“Where was it?” Jack had pulled his phone out of a pocket. I presume he intended to send a text message to Sgt. Bardot who was still at the house when we left.
“On his writing desk in his office off the master suite. Right next to a single red rose.” Marla shifted in her seat, and one foot tapped the floor. Jack and I glanced at each other.
“What? I didn’t take it—I already have one. If it’s gone, Dave must have reached the gift-giving stage of the evening.” Before we left to interview Marla, Jack and I had taken a quick look around upstairs. Sgt. Bardot had shown us the open drawer in the desk where the checkbook was usually kept. No rose—we’d seen it on the kitchen island. No diamond pin, either, unless it was among items on the floor. I could picture Sgt. Bardot or Tony searching for it.
“Does that happen before or after the romantic moonlit stroll?” Marla’s eyes narrowed as she stared at me with renewed suspicion. If she mistakenly believed I had personal knowledge of what she’d referred to as Dave Rollins’ Casanova mode, I intended to correct her right away. “Pat already gave us the rundown on his routine,” I offered. Marla’s mouth twisted into a grimace.
“Of course, she did. Pat’s probably seen him in action more times than me. The presentation of the rose comes first. Then he pours a round of champagne from a bottle in the kitchen, suggests a stroll, and promises a tour of the house when they return. That tour ends up on the balcony outside his master suite where more champagne awaits. If he’s really trying hard to impress, he might throw in a private violin performance. Find that little mouse who was with him last night and I bet she’ll have that diamond pin.”
“When you left the house, did you see a car—the one you heard pull up?” Jack asked.
“No, thank goodness. No car. No people. I got all the way home before I realized I had Dave’s checkbook. Since I figured he was going to be busy all evening, I planned to call Dave today and tell him I had it.”
“So, what was Bernie doing with it?”
“This morning when a neighbor called and said there was big trouble at Dave’s house, Bernie and I both became concerned about what it might look like if the police found out that I had the stupid checkbook with me. It was Bernie’s idea to talk his way inside and drop it somewhere as if Dave had mislaid it.”
“Wouldn’t it have been smarter to pass it along through your lawyer, along with a statement about how it came to be in your possession?” I wasn’t quite sure that was true, but it made more sense than the scene Bernie had made by showing up and bullying a young police officer to get inside and ditch that checkbook as he’d planned. Marla shrugged.
“Okay, so Bernie’s not the genius he thinks he is. That doesn’t mean either one of us had anything to do with Dave’s death. Maybe this time, his starlet wannabe turned out to be a cute young thing hankering for a role in a Fatal Attraction movie. Or maybe he picked one with a psycho husband or some other man in her life who objected to her sneaking around with the high and mighty maestro. It wouldn’t be the first time Dave’s womanizing got him into trouble.” Marla folded her arms and crossed her legs. To me, both actions signaled she was trying to contain herself as she grew more agitated.
“What does that mean?” Jack asked.
“Please, Detective, you’re not that naïve, are you? He wooed them, won them, and then ditched them. Can you possibly imagine that didn’t cost him a pretty penny now and then even without an angry spouse in the picture? Dave’s troubles with women started a long time ago, according to my cousin, Yvonne. I don’t know the details, but she told me I’d married the black sheep in a family that had disowned him because of a youthful indiscretion with the wrong woman. It would have been nice of Yvonne to have warned me off, but old southern families are pretty closed-mouth about scandal. It wasn’t until I told her I’d filed for divorce, she let me in on that little tidbit. Even then she was evasive about it. I didn’t care enough about Dave by then to pursue it.”
I found that impossible to believe. Having a juicy secret from his past to hang over her ex-husband’s head would have given her leverage. Surely enough to get him to agree to automatically deposit those checks as she longed for him to do. Or it might have been worth a few bucks—either from Dave or one of the tabloids who thrive on exposing the dirty little secrets of the rich and famous. Unless there was nothing to it. Jack wasn’t convinced either.
