If Hooks Could Kill

CHAPTER 23


“You’re drinking tea with the detective every night now?” Mason said. “What happened to the idea that he was just a boarder? The whole ships passing in the kitchen thing.” Mason didn’t sound happy.

“It’s nothing. We don’t talk about anything personal.” I noticed that there was suddenly a furrow of worry in Mason’s brow. “Don’t worry, he’s not trying to start things up between us. From what I gather, Detective Heather has been a frequent visitor.”

Mason’s face relaxed and he laughed. “I’d like to see you call her that to her face.”

“Not unless I want her to handcuff me and throw away the key.” I brought up the little pizza party and how she’d been trying to relate to Jeffrey’s drama friends.

“How’d that go?” he said.

“I don’t think she could help it. You know how cops have that air of authority. That and she had a way of looking at them as if she thought they were all guilty of something. The topper was when I heard her call one of the girls ‘ma’am’ as she handed her a slice of pizza.”

Apparently that image tickled Mason and he did a full belly laugh in response. He was good at seeing the humor in most things.

Mason had come in just as the bookstore was about to close to intercept me before I went home. He’d waited while I got my things and we’d headed down the street for dinner. Mason took my hand as we walked and said how nice it was to be just the two of us. But when I glanced toward him, his brows were furrowed in concern. He suggested we go to the Italian place down the street again. It was a Tarzana fixture and the fragrance of garlic and tomato sauce was comforting, even if Mason’s demeanor wasn’t.

Since it was late, the place was almost empty and we took a table by the window that looked out on Ventura Boulevard. The sidewalk was deserted and the street had only thin traffic. We ordered a Margherita pizza to share along with a Caesar salad.

“Okay, what is it?” I said when the waiter left after taking our order.

Mason smiled. “Am I that transparent?” He put his hand on mine. “Sunshine, I need to ask you a favor.” I looked at him expectantly. “Would you come to Santa Barbara with me?”

“That’s it?” I said. I hadn’t meant to, but there was a squeak in my voice. Even though Mason and I had been more or less dating since the big break up with Barry, we hadn’t spent a night together. There seemed to be one excuse after another—on my part, anyway. The plan, at least in my head, was to wait until Barry moved back home. But a trip out of town, even to Santa Barbara, which was only a little over an hour’s drive, seemed to be pushing up the moment. Mason picked up on my hesitation.

“It’s not what you’re thinking. I have to go up there about the wedding and I’m afraid if I go alone with my wife, I might kill her.” He sounded weary as the whole story came out.

“Jaimee heard about a hotel up there with a cancellation. After all that’s gone on, I’m not committing to anything without seeing it. I certainly can’t trust her to handle it, and she won’t let me handle it alone.” There was pleading in his eyes as he looked at me. “So, will you come?”

Mason had come through for me on numerous occasions and even though playing referee between him and his ex didn’t sound very appealing, I agreed to go. Hmm, I noticed that he referred to her as his wife. I guess that was the thing with divorce, it didn’t erase the relationship.

“Good,” he said as relief spread over his face and the usual Mason came back. “And I promise there will be a stop at the McConnell’s ice cream store,” he added with a grin.

McConnell’s of Santa Barbara was my ice cream of choice. The grocery stores that sold it locally only had the basic flavors, but the shop in Santa Barbara had a whole array of choices.

“You know my weak spot,” I teased.

“It’s the least I can do in exchange for keeping me from strangling Jaimee. With that out of the way, Mason leaned back in his chair and turned into the fun person I was used to.

Mason knew I’d gone to Kelly’s funeral and asked if I’d found anything more about her murder.

“I saw some of the crochet pieces she was selling online, but I don’t think they had anything to do with her death. I did see something strange outside though.” I mentioned seeing Dan hugging the neighbor he told me he barely knew.

“So he is still the number one suspect?” Mason said.

