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

  She sipped her coffee. “The divorce took about as long as the marriage ceremony. Here I was, Mrs. Karl Evans Kinkaid, Jr., supposedly married into all this money. Ha! What a laugh! I hardly ever saw any Kinkaid, let alone much of the money.”

  She looked at him now. “I know I shouldn’t be so bitter, but I can’t help it.” She shook her head. “I know now how truly diabolical they were. I’d get a check every month from some lawyer in New York. It was enough to live on and provide some comfort for Josh, but not enough to give me true independence. It was enough so I didn’t have to work and develop a career, yet not enough for me to put anything aside for my future. I’m in The Sally precisely because of those damnable checks. Do you understand?”

  “I think so.”

  “The worse part of it is that I never really raised my son. Even as a boy he had financial independence. He could go to these god awful lawyers, or maybe his father if he was sober, even his grandfather, sometimes just phone them, and get whatever money he wanted for whatever purpose—a toy at first, then booze, drugs and women.”

  “It ruined him?”

  She shook her head. “That’s too strong a word. I still have hopes. Josh just doesn’t understand what money is.”

  “What happened to your husband?”

  Another deep sigh. “He drank himself into a looney bin, virtually became a vegetable, then died a few weeks ago. That’s when I discovered I didn’t get a penny. It all went to my son. I had nothing, including a way to earn a living.” She shrugged. “Here I am, talking to you.”

  “Hard to believe, Addie. Is there nothing you can do?”

  “Nothing, I’m told, unless Josh wants to provide for me.”

  “He will, I’m sure of it. Is there anything I can do to help now?”

  “Yeah, give me a job and a roof over my head.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t take it out on you. Actually, there is something you could do—drive me out to the Kinkaid place.”

  “Sure, but what for? I thought—”

  “A friend of mine, at least someone I know, works out there in the kitchen. She phones me every so often with information about Josh and the Kinkaids. I thought if I could see her she might know where Josh is so I can get word to him.”

  “I thought he was in Denver.”

  “That was some time ago. He travels with the auto show.”

  “Can’t you phone this woman?”

  “She told me never to phone, but wait for her to contact me. She doesn’t know where to reach me, which is—”

  “Another reason for you to go there.” He arose. “Let’s go.”

  Byerly knew roughly how to reach the address she gave him, Pepper Tree Drive, north of Montecito in the foothills of the Santa Ynez mountains. He drove east, then north with Addie Kinkaid in the seat beside him.

  “Is there no hope your son’s grandfather might help you?”

  “None at all. I only ever saw him once or twice. I don’t think he knows I exist. He doesn’t give a damn for his grandson, either. Josh tells me he’s all wrapped up in his famous, much younger wife.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “You know her, everybody does, Joy Fielding.“

  Walter grimaced. Celebs were Doreen’s thing, not his.

  “You know, Dr. Joy, the advice guru?”

  That still didn’t mean anything, but he’d learned never to admit his ignorance. Made him feel like a fool. “Oh her, now I know who you mean.” He’d ask Doreen.

  “The marriage is not supposed to be commonly known. She says her husband doesn’t like notoriety. I guess it’s like the marriage Dolly Parton has.”

  Dolly who? “They live in Santa Barbara?”

  “Not really. The Kinkaids have no shortage of places to live. I doubt if they’re in Santa Barbara more than a couple weeks a year.”

  Byerly had driven 15 or 20 minutes, making a wrong turn only once. They were in hilly, woodsy country, the road’s curvy and narrow.

  “Lord, it’s beautiful out here,” Addie said.

  He glanced at her, saw the same gee-whiz expression tourists often had. “It does make one want to sing a chorus or two of Mountain Greenery. Of course I’m no Mel Torme.”

  “The leaves are such a deep green, and the foliage is so lush, almost tropical, yet the temperature isn’t much over 70.”

  “Cool tropics. That’s a pretty good description of Santa Barbara.”

  He finally found Pepper Tree Lane, north of Mountain Road, off of Cold Spring Canyon Drive.

  “We sure are in the boonies. Whatever else might be said for him, Kinkaid surely likes his isolation.“

  She laughed. “I’m sure that’s true.”

