A High Price to Pay
Author: Cynthia Hamilton
Date: 2014-03-19 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Mystery
Description: Madeline’s dual professions as event coordinator and private investigator cross paths during the most lavish affair of her career—a weekend-long fortieth birthday extravaganza for the wife of a famous film director. As the party draws near, a simple background check after the disappearance of precious family jewels quickly turns into a murder investigation, and before Madeline and Mike can put the pieces together, another body turns up. Adding to Madeline’s already overflowing plate, the D.A. informs her that Rick Yeoman, one of the men who had abducted her three years earlier, has been premat

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, businesses, events or locales is coincidental or used with permission.

Copyright © 2014 by Cynthia Hamilton

All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without the author’s permission.

First Published 2014

Woodstock Press

ISBN: 978-0-9776278-6-8

Cover design by Barbara Boros

Formatting by Six Penny Graphics

For my family

I wish to thank Teri Coffee McDuffie for her inspired and patient tutelage in Soo Bahk Do Moo Duk Kwan, and Philippe Sautot for his memorable feasts. My heartfelt gratitude to both for lending themselves to this story.

PROLOGUE

Conrad Adams greeted Madeline and closed the door behind her. She hadn’t been in the D.A.’s office for three years, but the memories of the time spent there enveloped her like a vapor. She felt light-headed and sick to her stomach and had to fight the urge to flee.

“I’m guessing you didn’t call me here to talk over old times,” Madeline quipped nervously, returning the D.A.’s hesitant smile with a tentative one of her own.

“I’m sorry, but I wanted you to hear about this from me, and the phone just didn’t seem appropriate.”

Madeline felt the sting of perspiration under her arms and wished she had brought Mike along for moral support. Now that she was sitting in the same chair she’d occupied after escaping from her own wine cellar, she knew she was about to be given news pertaining to her loathsome ex-husband, who was languishing in prison on a life sentence. That he would somehow wangle an early parole was a fear that kept her awake at night.

“Please just tell me…” Madeline said, unconsciously sinking her fingernails into the fleshy part of her hand, bracing herself for the worst.

“It’s not about Steven,” Conrad said, sensing her anxiety. Madeline let out the breath she’d been holding and groaned with relief. “Not directly, anyway. The point is, it’s better news for you in the long run,” the D.A. said, as he rose and moved to the window overlooking the courthouse. He turned toward Madeline and rested against the ledge.

“Rick Yeoman just cut a deal with the Feds.” Madeline’s heart sank. Her face turned pale as the image of Yeoman holding a knife to her ribs flashed before her eyes. Olfactory memories flooded her system, instilling the same sense of debilitating terror she had felt when she came to from the chloroform and discovered she’d been bound and gagged and left for dead.

Her hand trembled as she ran it through her hair in an attempt to steady herself and feign nonchalance. But the dank smell of the wine cellar—with its overtones of wooden crates and lead foil—along with the sensation of the cold, hard tiles against her face, took her right back to that moment when Steven Ridley closed the door on her, sealing her fate.

“What do you mean…Yeoman’s going to be released from prison?” she asked in a voice she scarcely recognized.

“Next week.” Conrad Adams poured a glass of water from a carafe and set it in front of her. He knew the look on her face; he’d seen it the afternoon she nearly collapsed in his office, battered and dirty, with bloody ligature marks on her wrists and ankles. He sighed as he sat down at his desk.

“He served up Lionel Usherwood on a platter, giving them new evidence that ties him to three other homicides, one of which also implicates Steven. It all checked out.”

“So they’re just going to let him walk?” Madeline rasped, holding her fist to her mouth to keep from crying.

“He’ll be on parole for five years, which means he’ll have to meet with his parole officer once a week. And if Usherwood ever pops up, Yeoman will have to testify against him. He was originally holding out for the witness protection program, but his ex-boss doesn’t rate high enough on the scum ladder to warrant a new identity and relocation. But after Yeoman’s last stabbing, he figured his odds of survival were greater outside the big house. I guess he’s more afraid of your ex than he is of Usherwood, who for all we know is either dead or living on the other side of the world now.”

“According to his sentence, Rick wasn’t even eligible for parole for another five years,” Madeline said, her agitation growing as the news sank in. “What about Burt’s family, what about me? Don’t we get to go before the parole board and voice our concerns?” Madeline argued, her hand still shaking as she reached for the glass of water. Conrad shrugged apologetically.

“It’s out of my control, I’m afraid. I did petition the State to release him in the Sacramento area, keeping him close to the prison and the State parole agent. But even that was shot down.”

“You don’t mean he’s coming back to Santa Barbara?” Madeline asked incredulously. The look on Conrad Adams’ face gave her the answer.

“I made sure he was restricted to North County.”

Madeline’s hand shook as she took a sip of water. Lionel Usherwood, Rick Yeoman, Lance Rombach, Terry Linbald and her former husband, Steven Ridley, had been characters in her recurring nightmares for years now. The only way she had kept her sanity was by reassuring herself that Usherwood was gone for good and the others would be incarcerated for many years.

“I don’t see this as being an imminent threat to you, given Yeoman’s state of mind.”

“How does his state of mind make me any safer?” Madeline asked, clearly not reassured by Conrad’s confidence.

“Going back to prison is a guaranteed death sentence. Steven’s lawyers have been trying to offer up anyone’s head in order to get him paroled, but Yeoman’s info was better. That’s probably why there’ve been three attempts on his life. Steven didn’t have a chance at any kind of a deal with the dirt Yeoman has on him.”

“What about Usherwood? If he’s out there, won’t Yeoman have another target on his back?” It didn’t take long for the double threat to her safety to hit home.

Conrad pursed his lips. He understood the Fed’s logic of throwing the rat to the cat; what did he care if they sacrificed Yeoman for a chance to draw Usherwood out? But he also understood how the thought of having two of her captors out there somewhere would terrify Madeline. Especially with Rick Yeoman in her own backyard.

“I don’t doubt they’re using Yeoman as bait. But they want Usherwood badly, and so do I. He has a lot of crimes to answer for in this county. If we caught him, he would get a minimum of life without the possibility of parole. I guarantee it. I think it would offer you more of a sense of closure if he were in prison where he belongs,” the D.A. offered hopefully.

Madeline huffed as her gaze turned inward. She knew the people who cared about her wanted to make the nightmares end. But it really wasn’t as simple as that. The whole group of cheating, murdering monsters could die in a prison fire and it still would be hard to believe she was really safe from them.

“So…” she said, rising from the chair. Conrad followed her lead, but waited to see if she was going to finish the thought. “I suppose you’ll be notified if Yeoman breaks his parole.”

“Absolutely. And he’s got to remain at least 35 miles from your residence.”

Madeline laughed harshly. “Oh, really? Is he going to wear a shock collar, like a dog?” she asked, her tone hard and cynical. She didn’t have as much faith in fairytales as the D.A. pretended to. “What do I do if I run into him ‘in my zone’?”

“Contact me immediately. If he breaks the terms of his parole, he goes back inside.” Madeline tried to hold onto this hopeful thought. “I’ll keep you informed, I promise,” Conrad said as he walked her out to the lobby.

“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

As the D.A. watched Madeline cross the street, he had to admit she was too much of a realist to buy his spin. He regretted most of all that she wouldn’t carry a firearm. Nobody could anticipate what would happen once Yeoman was released, and there just wasn’t the money or manpower to shield her at all times. But he also doubted that Yeoman would come after her; the real threat to her safety was that sociopath Usherwood.

He broke away from his unpleasant thoughts and headed back to his overburdened desk.

Lionel Usherwood stared out at the Gulf of California from the deck of his ramshackle house in Baja California, disposable cell phone to his ear. He listened without saying a word as the caller gave him the news he’d been expecting. He ended the call and set the phone on the stone ledge and smashed it with a rock. He gathered up the pieces and dropped them down a cistern, watching them sink to the bottom.

After three years of lying low, living off the proceeds of various illegal enterprises, it was time to take care of the past. He walked up the dirt path to the shed his German lady friend had converted to an art studio. Erika glanced over at him and returned to her work. Usherwood leaned against the doorway and watched as she smeared cobalt blue paint across the canvas with a palette knife.

Usherwood had never had the slightest inclination towards sentimentality, a trait he had in common with Erika. He’d had countless one-night stands, but she was the first woman he’d ever lived with. As he regarded her, he wondered if he’d ever see her again. He figured it probably wouldn’t matter to him one way or the other.

“I’ve got to drive down to La Paz,” he lied, not that any excuse was necessary. They were both as independent as cats.

“Okay,” Erika replied, her eyes not leaving the work in progress.

Usherwood left the studio without another word. He went back down to the house to pack. Most of what he would need he’d buy once he crossed the border at Mexicali. He put a few personal items in a small duffle bag, then pushed aside the armoire to access his stash. He took out his pocket knife and pried the 12-inch Saltillo floor tile loose. He removed four packs of fifty one-hundred dollar bills and a second forged passport and spread them out in the false bottom of his bag, then restored the tile and moved the armoire back.

He activated a new disposable phone before leaving the house, then headed out to the old Renault. By this time tomorrow, he’d be in Santa Maria, California. He shifted into neutral to let the car ease down the steep, rutted road, then started the engine on the fly.

ONE

Madeline hung her freshly-framed private investigator’s license next to Mike’s and stepped back. Three long years of training and preparation had gone into obtaining these certificates: over six-thousand hours of fielding Russell Barnett’s less than glamorous assignments, some tedious, some unsavory, a few harrowing. As they stood there marveling at the fruit of their labors, broad smiles spread across their faces.

After briefly savoring the moment, Madeline checked her enthusiasm. She was not comfortable letting anyone know just how important this milestone was for her. She abruptly turned away from the wall and crossed through the doorway to her side of the combined office suites.

“Hey, come back,” Mike said, a look of disappointment unseating his former euphoria. “You haven’t checked out our website yet.”

“I can’t right now—I’ve got too much on my mind,” Madeline said, her face averted while she reviewed her agenda for the day on Lauren’s computer. She was experiencing a sudden surge of conflicting emotions that reaching this seemingly unattainable goal had produced. She was on the verge of crying and she couldn’t understand why.

“Oh, come on—it will only take a minute,” Mike chided her, frustrated by her lack of esprit de corps. “I spent a lot of time and effort on this site. The least you could do is take a look at it.”

Madeline silently berated herself. There was no accounting for her reaction. She should be ecstatic with her achievements. She had run herself ragged the last three years, working full-time for Russell and still managing to forge a successful event planning business. She had a lot to be proud of, and she deserved to take a bow and enjoy her accomplishments before entering the next phase in her life.

But the truth be told, she was scared. Filling every waking moment with work and classes was the only way she had managed to hold onto her sanity. She still had plenty on her plate with Current Affairs, but she was coming to the conclusion of two major events, both of which had consumed a great deal of her time for the better part of a year. With those gone, along with Russell’s assignments, what was she going to do with herself? The thought of having room for personal reflection scared the hell out of her.

Plus, there was Rick Yeoman’s imminent release from Folsom State Prison. She hadn’t even told Mike about that yet. She was uneasy enough without him coming unglued for her sake. She’d been so busy, she hadn’t given it much thought until now—except in her dreams.

“I want to see it,” Lauren called out to Mike. Madeline coughed away the catch in her throat and tried to adjust her attitude.

“I just sent you the link,” Mike said. “See if you can get your grumpy boss to check it out too,” he added, his tone petulant. Madeline let out a wheezy snort and looked over Lauren’s shoulder as her assistant pulled up the site.

“M.D. Private Investigators,” Lauren intoned, her voice filled with pride and delight. “I still think we should have your photo on here too,” she said, looking up at Madeline, who was watching as Lauren navigated the website.

“No thanks. One of us has to maintain a low profile,” Madeline replied, as she picked up her ringing cell phone.

“Let it go to voicemail,” Mike said as he joined the huddle. Madeline checked the caller ID and groaned.

“I have to take this,” she said, bracing herself for another conversation with Cherie Alexander. “Hi Cherie. What’s up?” Madeline walked into her private office, taking a large sip of coffee to fortify herself.

“It’s almost over,” Lauren said to Mike, as the latter watched with consternation as his partner disappeared from view.

“Can’t be soon enough to suit me.”

“I know, but at least we’re making a killing on this one,” Lauren said, hand automatically reaching for the phone on the first ring. “It’s coming in on line three,” she said, looking up at Mike in astonishment. “M. D. Private Investigators,” she said in her most professional voice while she questioned Mike with her eyes. Mike nodded and went back to his office to take the call.

“Mike Delaney speaking. How may help you?” Lauren eavesdropped on Mike’s end of the conversation, dying to know if they had their first official case.

“What are we still waiting on for the Alexander party?” Madeline barked from her office.

“I emailed you an update this morning,” Lauren hollered back. Mike got up from his chair and closed the door between the two offices.

“I can’t find it,” Madeline said, her patience thinning.

“I’ll resend it.” Lauren heard Madeline murmuring softly into her phone, a tone she reserved for her most high-maintenance clients. Seconds later, Madeline was peering over her shoulder again.

“I will be so glad when this is over,” she said, rounding the desk and dropping into the chair across from her assistant.

“I resent the email—”

“Just tell me what we’re still waiting on,” Madeline said wearily, massaging her neck, trying to ward off a headache.

