The Pitiful Player (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 14)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  "The house?"

  "That, too. No, I meant Beverly Hills."

  "What do you think that conversation was about?"

  "It was about us and the system they've got set up. That much was obvious. They know we're onto them."

  "Watch your back." He sighed. "Maybe I should come down there."

  "You can if you want. But, between Tom and Micky and Greg, I think we're covered."

  "I still might."

  "Up to you, Mike."

  "What's next?"

  "We need a place to stay."

  "Why not go to a hotel? You'd be in a public place."

  "I'm not sure that's good. Besides, I want a place where we can hide out and not be easily observed. I'm hoping Billy Haines can find us a place up in the hills that's secluded. Better than sitting in the middle of Beverly Hills with everyone watching us."

  "I don't know."

  "Well, before you start worrying, let's just do one thing at a time. How about that?" I appreciated his concern but sometimes he could get a little too much like a mother hen.

  "OK. Look, be sure to stay in touch with Marnie. Does she know where to reach you?"

  "Yeah. We're gonna stay here for the afternoon or until we have a house. But we'll stay in touch. I gave her the number for this payphone."

  "Fine. Take care of yourself, Nick."

  "I will. And I love you, too, Mike." I made a kissing sound into the mouthpiece.

  He snorted into the phone and hung up without replying. I grinned as I put the earpiece back on the switch hook.

  Opening the door, I walked over to the table and sat next to Benjamin, who slid over.

  "How's Marnie?" asked Carter.

  "Fine. Mike's starting to worry. He says he might come down."

  Carter pursed his lips but didn't say anything.

  Kenneth looked at me. "What's that about?"

  I shook my head. "Nothing. What are you two doing next?"

  Kenneth looked at his watch. "In about five minutes, we're heading back to the jail to talk to Carlo."

  Benjamin added. "We don't have anything to report to him but I figured we should go see him as often as the jail will allow. Poor kid. He's confused."

  Carter snorted. "Like the rest of us."

  Kenneth nodded. "Yeah."

  Right then, the phone rang. After saying, "'Scuse me," I jumped up and answered it.

  "Yeah?"

  "Nick? This is Billy Haines. Where am I calling?"

  "Joe's Diner on Broadway."

  "Goodness. How the mighty have fallen."

  I laughed. "Something like that. Do you have a place for us?"

  "As a matter of fact, I do. It's just off Beverly Glen. Brand new. Fully furnished. Four bedrooms, three baths. Big swimming pool. Three-car garage underneath the house. View above the smog. About a quarter mile south of Mulholland. Everything you could want."

  "How much?"

  "Not for sale, I'm afraid. But it can be rented. I don't completely understand the reason, something to do with taxes, but the owner is renting it for five hundred a month, everything included."

  "Isn't that a little low?"

  "It is. Again, something to do with taxes. I don't understand any of it."

  "Who's the owner?"

  "No one knows. Or no one's telling. I was a bit presumptuous and made an appointment for you to see it at 4. I'll be there, of course."

  "Thank you, Billy. That's fine. We'll be there. What's the address?" I pulled a small pencil and a notepad out of my trouser pocket. As I did, I saw Kenneth and Benjamin got up from the table and headed out.

  "14301 Deseo Drive."

  "How do you spell that name?"

  "D-E-S-E-O. It's Spanish for desire."

  "Got it."

  "As you're going up, it's on your left."

  "Thanks again, Billy."

  "You're quite welcome. Oh, and Nick."

  "Yeah?"

  "Be sure to tell that man of yours that all the furniture is Danish Modern."

  "Oh."

  Billy laughed. "I can guarantee that it's all quite sturdy."

  "OK. I'll tell him." I was doubtful.

  "Have to dash. See you at 4." With that, the line went dead.

  I walked back over to the table and slid across from Carter.

  "Well?" he asked.

  "That was Billy. He's found us a place. It's only for rent. Fully furnished with the works. The setup is odd."

