Chapter 12
I had a hard time digesting my cinnamon raisin bagel the next morning, having been foolish enough to open my e-mails and read about Daddy’s plans to go rooting around in Lydia Pinkus’s garbage.
Honestly, I was so distraught, I could barely finish my second bagel.
But eventually, I regained my equilibrium and called to make an appointment with Emmy, the Reiki healer, who agreed to stop by my apartment later that week.
I did some heavy-duty gulping when she told me her fee—a hundred bucks an hour—but at that stage I was willing to try anything to get my forlorn furball back in good spirits.
“Good news, Pro,” I said when I hung up. “The Reiki healer is coming to see us.”
Prozac just stared down at a spot under my chintz armchair.
Kill that dust bunny for me, will you? I don’t have the energy.
If left to my own devices, I would have spent the rest of the day giving Prozac belly rubs. Or primping for my upcoming date with Jim. Or perhaps shopping for some strappy sandals to wear on my Hawaiian vacation. But I had to focus on the murder and clear my name if I intended to actually go on said vacation.
So I decided to pay a visit to Linda.
I hadn’t forgotten how angry she’d been during her dramatic face-off with the Pink Panther at Dean’s funeral reception. Angry enough, I now wondered, to have doctored her husband’s cat food with a fatal dose of Raid?
It was time to find out.
I drove over to Linda’s place in Westwood, hoping she’d be there when I showed up.
But, alas, no one came to the door when I rang the bell.
So I settled down to wait for her in my Corolla with a free copy of War and Peace I’d downloaded on my phone. It was going to be quite a challenge reading War and Peace three sentences at a time on the phone’s tiny screen, but I was up for it. It was a book I’d always meant to tackle. And now was the perfect opportunity.
I clicked open the book and began to read:
War and Peace
By Leo Tolstoy
I was really quite proud of myself, using this otherwise wasted time to expand my mind, to broaden my horizons, to stretch my literary muscles—
“Jaine! Are you okay?”
Someone was tapping at my car window.
My eyes flew open, and I felt drool on my chin. Good heavens. I must’ve dozed off somewhere on the copyright page.
I looked up to see Linda standing outside my Corolla, peering down at me through her harlequin glasses.
“I saw you lying there with your mouth open, and I thought maybe you’d passed out.”
“No, no. Just resting,” I said, surreptitiously wiping away my chin drool. “Actually, I came to talk to you.”
“Sure. Come on in the house.”
I followed her into her charming bungalow, where she kicked off her shoes and curled up on her living room sofa, gesturing for me to take a seat on the other end.
“Just got back from my therapist,” she said with a sigh. “These past few days haven’t been easy.”
“I can imagine.”
“You want anything to eat? I’ve got deli leftovers from the funeral reception in the fridge.”
Actually, I would have liked nothing better than to scarf down some cold roast beef, but Linda seemed so wiped out, I didn’t have the heart to put her to the trouble.
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
“Thank God. I don’t think I can manage the trek to the kitchen.” She sank deeper into the sofa cushions, her arms limp at her sides. “So how can I help you?”
“Actually, I’m investigating Dean’s murder. The police think I may have killed him, and I’m trying to clear my name.”
“Why on earth would the police think you killed Dean?”
“Because he was threatening me with a lawsuit.”
“But Dean was always threatening to sue people,” Linda said with a dismissive wave. “Half the time he was just blowing off steam.”
“Well, the police are taking his threat seriously, so I’m doing what I can to track down the killer.”
“Anything I can do to help, just ask. The sooner Dean’s killer is caught, the happier I’ll be.”
“For starters, did you see anyone slip out of the soundstage while Nikki left the Skinny Kitty unattended?”
“No, after I left you and Prozac, I grabbed a bite at the buffet and went over to the conference table to check my e-mails. I wasn’t really paying attention to what was going on around me.”
“What about Zeke? Was he with you the whole time?”
“No, I don’t think so. I vaguely remember him wandering off somewhere, but like I said, I wasn’t paying attention.”
So Zeke had wandered off. And Linda was alone at the time the Skinny Kitty was poisoned.
Which meant neither the grieving widow nor her worshipful admirer had alibis for the time of the murder.
“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to see Dean dead?”
“Too many, I’m afraid. There’s Ian and Deedee. Dean was threatening to ruin their lives. And there was Dean’s old partner, Artie Lembeck. Artie’s convinced Dean stole his cat food recipe. Dean insisted he didn’t steal it, that he tweaked the recipe and made it better. I wanted to believe Dean. But who knows? Maybe he really did cheat Artie, and Artie was out for revenge.”
“Anyone else?” I asked.
“Of course, there’s me.”
“You?” I said, careful not to mention my train of thought had been chugging along that exact same track.
“I’m sure the police must have me on their suspect list. After all, everyone knew about Dean’s affair with Camille. I had the perfect motive: The scorned wife. “But believe me,” she said, “the only person I wanted to kill in that triangle was Camille.”
She picked up the picture of her and Dean on the beach, the one I’d seen at the funeral reception, the one where they both looked so impossibly young.
“Those were the good days,” she said wistfully. “Dean was so sweet. So funny. He really loved me then.”
She gazed deeply into the picture, as if longing to escape into the frame, back to the days when her husband really loved her.
“I wanted to go to law school, but I scrapped all my plans and worked two jobs so Dean could follow his dream and devote himself to his inventions. And how did he repay me? By cheating on me. He’s had women on the side for as long as I can remember. Camille wasn’t the first. Not by a long shot. There were plenty of others. Like Nikki, the food stylist, to name just one.”
Whoa! Dean had been boinking Nikki?
“They first met when Nikki styled some cat food for the Skinny Kitty Web site. Nikki fell head over heels in love with Dean. But as soon as Camille came along, he dumped her like a hot potato. That’s the kind of guy he was.”
She looked up at me with tears shining in her eyes.
“And the worst thing is—after all these years, after all his affairs, I still loved him. How sick is that?”
She started sobbing then, great heaving sobs.
And at that moment, it was hard to believe that Linda could have poisoned Dean.
The poor thing had actually loved the bum.
I gave her some comforting pats on her hand, assuring her she had nothing to be ashamed of, that she’d been brave and loyal under the most trying circumstances.
Then I thanked her for her time and asked if she’d mind e-mailing me the contact list for everyone on the shoot.
“Not a problem,” she said with a weak smile.
I headed back to my Corolla, my mind abuzz with the news flash Linda had just unleashed about Nikki’s affair with Dean. If Dean had dumped Nikki like a hot potato, she had every reason to want him dead.
I may not have gotten any deli leftovers that morning, but I was walking away with a hot new murder suspect.