by Sparkle Abby
“Oh, I am so sorry. I didn’t know. What have I done?” The sprite wrung her hands in distress.
I realized I’d scared the poor woman. She wasn’t privy to the fact that the brooch stealing was an on-going thing.
“Don’t worry,” I tossed the dress on the bed. “I’ll figure out a way to get it back.”
April Mae came to stand by my side. “And I’ll help you.”
Chapter Eleven
The media continued to speculate about Kitty’s death. I turned on my television the next morning to an announcement about Kitty’s funeral and discussion of the incident.
“According to a Laguna Beach official who had been briefed by the police, the investigation team is working on a theory of shots fired from another vehicle into Bardot’s BMW which was traveling north here on Pacific Coast Highway.” A reporter stood near where Kitty’s car had crashed. I felt a return of the same sick feeling I’d felt that night.
I sliced a mango and perched on the arm of the sofa. So, we were finally speculating about a shooter. Dogbert parked himself beside me, not sure what was on my plate. I didn’t feed him table scraps. Ever. But Dogbert was at heart an optimist. He was sure my resolve could waver at any moment, and, to tell you the truth, it was hard to resist his hopeful puppy-dog eyes.
“What about theories circulating around a sniper shooting?” asked the anchor.
“Oh, please. Not a sniper,” I barked at the reporter, waving my knife at the screen. Laguna Beach was not exactly a high crime area. We had the occasional party that got out of hand, the infrequent domestic dispute, tons of illegal parking. Maybe drive-by moonings, but not drive-by shootings.
All we needed was the mass hysteria of a community waiting for more shots to ring out.
“At this point,” said the reporter on the scene, “the investigation is wide-open. Police aren’t sure if this was random, if Bardot was targeted, and if she was the intended target, what the motive could have been. They’ve not ruled anything out.”
The TV shot switched back to the studio, and the tone turned somber as the reporter noted, “Services for Kitty Bardot will be this Friday at 10:00 AM. She was a popular publicist to a number of Hollywood’s hottest stars, and we expect many of her clients will be in attendance.”
“And she won’t be wearing pink sequins,” I finished for them.
Dogbert tipped his doggie head in question.
“Well, she won’t,” I told him.
I really, really did not want to go to this funeral, but when April Mae had asked, well, what could I say?
The services were to be held at the Westwood Village Memorial Park and Mortuary, a nonpareil LA cemetery and the final resting place of many of Hollywood’s brightest stars. And, for that matter, many of its tragic women. Marilyn Monroe, Natalie Wood, and Dorothy Stratten, to name a few.
Also, music legends like Roy Orbison and Frank Zappa and Keith Richards. No wait, that’s not right, Keith Richards isn’t dead. He just looks dead.
In any case, according to April Mae, Kitty had detailed the exact arrangements in her will. There was to be a memorial service open to friends but the actual interment private. According to the gossips, she was to be buried near Farrah Fawcett. Who knew if it was true or not. There was lots of gossip making the rounds, and with each round, like one of Grandpa Montgomery’s fish stories, the details grew.
We found the place easily, but parking was packed. I looked up at the open A-frame chapel. A natural stone wall rose at the front, and surrounding windows afforded a beautiful view of the grounds. The place was mostly filled when we arrived, but Paul Kantor, Kitty’s attorney, motioned us forward to some chairs near the front where he’d saved two seats. A little too close to Kitty’s casket for my taste.
I’d met Kantor before as he was also Diana’s attorney. He was a blend-into-the-background sort of guy. Average height, average looks. Very formal manners.
All eyes were on us as we made our way to the front. I’d worn a simple black silk Dolce and Gabbana dress; April Mae wore a sundress. I’d loaned her a silver and black Oscar de la Renta scarf, which thankfully covered most of the peek-a-boo polyester dress.
Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t so much that I cared what the rich and famous thought of her discount store garb. But you couldn’t be around April Mae for long without feeling protective of her, and I didn’t want to see her become the object of ridicule. It was nobody’s dang business what Kitty’s sister’s circumstances were.
I tried not to stare at the many famous faces who glanced up as we passed. I’d known Kitty had this other life where she mingled with big stars, attended premiers, and brokered promotional deals. But to me, Kitty had always just been a friendly neighbor and fellow pet lover.
Kantor stood until we were seated. April Mae and I settled in our chairs.
The service was short and sweet. The official wasted no time. I couldn’t tell whether he was a minister or not. In the movie community sometimes it’s hard to tell if a person is really a minister or just plays one. Whoever he was, he did a very nice reading of Kitty’s obituary, detailing of her accomplishments, and then the service closed with a musical tribute by several of her clients from the music business who sang together on a medley of “Amazing Grace.” I don’t exactly follow the music scene, but I did know the good-looking trio leading the song had won a Grammy last year. It was moving.
By the time the song was over, April Mae was in full sob mode. I searched my purse for tissues and handed several to her. On the one hand, I didn’t blame her, and, heck, Kitty deserved someone shedding tears over her. On the other hand, I remembered her emotional faint the first day I’d met her, and I sincerely hoped she could gain control before we had to pick her up off the shiny marble floor.
The attorney looked at me with an expression that said “help.”
“Oh shoot, sugar.” I put my arm around her. “Just cry it out.”
She leaned into me and wailed.
Kitty would have been appalled. My mama would have been horrified.
You know what? I didn’t give a flying fruitcake what kind of scene April caused.
The attorney looked at me again. This time with an expression that said, “Not the kind of help I was looking for.”
April finally stopped. Her waterworks had soaked my shoulder and destroyed her makeup, but she was under control. I handed her another wad of tissues.
“Sorry,” she whispered with a small snuffle.
It was too late to be quiet now.
As we got up to leave, I could see most of the celebrities had taken off. I didn’t blame them. Though the press hadn’t been allowed in the service, they’d waited right outside, microphones in hand, ready to pounce.
I nodded to Franklin Chesney, Kitty’s partner in the PR firm, who was in the row just behind us. I’d worked with him and his dogs, an elderly pair of Corgis. I knew he’d recently lost the two, within weeks of each other. The dogs had been seventeen, which is old for the breed. He’d been a good dog daddy to the elderly pair, and I knew he had to be missing them.
Franklin was impeccably dressed, as always. His pin-striped suit was custom-tailored for his tall, thin frame. His bald head shone from the light of the overhead chandelier. He looked exhausted, his eyes red-rimmed and tired. He and Kitty had seemed close, and I imagined that in addition to grieving the loss of a business partner and good friend, he was also scrambling to deal with clients who now wondered what was going to happen to them.
I recognized only a few others. A few of the locals. Some members of the Laguna Beach art community. Kitty had been a very active part of that crowd. Grey would know most of them. The crowd seemed to be mostly Hollywood.
While I’m sure most were there to pay their respects, and they may have thought highly of Kitty Bardot, it seemed April Mae was the only one in the ho
use who showed any real emotion.
As I turned to pick up my bag, I noticed Tonya Miles, a friend of Kitty’s, who I’d often seen at her home. It had seemed an odd combination to me. Kitty was all business. Tonya was all face-lifts and flash.
As was her hallmark, Tonya’s nails were perfection, her bleached blonde hair was sprayed within an inch of its life, and her outfit was couture. Her perfect black frock was accented by a Hermes scarf with a Pegasus pattern. I thought the winged horse design was a year or two old, but the da Vinci-like drawing was a classic. Tonya was the ex-wife of Cy Miles, one of the major Hollywood producers. His movies made millions, and it looked like he needed to keep the box office hits coming to keep his ex in style. She dabbed at the corner of one eye with the scarf. The horse’s tush, I think, to be exact.
Across the aisle I also noticed the artist Sam and I had sat by at the art event the night Kitty had died.