“You were married to Dave Rollins for years and you never wondered about his family ties—or the absence of them?”
“He told me he didn’t have much family. I took his word for it that his brother Bill and Aunt Meg were it. Not that I had any involvement with them either. Heck, I don’t have much to do with my family other than my kids. Yvonne was well off, but too many of my other relatives had dollar signs in their eyes when they came calling. I learned to put out the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign soon after word got out that I’d married the maestro. I figured Dave’s relatives were as greedy as mine and he’d learned to avoid them. I suppose one of them could have made him pay for not sharing the wealth. Or maybe his death is related to that black sheep business.”
What was Marla up to? I wondered. Was she trying to cast suspicion elsewhere or did she really believe a dark secret in his past had caught up with Dave decades later?
“Does your cousin Yvonne share your last name?” I asked.
“Yes, but the only place you’ll find it now is on her gravestone. Cousin Yvonne Broussard died two years ago.”
“How about Dave’s brother Bill or his Aunt Meg—do you know how we can find them?” Jack asked.
“I have no idea. I bet Pat knows how to reach them. It wouldn’t surprise me if she knows all Dave’s dirty little secrets. With her front row seat in his life, I don’t see how she could have missed a bit of the trouble he had with women—old or new!”
“Can anyone else verify what time you arrived home last night or when Bernie joined you?”
“As a matter of fact, I was on the phone with Katie when Bernie arrived. Ask her. Other than that phone call, I don’t have a selfie or anything to prove I was home in bed at the time. I’ll bet you can ping me or use some trick like that to figure out exactly where I was when I made that call, can’t you, Detective?”
I don’t know about Jack, but I wished I had a trick or two to use on Marla Broussard. She’d gone back into flirty mode as she mentioned that selfie in bed thing. I tried to imagine any circumstance in which I’d rely on flirting to cope. It certainly wouldn’t be one that involved an interview with a police detective about a murder investigation. Especially when the dead guy was an unfaithful ex-husband and the cop’s wife was sitting right beside him! It was obvious to me that she was still jealous of Dave’s involvement with other women even though their marriage had ended years before. How jealous? I wondered.
“Katie can vouch for Bernie, too, since I told her he’d arrived, and I had to get off the phone.”
“What about your son? Where was he?”
“You must be joking! Are you insinuating that Dave’s son killed him? Dave wasn’t much of a husband, but he was a doting father.” For the first time, Marla showed signs of sadness about Dave’s death. “They doted on him, too. Carter was still at the gala last night when I left. He had a plane to catch later, so he left you an easy trail to follow. Katie and Carter are devastated, so if you have more questions, please have the decency to give them a day to deal with their father’s death.” Her voice sounded angry, but her eyes glistened with tears. “Don’t you have any better suspects to pursue than my children or me?”
“Do you?” Jack asked.
“Follow the women is my recommendation. If there’s a man out there with worse Karma than Dave when it comes to a faithless heart, I’ve never heard of him.” Then she sighed. “I could use a little time to come to grips with Dave’s death too if you two don’t have any more questions.”
“Well, when you and your children have had time to talk it over, Max has asked us to organize a memorial
tribute for Dave. If you want to participate in the planning, you’re more than welcome to do that. If not, it would be great if we could send you a summary of what we’re proposing. Members of the Marvelous Marley World family would appreciate having you, Katie, and Carter be part of the celebration somehow.” Marla nodded.
“Sure. We can send you a batch of family photos. The kids and I will have to go through those anyway to put together a display during the visitation and funeral. Please don’t make us go back to the same location where the retirement gala was held. I’d like to keep the memory of the two events separate.” She stared at me. “Whatever you do will be top notch. Dave always appreciated that about you. What a jerk to get himself killed the moment he retires!”
Marla had run out of steam. What a puzzle she was when it came to Dave. It was almost as if there were two Marlas.
Which one’s real? I wondered as Jack wrapped things up. He left his card and asked her to call if she remembered anything
“Do you believe her?” I asked Jack once we were in the car and on our way home.
