The Tower of Evil (Bye-Bye Mysteries) Read online

  “Abandoned?”

  “That’s what it looks like.” He sighed. “We’ll find out where he belongs.”

  “I’m sure you will.” She glanced at her notepad. “Next, you wanted to know if there’s a report of a kidnapping or abduction near the library, Tuesday a week ago. The answer is no, not a word on file.”

  “You’re full of helpful information.”

  “I did better with the homeless lady at the Salvation Army. A name helps a lot.”

  “Nadine, the public health nurse, came up with Addie Kinkaid.”

  “Addie for Adelaide, if you can believe that. She’s the erstwhile, maybe I should say estranged daughter-in-law, at least former daughter-in-law of Karl Kinkaid.” She thought Walter would be impressed, but he just looked blank. “You never heard of him?”

  “Should I?”

  “I guess not. He's something of a mystery man, big bucks, big mover and shaker, thought to be a little shady, maybe more than a little. Actually, nobody knows much about him.”

  “Where’s he live?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t know. He owns an estate in Montecito, built like a castle, complete with towers, balustrades, maybe even a moat.”

  “Doreen specializes in moat people. I’ll ask her. What’s his daughter-in-law doing at The Sally?”

  “Can’t help you there.”

  “I’ll talk to her, if I ever see her again.” He swallowed from his iced tea.

  “When you phoned I thought you wanted to know about the suicide.”

  “Harry Gould? He’s the son of a friend of Doreen’s.”

  Lupe laughed. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me? DeeDee knows everyone.”

  “Almost. So what happened?”

  “Harry Gould was found this morning by his secretary, sprawled over his desk, shot through the right temple, a Saturday night special in his hand. Has to be a suicide.”

  “Suicides can be faked.”

  “They can also be for real. I hear there was a note on the computer printout.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Not that I know of, it’s not my case.”

  “And why not?”

  “I’m in juvenile, remember?”

  “What a waste of a smart young woman. When did this murder occur?”

  “Suicide, Walt. Apparently last evening, the exact time is uncertain.”

  “And it happened right downtown in La Arcada? That’s one of my favorite spots in Santa Barbara, flowers, fountains and sculpture, straight out of Europe. That’s no place for a murder, too crowded for one thing.”

  “That’s why it’s believed a suicide. It happened in Gould’s office on the third floor. Nobody in his right mind would choose the arcade as a murder site, too hard to get out of without somebody eyeballing you.”

  “Maybe. What do you know about this guy?”

  “Name and occupation is about it.” She hesitated, smiled. “You’re intrigued. I can hear your gears turning.”

  “Merely idling.”

  4: A Grieving Mother

  DEEDEE DIDN’T KNOW THE SAN ROQUE AREA very well and slowed her Beamer often to read street signs and house numbers. San Rogue was built on upper State Street, mostly in the ’50s and ’60s, a suburb then, now practically downtown.

  Yes, this was the house. She parked and headed up the walk. The front door opened before she was halfway to it, and she heard, “Oh-h, DeeDee, I just knew you’d come.”

  “I only just learned, Lorna, I’m so sorry.” Lorna Gould was somewhat heavy, and DeeDee felt a little smothered by her embrace. But she made no effort to escape. “Dear, dear Lorna, what an awful thing to happen, I simply can’t believe it.”

  She heard the woman’s sobs and felt her spastic breathing against her own chest. But she let her be. Tears were the best thing for her. In time she led Lorna to a sofa in her living room and sat her down, pulling tissues out of the box for her. Bottles sat on a table in the corner. She poured brandy into a snifter and brought it to her friend. Lorna Gould was only in her early 50s, yet at the moment she looked old enough for Medicare.

  “I wanted…to see you…so much, DeeDee. I-I just knew—you’d…understand.”

  DeeDee waited out another wail and spate of tears. “It must be so hard to lose an adult child. I can’t imagine losing one of mine.” Lorna Gould kept nodding her head as she blew into a tissue, then another. “You’ve raised them safely, they’ve survived the illnesses and accidents. You think they‘ll be okay now…you can stop worrying.” Suddenly her own eyes filled with tears, quite unbidden. “I think it would be easier to accept…when a child…is younger.”

  “No parent should outlive her child, it isn’t right, it’s unnatural.”

  DeeDee used a tissue for her own nose, took a moment to compose herself. She was supposed to be the comforter, not the comforted, after all. “Try not to dwell on it, Lorna, it won’t help. What happened? The radio never gives details.”

