Killer Mousse

by Melinda Wells

  “I have a witch’s hat and cape from when I used to take Eileen trick or treating.”

  My mother protested, “Oh, no. Wear an outfit that makes you look pretty. But not too sexy, because children will be watching.”

  “Try to appeal to the fathers without alienating the mothers,” Keely said.

  “I’ll think of something middle-of-the-road,” I promised.

  My mother and sisters said they’d be watching tonight, they wished me luck, and we did a round of good-byes.

  I turned off the phone to let voice mail take messages in order to concentrate on the baking.

  And then the doorbell rang.

  Wiping my flour-dusted hands on a dish towel, I hurried through the living room and looked out the front window. On the stoop, and pressing the bell again, was a dark-haired woman in her late thirties, with a sharp, pointed nose and thin lips. Expensively dressed in a navy blue wool suit with a large gold broach in the shape of an owl on one lapel, she would have been almost attractive, if not for the scowl on her face. I’d never seen her before.

  I opened the door. “Yes?”

  “Are you Della Carmichael?”

  “Yes, I am. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Lily Robbins.” Her tone implied that I should know who she was, but I didn’t have even a glimmer of an idea.

  I don’t like to play guess-who-I-am games. “This is a very busy morning for me. I don’t mean to be rude, but would you tell me why you’re here?”

  “I’m Lily Robbins—Lily Owens Robbins. Lulu Owens’s daughter.” Her manner was cold, her tone arrogant, but I decided to make allowances because she’d just lost her mother.

  “Come in.” I opened the door wider and stepped aside. She marched past me into the middle of the living room.

  I said, “I’m so sorry about what happened to your mother. Won’t you sit down?”

  “No.”

  My expression of sympathy hadn’t made her any more charming. “Then what can I do for you?”

  “I heard you were the last one to see my mother alive.”

  Matching her tone, I said, “That’s not precisely true. I was with your mother early on the evening she was killed, but I left before that happened. Incidentally, how is it that you know where I live?”

  “In Mother’s desk, there was a list of all the personnel at the channel, with addresses and phone numbers. That’s not important. What I want to know is, was she wearing her diamond rings when you were with her?”

  “Diamond rings?” Mentally, I kicked myself for sounding like an echo. I took a moment to visualize Lulu that night at her house. “She wasn’t wearing rings.”

  “They’re missing,” Lily Robbins announced. “They’re supposed to come to me, but they’re gone.”

  So this icy character was grieving for jewelry. I felt like throwing her out of the house, but I restrained myself and remained civil. “Perhaps she kept them in a safety deposit—”

  “No. Mother used to wear them all the time, even after she and my father divorced. She said she would give them to me one day, along with her diamond earrings, but they’re gone! I’ve been all through that ridiculous house of hers. The jewelry wasn’t insured, but she photographed the pieces anyway and kept them with her homeowner’s policy.”

  My pulse quickened with excitement. “Tracing the missing jewelry could be the way to find your mother’s killer. You’ve got to give those pictures to the police.” I reached for the telephone.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Detective Hall and Lieutenant O’Hara. They’re running the investigation.”

  I reached Detective Hall at the North Hollywood Station, told him about Lulu Owens’s missing jewelry, and put Lily Robbins on the phone.

  Hall must have asked her where she was staying because I heard her say, “The Beverly Hills Hotel.” She then told him essentially what she had told me. Afterward, she listened briefly and replied, “All right. I’ll go back and wait for him—but tell him to hurry up. And when you find the killer, remember that jewelry is supposed to come to me.”

  Without saying good-bye to Hall, or asking me if I wanted to speak to him again, she hung up the phone. “A Lieutenant O’Hara is going to pick me up at the hotel.” With that, she stalked toward the front door.

  “You’re welcome,” I said to her back.

  She didn’t reply. When the door closed behind Lily Owens Robbins, I thought, Poor Lulu. With a harpy like that for a daughter, no wonder she was so fond of Faye.

  I went back to my baking but decided to start answering the phone again. Two hours later, John called.

