Two Cooks A-Killing (16 page)

When Paavo returned to Homicide after getting a search warrant okayed on his part of the Birds of Prey murders, complete results of the search of the Eagle Crest group's arrest records were on his desk.

The first record belonged to Bart Farrell. Farrell had been arrested twice for assault and battery. Both times the charges had been dismissed. The first was in Brentwood fifteen years earlier, but the second was in St. Helena ten years earlier, which would have made it during the time the show was ending.

Paavo dug deeper into that assault. The complaint had been made by Emery Tarleton.

Rhonda Manning had received a DUI eleven years earlier, in Napa County. It was dated a week after Brittany's death.

Gwen Hagen showed two arrests and convictions for prostitution. The last was nineteen years earlier, shortly before she landed the role on
Eagle Crest.

Fred Demitasse, aka Larry Rhone, Kyle
O'Rourke, Emery Tarleton, Mariah Warren, Camille Spentworth, and Brittany Keegan had no records. He'd learned long ago to always check on the victims as well. They weren't always as innocent as they seemed.

He then turned to the information about the Waterfields. Arrest records were blank for Sterling and Silver Waterfield. But a surprise awaited him.

Sterling Waterfield II, known as “Junior,” had a restraining order served against him when he was twenty years old. He'd been ordered by a judge never to approach by less than three hundred feet, a woman named Julia Dean. He had been stalking her, and she'd pressed charges.

Paavo phoned Angie to tell her and for once, he was able to reach her in St. Helena.

To say she was shocked by the news was to put it mildly.

 

Camille Spentworth sat alone at a table in the St. Helena Hotel bar, a drink in front of her, her elbows on the table and her forehead pressed to her hands.

Angie left Connie and Minnie with promises to see them soon at Eagle Crest, and approached the screenwriter. “Remember me? Angie Amalfi.”

Camille started. “I remember.” She seemed even plainer and more tired than the day Angie met her. With no makeup and straight hair, her features were scarcely noticeable, giving her an overall appearance of beige—and just as lively.

“What are you doing here?” Angie asked.

“I had to get away from that house and all those Christmas decorations mixed with unhappy people…”

Angie wanted to hear an explanation, and she knew Camille was the type who would talk just to avoid the awkwardness of silence.

Camille sipped her drink. “It's been a long time since I celebrated Christmas,” she said, “but my memories—I grew up on a farm in Iowa—are good ones. I suppose it made me a little nostalgic. Christmas isn't the same in L.A.”

“I can imagine,” Angie said. A cocktail waitress came over, and she ordered tonic with a lime twist, no gin. When Camille added nothing more, Angie asked, “How's the script coming?”

The writer rubbed her already red-splotched forehead. Forehead-rubbing was clearly something she did too much of. “I don't see how I'm supposed to integrate Tarleton's Christmas Carol story with mine. So far, he won't drop his.”

“Director's prerogative,” Angie said. “What's your script about?”

Camille swirled the maraschino cherry in her Old Fashion. “It was a typical
Eagle Crest
storyline,” she said. “It was Christmas. Natalie wanted to prove she was still young and beautiful, so she planned to perform a solo version of the Nut-cracker Suite on ice. While she was rehearsing, Cliff had time to fool around with Leona. Then, Leona's mother—and Cliff's first wife—managed to free herself from terrorist kidnappers, flee to the United States, and contact Leona. She showed up in St. Helena on Christmas Day, and all hell broke loose. She was the big surprise present Leona was planning for Cliff.”

“Oh, my God!” Angie cried, so intrigued she
scarcely noticed that her drink arrived. All her love for
Eagle Crest
, the emotion that had brought her to this strange location in the first place, came back to her upon hearing the story line. “Finally, Natalie would have learned her marriage wasn't legal! After all she'd been through, too. That would have been so exciting! Then what happened?”

Camille smiled secretly. “I won't tell, in case Tarleton changes his mind. I'll only say
Eagle Crest
fans would not have been disappointed, and I also left the possibility very open for another special to tie up some of the new loose ends.”

“If only!” Angie wailed, hands to her head.

“It would have been great.” Camille sighed as if she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. “The least Tarleton could have done was tell me he only wanted to use the four main actors. Of course, nobody expected him to give his chef a speaking role, either.”