“The chairs, sofas and tablecloths arrived since you were last there, so somebody will have to inspect those. I spoke to the upholsterer and he said the cushions for the amphitheater will be delivered by noon. So, all that is falling into place. The only other things that haven’t been checked off yet are the flowers, which won’t arrive at the house until Friday morning, and the food. But you’re on top of both those things and they’re in capable hands.”

“You’re sure that’s it? There’s not something huge we’re overlooking?”

Lauren regarded her dubiously. “Like what? We are so far ahead on this one,” she said, flipping through the corkboards until she found the event in question. It was neatly covered in notes and photos of every facet of the upcoming event, an over-the-top 40th birthday party for the wife of a prominent film director.

“See, the only things that don’t have the final check marks on them are those I just mentioned—and the stage, but you said that would be finished by tomorrow.”

“It damn well better be. I guess that’s what’s got me the most stressed out. What about the swag bags?”

“Alice confirmed they were dropped off at the house yesterday at 5:30.”

“And the ID bracelets from Tiffany’s?”

“They were delivered an hour ago. I’ve got the bags right here,” Lauren said, lifting up two oversize turquoise bags as proof.

“Are you sure they got the order right?”

“Yep. They’re all here. I checked each name against the guest list. Want me to run them over to Cherie’s?” Lauren asked hopefully.

“No, I have to go over there anyway. She’s in one of her moods. Apparently, she’s having second thoughts about her wardrobe. She and her third stylist have been on Hot Couture all morning.”

Lauren smirked sympathetically. “Tell her I’ll gladly take the rejects off her hands,” she joked, getting half a smile out of her boss.

“Okay, so that gives me a bunch of stuff to check on,” Madeline said, hoisting herself out of the chair.

“Don’t let that woman drive you crazy,” Lauren said.

“Easier said than done. She’s not happy unless everyone around her is in a panic.”

“Well, we just got our first case,” Mike said, clasping his hands together as he sauntered back into the event planning side of the office.

“How’d that happen?” Madeline asked, clearly stunned by the news.

“What is it?” Lauren asked, face lit up with anticipation.

“It’s just a service of process,” Mike said, watching Madeline’s expression carefully.

“Did he find us online?” Lauren asked.

“Yep. Landlord with a delinquent tenant. Not the sexiest assignment in the world, but it might turn into a skip trace, which wouldn’t be so bad.” Madeline slid past him and went into her office. For reasons she couldn’t explain, his gloating was grating on her nerves. She blocked out the details as she collected her things.

“Hey, where are you going?” Mike asked, miffed at his partner’s lack of enthusiasm.

“To little Hollywood, where else?” Madeline replied as she slipped on her sunglasses and picked up the Tiffany bags.

“Want to go out and celebrate tonight?” Mike whispered to Madeline.

“We have class tonight,” she reminded him. It was not the answer Mike was looking for.

“We could skip it this once.” Madeline shot that down with a shake of her head.

“I need it. I’ve got a lot of pent-up frustrations to take out on somebody,” she said, moving toward the door.

“Wait!” Lauren called out. “Might as well take the place cards with you,” she said, handing Madeline a cardboard box that had been delivered by the engravers.

“Oh, thanks,” she said, shifting her load so she could peer at the contents. “Twenty-four karat gold leaf,” she said for Mike’s benefit as he leaned over to have a look. He shook his head disdainfully.

“Someone is in for a big letdown,” he said as Madeline exited the office. It troubled him that he didn’t know which woman was going to take it the hardest: the birthday girl or Madeline. Something told him they were both in for an emotional hangover.

TWO

Madeline waved to the guard and waited as the massive iron gates slowly parted, then eased her Audi SUV down the stately driveway. Not for the first time, she felt a pang of regret for the way she had collaborated in the Disney-fying of this once impeccably elegant property. Just beyond the tall Italian cypress trees that lined the drive, the transformation became apparent. What Cherie Alexander had fashioned, with the help of two landscape designers and an army of laborers, was her own shortcut-version of Lotusland.

Madeline winced at the comparison of Madame Ganna Walska’s botanic wonderland to what lay before her now. What Cherie had done to the six flat acres of prime Montecito real estate was a taste-impaired imitation in miniature. Madeline supposed that if nothing else, the estate could be used for location shooting after the weekend-long party was over.

She pulled up behind a row of vendor and service vehicles. Ever since Cherie had gotten the brilliant idea to create her own legacy garden, the driveway had been choked with assorted vans and trucks every day of the week except Sundays, most spilling out from the service entrance.

Two delivery men in blue coveralls were exiting the front door as Madeline approached. That they weren’t leaving through the back entrance caused a blip on the radar screen in Madeline’s mind, just enough to make her turn and note their company van as they climbed into it. Ah, the cushions, Madeline surmised.

“Oh, hello Madeline,” the housekeeper said, a reluctant smile replacing an uncharacteristic scowl. “Mrs. Alexander’s in the gym with her trainer. I’ll let her know you’re here,” she said.

“That’s okay, Helen—don’t bother her. I have a few things to check on.”

“Madeline, I’m so glad you’re here,” Cherie’s assistant exclaimed, coming to a halt in the foyer. “Oh, are those the place cards?” she asked, seizing upon the box before Madeline could answer.

“Yep, three of each, along with the seating layouts for Friday and Saturday nights and Sunday brunch.”

“Thank you! One less thing to worry about,” Alice said.

“You’re not supposed to worry—that’s my job. And here’s the swag for the bags,” Madeline said. “The bags from Tout le Monde did arrive, right?”

“Yes, last night. I had them put in the giftwrapping room. Is that okay?”

“Perfect. I’ll deal with that in a bit, but I want to check on the stage first. Would you mind…?” Alice took the Tiffany bags from her. “Thank you.” Madeline started off in the direction of the amphitheater, then pivoted back around. “How is she?”

Alice closed her eyes and shook her head. “It’s been one of those days.”

“So I gathered. Is she all right now?”

“I don’t know if I’m qualified to answer that.” Alice cringed, admonishing herself for the wisecrack. Madeline laughed.

“Another five days, and this will be nothing but a fond memory,” she promised, for both their sakes.

Madeline inspected the limestone stage set at the foot of the mini-amphitheater while the two set designers quarreled in front of the arcing rows of stone benches. They had solicited her opinion about which side of the patterned cushions should be face-up on which night, but she tactfully deferred to their judgment. She checked the mason’s handiwork and the mounted light fixtures, heaved a huge sigh of relief and crossed that off her list.

She left the amphitheater and walked through the fledgling lemon tree pergola, the one faithfully borrowed idea from the Lotusland gardens. On her way to inspect the pavilion, her mind fast-forwarded to Friday afternoon. From that point on, she’d be on duty 24/7, directing traffic and praying everything came off without a hitch. As she exited the pergola, she turned left and found Cherie’s mother-in-law sitting with her young companion on a granite bench with lion head armrests. The sight struck Madeline as both comical and sad. They looked like two waifs lost at a carnival.

“Good morning, Miss Story.”

“Oh, good morning, dear,” the elderly actress said. “How’s everything going with Barnum and Bailey’s?”

Madeline had to laugh. “Well, the show’s still on track for opening on Friday,” she answered, stopping in front of Vivian Story and her attendant. Vivian nudged the girl to make room for Madeline.

“Sit down, dear—take a rest while you can. It may be your last chance until this fiasco is over.” Vivian covered her mouth, feigning embarrassment.

“Are you looking forward to it at all?” Madeline asked as she took a seat by the still-glamorous former star.

“Of course! I’m looking forward to Sunday night with all my heart,” Vivian replied, her sly wit making Madeline laugh again. Vivian glanced around nonchalantly, checking for spies. As Madeline had witnessed firsthand, Cherie was constantly looking for proof of her mother-in-law’s disapproval, imagining it when it wasn’t in evidence. They weren’t enemies, but they weren’t allies, either.

“Well, I’m with you on that one,” Madeline confided. “But even though I’ll be working the whole time, I do think it will be a lot of fun.” This last statement earned her an arched eyebrow and a skeptical stare. “I’m sure the tension will ease once all the workers are gone. Having Ross back will have a calming effect on Cherie,” she predicted optimistically.

Vivian coughed delicately. “He phoned earlier to say he won’t be home until Friday morning.” This bulletin explained why Cherie was in a worse dither than usual. The women traded glances and wisely let the subject drop.

“Teresa, be a love and get my wrap. It’s cooler out here than I realized.”

“Do you want your hat too, Miss Story?” Teresa asked, already getting to her feet.

“That’s a good idea,” Vivian replied. “Oh, and would you please ask Helen if we could have some tea in the solarium?”

“For both of you?” Teresa asked. Vivian turned toward Madeline with an inquiring look.

“Oh, no thank you. I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Just you and me, Teresa,” Vivian said. Teresa smiled courteously at Madeline before turning toward the house.

Vivian watched the girl until she was out of sight and turned back to Madeline. “I have a business matter to discuss with you,” she said, her demeanor becoming serious. Madeline always welcomed new business, but the circumstances caught her off guard. She stared at Vivian, momentarily speechless.

“Don’t worry, dear. I’m not going to ask you to spearhead my eighty-fifth birthday party. It’s about your other business, the sleuthing thing.” Madeline was surprised that Vivian even knew about that.

“You want to hire me as a private investigator?”

“Yes,” Vivian whispered. She scanned the environs for bodies before continuing. “It’s about Teresa,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m very fond of the child. But you see, a few pieces of my good jewels have gone missing… I don’t seriously believe she took them, but the rest of the staff has been here for years.”

Madeline’s expression registered the appropriate concern as her mind whirred with all the potential ramifications. Teresa was hardly the only new face on the Alexander estate. The preparations for this birthday extravaganza had involved a continuous parade of tradespeople. All the work they’d done had been outside, but anyone with thieving inclinations would know how and when to strike.

“When did you notice your jewelry was missing?” Madeline asked, reaching into her bag for a notepad.

“A week ago. Ross will have a fit, I’m sure. He doesn’t like that I don’t keep all my good things in the safe. But I’m very sentimental these days, and having those particular pieces close at hand reminded me of happier times. Not that I’m unhappy now,” Vivian rushed to add.

“I understand.”

“But I do miss Walter terribly.”

“I’m sure you do. So, prior to their disappearance, where exactly did you keep these pieces?”

“In a Limoges box, on my dressing table.”

“And I suppose you’ve looked everywhere for them?” Vivian nodded ruefully. “Have you checked the safe?” Madeline couched her question with a sympathetic smile.

“I did. And don’t feel badly about asking. I know my wits aren’t as sharp as they used to be.”

“Could Cherie have taken them to a jeweler for cleaning?”

Vivian almost laughed. “It would’ve never entered her head.”

Madeline knew she was right. “Did anyone other than Teresa know that you kept those pieces in your room?”

“It’s possible that the maids came across them. But like I said, most everyone who works on the premises has been here for years. And I’m not sure Teresa even knows where I keep them. I’ve never shown them to her.”

Madeline’s gaze wandered to the treetops as she digested this last statement.

“So why did you single her out when telling me about the missing jewelry?” she asked, giving the actress a sidelong glance. Vivian smiled almost imperceptibly before letting her guard down.

“I suppose you could file that under ‘opportunity,’” she replied. “And because she’s only been with me a relatively short time. And I know she comes from a very poor background.” Vivian’s shoulders sagged as she said this. Madeline could read the anxiety in her eyes.

“Tell me what you know about Teresa’s past.”

“Well, that’s just it. I don’t know much, really. She came to me after my dear friend Eloise passed away. She wasn’t with Ellie for very long, but Ellie became very attached to her. When Teresa became available, I snatched her up. I didn’t bother to have her…‘vetted,’ as they say.”

“Your friend Eloise, does she have any family or friends who might be able to fill in Teresa’s background?”

“Well, there are still a few of us old girls left…let me think who might have had any contact with Teresa. Hmm…I’ll have to get back to you on that—my memory is being uncooperative.” Madeline tapped her notepad with the pen, willing herself to come up with another line of inquiry.

“But wait,” Vivian said suddenly, “Ellie did have a daughter, lives in Santa Ynez, I think. Yes…um, Sibyl Watson…Waters…no, Wately—that’s it. She might know more about the girl than I do. I realize it was stupid of me to not have her checked out, but our priorities change as we grow older. Comfort comes from having someone to keep you company, not in how they stack up to social standards. I guess that’s why the elderly are often taken advantage of. I suppose you could say that aging makes you needy,” Vivian said, her gaze drifting with her thoughts.

“I guess a background check is in order, then.”

“Yes. I realize it’s a little late, but I really owe it to my son to find out if I’ve allowed a thief into the house. You see, it’s a bit awkward…”

Madeline chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Is she legal?”

“I assume so.”

“Her English is good. Did she go to school here?” Vivian shook her head. “What’s her last name?”

“Gomez. Teresa Maria Gomez. That much I do know,” Vivian said with a self-deprecating smile. Madeline looked out across the property. She wondered how many Teresa Maria Gomezes there were in California, and if that was even her real name.

“Do you know if she’s paid under the table or if she’s W-2?”

“W-2. All the staff is. Ross insists. Everything has to be one-hundred percent above-board. He got in trouble for having an undocumented worker on the gardening staff years ago and he’ll never forget it.”

“Well, that makes it easy. If she has a Social Security card, she’s probably here legally. If you can get me the number, I can run a credit check on her. That will give us a lot of information.”

“Really?”

