by Marie Celine
‘Great,’ Kitty replied. ‘What’s the address?’
‘Oh, no, you don’t!’ Fran’s voice roared playfully over the phone. ‘I’ve been sitting home alone all morning – no offense to Fred and Barney – while you’re out having all the fun. If you want this address, you’re going to have to come and get it and take me with you.’
Kitty knew when she’d been beaten.
SEVENTEEN
Fran was waiting outside the apartment when Kitty pulled up. Fran had a red scarf knotted in her hair and had poured herself into a pair of black jeggings, along with which she had chosen a loose fitting top the color of cocoa butter.
Kitty asked Fran if she had the m-o-n-e-y.
‘What are you spelling for?’
‘Sorry,’ Kitty tittered. ‘I guess I’m nervous.’
‘It’s in my bag,’ Fran said. ‘I don’t feel comfortable letting it get out of my sight.’ Both girls found themselves scanning the parking lot for strangers.
‘Neither do I,’ Kitty concurred. She didn’t see anyone that looked suspicious, but then, could you really tell a cold-blooded killer from a harmless nursery school teacher, for instance?
‘Besides, we might want to make a side trip to Rodeo Drive before the day is done.’
Kitty thought not. Rodeo Drive was a preposterously expensive Beverly Hills shopping district. She planned to take the envelope to Jack’s tonight and break the news of what she’d done to him over dinner, preferably after a bottle of wine, of which she would be sure he drank more than his fair share.
Knowing Jack, he was not going to take kindly to her and Fran breaking into Gretchen’s apartment and snooping around and making off with a purse full of love letters. But it was time he knew. If she somehow lost all that money before then, she didn’t know what would happen or what the police would do. Probably lock her and Fran up and throw the key in the Pacific Ocean.
Following Fran’s directions, Kitty eventually found herself staring up at a beautiful modern, white beach house along the Santa Monica coastline. There was a white picket fenced-in garden out front, punctuated with explosions of color. She found a spot for the Volvo on the side street around the corner and they walked over.
‘How are you planning to talk your way inside?’ Fran asked, slinging her bag from one shoulder to the other. ‘Like I told you, Cindy isn’t exactly my friend.’
‘Easy,’ answered Kitty. ‘You’re going to tell her that you have something for her – from her mom.’
Fran stopped, looking perplexed. The overhead sun played off her YSL shades. ‘And just what might this something be?’ She placed her fists on her hips.
‘The envelope.’ Kitty pulled open the front gate. Her nostrils picked up the scent of Oriental poppies.
Fran’s jaw dropped. ‘Not,’ she glanced at the gardener on her knees at the edge of a thickly mulched flower bed in the small front garden and lowered her voice, ‘the money?’
‘Yep.’ Kitty explained her plan. She’d thought it up on the way over. They’d tell Cindy that Gretchen had left an envelope with Fran the day she was killed, which Fran was supposed to deliver to her. ‘That will get us in the door. Not only that, but we’ll see whether she knows anything about the money.’
‘Yeah,’ grumbled Fran, ‘but how will we get out the door with the money once we’ve shown it to that greedy little princess?’
Kitty checked on the gardener; an elderly Latino woman in a wide-brimmed straw hat and baggy white pants and shirt. She was using a pair of fine scissors to trim the flowers and paid no attention to them, keeping her focus on the job at hand. The greedy little princess apparently liked a well-kept garden. So how bad could she be?
Using Fran as a shield, Kitty pulled the envelope from Fran’s bag, dumped the contents in her own purse, then pushed the empty envelope back into Fran’s bag.
‘We’re giving her an empty envelope?’ Fran asked, her voice laced with skepticism.
‘We’re showing her an empty envelope.’ Kitty rang the bell. ‘Cindy won’t know that it’s empty. And if she should get her hands on it, we won’t lose the cash. You never mentioned, did Gretchen tell you why she wanted you to bring her the money? Like, what she intended to do with it or who she intended to give it to?’
‘Are you kidding? I didn’t even know there was money in the envelope, let alone enough to retire on, girl. I just picked up the envelope, dropped it in my purse and then forgot all about it what with the murder and all.’
Kitty made an unhappy face. ‘The envelope does look awfully thin though.’ Kitty reached into Fran’s bag and threw some loose items from her purse into the envelope; old coupons, a compact, an ad for a nail salon.
