Hollywood Boulevard (32 page)

    "Again, without saying a word?" He brushed past the Detective, who followed him inside.

    "You said she was upset after the meeting; we know she felt threatened."

    "Isn't that something the police can check, if she took a flight out?"

    "You haven't filed a missing- persons report. No crime has been committed that we know of. So far we have an upset wife who possibly took herself off."

    "Is that what you think?"

    "What I think doesn't matter without some clear sign of foul play."

    "Wouldn't stalking satisfy?" The two men were quiet. "Detective, Ardennes— my wife— is an actress. Her emotions are raw, impulsive . . . Yesterday she seemed . . . confused. I would say almost panicked— last night."

    Detective Collins shifted his weight. "And yet you left her alone?" Andre had already said it had been a mistake. "I'm trying to follow, Mr. Lucerne; are you suggesting she left on her own or not?" Andre shook his head; he didn't know. "Say she is in harm's way. You argued; convince me you're not involved; you lost your temper, things got out of hand. . . ." He tapped the table once with his left hand.

    "I will not address that absurdity."

    The Detective pocketed his growing disdain for the movie director, tried not to sound dismissive of the forsaken spouse. "You mind if I have a look around?"

    "Of course, please look. Perhaps she is under the bed."

    There was a knock on the door. The Detective put a hand up, went and stood behind it; he nodded to Andre, who said, "Yes?" The Detective opened the door and Carola walked into the kitchen. Detective Collins stepped out. "Carola, this is Detective— I'm sorry—"

    "Collins."

    "Of course. This is my assistant director, Carola Santosa."

    Carola looked up at the Detective. "Hello. Any news of Ardennes?" she asked.

    "When did you see her last?"

    "Last evening when she drove us home from a producer's meeting."

    "How did she seem to you?"

    "Not too happy. None of us were. . . ."

    "Have a seat, Ms. Santosa." Carola walked past him and sat down at the table. The Detective opened the refrigerator door. "Not much food in the house." He opened and closed the kitchen cabinets. He looked at Andre. "Who drinks tea?"

    "My wife."

    "It doesn't look as if she took any with her. Tea drinkers tend to be particular. Would she have left without it?"

    "Probably not. Where does the tea take us?" Andre added, lifting his hands impatiently.

    The Detective leaned on the short refrigerator. "You and Ms. Santosa are close?"

    "We work together, closely."

    The Detective moved along to the living room, on the prowl. He opened the TV cabinet, examined the couch, slid a hand under the cushions. In the bedroom he asked if there were any medicines Ms. Thrush took and if they were missing. Andre said she took vitamins. He looked into the kitchen cabinet. "They seem to be gone," he called to the Detective.

    Detective Collins nodded. "You said you don't think she took many clothes?" he called to Andre. He noted a plugged- in cell phone charger at the bedside table. He'd seen another one at the dining table. A quick perusal of the drawer told him this was where Ardennes slept. He made a note: She left without her phone charger. Not likely. He opened the bureau drawers, scanning the contents.

    "She couldn't have; she didn't have that many things here to start," Andre said, walking into the bedroom.

    The Detective moved to the bathroom. "Her face creams missing?"

    "I guess so." Andre now stood in the bathroom doorway, watching. Both men briefly appeared in the wide mirror over the two sinks.

    "You guess so what?"

    " There seem to be fewer."

    "You don't know your wife very well, do you?"

    "I know my wife."

    The Detective was in the closet now. He saw that the box of dead flowers was gone.

    "Her computer is not here," Andre said. He glanced around the bedroom as if it were someone else's. " Maybe she
did
go away for a few days and we're making something out of nothing."

    Detective Collins returned to the bedroom. " Uh- huh. Where does that leave she wouldn't have left without a note?"

    Andre ran a finger over his lip. "Perhaps I was wrong and I've wasted everyone's time, Detective—"

    "I was on my way over here when you phoned, remember that?"

