Barking with the Stars Page 9

  “Okay, Carly.” She slipped the paper back in her purse, clipped it shut, and picked up her carrier. “If you need us to deal with the blond, you just let us know.”

  And with that, Betty race-walked out the door.

  I laid my head down on the table.

  “Carly?” Malone smirked. “What was that about?”

  “Nothing.” I lifted my head. “Just my wildly dysfunctional relationship with my cousin and her senior citizen assistant.”

  “At least it’s not about that ugly brooch.” Malone leaned back and stretched out his legs. He didn’t have a lot of patience with our feud over the family brooch. Maybe because it had gotten in the way of police business a couple of times.

  “Anyway, you were saying?” I changed the subject. Yeah, I didn’t want to talk about Mel and our problems and I didn’t want to talk about Grandma Tillie’s brooch. And I sure didn’t want to talk about that newspaper clipping.

  “I’d like you to think about when you saw Purple and the other people who were with her the evening before she was killed.”

  “Okay.” I didn’t know any of the people so I wasn’t sure I could give any additional insight but I would try.

  “Here’s the thing.” He paused. “I now have more information on the time of death, and the woman would have already been dead at that time.”

  “What?” How was that possible? I pictured Purple and the group in my mind. As a trained therapist, I knew the dangers of false memory. You remember something in a certain way and you think about it and that cements your version in your mind. But I hadn’t imagined that I saw Purple and the crazy group of fans.

  “We believe—” he began.

  “Don’t talk.” I held up my hand. I closed my eyes and thought about the group.

  Purple in her flowing cape and the group of fans following her. Posers, I’d heard the others call them. A small girl with purple hair, another with the “Beware the Haze” t-shirt, and the one with the “My Heart Bleeds Purple” sign. Surprising that such a big celebrity didn’t have security, many did. Where were the body guards? For that matter, where was Lavender? I pictured Purple again with the white dog in her arms, the dog cuddling close.

  Wait a minute! Lavender had done that with Sheron, the hair stylist, but I’d never seen the dog do that with Purple. The reason there wasn’t any security was that she wasn’t Purple. Instead, she—or he I guess—could have been someone dressed like Purple.

  “It wasn’t her.” I opened my eyes and looked into Malone’s amused blue gaze. “With the wig and all, it’s impossible to say for sure, but her body language was off.”

  “So, you’re not sure it was her?” Malone asked.

  “I’m not even sure it was Lavender, come to think of it.” I hesitated before continuing. “I didn’t actually see the dog’s face, but the way the person was holding the dog isn’t in keeping with how Purple and her dog normally interacted.”

  “So the person you saw could have been someone dressed to look like her?”

  “Yes, it could have been.” I hoped I hadn’t confused things with my eyewitness account. Perhaps given the killer time to get away.

  I sat quietly for a few minutes thinking about seeing the group and not really taking time to question what I saw.

  Malone waited.

  “I’m sorry. Does that change your investigation?”

  “It’s always about putting all the pieces together, Caro. Figuring out where everyone was. Who had a motive. What anything looks like at first is almost never where we end up. But then sometimes it is.”

  “Have you figured out where everyone was?”

  “Mostly.” He rubbed his chin. “Geoffrey Carlisle, for instance, could not account for where he was before, but may be able to for this new time.”

  “Does that mean Geoffrey is no longer your primary suspect?”

  “It absolutely does not. I said, it may mean that he’s able to account for his whereabouts.” Malone’s face was suddenly serious. “Listen, Caro, he’s still a person of interest.”

  “But—”

  “I know you don’t believe he’s capable of murder, but sometimes we find the people closest to a killer don’t see it. They don’t want to believe it.”

  “It’s not his style,” I insisted. “He’s a low-life, untrustworthy, bottom-feeder, but—”

  “I can see you’re a big fan.” Malone fought a smile. “What do you really think of the guy?”

