Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay

by Cynthia Hamilton

  “I appreciate you sitting here with me,” he said, his voice hoarse and low. Madeline gave him a tight smile as she reached across the table to place her hand on his. It was a small gesture of support, one that made Ross choke up at the kindness of it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, retrieving his hand to blot his eyes.

  “No need to apologize. You’ve been through hell.”

  Ross laughed weakly. “I guess I’ve had an awfully big dose of reality served to me the last couple of days,” he said, then took another sip of his tea. He sat back, his eyes roving over his surroundings as his mind raced to catalog the various stages of loss and regret he had gone through in less than two days.

  “In the ambulance, it hit me that I’ve completely lost control over my life. I’ve had numerous nightmare situations over the years, but I’ve never felt like there was ever a problem I couldn’t eventually work through. Since I got the call Friday night, it’s as if I’ve become a passive participant in my own life. My mother’s dead, Cherie almost killed herself—and may very well have killed my mother—and now the studio is trying to take my film away from me. Not that I give a shit at this point.”

  Ross grunted at the irony of his predicament. He sat back and rested his arm along the top of the booth, his eyes focusing on nothing in particular as his gaze went inward.

  “I realize now my whole adult life has always revolved around my career as a director. The three wives, the two kids—they’ve been ancillary to my world. It was never about marrying Linda or Stephanie or Cherie because of a deep love for them. It was always about how they fit into my world, how living with them would improve my life. That’s all. They’ve just been accessories to the fantastic Ross Alexander, man with the overgrown ego…”

  Ross hid his face with his hands. Madeline watched as his chest heaved in and out. He let his hands drop, revealing the expression of a man bereft by his own actions.

  “If Cherie did kill my mother, then I’m just as culpable as she is. I talked my mother into coming to live with us. She didn’t want to leave Casa Contento, but I convinced her it would be good for Cherie to have company when I was away on location. And I convinced Cherie she couldn’t come with me anymore because I didn’t want to leave my mother alone. It was totally self-serving and it probably caused a lot of resentment between them. I guess I never really bothered to check in to see how miserable the situation was. As long as I got what I wanted, I didn’t care.” Ross let out a huff of self-loathing. “Like I’m the only one who matters…”

  Madeline had kept her expression neutral while Ross punished himself. That he had confessed his shortcomings to her was no surprise; her clients often did. Whether it was due to the level of disclosure inherent to the process of investigations or event planning, she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was her unbiased demeanor, or maybe it was their familiarity with her own very public downfall that inspired others to bare their souls without fear of censure.

  Ross smiled wanly and placed his hand on the table, inviting Madeline to take it in hers as she had done before. She took her cue and Ross clutched her hand so tightly it almost hurt.

  “All that coffee’s going right through me,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze before he excused himself.

  Madeline sat back and let all the air seep out of her lungs as she reviewed where they stood in this case. She took a sip of her tepid coffee, which left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. She ate the rest of her muffin while checking her messages. There were two texts from Mike. She figured it would save time to just call him.

  “I’m at the hospital cafeteria with Ross. He’s gone to the restroom. I haven’t got much time—any luck?”

  “Not sure at this point, but I’ve definitely hit on some interesting dirt.”

  “Tell me quickly, before he gets back.”

  “Look, since you’ve got Ross’s ear, find out what you can about Helen’s son. I would wager Kris has a bit of a gambling problem, pardon the pun.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “I decided to take a drive down to Port Hueneme. I’m sitting outside Kris’s rental right now,” Mike said, catching Madeline off guard.

  “I hope Helen didn’t spot your car.”

  “I got a rental. Besides, her car isn’t here.”

  “Maybe it’s in the garage.”

  “Trust me, Helen would not be spending time in a dump like this,” Mike said defensively. “If she was here at all, she’s not here now. I saw the kid get into his Trans Am ten minutes ago. Definitely in a hurry to get somewhere.”

  “So, what makes you suspect he has a gambling problem?”

  “Kris and his worthless buddies live across the street from a very sweet, very observant elderly woman.” Madeline caught sight of Ross as he reentered the café.

  “Ross is coming back. What’d she tell you?”

  “That Kris came back from a few days’ stay at the hospital with a battered face and his arm in a sling. She’s noticed times when he seems flush with cash. Brand new fancy vehicles come and go. Rough looking bruisers showing up at all hours, and not for social calls.”

  “When was he in the hospital?”

  “About a month ago,” Mike said. Madeline watched Ross as he zigzagged closer to their table, her mind racing.

  “Good work. I’ll see what I can find out,” she said, ending the call without waiting for a reply. Ross slid back onto the banquette, his gaze averted as though he was on the lookout for the press.

  “Ross, while we’ve got the chance, there are a few questions I need to ask you,” Madeline said once he had settled in across from her.

  “Shoot.”

  Madeline cleared her throat as she put her thoughts in order. “Helen’s been with you a long time, hasn’t she?”

  Ross nodded slowly, the look on his face reverential. “She’s been my anchor. She’s seen me through three marriages and two divorces.”

  “She’s been your housekeeper for twenty years, is that right?”

