by Marie Celine
He was told to wait and wait he did for the better part of an hour before a comely nurse led him to a spacious office on the second floor where a bespectacled Ben Franklin looking man in a white jacket asked him to sit.
The man leaned forward. “Colin Bernhart.” He held out his hand and the detective shook it before settling into a proffered chair. “I was told you wanted to ask me about a former patient of Hollywood Hills?”
“Yes, doctor. Ken Kresge.” Young pulled out a small notepad and pen. “Did you know him? Did you treat him?”
Dr. Bernhart folded his hands. “You know, detective, I really don’t have to tell you anything. Patient confidentiality and all. But,” he let the word hang there in the air a moment, like a threatening rain cloud, “I don’t see what harm it could do. Mr. Kresge is deceased. I suppose his wife probably is by this time as well.”
Det. Young stiffened. “Wife?”
“That’s right. Mr. Kresge had been married.”
“She came to visit him regularly?”
Dr. Bernhart shook his head. “Never. The way I understand it, they’d been estranged for years. Still, she must have cared for him.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You see, the state paid for most all of Mr. Kresge’s care here. But his wife used to send small sums of money from time to time. Small gifts also.”
“I see. Do you have an address for this Mrs. Kresge, doctor?”
Dr. Bernhart pursed his lips. “I suppose we must have it on file here somewhere. I’ll ask my assistant to run it down for you, if you like. I can’t imagine what your interest in Mr. Kresge is. . .”
Jack smiled. “Just tying up some loose ends, doctor.”
“I know that Mr. Kresge was involved in quite a sensational case many years ago. It’s when he lost his mind. We never were able to do much for him over the years. He spoke little and interacted with no one.”
Dr. Bernhart asked, “This couldn’t possibly be connected with the old Churchill case, could it, detective? After all, that case is ancient history by now.”
“How could it?” Jack replied. “Like you said, it’s all ancient history. You don’t believe in ghosts coming back and committing murders, do you, doctor?”
Dr. Bernhart’s eyes twinkled. “I most certainly do not.” He pressed the intercom on his desk. “Miss Banbury, would you please look up an address for Det. Young? That’s right, a Mrs. Humphries.”
Jack dropped his pen. “Did you say Humphries?”
“Yes. She’d been Kresge originally, of course,” explained Bernhart, “but reverted to her maiden name after the incident.”
“Thanks, doc!” Jack leapt from his chair and bolted out the door.
31
“I think I’ll call Aunt Gloria. She was trying to reach me earlier—said she had some information.”
“Sure,” hollered Velma, making noises in the kitchen.
Kitty unclasped her purse and fished around for her phone. “Oh, look.”
“What?” Velma’s head appeared in the open doorway.
Kitty held a small black leather book in her fingers. “It’s Rich Evan’s phone book. I forgot I had this.” She shook it.
Velma’s eyes narrowed. “Where’d you get it?”
“I found it in Mr. Evan’s bedroom.” Kitty explained how she’d come upon it when she’d been snooping around at her employer’s house.
“You always were a nosy one.” Velma grabbed the little book, fell back onto her cushions and flipped through the pages. “Hmmm, interesting.”
“What?”
“Ooops!” The book fell into Velma’s soup bowl. “Darn!” Hot soup splashed all over Velma’s uniform and soaked into the cushions.
“Quick, pull it out before it’s ruined!” Kitty exclaimed.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure I can save it. It’ll be stained, but readable.” Velma pulled herself up. “I’d better take this mess to the sink.” Velma carefully carried the soup and address book off to the kitchen. “I’ll clean this up and be right back.”
“Can I help?”
“Nah, it’s no big deal. Relax. I’ll take care of this.”
Kitty nodded. While Velma was busy cleaning up the mess, she’d call Aunt Gloria. “Hello, Aunt Gloria, it’s me, Kitty.”
“Kitty, I have so much to tell you.”
“Me, too. For starters, the police have arrested Tracy Taylor Evan for the murder of Rich Evan. She’s one of his ex-wives.”
“Oh, dear,” said Aunt Gloria. “That doesn’t make sense. That doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“I found out about this Barbados nut. It’s also known as kukui haole. There are only a few places where it grows from what I gather. The nearest one to California is Hawaii. Was Tracy in Hawaii recently?”
“Kukui haole? Hawaii? I have no idea. She might have been. I’m sure the police will check it out.” Hawaii? Why did that sound familiar to her?
