by Arlette Lees
He went into the back yard. No dog. In the den he found his bottom desk drawer pried open, a screwdriver on the desktop. His framed commendation for bravery was on the floor, the glass broken, a lady’s shoe print on the face of the document.
Dorothy!
CHAPTER FOUR
THE NIGHT HAS EYES
In 212 of the upscale Castleton Apartments, Amanda Chase stepped from her bubble bath. She was young and petite with intelligent blue-green eyes and a secret she was saving for Gavin at tonight’s New Year’s Eve party. After six years of marriage she was two months pregnant with their first child.
She ran her fingers over the new party dress that lay across the bedspread and smiled at her good fortune. She enjoyed a happy marriage to a husband whose star was rising in architectural circles. They’d put a down payment on an old Spanish house in Topanga Canyon, and were three weeks from signing the closing papers.
After a sprinkling of talcum powder, a touch of makeup, and a whisper of perfume, she slipped into lacy white underthings and shimmery silk stockings. She stood in front of the dressing table mirror, swept her golden-brown hair into a rhinestone clip, then sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on strappy, high-heeled shoes. She glanced at her watch. Gavin should be here by now.
Dack Traynor stood in the windy darkness outside Amanda’s bedroom window, his camera aimed through a crack in the curtains. He wanted to run his hands over every inch of her silky skin, to pull her beneath him on the cool satin bedspread with nothing between them but the slippery sizzle of sex. He smiled. Oh yes, he was a bad, bad boy.
Gavin had once caught him peeping and gone into a testosterone-fueled rage that scared the bejesus out of him. Even a bloodless, stuffed shirt like Gavin could get pretty riled when it came to his beautiful, young wife.
Dacks’s obsession started in high school when he poked a peephole between the boy’s and girl’s bathrooms. Ever since, the fear of getting caught in the act took his level of excitement to a fever pitch.
Amanda looked in the mirror and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, then touched the back of her neck as if a spider had crawled across her skin. She walked to the window.
Dack stepped away from the glass, pressing his back against the building so he couldn’t be seen. Amanda separated the curtains, allowing a golden slice of light to cut across the second-story walkway. He held his breath until the curtain dropped, then made a dash for 214. By the time Amanda opened the front door he was safely inside.
Dack liked to get his sex on the run, a lusty midnight tumble with a pickup from a bar along the boulevard, a post-coital cigarette, then back home before his wife got too suspicious or the chick started in with her litany of relationship problems.
Dack’s wife Gail looked up from her book. She had sharp eyes and a razor-cut bob like the wealthy women who came to her teller window at the bank.
“What are you doing with the camera?”
“I didn’t want to leave it in the car overnight. Wanna go to The Carnival Room?” he said, setting the camera on top of the bookcase.
“With all the drunks on the road? Are you crazy?”
Just what he wanted to hear.
Dack lit a cigarette. Standing there in his button-fly jeans, a dark curl falling over his forehead, Gail recalled getting drunk and stupid on her seventeenth birthday and ending up with Dack in a roadside motel. He still exuded the same sensory cocktail of smoke, sweat, and overactive hormones, except they were in their thirties now. She’d grown up and he was still a loose cannon.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he said.
”You better not be up to your old tricks, Dack. One more misstep and you’re on your own.”
“I’m going out,” he said. “The quiet around here is deafening.”
CHAPTER FIVE
HOUSE IN THE HILLS
Dr. Nathan Adler, Plastic Surgeon to the Stars, was celebrating his fiftieth birthday. His wife Helen was combining his celebration with their annual New Year’s Eve party. A man of pedestrian looks and extraordinary skill, he was the closest thing his illustrious clientele had to the Fountain of Youth.
Tonight, lights and laughter poured from the party onto the balconies of the last house at the summit of Fairbanks Drive in the Hollywood Hills. The pink Mediterranean was stacked like children’s blocks above the three-car garage at street level. The wrought iron gate opened onto stairs leading up to the front door.
