Fade to Blue

by Bill Moody

  We sit for a few minutes, smoking in silence. I sense she wants to say something, ask me about Ryan, but she’s holding back. We both turn as Ryan sticks his head out the door. “Okay you two. That’s enough pollution. We have to get going, Mom.”

  We both stub out our cigarettes and start back into the house. At the door, Bonnie touches my arm and looks at me, her face full of concern. “Is this bad trouble for Ryan?”

  “It’s too early to tell,” I say. “I think it’s going to be okay.”

  “He’s a good boy,” she says.

  Out front, we head for the cars with Tom and Bonnie trailing us. “You drive the Beamer,” Ryan says. “Melanie and I will take the Mercedes.”

  “Fine with me. It looks great.”

  Tom nods. “Manny’s Car Wash always does a great job. Right down on Ventura.”

  I lag a little, letting Ryan and Melanie get in the Mercedes and start the engine, then I turn back toward the house.

  Ryan sees me start back. “Where you going?”

  “Go ahead,” I say. “I think I left my lighter in the house.” Ryan waves and they pull away. “In the kitchen I think,” I say to Tom and Bonnie, leaving them to wave goodbye.

  I go back in the house, circle the kitchen, and come back out, the lighter in my hand. “Got it.”

  I get in the BMW and pull out, waving goodbye, but see Bonnie’s smile has faded.

  I find Manny’s Full Service Car Wash a few blocks down Ventura Boulevard just east of Fallbrook. I pull in and park, watching a crew wiping down cars still dripping water as they emerge from the automated wash. There’s a small shop and a waiting room, with several people browsing through magazines waiting for their cars.

  Off to the side is small office. I see a man at a desk in dark work pants and a blue denim shirt with Manny stitched over the breast pocket. He’s focused on some papers on his desk, a calculator to the side.

  “Manny?”

  He looks up, pushing glasses up his nose. He has a head of thick black hair and a lined face. “Yeah. What can I do for you?”

  I step inside and immediately see a framed, signed publicity photo of Ryan on the wall. I point at the photo. “Did Mr. Stiles bring his car in for a detail the other day?”

  “Yeah, his dad did. He’s a regular customer. Something wrong?”

  “No, no, he just recommended you. I thought I’d check out your place. Ryan let me borrow his car today.”

  “Uh huh. Kid’s in a little trouble I guess from the papers.”

  “Oh I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”

  Manny studies me for a moment then gets up. “Let’s have a look at the car. I didn’t do the job myself.”

  We go outside and Manny walks around the BMW a few times, a practiced eye scanning the car. He opens the door, looks inside, and shrugs. “Looks fine. I had Rick do a full wash, wax, and detail.” He looks at me, his eyes narrowing, wary now. “What are you really here for?”

  “I’m just wondering. Did you or Rick notice any damage at all, even a little ding, on the fender maybe?”

  Manny frowns. “I didn’t. I’d have to check with Rick, but if there had been, he would have told me.”

  I smile. “That’s what I thought.

  “Are the police going to ask me that?”

  “They might. Thanks for your time.”

  I get in the car and start the engine. I see Manny in the rearview mirror, still standing, still watching me as I pull out of the driveway.

  Chapter Eleven

  When I get back to the house, Ryan’s Mercedes is not there. Neither is Emillio’s silver Volkswagen Bug. Newer, but one just like mine, still parked I hope, back at Andie’s apartment in San Francisco. I go in the guesthouse, change into shorts and a t-shirt, and head down to the beach for a long walk. I lose track of time and drift past Trancas, almost halfway to Point Dune, before I turn back, just walking on the wet sand, letting the cool water splash over my ankles.

  The warm sun, the waves gently lapping on the beach are soothing and help me clear my mind as I review the past few days. I’m surprised at the relief I feel at having seen Ryan’s BMW undamaged, and having it confirmed by Manny that he was unaware of any scrapes or nicks when he detailed the car. I realize now how much I want to believe Ryan had nothing to do with Darryl McElroy’s death. Driving with total abandon, his temper revved up after the altercation with McElroy at the Anchor, it could have easily been Ryan Stiles going off the road into Malibu Canyon.

