Fine-Feathered Death (23 page)

“This is Bobby Lawrence.” Shit. But who else was I expecting—Governor Schwarzenegger? The only accent on the other end suggested the deep South. “And you are . . . ?”

I doubted my temporary alias would engender cooperation, so I decided to come clean. “Kendra Ballantyne.”

“The lawyer who’s now representing that slimy outfit T.O.?”

“Except for the slime, yes.”

I heard some muffled conversation and cursing, suggesting Bobby held his hand over the phone as he chewed out poor Jessie.

“Mr. Lawrence,” I called without a heck of a lot of hope that I’d capture his attention. Should I drive to his office and try to talk to him there, now that the proverbial cat—in this instance, my not-so-secret identity—was out of the bag?

In a moment he was back. “My secretary said you asked if T.O. wanted to hire me to act as their broker in scooping up the Vancino property. Like I told the cops, that’s exactly what happened when O’Barlen contacted me before the VORPO meeting the other night. I told him I’d think about it, but then I got another call, this one from that Cossner guy, who told me to go pound sand. He said O’Barlen’s call was a mistake, and I told him where to go. So, not that it’s any of your business, but I did argue with Ezra Cossner before he was killed.”

Wow . . . Mining for minor information, I’d struck gold!

“So why am I telling you this? Well, I’ve done my homework like always and I know you snoop into matters that aren’t your business, Ms. Ballantyne. The Internet has lots on how you solved the case when
you
were accused of murder, and how you helped some friends when
they
were. I’ve told the police everything, and admitted I was mad at Cossner but I didn’t kill him. I’m telling you so you’ll stay off my back, assuming you’re looking into this murder, too. Which, since you knew the guy, I’d imagine you are. Are the cops checking into you, by the way? If they have any smarts, they should be. You know an awful lot of people who get murdered.”

He was right, of course, but my only response to his finger-pointing over the phone was to flinch—and I was thankful he couldn’t see that.

“So you’re saying you didn’t kill Ezra, Mr. Lawrence?”

“That’s right. And before you ask, yes, I knew Corrie Montez, too. I represented her last year when she tried to buy a condo in the area, but the deal fell through. And no, I didn’t kill her, but I told this to the detective who questioned me, too. I have nothing more to say to you, Ms. Ballantyne. If you call me or my office again, I’ll call the cops.”

The slam of his phone seemed so loud that I’d have sworn it rocked the Beamer. The whole conversation certainly rocked me.

Now I knew two people—Bobby Lawrence and Millie Franzel—who’d disliked Ezra, perhaps enough to slay him, and they’d both confessed their antipathy and sworn their innocence to the police.

The hell of it was, I was afraid I believed them both.

My suspect list was shrinking.

So who killed Ezra and Corrie?

Chapter Twenty-two

I FINALLY PULLED the Beamer from its parking space—an occurrence that made the day of one approaching driver. I headed for my office, the lair of a couple of my least likely murder suspects: Borden Yurick and Elaine Aames. They each knew Ezra and Corrie. Perhaps they’d had reason to hold one or both in temporary disfavor. But shoot them?

Shoot! I just couldn’t see either of them as killers.

When I reached the office, Mignon sat at her regular greeting spot. “Hi, Kendra,” she chirped. “Elaine’s been looking for you.”

“I’ll stop in and see her.” And ask her, just in case, if she’d decided finally to confess to the two murders.

Not.

I headed down the hallway. To reach Elaine’s office, I had to pass the one that had been Ezra’s—and was now, in addition to the kitchen, Gigi’s domain.

The yellow crime-scene tape had been removed—again. Impulsively, I opened the door and slipped inside.

Gigi was there, in her large golden cage. “Hi, gorgeous girl,” I said.

She looked at me with her nearest dark eye, then started nodding her whole body in a rhythmic dance.

“Does that mean you’re happy to see me?” I asked. She didn’t really respond, but she ceased her bobbing.

Talk about impulsive behavior, I was on a roll that afternoon. I unlatched Gigi’s cage and reached my arm in. “Step up,” I said. She didn’t seem upset or aggressive, but who knew what odd mood this bird could bring on without warning? Would she peck holes into my flesh with her pointed black beak?

