Private Eyes

by Jonathan Kellerman

  “That,” said Anger, coloring, “has nothing to do with—”

  “Whatever,” I said. “The bottom line is, any decision to delegate management of Melissa’s money will have to be Melissa’s. And it will have to be voluntary.”

  Douse pressed his fingertips together, withdrew them, repeated the gesture several times. It might have been a parody of applause. His eyes were steady and small.

  He said, “Well, there’s obviously no need for you to assume the burden of assessment, Doctor. Given your reluctance.”

  “What does that mean? Bring in the hired-gun expert witnesses?”

  His face remained blank as he showed his cuff monogram and consulted a gold-and-rivet Cartier that looked much too small for his wrist.

  “Nice meeting you, Doctor.” To Anger: “This clearly isn’t a good time to be visiting, Glenn. We’ll come back when she’s feeling more up to it.”

  Anger nodded but he looked off-balance. None of his trophies had been for Overt Conflict.

  Douse touched his elbow, and the two of them walked past me, heading for the entry. And came face-to-face with Melissa, who stepped out from behind a tall bookcase. Her hair was tied in a ponytail. She had on a black blouse over a knee-length khaki skirt, no stockings, black sandals. Something pink was clenched in her right hand— a balled tissue.

  “Melissa,” said Anger, switching on a loan-denial sad-face. “I’m so sorry about your mother, hon. You know Mr. Douse.”

  Douse held out his hand.

  Melissa opened her palm and showed the tissue. Douse dropped his arm.

  “Mr. Douse,” she said. “I know who you are, but we’ve never met, have we?”

  “Sorry it has to be under these circumstances,” said the attorney.

  “Yes. How kind of you to come. And on a Sunday.”

  “Days don’t matter when it comes to something like this,” said Anger. “We came by to see how you were doing, but Dr. Delaware told us you were resting and we were just on our way out.”

  “Mr. Douse,” she said, ignoring him and stepping closer to the attorney. “Mr. Douse, Mr. Douse. Please douse any ideas of ripping me off, okay, Mr. Douse? No, don’t even say a word— just leave. Right now— both of you—out. My new attorneys and my new bankers will be contacting you shortly.”

  • • •

  After they were gone, she cried out in rage and collapsed against me, weeping.

  Noel came running down the stairs, looking scared and confused and eager to comfort. He saw her pressed to my chest and stopped midway down the flight.

  I motioned him forward with a small backward movement of my head.

  He stepped very close to her and said, “Melissa?”

  She kept crying, pushed her head into my sternum so hard it hurt. I patted her back. It seemed inadequate.

  Finally she pulled away, red-eyed, face blazing.

  “Oh!” she said. “Oh, the bastards! How could they! How could they have the— She’s not even . . . oh!”

  Choking on her words. She wheeled, ran to a wall, hit it hard with her fists.

  Noel looked to me for counsel. I nodded and he went to her. She allowed him to guide her into the front room. The three of us sat down.

  Madeleine came in, looking angry but smug, as if her worst assumptions about mankind had been confirmed. Once again. I wondered how much she’d heard.

  More footsteps.

  The other two maids appeared behind Madeleine. She said something, and they hurried off.

  Madeleine walked over and touched Melissa’s head. Melissa looked up and pushed a smile through her tears.

  Madeleine said, “I bring you to drink?”

  Melissa didn’t answer.

  I said, “Please. Tea, for all of us.”

  Madeleine lumbered off. Melissa sat hunched under Noel’s protective forearm, jaw clenched, tearing the tissue to shreds and letting them fall to the floor.

  Madeleine returned with tea, honey, and milk on a silver tray. She served, handing a cup to Noel, who guided it toward Melissa’s lips.

  Melissa drank, choked, sputtered.

  All three of us hurried to attend to her. The resulting flurry of arms was Keystonish; it might have been comical under different circumstances.

  When the dust cleared, Noel again held the cup to Melissa’s lips. She took a sip, started to gag, put her hand to her chest, and managed to hold it down. When she’d finished a third of the cup, Madeleine nodded in approval and left.

  Melissa touched Noel’s hand and said, “Enough. Thanks.”

  He put the cup down.

  She said, “The bastards. Unbelievable.”

  “Who?” said Noel.

  “My banker and my lawyer,” she said. “Trying to rip me off.” To me: “Thanks— thanks so much for sticking up for me, Dr. Delaware. I know who my true friends are.”

  Noel remained confused. I gave him a brief replay of the interchange with Anger and Douse. Each word seemed to inflate his own anger.

  “Assholes,” he said. “Better get yourself some new ones fast.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said. “I made it sound as if I already had someone hired— you should have seen the looks on their faces.”

  Brief smile. Noel remained serious.

