Just Evil (6 page)

“Every time Alana tried with Kit there was always some issue
from the past. All I know is that Kit hated her mother. Alana never knew why.
Poor woman, it was such an embarrassment and a shame for her to have such a
daughter like Kit. From the time she was born, Alana tried to give the girl
everything, but she was impossible to deal with from the beginning. Some
children are like that, you know. But I was there. I saw what a difficult time
Alana had with her.” 

The whole time she talked, Jessica noticed the younger
detective jotted down her every word. As the two detectives escorted her back
outside to her car parked in the driveway, they listened as the accusations
piled up against the daughter.

The claims, Holloway noted, were mostly from her teen years.
But both men couldn’t dismiss the seriousness of her charges. Jessica, the
stubborn litigator in court, took the opportunity to use every bit of Alana’s
theatrical influence to make the detectives aware just how dangerous Kit
Griffin had been in her youth when she handed them her final parting shot. “The
woman not only has a violent streak, there’s multiple personality disorder. And
as Alana’s attorney I know she had recently decided to change her will, leaving
the little leech nothing, not a red cent. So yes, Kit Griffin would be my best
guess.”

There, she thought, that should give them a nice place to
start. She watched as the two detectives exchanged looks, and knew for certain
she’d left a mark.

If she played this right, she’d deflect any suspicion away
from the family or the firm. The police would be so busy investigating the
little bitch it would give her ample time to take care of any necessary loose
ends.

As she climbed behind the wheel, she considered what she
needed to do. She’d have her oldest son, Connor, handle Alana’s probate; that
way she wouldn’t actually be the attorney of record. By the time she made the
necessary changes it would cement motive.  There would be a nice money trail,
one significant enough to make any homicide detective with a brain sit up and take
notice. Not all of Alana’s money of course, that would be foolish, but enough
so no one would question, least of all naïve little Kit.

Why had she felt such panic earlier when she’d learned Alana
had been murdered? This would be so much easier than she’d originally
thought.  

As the two detectives watched her drive away, Holloway
commented, “That woman is one piece of work. Did you notice her eyes were
completely dry the entire time she wanted us to think she was crying?”

“Oh, I got that. Check out her alibi. Make sure it holds.
She admits to being the last one to see the victim alive. Send someone out to
that bar in Beverly Hills. And this daughter sounds like a nut case. Where’s
she live anyway?”

“San Madrid.”

“Shit. Let’s start with the sister in Agoura Hills and work
our way out to the boonies.”

As Jessica pulled away, a wide smile on her lips, she wasted
no time hitting the speed dial on her cell phone, giving orders at a rapid pace
to her oldest son, Connor. They’d organize a press conference for that
afternoon. In a matter of days, she’d have the police so convinced of Kit
Griffin’s guilt it wouldn’t surprise her one bit if the girl’s ass wasn’t
sitting in a jail cell before Alana was firmly in the ground.

And who knew, Jessica thought, maybe the little mouse had
finally found a spine. Maybe she’d finally exacted her revenge after so many
years and actually killed Alana. Maybe she was guilty as hell. Either way, it
didn’t matter much to Jessica; as long as the police believed Kit capable of
Alana’s murder, it would keep them from digging anywhere near her, Sumner, or
for that matter, her precious law firm. 

Hours later, after St. John and Holloway left her house, a
distraught Gloria Gandis dialed Jake Boston. She’d sensed Kit was in danger,
that much was true, but she’d never thought the danger would come from the
police. She hadn’t seen that coming.

And that was unusual for her.

They’d thought she was crazy, even as a child, especially
Alana, and then later, Jessica. Both women had ridiculed her very existence.
But she couldn’t help what she was. She’d had the gift all of her life. And she
knew now something was very wrong. She felt the wrong. She’d been fighting the
feeling since the horrible nightmare had resurfaced Saturday night.

Gloria did her best to calm down. But after listening to the
two detectives for almost forty-five minutes, it was blatantly obvious their
investigation was headed straight for Kit. They repeated things to her that
Jessica had told them, terrible things that they’d taken completely out of
context without knowing all the facts. She’d tried to correct the
misunderstanding of what had happened between Alana and Kit years earlier. But
nothing she’d said seemed to matter. They’d jumped to a ridiculous assumption.
The police thought Kit had murdered Alana. She was their prime suspect. But
they didn’t know her. The idea was preposterous. Gloria had tried to convince
them of that to no avail.

