* * *
It had happened so fast. But Scott was proud of himself. He didn’t hesitate, he didn’t doubt himself, he didn’t panic. When the time came for action, he was ready.
Scott knew he had to get rid of Laura’s box of financial papers. He didn’t want to destroy them, but knew he had to get the box out of his apartment. He decided to move it to his mother’s for the time being until he figured out someplace better. He sure hoped Peter got him that Swiss account soon. He might have to leave the country abruptly.
His mother’s house had a three-car garage attached to the house and a two-car garage under the guesthouse. Over the years, the guesthouse garage had turned into a storage locker for Scott’s sisters: all their junk from kindergarten to college, broken toys, old movie posters, diaries, schoolbooks, boxes of term papers, tattered valentines from second grade. Why had they kept all that shit? Maybe they thought they’d be famous someday and were saving it for their biographers. They must think even their bowel movements were works of art. But that’s sisters for you.
Scott opened the side door to the garage. One of his sisters had made an aisle through the mountains of boxes. Their mother was always scolding them to clean up their crap, and it looked like one of them had started and given up. The room smelled of dust, mildew, and a sharp, sweet odor he recognized as mice. He knew he should probably tell his mother about the water leak and the rodents, but he didn’t want to listen to her rant, and his sisters would be royally pissed at him because then their mother would threaten to dump the shit unless they cleaned it out.
He shuffled to the back, banging his shins on a rusty old Schwinn, and crammed Laura’s box under a stack of books. He covered the pile with a filthy blanket that created a dust cloud. He sneezed and felt his sinuses filling up. The place was a death trap. He could probably get tuberculosis from breathing the air. He went back into the house to wash his hands.
His mother’s car wasn’t in the driveway, so he figured she was out. As he washed his hands in the kitchen sink, he was surprised to hear voices coming from the living room. Just his luck. He would’ve avoided the house if he’d known she was here. The last thing he wanted was to have a conversation with his mother, but at this point, he didn’t see any way around it.
He braced himself, then scuffled his heels against the Saltillo tiles to make noise. “Hello? Anyone home?”
The far end of the living room had been turned into a solarium, with jungle plants, brocaded furniture, and cheetah-print pillows. It reminded him of a sultan’s boudoir. There, his mother lounged, her back to the window, facing him as he entered.
“Oh, Scott, darling. I’m so glad you’re here. An old friend of yours dropped by.”
Vivian sat across from her, dressed in black, sipping a drink. She smiled.
There was something slightly threatening in his mother’s tone, like when she set him up to tell a lie. Was there sarcasm in the way she said old friend? What had Vivian told her?
His mother was wearing white satin lounging pajamas. She pushed herself against the arm of the couch. Under her affectation of indolence, he perceived nervousness.
His mother continued, “Vivian says she was in town on business and wanted to look you up but only had my address for you. Isn’t it fortunate you came by?”
“Hi, Vivian,” he said, trying for friendly but not friendly enough to make her feel the least bit welcome.
“Vivian tells me she owns an art gallery in New York. Did you know she handles Wendy Sharpe? I’ve been coveting one of her works for years, but I wanted to wait until the girls left home.” Mrs. Goodsell smirked at Vivian. “I didn’t want the neighbors to say I was creating a poor environment for my children.”
Vivian smiled indulgently.
Scott glared at his mother’s martini. It was only three in the afternoon. “A poor environment? Since when has that stopped you, Mother?”
Ignoring Scott’s comment, she continued, “Well, anyhow, Vivian was telling me that she’s planning a show out here for Wendy, and she’s invited us. Isn’t that exciting?”
Scott knew Vivian was here to pump his mother, to use her to manipulate him in some way. He watched her get up and cross the room to the fireplace. She picked up a glass bowl displayed on the mantle.
“Isn’t this a lovely piece,” she said to Mrs. Goodsell, glancing over at Scott.
“Oh, thank you, dear,” Bunny gushed. “Scott gave that to me for my birthday. I don’t know what got into him. It must’ve been terribly expensive. He’s so extravagant sometimes.”