  Melissa said, “Do you know any good lawyers, Dr. Delaware?”

  “Most of the ones I know practice family law. But I should be able to get you a referral for an estate lawyer.”

  “Please. I’d really appreciate it. And a banker, too.”

  “The estate lawyer should be able to refer you to a banker.”

  “Good,” she said. “The sooner the better, before those two worms try anything. For all I know they’ve already been filing some kind of papers against me.” Insight widened her eyes. “I’ll have Milo check them out. He’ll be able to find out what they’re up to. They’ve probably ripped me off already, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Who knows?”

  “Well,” she said, “they haven’t exactly shown themselves to be honorable. For all I know they’ve been ripping off Mother all these years. . . .” Closing her eyes.

  Noel hugged her tighter. She allowed it but didn’t relax.

  Her eyes opened suddenly. “Maybe Don was in it with them— all of them scheming—”

  “No,” said Noel, “Don wouldn’t—”

  She cut him off with a slashing diagonal movement of one arm. “You see one side of him, I see another.”

  Noel was silent.

  Melissa’s eyes got huge. “Oh, God!”

  “What is it?” I said.

  “Maybe they even had something to do with . . . with . . . what happened. Maybe they wanted her money and . . .”

  She shot to her feet, throwing Noel off balance. Dry-eyed, hands fisted. One fist rose to eye level and shook.

  “I’ll get them,” she said. “The bastards. Anyone who hurt her will pay!”

  Noel stood. She held him at arm’s length. “No. It’s all right. I’ll be all right. I know where I stand now.”

  She began walking around the room. Circling, sticking close to the walls, like a novice skater. Taking wide steps and speeding her pace till it was nearly a jog. Scowling and extending her lower jaw and punching her hand with a fist.

  Sleeping Beauty roused by the malignant kiss of suspicion.

  Anger replacing fear. Incompatible with fear.

  I’d treated an entire school that way the previous fall. Had taught her the same lesson years ago.

  This child’s anger white-hot. The look on her face almost savage.

  I watched and could think of nothing but a hungry animal in a cage.

  Psychological progress, I guessed.

  29

  Milo showed up shortly after, wearing a brown suit and carrying a shiny black briefcase. Melissa latched onto him and told him what had happened.

  “Get them,” she said.

  “I’ll check it out,” he said. “But it’ll take some time. In the meantime, get yourself a
lawyer.”

  “Whatever it takes. Please. Who knows what they’ve been up to.”

  “At least,” he said, “they’re on notice. If they’ve been up to something larcenous, they’ll probably quit for the moment.”

  Noel said, “True.”

  Milo said to Melissa: “How are you doing, otherwise?”

  “Better . . . I’m going to get through it. I have to . . . if there’s something you need me to do, I can do it.”

  “What you can do, for the time being, is take care of yourself.”

  She started to object.

  Milo said, “No, I’m not brushing you off. I mean it. Just in case they decide to keep pushing.”

  “What do you mean?” she said.

  “These guys are obviously out to run the show. If they can convince a judge you’re screwed up, they’ve got a shot at it. I may get dirt on them or I may not. While I’m digging, they’ll be stockpiling ammunition. The better you look— physically and psychologically— the less ammunition they’re gonna have. So take care of yourself.”

  He looked over at me. “If you have to scream, scream at him— that’s his job.”

  • • •

  She let Noel take her upstairs. Milo said, “Did it happen the way she said?”

  I nodded. “They were a couple of real sweethearts. Came on concerned, then eased into the Grand Plan. Kind of stupid, though, showing their cards like that.”

  “Not necessarily,” he said. “In most cases it would work, because the average eighteen-year-old would be intimidated and agree to let a couple of suits handle everything. And plenty of shrinks would go along with what they offered you. For the right compensation.” He scratched his nose. “Be interesting to know what they’re really after.”

  “I’d say filthy lucre’s a good guess.”

  “Question is how much lucre. Are they out to totally drain the estate or just maintain managerial control so they can beef up their fees a couple of percent. People who live off the rich get into a rut— start thinking they have a right to it.”

  “Or maybe,” I said, “they made some bad investments and want to keep it quiet.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said. “But the thing we’ve got to consider is, despite all these maybes, do they still have a valid point— one that would look good to a judge. Can she handle that kind of dough, Alex? How’s she really doing emotionally?”

  “I’m not sure. She’s gone from drowsy to enraged awfully quickly. But nothing pathological when you consider what she’s been through.”

  “Say it in court that way, and she’s finished.”

  “Forty million dollars would be tough for anyone, Milo. If I were King of the World, I wouldn’t give any kid that much. But no, there’s no psychological justification for declaring her incompetent. I could back her up.”