At the notion of Kit arrested, her stomach clenched with
dread. She forced herself to calm down enough to speak intelligently into the
phone. Jake would know what to do. He had to help Kit, he just had to. Thank
goodness he was back.

When his secretary Ginger answered the phone, she informed
Gloria that he was in his usual Monday afternoon staff meeting. Gloria pleaded
with Ginger to go drag him out. While Ginger put her on hold, Gloria went over
everything the two detectives had implied.

She needed to keep her head, but the minute she heard Jake’s
voice, she started sobbing and babbling uncontrollably.

Through the tears and the hysteria, Jake managed to get the
gist of the situation. Kit was in trouble, the kind of trouble he knew
something about. By the time he’d hung up the phone, he was halfway to the
elevator with his jacket in his hand, apparently taking an unexpected trip to
San Madrid with a promise to Gloria that he’d do his best to help Kit stay out
of jail.

When two men dressed in suits walked up to the counter in
the bookstore portion of the Book & Bean and asked for Kit Griffin, Baylee
Scott, Kit’s lifelong friend and her part-time employee for the past five
months, immediately smelled cop. Instinctively protective of Kit, she asked
defiantly. “Who wants to know?”

Holloway looked down at the pretty, petite brunette with her
chin jutted out, fierce gesture on her face, and flashed his badge. “Homicide.
I’m Dan Holloway and this is Max St. John.”

Shock crossed Baylee’s face, then confusion. “Homicide?
What’s this about? Are you sure it’s Kit Griffin you want?”

At this point, his patience running out, St. John took over.
This obviously wasn’t Kit Griffin and it had been a long trip out here and an
even longer damned day. “Is Kit here or not?”

The brunette cocked her head, started walking into the
coffee house portion to the left of the front door, and offered, “Follow me.”

Kit was behind the counter scrubbing the equipment when she
looked up and saw Baylee with two men. “Hey Kit, these two guys are Homicide.
They want to talk to you.”

When Kit heard the words her mind went blank and a sudden
chill went all the way through her bones straight to her heart. She drew in a
deep breath before wiping her hands off, giving the detectives her full
attention. “What’s happened? Is it Aunt Glo? Has something happened to Glo?”

“Aunt Glo?” replied Holloway. “Would that be Gloria Gandis?”

Kit swallowed hard, nodded.

“No,” St. John grunted. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this,
Ms. Griffin, but we have bad news. It’s about your mother. Alana Stevens has
been murdered.”

Once again, Kit heard the words but couldn’t seem to get
them to fully register in her brain. A fogbank moved in. Alana murdered? That
was impossible, she couldn’t be dead. They were mistaken. Alana was
too…what…too…
mean
, to be…dead.

Baylee saw Kit go pale and stepped between the two men.
Taking her arm, she forced Kit into the nearest chair. When Kit just sat there
staring into space, Baylee’s curiosity kicked in and she asked the two men,
“How? When?”

Disappointed that the questions hadn’t come from the
daughter, St. John took out his notebook, more out of habit than necessity, and
clarified, “The how, stabbed. The when, occurred sometime between Saturday
night and early Sunday morning. Where were you then, Ms. Griffin?”

For the first time she looked directly at Holloway before turning
her gaze to see St. John’s piercing, accusing dark eyes. It finally sunk in.
“What? What? You want to know where…” Noting they were serious, she blinked
again before stammering, “I…I was…at home Saturday night and all day Sunday.
I…I baked all day Sunday.”

“Anyone with you? Can anyone verify that?”

“I…I…don’t know…I…I’m not sure.”

Baylee saw the doubt form in their eyes as they stared at
Kit, stared at her as if they were waiting for her to confess her worst sins.
Oh lord, thought Baylee, this is bad, really bad. Her first thought listening
to the two men question Kit in more detail was that her friend desperately
needed a lawyer and preferably not one named Boyd.