“The colors and marbling are beautiful,” said Vivian. “I would say it’s early-sixteenth-century Venetian, from the school of Orazio Cozzi. Free-blown chalcedony glass, meant to imitate a Roman stone-cut vessel. Cozzi developed the technique, and no one else was able to duplicate it. That makes his work extremely valuable.”
“My goodness! You know so much about it,” exclaimed Bunny.
“I’ve seen something like it before.” Vivian glared at Scott. “You should be very proud, Mrs. Goodsell. It’s museum quality. Not the kind of piece you’d ever want to part with.”
Scott almost laughed. It was too absurd, Vivian threatening to expose him, stabbing at him with her double entendres. Like he cared.
“Oh, I know,” said Bunny. “Scott can be so thoughtful.”
Vivian smiled broadly. “Oh yes, I know.”
Bunny shifted in her seat, her hand darting to her collar, closing the top button to hide her wrinkled, liver-spotted neck; it was slated for surgery next month and she was self-conscious about it. “Scott, darling. Vivian tells me something that’s a little disturbing.”
He became aware of a bitter coating on his tongue, as if he’d had too many espressos. “Oh, yes? What’s that?”
“Well, I take it Vivian is friends with Laura, and she tells me that Laura filed a restraining order on you? Why didn’t you ever tell me about this?”
So word was out. What else had Vivian said? “I saw no reason to bother you, Mother. It was between Laura and me. A misunderstanding really.”
“But a restraining order!” she gasped. “That’s awfully serious. She must’ve felt threatened. What did you do to her?”
“Nothing, Mother. When I broke up with her, I guess she felt bitter about it and wanted to get back at me.” Scott smiled at Vivian, baiting her to contradict him. This was a little fun, messing with his mother. He was beginning to feel glad Vivian had dropped by.
“And she told me that Laura has disappeared. Her apartment is empty. Is that right?”
“Really? It’s the first I’ve heard of it,” said Scott.
“You didn’t scare her so much she left town, did you?”
“Who could be scared of me? Have I ever scared my sisters? Or you?” He slung his arm around his mother’s neck in a mock headlock.
She giggled uncomfortably. “Well, I guess not.”
“In fact, I would say I had more reason to be scared of you ladies.” He kissed the top of her head and released her. Vivian’s face looked like she might be sick.
“Don’t you think you should find out where she is?” Bunny asked. “After all, you were practically engaged.”
“The truth is, Mother, Laura is in France. We’re still very close, but she needed time to herself. It makes me feel a little sad, of course, that she wants to be away from me. I try not to think about her.” That last bit was true.
“You must be lonely,” said Vivian, sarcasm exploding from her lips like a burst balloon.
Bunny didn’t seem to notice. “Have you heard from her?”
“A postcard or two. I don’t know when she plans to return.”
“My poor dear. Well, I’m glad you’re not pining away and have started dating again. Vivian, did you know Scott’s engaged?”
Vivian looked at him with real surprise. “No, I didn’t. Congratulations.”
“A very nice girl. She was on the Olympic swim team.”
“Kayaking team, Mothe
r,” Scott corrected, then wondered why he’d bothered.
Vivian looked him, unbelieving. “Have you met her?” she asked Bunny.
“Oh, yes. Very nice girl, if a little chunky.”
“She’s muscular, Mother.”
“Well, she looks chunky in clothes. It’s how you look in a cocktail dress, is what I say.”
Vivian looked confused, and Scott knew she was trying to put the pieces together. He figured he’d better get her out of there fast. She was a pest, and he saw only one solution. It might even be fun.
“Vivian,” he said, “You probably want to get back to your hotel before rush hour. Do you need a ride?”
Vivian looked hesitant. “I’ll take a taxi.”
“Don’t be absurd, honey. Scott would be glad to take you,” said his mother, giving him a hug. “No one can say I didn’t raise my boy to be a gentleman.” Her drink was getting to her.
“I can drop you off on my way to work,” said Scott. Vivian seemed to be trying to find a way out, but he hustled her out of the house before she came up with anything.