  “That’s just it, I don’t know-o-ow anything really.” Lorna had a nasal voice, especially with her tears. “The police came and said Harry apparently shot himself. That’s impossible! Harry doesn’t even own a gun!

  “Did you tell the police that?”

  “Of course, but they practically scoffed at me.“ She waved her hand to demonstrate how the police had dismissed her. “What do I know, I’m just a mother.”

  “They didn’t believe you?”

  “They didn’t say so, not in so many words, but that’s what they meant. Couldn’t my son have purchased a gun without my knowing it? Of course he could, but why would he? He had no enemies, no use for a pistol, let alone—what did they call it?—a weekend gun or something.”

  “It’s called a Saturday night special, Lorna. It’s a cheap handgun, easily available from stores and catalogs.”

  Lorna dismissed that information with another wave. “Harry loathed violence, ever since his father committed suicide ten, no twelve years ago. Harry even belonged to some group urging gun control. He opposed the death penalty.”

  Lorna got up, stalked across the room, poured into the snifter again. At least she had stopped crying. “You tell me, DeeDee, does Harry sound like someone who’d buy some cheap Saturday night gun, put it to his temple and pull the trigger?”

  “I must say he does not.”

  “The police say he left a note, something to the effect he was sorry, but he couldn’t take it any more. This was the only way out.” Lorna looked at her. “Harry only passed the bar last year. He had just hung out his shingle. He’d gotten his first important client. He was so happy and excited—not despondent and suicidal.”

  “You’ve certainly convinced me, Lorna. Did you tell all this to the police?”

  “Some of it, but I was in too much shock to think. But believe me, I will. I intend to give them a piece of my mind.” She picked up the bottle again. “Would you like some, DeeDee?”

  “No thank you.” She thought about cautioning her friend about getting plastered. Why not, if it helped her?

  “I just thought of another thing, DeeDee. An old college chum was in town visiting him. He was very excited about that.”

  “And would hardly take his own life. Where did Harry go to school?”

  “UCSB, then Stanford Law.”

  “Did he have a family?”

  “Of course, he had—oh, you mean that kind of family. No, Harry never married—he was only twenty-seven, for crissake. I don’t think he even dated anyone seriously. He was all into the law and getting himself established.”

  “Where did he live?”

  “Here with me, naturally.” Her expression turned defensive, her voice shrill. “I know, it’s supposed to be a bad sign when a young man continues to live at home. But he wasn’t a mama’s boy. It was simply convenient for him. He paid what rent he could and helped with the expenses. He came and went as he pleased. There were days when I hardly saw him.”

  “Stop, Lorna.” DeeDee smiled at her. “You don’t ha
ve to convince me. I think it’s wonderful that you and Harry had such a close relationship.”

  "Oh, DeeDee, you’re so understanding, such a comfort to me.”

  “Have you someone to stay with you?”

  “My sister is driving up from LA. She should be here soon.” Lorna smiled. “I’m better now, thanks to you, DeeDee.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes, you did. You were a sympathetic ear.”

  “Not sympathetic, believing.”

  Lorna crossed the room and hugged her. “That’s what makes you so special. I’ll be okay, really, you needn’t stay if you have something to do.”

  DeeDee glanced at her watch. “I did promise to baby-sit for one of my employees.”

  “Then by all means keep your promise.”

  5: A Valuable Kid

  WALTER BYERLY PARKED HIS CAR beside Doreen’s, then strolled out the driveway to the mailbox. Doreen always left this task for him, because she knew he liked to ponder their good fortune to live on beautiful Monarch Lane.

  Named for the butterfly which nested in nearby trees in the spring, the street was a cul-de-sac off Butterfly Beach with a dozen or so homes, each distinctive in style and color. Their place was only a story and a half, a cottage really. Supposedly painted Federal blue, but somebody got the mix wrong. He called it secessionist teal. They bought it a decade ago, when real estate prices were depressed. Now in a booming market it could go for a million dollars.

  “No mail today, not a syllable.”

  Byerly looked across the road at his neighbor. Never could remember his name. “The purveyors of junk mail are surely derelict.”

  “Don’t you dare tell them.” The neighbor hesitated. “Say, Byerly, isn’t that bougainvillea of yours getting a bit out of hand?”

  He turned to look back. The magenta-colored vine covered the whole side of the house facing the street. He had to keep a tunnel cut through her so they could use the kitchen entrance. “I call her Big Bertha. If you don’t see me for a few days, you’ll know she ate me.”

