by Marie Celine
Kitty decided to be tactful. “Yes, sir. She was looking forward to the séance.”
Mr. Randall nodded. He seemed to find solace in this simple statement.
“To be honest, she did get a little shaken when I asked her about the Wright house.”
Mr. Randall blanched. “Did you say the Wright house?”
Kitty nodded.
“Oh, dear.”
“Rich Evan owned the Wright house at the time of his death, you see. Didn’t you know?”
Mr. Randall shook his head and tumbled back into his chair. His hands clutched the bolsters.
“Your wife said that you knew someone who’d lived there previously—a Bruce Churchill? He was an attorney.” Mr. Randall’s eyes stared listlessly at the distant wall. “Mr. Randall? Are you all right?”
“Bruce Churchill was a fine young man. And a promising attorney.” He groaned and pressed his face into his hands. “But that was long, long ago.”
Kitty had a sudden inspiration. “What ever happened to his lover?” Could it have been a young Lucille Randall? That would explain her strong reaction to hearing the name from the past suddenly brought back to haunt her. “Do you remember his lover’s name?”
There was a long pause before he answered and that was only to say, “I do not remember.”
“Are you sure? Think, Mr. Randall. This could be important. I mean, what if your wife’s death and Mr. Evan’s are somehow related?” Kitty knew this was grasping at straws but straws were practically all she had. And if there was a connection between Rich Evan and Lucille Randall, no matter how tenuous, she was determined to uncover it.
Had the Wright house’s evil spread? Mrs. Randall had said that Madame Zouzou was going to attempt to contact some spirits that had inhabited the Randall house previously. Did this have something to do with her death?
Mr. Randall was shaking his head. “I don’t see how this is possible, Miss Karlyle. It was all so long ago.”
“We all make mistakes, Mr. Randall. I’m sure your wife—”
He eyed Kitty with sad amusement. “You think it was Lucille?” Mr. Randall shook his head. “No.”
Kitty realized she’d stepped way over the line. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to imply anything, Mr. Randall, sir.”
“Bruce’s lover was declared insane. Landed in an asylum. Here in L.A.” He swiveled his head. “That’s all I can tell you. I made a promise. Do you understand?”
Kitty nodded.
“Oh, maybe it doesn’t matter any longer.” His lifeless eyes stared straight ahead. “Everyone is dead now. Kresge,” he said at a near whisper. “It was Kresge.”
Kitty longed to ask more but old Mr. Randall was too far gone. She’d better tell Patti Belle to come take care of him.
Head in hands, Mr. Randall uttered, “Lucille always meant well.”
26
Was the Randall house haunted, too? Kitty wondered. Was it cursed? These thoughts played through her mind and preyed on her sanity as she swept through L.A. Her last stop was going to be the Rabinowitz’s.
Mr. and Mrs. Rabinowitz were dining while listening to a lively CD that seemed a bit out of character for the normally subdued couple. In the track running as Kitty laid out Goldie’s dinner (a selection of California vegetables bought at the Farmers Market and fresh tuna), the guy was singing some goofy tune about somebody named Cow Patti.
“Interesting,” she remarked as Mr. Rabinowitz caught her eye and grinned. Kitty laid out Goldie’s menu card.
Kitty Karlyle Gourmet Pet Chef
—California Goldie Rush—
1 cup tuna, lightly browned
½ cup crushed baby carrots
½ cup finely chopped green beans
1 cup risotto, steamed
pinch kosher salt
pinch basil
1 tsp. olive oil
“It’s Jim Stafford.”
Mrs. Rabinowitz was nodding. “We saw his show in Branson, Missouri, when we drove out there two months ago. Funniest thing you ever saw.”
“Mr. Rabinowitz just had to have one of Mr. Stafford’s CDs. He sells them in his gift shop.”
“We saw Andy Williams, too,” Mr. Rabinowitz added as he chomped down on a huge square of cheese and spinach filled ravioli. “What a crooner.”
Kitty left them humming along to a ditty about spiders and snakes. Her cellphone burst into song itself as she entered the mass of traffic on the Hollywood Freeway. It was Jack. “Not now,” she said, “not again.”
“Sorry, I can’t seem to help myself.”
“Well, I can. Goodbye, detective.”
“Hold on. I’ve got news.” He paused for effect. “And it concerns you.”
