Love Kills

by Dianne Emley

  The dog dropped to the carpet and began slowly making his way back to his basket.

  Stefan returned carrying a wooden straight-back chair. “Oh, Mr. Peepers.”

  Georgia looked at the dog and broke out laughing.

  “I’m glad you find the dog’s rude behavior in front of guests so amusing, darling.” Stefan snatched tissues from a box on the desk.

  Vining leaned to look. On the floor were a couple of small turds. Another one fell from the dog’s behind as he jerkily walked to his basket.

  While Stefan picked up after the dog, Georgia continued laughing, her belly bouncing. “I shouldn’t laugh.”

  “No, you should not, dear heart.” Stefan followed the trail to the dog, who had settled back onto his cushion. He examined Mr. Peepers to make sure the dog had finished his business. “So embarrassing.”

  He dropped the mess into a trash can, which he set in the hallway. Squirting gel from a bottle of hand sanitizer on the desk, he rubbed it over his hands as he sat on the chair he’d brought in. He blurted, “Please tell us what happened to our friend Tink.”

  “What have you heard about Mrs. Engleford?” Kissick asked.

  Stefan blinked rapidly. “She was found floating in her pool. Our friend Kingsley Getty told us this morning, as soon as he’d gotten in from Dubai.”

  “Mr. Getty told you?” Kissick said.

  “Of course. Tink was our great friend,” Stefan said, as if the reason should be obvious. “And so is King. They met here, at the compound. It did our hearts good to see Tink enjoying life again. Naturally, King called us as soon as he’d learned the terrible news. Poor man was devastated. He said that two detectives from Pasadena, I’m assuming you, had been to his apartment, asking questions, as if you thought that he had something to do with Tink’s murder.”

  Vining tried not to react when he said “murder.” She recalled Getty’s casual behavior when they’d interviewed him at the PPD. He’d seemed far from devastated.

  Stefan began speaking faster, “You can’t think that King had anything to do with Tink’s death, can you? Wasn’t he out of the country when it happened?”

  “King Getty told you that Mrs. Engleford was murdered?” Kissick stretched his legs out from where they were cramped behind the coffee table.

  Stefan widened his eyes. His thick glasses distorted them, making them look bigger. “I just assumed, you being homicide detectives, that she was murdered.”

  “We investigate all suspicious deaths in Pasadena,” Kissick said.

  “So it could have been an accident?” Stefan’s hand flew to his chest as he exhaled. He wore a wide gold wedding band. “That’s a relief. Murder is much different cosmically than an accidental death. If Tink had been murdered, she would have been a lightning rod for negative energy. It would have radiated to anyone linked to her spirit, including Georgia and our baby. A purification process would be necessary. But maybe she just fell and hit her head. Had she been drinking alcohol?”

  “We can’t discuss the circumstances of Mrs. Engleford’s death,” Kissick said.

  “She struggled with a compulsion to consume alcohol to excess.” Stefan crossed his legs. “Georgia and I enjoy a fine wine and a touch of cognac every day, but never to excess. Georgia is not consuming alcohol for the time being, of course. I miss our sherry and Stilton parties.” Stefan leered at his wife, as if a party around sweet wine and stinky cheese was the height of decadence.

  Vining didn’t know what to make of him.

  Georgia sat like a sphinx with her hands clasped between her breasts and belly, listening. She’d spent years as a psychiatrist before expanding her horizons. She raised a shoulder and closed her eyes as if the solution was simple. “Sage.”

  “Yes, yes.” Stefan nodded, looking at the detectives as if they’d be pleased. “We’ll burn sage.”

  Kissick stood, unable to tolerate sitting cramped on the couch. He took out his spiral pad. “When was the last time you saw Catherine Engleford?”

  “We last saw Tink…It must be how long ago, darling? Last month?” Stefan again looked at Georgia.

  “We can check her account records.” Georgia waved in the direction of the computer on the desk and said, “Stefan, dear.”

  Stefan leaped to his feet and went to the desk.

  Vining asked Georgia, “What were your impressions of Mrs. Engleford the last time she was here?”