No, instead she slipped off her perch and onto my arm. I lifted her out of the cage, and she continued to climb my sleeve. She still weighed several noticeable pounds, but that didn’t bother me. “So, Gigi,” I told her, once she’d settled mostly on my shoulder. “Any chance Darryl was right and that you could explain exactly what you saw on those two terrible nights when you witnessed those murders?”

She didn’t answer. Nor did she move.

“You’ve been through a lot,” I said. “How about coming along with me for now? You’ll have to be back in here soon, but we’ll see about that later.”

She stayed perched on my shoulder as we exited Ezra’s office. Elaine’s was next door, and I knocked.

“Come in,” she called, and we did. Elaine’s suit today was pale peach. So was her complexion beneath her neat gray hair. She gasped at her unexpected guest. “She seems so calm now.” She smiled at Gigi. “Do you think she’ll stay that way? If so, maybe I could take her home with me, start getting her used to her new owner.”

“Ezra’s heirs are okay with that?”

“Couldn’t be happier. They made it clear they were interested in his money, but not his macaw.”

“That’s good for Gigi. You, too.”

“They’re not holding a funeral for him once his body’s released by the coroner, by the way,” Elaine said with a sigh. “They’re following his wishes to be cremated and have his remains returned to Seattle, where he’s originally from.”

“Any memorial service planned for him in L.A.?” I asked.

“No, but I may put one together when things are more normal around here.”

If they ever are,
I didn’t add. Instead, I said, “Did you want to see me about something?”

“Just curiosity. Since you have a reputation for knowing what’s going on about crimes around you, I wondered if you knew whether they had any suspects in Ezra’s and Corrie’s deaths.”

Jeff Hubbard, but I was reluctant to reveal that. “I’d hoped you called me in here so you could confess.” I regaled her with a roguish grin, even if I was only half joking. But in all honesty, even if I wanted Jeff off the hook, I hoped it wouldn’t leave someone else I liked on it. Like Elaine or Borden. Or even Millie Franzel. Better that it be a stranger, one I hoped would stay that way, like Bobby Lawrence. Or Jonathon Jetts. I’d found little to like about either the real estate broker or Ezra’s former law partner.

Neither had I found any kind of evidence pointing directly to either of them as the most probable murderer.

But my comment had made Elaine pale, and she suddenly was straightening some piles of paper on her desk. “You’re not serious, are you, Kendra?”

“Of course not,” I responded, a bit too boisterously.

Her office door suddenly burst open, quick enough that it startled Gigi, who began to squawk and flap her large blue and gold wings. I reached up a hand to reassure the bird, especially when I saw that the intruder was Borden.

He stood still in the doorway, obviously taken aback by seeing both the bird on my back and Gigi’s reaction to his appearance. He crossed his skinny arms quickly over his chartreuse sweater, cleared his throat, and stumbled, “Er, Kendra, Mignon mentioned you might be in here. I wanted to talk to Elaine and you about shifting around some of our caseload with Ezra gone. I’ve already discussed it with some of the others, and Geraldine and William have each agreed to assume three of Ezra’s cases.”

But Geraldine Glass and William Fortier, though both great litigators in their day, were even older than Borden, Elaine, and Ezra. Or at least they looked to be in their eighties. “Are you sure they can handle that much extra work?” I asked him.

“It’ll be on a trial basis, so to speak,” Borden acknowledged. “And I suggested that you could help out. At least until we hire another paralegal or two to assist in research and pleading preparation.”

“I’ll do all I can,” I assured him.

“Including taking on another three matters yourself? And you, too, Elaine?”

The abundant wrinkles radiating from her eyes seemed to disappear as her arched eyebrows rose. “You’re not serious.”

But he was. And despite seeing any free time I might have had evanesce, I assured them, “I’ll help out. I think I have someone to help with pet-sitting sometimes, so I should be fine.”

“You’re not going to give up pet-sitting now that you’re practicing law again?” Elaine asked.

Partly to explain to her and partly as a reminder to our boss, I replied, “That was part of my deal coming to work for Borden. I can continue to take on my own cases, including low-paying pet-law matters, plus I can still pet-sit. Right now, though, I need to follow up on my T.O. matter, so, Elaine, if you will . . . ?” I didn’t give her a glimmer of choice. I drew near, told her to hold out her arm, and ordered Gigi, “Step up!”