  “Anyway,” he said, “what’s the worst thing that could happen? She pisses it away, has to start from scratch. She’s smart enough— could do something useful with her life. Maybe it would be the best thing ever happened to her.”

  “Financial collapse as a therapeutic technique? Good excuse for doctors’ raising their fees.”

  He smiled. “In the meantime, I’ll do what I can to check out Anger and the other guy. Though it’s gonna be damned hard to pierce that kind of armor quickly. She really needs legal help.”

  “I thought I’d call someone on that.”

  “Good.” He lifted his briefcase.

  “That new?” I said.

  “Picked it up today. Got an image to uphold. This private-eye business is heady stuff.”

  “Did you get the message I left with your machine a couple of hours ago?”

  “ “Several things to talk about’? Sure, but I’ve been a busy little private bee, scooping up honeycombs of information. How about a share-fest?”

  I motioned to one of the overstuffed chairs.

  “No,” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of here, breathe some normal air— if it’s okay for you to leave.”

  “Let me check.”

  I climbed the stairs, went to Melissa’s room. The door was partially open. As I raised my hand to knock, I looked through the crack and saw Melissa and Noel, stretched out on the bed, fully clothed, entwined. Her fingers in his hair. His arm around her waist, rubbing the small of her back. Bare feet, toes touching.

  Before they noticed me, I tiptoed away.

  • • •

  Milo was in the entry hall, refusing a plate of food from Madeleine.

  “Full,” he said, patting his belly. “Thanks anyway.”

  She regarded him as if he were a wayward son.

  We smiled and left.

  Once outside, he said, “I lied. Actually, I’m hungry as hell and her stuff’s probably tastier than anything we’re gonna get somewhere else. But the place gets to me— after a while, I OD on being taken care of.”

  “Me, too,” I said, getting into the car. “Think how Melissa feels.”

  “Yeah,” he said, starting up the engine. “Well, now she’ll be on her own. Any suggestions, cuisine-wise?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have just the place.”

  • • •

  Start of the dinner hour. La Mystique was empty. As I pulled up in front, Milo said, “Gee. Are we gonna have to wait at the bar?”

  I said, “That’s the Gabney Clinic,” and pointed to the big brown house. The windows were dark and the driveway was empty.

  “Ah,” said Milo, squinting. “Little spooky.” He turned back to the restaurant. “So what’s this place, your lookout post?”

  “Just a warm, kind resting spot for the weary sojourner.”

  • • •

  Joyce was startled to see me again, but she welcomed me as if I were long-lost kin and offered the same front table. Sitting there at this hour would have turned us into a window display, so I asked to be seated at the back.

  She took our drink orders and came back with two Grolsches. As she poured, she said, “We’ve got poached striped bass and veal vino for specials,” and launched into a detailed speech about the preparation for each.

  I said, “I’ll have the bass.”

  Milo scanned the menu. “How’s the entrecÔte?”

  “Excellent, sir.”

  “That’s what I’ll have. Bloody rare, with double potatoes.”

  She stepped behind the partition into the kitchen and began cooking.

  We touched glasses and drank beer.

  I said, “According to Anger, Chickering said the search for Gina is over.”

  “Not surprised. Last time I checked with the Sheriffs was one-thirty this afternoon. They were pretty much winding down— not a trace of her anywhere in the park.”

  “Lady in the lake, huh?”

  “Looks that way.” He ran his hand over his face. “Okay. Time to share. Who first?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Basically,” he said, “it’s been hooray for Hollywood. Spent most of my day talking to movie people and ex-movie people and associated hangers-on.”

  “Crotty?”

  “No, Crotty’s gone. Died a couple of months ago.”

  “Oh,” I said, thinking of the scrawny old vice cop turned gay activist. “I thought the AZT was working.”

  “We all did. Unfortunately, he didn’t. Sat on the porch of that little farm he had up in the hills and ate a gun.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Yeah. In the end, he did it like a cop. . . . Anyway, what I learned in cinemaville: Apparently Gina and Ramp and McCloskey were all pretty chummy back in the good old days. There was this group of contract players at Apex Studios during the mid- to late sixties. McCloskey wasn’t exactly part of it, but he hung out with them, started his modeling agency by getting the others photo gigs— pretty faces, both sexes. From everything I hear, they were a wild bunch, lots of boozing and doping and partying, though no one has anything bad to say about Gina specifically. So if she sinned, she did it quietly. Most of th
em never went anywhere, career-wise. Gina was the most likely to succeed, but the acid thing kiboshed that. The studio knew it was a buyer’s market, lots of fresh flesh bused in daily from Iowa. So it gave these kids shoestring contracts, used them for walk-ons, various ancillary services, then ditched them when the wrinkles started showing.”