‘That ought to do the trick.’ The envelope looked quite substantial now. ‘Quick,’ Kitty said, thrusting the envelope back in Fran’s bag as she caught the sound of steps approaching.
The door cracked open and a mousy face with two inquisitive blue eyes appeared in the opening. All that was missing was the whiskers. Tiny wrinkle lines laced the corners of the woman’s eyes. Kitty figured her to be in her late thirties or early forties. A fruity aroma of perfume wafted out. Kitty didn’t recognize the scent.
‘Yes?’ Medium brown hair framed a plump round face with pale skin. If this was Cindy Corbett, she apparently didn’t enjoy spending time at the beautiful stretch of beach that was mere steps from her front door – a location that people paid top dollar for. In this case, that had probably been Cindy’s mom, Gretchen.
‘Hey, Cindy. It’s me, Fran.’ Fran waved from behind Kitty’s shoulder and gave Gretchen’s daughter her best grin.
Cindy responded with downturned lips. ‘What do you want?’
Kitty held out her hand. ‘Miss Corbett? I’m Kitty Karlyle. I worked with your mother.’ Briefly. She pushed as much sincerity as she could into her words. It wasn’t hard; in the short time she’d known Gretchen she had come to like her very much. She may have been pushy and ambitious, but she had been terribly kind to Kitty herself. ‘I’m – we’re very sorry for your loss.’
Cindy leaned out the door, her grip on the burnished bronze handle, and shrugged. She wore light brown silk slacks and a tight-knitted green turtleneck sweater. She looked at Kitty’s extended hand as if someone had just offered her a handful of Ebola virus. ‘The funeral is tomorrow. If you like, you can pay your condolences then.’
The door began to close.
Kitty spoke quickly. ‘Uh – could we speak to you for a moment?’
The door came to a stop. ‘What about?’
‘Well,’ Kitty glanced at Fran, who looked flummoxed, then pressed on. ‘Actually, your mother had something for you. We thought you might like to have it. Fran was supposed to give it to you earlier, and then, well …’
Cindy chewed on her lip a moment. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s so hot out here.’ Kitty waved a hand in front of her face. ‘Would you mind if we come in?’
Cindy frowned as if she’d just been asked to donate a kidney, but ushered them inside.
They took up seats in a small sitting area that looked out across the front garden to the sea. The surface of the water was relatively calm, with only a few light swells slowly making their way to shore.
The glass-topped table beside Cindy held a single red rose in a delicate looking pale pink vase. A small tin of pastilles rested beside it. No doubt the rose had come from the bush Kitty spotted in the garden.
‘So,’ Cindy said, crossing and uncrossing her legs, her gold sandals flashing. ‘You have something for me from my mother?’ She extended her hand.
Fran glanced at Kitty who nodded. Fran extracted the envelope from her bag. It was looking rather sad, a bit crumpled and abused.
Cindy did not look impressed. ‘An envelope?’
‘Don’t you recognize it?’ Please say yes, thought Kitty.
‘Should I?’ Cindy’s expression turned even more sour, which Kitty hadn’t thought could be possible.
With
as much innocence as she could muster, Kitty turned to Fran. ‘Fran, dear, I don’t think that’s the right envelope at all.’
Fran looked confused for a moment as she eyed the big envelope. ‘Huh?’
Kitty was shaking her head adamantly. ‘No, don’t you see? That envelope is unlabeled. The envelope for Cindy has her name written on it.’
‘Oh,’ said Fran, turning the big envelope around and around in her hand. ‘Silly me.’ She opened the metal tab and peered inside. ‘You’re right. This isn’t the right envelope at all.’
Cindy folded her arms over her chest, her eyes flashed danger signals. ‘Just what are you up to?’
‘Up to?’ Kitty feigned ignorance. ‘Why, we only wanted to—’
Cindy Corbett rose. ‘I think you two should leave.’
Kitty’s mind raced. This wasn’t going well at all. She remained seated. ‘Of course. I suppose we should be going. You probably want to be alone now, with your family. Your brother, Thadeus—’
Cindy snorted. ‘That simpleton?’
‘And your father, Cam.’
Cindy glared down at Kitty. ‘Who?’ Her confusion seemed genuine.