  “I deserve hazard pay for spending time with that woman, but the missing jewelry could be the break we need,” he said. “We’re making copies of the photos to get them to high-end pawn shops and fences.”

  “Keep me posted?”

  “You bet,” he said.

  Before Liddy and I packed her SUV for the show, I took Tuffy for a walk. Tonight’s broadcast was going to be live, with an audience; too many people would be there for me to take Tuffy. If Mickey Jordan wanted me to do more taped half-hours, Tuff could resume his TV career then.

  Peering into a box of cookies, Liddy said, “I want to be your taster tonight.”

  “As my friend, you’d be considered a ‘plant.’ I’m going to let a couple of mothers and kids taste. But I’ll save you the goodie of your choice.”

  “I want one of those little ghosts made out of meringue.”

  We climbed into her SUV. I put the tote bag with my Halloween costume in it on the floor next to my feet and strapped on my seat belt.

  Liddy turned the key in the ignition. “I called Derek Sloan for you,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “Bill’s patient, the Jeep dealer. We have an appointment for ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  I said, “Great.” But silently, I was hoping I’d be able to afford Liddy’s idea of a bargain.

  We were backing down the driveway when a loud series of honks caused Liddy to jam her foot on the brake. I turned around to see a green BMW pulling up to the curb in front of my house.

  “It’s Faye Bond.” I unhooked my seat belt. “Stay here. I’ll go see what she wants.”

  “Tell her not to blast her horn like that. She nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  Faye got out of her car and hurried to meet me at the bottom of the driveway.

  I was surprised, and pleased, to note that she looked much better than she had the times I had seen her before. Her hair used to hang to her shoulders without a style, but recently had been shaped by an expert. Nor was it any longer lifeless beige, but glowed with subtle highlights. Instead of the clothes I’d seen her wear before—too big, and suitable for a much older woman—this afternoon she was in a trendy short skirt and cropped jacket. It was a becoming outfit. She had once seemed skinny, but in these clothes that fit, she was slender, with attractive, if minimal, curves.

  “I’m glad I caught you,” Faye said.

  “It’s nice to see you. Is there something you wanted?”

  “To go to the TV show with you tonight, if you don’t mind. After last week—I mean, I need to go again, when it’s just normal.” She clasped her hands and pressed them up under her chin. “I’m having nightmares…. Is this…? Am I making any sense?”

  “Oh, Faye, I’m so sorry.” I reached out to touch her in sympathy and she grabbed my hand in both of hers. Her fingers were cold. “If it will help, of course you can come.”

  Liddy leaned out the driver’s window and waved at Faye. “Hello.”

  I said to Faye, “You met my friend, Liddy Marshall. Ride with us.”

  “No, thanks, I’ll follow you in my own car, in case it gets to be too hard and I have to leave.”

  “Of course. I understand.”

  “I know I’ll be early,” Faye said. “Do you think they’ll let me stay in Lulu’s set for a while?”

  “It should be all right. Mine is the only sh
ow working tonight.”

  “Thank you,” she said, giving me a quick hug. “See you there.” She hurried back to her car and I returned to Liddy’s.

  As I climbed back into the passenger seat, Liddy said, “Faye certainly looks better. What did she want?”

  “To be at the show tonight.”

  Liddy’s eyes widened. “Oh, Jeez, I hope that’s not a bad omen!”

  36

  At the Better Living Channel’s gate, I identified myself to Angie, the female security woman whose voice I recognized on the intercom.

  “Hi, Della,” she said. “Congratulations. We got a lot more requests for tickets than we have seats.”

  Liddy grinned and pumped the air with her fist. “Way to go!”

  “That’s encouraging,” I said. “Angie, you remember Faye Bond, Mimi’s daughter? She’s in the BMW right behind us. She’s my guest tonight.”

  “Oh, that poor little thing. I’ll keep the gate open ’til she’s in, and I’ll get somebody to set up an extra seat.”

  “Thanks, Angie. See you later.”

  The big iron gate swung open and we drove though. I told Liddy, “Park beside the double doors into the studio so we can unload.”

