Wishbones (18 page)

Jitty, wearing a blond wig and a long, sleek black gown that hugged her bodacious curves, put one gloved hand on her hip. Her other hand held a long, slender cigarette holder and a glowing fag.

"Is that a pistol in your pocket, or are you glad to see me?" she asked, a perfect imitation of Mae West. She strutted past me into the room.

"Jitty!"

"You called, didn't you?"

"I thought you were the ghost." My heart was still pounding.

"I am. So what's going on?"

"Can you tell if there's another spirit in this house?"

She looked at me as if I'd suddenly grown a large, cabbage-shaped tumor on the side of my head. "Sarah Booth, I'm not a medium like James van Praagh or John Edward."

"I didn't ask you to communicate with the ghost. I just need to know if there's one here in the house, or if the things that are happening are from a human source."

Jitty puffed on her cigarette, making me want one. Being dead had some real advantages. "I'm not allowed to tell you."

"And if you do, what will happen?" I couldn't believe the red tape in the Great Beyond.

"Nothing good. I might get a permanent recall."

I wasn't willing to barter Jitty's presence for a scrap of information that I could determine for myself. All I had to do was grab her--and if I caught her, she was flesh and blood.
But so far, the lady in red had been fleet of foot. "Is there a test to determine if this is a spirit?"

"Check out a mirror. Ghosts don't have a reflection." She frowned. "Or is that a vampire? I get the rules confused sometimes. Now I've got business of my own." She started to fade, an undulating shimmer of energy that grew dimmer. "Keep up the bedroom activity, Sarah Booth. Think what a child star you and Graf could produce."

Her laughter was the last aspect of her to depart, a throaty chuckle that even while it irritated me, made me smile. For whatever reason, Jitty was unwilling to help me with this. That in itself had to be a clue.

Tinkie had rented a purple car that looked like a cross between a Scion and a VW bug--it had the best air conditioner of any car in the fleet. She pulled up to the front of the mansion with her hair blowing in the chilled breeze. Chablis, too, was enjoying the air-conditioning. Her little ears were standing straight up.

Both of them jumped from the car, and Tinkie carried a roll of architectural plans almost taller than she was. Her dress-to-impress outfit she'd chosen to visit the architect included five-inch stiletto sandals, lime green, a linen minidress, backless, and a floral matador jacket. The outfit was completed with a straw hat. She looked like a million dollars.

"I not only got the plans, I got a bit of history on the Gonzalez family from Senor Lopez. Fascinating stuff." She waved the plans at me.

"Let's have a look at those," Graf said. He was as eager as I was to put an end to the visits of the phantom woman. "I'll bet there're secret passages where someone is hiding." His eyes narrowed. "She's popping out and doing stuff, then hiding again. And when we find her and catch her, she's going to face an assault charge against Jovan."

"There are passages," Tinkie said. She'd drawn her own
conclusions and was having a hard time not spilling everything right then and there.

"Let's go up to my room," I said. "It's more private and--" I broke off when Ricardo came around the corner of the house.

"Ladies, Graf." He smiled, and I thought again what a handsome young man he was. What a perfect contrast to Estelle, who was beautiful but so angry that it distorted her lovely features.

"Dad needs you back on the set." Ricardo spoke to Graf. "He needs a retake of a shot with you and Ashton."

Graf hid his disappointment. "Certainly, Ricardo. I'll be right there." He looked at us. "You girls continue without me."

"What's that?" Ricardo pointed to the roll of drawings Tinkie held.

"Sarah Booth and Graf are building a home back in the States. I wanted to go over the plans with them, since I'll be in charge until they return." Tinkie was cool as a cucumber in chilled dill sauce.

"It must be a big house." Something cold had drifted into Ricardo's big brown eyes.

"They're movie stars, Ricardo. Of course the house will be palatial. It's expected. Part of the packaging. Maybe your father can explain it to you." Tinkie's voice had an edge to it.

Ricardo was either smart or lucky. "Be sure and include a gym with a Jacuzzi and lots of workout equipment. Being a star is difficult. One extra ounce of fat, one bad hair day . . ." He gave his signature one-shouldered shrug. "You guys can have it. I'll take anonymity behind the camera and a big paycheck anyday."

"Let's see what your dad needs," Graf said, stepping in front of Ricardo and leading him back to the set.

Tinkie and I stood in the shade of some lush tropical tree. The scent of roses wafted to us from the gardens.
"There's something about that kid that gives me the willies," Tinkie said.

"Could be testosterone untempered by experience."

"Could be sociopathic tendencies and a subverted hatred of his father."

"Wow, Tink, I'm usually the one to say the harsh things."

"This family is seriously screwed up, Sarah Booth. And I'm not just whistling 'Dixie.' I've got the proof right here."

"My room?" I asked.

"Absolutely not."

She was so adamant that I put a hand on her shoulder and got her to face me. "What's wrong with my room?"

"It's perfectly lovely, and whoever matched those sheers to the wallpaper and the bedspread did a perfect job, but--" She held up a hand to stop me from interrupting. "There's a passageway behind the bathroom wall. It's large enough for someone to stand in, and there are peepholes cut so that you can be watched. Behind one of the tapestries. I'll show you later."

A million thoughts collided in my head. Someone could have been watching Graf and me make love. That was creepy enough. But it went deeper than that. Someone was spying with the intention of hurting one or all of us.

