I thought Fred was probably going to have a bestseller, but he might never be allowed to buy insurance again.
When John stood up from his inspection, I asked, “Did the other car leave any traces of its paint when he hit me? Something that could identify it?”
“He transferred a couple of tiny paint chips. I’ll have a friend in SID process them to see if we can get a line on the vehicle.” John turned to my host. “Can we leave Della’s car here tonight? I’ll have someone come pick it up first thing in the morning.”
“It can stay here as long as you like. Nobody uses the other half of the carport.” With a playful smile, Fred told me, “I’m in the phonebook—in case you need a place to hide again.”
I thanked Fred Priestly for his help and added, “I look forward to reading your novel some day.”
He responded with a beaming smile. “I’ll be watching your next show.”
Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of John scowling.
14
As soon as I got into John’s car and fastened the seat belt, he demanded, “What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into?”
Ignoring his angry tone, I asked pleasantly, “Have you had dinner?”
“What’s that got to do with—?”
“You answer my question, and then I’ll answer yours,” I said. “Have you had dinner?”
“No.”
“I’ll feed you and then I’ll tell you everything, but right now you’re cranky, and I don’t want us to fight.”
I took his unintelligible grumble as agreement.
Tuffy met us at the door with his usual high level of excitement. Whether I’d been away for fifteen minutes or for seven hours, his enthusiasm was the same. After I petted Tuffy to his satisfaction, I led John and Tuffy into the kitchen.
“There’s a note on the table,” John said. “Eileen’s handwriting.”
I picked it up and read it. “She says she walked Tuffy at six, she’s gone to her study group and will be home late, so I shouldn’t worry.”
“You’ll worry anyway, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
For the first time since he’d arrived in Brentwood to pick me up, John O’Hara smiled. “I know.” He reached out and took my hand. “Thank you.”
In that tiny, unguarded moment, I felt a tremor when he touched me—a little tingle of attraction. Attraction? That was an emotion I hadn’t expected and didn’t want to feel. Pulling my hand away, I was afraid to look at him directly, but out of the corner of my eye I saw a sudden flush of embarrassment color his cheeks. Oh, Lord—he’d felt it, too.
Before I could think of anything to say, John cleared his throat and turned away from me. Like the unofficial member of the family he’d been ever since he and Mack started out as partners, John opened the refrigerator door. Surveying the contents a bit longer than was usual for him—and still not looking at me—finally he asked, “What have you got that’s ready? I don’t want you to fuss with cooking.”
“Cooking relaxes me. It’s how I release stress.” And it’s how I push away uncomfortable feelings. I did a quick mental inventory of my supplies. “I’ve got some leftover brisket that I can warm up,” I said. “How about the brisket, and I’ll make potato latkes?”
“Great. What can I do to help?”
I took two large potatoes and an onion out of the pantry and gave the potatoes to John. “Peel these while I grate the onion.”
I handed him the peeler and took the grater.
While John and I worked together side by side—I was careful not to let our shoulders touch—I told him about my visits to Mickey Jordan and to Faye Bond.
“Could somebody have followed you from Jordan’s to the Bond house?”
“I’ve been replaying that in my mind, and I don’t think so. I stopped at a florist’s shop after leaving Mickey’s, to take a plant to Faye. Then I went to Brentwood. With the turns I had to make from Sunset to get to Faye’s and Mimi’s house, I believe I would have noticed anyone following me.” I told him about my glimpse of Iva Jordan, looking down at me from a second floor window as I left, but that she hadn’t come downstairs while I was there.
“Mickey Jordan could have told Iva where you were going.”
“Iva’s and Mickey’s cars are painted such a bright yellow that I would have recognized them behind me.”
“What about other cars in their household? A maid’s?”
“They have a housekeeper and a maid, but the only live-in is the butler, Maurice.”
“What kind of a car does he have?”
“I don’t know. He probably has one, but I’ve never seen it.”
“I’ll find out. What the guy’s last name?”
“Maurice is his last name. It’s pronounced ‘Morris’ but it’s spelled M-a-u-r-i-c-e. English butlers are addressed by their last names. Don’t you watch Masterpiece Theatre?”
He frowned at my attempt at levity. “This isn’t funny, Del. Jordan or his wife could have borrowed his car to keep from being recognized.”
“That’s possible, I suppose, but I can’t picture Iva being so aggressive. She always struck me as fragile.”
John touched a spot on his side where I knew there was an old scar beneath his shirt; six-foot-four-inch John had been shot by a sweet-faced five-foot-one-inch grandmother. “I learned the hard way that most of the time it’s impossible to tell what a person is capable of doing just by looking at them,” he said.
I thought about that as I took the grated potatoes, combined them with the grated onion, an egg, some matzo meal, flour, salt, and pepper. He watched me as I formed the gooey mix into patties. I checked the vegetable oil in the skillet I would use for the latkes; it was just beginning to form tiny bubbles on the bottom. Perfect. I lowered the latke patties into the hot oil, then transferred the leftover brisket into a ceramic dish, covered it with plastic wrap, and put it into the microwave.
