One of Those Malibu Nights (31 page)

“You can’t do that,” Allie yelled and Demarco turned and smacked her head back too.

Dearie leaped for his throat. Demarco had the rifle at the ready. He didn’t even have to aim, the dog was so close.

The shot cracked through the room, and Dearie slid to the floor.

“Oh, God, oh God …”
Allie screamed. She hurled herself at Demarco.
“Bastard,”
she screamed. “You
bastard.”

She’d learned what to do at self-defense classes and now she jabbed her fingers at his eyes. He dodged her, caught her arms, held them in a tight grip behind her back.

The rifle clattered to the floor and in a second Sunny had grabbed it. Now Sunny held the rifle and Petra hefted a handy meat cleaver.

“One more move, you evil louse, and I’ll slit you in two,” Petra said in a tone that spelled business.

Demarco let go of Allie. He began to back toward the door.

“Stay right there,” Petra warned.

Demarco had his hand on the doorknob when the wail of police sirens cut through the silence. The women’s heads shot up expectantly.

Demarco flung open the door. The rain was still slicing down and lightning lit the sky. And in that second, Demarco was gone.

Outside, gravel spurted as the police cars squealed to a halt.

“Here comes the cavalry,” Petra said calmly. A few seconds later, Ron Perrin burst through the door, followed by Mac.

“Allie, Allie, are you all right?”

Ron’s strong arms were around her and she was pressed to his fast-beating heart. “Oh, Allie, what did I do to you? How did we ever let things get to this?”

Mac looked at Sunny. “I’m okay,” she said, but she could see he was shocked. “Demarco just ran out the door,” she added urgently, as the police swarmed into Petra’s kitchen. “He has a rifle.”

Mac and the cops ran back outside, leaving two detectives with the women and Perrin. Mac heard a car start up near the bottom of the drive. Demarco was getting away. He leaped into the cop car and they took off after him. It was just like when he was that city reporter in Miami, all those years ago.

Allie was on the floor, kneeling next to Dearie. The dog’s eyes were rolled up in his head but when she put her face to his mouth she felt a faint breath.

“Get me a big towel,” Ron said to Petra. “And one of you who speaks French tell this detective that he has to get us to the nearest vet.”

Petra gave Ron a towel and he carefully wrapped the dog in it. Then she rang the vet, woke him up and told him it was an emergency.

Ron and Allie took off with the cop driving and the dog on Ron’s lap, and Sunny and Petra were left alone again under the watchful eye of the second detective.

Sunny spotted something sparkling on the floor. She picked it up. It was Marisa’s ten-carat yellow diamond ring. She put it in her pocket to give to Mac later. Demarco must have dropped it.

Petra gave an aggrieved sigh, and put the kettle on to boil. “All I thought was Mary was going to a nice dinner party at Robert Montfort’s,” she said. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry,” Sunny said. “I was in the middle of telling you when Allie got back and then Demarco showed up. He’s the killer you see. In fact he almost killed me the other night and … Ohh.” She shuddered. “It’s just too much to tell.”

“Of course I knew she was Allie Ray,” Petra said, pouring the boiling water onto the tea leaves (Darjeeling, her favorite in moments of stress). “Everybody did. Well, those who counted anyway. Nobody else really cared, they just knew her as Mary. You know, the new waitress.”

“And you never told Allie?”

“Of course not. She’d come here seeking sanctuary, and until Félice got the story and then Mr. Demarco showed up, she had found it. Now she’ll probably lose her dog and regain her identity.”

“And maybe even her husband,” Sunny said thoughtfully. But she was worried. Mac was out there with the killer and anything could happen.

“How about a nice cup of tea?” Petra said, pouring out.

Demarco saw the police car’s lights behind him. He swung off the main road and onto a narrow lane that ran alongside the river. The signpost read
TRéMOLAT
. The road was difficult at night, muddy and completely dark, but that was in his favor. He doused his own lights and sped on. He could no longer see the police car’s and he sighed with relief. He’d given them the slip.

He stared ahead into the blackness and the rain. Over the roar of thunder he could hear the Dordogne River rushing past and the trees cracking in the gale-force gusts of wind.

