by Tracy Kiely
FRANK
She’s not using again. I can promise you that.
BARRY
How can you be sure of that?
FRANK
I just am, okay? Listen, I’ll go talk to her and see if I can’t calm her down. Where is she?
BARRY
Last I checked she was holed up in her trailer with that poor assistant of hers. Why that woman hasn’t quit or killed her is a mystery I’ll never understand.
FRANK
I’ll see what I can do, but goddammit Barry, you have got to get control of this movie! I don’t think you comprehend what I’ve got riding on this. If this movie fails, then I fail. And I can’t fail! It’s not an option!
BARRY
You think I don’t get that? You aren’t the only one whose reputation and career are on the line here. I’ve got just as much to lose as you do.
FRANK (scoffing)
Don’t flatter yourself, Barry. If I go down, it’s a big event. If you go down, it’ll be like the proverbial tree falling in the forest. You won’t even hear about it.
Frank turns and walks away. Barry stares after him and mutters something inaudible under his breath.
thirteen
Nigel and I soon made our excuses and left Christina’s table. The rest of the night was like nothing I’d ever experienced. We were with people I was used to seeing on film, not two feet in front of me. That combined with a seemingly never-ending supply of champagne gave the evening a surreal quality. We ate cheeseburgers with Emma Stone and Jennifer Lawrence on the terrace overlooking Beverly Hills City Hall. Kevin Hart and Will Ferrell shared the last of their red velvet cupcakes with us. At one point Danielle and Cecelia came by to say their good-byes and James Franco tried to steal Frank’s Oscar from Danielle. He was outmaneuvered by Emma Stone; however, it was promptly returned. Bill Murray then recruited us to help him steal George Clooney’s Oscar, only to have Mandy betray us and give it to Matt Damon. Seth MacFarlane picked us to be on his team for the Chicken Dance Dance-Off. (The competition of which was fierce. The coveted rubber chicken was finally awarded to Sir Patrick Stewart’s team, but only after a highly controversial ruling by the judges.) We sat in the photo booth and had our pictures taken, and then, at Nigel’s suggestion, attempted to cram as many people as we could into it. The resulting photo looked like an indiscriminate smash up of some of Hollywood’s most famous faces—plus one bare behind courtesy of the epic multi-tasker, James Franco. A little after three, Nigel and I decided to play Never Have I, which led to a mutual decision to leave just a few minutes later.
But when we pulled into our driveway, I saw that the door to our house was wide open, and I knew it was a game that we weren’t going to finish.
fourteen
Nigel ran in before me, yelling at me to stay in the car. Of course, I did no such thing. However, once inside the door, I stopped short in confusion. It was as if I’d suddenly stepped into one of those annoying dreams, where everything familiar is unfamiliar. The kind that you later try to describe with the unhelpful opening, “I was in our house, but it wasn’t our house. You know what I mean?” Except, that this time, I did know.
All around me was utter chaos. Furniture was overturned. Emptied drawers lay in a discarded heap; their contents scattered all about. The bookshelves were bare, their volumes strewn across the floor. Atop all of it was a thick layer of feathers; the cushions they once resided in now deflated and disemboweled.
“DeDee!” Nigel and I screamed at the same time as we sprinted down the hall toward the home office. Like the front door, the office door stood wide open. Like the rest of the house, the office was in shambles. However, unlike the rest of the house, more than just material goods had been attacked. Here, the intruder had attacked the living. Bile rose in my mouth as I looked down at DeDee; her body bloodied and still.
fifteen
While Nigel dialed 911, I knelt by DeDee’s prone form. Gently pressing two fingers to her neck, I closed my eyes, silently praying that she was alive. A few heart-wrenching seconds later, I felt a pulse. It was faint and thready, but it was there. I glanced up at Nigel. “She’s alive, but barely,” I said. “We need to get her to a hospital now.”