“And that house!” cried Aunt Gloria, excitedly. “Kitty, you’ll never believe what I found out!”
Jack looked at the clock on the dash and cursed. It was five minutes fast and no matter how he computed it, time was running out. One hand on the wheel, the other gripping his phone, he tried for the hundredth time to reach Kitty on her cellphone.
He cursed. Busy again!
“The Wright house does have the most intriguing history, just as you described, Kitty.” Aunt Gloria was talking animatedly. “So many odd occurrences and murders.”
“Don’t tell me you want to blame Rich Evan’s death on evil spirits, too, Aunt Gloria?”
Aunt Gloria said no. “Kitty, do you remember you told me about a Bruce Churchill?”
“Sure, he blew his brains out.”
“That’s right. And his lover was a man and he went crazy and spent the rest of his life in an insane asylum.”
“I know all that,” said Kitty, somewhat disappointed that Aunt Gloria hadn’t been more helpful.
“But, Kitty,” said Aunt Gloria sotto voce, “did you know that Churchill’s lover was your bestfriend’s grandfather?”
Kitty’s heart screeched to a halt. “What?” Her head was shaking. “Churchill’s lover was Velma’s grandfather? That’s impossible. The man that had been living with Churchill at the Wright house was named Kresge. And Velma only has one set of grandparents. Her father was an orphan. She told me so.”
Aunt Gloria interrupted her. “Yes, I’ve researched all that. But Velma’s grandmother is actually Humphries-Kresge.”
“But—”
“Her maiden name was Humphries. I guess she went back to it after her husband left for California.”
“But that would mean—”
“It means,” warned Aunt Gloria, “that you’d better be very careful.”
Hawaii? Velma had recently been to Hawaii. Velma said she wheedled the trip out of her grandmother when she graduated from the culinary institute. And if Velma had been in Hawaii—
Kitty heard the sound of somebody clearing their throat and turned with a start. Velma stood framed in the kitchen doorway. There was a long and mean looking butcher’s knife in her fist.
Velma was smiling madly. “Hang up the phone, Kitty.”
Kitty bit her lip and dropped the telephone. “Wha-what are you doing, Velma? What’s going on?”
Velma took a step towards Kitty. “You can come out now!”
Kitty turned as the bedroom door creaked open. “Gil,” she gulped, “Major?”
Velma waved the big knife through the air. Velma was a trained chef. She was good with a knife. Kitty vowed to keep her distance.
Gil, however, had no such qualms, and he wrapped his arms around Velma and planted a big kiss on her cheek.
Velma said, “Katherine Karlyle meet Gil Evan.”
Kitty blanched. “Evan? You mean, you’re related to Rich Evan?” What on earth was going on here? And whatever it was, how was she ever going to get out of it alive? Had Aunt
Gloria heard anything suspicious before Kitty had been forced to hang up the telephone? And would it do any good if she had?
Kitty groaned. If only she had told her aunt where she was calling from!
Gil grinned ear to ear. He bowed. “Rich Evan’s long lost brother.”
Kitty’s mouth was dry. “Brother?”
“That’s right,” explained Velma. “You see, Rich and Gil are orphans, just like my dad was. That’s what got this all started. I was looking up stuff about my dad, trying to find his family.” She twirled the knife around her ear. “That’s what got the wheels turning. I discovered that Rich Evan had an older brother. Gil is two years Rich’s senior. Their parents were killed in an automobile accident. The boys were separated and went to live with foster parents.”
Kitty nodded. She knew that Rich had been raised by foster parents. But, a brother!
“The Wright house is mine, you know.”
“Yours?”
Velma’s eyes darkened. “Bruce Churchill promised that house to Gramps. Poor Gramps. Left Michigan one day on a whim and never went back. Probably because he figured out he was gay. Of course, that was considered quite an embarrassment at the time.”
“So he disappeared and your grandmother changed her name.”
“That’s right. But the Randalls were already in California and they had a soft spot for my grandmother and my grandfather, too. They gave him a job helping out, doing menial labor. That’s when he met Bruce Churchill, a lawyer who was doing a bit of legal work for the Randalls.”
“I am so sorry, Velma.” Just keep her talking, thought Kitty. Show her some sympathy. Keep breathing. . .