To my pleased surprise, the bird again obeyed without a hassle. She even seemed happy about it. In fact, out of the blue she started singing a song—if you could liken that awfully raspy noise to genuine music. It sounded kind of like a familiar tune, although I couldn’t place it other than the fact I’d heard Gigi whistle it before.

“Gorgeous girl,” I encouraged her. “Bottles of beer.”

“Oh, one more thing before you leave, Kendra. That Detective Noralles called and said he’s coming over again in about an hour. He wants to ask us some more questions.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” I said. With luck, I’d be long gone before he arrived.

I left Elaine and Borden with the bird.

 

I’D NO SOONER taken a seat at my own desk than Mignon gave me a call. “Jeff Hubbard is here to see you, Kendra,” she sang.

“Send him in,” I said, wishing I could instead say I wasn’t really here.

Was I ready to face Jeff? I hadn’t spoken to him since I got an earful from Amanda that might absolve Jeff from remaining Noralles’s prime suspect in Corrie’s murder. Had she also claimed she’d been with him all night when Ezra had been killed? Since she had called Jeff that night and I had gone home alone, I wouldn’t know whether she lied about either or both assignations.

My office door opened, and Jeff stepped in. His face appeared as faded as his jeans, and his blue eyes stared instead of twinkled.

Poor guy. I knew exactly how agonizing it felt to be the number one suspect in a murder investigation. Interrogations. Angst. Concern about the future—and whether there’d ever be one beyond this horrible present.

I had a nearly uncontrollable urge to approach and envelop him in a huge hug. The
nearly,
fortunately, prevailed, since the urge was trumped by my knowledge of his alibi. I might be busting my buns trying to detect who really committed the killings. But Amanda was the one whose supposed eyewitness testimony might save Jeff.

Instead, I simply said, “Hi, Jeff. Come in and sit down. I doubt you’ll want to stay long, though. I just learned Ned Noralles will be here to question us all some more.”

Jeff flinched. “I’ll leave in a minute,” he agreed. His usual proud stride absent, he slunk around the front of my desk and planted the butt I liked to admire down on the bright blue upholstery of one of my wooden chairs. “It’s a nightmare, Kendra,” he began hoarsely. “Noralles is so pleased to be able to treat me like a common felon. He let me go so he could check out some . . . some eyewitness testimony.”

Only then did Jeff’s eyes meet mine, and they immediately tugged away again. As if he had something to hide.

“I spoke with Amanda earlier,” I admitted to him. “I know she’s providing you with an alibi.”
Is it true?
I ached to ask.

“It’s true,” he replied without prompting, as if he was reading my mind. This time his haggard gaze didn’t flee from mine. “Enough to prove I couldn’t have harmed Corrie. Or Ezra, for that matter. I was with Amanda on both nights.”

“That’s wonderful,” I chirped as cheerfully as Mignon ever did. “I’m so happy for you. But I need to leave now. I have a meeting.” One as imaginary as my earlier assumption that my lifelong inability to choose anything but a louse as a lover had finally slunk away. “I’ll be gone by the time Ned gets here.”

“She wants me back, Kendra.” He was taking big gobs of sea salt from his crocodile tears and rubbing them relentlessly into my wounds. Maybe my eyes, too, since they stung.

“Of course. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .” I stood and approached my office door. “I need to prepare for my meeting.”

He rose then. I thought with relief that he was going to leave with no further scene.

Instead, he came close and drew me into his arms.

Some perverse part of me wanted to melt into them, but my blood froze icily inside my veins. I stood stiffly, feeling his body heat and ordering myself not to thaw.

“She’s willing to lie for me, she said, but it’s not a lie. I was with her, Kendra. That part’s true. I went to help her with her stalker problem. She showed me proof that Leon was hanging around, calling her, threatening her. She was scared, and I only wanted to help get rid of the guy for her.” His laugh held the humor of a sobbing disaster survivor. “Not that I would kill him or anyone else.”

“I understand that you did kill someone once,” I blurted out, immediately regretting it when he blanched an even paler shade.

“Yeah, as a cop,” he said softly. “It was a legitimate use of lethal force, to save myself and a fellow officer. It’s why I know I’d do almost anything to avoid doing it again. How did you know?”