Nigel nodded and quickly relayed all the necessary information to the operator. I remained on the floor next to DeDee. Blood caked her hair and face. Her right eye had started to swell, the delicate skin around it already turning an ugly shade of purple. Gingerly, I placed her right hand in mine and leaned close to her ear.
“DeDee? Can you hear me,” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm and sure. “Nigel and I are here, and we’ve called for help. An ambulance is on its way. You’re going to be fine, DeDee. Do you understand? You are going to be fine. I just need you to hang on until the paramedics get here. Can you do that for me? You need to be strong, DeDee. I know you can do it. Hang on. Help is almost here.” Her hand remained limp and unmoving.
Nigel hung up the phone and knelt down beside me. “Jesus,” he whispered, as he looked at DeDee, “who would have done this?”
“I have no idea,” I said, “but whoever it was wanted her dead.”
“Who would want to hurt DeDee?” he asked. “Do you think her ex might have followed her out here?”
“He might have, but for what purpose? Why would he come after her now after all this time? And why would he ransack our house if he just wanted to hurt DeDee?”
“I don’t know, Nic, but whoever did this was an animal. Animals aren’t always known for their rational thought.”
At the word “animal” we both stared at each other, eyes wide. “Where’s Skippy?” I said, just as Nigel leapt to his feet.
“Skippy?!” he yelled as he ran from the room. “Skippy!”
I sat frozen to the floor, DeDee’s inert hand in mine. As I listened to Nigel’s increasingly panicked voice call out for Skippy, an icy numbness spread through my heart. I had worked some gut-wrenching cases when I was in New York, but the worst ones were those involving kids. To have to look into the anguished eyes of a frantic parent and tell them that their worst nightmare had come true was its own kind of hell. As I listened to the sounds of Nigel tearing from room to room in search of Skippy, I had a greater empathy for those parents’ pain. Skippy wasn’t our child, but he was a part of our family. The idea that he might be hurt—or even worse—made me physically ill. Not being able to help look for him myself only increased my distress. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only two or three minutes, I heard Nigel cry out in relief, “Skippy! Oh, thank God! Are you all right, boy? It’s okay, it’s okay. I missed you, too. Skippy, don’t jump on me! Skippy, easy boy!” The next sound was that of Nigel falling to the floor underneath an apparently enthusiastic and unharmed Skippy. Seconds later, I heard the piercing wail of the ambulance’s siren as it sped toward our house.
I sagged against the side of the desk, not sure which sound gave me more relief.
sixteen
I let the paramedics in and rushed them to where DeDee was. After answering what few questions I could, I stepped back and let them do their job. I only interrupted them once, asking, “Is she going to be okay?”
One of the paramedics, a burly blonde with a tattoo peeking out from under his white sleeve, glanced over his shoulder at me. “Hard to say,” he said, not unkindly. “She’s in pretty bad shape. It’s lucky that you found her when you did. A little while longer, and I don’t think there’d be much hope. But she’s in good hands now. We’ll do what we can.”
I nodded and walked out into the hallway, just as Nigel brought Skippy downstairs. Seeing me, Skippy repeated the ebullient greeting he had given Nigel. His paws draped over my shoulders, he whined and licked my face with an enthusiasm I didn’t try to temper. “Where was he?” I asked Nigel as I happily pressed my face against the dense fur on Skippy’s neck.
“DeDee must have p
ut him up in our bedroom,” he answered. “Speaking of which, I suggest you stay out of there if you want to keep your current benevolent mindset about Himself.”
I glanced up at Nigel. “Why? What did he do?”
Nigel sighed and scratched Skippy behind his ear. “Well, do you remember our curtains?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Because that’s the only place they exits now; in our memories. Same thing goes for the carpet in front of the door. Oh, and while we’re on the subject, the door,” Nigel added with a shake of his head.
I ran my hands over Skippy to make sure he wasn’t hurt. As I did, he covered my face with slobbery kisses and whined as if to apologize. “Poor baby,” I said. “It’s okay, Skippy. You were trying to get out to help DeDee, weren’t you?” I asked.
