by R. J. Kaiser
Stella hadn’t been able to help, but she’d had plenty to do cleaning up the pool house. She’d mopped the floor five times, scrubbing the place “within an inch of its life,” as she put it. Together they’d wrapped the body in a plastic sheet.
Stella told him that Aubrey had reeled backward from Mac’s blow and hit his head on the large Chinese cheop that was on the coffee table. The cheop broke and his head was cracked open. When Mac came to, Aubrey was lying in a pool of his own dark red blood. He seemed to have died instantly. Stella told him Aubrey hadn’t moved. Not an inch.
The image sent a shiver through Mac even now, by the light of day. He watched the pouring crew adjusting the chute that would bring the river of cement into Aubrey St. George’s backyard, covering his body for all time—or so Mac hoped. Glancing up at Stella’s window, he saw her watching him. She was covered from her neck to her shins with a terry robe, her hair hanging limply, no longer the coquette. Nor did she seem the innocent, childlike victim of a brutal husband. Stella St. George had been transformed. She was now his partner in crime.
Mac McGowan knew deep in his bones that he was making a terrible mistake. His soul cried out for him to call a halt to this. It wasn’t too late. The police, the prosecutors, would accept the fact that he’d thought better of what he’d done. They’d give him credit for coming clean. Maybe they wouldn’t even charge him with homicide. It was, after all, self-defense. But it would mean abandoning Stella, ruining her life and, as she put it, her “chances for a career.” He couldn’t do that.
With the chute in place, the signal was relayed to the truck, and moments later the gray soup began sliding down over Aubrey St. George’s grave. Mac watched the cement cover first the ground, then the rebar, sealing the tomb. Glancing up at the house again, Mac saw Stella turn from the window. He couldn’t help wondering what was in her heart.
It was amazing what a crisis did to people. Mac had discovered he wasn’t as clearheaded as he’d thought. What should have been obvious, wasn’t. And it was all because of his uncertainty about Stella.
Not that he blamed her. In insisting that they cover things up rather than go to the police, she hadn’t intended any harm. Sure, she was thinking of herself, but he couldn’t bring himself to add to her misery, which was why he’d allowed her to convince him to do this.
Those first terrible, agonizing minutes after Aubrey died, they’d both been in shock. Mac didn’t have to see the amount of blood on the tile floor, or to check the guy’s pulse, to know he was dead. “Jesus,” he’d muttered, staring at the lifeless face.
Stella sobbed uncontrollably.
Mac held her. “Maybe we should call an ambulance, anyway.”
She hadn’t responded, even after she stopped crying. All she did was stare at her husband’s body, biting her lip as she sat hunched on the chaise longue like a terrified child.
“I’m calling the police then,” he’d said.
Stella had her hands pressed together prayerfully, the tips of her fingers touching her mouth. “No,” she said. “We have to think about this first.”
“What do you mean?”
“The whole rest of our lives will depend on what we do. You understand that, don’t you, Mac?”
“What’s to think about?” he said. “It was self-defense.”
“Maybe, but who will believe us? It’s not like Aubrey had a gun. And look how much bigger you are than him. Who’d believe you had to kill him to save yourself? Plus, don’t you think the police will wonder what was going on in the first place? We had every reason to want him dead. Both of us.”
“We might have been having an affair, but that’s no crime.”
“It was to Aubrey. Mac, people kill their spouses because of things like this.”
“Yeah, and that’s exactly what he was trying to do.”
“But don’t you see? He’s the one who’s dead. They’ll think we killed him so we could be together. And maybe get his money—who knows?”
“Will you be getting much?”
“I’m not sure, but I think the house and a little insurance money to live on. Most of his money went to his ex-wife when they divorced, which is why he made me sign a tough prenup. He was just beginning to build up his estate again.”
“Stella, the police might be suspicious, but the truth is the truth. We both know what happened.”
“We’re lovers, Mac. There’s no way they’ll think this was innocent. Can’t you image what the prosecutor will say?”
Mac had understood her words and he saw the logic, but his heart still told him the truth was the safest course. “I don’t see that we have any choice but to call the police. I mean, he’s lying here in a pool of blood.”
Stella remained silent as Mac stared at her ghoulish face, badly streaked with mascara. He wondered what kind of nightmare he’d fallen into. He was obviously being punished for getting involved with a married woman.
“Maybe,” she said finally, “Aubrey could disappear without a trace.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re pouring the cement tomorrow, aren’t they?”
“Yes.”
“What if we bury the body in the bottom of the hole before the cement is poured?”
“Stella, we’ll never get away with it. The police are smart. Anyway, people will notice he’s missing. What are you going to tell them?”
“Maybe I’ll be wondering where he is myself. What if Aubrey decides to go for a swim at the beach and disappears? He goes to Malibu all the time to swim. People know that. His first wife still has their Malibu house.”
“It’ll never work.”
“Just let me make a few calls and see if anyone knew he was coming home. Aubrey had lunch with his agent. Jerry will know if he was headed here. I’ll call around, acting like I’m trying to find him. Then, if in the morning they find his car parked at the beach, it’ll be obvious what happened.”