The waiter dropped off our salads and I waited to answer. “Apparently for Detective Heather he is, even though she doesn’t have any evidence and his hands were swabbed and there was no gunpowder residue on them or his clothes. And his gun hadn’t been fired.”

“Well, there are explanations for that. He could have worn gloves and he could have changed his clothes. As for the gun, maybe he had two. One to shoot her with and get rid of, and one that hadn’t been fired to show the cops.” Mason didn’t say anything, but I had a feeling he knew that from past experience with a client. “Did anybody swab the neighbor’s hands?”

“I don’t think so and it’s too late now.”

We finished dinner and before we parted company, Mason mentioned the time frame of the trip to Santa Barbara. He certainly wasn’t one to put things off. He wanted to go the next day.

Luckily, I had the next day off, so it was no problem. The following morning Mason picked me up and we made a fast stop at the bookstore café to get drinks for the road. I looked in to say hello to my bosses. They were busy rearranging a display, adding a sign that read “Serenity” over a table that featured candles with soothing scents, books on meditation, soothing teas and lavender sachets. Mr. Royal showed me a beaten up e-reader he said he’d found in front of the store when they opened. “I guess the shoplifter had a guilty conscience,” he said. But apparently not about all the crochet pieces.

When I returned to Mason’s black Mercedes, I set a cup of estate-grown Kenyan coffee in the drink holder for him and a red eye for me. “I don’t know what Jaimee drinks,” I said with a shrug before pulling out a bottle of a premade sweetened coffee drink. “So I got her this so she won’t feel left out.”

Mason chuckled and shook his head as he steered the car onto the street. “Nice thought, but she probably won’t drink it.”

“Oh,” I said sinking back into the soft leather seat.

Jaimee lived in a house in a gated community at the top of the mountains, along Mulholland Drive. According to Mason she counted a number of A-list celebrities as her neighbors. As we pulled in front of her huge house, a tan well-built man stood in the front door with one arm around Jaimee and the other holding a bag with a tennis racket sticking out. He was clearly a lot younger than she was.

Mason gave the guy a distasteful curl of his mouth. “That’s Mark. You’d think she could be a little more original than getting involved with her tennis instructor.”

The guy headed toward his silver sports car and Mason muttered something about how it figured he’d drive something like that and he wondered if it had been a gift from her. I took a sip of my red eye and wondered what I’d gotten myself into.

With her boy toy gone, Jaimee shut the front door and walked to the car. She pulled open the door on the passenger side and yelped in surprise when she saw me. As soon as she recovered she asked if I’d take the backseat because she had car sickness issues and could only sit in the front.

Mason touched my arm as I retrieved my coffee. “Sorry, sunshine, it must be something new.” He rolled his eyes and sighed.

I offered the coffee drink to Jaimee as we headed down the mountain toward the 101 Freeway. She turned and gave me an uncomfortable smile. “It has sugar,” she said in a reproachful tone as if I’d just offered her a shot of poison.

We headed west on the freeway and the San Fernando Valley gave way to golden brown hills dotted with squat California oak trees. I looked out the window as we whizzed through Westlake, Thousand Oaks and went down the steep grade between jagged mountains toward Camarillo. Jaimee talked on, excited because she was being considered for a new reality show The Housewives of Mulholland Drive. I tuned it all out and took in the panoramic view of farmland and the shimmer of sun off the distant ocean.

By the time we’d gotten past the city of Ventura and were on the thread of highway between the Pacific Ocean and the green scrub-covered mountains, I understood why Mason had convinced me to come along. I wanted to kill Jaimee. It was the tone of her voice, the clack of her long manicured nails against the console and the way she kept insisting that they had to stop at some design studio to pick out something for Thursday’s home. “I know you don’t care,” Jaimee said in her abrasive voice, “but they need to have a center to the room. Something unique that sets them apart and brings the room together.”

