Zack opened the back door for Trina, then slipped into the front. She gave me her address, on Selma.
“I’ll drive around in case someone’s following us,” I said. The words sounded ridiculous to my ears.
I drove to Vine, then to Sunset, then back up to Hollywood and the address on Selma.
I circled the block slowly. Zack didn’t see anyone lurking near Trina’s two-story building, so I parked. He took a flashlight from the glove compartment and told us to wait while he made sure no one was in the apartment.
“I don’t want you going in there,” I said, but he was already sprinting up the walkway to the front door. A moment later he was inside.
I had many questions for Trina and exercised great effort not to ask them. I didn’t know what she was thinking. We waited in silence for Zack to return, which took about five minutes but felt considerably longer.
“All clear.” He handed me the flashlight. “Molly, go with Trina. I’ll watch from here. Make it fast. Don’t turn on any lights.”
I put my phone on vibrate mode and told Trina to do the same with hers.
Inside the apartment, I shut the door behind us and switched on the flashlight. We were in the living room.
“That bastard!” Her face was pinched with anger and fear.
Even with only the light of the narrow beam, I could see that someone had done a thorough job of ransacking the place. The sofa had been overturned, its underside and cushions ripped. The backings of several framed posters had been slashed. The contents of the wood-tone TV stand—DVDs and videocassettes—were on the floor.
“I need stuff from my bedroom,” Trina said.
I handed her the flashlight and followed her down a short, narrow hall. Her mattress had suffered the same fate as her sofa, and the contents of all six drawers of her dresser had been emptied onto the carpeted floor.
She gave me the flashlight. I focused it on mounds of clothing, which she pawed through. She stuffed a pair of sweats, underwear, and sweaters into a suitcase she dragged out from the closet, then added slacks and two pairs of shoes.
The contents of her medicine cabinet had been dumped onto the tile floor. Trina took a makeup bag and a vial of sleeping pills (“I’ve been having trouble sleeping,” she told me) and left the remainder.
The kitchen floor was a puddle of egg yolks, sugar, and flour. A recipe for heartache.
“I had four hundred dollars in that canister,” she told me, pointing to a shattered ceramic jar shaped like a hen. She started to cry.
“I can lend you money,” I said.
She shook her head. “I have a credit card and enough in the bank. It’s not the money, it’s the violation.” She picked up a piece of the jar and put it on the counter. She hugged her arms. “I don’t think I can live here again.”
Michael Jackson said the same thing after police searched Neverland last November. I guess it doesn’t matter whether you’re a salesperson at Frederick’s living in a one-bedroom apartment on Selma or an international celebrity with a multimillion-dollar home in Santa Barbara.
Trina took a last look around.
Then we left.
twenty-three
WHEN WE ARRIVED AT MY APARTMENT TRINA WAS ALMOST catatonic, staring at nothing and answering in monosyllables. She was shivering, too. Shock, Zack and I agreed. After moving stacks of gifts off the sofa bed in my spare room, I made up the bed while he prepared a cup of hot chocolate that Trina finished without seeming to realize she’d had anything to drink. I gave her towels, and a new toothbrush I’d bought for my wedding night, and sent her to bed in a pair of my pajamas and an extra comforter when her shaking wouldn’t stop.
In the car Trina had asked us to take her to a nearby hotel, but Zack and I had worried about leaving her alone in her panicked state. And to be honest, I wanted to talk to her about Randy and Aggie. I still felt I’d made the right decision, but I had reservations. Yes, I felt sorry for her and wanted to help her. I hadn’t heard the phone call from Jim, but the condition of her apartment proved she had good reason to be frightened. She couldn’t stay there with the front door unsecured even if she did call the police, which she refused to do even after I told her about Connors—that he was smart and trustworthy and would know how to handle Jim.
Her refusal bothered me. It made me wonder if she had another reason for not calling the police. And the fact that someone had trashed her place and threatened her with bodily harm made me nervous. I was fairly certain no one had followed us here, but what if I was wrong? And in spite of her explanations, I didn’t understand why she’d turned to me instead of family or friends.