  She stopped where I indicated. Faye drove around us and on into the lot behind the studio. By the time Liddy and I got out and opened the back of the SUV, Faye had joined us.

  Seeing three big cardboard boxes, she asked. “Can I help carry?”

  “Yes, thanks.” I hooked my tote bag over one arm and handed her the lightest box of the three, the one filled with cookies and meringues. Liddy and I each took one of the others.

  As we entered the studio, I was surprised to see Stan Evans in his guard uniform. He stretched out his arms toward the boxes. “Let me take those.”

  “Gladly, but what are you doing here, Stan? Don’t you get off at five?”

  “Al Franklin’s wife had to go to the hospital,” he said, “so I’m subbing for him tonight.”

  He hefted my load and Liddy’s, and I relieved Faye of hers. Stan acknowledged Liddy and Faye with a smile and a “Hi.”

  “I’m sorry about Al’s wife,” I said. “I hope it isn’t serious.”

  He lifted his shoulders in a “don’t know” gesture. “It’s surgery of some kind,” he said. “She’s at St. Joe’s in Burbank.”

  I made a mental note to send her flowers tomorrow morning.

  Because the studio was being prepared for the broadcast, the lights were on. There was no danger of tripping as we followed Stan past Car Guy’s repair shop set to my kitchen area. We put the three boxes on my preparation counter.

  “Oh, look,” Liddy said, gesturing at the kitchen. “Somebody’s decorated it for Halloween.”

  Somebody had, and very cleverly. “I like it,” I said with enthusiasm. The refrigerator and the front of the oven were bedecked with fake spiderwebs. Black cardboard bats in different sizes hung down from almost invisible wires attached to the bank of lights above. The white sheet and black eyeholes of a ghost fluttered over the sink. A Vampire mask with a pair of bloodred glowing eyes was fixed to the wall of the rear display counter. Another ghost and a witch’s broomstick “flew” from more wires above the spectators’ seats.

  Liddy leaned close to me and whispered, “I wonder if that nasty director of yours brought the spiderwebs and the witch’s broom from her place.”

  I put a finger to my lips to quiet Liddy.

  Examining the embellishments, Faye said, “Cool.”

  She’d been so quiet, I’d almost forgotten she was there and what she wanted to do. I asked Stan, “Is the sound wall locked?”

  “Nope. You’re the only one shooting tonight.” He indicated the red phone on the studio wall. I knew it reached the other sets, the director’s control booth, and the security office. The list of extension numbers was posted next to it. “I’ll be in the office ’til the audience starts coming. If there’s anything you need, just press the ‘Two’ button and I’ll come running.”

  “Thanks again.”

  Stan ambled off to the left, toward the door to the front office.

  “Do you know where Lulu’s set is?” I asked Faye.

  “Yes. She used to let me sit behind the camera and watch her while they taped.”

  “Would you like me to come with you?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll be all right. I just want to be around her things for a while.”

  I watched Faye’s small figure as she headed to the right, toward the door in the sound wall that led to the two sets at the front of the building. As I joined Liddy behind the counter to begin unpacking the boxes, I glanced up to see that Stan—who’d paused at the doorway to the security office—was gazing at Faye. When he saw me observing him, he quickly retreated into the office and closed the door.

  “That boy is interested in Faye,” Liddy said. “Even though he didn’t say anything to her when we all came in, I could feel it. It’s not surprising. Now that she’s fixed herself up, she’s a cute girl, although I certainly wouldn’t have described her as ‘cute’ a week ago.”

  “She coming out of her shell,” I said.

  We went back to arranging the finished Halloween candies and cookies and cupcakes onto the presentation platters and put them on the rear counter. There were a lot of them; I’d made enough for everyone in the audience, plus the studio staff and whatever members of law enforcement Detective Hall might bring with him this evening.

