But then, it had been Savannah’s observation that life was seldom fair. From what she could tell, no one was immune from its inexplicable whims and fancies. Perhaps, by being less than perfect themselves, parents were doing their job by preparing their kids for the real world.
Savannah recalled her earlier conversation with Waycross and their own parents. Unfortunately, some parents did their job a bit too well.
Once again, Ethan waved his hand toward a cozy seating arrangement near a set of bay windows that overlooked a perfectly manicured formal garden. “Please, sit down and make yourself comfortable. Amy will be here any minute with the coffee.”
“Then we can talk about why I’m here?” Savannah asked gently, sensing that he was delaying the topic for as long as possible and wondering why.
“Yes,” he said softly, as he turned toward the window, avoiding her eyes. “Once Amy’s left the room, we’ll talk. It’s, um . . . confidential.”
“So John said.” She stepped into his line of vision, forcing him to look at her. “Please don’t worry, Mr. Malloy. If I’m known for anything, it’s my discretion, and I take pride in that.”
He gave her a half smile. “So John said.”
Savannah took a seat on a settee with delicate, curved legs in the French provincial style. The small sofa was almost too beautiful to sit upon with its handstitched cushion and back, depicting a dark forest inhabited by colorful birds and a magnificent stag.
“My granny would love this,” she said, running her hand over the work of art. “She does needlepoint herself, but of course, nothing like this.”
He sat on the edge of an equally fragile chair next to her, his giant body dwarfing the tiny piece of furniture. The delicate, curved legs appeared too dainty to support his weight.
A melancholy expression came over his face as he said, “I asked my wife and her decorator if this one room could look like a man lived here. A woodsy scene instead of roses—that was their idea of a masculine compromise. That and Nidhogg.”
Savannah nodded understandingly. “Just this morning my husband was complaining about the rose wallpaper in our bathroom. Reckon it’s not easy for you fellas, tolerating such feminine frivolities.”
To her surprise, tears flooded Ethan’s eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment there was a gentle rap on the door.
He cleared his throat with a harsh cough, then said, “Yes, Amy. Come in.”
A young woman, whom Savannah judged to be in her mid-twenties, walked into the room. She was pretty in a girl-next-door way with glossy dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail. She wore a simple yellow sundress and no makeup. Her complexion was clear, her cheeks rosy, and her eyes bright with the energy of youth.
However, as she placed the tray on an ancient chest that served as a coffee table in front of the settee, Savannah sensed that Amy, like her employer, was deeply worried about something of importance.
“Thank you, Amy,” Ethan said, giving her a wan smile.
“You’re welcome, sir,” she replied.
Seeing the shy smile Amy sent his way, Savannah also deduced that Amy had a crush on her boss.
Hardly surprising, Savannah thought. Considering.
She couldn’t imagine how she herself would have handled working for such an attractive man at such a young age. She would have been swooning a dozen times a day, which, no doubt, would have interfered considerably with her duties.
Then, there would have been the guilt of lusting after a married man. Having been raised by a woman as righteous and sensible as Granny Reid, Savannah knew that setting your cap for a man with a wife was an express ride down the road to perdition. It was also the fastest way to get your heart broken and—if his missus found out about it and if she was a spirited lady of Southern heritage—your head snatched bald and your front teeth badly loosened. Maybe even relocated altogether.
“Will there be anything else, Mr. Ethan?” Amy asked demurely.
Savannah could have sworn she saw her even give a tiny curtsy.
Yeah, poor little Amy’s got it bad, Savannah thought. Wonder if Mrs. Malloy knows how bad.
“That’s all for now. Thank you,” Ethan replied.
As Amy hurried to the door, he added, “Oh, Amy . . . I saw Mr. Orman arrive a few minutes ago. I assume you answered the door and let him in.”
Amy looked confused. “No, sir. I don’t think he knocked. I thought you let him in.”