  "How so?"

  "The owner only wants five hundred a month for the place. And that includes everything."

  "How big is it?"

  "Four bedrooms, three baths, three-car garage, and a pool."

  Carter whistled. "Sounds cheap."

  I nodded. "Billy said it had something to do with taxes."

  Carter shrugged. "Sounds a little too high-flying for my taste."

  I nodded. "Yeah."

  "What?"

  "It's all Danish Modern."

  Carter rolled his eyes.

  "But Billy says it's all sturdy."

  Carter grinned at me for a moment and then leaned in. "I guess we'll just have to test it, won't we?"

  I nodded and grinned in reply. "Yeah. I guess we will."

  Chapter 32

  14301 Deseo Drive

  Los Angeles, Cal.

  Thursday, July 14, 1955

  Ten minutes past 4 in the afternoon

  I drove the Buick up the small dirt road that was only marked with a wooden post and a hand-carved sign with just the street name: "Deseo."

  I'd missed it the first time going up Beverly Glen and turned around when I'd gotten to Mulholland. I'd driven slowly down the road as we headed back.

  After a couple of minutes, Carter had pointed to a dirt road and said, "Maybe that's it."

  As I made the right and started up the hill, I saw the hand-made sign. "Looks like it."

  Billy's blue Cadillac was parked on the dusty landing that served as a driveway. To the right of his car was a small white sports car of some make that I'd never seen before. I parked in the third spot.

  We got out of the car and looked around. Billy was right. We were above the smog line and there was a beautiful blue sky above us and the possibility of the Pacific Ocean off in the distance, beyond the city below us. I took a deep breath and could smell something akin to fresh air. It was pretty damn nice.

  The house was all squares and rectangles jutting out from the hillside. The garage was below the ground floor. There was a set of slate steps that led up the side of the hill.

  The house was built on a flat space that looked as if it had been carved out of the otherwise sloping hillside. As we made our way up, we discovered a lush green lawn that extended about fifty feet out from the front of the house. The grass was thick but cut short and reminded me of a putting green at a golf course. The grass ended at a low brick wall that was painted white and wrapped around from the north end of the property and then became a retaining wall against the hillside on the east side.

  The slate steps we'd been climbing became slate stepping stones set about a foot apart in the thick grass. We followed those to the front door, which was made of wood and painted a shade of gray that matched the slate. It faced north, looking out at the wide lawn.

  Apart from the garage, the house was a single story. There were no windows facing north, so all we could see was an expanse of gray wood to the right of the entrance. Sitting on the slate front porch next to a gray wooden bench was a large brown barrel filled with ferns.

  While Carter looked at the impressively large plants, I pressed the lit button to the right of the door and waited.

  After a moment, Billy opened the door with a grin. "Welcome home, you two."

  I smiled and said, "Nice to be in the fresh air."

  He nodded. "Isn't it?"

  After we all shook hands, he led us across a white and gray stone floor and down a couple of steps into the living room. There was a hallway to the right that appeared to lead to the bedroo
ms. A large fireplace surrounded by white brick ran along the right wall. The wall on our left was bare except for a very large abstract painting of a sort I'd never seen before. It consisted of squares and rectangles of muddled bright colors: reds, yellows, oranges, greens, and blues. I'd never seen anything like it. It was at least ten feet wide and six feet high.

  The furniture was Danish Modern, or it reminded me of that style, but it was larger than most pieces I'd seen and it all looked sturdy, just as Billy had said. One long sofa faced the fireplace. It was shaped like an inviting bench, as it had no arms on either end. It was covered in a blue fabric. The same blue that was in the painting.

  There were four large lounge chairs. Two pairs were facing each other across the room at either end of the sofa. They were red, orange, yellow, and green, respectively. And each of those colors was in the painting as well.

