The whole time Pattie kept a hold of Zane's hand on her arm. Or was he holding on to her? It wasn't entirely clear.
Finally, they were led up a tiled porch and through a pair of wide French doors. Pattie braced herself, but nobody was inside the room into which they were shown. A broad-winged ceiling fan stroked the air over a loose arrangement of over-stuffed, lemon-colored furniture. In the middle of the room, a thick, farmer's style table held three place settings of heavy, green crockery.
The table looked ready for a meal.
One of the guards spoke. "You're to wait here."
Zane maneuvered his hand out from under Pattie's. He faced the guard. "What for?"
The other man's lips tightened. "Ms. Domino will join you shortly." He thumped his hand on the butt of his revolver and then all three of the guards withdrew.
Pattie pulled in a long breath. She'd better say something quick, before Zane let her have it, claiming she'd gotten them into a dangerous situation, locked in a possible murderess's house.
Smiling brightly, she turned to him. "Nice digs she's got, huh?"
With his face dark, Zane looked at her. His chest expanded, but instead of complaining, he merely expelled his hot air. "The lady must be loaded," he agreed, and lifted a shoulder.
"Yep." Which would make her an excellent blackmail victim, Pattie added to herself, with an inner gulp. She turned aside and regarded the set table with its crystal champagne flutes. "Think we're invited to lunch?"
Zane huffed a laugh. "I hope not."
Pattie shot him a questioning glance.
He flicked the edge of a green plate. "Remember that Savannah was, essentially, poisoned."
Pattie swallowed.
Fortunately, she didn't have to reply, for a woman swept into the room. The woman was tall, very blond, and exquisitely coutured.
Actress, Pattie thought, immediately recognizing the symptoms of exaggerated posture and overdone smile. Lonny Domino exuded self-confidence, sexual allure, and a dash of condescension. Definitely an actress.
"My, my," she said breathlessly. Pattie caught a blaze of professionally whitened teeth. "This is ever so embarrassing."
Embarrassing?
Pattie glanced toward Zane, but he looked as baffled as herself.
"The rock," Lonny explained. She swirled forward, all Versace and Chanel. Her expression transformed from Oscar recipient to contrite celebrity sinner. "Being a newspaper publisher and all, you probably think you ought to write about my little, eh, escapade." She paused, the fingers of one hand resting on her collarbone. "Don't you?"
"Uh..." Pattie said.
"That would depend," Zane stepped in.
"Yeah, right. That would depend," Pattie quickly agreed. She'd pretty much dismissed the importance of the rock, considering the far more serious crime of murder.
A crease formed between Lonny's perfectly plucked eyebrows. "You aren't going to write about my throwing a rock through your window?"
"Um," Pattie said.
"You don't think it rates a story in your podunk newspaper that Lonny Domino, winner of the 1996 Horrorama Cheesecake Award, flipped out of her usual role of self-possessed benefactress of the arts to hurl a rock through somebody's window?"
"Well, uh—" Pattie floundered.
Lonny pulled herself to full, Lady Macbeth stature. "You don't think it matters if the one-time queen of horror, a widow of oil barons and diamond czars, a woman who's currently the wife of multi-millionaire Frederick Gammond— You don't think it matters if such a person has a hissy fit and destroys a vintage lattice work window? That just doesn't cut it?"
Pattie opened and closed her mouth in complete befuddlement. Lonny wanted them to print a story about her? About committing an act of vandalism?
"Well!" Lonny's well-preserved nostrils flared. "Well. You're just as bad as Savannah, aren't you?"
"Excuse me—?"
Lonny Domino whirled. A lot of expensive satin swirled after her. "I'm not good enough for your pathetic little rag. Not important enough. Insignificant." She whirled back, fixing Pattie with a gimlet gaze. "But that isn't true, and you know it."
"Well, I don't know if I—"
Lonny drew in a sharp breath. "Savannah was jealous and spiteful. She wouldn't print a single word about me. Not because I didn't deserve it, but because I got the part of Killer Bee Queen in "Killer Bees Eat Manhattan." A small smile curved Lonny's mouth. "Savannah was sure she was going to get that part. She'd slept with all the right men...she thought." A low chuckle said that Lonny had actually slept with the right man. "She never got past it. She was so—so—"
"Immature?" Zane ventured.
