“How does my mother fit into this?” she asked. “She’s a cheating spouse, but she left Dad twelve years ago. Why punish her now?”
Apparently, West had been contemplating the same thing. He had a ready answer, a theory that made sense. “Yvonne is about the right age to have known the killer when he was younger, to have been his lover. Maybe she’s the woman he blames, the one who ruined his marriage. Maybe she’s the key to all of this.”
“Are you sure the Slasher is Indian?”
“In my opinion? Yes. That’s why his victims trust him, why they invite him into their homes. And that’s why he blended in on the reservation when he went after Denise.” West opened his briefcase and slipped the photographs inside, putting her mother’s picture on top. “For the most part, his crime scenes reflect organization, but he takes risks, too. Most organized killers hide the bodies, transporting their victims somewhere else. But he leaves them at the scene.”
“He has witchcraft on his side,” Olivia said.
West agreed. “He’s masking evidence, making things disappear, changing chemical compounds. He contaminated his own DNA. In that regard, we don’t have squat.” He blew out a rough breath. “I’m going to need a list of names from you. Friends, family, old acquaintances. Anyone who knew your mother. Anyone who might be associated with the killer.”
“I’ll give it to Muncy,” Olivia told him.
“What’s wrong with giving it to me?”
“You’re going out of town tomorrow.” And she didn’t want to tell him about Glenn. Not yet. She wanted to talk to Glenn by herself, to grill her father’s old friend about the secret he was keeping.
“This is important, Olivia.”
She bristled. “You don’t think I know that?”
His tone softened. “Of course you do. I’m sorry. Is it possible that your vision was a premonition? Something that hasn’t happened yet?”
“And my mother is still alive?” She glanced at Allie, saw the hope in her sister’s eyes. “I don’t think so. She feels dead to me.”
“She’s been gone for twelve years,” he countered. “Maybe she’s been dead to you for a long time.”
Olivia shook her head, refusing to let him twist her words. “I already told you, Allie and I didn’t wish this upon her.”
“Fine. Do you want me to stick around today?” he asked. “I can spend the night, if you want. Crash on the couch.”
And do what? she wondered. Play the hero? Slay a dragon? Did he forget that he was in danger, too? That she’d sensed his death? “We’ll be fine.”
“Promise,” he said.
She nodded. “Promise.”
Five minutes later she and Allie walked him to the door. Allie reached out to hug him, and he accepted her affection, treating her with gentleness and care.
Afterward, he gave Olivia an anticipatory look. Was he waiting for her to throw her arms around him, too? She stepped back, away from him. He frowned, said goodbye and disappeared into the downpour.
When Olivia turned to look at Allie, her sister was staring at her, upset that she hadn’t agreed to let West sleep on the couch.
Interrogating Glenn would have to wait, Olivia thought. It was time to teach Allie that they didn’t need a man to keep them safe.
Chapter 6
Kyle’s basement had been converted into a gym equipped with free weights, an upright bike, a punching bag and a treadmill. Another portion of the room housed sparring mats. The floor was swept clean, unlike the rest of his house.
Olivia watched the scene before her. She’d told Kyle about their mom, and he’d agreed to train Allie, to teach her how to defend herself.
So far it wasn’t going well.
Allie stood with her arms crossed, frowning at Kyle. Instead of changing into workout gear, she wore the same garb she’d had on earlier: a long, flowing dress, a scarf tied around her waist, earrings the size of the solar system. Her hair was fashioned in a single braid, the end wrapped in a leather ornament and decorated with beads.
Kyle studied her as if she were a lost cause. “She’s an attack waiting to happen.”
Allie snorted at him. “I am not.”
“Oh, yeah?” He moved closer, then reached around to tug her braid. “Did you know that in America a woman is raped every two minutes? And did you know the first thing most rapists look for in a potential victim is hairstyle? A way to grab her.” He yanked her head back and her eyes went wide. “A ponytail, a bun, a braid. And do know the second thing they look for?” Once again, he answered his own question. “Clothes that are easy to remove. Some men carry scissors to cut pretty dresses off girls like you.”
