In the darkness, she couldn’t see anything out of place, so she continued her search. She knew Chris used the second bedroom as an office. Cautiously, she turned the knob, pushing the door open, and was greeted by total darkness. No wandering fish on a screen saver, no night-light, nothing, nada, zilch. Not even the moonlight filtered through the closed blinds. She stepped completely inside and walked over to his desk, which faced the wall opposite the window. His MacBook Pro and MacBook Air were on the desk. Abby knew Chris well enough to know that, as a rule, he didn’t take off without one of his precious Mac notebooks.
Weird.
She left the office, careful to close the door behind her. Next on her list, the master bedroom. She heard Chester’s collar rattling in the living room. Damn! She’d told him to sit, and Chester always followed her commands unless ...
She hurried back to the living room to find Chester waiting by the front door. “You’re kidding, right?” Chester never stood by any door unless he had to pee.
The German shepherd growled. “Okay. Just give me a minute. You stay,” she said before racing back down the hall.
She was taking a big risk by sneaking into Chris’s bedroom, but she’d worry about the consequences later. If she saw he was in bed alone, well, she might join him. Then kick his ass for causing her to worry. If he was in bed and had company, Abby knew her heart would shatter into a million little pieces.
She drew a deep breath once she was outside Chris’s bedroom. Maybe she should knock first, just in case he wasn’t alone. Maybe she should turn around and go home. Forget about Chris. Forget about Laura Leigh.
Abby’s reporter’s instincts were on high alert. She couldn’t walk out of there without some kind of answer. So, before she had a chance to change her mind, she took the brass knob in her hand, and slowly began to turn it to the right.
Before she could turn the knob all the way and thrust the door aside with the expertise of a professional prowler, a buzzing in her hip pocket almost caused her to have a heart attack. Quickly she took her cell phone out of her pocket. It could be Chris. She looked at the caller ID.
Shit, shit, and double shit!
It was her mother. She had to answer.
Chapter 5
Abby punched the bright green TALK button on her cell phone. In a hushed whisper, she said, “Mom, I’ll call you back.” She hung up, then turned her phone off. For all she knew, Chris and some skanky chick were in the bedroom laughing at her at that very moment. She’d explain everything to her mother as soon as there was something to explain.
That was when she remembered she’d promised her mother she’d call as soon as she got home. Poor Mom and the three Gs. They were probably imagining all kinds of terrible things. At least her mom knew she was alive. Content with that for the moment, she reached for the doorknob and, without a moment’s hesitation, turned it all the way. Pushing the door aside, Abby entered the room.
Bathed in silver moonlight, the master bedroom appeared empty. She walked over to the bed, saw it hadn’t been slept in, and breathed a sigh of relief, then shuddered at her thoughts. Just because his bed was empty didn’t mean anything other than he wasn’t in it at present. She looked inside the master bath and discovered that it, too, was empty. She yanked the shower curtain aside, just in case. Anthony Perkins’s role in Alfred Hitchcock’s blockbuster 1960 movie Psycho, which she had seen a zillion times on late-night TV, had left its mark on her. She rarely looked at a shower curtain without imagining someone behind it. Childish, yes, but still frightening. There was, of course, nothing in Chris’s shower except the usual array of items. Soap, shampoo, a razor, and a can of Edge shaving cream.
She spotted a night-light on the side of the vanity, and, without giving it another thought, flipped the switch. A warm, golden glow filled the bathroom. Abby looked around, searching for evidence of a female. She opened the medicine chest. A tube of Crest toothpaste, a blue-and-green-striped toothbrush, a bottle of Tylenol PM, and a small tube of Neosporin antibiotic ointment. Nothing mysterious here, she thought, closing the medicine cabinet and turning off the night-light. She glanced around the grayish black room. Chris was definitely not at home.
She hurried back to the entryway, where Chester was waiting patiently. She looked around one last time before slipping out the front door. Once she was downstairs, she released Chester. While she waited for the dog to investigate each and every shrub, her mind raced.
