Always Look Twice

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  With that she turned and walked away. She needed to see Allie, to confide in her little sister.

  Samantha sat on the kitchen counter, toying with a conversation heart, batting the candy with her paw.

  “I don’t think Glenn is lying.” Allie bustled around, making a pan of black-bean lasagna rolls.

  Olivia simply looked at her. She’d expected support from her sister, not contradiction. “You believe that cockamamie story of his?”

  “Why not?” The younger woman spread a dollop of ricotta cheese over one side of a noodle, then added a spoonful of the canned beans, rolling the vegetarian concoction. “Mom was selfish enough to use witchcraft as a sexual tool. She thrived on attention. Remember how jealous she used to get whenever your powers out-shone hers?”

  “Being psychic isn’t the same as being a black magic witch.”

  “Glenn loves us, Olivia. He loved Dad, and he loved Mary. He had a good marriage and then it just fell apart. What other explanation can there be?”

  “You’re so naive.”

  “Naive? Believing that our mother was a witch?” She made another lasagna roll. “What Glenn did makes me sick. But think about it? He’s the one who stuck by us. Mom ran off and Dad killed himself. In the end, there was only Glenn.”

  “He could be the Slasher, Allie.”

  Her sister dropped the spoon. It clanked to the floor, rattling on the linoleum. Samantha darted off like a scaredy-cat. The conversation heart she’d been playing with spun in a pink circle.

  Olivia reached for it, read the Page Me inscription. Page whom? Her dead father? No, of course not. That made no sense.

  “Glenn isn’t a killer.” Allie finally went after the spoon, dumping it in the sink. “Your imagination is working overtime.”

  “He fits the profile.” Olivia replaced the heart. The candy company had updated their messages to fit the changing times: Page Me, Fax Me, E-mail Me. It didn’t mean a thing, other than kids were more sophisticated these days. “Glenn is around the age of the killer. He’s Mom’s former lover. He probably blames her for destroying his marriage.”

  “Glenn doesn’t have any supernatural powers.”

  “How would you know? Have you discussed it with him?”

  Once again Allie protested. “That’s crazy. Besides, he’s white. Blond and blue-eyed. West said the Slasher is Indian.”

  “West could be wrong.”

  “He’s too good at what he does to make mistakes.”

  “Now you’re really being naive.”

  The sisters squared off, glaring at each other. But they used to argue like this when they were children. Of course, those disagreements had been silly. They hadn’t been fighting about killers, witches and FBI agents.

  Allie thrust her hands on her hips. “You should page West. You should tell him what’s going on.”

  Olivia frowned. Page Me. “I’ll talk to him when he gets back. Besides, I don’t have his number.”

  Her sister stuck her nose in the air. “I do. He gave it to me before he left.”

  “When?”

  “He slipped his card in my belt when I hugged him that night.”

  “Well, bully for you.”

  “He knows I’m smart enough to contact him. Unlike you.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. “He probably thinks you’re a baby who needs protection.”

  “And he probably thinks you’re a bitch. Just like Mom.”

  Suddenly they both fell silent. Sometimes Yvonne used to pit her daughters against each other. She used to instigate their arguments, taking sides when it suited her. She enjoyed having the chosen one follow her around like a kitten, fawning over her like Mommy’s pet.

  “I’m sorry,” Allie said. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “It’s okay. We’re both under a lot of stress.”

  Her sister glanced out the window. “I wish it would stop raining.”

  “Me, too.” She knew what Allie was thinking. Their mother was making it rain. Even dead, Yvonne had the power to control the weather. “Maybe she was a witch.”

  “Does this mean you’re going to stop suspecting Glenn of being a killer?”

  “No.”

  “But he’s always been so gentle, so giving.” Allie took a clean spoon out of the drawer and went back to her lasagna rolls. “Can you honestly see him slicing up those women? It just doesn’t fit.”

  “Look at Ted Bundy. On the outside, he was handsome and charming and intelligent. But do you know how many women he killed? His last victim was twelve years old.”

