by Dianne Emley
“You had berry tea in your lounge,” Vining said. “Can I buy some?”
“Of course. The gift shop’s still open. To the left of the parking lot.”
The detectives turned to walk back and Asia rode off.
“Tea?” Kissick asked.
“I think Em would like it.” After Asia was out of sight, Vining said, “They keep it low-key, but the compound is highly secured.”
They headed across the main drive toward their car and the gift shop beyond.
“I can understand why,” Kissick said. “The Berryhills have their naysayers. Accusations that The Method is a cult, that people have died undergoing the more-extreme procedures, but nothing has stuck so far. The bigger the Berryhill brand gets, the bigger a target it becomes. The employees here aren’t any more guarded than any other corporations where we’ve asked hard questions. Look at those people. They seem peaceful, don’t they?”
Vining turned to look at a group of people sitting in a circle beneath a giant oak, cross-legged on mats with their eyes closed. “After a week on juice and herbs, they’re probably hungry.”
“Communing with their shadow selves.”
Vining sneered. “I know something about encountering your shadow self. I met mine and now he’s six feet under. Looking at that granite headstone, I found myself in perfect symmetry. Speaking from personal experience, I don’t recommend getting in touch with your dark side. Not healthy.”
“I’m thinking of a side of you I want to get in touch with.” He let his hand brush her butt and sneaked a quick pinch.
She squealed.
He looked at his watch. “Three hours until we meet Cheyenne at her attorney’s office. Do you want to go see if that dive seafood place out in Malibu is still there?”
She slipped her hand around his waist. “I thought you wanted to go to a motel.”
He looked at her out of the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t think you wanted to. You want to?”
“I’ve never done anything like that before. It’s been a while since we…” She arched an eyebrow.
“Since we…” He toyed with her. “Since we what?”
She dreamily closed her eyes. “Made love.”
“It was only last weekend. You making a habit out of me?”
“Maybe it’s all this fresh air. It’s making me kind of…I don’t know.”
“Think sex is allowed at the Berryhill compound?”
She held him tighter. “If it isn’t, I can’t imagine why people would pay so much to stay here.”
She passed the gift shop and went to the car.
“Thought you wanted to buy some tea.”
“It can wait.” She unlocked the doors.
“Eee-ow. I don’t think I’ve seen you like this before.” He climbed into the passenger side.
“Fasten your seat belt and hold on.”
“Oh, baby baby.”
They found a Quality Inn in West L.A., not far from their appointment in Century City—nothing fancy, but it was clean. They picked up some Mexican food from a hole-in-the-wall place that Kissick knew on Pico Boulevard from his UCLA days.
Vining stayed in the car munching tortilla chips while Kissick got the room, asking for one in the back. While he fumbled with the electronic key, first putting it in upside down, she nervously glanced around even though the odds of anyone recognizing them were remote. The light on the door lock flashed green and he opened the door.
She dropped the bag with the food and sodas onto a narrow table beside an in-room coffeemaker.
As he was sliding the security chain into place, she leaped on him from behind, hooking her right leg around his waist, and standing on her other leg.
“Whoa! Careful…My sciatica.”
“Sciatica?”
He pulled the chain to shut the vertical blinds, then turned and lifted her off the floor with both hands beneath her butt.
She clasped his lower body between her legs and his neck with her hands. Their noses were touching. “When did you come down with sciatica?”
“Hey! It’s gone!” He staggered as he carried her to the bed. When he leaned over to set her on it, she dropped backward, making him tumble on top of her.
As they kissed, he worked at her blouse buttons and she unbuttoned his shirt. He reached behind her and fiddled with her bra hooks before giving up and pulling her bra up over her breasts. He grabbed her breasts in both hands. They fit easily. He sucked on one nipple and nibbled the other. She arched her back.
“Wait.” Panting, she pushed him off and stood. She took off her badge and tossed it on the nightstand, followed by her Glock in its Velcro holster, and he did the same, the equipment landing heavily on the table. Sitting on the bed, she ripped open the Velcro on her ankle holster and added her backup Walther to the pile.
