern in her voice being more directed at my "wife" than the two perfectly well-adjusted kids coloring at the table.
"That's a pretty bracelet," I commented. I gestured to the silver piece of jewelry on the doctor's arm, getting to the point before we ran out of borrowed time.
Dr. Montgomery reached down and twisted the bracelet on her wrist. "Oh, uh, thank you."
"Art deco style, right?" I asked.
She blinked at me. "Oh, uh, yes, actually."
"It's a lovely reproduction," I said, hoping to bait her.
Dr. Montgomery laughed. "Well, thank you, but it's actually not a reproduction."
"Oh?"
"No, 1920s silver and jade. Made by Courtland, actually." She paused. "Antique jewelry is a hobby of mine."
"You're sure it's authentic?" I asked, glancing to Dana out of the corner of my eye.
Dr. Montgomery frowned, as if I'd offended her. "Yes. I'm positive." She took the bracelet off and flipped it over. "See this mark here?"
Dana and I both leaned forward, and I noted a small initial stamped in the silver beside what look like a half-moon.
"Is that a crescent?" Dana asked.
Dr. Montgomery nodded. "It's the mark of Damien Courtland. He went to work for Tiffany in the 1930s, which makes this bracelet more rare than most of its era."
"So this is authentic." I could feel my hopes deflating like a balloon with a pinprick.
"Yes," Dr. Montgomery said, the defensive tone back in her voice as she put the bracelet back on. "I had it appraised for insurance purposes right after I bought it."
"You didn't by any chance use Carrington and Cash for that appraisal?" I asked.
Her frown deepened. "No. Carter House. Why?"
I shook my head. "No reason," I mumbled, all of my neatly lined up puzzle pieces falling to the floor with a crash. Dr. Montgomery had bought a real bracelet at Van Steinberg's auction. But its previous owner had shown Carrington a fake. Had someone replaced the fake with the real thing before delivering it to Dr. Montgomery? Which made no sense—usually real items were switched out for fakes, not the other way around. Why would anyone substitute a fake item for a real one?
"…opening to start therapy next week."
"What?" I glanced up, realizing Dr. Montgomery had been talking.
"I really think it's best we start sooner rather than later." Dr. Montgomery glanced at Dana. "Maybe even start with family therapy."
"Sure, right," I said. "Uh, we'll have to think it over."
"Yes, well, please call my office if
you'd like to schedule that intake appointment," Dr. Montgomery said as we pried the twins from the coloring table. Max whined in protest, and in the end I think Livvie smuggled a crayon out with her.
Once we had them buckled back into their car seats and the AC was blasting the interior of my minivan again, Dana turned to me.
"I don't get it. The bracelet is real."
"Apparently," I said. I didn't know how hard it would be to fake a silver art deco bracelet, but if Carla'd had it independently appraised after the auction, I was inclined to believe it was the real deal.
"So now what?" she asked.
I glanced at the dash clock. 3:00 p.m. "Now I take these two home for a nap and hope they don't tell Daddy about their two mommies."
Dana grinned at me. "And my agent said I couldn't play lesbian."
* * *
Once we got back to my place, Dana took off to pick up the napkins and tablecloths for Ricky's party, and I went into nap negotiation mode with the twins. It was a hard sell after the excitement of the afternoon, and it took three bottles, two bedtime stories, and one lullaby sung slightly off key, before they were both out. I celebrated by doing the dishes, starting a load of laundry, and tidying up the living room, all while trying to rearrange the bits and pieces of information I'd picked up over the last few days.
Either Carrington was selling fake antiques and swapping them out at some point—why I couldn't fathom—or our Clown Lady, Terri Voy, was the fake. Either way, someone was lying. And I was pretty sure almost everyone involved knew more than they were saying. Well, everyone but me, who felt more and more clueless the more I learned.
I was wallowing in that disconcerting thought, when my phone rang.
From somewhere.
I glanced around the living room, trying to discern where the sound was coming from. After checking under the sofa, behind the TV, and in the dishwasher, I finally found it shoved into a snow boot by the back door just as it was about to go to voicemail. Apparently Max had been busy before his nap.
"Hello?" I said, quickly taking the call.
"Hey, it's Ricky."
"She's not with me," I told him.
"Huh?"
10 Suspect in High Heels Page 13
