Purrfect Secret

Chapter 32

Brenda Berish—Secretary Berish to her friends—was a motherly woman in her late sixties. She had a round face and a bouffant blond-gray hairdo. As in all the pictures I’d seen of her she dressed in a brightly colored pantsuit, this one a dazzling heliotrope.

The drawing room where she met us was light and airy, a floral motif extending from the upholstery to the wallpaper and even the carpet. Light slanted into the room, lending it a pleasant atmosphere, and the window had been cracked to allow some air in.

“Detective Kingsley—Miss Poole, how can I be of assistance?” asked Brenda, a kind smile playing about her lips.

“As I told your assistant over the phone, we’re looking into the death of Dick Dickerson,” Chase said, flipping open his notebook and taking a firmer grip on his pencil. “Mr. Dickerson was known to be a fan of your political opponent—not so much of you.”

“Which led you to think I might have done him harm,” said Brenda, nodding. “First of all, the night Mr. Dickerson was killed, I was in my study, working until late at night.”

“Can anyone verify that, Secretary Berish?” asked Chase.

“Oh, please, Detective. You don’t really think I drove a tractor up to Dick’s house and poured nine thousand gallons of duck poop into his safe, do you? So what you’re really asking is if I hired a crew of professionals to do that for me. I can assure you I didn’t. There was no love lost between Dickerson and my family but I’m not the kind of person who settles her scores by going around murdering people.” She’d placed her hands in her lap and sat poised and calm. “And to answer your question, my husband can verify that I was right here at the house. And if not him, my pet lizard can. Although I can’t imagine he’ll be willing to testify on my behalf.” She threw her head back and laughed a tinkling laugh.

“What about your husband? Did he have reason to harm Mr. Dickerson?”

“Of course he did. Do you have any idea what that man did to us?” She took out her phone and held it out to them. A few choice covers of the National Star appeared. ‘Brenda’s Cancer Scare.’ ‘Brenda Admitted—Her Fatal Collapse.’ ‘Brenda’s Abortion—Her Secret Love Child.’ ‘Brenda Going To Jail!’ ‘Brenda Confesses: I’m a Crack Addict!’ ‘Brenda Is A Lesbian!’

“That’s quite the collection,” said Odelia. She’d always known journalistic standards at the National Star were low, but she’d never fully realized how low they really were.

“Dickerson was the President’s hatchet man,” said Brenda, placing the phone on a gateleg table that held a portrait of her, her husband John and their daughter. “So he tried to destroy us. Naturally John wanted to hurt him. But he didn’t. He would never stoop that low.”

“Does the picture of a red rose mean anything to you?” asked Odelia.

Brenda shook her head. “No. Why?”

“It was found inside the safe—in fact it was the only thing found in that safe.”

“Dickerson’s files?”

“Gone. Every last one of them.”

She mused on that. “Dickerson had many enemies. And he kept extensive files in his safe. Everybody knew that. He propagated the idea he was the new Hoover. That he could break anyone with the dirt he collected on them. But this rose business doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Do you know of anyone else who could have done this?” asked Chase.

Brenda laughed. “Do you have a couple of hours? Like I said, he made a lot of enemies over the years.” When they both stared at her, she relented. “You want names? Well, I’ll give you names. There was the President himself, of course. The DA was coming after Dickerson for election fraud and he was prepared to make a deal in exchange for giving up Wilcox. Then there was that Russian mobster he was rumored to be blackmailing.”

“Yasir Bellinowski.”

“That’s the one. And there was the feud with his own daughter, who was suing him after he’d written her out of his will.”

That was a new one, and Chase was furiously scribbling this all down.

“Um. Who else? Oh, Olaf Brettin, owner of the Daily Inquirer and Dickerson’s biggest competitor.”

“Why was he upset with Dickerson?” asked Odelia.

“You’d have to ask him. All I know is that they hated each other’s guts. Probably because they were competing over the same shelf space and audience. Dickerson was winning, obviously. The Daily Inquirer only has half the circulation of the National Star.”

Just then, a tall man with white hair walked in. It was Brenda’s husband John Berish. He looked fit and healthy for a man who’d had a heart scare not that long ago.

Chase and Odelia got up to greet him but he gestured not to bother.

“What’s wrong?” asked Brenda when she saw the look on her husband’s face.

“Oh, nothing to worry about, darling,” he said. “Just some trouble with cats.”

“Cats?” asked Brenda.

“Vivicia caught them sneaking into your office. They were probably going for Humphrey.” He held up a hand. “He’s fine. Vivicia got there just in time.”

“How in heaven’s name did they get in?”

“The cook must have left the door open again when he went for a smoke.”

Odelia’s heart sank. She knew exactly who those cats were, and why they’d snuck into the house. “Um, those cats are probably with me,” she said now.

The cool gaze of Brenda raked over her. “What do you mean?”

“They’re my cats. They… like to go exploring from time to time.”

“Yeah, they must have escaped from the car,” Chase said, coming to her aid.

“Oh,” said Brenda, and she didn’t seem very amused. “Well, then. I guess you better come with me and gather them up before Vivicia turns them into meat for my pet lizard.”