He had been a fool. He should never have risked it. He would have been home free with Ron guaranteed to be accused of the murders. Now he had blown it.

He slowed down. No matter how hard he ran there was no way out. And anyway there were the police sirens again,
blah blah-blah blah
, that up-and-down wail that meant they were coming closer. He could see the blue lights flashing now.

The muddy road widened as it merged into a corner. Next to him the Dordogne roared into a weir, white foamed and swirling. A power-generating plant loomed a hundred yards ahead.

The sirens were coming closer …the lights were turning the corner behind him …

Demarco swung the car suddenly to the left. He put his foot down and headed directly into the surging river.

Mac heard the thud as the car hit the water. He was out of the police vehicle before it had even stopped. He ran to the edge of the river, staring down at the vortex caused by the car’s descent into the depths.

He nodded. It seemed an appropriate ending for an evil man.

Allie walked wearily back into Petra’s kitchen, followed by Ron. The two women looked hopefully at her.

“So, okay … Dearie didn’t make it,” she said in a choked voice. And then she sank into a chair and put her head in her hands and wept.

Petra quickly took the seat next to her. She put her arm around Allie’s shaking shoulders. “Poor Dearie,” she said softly. “And poor Allie. There’s only one way to look at it though, love. Dearie came to you at a time when you needed him. It’s as though he were meant for you, just for that moment. Now he’s gone, but he did his work. He gave you the love and companionship you needed. And then he gave you his life. He was a noble fellow and we’ll miss him. So cry all you want, love, if it makes you feel better.”

She got up and went to pour the tea. She put the cup in front of Allie and said, “A nice cup of tea. They say it’s good for all that ails you but this time I’m not so sure.” And throwing Perrin a grim look, as though daring him to say anything, she sat next to Allie again, waiting for her to stop her sobbing.

The door opened and Mac strode in, followed by the two cops and two plainclothes detectives who had pulled up next to them.

Mac was soaked. He ran his hands through his wet hair, taking in the scene. He walked over to Sunny and she got up and went into his arms. Tears were also running down her face. “It’s okay, Sunny honey,” he said, not minding the awful rhyme. “It’s all over now. Demarco’s dead.”

The two detectives strode over to Ron Perrin, who was standing near the big Welsh dresser that held about a hundred blue and white plates and a collection of teapots and carved wooden Welsh marriage spoons, as well as Petra’s usual junk.

“Ronald Perrin, we have a warrant for your arrest,” the first detective said.

Just like in a play, Sunny thought. She stopped crying and watched, amazed as the two collies came bustling in from the rain. They ran to the detectives and shook themselves, spattering the two men with about half a gallon of muddy rainwater.

Fastidious, they exclaimed with horror and took a step back.

“It’s just the dogs,” Petra explained.

Allie’s head was up. Her eyes were lost behind two red swollen circles and her nose was running.

The kitchen door slammed back and Robert Montfort strode in. He stared, stunned, at the collection of people. He looked at Allie’s blotched face; at the big bald man in the tight striped T-shirt, the earring and the handcuffs; at Petra pouring tea and the handsome couple staring back at him amid an assortment of cops and detectives.

Puzzled, he spread his hands wide. “What’s going on?” he said.

“You’re too late to join the cavalry, Montfort,” Petra said. “It’s all over.”

A week later, they were all back in L.A. Ron Perrin was in a downtown jail awaiting trial on tax evasion, but the FBI had not pursued the allegations of fraud. Demarco was the one guilty of that. Allie was cloistered in her Bel Air mansion dodging the press, with Lev back in charge of security, and her friend Sheila for company. And Mac was busy giving depositions and being interviewed by the police, and walking Pirate along the beach at midnight. Sunny was incommunicado in an expensive spa, having her frazzled nerve ends soothed by hot stone massages and mud baths, the bill for which she was sending to Mac since she said it was all his fault she was in this state anyway.

Right now though, Mac was on his way to the pet rescue
center in Santa Monica. Leaving Pirate in the car, he explained what he needed then walked along the rows of sad-eyed caged animals. He wanted to take them all home, but he could take only one.

He spotted the dog halfway down the line, but walked on, still checking. Its soft taupe-colored eyes followed him. He thought they were not so different in expression from Ron Perrin’s when he’d last visited him in jail. “Get me outta here,” the dog’s eyes seemed to say. Which is exactly what Perrin had said.

