“That is sad,” Regan agreed. “Dogs get so attached to their owners.” She paused, then tried to lighten the air. “Well, if someone had to inherit the money, aren’t you glad it was your friend Zelda?”
Norman looked at Regan. “We’re thrilled for Zelda. But if we’d paid attention to her and helped her out. . . .”
Zelda put her hand on Norman’s elbow. “Let’s just have fun.”
Thankfully the doorbell rang. A group of men and women from Zelda’s yoga class all arrived at the same time.
“You didn’t all ride together?” Zelda asked, her eyes twinkling.
Kevin, the yoga teacher, answered, “Carmen has a seven-seat SUV.” He put his arm around a woman with long black hair. “She’s our designated driver. Right, Carmen?”
Carmen nodded. “Next time, you drive!”
“Well, come on in,” Zelda urged them, ever the gracious hostess. She was working hard to make sure her guests felt welcome and had a good time.
Zelda introduced Regan to a young man who was getting his start directing horror movies. “Hey, Zelda, how long are you going to be living in this place? I want to film my next movie here.”
A variety of delicious hors d’oeuvres was passed. The conversation flowed. Zelda kept pulling Regan aside to meet new people.
“Regan, this is Rich Willowwood.”
“Hi, Rich.” Regan extended her hand to a young man with light brown hair who was wearing a suit.
The doorbell rang again. “Excuse me,” Zelda said, and hurried off.
“Hello,” Rich answered, looking bewildered. He was basically nondescript, and didn’t have the colorful personality that so many of Zelda’s other friends had.
He must be shy, Regan thought. He’s certainly more conservative than the rest of the crowd. She explained how she knew Zelda. “And you?” she asked.
“I’m her financial adviser,” he answered, grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.
“Oh,” Regan said. “Zelda obviously needs one.”
A young woman approached them and looked at Regan uneasily.
“This is my girlfriend Heather,” Rich said, his expression brightening.
Heather looked as nondescript as Rich. They could have been twins. She was wearing a plain gray dress, nude-colored stockings, and sensible black shoes.
“Hello, Heather,” Regan said, trying to put her at ease. I have no interest in your boyfriend, she thought, making sure her left hand with her wedding ring was visible. “Isn’t this a nice party?”
Heather nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you live around here?” Regan asked, struggling to make conversation.
“I live in Burbank, and Rich lives in Santa Monica,” Heather said, gazing at Rich. They smiled at each other in a sweet, old-fashioned way.
Well, that’s good, Regan thought. They don’t look like the type who will take Zelda’s money and head to the gambling tables at Vegas. After a few minutes Zelda came by and introduced “Gladys the bookkeeper.”
The petite, white-haired seventyish Gladys giggled. “Zelda, I do other things in life, you know.”
Zelda’s eyes shone. “I know, Gladys. A lot more. You’re my surrogate grandmother. Boy, do I have a tale to tell you all.” She paused. “I was going to wait but I may as well tell you now. Last night my father married that woman in Vegas!”
“Oh no!” Rich, Heather, and Gladys exclaimed at once.
Regan waited for the explanation. It didn’t take long.
Zelda looked at Regan. “My mother died a few years after we were on the game show. My father met this woman three months ago. I want him to be happy, but she’s not what I expected he’d end up with.”
Gladys looked pained. “You poor dear.” She patted Zelda’s hand. “We’ll talk about it.”
Regan thought she detected a slight tearing in Zelda’s eyes but it vanished as quickly as it came. Zelda didn’t want to ruin her party.
Dinner was served, then dessert. Finally, as often happens at such occasions, two or three guests start to say good night and others quickly follow. Regan found her purse and checked her phone. Jack had texted that he wouldn’t be back until at least midnight. It was 10:45. She slipped down the hallway to retrieve her coat.
Gladys was coming out of the coat room, followed by Heather and Rich. “Oh my, it’s like they’re speaking a different language than we are,” she laughed, as she put a scarf around her shoulders. “Good night, Regan. It was lovely to meet you.”
