by Joanne Pence
There was one more person that Angie hadn’t suggested, and that Silver hadn’t defended: his own brother, the elusive Junior Waterfield.
Late that night, Angie was standing at her window looking down at the courtyard. She couldn’t sleep. The room was cold and depressing, she didn’t know what to do, and she missed Paavo.
She was looking at the moon through the tall almond tree that was to the left of her window, when the corner of her eye noticed movement. She glanced down to the courtyard and saw a tiny man.
No, it couldn’t have been a man. A child? Was that it? He darted across the courtyard, no bigger than one of Santa’s elves.
She blinked a couple of times. Was she seeing things, or were Christmas and soap operas making her crazy?
Visions of the bloody doll…the gasoline behind the bar…the crew talking about sabotage of the props and equipment came back to her.
Maybe she wasn’t the one who was crazy.
Chapter 12
“Angie, you have a visitor,” Mariah said with a scowl. “Am I in a scene from Groundhog Day, or something? Is that what this is? Over and over the same thing?”
Angie sat at the breakfast table, which was covered with a variety of bagels and schmears. She wondered if Goetring was from New York. It wasn’t a common Bay Area breakfast.
“Who is it?” she asked between sips of coffee.
“How should I know?” Mariah shrieked. “I’m having to take everything apart trying to find that damned drummer boy!” She stormed from the room.
Angie drained her cup and headed for the foyer. No one was there. Pulling open the door, she found the glaring black eyes of a stout older woman with black hair pulled straight back into a stylish bun, pursed lips, and an angry disposition. In other words, her mother.
“What kind of place is this, that the help leaves a guest standing outside the door?” Serefina bellowed.
“I’m sorry, Mamma,” Angie said, “but Mariah isn’t—”
“Ah, come bella!” Serefina marched into the house, uninterested in explanations. “Look at the little tree twirling around, and the music!” She handed Angie her navy blue Dior wool coat and matching handbag.
“Where’s papà?” Angie said, sticking her head out the door.
“He didn’t want to come. If I lived in the wine country, I’d have a home just like this,” Serefina exclaimed. Her silk dress of soft navy print was slimming, almost. “I don’t know why me and Salvatore don’t live here. It looks just like Italia.”
“Without all the people, cars, or pollution—except on weekends,” Angie added.
Serefina waved her round arms, taking in everything around her. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“Of course. Now, I wanted to see how you’re doing here, and say hello to your father’s good friend, Sterling.” Serefina left the living room to poke her head into the dining room, and she continued down the hall to the family room.
Angie hung the coat in the closet. Her mother’s explanations didn’t wash. What was she really doing here? “Are you tired, Mamma? It was a long drive for you. You must have left the peninsula at the crack of dawn.”
“Before dawn,” Serefina corrected. “The more I thought about coming here and meeting Cliff and Adrian, the more I couldn’t sleep.” She sighed, smiling like a lovelorn teenager, and plopped down on the leather sofa in front of the rock fireplace. “Faccia brava, that Adrian, so sweet and handsome. My heart used to beat so fast when he’d show up on TV it would make my head light. But that wife of his, Madonna mia! How that Leona could go to bed with his brother, I don’t know. What is this world coming to? If I see her, I’ll slap her face!”
“Mamma, relax,” Angie said, sitting on the sofa arm. “It’s just a story.”
“Sometimes I wonder. I lived with them for years!” She placed her hands against her breasts. “I raised my children to the troubles at Eagle Crest. Maybe the characters aren’t real to you, but to me, they are like friends.”
“They’re an interesting group, that’s for sure,” Angie said.
“So, where is Adrian?” Serefina asked, swiveling around as if the star was lurking in the corners of the room.
“He’s not here yet. Cliff and Natalie arrived yesterday, but they haven’t come down to breakfast, I don’t think. At least, I haven’t seen them.”
“I can wait. Where is Sterling?”