"Yes!" Lonny pointed at him in triumph. "Immature."
Pattie and Zane exchanged glances. His face mirrored the expression she was sure she wore, herself. Disbelief.
"Let me see if I have this right." Pattie rubbed her cheek. "You actually want the Hollywood Rattler to print an article about your act of vandalism, tossing a rock through my window."
Lonny regarded her long fingernails. "I only deserve it, don't you think? Particularly since Savannah simply wouldn't print the story when I crashed my ex-boyfriend's wedding. Or the time I passed out at the House of Blues. Britney Spears got in the news for that. Why shouldn't I? Hell—" Lonny straightened. "I deserve some ink."
Mentally, Pattie shook her head. Lonny Domino wanted publicity, even if it was negative. Her goal was to get noticed, get attention. Why, this wasn't a motive for murder. It was...pique.
Darned if Lonny's attitude didn't remind Pattie of somebody else. Yes, ironically, the person that came to mind was Savannah. Savannah, too, would do anything to get attention, anything to make people look at her. She'd hungered for adulation.
Rarely though, had she ever given attention back. Despite all the years their parents had spent fawning over Savannah, attending every talent contest and drama production, Savannah had never had time for them. Ha. When they'd both gotten so sick, within months of each other, Savannah hadn't dropped everything in order to stay with them to the end. She'd barely even visited.
Savannah was like Lonny: a taker, not a giver.
Pacing around the table, Lonny tossed some of her expertly tinted hair over one shoulder. "So. Are you going to print something or not?"
Instead of answering, Pattie stared at her. Take, take, take. That's all Savannah had ever done. It's all she'd known how to do. Pattie'd never thought of her sister in such simple terms, but it was true.
Meanwhile, for some reason her earlier argument with Zane came to mind—almost all her arguments with him. They all involved her reluctance to accept his assistance. To take.
Only taking. Never taking... Were the two related?
"I'm waiting," Lonny warned.
Zane glanced toward Pattie, who was too preoccupied to respond. With a puzzled frown, he turned to Lonny, himself. "I just want to make sure I understand," he claimed.
Lonny looked wary. "About what?"
Zane waved a hand in the air. "You tossed a rock through Ms. Bowen's window, putting her and her nephew at significant bodily risk, not to mention costing quite a chunk of change—and you expect a favor?"
Lonny's plump lips parted. Briefly, she looked pained, but then the sun came out again. She beamed at Zane. "How big a chunk of change?"
Zane smiled back at her.
Pattie had a feeling she ought to jump into the proceedings at this point, but she was still too bemused. Taking, never giving. And the opposite.
"Seven thousand dollars," Zane said.
Pattie was glad she hadn't spoken up, after all. When it came to money, Zane was definitely more ballsy than she. And quite effective. Rather than balking at this number, Lonny smiled.
"Done," she said, then wagged a finger. "As long as you print an article about it."
"An article?" Pattie came back to the moment with a wince. An article about a has-been actress? Bree would have a fit. The editor hadn't yet recovered from the Dale Go
oden retraction.
"It's a deal," Zane said, with a hard look in Pattie's direction.
"Deal," Pattie agreed with a sigh.
"Oh, good. That's all taken care of, then. Now, sit," Lonny cooed. "Sit. You can take notes while we eat."
Lovely, Pattie thought.
Seven thousand dollars, Zane mouthed at her.
Pattie sat.
Servants appeared, bearing grapefruit on curried rice followed by tilapia with mango chutney. Pattie fished a scrap of paper from her purse, something on which to jot notes while Lonny rambled on about her misspent life.
The woman owned every material luxury a person could want, yet she craved the empty attention she could get from a scandal sheet.
Wanting love, but not giving it. Just like Savannah. Never giving anything, only taking, taking, taking.
It was a life keyed too far in one direction. It was definitely unhealthy.