  When I get back to the house, I see Emillio looking down from the deck. He waves. I wave back and sit down on the sand, leaning back on my elbows letting the warmth of the sun wash over me.

  A few minutes later, he comes down the steps with a Brother Thelonious beer and a sandwich on a paper plate. “Thought you might be hungry,” he says, squatting down next to me.

  “Thanks.” I take a long pull on the beer. “Just what I needed.” The sandwich is crab meat and avocado with some kind of dressing. I look at Emillio gazing out at the ocean. A strong breeze has come up now, and his black hair blows over his forehead. He sits back and scoops up handfuls of sand, letting it trickle through his fingers, something on his mind.

  “Is this going to be bad for Ryan?” he asks.

  “How much do you know?”

  “I’ve read the papers, seen the TV news reports.”

  “Nobody has talked to you?” He shakes his head. “How long have you worked for Ryan?”

  “Almost four years.”

  “You’ve seen a lot then.”

  He smiles and nods. “Yes, I have.”

  “And probably kept quiet about a lot, too.”

  He nods. “I have, but then I had to sign a confidentially agreement.” He looks at me. “You didn’t have to sign one?”

  “Nope. I signed a contract for the teaching, but I don’t remember a confidentially clause.” I wonder then if I’d just missed it or hadn’t read it carefully.

  Emillio seems surprised. “It’s pretty common with the stars. Nannies, cooks, bodyguards. No star wants an employee leaking something to one of the tabloid magazines, or writing a tell-all book.”

  I nod. “I was wondering. Why doesn’t Ryan have a bodyguard?’

  “He did. Went through a couple but they didn’t work out. For big events, the studio usually assigns them.”

  I finish off the sandwich and take another slug of beer.” That was great.” I set the plate on the sand and get a cigarette going. “Well, the police are investigating, but I don’t think there’s anything really to worry about. So far, it’s just routine.”

  Emillio gives me a look. “Nothing is routine with Ryan Stiles.”

  “Because of his celebrity?”

  “That and his”—he searches for the right word—“temper.”

  “There is that,” I say. “I’m guessing you have some first-hand knowledge.”

  He nods. “Twice. Once with Melanie and once with me. He was furious with her over something, some small imagined slight probably. She’s beautiful and he’s very jealous. I thought he was going to hit her.”

  “Would you have tried to stop him?”

  He turns and looks at me. “Yes. I heard them arguing when I walked in. Melanie looked so scared. He had her pinned against the wall. Ryan turned to me and started yelling, ‘What the fuck are you looking at? This is none of your fucking business.’”

  “What happened?”

  “Melanie slipped away and ran off down to the beach. Ryan stalked off to his room and slammed the door so hard I thought it would break. Later, he came to me for what I thought would be a lecture or maybe to fire me. Instead, he apologized, all charming again, and gave me a bonus on my next check.”

  That seemed to be Ryan’s pattern. Snapping, going off in a rage, then settling down later. “I’ve seen him twice, too. At that restaurant in Santa Monica when we had lunch, and at the Anchor when he broke the photographer’s camera and
took off.”

  “Is that why they’re investigating? Do the police think Ryan had anything to do with the photographer’s death.”

  “They don’t know.”

  “Do you?”

  “No I don’t. There’s no evidence.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if he did, even if he got off, I couldn’t work for him anymore.” Emillio gets up then, takes the beer bottle and plate and starts up the steps to the house.

  “Emillio.” He stops and turns around. “Neither would I.”

  I wait another few minutes then check my watch, deciding it’s time to call Andie. She answers on the second ring.

  “It’s about time,” she says.

  “Nice to hear your voice, too.”

  “So what’s the latest?”

  I catch her up on the police questioning, checking out Ryan’s car, visiting Manny’s car wash, and my talk with Grant Robbins about staying on. She listens without interrupting.

  “I guess there’s no point in trying to talk you out of this, is there?”