“Did you hear the chef was actually Fred Demitasse?” Angie asked.

Camille looked genuinely shocked. “I had no idea. I didn't recognize him. I worked with him and Kyle O'Rourke a couple of times.”

“So you didn't know he'd have a role either?”

“Not at all. Not that his role is a problem anymore.” She drained her glass and motioned to the waitress for a refill. She ate the cherry. “I don't know what to do. I'm broke and I've already spent most of the money they paid me for the script, so I've got to go along with them.”

“Aren't they working on your script at all?” Angie asked.

“They are. They want to go over it first without me there, which makes me nervous.” She grabbed the drink before the waitress set it on the table and took a big gulp. Her eyes were beginning to glaze. “I'll have to get back by three p.m. and listen to all their ideas for changes. I don't know if I can stand it.”

“I don't blame you,” Angie said.

“I can't afford to pull out, but if they use my script and make a hash out of it like they're coming close to doing, my career could be ruined.” She rubbed her forehead again. “Somehow, I've got to stop them.”

 

“Rehearsals over?” Angie asked Kyle, as she stepped behind the bar for a lemon Calistoga water. She'd take it into the kitchen and get started cooking. Minnie and Connie should be showing up soon.

“I wanted a break.” He sat on the sofa. No one else was in the room.

“I heard the rest of the crew gets in tonight,” she said.

He nodded, uninterested.

“What do you think of the script?” she asked. “I hear Camille Spentworth isn't happy with it. Is the
Christmas Carol
segment still being used?”

“We haven't rehearsed it, if that's what you're asking. It's hard to tell how anything—TV or movie—will turn out since they're often shot in scenes, out of sequence. We just act and hope.” He flashed her a nice-guy Adrian smile straight out of an
Eagle Crest
playbook as he picked up his beer and turned toward the doorway.

“You don't seem happy to be back here,” Angie said hurriedly.

He stopped. “I don't?”

“Am I wrong?”

He strolled her way. “This show gave me my start. I owe everything to it—and Em for taking a chance with an unknown like me.”

“He used a lot of unknowns, didn't he?” Angie asked. “You, Gwen, even Brittany Keegan hadn't done anything but bit roles, from what I understand.”

“That's because we were paid shit when the show began,” Kyle said bitterly, the façade gone. “No one dreamed it would take off the way it did.”

She was frustrated. All his answers were trite, the same clichés he'd said time and again in interviews. “All of you must have grown close working together over so many years.”

“We're like family,” he answered, his gaze never leaving hers as he stepped to her side, leaning against the bar. “There's a lot of love between us.”

“Fred Demitasse apparently worked on St. Helena in the past, but he wasn't in any of the shows. That surprises me.”

Kyle looked annoyed by her mention of Demitasse's name. “Did he? I don't remember.”

“Do you know why he was here?” Angie asked.

Kyle gave her a cold stare. “Em obviously wanted to surprise us by bringing up stuff about Brittany's death.”

“Why?”

“How the hell should I know? Ask him.”

“What do you think happened to Brittany?” she asked.

His eyes narrowed. “Are you talking about Rhonda, too?”

She studied him. Did he, like Fred Demitasse, think Rhonda had something to do with Brittany's death? “Rhonda?” she acted surprised. “No, not really.”

“I'm sick of people accusing her. I'm sure she's innocent. Brittany died accidentally. Demitasse, too. Let them both rest in peace.” He slammed his drink on the bar and left.

 

Angie stayed behind the bar after Kyle left. With this crowd, she knew someone else would show up before long. She wasn't disappointed.

“Well, well,” Bart said, perusing Angie. “What have we here?”

“Call me Joe the Bartender.” Angie smiled. “What'll you have?”

“Beer,” Bart answered.

“Same.” Rhonda said.

Angie found Heineken and glasses. “Have you both heard the chef was Fred Demitasse? Isn't it interesting no one recognized him? Surely, all of you knew Fred.”

Bart and Rhonda stiffened like stone sculptures. “All I remember about Demitasse is he was a little fellow and grouchy,” Bart said. “Frankly, I never paid attention to the chef. And, Fred had dark hair. Wasn't the chef blond?”

“And when Fred read from the script, he wore a mask,” Rhonda added.

“It sure was strange behavior on Tarleton's
part, giving him a role and keeping him in disguise. Same as having Mariah disguised so she'd surprise you when she dressed as Brittany.”

