She wrinkled her forehead for a moment before answering, “Probably his wife. She had him trapped in that marriage, but she was crazy—always starting fights with him. She actually hit him a few times. Can you believe that?”
“Wow,” I said. “She sounds crazy. Are you sure she was the one starting the fights?”
Coco nodded vehemently. “She told him she'd destroy his career if he tried to leave her. Poor Brock was very unhappy. He used to strap himself into this funny contraption. It looked ridiculous. He'd ask me to strap him in and he'd hang upside down. He loved hanging like that, pretending he was Batman.”
Derek had a far-away look again. He didn't say anything about this new accusation of Mitzi being the abusive spouse. Since we were paying for Coco's time, I went ahead and said, “If you've seen the gyroscope, I guess you've been to the Kensington residence.”
Coco covered her mouth with her hand and glanced around furtively. “We're not supposed to go to their houses, but he was a very busy man.” She dropped her hand from her mouth and sat up straight in the treatment lounger. “You want to hear something really scary?”
Derek's eyes remained glazed over.
“Sure,” I said on his behalf.
“I was so lucky I didn't get killed that day, too,” Coco said. “I was supposed to meet Brock at his house to help him relax before his horrible wife and snooty daughter got back from spending his money.” She held her hand to her chest. “I could have been killed by that burglar. But then Brock called and canceled at the last minute, so I didn't go.”
“Why did he cancel?” I asked.
“He said he was sick. I was already on my way over in an Uber. I tried to call him and tell him I'd bring over some chicken soup and make him feel better, but he wasn't picking up his phone.”
“Did he send you a text to cancel?” I asked. “And are you sure this was the same day he was killed?”
She nodded. “I'm pretty sure it was that day. I'm so sad I didn't get to talk to him one last time, but maybe it was for the best.”
“What time did he call?”
“I don't know the exact time. He called the agency instead of my phone, and my battery was dead for a while.”
I elbowed Derek subtly. I was out of questions and in over my head. Derek shuffled his feet and blinked at me before smiling at Coco. “Miss, do you remember where you went after Brock canceled your session? I hope this information won't cost extra, because we need some cash for lunch.”
Coco gave him a genuine laugh. I knew it was real because it was somewhat less than a man's fantasy of a laugh.
She said, “I came right back to the house and met with another client at six o'clock. Another girl was with me, and she would have done this guy by herself, but then I was available to join in the fun.” She frowned. “I feel so bad that I was having fun while Brock was dying.”
“At least you have a solid alibi,” I said cheerfully.
She gave me a confused look. “Why would I need an alibi? I didn't do anything. It's only guilty people who need alibis.” She rubbed her upper arms. “I hope they catch the bastard who did this.”
Derek said, “I'm sure the Kensington family will rest easier once the matter's been settled.”
Coco gave us a sneering look. “How's Megan doing? Have you seen her lately? I hear she got puffy in the face, like her mother.” She snorted. “Serves her right for being such a spoiled little rich brat.”
I said, “Sounds like you and Megan have a lot of history. Did she do something to you back when you went to school together?”
“No way.” Coco gave an indignant head bob. “And she'd better not do anything to me, or I'll find a way to get even with her.”
“Like sleeping with her father?”
Coco kept bobbing her head. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“Did you ever bump into Megan when you were at the Kensington house?”
“No, but I went into her room a few times. There's nothing illegal about that. I was a guest in the house.” She reached up with both hands and touched her earrings, which appeared to be diamonds. Big ones.
Derek was watching me but not interrupting. He gave the smallest nod, like he was telling me to keep going.
“Did you ever borrow Megan's things?” I asked.
Coco fiddled with the earrings again then crossed her arms. “She wouldn't notice if I did, so who cares? Why are you asking? Who are you, anyway?”
“I'm just a girl who's trying to do her job.”
That seemed to trigger something in Coco. With a sigh, she started to unclasp the diamond earrings. “Here. They're too heavy for my ears anyway. I have very sensitive lobes.” She reached out and dropped the earrings into my hand.