Once he got her in the car, he drove to Sunset Boulevard. It was late afternoon. Where to go? He needed at least an hour with her, someplace quiet. This was all complicated by the fact he had to show a house in Venice at five o’clock. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Vivian was talking to him; he turned to the passenger seat. Her face stretched and contorted like a Halloween hologram; she was furious.
“I can’t believe you took Laura’s Venetian glass and gave it to your mother,” she said.
“I didn’t take it. Laura gave it to me.”
She snorted in disbelief. “Laura would never part with it. It was special to her. We found it together at a flea market in Verona. The peasant who sold it to us had no idea of its value.”
“Laura’s afraid of earthquakes. She wanted me to take care of it.”
“So you gave it to your mother? I don’t believe you. Not for a second.”
Scott shrugged. “I don’t know why you pretend you’re such a good friend of Laura’s.”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you forgetting the Waldorf-Astoria?”
Vivian pulled together her cardigan over her breasts. “As far as I’m concerned, that never happened. Anyhow, it let me know how evil you are.”
“So you slept with me for Laura’s sake?”
“That may sound odd to you, but yes, I did. It was a mistake, I admit.”
“Why don’t you just get off my case, Vivian? I have nothing against you. I’m living my life, minding my own business. Why don’t you just go back to New York?”
She was shaking with anger. “Because you’re a killer and a pervert.”
“Pervert? You’re the one peddling Wendy Sharpe, making a fortune from pictures of genitalia and blood. Next to you, I’m a saint.”
“You know what makes you worse than a simple murderer? I don’t think you killed her because you loved her. That would be too romantic. I think you killed her because you didn’t like being denied. You’re a spoiled brat. Laura said no to you, so you killed her.”
He had to try to convince her. They passed UCLA and the San Diego Freeway, winding west on Sunset toward the Santa Monica Mountains and Will Rogers State Park. “Is that too much air on you?” he asked politely. “Let me roll up the top.”
“That’s not necessary. I’m fine.”
He ignored her. At the next traffic signal, he pressed the button. As the convertible top inched forward, the roof eclipsed the sun. When it clicked against the windshield, he reached up and locked it. “It gets chilly as we get closer to the ocean.” He figured she didn’t know they were still several miles from the water.
He swerved up a road that led to the hiking trails. This would be a good spot. Late afternoon, bound to be a few mountain bikers and hikers, but not many on a weekday.
“Where are we going?” Vivian demanded anxiously.
Scott didn’t answer. He felt his face getting hot, his breath ragged. There were no houses now, only dry, dusty ridges of chaparral, wild laurel, and California oak. Certainly not deep woods, but it would have to do.
“Scott, slow down! Where the fuck are we?” Vivian turned to Scott, her eyes round, panicking. “You really did kill her, didn’t you?”
“Fuck, no!” Scott slammed on the brakes. Her head smashed against the windshield as the car’s back wheels spun sideways in the dirt. Her body slumped, her face dazed. A piece of skin stuck to the windshield.
Scott’s arms shook with adrenaline; his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Thank God he hadn’t been going fast enough for her to break the glass. Thank God the airbags didn’t deploy.
The screech of the tires echoed in the hills. The cloud of dust slowly dissipated. No one appeared, but someone must have heard. The area wasn’t that isolated.
He looked over at Vivian. He knew she was only stunned. Now what? He straightened the car, drove a few hundred feet, then pulled up a dirt road that climbed a steep hill. He drove midway up the hill, around a curve, and pulled off to the side. One side dropped off into a deep ravine; the other side was steep orange cliffs. A rattlesnake streaked across the road. A falcon coasted on air thermals rising from the canyon floor. Scott listened. A helicopter in the distance. A barking dog, probably from one of the houses at the ridge on the other side of the canyon.
Vivian’s slumped against the door. He wished he could find a more secluded spot. She groaned, waking. He yanked her arm, and she flopped against the seat. Slowly, she brought her hand to her face and groaned again. Scott handed her a water bottle. She took a sip.