Wait? A sinking feeling hit Angie’s stomach. “I’m not sure. I can look for him.”
“First, which way is the bathroom? I want to look my best before I see my old friend.”
“Sure.” Angie showed her mother to the downstairs bathroom, then ran up to Sterling’s bedroom.
She raised her hand to knock on his door when the peculiar way he’d stared at her face hit her full force.
She’d almost forgotten about that. What was wrong with her face, anyway? Steeling herself, she knocked.
His hair was awry, making the plugs more visible than usual, and he was knotting the sash of his smoking jacket. In the background, the blue glow of a television lit the room. She wondered how it felt to hesitate to move about freely in one’s own home. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, “but my mother has come to visit. Are you free?”
His face took on a rosy glow. “Serefina is here? Now?” He glanced down at the floppy slippers on his feet. “Give me a minute. I’ll be right down.”
“Wait…one moment…”
He turned back.
“Yesterday, behind the bar I found gasoline in a wine bottle, and a bunch of rags…”
“Yes?”
“It’s dangerous. I thought…”
“The crew does the strangest things. Don’t worry about it, Angie.”
“But—”
“Tell your mother I’ll be right there. Don’t let her run off, now!” He shut the door.
Angie couldn’t imagine Serefina walking briskly, let alone running anywhere. And what was with the sudden animation in Sterling? She had no idea he was such good friends with her mother.
Angie had just finishing mixing a pitcher of Bloody Marys, Serefina’s favorite morning drink, when Sterling entered the family room.
“Serefina!” He rushed to her.
“Caro!” She held out her arms. They kissed first one cheek, then the other. She stepped back, as did Sterling, still clasping each other. Then both smiled, as if approving of what they saw.
Angie was sure, based on their broad grins, that it wasn’t anything like what she saw: a too-chubby woman with jet-black hair due to her hairdresser’s help, and a cadaverously thin, overly tanned gray-haired man.
“You are bellissima, Serefina. The years have been kind to you,” he said.
“You were always such a charmer, Sterling. You were well named for your silver tongue.” Serefina gave him a coy smile. “Although your accento italiano hasn’t improved one little bit.”
Angie handed them drinks in tall glasses with ice and a celery stick, forcing Sterling to let go of her mother. “I thought having your daughter here would be a pleasure,” he said, his gaze never leaving Serefina. “It’s even more of one now. Can you stay a while?”
“Stay?” Serefina asked, her eyes wide as if it was the most surprising suggestion she’d ever heard. Angie went on red alert. She knew that look.
“I’m sure you’d like to meet the cast, wouldn’t you?” he coaxed. “Only two of them are here yet. We have plenty of room.”
“Oh…well…” Serefina looked from Sterling to Angie, and back. “As a matter of fact, I just happened to pack a little overnight case. I was thinking I might be too tired to drive all the way home and could spend the night in St. Helena. But this is even better.”
Angie’s eyebrows rose so high they skirted her hairline.
“Wonderful!” Sterling cast a fleeting glance at Angie. “If you could find Silver, ask him to take your mother’s bags up to the yellow guest room. It’s a tin
y one, Serefina, in the family wing. I’m afraid it’s all we have left.”
“I’m sure it will be lovely, caro.”
Serefina took the car keys out of her purse and handed them to Angie. “Here. The car is locked.” She batted her eyes at Sterling. “It’s become my habit because of living so close to the city. Madonna mia, you can’t trust anybody there, compared to an area like this.”
“You should move here, Serefina.” He held her hand in both of his. “You’d love it. Do you still have your Rolls Royce?”
“Dear God,” she turned to Angie, looking like someone who’d just licked cream from a bowl. “This man even remembers the car I drive.”
Before Angie could respond, Sterling said, “Shall I show you to your room? Maybe you can put on some comfortable shoes and we can go out to Silverado for brunch and a round of golf. Are you hungry?”
“I’m starving. I didn’t want to stop and eat, I was so anxious to get here.”