Skippy gave a short bark, his soft brown eyes staring intently into mine. There are times when I think Skippy is more intelligent than the majority of our population. And then there are times like now, when I know he is.
The paramedics rolled DeDee out on a gurney. She lay still and unconscious. What little of her face I could see from beneath the gauze bandages looked suddenly smaller and older. I gently pushed Skippy off of me and asked, “Which hospital are your taking her to?”
“Cedars-Sinai,” said the blonde paramedic rapidly as he continued to monitor her vital signs. “Once you’re finished with the police, you can see her there.”
I nodded, my throat tightening at the sight of DeDee’s battered face. Now that the paramedics had her, all of my earlier adrenaline vanished. Exhaustion now seeped through my body. Tears pricked the back of my eyes. Nigel wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “She’s going to be fine,” he murmured softly as he pressed his face into my hair. “DeDee’s a fighter.” I turned into his chest as he pulled me into his arms and hoped to hell he was right.
seventeen
No sooner had the paramedics rushed DeDee outside to the ambulance than two police officers stepped into the foyer. The first was a small, wiry woman I guessed to be about thirty-five. Her clear grey eyes regarded me as if I were a specimen under glass. The second officer was tall with broad-shoulders. His dark hair was shaved close to his skull. Neither seemed particularly happy to be here. I was not unsympathetic.
“You the ones that found the victim?” the first officer asked, her voice clipped.
“DeDee. Yes, we found her,” Nigel answered, still holding me tight against his chest.
“I see,” she said, flipping open a notebook. “And her full name?”
“Dorothy Deanne Evans,” Nigel said. “She’s our employee. She was house-sitting for us tonight.”
“I see,” she said. “And you are…?”
“I’m Nigel Martini and this is my wife, Nicole.”
“I’m Officer Hax and this is Officer Kelly,” she said jerking her chin toward her partner. Officer Kelly nodded. Nigel and I nodded back.
“I was just about to make some coffee,” I said, reluctantly stepping out of Nigel’s embrace. “Is it okay if we continue this conversation in the kitchen?”
“That’s fine,” Officer Hax said. Officer Kelly nodded. Apparently, he wasn’t much of a talker. Not that I cared. It was almost four-thirty in the morning. I wasn’t really in the mood for a lot of chitchat either.
I led them down the hallway. While I busied myself scooping beans into the coffee maker, Nigel and the officers seated themselves at our kitchen table. Skippy sprawled on his back at Nigel’s feet, demanding a belly rub. Nigel obliged.
“So, why don’t you tell me what happened?” Officer Hax began as she flipped to a new page of her notebook.
“We got home around three-thirty and saw that the front door was open. We found the place the way it is now—trashed. Nic and I called out for DeDee, but she didn’t answer. We found her in the study beat up and unconscious, and called 911,” Nigel said.
“Did Ms. Evans have any enemies you know of ?” Officer Hax asked.
Nigel shook his head. “Not that I know of,” he answered, as he shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket. “I mean, I don’t think she’s on very good terms with her ex-husband, but they’ve been divorced for several years now, and as far as I know, he’s never tried to contact her.”
Officer Hax scribbled in her notebook. “Do you know the ex’s name and address?” she asked.
“Reggie Evans,” said Nigel. “I don’t know his exact address. He lives in Tallahassee, Florida. He runs a plumbing business there. Or at least he used to.”
“I see,” replied Officer Hax as she jotted this down. “And do you know why they divorced? Was it friendly? Acrimonious?”
“I’d say it was pretty acrimonious,” I answered as I pulled out cups, cream, and sugar and loaded everything onto a coffee tray.
“Oh? Why was that?” Officer Hax asked turning to me.
“Apparently, Reggie wasn’t a big fan of the Seventh Commandment,” I said.
Officer Hax’s eyebrows pulled together. “Right. Wait. The Seventh. Is that Don’t Kill or Don’t Commit Adultery?”
“Adultery,” I said as I carried the coffee tray to the table.