Trying to mask my revulsion, I said, “Thanks. Uh, thank you for your cooperation today.”
Derek nodded curtly and tugged on Chewie's leash. “Thank you for everything. We'll be sure to return Megan Kensington's borrowed property to her.”
“I'll deny everything,” Coco said, turning to pick up an old-fashioned bell from her tray, which she rang to summon her manicurist.
Derek paused to hand a few bills to the manicurist, thanked her for her patience, and led the way out of the salon.
When we got to the car, he handed me an envelope. “Dump those earrings in here.”
I did so while making gagging sounds. Pricy diamonds or not, the prostitute had dumped her stinky ear gunk right into my hand. I couldn't get the vial of hand sanitizer out of my purse fast enough.
“Well?” Derek fastened his seat belt and gave Chewie a dog treat. “What are your thoughts on Coco Labelle? I found your written reports to be very insightful. You've got a good sense for judging character.”
“She's not exactly a criminal mastermind,” I said. “All I did was look at her earrings and she spontaneously confessed and handed them over. If she was guilty of murder, she'd probably pay more attention to things like who she was talking to and why. She probably forgot you were a detective a minute after you told her.”
“Any wild theories about who did murder Brock Kensington?”
I turned the keys and started the rental car's engine to get the air conditioning running.
After a minute of thinking, I answered, “He canceled his five o'clock house call for a reason. Maybe he found a new girl. A better girl.”
“Hmm,” Derek said. “A more exciting girl, who killed him. Someone completely new.”
I stared straight ahead at the trunk of the tree we were parked under.
After a moment, I asked, “Are we at a dead end?”
“Yes,” he said. “Or maybe not.”
“I feel like we're missing something that's going to seem really obvious in retrospect.”
He nodded slowly. “What we really need is somewhere quiet to review everything.”
“Like your hotel room? I can drive us there. Which one are you staying at?”
He swished his mouth from side to side. “Who's at your apartment right now?”
“Hard to say, but it's probably a disaster.”
“Do you have any food there?”
“That depends on your definition of food. How do you feel about frozen pizza?”
“We can order in.”
“Okay.” I put the car in gear and began driving toward my apartment.
“Chewie doesn't like the hotel room,” he said. “She stares at the crack under the door, and I can't relax if she's agitated. Plus you know what it's like being on the road. There's nothing more soulless than a hotel room.”
“I wouldn't know. I've been on a few trips for track meets, but there were always at least four people to a room. It was hard to even see the room around all the stuff.”
“You're smiling,” Derek said. “Going to track meets was the last time you were happy.”
“What?”
He said, “You were happy at track meets and now you're not.”
I shot him a dirty look. “Does anyone ever call you on
your crappy assumptions about people?”
“No,” he said.
We drove the rest of the way to my apartment in silence while I told him off inside my head.
Chapter 10
12:45 p.m.
My Apartment
Once inside the apartment, our beagle assistant inspected all the rooms before settling on the sofa. She chose the spot on the far-right cushion—the one that was also my favorite seat. I took this to mean she liked me, or at least my scent.
Owen wasn't there, but the presence of his shoes, clothes, and empty beer bottles made it wildly clear to my detective boss that I had a live-in boyfriend.
“What's the story here?” Derek pointed to the expensive new table that Owen had bought as a bribe to get back into my life.
“No story,” I said coolly. I was still annoyed at him for what he'd said on the drive over about my happiness or lack thereof.
“Legally Blonde, you can't afford this table.”
“Then give me a raise,” I said. “Coffee?” I turned my back to him and rummaged for coffee-making supplies. We hadn't eaten lunch yet, but coffee would keep me going for a bit.
“I have to visit the little boys' room first,” he said. “If you don't mind.”
“Ordinarily I don't let people in my apartment use the washroom, but for you, I'll make an exception.”