    "Ah, yes, your card on the table . . . I only meant to find out if she had spoken again to you . . . and now the stalker . . . I am not sure what to think."

    "Don't leave out the phone calls." The Detective did not mention the delivery of dead roses and Day of the Dead dolls. He passed his hand through the shallow desk drawer and picked up Sylvia's rhinestone- encrusted cigarette holder. "Your wife doesn't smoke, correct?" Andre confirmed that. "She did the wash?"

    
"What?"

    "There's a lot of quarters in the drawer."

    "Oh, yes. She likes doing laundry. There is one here, just below. You find me somewhat distracted, I'm afraid, Detective . . . Collins. But isn't the computer a hopeful sign? I believe she was writing some sort of book; she may have wanted only to do that. You know, get away to work?" The Detective would have said, why not say so, why all the mystery, but Andre's cell phone rang for perhaps the tenth time. He looked at the screen. "I have to . . . Carola, will you take this for me? Dammit. It's Jonas Campion. . . ."

    Carola ran up to Andre. She took the ringing phone from his hand. "Should I say Ardennes is missing?"

    "
Merde
. No. Tell him, tell him— stall, say there is a problem; no, don't say that. Say I am on another call; say things are moving along, I will get back to him." Carola nodded and walked to the sitting room with Andre's phone. "You see, if the press gets hold of all this . . . that was the production company head, Jonas Campion." He pointed toward Carola on his phone. "The point is, we do not
know
she's gone . . . missing."

    "This Campion wants Ms. Thrush to replace the lead, that's what you said earlier; do I understand correctly?"

    "I want her in the role."

    "She told me she no longer acts."

    Andre eyed the Detective as if seeing him for the first time: the essence of manly handsome. "Ardennes Thrush is at her best potential right now. The part is a silk glove tailor- sewn for her."

    "I see."

    "Do you?"

    The Detective, unseen, slipped Sylvia's cigarette holder into his pocket and closed the desk drawer. "Inconvenient as the news might be, Mr. Lucerne, I think your wife may be in real trouble."

    The first look of genuine concern crossed Andre's face, as if the situation had slipped out of his control. That was the way Detective Collins would describe his expression. "I'll file a missing- persons report if you think that will help," Andre said. The Detective nodded.

    Back in the sitting room, Detective Collins asked Andre to retrieve his laptop out of his car. They would look up Ardennes Thrush's filmography, find out who'd worked on her last films, and try to locate the name of the production person who'd taken her to Indio. Andre wanted to send Carola, but the Detective said he wanted a word with her. He didn't want a word— more to take a reading. They waited while Andre went out to his car, the silence between them as thick as wet felt. Detective Collins did not have the sense Carola was up to anything, at least not regarding Ardennes directly.

    "You're friendly with Ms. Thrush?" he asked.

    Carola smiled. "I admire her! She's a great actress—"

    Andre burst into the room, the computer held under his

arm. He'd hurried up the steps from the parking lot and was breathing hard. "Look, Detective Collins, I checked; her car
is
gone. I don't see where we are going at this point. If she
did
go to Indio, or somewhere to be alone, to think, as her phone message— why not let it go at that?"

    "That would satisfy you?" Andre was quiet. "What company did she rent her car with?"

    Carola had taken Andre's computer and set it on the table, and was waiting for it to boot up. She looked up at the two men. "I can answer that. We all use Enterprise."

    "Did the film rent her car?"

    "No," Carola said, "but Enterprise may have given her our group discount. The lot is over on Ivar Avenue."

    The Detective nodded. The lot was near the diner where he and Ardennes had had lunch. "I'll have to go back to my precinct to clear this case with my captain. Get some blue on board."

    "You are going to bring in more police? Aren't we getting a bit carried away?"

    "What would you suggest, Mr. Lucerne; we pour ourselves a smoky single malt, sit back and wait for your wife to walk in the door?" He looked at his watch, then at Andre, his eyes revealing nothing.