The assistant took the dog out of the cage for Mac to see. It was young and battle-scarred. A line where stitches had sewn its head together lay unfurred and pink from ear to ear, one of which stuck up, the other down. It was a sort of taupe brown, short haired, with maybe a bit of Weimaraner. That explained those soft taupe eyes that almost matched its coat.

“I’ll take him,” Mac said. And apologizing to all the other rescue animals for not taking them as well, he made his way quickly out of there.

He put the new dog on its lead in the backseat and Pirate turned for a quick suspicious sniff. He needn’t have worried. The dog immediately curled up, closed its eyes and went to sleep.

Mac drove back to Malibu, smiling at the blue and gold beach scene as he descended the incline onto PCH. It felt good to be home.

He punched a number into his cell. “Hey,” he said when Allie answered. “Can you escape? Come out to Malibu for lunch?”

“I’ll do it,” she said, sounding relieved. “I’m alone, Sheila’s gone to the hairdresser, but Lev will get me out from under the paparazzi’s noses.”

An hour later she was there. Almost the old Allie Ray this time, only with short blond hair and no glasses—well, only the de rigueur shades.

“It’s you,” Mac said with a grin.

“The original,” she said. “Back to me again.”

“That’s funny,” he said. “Somehow I thought you were always just you.”

She laughed as they walked out onto the deck. The two dogs were sitting next to each other inspecting the beach. They turned to look as Allie stepped through the door.

“Ohh, hi, Pirate,” she said.

“Meet Frankie,” Mac said, and the dog came running over.

“He’s sweet,” Allie said. Then with a catch in her throat, “He has that same look in his eyes …”

“As Dearie and Pirate you mean.”

“Yes.” She sighed, still stroking the dog’s smooth short fur.

“That’s why I got him for you.” Mac was holding his breath. If she didn’t want the dog then it was his and though Pirate was okay with Frankie, his home was a bit
crowded for two people and three dogs. He was counting the Chihuahua in that group.

“Fussy’s not your kind of dog,” he said referring to Allie’s snippy Maltese. “You told me yourself she’s happiest living with the housekeeper. I thought you needed Frankie to take care of you.”

She looked up at him, surprised, and then she was laughing. “You sure know the way to a girl’s heart,” she said.

He’d brought in some sandwiches and they sat on the deck enjoying them with cold beer drunk from the bottle. “What’s happening with Jessie Whitworth?” she asked.

“She’s still in jail in France, facing vehicular manslaughter charges, as well as driving with a false license. Seems she’d also run up a few quite hefty credit card debts.”

“She wanted to be me more than I wanted it,” Allie said. “The blond wig, wearing my clothes.”

Mac felt Allie’s eyes on him. He looked at her. “That night when she cut up my gowns, did she … I mean …?”

“Was it you she meant to slash? Yes, I believe it was. And once the French police are through with her, it’s our turn. You’ll have to press charges against her, you know. She’s guilty as hell, and I’ve no doubt she’ll do time in France and then here.”

She nodded. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

“You can go back to living again.”

She smiled. “I guess I can,” she said.

“What’ll you do next?”

“I’ve decided to go back to France. Petra’s keeping my job open, and there’s a sweet little cottage I could buy.”

“You won’t be lonely?”

She shrugged. “Perhaps. I don’t know. There’s someone I’m friendly with …”

“Montfort,” Mac guessed with a grin.

She shrugged again, grinning back. “Maybe,” she said.

He didn’t ask her about Ron. He figured it was her business.

He took the yellow diamond ring from his pocket and gave it to her. “I guess you should have this,” he said. “It was Marisa’s.”

She turned it over and over, letting the sunlight catch it in a thousand scintillating prisms. Then she heaved a sigh. “Poor Marisa,” she said. “I’ll give it back to Ron. He can sell it. He’s going to need the money with all those lawyers.”

Mac nodded okay. It seemed appropriate.

They took a walk to the beach with the dogs, then Lev came to pick Allie up and drive her back to Bel Air.

She turned at the door, leaning against it, her hands behind her back. “I don’t know what I would have done without you,” she said softly.