  “I want to see this through, Andie, see how things shake out.” I hear her sigh audibly.

  “How long?”

  “Couple of weeks. I can’t see the investigation going much longer than that unless the police come up with some hard evidence.”

  “What if it does take longer?”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to rethink things.”

  “I hate to be the one to puncture this balloon, but isn’t it quite a coincidence that Ryan and this photographer guy both drive over Malibu Canyon the same night, the same time? One goes over the edge, and one goes home to mom and dad?”

  “You have me there.”

  “I guess the chance to score a Ryan Stiles movie is a big tempting carrot.”

  “Yeah, it is. It could open some other doors.”

  “Just don’t get caught up in something you’ll regret. No, scratch that. You’ve been there. I don’t have to remind you to be careful, do I?”

  “No ma’am, you don’t.” I smile, imagining Andie glaring at the phone. “How’s work with you?”

  “Pretty boring, but something came up yesterday. I have to go to L.A. to see Wendell Cook. Remember him?”

  How could I forget. Wendell was the agent in charge during Gillian Payne’s reign of murders when the FBI roped me into helping them. It was also when I met Andie. “What’s that about?”

  “No idea, but it means I get to join you in Malibu if I can swing a few days after the meeting.”

  “Great. Let me know when you’re coming and I’ll meet you.”

  “The Bureau is flying me down. I’ll call you after the meeting.”

  “Bring that black bikini again.”

  “It’s already packed.”

  I pocket my phone and lie on the beach for a few more minutes, then climb the steps up to the house. Ryan is in the kitchen, talking on the phone. He looks at me and holds up a finger.

  “Yes, I can do that. Glad to help,” he says and hangs up. “Malibu Police,” he says to me. “They want to look at the car. Can you drive it in for me? I’ll follow you in the Mercedes.”

  “Sure. Give me a few minutes to change.” I go in the guesthouse and throw on some jeans and a sweatshirt. Ryan is already outside, waiting, running his hand over the fender of the BMW. “Manny does great work, eh?” He straightens up. “This is such bullshit.”

  “They could get a warrant, come out and impound the car. Looks much better if you’re being cooperative.”

  “Yeah I know.” He gets in the Mercedes. “I know, just routine,” he says irritably. “Go ahead. I’ll follow you.”

  At Malibu Civic Center, we’re directed around back to some kind of garage facility. There are a few sheriff’s cruisers parked nearby, and several mechanics in blue coveralls working on the cars. Some have the hoods open, some are up on racks. They all look up as I park the BMW and get out. Ryan pulls in next to me. I hand the keys over to a deputy with a clipboard, who tells Ryan it could be a couple of days. “You’ll be notified, Mr. Stiles.”

  “I can’t wait,” Ryan says. We get in the Mercedes and head back to the house. He seems preoccupied as we drive, tapping his fingers on the wheel, his head nodding slightly.

  “Mind if I ask you a question?”

  “What?”

  “Was that normal for your dad to take the car to have it detailed?”

  Ryan shrugs. “Why not? He was just being Dad. Something wrong with that?”

  “No, I guess not. I was just curious.”

  Ryan keeps looking straight ahead. “Mind if I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Was it normal for you to check on the car with Manny?” Ryan sees the surprise on my face and smiles. “Manny called my dad right after you were there. Dad called me.”

  “Okay, you got me. I just had to satisfy myself.”

  “I’m a little disappointed but I understand. Satisfied?”

  We ride a few more minutes in silence. “Yes. I guess there was no need to worry about Manny, huh?”

  Ryan grins again. “None at all.”

  I don’t see Ryan or Melanie the rest of the day. I get in some practice, taking advantage of the piano, and think about lining up some gigs. Maybe Ruth Price can come up with something while I wait. I stop, look at my watch, and see almost two hours have passed when Emillio appears in the doorway holding a small overnight bag.

  “I’ve been given the night off,” he says. “There’s a meat loaf and a baked potato warming in the oven for you. A salad in the fridge.”

  “Great, sounds fine.” He’s dressed in casual clothes, his jacket already on. “Big date tonight?”