  Ross tilted his head while he worked the dates. “Yeah, right around twenty. She came to work for us while Linda and I were living in Brentwood. The girls must’ve been in their teens. That was probably three years before we got divorced.”

  “And Helen stayed with you?”

  “Went with me. Yeah, that was a big bone of contention with the first ex-Mrs. Alexander. She found Helen, trained her, and then I stole her away—according to Linda. The truth is, Helen begged me to take her with me. I wasn’t going to refuse. I was a bachelor for three years before Stephanie and I got together.”

  “And she followed you to Santa Barbara. That’s a devoted employee,” Madeline said, sweetening the statement with a smile.

  “She knows I’d be lost without her. She asked for two days off to spend time with her son and I nearly lost it. The woman has hardly had a day to herself in a year and all I could think about is how am I going to function without her anticipating my every need. Especially in the middle of these crises. I’m lucky she didn’t walk out on me.”

  “From what I can tell, she’s completely devoted to you.” Ross’s eyes softened as she said this. “When did you and Stephanie move up here?”

  “It was in 2001. We’ve been in the Montecito house for twelve years—or rather, I’ve been there for twelve years. Helen and I have been there together. The wives changed,” he said with a sad smirk.

  “Has Helen always lived in the guesthouse?” Madeline asked, getting around to what she was really interested in.

  “Yes. She’s been there since day one. She and Kris,” Ross amended. Madeline detected a change in his tone at the mention of Helen’s son.

  “Does that mean she was a single mom?” Ross nodded.

  “She and her husband split up shortly before we moved up here.”

  “How old is Helen’s son?”

  “Twen
ty-two. Twenty-three? I can’t recall right now.”

  “So, he was lucky enough to attend Montecito Union,” she said, fishing.

  “Actually, I paid for him to go to Crane,” Ross said, a little uncomfortably, Madeline thought.

  She smiled appreciatively. “That was very generous of you.”

  Ross ducked his head in a self-deprecating way. “Well, I pretty much treated him like a son…when I was around.”

  “He’s a very fortunate young man, then. Is he still in college?” Madeline asked. Ross became suddenly interested in his mangled scone. After a while, he gave up the pretense and leaned back against the booth.

  “Unfortunately, I think living in a Montecito mansion with a famous film director who treated him like a son whenever it suited him had a deleterious effect on Kris. I think he grew up confused about where he belonged. I loved the kid, I did—as much as I was able to love anyone, I suppose. But that fickle kind of caring is more of a curse than a blessing.”

  “He didn’t go to college,” Madeline surmised.

  “No. I did try to encourage him to go, but by that time he had discovered hedonistic pleasures, like surfing, partying all night, hanging out with trust fund babies who had more freedom than sense. He developed a cavalier attitude about money, and then…” Ross laughed humorlessly, “and then he no longer had access to all the comforts of living on the estate. How do you spoil a kid who isn’t even yours? I’ll tell you. You just play the rich uncle until the kid disappoints you, then you lose interest. It’s guaranteed to fuck up a boy’s mind. Sorry, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Everywhere I look in my life I see my failure to do the right thing.”

  Madeline gave Ross a few seconds for self-reflection before pressing him again.

  “I’m sorry I brought it up,” she said. Ross waved away her apology. “But something’s been hounding me… and now that I know Kris lived on your estate, it makes me wonder…”

  “Wonder about what?” Ross asked apprehensively.

  “Well, the thing that has stymied Mike and me, along with the police, is that there are so few potential suspects for your mother’s murder, according to the surveillance footage. We’ve seen for ourselves everyone who went up and down both sets of stairs…”

  “And…?”

  Madeline leaned in conspiratorially. “The estate is old, right?

  “Built in 1928,” Ross said, still puzzled over what Madeline was getting at.

  “An era of grand homes built with great care given to the layout and functionality of the house…” Ross regarded her with mouth agape.

  “I don’t know where you’re going with this,” he said.

  “Are there any secret passages that would connect the downstairs with the upstairs?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” Ross said, his expression still uncertain.

  “But a boy who had free rein around the house in your absence might have discovered something like that, wouldn’t you think?” Ross shook his head dubiously. “Ross, the only way we can prove Cherie’s innocence at this point is to figure out if someone else could’ve gotten upstairs and back down without being seen.”

  Ross stared into Madeline’s eyes as the point hit home. “You don’t think Kris could’ve done it?” he asked, his brow creased with worry. Madeline’s eyes shifted ever so slightly as the possibility cemented itself in her mind.

  “No, no. I just want to find out if something like a hidden passage exists. If it does, it opens the door to a plethora of potential suspects,” she said, sitting back while Ross digested this.

  “Now I see what you mean…no more fingers pointed solely at Cherie.”

  “Exactly,” Madeline said. “If we could inspect every room and crawl space, we might find some type of passageway.” She watched as Ross’s face came alive with hope.

  “Mr. Alexander?” a tall brunette asked as she bent down by their table.

  “Yes,” Ross said anxiously, already scooting off the banquette. “Is my wife all right?”

