at First Sight (2008) (26 page)

"If I can help . . . "

"Just worried about this horrible task I have ahead of me. Forget it." "I didn't mean to pry." She sat back, and a minute of silence followed.

"Okay, what I was thinking, really more like dreading, was going up to that damn cabin in Big Bear and sorting through all of Evelyn's things. She had a lot of family mementos up there . . . photo albums from before we were married, paintings, stuff her sick mother wants. I've agreed to go hunt it up and send it to her sister, who's going to give it to her mom, who's in pretty bad shape. She's in assisted living and it seems she doesn't have much longer."

"Was Evelyn's sister at the funeral?"

"No . . . no, Mariah couldn't come. She's taking care of their mom in Michigan. Neither of them could get here. Evelyn's father died two years ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too," Chick said sadly. "He was a great guy." Chick thought Bud Sheridan was a pompous asshole who pumped out useless advice, one horrible suggestion hooked to another like bad sausage. The man had opinions on everything from the stock market to the best way to wash your car. It was hard to take instruction from a guy who got fired every eighteen months and ended up as a nonunion plumber doing illegal work for an unlicensed contractor. But that was another story. Bud was gone. Taking a well-deserved dirt nap. No need to revisit that sack of hopeless memories.

Chick leaned back and worked his neck some more.

"That neck's really bothering you, isn't it?" Paige said. She got up and moved around behind his chair and began to massage the muscles in his shoulders. She worked silently for a few minutes, her long, strong fingers kneading him professionally. Chick actually felt his johnson tingle, then quiver, then begin to rise like a mummy from the tomb. A smile spread to his lips. This was actually about to happen.

"Better?" She stopped without preamble, shook out her hands, and moved back to her chair.

Fuck, he thought. What kind of a massage is that? But what he said was, "Much. Thank you."

He stood up and turned on the Jacuzzi, making a big deal out of setting the temperature. "After you leave, I'll just soak in this thing for a while. I'm sure I'll be fine."

Then he sat back down and, while the Jacuzzi bubbled sexual innuendos beside them, got back to business. "Anyway, I have to go up to the cabin and sort through all her stuff, and honestly, Paige, I don't think I'm up to it. I think, if I try, I'll crack up."

"Then don't go," she said. "At least not for a while."

"I wish it was that easy, but I don't know how long Evelyn's mom has. The death was very hard on her. Mariah says she's been crying all day, asking for the photo albums, pictures of Evelyn from when she was a kid. There are also some of Evelyn's personal effects, her journals. She was a great writer and kept wonderful journals. Anyway, Mariah thinks getting this stuff will help. She made me a list, so I really have to go. Besides, like I said at the funeral, I'm in my bargaining stage, trying to be a better Chick. This is something worthwhile that I can do for Evelyn's mom, so I'll just gut it out . . . just go up there and do it."

"I still haven't cleaned out Chandler's office," she said. "It's too painful to go through it all by myself right now."

Yes, that's the whole point, Chick thought. Are you really going to let me go up there and do this morbid task alone? He worked his neck again and waited to see what would happen.

She got up and moved around the chair and again started working on his neck.

"I thought you were through," he said.

"I used to do this for Chandler. You work for about five minutes, let the blood come back in, then do it again." She flashed a smile. "You're gonna have to sit still for three of these, my friend."

He could feel her fingers working themselves deep into his shoulder muscles while his johnson began to unwind like a snake under a porch.

"I don't feel any knots," she said after a minute.

"Probably psychosomatic," he replied, "but it sure feels much better. Ahh, ahh, there, there . . . that's the spot . . . perfect?'

She kept kneading for a few minutes longer, then sat down again.

"Look, Chick, cleaning out that cabin might be an emotional mistake right now. You should call Evelyn's sister and see how long you could put this off. Even a few weeks would help:'

Chick appeared to be giving this some thought. Then he shook his head. "God, I wish I could just run from this, but I promised Mariah, so tomorrow I'm gonna drive up there and give it a shot. Wish me luck." Come on, he thought, don't just sit there.

But she sat quietly in her chair. He could see indecision flicker. "Would it help if I went with you?" she finally asked.

"Oh Paige, that is sweet of you but, my God, you've flown all the way out here. You barely knew Evelyn. You've made these days bearable just by showing up." He stopped and shook his head. "I can't ask you to do that. I'll be okay. I'll get through it somehow."

"Okay, if you think you can manage."

"It will only take a few hours," he said. "Three painful hours and it will be over?'

He watched indecision play on her face.

"I don't really have anything to do tomorrow," she finally said. "It's only a few hours, and if it would help you, then I'd be happy to go. It's the first time in months that I feel like I can actually pitch in and do something worthwhile:'

"You'd really drive up there with me?" he said, hardly believing he'dpulled this off. Once he got her up there, he would figure a way to make it last for days.

"I've
got to go see Chandler's parents in the morning for breakfast, but after that I'm free
.

She stood up. "I'd better get going. It's late, and you should jump in that Jacuzzi and get your neck loosened. I'll see you manana." She gathered up her things and headed toward the house.

He got up and followed. At the door, he gave her a quick hug, remembering to keep it sexless. He watched her drive away. But after she was gone, he beamed.

Man, he was good. You just can't teach this shit, he thought.

Chapter
33

DRIVING BACK TO THE LANGHAM HUNTINGTON IN PASAdena I wondered how I could have allowed myself to get talked into this. What on earth had I been thinking?