“That was Mariah?” Bart asked, his face flushed with surprise or anger.

“The thing that's the biggest puzzle to me,” Angie said, handing a glass to Rhonda, “is why Tarleton set up this whole ruse. Why did he do it to you?”

“He set it up?” Bart asked.

“Now, a man is dead!” Rhonda cried, her hands clenched. “Why didn't Em leave everything alone? Why, Bart?”

He shook his head.

Rhonda glared at Angie, took her beer and fled the room. Bart followed like a whipped dog.

“Well, that certainly didn't go well,” Angie muttered as she found a white and blue striped cloth and began to wipe down the bar top, humming “Our Love Is Here to Stay,” as she did so.

The leader of the Quetzalcoatl gang lived in the gray one-story flat-roofed shack that Paavo and Yosh watched. They were at the back of the house. Calderon and Benson would be approaching from the front. The SWAT team had it surrounded.

When Calderon found out one of the workers at the Lake Berryessa wild life reserve was a cousin of a leader of the Quetzalcoatl gang, that was the connection he needed to go in to make the arrest. The cousin could easily have supplied the gang with the feathers they'd been using on their victims.

The birds of prey feathers were most likely what was going to convict the murderers. Luckily, the gang hadn't used common ones from a pigeon, chicken, or goose.

Thoughts of a goose caused Paavo's thoughts to wander to the bizarre e-mails Demitasse had sent to the screen name “Etstar.” It all fit together like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

After Paavo got the list of people in the house
with Angie, the name Emery Tarleton had jumped out at him. On the Internet, he'd checked the IMDB director database for Tarleton. Sure enough, in the contact information was the e-mail address of “Etstar.”

“Paavo, you paying attention?” Yosh asked suddenly.

“Sure,” he said.

“Good.”

Paavo tried to concentrate on the shut door, the windows, the roof, the grassy area behind them. Any move, any glimmer out of the ordinary could mean trouble. Once this was over, he'd be able to head north, finally, and see just what was going on at the Christmas reunion.

Christmas…looking around, he couldn't help but wonder if Christmas ever came to a neighborhood like this. If it didn't, that might be one reason why the area seemed so devoid of hope, of love, of a soul.

Demitasse's e-mails had to do with Christmas, and a goose. He could understand the one about Christmas coming more than once a year—a reference to the April reunion show.

“What gander plucked ‘your' goose?” one had asked. Another made reference to the goose not being kosher.

He knew nothing about kosher food or kosher poultry. He'd ask Angie.

Earlier she'd left a message that Connie was bringing Minnie Petite to Eagle Crest. Petite bothered him. She knew lots more than she was saying—including about Angie and the soap opera. He needed to question her. How much longer?

He looked at his watch to see how long he'd been out here.

When he looked up again, the back door had opened.

A gunshot rang out.

 

Minnie Petite sulked, sitting at the center island in Eagle Crest's kitchen. She wanted to meet the director and cast, but Angie wasn't about to interrupt their rehearsal.

Using that as an excuse for not staying, Digger left almost immediately…after arranging to connect with Connie for drinks that night in St. Helena.

Connie was so gaga over being in the same house with Bart Farrell and Kyle O'Rourke that Angie had to watch her closely to make sure she didn't cut a finger as she sliced eggplant. Since the prior evening's Italian meal was such a hit, Angie decided a touch of Greece would be appreciated.

Serefina came in to greet Connie, then the two pitched in to help prepare moussaka, egg-lemon soup, stuffed grape leaves, cucumbers and tomatoes with feta dressing, shrimp and rice pilaf, and pastitsio. For dessert, rice pudding and baked walnut halva.

As they worked, Angie talked about her ideas for an engagement party until both Connie and her mother threatened to puncture their eardrums with shish kebab skewers. Could she help it if she had a lot to think about—date, time, place, colors, patterns, music, food, wine, guest list, gift registries, invitations, decorations, announcements,
favors, her clothes, Paavo's clothes, the list went on and on. The details that had to be dealt with for a simple engagement party were so endless she had no idea how she'd cope with an entire wedding.

She'd hoped this time in St. Helena would allow her an uninterrupted opportunity to decide exactly what she wanted. Boy, had she ever been wrong.

