by Marie Celine
‘It’s simply all this murder stuff. It’s got me seeing killers everywhere.’ And that really wasn’t her nature. She vowed to think better of people from here on out. ‘Besides, now with Gretchen’s killer caught, there’s no reason to see potential murderers behind every bush.’
Nonetheless, she’d be keeping an eye on the magician and talk her suspicions over with Jack later.
The cemetery was crowded, and not just with the dead – there were plenty of living in attendance. The sun was shining overhead and the sky was blue. Kitty was thinking it looked way too cheerful for a funeral.
Fran had parked at the end of a long line of cars, mostly shiny black limos with immaculate black tires whose hired drivers lingered in a small group near the rear. ‘Gretchen must have had a lot of friends.’
‘Sure,’ replied Fran. ‘And a healthy number of enemies. But even they wouldn’t miss this.’
The ladies walked carefully – winding their way between everything from simple granite headstones to elaborate marble monuments – to where a crowd of nearly a hundred had gathered.
‘There’s Mr Barnhard.’ Fran stuck out her chin.
‘And there’s his son, Steve,’ hissed Kitty, taking in a breath. Her eyes widened and her face darkened. ‘What is he doing here?’
Fran heaved her shoulders. ‘You’ve got me.’ She looked at Kitty. ‘The way you talked, I thought he’d be safely behind bars. Maybe getting ready to face the gallows.’ She dangled an imaginary rope.
‘I thought so, too,’ trembled Kitty, bitterly. Suddenly, she felt threatened and vulnerable, though she told herself there was nothing to worry about with so many people present. Though, if Steve did kill her here, she realized, ironically, that it could potentially be a very short commute from dead to buried.
Kitty couldn’t stop staring at Steve, standing there calm as could be, in his fancy black suit and skinny black tie, right next to his father. Beside them were Barbara Cartwright and her young assistant. There was no sign of handcuffs clasped around those scrawny wrists of Steve’s.
Kitty feared the worst. Her eyes scanned the crowd for Jack.
‘Who are you looking for?’
‘Jack.’ She twisted in a circle. ‘He said he’d be here.’ In her hand, she clutched the manila envelope filled with the money that Fran had taken for Gretchen but never delivered. She was going to give it to Jack now that the case was solved. Minute by minute she was getting more nervous holding on to the loot. Especially since she had no idea what it represented. It could be drug money, or mob money.
Besides, Kitty and Fran really didn’t have any excuse to keep the envelope and its contents any longer, despite Fran’s pleas to the contrary. She’d give the love letters to him as well. Let him worry about their disposition after that.
‘Is that him over there?’ Fran laid a hand on Kitty’s shoulder and pulled her around.
Jack was standing off to the side under the shade of an elm. Beside him stood Lieutenant Elin Nordstrom.
Of course.
Kitty’s eyes narrowed. ‘Can’t he ever go anywhere without her? It’s like they’re joined at the hip or something.’ She had to admit, her lover boy did clean up pretty good, though. He was looking very handsome in a dark blue suit and tie. Even his hair looked neatly combed for once.
Fran elbowed her. ‘Hey, isn’t that Teddy with them?’
Kitty held the envelope over her brow, shading her eyes from the sun, wishing she’d brought a pair of sunglasses. ‘I think you’re right. Jack told me Teddy had asked to attend, but that was when Teddy was under arrest.’ There was no reason he shouldn’t be at his mother’s funeral now, if Steve was locked up and Teddy was innocent. Kitty bit her lip. But Steve wasn’t locked up and Teddy was with Jack, not his father. What was going on?
Teddy Czinski stood on the other side of Jack, dressed in a dark brown suit and matching tie. He looked lost and disoriented. This was all very strange.
‘Maybe they let him go. After all,’ Fran replied, ‘you said they had Steve dead to rights for murdering Gretchen and trying to murder you next.’
Kitty nodded but was far from certain. ‘So I thought. Come on,’ she urged, even though the service had begun, ‘I’ve got to find out what’s going on.’
She pulled Fran in her wake around the edges of the mourners and angled her way toward where Jack and the lieutenant stood watching the proceedings.
‘Kitty!’
