Lights, Camera, Murder!: A TV Pet Chef Mystery set in L.A. (Kitty Karlyle Pet Chef Mysteries)

by Marie Celine

  ‘And if we hurry, we might just catch him in the act.’ Fran stood. ‘Come on, pay the bill. We’ve got to boogie.’

  ‘Catch him in the act of what?’ Kitty asked, reaching into her purse and pulling out enough cash to cover the meal and still leave a decent tip for their server. She threw the bills on the table and weighted them down with a saucer so they wouldn’t blow away. Fran was already at the sidewalk and moving fast. ‘Wait for me!’

  NINETEEN

  Fran guided Kitty to a small street off of Melrose Boulevard in the heart of Los Angeles’ Melrose District, not too far from Kitty’s own apartment. The Melrose District is a funky neighborhood, noted for its alternative shops and restaurants. Kitty thought it a great place to live, though the narrow street Fran led her down was unfamiliar territory. There was a pleasant bohemian atmosphere and, with the weather near perfect by LA standards, it bustled with activity.

  Fran glanced at the time. ‘Come on,’ she implored, ‘if we hurry, we can still catch him.’

  She bustled across the street, looking a bit wobbly. Probably the result of those two mimosas now stewing inside her under the hot LA sun. Kitty did her best to keep up. Though, what they were going to catch Steve doing – and plenty of lurid images came to mind – she truly had no idea at all.

  But of all the tawdry, dishonest and wicked things that she’d pictured him doing, she never would have imagined seeing Steve Barnhard doing what she was about to be accosted with the sight of.

  Fran paced up the sidewalk, looking right and left. Finally, she slowed and crept up to a quaint little storefront with a yellow and pink canvas awning. The sign on the awning read Come To The Point. Fran peeked through the tinted window, then turned to Kitty and whispered. ‘Take a look.’

  Kitty, rather dubiously, pressed her nose to the glass. It took a moment for her eyes to take in the interior. There were several long wooden tables spread out evenly in the middle, with padded folding chairs scattered along the lengths of them. Along the edges of the interior, shelves of goods ran from floor to ceiling. The shelves were filled with an assortment of threads, needles and various kits in paper and plastic packaging.

  There, in the middle of the room, amongst a group of wizened old women, sat Steve. In tattered jeans, a loose blue T-shirt and a yellow bandana wrapped around his forehead. He held a long needle in his hand and was peering intently at whatever it was he was creating.

  Kitty pulled away from the window. ‘Needlepoint?’ She was flabbergasted. Here she’d been expecting to see him torturing kittens, stealing food from the homeless, or tying a damsel to a railroad track – anything but this.

  Fran nodded and pulled Kitty around the side of the stucco building and into the rutted gravel alleyway. ‘Go figure, right? Smarmy Steve Barnhard sitting around doing needlepoint with a gaggle of grandmothers.’

  Kitty couldn’t help but giggle. It was rather funny. She forced herself to stop. After all, there was a good chance that Steve, embroiderer or not, was a cold-blooded killer. ‘Follow my lead.’ Kitty broke away from Fran and marched up the steps to the front door of the shop. She took a breath, motioned for Fran to keep up, and then stepped inside.

  Careful to keep her back to Steve, she watched him out of the corner of her eye while pretending to examine various needlepoint kits held in cubbies along the wall. Actually, the one she was holding in her hand right now, featuring three playful gray kittens and a ball of lavender yarn, was rather adorable. Maybe she should take up needlepoint herself?

  Holding on to the needlepoint kit, she eased her way nearer to Steve’s table. Fran clung close to her side, rubbing elbows and shuffling her feet nervously. When Kitty was directly behind Steve, she took a calculated step backward, giving Steve’s chair a solid jolt. ‘Oh, excuse me!’ she exclaimed, spinning around.

  Steve spun too. ‘That’s all right, no harm—’ His eyes froze over. ‘You!’ He glanced at Fran. ‘And you,’ he said with what seemed an extra dash of contempt. With a flurry, his hands drew his needlepoint in closer to his narrow chest, like a mother bird protecting her young.

  Maybe he hadn’t wanted Kitty and Fran to see what he was sewing. But it was too late for that. She caught a quick glimpse of a red and white painted lighthouse perched atop a craggy island with a bit of sea in the foreground. The scene looked vaguely familiar. Then again, it was a lighthouse and all lighthouses looked pretty much alike, didn’t they?