“Yes. We can find out former addresses and employers, if they didn’t pay her under the table. And we can also see if she’s got any judgments against her or if she’s behind in her payments—credit cards, car loans, utilities.”

“Oh, I seriously doubt she has a credit card,” Vivian said. “And she doesn’t have a car. She takes the bus to the corner of Olive Mill and Hot Springs and walks up, poor dear. She says she doesn’t mind it, but I do wish she had her own set of wheels.”

“So you don’t think she has a driver’s license?” Vivian shook her head. “Okay, as soon as you can get me her social, I’ll pull her credit.” Vivian winced.

“That’s going to be hard to do, I’m afraid. Helen has all that documentation, and I would have no good reason to ask her for it.”

“How about an address?” Vivian shrugged as she lifted her hands, palms up, a sad smile on her face. “But you could ask her…right?” Even though Madeline was excited about her new case, she didn’t much relish the idea of trying to shadow a city bus, waiting for Teresa to alight so she could follow her home.

“It would be much easier, and quicker, if I had her social…” Madeline thought out loud. She turned to Vivian and studied her for a moment. “You’re afraid of putting Helen on alert about Teresa, but what if I approach Helen? I realize her loyalty lies with your son, but perhaps I can persuade her that handling this discreetly for the time being is the best course of action, for everyone.”

Vivian pursed her lips and let her gaze drift over the garden. “She’ll think I’m an old fool. She’ll regret the day I moved in here.”

“I doubt that. But before I talk with her, maybe I should take a look around your rooms, just in case.”

“I would so appreciate it,” Vivian said, relief written all over her face.

“That way we don’t raise any red flags until we’re absolutely certain the jewels are missing. But I really wouldn’t feel comfortable doing it without you present. What time does Teresa leave for the day?

“Four o’clock.”

“How about Helen?”

Vivian rolled her eyes. “The poor woman has had no life outside this place since Cherie decided she was her generation’s Ganna Walska.”

Great, Madeline thought, she probably hates me. “When do you usually sit down for dinner?”

“Well, we don’t really eat together unless Ross is here. I usually have something around 6:30. Cherie either doesn’t eat or she goes out.”

Madeline reviewed the day’s obligations in her head and looked at her watch. “Okay. I’ve got another meeting I’ve got to attend across town at one o’clock. I can probably get here around four. I’m sure I’ll find an excuse for coming back. I’ll come by your room and we can give it a thorough going over before I go speak to Helen. While we’ve got time, tell me what I should be looking for.”

“Well, the diamond and ruby brooch came from Van Cleef & Arpels. A daisy. Diamond petals with a ruby cabochon center. Walter had it made for me after we finished filming ‘The Life of Daisy Huntington.’” Vivian’s bottom lip trembled slightly as she spoke. She cleared her throat and continued.

“The bracelet is also diamonds and rubies, made by Cartier. And the ring is from Harry Winston, a two-carat emerald baguette surrounded with diamond baguettes. Everything set in platinum. All old treasures that I haven’t had appraised in years,” Vivian said wistfully. She looked up at Madeline, her eyes conveying her anxiety. “I’m too old to care for possessions much anymore, but I feel so foolish. Children have a way of appropriating future ownership in advance. I know Ross will be furious with me. Not that they’re really Cherie’s style, but I think it’s the principle of the thing. A sense of entitlement. You know what I mean?”

An unsettling thought crossed Madeline’s mind and she had to wonder if she’d just landed herself in a conflict of interest.

“Are you saying Cherie has designs on your jewelry?”

“Oh no, nothing like that!” Vivian was quick to assure her. “But you know how it is. Heirs often have a running tally in their heads of what’s coming to them down the road. Now I feel silly. I shouldn’t have implied that she was a likely suspect.”

Madeline blanched at the thought. She was beginning to regret agreeing to help Vivian. Cherie was paying her handsomely to make sure this event came off without a hitch, and here she was dividing her time looking for a possible jewel thief. She coughed to hide her discomfort.

“In light of their monetary value, maybe this would be better handled by the police,” she suggested. Vivian drew back in horror.

“Good lord, no—not at this stage. I may have to at some point, but I’d prefer you looking into the matter first. If my dear Teresa is the thief, then perhaps we can get the jewels back—trace them, if she doesn’t still have them. I definitely don’t want the authorities in on this yet.”

Madeline thought this over for a moment. “What do you know about her home life? Does she live with family or friends?”

Vivian looked up at the clouds overhead. “She talks about her sister, Esmeralda. She does housecleaning, I believe.” Madeline waited expectantly for more enlightenment, but Vivian smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid that’s all I know of her life here. She sometimes talks about her life back in Mexico.”

“Do remember where in Mexico she’s from?” Madeline asked. Vivian shook her head.

“It’s a place I’ve never heard of before. Small and very poor, from what I gather.”

Vivian’s companion was walking briskly toward them, a broad smile on her face and the promise of warmth in her hands. Madeline reached into her handbag and withdrew her business card.

“I’ll be back around four. If you think of anything between now and then, give me a call.”

“Thank you, dear. I will.” Madeline stood as Teresa approached, taking a moment to get a read on the girl. She was open, polite and eager to please. Nothing about her seemed furtive or untrustworthy. Still, you never really knew about someone until you did a little digging.

“Oh, Madeline dear—since you have your camera with you, would you mind taking a picture of us, pre-carnival?” Madeline bent her head to hide her smile as she took her phone from her bag. Nothing wrong with Vivian’s wits, in spite of her advanced age.

“All right, big smiles… Perfect.” Madeline and Vivian exchanged knowing glances before Madeline continued on with her inspection of the party preparations, a task she was growing less interested in by the minute.

THREE

Madeline made her way to the pavilion head down, lost in thought. She felt a pang of guilt for dismissing Mike’s first case out of hand, now that she knew the thrill of having a case of her own. It took every bit of self-control to keep from bolting back to the office to get her investigation under way, though she had almost nothing to work with yet. Plus, she had to wait until four o’clock before she could search Vivian’s suite of rooms to make sure the items were really missing before she could officially get started.

As strong as the allure was to use her brainpower on something more meaningful than an ego-wallowing spectacle, Madeline knew she couldn’t afford to abandon the event coordinating business. Odious as it was to watch exorbitant sums of money being spent on three days of self-glorification, what she was getting paid was too much to walk away from. And if the fete was a success, it would lead to other lucrative jobs. Problem was, she’d lost her taste for extravagance.

Yet, as she rounded the lotus pond filled with brightly colored koi and saw the changes to the pavilion since her last visit, goose bumps ran up her arms. She stopped in her tracks as she regarded the 30x40-foot, glass-roofed structure.

“Wow,” she said under her breath. In the twenty-three hours since her last inspection, the dupioni silk drapes had been hung and tied back at the corners with contrasting silk ropes. The alternating panels of crimson and burnt orange framed the glazed concrete floor, casting a fiery glow on the surface. Two zebra-striped sofas stood sentry beside the twelve round tables, and eight chairs of alternating turquoise and moss-green velvet flanked each table. Jacquard tablecloths incorporating all four colors covered table skirts that matched the drapes.

It was a wild explosion of color tempered by the stark neutrals. The effect was much better than Madeline had feared. It was one of those things that shouldn’t have worked, but somehow did. She supposed that’s what you got when you hired a Hollywood set designer: a dose of whimsy on an epic scale.

Madeline took several photos for Lauren to add to the story boards. A black lacquered podium had been erected on the far side where the DJ would later set up after the tables had been cleared away and the chairs moved to the perimeter of the pavilion to make room for dancing.

Madeline let out a satisfied huff and checked several items off her list. With any luck, she could get the swag bags sorted and get back to her office before lunchtime. She wished she could begin working on the Story case, but that would have to wait. Unless she found the mislaid jewels, she couldn’t do anything toward solving the mystery until she got Teresa’s Social Security number from Helen, which she feared would be no small hurdle.

As Madeline walked down the hallway of her building, she noticed the door to Current Affairs was open. She heard Mike and another male voice, familiar but not immediately recognizable. She slowed her pace as she tried to piece together the possibilities. If it were Mike’s new client, they would be on the P.I. side of the suite.

As she crossed the threshold, she caught a glimpse of Mike. His expression was not entirely readable, but she definitely picked up on the alarm and anger emanating her way. When she turned to face the visitor, Madeline instantly knew there was trouble.

“Here she is,” Mike said, arms folded, eyes hard. Madeline ignored the rebuke in her partner’s voice and turned her attention to Detective Slovitch.

“Let’s go next door,” she said, not wanting Lauren to be privy to whatever urgent matter had brought about a visit from SBPD.

“I suppose this isn’t about a licensing issue,” Madeline said, being flip without meaning to.

“A body was discovered early this morning at Lake Cachuma. It’s since been identified as that of Rick Yeoman.” The blood drained from Madeline’s face. She wobbled and caught her balance on the edge of the desk.

“Why didn’t you tell me he was being released?” Mike blurted out. He couldn’t help the aggrieved tone in his voice. If Detective Slovitch hadn’t been present, he wouldn’t have held back. But Mike’s sense of betrayal paled compared to what Rick Yeoman’s death meant to Madeline.

“Do we know how he died?” she asked.

“Gunshot wound to the head, execution style. Entry wound at the back of the head. He was found caught up in some tree roots by the maintenance crew.” Madeline sank into one of the chairs in front of Mike’s desk.

“Any idea who did it?” Mike asked. Detective Slovitch glanced at Madeline before answering.

“Yeoman secured his release by ratting out his former boss.”

“Ridley?” Mike asked, his voice rising two octaves.

“No. His other boss, Usherwood. Yeoman and the others in Ridley’s security detail all served under Usherwood, first in the armed forces and later when they got into private contracting.”

“Is that a euphemism for the mercenary business?”

“Yeah. Let’s just say that Usherwood’s boys had been party to acts that would send most people to prison for life, or worse, had they been caught. Yeoman’s three years in Folsom were enough to make him trade Usherwood’s hide for a ticket out of there. Four days of freedom were all his squealing got him.” Detective Slovitch let this image sink in.

“So now it looks like we’ve got someone with a score to settle running loose in Santa Barbara County. At this point, we don’t know if it’s Usherwood or one of his homicidal pals. The FBI is handling the investigation, since it was their stoolpigeon who got whacked. Personally, I think that was part of the plan all along—use Yeoman as bait to catch Usherwood. Yeoman was definitely expendable, but they didn’t get Usherwood. Not a good outcome.”

Both Mike and Slovitch regarded Madeline. It took her a moment to realize they were waiting for her reaction. But she couldn’t react. She felt numb. She knew this was bad news for her personally, yet she felt incapable of putting her thoughts in order. She felt as powerless as she had that day three years ago when Steven’s goon squad abducted her, Yeoman with a knife to her ribs, Usherwood at the helm.

Thanks to her martial arts training, her body would know how to respond if she was ever physically threatened again. At least she’d have a chance to flee. But psychologically, she realized she was still no match for murdering thugs who got paid to terrorize and kill, and sometimes did it for the sake of revenge.

“What’s the FBI’s response to all this?” Mike asked. Slovitch grunted.

“They’re not commenting at this time. Which means they’ve royally screwed up and haven’t found a good way to spin it yet.”

“But they still have Yeoman’s testimony,” Madeline said, her voice low and hoarse. She sat hunched over, elbows on her thighs, her eyes staring at the floor. Mike looked to John Slovitch, hoping he could give her some sort of comfort. The detective pursed his lips and studied his shoes.

“If they catch Usherwood, he’ll never get out of prison,” Madeline said, alternately glancing at her partner and the detective for confirmation. There was a desperation in her eyes that made both men shift uneasily. “The FBI’s not talking because they’re too busy hunting Usherwood down.” Madeline’s eyes flashed back and forth, reading their doubtful looks.

“What are you saying, Detective Slovitch—that since the FBI lost their shot at catching him before he got to Yeoman, they’re just going to write it off?” Madeline asked, springing out of the chair to face both men squarely. “I don’t think so. I think they’ll be all over this case now that they’ve botched it and flushed Usherwood or one of his hired guns out into the open. He’s obviously too much for local law enforcement, but the Feds have the manpower and the resources. They’ll find him,” Madeline said confidently as she swept out of Mike’s office.

Mike started to go after her, but Slovitch stopped him.

“I’d like to believe that just as much as she does. But the point remains the Feds, with all the surveillance they had on Yeoman, still didn’t see Usherwood coming. They’ve had every port of entry under their microscope since Yeoman was released last week, and there’s been no sign of him anywhere.”

“Then Usherwood orchestrated this from afar,” Mike speculated.

“That would be my guess. And whoever did it, they are just as slick as the maestro.”

Mike’s face clouded over with anger. He had a strong urge to punch a hole in the wall, or at least break his hand trying.

“What is she supposed to do, play decoy, see if any attempts are made on her life? Jesus, what kind of bullshit is this?”

“Take it easy, Delaney. Until we get some word from the Bureau, we don’t have anything to go on.”

Mike shook his head disgustedly, his jaw clenched, as though he were using every 12-step mantra to keep from unleashing on the detective. “Are you saying you’re not even going to be investigating this?” John Slovitch held up his hand to steady the pugilistic P.I. “Yeoman was found in Santa Barbara County,” he needlessly reminded the detective.

“Which is why it falls into the Sheriff’s jurisdiction.” Mike laughed condescendingly.

“Oh, I’m sure Madeline will feel so much safer knowing that.”