Derek clapped his hands. “There she is! There's the real Abby Silver. And it only took three and a half days and a visit to her apartment to bring her out.” He turned to Chewie. “She's sarcastic, too. I knew it. There's always a pause before she speaks, like she's saying something for the audience in her head first.”
I stared at him, stunned by his accuracy. He just loves nailing people on their faults. “At least I don't spew out every thought in my head like it's divine wisdom.”
“Hah! Good one!” He turned and started toward the bathroom, muttering, “Two points for Abby, who apparently has a spine after all.”
I looked over at Chewie, who sneezed once before resting her chin back on her white paw.
While Derek used the washroom, I made coffee and put in a furtive phone call to my best friend, Keiko.
Keiko said, “He's in your apartment right now?” She sounded incredulous, and I could picture her tiny, delicate mouth forming a shocked O.
“The dog's on my sofa, and he's in the bathroom,” I said.
“Oh, this is getting weird, Abby. Too weird. You need to call the agency and get yourself taken off this one. Or at least get paid more.”
“I don't need a lecture, Keiko. I'm just checking in with you in case, you know, something happens to me.”
“Oh, something has already happened. The crazy old man has you lying and chasing around after murderers. Does he have a gun? I bet he does. How bad is he?”
“Not so bad.” Now I felt guilty for exaggerating my complaints to Keiko. “And, unlike your grandfather, he hasn't said a single racist thing.”
“Old people aren't any more racist than anyone else,” she said. “They're just more honest. And I swear my grandpa says that stuff just to be funny.” She made bubble-popping sounds with her mouth. “Can I come over and help? I'm so bored here. I'm collating today. Collating. Do you know how tedious collating is?”
“Don't they have fancy photocopiers to do all that for you?”
Keiko sighed. “I'd pay you to let me come over there to your place.”
“I don't even know what we're doing. He says he wants to review all the case files, whatever that entails.”
“Oh! You should get out that big dry-erase whiteboard we used to play Big Pictionary. You can draw boxes and lines like they do in the movies.”
“Not a bad idea.” I held the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I went to the coat closet. I pushed storage boxes out of the way so I could get at the large whiteboard. “Got it,” I said.
“Really? You're going to make a murder board?”
“I need to. Everything's in my head in linear order, so I bet making a nonlinear chart would help my brain.
She made more bubble-popping noises on the other end of the phone call. “Who did you meet with today?”
“You know I can't tell you who, but I can give you a cheap and dirty hint. She does all her work lying down, if you know what I mean.” I grunted as I pulled out the board's tripod stand.
“That's a good clue,” my best friend said. I could hear her typing rapidly.
“If you're busy with work, I'll let you go.”
“What's the hooker's name? I want to see what she looks like.”
“I can't tell you that. Confidentiality and whatnot.”
“Abby, I need to tell you something. Promise you won't be mad.” She didn't wait for me to answer before she said, “I know you're working on the Kensington burglary. That unsolved murder.”
I nearly dropped the board. Down the hallway, the toilet flushed. Derek would be coming out any minute.
I hissed into the phone, “Keiko, don't mess around. How do you know? I never told you one single name.”
She made a delighted noise. “I didn't know for sure—not until you got mad. It's called fishing. You should try it some time, Watson.”
“Please, just forget everything I told you. I shouldn't have said anything.”
“But I can help,” she said brightly. “You always tease me about accepting friend requests from anyone who asks. Well, it turns out I'm friends with someone who knows both Megan and Chad, and I've been looking at random photos of them all day today.”
I sighed. Keiko had more curiosity than a dozen cats, and I'd been stupid to mention anything to her. “Anything suspicious?”
“That depends,” she said. “Was the hooker you met today Asian?”
“I can't discuss that. Keiko, please forget about this whole thing. Forget I blabbed.”
“Was she black?”
“What are you getting at? Did you find something? Just spit it out.”