Kitty turned. Bill Barnhard was beckoning her. Reluctantly, Kitty headed over. She couldn’t afford to anger her new boss. ‘Hello, Mr Barnhard.’ She shot a glance at his son, Steve, who appeared to be eying the manila envelope greedily. ‘Such a sad day, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, of course.’ He added a hello to Fran. ‘Gretchen was a wonderful woman. She’ll be missed by all of us. Won’t she, Steve?’
His son nodded, Kitty thought rather reluctantly. Kitty caught Steve and Barbara exchanging a look. She was dying to ask what the heck Steve was doing there at Forest Lawn when, by all rights, he should have been locked up downtown, but hesitated to do so in front of his father. She was itching to speak to Jack about this.
Barbara Cartwright spoke up. She was dressed primly in a black dress and heels and wore a veiled black hat. ‘I’m going to pay my last respects.’ She leaned forward and kissed Bill Barnhard on the lips. ‘I’ll only be a moment.’
Kitty stifled a gasp. Ms Cartwright had just smacked Bill Barnhard on the lips in front of Steve? Her lover? What on earth was going on? She knew this was Hollyweird, but still.
She turned to Fran who merely shrugged it off, though she looked just as baffled. The person who should have reacted the strongest, Steve, hadn’t even blinked. As she stood there, with her maw gaping open as wide as a soundstage door, Bill Barnhard said, ‘This is not the time or the place, young lady. But there are some things going on with The Pampered Pet and your behavior toward my son that concern me.’
‘Yes, Mr Barnhard?’ Kitty’s eyes dropped to the grass. She felt like she’d been slapped in the face.
He shook his head. ‘We’ll talk about this later. At the studio. Meet me there. Eight sharp.’ He tapped his watch – a piece of jewelry that probably cost more than her Volvo when it was new.
Kitty quaked. Was she about to lose her job? It wasn’t her fault that Bill Barnhard’s son was a deranged killer. ‘Yes, sir. Um, you mean eight o’clock tomorrow morning?’
‘Tonight,’ he said sternly. ‘Please don’t be late.’
Was he going to fire her tonight? Tomorrow they were scheduled to begin filming the series in earnest. Was Barbara Cartwright about to fill her shoes?
Her head was swimming. Kitty promised she’d be there, mumbled some more condolences, made her excuses, then hurried over to where Jack, Teddy and the annoyingly statuesque Ms Nordstrom – no one should look that good at a funeral – were lingering.
Jack was smiling. ‘Good morning, Kitty.’ He glanced at the manila envelope in her hand. ‘What’s in the envelope?’
Kitty looked at the envelope and frowned. There was no point going into that now, especially in front of Nordstrom. Everything was blowing up in her face. ‘Recipes,’ she said curtly.
‘Recipes? You brought recipes to a funeral?’ He looked flummoxed. ‘Why the heck would you—’
‘Never mind.’ Kitty dragged him by the elbow until they were out of earshot of the others. ‘Don’t good morning me, Jack. What on earth is going on?’
Jack looked perplexed. ‘What are you talking about?’
Kitty’s face was nearly purple. ‘I’m talking about him,’ she said in a rough whisper.
‘Him who?’
Kitty aimed her gaze at Steve. ‘Him, that’s who.’ She spun and pointed her finger at Teddy. ‘And him.’
‘Oh,’ Jack let the word roll off his tongue slowly, like a cat lazily rolling out of bed. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘I see.’
His grin was driving her crazy. ‘So tell me so I can see, too!�
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Jack sighed and reached for Kitty’s hands but she pulled back and crossed them over her chest. He frowned but continued. ‘Look, Kitty. There’s no other way to tell you this, but Steve Barnhard’s not guilty of anything.’
‘What?’ Heads turned their way. Kitty lowered her voice. ‘He tried to kill me. Twice!’
Jack shook his head. ‘Somebody may have tried to kill you, but it wasn’t Steve Barnhard.’
‘I know it was him, Jack.’
‘He has an alibi.’
The look on Kitty’s face was pure skepticism. ‘What sort of alibi?’
‘A dozen witnesses.’ He shot a look at CuisineTV’s CEO. ‘Including Barbara Cartwright and Bill Barnhard.’
It was Kitty’s turn to shake her head. ‘That can’t be. That simply can’t be. He tried to run me over in the street.’
‘About that,’ Jack shifted uneasily. ‘He said to tell you he was sorry.’
‘Sorry?’ Kitty was nearly apoplectic.