  “Well—” Georgia began. “She came for her periodic MBS Tune-Up. That’s our trademark Mind/Body/Spirit program. Tink was religious about having a periodic tune-up for rejuvenation and restoration. She stayed in the Rainbow Cottage, her favorite. We had tea on her patio. She seemed happy.”

  Stefan typed on the keyboard. “Yes, Tink was here six weeks ago. She had an MBS Tune-Up, a massage, and a guided-imagery session. I’ll print the details for you.”

  “Mrs. Berryhill, you said Mrs. Engleford seemed happy,” Vining said. “You’re not sure. Was something on her mind?”

  Georgia angled her lips. “Tink often seemed a bit off. She struggled to achieve symmetry. She could not integrate her shadow self, which manifested a tendency toward addiction that damaged both her physical and spiritual beings.”

  “What does that mean?” Kissick sounded as if his patience was growing thin.

  “One’s shadow self is composed of repressed tendencies, both weaknesses and strengths. A person in symmetry can achieve any dream. Nothing is beyond her grasp.”

  Stefan added, “We’ve helped millions come into their full selves and a new way of living.”

  “In searching for one’s shadow self,” Vining began, “is witchcraft or the occult used?”

  “The occult?” Georgia raised her eyebrows. “Is that a joke?”

  Kissick took a Xerox of the unburned, full-page sigil and handed it to Georgia. “What do these symbols mean to you?”

  Holding the pages of Tink’s records that he’d printed, Stefan moved to look over Georgia’s shoulder. He frowned, shaking his head.

  Georgia’s eyes widened as she examined the mysterious images. “This means nothing to me. What is this?”

  “It’s a sigil,” Kissick said. “We found that in Mrs. Engleford’s house. Creating sigils is a way to cast a spell, a form of witchcraft.”

  Stefan handed Kissick the copies of Tink’s records. “How curious.” He took the sigil from Georgia. “May I keep this? I’d like to research it.”

  “I’ll see that you get a copy later.” Kissick held out his hand and returned the sigil to his inside jacket pocket. “Cremated human remains are also used to cast spells. What do you think about that?”

  “Cremated human remains?” Georgia again burst out with her infectious laughter. “We promote healthy living through a fully integrated mind/body/spirit. There’s nothing to do with the occult here.”

  Stefan began massaging Georgia’s shoulders.

  Georgia closed her eyes. “Thank you, sweetheart. That feels wonderful.”

  “Did you know Vince Madrigal?” Vining asked.

  “Just socially.” Stefan focused his efforts on the right side of Georgia’s neck. “He was here on occasion as a guest.”

  “He was a mass of negative energy,” Georgia said. “We tried to isolate him to keep him from spying on our celebrity guests, which was, I’m sure, the only reason he was interested in the compound.” She cringed. “Ow.”

  “Sorry, darling, but you’re all knotted up. I don’t wish ill on anyone, but I’m not sorry that Vince Madrigal won’t be visiting us again.”

  “Speaking of that terrible double homicide…” Vining took out the photograph of Cheyenne, Trendi, and Fallon and handed it to Georgia.

  When Stefan saw it over Georgia’s shoulder, he stopped massaging.

  Georgia clucked. “Look at Trendi, so young. And Cheyenne.”

  “How do you know those girls?” Vining asked.

  “They were my girls. Georgia’s Girls.” Georgia turned over the photo and read the handwriting on
the back. “Fallon…That’s right.” She handed the photo up to her husband. “It’s my special project, the one dearest to my heart. I have an open door at the compound for young women who have lost their way. Who are on a path of self-destruction. You see, I was once a lost girl, and someone gave me a helping hand. Pay it forward.”

  Vining’s antennae went up. “How old are these girls?”

  Georgia waved dismissively. “I just call them girls. I think of them as my girls. They’re young adults. Much as I’d love to help younger teens, for legal reason I can’t let them come here unless they’re eighteen. They come to me. Tink was a big supporter of Georgia’s Girls.” Sadly shaking her head, she added, “Tink did so much for the girls. Such a loss in so many ways.”

  “Mrs. Engleford was so involved with Georgia’s Girls, I imagine she left something to the organization in her will.” Vining was testing to see if Georgia knew about the large bequest.

