My mother had explained that this was a room where people used to store trunks when they traveled by ship or train. “Think of Marlene Dietrich or Greta Garbo perched on top of a pile of Louis Vuitton suitcases. I should have been a star then instead of in the eighties when people’s hair is bigger than their talent.” I knew immediately it would be my safe room.
There was no sign that Celia had been hiding here. On one wall was a built-in cabinet. I opened it, reached into the deep wide shelf, and felt around with my hand. I found a wrinkled newspaper. I looked at the date on the front page of the Los Angeles Times. It was yesterday’s date. The day I had told Celia to leave her house. What were the odds of that?
Had she wrapped the camera in the papers and hidden it here until she could come back for it? But why hide it at all? Why not take it with her? Because Parson would want the memory card. If he found her with it he’d kill her and take it. But if he found her without it, she might be able to buy some time. So had she left it here and then come back to get it. The one thing I was certain about was she wouldn’t have left the security gates open.
I rubbed my forehead. I was thinking too hard. Concentrate on one thing, Diana. The gates are open. There is no car in the driveway.
I ran down the stairs, out the back door, and across the area where Zackary Logan had been found dead to the old rickety garage. I lifted up the wooden door. Inside the dank space was a bright red BMW convertible, just like the one P. J. Binder owned. The beige leather seats smelled of a too-sweet perfume. With the severity of his wound, Binder had to still be in the hospital. So Pearl was here.
Before I went back to find her, I decided to check and see if I had been followed. Skirting the drive, I hurried down to the wall that fronted the house and edged to the entrance, peering around the gate. About two blocks away was a parked blue van. I stepped back quickly. Christ. It could be a delivery van, but I doubted it.
I ran back into the house and strode through the first floor, yelling. “Pearl! I know you’re in here. Pearl!”
In the foyer I heard a tapping sound, and then Pearl’s muffled voice, “I’m locked in. Get me out of here.”
She was inside a four-foot-high cubbyhole built into the side of the stairwell. The door latched only on the outside. It was where we had kept logs for the fireplace. I lifted the lever.
Pearl scampered out on all fours, then leaped to her feet, madly brushing at her bleached-white hair and slapping at her body. “There’re spiders in there! I couldn’t open the door. I thought I was going to die!” She waved her cement-gray nails for emphasis, then frantically brushed at her low-cut pink T-shirt.
“What are you doing here, Pearl?”
“What? I was looking for something.”
“A camera?”
“An earring.” She slapped dust from the knees of her jeans.
“Really? After all this time you expect to find an earring? Where’s your purse?”
“In my car.”
“How do you think I knew you were in the house? I just saw your car in the garage. There was no purse in it.” I pointed to where she’d been hiding. “Get it.”
“You’ll lock me in there.”
“I’m not going to do that. Get it!”
Trying to keep an eye on me, she bent over and pulled out her purse by the shoulder strap. As she stood up, she swung her bag at me. I ducked, but not far enough. She hit the side of my head.
Stunned, I grabbed the straps. Letting go, she ran. Clutching both of our purses, I chased her through the living room into the dining room and down the gallery. She darted into the swimming-pool room. I caught up to her as she careered around the pool’s corner where the deck angled down to the water. Losing her balance, she slipped and fell to her hands and knees. Before she was completely up on her feet again, I reached her and shoved her into the water.
She thrashed around. “I can’t swim!”
“You’re in the shallow end. Stand up.” I rummaged in her purse, pulled out the camera, and opened it. There was no memory card. “Where is it?”
Spitting water, she stood up, angrily pushing limp hair out of her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She extended her hand up to me. “Help me out.”
“So you can pull me in? I don’t think so. There are steps in the corner.”
As she sputtered and waded her way to the stairs, I checked the recent calls on her cell. I saw Celia’s number.
Crawling out, she realized what I was doing. “Give me that.” But it was a half-hearted demand. She was dripping and shivering, her arms wrapped around herself trying to get warm.
“Is Binder still in the hospital?” I asked.
“Valley Presbyterian.”
“Does he know you’re in contact with Celia?”
“Who’s she?”
“There’s no way you knew where this camera was hidden without someone very familiar with this house telling you. And her number’s on your phone. Why don’t I call Binder and tell him you’ve been in touch with Celia and …”
“No, no. Please don’t!” Her smooth brow knitted in fear. “She called me at the store this morning and told me if I didn’t do what she said, she’d tell Parson I was the one who made Jenny have sex with all those guys. And that he would kill me. I want my purse. I want to go. I’m all wet.” She reached for it.
I let it slip out of my hand. As she bent over I shoved my hand down the front of her scoop-neck shirt between her rock-solid breasts and grabbed the card. Then I gave her a hard push back into the pool.
Waiting for her to stop splashing and swearing, I put the memory card between my soft breasts. “Where’s Celia?”
“She wouldn’t tell me,” she spat. “I’m supposed to call her when I get the camera.”
I thought a moment. “Okay, here is what’s going to happen. Parson’s men are parked outside the house, so I’m going take your car. I need to make sure I can get away.”