  “Listen.” I laid my hand on Malone’s arm. “I know him. He’d weasel his way out of any responsibility. He’d lie. He’d cheat. But he doesn’t have it in him to kill.” I couldn’t believe I was defending the jerk, but I believed it to be true.

  “I know you believe that, but be careful, Caro.” Malone’s bright-blue eyes pinned me. “Not everyone can be saved.”

  A realization suddenly occurred to me—Malone knew Geoffrey had come to my house last night. Of course, they were having him followed. They’d released him because they didn’t have any evidence, but they were still keeping tabs on him.

  “I promise you, I’ll be careful.” I took a sip of my latte. “Tomorrow we’re planning to try to meet with some of the fans to discuss doing some sort of memorial for Purple. I can keep my eyes and ears open.”

  Malone’s cell phone rang and he glanced at the display. “I’ve got to take this.” He stood. “You have my number. Call.” And with that he walked away.

  I gathered up my bag and coffee. The rush had slowed a bit so I chatted with Verdi for a few minutes. For her, being at the coffee shop meant she heard all the gossip, and like Malone and Diana, Verdi was not convinced of Geoffrey’s innocence. While walking thoughtfully to my car I remembered I’d forgotten to ask Malone about the stalker.

  ONCE AGAIN AT the office, I settled in at my computer to organize my notes and update my files. Due to the Geoffrey-induced cancellations, I didn’t have another client appointment until afternoon.

  I needed to make some notes about the client because this was a new one. A Sheltie named Bosco who belonged to Les Bratten. Les owned a shop on the main drag not far from Mel’s Bow Wow Boutique. The shop sold leather goods, and Bosco had become a problem with customers. Les, understandably, didn’t want to keep him kenneled for long periods, but was going to have to think about doggie daycare as an alternative if we couldn’t get Bosco’s behavior under control.

  Shelties need exercise and Les had insisted he was walking the dog as well as taking him to the dog park and letting him run on a regular basis. If that was true, then the problem might be more a need for mental exercise.

  I jotted down a few questions to ask Les.

  The breed is actually a Shetland Sheepdog, but most people call them Shelties and they’re herding dogs, so that fact made it a bit more likely Bosco simply needed a job. I’d know more after I’d observed him during my meeting at the shop.

  I made a few more notes.

  Then my thoughts turned to my conversation with Malone. If Purple had been killed earlier and Geoffrey had someone who could vouch for him at that time, the police would need to expand their investigation. The problem didn’t seem to be opportunity; the question was who would want to kill Purple.

  I flipped over the page of my notebook and wrote down the names of the people I’d met within the pop star’s circle. Mandy, Trevor, Sheron, the fans, mostly I didn’t know their names, but the two I’d overheard at dinner had seemed to have more access to Purple than the rest. I wrote down Curly Sue and Tiny. And the guy with the purple guitar. What was his name? I thought I’d heard them call him Lew.

  I hadn’t met Drake, her fiancé, but I put him on the list anyway. Wasn’t there something about the killer often being the person closest to the victim?

  Next, I started another column for motive. I didn’t think this was
how Malone and his crew sorted out suspects, but sometimes I had to see things in black and white to wrap my brain around them. It sounds cliché but most times people kill other people for a very limited number of reasons. Money is right there at the top. Secrets also. They are hiding something or wanting to keep something hidden. In this case, with the security cameras being disabled, it seemed the murder had been planned, which would mean the killer needed the expertise to deactivate the cameras. I had no idea how you’d go about that but I’d bet Graham Cash, my techie officemate from next door, would know.

  I stepped outside my office to see if Graham was in and ran smack dab into reporter Callum MacAvoy.

  “Sorry.” He grabbed my arms to steady me. Television anchor, handsome with flashy green eyes and a camera-ready smile, MacAvoy was not one of my favorite people. He and I had clashed more than once.

  Mostly because I thought he should mind his own business, and he seemed to think everything was his business. Probably went with the journalism career. And undoubtedly, I had some built-in mistrust because of how I’d been hounded by the press when my crash-and-burn divorce had been big news back in Dallas.