“What do you want me to say? That I’ll check out a couple of sniffer dogs from K-9 and track Usherwood over hill and dale? I do what my Lieutenant tells me. This I did out of concern for your girlfriend.”

“Madeline’s not my girlfriend.”

It was John’s turn to snigger. “Whatever. Look, you’re both licensed investigators now—use the resources at your disposal. Dig into Usherwood’s past, find his other known associates. Embarrass the FBI and find him yourselves. If Usherwood isn’t in the country, then you need to figure out who would do his killing for him.”

Mike watched the detective leave. “Thank you,” he said, but it was too late. He heard Slovitch’s footfalls as they passed down the corridor.

“Son of a bitch!” Mike swore, spinning around, fighting a powerful urge to upend his desk. For a split second, he missed the good old days, when giving vent to his feelings felt as good as knocking back a bottle of tequila.

He took a deep breath, executed a karate combination and cleared the anger from his mind. Slovitch was right: Madeline was in an advantageous position, more so than the average victim of violent attacks. She had three years of investigative training to her credit and was close to achieving a black belt in karate. She could think and act on her feet, and she had a very organized, analytical mind. And he’d be with her every step of the way. Together they could present a solid defense.

Mike sighed. Who was he kidding? Sending the two of them out to find Usherwood would be like sending a Girl Scout troop out to apprehend a band of Hell’s Angels.

FOUR

Mike wheeled out of his office, heading for Madeline’s.

“She’s not here,” Lauren said, her eyes not leaving her computer screen.

“Where’d she go?”

“I don’t know.” Lauren flipped open the file in front of her and kept working. Mike stared at her, willing her to look up and help him out. “You could try her cell phone,” Lauren suggested, grabbing another file from the stack, giving him a casual glance in the process.

Mike whipped out his phone and walked back to his side of the office and kicked the door closed as he speed-dialed his partner. The call went straight to voicemail.

“Damn!” He reopened the door with such fury, he had no trouble catching Lauren’s attention this time.

“Try texting her.” Mike did as she suggested. The two of them stared at each other while they waited for a response.

“What’s going on?” Lauren finally asked.

“Nothing.”

“Oh. Right. It sure feels like nothing,” she said, miffed, returning to her work. Mike fought to control his tongue.

“One of the men who abducted Madeline was just found dead at Lake Cachuma.”

“What? How can that be? I thought they all got life imprisonment. Except for that head dude, Usher-whatever. Is that who it was?”

“Usherwood. No, it wasn’t him. It was Rick Yeoman, who apparently just cut a deal with the Feds. He was released last week and Usherwood or one of his associates executed him.” Lauren’s mouth dropped open.

“Oh…no…” Her eyes widened as her mind skipped to the implications. “I bet Madeline is none too happy.”

Mike barked out a hard laugh. “I don’t suppose anyone is. But I’m worried about her. I think the only way she could cope with what happened was to believe they’d never get to her again. Thanks to the FBI, she’s got to face the possibility that Usherwood will now be gunning for her.”

Lauren slumped against the back of her chair. “No wonder she took off out of here. God, this couldn’t have come at a worse time. Can she get some kind of protection?”

“The police aren’t offering any, and the Feds haven’t yet. Nobody even knows if Usherwood is back in the country or if he put a hit on Yeoman. Either way, it’s got her unnerved.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Find your boss for me. ASAP.”

Madeline regarded the dresses she had grabbed as an excuse to occupy a dressing room. A weak chortle escaped her as the irony of taking refuge in her favorite hideout hit home. This was where she fled to when Steven unleashed his vile plan to blackmail her into a divorce, though she was hardly in the same financial bracket now as she was back then. But it just so happened that Saks was located in the building next to where her late private investigator, Burt Latham, had his office, the same office where she had built her event coordinating business.

It seemed a strange coincidence that in the very week she and Mike launched their own P.I. firm, the events that pushed them into this line of work came back to haunt them. Madeline exhaled heavily and slumped back against the chair. She knew holing up in a dressing room wasn’t going to keep her safe, but it at least gave her a place to sit and think without Mike pressuring her.

What does he want me to do? Go into hiding? Lock myself in a fortress until Usherwood can be found? What could she do? She needed time to digest the killing of Yeoman and the possibility of Usherwood skulking in the shadows.

Her first instinct—besides fleeing to Saks—was to confide in Master Coffee, her karate instructor. Teri Coffee McDuffie couldn’t single-handedly stave off all the bad guys in the world, but Teri could reassure her of her own power. Madeline would never match Usherwood or his kind with firearms, but she could handle herself well enough, at least to the point of evading or disarming an assailant. She hoped.

But Usherwood was many years ahead of Madeline when it came to combat, or avoidance of it. If there was any comfort to be found, it was that she had Mike as an ally. Whoever killed Yeoman was probably a lone wolf. At least she was part of a team. A team still wet behind the ears. A team that was no match for a mercenary.

“How are you doing in there?” Patti called out. “I found another dress I think would be fabulous on you.”

“Hang on a sec,” Madeline said, stripping out of her own clothes to keep to the charade. She opened the door just wide enough to show some skin and appraise the dress. “Very cute. I’ll try it!”

“Let me know if you need another size of anything,” Patti said.

“So far, so good,” Madeline said cheerfully as she closed the door. She hung the dress on the rack with the others and continued her brooding.

She needed a time-out, needed to freeze-frame all the insanity of her business long enough to order her thoughts so she could put a plan in place. If only this had happened a couple weeks later, when Hollywood Babylon and the hundred-thousand dollar wedding were behind her. She’d have another week and a half before those two events were scrapbook material and she could concentrate on her P.I. business and keeping herself safe.

To assuage her guilt for being idle, Madeline took a dress off the hanger and slipped it over her head. She really did need something to wear Friday night. But as she regarded herself in the mirror, images flashed across her mind’s eye, images of the black Suburban careening around the corner, Lionel Usherwood at the wheel.

Her hands became so clammy, as another flash of memory blinded her, she couldn’t draw the zipper up. She dropped her arms and was transported back to the moment when she realized Usherwood had spotted her. She gasped at the recollection of running through oncoming traffic, Rick Yeoman and Lance Rombach bearing down on her from both sides, the overpowering smell of chloroform…

Madeline heard the soft rustling of footsteps on the carpet. She shifted away from the door, arms reflexively moving into a position of defense or attack. She steadied her breathing to slow the pounding of her heart.

“Madeline, are you in there?” Madeline went limp as she recognized Lauren’s whisper. She opened the door a crack. Catching her boss in the middle of undressing made her assistant blush.

“Oops, sorry—” Lauren said. “Umm…Mike had me track you down.”

“Is something wrong?” Madeline demanded.

“No…um…no.” Lauren shook her head, but the way she regarded Madeline gave her away. “He got worried when you didn’t answer your phone.” Madeline let out a strained sigh and motioned her into the dressing room.

“That’s cute. Are you thinking of wearing it to the Oscars?”

“I wish you’d stop calling it that,” Madeline said, turning her back toward Lauren so she could zip the dress for her.

“That’s beautiful, and you can wear it again.”

Madeline nodded absentmindedly. “Tell Mike not to worry. The good thing about the next ten days is that I’ll scarcely have a moment alone.” Madeline motioned for Lauren to undo the zipper. She shimmied out of that dress and into the next one.

“Oh, that one looks great on you, too,” Lauren said, easily caught up in the joy of clothes shopping, even if it wasn’t for herself. “I think you should get that one.”

“Instead of the first one?” Madeline held it up next to her for comparison.

“Get both,” Lauren said pragmatically. “You’ve got three days at the Alexanders’ and the Campbell wedding…”

“Which reminds me,” Madeline said, as she slipped into her own dress. “I need to be at the Riviera Hotel in fifteen minutes.” She dug her credit card out of her purse and thrust it at Lauren. “Take care of this for me. And pick out something for yourself. You’ll be on duty with me, in case this thing starts unraveling at the seams.”

“Thanks,” Lauren said, her expression both surprised and dreamy.

“But don’t make an event out of it. I need you back at the office in case the Campbells have any questions I can’t answer.” Like a shot, Madeline was gone leaving Lauren alone in Wonderland with someone else’s credit card.

Madeline stood next to the pond at the Rivera Hotel, her eyes transfixed, but blind to the soundless passing of the multi-colored fish. Instead of the submerged foliage and flashes of orange, red and white, she saw the body of Burt Latham as she imagined it looked when it washed up on Hendry’s Beach three years earlier.

She closed her eyes to dispel the vision. When she opened them again, the sodden corpse of Rick Yeoman undulated below the surface as a koi swam past. This time Madeline couldn’t tear herself away from the sight of one of her captors, slain by one of his own. She visualized the exit wound through his forehead and had to wonder if she’d meet the same fate.

She gasped at the thought and pulled herself away from the rectangular pond, just as her clients walked up the brick pathway. She quickly shook off her morbid musings and shifted into event planner mode. She would let her sense of duty keep her mind off stone-cold killers who lusted for revenge as a substitute for leading a meaningful life.

Besides, she couldn’t afford any missteps on this wedding or the Alexander party; if everything didn’t come off seamlessly, her reputation and self-esteem would suffer. She exuded confidence and control as she greeted the Campbells and flipped open her iPad.

Madeline dropped the bed skirt and got up off her knees. After searching every probable and improbable spot in Vivian’s bedroom, sitting room and bathroom—including all her drawers and every pocket and nook in her closets—Madeline was convinced the jewels were not there. She didn’t dare try to examine the contents of the safe, so she’d just have to take Vivian’s word that she had double checked it.

“It was worth a try,” Vivian said glumly.

“I was really hoping they were still here,” Madeline said, as she sat down on the bed next to her new client. Her gaze wandered around the bedroom as her mind turned over possible scenarios, all of them unpleasant.

“Something has been nagging at me,” she thought out loud, as she turned to face Vivian.

“What is it?”

“What you said about heirs appropriating their inheritance in advance.” Madeline chose her next words carefully. “Do you think it’s possible Cherie could have taken your jewelry?” Vivian recoiled at the suggestion. “Maybe out of a sense of entitlement…or maybe out of spite?”

“No,” Vivian said, shaking her head. “I don’t think she’s really focused on my old stuff. It’s not really her style, as you know. It’s Ross who keeps tabs on that kind of thing. That sounds awful, but it has as much to do with the sentimental value as their intrinsic worth, as those articles are connected to both of his parents. Plus, he has two daughters—my granddaughters—to think of.”

“I see. Well, I just had to ask,” Madeline said. It was a huge relief to not have to put Cherie at the top of the list of potential suspects.

“But since you mentioned it, there is a bracelet I keep in the safe that Cherie is rather taken with. It’s diamonds and sapphires in an art deco style. It has stood the test of time and is still as chic as it was sixty years ago. I’m planning on giving it to her as a birthday present, as a matter of fact. I happen to know the value of that piece because I had it appraised when I had it cleaned. Would you believe the jeweler valued it at $47,000?”

Madeline nearly choked on the figure. Hopefully that hadn’t gone missing too.

“Don’t worry—I put it in the safe with my own hands as soon as I got it back,” Vivian told her.

“I’m sure Cherie will be very touched by your gift.”

Vivian gave Madeline a wan smile. “I would like to think so, but it’s kind of hard to compete with the crowd she runs with.”

Madeline changed the subject to avoid commenting. “Speaking of birthdays and gifts, I guess I need to check in with the honoree before I go see Helen. If I don’t, I’m afraid she’ll track me down. But first I need you to sign the contract for hire and this, which gives me the authorization to run a full factual credit report on Teresa.” Madeline laid the documents on Vivian’s dressing table along with a pen.

Vivian took the time to read every word she was agreeing to, which both impressed Madeline and made her anxious. She had been to the house twice today without checking in personally with Cherie. She had excellent reasons for avoiding her, but Cherie was her big meal ticket. Also her biggest headache.

Vivian signed the authorization form and handed the pen back to Madeline. Madeline hastily made sure everything was in order before stashing it in her file folder.

“As soon as I get what I need from Helen, I’ll do a background check on Teresa. I’ll call your cell phone as soon as I have something.”

“Thank you, dear. You can’t imagine how much better I feel just being able to share this with someone.”

“I think I have a good idea, and I think you’ll feel a lot better once we know more about your companion and hopefully eliminate her as a suspect.”

“From your lips to God’s ear,” Vivian said, walking with Madeline to the door.

“There you are! I’ve been all over this damn place looking for you!” Cherie cried as Madeline stepped out into the hallway, directly in Cherie’s path. Madeline couldn’t decide what was more alarming—her employer finding her exiting a clandestine meeting or what she was wearing. Fortunately, Vivian came to her rescue.

“It’s my fault, Cherie. I availed myself of Madeline’s innate fashion savvy.” Cherie glared at her mother-in-law uncomprehendingly. “She was helping me pick out what to wear this weekend.”

“Oh. Well, I could’ve helped you with that,” Cherie countered, clearly taking offense. Both Madeline and Vivian tried to smooth her ruffled feathers in unison.

“I know how busy you are dear…”

“I figured it was one less thing you needed on your plate,” Madeline said.

“What about your plate? Don’t you have enough to deal with? I mean, I’ve been running all over trying to find you…”

Madeline’s brow arched as Cherie’s petulance rose. After a year of putting up with an escalating attitude of checkbook authority, Madeline had become deft at walking Cherie back a few paces without even saying a word. But this time Cherie had an audience; she had two choices here—throw her weight around or have a breakdown. She chose the latter.