  No laughter. His neighbor was a bit on the literal side.

  “I’ve always wondered, Byerly, is that the front or the back door to your house?”

  “I’ve never figured it out. There’s another door to the right, down the drive, but nobody ever uses it. We always go in and out through the kitchen. Big Bertha wouldn’t have it any other way, she gets lonesome.” He chuckled. “Stop in sometime, I’ll show you around.”

  Byerly walked back up the drive, checking out his landscaping. In truth he was amazed. Apparently one could stick anything in the ground in California and have it grow. That poinsettia was a Christmas gift years ago. Now Carmen was a high as his head.

  He wasn’t sure how he got started naming plants. Probably a sign of approaching dementia, but they sure thrived on it. The verdant hibiscus with the yellow blossoms was Flossie, the rambling morning glory on the fence was Gladys. Gus, the huge live oak, towered overhead. The grass was Hector. Thirsty all the time and terribly vain about his crewcut. “You look fine, Hector, don’t rush it.” He sometimes thought of hiring a gardener, or someone to help him, but he wouldn’t till he was forced to. Mowing and pruning kept him out of trouble.

  Byerly passed through the tunnel in Bertha and at once heard happy squeals and laughter. He found Doreen in the kitchen with two male toddlers. She wore sneaks, jeans, a baggy sweatshirt, and looked frazzled.

  “I used to be a good grandmother. I’d sit Billy and Robin for hours, no trouble at all.” She made a gesture of futility. “I’ve had these two less than an hour and I’m worn out, can’t keep up.”

  “How old were our grandsons when you worked these wonders?”

  “This age. Billy was three and Robin four.”

  “And how many years ago was that? The last time I saw those young men they were high school linebackers.”

  “Oh God, was it that long ago?”

  “Uh-uh, and now you know why the young have children.” Both boys stopped what they were doing and stared at him as though he was an extra from the movie Aliens. One lad had dark hair, the other blond. “Who are your young friends?”

  “This is Tommy, Karen’s boy.” She pointed to the dark-haired one. “And this is—”

  “Jamie, yes. Hi, men.” He extended a hand to shake two tiny ones. “May I ask how you men happen to be here?”

  “I told Karen I’d—rather we’d—babysit so she could go out to dinner and patch up things with her boyfriend.” She sighed. “I can’t keep up with them, and I don’t know what to do. I bought some toys, but they only lasted minutes. You have to help me, Walter.”

  He grinned at her. ”Very well, Star Fleet to the rescue.”

  “Star Fleet?”

  “I don’t think kids are into the Lone Ranger or Jack Armstrong these days.” He turned to them. “What say, men, let’s head for the beach?” At once he earned delighted squeals and the clatter of four little feet heading for the door.

  “The beach, why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Got to burn off their excess energy, then they’ll play quietly.”

  She stared at him. “When did you become such an authority?”

  “I remember vividly. I was lying awake one night, when this person, an apparition really, came to me and—”

  She pushed him toward the door. “I saw the same guy and he told me never to babysit more than one child at a time.”

  He walked along Butterfly Beach holding Doreen’s hand while the boys made a game of trying to avoid the incoming surf, squealing when the chilly water caught their bare feet. Suddenly he stopped, reached skyward with both hands, did a full circle on the sand, letting the wonder of it all soak into him. “God, I wish I could paint.”

  “What would you paint?”

  He made a sweeping gesture. “All this, you and me, at least two old folks, playing on the beach with two little boys—an orange beach with a tangerine sun sparkling across dusky water.” He raised his arm again. “There would be a turquoise sky and…look, Doreen, look, it’s happening.”

  “Yes, the purple mountains majesty.”

  “Only happens for a few minutes at dusk. How could I ever capture it?”

  “You’d think of something, love. What else would you paint?”

  “Oh, the white stucco buildings and the red-tiled roofs, all nestled among the lush green foliage. I’d want to paint the riotous colors of the flowers, oh, just everything, Doreen.”

  “It would be a beautiful painting, darling.”

  He nodded. “I keep thinking about the essence of this place we’ve chosen. What is it that makes it special?”

  “Why do I have a feeling you know the answer?”

  “An idea, maybe.” They strolled along. He picked up a handful of sand, let it sift through his fingers, bending a bit in the breeze as it fell. ”By living amid beauty you become beautiful—at least a better person. When all you see in Franchise City are muffler shops, junk food emporiums and a neon forest, something wilts within you. Money becomes everything.”