It was obvious Chris had been home at some point in the past few hours. Two half-empty glasses of wine proved that. His front door wasn’t even locked. How could she explain that? Chris wasn’t stupid. He would never leave his condo door unlocked.
Chester finished his business, then returned to Abby, waiting by the car. After she unlocked the door, and the big pooch hopped in, she leaned across the bucket seat and fastened his seat belt.
“Woof! Woof!” Suddenly Chester tried to break free from his belt.
“Hey, boy, what’s up?” She scratched him between the ears, something that always calmed him. When he didn’t settle down, Abby knew something wasn’t right. Chester’s instinct was almost as honed as her own. She quickly unhooked the seat belt, then took the leash off and placed it on the floorboard.
Stepping aside so the big dog could jump out of the car, she followed him, running behind to keep up. Chester raced toward the beach. As they came closer to the beachfront, Chester stopped, ears perked up in attention. Abby strained to hear what he was hearing, but couldn’t. Her hearing wasn’t as fine-tuned as Chester’s, but mere seconds passed before she heard what he’d been able to hear from the beginning.
Laughter from the beach. Abby stopped, and grabbed Chester’s collar to restrain him. She was able to discern the laughter as female, followed by a male voice. Why hadn’t she thought of this? How stupid could she be? This explained why Chris’s front door was unlocked. Explained the two half-empty glasses of wine on the terrace. Chris and whoever he was with had been taking a moonlight stroll on the beach. The dirty rotten shit! How dare he do this to ... Toots! Abby was worried sick about him, too. She had spent her entire night searching for him, staking out that stupid club, and she’d lost count of how many e-mails and text messages she’d sent. Her first thought was to get the hell out of there before he saw her.
Remembering what was on Laura Leigh’s missing persons report, she changed her mind. If Chris knew anything about it, he needed to come forward, tell his side of the story, clear up the mystery that was going to generate big headlines if Laura wasn’t found soon. Or maybe he already knew that. Maybe it was part of his attorney-client relationship. Chris was well-known, had been voted one of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors. His name would pack quite a punch on its own. Add a B-grade actress, and the story would blossom into front-page news. Hell, it was news already. Abby had sent her own team of reporters in search of a lead.
Two figures emerged from the beach. She waited in the parking lot, having decided to confront Chris and tell him his ass was about to be on fire, and she was the one who was going to light the match.
As she waited for him and his female “friend” to reach the stairway—the only way to enter the condo—she felt her heart crack, splitting in half. All those sweet words he’d said, all those damned fantasies she’d had were just that. Fantasies. Christopher Clay was not interested in her. Pure and simple.
She heard the couple giggling like teenagers as they came around the corner. Leaving Chester in the car, Abby hoofed it back to the stairs, and called out, “Chris, I need to talk to you now!” Shaking, she waited for him to yell at her, tell her to mind her own business, something, but all she heard was whispering, then someone cleared his throat.
“Look, I don’t know who’s out there, but this isn’t Chris,” replied a male voice that definitely didn’t belong to Chris.
Abby stepped out of the dark shadows, walking toward the staircase. Going with the obvious, she demanded, “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”
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“I believe I should ask you the same thing. Who are you and what are you doing here?” His voice was cold and hard.
Her heart raced unnaturally. For a second she thought it might explode. She knew how odd it appeared, her being at Chris’s condo at three o’clock in the morning, but no more so than a strange man and woman giggling on the beach. “I’m Chris’s stepsister.” As if that gave her an official right to barge in anytime she felt like it.
Abby could feel the tension in the air disappear. The guy took a deep breath, released the young woman’s hand he had been holding, and stepped forward with his hand held out to Abby. “I’m Steve, I went to school with Chris. He didn’t tell me he was expecting you. Come on inside.” Almost as if it were an afterthought, he said, “This is Renée, my fiancée.”