But was it possible to have a life keyed too far in the other direction? Pattie struggled to listen to Lonny while concluding she didn't know. She just didn't know.
~~~
"Y'all drive safely now." The guard who'd escorted them down Lonny's long driveway was now a smiling pal of theirs.
"We will, thanks," Zane replied. It wasn't easy to manage a civil tone for the guard as he and Pattie walked out the gate and into the street. An hour and nineteen minutes. That's how long Lonny Domino had made them sit with her in her 'morning room,' listening to her empty accomplishments. Lord! Who cared what award she'd won in which ridiculous contest fifteen years ago?
And husbands? She collected them the way some people collected bottle caps, only with far less sentiment. From what Zane could gather, her current husband, Gammond, was in the hospital dying of cancer. Lonny claimed she visited...sometimes.
Zane had been ready to die, himself, forced to keep his mouth shut while listening to all of this. The worst part, however, had been the realization he'd reached during their lunch. Contemplating Lonny's pert smiles and her calculated gestures, Zane had been forced to acknowledge a strong resemblance between the actress and his ex-wife, Maeve.
It was like having a light shone on a painful wound. Maeve also was beautiful on the outside, graceful and full of clever flattery. He'd fallen for that beautiful outside; he'd assumed it meant the inside was beautiful, too.
Instead, just like Lonny Domino, Maeve had been utterly selfish, determined to get her own way by any means necessary.
It was sobering to realize what an idiot he'd been.
"I'm thinking she's not the one," Pattie remarked, looking pensive as they left the shade of Lonny's opulently landscaped driveway.
Lost in his thoughts, it took Zane a second to understand Pattie. She was saying Lonny was not the person who'd killed Savannah.
With a wary glance at her, he agreed. "Can't say I see any motivation. Besides, she doesn't seem to have the brains."
Pattie nodded.
Under the blazing sun, they crossed the street in a surprising silence. Although Zane had completely overrated the danger, Pattie didn't mock him for his earlier fears of the utterly harmless Lonny Domino. She didn't point out that if they'd gone his route, they wouldn't have been able to rule out Domino as a suspect today—if ever.
But Pattie didn't say a word as she unlocked the doors of the car. She seemed buried some place deep inside herself as they both got inside.
Still silent, she started the motor, then jammed the air conditioner to full blast. Zane thought she was oblivious to him, but he was wrong. Instead of putting the car into gear, she glanced his way. "You could have been right, you know. Lonny might have been the murderer."
Astounded by the admission, he could only stare at her.
But she wasn't through surprising him. Shaking her head, she turned forward again. "The truth is, I didn't want to be here by myself." She paused to sigh. "So the truth is, I'm glad you forced your company on me." She shoved the gear shift to drive. "There. I admitted it. I can take."
Zane blinked, utterly flabbergasted. Pattie Bowen, Ms. Independence Personified, had just thanked him for his help? Had he heard that right?
He gazed out the windshield as Pattie wheeled the car into a U-turn. He felt like a man who'd just been hit in the head. No. Pattie admitting he might have been right, Pattie thanking him for his interference—none of it made sense.
He frowned deeply as Pattie started them down Mulholland Boulevard toward the freeway. Every once in a while, he stole a glance at her. Something had to be wrong with her. Very wrong. Something.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Was there something wrong with her?
The question haunted Pattie as she drove back to Cassie's house. She'd always considered her self-reliance a positive quality, something to be valued. But after meeting Lonny Domino and remembering Savannah, Pattie wondered if this were true.
Lonny and Savannah only knew how to take. This was obviously no good. But she sat at the opposite end of the spectrum. She was unable to take. Anything. Ever.
She called it self-reliance. But maybe it was something else. Maybe it was, in fact, a problem.
It wasn't only Zane's assistance she refused. It wasn't only recently. She recalled four years ago, when her parents had become ill. She hadn't even asked Savannah to help care for their mom and dad. Even after her parents' situation had deteriorated to the point they needed daily help, Pattie had quit her job and moved back to Los Angeles rather than ask Savannah to pitch in—even though Savannah already lived in the area.
