"No problem" he says, obviously blind to my sarcasm.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I arrive back at my bungalow and close the door behind me. With Trevor nipping at my heels, I go over to the window and look next door. Gabriel's light is still off and I see no sign of his car in his front drive
Where is he when I need him? He never seems to be around anymore!
Trevor, on the other hand, is everywhere at once. He's jumping on my legs, running to his toy, running back to jump on me, then running in excited circles. I sit down so he can hop onto my lap and we snuggle for a few moments. Then I get up and feed him and take him for a walk, during which I give Lilly a call, asking her to meet me for coffee.
"So everything was moved and then it wasn't? Lilly says as she dips her walnut scone into her latte. "That's so weird," What do you think it was?"
"I have no idea," I shrug. "Maybe I did just imagine it. Maybe it was those herbs I bought from that store. Maybe they did something.”
"Like they got you high?" She frowns at me. "Sage? Please.” She bites into her scone. “So what does Gabriel think about all of this?"
"Don't ask. He hates anything to do with ghosts or ghost hunting or ghost whispering or ghost busting. Apparently, he thinks it's all one big sham. Or scam. Or in Jose's words, flimflam."
"Jose?"
"The security guard for the film set. Ghost hunters get absolutely no respect. Who knew?"
"Yeah," she nods. "I get it. I mean...I used to feel the same way. Maybe I still do."
"I know what you mean,” I say as I take a bite of my chocolate chip cookie.
We both frown and look at one another and I'm pretty sure we're both thinking about the same thing. About Carlo. My last ghost. Though he was pretty much invisible to everyone else, Lilly did get a small glimpse of him at one point.
"But unfortunately it's harder to be in denial about this whole ghost business when you've actually experienced one. Or two,” I say. “But honestly, even after everything, I still have a hard time believing it's all real."
Lilly nods. "So what are you going to do?"
"Well…I’ve decided I’m not going to tell Gabriel anything about what's going on. I mean I have to pursue the ghost hunting gig or Tabloid Tony will ruin me in Hollywood. Not that I'm in Hollywood. But you know what I mean. It's a real predicament."
"Yeah. It's like you're between a rock and a hard place. Or a...rocky relationship and a Hard Copy! Ha ha! Get it. Hard Copy’s a tabloid and..."
"Yeah, yeah. I get it." I roll my eyes. Ever since Lilly got engaged she's turned into a bit of a goofball.
"So when do you go back onto the ghost ship?"
"Sunday. I have to meet the director and give him an update on the situation."
I shiver at the thought of going back at all. But at this point, I have no choice.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When Sunday finally comes, I get to the ship early so I can talk to Devon, the director, before their actual day of shooting begins. I know the call time is for 7:00AM so I get there at 6:00AM having rehearsed what I plan to say on the drive over.
According to my Tabloid Tony, I can’t quit without getting in trouble. So my plan is to get fired by asking them to double my salary. Or re-double my salary – since they’ve already doubled it once. After all, if I'm fired, Tony can't actually blame me, can he?"
And as to my money issues...well that's another matter for another day. I'll just have to find work somewhere else, I suppose.
"So what's going on?" Devon says when I get onto the yacht and get him alone for a minute. I hurry to keep up as he walks down the corridor into the stateroom –– which is the last place I want to go. But I have no choice – he enters, so I go inside along with him.
The room still has the yellow caution tape around it, denoting a 'hot set' and while I wait, Devon instructs a camera guy where to set up his equipment. Then he turns back to me, waiting for my answer to his question.
"Well," I say. "The thing is, I came here this weekend and I really tried everything I could to get rid of the ghost. I smudged the place and I banished him and......I even put salt down, but there are just some ghosts that are...uh recalcitrant."
"So what are you saying?" he asks me, curtly.
I'm about to tell him that this job requires an exorbitant amount of money to complete, but before I can, a voice from behind me says, "Why'd you move everything?"
I turn to see Mary, the script supervisor, frowning at me. She’s looking in irritation, over at the part of the room behind the yellow tape. Then she looks back at me and snaps, "I told you not to touch anything."
"I didn't," I say. "I didn’t touch anything."
I look over at the other side of the room, unsure of what has even been moved.
She looks down at her stack of photos and says, "Look. The bed was further over that way. And that nightstand was two feet to the left. The furniture in here has definitely been moved. And you're the only one who's been here since last night. According to the guard."
"Really?" I say, looking from Mary’s photos of the furniture over to the actual furniture. "That's odd. There was some, uh…ghostly activity here. Some movement when I was here two days ago. That must be what happened."
Mary rolls her eyes, obviously not believing a word I'm saying. And to tell the truth, I don't blame her. I'd feel the same way if I were her.
"And did the ghost move the knife in here too?" she asks, in a not-quite-sarcastic tone. "It's not supposed to be in here for this scene."
"The knife?" I say and look over toward the other side of the room.
Mary is obviously not interested in enlightening me further– as I'm pretty sure she still thinks that I moved the furniture, but Devon, the director, appears intrigued.
"You're right, Mary,” he says. “That knife shouldn't be here. The killer brings the knife into the room with him later in the scene. He doesn't just find it lying here on the nightstand."