No chuckles from Mason this time, except when he mentioned the proposed stop at McConnell’s. You’d think he was proposing we stop for arsenic. Jaimee looked back over the front seat and gave me the once-over. I felt very self-conscious and tried to suck everything in. “You’re going to eat ice cream?” she said making a tsk-tsk sound. “Mason, I guess your taste in women has changed.”

I said nothing and took in the view of Santa Barbara from the window. The small city was draped over the hills at the base of the tall green Santa Ynez Mountains. The hills sloped down to a sparkling bay. I could see why people called it the “American Riviera.”

Mason pulled off the highway and parked by the beach. I looked out at the water while the two of them headed across the street to the hotel they’d come to check out. It was a classic white stucco building with a red-tiled roof, surrounded by lush landscaping.

When they returned I could tell by their expressions that it hadn’t gone well. The mood in the car was tense. Jaimee insisted if Mason had let her handle it, they would have been offered a better space. Mason looked like a pressure cooker about to explode.

“How about we go for that ice cream,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood. Mason pulled away from the curb and headed into the city. We parked in front of a cat hotel.

While Mason and I crossed the street to the small ice cream store, Jaimee went in the other direction to a health food emporium and said she was getting a shot of wheat grass juice. Mason and I surveyed the ice cream offerings. To make up for everything, he insisted I get two scoops and I chose strawberry cheesecake and he got Vermont blueberry. We took our ice cream and sat at one of the wire tables outside.

“I’m sorry for her and thank you again for coming,” he said. “You said you wanted to be included in my family,” he joked. I took a spoonful of the ice cream and at last savored the creamy flavor. There were just inches between our arms and I moved mine against his and leaned my head on his shoulder.

“At least I understand why you got a divorce,” I said. He settled his free arm around my shoulder.

“Who knew all those years I was so busy working what she was really like.” He paused. “Or maybe she became this way.” He shook his head and grumbled about the situation of the wedding. “We’ve got two hundred people and still no place to put them.”

“Would it be so hard to make it two hundred and one?” I said. I hadn’t meant to, but it slipped out.

Mason hung his head. “You really want to come?”

“If Samuel was getting married, I’d invite you. It makes me feel like I’m in the shadows of your life,” I said. Jaimee showed up at that moment with a tiny cup of bright green liquid and the conversation ended. I caught the scent of her drink and it reminded me of newly mown grass.

“Cheers,” she said lifting the cup as she gave our ice cream a disgusted look, and then she chugged it.

We made another stop at a hotel under renovation. They said they could do it outside, but the Amtrak tracks ran right through the property. “So it’s not a wasted trip, let’s go to that design studio,” Jaimee said as we walked back to the car.

We drove up State Street, which was the main drag in town. It was lined with attractive stores and eateries, and was crowded with people. Jaimee directed Mason to turn on a side street and park. I think Jaimee was hoping I’d stay in the car, but I followed them into a low building around a courtyard filled with plants and a fountain. The moisture in the air here mixed with the sunlight and gave it an iridescent sheen.

I was surprised to see the proprietor of the design studio was a familiar figure. “Rexford Thomasville,” I muttered recognizing Kelly and Stone’s father.

“How do you know him?” Jaimee snapped.

“Allow me,” Mason said with a grin. “Molly is investigating the murder of his daughter.” Jaimee flashed a surprised expression and suggested I keep my Nancy Drew act on hold. “We’re here to shop, not play detective. I want to get a good piece from him, not antagonize him.” She waved her hand toward the courtyard. “Why don’t you go wait outside.”

I’d had enough being pushed aside by her. The day was almost over and by now I didn’t care if Mason killed her or not. I might have even helped. “No way am I turning down a chance like this.”

Jaimee’s mouth fell open and she turned to Mason and said, “Do something before she makes a scene.” Mason shrugged and chuckled and, with a brush of his hand, urged me on.