“Cherie, don’t cry,” Madeline said, giving Vivian a surreptitious glance of solidarity before shepherding Cherie toward her rooms on the other side of the expansive house. “What’s going on?” she asked in her most patient voice. Cherie sniffed back the tears and carefully ran her fingers under her eyes to keep her makeup intact.

“Ross won’t be back until Friday!” she wailed, though it was clear she was less upset now that she had Madeline’s full attention.

“I know. I heard this morning when I dropped off the ID bracelets from Tiffany’s. Did you see them…?”

Madeline felt herself detach from the scene, going through the motions she could affect by rote. There were so many real worries to spend her mental energy on. For the umpteenth time, she reminded herself that this whole embarrassing, degrading and useless event would be a thing of the past in four more days.

FIVE

Madeline knocked on the doorjamb to Helen’s office. The housekeeper was deep in thought in front of her laptop. She jerked to alertness as Madeline edged over the threshold.

“I’m sorry,” Helen laughed, hand to her chest as she rose from her chair. “My mind is running in a hundred different directions right now.”

“I can come back another time,” Madeline suggested, though she remained stationary. Vivian’s missing jewelry trumped all the other household matters at the moment, at least in her mind.

“No, please come in—I could use a break. My eyes are starting to cross,” Helen said with a weak laugh as she sat back down. “What can I help you with?”

Madeline smiled as she crossed to the chair on the other side of the desk. She had little time to perfect her request, but tact was of the utmost importance. She could see Helen going either way with the bombshell she was about to drop on her.

Though Madeline was no stranger to dealing with hired help, even on this level, she found Helen Bagley a force to be reckoned with. Madeline had never experienced anything but civility and cooperation from her during this upheaval of her domain, but Madeline knew Helen was a stern taskmaster who expected her orders to be carried out down to the smallest detail. Even Helen’s appearance commanded complete obedience from the staff, while conveying an aura of competence and careful guardianship to her employers and their guests. The running of this house sat directly on her broad shoulders, and from what Ross had told her, she had never disappointed him. She had been with him for twenty years, surviving his two divorces and his four-year marriage to Cherie. There was no doubt where her loyalty lay, which was why Madeline had to slant the news she was about to deliver with Ross’s best interest as the highest priority.

“Can I get you something to drink? A cup of coffee or some mineral water?” Helen asked. Though she was being cordial out of deference, she was sending a subliminal message that this interruption needed to be as brief as possible.

“No thanks, Helen. I’ll try not to take up any more of your time than necessary. But first I must ask that you not share what I’m about to tell you with anyone for now—including your boss.”

A look of consternation descended over Helen’s features. “What’s Cherie done this time?”

“This has nothing to do with her. It concerns Vivian.” Madeline watched her reaction carefully as she delivered the bad news. “Some of her jewelry has gone missing. Three very expensive pieces, to be exact.”

Helen flinched as the words registered. Madeline saw the questions forming in her mind as clearly as if they were written on her face. Madeline decided to save her the trouble of asking them.

“They are particular favorites of Ms. Story’s—a diamond and ruby brooch, an emerald ring, and a diamond and ruby bracelet—all circa 1950, all given to her by her late husband. She kept them in a Limoges box on her dressing table instead of the safe. I think she derived a certain comfort from being able to look at them. They went missing a week ago.”

“I see,” Helen said, as she sat back, her posture rigid. “And why did she decide to bring this to your attention instead of mine?” Her tone wasn’t exactly hostile, but it was definitely sharp.

“She has enlisted my services as a private investigator,” Madeline replied, as she withdrew a new business card from her wallet and handed it across the desk. This news threw the housekeeper off-guard.

“She hired me because I know her and her family and have the benefit of knowing what’s been happening around here the last several months.”

“Twelve, to be exact,” Helen said flatly.

“Yes. It’s been a long haul, and I really appreciate the way you and your staff have bent over backwards to accommodate these rather extraordinary preparations. What nobody wants to deal with right now is a theft inside the home. Which is why Vivian wanted to pursue this matter privately, rather than involving her son or you or the police, at least for the time being.”

Helen let out an exasperated sigh as she studied Madeline’s face.

“But here you are,” she challenged. “Does that mean you’ve hit a dead end already?”

“I just accepted this case a few hours ago, and after first searching Vivian’s rooms with her, I convinced her it would be more expeditious if I could get certain information from you first.”

“What is it you want to know?”

This was where Madeline had to tread very carefully. She knew Teresa was a hot button issue for Helen, as she did not personally hire the girl. Therefore, she hadn’t had the chance to imprint her standards of conduct on the girl. Yet she was Vivian’s companion, a very important position, as no one else in the household had time to spend doting on an elderly woman.

“Specifically, I’d like to see Teresa Gomez’s W-4.” Helen eyed Madeline coolly before swiveling her chair around and bending to retrieve a file folder from the credenza. The fact that she said nothing about Madeline’s sole request spoke volumes. There was no need for her to speak ill of someone who was brought into this house without her approval; that Teresa was the only one singled out for scrutiny saved her the trouble.

The housekeeper placed the file on her desk and flipped through the paperwork until she found the pages she was looking for. She glanced at the information before handing it over to Madeline.

“Thank you,” Madeline said. She quickly looked it over. Name, address and Social Security number were all there. Simple as pie. The second page was a worksheet for figuring deductions. She was not surprised that it was left blank. She reached for her iPhone and took a scan of the document so she could print out a copy later.

“Anything else I can do to help?” Helen asked with a pleasantness that was clearly forced.

“Can you give me a list of any tradespeople who have been in the house during the last two weeks?”

“Surely you know better than I do who’s been traipsing around here,” Helen said coldly.

“I’m referring specifically to anyone who has been inside the house. Everyone employed to ready the grounds for the party has been given strict instructions to stay out of the main house. If you know of anyone who’s breached that protocol, it’s very important I know who it was.”

Helen sighed deeply and massaged her temples. She let out another put upon sigh before consulting her computer screen.

“On April 10th, we had Spotless Upholstery Cleaning here. There were four guys. They worked in pairs. They cleaned all the upholstered furniture in the downstairs rooms, including the theater seats.”

“Nothing upstairs?” Madeline confirmed.

“No. But that’s not to say one of them didn’t sneak off to do a little pilfering. I certainly didn’t have time to stand sentry over them.” Madeline met the wave of bad vibes exuding from the disgruntled housekeeper with aplomb. It would be hard to get back into Helen’s good graces at this point, but she had to keep their dealings as civil as possible.

“How about security cameras?” Madeline had made note of several on the premises.

“There aren’t any upstairs.”

“Are there cameras on both flights of stairs?”

“Yes,” Helen confirmed grudgingly.

“When you shut the house for the night, do you personally activate the alarm system?”

“Yes, except for when Mr. Alexander is at home.”

“Aside from the upholstery cleaners, did anyone else outside of the staff have access to the house during that time frame?” Helen consulted her calendar again.

“Nathan’s Furnace Duct Cleaning. They were out on the 15th. They were here about five hours, I’d say, and I couldn’t tell you where all they went. There were three of them and they inspected every room before they went to work on the ducts. Again, I was way too busy to stand guard over them the whole time they were here.”

Madeline made notes on her cell phone, ignoring the insinuation. But something about this particular service struck her as odd. For one thing, the coldest months were behind them now. With everything else going on, it seemed like that could’ve waited.

“Is that an annual service?” she asked. Helen’s eye shifted, just slightly, but enough for Madeline to catch it.

“Ah, no.”

“So, the timing wasn’t exactly ideal,” Madeline surmised.

“No again. Let’s just say I don’t make all the decisions about household maintenance.”

Madeline waited for further enlightenment. Helen’s features had become a placid mask. Since she knew the housekeeper’s fondness for Ross, Madeline gathered that she was referring to Cherie. But the idea of Cherie getting a sudden bug up her butt to have the heating vents cleaned bordered on science fiction.

“You’re saying Cherie set that up?” Madeline asked incredulously. Helen’s eyebrows and upturned hands raised in unison.

“A friend of hers had it done and I guess Mrs. Alexander thought it was such a great idea…” Helen shook her head in bafflement. Madeline clicked her nails against her phone as she ruminated on this theory.

“I saw two men leave the house this morning,” she said.

“I thought you said the jewelry went missing a week ago,” Helen countered.

“That’s what Vivian said. But for the sake of thoroughness, I should probably get the names of every individual or company that’s had access to the house.”

Helen huffed and turned the laptop toward Madeline. “Everything in red indicates a house call. Be my guest,” she said, standing up abruptly. “I’ve got to check on something.”

Madeline let out a deep breath to deflect the housekeeper’s animosity as she left the room. She scrolled through the dates leading up to the present. She tuned her ear to the sounds coming from the main kitchen. Helen could be heard issuing orders at a fair distance. Madeline took advantage of this opportunity to go back through Helen’s calendar, looking for patterns or anything that struck her as unusual.

She jotted down all the commercial visitors on a notepad and returned the screen to the date Helen had up. She was deep in thought when Helen reentered. From the look on her face, Madeline could tell she had outstayed her welcome.

“One more question, and I’ll get out of your hair. Besides scheduled appointments, have there been any other strangers in the house in the last two weeks—delivery men, for example.”

“We’re always getting deliveries. Wine, food, dry cleaning…” Helen’s voice trailed off, leaving Madeline to imagine the rest.

“But those delivery people don’t make it past this area of the house, I would imagine.”

“That’s right. I really hate to be rude, but I’ve got a thousand things on my mind right now.” Madeline stowed her notes in her handbag and stood up. “Before you leave, maybe you could enlighten me on what your course of action is going to be. And when exactly will you clue Mr. Alexander in on this…situation?”

“The first thing I’m going to do is run a background check on Teresa Gomez. Knowing your thoroughness, I suspect all the employees on your staff have been carefully vetted, so I won’t waste my time on them.” For the time being, anyway. “I will expand my investigation depending on what I find out about Miss Story’s companion.” This information was met with stony silence.

“Helen, I’m sorry this has landed on you in the midst of everything else. If it hadn’t been Vivian, I wouldn’t have gotten involved. But the good thing is this matter can stay completely confidential unless it needs to be turned over to the authorities. In the meantime, I hope we can work together to get through the next four days.”

“Absolutely,” Helen said, a diffident smile returning to her face, as if she hadn’t just broken protocol and revealed her more human side. While Madeline walked to her car, she had to wonder what really went on behind that elastic façade.

SIX

Master Coffee demonstrated a new combination of moves to her students and watched as they executed the routine. The eight martial arts students—Madeline and Mike included—lunged, kicked, blocked and punched as they advanced across the hardwood floor, each watching themselves in the mirror on the other side of the room. Teri observed their movements, occasionally correcting their form. The students reached the mirror and turned on their heels to repeat the steps back to where they had started.

Madeline was completely poised as she went through her paces, apparently oblivious to her surroundings as she emphasized each strike with a fierce growl. Breathe, exhale. Breathe, exhale. Although she was completely absorbed in each nuanced move, she was also acutely aware of the way Mike and Teri were observing her from the corners of their eyes.

But instead of allowing it to break her concentration, Madeline continued to focus on the position of her hands, the height of her legs as she kicked them over her head, the blocks and strikes with her fists. She could tell by the fleeting glimpses that her instructor was impressed. Mike, on the other hand, watched her askance, wondering if Madeline was really that calm. She was good at feigning aloofness when it suited her, like whenever she felt backed into a corner.

Teri led the class through their stretches at the close of the lesson, then dismissed them with a bow. Before exiting the floor, each student bowed to their instructor, then saluted the flag with a hand to their hearts. Once off the sacred space, the convivial post-class chatter began. Mike hovered near Madeline as she talked to a fellow student. Sensing his protective presence, Madeline gave him a stony look over her shoulder, one that Mike received with a scowl.

“You’ve got to stop acting like my bodyguard,” Madeline said as she gathered her things together.

“Somebody’s got to keep an eye on you,” Mike said. Madeline regarded him with arched brows. “You can’t act like this situation is going to magically resolve itself. You need to take this threat seriously.”

Madeline filled her lungs as a means of controlling her temper as she walked out into the hallway, Mike close on her heels.

“What makes you think I’m not taking it seriously?” she asked, arms akimbo, warning look on her face. “What exactly can I do to make you realize I do appreciate the implications of Yeoman’s death? What do you suggest I do?” she challenged him. “Should I get roaring drunk and drive around until I get a DUI so I can spend the night in the drunk tank? Think I’ll be safer there?”

“Go ahead, play the hard ass. You’re not fooling me,” Mike said, folding his arms across his chest while he regarded her as though she were a headstrong child.

“Good work tonight, Madeline,” Teri said as she joined them in the hallway. “Your form was absolutely perfect.” Teri smiled at Madeline and then Mike and immediately sensed the friction between the two. “Anything I can help with?” she asked.

“No, everything’s fine,” Madeline said. “Thanks for a good class. I needed that. Well, I’ll see you next week,” she said to her instructor before turning toward the stairs.

“See you next week. Have a good weekend,” Teri called out. Mike nodded his goodbye and started out after his partner. Teri stopped him in his tracks.

“What’s going on?” she asked, cocking her head to take in all six-feet-four of him. Mike readied himself with a handy excuse, but his karate master would know he was lying before the words left his mouth.

