by K. K. Beck
“Oh,” said Callie, momentarily taken aback.
As far as Nick was concerned, that probably cinched it. Lila might have to share some of her money with the Cunninghams, but as Uncle Sid’s widow, she clearly had a strong claim.
He realized too that any little hopes he’d been harboring about cashing in on Uncle Sid’s legacy were dashed. As for poor Melanie, she’d have to negotiate with greedy Lila and maybe watch The Revenge of Kali-Ra, and Nadia’s career, go down the tubes due to the old woman’s horrible meddling.
Lila narrowed her eyes at Callie. “You’re a grasping, materialistic girl, aren’t you?” she said. “Well, you won’t get a dime from me.” She laughed.
“Kids still count. Are you denying that Mom is Valerian Ricardo’s child?” said Callie.
“I certainly am.”
“Well, what about the cigarette box then?” said Callie.
Gail rummaged in the bottom of her large purse and produced the gold diamond-trimmed box. “Lila, when you gave me this, you practically admitted Valerian was my dad,” she said.
“That doesn’t prove a thing.”
“It’s a beautiful box,” said Melanie disingenuously.
Lila gazed at it and said wistfully, “It was from Cartier. When I first met Valerian he had lots of nice things left over from when he was a rich and famous author. The ruby cuff links went first. Then the gold candelabra and the Egyptian antiquities. Finally, we sold the sterling silver cocktail shaker and the handmade golf clubs. That was about all that was left from the old days.”
“So it was especially generous of you to give it to Gail,” said Melanie.
Lila looked at her with an expression Nick couldn’t interpret. She seemed startled.
Melanie turned to Gail. “Tell me, Gail, was it a spontaneous gesture? Did she say ‘I’ve thought about it and I think he would have wanted you to have this?’ Or did she just grab it and hand it to you?”
Gail said, “I don’t know. She was leaving the boiler room as I was going in. And it was already in her hand. Then she told me he was dead. And she gave it to me.”
Melanie leaned forward. “Did she know you were there, Gail?”
“No.” Gail closed her eyes and said, “I remember it very clearly. No one I had ever known well had died, and it all kind of etched itself on my mind. She opened the door and came out with the box and seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see her.”
“And then she handed you the box,” said Melanie.
“Yes, and told me to clear out.”
“Because the police were coming.”
“That’s right. She said we might get busted. We were very paranoid about the police in those days.”
Melanie turned to Lila, who was now shrinking back into a corner of her wheelchair and staring at Melanie with a horrified expression. “The boiler room seems like an odd place to keep such a valuable thing,” she said.
“Oh. Well,” said Gail, “um, I think it’s where he kept his stash.” She turned to her daughter. “He did a little cocaine now and then. It was very fashionable in the twenties, and no one realized until the eighties how bad it was for you.”
Melanie said, “She didn’t plan to give it to you, Gail. She didn’t even expect to find you outside the door. I think she was cleaning up before the cops came.”
Gail looked over at Lila.
“That’s right,” said Lila. “I didn’t want the police to find the cocaine. I threw the hashish into the boiler.”
“No you didn’t,” said Melanie. “You kept the hashish to show to the police, because you wanted them to bust Gail and her friends, didn’t you?”
“No, no,” said Lila.
“That’s what the detective on the case said. He’s retired now, but we spoke to him recently and he remembers it all very well. He talked you out of pursuing it because he felt sorry for you. He knew it would come out just what kind of person Valerian Ricardo was, and thought you were a sweet woman who wouldn’t want sordid publicity.” Melanie leaned forward. “You were cleaning up before the police came because that box didn’t just have cocaine in it, Lila. It had something else. It had whatever killed him in it. Whatever you put in there for him to sniff so that he couldn’t run off with Gail and her friends.
“You practically said so right now. You said it was a blessing he went when he did because he was just about to bail out. I don’t think you wanted to be left behind to stoke the boiler and battle the roaches all by yourself.”