“You too.”
When Regan came back out to the living room, Zelda was standing at the front door.
“Thank you, Zelda,” Regan began.
“Oh Regan, can you stay a few extra minutes and have a cup of tea with me?”
“Sure, Zelda,” Regan answered, suddenly feeling concerned. Zelda didn’t look well. The color had drained from her face. She must be more upset about her father’s marriage than she was letting on.
After the last guest left, they went into the living room and sat on the couch. One of the waiters placed a tray of tea and cookies on the coffee table. A flustered Norman, who’d been supervising the cleanup, hurried into the room.
“Zelda, everything is put away. The kitchen is cleaner than it’s been in fifty years. The caterers did a wonderful job.”
“That’s great, Norman. You’ve worked hard. Join us for tea, or if you’re too tired, just go upstairs and relax.”
“I can never relax,” Norman said, only half joking. “Zelda, one of the elderly women in the neighborhood whose dog I walk occasionally just called. She’s in her pajamas watching a special and her dog wants to go out. That’s what I get for trying to plan for my retirement!! If I run down, walk the dog, and run back, I shall return within the hour. Is that okay?”
“Norman, just sleep in your own bed tonight. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, waving his hand.
“Yes, I’m sure. Don’t worry. The party was wonderful.”
Five minutes later, the caterers and Norman were gone.
“Now you can hear the tick of that grandfather clock,” Regan said, thinking she’d hate to stay in the house alone. It felt so isolated, as if they were far away from the rest of the world.
“Yes,” Zelda said weakly, sipping her tea.
They started to chat, but Zelda had lost all her pep.
“I should let you get to bed,” Regan said. “You look so tired.”
“I don’t know why I don’t feel well. I only had one glass of wine. This came on all of a sudden.” Zelda’s eyes looked glassy. Her head started to slump.
“Zelda, are you all right?” Regan asked quickly.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Zelda got up and headed to the bathroom as fast as she could.
Regan waited outside the door. A few minutes later, Zelda came out. She was as white as a ghost. “Where is your bedroom?” Regan asked.
“Upstairs.”
Regan led her up the staircase and into her room. Zelda ran into the master bathroom and got sick again.
“Zelda, do you want me to call a doctor?”
“No, don’t be silly. I’ve got a bug, that’s all.”
Regan helped Zelda out of her clothes and into a nightgown, then got her into bed.
“I’m okay, Regan, you can go,” Zelda said, her voice weak.
“Absolutely not. You’re too sick. I’m not going to leave you by yourself. If you get sick again. . . .”
Zelda’s eyes were closed. Her forehead was beaded with sweat. Regan went to the bathroom and came back with a cold washcloth.
“Thank you.”
Regan sat in a club chair next to the bed. I can’t leave her, she thought. Zelda might need a doctor.
And besides that, something tells me she should not be left alone. Regan looked around the vast, creepy bedroom. Especially in a place like this.
8
The dinner Jack attended in downtown Los Angeles, presided over by the commissioner of the LAPD, en
ded at 11:15. They would reconvene at police headquarters at 8:00 the next morning. A driver was taking Jack back to his hotel in Beverly Hills and would then drop off a ranking officer from the San Francisco Police Department at his relatives’ home in Century City. While they were walking to the car, Jack checked his cell phone. Regan had texted him.
I’m still at my friend Zelda’s house. She got sick and
I’m the last one here. Don’t think I should leave her.
Call when you can. Love, Regan
Jack sighed. It had been a long day and he was looking forward to being with her. But it’s just like Regan to take care of someone she barely knows. That’s one of the reasons I love her. I’ll wait until I get back to the hotel to call.
Jack and his colleague exchanged small talk in the car, mostly about the upcoming World Series.
“I think the Yankees will go all the way,” Jack predicted.
“No, they won’t. San Francisco has the right stuff!” the officer countered.