Why hadn't she asked her sister for help? Sure, Pattie wanted to be responsible, she wanted to fulfill the obligations of a daughter—but had she been right to take it all on single-handed?
And then there was Nick. As 'serious' as Pattie had once considered her relationship with him, had she ever really taken from him? She'd depended on his companionship, maybe, but she hadn't relied on him for anything more than that.
It was clearly difficult for her to accept help...to take. Was this as much a dysfunction as her sister's inability to give?
Was she as messed up as she'd always considered Savannah?
Cassie's backyard was deserted when Zane opened the door from the garage. Heat hung over the lawn like a blanket one couldn't throw off.
"Guess everyone's inside," Zane muttered, and led the way to the screen door of the main house.
Cassie's kitchen was far cooler than outdoors, with natural light filtering in through a window over the sink. The room was as deserted as the backyard, but the sound of a television could be heard, with low, dramatic music.
"That's Cassie," Zane said dryly. "Watching one of her vintage movies." He strode across a spacious hall and into a comfortable den. There Cassie sat on a plush leather sofa, practically in the lap of a heavy-set man with thinning red hair. The television droned away past a coffee table laden with cut carrots and avocado dip.
"Hey." Cassie smiled widely. "Back already?"
"Looks that way." Zane flicked a questioning look toward Pattie. It was not the first such look he'd thrown her way since they'd left Lonny's house.
Pattie ignored this one, as she had all the rest.
"Don't think you've met my husband yet," Cassie said to Pattie. "This lug here is Jim."
"One lug, at your service." Grinning, Jim reached upward to shake Pattie's hand.
She smiled uncertainly as she shook hands, but he didn't appear to mind the epithet. "Pleased to meet you."
"Tristan's been great." Cassie spoke as if Pattie would take the information personally. "He went down for his nap around twelve, and is still out for the count." She waved. "Why don't you sit down?"
Pattie hesitated. Then immediately questioned her own hesitancy. Cassie had asked her to sit. Would that be so difficult to do?
She sat. "Thanks."
"We're watching Random Harvest," Cassie announced. Her manner now was as friendly as it had been earlier, before Pattie and Zane had left on their 'errand.' "It's a tear jerke
r extraordinaire," she went on, "but I have to see it every time it's on." She patted her husband's chest. "Jim has discovered it pays dividends to watch it with me."
Jim half growled and nibbled Cassie's ear.
Pattie felt an odd pressure in her chest as she watched their easy byplay. To them, the dance of give and take seemed simple.
Cassie, laughingly evading Jim's tickle, held out her hand toward Pattie. "Listen, it would be a shame to wake Tristan... And the kids have been getting along like gangbusters. Why don't you hang out 'til he's done with his nap, then stay for dinner?" She smiled.
Uneasily, Pattie smiled back. She opened her mouth. Reflex had her wording a polite, but firm, demur. But before she could do anything so—predictable, she closed her mouth again. Couldn't she accept a simple dinner invitation?
Savannah wouldn't have had a problem accepting. She wouldn't have had a problem going on to ask for whatever she thought Cassie might give her. Savannah had been trained to ask for things—to expect them—by parents who'd always given everything to her, with no reciprocation required. She was an expert in the art of taking.
The same parents had been so consumed by Savannah, they'd given little to Pattie. She'd learned to do for herself. She'd learned the lesson so well, she never took, never expected.
There was no question Savannah'd been sick.
But now Pattie had to ask herself: was she sick, too? It was only dinner, for heaven's sake.
She let out a deep breath and made herself smile with more warmth than before. "Ah. Sure. Thanks. I'd love to stay for dinner."
She'd surprised Zane. Even though he stood above her position on the couch, she could feel his reaction. He'd thought she was that predictable, that she'd refuse the invitation.
Pattie's smile brightened and she settled deeper into the couch's cushions. That settled it. Staying had definitely been a good decision.
That is, it would have been a good decision if she didn't sense Zane shifting his reaction from surprised to pleased. Above her, he relaxed. Dammit, she was sure he was smiling.
If I Loved You Page 14