Sterling looked at Angie. “Do you mind? Your mother came all this way to see you, and I’m talking about taking her away.”
Angie gazed at Serefina to see if her mother would give her “the eye,” which meant that she was to object to whatever was being suggested. But Serefina simply smiled. Angie bit her lip. “No, I don’t mind. I see my mother all the time. I’m sure she’d love to go to Silverado. It’s a beautiful country club.”
“And I’m one of their Gold members.” He winked at Serefina. “Extra-special privileges.”
“I can hardly wait,” she said, and they sauntered toward the stairs.
When they were out of view, Angie tumbled onto a chair. What was her mother doing flirting like that? Where was her father?
And where was Silver to help her with the luggage?
She decided it’d be easier to carry an overnight bag upstairs herself than to hunt for Silver, who was quite possibly still asleep.
Her mother was no better at packing than she was because the bag was Pullman size. She rolled it to the foyer. Silver could take it from there.
By the time she returned to her Virgin Mary—sans alcohol—it tasted awful since the ice had melted. She nearly dropped it when her mother entered wearing a green polo shirt, white culottes, and white socks and sneakers, and carrying the satchel that held her golf shoes.
“We’re going now,” Serefina announced.
“You’re really going golfing?” Angie asked.
“Si. It’s been a long time.” She sucked in her stomach.
“You always said the only thing you liked about golf was driving the cart,” Angie cried, walking her mother to the door.
Sterling backed his classic MG out of the garage. Serefina gingerly crossed the slippery snow. “So maybe we’ll do something else,” she called. “I don’t care. It will be fun. Ciao!”
This, Angie decided, was perhaps the most surreal experience she’d had in her entire life.
“Has Sterling found himself a new girlfriend?” Rhonda Manning tottered on stiletto heels toward the bar. Judging from her slurred words and wobbly demeanor, it wasn’t her first visit. “She seemed a little old and chubby. Not his usual type at all.”
“That was my mother,” Angie said indignantly.
“Your mother? How cute. He usually goes after the crew’s daughters. Now he’s going after their mothers, too. What’s this world coming to?” She stepped behind the bar and didn’t have to search at all to find a glass, bourbon, and ice.
Angie neared. “I didn’t realize Sterling was such a Lothario.”
“I didn’t say he succeeded with them, did I?” She laughed.
“Was Brittany Keegan one of his conquests?” Angie asked.
Rhonda’s back straightened, her eyes hard. “What makes you bring her up?”
“I discovered I was given her bedroom—and that she died in this very house. It makes me curious.”
“Don’t you know it isn’t smart to ask questions like that?”
Angie moved closer. “What can it hurt? The girl’s dead. Her death was an accident.”
“Maybe because it was such a sad thing. None of us want to bring it up again. Especially not around nosy little nothings who should stay in the kitchen, where they belong!”
Rhonda grabbed her glass in one hand, hesitated a moment, then took the bottle in the other and left the room.
Moments later, Emery Tarleton stuck his head in. “Have you seen Rhonda?” he asked.
“She went upstairs,” Angie said, still smarting from the encounter. “Can I talk to you about the Christmas dinner?”
“No time, now.” He dashed to the bar and grabbed a beer.
He had no time to talk, Angie thought, but he couldn’t help but hear. Pretending to study the rustic Christmas ornaments on the tree, she broke into the love theme from Titanic, “Once more, you open the door…”
She’d never seen a man leave a room so fast.
Maybe he simply didn’t care for movie music.
She was about to go into the kitchen to test the oven and do more planning when she saw Tarleton, Mariah, Bart, and Rhonda troop out the door without so much as a by-your-leave. Rhonda was steadier than Angie imagined she’d be, but the woman was an actress. How disappointing to find she was also a hard-drinking, vicious shrew.
They were soon followed out the door by Silver.
The crew was gone.
Angie hadn’t seen Donna Heinz yet this morning. And even Goetring had abandoned the kitchen.