  Allie shuddered. “What about this Derek Moon guy Glenn mentioned? Are you going to tell the police about him?”

  “Yes, but first I want to meet him.” To delve into his lifestyle, she thought. To see if Glenn was telling the truth, if the G-rated filmmaker really was one of her mother’s former lovers.

  As well as the high priest of a dark and dangerous coven.

  Chapter 7

  The following day, Olivia entered the reception area of Moon Dust Entertainment. Plush carpeting, potted palms and glass-topped tables lent the room an airy quality. A floor-to-ceiling, fifth-floor view of Wilshire Boulevard reminded her that this was L.A., the city of angels.

  Or demons, she thought.

  She approached the front desk, and the receptionist, a thirtysomething redhead in a taupe dress and gold-toned jewelry, glanced up. “May I help you?”

  “I’m Olivia Whirlwind. I have a two o’clock appointment with Mr. Moon.”

  “He’s running a little late this afternoon. Have a seat and I’ll let you know when he’s available.” The other woman gave her a professional smile. “It shouldn’t be too long.”

  “Thank you.” Olivia sat in a rattan chair and picked up a magazine. Artfully framed movie posters lined the walls, boasting the production company’s accomplishments.

  Her appointment with Derek Moon had been far too easy to arrange, which meant he was as curious about her as she was about him. A sure-fire sign that he had been acquainted with her mother.

  Olivia had dressed carefully for this meeting, choosing a long black dress with leather laces, strips that crisscrossed down the sides of the garment, exposing just a hint of leg. As usual she wore crimson lipstick and smoky black eyeliner.

  She wasn’t about to change her image for Moon. She wanted to see his reaction to her sex-and-roses look. She’d even added a pair of lace gauntlets for effect, painting her nails a wicked shade of red.

  Anxious, she paged through a trade magazine.

  Ten minutes later the receptionist introduced her to Moon’s private secretary, a young man in a pinstripe suit and fake-bake tan. He led her down a well-lit corridor, where they passed a string of offices equipped with picture windows and chic employees.

  Finally they reached the king’s quarters. After Moon’s secretary escorted her into his boss’s office, he departed, leaving her alone with the film-industry mogul.

  Derek Moon came right to his feet. Much like Glenn, he appeared to be the estimated height and weight of the killer, around five-ten with a slight build. Well dressed and attractive for man in his fifties, he wore his wavy brown hair neatly trimmed and peppered with gray.

  “I’m Derek.”

  She extended her hand. “And I’m Olivia.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His hazel eyes all but sparkled. And on top of that, he had a gorgeous smile. But a man in his position could afford cosmetic dentistry.

  A beat of silence ensued, then he said, “You’re as stunning as your mother.”

  Surprised, she feigned a polite reaction. She hadn’t been prepared for him to mention her mom, at least not so easily. “Thank you.”

  He guided her to an elegant sitting area, offering her a spot on his overstuffed sofa.

  “How is Yvonne?” he asked. “I haven’t seen her in ages. Not since before she left your father.” He paused. “I’m sorry about Joseph. I sent flowers to his funeral, but you already know that.”


  Once again Olivia was caught off guard. She didn’t recall a bouquet from him. But Glenn had handled most of the details, writing thank-you notes for her and Allie. “I wasn’t aware that you knew my father.”

  “He and your mother attended a few parties at my home. Yvonne and my ex-wife were friends, but only for a short while.”

  “So that’s how you’re familiar with my mom?”

  “Yes. Would you like a beverage? A soft drink? Juice? Maybe a glass of wine?”

  She asked for orange juice and watched him pour her a tall glass. For himself, he prepared club soda with a twist of lime. His office presented a fully stocked bar.

  He sat across from her, with a small coffee table between them. “Are you interested in being in the movies, Olivia? Is that why you came to see me?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not an actress.”

  “Then what is it I can do for you?”