Zack voiced similar concerns. “You don’t know anything about her,” he said when we were alone in my breakfast nook. “She could be running from the police.”
“It’s just for tonight,” I said, though I had no idea what to do with her tomorrow. Then I thought about Norm, Mindy’s husband, and the nursing home he leases.
I phoned Mindy, explained about Trina, and asked if Norm had an empty bed Trina could use for a few days.
“Why did she contact you?” my sister asked. “She has family.”
“She doesn’t want to involve them.”
“But it’s okay to involve you?”
I sighed, mainly because Mindy was right. “She didn’t ask to stay here. That was my idea. Can you ask Norm? Please?” I was hungry. I took a bag of popcorn and placed it in the microwave.
“Hold on.” A moment later Mindy was back. “Every bed is filled. Good news for us, not so good for your guest. What about Rachel’s Tent?”
“No.”
“Why not? It’s perfect.”
“Randy Creeley worked there.” I filled her in on my conversations with William Bramer and Barbara Anik, aware that Zack was listening. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but I could guess. “What if Randy was blackmailing one of Aggie’s clients, Min? And Aggie found out, and threatened to expose him, and he killed her?”
“I don’t see what that has to do with Trina staying at Rachel’s Tent. Did you sense that they were trying to cover up Aggie’s murder?”
“No.” I told her about Randy snooping through Aggie’s files, and the packets with the red thread. “Maybe Randy was using the packets to distribute drugs.”
“A clever idea, if it’s true. If it is, do you think Bramer knew what was going on?”
“He didn’t seem concerned. And he let me keep one of the packets.” The microwave pinged. “Of course, Randy hadn’t worked there in almost a year.”
“Most likely it’s just business, sweetie. Randy figured out how to make a few extra bucks. Everybody sells the red threads. Why shouldn’t Rachel’s Tent, considering the agency’s name? Suggest Rachel’s Tent to Trina, Molly. Let her decide.”
“Maybe I will.” I hung up and faced Zack. “I was going to tell you. I was there yesterday morning, and after that the day got so crazy, I didn’t have a chance.”
He nodded. “Why didn’t you go Thursday, after the funeral? Because of your headache?”
“In a way.”
I was relieved that he sounded curious, not angry. I emptied the popcorn into a glass bowl and took it to the table, along with two tumblers and two bottles of Diet Peach Snapple.
“Remember Randy’s girlfriend, the one Gloria Lamont tried to phone?”
“Doreen.” He took a handful of popcorn and tossed a few kernels into his mouth.
“I saw her at the funeral. I know it’s crazy, but I followed her.”
Zack stopped chewing. He listened intently while I told him everything that had happened. Almost everything— I downplayed my fear and omitted the blow to my head.
“You could have been badly hurt, Molly.” His gray-blue eyes were grave. “You could have been killed.”
“I don’t think she wanted to hurt me.” The bruise on my head throbbed in protest. “She was frightened. She thought people were following her.”
“Who?”
“Sh
e kept saying ‘they.’ She said they killed Aggie, and they killed her.”
“Maybe she’s paranoid.”
The thought had occurred to me, too. “What if someone is following Doreen—like this guy Jim? Randy is the common denominator between Doreen and Trina, and he’s dead.”
Zack didn’t answer. I was debating whether to tell him Doreen knew my address when I realized he was looking at something behind me. I turned and saw Trina in the doorway. Without makeup, she looked like a young girl. A sad, frightened young girl.
“I can’t sleep,” she said. “I keep seeing what he did to my apartment, hearing his voice. It was so . . . nasty. So cold.” Her hand had crept to the chain around her neck.
I pulled out the chair next to me and patted the seat. “Do you want something to eat?” I asked when she was sitting. “Other than popcorn, I mean.”
She shook her head. “I heard you mention Doreen. Where did you see her?”
“At the funeral.”
Trina looked puzzled. “She was there?”