I now see the knife they’re talking about. "Hmn. That's interesting," I say.
"Why?" Devon turns to me. "You think the ghost brought that in here for a reason? You think it means something?"
"It's possible," I say with a thoughtful frown. I'm trying to act like I have some superior understanding about what’s going on, though really I haven't a clue. Maybe someone else brought the knife in. Or maybe the ghost is just a knife-lover who wants it here as a reminder of his murder spree. I shiver in disgust at the thought, as just then, Phil, the screenwriter comes up and stands next to me.
"What's going on?" he asks.
"It's that knife," Devon explains. "We're not sure how that got in here. Hey someone go ask props if they put that knife there. And if they moved the nightstand over. This is a hot set. No one's supposed to touch anything."
None of us says anything more about the ghostly activity while we wait to find out what the props department says. But as I stare at the knife, I can't help but wonder if the ghost really is trying to tell us something by placing the knife there. Like maybe the script got it wrong somehow…and maybe the knife was already in the room.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
As we wait to hear back from the props department, I turn to speak quietly to Phil.
"Phil, the way you have the script written, the daughter and boat captain are killed up on the deck, while the killer stalks down, bringing the knife with him. He comes into this room and stabs the parents to death, right?”
"Yeah. As far as I know, that's the way it happened. From everything I found out."
I nod and say, "But what exactly did you find out? About the actual killing, I mean. Did you just read about it? Or did you talk to any of the survivors? Like the son who survived? Or Anabella?"
"No. I tried but I couldn't find out what happened to the son. And the daughter's friend, Anabella, wouldn't talk to me at all. I called her but she didn't want anything to do with any of it. The movie, the past, nothing. So I just based everything on the interviews I read with th
e son. And the investigation that happened afterwards." He pauses, looking down. "I mean...Of course I had to take artistic license, imagining how things went. Since I can't know what the actual dialogue was like or anything."
"Why?" a low, growly voice pipes up behind me. I jump, thinking for a moment that it's the ghost. But it turns out to be the even-more-unnerving, Buck Ames.
I smile at him and immediately go into a dither. I push my hair back behind my ear. "Oh, um. Hi. Buck. Hi."
He gives me a smile and a nod. "So you think the script could've gotten it wrong? About how the killings happened?"
I shrug, as if to say ‘it’s possible’ and I'm not sure, but I think I see Phil giving me a dirty look.
"No. Not wrong," I clarify. "I'm just wondering why the ghost would put that knife there. Maybe he's trying to send some kind of message."
Mary, the script supervisor looks at her watch, impatiently. "Well whatever his message is, you're going to have to figure it out later. We have to get everything put back exactly the way it was, ASAP. We’re on a tight schedule."
I nod, getting her message loud and clear.
"Right. I’ll go," I say. "I can come back later.” I turn and start to leave, then I stop. "Actually, Mary. Could I get a shot of the room the way it is now? Just for my own reference?"
She hesitates. Then she snaps off a Polaroid and hands it to me.
"Thanks," I say, as I head out.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Though my original plan was to go back to the boat to get fired, I’m too curious about the moved knife and what it might mean. So I head back home to do some more research about what really happened on the Andrea Claire. After trying several different search engines and search terms and following lots of different links, I’m finally able to track down an old article that quotes the surviving son’s account.
I read it carefully and see that it follows along pretty closely with the way the script was written – my guess is that it was one of the articles that Phil based his screenplay on.
I’m just about to give up on finding anything else of use, when I somehow stumble upon a short interview with the daughter's friend, Anabella Klee. But unfortunately, she was so traumatized by what happened, that she lost her memory and had no idea what happened on the boat that day.
I continue searching her name on the internet anyway, and thanks to the fact that it's so unusual, I'm actually able to find her.
Or at least I think it's her.
Anabella was almost 18 at the time of the murders, so she’d be in her thirties now – which matches the age of the Anabelle Klee that I find online. Her name appears on one of those business networking sites so I create a free account and I sign in. And lo and behold, this Anabella manages a dog-friendly cafe. Right here in Los Angeles! And not only that, this particular café specializes in excellent chocolate desserts! What could be better?
I grab Trevor and my laptop, and head out the Wilton café.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Parking in Santa Monica is always difficult, but it seems even harder today. Maybe it's the beautiful weather or maybe there's an event in town, but it seems like everyone is out here shopping or eating or checking out the tourist spots up on the pier.
I finally find a spot and pay the exorbitant parking fees, then I head across the street to the Wilton Cafe, where thankfully, there are plenty of tables available.
I find a seat near the pretty, curliqued, wrought iron fence that encircles the cafe's front porch. Trevor hops up onto my lap before my butt even hits the chair.
The waitress, a surprisingly young-looking blonde, approaches and I ask her what the best chocolate dessert is.
Without hesitation she tells me it's the 'decadent’ triple fudge layer cake with chocolate fudge frosting – It comes with vanilla ice cream and chocolate gravy on top.
"You had me at 'decadent triple fudge'" I say, my mouth already watering. "But the chocolate gravy sealed the deal."
