Time and Trouble (27 page)

The receptionist shook her head.

Billie bit at her bottom lip.
“
Or it could be Luke. It could be a first or last name
—
and I don
’
t mean George Lucas. It wasn
’
t him. I know that much.
”
She waited for a smile, something, then gave up.

“
I think he
’
s the only Lucas we
’
ve got,
”
the receptionist finally said.
“
And he
’
s not based in this building, anyway.
”

“
It might have been his first name. How about Stewart?
”

“
Lucas Stewart? Luke Stewart?
”
She shook her head again.

“
Are you positive? I
’
ll bet both his names were on that piece of paper. Damn!
”

The receptionist sat back down at her computer keys, watching the screen. Then she shook her head.

“
Then what if it
’
s the other way
—
Stewart Lucas?
”
Billie asked.

“
Like I said
…”

“
Right.
”

“
I think maybe you
’
ve been had,
”
the receptionist said.
“
A lot of people want to work here, people who love movies, special effects or just computer graphics, and maybe this fellow took it one step too far. To impress you, probably.
”
Her bland expression managed to signal the end of this consultation.

Time to do a Puffball. Billie thought about her white kitten, a Christmas gift when she was seven. Puffball had gotten out of the house in mid-January and been killed by the neighbor
’
s dog.

Her eyes welled immediately. Pure reflex now, Pavlovian. Cry! the director would say. Faster! Your heart is broken! She
’
d worked on it until the first syllable, the barest mental whisper of
“
puff
”
activated her tear ducts.

“
Listen, don
’
t cry.
”
The receptionist stood up and came around the desk. She was shorter than Billie, narrower, and looked made of a substance lighter than air. It was possible that she herself was a special effect.
“
He conned you, gave you false info when you were vulnerable. Bet he realized all along that meant he couldn
’
t get his money back. And doesn
’
t really deserve it. The name on that paper was probably fake along with everything else, so he wasn
’
t nearly as nice as you thought. And don
’
t be ashamed. It happens to all of us.
”

God bless sisterhood.
“
But he said
—”
The phone rang. Damn. Just as her performance was winning over the audience.
“
I can
’
t believe he lied. Oh, this is awful
—
I
’
m leaving tomorrow. Going home for a while and I wanted this off my conscience.
”
The receptionist started back to her desk to answer the phone.
“
You sure there
’
s absolutely no Stewart Lucas or Lucas Stewart?
”
Billie persisted.
“
Or maybe Luke as a nickname for something else altogether? He
’
s cute, brown hair, about six feet, and he drives a hearse.
”

“
Hearse?
”
The receptionist leaned over her desk, lifted the receiver and held up one finger, signaling Billie to wait. She politely routed the call, then replaced the receiver and turned back.
“
You said his car
—”

“
An old hearse painted a shimmery yellow. A good place to sleep, even if it wasn
’
t for my eternal rest yet.
”

The receptionist almost smiled at her lame joke.
“
Well,
”
she said,
“
I guess there could be two six-foot-tall cute young guys with brown hair who drive cars like that, but there is a guy who works here who rebuilt one of those and drives it. It
’
s older than he is.
”

“
Yes
—
he said he
’
d had to redo it from the street up.
”

“
But his name
’
s not Luke or Stewart, it
’
s Stephen Tassio, so I don
’
t know
…”

“
It has to be the same person because I know he didn
’
t lie. Stephen
…
you think I could have mixed up Stewart with that?
”

The receptionist nodded.
“
Stephen
’
s a good guy, all right. A little weird, but in nice ways. The party you went to
—
was it one of those Middle Ages things?
”

“
No. Everybody was pretty young. I think maybe I was the oldest person there, and I
’
m twenty-five.
”
The receptionist didn
’
t blink. Maybe Billie actually did look younger than she was, maybe people weren
’
t just flattering her.

“
Not middle-aged. Middle Ages. Medieval stuff. He likes to dress up in fake armor or something and be a knight. There
’
s a bunch of them who go out and hold tournaments or jousts, whatever you call it. He even has this bird
—
a hawk or something
—
who lives with him, like the knights had. Of course he got his bird through a rescue society. It
’
d been shot or something and couldn
’
t be in the wild anymore. But the Middle Ages bit, it
’
s a whole thing, he says. People involved in it all over the world.
”

“
What
’
s it called?
”
Billie asked, trying not to slobber in her eagerness.

The receptionist shook her head.
“
I thought maybe you were part of it, too.
”

“
I don
’
t know if we even have such a thing in Indiana.
”
She pretended to pull herself back to the issue at hand.
“
Anyway, now that we know who he is, could you let him know I
’
m here? My name
’
s Audrey. Audrey Miller.
”

God bless that blank-faced high-school classmate. Maybe whenever she needed a name and an empty shell of personality to fill, she
’
d be Audrey, whose four-footed clients weren
’
t likely to notice. But the truth was, unless Audrey had really changed, even spaniels probably forgot her immediately after they were returned home.