‘Yeah, it seems the guy has a problem with his blood sugar. He explained that he’d had a couple cups of coffee at that needlepoint shop where you went to have words with him, but he hadn’t eaten a thing all morning. Then you came in and got him all worked up.’ Jack shrugged. ‘Between getting him all tense and him being all jittery to begin with, well,’ Jack averted his gaze, ‘he says it was all a mistake. An accident. He was all wired up. And he apologized.’
‘Apologized?’ Kitty whirled at Fran. ‘You were there, tell him. You saw it – he practically ran me down in the street.’
‘Well …’ Fran hemmed and hawed, avoided Kitty’s pleading eyes. ‘We had been pretty rough on the guy. I do remember he was reaching for a cookie when you got him sort of mad and he ran out the door.’
Kitty was stunned. ‘Fran! He tried to run me off the road. I’d have been a thick, wet smear in the street if you hadn’t shoved me out of his path.’
Fran hesitated before speaking, looking from Kitty to Jack and back again. ‘It is a pretty narrow alleyway. Steve might not have seen you coming out. And if he left in a hurry and was really upset—’
‘Fran!’
Fran wrung her hands. ‘I’m not saying you didn’t almost get run over, Kitty. I’m just saying it might have been an accident.’
Jack added, ‘He seemed genuinely sorry, Kitty.’
‘I’ll bet he did. Sorry he didn’t succeed in running me over.’
Jack stayed mum.
‘And what about the threatening note he left on my car?’
‘Not him.’
‘Oh, please,’ retorted Kitty. ‘Don’t tell me, he needed a cookie?’
‘Listen, Kitty. I know you don’t like to hear this, but his story checks out. We had the note analyzed by a handwriting expert.’
‘So?’
‘So the note was written by a leftie. Steve’s right-handed.’
Kitty balled her hands into fists. ‘He ran me off a mountain!’
Jack looked pained. ‘What can I say? At the time you were involved in your accident, Steve Barnhard was at the Beverly Hills Hotel with a dozen witnesses, including Barbara Cartwright and his father.’
‘Then he snuck out.’ She glared at Jack.
‘I don’t think so, Kitty. And we checked his vehicle. Not a mark on it. He takes care of that Porsche like it’s his baby, and it shows.’ Jack sounded jealous. Of course, his Wrangler was nothing but a pile of scrap now.
‘Then he had an accomplice. Probably his lover, Barbara Cartwright. What kind of SUV does she drive?’
‘Sorry, Kitty. I told you. She was there, too. And she doesn’t even have a car here in LA. Takes a rented limo everywhere she goes. That’s it parked over there.’ He pointed to the long line of limos down the hill.
Kitty fumed. This just wasn’t possible. ‘And it was no accident.’ She turned and glared at Steve a moment. Something about that guy was simply too slick.
‘Are you sure?’ Jack’s calm demeanor only angered her all the more. ‘It was late. Maybe it was merely a reckless driver, or a drunk driver or a stoned one.’
Jack shrugged. ‘LA’s a big city, it happens. Listen, we’ve alerted all the body shops, looking for whoever hit you,’ he said in an obvious attempt to mollify her. ‘But it’s a million to one shot that the vehicle will ever show up. There are a thousand places a person can go in this town alone and get work done on their car, no questions asked.’
This could not be happening. This really could not be happening. Before she lost all self-control, Kitty changed the subject; after all, this one was going nowhere. ‘What about him?’ She pointed at Gretchen and Chevy’s son, Teddy.
‘We’re still holding him,’ said Jack. ‘I told you, Steve is a dead end. Besides, Teddy confessed this morning.’
Kitty’s eyes grew wide. ‘He what?’
TWENTY-THREE
Jack nodded. ‘That’s right. He’s admitted that he killed his mother.’
‘For real?’ Jack nodded again. ‘And you believe him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I don’t.’
‘He confessed, Kitty. With his lawyer present. Means, motive and opportunity. Like we talked about before, Teddy works at the studio and his fingerprints are on his mother’s locket.’
‘But not on the murder weapon,’ Kitty pointed out.
Jack could only agree. ‘Let it go, Kitty. I told you the police would handle this. Look at everything that’s been happening to you ever since you decided to go poking around in Ms Corbett’s murder. I’ve been concerned for your safety.’
‘That’s my point, Jack. If Teddy is guilty and this case is all but closed, why would someone have been trying to run me off the road last night?’