  Square, rectangular, and round silk pillows were scattered all over the furniture. They were each of a single color, all variations on the ones in the furniture and all found in the painting. I couldn't stop looking at the room and how the colors matched up.

  There were end tables made of a blond wood that looked the most like the Danish Modern furniture I'd seen elsewhere. A very large white kidney-shaped coffee table stood in front of the long sofa.

  The walls, the brick surrounding the fireplace, the built-in bookshelves, the mantel, and the ceiling were all painted a shade of white that was unusual in that it wasn't bright at all. The sunlight that entered through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the room was somehow softened by the color of the walls. The floor was covered in a wall-to-wall carpet that was a very dull white, almost gray, and seemed to accentuate the furniture.

  The room was enchanting. I felt as if I couldn't stop looking around and taking in the colors. There was no better word for it.

  I looked up at Carter who was also taking it all in. "What do you think?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "I feel like I'm in a dream."

  Billy smiled. "Why thank you, Mr. Jones."

  "Did you design this?" I asked.

  He nodded. "Not the house but all of the interiors."

  "It's enchanting." That was a word I hardly ever used but it was the right one in that moment.

  Billy's smile widened. "I'm so pleased to hear you say that."

  . . .

  After getting the rest of the indoor tour, Billy led us from the master bedroom through the sliding glass door and out to the pool.

  The stone patio connected all the rooms facing south: the four bedrooms, the living room, and the kitchen. Each had its own door. The master bedroom was the first one down the hall from the living room and the largest. It had its own bathroom, which had a set of French double doors that also opened onto the patio. It seemed like there were as many ways in and out of the house as there were rooms.

  The water in the swimming pool glittered in the sunlight. The pool itself was about sixty feet long and thirty feet across. But it wasn't a perfect rectangle. It was in the same kidney shape as the coffee table in the living room.

  The view was startling. The grass yard beyond the pool was just like what was in the front. And it was bordered by a much higher brick wall, also painted white. It was about five feet high. That framed the distant horizon in such a way that made it look like all that was visible in the distance was the ocean. The blue sky met the glittering water of the Pacific even though the ocean was many miles away. And it did so just above the line of the wall. There were tall trees on either side, but there was no hint of smog or of the city blanketed by it down below.

  . . .

  When I was a kid, my father had given me a set of toy soldiers in Napoleonic uniforms for Christmas one year. They came with horses, cannons, and wagons. Each horse had a small leather harness that would allow them to be attached to a cannon or a wagon. I never wanted to play with them because the entire set was perfect, right down to the handsome faces of the soldiers, each of which were unique. I thought they were perfectly handsome, just like Peter Blonski.

  He was the real estate agent. He was somewhere around 35, had shining white teeth, perfectly cut brown hair, and wore a perfectly tailored light gray suit with a light blue tie. He stood about 5'4" and was like the modern version of one of my toy soldiers. I wanted to keep him in a box so I could take him out from time to time and look at how perfect he was.

  We sat at the teak dining table. In order to open the kitchen to the patio, the architect had put the dining room behind the kitchen. It was open to the kitchen but nothing else. We could see out to the pool from the dining table. But it felt like the room was hidden away from the rest of the house. It would have made more sense for the dining room to have connected to the living room. But what did I know?

  Mr. Blonski smiled his bright smile at me and said, "The lease is for one year, payable in advance."

  I nodded and looked at the lease contract. It was standard as far as I could tell. I knew Kenneth was going to give me hell for doing so, but I went ahead and signed it. After I did, I looked for the name of the lessor. It was listed as "Deseo Property, Inc." That was obviously a shell company.

  I pulled my wallet out of my trousers and removed a blank check. I wrote it out for six thousand, dated and signed it. Handing the check and the pen to Mr. Blonski, I asked, "So you can't tell me who the owner of this house is?"

  He smiled with a slight frown and in a way that made me want to pinch his cheek. "No, Mr. Williams, I couldn't if I wanted to. I don't know who it is. I've tried to figure out who owns Deseo Property. It's owned by another company. I gave up after going back three steps and still not able to figure out who the owner was."