‘Your father,’ Kitty gulped. ‘Cam. Cameron?’
Cindy laughed like she was auditioning for the part of the evil queen in some Disney melodrama. ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about, but I don’t know any Cameron. And my dear brother, who I hear may have killed Mom, can rot in jail for all I care.’ She paced the room and looked out toward the Pacific. ‘And Daddy,’ she said with disquieting and mocking undertones, ‘would never step foot in my house.’
When Cindy turned back to the ladies, she was grinning madly. ‘Daddy and I have what you might call a magic relationship.’
‘Why, uh, that’s nice,’ Kitty said, politely.
Cindy’s grin widened into a chasm of bleached white teeth and wet pink tongue. ‘Yes, Daddy sends me a big fat allowance each month and I do my best to make it disappear.’ She smirked.
‘He doesn’t live locally?’ Fran asked.
Cindy Corbett pointed to the door. ‘Out. And if you do have something for me from my mother, bring it to the funeral tomorrow.’
Kitty rose. ‘Would you mind if I use the bathroom before I go?’ What she really wanted was a chance to search the place, including the kitchen for any evidence, like one of those potholders that seemed to keep showing up everywhere she went.
‘There’s a gas station up the street,’ Cindy replied callously. She practically threw the women out the door. ‘And if you’re at the service tomorrow, you’d better have my mother’s envelope with you. Otherwise,’ she yelled at their fleeing backs, ‘I’ll have my attorney all over you!’
EIGHTEEN
‘Not exactly a homerun, was it?’ Fran remarked between bites of her roast beef sandwich. The ladies had stopped off for a late lunch at the Musso and Frank Grill on Hollywood Boulevard, partly to appease their stomachs, partly to lick their wounds.
‘Hardly,’ agreed Kitty. She wiped her hands on her napkin and took a sip of tea. ‘So, where do we stand?’
‘Hip deep in doo-doo,’ Fran replied quickly. ‘Are you sure you don’t want one of these?’ She swirled her mimosa under Kitty’s nose.
Kitty shook her head. ‘Too early for me. I’ll stick to the peach ice tea.’
‘And the tofu burger,’ Fran teased.
Kitty smiled. ‘Don’t knock it, until you’ve tried it. They’re delicious and they’re good for you.’ Of course, the plateful of French fries that came with it – and that she kept telling herself to stay away from, but somehow every time she put one in her mouth another popped up into her fingers as if by magic – were as delicious as they were deliciously fattening. ‘Now,’ she said, wiping her greasy fingers on a paper napkin, ‘who wanted Gretchen dead?’
‘Not me,’ Fran said. She waved her nearly empty glass at the waiter. He nodded and shouted from across the courtyard that he’d bring her another. ‘I wanted Gretch alive.’ Fran’s eyes were somewhat glassy. Kitty wasn’t certain if it was the alcohol oozing out or her emotions bubbling up. ‘She was more than my meal ticket, she was my friend.’
Kitty pulled her pen from her purse and wrote on the back of a napkin. ‘I guess I’ll have to scratch you from my list of suspects.’ Kitty’s eyes sparkled playfully. ‘But let’s think about who we can add.’
‘Sonny Sarkisian.’ Fran grabbed one of Kitty’s fries and dipped it in ketchup. ‘Princess Cindy. She’s about as warm and fuzzy as a cactus. And she did not get along with her mother or her father, whoever he is.’
Kitty jotted down the names. ‘I agree.’ Teddy worked as a janitor. He might have been resentful of his mother’s wealth, his father’s as well. His half-sister, Cindy, obviously went through money like it was bottled water. Either or both of them might have wanted to see their mother out of the way so they could inherit.
‘And there’s Barbara Cartwright.’ Kitty wrote. ‘Those two were bitter enemies and it sounds like Gretchen did everything she could to keep Ms Cartwright from getting the new show.’
‘Yeah,’ said Fran, raising an eyebrow. ‘And giving it to you. It sounds like Barbara might like to see you dead, too. I’d be careful if I was you.’
Kitty looked taken aback. Fran sounded so serious. ‘Do you really think Barbara might do something, I mean, try to hurt me?’
Fran shrugged. ‘I’m just saying. You’ve got something that she wants.’ She accepted her second mimosa from the lanky waiter then leaned across the table. ‘Maybe she stabbed Gretchen in the back and has got you in her sights.’