“What?” she slogged through the water again. “No way!” She crawled out, shivering worse.
“You’ll take my car.”
“Parson’s men will follow me. They’ll try to kill me. Everyone wants to kill me!”
“Are you on one of the videos?”
“I thought I wasn’t, but Celia said I am.”
“Listen to me. You’ll drive to Valley Presbyterian Hospital. Stay with Binder until you hear from me. You’ll be safe there.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How do I know Parson’s men are even out there?”
Christ. “If I’m lying, you don’t need to worry, do you?”
“What if they push me off the road?”
“They won’t. They need you alive. They want you to take them to Celia.”
“I can’t do this. I’ll lead them to P.J.!”
“The hospital has security. Anyway, you should’ve thought about him before you got involved in this mess.” I held out her cell. “Call Celia and tell her you have the camera. Get her address. Don’t screw with me, Pearl.”
“I can’t.” She pursed her lips.
“Why?”
“Please just give me the memory card, please let me go.” She stamped her feet, her teeth chattered.
“You were going to double-cross Celia?”
“I have to protect P. J. and myself.”
“Call her now. I have a Glock in my purse.”
“Who doesn’t.”
“You don’t. Call her.”
She snatched the cell phone away, closing her fist around it, and punched in the number. Listening, she finally spoke, “I have it.” She hung up.
“You didn’t get the address.”
“I’m supposed to leave a message on her voicemail. She’ll call me back.” The phone rang. “See?” She answered it and listened. “Okay. Okay.” Ending the call, she looked at me. “Celia
’s at the Larchmont Motel off Ventura Boulevard on Kinross. Room 10.”
I grabbed Pearl’s wrist with my left hand and wrenched the cell lose from her tight grip with my right hand.
“That’s mine. I may need it,” she said.
“I’m keeping it in case Celia calls. Remember, you’ll be safe in the hospital. They want Celia. Not you. Especially if you don’t have the memory card.”
She blinked water from her big eyes. “You sure?”
“Yes.” I was lying, but she needed some sense of security, and I needed to get out of there. “Stay with Binder. Don’t leave.”
“I won’t.” She sniffled like a child, which she was, in a way. “Does your car have a heater?”
“The best there is, trust me.” I handed her my keys.
Reluctantly, she gave me hers and then hurried outside.
Hearing her rev the Jag’s engine, I walked back through the gallery and into the living room and looked out the front window in time to see her pull out onto the street. I waited, hoping she would make it safely.
A few seconds later Bruno and Gerald appeared at the opening of the drive, trotting up to the house. My permanent chill shot through me. Shit. Why weren’t they following the Jag? Frantic, I ran back into the foyer, up the stairs, and down the hall to my bedroom. In the closet I tapped on the panel and hid myself in the safe room. Heart thumping, trying to control my loud breathing, I took the Glock out of my purse, fumbled off the safety, and gripped it in my hand.
I could hear the sound of doors being opened and slammed shut below. The men were moving systematically through the house. There was a pause, and I figured they might be coming upstairs. Soon I heard the opening and closing of doors in Mother’s bedroom. I didn’t dare move or the floor would creak.
Then they were in the guest room. My bedroom was next. Sweat ran down my back. My black sweater itched my skin. I heard my bedroom door groan open. Aiming the gun at the cedar panel, I listened to the two men stride across the floor toward me. My pulse throbbed in my temples. The closet door opened, and my body involuntarily stiffened as if they could see me.
“Nobody.” Bruno’s voice.
“What do you think they’re asking for this piece of shit? It needs a lot of work.” Gerald’s voice.
“What, you thinking of buying it?”
“Who says I can’t?”
“You still tracking the Jag?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s get going before she drives out of range of the GPS.”
Finally, the sound of their heavy footsteps grew distant. I waited for anther ten minutes, thinking that Gerald had to have put some kind of device on my car so could they track it. I tried not to think of Heath. I tried not to think he could already be dead. I didn’t want him to be another ghost. Then I fled the house, got into the BMW, and sped away. I looked about as inconspicuous as a blond in a red convertible.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
I made it over Coldwater Canyon and down into the tangled spread of buildings, shops, and traffic that was Ventura Boulevard. Turning right, I went a few blocks and found Kinross, then another three blocks and I was at the Larchmont Motel. It sat in the middle of a parking lot. The asphalt had lifted, and weeds and pretty wild flowers had popped up between the cracks. Just one story, the motel looked as if a 1.0 earthquake would rattle it into a pile of sticks and chunks of stucco. The sun beat hard on its façade. In each window a liver-colored blind had been pulled against the glare. This was the kind of place for quick sex, a quick high, or a long binge.
I didn’t see Celia’s white Lexus as I pulled in and parked. Taking the camera out of my purse, I got out of the car, found room 10, and knocked. The door opened only inches because the chain was on. Celia peered out at me through the crack.
“I’ve got the camera.” I showed it to her before she could slam the door in my face.
“Goddammit, Diana. Were you followed?” she asked.
“No.”
