Wishbones (19 page)

Of course, I was elected to do that.

I found Federico and Jovan sitting in the falling dusk, sipping red wine, on the patio outside the kitchen. I'd showered and changed, and later Graf and Tinkie and I were going into town for one last dinner. Tinkie had to get back to Zinnia. She couldn't delay any longer. Oscar was going crazy without her. He'd even begged to speak to Chablis over the phone.

I could hear Jovan's low-pitched voice, and she sounded serious. As much as I hated to interrupt, I had to.

"Federico, I need to speak to you about Estelle," I said.

Jovan leaned forward. "Is something wrong?"

I'd hoped to talk to the director alone, but I could see that wasn't going to happen. "She's not in Malibu, and there's no evidence she left Costa Rica."

Federico sighed. "This is one of her stupid games."

"She's done this before?"

"Even when she was a child. She'd disappear in the house and Carlita and I would hunt for her for hours. Then she'd reappear. It was frustrating."

I could see where that would make parents nuts. "I'm worried, Federico. She told her roommate she was going to Malibu, but she isn't there, and the sheriff told me someone ransacked her home."

Concern swept over his face. If the gossip was true and Estelle was not his daughter, he seemed to care about her regardless. "Is there any indication that she was injured?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No, there's no trace of her at all."

"She's probably still here, in Petaluma. She's hiding out to punish me and try another tactic to ruin my film."

"Federico, she's your daughter," Jovan said. "She wouldn't--"

"She would, and before you rush to her defense, I suspect it was Estelle who shoved you down the stairs and scared you senseless. She's disturbed."

"And that's my point," I said. "She could be in serious trouble."

"And she could be doing this to see if I'll give up the film to hunt her--which is what I suspect. With Estelle, it's always been about choosing. She's her mother made over. Always pitting herself against my work. If I work, then I don't love them." He stood up so abruptly that his wineglass tipped and shattered against the tile.

The red stain spread across the slate like blood.

"Federico!" Jovan stood and grasped his arm. Her eyes were wide and her face contorted in misery. "That's a terrible omen. I think we should hunt for Estelle. What if she's in trouble?"

Federico looked at me and then at Jovan. "I've spent two decades trying to keep Estelle from harming herself. If I don't bring this film in on time and on budget, my career will be ruined."

Jovan let her hand trace down his cheek. "She's your daughter."

I thought about the rumors Millie had told me--that Estelle was really Vincent Day's daughter. I wondered if that was what Federico was thinking. How much could he sacrifice for a daughter who hated him? A daughter who might not be his?

"Sarah Booth, would you find Daniel Martinez and send him to me?" Federico asked. "I'll pay him to find Estelle. If she's in Petaluma, he'll find her. And make certain she's okay. But I must focus on this film."

That sounded like a reasonable plan, because if Estelle was actually in the house, Graf, Tinkie, and I planned to rout her out.

Jovan kissed Federico's cheek. "I can help hunt for her, too. Surely, if she's playing the spoiled daughter, she'll be staying somewhere comfortable. I'll tour the hotels and guesthouses tomorrow and check."

It was a good idea. "Perfect, Jovan. I'll talk to the authorities and see if they'll give us any assistance."

"And I will speak to her brother." Federico's tone was grim. "If he knows anything, he'll tell me."

"Federico, when you get a moment, I need to speak to you about something else." I hated to lay the hidden rooms and secret passageways on him, but he had to know.

Jovan gave me a look that held curiosity and something else I couldn't pinpoint. She had no need to worry about me. My interest in Federico was strictly professional, and I'd done everything I could to show it.

"Is it about the ghost?" Jovan asked.

My smile was tired. "Not really. I think you were pushed by a real person, Jovan. I wouldn't worry about the ghost." Especially not once we blocked the secret passageways. That would put an end to a lot of the ghostly maneuvering around the house. But I didn't want to tell Jovan, and on second thought, I wondered if I should keep this between me and Tinkie and Graf.

When the sun had set and the full moon rose big and fat and filled with liquid silver light, Graf and I saddled the horses. Our time in Costa Rica was coming to a close, and I wanted to ride on the beach and smell the salty tang. This was a magical place, a gentle place. In Petaluma, my heart had begun to heal, and I'd found myself yielding to the tender feelings growing for Graf.

He was a handsome man, his dark features and chiseled jaw
GQ
perfect in the moonlight as he rode Nugget. He could play a highwayman or a cowboy or a corporate exec. His features were classic and combined with his talent, they would take him far. Had it been destiny that brought him to Zinnia to perform a play originally slated for the Mississippi Gulf Coast? It still surprised me to think how radically my life had changed, almost overnight.

We rode along the beach where the sand was firm and the footing good for our horses. The waves seemed to chase us, rushing to cover the sand we'd left behind. Sweetie Pie bounded beside us, her silky ears flopping in the breeze and the salt spray flying from her paws. It was exhilarating.

We passed the castle rock and continued on, letting the horses canter. They slowed on their own accord, dropping into
an ambling walk. Graf and I were side by side. He reached across and put his hand on my thigh.

"As lovely as this is, I'll be glad to get back to Los Angeles." He squeezed my leg lightly.

"Why?" I was surprised.

"I'm worried about you here, Sarah Booth. You were almost killed, and it seems that no one takes that seriously except me and Tinkie. There is someone in that house up to no good. It isn't a prank or mischief, this is dangerous."

We'd discussed the secret passageways, and our plan was to block them off during the night, while everyone else was asleep. "We'll put a stop to the problem," I said.

"Someone who goes to this much trouble isn't going to be easily deterred."

One of the best things about Graf was that he didn't pretend to be an investigator. He was happy to help with the searches, but he didn't spew theories. He waited to be asked. "What do you think about Estelle?" The wind lifted my hair, creating a cool breeze on my neck.