The mental image of Norman Bates leaped into my mind. I turned to Tinkie.

"You're white as a sheet," she said, grasping my elbow and moving me into the shade of the porch. "Take a breath and let's go up to my room. As far as I can tell, the guest rooms don't figure into the secret passageways and hidey-holes that Estoban Gonzalez built into his daughter's wedding gift."

We entered the cool of the house and hurried upstairs to Tinkie's room. Chablis and Sweetie trotted with us, flopping on the floor as we spread the house plans on her bed.

"See, here's the space in your room," Tinkie pointed out.

Sure enough, there was enough space between the walls
for a person to stand. Entry was gained from the hallway, a panel that slid to the side.

My initial shock gave way to anger. The idea that someone had been spying on me, in my most intimate moments, made me furious.

"Calm down," Tinkie said. "You don't know for certain anyone has used that hidden area."

She was right. Just because Estelle had appeared in my room unannounced didn't mean she was spying on me. The hidey-hole wasn't an entrance to my room.

"But why would Estoban Gonzalez build a room to spy on his daughter and her new husband?" That was sick. So sick I didn't even want to think about it.

"Is it possible he feared for Carlita?" Tinkie posed the question softly.

"As in he thought Federico would harm her?" That hadn't occurred to me.

Tinkie kicked off her heels and flopped on her stomach, her feet crossed in the air behind her. I couldn't help but notice her perfectly manicured toenails, a pretty pastel mango. Tinkie had color coordination down to a science.

"Either that, or perhaps he thought she might harm herself." Tinkie arched one eyebrow. "With all of that anorexia, he might have been worried about depression or something. I mean, is it possible that Carlita suffered from her eating disorders
before
she married Federico?"

"So why not tell Federico and let him take care of his wife?"

"Federico had a career. I'm sure he wasn't home all the time. Perhaps Estoban only wanted to make certain she wasn't harming herself."

Tinkie was putting the kindest possible spin on the situation. I settled on the bed, realizing for the first time how tired I was. It had been a long night and a hard morning. I needed a nap.

Tinkie shifted the documents until she had the kitchen in
front of her. "Look! There's a passageway from the pantry up a flight of stairs to the second floor!"

This was a big discovery and could easily explain how someone had frightened Jovan, broken a dish, and then escaped with all the doors and windows locked.

I studied the prints in earnest, following Tinkie's pointer finger as she flipped to the page that showed the second floor. Right at the top of the stairs was another false panel. Someone could take the kitchen pantry passage up to the second floor and escape. Or they could wait in the passage until the house was empty enough for them to make a getaway.

"What about the third floor?"

Tinkie flipped the sheets until we had the floor plan for the ballroom and the locked rooms. The ballroom was the heart of this floor, but there was something off about the room at the end of the hall. I leaned closer to try to figure it out.

"It's a dumbwaiter," Tinkie said, her breath coming out in a rush. "It could work just like a passage. A person could sit on it and be moved up or down, like an escalator."

"Where does it come out?"

We found the second-floor plans, and Tinkie looked at me. "In the linen closet in your bathroom."

"And the first floor?"

The blueprints made a crisp sound as we flipped to that page.

"Behind the kitchen cabinets," I whispered. I remembered that on the morning Jovan was attacked, Sweetie had been nosing there, trying to tell me. So there were two ways to exit the kitchen secretly.

Tinkie rolled to her back and then sat up with the ease of a sixteen-year-old. "That tells me there is no ghost, just someone trying to scare us."

"And trying to hurt us." Jovan could have been killed in her fall. I'd come close to drowning. "This is a dangerous person, Tinkie."

"Dangerous, desperate, and perhaps deranged. A deadly combination."

When my cell phone rang, I made a little squeak of surprise. The caller ID showed the sheriff's office in California. Now that was a shocker. I couldn't imagine Sheriff King was calling to ask how the filming was going.

"What can I do for you, Sheriff King?" I asked.

"Are you certain Estelle Marquez came back to the States?"

Though Cece had used all of her many charms at the airport in Petaluma, she'd been unable to confirm that Estelle had actually boarded a plane to the States. King had the legal authority to find out for sure, though. "That's what her roommate said, but you're the man with the badge and subpoena power."

"Somehow Costa Rica doesn't give my badge a lot of weight. LAX has no record of her landing here, and there's no sign of Ms. Marquez at her place. This morning, we got a call from the neighbors. Her house has been ransacked."

That got my attention. "Any idea who did it?"

"The crime-scene guys are still there. There wasn't evidence of forced entry that we could find. I'll know more later." He sighed. "I'm worried. The neighbors said she was fragile and prone to depression. Is it possible that Estelle Marquez is so disturbed that she killed Suzy Dutton?"

I thought about the "apparition" that had attacked Jovan. It was possible that Estelle was building herself an alibi in the States. "I can't answer that question, but there's a chance she's still here in Petaluma, Sheriff. Some strange things are happening on the set."

"You think Marquez's daughter is the source of the curse?"

"I don't have any solid evidence, but I'll call you when I find something." I hung up fast and turned the phone off in case he tried to call back.

Graf wanted to take the house plans to Federico and talk to him, but Tinkie and I persuaded Graf that it would be better to wait until we'd had time to examine the secret passageways we'd discovered. Federico looked haggard, and there seemed to be tension between him and Jovan. Besides, we had to tell him that it was possible that Estelle was missing.