Chapter Thirty-Five

I’d never been so happy to see anyone as I was to see Sam enter the interrogation room where I waited to give my statement at the Burbank Police Station.

“What’s going on?” he asked, since all I told him when I called was where I was.

I grabbed his thin hand like a lifeline as my words spilled. “Betty’s dead. At least I think it’s her. I never saw the body. I saw her wrist, and I think that was her bracelet. I smelled and saw blood, so I called police. Sure enough, there’s a dead woman in there, shot maybe. I wanted to leave so they brought me here.”

His gaunt face wrinkled in concern as he stood over me, hands on narrow hips. “What were you doing there?”

“Trying to find the codes for those ledgers.”

His head shook in disbelief. “You shoulda picked me up first. As angry as you’ve been with that woman...” he stopped. “Damn! Do you know how this is going to look?”

I gulped as what he said hit home. “No!”

“You better call Nichols before you talk to these people. I mean, like now!”

I reached for my phone, but my hand shook so badly I fumbled it. Nimbly, he caught it and followed my instructions to put in the call before handing me the phone.

“You’re where?” Oliver shouted.

“Burbank Police Station. Someone…killed Rick’s bookkeeper. I found her body.”

“Don’t say a damn word. I’m on my way.”

I hung up as Sam got off his phone. He gestured toward the door with his head.

“What?” I asked.

“Let’s go outside for a second. I need a drink of water.”

In the hall he directed me to a plastic chair while he walked to a row of vending machines. I was no longer feeling as shaky, but I was pleased he was nearby.

“Tell me everything,” he said when he returned with two cold bottles of water. “From beginning to end.”

Sips of water kept my parched throat wet as I stumbled through the gruesome discovery, much as I’d told the story to the officers who first arrived on the scene.

Sam eyed me warily. “Whatever you do, don’t tell them about your suspicion she was sleeping with Wells.”

“Isn’t that withholding information?”

“You don’t know she slept with him. Maybe she wanted to make you jealous. Your only reason for being there was because you needed help with those books. Understand?”

I nodded. That was the truth. For once, I didn’t have to fudge.

As I finished my talk with Sam, Paula came striding down the hall. Wonderful, the press had arrived. I started to protest I couldn’t talk, but realized she had a police officer beside her, along with Richard Williams—the Oliver Nichols of the north Valley.

Her angry eyes zeroed in on me like I was a target. “You set me up,” she said, but her attorney gripped her arm and whisked her through a door next to where I’d waited for Sam.

As I turned away, I spotted Oliver coming through the main door.

“Tell me what’s goin’ on, darlin’,” he demanded. I introduced him to Sam, but his attention stayed focused on me. “I want details before they question you. We have time since they’ll wait until Mira Loma cops arrive.”

Oh, hell. My shaking grew so violent, I splashed water on me. “They’re coming to question me?”

“Burbank PD will conduct the interview, but I can guarantee Callahan and Torres will be listening. Remember that if anyone brings up details of the Mira Loma case, don’t answer. You stick to this morning and that girl. Watch me for your cues. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I don’t want any freelancing.”

He was treating me like a child, but I didn’t argue. At his urging, I described my reason for seeing Betty and how I discovered her and called police. Then he threw me for a loop. “Where were you last night?”

“Last night? Why does that matter?”

“From what I heard on the radio, they haven’t established a time of death yet.”

I drew a deep breath. At least I had not been home alone. “I had a date.”

“With who?” Oliver asked. “Will he vouch for you?”

Damn, would Miles mind being mentioned? Could that bring him into this? How would that look?

“I got home around three this morning,” I continued, not answering his question. “And then Brad Singer came by, but he wasn’t there very long.” Brad could attest to what time I got home, if he wasn’t too angry.

“What about earlier yesterday?” Oliver asked.

I wet my lips, feeling like the kid who got caught playing hooky. I couldn’t look at Sam as I admitted the folly of my afternoon. “I got my hair done at Andre’s Salon, a manicure at Nanci’s Nail Nook and spent the rest of the afternoon at Genie’s Rodeo Fashions. They’ll vouch for me.”

“What about your date?” Oliver pressed. “Were you with Singer? We’ll need to verify…”

“No, not Brad. What if he doesn’t want his name given out?” I asked, making a face.

“Maybe we need to find out what time she was killed,” Sam interrupted.

Oliver’s attention jerked to Sam. “Let me handle this.”

“She was with me,” Sam said, not the least bit intimidated.

I didn’t know why Sam made that claim, but it got me off the hook for the moment so I said nothing.

Oliver blew out a deep breath, playing a ping pong game with his eyes from me to Sam and back. I doubted he believed us.

The questioning itself was easy, after I waited several hours. Burbank Police had no reason to suspect me of anything. I knew Torres and Callahan were probably watching. Was Hank around too?

“Are you hungry?” Sam asked when we finally departed. “There are a couple of coffee shops around here.”

There were some nice restaurants too, but I knew I wouldn’t taste anything. We ended up in a small café on the border between Glendale and Burbank. I toyed with my fruit salad while Sam dug into his cottage cheese.

“Where were you all afternoon?” I asked.

He’d disappeared for long stretches while I sat with Oliver. He waved his hand, lifting and lowering his eyebrows. “Snooping, of course. Listening in the background.”

“Did you hear anything interesting?”