Kitty dropped in behind a delivery truck in the center lane and balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder. She really needed one of those hands-free thingies. “I’m listening.”
“Tracy Taylor Evan has been arrested in the murder of her ex-husband, Rich Evan.”
“What?” Kitty’s eyes left the road and she’d crossed over. The driver she’d almost sideswiped was giving her the finger. She recovered and slowed. “Tracy Evan?”
“That’s right.”
“Why? How?”
“Why don’t you come down to the station and I’ll tell you all about it. I’m here now.”
“I don’t know.” Did she really want to get further involved? Did any of this really matter? After all, Tracy Taylor Evan had been arrested and Kitty was off the hook. The best thing to do was to forget any of this happened.
Of course, there was still poor Lucille Randall. Her murderer was still out there someplace. But no doubt the police would find him or her soon enough. “No,” she said finally, firmly. “I’ve had enough of this entire nasty business. I’m going home. To bed.”
“She wants to talk to you.”
“Who?” His voice was cutting in and out. There was some sort of disturbance with the cell service.
“Tracy. After the police picked her up she hollered and protested and beat the walls screaming she was innocent. Talked to a lawyer for fifteen minutes. Then he left. I don’t think he could take the shouting any longer. That girl’s got lungs.”
“She’s a singer.”
“So I’ve heard. Anyway, after raving a bit she demanded that she speak to you. We haven’t been able to get a thing out of her since. She says she’s talking to you or nobody. So,” Young said again, “how about it?”
“But why me?”
He chuckled. Through the static-filled lines it came out more of a monster-like gurgle. “Why don’t you come down to the jail and find out?”
Kitty’s curiosity got the best of her and she agreed. The detective gave Kitty directions and said to ask for him when she arrived.
Det. Young led Kitty back to a small office. “Have a seat.”
Kitty took the small chair opposite the narrow desk.
“Can I get you anything? Coffee?”
“No, thanks. You said Tracy Taylor wanted to speak with me. Can I see her now?”
“Let me give you the background first.”
Kitty nodded and folded her hands.
“It turns out Tracy Evan, Rich’s ex, was in the Malibu Colony the day of his death. The mistake we made—” He looked up at Kitty. “Yes, we do make mistakes—was that when we checked the gatehouse log to see if Rich Evan had any visitors only your name showed up. It turns out as we dug deeper that Tracy Taylor Evan was also in the log.”
“How could the police have missed that?”
“Easy. She was signed in to see a Yolanda Squires, a friend of hers from her days married to Rich Evan.”
“I see. But I still don’t see how that makes her a killer.”
“It gets better. Tracy was seen outside her ex’s house by a Mrs. Goodman. Now, the Squires home is at the opposite end of the colony.”
“She got lost?” Good old Mrs. Goodman. Was there anything that woman didn’t see?
“No.” Young was smili
ng. “Tracy has already admitted going to the Evan house. In fact, she admitted to taking Benny. Said she was angry with Rich for not being more friendly towards her. Said she’d given him the dog and she figured she could just as easily take it back.”
“So that’s why Benny wasn’t around when I brought him his food.” Kitty shook her head with disbelief. “But why did Tracy bring Benny back?”
“She says she had a change of heart.”
Kitty frowned and scrunched up her forehead.
Jack waved his finger. “It doesn’t look good when you do that, you know.”
“Do what?” The rows in her forehead went even deeper.
“That. Make that face.”
She stuck out her tongue at him. “So she meant to kill Rich Evan? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I’m not saying anything. Neither is she. Yet. Maybe she meant to take the dog. Maybe she meant to kill him. Maybe she got Benny out of the way, locked up in her car, and talked Rich into eating the dish himself.”
He stood. “Maybe she got him to eat it at gunpoint.” He stepped into the hall and waved for Kitty to follow. “Why don’t you ask her?”
27
Kitty did just that. She was led to a small interrogation room where Tracy Taylor Evan sat behind a long table in a too-large orange jumpsuit. A uniformed female guard stood behind her.
After a word between the officer and Det. Young, Kitty and Tracy were left alone.
“I didn’t do it,” Tracy said the minute the two cops were gone.
“Why should I believe you? And why are you telling me this, anyway?” Kitty paced. Being closed in made her nervous. “Shouldn’t you be telling your attorney?”
Tracy shrugged. “I already told him. He says to give it a couple days. Says maybe I can make bail.” Her eyes looked empty. “I don’t have any money though.”