“Okay,” Keiko said. “Chad and Megan were at a big weekend party back in March, a week before the homicide. It started out Friday as a guy-girl combined party, but then the second night, the guys went out for the whole bachelor party thing. And Chad really enjoyed the strippers, or at least they enjoyed him. There were two girls who were all over him in every photo.” She typed something on her side. “These two dum-dums actually tagged themselves in the pictures. I'm sure their families are so proud. Lucy Loo and Coco Labelle. Is one of them involved in the case?”
On the whiteboard, I circled Coco's name with a blue dry-erase pen and drew in a line connecting Brock Kensington's escort with his daughter and her boyfriend.
“No comment,” I said. “But could you send me the pictures?”
She squealed. “This is so exciting.”
“You're insane.”
“You're welcome!”
“I gotta go,” I whispered. “He's coming out of the bathroom. Send the pictures, okay?”
My phone buzzed. “Already sent,” Keiko said. “Pop, pop!”
“Pop, pop,” I replied, which was our shorthand for goodbye, I love you, hello, and anything else that didn't need to be spelled out between friends.
I tucked the phone into my pocket and continued writing more names on the whiteboard.
The chart was so engrossing, I barely noticed Derek return. He grabbed a cup of coffee and got busy as well, spreading files and photos across the table. We discussed the interviews we'd done together, as well as the notes from the police, and the new medical examiner's report.
I was surprised by how much ground we'd covered in just a few days.
On Monday, I'd gone undercover with Mitzi's hairdresser at Salon Ronaldo. Thanks to listening in on my stylist, Richie, I'd learned that Brock Kensington had violent tendencies and that even Mitzi's stylists suspected something was fishy with the burglary-turned-homicide.
On Tuesday, we'd posed as film location scouts and gotten access to the Kensington home. We'd met Mitzi, as well a
s her daughter, Megan, and Megan's boyfriend, Chad. Derek snuck off and located Mitzi's grass-stained shoes. We returned later that night with the police, who had a warrant to seize them. Mitzi had denied staging the burglary and put suspicion on another woman.
Wednesday, we met with Brock's former side girl, Roxanne Hartley. The pregnant businesswoman had allegedly conceived via a donor, and claimed to have been trying to help police by calling in tips. Unfortunately, she was only interested in implicating Mitzi Kensington. But thanks to Chewie's charming ways, Roxanne suggested that another woman might have worn stilettos to Brock's house that fateful night. We set off to interview Brock's business associate at Avamar, where we, plus a spicy burrito, made Max Harris sweat until he gave us the name Coco Labelle.
Today, Thursday, we met Coco at a nail salon and left with a pair of Megan's diamond earrings.
Derek opened the envelope and shook the earrings onto my table. “Abby, what items did the Kensingtons report missing after the burglary?”
“A couple of small computer tablets, plus three hundred dollars in cash,” I said. “Those things had all been on the bar counter of that room downstairs she used as a living room. There was no mention of stolen jewelry.”
He flicked at the earrings with one finger. “The Kensingtons may be wealthy, but these earrings are enough carats for even someone like Megan to notice missing. It's strange she didn't report this to the police.”
“She could have overlooked them. Or maybe Coco Labelle swapped them out with fakes.”
“Fakes!” Derek laughed, and then abruptly stopped. “Sorry, I thought you were joking.”
My cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Forget it,” I said.
“Hmm,” he said, zoning out. “Speaking of fakes, the stiletto prints in the yard might have been fakes. Someone else could have gotten a pair of shoes exactly like Mitzi's, stamped them into the ground, and then swapped them with the ones in her walk-in closet.”
I raised my eyebrows. “And you thought fake diamond earrings sounded far fetched?”
“Hmm,” he said again. “I just hate it when people lie to me, and to the police.”
“Who lied? Mitzi?”
“Occam's Razor,” he said. “The simplest explanation is the right one. Mitzi's shoes fit the footprints perfectly, and they're stained. My first hunch was right. Mitzi came home, found her husband dead, and then she altered the crime scene. He must have died nude, which is why the technicians didn't find any wet blood on his shirt.”
Girl in the Shadows (Cozy Mystery) (Diamond Files Mysteries Book 1) Page 8