Clive. I remembered his name because my daddy once had a horse trainer named Clive, who I’d kind of had a crush on as a teenager. He’d been a great trainer and very good-looking, which he used to his advantage with all the Montgomery girl cousins.
This Clive was a handsome guy, too. At least when his eyes and nose weren’t all red. I remembered at the Montage event Sam had asked him about allergies. You had to question the sanity of attending an animal artist event when you’re allergic to cats. Sheesh. Must have been really important to see and be seen.
His square jaw had strategic fashionable stubble, dark brooding brows above unnaturally aqua blue eyes, longish dark hair. He wasn’t tall but still drew your gaze.
He’d collected a small crowd around him, mostly female. He seemed to be holding forth on how close he and Kitty had been and how devastated he was by the loss of his dear friend.
I didn’t know how Kitty had done it. At least all I dealt with was doggie drama and the like. When you dealt with people with this kind of star power, it was always all about them.
“Before you leave, I’d like to have a moment of your time.” Paul Kantor, the attorney, spoke to April Mae. “The facility has offered the use of their private consultation room.”
“I can wait outside or in the car.”
She clutched my arm. “No.” April Mae shook her head and nodded toward me. “I want Caro to come with me.”
“Is that okay?” I asked, a bit unsure of proper after-the-funeral etiquette with a lawyer.
Kantor nodded assent and indicated a hallway. People still filed out the back of the room. We slipped down the hall and into a well-appointed conference room with deep soft carpet. April and I sat down and Kantor seated himself across the table.
“Ms. Wooben.” He tented his hands and leaned in. “As I told you when we talked on the phone, Ms. Bardot left the majority of her estate to you. Her will, which is three years old, is worded, ‘To my sister, if found.’”
“That’s so sweet.” April Mae’s hands went to her cheeks. “Caro, wasn’t that sweet?”
I nodded. Sweet wasn’t the word for it. I was blown away. Kitty had never even met her sister, and her Laguna Beach property alone was worth millions.
“Now, I have every reason to believe from the correspondence you’ve provided to me that Ms. Bardot believed you were her sister. I will need to, of course, verify through legal means that is indeed the case.”
“What does that mean?” April’s head swiveled between the attorney and me and back to him.
“It means I’ll go through your adoption records, foster care records, and Ms. Bardot’s.”
“Oh.”
“As the executor, I have filed the will with the court, and, of course, a copy will be provided to all the beneficiaries.”
“O-okay.” Bless her heart, the poor thing looked shell-shocked.
I wondered who the other beneficiaries were, but April Mae didn’t ask and it wasn’t my place. Darn it all.
“In the meantime, the estate will continue to pay Ms. Bardot’s bills,” Mr. Kantor continued. “And you may stay at the house, if you choose. Or you may return to your home. This process can take a few months.”
“I’m not going anywhere until they find out who killed my sister.” April Mae straightened in her chair. “Someone shot Sissy. Took her life. And because of them, I never got to know her. The least I can do is hang in here and see them brought to justice.” Her voice cracked with the declaration.
“That’s fine,” he said.
I wondered if he were really listening.
“You let me know if you change your mind. We can see about putting the house on the market and liquidating the rest of her assets.” Kantor might as well have been speaking Sam’s native Greek for all April Mae understood of what he’d said.
“Okey dokey,” she answered, bobbing her head. “Are we done? Caro, you’ve got to feed me. I’m just plain starving. I didn’t eat a thing this morning, I was so wound up about the funeral, and now I’m feeling puny.”
“No problem, sugar. We’ll get you something.”
The lawyer handed April his business card and stood. “You can call me if you have questions.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a big bear hug.
Now the attorney looked shell-shocked.
The place had cleared out, and as we stepped outside it looked like the press had moved on. Thank God.
I feared April Mae would fall in the five-inch high-heeled sandals she’d chosen to wear, but she was intent on lunch and quickly teetered her way across the parking lot to my car.