“Will you knock it off, bird brain!” Minnie yelled across the room.

Startled, Angie looked up at her. “I'm sorry, I should have realized…”

“Hell, it's not like that. Me and Fred didn't have that kind of relationship. It's just that it's boring as hell to listen to you. Especially when there are more important things to think about—like why would anybody want to hurt Fred, let alone kill him.”

“We don't know that anyone's killed him.”

“Hogwash. There's no way he'd fall into a vat without help. We want to find out who. I think I know why.”

“Why?” Angie asked.

“Let's just say I knew he was up to something. Fred was a player. Not much of an actor, that's all.”

Angie thought about Minnie's words. Fred died because he was up to something and “knew things.” If so, she'd have to be careful about what she learned! Tomorrow, Paavo would be here, and she'd feel a lot safer.

The question struck: why had Minnie involved
Paavo in the first place? Angie threw down her oven mitt and faced the little woman. “What's going on, Minnie? It wasn't coincidence that caused you to go to Paavo. What did you hope to find out?”

Minnie pressed her lips tight.

“You knew Fred was here, didn't you?” Angie sat beside her. “What did you expect Paavo to do? Did you know Fred was in danger? Is that why you didn't come here on your own?”

“I didn't know anything like that!” She pulled her black handkerchief out of her little black handbag and dabbed her eyes. “You're upsetting me.”

“Why didn't you tell the police? What were you hiding?” Angie yelled, sick of the acting and deception around her.

“I wasn't hiding anything, for cryin' out loud!” Minnie yelled right back. “Fred was.” She glared hard a long moment, then eased her shoulders and shook her head.

“Fred was…damned old fool! He'd found a way to get work. He wouldn't tell me how. I suspected it had something to do with the people at Eagle Crest, but I wasn't sure.”

Minnie's eyes darted back and forth between Angie, Connie, and Serefina, who had stopped work to listen. “Connie knew I used to act. When I was in her shop, she told me about your job. Later, when she mentioned your cop boyfriend, it gave me an idea. She said he was more thorough than a lot of cops, tried real hard to be helpful. I thought I could weasel out of him a list of the other people at Eagle Crest, and maybe something about
them—if one had a past he didn't want known for example. Instead, he found Fred. I guess Connie was right: he is thorough.”

“What do you mean that Fred found a way to get work?” Angie asked.

“I mean, he got paid. All the time. And he wasn't in that many actual shows. I thought, if I could find out how he did it, I could get a cut, too. I'm not getting any younger. Old age can be pretty bleak without a good retirement income.”

“Have you considered,” Angie asked, “that whatever it was that Fred knew that kept him employed is the same thing that led to his death?”

“Blackmail,” Serefina said, her eyes wide.

Angie nodded.

Minnie breathed deeply. “You're right. It's what I'd suspected for years. He wouldn't tell me! He wouldn't share! All I wanted to do was find out for myself. It's not so bad of me, is it?” For the first time that day, Minnie's tears appeared genuine.

“It's not good, Minnie,” Connie said honestly.

Minnie cried harder.

“Do you want to find out who killed him?” Angie asked. “I've got an idea that might work.”

Puzzled, Minnie nodded. “Poor old Fred. Too damn smart for his own good. What do you want me to do?”

The four women huddled closer, and Angie explained.

 

Digger couldn't hear Angie's plan, much as he pressed his ear to the door between the kitchen
and breakfast area. It didn't matter. He knew no one in that house would confess to a crime unless there was no alternative.

Her plan was doomed before it began.

The blackmail angle was much more interesting. It made sense—if Minnie Petite was telling the truth.

Now, he did leave Eagle Crest, even though he'd said his good-byes earlier. It was amazing the information he picked up simply by saying good-bye and then taking his time leaving. That little phrase seemed to force people to talk openly…and if he happened to overhear, was that his problem?

In his hotel room, Digger opened his laptop and did an Internet search of Minnie Petite. It turned up a couple of films she'd been in decades earlier, but nothing more. He then called his office, asking for a Lexis-Nexis search of both Minnie Petite and Fred Demitasse. He wanted everything they could turn up. Next he called the Screen Actors Guild and requested a bibliography of Petite and Demitasse's films and television credits. He left the hotel's fax number and gave the
National Star
's credit card for billing.

Something here didn't add up.