“Roaches!” said Nick. He turned to Gail. “Didn’t you say the boiler room was full of roach killer?”
“DDT,” said Gail. “We even talked about it. We told him they had found out how bad it was for the environment, and that how it was going to be banned soon because it never goes away. Eventually, they did ban it.”
“If it never goes away,” said Melanie, “and it was in that box, then there are probably still traces of it in there.”
Gail flipped open the lid. “There are little bits of some kind of powder down in the cracks.”
“So what? Maybe there are,” said Lila. “The place was lousy with cockroaches. Valerian was an old man. Maybe he made a mistake.”
“I don’t know a lot about inheritance law, or copyright law, other than that copyrights can be inherited,” said Melanie. “I don’t know if common-law wives or illegitimate children could have inherited the copyrights. The lawyers will sort that all out tomorrow. But I do know that murderers can’t inherit from their victims. That’s pretty universal. And I also know there’s no statute of limitations on murder, Lila.”
“But it wasn’t really murder in the broad sense of the word,” said Lila. “Death is an illusion. Valerian understood what I had to do and he’s grateful. He’s told me so from the other side. Anyway,” she said smugly, “I don’t think anyone could prove a thing, even if there are traces of something in there.”
Melanie looked over at the nurse, who had been sitting quietly in the corner. “Did you get all that?” she said.
“Yes, I did,” said the nurse, who appeared to be fiddling with some buttons on a small black machine.
To Lila, Melanie said, “There are five witnesses, including the nurse here, who is a disinterested party, and an employee of Tom Thorndyke’s very respectable security firm, Lila. I doubt there are very many lawyers who will encourage you to pursue your claim after they hear what you just said.”
Melanie turned to Gail and Callie and said briskly, “You’re next on the agenda. I think we should arrange for some immediate DNA testing. I’ve taken the liberty of getting in touch with Grandpa Bud. He’ll be glad to give a sample, Gail. He’s very anxious to prove he’s your real father. And I’m sure you’ll want to settle it once and for all.”
“Mom!” said Callie. “Let’s think about this carefully. We should talk to a lawyer first.”
Her mother seemed not to hear her, and said to Melanie, “Oh yes, I’d be glad to do it. I really need closure on this issue.”
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE LEGACY OF KALI-RA
A year and a half later, at the party after the wildly successful Los Angeles premiere of The Revenge of Kali-Ra, Glen held Nadia’s hand and smiled at his wife with pride as photographers snapped pictures of the couple. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “You were sensational. Everyone adores you. I’m the luckiest man in the room.”
“Nadia! Nadia!” said a reporter. “When’s the sequel coming out?”
Nadia smiled up at her husband, who answered for her. “We’re working on the Kali-Two script now, but we start shooting the Dionne quintuplets movie in Vancouver next month. It’s a real challenge for any actress. Nadia will play five roles. She’s been working on her French accent.”
“We’re hoping some of that fertility will be catching,” said Nadia playfully. “Right, honey?”
Glen looked shy and said, “And we’re still hoping to get the Sylvia Plath thing going. Nadia is looking forward to a role she can really sink he
r teeth into.”
Across the room, over by the bar, Duncan Blaine sipped his drink thoughtfully and accepted the congratulations of his agent. The man had made a big point of rushing over to speak to him, a new and pleasant development. “Great work. Everyone loves it,” he’d said, squeezing his arm. “We have to look at your next project very strategically. I’ve got people in this room ready to sign you up for anything you want to do, right now. Call me tomorrow. Better yet, Duncan, I’ll call you.”
Across the room Duncan saw a couple who looked familiar. He realized that it was Tom Thorndyke and that strange girl he’d met that very odd night at Nadia’s. The girl was wearing more clothes now, a beaded, silvery sort of dress with long sleeves, and she’d done something with her hair that made the whole package look more mature and expensive, and less as though she’d wandered off the beach. Duncan had liked her better as a nymphet of nature, and he thought fondly of her flat, golden stomach.