She smiles and writes down my order, and suggests a big glass of chilled milk to go with it. "There's nothing like cold milk with rich, chocolate desserts.
I accede to her words of wisdom and order the milk along with a bowl of water and one of their ridiculously expensive 'decadent doggie treats' for Trevor.
How can I not? Not when he's looking at me with those big brown eyes. And that big wet nose.
When our order finally comes, Trevor wolfs his treat down, while I take more time savoring mine. Okay, that's a total lie, I wolf my treat down almost as quickly as he does. And while I'm licking the last of the chocolate gravy (what a concept!) off of my spoon, I notice a woman inside the café, standing at the bar talking to the cute young bartender. She looks a lot like the photo of Anabella Klee that I found online.
As she walks away from him, and turns to face me, I wave and smile. She gives me a friendly smile back and I motion to her vaguely.
A moment later, she comes out to the terrace.
"Hi, is everything okay here?" she asks.
"It's great. Unless you count the five pounds I just gained." I push the empty plate away, thinking what a shame it is to waste the last bit of chocolate that’s sticking to the dish. But I don’t even consider licking it clean. Not here in public, anyway – I do have some pride.
"Tell me about it," she laughs. Then she bends down to pet Trevor. "Oh what a cutie." He snuggles into her and gives her his cutest look – obviously angling for more treats.
"I'm Arden,” I say. "And this is Trevor.”
"Nice to meet you both. Annabella Klee."
As we shake hands, I frown at her as though trying to remember something. "Hmn, that's such a familiar name," I finally say. "I feel like I just saw it somewhere."
When she doesn't respond, I add, "Oh. I think I know where it was. I was just reading an article about a boating incident and...."
She goes white as a ghost, so I stop talking. Then I start to apologize for upsetting her, when, just then, the waitress comes back out.
"Can I get you anything else?” the pretty, young blonde asks me.
I start to say 'no' but Annabella interrupts, telling the girl to bring another treat for Trevor.
"Sure thing, Mom," the waitress answers as she turns and walks back inside.
"She's your daughter?" I look at Annabella in surprise.
"Yes. She's working for me during her break. Please don't mention anything about that boating incident in front of her. Please, not a word."
"No, of course not,” I say, feeling terrible for even having brought it up.
I see that Anabella is watching tensely through the window as her daughter walks through the restaurant towards the back and into the kitchen. She keeps watching as the door swings slowly shut behind her.
"It's fine," Anabella says with a relieved sigh. "I just don't want her to have to think about what happened out there. Though now that they're making a movie about it, I guess won't be able to play it down much longer." She pauses and looks at me. "That's probably where you saw my name. Maybe there was an article about it in the trades.
"Yes. It must be," I say, as though remembering. But in reality, I'm still trying to figure out how to frame my lie just right in order to find out more about what happened. "I think I remember reading that you couldn't recall anything about the actual killings,” I say. “I guess that's a blessing in a way."
Anabella frowns, still keeping her eyes focused on the kitchen door. She nods vaguely in answer.
I decide a big lie is called for, in order to get some kind of response. "I guess that's how come the movie is changing the story," I say. "They're going to portray it like that blonde drifter guy didn't kill everyone after all."
"What?” Anabella looks at me aghast. "But that's ridiculous. Of course he did it!"
“But…I thought you didn’t remember anything about that day,” I say.
"My memory has come back in the years since it happened. At least some of it, anyway." Her hands are clasping the top
of a chair back and appear almost white at the knuckles. "Duke did it,” she says emphatically. “He absolutely did it. I saw him. I can see him like it was yesterday. He was wearing that same blue shirt he always wore, with the little orange stars on it. He was coming out of the parents' cabin, holding the knife. Covered in blood."
She looks off, dazed, as though seeing the scene before her eyes. "I was napping in my cabin when I heard a commotion. I got up and went into the hall - and there he was. Coming towards me. I was so terrified I couldn't even move. He was saying, "I'm going to kill you. I have to kill you."”
“Oh. How terrifying,” I say, sincerely.
She nods. “It was. I backed away from him. Right into Hubert Baker who was coming down the hall behind me from the other direction. I tried to duck out of the way of Duke’s blade but I wound up right in front of it."
She unconsciously rubs her shoulder – my guess is that's the spot where he stabbed her.
Okay. So much for my new theory about Duke's innocence.
"Boy, you're really lucky he didn't kill you," I say.
She nods vaguely and I have to wonder why he didn't kill her. "Did you have any hint beforehand that he was a psycho?"
"No, not at all," she says emotionally. “He was handsome and charming and smart. What he did was a total surprise. A complete shock."
I watch her as she talks and I notice that she's starting to blush. My sense is that Anabella might have had a bit of a crush on the handsome young drifter. Personally, I don’t see much charm in the drifter's ghostly apparition, but then again, the only time I saw him, he was coming towards me with a knife screaming "I'm going to kill you!"
"Anabella, do you ever talk to the other survivor? The son? Do you know what happened to him?"
"No, I don't have a clue. I think he went to live with some distant relatives. Oh. Here's Elizabeth."
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