“
Tell him the girl from the party. The one who was robbed. This is great. I feel so much better.
”

The receptionist nodded and pushed buttons for an extension. Then a crease reappeared between her eyes as she listened to a message. Someday it
’
d become permanent, ruining the carved appearance of her face.
“
I forgot. He
’
s not here,
”
she said.
“
You want to leave the money in an envelope with me?
”

“
I
’
d rather
…
When will he be back in? I could go take care of a few errands.
…”

“
He
’
s taken two weeks off. Probably camping somewhere. He likes doing that when he isn
’
t
—
jousting or something. You want his voicemail?
”

“
No, it won
’
t do any
—
I
’
m leaving for Indiana tomorrow. I could give him my folks
’
number and ask him to leave a message as to where I can mail the
…”
She enjoyed thinking aloud as Audrey. Audrey wasn
’
t quick-witted, and her sluggish thought process bought Billie breathing space to think on her own.
“
But wait
—
I would just hate for my parents to find out about the mugging
—
they hate that I moved to
‘
crazy California,
’
as they call it. That would about push them over the hump, and until I get established
…
well, until I get a real job
—
I
’
m a fabric designer
—
they kind of subsidize me. Only partly, but
…
you know?
”
Stephen Tassio, she repeated to herself. Even if we
’
re at an impasse, that was something. How common a name could that be? She
’
d find him. Why
’
d he take off these particular weeks? Pray that it wasn
’
t so he could drive across the country with the girl. Do not let him be only a courier, delivery service for the real Luke or Stewart, waiting for her far away.

“
Could you give me his number instead? Or his address?
—
I
’
ll mail it directly to him with a note.
”

The receptionist looked sympathetic, but shook her head.
“
I
’
m sorry. I
’
m not allowed to do that ever, at all, but in this case especially. Stephen left strict, strict rules that nobody is to be given his phone number or address. And in fact, I don
’
t even have them. He moved because of this situation he
’
s in, and he lives with friends, and I don
’
t know their names or where they are.
”

“
What about mail? Or if you need him suddenly?
”

“
He has a post-office box in San Rafael. And a beeper when he
’
s not on vacation.
”

“
That
’
s odd,
”
Billie whispered.
“
That doesn
’
t fit the guy I met or the one you described. Do you think he
’
s involved in something criminal? Running from the law?
”

The receptionist smiled weakly and shook her head.
“
Hardly. He
’
s
—
Don
’
t repeat this, okay? Don
’
t tell him I told you when you see him, but he
’
s being harassed.
”

“
Meaning?
”

“
Stalked, except he thinks that
’
s too humiliating, not a guy thing, to even say the word about an ex-girlfriend. A crazy ex-girlfriend. She used to wait across the street there, scream at him, cry, until we called the police on her. He wouldn
’
t. Too un-macho, I guess. He said she
’
d calm down, get over it. Meantime, he
’
s hiding. In fact, I
’
ll bet he
’
s not anywhere around here because the ex would expect that.
”

Hiding, Billie wondered, or enjoying a honeymoon with Penelope Redmond?

Okay, then. She had a name. Neither of the names she thought she was after, but all the same, this was progress.

*

It was suspiciously easy. There, in the phone book in the kiosk around the corner from ILM was a listing for Stephen Tassio. Name and address in Larkspur. If what the receptionist said was true, it had to be his former residence, but maybe if she dialed it, the computerized operator, not knowing about stalkers and paranoia, would give forth the new number.

Instead, voice mail picked up, stating the obvious, that she
’
d reached the number she
’
d dialed.

What if Stephen Tassio hadn
’
t moved at all? Maybe that was a ruse, to get the possessed girl off his case. Or what if the receptionist was a whole lot more devious than she
’
d seemed?
—
what if she considered Billie
—
even pathetic Audrey
—
as the possible stalker? Everybody lied. That
’
s what Emma said.

She could just imagine Emma
’
s acidic comments if she set off on an obscure hunt for the man without checking the obvious first.

She wrote down the address and number and returned to her car.

*

The Tassios
’
overinflated plantation house looked misplaced and out-of-scale in a neighborhood of large but relaxed shingled homes that blended into their landscape. To get there, Billie had driven up a road that curved abruptly to one side so as not to disturb an ancient tree. But this house was pure arrogance and made no attempt to be compatible with its surrounds. Stephen Tassio
’
s home, or former home, or the home in which he currently or previously rented a room
—
whatever this was
—
belonged in a different sensibility. Enormous columns guarded a front door large enough to admit the King
’
s guards, ceremonial high hats, the horses they were riding, and the carriage they pulled.

The man who answered her ring was dwarfed by the lintel high above him. You
’
re a small and mortal thing while I am a majestic monument to myself, the doorway
’
s mouth seemed to proclaim. Behind him, Billie saw gilded mirrorwork and a marble floor. What royal guests did these people anticipate in the charmingly sleepy town of Larkspur?

“
I
’
m looking for Stephen Tassio,
”
Billie said.
“
I
’
m
—”