Pie A La Murder

by Melinda Wells

  “Her folks died in a car accident couple years ago. She only has a sister, Jolene, up in Wisconsin. Married, with a little kid. I guess somebody should call her. . . .”

  “Let one of the detectives do it,” Nicholas said. “They’ll want to question her to find out when she last talked to Gretchen, and if she knows what Gretchen was doing the past few days.”

  “Officer Downey, I have a suggestion,” I said. “Right now, before they find out on their own, go to Detective Keller, and to John O’Hara. Tell them that you and Gretchen were living together, but don’t tell them you gave her a copy of the phone dumps.”

  “Thanks. I really appreciate—”

  “This isn’t a charitable contribution,” I said. “It’s a deal.”

  “What do you want?”

  “To keep the phone list,” Nicholas said.

  Downey considered his options, then shook Nicholas’s hand. Next, he shook mine. “Okay,” he said.

  I put the silver frame with their photo on the top of the dresser.

  Nicholas slipped the pages of numbers back into the manila envelope.

  We told Downey that we were very sorry about Gretchen, and left the apartment.

  Outside, Nicholas walked me to my Jeep and took me in his arms. “Those poor kids—Downey and Gretchen.”

  Our arms tightened around each other as we stood in the darkness.

  “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” Nicholas whispered.

  “We have some things to talk about,” I said, stepping back. “But first we need to get you out of this mess. Maybe those phone numbers will help.”

  “I’ll take them home and fax copies to you.”

  “No. John and Weaver are going to bring you in for questioning again. If they get a warrant to search your house, they mustn’t find these. Let me have them.”

  “Good thinking.” He handed the envelope to me. “Today’s Wednesday. You’re not working, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Get some sleep. I’ll call you as soon as I know when I can go over those numbers with you.” He leaned forward; we kissed, and said good night.

  I locked myself in and watched Nicholas hurry across the street to his car. It was only when I inserted the key in the ignition that I saw I was still wearing my burglar gloves. Stripping them off, I was about to throw them into the little receptacle I kept beneath the dashboard for trash when I changed my mind. I folded them neatly and put them in the glove compartment under the flashlight.

  Were they going to be a memento? Or a memory? I didn’t know.

  37

  After a few hours’ sleep, I woke at seven and was just coming out of the shower when Liddy called.

  “Sorry to phone so early,” she said, “but I’m working on a set today and have to leave soon. What happened at the police station last night?”

  I told her about my conversation with Detective Keller.

  “Yikes. He sounds like a real charmer,” Liddy said. “Do they have any idea who killed her—Gretchen Tully?”

  “Not yet. No exact time of death, either, but it looks like she was killed somewhere else and dumped behind the hotel after dark.”

  “Oh, that poor girl.”

  I told Liddy about meeting Nicholas at Gretchen’s apartment, and discovering that she was living with one of the two uniform officers who were at Alec Redding’s house the night of his murder. I didn’t tell her about Officer Downey stealing a copy of the phone lists for Gretchen, and that they were now in my possession. I couldn’t tell Shannon or Eileen, either, because it wouldn’t be fair to ask them to keep such a secret from John.

  “You thought there was a leak at the department,” Liddy said. “Now we know it was Gretchen Tully’s cop boyfriend who tipped her off about Nick being under suspicion.”

  If I hadn’t encouraged her to investigate Redding’s murder . . .

  I gave myself a mental shake. It was useless to speculate on what might have happened. “That’s the quickest way to drive yourself crazy,” I said.

  “What is?”

  I didn’t realize I’d spoken aloud. “What I meant was that we can’t go back and change the past.”

  “Good thing, too—we’d probably screw up the future,” Liddy said. “I’ve got to leave in a minute, but did Gretchen have family here?”

  “All I know is that there’s a sister in Wisconsin, but Nicholas said the paper is doing a feature article on her life and career. There should be a lot of information in it.”