  Half an hour before the audience was due to be let into the studio, Liddy and I were in the little dressing room behind the set. I had slipped into my makeshift cat costume. It consisted of a black long-sleeve leotard and black tights, and a short black fake fur skirt. The skirt had once been part of an old costume of Eileen’s. She’s two sizes smaller than I am, but I’d opened the back seam and stitched in a strip of black fabric a couple of inches wide to make it fit. Another part of her costume was on my head: a pair of black cat ears standing up from a wire frame that was concealed in my hair.

  The outfit got an admiring “Meooow,” from Liddy. “Now for the finishing touches. Sit.”

  I sat, and Liddy used her eyebrow pencil to make little dots on either side of my nose and draw cat whiskers on my cheeks. Stepping back to view her handiwork, she said, “Purrrr-fect.”

  We were interrupted by a staccato series of taps on the door. A man called, “You decent in there?”

  I recognized the voice. “Come in, Mickey.”

  Mickey Jordan opened the door and immediately started to say something, but he saw Liddy and stopped. I introduced them. Liddy gave him a warm hello.

  Mickey told her, “Nice to meet you,” and in the same breath asked her if she minded leaving so he could talk to me.

  Liddy wasn’t offended by his brusque manner; I’d told her about Mickey so she knew what to expect. “I have to go and move my car into the parking lot,” she said.

  Mickey closed the door behind her. Ignoring my costume and my face full of whiskers, he got right to the point.

  “F—ing reporters have been all over me since the police got the idea my business enemies are behind what’s happened.”

  “I’m sorry about that, Mickey—”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t be sorry. Fact is, the trash talk is good for me.”

  “How could that be good?”

  “Makes people think I’m a dangerous character. Gives me an edge if I want to make a deal with somebody for something they don’t want to sell.”

  “I hadn’t thought of being suspected of murder as a business strategy,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, that’s why I’m practically a billionaire and you cook for a living. But, hey, everybody should do what they’re good at, right? Anyway, since he’s taken a powder, it looks like Hopkins is the son-of-a-bee who killed Mimi and Lulu. I just hope the cops don’t find him right away. I want to stay under suspicion for a while longer.”

  “You are amazing, Mickey.” My tone was a combin
ation of awe and irony.

  “Thank you,” he said. Apparently, he heard the awe but not the irony.

  I asked, “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Faye Bond. Why’s that kid here? Angie said she came with you.”

  “She was very close to Lulu and wanted to spend a little time in Lulu’s set. It’s all right that I brought her, isn’t it?”

  Mickey grimaced. “Personally, I don’t give a flying Fig Newton where she goes. She’s one rich little chick now that her mother’s dead, but I tell you, I’d hate to see a nice guy like Gil get involved with her.”

  “Gil York? I didn’t realize they knew each other.”

  “They do now. Gil rode out to the studio with me tonight, to see your show. We went to his set so he could try to talk me into buying him an expensive new piece of equipment. She was next door, at Lulu’s. I didn’t recognize her at first, until I saw her eyes. She’s got bad news eyes, Della.”

  “What do you mean by ‘bad news eyes’?”

  “I can’t explain it in words, but half the money I made was from knowing how to read people’s eyes.” He smiled ruefully and shrugged. “Ah, what the hell. I’m not getting involved. People are gonna do what they’re gonna do. You can’t stop ’em, especially if they want to do something stupid.” He turned to leave.

  “Mickey, wait. I forgot to thank you for having Stan guard my house last night.”

  “That’s okay, but you don’t need protection anymore, what with me being innocent—only don’t repeat that—and George Hopkins a fugitive. His jig is up, and with the cops looking for him, there’s no incentive for Hopkins to try to off you again.”

  “What if he isn’t the killer?”

  Mickey caught the doubt in my voice. “You don’t think Hopkins is the guy?”

  “I don’t know, but something doesn’t feel right about it. George might have killed Mimi. No one seems to know where he was before the show began, so he had opportunity to sabotage the mousse, and his motive might have been revenge. I heard he wasn’t at the studio Monday night, so he might have killed Lulu and stolen her jewelry because he’s apparently in desperate need of money. But what would he gain by killing me? There’s at least one big missing piece here, Mickey.”