“That hurts!” she yelped, when he pulled her hair a little harder.
“Cry baby.” Kyle released her and stepped back.
Allie spun around to glare at her sister. “I can’t believe you let him do that to me. Especially now. Especially after everything that’s happened.”
Olivia didn’t say anything. Not a word. She had no idea what Kyle would do next. And neither did Allie. Yet her sister wasn’t paying any attention to him.
Lack of awareness. Mistake number one. Allie was blowing it.
He circled her like a vulture. “I always thought you had a sweet little ass.” He lowered his voice. “Addle-brained Allie. I’ll bet you’re a hot lay.”
She made a disgusted face. “Screw you, Kyle.”
“That’s exactly what I had in mind.” He lunged, pinning her against the wall. She didn’t have time to blink, to draw her next breath.
Olivia waited, watching, praying he wouldn’t take it too far. He was already half-naked, his chest bare, his standard-gray sweatpants slung low on his hips. He outweighed Allie by at least eighty pounds.
But size didn’t matter. The Slasher was a slightly built man.
With a knife.
Suddenly Olivia saw the blade in Kyle’s hand. Allie didn’t see it until he held it to her throat. The color drained from her face. Her legs went visibly weak.
“Stop it,” she said. “This isn’t funny.”
“Who’s laughing?” Kyle made a malicious sound. “Should I cut you, Allie? Should I slice you up? The way the killer did to your mama?”
Olivia wanted to pound him into the ground. But she didn’t. His weapon was a prop. A toy. A piece of rubber that nearly folded against Allie’s flesh.
Her sister was too scared to know the difference.
Kyle ended the attack as abruptly as it had begun. He moved away from his victim and waved the knife. It wobbled like a dildo.
When he grinned, Allie went insane. “You bastard! You son of a bitch!”
She came at him full throttle, slamming her fists into his chest. He didn’t stop her. He just stood there, six feet four inches of testosterone, allowing a 120-pound girl to pummel him. Allie kept hitting the same area, over and over, trying to bruise him. But that was what he was trying to provoke.
Anger, adrenaline.
Finally he subdued her. “This is called a wrist grab.” He clamped his meaty hands around her wrists. “And this—” he turned her like a top, wrapping his arm around her neck, forcing her to bend forward “—is a headlock.” He paused, gripped a little tighter. “Now do something about it.”
She was trapped beneath his armpit, wrinkling her nose. “You have BO.”
He cursed. “I said do something about it.”
“Do what?” she creaked. “Find you some deodorant?”
Olivia wondered if her sister really was a lost cause. But Allie redeemed herself. She put her arm around Kyle’s waist, turned her face into his body and bit him like a junkyard dog.
The resident rottweiler would be proud.
But Allie didn’t stop there. In the midst of the bite, she dropped her free hand and slammed him with all her strength, right between his legs.
Kyle didn’t go down. He didn’t even flinch. He was wearing a cup, protecting his favorite body part. Infuriated, she bit him even harder, nearly te
aring off a piece of his skin.
“Damn.” He released her from the headlock. “Not bad, Addle-brain. You’ve got good instincts.”
She spat his blood on the floor, aiming for his feet. “I nearly broke my hand on your armor.”
“Yeah, but look.” Kyle turned to expose his wound. “You did a number on me.” A second later he raised his shoulder and buried his nose in his own hairy armpit. “Do I really have BO?”
Allie sighed, questioning her sister’s sanity. “You actually slept with this guy?”
What could Olivia say? That he was great in bed? Allie probably wouldn’t believe her. Kyle was sniffing his other armpit now. She shook her head. “Go bandage your bite.”
“What?” He glanced up. “Oh, yeah. I’ll be right back. Lucky for Allie I don’t have any diseases or anything.”
As he sauntered over to a cabinet in the corner, Allie wiped her mouth. “I told you he was dumb.”