Jaimee got in front of me and reached the proprietor first. She threw her arms around the gray-haired man and said how good it was to see him again and that she needed the perfect focal spot for her soon-to-be married daughter’s home. I noticed his wife in an office and Jaimee gave me a shove in her direction saying, “Why don’t you talk to her.” Then she started in on Rexford, letting him know he was dealing with a soon to be member of The Housewives of Mulholland Drive show.

I didn’t take Jaimee’s suggestion and while she monopolized Rexford’s attention, I tried to remember what I knew about him. He had only made an appearance at Kelly’s funeral and no one had said much about him. All I could remember was what the prop guy had said, that Rexford Thomasville had been a set director before opening this place. I got why they called it a studio instead of a store. There weren’t price tags on anything and the idea was that people shopping here weren’t looking for a bargain.

I surveyed the room and quickly figured out that the theme here was unique. A suit of armor stood guard just inside the door. A gazelle head, which I hoped was just an artist’s rendition, hung from the wall. Below it, a wooden horse displayed a bar setup on a trapdoor on its side. A graceful purple velvet divan was covered with pillows made out of old fabric. The walls were decorated with interesting pieces. There were collages made using old jewelry and coins, along with framed stamp collections. There were tall cabinets made out of interesting old doors. Lots of unusual lamps and something I particularly liked—a tree trunk that had been sandblasted smooth and turned into a coatrack.

Rexford glanced in my direction several times while Jaimee went on describing what she was looking for. Basically it was something everyone would notice and wish they owned.

When she’d finished, he pointed out some items and then left her to look around on her own. He approached me. “Do I know you?”

I explained who I was and that I’d been at Kelly’s funeral and his face lit with recognition. The small sad smile was enough to bring out his dimples and I could see both Kelly’s and Stone’s face in his. I mentioned that I was a bit of an amateur sleuth and had been investigating Kelly’s death.

“I’m glad somebody is,” he said with annoyance. “I don’t understand why they haven’t charged her husband.”

I explained that the evidence they had against him wasn’t very good and that they were probably hoping he’d have a guilty conscience and it would get him to confess. “And there is the possibility he didn’t do it,” I said.

Rexford’s mouth gathered in disapproval. “What are the chances of that? Is anybody going to believe that story of his that it was some kind of robbery?”

I asked about Kelly’s ex-husband.

“I thought about him myself. I don’t think there was any problems between them, and he was at Disneyland with her kids that day.”

I asked him if he’d been close to Kelly. I was surprised when he glared at me.

“Did Stone say something to you? I tried to mend fences with him, but all he seemed to care about was investing in the energy drink business. I hope it works out for him. I tried to give him some advice.” He sighed. “But I guess it’s a little too late for that.” He looked at me directly. “I wasn’t the best father or husband.” He ran his hand along the wood trim on the purple divan. “I tried to smooth things over with my ex, too, but we just had a few minutes at the funeral. She lives on the East Coast now.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jaimee standing near us with her arms crossed. She was actually tapping her foot with impatience. She snagged Mason away from checking his BlackBerry and ordered him to do something because they were real customers. Mason suggested she keep looking around on her own.

Rexford seemed unaware of what was going on around him. I gathered all this had been playing on his mind and he wanted to vent his feelings.

“It’s not as though I didn’t try. When Kelly got in touch with me and said she wanted to be in the business, I got her a production assistant job on a show I was working on. I helped Stone get a job, too.” He shook his head with regret. “I thought Kelly would know on her own that it was a no-no to get involved with the talent. She didn’t get that she was expendable, and as soon as North Adams was finished with their fling, she was gone.”

“North Adams?” I repeated. “She had a relationship with him?” Rexford seemed surprised by my reaction and before I had a chance to explain, Jaimee took the situation in her own hands and simply interrupted by walking in front of me. She pointed toward several items and wanted him to tell her about them. “The story is everything,” she said to him as she physically took his hand and led him away from me.

I barely noticed; all I could think about was that North Adams had known Kelly and never said a word.