    At that awkward moment Fits showed up. He knocked twice and rang the bell. Carola looked at the Detective, who nodded and slipped out of sight behind the bedroom door.

    " Hello there, cutie," Fits said, eyeing Carola when she opened up. He saw Andre and walked past her. "Mr. Lucerne, I'm a friend of Ardennes's, an actor who has enjoyed your work."

    Fits had come from the set. He wore his usual loose clothes, a kind of urban- cowboy- biker look, his graying hair long and cha otic. He still had face makeup on. To Andre's amused stare, he added, "I came from work. My character's a ruffian— with a good heart."

    "Matthew Fitzgerald, if I am not mistaken," Andre said, smiling broadly. He was looking Fits over. "I wonder we haven't worked together."

    "I wonder the same."

    The Detective stepped out from behind the door. Both men turned to face him.

    Andre took over. "Mr. Fitzgerald, this is Detective Collins—"

    "Everyone knows me as Fits," Fits said, nodding to the cop. " Quite a little fete going on here. Is something the matter, Detective?"

    Detective Collins lowered his eyelids halfway. "What brings you to the party?"

    "I came to see Ardennes. I didn't expect a crowd."

    "Fits, this is my AD, Carola," said Andre; he seemed to want to control the conversation.

    "Pretty," Fits said. "So, ah, what's with the convention?"

    "Will you step into the bedroom, Mr., ah, Fits?"

    "We've hardly met, Detective . . . and it's just Fits." He followed Detective Collins into the bedroom. The Detective closed the double glass doors.

    The king- sized bed didn't leave much room for two big men, one round, the other tall. "Have a seat," Detective Collins told Fits.

    Fits sat on the bed. The Detective pulled out the small rattan desk chair, seating himself on it backward.

    "Did Ms. Thrush expect you today?"

    "No. I said I'd call, but they wrapped my character early. We're shooting at Universal Shitty, traffic was weird, like there were no cars; I took it as sign and came over."

"You've been here before? You know the gate combination?"

    Fits made a laughing grunt. "No, I popped in behind a garbage truck."

    "That can be verified."

    "He's still out there. Verify."

    "How'd you get the room number?"

    "I saw Lucerne trot up the steps, first door I knocked was wrong, guy inside set me straight. Can I ask a question now?"

    "Why'd you decide to pay a visit?"

    "Besides that we go way back and way deep and she sounded pretty unhappy?"

    "For starters."

    "She called late last night. She had a fight with Herr Director." He pointed with his thumb toward Andre in the sitting room. "Apparently he walked out."

    "Why would she call you?"

    "Like I said, we have a history."

    "An intimate one?"

    Fits leaned back, amused. "Is this off the record? ' Cause I'm not a kiss- and- tell sort of guy."

    The Detective paused. "Did you call her today?"

    "No, I came over, like I also said."

    " Would you call her now, on your cell phone?"

    "What's this all about?" Fits asked, punching Ardennes's speed- dial number. He listened to the message. "It's Fits, baby. Call me," he said into the phone. He hung up, put his phone back into a breast pocket. "Indio?" he asked the Detective.

    "Mean anything to you?"

    "Polo? I mean, who goes to Indio?"

    "So you have no idea where Ardennes Thrush is?"

    Andre knocked on the bedroom door. "We think we have a name, Detective."

    Fits stood up. "What's going on?"

    "Fits, I can count on your discretion? You won't repeat what you learned here?" It was Andre talking.

    "I haven't learned anything."

    "Ms. Thrush said absolutely nothing to you last night about going away?" It was the Detective talking.

    "You spoke to Ardennes?"

    "Sure. She called me after you pulled your little disappearing act to another hotel. Nice move."

    The Detective walked purposefully to the sitting room and stood over Carola at the computer. "We think it has to be Beverly Henry, production designer on Ardennes's last feature," Carola said.