He caught her eye and waved. The two of them came over to his side. “You’re looking marvelous, my dear,” he said, giving her little Hollywood kisses and shaking Tom Thorndyke’s hand. “I’m kind of surprised to see you here. After the results of that DNA test.”
She shrugged. “Oh, well, actually, we’re working. That DNA thing was a major downer at first, especially knowing Mom gave me that dumb name for nothing.”
“Hey, no problem,” said Tom. “We made out just fine on the home movie of my best little operative in action.” He beamed at her.
“I’ve been back in Europe,” said Duncan. “The last I heard, Nadia and Glen didn’t want that footage shown.”
“We worked a deal,” said Tom. “They realized it was great publicity. The tape is running on all the tabloid news shows, but it’s being timed to break during the opening week of the movie in major markets.”
“And,” Callie added, “we had to agree to disguise me with those little swirly video squares. Glen didn’t want Nadia to have any competition, Kali-Ra-wise, but that’s cool.”
“We were okay with that,” said Tom, “because now that Callie’s working for me as a celebrity undercover agent, we wouldn’t want anyone to know what she really looks like. Confidentially, that whole Kali-Ra thing has been a little gold mine for the business, PR-wise, on top of the massive bucks we got for the tape. With your new success, Duncan, you may be in the market for some security.” He pressed a card into Duncan’s hand. “Think about it. There are a lot of wackos out there.”
“Business is great,” confided Callie. “Thorndyke Associates no longer provides security for Nadia Wentworth, but we’ve added a lot more new clients. We’re here keeping an eye on someone tonight.”
Callie gazed over at Nadia’s costar, who had played Raymond Vernon in The Revenge of Kali-Ra. The slim, handsome Englishman with a high forehead and flaring nostrils was a Royal Shakespeare alumnus billed as the new Leslie Howard. His date this evening was a twenty-three-year-old former child star just out of rehab who was making a comeback in a sitcom about a lingerie model putting herself through veterinary school.
Since going Hollywood, the actor had dumped his boyfriend of many years and engaged in a frenetic round of overtly heterosexual dating so as not to alienate Middle America. Duncan had heard in London that the spurned lover had threatened to publicly humiliate the star at the first available opportunity. Presumably, Tom and Callie were there to prevent any scenes that would damage his straight cred.
Duncan nodded and smiled. “I’m glad to hear things are going well.” Now that his own career was back on track he felt vaguely pleased about the good fortune of others for the first time in ages. “You know, Tom, I think you should make her a partner.”
“He’s going to,” said Callie. She held up her hand and displayed a large sapphire on her left hand. Tom simpered at her, then pointed to Duncan’s glass and said, “Can I get you another drink?”
Duncan looked down into the glass. There was nothing left but a squashed lemon wedge. “Sure. Gin and tonic, no ice. And make it a double.”
* * *
Quentin Smith, wearing a gray flannel suit and a white shirt, stood in front of the closet in his bedroom holding a necktie in each hand and looking at each in turn. Margaret, still tucked in, was watching coverage of last night’s premiere of The Revenge of Kali-Ra, a benefit for a battered women’s shelter. “I guess the idea is if some guy hits his wife, Kali-Ra will come around with her whip and flog him. A nice tie-in,” she said.
“Speaking of ties,” said Quentin, “which one shall I wear in court today?” He held up a subdued mauve silk number and a red-and-blue striped one.
“Well, the striped one is nice and sincere-looking for your testimony, but the tapes have nailed Maurice flat anyway. The mauve one is better for the ceremony. It will look good with my dress and it makes your eyes look fabulous.”
“Okay, mauve.” He came over to the bed and bent down to kiss her. “Are you sure you’ve got it all set up? Judge Withers is right across the hall, and he knows we’re coming over at the noon recess?”
“Yes, darling, it’s all set. Are you nervous?”
“Nothing Maurice Fender’s lawyers can do could make me nervous after that breakneck taxicab ride through the hurricane to the airport to catch the last plane out with those goons with Uzis coming after me in the black Cadillac,” he said.