With each question, St. John got more agitated as the
interrogation grew more intense. Frustration ruled as he desperately tried to
get information out of the woman who refused to give them anything. After a
half hour went by, Holloway suggested that the brunette leave them alone. But
Baylee simply looked him in the eye, shook her head, and stubbornly told him,
“I’m not going anywhere.” Baylee took up guard behind Kit’s chair, with one
hand on her shoulder for support, refusing to budge.

St. John simply ignored the brunette. “We’ve spoken to
Jessica Boyd. She seems to think you had more reason to harm your mother than
anyone else. Why is that?”

Kit looked up when the bell jingled over the door to see
Jake walk in. At her wit’s end, she’d never been so glad to see anyone in her
life.

Without waiting for Kit to respond, Baylee took exception to
the question. “Now wait a minute. I see where you’re going with this. Kit
wouldn’t hurt a fly. But Alana, now there was a woman who made Joan Crawford
look like Mother of the Year.”

Jake walked up just in time to hear Baylee’s revelation and
understood the implications right along with the two detectives. Jake wasted no
time. “That’s it. Interview’s over. Kit’s not answering any more questions
without her lawyer present.”

St. John wheeled around to confront the man who’d
interrupted their questioning just as things were getting interesting and came
face to face with Jake Boston, a face from the past, a face he knew only too
well. “Good to know you’re back in town, Boston. Now I won’t have to fly half a
world away to arrest your sorry ass.” St. John turned to his partner and
reflected, “You remember the Claire Boston murder, don’t you, Dan? That brutal
murder over on Neptune where the woman was beaten to death in broad daylight.
Do we have any other persons of interest in the Claire Boston homicide?”

Dan shook his head. “Nope, never did. Mr. Boston, here is
it.”

“Maybe you’d like to talk about your wife’s murder, or do
you need your lawyer present for that, too?”

“We can go through it again for the hundredth time. When Claire
died I was either thirty-eight thousand feet in the air or at work. But that’s
a fact you chose to ignore.” He took a step closer to St. John. In a low,
menacing voice, Jake vowed, “You won’t do to her what you did to me, so back
off. Interview’s over. If you want to grill Kit any more today, call Reese
Brennan, make an appointment. She’ll be there.”

St. John’s face grew red before turning back to Kit to tick
off his points, one by one. “You have no alibi. No one can vouch that you were
home Saturday night or Sunday morning during the time in question, which I
might point out was Mother’s Day. We have a problem here, Ms. Griffin. Jessica
Boyd says your mother was about to change her will, leaving you nothing. And
then she’s conveniently murdered.”

When Jake started to interrupt, Holloway held up a hand in
warning. “Don’t go anywhere Ms. Griffin. This isn’t over. We’ll be in touch.”
And with that both detectives turned to leave.

Once they were out the door, out of earshot, Jake turned to
Baylee, almost not recognizing the woman with brown hair. “I know you were
trying to help, but you couldn’t have said anything that hurt Kit more. You
handed them a motive.”

“But I didn’t mean…I’d never…”

Nerves frayed after more than an hour of intense questions,
Kit snapped back, “Don’t jump down Baylee’s throat. They would have found out
eventually, if they didn’t know already.” But if they’d known, why hadn’t they
mentioned it?

Jake’s voice softened when he asked, “I had no idea Alana
hurt you. Why’d you never say anything?” And why hadn’t Gloria, whom he considered
an old friend, never mentioned it?

 “Talk about it, you mean?” She shuddered at that. “It was a
long time ago.”

Jake reached out for her hand. “Come on, I’ll take you
home.” When Kit went to get her purse, Jake turned to Baylee. “I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean to jump…”

“No, you’re right; I should’ve thought before I opened my
mouth. I wasn’t thinking. But Jake, they were trying to say that Kit…”

Jake squeezed her hand. “You were trying to help, trying to
defend her. That’s what happens when the interview gets out of hand, gets
heated. They pound and pound. They count on people saying things they don’t
intend to say. Don’t worry about it. I’ll get her home.”

Fifteen minutes later, Jake pulled into the driveway of a
small, tri-level Spanish style bungalow mere yards from the beach. The stucco
house belonged to Gloria, but had been Kit’s home for the past four years
where, like the Book & Bean, she’d put her own personality into the place.