The Hollywood sign was visible across a sweep of canyon slightly above and to the left of the address, and the wild expanse of Griffith Park abutted the property behind and to the east. On this last night of the year the house looked like a festive wedding cake ablaze with light.
The celebration was a catered affair with plenty of food. Hors d’oeuvres and champagne circulated on silver platters. There were balloons and crepe paper streamers and a library table set with beautifully wrapped and ribboned gifts. Nathan’s white-haired Aunt Sarah had prepared a special table set with Kosher delicacies for the observant among them.
Ladies dressed in their finest furs and jewels talked about upcoming movie roles and trips abroad, the gentlemen about their latest deals, theatrical and otherwise. Young talent chatted up casting directors, while the directors wondered how far the hopefuls would go to get the parts they wanted. It was your typical Hollywood party,
Nathan’s wife Helen, a thin, graying blonde with a diamond the size of a bicycle reflector on her finger, sat on a brocade sofa chatting with Lana Turner and her stunningly handsome escort. It was rumored that Helen suffered migraines, the biggest of whom was her husband Nathan.
Trudy Shawn, hot off a starring role in a Broadway musical, was a perky redhead in a yellow flapper dress, long rope of pearls, and a feathered headband. She’d come with her agent, the stately switch-hitter, Todd Sinclair, resplendent in tux and tails.
Trudy poked Todd in the ribs with her elbow.
“Look at the gorgeous hunk with Turner.” She watched him snap a flame from his monogrammed lighter and touch the tip of Lana’s cigarette. “God, if he was more beautiful, he’d be a woman.”
“That’s Johnny Stompanato, Mickey Cohen’s bodyguard and bagman.”
“No shit!” She made a soft growling noise. ”He can guard my body any time.”
Todd fluttered a wrist. “I had similar sentiments, but alas, he doesn’t tango to my tune.”
She twisted a bouncy curl around her finger and rubbed an ice cube from her drink against her throat. “My radiator’s boiling over.”
“Then you might consider putting that ice between your knees,” he said. She sputtered a laugh and nearly choked on her champagne.
“Oh look, Todd, isn’t she adorable?”
A golden-haired, blue-eyed child of five or six came down the staircase in a white nightgown with an appliqué of strawberries at the neckline.
“That’s Daisy Adler, the little princess of the house. She has a career modeling kiddie clothes for the leading designers.”
“Nothing like getting a jump on your career.” said Trudy.
Daisy trotted sleepily across the room and put her head in Helen’s lap. Helen smiled and smoothed the child’s curls, a softness illuminating her features.
“Helen and Nathan tried for years to have children, but his sperm are lazy swimmers,” said Todd. “They took some time away and returned with a newborn after he’d undergone some revolutionary new treatment.”
Helen gave Daisy a hug. “Back to bed, darling.”
“I can’t sleep without Teddy, Mom.”
“Cats like the full moon. He’ll be back tomorrow.”
Johnny reached in his pocket and peeled a bill from his roll.
“Here, Cara Mia, go put this in your piggy bank.”
“Thank you, Uncle Johnny,” said Daisy, giving him a peck on the cheek.
“Johnny, a ten is far too much!” said Helen.
“You’re right. Next time I’ll give her two fives.”
La
na laughed. “Helen, you know he’s incorrigible.”
“Off you go,” said Helen. “Have Sigrid tuck you in.” Daisy toddled back up the stairs.
A flashbulb went off inches from Lana’s face. She gasped and sheltered her eyes. Johnny shot out of his seat and grabbed the photographer’s arm. The man holding the camera was in his thirties with white-blond, slicked-back hair and the effete air of a character in a Fitzgerald novel.
“I ought to shove that camera up your ass,” said Johnny.
“Is that a threat? Did you hear that, Helen? It was definitely a threat.”
“Please, sit down,” said Lana, tugging on Johnny’s sleeve. “He just caught me off guard.”
“Do go away and let us be, Horst,” said Helen. Horst put a bored look on his face and drifted back into the crowd. Johnny sat back down, still fuming.