  “Yes, she’s out of danger. But the doctor would like to speak you,” the woman said, smiling politely and encouragingly at both of them.

  “I’m right behind you,” Ross said. As the brunette turned to lead the way, Ross leaned over the table. “Thank you, Madeline. If you can get my wife out from under this nightmare, I will be forever in your debt.”

  “We’re going to do everything we can,” Madeline assured him. As she watched them leave the cafeteria, she wondered if Ross would really be happy with the results of their digging.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  As soon as Ross was out of sight, Madeline called Mike.

  “Did you get anything useful?” he asked.

  “I got some interesting background info on Kris Bagley, like the fact that he lived on the estate with Helen for several years. And that Ross paid to put him through an expensive private school. Sounds like he would’ve paid for college, too, if Kris hadn’t fallen in with a fast crowd. Ross blames himself for the problems the kid’s gotten himself into. I guess the money tap turned off once Kris opted out of college.”

  “Does Ross know about all his arrests?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask him about that. But something did occur to me while we were discussing Helen’s troubled son,” Madeline said, her voice trailing off. Mike recognized the silence that followed as his partner’s mental gears turned.

  “Are you going to share that thought with me or not?” Mike asked after a significant pause.

  “What if there’s a hidden staircase in the house that the Alexanders aren’t aware of? What if Kris discovered it? Or any of the staff, for that matter.”

  “You’re suggesting that someone other than Cherie or Helen killed Vivian…?”

  “I’m just wondering if we’re not overlooking a vital piece of the puzzle. It’s certainly worth checking out,” Madeline said.

  “I agree. Anything is worth checking out at this point. Did you share your theory with Ross?”

  “No. It’s not so much a theory as it is a question mark. I just can’t stand by and watch Cherie go down on a murder charge without exhausting every possible alternate scenario,” Madeline said, surprised to find out how committed she was to a person she had grown to dislike.

  “So, what’s our next move?”

  “I want to get Ross’s permission to inspect every square inch of that place. Including outbuildings,” Madeline said as the caretaker’s cottage, Helen’s guesthouse and the pool cabana came to mind. “The house was built in the middle of Prohibition, so it wouldn’t be farfetched to imagine a tunnel or two on the property.”

  “You’re getting quite cloak and dagger here, aren’t you?” Mike chided her.

  “Look, I’d have no qualms going straight for Helen as Vivian’s killer, but she’s alibied up the wazoo.”

  “And your intuition still tells you Cherie didn’t do it,” Mike challenged.

  “It’s not just intuition. There are too many actions on Cherie’s part that don’t add up to those of a murderer.” Mike had an argument against that assertion, but he already knew Madeline’s counter, so he stayed silent on the matter.

  “I guess we could start trying to poke holes in Helen’s alibi,” Madeline said more to herself than Mike. “But with proof of her and Teresa leaving together, we would be clutching at ether. At least if we can prove or disprove the existence of a secret staircase or tunnel, then we would know it was worth our time trying to dissect Helen’s airtight alibi. Do you get what I’m saying? If there’s a hidden passageway, Cherie’s defense becomes a lot easier.”

  “Yeah, I follow you. So, tell me what you want me to do.” Madeline let her eyes wander aimlessly while she considered the next logical step.

  “I’ll talk to Ross about searching his property. He’s in with Cherie right now.” Madeline let out a forceful sigh,
part frustration, part bewilderment. “I guess it would’ve been useful to follow Helen’s son,” she thought out loud.

  “I decided to take the more subtle approach of putting a tracker on his car.” This visual put a smile on Madeline’s face.

  “Okay, so what’s your plan?”

  “I’m just watching his movements for a while before I give chase. For all I know, he could’ve run down to the liquor store for more booze and cigarettes. If he doesn’t come to a stop in a minute, I’ll see go see what he’s up to.”

  “Good. I guess I’m supposed to hang around here until they let me in to see Cherie,” Madeline said, checking her watch. Not that it mattered, for time had lost its constancy over the last forty-eight hours. “Once I do get in, I’ll have to turn my phone off, so I’ll call you when I’m leaving.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Mike said, signing off.

  Madeline dried her hands while she regarded her reflection in the restroom mirror. She wasn’t exactly thrilled by what she saw. Of course, the fluorescent lighting didn’t help. Nor did having so many worries on her mind.

  She tried to rationalize that she would’ve been working just as hard with plenty of aggravations to sort through if Cherie’s party had gone as planned, without any suspicious deaths to investigate. But catering to the whims of the rich wasn’t even in the same category as dealing with the bereaved and trying to solve two murders. She touched up her lipstick and ran a brush through her hair and called it good enough.

  As she walked back toward the waiting area, the same tall brunette who had tracked Ross down now made a beeline for her.

  “Mr. Alexander sent me to find you. Mrs. Alexander is asking to see you. The doctor has okayed it, but you’ll have to keep it brief,” the woman instructed as Madeline fell into step with her.

  Ross was exiting the room as they approached. He looked distracted and thoroughly worn out as he ran his hands across his temples, lacing them together behind his head as he let out a powerful huff.