  “I have no idea,” Georgia said. “I imagine we’ll hear soon if she did. Tink was so generous with her time and money on the earthly plane, we expect nothing more.”

  Vining felt that Georgia was being truthful. “The Georgia’s Girls facility is here, in the compound?”

  “Yes. The girls live together in a lovely restored ranch house. I warn them that this is no picnic. I commit to giving them room and board and professional help to get clean and sober. For their part, they have to work to change their lives. It’s a sort of boot camp. They have chores. They go to class and study. They have jobs on the compound and they work The Method. I even have a wonderful woman teach them etiquette. These poor girls were living on the streets. After they graduate—meaning clean and sober for a year and they’ve achieved their high school equivalency—I find them jobs. Good jobs.”

  “We’d like to see the facility,” Vining said.

  “Oh…” Georgia looked at her husband.

  “We’re redecorating,” Stefan said. “The whole house is at sixes and sevens. When it’s done, we’ll be happy to give you a tour.”

  “So did you place Trendi as Sinclair LeFleur’s assistant?” Vining asked.

  “Yes. And I got Cheyenne the job with Tink Engleford. These are not jobs you’ll find listed in the classifieds. Only a couple of my girls so far have made the grade and graduated. Sadly, all too many float through and move on.”

  “You recognized the girl named Fallon,” Vining said. “Tell us about her.”

  “I don’t remember much about her. She wasn’t here long. I don’t even remember her last name, do you, dear?” Georgia looked up at Stefan.

  “No, I don’t. My wife is a saint, working with these young women. They’re not debutantes, that’s for sure. Especially these three—Cheyenne, Trendi, and Fallon. Boy, were they rough when they first arrived. To use that quaint American term that describes people like them—” He tapped the photo against his thumb. “Poor white trash.” He grinned, pleased with himself.

  “Stefan! Shame on you.” Georgia slapped her hand over her shoulder at him.

  “Cheyenne is Mexican.” Stefan was on a roll, finding himself amusing. “So that would make her what, then? Poor Mexican trash?”

  Georgia playfully smacked him on the butt. “Go sit down and shush.”

  Stefan trudged back to his chair, hanging his head in mock shame. “Oops. I’m being sent to the doghouse. That’s another American colloquialism of which I’m fond.”

  “My rather blunt husband studied mathematics at the Sorbonne. I would still just be a psychiatrist with a small practice if it wasn’t for Stefan.” She wagged her finger at him. “But subtlety is not his strong suit.”

  Stefan laced his hands behind his head. “That’s why I love mathematics. It’s black and white.”

  Vining wasn’t particularly fond of Cheyenne Leon, but found Stefan’s cracks offensive. “How long had Cheyenne been working for Mrs. Engleford?”

  Georgia thought for a minute. “Not long. Two or three months.”

  “How would you describe her?”

  “She struggled with a disadvantaged childhood. She’s a tough young lady. She can be a handful.”

  “Does she have a short temper?”

  Georgia breathed out heavily. “I see where this is going. You think Cheyenne might have had something to do with what happened to Tink. I can’t speculate on that.”

  “My wife is reluctant to speak ill of Cheyenne, or anyone, for that matter,” Stefan said. “Cheyenne is like a daughter to her. But darling, we must be realistic. Clearly, based upon the detectives’ line of questioning, they don’t think that dear Tink’s death was an accident. If Cheyenne’s responsible, her actions are indefensible. She must take responsibility.”

  “Stefan, have you ever seen Cheyenne become violent?” Vining asked.

  “No, but I heard through the grapevine that she’d slapped Fallon and that Cheyenne’s bullying was why Fallon chose to leave us.”

  Vining turned to Georgia. “What do you think about that?”

  Georgia’s eyes were downcast. The levity and calm she’d shown before had evaporated. “It makes me sad.”

  “But you still promoted or graduated her from your program,” Vining said.

  “Cheyenne refocused her efforts on working The Method,” Georgia said. “We all deserve second chances.”

