Mystery (39 page)

She tightened up, readying a retort. Shrugged.

“He had no interest in paternity?”

“Stu was shallow,” she said. “That’s why he couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag.” Wagging a finger at me. “He wasn’t greedy. The only time he wanted to see Phil was after he got sick with cancer. Not to make trouble, just to see him. I took Phil to lunch at Spago. Stu had a table across the room. Stu was a ghost, didn’t look like himself anymore. Philly and I had a lovely meal. Foie gras mousse on kumquat tart.” Licking her lips. “Fava bean bruschetta … Stu picked at a salad. He left first. Our eyes met. He blew me a kiss when Philly wasn’t looking. A week later, he was gone.”

“Peaceful passing,” I said. “Private room at the actors’ hospice.”

“You bastard! You’ve
excavated
us?”

“More like surface digging. I found a picture of you and Mark at a fund-raiser for the hospice. Found Stu’s obituary in
Variety.
”

“All that smoking we did on screen,” she said. “It’ll probably do me in one day.” She laughed. “When the boys were real little, before I told Mark, Phil had always been his favorite. Bigger than Frankie, stronger, more athletic. ‘The kid’s Hercules, Lee, where the hell’d he come from?’ And I’d chuckle along with him. Then I’d go off to my room and cry.”

She demonstrated, let the tears flow silently. Maybe it was Method Acting. It seemed real. I could’ve felt sorry for her. If she was another person.

I said, “Did Mark’s attitude change after he knew?”

“Not one bit,” she said. “Mark was a prince.”

“A prince who betrayed you.”

The tears ceased. She made an ugly, guttural sound.

I said, “You orchestrated Mark’s retirement, figured with enough fun for all, maybe he’d relax and take you on a damn cruise. Unfortunately, just the opposite happened. Mark veered from the script and improvised. He grew to like Tiara. She amused him. Even her fake British accent amused him. He started to see her as more than a sex toy and began sneaking around you. Funneling her more money than you’d agreed upon. Gave her a diamond watch
way
above her pay grade. And Stevie Muhrmann was no better, going along with it. A bigger cut for Tiara meant a bigger cut for him. The problem with improv, though, is that actors can run amok. A director’s worst nightmare. But you never saw how serious the problem was until Mark had the poor judgment to die unexpectedly and you had the even worse judgment to cut off Tiara’s funds.”

“I’m the bank?” she said. “Fuck her.”

“Actually, you were the bank, Leona. And banks run into problems when they’re faced with Too Big to Fail. Which is exactly how Tiara had come to see herself. Because Prince Mark had armed her with a
ton
of leverage by divulging Phil’s paternity.”

I stopped.

She breathed hard and fast. Growled.
“Bastard.”

Hard to know who she meant. Maybe everyone.

I said, “Maybe it was pillow talk, maybe intentional mischief on Mark’s part. Whatever the case, the damage was done and Tiara took the knowledge seriously. There’s a pathologist who’d been testing her for STDs for years and she asked him if he also did paternity testing. She wanted science on her side in case you went into denial mode.”

“Bitch,” she said. “Pushing me, pushing me after I warned her. She was trailer trash, cheap, clueless, stupid. Didn’t even know how to order a drink when I met her.”

“The whole Pygmalion bit, down to the accent,” I said. “Talk about My Spare Lady. Maybe her poor judgment had something to do with her own mother dying, some people don’t grow up until they’re orphans. Or maybe it was just the faucet turning off, no more style to which she’d grown accustomed.”

“Bitch.”