“That was interesting,” said Trudy. “By the way, where’s the birthday boy hiding out?”
“You see the Swedish au pair lately?”
“The what?”
“Sigrid Nordgren, the tall teenager with the braid over her shoulder.”
“Don’t tell me it’s going to be that kind of evening.” A series of flashbulbs went off across the room. “Oh god, it’s that insufferable man with the camera and he’s looking our way.”
“That’s Horst Kepler, Photographer to the Stars. Every celebrity who’s anybody has a Kepler hanging above their fireplace. He turned Daisy Adler into an overnight sensation. One of my clients says the guy has a dark side, but wouldn’t elaborate. If I were Helen, I wouldn’t leave Daisy alone with him, but you didn’t hear that from me. Let’s escape while he’s changing film.”
Todd tossed Trudy’s fox jacket over her shoulders, and they stepped through the French doors onto the front balcony. He sheltered two cigarettes from the wind and lit them with his Zippo. They smoked in silence looking at the moon and the swirl of icy stars floating above Mt. Lee.
“What’s that odd noise?” said Trudy, looking toward the hills.
“Don’t you have coyotes in New York?”
She gave him a quizzical look, wind ruffling her short curls.
“Not in Times Square, darling.”
“They’re making love to the moon.”
“I prefer a warm male body myself.”
The grandfather clock in the foyer struck midnight and cheers went up from inside the house. There was the rattle of noise makers, the sound of plastic horns, and the pop, pop, pop of flashbulbs.
“Happy New Year, Trudy,” he said, and kissed her on the forehead.
“Happy New Year, handsome.”
Down the street three dark shadows loped quietly through the neighborhood. A garbage can toppled over, the lid rolling into a bed of ice plant. A neighbor whistled her Pekingese into the house and quickly shut the door.
CHAPTER SIX
WHEN MIDNIGHT COMES
The phone rang and Amanda rushed to answer it.
“Gavin?” she said.
“No dear, this is Julia Kravitz. It’s eleven-thirty and everyone is wondering where you are.”
“Gavin ran an errand and he’s not back yet. I’m starting to worry.”
“An errand at this hour? There’s another name for that, honey, and she’s probably blonde and built.”
“You know Gavin’s not like that, Julia.”
“Neither were my three exes until I caught them with their pants down. I wouldn’t put my money on George here, either.” She giggled. ”George, stop that! You’ll make me drop the phone. Amanda dear, if you can’t make the party, call me tomorrow.”
When the clock struck midnight Amanda, stepped out of her new shoes. She removed the rhinestone clip and let her hair tumble around her shoulders. Cheers went up from the party in the apartment two doors down, and plastic whistles cut through the stillness.
Amanda walked to the window and looked into the darkness. Confetti floated over the second story railing like silver snowflakes, and a trio of balloons blew away in the wind. Where in the world was Gavin?
* * * * * * *
Rusty was sweeping up the broken glass in the den when the phone rang.
“I’ve been trying to reach you all night,” said Dorothy.
“I went to a movie.”
“Oh please, I can smell the beer on your breath from here.”
“It’s late and I’m tired. What do you want?”
“I’m coming by in the morning. There are some papers I need you to sign.”
“Looks like you’ve already been here.”
“Oh that. I bumped the commendation off the wall and didn’t have time to clean up the mess. It shouldn’t be hard to find another frame.”
“Get to the point, Dorothy. What kind of papers are you talking about?”
“It’s too complicated to go into on the phone.”
“You broke into my desk. You left a nasty gouge in the wood.”
“I needed copies of last year’s IRS filing,” she said.
“The next time, call before you come. I don’t need my house ransacked.”
“I am calling.”
“I’m sleeping in tomorrow, so I don’t want you showing up before ten. And Dorothy, I want my dog back.”
“If I leave Beezer with you, he’s alone all day. I bring him on the set where he gets a lot of attention.”
“I want my dog.”
“And people in hell want ice water. Besides, what makes him yours?”
“You gave him to me for my forty-third birthday, remember?”