They quickly stripped off their clothes and hung them in the closet, both mindful of their next appointment.
While he was still hanging up his clothes, she grabbed the bedspread, thin blanket, and top sheet and flung them to the side. Nude, she slid onto the bed, piling pillows behind her back and watched him, propped up on her elbows with one foot flat on the mattress and her leg bent.
Also nude, he stood by the bed, hovering for a moment as he took in the sight of her.
She smiled crookedly, waving her bent leg. She let her head fall back and looked at him through slit eyelids. She made larger arcs with her leg and finally let it fall open.
“You witch.”
She slid back into the pillows and reached out her hands for him. He joined her.
THIRTY-TWO
Attorney Carmen Vidal’s office was on the thirtieth floor of the thirty-five-story Fox West tower in the Century City area of L.A. The building was on Avenue of the Stars, which had been patterned after Paris’s Champs-Élysées when the “city within a city” west of Beverly Hills had been constructed in the early 1960s on a 260-acre Fox Studios back lot.
A security guard had to unlock the tall glass doors to let Vining and Kissick inside the building. The guard made a call to Vidal before directing them to the express elevator. The elevator silently zoomed up toward the heavens.
A brass plaque outside Vidal’s suite showed that she shared the offices with two partners. The suite’s doors were unlocked. As the detectives walked through, they passed junior associates working late, squirreled inside windowless offices in the center. The suite had calming, plush, and impersonal décor. Like all offices, the worker bees eventually didn’t see their environment, but only felt it crushing in on them.
A corner office had the door open and the lights on. The detectives heard Vidal and Cheyenne talking. They suspected that with Vidal there, this was a pointless exercise, as they wouldn’t get anything out of Cheyenne, but they had to try.
They stopped at the open doorway. Their approach had been silent and startled Cheyenne, who was leaning against a credenza in front of a darkened window, causing her to jolt to her feet. The stiletto heel of one of her strappy sandals caught in the thick carpet, making her stagger. She wore a white miniskirt and a long-sleeved sheer blouse with a floral print. Underneath, a red bra peeked. The fringed denim jacket she’d worn when they’d first seen her at Tink’s was tossed across a chair.
Vining saw Kissick glance at her long tanned legs. Even after their just-completed motel tryst, he still couldn’t pass up a chance to admire a sexy, long-legged woman. Vining suppressed the urge to slug him.
Vidal rose from her chair and circled her desk with her hand held out. “Detectives Vining and Kissick. Welcome.”
As at their prior meeting at the PPD station, Cheyenne didn’t greet the detectives but eyed them with her face turned away.
Vidal ushered the detectives to a round table with rolling chairs. She held out her hand, signaling for Cheyenne to join them.
The young woman stomped across the room, her high heels leaving indentations in the carpet.
When she passed in front of her, Vining noticed tattoos
of shooting stars on the backs of both toned thighs.
Cheyenne pulled out a chair and dropped onto it. When she crossed her legs, her skirt hiked up, leaving little to the imagination. As she had done by Tink’s pool, she examined her split ends with fascination.
“Detectives, why did you want to meet with Cheyenne again?” Vidal took a seat. “Surely there’s no problem with her alibi?”
“Cheyenne still hasn’t told us where Mrs. Engleford’s laptop and missing documents and books are,” Kissick said.
Vidal looked at him as if she didn’t understand. “Cheyenne doesn’t know anything about that.”
“We think she does,” Kissick said.
“Detectives, we’ve been cooperative. Cheyenne has nothing to hide. You wanted to have another meeting and here she is.” She held her hand toward Cheyenne as if she’d made her materialize.
Cheyenne laconically slid her eyes to look at Vidal.
Kissick took out the Xeroxed sigil and set the page in front of Cheyenne. Vidal was good at hiding her thoughts, but Vining detected heightened interest, as if she hadn’t seen this before. It looked to Vining as if Cheyenne was trying to read the symbols.
Vining pointed at the sigil. “You missed this one. It was stuck in the back of Tink’s desk drawer.”
Cheyenne’s expression darkened.