  “I’d like to send a donation in her name to a charity. Maybe her obituary will mention some cause she was interested in.”

  “When we find out, I’ll send a contribution, too.” Guilt money, I thought ruefully.

  “Well, I’m off to be the ‘Woman Who Gets out of Cab’ just before Leonardo DiCaprio gets into it. They told me to wear a flared skirt because they’ve got a wind machine and want to show some leg. Thank God panty hose hides cellulite!”

  “Panty hose—one of the Western world’s great inventions,” I joked.

  “You’re not kidding, Del. Remember how people were stuffing them with human hair to help clean up the oil spill in the Gulf? And last weekend, I saw a woman wearing them with her tennis outfit.”

  “I can beat that. Once when I was out of cheesecloth, I cut the leg off a pair to squeeze the liquid out of some ricotta when I was making a cheesecake.”

  We laughed, I wished Liddy good luck on her shoot, and we said good-bye.

  Tuffy and I were coming back from our long morning walk just as Nicholas drove up. He got out of his car carrying a bulging plastic grocery bag.

  Indicating the bag, I said, “Those are just about outlawed. I’ll give you a cloth reusable.”

  “ ‘It’s not easy being green,’ ” he said.

  “That’s cute, Kermit. Thank you for not singing it.”

  “I’ve got to meet Olivia at Butler Avenue at ten, but first I brought something to make our investigating a little easier.”

  “What is it?”

  “Not out here. Come on inside and I’ll show you.”

  I unlocked the front door and unhooked Tuffy’s leash. Nicholas followed us down the hallway and into the kitchen. I offered coffee, but he declined.

  “Where’s that list of phone numbers?” he asked.

  “Hidden.” I opened the door of the freezer and from the bottom shelf removed a roll of what looked like premade biscuit dough wrapped in aluminum foil. Stripping off the foil covering, I unrolled the manila envelope and smoothed it out flat on the table.

  Nicholas gave me an admiring smile and said, “Pretty clever.” Opening his plastic grocery bag, he took out a thick book. “Here’s what I’m bringing to the party.”

  I felt my eyes widening in surprise. “A reverse phone directory? I thought only the police and the phone company had those. Where did you get it?”

  “Can’t reveal my source,” he said. “Even to my partner in crime, who’s also the woman I love.” He tipped my chin up to examine my face. “You’re looking better. How does your mouth feel?”

  “The cut’s healed.”

  “Good.” He drew me into an embrace and gave me a gentle kiss. I put my arms around him and responded with enthusiasm.

  When we came up for air, Nicholas said, “I want you so much it’s a physical ache.” He stepped back, but took my hand and held it. “Before we get to finding out who the Reddings have been calling, there’s something I need to say.”

  “You have another child I don’t know about?” I kept my voice light.

  “No. Seriously. A couple of minutes ago I called you my partner in crime, but I admit lately I haven’t been the real partner you deserve. It’s created a wedge between us; I saw that when I came back from Vienna. I couldn’t let you know where I was because I didn’t want to put you in a more difficult position than I have already. But being away from you—not being able to talk to you—made me realize how you must have felt on the other end of my silence. Wha
t I want to say is that I’m sorry I cut you out for a while. I hope you haven’t given up on me because I promise not to do it again.”

  “You’re right about the wedge,” I said. “I won’t settle for a fair weather relationship. Whatever problems are thrown at us, if we can’t be truly together in dealing with them—and that’s not a matter of geography—then we’re not my idea of a couple.”

  “I won’t let Celeste come between us,” he said.

  “Oh, Nicholas, please. I’m not in competition with your daughter. I told you I’m very happy she contacted you so you can build a relationship with her, and I meant it. But right now we have to concentrate on getting you both out from under suspicion of murder.”

  “This is the first time in my life, and I’m including my marriage to Tanis, when I’ve felt like half of something complete. I’ve been a bit of a slow learner.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. I think you’ve learned pretty fast.” I stretched up and gave him a quick kiss. “Now let’s get to work.”