“She was wearing a red wig, but I figured out it was her. Randy’s neighbor described her. At least, I think it was her.”
“I saw all the gifts on the floor.” Trina had apparently lost interest in Doreen. “When are you two getting married?”
“In eleven days.” I threw in a silent bli ayin harah even though Bubbie wasn’t there to prompt me.
“You must be excited, huh?” She tried a smile, but looked pensive. “I can go to a hotel, it’s no big deal. I don’t want to put you out.”
“You’re not putting me out,” I assured her.
“I’m sorry I stood you up. My dad said you’d been by, asking lots of questions. And at the funeral you were sitting with that cop. Jim said no cops. Can I change my mind about food?” she asked shyly. “I’m really hungry.”
I warmed up half a frozen pizza and some cream of broccoli soup that comes in a carton and tastes pretty good. Cooking for one isn’t much fun, and aside from preparing the occasional meal, since my divorce I’ve been relying on takeout and lots of broiled fish and chicken.
The aroma of tomato sauce, mushrooms, and broccoli filled my tiny kitchen and gave it a cozy feeling that be-lied the evening’s drama and the reason Trina was here. She devoured the soup and two slices of pizza, eating as though she hadn’t seen food in days.
“That was perfect,” she told me. “Thanks.”
I had refrained from engaging her in conversation, but I had so many questions. I began with Doreen.
“I met her a couple of times,” Trina said, nibbling on a third slice of pizza, cold by now, but she didn’t seem to care. “I never thought she was good for Randy. She met him at NA. Randy didn’t trust her. Not at the end.”
“Why not?” Zack asked.
“She was a snoop. One time he came home and found her there, reading his journal.”
“She had a key to his apartment?”
Trina nodded. “Another time he found her using his laptop. She said she was surfing the Web, but he knew she was trying to read his files.”
So Doreen had lied to Gloria Lamont. “Where is his laptop? It wasn’t in the apartment when I was there with Mrs. Lamont.”
“Randy took it to my place the morning before he died. His journal, too. He didn’t want to leave them around with Doreen coming over all the time. He told her he was having the laptop repaired. Now it’s gone.” A flash of anger sparked in her eyes. “He took it.”
“Jim?”
She nodded. Her hand was at her neck, sliding up and down the chain.
“What about the journal?” I asked.
“He took it, too. I had it under my mattress.” She opened a Snapple and sipped straight from the bottle, ignoring the glass I’d given her.
“Why didn’t your brother just end things with Doreen?” Zack asked.
“He wanted to. But Doreen told him she was pregnant with his baby. I told him she was lying. I said, go with her to the doctor next time, get a paternity test. But then he died.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I think she knows who killed him. That’s why she disappeared. She’s scared.”
“The police say he overdosed, Trina.” I said it gently, not wanting to upset her.
“No way! He was through with drugs. He thought he was going to be a father. Why would he kill himself?”
It was a good question. I could see that it had Zack thinking, too. “Did you tell that to the police?”
“Your cop friend said he’d check into it.” Trina sniffed. “He said maybe Randy didn’t mean to kill himself, maybe the stress of having a kid, blah, blah, blah. He said he’d talk to Doreen. Then he said he couldn’t find her. How hard did he try?” She took another swig of the Snapple. “You asked why I don’t want the cops involved? They didn’t give a damn about Randy, if he lived or died. They don’t give a damn about me.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. She wiped them with her hand.
I wanted to tell her that Connors wasn’t like that, that he would care. I knew she wasn’t ready to hear it. “Why would someone kill Randy?”
“Maybe it had something to do with what he had on his laptop. He had all his business stuff on it. And he was writing letters to people he knew years ago.”
I wondered if the letters had anything to do with his snooping through Aggie’s files. “Do you think he was planning to blackmail people?”