Kissick spoke to Cheyenne as if carefully reasoning with her. “Mrs. Engleford drew these in her office. She either studied sigils on her own or someone taught her about them. We didn’t find books about sigilry at her home, and someone cleaned out her office desk and burned the sigils, except for this one. What are you hiding, Cheyenne?”
Cheyenne glanced at Vidal.
“She isn’t hiding anything,” Vidal said. “Is that paper the reason you wanted this meeting?”
“We’ll leave it here for you,” Kissick said, pushing up from the table. “You think of anything you’d like to tell us, give us a call.”
Cheyenne smirked and shook her head as if the detectives were clueless.
Vidal stood. “Thank you, Detectives. A pleasure, as always.”
“One more thing.” Vining took out the photo of Cheyenne, Trendi, and Fallon and set it in front of Cheyenne.
“What’re you doing with that?” Cheyenne grabbed it and turned it over, seeing the writing on the back. “You stole this from my room in Tink’s house.”
“It’s evidence,” Vining said coolly.
Vidal reached to take the photo from Cheyenne.
“Evidence of what?” Cheyenne glared at Vining. “That I had friends?”
Vidal tried to calm Cheyenne by touching her shoulder, but the younger woman bolted from the chair.
“Yes, you had friends, Cheyenne,” Vining said. “Trendi’s dead. And Fallon…What really happened to Fallon, Cheyenne?”
“Who’s Fallon?” Vidal demanded.
“She was one of Georgia’s Girls, Carmen,” Vining said. “Just like Cheyenne and Trendi. Georgia’s Girls is Ms. Berryhill’s pride and joy. Her way of giving back for all the wonderful things she’s attained in life.”
Cheyenne snorted derisively.
“Ms. Berryhill even sent the three girls to charm school.” Vining added a jab. “Those lessons really took hold.”
“What does this have to do with Mrs. Engleford?” Vidal asked.
“Mrs. Engleford was very involved with Georgia’s Girls.” Vining stared at Cheyenne. “She gave them a lot of money and left them a fortune in her will. What do you think about that, Cheyenne? You don’t seem to have a high opinion of Georgia’s Girls.”
“This has nothing to do with Cheyenne.” Vidal took a step toward Vining. “This conversation is over.”
“It has everything to do with Cheyenne,” Vining said, instincts aroused. “I’d like to know how you benefited from being one of Georgia’s Girls, Cheyenne.”
Vidal started to speak and Cheyenne gestured for the attorney to shut up. She looked angrily at Vining. “Did you talk to Georgia about this picture?”
“Yes, we did.” Vining slipped a hand inside her slacks pockets. “Ms. Berryhill told us that you three girls were hard-luck cases that she took under her wing. She singled you out as an especially difficult case.”
“Yeah?” Cheyenne snorted again. “What else did she say?”
“Ms. Berryhill said that you have anger issues and a volatile temper. And her husband said that after an argument you had with Fallon turned violent, Fallon took off. Mr. Pavel described Trendi as a drug-addled nutcase.”
Cheyenne balled her fists. “What else?”
Vidal put her hand on Cheyenne’s arm. “There’s no point—”
“What else did they say?” Cheyenne demanded.
Vidal persisted. “Cheyenne, if you’re not going to take my advice, I can’t represent you.”
“What else?”
“Ms. Berryhill didn’t say too much after that, but her husband sure did. When he looked at that photo, he laughed and called the three of you trash. Said you were raised by wolves.”
Cheyenne’s eyes bored into Vining. “And Georgia was there?”
“Of course. Sitting with her feet up. Chuckling with her hands clasped across her big pregnant belly.”
Cheyenne turned and walked a few feet, her back to them, fists clenched.
Vining spoke softly. “Cheyenne, do you want to tell us something? We can help you.”
Vidal moved to put herself between Vining and her client. “We’ve answered your questions, Detectives. It’s time for you to leave.” She held out her arms to try to usher them out, stopping short of touching them.
Vining didn’t move. “What’s Fallon’s last name, Cheyenne? Just tell us that.”
Cheyenne turned.