  He sat at the table and removed the pages of numbers from the envelope while I got one of my white legal pads from the desk next to the computer. I tore off a few sheets for him to use, and took the chair opposite.

  Nicholas was skimming through the pages. “The cops got the phone records from the day Redding was killed going back for three months,” he said.

  “They had two landlines and three cell phones,” I said. “Let’s separate the pages into the calls from each number.”

  The landlines and two of the cells had several pages of numbers each. One cell had only two pages. Suspecting that was the mystery phone, I picked them up.

  “I’ll start with this phone,” I said. Nicholas nodded and began studying one of the other piles.

  There was a list of twenty-two calls on my pages. Twelve of them were to the same number. Six were to another number. Those eighteen were all to numbers in the 310 area code, which meant the Los Angeles area encompassing Beverly Hills, Westwood, Brentwood, Bel Air, Santa Monica, and Malibu. The final four were all to one number in the 949 area code, a location considerably south of Los Angeles, in the vicinity of San Clemente or Del Mar, in Orange County. I knew that because one of my cooking students lived in Del Mar and had a 949 number.

  On my pad, I made note of the three numbers and reached for the reverse directory to find out to whom the majority of those calls had been made.

  I felt a lurch inside my chest when I saw that the greatest number of calls had been placed to Galen Light.

  “This must be Roxanne’s cell,” I said. “She called Galen Light twelve times. The last call was the day before her husband was murdered.”

  “Who else did she call?”

  “I’m looking . . .” I turned pages in the reverse directory until I found a name to go with the 310 number that was called six times. “It’s a doctor,” I said. “Sanford Udall, MD.”

  Nicholas’s eyebrows rose. “Sanford Udall?”

  “Yes.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t think that phone belongs to Roxanne,” he said.

  “Why? And what’s so funny?”

  “You don’t recognize the name? Sanford Udall. He’s fat, bald, in his sixties, glasses with big black frames. He wears a white jacket when he does commercials on cable TV about his specialty.”

  “I’ve never seen one,” I said. “What’s his specialty?”

  “Erectile dysfunction.” Nicholas handed his cell phone to me. “Look at the keypad and see what his phone number spells out in letters.”

  I looked. It took a minute of mental juggling, but then I saw . . . “Oh, no. I don’t believe it.” When translated from numerals into letters Doctor Udall’s phone number spelled out “Har-dnow.”

  Nicholas grinned. “I can tell from your face that you got it: ‘Hard Now.’ He announces that in his commercials. It’s the mnemonic he uses so prospective patients can’t forget his number.”

  “I’m surprised the phone company, or is it the FCC, allows him to say that.”

  “It was a fight, several years ago,” Nicholas said. “I remember the case. The ruling was that those two words are not obscene—only suggestive. Anyway, I doubt that Roxanne Redding was a patient of his.”

  “But if this is Alec’s phone, why did he call Galen Light so often?”

  “It’s something we need to find out about.” Nicholas indicated the pages in my hand. “Who was the third person called on that line—the 949 number?”

  I flipped through pages until I came to the right one. Running my finger down the list of numbers I found what I was looking for. “This is interesting. The number belongs to a house in San Clemente, owned by April Zane. The actress.”

  “She could be just a photographic client. What’s his business number?”

  I told Nicholas, and he scanned the four other piles until he found the calls for that number. “Here it is. He called her on the business line twice three months ago, then once the month after that. . . . Then nothing.”

  “That’s when he started calling her on the cell.”

  “When I get back to the office I’ll go through the paper’s archives and see what I can find out about her. Maybe something will indicate if they were having an affair.”

  “If so, she could be another suspect,” I said. “He cut off the affair and she killed him. Or Roxanne found out about the affair and she killed him. Or Galen Light had some kind of a twelve-call relationship with Redding, and he killed him. Or Prince Freddie killed him in an attempt to prevent the picture of Celeste from going public and ruining his chances to marry money. Or Tanis and Freddie killed him together.”