  She sipped her juice. “Tell me about my mother. Everything you recall about her.”

  He frowned at a piece of lint on his suit, brushing it away. He’d yet to touch his drink. “Why?”

  “Because I have reason to believe that she’s dead. That something tragic happened to her. And I’m trying to piece together her past.”

  “Do you think she was murdered?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath. “Yes. I think she was stabbed.”

  His eyes widened. “Like those Indian women in the news?” He leaned back in his chair, then made a steeple out of his hands, pressing his fingers together, tapping his chin. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m not surprised that Yvonne met with a violent death. When I was acquainted with her, she didn’t lead a very wholesome life.”

  “I know. I’m aware of her affairs.”

  “And the negative magic?”

  Her heartbeat blasted her chest. “Yes. Glenn Sabolich told me.”

  “Did he?” Derek dusted his jacket again. “I can only imagine what else he said. Quite truthfully, I don’t have time to discuss this right now. Why don’t you have dinner with me this evening? At my home.” He met her gaze. “No hanky-panky. Just a meal.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you to seduce me.”

  He reached for his club soda. “Most young women in this town expect old guys like me to be lecherous.”

  She tilted her head. Derek Moon was difficult to read. She wasn’t able to feel his emotions, to gauge his sincerity. “I’m not most women.”

  “Not in that dress.” He gave her a teasing smile, flashing those dazzling teeth, finally acknowledging her naughty attire. “So, will you have dinner with an old man?”

  She wasn’t about to turn him down. She suspected he would give her an earful tonight, telling her his side of Glenn’s story. At this point she didn’t know whom to trust. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Good. I live in Beverly Hills. I know, it’s a cliché, but it comes with the territory.” He crossed to his desk and retrieved a business card, then wrote his address on the back. “There’s a security gate. Just press the intercom and tell the guard who you are. Would eight o’clock be all right?”

  She accepted his card. “That’s fine.”

  He walked her to the door, and they lingered for a moment. Was he a black magic witch? The leader of a coven?

  Silent, she studied his card, intrigued by the Moon Dust logo, the silver glitter sprinkled across a pitch-black sky.

  At seven-thirty, Olivia stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, putting the final touches on her appearance. She’d chosen a short white dress, rhinestone jewelry and a studded black belt.

  “I can’t believe you’re going to his house.” This came from Allie, who lounged on the bed in a pair of blue sweats and fuzzy slippers.

  Olivia reached for her holster and clipped it to her belt. She wanted her Glock to be visible tonight. She wanted Derek Moon to know she was armed. “I don’t have much of a choice, Allie. I need to get inside this guy’s head. And I want to hear what he has to say.”

  “I’m going to page West and tell him you’re going out with a witch.”

  Good grief. Her sister was obsessed with telling Agent West every little thing that went on. “I’m not hiding anything from him. Or Muncy and Riggs for that matter. I plan to give all of them a full report.”

  “Yeah. After the fact.” Allie crossed her legs, sitting like a movie Indian chief. “What if Moon puts a spell on you?”

  “He wouldn’t dare.”

  “Right. Because you’re so tough. You and your gun.” The younger woman jumped off the bed to adjust Olivia’s belt, angling it just so. “Shoot him if he tries anything.”

  She met her sister’s gaze in the mirror. “I love you, Allie.”

  “I love you, too.”

  For a moment they simply looked at each other, recalling their youth, the games they used to play, the Barbie dolls they used to dress up, the secrets only girls could share.

  “He might not be a witch,” Olivia said. “Let alone a high priest. Glenn could be lying.”

  Allie frowned at their reflections. “Glenn isn’t the bad guy. He isn’t the killer.”

  Then who is? Olivia wondered, as she drove to Derek Moon’s house. Who’d slashed their mother? Who’d sliced up those other women? She wasn’t convinced that Glenn was innocent, and Allie’s blind-faith belief in him only made those bloody images even more vivid. More gruesome.

  She headed west on Sunset Boulevard, following the winding portions of the road and passing the Beverly Hills Hotel.