“I heard that.” He returned with an oversize Band-Aid slapped on his muscle-bound body. But not just any Band-Aid. It had SpongeBob Squarepants on it. “Ready to continue the lesson?”
“Fine.” Allie gave in. Apparently any man who watched cartoons deserved a few minutes of her time. “What’s next?”
“How to make a proper fist. You hit like a girl.”
“I am a girl.”
“Yeah, with a sweet ass.”
Her fist shot out.
He shook his head, made some corrections, explained what she was doing wrong. Allie fell into the rhythm. She even looked eager to punch him again.
Olivia relaxed a little. But just a little. There was still a killer out there. And her little sister was a long way from fending off a real attack.
Glenn Sabolich lived in a Spanish-style estate in the Hollywood Hills that presented arched doors and cove ceilings. Elaborate tiled floors and period lighting gave the entryway a touch of Old Hollywood.
Olivia had been here thousands of times. It was her home away from home, a place that made her feel safe.
Until now.
On her way to Glenn’s house, she’d glanced up at the Hollywood sign, the larger-than-life letters, the global symbol that represented the glitz and glamour of the entertainment industry.
When she was a child, her father used to talk about Peg Entwistle, a depressed starlet who, in 1932, had climbed the top of the infamous H and plunged to her death.
Supposedly her ghost still haunted the area. Eyewitnesses, including a Griffith Park ranger, had claimed to see her, walking in a daze. She normally made her presence known at night, especially when it was foggy and always in the vicinity of the sign, which at the time of Peg’s suicide had read Hollywoodland.
As Glenn reached out to hug Olivia, to welcome her into his home, she closed her eyes.
No wonder her father had been fascinated by Peg Entwistle. Hollywoodland had stolen both of their souls.
When Olivia opened her eyes, Glenn was looking at her. Their faces were only inches apart. She stepped back, recalling how close this man had been to her dad.
Yet he was keeping a secret about her family.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
For a moment she couldn’t seem to find her voice. She’d told Glenn over the phone about her mother. She’d explained that she’d seen Yvonne’s body in a vision, and he believed her. He trusted her ability. He always had.
He escorted her into his living room, where diamond-paned windows reflected Gothic light, remnants of another rainy day. Allie’s paintings, along with other up-and-coming artists, graced the walls. An enormous display of silk gardenias sat on an ornately carved table.
Peg Entwistle’s ghost was associated with the scent of gardenias, but Glenn had never seemed interested in her tragic story. The 1930s starlet had been her dad’s obsession.
These days, alarm systems incorporated with motion detectors protected the Hollywood sign, keeping vandals away. As well as potential suicides who wanted to mimic Peg’s desperate leap.
Olivia sat across from Glenn on beige-toned furniture. His housekeeper, a middle-aged Mexican woman who spoke broken English, brought them hot tea and finger sandwiches.
“I’m worried about you and Allie,” he said, after his loyal employee left the room.
“We’re being careful.” Olivia reached for her drink. He watched her with a paternal expression. “I’m supposed to give the police a list of everyone who knew my mother. And that includes you.”
He shifted in his chair. “They’re treating your vision like a homicide?”
“They’re going to investigate, to see if anything turns up on Mom. But it’s not an official homicide. Not yet.” She wasn’t hungry, but she lifted a sandwich off her plate and took a bite. She knew she needed fuel, energy to keep going. “I’m going to do my damnedest to prove that my vision was real. To find out who killed her.”
“I’ll help you, any way I can.”
Would he? At this point she wasn’t so sure.
And on top of that, he didn’t look well. Although he was a trim, relatively attractive man, his skin seemed fairer than usual, his blue eyes fading into a watery hue.
“Do you have any idea who Mom ran off with?” she asked.
“No. But I knew it wasn’t her first affair. Yvonne had been cheating for years.”
Olivia glanced at the silk gardenias. The white spray of flowers seemed virginal, much too delicate for their conversation. “How did you know?”