  Nicholas shook his head. “No. Tanis didn’t kill him. Absolutely not. I might consider that if the photo of Celeste was missing, but it’s still in the Redding house. Tanis wouldn’t do anything so extreme unless she got what she wanted. Freddie might be a bungler, but she most definitely is not.”

  We spend the next hour checking phone numbers against the reverse directory and writing down the names of people called on all five of the lines. At nine o’clock, Nicholas put down his pen, folded the sheets of paper on which he’d been making notes, and tucked them into his jacket pocket.

  “I’ve got to put this book back before it’s missed,” he said. “Then I’m meeting Olivia at the police station. Call you later?”

  I nodded.

  We kissed good-bye at the front door. I was on my way back to the kitchen when the phone rang. When I picked up the extension in the living room and said, “Hello,” I heard Olivia Wayne’s voice.

  “I’ve been going head-to-head with Galen Light’s lawyer, Wylie York. He’s been demanding fifty thousand dollars to drop the charges against you,” she said.

  I felt my face flush with anger.

  38

  “Fifty thousand dollars! Light assaulted me. All I did was defend myself. That’s outrageous.”

  “You were an English teacher,” she said. “You should listen to the tense of my verbs. I said he ‘has been’ demanding that. Pending your agreement, I’ve reached a settlement with the slimy little toad.”

  “What settlement are we talking about?” My voice had a distinct edge to it.

  “Retract your claws, Della. Okay, I shouldn’t have told you what he wanted before I told you what he’s getting, which is nothing. Nada. He drops the charges against you and you drop the charges against Light.”

  “That’s better than my having to pay him anything, but it means that Light gets away without being punished for assaulting me.”

  “Not really. You gave him a broken nose that’s going to require plastic surgery to make him look good again. I’d like to have had a big red ‘R’ branded on his chest, but we’re too civilized to do that.”

  Now that I’d had a moment to process the information about the resolution of the case, I asked, “How did you make York back off?”

  I heard a self-satisfied little chuckle on her end of the line. “Wile E. Coyote had a vuln
erable underside that I exploited,” she said. “I heard a rumor that he’s a rooster with a taste for underage chicks, so I maneuvered him into a situation with one of my PI agency’s operatives who’s twenty-four but looks fourteen. All we let him do was touch her, but we got pictures. Even if he finds out her real age someday, flashing those shots was enough to scare the fight out of him. From the guilty way he reacted, I know that if I wanted to spend the time and money, I could come up with the real thing in his past.”

  “What a disgusting creep.”

  “And it’s a lucky thing for us that he is. Della, I’ve defended a lot of people I wouldn’t have dinner with, but I’ve always drawn the line at rapists and child molesters. It helps me sleep at night to think that the ones to whom the law doesn’t dole out what they deserve to get, pay for it some other way. If a doctor ever tells me I have a terminal illness, I might decide to become a vigilante, like Charles Bronson in Death Wish.”

  “I’m in favor of evil being punished, but I don’t want it to be because a doctor told you to put your affairs in order.”

  “Much to my surprise, I like you, too,” she said.

  “You’re surprised?”

  “Months ago, when Nick brought me over to meet you, my first impression was that you were a kind of Stepford Wife—or Stepford Widow. Too damn nice to be real. But I’ve learned you can be almost as much of a badass as I am. You just conceal it better.”

  “Sisters under the skin?”

  “Just don’t expect me to be all girly and go shopping with you.”

  “I hate to shop,” I said.

  “Before we get sloppy, I’ve got to meet Nick at the cop house. Try to stay out of legal trouble for a while.” She disconnected.

  I went back to the kitchen and the pages of telephone numbers and names that matched the numbers.

  So much information, but what did it mean?

  I told Tuffy, “I’ve got to see if there’s some kind of a pattern to the calls.”

  He looked at me as though he understood, and sauntered to his dog bed to settle in and leave me to it.