  Steve caught her looking at his project. ‘What are you looking at?’ he demanded. ‘And what are you doing here?’ His forehead was pink with rage.

  Kitty hesitated before speaking. Not only was Steve her boss, his father was The Boss. The one who could get her fired if she said or did the wrong thing. She’d have to tread carefully, very carefully. ‘Oh, hello Steve.’ She faked as sincere a smile as she could muster. She noticed that Fran was doing the same, though the mimosas seemed to be having an altogether different influence on her. At least she hoped it was the mimosas flowing through Fran’s veins that made her suddenly lunge forward and plant a big, wet kiss on Steve’s left cheek.

  ‘Stevie,’ Fran said. ‘This is a surprise.’ She turned to Kitty. ‘Isn’t this a surprise, Kitty?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Kitty, her eyes sending warning signals to Fran that Fran seemed unable to interpret at the moment. ‘Quite a surprise.’ She leaned over his shoulder. ‘Are you into needlepoint? I’ve been thinking of taking the craft up myself.’ She held out the needlepoint kit. ‘I was picking this one up for my Aunt Gloria. She loves to needlepoint,’ Kitty said, drawing out her words. ‘So what are you making?’

  Steve glowered and pushed back his chair. ‘None of your business.’ He headed to a small buffet table atop which an urn of coffee held center stage, with a plate of sugar cookies to one side alongside a pile of napkins and coffee stirrers in a painted jar.

  Kitty made a pouty-face to show she was hurt and followed after him. What she really wanted to do was to kick him in the shin and make him tell what he knew about Gretchen’s murder. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly, as Steve poured himself a cup of joe. ‘I didn’t mean to pry. I know we’re all on edge and I’m sure you must be very upset about Gretchen’s sudden death.’

  Steve snorted.

  Fran helped herself to a cup of coffee and Steve warned her to keep away from him. She rolled her eyes and took a step backward.

  All the needlepoint ladies were shooting looks at them. And the primly dressed fiftyish woman in the pale green pantsuit, who appeared to be running the shop, eyed them suspiciously from behind the cash register. Kitty figured it was only the prospect of making a sale that kept the woman from throwing her and Fran out of her shop.

  Kitty dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Did you know that Gretchen’s condo had been broken into and ransacked?’

  Fran sipped loudly in the background.

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ Steve answered sharply. ‘How would I know that?’

  ‘I just thought that since you and Gretchen lived in the same building and were practically next-door neighbors—’

  ‘Who told you that Gretchen and I lived in the same building?’ Steve’s eyebrows drew together.

  ‘Oh, I–I don’t remember. I heard it somewhere. Probably around the studio.’ She smiled. ‘You know how people talk.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Steve, ‘I do. And the world would be a better place if they didn’t.’

  His voice was hard as nails. But Kitty chose to ignore the fact. ‘So, you didn’t hear anything?’

  ‘Hear anything?’

  ‘Yes, the night Gretchen’s condo was broken into. I was wondering if you might have seen or heard anything.’

  Steve eyed her for a moment in silence. ‘Don’t you think that would be something that the police should be asking?’

  ‘Did they?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, they did. And I told them what I knew.’ He took a small sip before speaking. ‘Which was nothing. I wasn’t home.’

  ‘But I—’
Kitty stopped herself. He’d certainly been home the night she and Fran had broken into Gretchen’s condo. It was the next day that Jack told her about it. That meant it had to have been ransacked sometime between the time they left and whenever it was that the police had gone there. The police surely wouldn’t have gone in the middle of the night unless some sort of alarm had gone off. But it couldn’t have. Fran hadn’t reset it. So that left the next morning.

  Steve could have left his condo, but had he, or was he lying? If so, why? Because he’d broken in himself and was searching for the money or some other evidence he was afraid he might have left there that would have incriminated him?

  Kitty chewed her lip. All this soft shoe was getting her nowhere. ‘You don’t like me much, do you?’

  He smirked. ‘Not even a little.’

  Kitty smirked back. Two could play this game. She shrugged. ‘Tough. Because you’re stuck with me. You heard your father, The Pampered Pet is going on. With me as the host. And there’s nothing you or Barbara Cartwright can do about it.’