  “What are you doing here?” I stepped back.

  “Can’t a guy simply stop by to say hello?” He smiled his on-camera smile.

  “No,” I snapped, then realized how impolite that had sounded. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

  “If you’re not busy . . .” He glanced behind me. “I did want to ask you a couple of questions.” He brushed past me and entered.

  “Make yourself at home.” I followed him to the easy chairs that I’d placed in the office to make conversations more comfortable. I had not, however, envisioned conversations with people like MacAvoy.

  “Will the Barking with the Stars group be making an announcement soon?” He didn’t waste any time getting right to the point.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I understand the event has been canceled.” His eyes were alert like Dogbert when he was waiting for a ball to be thrown or expecting a treat. The man was baiting me, hoping for a reaction.

  “Oh, are you the Lifestyle and Entertainment reporter now?” I leaned forward in my chair. “I wasn’t aware you’d been reassigned.”

  He sat for a moment eyeing me.

  “Point to you,” he finally said. “What do you know about the investigation?”

  “See?” I smiled. “How hard was that? Honesty is always the best policy, Mr. MacAvoy.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say. What do you know?”

  “I’m not sure I’d share with you if I did know something, but the truth is that I know very little.”

  “Still I heard you were at the Koffee Klatch with Detective Malone earlier today. You must know something.”

  Wow, he had some pretty up-to-the-minute intel. “You’d have to talk with Detective Malone about that.”

  “Tried.”

  “MacAvoy, you know they can’t give you information about an active investigation.”

  “What about your ex-husband?” He perked up. “They haven’t charged him. Is he still a suspect?”

  “How would I know? He’s my ex—emphasis on ex—husband.”

  “Fine.” He stood. “I’m just trying to keep the public informed.”

  That’d be great if it really were MacAvoy’s motive, but I suspected it was more about ratings and pressure from the station to find out the latest on the investigation. I’d seen the news vans from the national networks parked in front of the police station, and I imagined, as the local affiliate, there was some pressure to get the jump on the others.

  “Sorry, I can’t help you out.” I wasn’t really sorry.

  “I talked to a couple of the fan club presidents this morning.” He ambled toward the door. “The one national president and the one from Japan. They had tons of info about Purple. Apparently, these groups of fans follow her from venue to venue. I got some quotes from them.”

  He didn’t sound too enthusiast about his quotes.

  “Describe the two you talked to.”

  He frowned slightly at my question. “One kind of tall, glasses, curly hair. The other very petite, Asian, dark hair.”

  That sounded like Curly Sue and Tiny. I’d been trying to figure out how I could get in touch with them since I didn’t know their names. But short of hanging out in the lobby of the Ocean Mark P, I hadn’t come up with anything.

  “Did you get their names?” I hated to owe MacAvoy anything but if he had these names, I would be beholden to him for the information.

  “Wait. Yes, I think so.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two business cards.

  I snatched them from his hand before he could decide to bargain for them. “If you don’t mind, I’ll make a copy. Be right back.”

  I hurried to the lobby area where the office copier was located and laid the cards on the glass. Done, I returned to my office to find MacAvoy holding my notebook.

  “Doing a little investigating on your own, Ms. Lamont?”

  I plucked it from his fingers and handed the cards back to him. “Thank you for the information. I’m sorry I can’t chat longer but I’ve got an appointment and I’m sure you have tons of other people to harass. Oh, I mean, interview.”

  Linking my arm with his, I steered him in the direction of the front door.

  Back in my office I looked at the copy I’d made. Cindy Bradford, Purple Fan Club USA, and Yuki Kimoto, Murasaki -Purple Fans of Japan. Both cards listed PO Boxes and phone numbers. Now that I had names, I’d try the hotel since I knew they were staying there. If I couldn’t reach them that way I could always try the numbers on the cards. I folded the paper and put it in my bag.