  Derek lived on a well-known, map-to-the-stars street. But that, she supposed, was part of his cliché, a movie-industry luxury he thrived on.

  She stopped at the security gate and announced her arrival. After she was granted entrance, she parked in a circular driveway, taking in her surroundings. The Tudor-style mansion didn’t look the least bit dangerous. But Olivia had never allowed glamorous things to deceive her.

  Derek met her at the door. He smiled, flashing his pretty white teeth. “Look at you,” he said, glancing at the gun on her hip.

  She was fashionably late, but he didn’t seem to mind. “A girl can’t be too careful these days.”

  He invited her into his home. “So I gather.”

  Olivia glanced around, saw the trappings of wealth: elegant furniture, crystal chandeliers, a sweeping staircase. She suspected he had a pool dazzling with tea lights, a fountain that spilled into a hot tub.

  He escorted her into a formal dining room, where a bay window presented a mazelike view of his garden. Flowers bloomed at every turn, greenery flourished in mysterious patterns.

  “Impressed?” he asked.

  She shrugged, which only made him smile. He liked showing off his teeth.

  He offered her a chair. The table was set with gilded glassware, a tall orange candle and a bottle of California wine. An enormous painting of a satyr presided over the room. The mythological creature, half man and half goat, danced to a tune only he could hear.

  Derek caught her looking at it. “I collect fantasy art.” He sat across from her. “Speaking of which…your sister is very talented. I’ve been following her work.”

  A chill crept up Olivia’s spine. She didn’t want him buying any of Allie’s paintings. “That isn’t her style.”

  He poured the wine. “No. I suppose not. The satyr symbolizes sexual energy.”

  And the color of the candle he’d chosen represents attraction, she thought. Physical stimulation.

  A moment later, a member of his household staff served the first course, then left them alone, closing the double doors that secured the dining area.

  Olivia tasted her salad. “I heard you were a high priest. And that my mother was part of your coven.” She paused, hoping to get a reading on him. “Is that true?”

  “Yes, it is.” He skewered a cherry tomato, stabbing it with his fork. “But I’m a good witch.”

  “Like Glinda?”

  He laughed. “That’s one way of looking
at it. Are you familiar with white magic?”

  She knew enough to explain the concept. “It’s a form of witchcraft used to maintain the delicate balances that exist in the world. White magic practitioners won’t cast a spell if it will cause harm or take away someone’s free will.”

  He sipped his wine, made a grand gesture. “See? A good witch.”

  “And let me guess? My mother was a bad witch.”

  He drank more wine. “Yvonne was obsessed with self-gratification, in using her magic in negative ways. If someone got in her way, she would make that person ill. Of course, I didn’t know that when I first met her. She charmed my wife and me.” He tilted his head. “I’m surprised that you weren’t aware of her craft. That she practiced black magic. You’re her daughter after all.”

  “Why would I if she was hiding it?”

  “Because Yvonne’s craft came from her ancestry. All of the women in her family used their supernatural abilities in harmful ways.” He studied his fork. “I believe the Chiricahua refer to these kinds of powers as enti.”

  Olivia couldn’t think of anything to say. Did he speak the truth? Were her female ancestors evil? She’d never met her mother’s family. As far as she knew, they were dead.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.” She took a sip of her water, dousing her discomfort. “Tell me about your ex-wife.”

  “Beth?” He finished his salad, then dipped his garlic bread into the vinaigrette dressing. “She’s beautiful. Classy. Everything a man could hope for.”

  Olivia remained silent, watching Derek instead.

  “Beth was interested in fashion,” he said. “So I bought her a boutique on Melrose. It kept her busy.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “Five years. I loved her. I truly did.” He sighed, nearly blowing out the candle. “But Yvonne ruined it for us. She was determined to destroy our marriage.”

  Before she could comment, their server knocked on the double doors, announcing the next course, which included grilled seafood and quinoa-fennel pilaf.