Jack was dropped off first. When he stepped into the hotel lobby, he couldn’t help but hope that circumstances had changed and Regan would be upstairs waiting for him. But when he unlocked the door to their room and pushed it open, he knew she wasn’t there. The door wasn’t bolted—which she would have been sure to do if she were alone in the room this late—and the room was still except for the sound of soft classical music. Turn-down service, he thought. They take off the spread and fold it, refresh the towels, and turn on the clock radio set to a station that plays Mozart.
Does anyone keep the radio on in a hotel room? he wondered as he let the door close behind him. He walked past the bathroom, went around the foot of the bed, and shut off the music. He smiled, thinking of what Regan might say.
“What? Don’t you got any culture? Hah?”
He sat on the bed and pulled out his phone. The call to Regan went straight to voice mail. After the beep, he said, “Sweetie, it’s me. I’m back at the hotel. Give me a call. I want to make sure everything’s okay. Do you want me to come join you? Wherever you are? Okay. Love you.” He hung up, then texted her as well.
A moment later she called back, sounding a little anxious. “Jack, the phone service up here is spotty. My phone didn’t even ring. It went straight to voice mail.”
“That’s okay. What’s going on?”
Regan related the events of the evening. “Right now I’m by the front door. At least my phone works down here. I don’t want to leave Zelda alone overnight. She got violently ill and is so weak. If she got up to go to the bathroom again, she could fall.”
“Is she sleeping?”
“Fitfully.”
“You don’t want to call that assistant and ask him to come back?”
“I feel a little bit mean leaving Zelda.”
“At least call and ask if she has any medical conditions you should know about. I’m serious.”
“You’re right. But I don’t know his number. I’ll see if I can find it around here.”
“Take a look and call me back. I could take a cab up there. I don’t like the thought of you in some strange place up in the Hollywood Hills.”
“No, Jack, you’re too tired and have to get up early. I’ll be fine. And I really should stay. Zelda’s also upset because her father called her today and told her he got married last night in Vegas.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No. The blushing bride is someone he hasn’t known long. I think Zelda wanted to talk to me about it. And don’t worry about where I am. This place was donated to a charity fundraiser. How bad can it be?”
“Bad.”
Regan smiled. “You’re right.”
“Well, see if you can reach the assistant, then call me back.”
“Okay.” Regan hung up and went into the kitchen to see if any numbers were written on a pad somewhere. But there was nothing. It wasn’t Zelda’s house, so there were no notes on the refrigerator or counter, and nothing in the drawers. Norman’s number was probably in Zelda’s phone.
Regan went back upstairs, and crept into the bedroom. She’d left one small light on in the corner that wouldn’t bother Zelda, but would let Regan keep an eye on her.
Zelda’s head was moving from side to side on the pillow. “Oh,” she groaned. “I’m so sick.”
“Can I get you a little ginger ale?” Regan whispered. “It might help settle your stomach.”
“No. I just wish the room would stop spinning.”
“That’s a horrible feeling,” Regan commiserated. “You don’t have any health problems I should know about, do you? Being sick like this makes you really dehydrated. Do you take any heart medicine or anything?”
“No. I never get sick.” Zelda put her hands to her head. “It’s so nice of you to stay. My mom thought you were so cute when you lost on the game show.” Zelda tried to smile.
That does it, Regan thought. I’m not going anywhere.
It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d tried to call Norman. He would never have heard his phone.
He’d made his way to a karaoke bar and was singing his heart out.
9
Regan was curled up in the chair next to Zelda’s bed, her legs stretched out on a hassock. She’d made Zelda promise to wake her if she wanted to get up and go to the bathroom. Regan had placed a bucket next to the bed in case Zelda couldn’t make the fifty yard dash.