Margaret hit the mute button. “No, you idiot! Nervous about getting married, I mean.”
“Oh. That. Not a bit. But maybe you should be. I can’t believe a sensible, wonderful woman like you is marrying a flake like me.”
“Neither can I. But I think everything is going to be just fine from now on.”
“If it isn’t, I’m sure you can fix it,” he replied.
* * *
A much smaller contingent of the Hollywood press corps than had been present at the premiere attended the press conference called the next morning by Lila Ricardo and the lawyer who had successfully pled her assailant insane. This event took place at the lawyer’s offices.
“My client, Winston Goodlet, couldn’t be here tonight for obvious reasons,” said the lawyer, an aggressive young woman with long blond hair and a lot of makeup. She leaned into a small microphone at the end of the conference room table. Lila, clicking and unclicking her cracked patent-leather handbag and gazing with glittery eyes and a strange half smile out at the handful of reporters, sat next to her. “But he wants me to tell you how touched he is that Lila has forgiven him. The two of them had a moving meeting up at the State Men’s Institute for the Criminally Insane last week, which I was privileged to witness. They have decided to market their story in the interest of all who have been touched by mental illness.”
“And,” piped up Lila, leaning over the microphone while the lawyer looked on nervously, “for all the little people over the years whose lives have been enriched by the work of Valerian Ricardo. Winston truly understands and feels Valerian’s work. He has loved it perhaps not wisely but too well.”
“Yes,” interrupted the lawyer. “And he is getting well too, with proper medication and sensitive, caring treatment. We are announcing tonight that we are selling the literary and screen rights to the extraordinary friendship that developed between assailant and victim, brought together in such dramatic circumstances. A percentage of the proceeds will go to appropriate charities.”
Now Lila burst in again. “Including the Valerian Ricardo Foundation. Valerian himself has told me how pleased he is about this, and says it was all part of a divine plan.”
The lawyer grabbed the microphone and slid it out of the old woman’s reach. “Proceeds will also be used to defray Mr. Goodlet’s vast legal expenses. We will entertain offers from all sincere parties, and expect that the bidding will be lively for such sensational material.” She cleared her throat. “I will take questions now on the selling of the rights to the story of Lila Ricardo and Winston Goodlet, but we are not prepared to comment at this time on possible pending homicide charges agains
t Mrs. Ricardo.”
“Is it true the DA said he wouldn’t press charges if you signed away the rights to Valerian Ricardo’s works?” asked a woman in the front row.
“We have no comment,” said the lawyer. “Other than to say that the district attorney’s office has not filed charges and we do not expect them to do so. Neither are we prepared to make any claim to the literary rights to the works in question. We are much more interested in sharing with the world the story of Lila Ricardo and Winston Goodlet, an uplifting story of madness and wellness, redemption and forgiveness.”
* * *
About five hundred miles to the north, Nick came out of the shower, and went into the kitchen where Melanie had already toasted their English muffins and made the coffee. She was wearing one of his T-shirts and looked adorable. He kissed her, picked her up, twirled her around, and set her down. She laughed and arranged plates and cups on the table in the sunny breakfast nook of the airy arts and crafts house in the Berkeley Hills that Nick had bought with the rights money from Uncle Sid’s works. It was secluded and peaceful, but still close to campus.
“Beanie called while you were in the shower,” she said as she poured coffee in his cup. “The premiere was fabulous. It’s going to be very big. They’re talking at least one sequel. Thank God I got you points. And the merchandise tie-in is really going to be a little gold mine. Glen says the good word of mouth on the picture has really got the Kali-Ra doll back ordered.”
“Are you sorry we missed the premiere?” said Nick.
“No,” said Melanie. “I am incredibly happy.”
“Me too,” said Nick. “I am in love and in school. It’s everything I ever wanted.”
Melanie buttered muffins. “I used to be sorry I found those Kali-Ra books at the Hotel Splendide on Boola Lau, but I’m not sorry about that anymore, that’s for sure.”