  “Just going for a loaf of bread or a quart of milk is a safari. And if the family car broke down and Kinkaid had to walk to work, he might never be heard from again.”

  “I doubt if there is a family car or that it would break down. Try a fleet of limos.”

  “Or that he goes to work.”

  Byerly slowed the van almost to a stop to negotiate a switchback turn. “Do people actually live out here? The only signs of human habitation are wrought iron gates. Maybe they’re keeping out the mountain lions.”

  “Oh God, I forgot about the gate! We’ll never get in.”

  “We’ve come this far.” He read numbers on mailboxes. “Getting close.”

  “There it is, 1392.”

  “Would you believe that! The gate’s open. What luck.” He braked to a stop, then looked ahead. “Might as well see how the super rich live.”

  The Kinkaid driveway wound uphill, but not too sharply, then began to widen. Around a bend he stopped and stared through the windshield. There it was, as wide as a football field and almost as deep, a castle by God, build of dark stone with a huge single tower in the center. No windows were visible, only an immense mansard roof covering the front.

  “Positively forbidding,” he muttered. “Enough to make Daphne du Maurier forget Manderley.”

  “I shudder every time I look at it.”

  The ground fell away and the woods diminished as he drove on, revealing the entire front. Beneath the mansard roof, the house was mock Tudor style with Elizabethan windows of leaded glass. A perfect hideaway for Henry and Anne Boleyn.

  There was a second gate. Talk about major league security. Only it was also open. “We must be expected,” he said. Gravel rattled under his tires. No sneaking up on the Kinkaids unheard. To the right were stables and beyond them a pool and tennis courts. Not too shabby. Now he was in a circular drive approaching the house.

  ”Stop! Oh God, somebody’s home.”

  There was a black limousine in the drive. A man in a black suit got out and raised a hand for him to stop.

  “Please turn around, let’s get out of here.”

  He rolled down his window as the man approached. “It’s too late now, Addie, it’ll be all right.” He remembered the Care Wheels logo on his van. “Is this the Munsters estate?”

  “You got the wrong place. You’d better leave.”

  The fellow looked dour with absolutely no sense of humor. He kept looking past him at Addie. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Leave.”

  “Do you know where the Munsters live?”

  “No, goodbye.”

  “Who’s place is this?”

  “None of your damn business. Now, are you leaving or do I make you?”

  “Sorry, my mistake.”

  He turned the wheel and accelerated out of there. In his rearview mirror he saw the chauffeur looking after him, hands on hips.

  “Do you think he recognized me?”

  “Do you know him?”

  “No.”

  “Does that limousine mean the Kinkaids are in residence?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  7: Time-Share Secretary

  THE OPAQUE GLASS DOOR to the outer office bore the words LAW OFFICES. Strange. Lorna said Harry Gould was so proud to have his
own practice, yet he hadn’t printed his name on the door.

  DeeDee opened the generic door on a small waiting room, empty except for a remarkably attractive girl working at a console. Her nameplate read Hyacinth Owens. If it had read Delilah, temples might have fallen.

  “Hi, I’m DeeDee Byerly. Are you Mr. Gould’s secretary?”

  The young woman seemed flustered. “Well, yes, I guess I am.”

  DeeDee smiled her best and handed her a dozen red roses wrapped in green tissue. “These are for you, then, with my condolences. Harry’s death was such a tragic loss.”

  Hyacinth Owens might have been Herod receiving the head from Salome, another redhead. “I-I don’t…know what…to say.”

  For a moment DeeDee thought the girl wasn’t going to accept. That would be a first. She’d used flowers to gain entry into seemingly impossible places.

  “Who are they from?”

  “From me. I’m a friend of Harry’s mother, Lorna Gould. I thought how upsetting his death must be for you, so I brought flowers to make you feel better.”

  Now the girl reached out with both hands for the flowers. “Thank you so much, it’s very thoughtful of you.”

  Hyacinth had a breathy, whispery voice, forcing a person to pay close attention to hear her—a most feminine quality. Men must die for her. “You’re so lovely, my dear.” And she was, with glossy black hair, café au lait complexion and truly luscious lips. What she did for a sweater was truly awesome, doubly so. Maybe Harry did more than dictate to his secretary.