  ‘Barbara Cartwright?’ Steve looked like a trapped rabbit getting ready to run.

  ‘Yes,’ Kitty said triumphantly, working herself up to a full head of steam. ‘Fran and I,’ she waved a finger at her friend, who was hovering over some woman needlepointing a life-size portrait of Ronald Reagan, ‘know all about you and your affair. And you can scheme all you want, but your father wants me to host the show, as did Gretchen. So you and your girlfriend better get used to it.’

  Everyone in the shop had stopped working now. ‘Keep your voice down,’ Steve hissed. ‘You’ve lost your mind. Wait until my father hears about this.’

  ‘Fine!’ Kitty was shouting now. ‘Wait until your father hears how you killed Gretchen – stabbed her in the back. Then broke into her home and ransacked the place looking for any evidence that you might have left behind.’ Steve was dodging chairs and heading for the door.

  ‘I know you murdered her. Means, motive, and opportunity!’

  Steve cursed her out. ‘What are you talking about? I was on set watching you stumble through that farce of a cooking program.’

  Kitty crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Huh. Can you prove it?’

  He looked ready to burst and he thrust an angry finger at Fran. If it had been a bazooka, Fran would have been rocketed out the front window. ‘What about her? She wasn’t on set. She was backstage the entire time. She’s not even allowed on set while taping. In fact,’ he said rather smugly, and returning his gaze to Kitty, ‘I heard Gretchen and her arguing the very day she was murdered. Ask her about that, why don’t you?’

  ‘But,’ sputtered Fran, looking embarrassed, ‘that was nothing.’ Her eyes bounced from Kitty to Steve then back again. ‘Gretchen and I were friends. We argued all the time. About little things, you know? Nothing to kill anybody over.’ She sounded frightened. ‘She was just annoyed because I’d forgotten to order some supplies.’

  Steve snorted. ‘There you go. And now, if you don’t mind, I’ve said all I’m going to say to you, Miss Karlyle.’

  ‘You can talk to me, or you can talk to the police …’ Kitty retorted.

  ‘You ought to talk to a shrink!’ Steve threw open the door with a flourish. He was slipping away.

  ‘And I know all about the envelope!’ Kitty yelled in desperation.

  Steve froze, a quizzical yet frightened look on his face.

  Kitty beamed triumphantly.

  ‘Envelope?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Kitty said. ‘You didn’t think I knew about that, did you? It’s quite a valuable little envelope, isn’t it? Having any money problems these days, Steve? Daddy cutting the wallet strings?’ She scratched her cheek thoughtfully. ‘I wonder where that envelope could be?’

  Steve chewed his lip nervously, and glanced at the needlepoint ladies before he spoke again. He had turned red as a boiled lobster. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He pointed a finger at her. ‘But you had better watch your step.’

  He spun on his heels. ‘Don’t think that just because you’ve got a TV show now, that you could not be axed tomorrow. My father, you will discover, can be quite fickle.’

  Before Kitty could utter another word, the door slammed after him and he hurried down the concrete steps. ‘Come on!’ yelled Kitty. She sure hoped what Steve had said wasn’t true about Bill Barnhard being fickle. She was just beginning to warm up to the idea of having some money in the bank and hated to see it slip away so suddenly.

  But she didn’t have time to worry about that now. ‘Come on,’ she called again, as Fran slowly weaved her way between the chairs. ‘I’ve got more questions for that man. Besides, we can’t let him get away. He could be making a break for the Mexican border for all we know. We’ve got to stop him.’

  Fran hesitated. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  Kitty grabbed her friend’s arm, spilling her coffee all over the two of them, and dragged her out the door, dripping and complaining. She paused at the top step. ‘Where’d he go?’

  Fran shrugged. ‘You got me. I can tell you where my coffee went, though,’ she complained. ‘All over me.’

  ‘He’s got to be here somewhere. Maybe I should call Jack.’

  ‘And tell him what?’ Fran replied, obviously unconvinced of the rationality of such a move. ‘That you’ve chased a man out of a needlepoint shop after accusing him of murder?’

  ‘He is guilty of murder,’ Kitty said with no uncertainty. ‘He and Barbara want this show for themselves. They know how much is at stake and they are in this together. You saw how he ran.’