John moved the kitchen stool up next to the stove and perched on one hip. “Let’s examine the possibilities,” he said. “Mickey Jordan knew where you were going. He could have told his wife. That could have upset one or both of them enough to go after you.”
“Mickey didn’t seem concerned about my seeing Faye. The house is hard to find, but he gave me good directions. He did try to discourage me by saying he thought Faye wasn’t very stable, but all he had to base that on was her shaving her head when she was nine, and accusing me of murder last night. Incidentally, she doesn’t believe that anymore. She apologized to me.”
“For the sake of discussion, let’s say neither Jordan nor his wife went to Faye’s. That would mean it was someone who saw you enter or leave Mimi Bond’s house. Or it could have been somebody who lives there. Who lives there?”
“Only Faye, as far as I know. Lulu Owens said that Mimi hadn’t had a romantic interest for the past several months.”
As I quoted Lulu I realized that just because she said it, that didn’t necessarily make it true. Mimi’s love life was something to look into, but I would be very careful about it. I definitely was not going to be one of those “too stupid to live” women in movies—the kind who goes upstairs alone into a dark attic where everyone except that airhead knows the monster is hiding.
The brisket was warmed and the latkes were done. I filled our plates and John carried them to the table. After he pulled out my chair, he sat down himself.
“I don’t want you getting mixed up in the investigation, Del.”
“Detective Hall thinks I murdered Mimi Bond, so I’m already mixed up in it.”
“He’s looking at other people, too,” John said.
“Because he’s ‘looking at other people, too’? Is that supposed to make me feel better? I’m still a murder suspect.”
“Hall is a good investigator, but he doesn’t know you. I told him he’d solve the case faster if he eliminated you and concentrated his energies in other directions.”
“And what did he say to that?”
>
Instead of replying, he ate another latke.
“Come on, John. What did he say?”
“He’s concerned that I can’t be completely objective, because your husband and I were partners. But the thing here is that I’m right. You are innocent.”
“And innocent people are never arrested,” I said wryly.
John knew the answer to that as well as I did: Sometimes they were. Sometimes they were even convicted.
“Has Detective Hall confirmed or destroyed anybody’s alibi yet?” I asked.
“Nobody’s alibi is tamper-proof. Not even Jordan’s. Hall got proof that he really was in New York when Mimi Bond was killed, but he could have hired someone to do it.”
Doubtful, I shook my head. “It would have had to be someone with access to the backstage refrigerator, which removes the possibility that it was a professional hit person. Besides, if a contract killer did it, wouldn’t that person make her death look like a robbery, or an accident, or a mugging? Or even a drive-by shooting?”
“Probably.”
“I don’t believe it was an outsider. That’s bad for me, because, so far, I’m the only one Detective Hall can prove went to that fridge.”
“Hall is nowhere near an arrest yet,” John said. “Let’s talk about something else.” He complimented me on our impromptu meal. I think I told him I was glad he was enjoying it, but I don’t remember exactly what I said. After that exchange, we were quiet.
I didn’t know what John was thinking, but I was quiet because of the “elephant in the room” that I couldn’t mention. It materialized when John took my hand tonight and I felt that unexpected little shock of excitement.
When had a stirring of physical attraction to Mack’s and my old friend—our married old friend—crept into my neurons? Right then I promised myself I would avoid spending any more time with John O’Hara than was absolutely necessary.
John broke the silence. “SID is going to have your car tomorrow. I’ve got the next forty-eight hours off. Want me to drive you to your cooking school?”
“No, thanks,” I said quickly. “I’m going with Liddy. She’s taking the pumpkin carving class so she can make jack-o’-lanterns to decorate her husband’s dental office for Halloween.”
That “blank” expression was back on his face. “Okay, as long as you’re covered,” he said.
I followed him to the front door to double lock it behind him, and purposely remained back a couple of feet. When he said good night, it was with a small salute. He didn’t lean down to kiss me on the cheek, as he had so many times over the years.
The moment John left, I called Liddy and persuaded her to cancel her facial appointment tomorrow and instead come with me to learn to carve faces in pumpkins.
15
Liddy arrived at my house Saturday morning an hour before we needed to leave for the school. Even with her blonde hair tied up in ponytail and with no makeup, at forty-six she still looked like the former Miss Nebraska she had been.
She gave me a “hello” hug, then stepped back. Surveying me top to bottom and frowning with anxiety, she asked, “Are you okay?”
“Of course I am. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Big John called about five minutes after you did. He said a car chased you and that you ended up hiding in the garage of some weird character in Brentwood.”
“Why did John call you? Didn’t he believe me when I said you and I were going to class together?”
“Of course he believed you—even though, technically speaking, you fibbed to him because you didn’t talk me into coming to class until after you told him I was coming. It’s a good thing you got to me first so I knew what he was talking about—I mean, about the cooking class part. Everything else he told me was a surprise.” She stopped talking and shook her head. “That sounds pretty convoluted.”
“Life is convoluted,” I said. Never again will I whine to myself in the middle of the night about being stuck in a rut.