Savannah noted that Ethan seemed moderately annoyed. “You didn’t, I didn’t, but he’s in the house?”
“Yes, sir. And I don’t believe that Luciana let him in either, because she’s downstairs, doing laundry.”
“Did you see him?” he asked her. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“Yes, sir. He came into the kitchen when I was getting the rolls and asked to see Miss Beth.”
Savannah caught it all—the uneasy look the two of them exchanged, the nervous glance that Amy gave her, the tightening of Ethan’s jaw.
“Where is he?” Ethan wanted to know.
“I told him, you know, that she isn’t home right now,” Amy said. “He asked if he could talk to you, so I suggested he wait outside by the pool. I was going to take him some coffee once I was done here with you.”
“Good idea.” Ethan gave the young woman the briefest of smiles and said, “Thank you, Amy. Go ahead and take him some coffee, but if he tries to start a conversation with you about . . . well, anything . . . excuse yourself. Tell him you’re in the middle of doing something important for me. Got it?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir, I do. I understand.” With another little half curtsy, she left the room.
No sooner had she closed the door than Savannah turned to Ethan and said, “Okay, Mr. Malloy. We have our coffee, and I’m delighted to say that we even have our cinnamon rolls. But as delicious as the refreshments look and smell, I don’t believe I was invited here today just to sip java and nibble pastries.”
Ethan sat quite still, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly as he stared down at the fine Aubusson rug at his feet.
Finally, he sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. Savannah noticed that he was gripping the armrests of the dainty chair like someone who had just boarded a roller coaster and was dreading the ride.
He looked up at Savannah, nodded, and said, “You’re absolutely right, Ms. Reid. When I called Ryan and John this morning, I told them that we might have a very serious situation here. We might need professional help. Or we might not. I don’t know.”
He wiped his hand over his face and rubbed his swollen eyes, then sighed wearily. “I was awake all night, trying to figure out what’s happened, or hasn’t happened, around here in the past twenty-four hours. It’s either something bad or something horrible. I’m going crazy wondering which it—”
He choked on his words as tears flooded his eyes, then rolled down his face.
Savannah leaned forward, reached out, and rested her hand on his forearm. She gave it a little squeeze, then a comforting pat. “Mr. Malloy, I’m here to help you. Please tell me what you think has happened.”
“Beth, my wife, is gone.”
“Gone? Gone, as in . . . ?”
“Disappeared. Her and my son. My baby boy.”
Instantly, Savannah thought of little Vanna Rose—tiny, sweet, and vulnerable. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Malloy. But I can tell you that, usually in these circumstances, there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation, and everything turns out just fine in the end.”
“That’s what I told myself all day yesterday and even last night,” he said, wiping his eyes on the hem of his T-shirt. “I told myself that at midnight and at one o’clock in the morning. But once the clock in the hallway chimed two, I knew she was in trouble. Yes, we had an argument yesterday morning. I’ll admit it was a bad one. The worst we’ve ever had. And she stormed out of, taking Freddy and Pilar with her.”
“Who is Pilar?”
“Pilar Padilla, our nanny.
”
Savannah pulled a small spiral tablet and pen from her purse and began to take notes. “What time was this?”
“Just after breakfast. Around nine-thirty, more or less.”
“When she ‘stormed out,’ did she say she was leaving you?”
“She said she was sick of me and my nonsense.” He shrugged and blushed. “But she says that a couple times a week, so I didn’t take it all that seriously.”
“Does she march off in a huff a couple times a week?”
“No. She only does that a couple of times a month.”
“You haven’t heard anything at all from her since she left?”
“Nothing. I’ve called her constantly since last night, and she didn’t answer. My texts either.”
“Is that unusual for her?”
“Yes. She usually answers my texts, if for no other reason than to tell me she’s still mad at me.”
“Did you try to contact Pilar?”
“Called her. Texted her. Phoned her parents’ house. They said they haven’t heard from her either. Nothing. It’s very out of character for her. They’re worried, too.”