“Entitlement’s a nasty addiction,” I said. “No rehab for it and cold turkey sucks. Tiara’s ultimatum was clear: Pay me a whole lot of money or I go straight to your sons and give them a little genetics lesson. Talk about button-pushing, Leona. Your crowning accomplishment was raising brothers who love each other. Would the boys’ relationship survive the truth? Maybe, but you couldn’t risk finding out. So you agreed to Tiara’s demand but told her as long as I’m paying, I’m staying, honey. You slept with her a few more times. You even let her stay at your house on Old Topanga when she got tired of paying rent. Then you set up a final date. Back to the Fauborg, where you and Mark and Tiara had spent so many quiet evenings before retiring for fun. The hotel was going down forever, perfect metaphor. You wrote the script: ingénue, bodyguard. Experienced older woman calling the shots. The inevitable merging of flesh. You even had Tiara wear the outfit you wore in
Death Is My Shadow
. Told her to order the same cocktail. Use the same cigarette holder and sunglasses. Because we know how that scheming character ended up. But perhaps there was another reason, Leona: Maybe you were finally eliminating traces of the persona you’d played your entire adult life. Bad girl pushed too far who inevitably loses. Time for a new you.”

I smiled. “The Prime of Miss Olna Fremont.”

She waved that away.

I said, “Tiara complied superficially, but once again, she improvised. Wore the watch Mark had given her. Talk about a subtle little fuck-you.”

She fidgeted.

I said, “The plan was the three of you would ‘meet’ in a dark cocktail lounge, go off together, end up somewhere—probably right here on satin sheets. Stevie was looking forward to a night of fun. Loved playing Secret Agent Man.”

She snickered. “His brain was potting soil.”

“Two against one, Leona. You’ve got guts.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“How did it go down?”

“What’s the difference, let’s talk business.”

“Here’s what I think: You kept Tiara waiting, finally phoned Stevie and told him there’d been a change of plans, returning to the main house was out of the question. Stevie said, ‘Bummer.’ You said, ‘No problem, we’ll party at the other house. Where Tiara’s staying, anyway.’ Your log cabin, you bought it with your own money, so it was unsullied by Mark. It appealed to you because it reminded you of all those western sets. You had the two of them meet you somewhere, picked them up in one of your cars. Not the Rolls, too delicate, not the Mercedes, too small. Had to be the Range Rover, perfect for mountain roads. You drove, they rode. A few miles before Old Topanga Road, you stopped and pulled over and said, ‘There’s a great view spot, I want to see if the stars are out.’ The three of you got out, maybe you pointed out some constellations, it is beautiful up there at night. And then Tiara met the Asp.”

She studied me. Scooted closer, stroked my fingers. “I take it all back. You
are
a smart boy.”

“Thanks, but you made it easy. That last scene in
Death
where that cop tries to wrest your weapon away from you and you get shot during the struggle. Little side-by-side derringer, the one you kissed in previous scenes. It’s a distinctive-looking weapon. Ralston Firearms model XC324, aka the Asp. Last manufactured fifteen years ago, crude but flexible: Each barrel can take a .45 bullet or a .410 shotgun shell and any combination thereof. The coroner was puzzled by how evenly aligned the wounds were on Tiara’s face because she’s assuming two shooters. But one double-whammy from a single person would explain it perfectly. From what I’ve read, it’s got quite a kick but nothing a gopher-blasting gal couldn’t handle. Risky, though, because if you missed, you’d need time to reload. But you had confidence. Bye-bye pretty face. That was the whole point. Enough slavish devotion to youth and things that don’t matter. How’d Stevie react?”

“What do you think?” Her mouth dropped like a trapdoor and hung slackly. She bugged her eyes.

Aping a dullard’s surprise.

I said, “You weren’t worried he’d attack you?”

“Not a chance,” she said. “He always did what I said.” Smiling. “Guess that was the attraction.”

She played with her hair. “It’s not like I gave him time to think about it. I kicked her down the hill, got back in the car, and started it up. He stood there, looking like he was going to be sick. I said, ‘Are you going to keep staring like a jackass or can we finally have some real fun?’ ”

She walked her fingers along a seat cushion. “I got a little specific about the fun. What
you’d
call positive reinforcement. He scampered right in, I touched him where he liked to be touched. Tossed
it
into his lap.”

“The Asp.”