“Paula Gardner is in a deep world of hurt. Seems she dropped by to see the late Ms. Arguello last night and they got into a heated argument. The thing about these older neighborhoods is that many people have lived here for years. They know each other and watch what goes on. Anyway, people saw Miss G. arrive at the house around seven in a marked TV car. The two women argued and she left. Neighbors saw Betty go to her office later, but no one saw her come out. Light stayed on until around eleven when there was another big fight. No one saw anything after that. They figured she went into the house, though no one could tell cause she has automatic timers that turn off at midnight.”

“So Paula could have killed her?”

“If she came back after the late news. Several people thought they heard gunshots, but no one is sure.”

“Why would Paula or anyone want to kill Betty?”

His eyebrows did their dance again. “Makes you think she knew something, huh?”

My breath caught. What could she have known? “Did they question Carl?”

“Did you suggest it?”

“I mentioned he was the other person working on Rick’s finances. So now what? Where does that leave us?”

“The damn books,” he said, putting down his glass of tea with a thud that made liquid slosh over the top. “What time does the wine shop close?”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to call and check?”

“Yep. The sooner we get in there, the better.”

The line went immediately to voicemail. “Wells Fine Wines is closed for inventory. If you have a special order, please leave a message…”

I clicked off and made a face. “Did Darryl say anything to you about inventory? The shop is closed.”

He shook his head, scratching his chin. “Interesting. Maybe we should go look around.”

“Jennifer still hasn’t given me a key.”

“Hmph!” He flicked a hand of dismissal. “I can get in. That security system is for shit. This way we won’t have Mrs. Roberts interrupting or Darryl looking over our shoulders. Hell, it’s your shop, right?”

“Yes.” Another thought occurred to me. “Maybe we can find the gun.”

“Gun?”

“It was missing from the box where I packed it. It was probably put into another box, but it might not hurt to take it back.”

His grizzled face stiffened, and when he spoke, he was Mr. Cop. “You can’t pick up guns whenever you feel like it. You gotta have a permit.”

“It’s registered to me. I can even shoot—sort of. Maybe I need another lesson.” I’d never been big on guns, but given the last few days, perhaps I should learn how to use it.

His demeanor softened and he nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll take you to the range.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it across his half eaten plate. Neither one of us had finished our diet meals. “Let’s swing over to my house. I’ll pick up clothes and stay with you tonight.”

His suggestion was as welcome as the thought of the gun. Spending another night sitting on my couch didn’t appeal to me, and I needed him to hear that threatening message on my phone.

****

We drove to his house and while he went inside to get clothes, I remained in my car. After my call to Darryl, I’d noticed three missed calls on my phone log. My cell had been turned off while I was talking to police. The log showed two calls from Delia’s cell and one from Miles Brookings.

I checked voicemail, listening to Delia’s chirpy voice. “Hey, babe, call me. What’s the latest? Are you locked up yet?”

“Ha, ha.” I forwarded to the next message. Miles baritone sent a shiver through me.

“Kimberly, this is Miles Brookings. I’m not certain what you hoped to gain with those pictures, but needless to say, I would appreciate no further contact with you.”

Pictures? What the hell was he talking about?

My phone buzzed and I jumped, tossing up the instrument like a bouncing ball. I emitted a cry of delight when I saw Delia’s number.

“Oh, Del, am I glad to hear from you!” My words tumbled out like spilling milk. “You wouldn’t believe what’s happened. Someone killed Betty.”

“What?” She shouted so loud Sam probably heard her in the house.

I gave her a brief rundown of my crazy day.

“They don’t think you did it,” she said breathlessly.

“I have an alibi. Remember? I had a date with Miles Brookings.”

Another shout rang in my ear. “Yes! Did you do the nasty?”

Just like Delia to ask that first. “We went to dinner, concluding with a simple kiss.”

“Oooh…you were supposed to call me,” she grumbled.

“I did. Your phone was off. Anyway, unless she was killed early this morning, I’m off the hook. Except I don’t know if he’ll admit he was with me. He left a nasty message saying he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. I have no idea what that’s about.”

“I can hardly wait to get home. You’ll never figure this out on your own.”

“Sam’s a big help. We’re on our way to the wine shop to look for the gun Rick gave me.”

“Sam might be great, but we’ve always been a team.”

“You’re right. You could probably talk that rat Toby out of his blackmail demand. Have you heard from him? He said he left messages for you.”

“I ignored them. He can’t touch me. I have an alibi.”

“I’m supposed to pay him tomorrow night, though I don’t know where I’m getting two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

“You might as well face it. You gotta pay him.”

“Maybe I should run it by Sam. He said a tape could be doctored.”

“Uh-uh. Even if the tape is inadmissible in court, he heard everything. He’s a witness. I wouldn’t tell Sam. He’ll go to the cops. I can get you the money. I’ll call my bank and arrange for you to pick it up.”

Relief rushed through me like a tidal wave. “Del, you’re an angel. I don’t know when I can pay you back.”

“What are friends for? Men come and go, but best friends are forever. You know, BFF.”

“Kimberly!” Sam called from the door, waving wildly.

“I have to go, hon. I’ll call you later.”

We hung up and I hurried up the walk to Sam. His face was etched with anger and he gestured me inside with an impatient motion. He waved at the TV in the family room.

“You mind explaining that?”

I stared in horror at the set. A photo of me and Miles taken the night before at the restaurant filled the screen.

“We’re not certain who took the picture or sent it to Gossipcolumn.com,” Peter intoned, “but it certainly raises new questions about the relationship between Kimberly delaGarza and Miles Brookings, especially given last night’s murder of Wells’ bookkeeper, Betty Arguello.”