He shook his head. “It’s too risky. I say we call the police and the quicker the better.”
“Easy for you to say, Mac,” she cried. “I’m the one whose career is in jeopardy.”
“What about me? I’m the one who decked him.”
“Yes, and if you do convince them it was self-defense, you’ll be off scot-free. It won’t ruin your life because who cares if a pool contractor got mixed up in something like this? But me, I lose no matter what. If this comes out, I’m through in this town. But if we have nothing to do with his death, I’m a tragic widow, an object of sympathy, not a woman under suspicion. Anyway, the police aren’t going to believe you’re innocent, Mac.”
“But I am innocent!”
“There’s no way you’ll win.”
“The truth is the truth.”
She wiped her eyes. “Mac, you’re too naive for your own good.”
“If we try to cover this up and get caught, then we’re dead for sure. Coming clean is our only chance, Stella.”
“If we pull this off, then neither of us will be hurt,” she said coolly. “I haven’t come this far, put up with what I have all these years, to see my life flushed down the toilet.” She got up from the chair and went to him. “Mac,” she said, putting her open hand on his chest. “You’ve got to help me.”
It was then they heard meowing. Mac looked over and saw Aubrey’s cat, G.P., sitting in the open doorway. As they watched, the cat came slinking toward them. It went to Aubrey, stopping a few feet from the body and sniffing the air, perhaps smelling death. G.P. looked directly at Mac and let out a protracted, angry meow, baring his teeth. Then he scampered out the door.
Stella turned her attention back to Mac. “Please don’t forsake me,” she pleaded.
Against his better judgment, Mac had told her to make her calls, to see if a cover-up was possible. Nobody, it turned out, knew where Aubrey was. Everyone assumed, of course, that he was with another woman, though the words were never uttered. Mac had listened to her plaintive voice when she spoke on the phone. Stella was defin
itely an actress.
At midnight Stella had backed Aubrey’s Porsche out of the garage and driven to Malibu with Mac following in his truck. On the drive home, he’d said, “What happens next?”
“We bury the body.”
“No, I mean, what happens between you and me?”
“First, you act as if nothing has happened,” Stella said. “Just go about your work like normal. How much longer will it take you to finish the job?”
“A couple of weeks, but I won’t be here every day.”
“Fine,” she said. “I’m going to be grieving. People will expect me to be upset. Then, after the dust has settled, we’ll be able to see each other.”
“Do you want to see me, Stella, or are you just saying that?”
“Of course I want to see you,” she said. “If I didn’t care about you, Mac, if I didn’t trust you, do you think I’d have done all this? Don’t forget, I was an innocent by-stander. You killed Aubrey. You don’t see me turning against you, do you?”
Mac had gotten home at four-thirty that morning, had a shower, slept for an hour and a half, then drove back to the job site. And, with Aubrey St. George buried under tons of cement, he could only wonder if he’d ruined his life. He was a criminal now and, for a guy who’d never done anything worse than underage drinking, that wasn’t easy to take. Nor was it just a matter of getting away with it. He would have to live with himself.
By midafternoon the pool was poured and Mac was numbly supervising the cleanup. After sending the crew home, he gathered his gear and put on his blue work shirt. Stella came out onto the deck before he’d trudged off to his truck.
“Mac,” she called, her voice a half whisper even though there was nobody but him around to hear. “Come here.”
He climbed the steps to the deck. Stella, looking fresher and more rested than she had that morning, wore a little blue cotton summer dress. She took his hand and led him inside. Then, after closing the slider, she put her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss. Mac held her, though not with the same enthusiasm as before.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” she said, pressing her face into his sweaty neck.
“Have you?”
“Mac, this experience has taught me how much I care for you, how much your love means.”
He wondered about that. Maybe what she said was true. Or, maybe she was afraid she couldn’t trust him. Stella read the uncertainty in his eyes.
“Don’t you believe me?”
“It could be you’re afraid to trust me,” he said.
“We’re in this together now,” she said. “We have to trust each other.” She ran her hand down his stomach and lightly touched his crotch.
Mac wondered how she could even think of sex at a time like this. He searched her eyes for her true feelings and discovered they weren’t obvious. Had they ever been?
“I haven’t yet reported Aubrey missing,” she said. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
“No, what?”
“That we can have this night together. One free night before the grand inquisition begins. Will you stay with me, Mac? You can put your truck in the garage and nobody will know you’re here.”
“Stella, I’m so tired I can barely walk.”
“Then sleep in my arms. Please. I need you, Mac.”
Her eyes got all glossy and he knew he couldn’t say no. He understood then what she’d been saying. They really were in this together, probably forever.
The Present
Wednesday, August 23, 2000
Bel Air
It wasn’t the first time in the last twenty or so years that Mac McGowan found himself looking over his shoulder. Exiting the San Diego Freeway at Sunset Boulevard, he had a feeling he was being followed. Again. He looked into the rearview mirror and saw nothing unusual. The car behind him didn’t seem suspicious, especially not when it headed west on Sunset as Mac turned east. He checked his mirror again, thinking maybe it was the car behind that one, but it turned south on Sepulveda.
