If Hooks Could Kill - By Betty Hechtman Page 0,77

muttered recognizing Kelly and Stone’s father.

“How do you know him?” Jaimee snapped.

“Allow me,” Mason said with a grin. “Molly is investigating the murder of his daughter.” Jaimee flashed a surprised expression and suggested I keep my Nancy Drew act on hold. “We’re here to shop, not play detective. I want to get a good piece from him, not antagonize him.” She waved her hand toward the courtyard. “Why don’t you go wait outside.”

I’d had enough being pushed aside by her. The day was almost over and by now I didn’t care if Mason killed her or not. I might have even helped. “No way am I turning down a chance like this.”

Jaimee’s mouth fell open and she turned to Mason and said, “Do something before she makes a scene.” Mason shrugged and chuckled and, with a brush of his hand, urged me on.

Jaimee got in front of me and reached the proprietor first. She threw her arms around the gray-haired man and said how good it was to see him again and that she needed the perfect focal spot for her soon-to-be married daughter’s home. I noticed his wife in an office and Jaimee gave me a shove in her direction saying, “Why don’t you talk to her.” Then she started in on Rexford, letting him know he was dealing with a soon to be member of The Housewives of Mulholland Drive show.

I didn’t take Jaimee’s suggestion and while she monopolized Rexford’s attention, I tried to remember what I knew about him. He had only made an appearance at Kelly’s funeral and no one had said much about him. All I could remember was what the prop guy had said, that Rexford Thomasville had been a set director before opening this place. I got why they called it a studio instead of a store. There weren’t price tags on anything and the idea was that people shopping here weren’t looking for a bargain.

I surveyed the room and quickly figured out that the theme here was unique. A suit of armor stood guard just inside the door. A gazelle head, which I hoped was just an artist’s rendition, hung from the wall. Below it, a wooden horse displayed a bar setup on a trapdoor on its side. A graceful purple velvet divan was covered with pillows made out of old fabric. The walls were decorated with interesting pieces. There were collages made using old jewelry and coins, along with framed stamp collections. There were tall cabinets made out of interesting old doors. Lots of unusual lamps and something I particularly liked—a tree trunk that had been sandblasted smooth and turned into a coatrack.

Rexford glanced in my direction several times while Jaimee went on describing what she was looking for. Basically it was something everyone would notice and wish they owned.

When she’d finished, he pointed out some items and then left her to look around on her own. He approached me. “Do I know you?”

I explained who I was and that I’d been at Kelly’s funeral and his face lit with recognition. The small sad smile was enough to bring out his dimples and I could see both Kelly’s and Stone’s face in his. I mentioned that I was a bit of an amateur sleuth and had been investigating Kelly’s death.

“I’m glad somebody is,” he said with annoyance. “I don’t understand why they haven’t charged her husband.”

I explained that the evidence they had against him wasn’t very good and that they were probably hoping he’d have a guilty conscience and it would get him to confess. “And there is the possibility he didn’t do it,” I said.

Rexford’s mouth gathered in disapproval. “What are the chances of that? Is anybody going to believe that story of his that it was some kind of robbery?”

I asked about Kelly’s ex-husband.

“I thought about him myself. I don’t think there was any problems between them, and he was at Disneyland with her kids that day.”

I asked him if he’d been close to Kelly. I was surprised when he glared at me.

“Did Stone say something to you? I tried to mend fences with him, but all he seemed to care about was investing in the energy drink business. I hope it works out for him. I tried to give him some advice.” He sighed. “But I guess it’s a little too late for that.” He looked at me directly. “I wasn’t the best father or husband.” He ran his hand along the wood trim on the purple divan.

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