‘We don’t know that’s what happened.’
‘I know,’ Kitty replied fiercely. She stomped off with Fran at her heels, even as Jack called after her. Unfortunately, she bumped right into Elin Nordstrom.
‘Everything all right, dear?’ asked the lieutenant. ‘You look rather ill.’
There were a million and one things that Kitty would have liked to say to Miss Elin Nordstrom right then but she held her tongue. ‘I guess it’s the funeral. I get funny around cemeteries.’
She studied Teddy, who stood placidly at Nordstrom’s side, hands folded in front of him. For the first time, she wondered where his father, Chevy Czinski was. She hadn’t noticed him in the crowd of mourners. She thought he’d be here. ‘How are you holding up, Teddy?’
He slowly turned his dark eyes toward Kitty. ‘I’m sorry.’ His voice was soft as a whisper.
‘Me, too,’ answered Kitty. ‘Is your father here?’
‘I saw him earlier. He came to see me this morning. He wanted to bring me to the service. But the police wouldn’t let him.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘Mr Barnhard came to see me, too, and David – he’s always been nice to me.’
Kitty’s ears perked up. ‘Steve Barnhard came to see you?’
Teddy shook his head. ‘Mister Barnhard.’
Kitty was confused for a moment. Then she noticed Teddy glancing at Bill Barnhard. ‘Bill Barnhard came to see you at the station?’
Nordstrom answered for him. ‘He’s quite a charming man, I must say. I was there when he arrived. He was quite solicitous. He asked that we do everything we can to make Thadeus comfortable.’
Had he now? thought Kitty. Had he now? Could she have been wrong? Could it be that Bill Barnhard was behind Gretchen’s death and the attacks on her? It made sense. He was head of the studio. He and Gretchen might have had a falling out. Maybe he was the mysterious lover whose letters Gretchen kept hidden in her dresser drawer. Could his middle name be Cameron perhaps?
Maybe money was the motive? Big gobs of it. Everybody kept saying what a lot of money was at stake in this crazy business. Maybe Bill Barnhard was unhappy that Gretchen owned a piece of Santa Monica Film Studios and a big piece of The Pampered Pet. But was he upset enough to have murdered her over
it?
She’d have to find out. She had an appointment with the CEO that night. Did she dare keep it? Did she dare refuse?
Did she dare ask him if he murdered Gretchen Corbett?
‘Everything all right between you and Jack?’ inquired Nordstrom, interrupting Kitty’s ruminations.
‘Why do you ask?’
Nordstrom was smiling like she’d just conquered America. ‘The two of you appeared to be arguing. I’m concerned.’
‘You needn’t be.’
Nordstrom mistook or ignored Kitty’s contemptuous tone. ‘Let me give you some advice. You must learn how to handle men, Kitty. You must be kind to them, show them respect. Take me and Jack, for instance. Why, we’re nearly inseparable all day under the most stressful circumstances imaginable, yet we get along quite,’ she hesitated, ‘swimmingly, I think you say in the States?’
Kitty felt like telling Nordstrom to go drown herself. ‘Thanks for the advice,’ she managed to spit out. ‘But Jack and I are fine. He’s asked me to marry him, did you know?’
Nordstrom looked down at her. ‘No, I did not know.’ Her eyes twinkled with what Kitty interpreted as malice. ‘So, when is the date?’
Kitty bit her tongue. She and Jack hadn’t set a date. Jack had proven slippery in that department. She’d bet that Nordstrom knew that and had been baiting her.
As Kitty struggled for a retort, Nordstrom spoke. ‘Funeral’s over.’ Workers had finished lowering the coffin into the ground. ‘Time to go, Thadeus.’ The lieutenant motioned for Teddy to accompany her. Teddy glanced over his shoulder, looking forlornly at his mother’s white coffin as he was being led away.
It was then that Kitty noticed Chevy off in the distance. He was dressed in a rumpled gray suit, white shirt and pink tie. It was the first time she’d seen him in anything but casualwear. Well, that and the loin skin he’d been squeezed into in those old movie posters she’d seen. He stopped over the earthen hole at the bottom of which Gretchen’s coffin now rested, said a few words, then veered off like a tired old lion toward the vehicle that Nordstrom had escorted Teddy to, probably to have a few parting words with his son.