It was Saturday, and everyone seemed to be out enjoying themselves while she was here with a Christmas tree that played “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” until she wanted to convert to Buddhism.
There was definitely something wrong with this picture.
Chapter 13
As Paavo left the city of Vallejo, he tried to reach Angie on her cell phone one more time. The call wouldn’t go through. It was Saturday. How much work could she be doing on a Saturday?
He knew Angie, and even if she was working, she’d find a way to spare a little time for him. She had for Rebecca, and nothing could have surprised him more. If she was busy, he’d pitch in and help her.
He’d had a meeting with the Vallejo police captain to discuss trouble the town was having with a Mexican gang called Quetzalcoatl, named for an Aztec god represented by a feathered serpent. Despite the religious name, the gang was made up of ruthless drug runners who were violent about protecting their territory. If they were in the process of expanding to San Francisco, it’d mean war—which could be exactly what was going on. The men who had been killed had all been confirmed as gang members.
Vallejo was halfway to St. Helena. The meeting went well, and since no emergencies had come in, he headed for the wine country. He hadn’t told Angie his plan. If things hadn’t worked out, he would have disappointed her. That’d be worse than not seeing her at all.
He could hardly wait to see her face brighten with surprise.
The city felt empty without her. And his apartment. And his life.
Although he often worked long hours, he’d stop by her place, even if just for a moment, even if there wasn’t time for a real date.
It didn’t matter what they were doing so long as they were doing it together. How he’d spent his time before Angie had entered his life was a mystery. He must have been bored silly and never even knew it.
One thing about Angie, she was never dull. She made life worth living. His life, at least.
A puff of black smoke shot from the rear of the ten-year-old Ford Fairlane he was driving. The car wasn’t used to going freeway speeds. In the city, he rarely hit thirty.
He’d bought the Ford for a song from Yosh when his ramshackle Austin Healey completely gave up the ghost. When the engine fell out, the car was so old and rusted he had no way to fix it short of spending a small fortune. Angie had strongly hinted at giving him a brand new Corvette for a wedding present. Once they were married, even if she gave it to him, it would still be half hers, so he wouldn’t feel as
strange about accepting something so expensive.
Most of the time, her money didn’t mean anything to him. Only when he felt she was being overly generous or overly frivolous was there a problem. Somehow, he had to learn to deal with it and not to allow finances to become an issue between them.
The car began to shimmy.
Progress was slow.
In more ways than one.
Angie pulled onto Paavo’s street. As much as she told herself he might not be home, not seeing his Ford parked in front of his house was a bitter disappointment.
The possibility that his “new” car had broken down somewhere struck her. To her mind, it was every bit as dangerous as his job. Maybe more.
She rang the bell. No answer. They’d traded house keys, so she let herself in. Maybe he was asleep. Or hurt. Despite his constant assurances, she worried about him. And why not? Shortly after they’d first met, his longtime partner, Inspector Matt Kowalski, had been killed in the line of duty, and Paavo had nearly lost his own life. She’d saved him—to both his and her astonishment. They’d spent an extraordinary amount of time dodging bullets ever since.
The house was quiet. Paavo’s cat, Hercules, asleep on the sofa, opened one eye when she entered. The bed was made, the kitchen clean, the refrigerator nearly empty. What was she going to do with that man to get him to eat properly when she wasn’t there to cook for him?
So…where was he? She tried his cell phone. “Not in service” was the response. Odd, she thought, and left a message for him to call her cell phone.
She drove to the Hall of Justice. Homicide was empty.
Desperate, she phoned Yosh. Paavo had nothing special planned today that he knew of. Neither did he understand why Paavo’s cell phone wasn’t working.
A quick stop at her apartment allowed her to check the mail, make sure Stan hadn’t looted her refrigerator and pantry, grab a couple more nice dresses to wear around Rhonda Manning, and finally, phone her sister, Frannie.