“I’m sorry.”
Tracy leaned forward. “Listen, I have to tell you. You have to understand. I am being framed.” Her voice was a blend of fear and urgency. “You were framed, too.”
“How am I being framed?” After all, Tracy was the one being arrested for murder.
“It was your food that this Barbados nut stuff was in, wasn’t it?”
Kitty nodded. “You know about Barbados nut?” This could be all the police needed to nail the woman.
“I didn’t know nothing about it until this murder. And I am not a killer. I don’t think you are either.”
“The police said there was a witness who could place you at Mr. Evan’s house.”
Tracy slammed her hands on the table. Kitty jumped. “I told them I went there. I confessed to it!” She fought to regain her composure. “I took Benny. I’d given Rich the puppy as a present—a gift. I was trying to be nice, you know?”
Kitty smiled. “So he’d be nice back to you?”
Tracy grinned. “Yeah,” she admitted. “That’s it.”
“But Rich wasn’t being nice, was he?”
“No, he wasn’t. I was on my way to Yolanda’s house. I’d known her from the time I was married to Rich. We’re still friends. Anyway, I just figured I’d drive by the old house, you know?
“And what do I see when I do? I see Benny tied up on the side of the yard. And I just freaked, I guess. I got so angry that I stopped, snatched him up and drove off.” Tracy shook her head. “I guess that’s when that nosy neighbor lady saw me.
“Anyway, after driving around a little while, I realized what I’d done was stupid and that taking the dog wasn’t going to make Rich treat me any better. So I took him back.”
“Did you see Rich? Did you talk to him?”
“No, I didn’t see or talk to anybody. I only opened up my car door and let Benny loose. He ran up to the house and I drove off.”
“I see.” Kitty sat across from the young woman.
“Yeah. And now the police are talking like I killed Rich and asking me whether I meant to kill him or the dog.” Tracy’s eyes were pleading. “I didn’t kill anybody, Kitty.”
“I still don’t understand why you’re telling me all this.”
Tracy sighed. “Because it was your food that the poison was in. Somebody is framing you, too. Don’t you get it? Fang and Angela, Richard and Timothy.” She was biting her thumb.
“Richard Couric and Timothy Toms?”
“They’re bad.” She leaned closer. “They want to do bad things to you.”
“Bad things?” Kitty smiled. Surely, Tracy was kidding. Or psychotic. “Why would any of the people you mention want to hurt me? I only feed their pets.”
Tracy’s eyes were hard and flat. “Because they are killers. They killed Rich and they need a scapegoat.” Tracy reached out and grabbed Kitty’s hand above the wrist. “They got me and they’re going to try to get you, too.”
Kitty pulled her arm free. “That’s ridiculous.” Images of that big pot falling off Angela’s balcony exploded before her eyes. “Are you telling me that Fang Danson and Angela Evan and even Richard and Timothy are all in this together?”
Tracy tilted her head. “Why not? They’re business partners. Rich, he was one of them, too.” She raised an eyebrow. “Now he’s dead. One less person to share the profits with.”
“But why would they hurt me?” Kitty’s face had lost its color.
“Like I said, they need the police to blame someone or someones. That’s us. Besides, you’ve been snooping around. They don’t like that.”
The interrogation room door opened quietly, letting in a whoosh of cool air. The female officer told Kitty it was time for the prisoner to go.
“What about Lucille Randall?” Kitty said quickly. “Did they kill her, too?”
“Who? Randall? Never heard of her.” A spark of recognition lit up her eyes. “Oh, that rich lady that got killed.” Tracy shook her head. “I saw it in the papers. Yeah. But I don’t know anything about her.”
She motioned for Kitty to come closer and whispered in her ear. “You keep an eye on Angela and Fang. If anyone is behind all this, it’s her. The bitch. And Fang, well, she’s got him wrapped around her finger. You talk to him. See if he maybe lets something slip.”
“But Fang was Rich’s best friend. Surely, Fang wouldn’t have anything to do with his murder.”
“Fang hasn’t had a hit in years. This CD he’s working on means the world to him. It’s make it or break it time, if you know what I mean. People get funny when it comes to money. And fame.”
Kitty nodded. Tracy, having gone through the millions of her settlement, would certainly know the truth of her own words. “How about Kresge?”