Det. Young took Kitty’s arm and led her back to his office.
“What about Mrs. Randall?” Kitty asked, crossing her legs with a sigh. “Did Tracy Evan kill her too?”
“No,” replied Jack. “She was working—waiting tables at a place in the Valley. All kinds of witnesses. It would have been impossible.” He rested his chin on his elbows. “So what did she want to talk to you about, Kitty?”
Kitty thought a moment. Would it be fair for her to reveal what Tracy had said in private? Was she breaking some sort of trust? She supposed not. After all, Tracy hadn’t asked her to keep any secrets and she certainly hadn’t promised to do so. Kitty repeated much of what Tracy had told her.
“That’s what she told us.” The detective was spinning a pencil across his desktop.
“She thinks it’s a setup. Tracy blames Fang Danson, Angela Evan and even Richard Couric and Timothy Toms for her predicament. She blames them for my troubles, too. What is it with Richard and Timothy, anyway? You warned me about them, as well. They’re so sweet. What does everyone have against them?”
Jack glanced out his open door. The hall was empty. “I really shouldn’t be telling you this.” He leveled a finger at her. “So don’t go repeating it. Technically, it’s only hearsay.”
“I haven’t heard anything yet.”
“Richard Couric and Timothy Toms are reported to be major league drug smugglers.”
Kitty snorted. “You’re joking! Those two guys? That’s silly, Jack. They’re harmless.”
He shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. We’ve been keeping an eye on them for a long time. But those guys are slick.”
Kitty was shaking her head. “I still can’t believe it.”
“Believe it.” Jack shuffled some papers around on his desk, found a fax he was looking for and scanned it before handing it to Kitty.
“What’s this?”
“The police out in Sedona were finally able to track down that spiritualist, Madame Zouzou—what kind of name is that?—she’s speaking at the Crystal Magic of the Skulls Conference at some inn out there. Anyway, according to the report we received, she doesn’t know anything. Some psychic, huh?”
“Could this Madame Zouzou have murdered Mrs. Randall? That makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, that makes sense.”
Kitty smiled.
“Except a friend of Mrs. Randall, one Winnie Lawford, gave Madame Zouzou a lift back to her house in Tarzana and Lucille Randall was very much alive at that time.”
Kitty moaned. “Another dead end.” No pun intended.
Jack nodded. “She did say something odd though.”
“What’s that?”
“According to Madame Zouzou, Mrs. Randall wanted her to try and contact some dead person named Kresge.”
Kitty drew in a sharp breath. Her skin went clammy. Kresge. That name again.
“And she wanted to do it before her other guests arrived. Madame Zouzou says Mrs. Randall was quite distraught.” He rolled his eyes. “Of course, she claims the cat was distraught, too.”
“And did she?”
“Did she what?”
Kitty said evenly, “Did Madame Zouzou contact this dead person, Kresge?” She counted her heartbeats as she waited for Jack to respond.
“Yeah. She says she did, anyway. If you can believe her. She claims he was rocking the table and rattling the walls—spouting all kinds of bad mojo.”
“Wait a minute.” Kitty stiffened.
“What?”
“You just said he.”
“So?”
“Kresge is a she.” Kitty explained to Jack how Miss Kresge had been Bruce Churchill’s lover and how they’d once lived in the Wright house. “Churchill committed suicide and his lover went insane.”
“That may be, but Madame Nutjob definitely said Kresge was a he.”
“Which means that Bruce Churchill’s lover had been a man!” exclaimed Kitty. Her skin tingled. Maybe they were finally getting somewhere! “And this was years and years ago. Two male lovers. That explains all the secrecy. Homosexuality wasn’t considered socially acceptable back then, not like it is now.”
Jack was nodding. “Could be. So where is this all leading us?”
Kitty frowned. Where was it all leading them? Bruce Churchill had a male lover who went mad. Churchill was dead. If Madame Zouzou had contacted Kresge, that meant he was dead as well. So there would be no way to talk to him. Not unless she wanted to go through Madame Zouzou.
And Kitty wasn’t sure she wanted to go that far. “I can’t help thinking that Kresge is somehow the key to this. What ever happened to him?”
Jack shuffled some more papers. “They locked him up in a psychiatric hospital in L.A. He died there a few years back. I was just going to head over and follow up on it. Want to come?”
Kitty shook her head. “No. My head’s pounding. I’ve had all I can stand for one day. I think I’ll go see Velma.” She needed a friend to talk to—someone to unload her burden on. Velma wouldn’t mind. And she was sharp. Maybe she’d find something in all this that Kitty and the police were missing.
Kitty looked at her watch. “Velma should be home by now.”