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 smiling. “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?”