  I checked to see if Graham was in his office so I could ask about the security cameras, but I found his office door closed. That wasn’t unusual; the kind of work he did wasn’t really in-the-office type work. Maybe I’d give him a call this evening and see what he could tell me.

  I packed up my things and locked up. I’d decided to run home for lunch. The stop could be dual purpose. I would be able to let Dogbert out for a break and grab a bite to eat before my one o’clock with Les Bratten.

  After Dogbert and I enjoyed our short walk around the neighborhood,

  I slapped together a healthy avocado, cucumber, and tomato salad and ate it while checking my phone for message and emails. Thank God, no more cancellations. I imagined Geoffrey’d been busy being almost arrested the past few days, but now that the heat was off, I was sure he’d be back at it. I couldn’t undo what Geoffrey had done, but I certainly could do damage control. I made a note on my to-do list to follow up with clients who could be potential targets for Geoffrey.

  Blowing kisses to the felines and giving a head pat to Dogbert, I packed up for the afternoon. I threw in some new organic dog treats I’d been trying, tossed my phone in my bag, and I was off.

  My office is so close to downtown, I parked in the lot there and walked to Les’s shop. Parking in Laguna this time of year is a challenge and gets worse before it gets better. During the height of tourist season, it was better to walk wherever you needed to go than waste time trying to find a parking place.

  I’d worn a lightweight Rag & Bone popover dress in off-white in hopes of staying cool, but by the time I reached the shop I was still overheated.

  Les was behind the counter when I entered, and Bosco immediately came out to greet me.

  “Hi there, boy.” I gave him a scratch behind the ears and he responded with a friendly bark.

  “Good afternoon, Caro.” Les had also come out to greet me. His handshake was strong, his forearms muscled and weathered by the sun. The combination of his Sawdust Festival t-shirt which was a few seasons old, his faded jeans, and his man bun, created a look that would not have c
lued the casual observer to his reputation as a leather artisan or the high demand for his work. His handcrafted leather goods were all the rage with the celebrities and uber-rich in nearby Newport Beach, Bel Air, and Beverly Hills. I had one of his weekenders myself and I loved it. I’d planned a clutch for Mama Kat for her birthday but hadn’t decided on a color yet.

  “Tell me a little about the issues that have come up recently with Bosco,” I invited as I walked to the counter and set my bag on the floor. Still a bit warm from my walk, I picked up a brochure and fanned myself.

  “He’s always been interested in the customers when they come in.” He patted Bosco’s head and the dog leaned in to him. “Just like he did with you.”

  “He’s always been friendly.” I placed the brochure back on the counter. “Never a problem before, right?”

  “No, but he’s gotten a little aggressive lately and it worries me.”

  “Changes in routine, diet, or his health?” I asked.

  “Nothing I can think of,” Les answered.

  “You’ve had Dr. Darling check him out?”

  “I took him in a week ago, and the doc found nothing at all.”

  “He’s getting enough exercise?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Les grinned. “We’ve been getting regular walks in. After six at Main Beach, dog park every weekend. When it’s open anyway. They closed it a couple of weekends ago because it was so muddy.”

  The Laguna Beach dog park sat in a valley off Laurel Canyon Road and a big rain created a flow of water off the hills that could sometimes turn it into a swamp. Luckily that didn’t happen often.

  “Walk me through an example of a problem with a customer.” I knew Les had said nothing was different, but something had changed in Bosco’s world.

  “Well, the worst case wasn’t a customer, it was Mason Reed, the guy who owns the high-end handbag shop across the street. He and his wife, Quinn, have only been there a few months. Used to be that import place. You know?” He looked at me to make sure I was following.

  “Right,” I affirmed. “What did Bosco do?”

  “At first, he barked.” Les moved back behind the counter and sat down on a high stool. “Then as Reed came closer, Bosco started kind of this deep growl and kind of nipped at the guy.”