“What happened?” she said, still groggy.
“I’m sorry, Vivian. I needed to make you listen, so relax. I have to tell you the truth.” She wasn’t saying anything, but Scott could tell she was listening. “Laura called me up—about six weeks ago—and asked me to come over. She sounded completely wigged out, not like Laura at all. I get over there, and she’s a basket case. She’d done something really terrible, Vivian. She needed to leave the country fast. I told her I’d take care of everything. And that’s what I did.”
Vivian waited a moment before speaking. “What did she do?” Her voice was low, subdued.
“I can’t tell you. I told her I wouldn’t tell anyone. If she’s caught, she’ll spend the rest of her life in prison.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know. We plan to meet in six months in Amsterdam. I don’t know where she is now.”
Suddenly, Vivian flung her fists at Scott’s head, yelling, “I don’t believe you! I don’t believe you!” Scott grabbed her wrists, and she started kicking him, her body wriggling like an alligator in a snare.
He locked her legs between his, leveraging his body weight against her thighs. “Vivian, stop it! Please, you’ve got to listen to me. It’s the truth.” She bit his shoulder, and when he shook her off, she started to scream. He grabbed her around her neck and squeezed.
Spit bubbled at her lips. Her arms thrashed, her chest convulsing for air, her mouth sputtered, her throat gagged. She fought hard. He couldn’t believe her strength. Her left arm lashed out and smashed his jaw. He leaned back, pulling her into his lap, and squeezed harder. Finally, her body relaxed. Scott looked at her skirt hiked over her knees, her breasts against his thighs, the mousy-brown roots of her dyed hair clearly visible; she revolted him.
Above, charging down in a cloud of dust, was a mountain biker, spandexed and helmeted, hips high in the air. Scott shoved Vivian’s body as low as he could, praying the biker didn’t stop and ask if they needed help. Before the biker could see him, Scott ducked down. Better the biker think he’d seen an empty car; that is, if he had time to think at all. A streak of florescent pink and green streaked by; the biker slapped his palm against the car roof, then whooped as he vaulted over a rock. He didn’t stop, oblivious to anything but his adrenaline rush.
Scott listened as the biker crashed down the hil
l. He waited for a moment, then peeked over the dashboard. Bikers usually came in pairs. When no one came, he climbed out of the car and stood.
Goddammit! Why didn’t she believe him? What now? Could he dump the body here? Not in broad daylight. He began to feel dizzy. He remembered his five o’clock appointment; he had to get going.
He grabbed Vivian by the armpits and dragged her to the trunk. She would fit, he decided, and stuffed her in. When he got back into the driver’s seat, he spotted her purse. He picked it up, got out, and shoved it in with her body, then closed the trunk. Now what?
He would go to his appointment, then wait until dark. He’d figure out something, he was sure.
As he started the car and slowly backed down the dirt road, panic spun his brain like a blender. When they found her body, would the police question him? Had she told anyone she was going to visit his mother? Would his mother tell the police Vivian had left with Scott? He didn’t think so.
He pulled back onto Sunset. He had just enough time to get the car washed before his showing. He’d get second one with a complete wipe-down of the interior after he dumped the body.
Keep your mind on the details, he told himself. The rest will be easy.
PART SIX
Vespers
He got a new girlfriend. She lived up the coast in Malibu.
Her house jutted out over the ocean, and at high tide the waves rolled up to the pilings beneath her balcony. I bet she had problems with mildew and rot, and during big storms, she must’ve gotten water in her living room. You’d think if someone wanted to live that close to the water they’d live on a boat instead of having to worry about their home washing into the ocean. But that’s not what people do. Not in Malibu anyhow
One evening I followed his Beemer there, then came back the next morning to fish. I wanted to see if he spent the night. I didn’t figure he would. He was the kind of guy who thinks spending the night is giving in to a girl, like it means they have a relationship or something. From what I saw, I didn’t think they were like that. Not like a couple or anything. More like they were in it for the sex.
Good Morning, Darkness Page 20