“I have no recollection of that event.”
A loaded silence followed as Hallinan took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“When are you coming home, Dorothy?”
“Please don’t do this, Rusty.”
“Haven’t I always been good to you? I don’t understand where all this hostility is coming from.”
“Of course, you don’t,” she said, and hung up.
By two A.M. Rusty had showered and hit the sack. He had one more day of vacation before he was back on the roster, and he planned to make the most of it by turning on the TV, putting his feet up, and eating a half gallon of chocolate ice cream.
By three A.M., his grand plan was off the table.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MISSING
Nathan finished opening his gifts. There was an elegant gold wristwatch, bottles of vintage wine, a first edition of Tom Sawyer, a new set of golf clubs, and gift certificates to the finest purveyors of gentlemen’s attire in Beverly Hills. After he thanked everyone for their generosity, the caterers left and the party thinned out.
Several people were still milling around when Helen climbed the stairs to the master bathroom and washed down a couple antacid tablets. She removed her jewelry, then went down the hall to check on Daisy.
A full moon shone through the French door that opened onto a patio separating the back of the house from the upslope of the mountain. Through a connecting door on the right wall of the nursery was Sigrid’s room.
When she crossed the pink carpet and bent beneath the ruffle-topped canopy, she sensed something wasn’t right. She snapped on the lamp. The bed was empty. She opened Sigrid’s door, expecting to find the two curled up together.
“Sigrid, are you awake?” she whispered. There was no response. She flicked the light switch. Sigrid’s bed was empty. She checked Daisy’s bathroom and the walk-in closet. She turned on the bug light and looked out the French door. The wind was up, and a moon the size of a Chinese lantern hung above the hills.
As Helen stepped into the hall, Sigrid came walking from the opposite direction, her face flushed, a strand of hair escaping from the thick russet braid over her shoulder.
“Are you looking for me, Mrs. Adler?”
“I’m looking for Daisy. She’s not in her room.”
“I tucked her in hours ago.”
“Is there a problem?” asked Nathan, stepping from his den. He smoothed his thinning hair with the palm of
his hand and straightened his tie.
“I can’t find Daisy.” said Helen.
Word spread quickly. Johnny and Lana helped search the house, while Trudy and Todd volunteered to check the street out front.
“She can’t go far in her nightgown,” said Aunt Sarah, fingering her coral necklace. ”It’s cold out there.”
Nathan went to the phone and called L.A.P.D. The moment he asked the remaining guests not to leave until the police arrived, the seriousness of the situation sank in. If Daisy wasn’t found soon, the news would hit the papers like a gallon of red paint.
Men who’d attended the gathering with women other than their wives stumbled over one another to get out the door. A married man and a young actor with whom he’d been cheek to cheek all evening gave one another a look of glitter-eyed panic and raced to separate cars.
Horst Kepler, on the other hand, was having the time of his life, gleefully snapping photo after photo of the fleeing guests until he’d exhausted his supply of film. He rushed to the foyer, swept the guest book from its pedestal, and bolted for the door.
“I’ll take that, young man,” said Sarah, rushing over, her voice crackling with age. Horst pushed her aside and fled like a delinquent who’d keyed the principal’s car.
“That rotten goniff!” she said. “This is intolerable.”
Helen led a small group back to Daisy’s room. She opened the French door and stepped onto the patio. The chilly wind whipped the soft golden fabric of her gown. Her toe hit the corner of Teddy’s food dish and she turned to Sigrid.
“What are the cat’s things doing out here? Haven’t I told you that we feed Teddy in the kitchen? And why is this door unlocked?”
“I was trying to coax him inside with food. I left the door unlocked so Daisy could let him in.”
Johnny was first to see the muddy canine tracks circling the overturned water bowl and empty dish. He shot Nathan a cautionary look, but it was too late.
“Oh my God!” said Helen. “A coyote’s been back here.”
“Please calm down, Mrs. Adler,” said Sigrid. “They’re probably from the neighbor’s dog.”