“One of the men who left her to die in the cellar was released from prison last week,” Mike conceded. Master Coffee’s expression slowly shifted from curious to wary.

“Does anyone know where he is?”

“He’s in the morgue.” Teri took this in and mentally sifted through the possible explanations.

“I don’t suppose he killed himself out of remorse,” she said tersely.

“No, he didn’t shoot a hole through the back of his head and throw himself into Lake Cachuma, unfortunately. The most likely suspect is Madeline’s ex-husband’s former head of ‘security,’ a misnomer if there ever was one.”

“Does this mean Madeline is in danger?”

Mike’s gaze floated to the ceiling, as if to escape Master Coffee’s penetrating stare. “That’s the big question, and no one seems to know the answer. But if you were in her position, what would you believe?”

“I believe that you are more fearful than Madeline is at this point, probably because you see yourself as her protector.”

The air escaped Mike’s lungs in one long wheeze. He knew better than to test Teri on any level, especially when it came to the art of self-protection. He sucked air in between his teeth and humbly bowed to Teri’s astute observation.

“You have to try to be supportive of her without wanting to control her actions. You want her to be safe from the bad guys. We all want that for each other. But we can’t assign ourselves as guardians, not unless someone asks us to. Madeline is a strong woman, strong in many ways. When she needs your help—or mine—she’ll be strong enough to ask for it.”

“So you’re saying I have to back off and wait until she realizes how much danger she’s in?”

“I’m saying you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. I think you know that pretty well from your own experiences,” Teri said, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. Mike grunted out a begrudging laugh.

“Touché. How did you get to be so enlightened?” he asked as he held the door open for her.”

“Years of experience,” she replied. “Many years.”

SEVEN

Madeline sat in her office, staring into space while her computer loaded. Despite the news that Rick Yeoman had been found dead, thus putting her in possible jeopardy, she considered the day a net winner. She had her first investigation, which thrilled her to no end. That it came from the same household where she was currently employed as an event coordinator made things a little tricky. But she was far more interested in solving the case of the missing jewels than she was in catering to the whims of a spoiled, insecure film director’s wife.

She clicked on the icon for the credit reporting agency favored by her mentor, the dubious Russell Barnett, who had aided and abetted in her video-recorded rape at the Edgecliff Hotel. By all rights, she should loathe the man, but he had stuck to his part of the bargain and trained her and Mike for the required three-year apprenticeship, which led to this new career. Besides, she had finally come to understand that one should never harbor hate, if for no other reason than it will destroy you from within. Her own instincts for survival kept her from reliving what she had been through at the behest of her husband; if she dwelled on that period of her life, she’d surely lose her sanity.

She read over the notes she’d made throughout the day. Most pertained to the Alexander party and the Campbell wedding. She felt comfortably up to speed on both those fronts. She even had two new dresses to augment her wardrobe sufficiently to get through all the “festivities.” That, and Vivian’s assignment were the high points of the day.

In the middle of her list sat the words that nearly vibrated with radioactive menace. With her highlighter, she circled the names Rick Yeoman and Lionel Usherwood, hoping that would somehow isolate them from the rest of her concerns. Unfortunately, it only served to underscore the threat that the death of Yeoman and the resurfacing of Usherwood presented for her personal safety.

Madeline shoved the notes aside and looked at Teresa’s W-4. She clicked to start a new file and entered Teresa’s name, address and Social Security number. She double-checked her entries and clicked Run. Within two seconds a message appeared on the screen: This number has not been assigned.

Madeline let out a frustrated sigh as she compared the information on the W-4 with the data she had entered. She hadn’t transposed anything; every letter and numeral matched the form identically. Unless Teresa had made a mistake, she had used a false ID.

Despite her disappointment, Madeline wasn’t really surprised; this was not the first time she had encountered a fake SSN. She knew there were ample sources for counterfeit documentation, even in her own backyard. She thought about giving Teresa a chance to verify the info on the W-4, but that would only tip their hand and probably send the girl running. The only benefit she’d gotten from the IRS form was verification that Vivian’s companion was in the country illegally. Whether she was a thief or not remained to be seen.

Madeline opened another browser and did a Google search for directions to Teresa’s address. As the map printed, she toyed with the idea of swinging by there on her way home. It wasn’t that far out of her way, though it was not in a great neighborhood and it was already dark.

She consulted her notes for other ways she could productively use her time before heading home for some much needed rest. As she scanned the reminders to herself, she flashed on the scene with Detective Slovitch earlier that day.

She pushed away from the desk and swiveled thoughtfully. Part of her was all for believing Usherwood would be content with knocking off his former underling. Yeoman had ratted him out to the Feds, and Usherwood—or whoever made the hit—had settled the score. There was no real reason to complicate matters by adding another murder to his résumé. Except for the fact that Madeline had also testified against Lionel Usherwood, the chief henchman of her sociopathic ex-husband.

Maybe in Usherwood’s warped, psychotic mind, everyone who had thrown in against him would be on his elimination list. But then again, he’d been off law enforcement radar for three years now; why take the risk of being captured now? Get in, make the kill, get out. That sounded much more like a paramilitary approach to her.

Though she tried to hold on to this comforting scenario, she couldn’t get the last image she had of Usherwood out of her mind. Though she had come a long way since then—mentally, emotionally and physically—she would never forget Lionel’s furious face when he caught sight of her on Figueroa Street and reversed direction to chase her down. That moment was seared into her brain forever.

Madeline heaved a deep sigh and got up to look out the window. There were still quite a few cars in the parking lot behind her office, despite the hour and the day of the week. Being virtually surrounded by restaurants accounted for the reason it was usually packed. Thinking of her proximity to food caused her stomach to growl. She’d had little to eat all day and had expended a lot of energy. But she didn’t feel like parading around in her karate garb and didn’t fancy the idea of going back down to her car to get her other clothes and coming all the way back up to change. Plus, she didn’t like the idea of lingering in the parking lot longer than necessary.

Instead, she comforted herself with the thought of ordering a pizza and taking a hot shower. But first, she’d check out Teresa’s address. If she got lucky, she might be able to get a read on the girl away from her place of employment. She turned out the lights, armed the alarm and locked her office on the way out.

Madeline slowed as she looked for Teresa’s address. Most of the dwellings on Acacia Lane were apartment houses, each containing eight to sixteen sad-looking units. She kept moving, aware that there were clumps of shadowy figures lurking on both sides of the road. As one of these groups became interested in her vehicle and started edging toward the street, she sped up. From what she could determine so far, she wasn’t anywhere close to 1046, apt. E.

She rounded the bend in the road that ran parallel to the freeway. As soon as she made the turn, she discovered the road came to a dead end about a hundred yards ahead. There were no more buildings of any kind, just a spontaneous dumping ground that seemed like an ideal place for all sorts of illegal activities.

She executed a quick Y-turn and headed back the way she came, this time not slowing to look at the addresses. As soon as she crossed Modoc, she drove up Portesuello Avenue and pulled over. It amazed her how the neighborhoods changed so drastically in less than a quarter of a mile. Here she felt safe enough to recheck the map. She then did a search for a nonexistent address that went out three blocks past her own dead-end street. When it showed up as being in her block, she figured there was a glitch in the system.

Now she knew for sure she was dealing with a false ID. Teresa Maria Gomez—or whatever her real name was—did not live at 1046 Acacia Lane or have a valid SSN. This discovery did not bode well for Vivian. Madeline felt sorry for the elderly woman, taken in by a sweet, deceptive façade.

Now she had to figure out the best way to handle the situation. Vivian Story was officially her client, so her allegiance in this matter lay with her. Vivian didn’t want the police involved yet, but Madeline didn’t like the way this scenario was playing out so far. She’d have to get “Teresa” alone and try to scare the truth out of her. Being in the country illegally was one thing; grand larceny was quite another.

Madeline groaned as she added a reminder to her over-crowded agenda for the following day. Thursday. She had one full business day to make sure everything was in place for the big event and to catch a thief. As she put the car in gear, she wondered what had made her think she could balance two such disparate careers.

Less time for personal reflection, she thought, acknowledging the reason she’d crammed her life with work. Constantly thinking about event planning minutiae, and now her first investigation, at least helped take her mind off the past and vengeful killers running loose.

“Hi, I’d like a pizza delivered…small, with prosciutto and goat cheese…” Madeline gave her address and phone number as she pulled into her driveway. She was practically salivating at the thought of food as she walked up her front steps and unlocked the door. She stepped into the entry and juggled her load as she prepared to turn the alarm off. Before she could get a hand free, she realized she didn’t hear the familiar whiny buzz. The lights on the controls were also off.

“I could’ve sworn I turned it on,” she muttered as she walked over to dump her handbag, the clothes she’d been wearing that day and the new dresses from Saks on the sofa. When everything clanked and thudded to the floor, a prickling sensation went up and down her skin. She fumbled her way to the light switch by the entry. As the overhead fixture illuminated her surroundings, she became so light-headed, she thought she would faint.

She stood, rooted to the spot by the front door, ready to fight or flee when her mind sent her the signal. But it was difficult to make sense of the seemingly innocent scene in front of her.

As her eyes roved around her living room, the changes registered with ghoulish effect. There was no blood, no dead body, no broken vases, nothing missing; everything was there, only everything—down to the artwork and the rugs—had been moved, rearranged. The sensation of familiarity juxtaposed with foreignness had a completely disorienting effect. She got down low and crab-walked to her handbag, as if she suspected the furnishings were apt to relocate again without notice, knocking her over in the process.

Once she had her phone, she speed-dialed her partner. By now her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

“What’s up?” Mike asked through a mouthful of food.

“I need you to come over here right away.” Madeline’s words hit Mike like a punch in the gut.

“Where’s here? Are you hurt?” he asked, standing up and pushing his chair away in one fluid motion. He hastily wiped his mouth while waiting for her reply, which didn’t come soon enough for him. “Maddie, are you all right?”

“Yes…”

“Where are you? Tell me what’s happened.” A wheeze escaped Madeline’s throat, but nothing else. She knew what she saw, but it felt like too much work to explain it. “Maddie! What’s happening? Talk to me!”

Madeline filled her lungs with air and let it seep out slowly. She knew how to handle suddenly threatening and inexplicable situations. But she’d let her guard down on her home turf—a big mistake that couldn’t happen again.

“Everything in my living room has been rearranged.” The line was quiet. “Are you still there?”

“What do you mean? Your furniture’s been moved?”

“Yes. It’s all…everything is in a different place than it was when I left it this morning.”

“Are you sure the cleaning lady didn’t do it?”

Madeline grunted irritably. “Yes, I’m sure. For one thing, she doesn’t come on Thursdays. And she couldn’t possibly move the mesquite coffee table by herself. Just please get over here.”

“I’m on my way.”

While waiting impatiently for Mike to arrive, Madeline worked up the courage to investigate the rest of the house. She checked the kitchen first, knowing there was little that could be altered, unless someone had the time and inclination to rearrange her cupboards.

When she turned on the light switch, she found the room to be exactly as she had left it. Heaving a sigh of relief, she took her coffee cup over to the sink to rinse it out. Before her hand reached the faucet lever, her heart took another jolt. This time it came from seeing her Wusthof butcher knife lodged through the center of an apple and left in the sink, apparently as a warning.

Madeline backed away slowly while the threat registered. She turned to flee the room, belatedly setting the coffee cup back on the kitchen table. She grabbed her phone and called Mike again.

“I’m almost there,” he said before she could get a word out. “Maddie, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” she managed to say at length.

“What is it? Did you find something else? Have you called the cops?”

“No, not yet.”

“Do it now. I’m two minutes from you.” Madeline crept past the living room and down the hall to the bedrooms and bathroom. “Maddie, did you hear me? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” she whispered as she turned on the bathroom light. No slash marks through the shower curtain, at least.

“Listen, go outside and wait for me on the front steps. Leave any lights on. I’m turning up your street now. Hang up and call the police, okay?”

“All right, I’ll be on the sidewalk.”

Madeline swooped down and grabbed her handbag on her way out. She never quite got over losing the last Prada bag and all its contents. At least she’d have something if the house suddenly burst into flames. This last thought propelled her out the door and down the steps, just as Mike’s old Mercedes lurched into the driveway.

EIGHT

Mike and Madeline made a small island as they stood in the middle of her living room, fielding questions from the local police and federal agents. Madeline guessed there were at least eight individuals linked to law enforcement combing every inch of her little house, inside and out. As she was giving her statement of events for the second time, the group was interrupted by an FBI agent wearing a bullet-proof vest over a long-sleeve shirt.

“We located the source for the alarm system under the house. The wires have not been cut. By the evenness of the dust that was covering it, I’d say it hadn’t been touched. We took photos and had it dusted for prints anyway.” FBI Agent Caulfield nodded his thanks and the man left to pursue other clues.

Both Madeline and Mike were picking up certain vibes from the investigating teams. Oddly, the locals seemed to treat the B&E of Madeline’s home more seriously. They found this especially curious since the Feds had turned Yeoman to get more evidence against Usherwood.

“Excuse me,” Madeline butted in as Agent Caulfield grilled her again on the time frame of events. “Why am I getting the impression this scene is all immaterial to you?”

Agent Caulfield cocked his head as he considered this accusation. “Ma’am, we’ve got six agents collecting evidence from virtually every surface of your home. We responded to Detective Slovitch’s call in under thirty minutes. What about our response troubles you?”

“She’s just had a horrible shock,” Mike said, trying to make nice for the sake of cooperation.