Abby nodded at the young woman, started to follow the couple, then stopped. “Look, I can’t go inside. My dog is in the car, and I have a phone call I have to make. If you can just explain why you’re here, I’ll leave.” She wasn’t sure if she should reveal the information about Chris’s disappearance just in case this guy had something to do with it. Though she had to admit she’d heard Chris speak of him before, and was quite sure Steve was who he said he was. Still, she wasn’t going to take that chance.
Steve turned around when he reached the top of the stairs. “If you must know, Chris loaned me his condo for the week. He said he had plans and wouldn’t be here anyway.”
Abby’s mind raced. Plans? As in going-out-of-town plans? If so, he certainly hadn’t told her or her mother. Not that he had to, but it would have been nice, a common courtesy, she thought. When Chris found out she’d been there at that ungodly hour, he would never let her live it down. Deciding to accept the explanation, she felt her face turn a deep shade of red at the thought of what she must look like. She was glad for the darkness. “Did he mention where he was going?”
“No, and I didn’t ask,” Steve said. “I gathered he didn’t want anyone to know.”
Abby wanted to ask how he “gathered” Chris didn’t want anyone to know, but future humiliation prevented her from asking. She nodded. “Well, then, I have to go. My dog is waiting. Could you do me a favor?” she asked timidly.
“I can try,” he said.
“When Chris returns, don’t mention this visit.”
“Uh, sure, no problem.”
Without another word, Abby headed for her car. Chester was waiting, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. His tail wagged so fast it created a breeze. She started the engine and shifted into reverse. She hit the accelerator so hard, her tires squealed.
Shit! Now she was sure someone would tell Chris about the bright yellow MINI Cooper peeling out of the parking lot. Big mystery, she thought, knowing Chris would recognize her car. Why hadn’t she bought a silver Toyota like the rest of the world? At that point, it didn’t really matter. She’d learned absolutely nothing.
Not true, Abby. She’d learned Chris was really out of town, but didn’t know where or with whom. Remembering her promise to call her mother, she removed her cell phone from her pocket and hit the speed dial.
“Abby, I was just about to call the police! Where in the world are you?” her mother exclaimed, her voice laced with worry.
Did she really want to go into all the details right then? No, but knowing her mother could be relentless when she was upset, Abby decided there was no time like the present. “I went to Chris’s condo, looking for him.”
“Did you find him?” Toots asked.
Abby hit the SPEAKERPHONE icon. The clubs were closing, and traffic was heavier. Tired, and beyond worried, she needed to focus her attention on her driving.
“No, but get this. There’s a guy named Steve staying at the condo. He brought his fiancée, a woman named Renée. Chris told him he would be gone for a week, but neglected to say where or with whom.”
“That sounds just like something Chris would do. He’s very private. His father was the same way. Never told his left hand what his right hand was doing,” Toots said.
Incredulous, Abby asked, “You don’t think this is suspicious? Chris is gone for a week, and Laura Leigh just happens to disappear?”
“No, not really. It is odd that Chris was reported as the last person she was seen with. Maybe they were at the same nightclub, and he walked her to her car. He is a gentleman. Chris would do that,” Toots explained, though Abby wasn’t buying it, not one little bit. There was something going on with him, and she planned to find out exactly what.
“This has nothing to do with Chris being a gentleman, Mom. No one seems to know where he is. An actress is missing and Chris’s name is mentioned in the report.” Abby swerved to avoid a bag of garbage in the middle of the road. “I’m almost home. Can I call you tomorrow? I need to get a few hours’ sleep. I can’t let my employers find me asleep at my desk or at home when I should be editor in chiefing at the office. I promise if I hear any news, I’ll call you.”
“All right,” said her forgiving employer, who had to resist the urge to tell her daughter to take the day off, “but promise you won’t forget to call. We were so worried, Abby.”
She heard the concern in her mother’s voice and felt a pang of guilt for not calling when she said she would. “I promise,” Abby said, before ending the call.
She pulled into her driveway, suddenly exhausted. She removed Chester’s belts and buckles and for the second time in three hours, let him leap across the seat and visit the backyard. Abby looked at her watch. Almost 4:00 AM Definitely time to hit the sack.
