by M. Z. Kelly
His words now seemed like an empty platitude. Darkness filled my world, along with tears. If there was a gift in my suffering, it seemed forever lost to me.
FORTY-THREE
“I’ve decided I need you both to stay here while I go talk to Malone,” I said to Natalie and Mo as Bernie settled at my feet. My friends and I had stopped for coffee at a Starbucks near Kellen Malone’s ranch in Hidden Hills because I was still feeling a little fuzzy from too many Salchows.
“We gotta go with you for protection,” Natalie protested.
Mo agreed with her. “What you gonna do if Malone decides to pull a gun and takes you hostage?”
“You forget, I’m a cop and I also have a gun. I can take care of myself.” I motioned to a store that was in the shopping center, knowing there was nothing more effective than shopping to keep my friends busy. “Maybe you can find something to wear for tomorrow’s family reunion over there.”
“Bongs ‘n Thongs,” Natalie said, reading the sign.
“Kate must want us to get high and show up at her family reunion wearing nuthin’ but our undies,” Mo said. Her dark eyes remained fixed on the store. “But I guess I could use me some new underwear.” She stood up. “Let’s go, baby sis.” She looked back at me. “If you get yourself killed, just so you know, we’ll be wearin’ our new thongs to your funeral.”
Hidden Hills was on the border of the San Fernando Valley, about forty-five minutes from Hollywood. The area consisted of expensive homes and ranches on large lots, some consisting of several acres. I’d read somewhere that a lot of celebrities owned homes in the community, including Jennifer Lopez and Britney Spears. It also wasn’t lost on me that the area was less than a half hour’s drive from the Tauist’s retreat.
After showing my credentials to a guard at the gate, I was allowed access to the community. I found Kellen Malone’s rambling home in an area of sprawling ranches. The property had a barn and an arena with several horses. There was a man tending to one of the horses as I pulled to the curb. Even though he was much older than the man I’d seen in the photograph I’d found in Jean Winslow’s house, as I walked over to him with Bernie, I realized he was Kellen Malone.
Contrary to what his own father had said about him being a monster who was a member of the Revelation at one time, others who knew Malone had opposite opinions. And, if first impressions were any indication, as we introduced ourselves and chatted, I found him to be friendly and approachable.
Despite those feelings, I tried to steady my nerves and speak evenly. I took a moment, giving him a little background on my love-dad and explaining why I was there. Malone’s expression gave nothing up, as I took a breath and added, “I have a few questions about your father and his relationship to the Tauists if you’ve got a few minutes and are willing to talk to me.”
Malone was handsome, with silver hair and hazel eyes, about the same color as Natalie’s. “John Sexton was really your father?”
“My adoptive father. He was shot and killed by a man named Ryan Cooper when I was a child.”
Malone had a brush in his hand that he’d been using on the horse and tossed it in a bucket. He then reached down and ran a hand through Bernie’s fur, saying, “It sounds like we’ve got a lot to talk about.”
After he tidied up a bit, Malone and I took seats on his stone patio, which overlooked a small pond full of Koi. He told me about his ranch as a housekeeper brought out a pitcher of iced tea. “I bought the place about fifteen years ago when I got out of Hollywood.” He smiled. “I used to raise hell, now I just raise a few thoroughbreds.” He cut his eyes to Bernie’s scar. “What happened to him?”
“A run-in with a guy with a knife. He’s almost back to full speed.”
He nodded. “I think I’ve…have you been on TV?”
I told him about the TV show I’d recently been on to help out a victim. “It was called Hollywood Detective.”
“That’s where I’ve seen you.”
“Believe me, it wasn’t my idea to do the show.” We both looked into the yard bordering his house as a flock of geese landed there. They began making honking sounds, causing Bernie to trot a few steps into the yard and look in their direction.
After commenting on the geese, I got down to the issue at hand. “What can you tell me about your father?”