“I’ll need the parents’ phone number.”
He found the number in his cell phone and gave it to her. She jotted it down.
“Did Beth take anything with her? A suitcase or overnight bag?”
“Just Freddy’s backpack. She always takes it with her when she goes out with him. I do, too. It has his toys and snacks. He loves mangos and blueberries and—”
Again, he was overcome and couldn’t continue speaking.
Savannah set her notebook and pen aside, and in a soft, gentle voice she said, “Ethan, I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you. I’m so sorry. How old is your little Freddy?”
“Twenty-one months. Nearly two. Maybe he’ll turn into a Terrible Two, like they say, after his second birthday. But since he was born, he’s always been the sweetest little guy, my little buddy. I can’t . . . I can’t stand it, I—”
He reached over and grasped her hand so tightly that it caused her fingers to ache. But she didn’t pull away.
“I can’t stand to think that she left me and took him away from me, too. And yet, I have to. I’ve got to hold on to the hope that’s what she did. Because if not, then it’s worse. Way worse. If she hasn’t actually left me, then she’s out there somewhere, unable to contact me. If that’s the case . . .”
“No, no, Ethan. Try not to go there. Not yet. My granny’s a wise woman, and she always says, ‘Don’t suffer a misfortune that hasn’t befallen you yet. Most folks have their hands full just handlin’ the bad luck they’ve already got.’”
“That’s good advice, but when it’s your family, it’s not that easy.”
“I know. But you said that you and your wife had the worst argument of your marriage, right? Then she stomped out.”
“Yes. She slammed the door so hard, I’m surprised it’s still on its hinges.”
“Then she might just be cooling her heels somewhere in a nice hotel, letting you stew in your own soup, so to speak. She wouldn’t be the first wife to do that sort of thing. Husband either, for that matter.”
He considered her words, then shook his head. “No. Before Freddy was born, she might have. But not now that we’re parents. Things haven’t been good between us for a while, but she’s a great mom. She knows how much that little guy loves me and how much he means to me. She has to know that I’m worried sick.”
Savannah searched her mind for an argument, but couldn’t find one that she thought he’d believe. She just nodded and said, “I see.”
“I do believe,” Ethan said, “that if Beth could have checked in with me last night, she would have. That’s why I’m so worried. . . about all three of them.”
Savannah hated to admit it, but she believed he was probably right. He knew his wife far better than she. In her experience, those closest to a missing person often made accurate predictions about what had happened to them. The experts on any given person were usually the ones who lived with them—if they were honest.
As Savannah studied those world-famous pale blue eyes, she saw a depth of sincerity that convinced her. Convinced and alarmed her.
What’s more frightening than a woman who’s inexplicably absent from her home for twenty-four hours without contacting her next of kin? Savannah asked herself. A woman who’s with a second woman who’s’s also missing. Even if Beth had chosen to remain out of touch, Pilar should have checked in with her parents.
“I wish I could tell you with all certainty that your family’s all right,” she told him. “But I can’t. I won’t lie to you.”
“I appreciate that,” he assured her.
She could see a level of trust in his eyes, and for a moment, the enormity of the situation struck her. Ethan Malloy was placing in her hands the most serious situation of his life.
He was the envy of the world, living in his castle, high above the ocean fogs. The recipient of so much love and adoration, receiving millions of dollars every time he signed a new contract.
Who wouldn’t want to be Ethan Malloy?
But, sitting there on the wealthy, successful, beloved actor’s antique settee with its beautiful hand-stitched forest scene—a piece of furniture that probably cost more than everything she owned—Savannah wouldn’t have traded her life for his.
What did fame and fortune mean, when those you loved most in the world were missing?
Chapter 5
Once Savannah was back in her car and headed north on Pacific Coast Highway toward San Carmelita, she used the new car speakerphone, which Waycross had given to her and installed for her birthday, to call home.