  “I like your make-up. It looks positively—well, professional.” Doreen gave her top-of-the-line smile again. “I love your name, Hyacinth. It’s my favorite flower—and a perfect name for you.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  Hyacinth Owens was being won over. No surprise in that. “Have you been Harry’s secretary very long?”

  She looked flustered again. “That’s just it, Mrs.—”

  “Call me DeeDee, everyone does.”

  "Okay, DeeDee. I’m Harry’s secretary…and I’m not, just as this is Mr. Gould's office…and it’s not. This is a cooperative law office. Five lawyers, each with his and, in one case, her own clients, share space here. They also share expenses, telephone, computers, office equipment—and clerical help. It saves them money, quite a bit I understand.”

  “How very interesting. You’re a sort of time-share secretary, like hotel rooms at a resort.”

  Hyacinth laughed, brightening an already pyrotechnic face. “Another girl and I, yes.”

  “You did some work for Harry?”

  “Oh yes, quite a bit.”

  “You knew his clients?”

  “Some of them. Lola also works here, but she’s off today.”

  DeeDee glanced around the office. “Have you a vase for the flowers? We really should put them in water.”

  “Oh, of course.”

  She hoped Hyacinth would leave the room, giving her a moment to look at papers on her desk. But the time-share girl only went to a filing cabinet on the adjoining wall and extracted a vase from a bottom drawer.

  “Did Harry have a lot of clients?”

  Hyacinth began arranging the roses in the vase. “To be honest, Mrs.—ah, DeeDee, not really. He was just getting started, but he was a fine lawyer and he would—”

  “I have no doubt. May I see his office?”

  “The police have sealed it off pending, you know—”

  She sighed. “Oh dear, Lorna will be so disappointed. I promised her I’d pick up Harry’s appointment book for her. She wants it as a keepsake. You do understand.”

  “I do, I do, but there’s a problem.” Hyacinth looked distressed. “His calendar and appointment book are missing. I assume the police took them as evidence.”

  “That explains it, I’m sure.”

  “But there’s a backup on the computer. I could make a printout for you.”

  “You are a love.”

  The secretary sat at the console and pushed some buttons. Nothing came on the screen. She pushed more buttons. Still no display.

  “How strange. Mr. Gould’s files aren’t here. Maybe he moved them. I’ll check FIND.”

  DeeDee watched her call up a display, then type in GOULD. A few seconds later the computer reported, UNABLE TO FIND GOULD. Hyacinth tried other key words.

  ‘I don’t understand it. Mr. Gould’s files are missing! Everything about him has been erased!”

  “Are you sure? When did you last use them?”

  “Let me see. Not yesterday, that’s when we found…him. The day before, yes, I’m sure I typed a letter for him.”

  “Is the computer working? Maybe it crashed.”

  Hyacinth punched some keys. The console lit up. “The files of the other lawyers are here. Harry’s is the only one missing.” Then she smiled. “Not to worry. Everything is kept on a backup disk.” She opened a metal box on her desk. “Each lawyer has his own disk. It protects each one’s privacy.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Her slender fingers stopped, then flipped through the discs again. “Why it’s gone! What could have happened to it? I always keep it here in this file.”

  “It’s not your fault, my dear, the police surely have it.”

  Now Hyacinth smiled. “Of course, that must be it.”

  DeeDee could barely contain her excitement. Harry Gould had been murdered by whoever erased his files. “Is Harry’s suicide note on the computer?”

  “No, he apparently wrote it, then erased it.”

  “How did the police—”

  “It was left on the printer.”

  She nodded. There was much to think about—and tell Walter. “Thank you, Hyacinth, you’re so sweet and you’ve been so much help.

  “DeeDee, if you’re going to see Mrs. Gould, will you ask her what I am to do with Mr. Gould’s messages?”

  “He’s still getting messages?”

  “Just one. It came in this morning by e-mail. I don’t know how to reply. It seems personal.”

  A moment later DeeDee read:

  Did Sophia contact you? I’m trying to reach her.

  There was an e-mail address and phone number, 614 area code. Boston. The name on the message was CYN. Maybe sort for Cynthia. Clearly Harry Gould and Cyn, even Sophia, were acquainted.