His eyes fixed on me again. “I can tell you we haven’t spoken in years.”
I gave nothing up. “Why is that?”
“I can’t prove it, but I think he committed murder, maybe lots of murders.”
“Tell me about him and how that effected your relationship.”
He took a moment, sipping his iced tea and petting Bernie who had made his way back over to us. “There was an actress. Her name was Jean Winslow…”
I removed the photograph I’d found in Winslow’s house and handed it to him. “This was taken…”
“Her thirtieth birthday.” He took a breath and rubbed his jaw, examining the photo. After a long moment, he looked up. “Where’d you get this?”
“Jean’s house is for sale. I recently met her niece, and she showed me around the place. We found this in her bedroom. It was in a secret compartment.”
He looked back at the picture, raising his brows. “John, your father, was there, and…”
“Ryan Cooper, the man who shot him.” I cut my eyes to the photo. “There was also a man named Ozzie Powell there. He worked with my…with John, and...” I took a moment, deciding not to get ahead of the story. “Tell me about Jean.”
His gaze moved off again. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I saw his eyes misting over as he said, “We were in love.”
“But she was involved with Donald Regis at the time.”
He shook his head. “Jean had broken things off with him. He was abusive and she wanted out of her contract with his studio. Regis was mad as hell about it. I have no way of proving it, but I believe Regis and my father murdered Jean and made it look like a suicide.”
I was surprised by what he’d said, having heard that Regis and Collin Russell, Malone’s father, were at odds during that time. “Your father told me a different story—that you were behind Jean’s death.”
He chuckled. “Of course he did. The world’s biggest liar would turn everything around and try to make it look like his own son was a killer.”
“But what was in it for him—for your father? Why would he and Regis turn on Jean?”
“Money, the one thing that’s always motivated my father.”
“Can you explain what you mean?”
He exhaled. “Donald Regis and my father were skimming money from Wallace Studios for years. They went so far as to hire their own financial controller to divert what probably amounted to millions of dollars.”
“Dallas Walberg.”
“You’ve done your homework.” He shook his head in apparent disgust as he continued with his story. “Jean found out about what was happening. I think she told John about it and it ended up costing them both their lives.”
“You’re saying that your father and Donald Regis hired Ryan Cooper to kill my father.”
He nodded. “And probably to kill Jean a few weeks before that and make it look like a suicide. Cooper was on their payroll. I also believe that Harlan Ryland was involved.”
I took a moment, going over the facts as I thought I now knew them, and that Regis had committed suicide a few weeks back. I asked Malone about that. “Do you think Regis took his own life?”
He laughed. “No more than I believe Jean’s death was a suicide. When my father became a member of the Revelation and later formed the Tauist Society with Ryland, he and Regis had a falling out. They were at odds for years. My father and Ryland probably hired someone to give him the fatal dose of drugs.”
“Your father—he told me that you were one of the original members of the Revelation.”
“What did I say before about him being the world’s biggest liar?” He sipped his tea, set the glass down, and squ
ared up his shoulders. “I don’t know much about the Revelation, or the Tauists, for that matter. All I do know is that my father and Ryland used both organizations to make themselves extremely wealthy. Along the way, they took out anyone who posed a threat to them.”
What Malone said confirmed much of what I thought I already knew about the deaths of Jean Winslow and my father, but I now knew that Donald Regis and possibly Harlan Ryland were also involved. There were just a few pieces of the puzzle that I still needed to work out.
“Can you tell me about Ozzie Powell? I know he was a friend of my…of John’s, and he’s the one who invited him to Jean’s birthday party. Do you know if Ozzie knew about Jean’s suspicions that Regis and your father were stealing from the studios?”
He shrugged. “I can’t really say. I remember him being with your dad at Jean’s house a few times. If Jean told John what was happening, then he probably confided in Ozzie, since they were friends, but I can’t say for sure.”