"It's hard to say. I don't really know her. I mean, she seems like the logical suspect, and she's certainly acted crazy enough . . ." He let the sentence die.

"But what?"

"I can't put my finger on anything. I do believe we should hunt for her, though. If she's still in the area, we need to know it. And if she's in trouble, we need to find her."

"Amen to that."

With the moonlight bright on the water, the waves looked tipped with silver. I felt so connected to Graf that I put my hand on his arm and pressed. Whatever mistakes he'd made in the past, he was a good man.

"Do you believe in ghosts, Sarah Booth?"

He couldn't see my smile because I turned away. "I do, Graf. Wholeheartedly. I know they exist."

He hesitated, and the only sounds were the waves on the
shore and the wet footfalls of our horses. "Will you hold it against me if I'm a skeptic?"

"Not at all. In fact, I'm counting on it."

"And why is that?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you." I slapped Nugget on the rump and asked Flicker for a gallop as we turned and headed home.

The moon on the waves leaped and crested, and the horses flew along the sand, their shadows dancing behind them. It was a moment of perfect happiness, one of those rare times when there's no need to fret or project. My world was
magnifico
.

By the time we got back to the house, we were late to meet Tinkie for dinner. She'd insisted that she needed to pack and talk to Oscar on the phone. Horseback riding, though she claimed she could do it, wasn't one of her specialties. Tinkie could put together an ensemble from shoes to matching hair color in thirty minutes or less, but she wasn't particularly attracted to outdoor sports.

While Graf unsaddled the horses and rubbed them down, I went to find her. It was her last evening, and I wanted this to be special. There were many wonderful restaurants in Petaluma, and one very elegant dining establishment. If her heart was set on elegance, I was prepared to make the sacrifice of dressing up. I could "borrow" one of Matty's dresses from the ballroom.

When I tapped on her door, there was no answer. I tapped again, louder. "Tinkie!" Silence. I pushed the door open. Her bags were on the bed, half-packed. And her dress for the evening was laid out, along with shoes. But there was no sign of her or Chablis.

I tried her bathroom, but it was empty. Her makeup was still out on the counter. She'd insisted she was going to pack because her flight was early in the morning. So what had she done in the two hours that Graf and I had been riding?

There was no trace of her in her room, so I went to mine. Graf had said he would shower in his bathroom, avoiding the whole issue of the passageway. For a man who had no problem with a camera recording his passionate kisses, he was modest about showering with an audience.

I checked the balcony--no Tinkie. I went to the kitchen and out on the patio where Federico and Jovan had earlier been sipping wine. No Tinkie.

And more troubling, not even a peep or a bark from Chablis. She was a lovely and well-behaved dog, but like any creature of short stature, she made up for what she lacked in size with loudness. Normally, when Chablis sniffed Sweetie Pie, she went wild to play with her. I checked each floor of the house, calling Tinkie's name. It seemed no one was in the mansion at all. Ricardo's door was locked, and so was Federico's. Everyone had obviously gone into town for dinner.

I met Graf on the path from the stables and told him that Tinkie and Chablis were missing.

"Did you check the secret passages?" he asked.

Dread rippled through me. "Tinkie said she would wait for us to return so we could explore them tonight while everyone was asleep."

"You said the house was empty. She might have seized the opportunity."

Graf wasn't a private investigator, but he was pretty darn smart. "Let's go."

While I cleared canned goods and staples from the cabinet shelves in the kitchen, looking for the mechanism that would open the wall, Graf found a flashlight. Sweetie was at my side, sniffing and whining. The idea that Tinkie was trapped in the dumbwaiter scared me. Why hadn't she yelled or cried out? Why hadn't Chablis barked? If the base of the dumbwaiter was structurally unsound, Tinkie and Chablis could have had a nasty fall. Dire images plagued me as I shoved things out of the way and pulled and tugged at the wooden cabinet.

At last I found what sounded like a hollow panel. A false wall covered the opening of the dumbwaiter, but Graf popped it off with little trouble. To my sweet relief, the cubicle that rode up and down on cables was there, empty.

"Look." Graf pointed at a place where the dust had been disturbed.

Someone had been inside it. And not so long ago. But there was no sign of Tinkie or Chablis or that the equipment was dangerous.

Graf found the button that sent it up and when he pressed, the dumbwaiter disappeared slowly and noiselessly upward.

Because I'm a victim of a vivid imagination, I looked down into the shaft to make certain my friend wasn't there. The hole was empty.

Graf, Sweetie, and I moved on to the passageway that started in the pantry. This was easier to manage, and as soon as Graf found the button that released the sliding door, Sweetie bounded into the darkness, her hunting bay echoing back to us.

Graf led with the flashlight, and I held his hand as we hurried forward and then up a flight of wooden steps. We had to be heading for the sliding panel on the second floor, but in the darkness it was so easy to become disoriented.

To negotiate the stairs safely, we had to slow our pace. We were almost at the top when I heard a heartrending moan.

"Sweetie!" I called my hound, but there was no response. I'd never heard her make a noise like that.

A keening wail echoed off the walls of the narrow passageway. It was so sorrowful that my eyes teared up. I grasped Graf's hand as he pulled me forward to the top of the stairs.

The flashlight beam led the way, and the first thing it struck was Tinkie, slumped against the wall. In her arms she cradled Chablis.

Tinkie cut loose with a wail and then turned to us. "She's hurt," she said. "I can't get her to wake up."

Graf and I surged forward. Sweetie was already there, licking her little friend's face and licking Tinkie, too. While I took Chablis's limp form into my arms, Graf pulled Tinkie to her feet. She was bleeding from a huge goose egg-sized lump on the side of her head. Someone had really whacked her.