“Just because Gramps went nuts is no reason to renege on a promise. But no,” wailed Velma, “Churchill’s family, they had good lawyers. Saw to it that Gramps was locked up and kept the house for themselves.”
She grinned madly. “But I’m getting it back now. I’m the rightful owner. And I found Gil.”
“I was working as a laborer back in England. Velma contacted me and made me an offer which, as you Americans say, I couldn’t resist.”
“I got Granny to recommend him for a job with the Randalls, since she’s all buddy-buddy with them. After that, I set the wheels in motion.”
“You killed Rich Evan?”
“Yeah. Didn’t mean to, not right away, at least. I wasn’t too sure about the kukui haole. The idea was to kill the dog first and test out the dosage. But,” she said rather proudly, “the script changed when that fathead ate the food and died.”
“Saved us some time and trouble,” added Gil.
“You bet,” said Velma.
“How did you get the poison in Benny’s food? It was with me all the time until I went to Mr. Evan’s house.” Kitty decided the best strategy was to keep asking questions and pray that Gil and Velma would keep answering them. The longer the game was played, the longer she stayed alive.
“Rich liked to hang out at The Disco Den. I was waiting for him.”
Kitty’s eyes widened. “You slept with him the night he died?” She glanced at Gil. Didn’t the man mind that Velma had slept with his brother?
Things were getting clearer now. The address book. “You dropped the address book in your soup on purpose. You were afraid I’d find your name and address inside.”
Velma clapped. “That’s right. What are you looking so surprised about? You don’t think a guy like Rich could go for a fat slob like me, is that it?”
“No,” cried Kitty, “that’s not it at all. I don’t think you’re any of those things!”
“Sure, Little Miss Perfect. Perfect parents, perfect life. Some of us haven’t had it so easy.”
Kitty was shaking her head. “It’s not true. . .”
“Well, he liked me just fine. We partied at my place. The man was a walking drug store. I’m half-surprised he didn’t kill himself driving home.”
“I still don’t see how Benny’s food got tainted.”
“I walked up to Rich’s house from the beach. There’s a public access along Pacific Coast Highway. The rich farts hate it, but it’s there if you know where to look. I figured the way we’d been partying that Rich would be out of it and that I’d only have to wait for that housekeeper of his to be out of the way. Then his ex-wife comes by and snatches the dog.”
Velma’s hands tightened around the handle of the knife. “I could have killed her.”
That explained the sunburn Velma had the day poor Mr. Evan had died. Velma had blamed it on gardening without sunscreen or a hat, instead she’d been marching up the beach on her way to a murder.
Kitty wondered if she could make it to the front door before Velma caught her.
“But then I saw you coming with Benny’s precious lunch and I decided to go through with the plan. I mean, I didn’t know Tracy was thinking of stealing the damn dog, I only thought she was taking it for a ride somewhere.”
“And then Rich ate the food and I got the blame.”
Gil and Velma laughed together. “Yeah, that was a hoot,” Velma said.
“You killed Mrs. Randall, too, didn’t you? Why? What did she do to you?”
“Oh,” said Velma, “that was your fault, Kitty.”
“My fault?” Velma was mad. Mad like her grandfather had been. Was it hereditary?
“Don’t you remember? It was all that spiritualist stuff. If you hadn’t gone poking around, sticking your nose into things that were none of your business.” Velma jabbed the knife in Kitty’s direction and Kitty jumped.
“You got Mrs. Randall thinking about Bruce Churchill and Gramps. What if she put two and two together? What if she had figured out that I was involved in all this?
“I had to kill her. I would have killed her husband, too, if he’d been home. Just my luck the man was out of town.”
Kitty felt chilled to the bone and still she was sweating. Where was all this anger and bitterness that Velma held coming from?
Velma handed Gil the knife. Kitty stole a look at the front door. “Don’t even think about it,” Gil said cruelly.
“What’s going to happen now?” Kitty asked. “What are you going to do to me?”
“What’s going to happen now,” Velma called from the kitchen, “is that in a month or so Gil Evan, Rich’s long lost brother, will be found. And he’ll inherit everything. Did I tell you we’re getting married?”
Kitty didn’t answer.
Velma reappeared. Her hands held a bowl. She smiled. “Have some soup.”
32
“I-I’m really not hungry.” Kitty backed towards the wall.
Velma followed her. “Come on, Kitty, try it. It’s my own recipe. I think you’ll like it.” She held the steaming bowl aloft, grinning evilly.
