One Hot Mess Part 10

"My schnauzer. Wouldn't hurt a flea."

"So how long had the saw really been running?"

"I can't say" she said. "But it's a terrible shame. A terrible shame."

I moved on. Everyone I met agreed it was a terrible shame, except tomorrow's leaders, of course, who were catatonic.

Remembering Queenie's words about Kathy's marriage, I looked in the housing section of the local paper. Kevin Baltimore, real estate tyc.o.o.n and s.h.i.thead, had four properties listed. I circled the picture of a humble little split level and drove to his office.

It was easy as tinkling to talk his secretary into letting me meet with him.

"Ms. Ankeny" he said, arm extended, a hundred teeth gleaming as he hurried across the floor. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting." He was fifty pounds overweight, as heavy in his face as he was in his belly, and smiling like a picket fence. "It's very nice to meet you."

If he was mourning his ex-wife, I'd have to give up my Oscar. "Mrs.," I corrected.

"What's that?"

"It's Mrs. Ankeny," I said.

"Ahh, so you and your husband are looking to buy in our area."

"Considering it," I said.

"Great. Well, you'll love Edmond Park. It's very peaceful here."

"That's what we thought," I said, "but I heard there was a murder."

"A murder!" He drew back, appalled.

"I was told a woman was killed in her home just the other day."

He stared at me a moment, then shook his head. "You must be talking about Kathleen?"

"I'm not sure what her name was. They said she was working in her wood shop and-"

"No, no. That was just an accident," he said. "She pa.s.sed out, landed on her saw. It was a terrible thing. But just an accident."

"Pa.s.sed out? Did she have some sort of medical condition or-"

"No." He was shaking his head. "Not that I know of, that is, but they think her heart stopped."

"How awful."

"A terrible tragedy."

I almost mouthed the words with him.

"But, as I said, it was just an unfortunate accident. Our little town is as peaceful as Mayberry."

I tried a few more questions, but he kept steering the conversation back to real estate. By the time I squeaked out of there, I was considering buying a little fixer-upper near the golf course. The man could have sold dentures to crocodiles.

My last stop before leaving town was the police station. I walked in, mind spinning.

An officer in uniform straightened from his conversation with a woman twice his age. She was laughing as if his stellar wit was surpa.s.sed only by his good looks, and I could see why. He was pretty. Six-one in his stocking feet, he had gold-blond hair and a smile that had probably kept his mother fretful for most of sixteen years. I casually checked his left ring finger. It was notably nude.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"I hope so. I was wondering if I might get a little bit of information."

"Regarding?"

I considered lying. But sometimes cops take offense to creative fabrications. I've learned that the hard way.

"It's of a private nature," I said.

He looked interested. His secretary looked like she'd hatch an egg to know. The trip to his office was short, appropriate for the size of the entire building. His office was simple, tidy, small. A metal desk occupied the majority of the s.p.a.ce.

"I'm Officer Tavis." He had traditional Celtic good looks. Sparkling eyes. Dimples. The kind you read about in those lovely s.m.u.t novels where the women look o.r.g.a.s.mic even precoital. Slap him in a truncated kilt and he could be the Highland Rogue himself. "What can I help you with, Ms...."

Again I debated lying. But maybe I'm learning.

"McMullen," I said.

"Is that Scottish?"

"Irish."

He shook his head and tsked. "Ahh... I'm sorry to hear that."

"I carry on as best I can."

He laughed. It was a nice sound, soothing, honest. If he had sported a wee bit of a burr in his speech, I would have taken him down right there and then. "What can I help you with, Ms. McMullen?"

I took a deep breath and jumped. "I was hoping you could tell me about Kathleen Baltimore's death."

"You a friend of hers?" he asked.

"Not exactly," I said.

He nodded. "Want some coffee?"

"No, thank you."

He poured himself a cup and sat down. "A relative?"

"No."

"Then I feel compelled to inquire about your interest in her death."

"I'm looking into it for a friend."

"And your friends name?"

I paused. Honesty is all well and good, but you don't want to take it too far. "I think he'd rather I didn't divulge that information at this time."

He didn't comment. "Are you a private investigator, Ms. McMullen?"

"I'm a psychologist."

"Really?" He canted his head and smiled a little. I wasn't sure if I should be insulted or flattered.

"Yes."

"Where do you practice?"

"L.A."

"Yeah? They as crazy as we like to believe?"

I considered that a minute. "Probably."

He laughed. "What can I tell you?"

The question floored me. If I had wandered into Rivera's office asking questions about a case, he probably would have had me interrogated, handcuffed, and strip-searched by now. I opened my mouth but failed to speak.

"We don't have a lot to hide here in Edmond Park," he explained, apparently unsurprised by my surprise.

"So you don't think she was murdered?"

His brows raised a little, but that was the extent of his dramatics. "Do you have some reason to believe she was?"

"Like I said, I'm just checking into it for a friend."

"Whose name you don't wish to divulge."

"Sorry."

"Well..." He smiled and stood up. "In the hopes of making your friend believe we're not just a bunch of booger-flicking hicks, I'll say this: There was no sign of a struggle. Ms. Baltimore wasn't an Amazon, but she was fit. Took jujitsu cla.s.ses from Carl Franken on Tuesdays and Thursdays. There was no blood but her own at the scene. I had it tested. No flesh under her fingernails. No spare hairs that the sweepers could find."

"Fingerprints?" I was grasping at straws. I had no idea what I was talking about.

"There were other fingerprints, of course, but none that came up suspicious."

"Which means what? That whoever was in her workshop hadn't been convicted of a previous crime?"

"Hasn't been accused. Can I ask what your friend's interest is in Ms. Baltimore?"

"You are an officer of the law," I said.

"Oh, that's right." He grinned. "Then you'd best tell me before I get out the thumbscrews."

"Thumbscrews?" I said.

"We're not against progress here in Edmond Park, but we don't want to rush into anything," he said.

"He worked with her years ago," I said.

"He?"

"As I said, I don't think it prudent to mention his name."

He nodded. "But your friend's a man."

"I know several," I said.

He laughed. "I was just curious."

I studied him for a second. Something told me he might not be quite as retiring as he seemed. "Because Ms. Baltimore was a lesbian?"

He watched me a little closer. "So you know that."

I didn't respond.

"Not everyone does," he said.

"So I'm told."

"By whom? Or is that cla.s.sified, too?"

"I spoke with Queenie."

He nodded, saying nothing.

"Was it monogamous, do you think?"

He shrugged. "Ask any citizen in this town, ninety-nine out of a hundred will tell you Kathy Baltimore was as straight as a T square."

"Are there a hundred citizens?"

"Five thousand nine hundred and thirty-two," he said. "According to last year's census."

"Holy cow," I said.

A dimple peeked out. "She didn't flaunt her s.e.xuality," he said.

"And what about Queenie?"

"I think she would have done anything Kathy asked her to do short of murder."