“Afraid not. According to my records, Larkspur O’Leary was busy with clients.”

“Couldn’t she have sneaked over to the house between appointments?”

“Nope. She was out in Santa Monica all day. There was no way she could have driven to Beverly Hills and back between appointments.”

“What about the neighbors? Did any of them see a blonde entering or leaving the house?”

“Nobody saw this mysterious blonde except Heidi.”

Clearly, he thought Heidi’s blonde was bogus.

“I hate to break it to you, Ms. Austen, but your client is the one person who had both motive and opportunity to kill SueEllen Kingsley. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

I got up to leave.

“One more thing, Ms. Austen,” he said, looking particularly Clint Eastwoodish. “I think I can manage this case on my own. This isn’t Hollywood, or Westwood. This is Beverly Hills.”

“Right,” I muttered under my breath. “Chinese Chicken Salad Country.”

I left Lt. Webb’s office, more convinced than ever that Heidi needed my help. Webb clearly had Heidi pegged as a psychotic Cinderella who’d gone berserk and offed her evil stepmom. If he had his way, she’d soon be sharing His ‘n Hers prison jumpsuits with the Menendez brothers.

I made my way past the suntanned Dudley Do-Rights and down to the parking lot where I retrieved my Corolla.

Of course, now that my gig with SueEllen had come screeching to a halt, I should have been home thinking up new slogans for my biggest client, Toiletmasters Plumbers. They’d been using their old slogan (In a rush to flush? Call Toiletmasters!) for several years, and they were ready to try something new.

For a few desultory moments I forced myself to think up slogans. (At Toiletmasters, we take the plunge for you! Let us bowl you over with our prompt courteous service. And others too flushworthy to mention.) But my heart wasn’t in it. I couldn’t stop thinking about Heidi. Webb didn’t believe her story about the blonde in the hallway. If only someone else had seen the blonde, he’d have to take her seriously.

It wasn’t until I was halfway home that I remembered SueEllen’s Peeping Tom neighbor, the retired astronomy professor. The one with the all-seeing telescope.

Chapter Ten

Professor Henry Zeller’s magnificent Tudor house was set back from the street on a blanket of lushly landscaped grounds, within spying distance of Casa Kingsley. I parked out front, and headed up the front path, past an impressive array of rose bushes. When I rang the bell, the chimes played the theme song from The Sound of Music.

Professor Zeller answered the door, an elderly man festooned with liver spots. I figured he was somewhere between eighty and a birthday announcement on the Today show. He wore khaki pants and a plaid shirt with a plastic pocket protector. Once a scientist, always a scientist, I guess.

“May I help you?” he asked, blinking into the bright sunlight.

I assumed my most official voice.