I took a breath before asking the other question I was hoping he could help answer. “As I mentioned before, John Sexton was my adoptive father. My mother was an actress named Judie Crawford. I’m still…” I took a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. “I don’t know who my biological father is, but there was another detective. He was friends with John and Ozzie and he might be my father. His name is Pearl Kramer.”
Malone’s eyes became unfocused and he tugged on his collar as he thought about what I’d said. After a moment, he looked at me. “Pearl…yes, it was a long time ago, but I’ve got what some people might call a photographic memory. I do remember meeting him and John saying something about him. It wasn’t at Jean’s party, though. I think it was at a barbecue at her place a few weeks before her birthday.” He took a moment, then asked, “Was Pearl a black man?”
I gulped in a breath. “Yes. Do you remember what John said about him?”
His gaze moved off again as he considered my question. “It was just something he said to his friend Ozzie…something about keeping secrets.”
The skin on my forehead tightened. “Any idea what he meant by that?”
“I think maybe he wasn’t sure Pearl could keep quiet about something. Not sure exactly what it was.”
I continued to probe, asking Malone what else he knew about Pearl, but didn’t get anything more. I’d spent over an hour with him and knew that my friends were worried about me because of the half dozen texts I’d received. I explained about needing to go, and Malone walked with Bernie and me to my car.
When we stopped on the street to say our goodbyes, I saw that his expression was more serious than before. As we shook hands, he said, “You need to be careful. My father and Ryland have a lot of people working for them. If they know that you’re looking into what happened to your father and Jean…” He released a breath. “…like I said, be careful. They’ve killed before. They’ll kill again.”
I thanked him and was about to leave, when something else occurred to me. I turned back to him. “There’s another man who I think has some ties to your father. Have you ever heard the name Noah Fraser mentioned in connection with him or Ryland?”
He nodded slowly as he said Noah’s name aloud, then added, “I think his name came up a few years back in connection with somebody who claimed that my father cheated him out of his life savings. The guy went away a few weeks after that.”
“Went away?”
“Yeah, as in turned up dead. It’s just speculation on my part, but I’ve got a feeling this Noah Fraser might be working for my father and Ryland, just like Ryan Cooper did.”
I tamped down my anxiety as I said, “As an enforcer?”
“Some people might call it that. If it was me, I’d just say he’s a hit man.”
FORTY-FOUR
“Mo and me went into one of them vintage dress shops next to Thongs ‘n Bongs,” Natalie said.
We had stopped at a little restaurant called Dreamy Desserts after my meeting with Kellen Malone. My friends had bags full of clothing, not to mention several pairs of new shoes. They were having a sugar orgasm as they ate and talked about their purchases.
Natalie went on. “We got us all dresses for your family reunion tomorrow.”
“Really?” I said. “I can’t wait to see them.”
Vintage dresses for my family reunion with my snobby sister. Are you kidding?
“I’m thinkin’ that I’m gonna look like one of them old Hollywood stars in me dress, maybe like Audrey Hepburn,” Natalie said. “Or even Bette Davis.”
“And I’m gonna look like Dorothy Dandridge,” Mo said before looking at me. “What about you, Kate?”
I laughed. Maybe it was exhaustion or depression, or both, but I said, “Maybe I’ll go as Jean Winslow.”
They both just looked at me, not saying anything. I apologized, realizing that I should have thought before I opened my big mouth.
“What you gonna do ‘bout Noah now?” Mo finally asked, after taking a bite of the world’s largest slice of cheesecake. I’d previously told them all about my meeting with Malone.
“You gotta take Noah out before he takes you out,” Natalie said.
I took a bite of my muffin. “Easier said than done. I’m not sure what to do.”
Mo put in an order for a second dessert as she still worked on the first, then said, “Maybe you should go back to the bigwigs in your department, tell ‘em what you know.”
I sighed. “Everything Malone told me was believable, but it’s only conjecture. There’s nothing in the way of evidence for the police to take any action.”