  He smiles. “No, I’m going to see my sister. I’ll be back in the morning.”

  “Enjoy.”

  I go to the guesthouse, have a long shower, and change into sweatpants. Back in the kitchen, I find Emillio has everything laid out. I take the meat loaf out of the oven, cut off a couple of thick slices, add butter and salt and pepper to the potato. I grab the salad and a beer, and take the everything out on the deck.

  I eat, enjoying the solitude, watching the sun make its final descent, and feeling the air begin to cool. I light a cigarette and think about a second beer or some coffee when Melanie comes out. Her blond hair is in a pony tail, no make-up, wearing jeans and a short top.

  “Mind some company?”

  “Hey, no, not at all. You better have some of Emillio’s meat loaf.”

  She smiles, but looks tired, a little drawn. “I think I will.” She goes in the kitchen and comes back with a small slice, a smattering of salad, and a bottle of sparkling water. She sits down with me and nibbles on the meat loaf.

  “Where’s Ryan?”

  “He was watching a movie and fell asleep.”

  I watch her eat and see she wants to talk. “How are you doing?” I ask her. “You were very quiet in the car this morning.”

  She nods, takes a drink of water. “I’m just worried about Ryan I guess. This…this whole thing is just so awful.” She looks up at me. “By the way, I’m really glad you decided to stay.”

  “For awhile anyway. Grant Robbins is very persuasive, and I want to see how this all comes out. With the movie I mean.”

  “Is it going to be okay?”

  Ryan’s mother, Emillio, and now Melanie. “The police are examining the car. There’s no damage and we know Ryan spent the night at his folks. I know everybody says the same thing, but it is kind of routine.” She nods, tries to smile.

  “How well do you know Ryan’s parents?”

  “Not all that well, really. This morning was only the second time I’ve been to their home.”

  “They seem like very nice people.” I decide not to tell her about having checked with Manny about the car, or that Ryan knows I did. “Well, his dad can vouch for Ryan being there all
night, so I don’t think Ryan has anything to worry about.”

  “I know. I just want all this over.”

  “Andie is coming down again, maybe in a couple of days.”

  Melanie instantly brightens. “Great. I look forward to spending some more time with her. She’s just so…so together. You’re very lucky.”

  “That I am.”

  “That you are what?” Melanie and I both turn as we hear Ryan’s voice.

  He comes out on the deck in shorts and a sweatshirt, rubbing his eyes. He sits down and looks at us both.

  “Melanie was telling me how lucky I am to have Andie,” I say. “She’s coming down in a couple of days.”

  Ryan frowns. “Nothing to do with my situation, is it?”

  “No, the L.A. Bureau ordered her down. She used to work in the office here.”

  Ryan nods, already losing interest. “What are you guys eating?”

  “Emillio made his famous meat loaf,” Melanie says. “There’s plenty left.”

  “Cool. Why don’t you make me a sandwich, baby. And bring me a beer, too.”

  Melanie gets up and goes into the kitchen. Ryan leans in closer, talking quietly. “She’s pretty upset about all this,” he says.

  “Yeah, I know. I’ve been telling her it’s all going to be okay.”

  “Cool,” Ryan says. He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’re a good friend, Evan.”

  I shrug. “Well, there was no apparent damage to the car, and your dad saw you come in, so your alibi, if we have to call it that, is solid.” Ryan looks away for a moment. “What?”

  He checks to see that Melanie is still in the kitchen. “Dad didn’t see me come in.” He speaks even quieter now. “He didn’t know I was there until he went out to get the paper and saw the car in the driveway.”

  Andie calls me the next afternoon. “Hey, handsome. Want to pick up your girlfriend?”

  “Wow, that was fast. Where are you?”

  “The Federal Building on Wilshire. There’s a coffee shop just down the street. I’ll finish up here and meet you there.”

  “Okay. About an hour?”

  I hear something in her voice. “Everything okay? You’re not in trouble with Wendell are you?”

  She hesitates a moment. “No, nothing like that. I’ll tell you when you get here.”