Kitty felt a chill run up her spine. Was it a potential knife plunging into her back? She rubbed her arms hard. This whole detective thing could become a lot more dangerous than she had imagined. She wolfed down a couple of fries – for courage, or so she told herself, then fanned out the napkin. ‘I suppose we should add Teddy Czinski to the list.’
‘I suppose,’ agreed Fran. ‘But it’s hard to imagine him killing his own mother. I saw him around the studio once in a while, though he mostly came in after hours. He always seemed so quiet and harmless.’
‘I agree, but sometimes those silent types are hiding a lot of crazy.’
‘Agreed.’ Fran tossed back her mimosa. ‘And both children stand to inherit a chunk of change.’ She polished off the last bit of her double cheeseburger. ‘There’s also Chevy Czinski.’
Kitty added his name to the list. ‘He seems so sweet. And lonely.’ She thought about him living all alone out in the mountains, just himself and his animals. ‘But he did get very angry at the mention of Gretchen’s name the first time I brought it up. And she did steal his idea for the cooking show.’
‘So he claims.’
‘So he claims,’ chimed Kitty. She added another name. ‘Let’s not forget Gretchen’s other ex, Cam.’ The sun hit her eyes and she scooted her chair several inches back into the shade of a palm. It seemed so strange to be talking about murder outdoors on a day like this, plenty of sun and blue sky, enjoying an afternoon meal with a friend among the palm trees and delicious aromas spilling over from the kitchen.
Fran nodded. ‘And Steve.’
Kitty agreed. ‘I’ve got him at the top of my list. I wonder what his alibi is for the time during the taping of my show. Any ideas?’
Fran shook her head. ‘I didn’t notice him, in particular. Then again, I generally try to avoid him. He should have been on set, but I couldn’t swear to it.’
‘And with all the lights and so many people, I couldn’t tell you who was and wasn’t there myself.’ Kitty tapped the tip of her pen on the tabletop in frustration. ‘I sure would like to grill him about Gretchen’s murder.’ She leaned back. ‘What is it they say? Means, motive and opportunity? Steve had all three.’
‘And he lives in Gretchen’s building.’
‘And is romantically involved with Barbara Cartwright. Another suspect at the top of our list.’ Kitty huffed. ‘I suppose there’s nothi
ng we can do until tomorrow. Steve will be at the funeral, no doubt. I’ll have to try to interrogate him there.’
‘Why wait until tomorrow?’ Fran said. ‘Let’s go talk to him today.’
‘How? Do you think he’ll let us into his building, especially if he thinks we are trying to grill him about Gretchen’s murder?’
Fran made a face and squirmed. ‘Steve is so going to kill me.’
Kitty perked up. ‘Why? What is it?’
‘I really shouldn’t—’
‘Spill it, Fran.’
Fran sighed. ‘I had promised I wouldn’t tell anyone, ever,’ she said. ‘Oh, well.’
‘Fran, you’re driving me crazy with curiosity. Tell me now, what are you holding back on?’ The older couple dining next to them looked in their direction. Kitty lowered her voice. ‘Out with it,’ she whispered.
‘Steve Barnhard is a man of habits. Many habits.’ Fran pulled out her phone and checked the time display. ‘If he’s being true to form, I know exactly where Stevie boy is.’
Kitty crossed her arms over her chest and waited.
‘This being Sunday, Steve went to the shooting range—’
‘Shooting range?’ Kitty interrupted. Hmmm, a man with a gun hobby. Gretchen hadn’t been shot, but still …
It could mean something.
‘Hey, some people go to church, some go fire off a few rounds.’ Fran waved her hand in the air. Apparently she wasn’t reading the same thing into it that Kitty was. ‘To each his own, right?’
Kitty nodded. ‘I’m not sure I want to meet a potential murder suspect at a shooting range.’ She could picture him standing there with a loaded gun in his hands while she accused him of murdering Gretchen. She shook the thought out of her head. There was no way that was going to end in a pretty fashion.
‘Are you going to let me talk?’
‘Sorry. Continue.’
Fran wiped her mouth with a napkin and pushed back her chair. ‘You know what, you’re not going to believe it anyway. You’re going to have to see this for yourself. Oh, Steve is going to kill me,’ she said, worriedly shaking her head.