In his gut, Mac knew there was more than simple paranoia at play. Of late, cars seemed to be stopping outside his place at night or lingering in the road. His gardener had reported a few days earlier that somebody had sat parked in the drive of an empty house up the street for the better part of one afternoon. Finally, according to Tito, the Bel Air security patrol had run the vehicle off. Tito hadn’t thought anything of it until Mac asked if he’d noted anybody unusual hanging around. Unfortunately, the gardener was unable to give much of a description of either the vehicle or its occupant, except to say it might have been an older Chevy, maybe blue or maybe green. Or black.
Mac wondered if the suspicious happenings might have something to do with the problems he’d been having in the Pool Maids division of his company. Art Conti, who ran the operation for Mac, had been telling him he was almost sure a couple of the pool maids were running drugs on company time.
“Being involved with drugs is bad enough,” Mac had told him, “but dragging McGowan Enterprises into it by using our trucks is going way past the limit. Let’s get to the bottom of it and, once we’re sure, then we’ll bring in the police.”
“What do you want me to do, boss, hire an investigator?”
“Yeah, let’s start there. And I’d like to talk to whoever you line up.”
Pool Maids was not just another division of Mac’s swimming pool-related conglomeration of companies. It was unique because all the actual pool-service personnel were women with criminal records.
Pool Maids was originally a separate company, founded by Arturo Conti, a longtime friend of Mac’s. The operation had been successful in part because Art had a clever gimmick that had captured the imagination of the public. He put the girls in tight black shorts and a maid’s apron and frilly hat to service swimming pools. In Toledo it would be lunacy, but in L.A. it was a reason to smile. And to sign a service contract with Pool Maids, Inc.
After Art had taken a bath following his fourth divorce, he decided he wanted a paycheck instead of the headaches of ownership. When he’d come knocking with an offer to sell, Mac was interested, not only because it made business sense, but because he saw it as a opportunity to make a contribution to society by helping women who needed a second chance. Art’s motives weren’t quite so altruistic— he liked having a bunch of women beholden to him. He’d hired his first girl after a chance occurrence. On the recommendation of a buddy in the Lions Club who was a muckety-muck with the State Parole Board, Art signed up an ex-felon with a good heart and great legs. She worked out well, so Art hired another. And another. Pretty soon he had a whole staff of pool maids who came to him with cleaning skills perfected in a nine-by-twelve prison cell at places like Chowchilla, Mule Creek and Corona.
The program had helped a number of women get their lives back on track, which appealed to Mac, who figured, “But for the grace of God…” Unlike Art, however, Mac hadn’t any ulterior motives. He had no intention of paying Art to supervise a harem, so he’d made it a condition that Art keep his sexual conquests outside the company, explaining, “It’s my ass they’ll sue if you break somebody’s heart.”
Arturo Conti had agreed and, to the best of Mac’s knowledge, he mostly stayed on the straight and narrow, though he may have had a quiet dalliance or two. But the drug thing was a different matter altogether. Art, who knew trouble when he saw it, was as concerned about the situation as Mac. They both realized they had to get a handle on it. And soon.
Before leaving the office that afternoon, Mac had asked Art for an update. “I’ve been interviewing detectives and I think I’ve got the right one. We’re scheduled to meet one more time and, if everything goes well, I’ll have her talk to you at the beginning of the week.”
Mac would have preferred even sooner, but he could see Art was being methodical. “All right, I’ll tell Bev to hold some time open on my calendar.”
But as he made his way home, Mac wasn’t so much worried about the detective or Pool Maids�
�or even the possibility that someone inside the operation was targeting him—as he was concerned about Bri.
Mac had been dating Sabrina Lovejoy for the better part of six months, and he knew they were rapidly approaching that point where things either progressed or ended. Women, he’d learned over the years, only had so much patience.
A couple of weeks earlier Bri had made the telltale comment. “Being with a married man is more of a pain than I expected, Mac,” she’d said. “The liabilities do outweigh the benefits.” Every woman got to that point eventually, regardless of their stated desires at the outset. When Bri had called him that morning and asked to come by so they could “talk,” he figured their moment of truth had arrived.
Mac could hardly blame her. Most of the women he’d known, and there had been several, either accepted the fact that he wouldn’t be getting a divorce from Stella, or ended things before they began. But every once in a while he got involved with one who kidded herself as well as him, hanging in there with the hope she could change his mind. It never happened. Mac had made his deal with Stella, and he would honor it to the bitter end. He had to.
He’d hoped, though, that he might be able to finesse things with Bri. She was among the more independent women he’d known. The lady was mature, levelheaded— a prominent businesswoman in her own right. She owned NetWork, the most successful independent public relations firm in Beverly Hills; she was smart, beautiful and she loved him. He didn’t want to lose her, but he knew that’s where things were headed. Why wasn’t it enough that they were together? Why did the specter of marriage have to enter into it?
Mac turned off Sunset onto Copa de Oro and then onto Stone Canyon Road. He was about twenty minutes late, which meant Bri would be waiting. She was punctual to a fault.