Sighing heavily, she slipped the chain off, let me in, and relocked the door. A bolted-down dresser lamp was the only light in the darkened room. The air conditioner built into the back wall heaved out moldy air while rattling the picture hanging above it.
“How are you?” I asked hesitantly.
“How do I look?”
“Not too good.”
Dressed in a wrinkled short black skirt and rumpled red silk blouse, her skin was sallow and dry as the brittle shade covering her only window. The bruise around her eye and across her cheek had paled to a jaundice color. She reminded me of Parson’s wife, a woman who knew death was near. But Mrs. Parson welcomed it, even planned it. The shattered expression in Celia’s eyes told me she feared death with all her being.
She eyed the camera with all the intensity of a drug addict waiting for her fix.
“Where’s Pearl?” she asked.
“It’s a long story. Let’s just say two of Parson’s men are following her to Valley Presbyterian Hospital, where P. J. Binder is recuperating.”
“If they catch her, she’ll tell them where I am.”
“Then you and I should transact our business quickly.”
“Give me the camera.”
I let her grab it.
Sinking onto the edge of the unmade bed, she ripped it open. She looked up at me. “The memory card is gone.”
“I have it.”
“On you?’
“I wouldn’t be that stupid.” I felt it pressing into my breasts,
Jumping up, she ran to the window, pushed aside the shade, and peered out. She let it drop back and demanded “Where is it?”
“I want something for it.”
“What?”
“We were friends once, remember?”
She leaned against the dresser. The dust-filmed mirror reflected the back of her hunched shoulders and her tangled dark hair. “I remember.” Her voice softened. “Knowing you, you probably came here for the truth.”
“Yes. And Parson wants me to bring you and the memory card to him, or he’ll kill someone I know. Someone I care about.”
Her violet eyes flashed, her expression hardened. “You’re going to try to take me to Parson? And how in hell do you think you’re going to manage that?” She reached for her handbag on the dresser.
“Don’t.” I slid the Glock from my bag and aimed it at her.
She stared. “I don’t believe this.”
“I don’t either.” I edged nearer to her and yanked her purse away. Feeling around inside, I pulled out a gun.
“Funny, we both keep voting for gun control.” She smiled ruefully.
“I’ve changed my mind on that.” I put her weapon inside my purse, then threw hers on the floor.
Then I sat in the only chair, still holding the Glock on her.
“Listen to me, Diana, I’m a businesswoman, and you’re not.” She paced, barefooted; her five-inch heels were on the floor by the nightstand. “I know how to deal with men like Parson. He’d rather have the video of his daughter screwing everybody under the sun than kill me. He’s more concerned about her image. Or maybe he wants to continue her blackmailing business, who knows? I don’t care.” She was a boss tossing off ideas to her assistant instead of a woman with a weapon pointed at her. “The memory card is my only protection. I can make this work. It’s what I do. I make people buy houses they only think they want.”
“Is Ben in any of the videos?”
“Ben?” She stopped.
“You can’t make it work, Celia.” I leaned to one side and slid the photograph of her, Gwyn, and Ben as a baby from my jeans pocket and held it out to her.
Taking it, she ran her finger over his face just as Gwyn had done. Two mothers, and yet Ben was so unloved.
“How did you know about this?” She looked at me, eyes narrowed. “I kept it tucked in
a book on my nightstand.”
“I found it crumpled on your kitchen floor, where I think Ben must’ve dropped it. He trashed your house.”
“Why?”
“Anger, probably. He was looking for some sign that you really are his mother. Gwyn confirmed my suspicions that you were.”
“She would never tell anybody.”
“Her world has fallen apart, just like yours. Just like mine, come to think of it.”
“My world is intact as long as I can stay in control of the situation. You have to help me, Diana. You have to give it to me.”
“Your world isn’t intact, Celia. Ben’s dead. He hanged himself in your garage.” As I told her what had happened, her face crumpled. Her body sagged.
On the other side of the adjoining wall, a toilet flushed.
Celia slumped on the bed.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
I listened to her cry and moan, and I wondered who she really was crying for. Then she sat up, wiping her hands across her eyes. “Suicide?”
“Parson said it was.”
“You believe him?”
“I believe he can kill someone without laying a hand on them.” I thought of Colin. “But he told me that when he arrived at your house, Leo Heath was trying to cut Ben down. He may still have been alive then. But Parson’s men stopped Heath.”
“Heath?”
“The one you lied about. I think that was your first lie to me, at least that I know about.”
“Are you saying Ben wanted to kill himself?”
Not wanting to keep the fury out of my voice, I said “The kid grew up thinking his biological father was a rapist. That his stepfather didn’t love him because he loved his mistress more. Then the mistress turned out to be his real mother. Robert didn’t even know, for Christ’s sake.”
“Shut up!”
“And to get back at them, Ben joins Jenny in blackmailing everyone who’s important to Robert and Gwyn. Yes, Celia, I think he wanted to kill himself.”
She stared at me, shocked at my rage.
The TV turned on in the next room. Its low muttering mixed with the rumbling of the air conditioner.
City of Mirrors Page 22