“And for the record,” I said, “Fred Priestly is not ‘weird.’ He’s a very nice retired man who watches food TV and is writing a novel.”
“That sounds interesting. Is he somebody you might like to spend time with? You haven’t had a date since…forever.”
“I’m not looking for someone to date. Life is complicated enough.”
“You’ve got a lot of years left to live,” Liddy said. “I’d hate to think that you were going to spend them alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have friends and my slightly nutty family, and work I love.”
“But you share your bed with a standard poodle,” Liddy said wryly. “I’m not going to nag you about finding a nice man, I’m just saying you should be open to the possibility.” She sniffed the air and headed for the kitchen. “Lecture over. I want a cup of coffee and whatever smells so good.”
The coffee was ready, and I’d baked a dozen banana nut muffins early that morning because I’d awakened at twenty minutes after five and couldn’t get back to sleep. As I was getting out of bed, Tuffy lifted his head, looked at me, closed his eyes, and lay down again. His preferred time to rise is seven AM.
I set two large coffee mugs on the kitchen table next to the sweeteners and a creamer full of half-and-half. As we sipped coffee and each ate a banana nut muffin, I filled Liddy in on the events of yesterday, beginning with Nicholas D’Martino—NDM—surprising me by coming to the house early, and ending with my being pursued through residential Brentwood until I took refuge in Fred Priestly’s carport.
Liddy listened without interrupting, but she was frowning with concern. When I finished the story, she said, “Now I understand why Big John was so worried about you that he had your house watched last night.”
“He did what?” I was so astonished I almost tipped over my coffee mug.
“Don’t get all huffy on me and act like Miss I-Can-Take-Care-Of-Myself,” Liddy chided. “When John told me what happened, I wanted to come right over and stay with you, but he said not to, that he’d make sure no one bothered you last night. John asked me not to tell you about it, but—oops, it just slipped out. Don’t tell him you know.”
“I won’t, but he’s inclined to be overprotective. I’m going to have to talk to him about that.”
Liddy started to reach for another muffin, but then pulled her hand back. “No, I better not.” Pushing the muffin plate away, she said, “It won’t do any good, trying to talk John out of acting like Sir Galahad. He told me last night that when he and Mack started out as cops they promised each other that if anything happened to one of them, the other would look after the widow. Like if John had died when that little old lady who looked like Betty Crocker shot him, Mack would have had to take care of Shannon.”
“The big difference is that Shannon is ill; she can’t protect herself. I can.”
Liddy poured herself another mug of coffee. “I like Shannon. When she’s on her medication she’s a sweet person, but that time she went off it, she scared the hell out of me. Remember how she flew into a rage and came at us with the fireplace poker?”
I shuddered at the memory. “But now she has a psychiatrist who monitors her medication levels, she goes to group therapy, and John has reliable nurses to stay with her when she needs it and he can’t be there. I visited her last week. She was excited for me about the show.” To get away from the subject of John and Shannon, I said, “Thank you for giving up your facial to help me today. You look great, by the way.”
She expelled an exaggerated sigh. “It takes a lot of work. I’m using the couple of days Bill’s away at that dental conference in Santa Barbara for some female maintenance. Last night I slathered my feet and hands with Vaseline and slept with socks and gloves on. Today I’m letting my face breathe. In twenty-one years of marriage, the only time Bill saw me without mascara was in the delivery room when I was having the twins. He doesn’t know that I’m going gray because I keep having my roots touched up. Thank God I’m a natural blonde because those ‘silver
hairs among the gold’ don’t show so quickly on us.”
“Bill would love you just as much if he saw you without makeup.”
“Easy for you to say. Mack didn’t care if you weren’t dolled up, but when he went to work, he saw dead bodies and other awful stuff. Bill works on the teeth of some of the most gorgeous women in Hollywood. Tonight, I’ll mix up an avocado and olive oil mask and keep it on while I watch TV. Want to come join me? I’ve got lots of avocadoes.”
“No, thanks. I have to pay some bills and start making notes for the next TV show.”
Liddy finished her coffee and took her mug over to the sink to wash it. “Let’s get back to what’s important. I’ve been thinking that if the person who followed you last night just happened to see you at the Bond house, then it must have caused him some alarm, and I can only think of one reason for that.”
“He’s afraid I might find out something that will expose him, so he tried to scare me off.” I hoped he was only trying to scare me, but he’d already killed once.
Liddy dried her hands and came back to the table. “Sweetie, you’ve got to be careful until the murderer is caught. Today I’m going to be the eyes and ears in the back of your head.”
I gave her fingers a little squeeze of appreciation.
Ten minutes later, as we were loading the dozen large pumpkins and six smaller ones that would be carved in class into the back of Liddy’s SUV, she caught me by surprise. “So tell me what’s going on with you and John. Why didn’t you want him to take you to class today?”
My first thought was to keep what happened in the kitchen to myself, but the need to confide in my best friend was overwhelming. Holding a pumpkin against my chest like a shield, I leaned against the side of her SUV and told her about my rush of feeling when John took my hand—and about the elephant in the room.
Killer Mousse Page 10
