Chapter 4

                                    

                                              


                          
Copyright (c) 2015 Phyllis Zimbler Miller
                          
All rights reserved.

                          


                          
     Thirty minutes later the two police officers left.  They had gone over a timetable of her movements Saturday night and the fact that only Josh could give her an alibi.  The movie tickets had been ordered online, and the person who took their tickets when they entered the theater was unlikely to remember her out of hundreds of people.  She hadn't even gone to the concession stand as Josh had gotten their popcorn.
                          
     Rebecca resisted the urge to call Josh.  If the police headed next to his apartment, she wanted him to be truly surprised by the visit.  
                          
     Sitting down at her computer, Rebecca created a hazy timeline of the events since finding Helene on Thursday.  The police had refused to tell Rebecca what time Richard had died, what had killed him, were there other names in his calendar for yesterday evening? – all questions she had asked.   
                          
     They had also refused to answer whether they now knew if Helene had died from an overdose of sleeping pills and what time she had died either Wednesday night or Thursday morning.  
                          
     On her timeline Rebecca added a note next to Helene's name: the turned-off coffee pot Rebecca had spotted in the sukkah.  It had been a 10-cup coffeemaker with 8 cups of coffee.  Rebecca assumed Helene had made 8 cups, enough for perhaps a cup in the morning and then reheat the rest if any of her luncheon guests wanted coffee.  And then, still in her nightgown, she had died before having any coffee and the coffeemaker had turned itself off.  
                          
     Instead, what if the coffee had actually been made the night before?  If Helene wanted a cup of coffee before going to sleep in her sukkah?  Would she have started the coffeemaker then, knowing it would later turn itself off?   And could coffee be used to mask the taste of crushed sleeping pills?
                          
     Staring at her timeline, Rebecca considered why her name had been in Richard's calendar.  She hadn't asked whether her name had been handwritten in a physical calendar on his desk or entered into a calendar on his computer.  If on his computer, there would be no handwriting analysis and thus the more likely way for someone to plant her name.  
                          
     And if a plant, which it must be, why her name?  Surely someone hadn't done this to get Rebecca arrested for Richard's death.  Simply to get the police looking in the wrong direction while the killer covered his or her tracks?
                          
     Wait, why killer?  Maybe another suicide.
                          
     Rebecca shook her head.  No, too convenient an answer.
                          
     Rebecca wondered whether Helene's divorce from Adam Richman had been so traumatic that she'd sought professional help.  Had Helene been seeing Richard in his capacity as a therapist?  Then, if Helene had been murdered, did the killer think Richard might know something?
                          
     And, if so, who else might be in danger from the killer trying to cover his or her tracks?
                          
***
                          
     Adam Richman's weekend at his Malibu beach house had not been going well.  His current bed warmer did not react favorably to being told to entertain herself, especially as she had wanted to continue discussing the death of his ex.  Adam had convinced the bed warmer to take a long soak in the deck Jacuzzi while he made some business calls.  Now he had at least 30 minutes to find those papers.
                          
     He had already searched his Bel Air home and the laptop he took between that home and the beach house.  While unlikely Helene had left the papers here rather than taking them with her when he and she split up, he wanted to check.  
                          
     Starting in the study, he pawed through the file drawers.  He should have left the bed warmer at home so he wouldn't have to hurry so much.  But she was his alibi and he didn't want her angry at him.  
                          
     Besides, being here alone would be suspicious.  Everyone knew Adam Richman was a hot one with women – he didn't spend weekends alone, period.  Why, even when he went to Europe, to the Cannes Film Festival or elsewhere, he had some woman along – some woman who sure as hell made the mouths of the other men drop open, or maybe another part of their anatomy perk up, when he walked in with her on his arm.  All part of his image of being powerful, and he worked had to inspire it.
                          
     But the papers, where were the papers?
                          
***
                          
     	Josh didn't answer his phone when Rebecca called him after she exercised at the Beverly Hills Community Center.  It drove her crazy that he didn't turn on his phone unless she asked him to do so.  
                          
     	She stamped out to her car parked on the street, and there, leaning against the car, stood Josh Berger, dressed in jeans and a knit shirt.
                          
     	"Where have you been?" she said while still several feet away.  "I tried to reach you."
                          
     	"I've been home until 10 minutes ago entertaining some of Beverly Hills' finest.  When they left I called you and got no answer, so I figured you were on the treadmill here and couldn't hear your phone."
                          
     	For reply Rebecca clicked open the car doors, gestured Josh inside, and peeled away from the curb.  "I'll bring you back for your car later.  Where do you want to go to get something to eat?"
                          
     	As Rebecca jerked the car around a corner, Josh said, "Hey, drive slower.  This is Beverly Hills – cops all over."
                          
     	"Don't I know it!"
                          
     	"Relax and we'll have a nice time."
                          
     	"Great, Josh.  I might as well enjoy my freedom before they lock me up."
                          
     	Rebecca glanced over to see Josh scrunch up his mouth in one of his piqued expressions.  "Now, Rebecca, you're being melodramatic.  Besides, I know a great criminal defense lawyer."
                          
     	"Does he or she do pro bono work for journalists?"
                          
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SINK LIKE A STONE is the second Rebecca Stone mystery novel.  The first, CAST THE FIRST STONE, is available on Amazon as are two Rebecca Stone mystery short stories in TWO BIRDS WITH ONE STONE.  See www.amazon.com/author/phylliszimblermiller