“You don’t need to apologize for me,” Madeline snapped, stepping in front of her partner to further confront Caulfield.

“What’s really bothering you, Ms. Dawkins?” Caulfield asked, tucking his pad under his arm as he appraised her.

“When Yeoman’s body was found at Lake Cachuma, why didn’t that put the FBI on high alert?”

“It did.”

“Oh, really? Then why was it overlooked that I had as much skin in the game as Yeoman where Usherwood is concerned? Maybe more, considering his whole rotten operation was brought down by me.”

“It wasn’t, I can assure you—”

“I’m not assured,” Madeline said, hands on hips as she faced off with Caulfield. “How can I feel assured when I was such an obvious target for Usherwood, yet there was no surveillance on my home?”

“Ma’am—”

“It’s Madeline. Madeline Dawkins. Former kidnap victim of Lionel Usherwood.”

Agent Caulfield lowered his head and took a deep breath. “Madeline, how about if we have a seat somewhere?” Caulfield raised his hand to get the attention of the closest investigator. “Has the kitchen area been sampled yet? We need a place to sit,” he said.

“Let me find out.” The young man slipped into the kitchen and reappeared a few seconds later. “Kitchen table and chairs are good to go.” Caulfield extended his hand and let Madeline lead the way. Mike gave Caulfield a look and fell in step behind her. When they were seated, the agent who gave them the all-clear appeared with the box of now-cold pizza that had been delivered in the middle of the law enforcement convergence. He placed it on the table and walked away.

Mike opened the box, hoping the aroma would spark Madeline’s appetite. One whiff of it made the color drain away from her face. Mike got up to shift it to the counter, but the same man who brought it to the table intercepted it. He took it to another area that had already been cleared.

Agent Caulfield directed his remarks to Madeline. “Contrary to what you might think, we have considered you as a likely target for Usherwood, if in reality he’s the one who took out Yeoman.”

Madeline’s shrug was like a dare. “So…that translated into what, exactly? Have you been reading my emails or tracking my calls? It certainly doesn’t appear that you’ve had anyone watching my place.”

Caulfield cleared his throat. “Actually, we did have surveillance on your house and place of business.”

Madeline reared back in astonishment. “Then how the hell did Usherwood slip past you?” she asked, her voice teetering on shrill, arms extended in exasperation.

Caulfield kept his gaze steady as he answered the rebuke. “We’ve had agents making regular tours of your area. Obviously, counterespionage is Usherwood’s stock in trade. He wouldn’t come near either of your places if he detected our presence.”

Madeline barked out a harsh laugh and leapt to her feet. “Are you kidding me? You…” she was so furious, she could barely get the words out, “you were basically using me as bait, weren’t you?” Mike got to his feet in an attempt to calm her down. It didn’t work. She brushed his hands away and turned all her anger and indignation loose on the agent.

“All you care about is catching the big criminal. You don’t give a damn about collateral damage, do you? If I happen to die in the process of you getting your man, it would just be one more offense to tack onto his sheet. Wouldn’t that make it an even bigger catch as far as the bureau is concerned?” Madeline glared at Caulfield hotly, begging him to cross her again.

“You’ve got it all wrong,” Agent Caulfield said, his tone almost lethargic.

Madeline grunted at his response. “How have I gotten it wrong? What if I had arrived earlier and surprised Usherwood? You’d be measuring blood splatters right now instead of giving me the third degree.”

“How about a drink?” Mike offered.

Madeline shook her head. She was using the last bit of her energy to hold the FBI accountable for their lax surveillance techniques and the invasion of her home.

“What are you going to do now? Have you got any clue where Usherwood is? Are you going to have someone trail me around town and camp out on my doorsteps?” Exasperated, she lurched toward the sink for a glass of water.

“I’m sorry, ma’am—we’re still dusting for prints,” another uniformed agent said, halting her in the middle of the room. She could feel tears brimming in her eyes as she glared dejectedly at him.

“Can you just bring me a glass of water?”

“Sure…I can do that.”

“Thank you.” Madeline turned back to Mike and Caulfield, all her anger suddenly spent. She sank onto a chair and stared blankly at the table, her arms tucked between her legs, her back uncharacteristically bowed. Mike and the agent exchanged glances.

“It doesn’t appear that you’ve registered with one of our victim specialists,” Agent Caulfield said.

Madeline looked up at him blankly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We have special agents who deal directly with crime victims. Because Usherwood is one of our cases, and since he abducted you with the intent of killing you, we can offer special services—”

“Like what? A personal bodyguard? A safe house?”

“Like counseling,” Caulfield said.

Madeline stared at him in disbelief before laughing harshly. “Counseling? That’s the kind of help I’m going to get from your agency? Am I hallucinating?” She turned to Mike. “Get me out of here,” she said as she turned away.

“I’m afraid you can’t go yet. We still need your help here.”

“And I need the kind of help you can’t give me, apparently. Knock yourselves out—tear the place apart. And if you find anything useful, I’d like you to share it with Detective Slovitch. He’s got our contact information.”

Mike fumbled one of his cards out of his wallet and handed it to Caulfield.

“Are you going to have anyone covering her?” he asked.

“We’ll continue with the resources we have in place.”

“Great,” Mike said caustically as he went in search of Madeline. He found her trying to enter her bedroom. She was getting the bum’s rush from one of Caulfield’s men. Mike could tell she was trying not to lose her patience and on the verge of failing.

“I just need to pack a few of my things so I can get out of here,” he heard her say.

“We haven’t finished in this room yet, ma’am.”

“Quit calling me “ma’am” and get out of my way. I have a very busy schedule the next few days and I need a change of clothing. I can’t go running around in my karate clothes indefinitely,” she said trying to get past the agent. Mike intervened before she got herself arrested.

“Let’s go, Maddie. We can come back in the morning,” Mike said, gently leading her down the hallway. She gathered together the items she’d dropped when she came in and led the way out to Mike’s car. At that point, she didn’t care if she ever saw her house again. A change of scenery did sound very appealing, like Tahiti or Bora Bora.

She huffed mockingly at her indulgent fantasy. She was stuck in Santa Barbara in the middle of the biggest event she’d ever overseen and taken on her first case, which at this point seemed like just one more headache.

That she couldn’t even hide away in her own home to fortify herself for the coming days was a fitting insult in an already gloomy scenario. She was on Lionel Usherwood’s hit list and had to babysit a hot mess for a three-day narcissistic wallow. To top it off, she had to find out if an illegal alien had stolen valuable heirlooms from a famous director’s mother. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember why she thought being an event coordinator and a private investigator were such good career moves.

NINE

Madeline sat back as Mike slid a plate of scrambled eggs and hot buttered toast in front of her. She smiled wanly at him and picked up a piece of toast and brought it to her mouth, but it hung there as if she had either forgotten how to eat or couldn’t quite stomach food yet. She set it back on the plate and placed her elbows on either side of it. Mike set a mug of steaming tea next to her and sat down.

“Maddie, try to eat something before it gets cold,” he said softly, rubbing her knee under the table. “I know what I forgot,” he said as he got up to retrieve a jar of expensive cherry preserves. He cracked the seal and ladled a dollop of the bright red jam onto a slice of toast.

“Now doesn’t that look good?” he said, his features animated as if he were speaking to a child. Madeline laughed, though in her condition it sounded more like a sputter. “Please…one bite?” Mike negotiated.

Madeline moistened her lips and took the slice of toast Mike held in front of her. She took a bite and chewed mechanically, her head lowered. Once she had dispatched that bite to her stomach, her natural instincts for self-preservation kicked in. She ate two more bites and then went at the eggs in large forkfuls.

“Good?” Mike asked.

Madeline nodded, managing a shy smile. “Do you have any cream?” she asked, taking the tea bag out of the mug. Mike was out of his chair like a shot. “And some sugar,” she said through a mouthful of food.

Once she had pierced the knotted barrier in her stomach, she realized how ravenously hungry she was. She had been famished when she ordered the pizza three hours earlier. Now that she was wiping up the last traces of egg with her toast, she already felt more like a human being.

“Want some more?” Mike asked as Madeline dipped the last corner of toast in the jam.

“Okay.”

Mike beamed as he plopped another slice in the toaster.

“What about you?” she asked, turning around in the chair to face him.

“I was just finishing my carnitas tacos when you called.” He sat down next to her, taking one of her hands in his. Madeline knew he was worried about her, but she didn’t feel like discussing it. She gave his hand a squeeze and let it go. She ran both hands through her hair and pulled it back and tied it in a loose knot. She sat staring at her plate, unwilling to look at Mike. She let out an ironic laugh and sighed heavily.

Mike sat watching her, his face so full of concern, it seemed almost mournful. Madeline found it hard to look at him. She got up and wandered the small kitchen. She stopped in front of the toaster and stared, willing the bread to brown so she’d have something productive to do.

“Maddie, I’ll take care of that,” Mike said, getting to his feet. “Come and sit down.”

“I don’t want to sit down,” Madeline said, her voice edgy.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk to me, but you should talk to someone.”

“Oh sure…like an FBI ‘special agent?’” she barked cynically. Mike came and stood next to her, but this made her feel even edgier.

“I need to take a shower,” she said, heading toward the bathroom.

“What about your toast?” When Madeline didn’t answer, he popped the toast up and went after her. He found her sitting on the corner of his bed, arms wrapped around herself, head bent. He stood there without speaking, unsure of how to help her. After a minute she finally looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Maddie,” he said, his heart wrenched to see the hurt and fear in her eyes. He fought back the catch in his throat and eased down beside her. When she didn’t recoil, he slipped his arm around her and held her close, rocking her as sobs broke through her protective barrier. He stroked her hair and kissed the side of her head and tried to say comforting things, but they seemed so shallow compared to what she was up against.

“I need to take a shower,” she said, pulling away. Mike tried to grab her hand, but anger made her pry it loose. She knew Mike was frightened for her and for some reason this grated on her nerves.

“Don’t be doing that,” she snapped. She rummaged through her handbag for a brush and ran it furiously through her hair.

“I’m just worried for you.”

“I know. I know. But acting like I’m going to self-destruct any second isn’t going to do any good,” she said, her voice hard and cold. Mike stiffened; he’d witnessed enough tirades in his life to know the warning signs. And he’d been on the other side of those angry features more often than he cared to remember. Any word he uttered at this point was guaranteed to set her off.

“What?” she demanded.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t have to—I can read your thoughts.”

“I can’t stop thinking,” Mike said. Madeline fumed; she was itching for a fight and Mike wouldn’t give her a reason to throw a proper fit.

“Goddammit!” she swore, hurling her brush across the room. Mike cringed as it narrowly missed the mirror. “This isn’t fair! This is…so insane. I mean, the FBI knows Usherwood’s stalking me and is just trying to scare me senseless before he kills me…”

“Don’t say that!” Mike said, jumping to his feet.

“It’s the truth! You don’t know what a psycho that man is. God knows what hell he put Rick Yeoman through before putting him out of his misery.”

“According to the coroner’s report, there weren’t any other injuries except for the single gunshot to the head—”

“I’m talking about psychological torture, the kind I went through three years ago.” Mike made the mistake of trying to reach for her. This only fueled her harangue.

“I had finally gotten to the point where I didn’t tense up any time I heard footsteps behind me. As soon as I got comfortable in my skin again, Usherwood resurfaces—or his hired gun. The truth is no one knows for sure where he is. And even after they rip my house apart, they still won’t know because they’re not going to find a single speck of evidence that he or anyone with a rap sheet has been there. It was a carefully planned and executed act of terror.”

Mike didn’t know what to say. He knew she was right and his instincts told him the Feds didn’t seem to take the threat to Madeline’s safety very seriously. They went through the pantomime of a thorough investigation, but he picked up a peculiar vibe from Agent Caulfield. He didn’t dare say it to Madeline, but he wouldn’t be surprised if they thought Madeline had rearranged her own furniture and put the cleaver through the apple just to garner some protection.

“And that stupid Caulfield acted like I’d created that scene just for attention. It really pisses me off,” Madeline fumed. She stopped her rant long enough to zero in on Mike’s thoughts. After knowing him off and on for over twenty years, she could pick up on the slightest shift in his expression.

“You felt that too, didn’t you?” she said, pouncing on his silence.

“Yeah…I did. But you have to remember they’ve seen it all…”

Madeline didn’t hide her irritation. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? If they’re so hip to human idiosyncrasies, why haven’t they been able to anticipate Usherwood’s next move? Or even figure out his last?” Madeline let out a vexed sigh and picked up her hair brush.

“I think Slovitch gets it. I’m not saying he has a portal into Usherwood’s brain, but at least he knows what he did to you, and Burt.”

At the mention of her dead P.I., Madeline’s features seemed to sag. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said, turning her back on Mike as she slipped out of her karate gear and kicked it into a pile.

Mike sat and listened to the water beat against the shower door. If Madeline was venting her pent-up rage and frustration, he couldn’t hear it.

After a few minutes, he got up and went to the drawer he had designated as hers for those spontaneous occasions when they both put aside the past and the present and took care of their basic human needs. He took out a T-shirt, undies and the pair of socks she liked to sleep in and laid them out on the bed where she could find them. He passed a hand through his hair as he fought down the urge for alcohol. He could use a meeting right about then, but there was no way he was going to let Madeline out of his sight.