“All the signs were there. If Joseph hadn’t loved her so damned much, he would have known, too. He would have seen through her.” Glenn released an audible sigh. “I even confronted her about it. I accused her of taking advantage of Joseph. I was trying to be a good friend, to protect him.”
Olivia kept firing questions at him. But what else could she do? They were talking about her family, about her mother’s promiscuity, about events that had probably led to her murder. “Did she admit the truth to you?”
“Yes.”
“But you never told my dad?”
“No. Never. I couldn’t bear to break his heart.”
“Is that your secret? Is that what you’re so guilty about?”
He caught his breath.
“Is it?” she pressed.
He finally took a sip of his tea, using it as a diversion. She could feel his nerves skittering through his veins, pounding beneath his skin.
“Answer me.”
When he replaced his cup on the end table, his hand shook. Mired in anxiety, he fumbled for a cigarette, even though he’d quit smoking over a year ago. She watched him pat down his shirt, tugging at his empty pocket.
Suddenly a blast of betrayal ripped through her, spinning like a tornado.
Oh, God. Dear God.
She shook her head, but she couldn’t dispel Glenn’s sin. Olivia knew. She could feel what he’d done. “You slept with her. You slept with my mother.”
For a moment, for one guilt-ridden instant, he almost denied it. But then he looked at her and saw that she couldn’t be fooled.
“Yes,” he whispered, his admission raking across his throat, making his voice crack. “I had an affair with my best friend’s wife.”
Olivia wanted to rip his heart out, to bury it in the dirt and stomp on it until it quit beating. “How could you do that to him?” She clenched her fists. “To me? To Allie?”
“I invited Yvonne over to discuss her marriage, to convince her to stop cheating on Joseph, and—”
“And what? She seduced you?”
“You have no idea how persuasive she was. You don’t know how hard I tried to resist her.”
Yeah, right. “Am I supposed to see you as some sort of victim? The poor helpless male who couldn’t keep his pants zipped?”
“Your mother practiced witchcraft. Black magic. And she used it on me. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true.”
“Prove it,” she said, refusing to buy his story. He was aware of the witchcraft elements in t
he Slasher case. She’d discussed it with him months ago, admitting that it was the most difficult investigation she’d ever been involved in.
Once again he searched for a nonexistent cigarette, opening a crystal trinket box on the coffee table. “She belonged to a coven. I can give you the high priest’s name. He was one of her lovers.”
“Fine. Give me his name.”
He closed the box. “Derek Moon.”
Olivia blinked. “The producer?” The well-respected mogul who backed some of the biggest films in Hollywood? Wholesome movies, she thought. Family flicks. “He’s into black magic?”
“Yes, but be careful around him. He has powers beyond your comprehension.”
“Nothing is beyond my comprehension.” She came to her feet, gave him a traitorous look. “Not anymore.”
“I’m sorry.” He stood, too. But his shoulders were hunched. “I never meant to sleep with her.”
“Did Mary find out about your affair?” she asked, questioning him about his ex-wife. “Is that why she divorced you?”
He nodded. “She walked in on us, on Yvonne and me.” He made a pained face. “Mary was distraught. She didn’t yell. She didn’t scream and call us names. She just closed the bedroom door and burst into tears.”
“And what did you do?”
He met her gaze, his eyes turning glassy. “I finished making love to your mother. Don’t you see? Yvonne was like a drug, an addiction I couldn’t control.”
She reached for her purse and slung it over her shoulder, hating him, hating his words. “How long did your affair last?”
“A few months. Then she got tired of me. She broke the spell. She let me go.”
“And my father never found out? Mary never told him?”
“No. She was worried that it would cause a scandal. That Joseph would come unglued. She didn’t want to look like a fool among her friends, to encourage them to gossip about all of us. You know how this town loves that kind of thing. How they look for the worst in everyone.”
But not my father, she thought. He’d always trusted the people he loved. “Don’t leave town. I’m sure the police are going to want to talk to you.”
Always Look Twice Page 7