Vining was surprised to see tears in her eyes.
“Price. Her name is Fallon Price.”
Vidal tried again. “This conversation is over.”
Vining refused to stop. “Cheyenne, people you know keep getting killed. Tink, Trendi…Your good friend Fallon’s been missing for years.”
Cheyenne hung her head. Tears fell onto her blouse.
Vining kept on. “Why are you crying, Cheyenne? Are you scared or do you feel guilty?”
“Detective Vining,” Vidal said, “don’t make me report you to your police chief. We’re good friends, you know.”
“We’ll see ourselves out,” Kissick said.
“Cheyenne, call us. Day or night.” Vining followed Kissick out.
THIRTY-THREE
As Vining and Kissick got out of the car at the PPD garage, they saw Sergeant Early walking toward them, leaving for the day.
They greeted her. “Hi, Sarge.”
“Good evening, Jim and Nan. Jim, Patsy Brightly is waiting for you in the second-floor lobby. Nan, you’re off the Catherine Engleford case. She was your mother’s good friend. Finish your reports tomorrow. I’ll assign Alex Caspers to assist you, Jim. Have a good evening.”
She got in her car and left.
Vining and Kissick looked at each other.
Vining said, “I guess that’s that. Good luck with Patsy.”
“I’m too close to this case to be handling it either.”
“I know,” she said. “If there’s a trial, could be a problem. Unless you want to come out about our relationship right now, we’ll have to take that risk.”
“See you tomorrow.”
They parted without a touch or lingering look.
An hour later, in the interview room, Patsy wailed to Kissick, “Jim, I told you, I don’t know why Vince Madrigal would bug my house and Tink’s.”
“Did Madrigal probe for information about Tink or the people she knows?”
“No.”
“What did the two of you talk about?”
“Just whatever.” Patsy fluttered her hand. “Whatever people on a date talk about. Movies. The news.”
“How did you meet Vince Madrigal?”
Patsy groaned. “Jim, I already told you th
at. Why do you keep asking me the same things over and over? I was at my job at the Estée Lauder counter at Macy’s. He came in to buy perfume for his mother.”
Kissick sat quietly, looking at her. Finally, he said, “Patsy, look…I know you’re in bad financial trouble. I saw all the credit card bills and letters from collection agencies.”
Patsy gaped at him. “I gave Nan permission to look around. I didn’t mean she could go through my desk. I didn’t know she’d do it when I wasn’t even home.”
“You gave permission to search your house. That’s what ‘search’ means.”
Patsy turned away, shaking her head.
“Patsy, look at me. You’re in financial trouble. You’re vulnerable. Lately, Nan’s noticed that you have a lot of extra cash. Where did you get the money from?”
“I sold some things on eBay.”
“Did Vince Madrigal ever ask you about Tink’s will?”
“No.”
“Do you know what was in Tink’s will?”
“Nooo. Why? Do you?”
Kissick wasn’t going to get into Tink’s bequest to Patsy right now. He didn’t think she was lying, but many things he’d thought about Patsy were being turned upside down and he couldn’t be sure.
“Where have you been getting all the extra cash?”
Patsy hit the table with her fist. “I told you. I sold some things on eBay. Old clothes and stuff.”
“Did Vince Madrigal ever give you money?”
“No.”
“At your mother’s house, Nan said you were talking about how she doesn’t know everything about you. What did you mean by that?”
“She told you that?” Patsy rolled her eyes. “I was drinking. I don’t know what I was saying.”
“Patsy, you’re holding back. I know you are. Spill it!”
Her blue eyes became shot with red, and her fair skin flushed pink. “Stop badgering me!” Big tears popped into her eyes and ran down her cheeks, cutting rivulets into her makeup. She let out a heartrending moan. Her open mouth was turned downward, as were her eyes.
Kissick thought her face looked like the mask of tragedy he’d seen on a poster for a play at his eldest son’s school. Usually he considered it a triumph when he’d made someone he was interviewing cry. It meant he was breaking him or her down and the truth was close. Instead, he suddenly felt exhausted. “How much money did you make on eBay?”