“Not the bit about the missing checkbook. I think Bernie’s story is probably closer to the truth. Marla Broussard strikes me as the kind of spiteful person who enjoyed making Dave Rollins miserable when she could. I do believe she didn’t want to push him too far, since the golden goose was still subsidizing her lifestyle.”
“Pushing him off a cliff would have been too far, I guess,” I said, yawning as I spoke.
“Getting bored with this case already, huh?” Jack asked, stopping for a red light and grinning at me.
“Marla’s a bore, that’s for sure with that ridiculous flirting routine,” I groused. “In addition to being spiteful, she’s obviously still jealous after all these years. If that were a reason to kill him, she would have done it already.”
“True. She seemed more annoyed than angry about his infidelity. Her flirting and the decision to hide Dave’s checkbook, come across as manipulative and passive aggressive, but not furious enough to bash his brains in or destroy his house.”
“Dave’s brutal demise does feel more like the actions of a Glenn Close type—like in that Fatal Attraction movie Marla mentioned, doesn’t it? Maybe Marla’s onto something with her follow the women comment. Good luck with that,” I harrumphed. Dave’s foolishness didn’t make any more sense to me than did Marla’s. “If Marla’s daughter backs her up, she’s got a pretty good alibi, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, she does. Marla’s a living testament to the fact that old wounds don’t always heal, though. Some fester and become more poisonous over time. Let me buy you a cup of coffee while I call and see what Sgt. Bardot wants to do about digging into the deep dark secrets in Dave Rollins’ past.” At the next stoplight, Jack turned into a shopping center not far from Crystal Cove State Beach. It sits below the hillside on which we live and is a place we visit regularly.
“That’s a great idea. We can pick up takeout for lunch.” I had a call to make too. Whatever Sgt. Bardot decided to do about Dave Rollins’ past, an idea had popped into my weary brain already. My clever and resourceful Executive Assistant was about to earn herself another spa day. That’s the bonus I give Carol whenever she does extra duties as a snoop. I could already see her hunched over in front of her computer with her fingers flying across the keyboard, searching for the maestro’s secrets.
6 Sir Jack of Crystal Cove
Ah, what a difference a good night’s sleep can make. When the alarm went off, I also heaved a sigh of relief that our day hadn’t started with a bellowing cat, a zany ringtone, or a frantic phone call from Max. Or a murder.
Instead, Sunday rolled in like the languid waves Jack and I watched from our perch overlooking Crystal Cove State Beach. Traffic was light on the Pacific Coast Highway that runs alongside the coastline here in the OC. My veranda, where Jack and I sat sipping coffee and eating breakfast, is high enough up on the hillside opposite the cove that the ocean usually succeeds in masking the noise from commuters or beach goers.
This morning it was exceptionally quiet. The tranquility and beauty of the scene sat in jarring opposition to the ugly one we’d witnessed in Malibu yesterday. I almost dreaded asking, but I couldn’t stop myself. The compulsion to find out who murdered the maestro was just too strong.
“Any updates from Sgt. Bardot or Pat?” I asked.
“The only news I have is that Pat’s going back there today and pick through the debris now that the Lost Hills police and crime scene investigators have finished their work.” As he responded, Jack picked up his phone and glanced at it. I presume he was making sure he hadn’t missed a call or text. My dutiful husband is as compulsive as I am about getting to the bottom of disturbing situations.
“I hope she’s in better shape today than she was yesterday. Are you sure it’s safe for her to be there alone? Maybe an officer ought to accompany her.”
“She’s not going to be there alone. My new pal, Sgt. Hank Bardot, and I, who are now on a first name basis by the way, learned something else from her. Since you have more experience dealing with members of the rich and famous like the maestro, it’s probably not news to you.”
“What’s that?”