  I looked over at Billy who shrugged. "My checks just say Deseo Property and they clear, so that's all that matters to me."

  Carter asked, "Who gives you instructions?" He was looking at Blonski and seemed to be just as enthralled with him as I was.

  "A woman by the name of Norma Ormondson. Don't ask her because she either doesn't know or won't tell."

  I looked over at Billy. He nodded. "I've spoken with Miss Ormondson a number of times but never met her. She's been to the house, or so I would guess."

  Blonski shook his head. "Not that I know of, although her office is downtown. She asked me and another colleague to review your completed work. When we told her we were speechless with delight, she seemed satisfied."

  Billy blushed. He seemed to have a little crush on Blonski, as well. "That really is too kind of you to say, Peter."

  He smiled and slipped the check and signed lease into his briefcase. Pointing to a copy of the lease, he said, "That's your copy for your lawyer. There is a three-day window when you can cancel the lease in exchange for a single payment of one hundred dollars." He stood. We all followed suit.

  Carter said, "That seems odd."

  Blonski shrugged. "The whole thing is odd. But, if I were you, I'd get out the swimming trunks and enjoy it." He handed me two keys. "All the doors open with the same key. If you need more, let me know. You can't have them copied just anywhere. It requires a special machine. But I can have copies made for you the same day. Also, call me if you have any problems. My number is in the little phone book that's on the kitchen counter by the phone extension. The house phone number is in that book, as well. The local phone service is included in the rent, as is the electricity, gas, and water. We'll send charges for long distance calls to your secretary in San Francisco. Yard service is every weekday, except holidays, from 10 in the morning and usually done by noon. The pool is checked twice weekly. Those are included in the rent, as well. They've all been given your names and know you will be here infrequently, if at all. I can refer a cleaning service, if you want one." With a big grin, he added, "That's not included in the rent."

  I nodded. "Sure. And, yes, we'd like a housekeeper."

  "How about if I have them send someone up in the morning at 8?"

  I looked up at Carter. He nodded. "That'll be fin
e," I said.

  He said, "Let's walk down to the garage so I can show you a couple of last things and then I'll be off."

  We followed him into the kitchen. The door to the garage, which I hadn't seen earlier, was between the living room and the dining room.

  Blonski opened the door and we all filed down the stairs and into the garage. He flipped a switch and four fluorescent bulbs slowly came to life. The garage was spotless and empty. There wasn't as much as a rake to be seen. He pressed a button against the wall. The garage door opened automatically.

  We walked outside. He pointed to a small metal box with a lock inset that sat on a pole next to where the steps went up the side of the hill. He said, "The house key also opens the garage door."

  Carter said, "We have one like that at home."

  Blonski looked up at both of us and asked, "Anything else?"

  I shook my head. "No. Thank you, Mr. Blonski." I offered my hand. He shook it warmly and said, "My pleasure, Mr. Williams."

  He and Carter shook. Billy shook his hand as well. We watched as he jumped into his sports car and drove off with a wave over his shoulder.

  Billy sighed. "I just want to eat him up with a spoon."

  Carter and I both laughed.

  . . .

  Billy had left right after Blonski. We'd taken the real estate agent's advice and put on our Speedo trunks.

  We were both in the pool, talking about nothing much at all, when, suddenly, Kenneth and Benjamin walked out through the open door from the living room and had a look around. Benjamin immediately stopped and gaped at the view. Kenneth looked around, appearing to miss the view, and then looked down at me. "Nick, I'm gonna kick your ass. I can't believe you signed a contract, again, without my looking at it."

  "You can look at it now. It's on the kitchen counter."

  Without replying, he turned on his heel and stormed into the house.

  Benjamin was still gaping.

  Carter said, "Pretty amazing, isn't it?"