“It was still hot,” she said. “That’s a problem with it, it gets hot. I wore gloves.” She broke into throaty laughter. “When it hit his crotch, he shot up so fast he banged his head on the roof. I said, ‘Calm down, darling. We’ll have a blast.’ No pun intended.”

Slapping her knee. Squeezing my hand.

I said, “But it was intended. A mile later you stopped again, pulled out a second gun from where you’d been hiding it. A .357 that could be fired a whole bunch of times. You ordered him out of the car. Why didn’t he fight back then?”

“Scared,” she said. “Like a pathetic little girl. I almost wanted him to try, he’d have ended up with no face himself. But too much to clean up.”

“He got right out?”

“Dropped to his knees and begged.” Huffing. “Pathetic. He started asking me why. ‘None of your business,’ I said. ‘Now get up and let’s have an adult discussion.’ ”

Laughing. “He actually thought he was going to be okay.”

“Then you shot him in the back. Why twice?”

“What I wanted,” she said, “what I’d thought about—was to have him drop his pants and shoot him where it counted. Watch the look on his face when he realized what I’d turned him into. Watch him realize he was oozing away. But a girl has to be practical. I needed to get it done and move on.”

She touched my cheek, let her fingers trickle toward my chest. I intercepted her. No way for her to conceal a weapon under the tight sweats but my heart was pounding and I didn’t want her to feel it.

Being this close to her made me want to bolt.

Like holding a defanged snake. An asp. The cerebrum says
Safe
. The primitive brain, the one that kicks in when survival’s at stake, says
Get the Hell Out of There
.

“Shame,” she said. “You’re evil but you are cute, we could have all sorts of fun.”

“Until you’d had enough.”

“Touché. Okay, what do you want for the story rights to your little drama? Make your best offer, I don’t negotiate.”

I said, “I’m figuring over a two-year period Mark paid Tiara close to a hundred and fifty thousand, probably more. Given the circumstances, I don’t think twice that amount is unreasonable.”

She wriggled. I let go. She tried to slap me again. I backed away. Stood.

“You’re out of your mind,” she said.

“How about two hundred, then? Less than you paid for the Rolls and Phil and Frank get to continue as best friends forever. Not to mention, you stay out of jail.”

“I’ll never see the inside of any jail, darling. It’s a story, nothing more.”

“A true story.”

“Prove it.”

“If you’re that confident, why haven’t you gone for the Glock?”

“That’s obvious,” she said. “The other thing.”

“Phil and Frank.”

“Even so, two hundred is ridiculous. Even half that’s ridiculous.”

“I disagree, Leona. Two hundred’s
my
best offer and if you don’t meet it, I’ll walk out of here and tell my story to Lieutenant Sturgis. Like I said, the cops aren’t geniuses but they can connect dots.”

“And what will happen to you?”

“They’ll thank me and pay a consultant’s fee.”

“Fifty thousand. That is
my
best offer and you’d do well to take it.”

“A hundred.”

“You are tiresome. Seventy-five.”

“Split the difference,” I said.

“Eighty-seven five. Exorbitant, but fine. I’ll have cash for you in three days. Give me that card of yours, I’ll call you and inform you where to pick it up.”

“Don’t think so, Leona. I’ll set up the date. When you orchestrate the score, the band tends to go out of tune.”

“Not to my ear,” she said, gaily. “It was beautiful music.”

“Three days,” I said. “I’ll call you.”

“All right,” she said. Far too quickly. Way too syrupy. Definitely time to leave.

Retrieving the laptop, I left the room, crossed the cavernous entry hall.

The photo of the woman in white was gone.

Leona Suss made no attempt to follow and that raised the short hairs on the back of my neck.

As I reached the door, my head whiplashed for a backward look.

She stood, hands on hips, at the foot of the stairs. Rubbed her crotch briefly. Said, “Ta-ta.” I knew she was already screenwriting.

The cat purred by her feet.

I turned the knob.

The army stormed through.

nfantry charge.