Chapter 6
Toots spent the next three-plus hours tossing and turning. She glanced at the digital clock next to her bed—7:30. Knowing there was no way she would go back to sleep, she decided to get up and start the day. She took a quick shower, and dressed in a pair of black slacks with a gray blouse. She twisted her hair in its usual topknot, added a smear of blush to her cheeks and mascara to her eyelashes, and went downstairs to start the coffee.
She had high hopes Sophie, Mavis, and Ida would sleep in after staying up so late waiting to hear from Abby, but tossed them right down the drain as soon as she heard the familiar creak on the staircase. Expecting it to be Sophie, Toots was surprised when she saw Ida, dressed to the nines in one of Mavis’s remakes of a sixties-style Coco Chanel shift dress Ida had worn in her younger days. It was black with white trim, sleeveless with an empire waist, and she was the only sixty-six-year-old woman Toots knew who could pull it off without looking like she was trying to act twenty years younger.
“I smell coffee,” Ida said as she sashayed over to the counter next to Toots.
“Help yourself,” Toots replied as she filled her cup with half and half, along with her usual three giant spoonfuls of sugar. She watched as her friend poured coffee into a cup, adding about two grains of sugar. Rolling her eyes, Toots walked over to the table. Seated in her regular chair at the head of the table, she continued to watch Ida. “Did you ever think of becoming an actress?”
Ida brought her cup to the table. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, you’re up at seven-thirty in the morning, fully dressed, and you have makeup on. That’s how actresses always look on television. Just a thought I had, nothing important.”
“Is this your way of asking me why I’m dressed so early?”
Toots rolled her eyes again. “Actually, it isn’t.” Under no circumstances would she give Ida the satisfaction of asking why she was dressed like she had stepped right out of the star’s dressing room, no matter how curious she was. Instead, she took a sip of her coffee and cringed at the bitter taste despite its being laced to overflowing with cream and sugar. She really didn’t like the imported coffee beans Mavis had switched to. Give her good old Maxwell House any day of the week. This crap was certainly not good to the last drop.
Ida took several sips of her coffee before speaking. “I have a nine o’clock hair appointment at Neil George Salon. They’re the most posh salon in Beverly Hills. At
least for the moment.”
Toots’s instinctual alarm went off. She knew what Ida was up to. It didn’t take Albert Einstein, or even a plain old rocket scientist, to figure it out. Ida wanted to make damn sure she’d look her best before Goebel arrived in the afternoon. Formulating a plan, Toots’s thoughts brought forth an evil grin. “You know, I have been looking for a new salon. I need my ends trimmed and a bit of a color touch-up. Would you mind giving me their number so I can schedule an appointment? I would appreciate it.” Toots’s eyes danced with delightful mischief. She was not going to let Ida get one up on Sophie.
“I thought you always colored your own hair,” Ida said, “but of course I’ll be happy to give you their number. You might want to consider adding some highlights to your hair. It’s become quite dull.”
Toots wanted to bitch slap Ida but managed to refrain. She’d let Sophie have that pleasure. Ida obviously thought she was Mrs. Senior America—if there was such a thing. Ida was indeed beautiful, and she certainly knew it, but Toots thought her vanity had an ugly quality to it that detracted from her beauty. She laughed out loud.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny. Remember, we are in Hollywood, and looks matter. I, for one, am not dead yet. As a professional makeup artist, I do have a certain image to uphold.”
“For all of those dead people you glam up? I’m sure they appreciate looking their best before they get baked,” Toots joked. Actually she was quite proud of Ida, who had come a long way in the past two years. Her Drop-Dead Gorgeous line of cosmetics was quite successful. Toots also wanted to add that her clients probably didn’t care about Ida’s looks, but bit her lip. She’d gone far enough that morning.
“Don’t let Mavis hear you talk this way. You will hurt her feelings,” Ida informed her.
“I wouldn’t even think of it,” Toots said.
“Think of what?” Sophie said as she padded into the kitchen. She helped herself to a cup of coffee before settling down at the table.
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