At the hotel, I gave the Mustang to the valet and took the elevator up to my room. When I walked in the telephone message light was on. I picked up the receiver, punched the right button, and listened to a recorded message from Peter Ellis notifying me that breakfast tomorrow was at 10 A
. M
. at the family offices on Wilshire Boulevard.

Then I played my second message. It was from Bob Butler.

"Mrs. Ellis, it's Detective Butler. I've been trying to reach you
,
but your cell phone must be off 'cause I'm going straight to voice-mail. Anyway, here's my update: The body and fender guy in Virginia remembers the car had New York plates and a Hertz sticker on the mirror. He helped me refine the sketch, which I'll be sending to you once the artist is done. I'm flying to New York to recheck the Hert
z a
gencies there. I think I'm on the verge of solving this. Please call ASAP. God bless you."

I cursed myself that I'd left the damn cell-phone charger at home. I tried Bob's number, but he was either out of range or already on the plane. I finally stripped off my clothes and fell into bed. But, as tired as I was, I couldn't go to sleep.

The more I thought about my trip to the mountains with Chick, the more second thoughts I had.

I knew that impulsive decision was tied up with Chandler's death and a sense that I no longer fit in. I was trying to feel needed.

I tossed and turned and began to look for a way out. A way to renege. I got up, pulled some Evian out of the minibar, then turned on the TV and plopped back down on the bed and started absently roaming through the channels looking for something to take my mind off it. I stopped at The Late News on Channel Five, just as the blonde anchorwoman was saying:

"Evelyn Best, the slain wife of Internet exec Charles Best, was buried today at Forest Lawn Cemetery. While that event was taking place in front of several hundred family members and friends, across town the key suspect in her murder, Delroy Washington, was arraigned before the Superior Court Magistrate?'

The picture switched to a shot of Delroy being led into the courthouse in handcuffs. The insolent teenager glared at the camera.

"Assistant District Attorney Brent Briggs had these words for our KTLA camera outside the courthouse?'

The shot switched to a young D
. A
. with a serious expression. He was standing in front of the mahogany door to Superior Court Six.

"The physical evidence here is pretty overwhelming, and pending an arraignment on capital murder, we are going to ask that Mr. Washington be held without bail."

The shot switched to a black woman in her mid-forties wearing a print dress. She was with a heavyset man, who turned out to be her attorney. The anchorwoman's voice continued over the shot.

"Delroy Washington's attorney, David Atwater, had this to say . . . "

I was now sitting up straight in bed. I turned up the volume as the attorney spoke.

"Delroy Washington was at home with his mother when Mrs. Best's Mercedes was carjacked. This is just another example of police scapegoating. Because my client had a history of carjacking, they're trying to pin this crime on him, despite his alibi. This case is shortly going to be exposed for the rail job it actually is."

I thought of Chick and what he'd said at the funeral, how he had pledged himself to live a better life--use Evelyn's death to improve his life. I was suddenly ashamed about wanting to duck out. I decided anew to help him through this task in Big Bear. It was only going to take a few hours. I could certainly get through that.

I shut off the light and turned over on my side. Just before sleep took me, the same subconscious voice I'd heard earlier delivered another warning.

"Don't go," it whispered softly.

Chapter
34

THE NEXT MORNING CHANDLER'S PARENTS AND I SAT IN
the handsome wood-paneled dining room in their corporate offices at a beautifully appointed table and picked at our food. Chandler's death was still a wall none of us could get over. After the meal was cleared away, we finally talked about what Peter Ellis called my next life option.

What it came down to was I had to get off my ass and start moving forward again.

The real reason the Ellis's had invited me to breakfast was to propose that I become managing director of Chandler's learning foundation. Peter said he and Sophia would continue to sit on the board as advisers without compensation. I would have full discretion on how to spend the foundation's capital distributions. I could manage the fiscal resources, decide what research equipment to buy, what new projects we would fund and develop.

There was important research being conducted on dyslexia at Yale by Drs. Sally and Bennett Shaywitz using MRIs to determine what part of the brain was activated when reading. Chandler had been excited with Sally and Bennett's work and had invested foundation money to speed their research. Peter said that I was the natural choice to run Chandler's foundation.

I was exhilarated by the challenge but scared to death of the responsibility. I also knew this was just what I needed to kick-start my life.

I was definitely interested but wanted the rest of the weekend to think it over. I told them that I had promised to go to Big Bear with Chick Best to help him clear Evelyn's things out of their cabin and would give them my decision when I returned.

It was noon by the time I left. I got caught in bumper-to-bumper traffic and didn't arrive back at the Langham until after one. I valeted the rental car and walked into the lobby. The concierge stopped me and handed me a fax in a sealed envelope. I was starting to open it when I heard my name.

"Paige?"

I turned, and standing there, dressed in black steel-toed cowboy boots, a blazer, and stretch designer jeans, was Chick.

"Hi . . . " I said. "Have you been waiting long?"

"Just half an hour, but it's no sweat. I love this place. Evelyn and I used to come here and go dancing when the old Ship Room was still open. That was back at the beginning of time when this was still a Sheraton Hotel:' He smiled.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting. I got caught in traffic?'

"It's okay. You ready to go?"

"Guess so," I answered hesitantly. He took my arm and led me out to the parking lot, where Evelyn's gold Mercedes SL600 was parked.

I stared at the damn car.

"Everything all right?" he asked.

"Isn't this Evelyn's car?"

"Yes . . . " He seemed confused.

"The car she was killed in?"

"It's been detailed and cleaned out. I'm getting set to sell it."

I didn't want to ride in a car that, only a week ago, had hosted Evelyn's death.

"It's just . . . she was killed in this car. I mean, come on, Chick," I stammered.