  Kitty was down the steps now and headed up the sidewalk. He couldn’t have gone far. She stepped past the shop and started to cross between the alley and the next building. She heard a sudden roar and turned her head. A large silver SUV, with the Porsche emblem on its hood, came barreling out of the alleyway, its wheels spewing gravel and dust as it raced directly at her.

  Kitty froze. She wanted to move. Knew that she should move. But her feet seemed to have become disconnected from her brain at the very worst of times. The SUV was barreling down on her now. Kitty heard a scream from somewhere and felt herself being pushed. Hard.

  The next thing she felt was her body slamming elbows first into the side of the building across the alley as the SUV shot past.

  ‘You OK?’ Fran was huffing.

  Kitty gulped, then nodded. The SUV sped down the road and turned the corner. ‘He tried to kill me.’ Kitty’s voice shook. She’d never in her life come so close to facing death. And it wasn’t something she was inclined to want to do again. ‘You saved my life.’ She gripped Fran’s hand. ‘Thanks. I owe you.’

  Fran snorted. ‘What you owe me,’ she said, holding out her coffee-stained blouse, ‘is some clean clothes.’

  The needlepoint shop owner was standing outside the shop door, shouting.

  Kitty smiled and waved. ‘It’s OK. I’m all right.’

  Fran snickered. ‘I don’t think that’s what she’s shouting about.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I think she wants you to pay for that.’ Fran looked pointedly at the ground beside Kitty’s feet.

  Kitty looked down. It was the needlepoint kit; three little kittens and a ball of yarn. ‘Oops.’

  TWENTY

  Kitty was still fuming when she showed up for her planned Sunday night dinner date with Jack. The man had absolutely refused to arrest Steve Barnhard, no matter how much she’d protested and, ultimately, pleaded. The jerk had nearly run her down. To make matters worse, that stupid needlepoint kit had set her back almost twenty dollars.

  Shouldn’t one of the perks of having a boyfriend who’s a detective be that he arrest someone for you every once in a while? First Steve had left a threatening note and then he’d tried to run her down, and Jack had refused to even slap the handcuffs on the thug.

  ‘Can we just have a quiet, romantic dinner,’ Jack said, touching her cheek, ‘and forget all this police business? I’d li
ke to spend some quality time with you, Kitty.’

  He had taken her to one of their favorite restaurants, Gardenia, on Ventura Boulevard, one of the valley’s main drags. Gardenia was an upscale establishment with plenty of vegetarian and vegan-friendly dishes, the kind Kitty favored. If Jack had his way, they’d eat red meat and potatoes every night. They had a table for two up against the windows looking out on the wide sidewalk. Outside seating was available, but Kitty preferred to keep out of the chill.

  Jack poured them each another glass of wine. ‘We don’t have a lot of time for romance lately. And with you starting your new job …’ He let his voice trail off. ‘Did I tell you how pretty you look?’ He tempted her with a smile.

  Kitty leisurely sipped her cabernet. That smile was irresistible. She had worn one of her best dresses, a scoop-necked red number that fell to the knees and clung to her in all the right places. A string of white pearls adorned her décolletage. ‘Thanks. Though, you’ve been quite busy yourself.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jack dipped a small slice of fresh sourdough bread in the garlic and oil that accompanied it. ‘Work’s been a bear. And the lieutenant never lets up.’

  Kitty couldn’t hide her contempt. ‘I’ll bet,’ she grumbled.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do we have to talk about her?’

  Jack looked taken aback. ‘Sorry,’ he grabbed Kitty’s hand. ‘What is it that you dislike about Elin anyway? You barely know her. I mean, I get that she can appear hard but she’s only doing her job, Kitty. And she’s really good at it. You can’t blame her for that.’

  Kitty pulled her hand free. ‘I’m going to have the braised seitan with potatoes. How about you?’ She wasn’t going to let Elin Nordstrom spoil her dinner with Jack. Not again.

  Jack studied his menu and they ordered. ‘You know, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but Thadeus Czinski confessed to killing his mother.’

  ‘He what?’ Kitty’s eyes went wide as saucers.

  Jack nodded. ‘Yep, broke down this afternoon. It’s not for public release yet, though.’

  Kitty shook her head as if to get the words she’d just heard to fly back out. ‘So Teddy has confessed to killing his own mother.’