Trina frowned. “Why would you think that? No, he was writing to say he was sorry. It was part of his NA program. He was working his fourth step, where he writes down all the people and things he resents, and how he played a part in those resentments? He wrote all that in his journal. The fifth step is where you read everything to someone else. I don’t remember what six and seven are, but your eighth step is when you write down everybody you’ve ever done anything wrong to, and your ninth step is making amends. Randy wasn’t even finished with his fourth step, but he skipped to nine, ’cause he felt bad about a lot of stuff he’d done. He said it was like having a pile of bricks on his chest, day and night.”
Randy making amends wasn’t what I’d expected, although his father had mentioned that Randy had asked forgiveness several weeks ago, from him and from Alice.
“So your brother wrote letters on the laptop to people he’d wronged?” Zack asked.
Trina nodded. “He said he could think better, and change things around without having to start all over. Why would you think he was going to blackmail people?” she asked me again, this time indignant.
I told her about my conversation with Barbara Anik, but didn’t mention the therapist’s name. “How did he afford his expensive furniture, and the TV and sound system? And the Porsche?” Blackmail or drugs, I thought. Or both?
“I guess Randy might have done that six years ago.” She sounded embarrassed. “I loved him, but I knew he didn’t always do the right thing. He was trying to make up for it with the letters, though.” She ran her hand along the edge of the table. “Doreen didn’t want him writing the letters. I was on the phone with him one time and heard her yelling, ‘You don’t know what the hell you’re doing, you’ll be opening up a can of worms.’ I told him to go for it if it made him feel better. Get the bricks off, I said.”
“Did he talk to you about Aggie Lasher?” I asked, wondering how many bricks Aggie’s death had contributed to Randy’s weighty guilt.
“The woman who died?” Trina nodded. “All the time. I was only sixteen, but he didn’t have anybody else to talk to. He wasn’t close to my dad, because of Alice. My stepmother? That’s why I couldn’t go to them tonight. My dad cares, but Alice . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“What did Randy tell you about Aggie?”
It took Trina a moment to focus. “He thought she walked on water. He stopped drinking for her. He got serious about his NA meetings. He even signed up for a computer class and talked about getting a college degree. Anyway, they went out a couple of times, but she told him it wouldn’t work. One day he was flying. The next day you couldn�
��t talk to him, he was so angry. He started drinking again, and probably doing drugs.” She shrugged. “My dad wouldn’t let me see him much after that. Alice wouldn’t let him into the house.”
“How do you know he was angry about Aggie?” Zack asked.
“Because I asked, and he yelled at me and said not to mention her name again.” Trina faced me. “I know what you’re both thinking, that he killed her. That’s what the police think. But it’s not true. Randy wasn’t a killer.”
“Maybe he was drunk that night,” I said. “Or stoned.”
She shook her head. “I was with him when he heard Aggie was dead. He punched a hole in a wall. Then he sat on his bed and couldn’t stop crying. He cried so much it scared me.”
I pictured Randy in his cramped bedroom, crying over Aggie’s death. I tried to reconcile that image with the man in my dreams wielding the knife. Which one was true? Or were they both true? Had he been so stoned when he killed Aggie that he didn’t know what he’d done until he heard she was dead?
“And everything that happened with Aggie?” Trina said. “That was over months before she died. He was interested in someone else.”
That agreed with what Barbara Anik had told me. “You were with Randy the night Aggie was killed?”
Trina nodded. “We went to Century City to see The Truman Show. Randy saw it twice before. He said he was like Jim Carrey’s character, because Truman learns that his life is one big lie, and Randy’s life was a lie, too.”
I’d seen the poster in Randy’s apartment. If Randy had watched the film twice, that would explain how he knew the plot details. “So Randy was with you the entire time?”
“I just said he was.” Trina picked up the Snapple cap. “ ‘Lizards communicate by doing push-ups,’ ” she read aloud. “How do they know that?”
I know defensiveness when I hear it.
She put down the cap and set it spinning. It dropped off the table and clattered onto the floor. “He didn’t kill her, okay?” Trina’s tone was belligerent. “I guess it doesn’t matter now if I tell, because he’s dead.”
Grave Endings Page 16