  Vining paused to gather her thoughts and Kissick jumped in. “Naturally, we interviewed Cheyenne because she was living with Mrs. Engleford. We were surprised when Cheyenne quickly hid behind a prominent and pricey attorney—Carmen Vidal. Do you have any idea how Cheyenne would be able to pay for an attorney that costly?”

  “I couldn’t say,” Georgia replied.

  “And Trendi Talbot?” Vining asked Georgia. “What was she like?”

  “No breeding,” Stefan said. “That wasn’t exclusive to drug-addled Trendi. I saw that with most of Georgia’s girls. It’s like they were raised by wolves.”

  Georgia leveled a gaze at her husband. “Stefan, it’s true that they can be coarse sometimes. But everybody has their challenges.”

  “Indeed, Georgia. You’re right, as always.” Stefan raised his index finger. “Darling, we should have thought to burn sage because of what happened to Trendi, let alone Tink.”

  “Yet you recommended Trendi to work as an assistant in the house of your friends Gig Towne and Sinclair LeFleur,” Vining said.

  “When Trendi left us, she was clean, sober, and healthy,” Georgia said. “My dear Sinclair adored Trendi. I’m sure she told you. Sinclair and Gig have big hearts. Gig had his own troubles at a young age, which is no secret. He’s been forthcoming about his past in the hope that other troubled souls might take strength from his journey. In that same vein, Gig and Sinclair wanted to give Trendi a chance.”

  Georgia’s eyes welled with tears. They looked genuine, but Vining wasn’t exactly sure what had provoked them.

  Stefan was quickly out of his chair and at his wife’s side. He kneeled beside her chair and grabbed her hand.

  Georgia pressed tissues to her face. “Sorry. It’s just so much loss to handle at once.”

  Stefan, still on his knees, asked, “Detectives, have we answered all your questions? My poor wife…”

  Vining looked at Kissick. He turned up his hand, indicating that he was finished.

  “Thank you both for your help,” Vining said. “If you think of anything that might help us with our investigation into Mrs. Engleford’s death, please call.”

  Kissick added, “All the best for your upcoming parenthood.”

  “Thank you so very much,” Georgia said. “Forgive me for not getting up.”

  Stefan jumped to his feet. “I’ll walk you out.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  After they’d said their good-byes to Pavel at the front door, Vining stopped at the signpost and looked at the arrow that pointed to Georgia’s Girls. “Want to take a stroll?”

  “Sure,” Kissick said. “Stefan Pavel really gets into his role of the slobbering lapdog to the
great diva.”

  “The earth mother empress and the geek. Talk about an odd couple.” Vining put her hand on his arm, stopping him from walking. “Do you think Georgia was lying when she acted like she didn’t know anything about sigils?”

  “I think both of them are a big ball of PR bullshit. Their images are so carefully crafted and polished, it’s hard to tell where the commercial ends and the show begins.”

  “How about the way Stefan was talking about Trendi and Cheyenne, calling them trash? Nice way to talk about Georgia’s beloved girls. What was up with that?”

  “He probably came on to them and they told him to take a hike.”

  “I feel like taking a shower,” Vining said.

  They walked down a lane that twisted through woods and shrubs. After a ten-minute walk, they reached a locked gate. Beyond it was a white two-story house on the lake. Kissick stretched to get a better look at young women in bikinis lounging on patio furniture on a wooden deck.

  “That must be one of their etiquette classes,” Vining said.

  “They look well behaved to me.”

  “Tink wouldn’t have given her name and money to this place if it wasn’t on the up-and-up.”

  In the drive were workmen’s trucks. There was the distant sound of hammering.

  Vining pressed the call button on the gate. No one answered.

  Kissick looked up at a CCTV camera above the gate.

  While Vining pressed the button again, they turned as a bicycle approached. It was Asia with her long skirt tucked up around her legs.

  “Can I help you, Detectives?”

  “We’d like to look around,” Kissick said.

  “We’re undergoing renovations,” Asia said. “But I can give you a tour, if you like.”

  Kissick and Vining looked at each other. She made a small movement of her mouth, showing that she didn’t care.

  “We’ll come back another time,” Kissick said.

  “Okay, then,” Asia said. “Anything else I can help you with?”