I wondered where to take her. I had a sudden thought and turned the car to Riccio’s.
Dino Riccio, Diana’s current beau was a good friend and his restaurant would be perfect. I knew his staff would put us in an area where we wouldn’t be bothered and take good care of us.
It wasn’t far to the restaurant. Riccio’s was decorated with warm Tuscany tones and old-world charm. Pictures of Dino’s ancestors dotted the walls. He wasn’t there, but the maitre d’ recognized me from other visits, and I asked if we could have a quiet corner. It was lunchtime, so the place was busy, but he put us in an alcove near the back that was semi-private.
I picked a light California wine, and the waiter poured a glass for each of us while we looked over the menu.
Once we’d ordered, I lifted my wine glass in salute. “To Kitty.”
April Mae lifted hers and smiled. “To Kitty. I wish I’d gotten a chance to know her.”
We sat in silence for a little while, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
April Mae eventually broke the silence. “Well, though I didn’t get to know my sister, I’ve had the chance to get to know you and some of her other neighbors. It sounds like she was a real nice lady.” April Mae leaned back in her chair.
“She was. I didn’t know her well, but we’ve always been cordial over the years.” I’d genuinely liked Kitty Bardot.
“On the TV they said there was some talk about a sniper. Do you think that’s a possibility?”
“I suppose it could be. I’m sure the police are looking into every possibility.” I felt my eye twitch as I remembered my promise to Malone that I would mind my own business.
“I haven’t heard anything from them at all.” April shook her blonde curls. “Here’s what I do know. I know somebody killed my sister, and they need to pay.” She scooted to the edge of her seat.
“The police will find out who did it,” I said firmly. “You know, sometimes they’re tracking down leads, but you may not hear anything while the investigation is going on.” I leaned forward and looked her in the eye. April Mae didn’t need to know I’d learned this the hard way.
“Let’s go over the suspects.” She ignored me completely. “There’s the road rage theory. But I don’t think the police think it was road rage. Then there’s the random shooter. Just
some fool with a gun shootin’ for the fun of it. I don’t know why somebody would do that. If not road rage or a shooter, it has to be somebody who knew my sister and had something against her. Who would that be?”
“April Mae, hon, I don’t know who that would be. There’s no one I can think of that benefited from Kitty’s death.”
No one except for the little pixie across the table from me. And while I thought April Mae was a flake, I didn’t think she was a cold-blooded killer.
“Hmmm.” She tapped her wine glass with a candy pink fingernail while she thought.
“Did Kitty have any other family?” I’d wondered if there’d been just the sisters. Great, now she’d sucked me in.
“None I know of. There was just us two. I don’t know if she tried to find our parents or not over the years, but the private detective who contacted me said he didn’t know anything about them.”
The waiter arrived with our food and refilled our wine glasses. As always at Dino’s, the food smelled delicious, and I was sure it would taste just as good. We both dug in.
“Speakin’ of family, Caro.” Her eyes narrowed. “I found out where that sneaky cousin of yours is keeping your brooch.” April Mae had taken it very personal that Mel had used her to get into my house.
“You did? Where is it?” My head snapped up, melted mozzarella halfway to my mouth. I’d thought long and hard about what Mel might do now that she had Grandma Tillie’s brooch again.
“Your cousin, Melinda, has it right in plain sight in a locked display case in her store. I went in there to get some botanical kitty cat shampoo for Tobey and Minou, and I saw it.”
Ah, that sounded like Mel. Hidden in plain sight where it was always under her watchful eyes. But, then again, where she hoped someone would see it and tell me.
And she was right, someone had.
“Wow.” I put my fork down, my appetite gone. I considered the possibilities. Maybe a nighttime foray? If she had an alarm system, getting into the store could present a problem. “This could be a challenge.”
“Not so much.” April Mae smiled an impish grin.