“That’s what we’re here to find out,” I said. “And we were hoping you could help us in our investigation.”
He sniffed some more, looking distinctly miserable. “I have no idea. Who would harm such a loving, warm, sweet, wonderful person like Chickie? She was a goddess. She was perfection. She was God’s angel. Everybody loved her. Everybody and especially meeee!”
“Well, she must have had enemies. Otherwise she wouldn’t have been killed so tragically.”
“I’m telling you, she had no enemies. Angels don’t have enemies. She brought only sweetness and light into this world and we all loved her. Adored her—worshipped her!”
“So… what about this Jamie Borowiak person who dropped by yesterday and again this morning and got into a flaming row with Chickie both times?”
“Jamie was Chickie’s best friend in all the world. She would never get into a flaming row with her. Never. They organized slumber parties. They sang together. They recorded songs for each other’s albums and they performed shows together. They would never get into a fight. And Jamie would most definitely never murder her best friend.”
“We talked to Doogie just now,” I said.
“Who?” asked the dog, a confused frown on his face.
“The peacock,” said Dooley. “They said their name might be Immaculata, though, or even Sookie. It’s a little confusing.”
“Oh, you mean Mark. Yeah, don’t listen to Mark. He used to belong to a rapper, and I think all that rap music must have affected his brain. It got scrambled a little. Or a lot.”
“What’s your name, by the way?” asked Dooley.
“Boyce Catt,” said the French Bulldog. “Don’t laugh. Chickie wanted a dog and Yuki—that’s her mother—wanted a cat. So Chickie called me Boyce and Yuki called me Catt.”
“Well, Boyce Catt,” I said, “Mark told us that Jamie was here yesterday and she and Chickie sat out in the garden and got into a big fight. Jamie accused Chickie of trying to steal her boyfriend Charlie Dieber, and then she stalked off on a huff.”
“But she came back this morning to do some more fighting,” Dooley added.
“That’s true,” said the doggie. “I saw her. They made up, though.”
“They did?”
“I was there when Jamie dropped by this morning. She walked in when Chickie was rehearsing in the dance studio. There was a moment of name-calling but then they decided they loved each other too much to fight over a silly thing like a boy and they hugged and made up.”
“They hugged?” I asked.
“Yes, they did. And I ask you, is that the behavior of a would-be killer?”
“Jamie could have been pretending.”
“She would never do that,” said Boyce Catt. “Jamie and Chickie have been besties for years. Also, Chickie was the sweetest person alive. No one could hold a grudge against her. Absolutely no one, and most definitely not her best friend.” He sniffled a bit more, then frowned and said, “You want to know what I think happened? I think this is a case of mistaken identity. Has to be. Someone killed Chickie thinking she was someone else. Or maybe a burglary gone wrong. Someone broke into the house to steal Chickie’s valuables and she happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“It’s possible,” I allowed.
Frankly anything was possible. We had no clue what had happened, exactly, and the burglary gone wrong thing had happened before, especially when the victim was as rich as Chickie.
“Let’s find Odelia,” I told Dooley. “We have a lot to tell her.”
“Thank you so much, little doggie,” said Dooley, and it was an indication of Boyce Catt’s mournful mood that he didn’t even suggest nipping Dooley in the butt again. Having your human suddenly snatched away from you by the grim reaper has that effect.
And we’d just set foot for the house when a big and burly male came walking out. He was talking into his phone, saying, “Please, Mr. Weskit, sir. You have to help me. You promised, Mr. Weskit, sir,” and then he passed out into the garden as we passed into the house like ships in the night. Or, more precisely, two cats and one human in the daytime.
Chapter 9
The next person to join Odelia and Chase was Chickie’s sister Nickie. She took one look at the conference room and wrinkled her nose. “Mama and I would like to talk to you but not in here. Mama hates this room. In fact Mama hates every single room in this house except for her own, so if you could talk to us in there, she’d be very much obliged.”
And since Chase and Odelia were most interested in talking to Chickie’s nearest and dearest and didn’t care where the interview was conducted, they followed Nickie Hay out of the room and along the corridor, then up a flight of stairs to the next floor.
Odelia noticed how Chickie’s sister wore house socks of a very colorful and thick design, and was otherwise dressed in plain jeans and a sweater. She looked very much like her sister, only with brown hair instead of blond, but otherwise the same fine-boned face and cupid’s bow mouth.
Nickie was carrying a Starbucks coffee mug in her hand, but didn’t offer any refreshments to Chase or his civilian consultant. Once upstairs, she swiftly moved to the first door on the right, and when it swung open it was almost as if they’d entered a different world. The room was airy and bright, with lots of paintings adorning the walls: small little paintings of boats and seascapes. The color scheme was navy blue and white and seagulls dotted the wallpaper. On the coffee table a large book of paintings by Renoir lay, and in a wicker chair overlooking the garden sat Chickie and Nickie’s mom. She was fair-haired and slender and had large eyes. She’d tucked her feet underneath her and watched as Odelia and Chase took seats on a sofa, Nickie preferring to remain standing.
“Terrible news,” were the woman’s opening words. “Absolutely devastating.”
She didn’t look all that devastated to Odelia, though.
“So what have you found out?” asked Yuki Hay. “Who is responsible for my daughter’s murder? And have you talked to Tyson and asked him how he could have let this happen?”
“So far we’ve only talked to your housekeeper Hortense, ma’am,” said Chase.
“Oh, please don’t ‘ma’am’ me,” said the woman with a light chuckle. “Call me Yuki.”
“Chase Kingsley, Yuki. And this is Odelia Poole.”
“Pleasure,” said Yuki. “Though you’ll agree that the circumstances are not ideal.”
“Mom, don’t be so callous,” said Nickie.
“I’m not being callous. The circumstances are terrible, that’s a fact. Now have you offered these nice police people something to drink?”
“No, I haven’t,” said the young woman, clearly having no intention of offering them anything while she took another sip from her own cup.
“What can I get you?” asked Yuki, directing an annoyed glare at her daughter.
“We’re fine,” said Chase.
“Nonsense. I’m not suggesting you have a stiff whiskey, though I could sure use one.” She got up and walked over to the liquor cabinet, which, Odelia saw, was well stocked.
“Why don’t I pour myself something, and call down for Hortense to bring up some refreshments?”
“Really, Yuki,” said Odelia. “There’s no need.”
“Poppycock,” said the woman, and poured herself a liberal helping of an amber liquid, then picked up her phone and said, “Hortense, please bring the nice detectives something to drink. Tea? Coffee?” she asked, turning to Odelia with an inquisitive look.
“Coffee is fine,” said Odelia, and Chase nodded that he could do with the brew, too.
Moments later Yuki Hay was seated again, sipping from her liquor, and judging from the twin red circles that appeared on her cheeks it was hitting the spot just fine.
“Did your daughter have any enemies?” Odelia asked.
“Where do you want us to start?” said Nickie.
“You simply can’t get where Chickie got in this business without creating a bunch of enemies in the process, Detective,” said Yuki. “So along the way to success the road is littered with disgruntled business partners, musicians, producers, record company executives, competitors, ex-boyfriends and whatnot. The list is endless, and we don’t even know the names of half these people. Success breeds jealousy, and jealousy makes people do strange and horrible things. Luckily Chickie never really got entangled with any of that stuff. She wasn’t one to bear a grudge.” When her daughter made a scoffing sound, she looked up in surprise. “Well, she wasn’t, Nickie.”