But Regan couldn’t fall asleep. She was worried about Zelda and the chair didn’t exactly inspire slumber. The house was so quiet. I want to find out the history of this place, she thought. Being here is like going back in time. It feels like the set for an old Hollywood movie. Then her thoughts turned to Jack. He was so understanding. The second night we’re in California I end up in sleeping in a chair in a mysterious house that probably has bodies buried in the backyard.
A loud crashing noise downstairs startled her into an upright position. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest.
Zelda was fast asleep.
There was no landline in the bedroom to call for help. There was a phone on the wall in the kitchen, but she wasn’t even sure whether it worked. She grabbed her cell phone, which might or might not work downstairs. Regan walked over to the desk, grabbed a dull letter opener, and left the room. She stood in the hallway and listened.
Nothing. The whole house was again eerily quiet. Zelda had told Regan that the house didn’t have an alarm system. Someone could have opened one of the windows on the ground floor and gotten in. I probably should have gone around and made sure every window and door was locked, but I didn’t want to leave Zelda for long. Regan’s mind was racing. I could call Jack, but then again, I can’t call Jack unless I go downstairs. Maybe I can text him but he might not hear it. In any case, it would take him time to get here. I know he’d call the LAPD and have a patrol car race over, but I don’t want to involve the police for no reason.
I’ve got to go check. Regan started down the stairs. She stopped at the bottom and waited. Whatever made that noise couldn’t have been too far away from where I am right now, she reasoned, otherwise I wouldn’t have heard it. To her left, the door to the bathroom was partially ajar. She gave it a slight push. Slowly it creeked open. Regan flipped on the light.
What a sight!
The shower curtain was in a heap in the tub, ornate heavy metal hooks scattered all around, the rusted rod now sticking out sideways. A decorative glass vase that Regan remembered seeing on the vanity had shattered on the floor.
Regan breathed a deep sigh of relief, laughed nervously, then shut the door. This place is falling apart. That mess can wait until the morning.
Emboldened, Regan went around the ground floor checking all the windows and doors. Luckily there was no basement. By the back door in the kitchen she noticed the bowl with her car keys. She’d seen them earlier, when she’d been looking for Norman’s number. She’d been in such a hurry. Surely the valet brought my car back up from the street. That’s what they usually do at th
ese kind of parties. She peeked out the window but couldn’t tell whether her car was there. It was too dark.
She opened the back door and stepped outside. The only sound was a light wind rustling the trees. Shocked, she realized that there was only one car in the driveway, Zelda’s.
The valet didn’t bring my car back? That’s crazy. If they brought it back and someone stole it, that would be unbelievable. Why wouldn’t they take Zelda’s Mercedes? I know car thieves don’t go as much for the luxury vehicles, but come on!
Should I go down the street and see if it’s there? she asked herself. If something happens to that rental, it’s going to be a real pain. Decisively, she went back to the kitchen, grabbed the keys, walked outside, and started down the path. When she reached the driveway, she slowed down. The outside lights were off and the pavement descended into darkness. Pitch darkness. There were no street lights.
I can’t do this, she decided. Jack would be really upset it he knew I went wandering down a dark unfamiliar road at this time of night. If the car’s not there in the morning, it’s not there. It’s just a car. She turned, went back in the house, and double locked the door.
Another troubling thought was swirling around her head. What made Zelda so sick? Something she ate? Regan went over to the pink refrigerator and opened it. All the leftovers were wrapped in plastic bags or aluminum foil. She shut the door. I know Zelda could have eaten something earlier today that she had a bad reaction to later, but her illness came on so fast.
Upstairs she was glad to see that Zelda was still asleep. Regan sat back on the chair, pulled the blanket over her, and tried to get comfortable.
Down the street, in the woods near her car, someone was anxiously waiting for Regan to leave the party. He was hoping she wasn’t spending the night at the house. Why would she? She was staying in a luxury hotel in Beverly Hills.
With each passing minute he grew more agitated.
She should mind her own business, he thought. I’ll teach her a lesson.
One way or the other, I’ll get it done.
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