“Personal Assistants have assistants.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure if I knew that or not. That Dave had an entourage makes sense given the relentless pace he led. He was a busy man behind the scenes as Chief Creative Officer for the Marvelous Marley World Music Group. He loved being in the limelight, too, and often conducted the orchestras that performed his compositions or musical arrangements. Dave really hammed it up, playing the role of celebrity to the hilt in his stunning Marvelous Marley World outfits specially designed for him. I’ll bet Dave had an assistant who did little other than care for his wardrobe.”
“I spotted a couple of those photos hanging in his home office where he was decked out in full period regalia as if he were Beethoven or Brahms. In another one, he was dressed in an even wilder looking costume like something Elton John might have chosen to play the part of an orchestra conductor.”
“Elton John’s a perfect comparison. Dave usually had several costume changes during a concert. Until a few years ago, he sometimes played a violin or piano solo during a show. Audiences expected him to take center stage in a getup they could see from any seat in the house.”
“A true superstar, huh?” Jack asked.
“Yes, and with a superego to match, apparently. What on earth was he thinking by playing the field with so many women?”
“Maybe he figured if he kept at it long enough, he’d eventually get it right. It sounds like he believed that in love, like music, practice makes perfect.”
“A perfect idiot if he imagined his stale, old Hugh Hefner routine was romantic,” I huffed.
“He does seem to have dug a rut for himself. Then again, not every guy’s as lucky as me. I made a mistake or two before I bumped into you and found the woman of my dreams. Things could have gone terribly wrong even then since we met at the scene of a murder that pointed to you as a wild-eyed slasher.”
“Well, I’m lucky, too, since you helped me beat the rap, Copper. It wouldn’t have worked out so well for either one of us if I’d been locked up for a murder. Thanks for the assist,” I said leaning over to give my handsome husband a kiss.
“It was the only decent thing to do for a classy dame who saved me from a tragic future as a sad old lonesome lothario like the maestro.” I didn’t say anything but, in my opinion, Jack would have to undergo a drastic personality change to become a lothario, lonesome or otherwise. He’d been unlucky in love the first time around and his marriage had ended in divorce. Until we met, he’d been almost as reluctant as I’d been to believe you get a second chance at love. Bad luck hadn’t stopped Dave.
“If that luckless lothario had hung up his ruby red velvet smoking jacket years ago he might still be alive.” Jack nodded.
“You could be right. The ex-Mrs. Maestro isn’t the only woman with a reaso
n to bear a serious grudge against Dave. What’s your take on Pat’s story about being one of the maestro’s many ‘exes’?”
“It’s obvious to me she still has—or had—feelings for him. I believe she’s being truthful when she says she’d come to grips with the fact that he was troubled when it came to women. Still, it occurs to me that if Dave had ever come to his senses, the woman of his dreams was already at his side. I’m pretty sure she would have given him a second chance if he’d asked for it in a serious way.”
“Perceptive, as always. My sentiments run along the same lines, although I doubt I could have stated them as articulately as you just did.”
“Be that as it may, Pat seems to have settled for what she could have with him. She’s no scorned woman. In fact, she was probably the woman in his life with whom he had the longest, closest relationship. Did you hear who was going to be with her today at Dave’s house?”
“Yes. Adam Middlemarch is the assistant she’s taking with her. I’ll add him to the list of people we should check out. He’s been around for years, though. If he’s the one who wanted to do away with Dave, he’s had ample opportunity to do it.”
“Unless he’s had a recent beef with the maestro,” I muttered trying to recall what I knew about Adam Middlemarch. “As far as I can tell, he’s a cross between an errand boy and a handyman. He’s a big guy pushing thirty, so he could easily have overcome Dave and shoved him off the cliff. Adam appears to be a quiet, unassuming man, although I’ve only run into him a few times. It’s hard to picture him as an angry killer or destroying the house he’d helped keep in tip-top shape for years.”
“I often have more trouble taking the measure of a quiet man than a boisterous one like Max. As a handyman he would have had an access code to get through the gates and into the house without breaking in. Who knows what lurks beneath that silence?” Jack looked a little worried. That gave me the shivers.
Murder of the Maestro Page 5