Mo lowered her voice, even though the restaurant was nearly empty. “But you now know that Russell and Ryland was behind your love-dad’s murder, along with that Regis asshole. They gotta pay for what they did.”
“They will. I just have to be sure that I have the facts straight. I also need to have something to back it up with before I take it to my superiors.”
“And Noah? Whatcha gonna do ‘bout him?”
I released another breath. “I don’t know. We’re supposed to get together for dinner next week. I hope I can think of something before then.”
“Curare,” Natalie said.
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw a movie where they put the stuff on darts and shoot it through a blowgun. The victim drops deader than an eighty-year-old pecker in a matter of seconds.”
“Sounds like the ultimate blow job,” Mo said.
I chuckled. “Somehow I can’t see myself sneaking up on Noah and shooting him with a blowgun.”
Mo’s second dessert was delivered, a huge slice of lemon meringue pie. “If you’re not ready to poison Noah, then it means that me and baby sis are gonna have to change tactics.”
“What are you talking about?”
After a spoonful of pie, she said, “We’re gonna have to trail Russell, see what he’s up to.”
Natalie agreed. “Your love-daddy’s killer is goin’ down. We just gotta get the goods on him.”
“I don’t want him knowing you’re following him.”
Mo smacked her lips together and looked at me. “We been followin’ Noah and his girlfriend ‘round all week. Don’t you think we can follow Russell?” She looked at Natalie. “It’s up to you and me, baby sis. We gotta save Kate’s skinny ass, once and for all.”
Natalie reached over, did a fist bump with Mo, and said to me, “Badass babes to the rescue.”
Mo then looked at me and said, “We’re gonna rescue you, but first we gotta attend your family reunion.”
***
I spent the following Sunday morning lying around and doing my best to temporarily put what I now knew about Collin Russell and Harlan Ryland out of my mind. After dropping Bernie off with Charlie, who promised to take good care of him and keep him away from Jessica, I went next door to get ready for my family reunion with my friends.
“I’m not sure this fits me right,” I said, after trying on the vintage dress they’d bought
for me. “And my hair looks like hell.”
Natalie and Mo gave me the once-over. They had on similar dresses, only mine was yellow and black, while theirs were hues of pale blue and mint green, respectively. I sighed, thinking I looked like a bumble bee, or maybe just someone who looked like she belonged in a cocktail lounge from the 1940s.
“We got ‘em on special at that vintage shop next to Thongs ‘n Bongs,” Natalie said. “They’re awesome, right?”
“Right,” I lied.
While Natalie’s dress might be awesome—it looked like it had been altered to fit her perfectly—I felt like I was the before model in an antiques catalog. Our dresses were a cotton velveteen fabric, with rhinestone studs on the front and back yokes. They offered a wide scoop neckline, and flared out at the bottom to the lower calf. While they might have been in sixty years ago, they were now about as far out as you could get.
Mo came over to me. “Your hair looks as good as it ever gets, but you hate your dress, don’t you?”
“No, it’s fine,” I lied again, after checking the time on my phone and realizing I didn’t have time to change. “We’d better get going. I don’t want to be late.”
My sister, Amanda, and her husband, Geoff, had rented out the Skybox for our family reunion dinner. It was a newer venue for private parties on the outdoor terrace of a mansion overlooking the city. A gourmet chef and several waiters were part of the package. I had no idea how much they paid for the event, all I did know was that my friends and I would probably fit in like three Cinderellas wearing homemade gowns to a fancy ball.
After arriving, we exchanged empty greetings and air hugs, and I introduced my friends to Amanda and her husband. My sister was two years my junior and three inches shorter than me, with brown eyes. We had the same hair color at one time. Amanda now had blonde hair that had been layered, textured, frosted, and probably dipped in gold. The hair, the makeup, the clothes—a de la Renta scoop neck black knee length lacy evening affair—all screamed MONEY. My friends and I, on the other hand, screamed BROKE.