 

Ouzo flowed freely as the cast, Tarleton, Mariah, Camille, Sterling, and Silver scarfed down Greek food. Angie found it interesting that despite Bart Farrell's talk about a raw food diet and Rhonda's veganism, both ate her cooking, meat included, and appeared to enjoy it greatly.

Angie convinced Connie and Minnie to stay in
the kitchen while she and Serefina joined the diners. They ate by candlelight.

When everyone was quite full, Angie cried out. “I just heard Rudolph Goetring's voice!”

Connie had been listening in the butler's pantry for the cue. As soon as it came, she whacked the counter with two cookbooks—
thud, thud
. Then she did it again.
Thud, thud
.

All heads turned toward the pantry. Sterling stood. At that moment, Angie pointed toward the foyer. “Look!”

In the darkness, Minnie Petite stood in a white chef's gown and hat. As soon as Angie pointed at her, she ran down the hall.

“What?” Bart shouted. “I didn't see anything.”

Rhonda was frozen to the spot.

“I saw it, too,” Gwen shouted. “Is this a joke?”

“It's no joke,” Silver said. He started toward the door.

“Stop,” Serefina said. “It's just Angie. Cooking in that kitchen makes her nervous. She sees Goetring everywhere. Sometimes, when a Christmas tree light burns out, it glows a little brighter for just a moment. That's probably all you saw. Or perhaps the moon peeking from behind a cloud cover. It's the full moon tonight, you know. Don't let Angie scare you.”

Silver sat again.

“It would be Goetring's ghost,” Serefina explained, “only if someone killed him and he returned to accuse his murderer.”

“Oh, ho, ho!” Sterling laughed. “A fine joke, Serefina. Look at them, they're all white as sheets
now.” He turned to Angie. “Why didn't you tell us you were troubled? You don't have to cook if you don't want to.”

“I love cooking,” Angie said. “Mamma's right. I'm sorry. It couldn't have been a ghost…could it?”

“Wait,” Tarleton said. “We all heard the footsteps. What was that?”

“Maybe Junior getting his dinner,” Angie said.

“I think anyone who scares us like that should just go home,” Rhonda shrieked. “I didn't come here for this!”

Mariah sat like a statue. “I saw something,” she whispered, “and it wasn't a light. It was Fred Demitasse.”

As Angie looked from one to the other, she saw that they all had heard about Fred being Goetring.

“The hell it was!” Kyle threw his napkin on the table and strode down the hall, Angie and the others following in a cluster behind him.

He went through the family room, breakfast room, and into the kitchen.

“Who are you?” he roared.

Angie tried to push her way ahead of the others.

“Adrian! I mean, Mr. O'Rourke!” Connie squealed. “It's such an honor to meet you!”

“Who are you?”

“I…I'm Angie's friend. I got here a short while ago, and saw everyone was eating, so I came in here. I didn't want to disturb Angie's dinner.” She had a half eaten plate of food in front of her. “I helped myself. I hope you don't mind.” Her gaze turned moony and she stood, stepping near him.
“I simply must tell you how much I loved the scene when you told Natalie that you would love her forever, even though she ditched you and married Cliff. It still brings tears to my eyes whenever I think about it. I taped it and watched it over and over. Someday, I hope to find a man who loves me like that.”

Kyle backpedaled out of the kitchen. “Don't let me disturb your dinner. I'm sure Angie will be happy to see you.”

Connie clutched her hands together, lifting them to her breast. “The way you kissed her good-bye. Only your lips touched hers. It was the sexiest, most sensual kiss I've ever seen in my whole life! God, I don't see how she didn't throw her arms around you! Hold you tight and kiss you back until you were dizzy from it! It was so, like…” She sighed. “How could any woman resist you?”

“Excuse me.” He dashed out of the kitchen, eyes wild, and fled. Gwen and the others went after him. The show was over.

Smiling from ear to ear, Angie entered the kitchen. “Where's Minnie?”

“Hiding under the sink. We cleared a space just in case something like this happened.”

Minnie crawled out. Connie put her hand on Minnie's shoulder. “We were great, weren't we? Spooked them good!”

“Wonderful,” Angie said. “You really got to Kyle, too. It was all I could do not to laugh.”

Connie's smile vanished. “Laugh? Why? I was dead serious about him!”