To her surprise, it was her assistant, not her husband, who answered.
“Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency,” Tammy said, employing her breathiest office voice. “May I help you?” Then she must have looked at the caller ID, because she added in a far less sexy tone, “Oh, hi, Savannah. It’s just you.”
“Yes,” Savannah replied, “but why is it you? Aren’t you supposed to be home, getting ready for your parents’ arrival? They should be showing up with bells on in a couple of hours, right?”
Tammy laughed. Slightly. “They aren’t exactly the ‘rings on their fingers and bells on their toes’ type. Mom will probably be wearing one ring on each hand and a Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress. She’s been into those ever since I’ve known her. You know, like my whole life.”
“It’s a good look, if you have the figure for it.”
“Oh, Mother has the figure, all right. I don’t think she’s gained or lost a pound since the day she married Dad.”
Savannah couldn’t even imagine weighing the same, decade after decade. Having spent most of her twenties and thirties yo-yo dieting, she had celebrated her fortieth birthday by abandoning the counterproductive practice and deciding to love herself whatever the scale might register. As a result, her weight had stabilized at a number that was greater than society might like, but one that she had initially accepted and eventually embraced.
Now that number shifted only a bit, one direction or the other, in the course of a year. There would be an uptick around the holidays with goodies like Savannah’s famous fudge and Granny’s divinity in ample supply in the Reid household.
A week of winter flu would usually offset the gain come January.
Overall, it wasn’t something Savannah thought about a great deal. Or even a little.
Until she was in the company of someone like Tammy’s mother.
She had to admit she wasn’t looking forward to meeting Dr. Lenora Hart.
Apparently, neither was Lenora’s daughter, because the next thing Tammy said was, “I was going crazy waiting there at home, trying to find one more thing to clean, trying to create space in my closet to hide all the stuff that I know my mom would disapprove of. Waycross told me I should get out of the house. So, I decided to come over here and do something that would occupy my mind befor
e I go completely dingy.”
“Oh, sweetie. Every day of the year, your home is clean and cozy and comfortable. It’s absolutely lovely, like you.”
“But my living room drapes are polyester.”
“And so . . . ?”
“Mother’s big on natural fabrics. And my kitchen table—”
“Is oak. Does she have a problem with oak?”
“It’s veneer, not solid oak.”
“Oh, Lordy, and to think I’ve eaten on it!”
Savannah heard a tiny giggle on the other end. Mission semi-accomplished.
“I can see why you needed an escape. Wanna help me out with this new case?”
“Oh, yes! More than life itself. What do you need?”
“I need you to do some background checks. But when I say that this case is top-secret, confidential, and hush-hush, I’m not just being redundant and repetitive. Nobody outside of the Moonlight Magnolia Regulars can hear a word about this. Got it?”
“Got it!”
“Good. You’ve heard of the actor Ethan Malloy?”
“Heard of Ethan Malloy? Heard of him?” She sighed. “Just between you and me, and not a word to your brother, I’ve been stranded on a desert island with Ethan Malloy. I’ve been a female pirate taken prisoner by Captain Malloy, held belowdecks in his private quarters and—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Savannah laughed. “Haven’t we all. I need everything you can get on him, and I don’t mean the tabloid junk either. Real life stuff. And on his wife, Beth. Also on their nanny. Her name is Pilar Padilla.”
“We’re working for him? Ethan Malloy is our client?”
“Sadly, he is. His wife, his two-year-old boy, Freddy, and Pilar are all three missing and have been for over twenty-four hours now.”
Savannah heard Tammy gasp, then say, “That’s horrible! Has he reported this to the police?”
“I told him he should, and he probably will soon. By hiring us, he was trying to avoid the publicity. Seems she and he had an argument, and she stormed out, taking the little boy and nanny with her. He doesn’t want the tabloids to catch wind of it.”
“I can certainly understand that. They’d make a huge deal out of it, even if it isn’t a big deal at all.”
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