“Reggie liked to stick his plunger where it didn’t belong,” Nigel explained. We all stared at him. Nigel blinked and then looked at me. “What?” he asked.
“Have some coffee, Nigel,” I said, handing him a cup. He took a large sip and closed his eyes. “You’ll have to excuse us,” I said to the officers. “It’s been a long day. How do you take your coffee, Officer Hax?”
“With cream. No sugar,” replied Officer Hax. “Thanks.”
After I handed her a cup, I turned to Officer Kelly. “Coffee?” I offered, holding up the pot.
He nodded. “Black. Thanks,” he said, before falling silent again. Once I’d poured out the coffee, I sat down next to Nigel.
“So, we were talking about the ex-husband,” Officer Hax prompted.
“Yes. Well, DeDee was understandably upset when she discovered Reggie’s extracurricular activities,” I explained. “Especially as he was mixing business with pleasure, so to speak. DeDee had worked hard to help Reggie grow that business, so she was understandably angry.”
Officer Hax nodded. “Okay,” she said, adding more to her notebook. “But I feel like there’s a ‘which is why’ part coming up pretty soon,” she said, glancing back up at me.
I took a sip of my coffee. “There is. When DeDee found out what Reggie was up to, she went to his office and…well, she smashed up his equipment. I could see how Reggie might still be upset about that.”
“What was the extent of the damage?” asked Officer Hax as she reached for her coffee cup.
“Oh, nothing permanent,” I assured her. “But Reggie was in the hospital for a week or so, and I believe he had to sit on a pillow for a month after that.”
Officer Hax froze, her coffee cup poised mid-air. “I thought you were referring to his plumbing business equipment,” she said, putting her cup down and picking up her notebook.
“Oh, DeDee smashed that up as well,” said Nigel.
Officer Hax stared at Nigel a beat and then jotted something into her notebook. “Okay, I’d say we definitely need to get in touch with Mr. Evans. Now, what time did Ms. Evans arrive at your house last night?”
“Probably around five o’clock or so,” I answered. “She met us at the Dolby Theater and brought Skippy back to our house.”
Officer Hax took a sip of her coffee. “I gather then that you two were at the Oscars last night?”
“Yes. And then the Vanity Fair party afterward,” I answered.
“Right. Okay. You said Ms. Evans is your employee. What is it that she does?” Officer Hax asked.
“She works on film restoration,” Nigel answered. “Our company restores old and damaged films. DeDee was working on transferring old videos that were taken on the set of A
Winter’s Night tonight.”
Officer Hax’s head popped up, her professional façade gone. “Seriously?” she asked, her eyes bright. “You two are the ones who found those tapes?”
“That’s us,” I said.
“I was just reading about those,” she said. “Is it true that Melanie Summers is on them?”
I told her that it was.
“Wow. I loved her movies,” said Officer Hax. “Every Christmas, my mom and I would watch A Miraculous Moment. She was such a good actress.”
“She was,” Nigel agreed.
“I’ve got to tell you, I’m really looking forward to seeing them,” said Officer Hax.
“You and everyone else …” Nigel stopped and looked at me, but I was already out of my seat and running down the hall toward the office.
eighteen
“They’re gone!” I groaned, after checking the computer’s disk drive. “Nigel, the tapes are gone!”
Nigel skidded into the room two seconds after me. Normally he would have beaten me—at six four, Nigel’s legs are much longer than mine—but Skippy had joined in the race. Two people barreling down a narrow hallway is one thing; add in a hundred-and-thirty-pound bullmastiff with questionable depth perception, and it becomes a mini Pamplona.
Despite my announcement, Nigel checked the computer for himself. I didn’t take it personally. He pressed already lit elevator buttons, too. “Damn it,” he muttered as he smacked the hard drive in frustration.
“Would these missing tapes be the ones from A Winter’s Night?” Officer Hax asked.
Nigel flung himself in the desk chair and began frantically clicking open all the computer files. “Damn it, damn it, damn all to hell!” he now yelled.