TEN

Mike stood in the doorway of Madeline’s private office, leaning against the doorjamb while he watched her make notes to herself. Neither of them had gotten much sleep; they both were up before five, though no one would know it by looking at Madeline. She was as pulled together and efficient as usual. She insisted on being in the office before Lauren arrived so she could get some work done without being distracted. And Mike insisted on accompanying her. Thankfully, their office had not been molested—at least not that they could tell.

“Something on your mind?” she asked, not bothering to look up from her task. She didn’t need to look at Mike to know what he was thinking about. His protective hovering said it all. It took her a few beats to realize he hadn’t answered her. She put down her pen and met his brooding stare with strained patience.

“I do hope you’re not planning on being my shadow until Usherwood’s captured or killed,” she said. Mike was unperturbed by her sarcastic tone. “Mike, seriously…this is the last day of relative freedom before I more or less move in with Cherie. I can’t have you lurking over my shoulder all day.”

Mike gave her one of his inscrutable looks and took a seat across from her.

“All right, spit it out,” Madeline said as she leaned back in her chair and folded her arms.

“You need to accept that I’m not going to let you out of my sight for the next several days.”

“And you need to accept that I’m going to be a virtual prisoner at the Alexander estate until Sunday night.”

“Accepted. But here’s the plan—you’re going to get me in so I can cover your back while the Hollywood swells kick up their heels and exalt one another.”

Madeline smiled humorously. “Sorry, partner—that’s not possible. The security at this event is going to be political-grade. No one who isn’t on the guest list or part of the crew will get a toe past the gates. The sheriff’s department will be staked out to ward off the paparazzi, which is another good reason for you not to worry.” Madeline gave Mike a triumphant smirk and went back to her notes.

“I hate to break it to you, but the sheriff’s department security detail will not be focused on keeping you out of Usherwood’s crosshairs.”

“But Usherwood’s not going to be able to get in,” Madeline countered.

“Right.” It appeared Usherwood possessed the ability to walk through walls. Last night proved that. Madeline reached for a fresh pad of paper and began an outline. By the change in her demeanor, Mike figured she wasn’t just trying to ignore him.

“What are you doing?” he finally asked.

“Mapping out a timeline.”

“Of…?”

“Usherwood’s probable actions.” Mike considered this for a moment. “I’m not completely without defenses this time,” she hinted.

“Good thinking. We treat Usherwood as if we’ve been hired to track him down,” Mike correctly surmised. “So, what have you got?”

“Conrad Adams knew of Yeoman’s deal a week prior to his release. That means others could’ve gotten the information at the same time. Four days after Yeoman is returned to Santa Barbara County, he turns up dead at Lake Cachuma. That gives Usherwood possibly eleven day’s heads-up that Yeoman has given evidence against him. No matter what hole he’s crawled into, no matter in what part of the world, he’s got plenty of time to reenter the country—assuming that he actually left—and be in place when Yeoman is unceremoniously dropped off at a halfway house.”

“Or, Usherwood stays in his hole and contracts out the hit,” Mike added.

“Right. Either way works.”

“So, what else can we surmise from this scant bit of information?”

Madeline looked back at her timeline. “Was Usherwood out of the country, or has he been lying low all this time?” she wondered out loud.

“I don’t personally know the man, but it seems like it would really cramp his style to go underground for three years,” Mike said.

“So you think he’s been out of the country?”

Mike nodded. “Don’t you?”

“Yeah. I really can’t picture him skulking around in some backwoods all this time. He’s a man who’s traveled the world. There are dozens of places he’d have connections who could take him in and give him a new identity.” This last thought gave them both pause.

“We don’t know who we’re looking for, even if it is Usherwood we’re looking for,” Madeline said, her voice trailing off as she conjured up his face as she last saw it. “It may just be my paranoia, but I had this sense of Lionel Usherwood’s presence in my house,” she said, her gaze going inward as she thought back to the previous night, barely ten hours earlier. “It was almost like I could smell him…like he left pheromones or something.” She shivered at the thought. She had the sudden image of a coyote: a creature possessing stealth and cunning and the ability to vanish in the blink of an eye, just like Lionel Usherwood.

Mike’s features tightened as he assessed the probability of Madeline being able to pick up on Usherwood’s presence. She had amazing instincts; that had become clear while they did their three-year apprenticeship with Russell Barnett. By the time they were qualified to take the state exam, Madeline’s deductive reasoning and “woman smarts” ran circles around Barnett’s stodgy methodology. He even admitted as much when he said Burt would’ve been proud of her.

Looking at her now, Mike was more than proud of her. It had not taken her long after the initial trespass into her safe space to collect her wits and take the personal element out of the equation. Sure, they were dealing with the type of criminal that didn’t normally pop up in their line of investigation. But the difference here was Madeline’s familiarity with the coldblooded mercenary.

“Then my money’s on Usherwood making the kill and giving you a warning,” he concluded.

“Do you think he rearranged my furniture just out of a sick desire to scare me? Or do you think he did it as a preamble to something worse?” By the look on Mike’s face, Madeline could guess the answer. She got up and went to the window. The sun was already casting long shadows on its way up over the horizon.

“This is why I can’t let you out of my sight,” Mike said, coming up behind her.

“I spotted an unmarked car out there,” she said, walking away from the window so Mike could see for himself. He had no trouble picking out the two federal agents in their generic unmarked car.

“Well, that’s good. If we can see them, Usherwood can too. He’s not going to make a move on you in front of them. And I doubt he’s crazy enough to take out a couple of law enforcement agents.” Madeline shook her head in disagreement.

“Unless they’ve got agents dressed as homeless people covering the front, sitting in their car behind the building is going to do little good.”

“That goes back to my original point. You need a personal bodyguard,” Mike said, pointing his fingers to the obvious choice.

“We’ve already been through that,” Madeline replied, retaking her seat.

“You can get me onto the estate. I know you can. You’re Miss Smarty Pants—figure out something,” Mike said, sitting on the edge of her desk.

“Oh God,” she lamented, knowing Mike would badger her until he got his way. She also knew he only wanted to protect her. But the thought of him hovering over her day and night made her want to crawl out of her skin.

She drummed her fingers on the desk while she regarded him. He was an imposing figure, and he had plenty of that “don’t mess with me” attitude. A firm from L.A. had been brought in to handle security for the weekend. She could hardly approach them with the reason for needing a security detail of her own. Just what nobody wanted to hear about: a killer on the loose with a vendetta against her.

She was racking her brain when the solution suddenly occurred to her.

“Who are you calling?” Mike asked. Madeline ignored him as she rehearsed her spiel.

“Bonjour Philippe,” she said, turning to give Mike a naughty smile. “Ça va, ça va. Et tu?” She giggled prettily, enjoying Mike’s discomfort. “Look, Philippe, I’ve got a situation on my hands and I need your help. But you have to keep this under your toque…it’s very important that no one else knows about this, ça va?”

Madeline explained to Philippe Sautot that she was running a private investigation at the Alexander estate on top of her event coordination duties. This was true, but it didn’t necessitate Mike going undercover. But there was no reason to complicate matters, and the less Philippe knew, the better.

“Yes, he has a white dress shirt and a black bowtie,” she said, delighting in the stunned expression on Mike’s face as he realized what she’d just committed him to. He huffed petulantly, obviously peeved. Madeline merely shrugged and continued the conversation, in French, to further irritate him.

“Well, it’s all set. You’ll be part of the wait staff, but mostly as decoration. You can stand around with a silver tray and collect empty glasses, but you’ll be able to stay on the floor, so to speak.”

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

Madeline couldn’t help but see the humor of the situation. It was likely the last bit of levity she’d come across for the near future. Her mood sobered when she realized this could be her last laugh. “Okay, I need to get back to work. Lauren will be here pretty soon.”

“What should I do?” Mike asked. Madeline looked up at him, her mind already engaged with other matters.

“I don’t know… You’re a smart guy, figure it out. What about the case you got yesterday?”

“Already closed.” Madeline’s expression showed she was appropriately impressed.

“Good. Now you need to find another one. Oh…I completely forgot to tell you—I picked up a case yesterday too. With all the chaos last night, it slipped my mind.”

“How did you manage to pick up a case with everything else you’ve got going on?” Mike asked as he slid into the chair opposite her.

He was all smiles now. This was how he had envisioned their partnership while they slogged through Russell Barnett’s drudgework: talking over their own investigations, brainstorming together, working in tandem on a stakeout. This is why he had hung around all that time.

“I was approached by Cherie’s mother-in-law, Vivian Story.”

“Oh right, the actress. She’s up in her years, isn’t she?”

“She’s eighty-four, but still firing on all cylinders.”

“Don’t tell me she’s being stalked by a crazed fan.”

“No. It seems someone has pilfered some very expensive jewelry from her room—very pricey heirlooms given to her by her late husband.”

“Stolen jewels. Wow, that’s a big deal.” Madeline knew from the way he said that he had reservations about their ability to handle something as difficult as this. Hot rocks were extremely hard to track down. “Got any leads?”

“Well, there are plenty of players, but I took the case as a background check on her companion, a young Latina that I found out last night is using a fake social and a nonexistent address.”

“Uh huh,” Mike muttered thoughtfully, already warming to the challenge. “What’s your next move, Sherlock?” Madeline looked at the clock on her computer: 8:07.

“I was planning on waiting until 8:30 to make contact with the woman whose mother employed Teresa—if that’s even her real name—prior to Miss Story. Vivian gave me the daughter’s name. She lives up in the Valley, and fortunately I think I found her husband’s info online. Hopefully. If not, I guess I’ll have to go snooping around Casa Contento.”

“Why wait? Make the call now, before she goes out for the day.”

“You’re right.” Madeline put her hand on the phone and gave Mike a meaningful look that sailed right over his head. “Go on,” she said, flicking her hand to shoo him away. Mike was clearly offended. “I can’t think with you staring at me. Go on—go fiddle with your website or something. And don’t forget to pick up a shirt and bowtie when the formalwear shop opens.”

“Well, thank you for your time. I appreciate all your insights.”

“Happy to help. I hope Teresa will continue to work out for Vivian. She is such a dear woman. I remember watching her old movies with my mom when I was a child. Such a class act,” Sybil Wately said.

“That she is,” Madeline replied as she looked over her notes for anything she might’ve missed.

“Please give her my regards.”

“I sure will. Thanks again.”

Madeline hung up the phone and ruminated over what she’d just learned. At this point, she couldn’t put too much stock in a coincidence, yet she certainly found the prospect troubling. She opened a new file in her case management software and entered all the pertinent info. She typed up her notes, then printed everything. When she had finished, she called Lauren into her office.

“Please make a new file folder for our second case,” Madeline said, handing the pages to her.

“Awesome. When did you get this?” Lauren asked. She had the answer a second later when she saw the client’s name.

“Ross Alexander’s mother hired us? Burglary? Oh no.” Lauren looked up at her boss.

“This case, like all our cases, is completely confidential. So far, only our office and Helen know anything about it. Obviously, this is a very delicate matter, especially so because of the timing. It’s really the last thing we need to be dealing with right now, but at the same time, it gives us a unique opportunity to observe the staff.” Lauren stared at her blankly for two beats.

“Oh, right. That’s very…cool. So I’ll be able to help scope things out for you,” she said, her eyes bright with the prospect.

“Well, not really. I need you to make sure everything goes off without a hiccup so Mike and I can do our jobs.”

“Mike’s going to be there?” Lauren asked, taken aback by the news. Oops, Madeline thought; she didn’t want Lauren to know the real reason behind Mike’s presence at the party.

“Yes, he’ll be undercover as a waiter—” Lauren started laughing before Madeline could finish the sentence. “You’ve got to pretend you don’t know him. This is a very sensitive situation, especially with the parties involved. You understand?” Lauren wiped the smile off her face.

“Yes, I get it. Mum’s the word. I won’t say a thing to him.”

“Good. Did you read the email I sent you?”

“I did.”

“Any questions?” Lauren shook her head. “Okay. I have some more calls to make, then I’m going over to the house. I want to update Vivian before Cherie monopolizes my time.”

Madeline checked the list of names Sybil Wately had given her. She had one contact with a number; the other two she’d have to research. She made a note of the time before making the call. A woman answered on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Hello, I’m trying to reach Susan Kellogg.”

“Who’s calling?” Mrs. Kellogg asked suspiciously. Madeline quickly dispelled the notion that she was a telemarketer. After giving her contact references and her bona fides, Madeline got to the point.

Luckily for her, Susan Kellogg remembered Teresa. She had hired the girl to care for her mother after she’d broken a hip. Unfortunately, the elderly woman’s health deteriorated after the surgery, but Susan credited Teresa with helping to keep her spirits up.

“She was a very pleasant, respectful young woman. We were all grateful to have found her.”

“And how did you find her?” Madeline asked.

“Actually, it was a bit of a fluke. We heard about her at a memorial service for a friend of my mother’s. I can’t remember the woman’s name…I’m sure it will come to me eventually. Anyway, Teresa was there with the family. Afterwards, we got to talking with the son and next thing I know Teresa had agreed to come work for us. It was very serendipitous, really.”

“I see. That was a bit of luck,” Madeline said, making a record of this detail while she spoke. “Do you happen to remember when she started working for you?”

“Well, let’s see…Mother died about a year and a half ago, so it was probably two years ago, late Spring 2011.”

“So, you didn’t go through an agency or do any kind of background check on her?”

“No, should I have?” Susan Kellogg asked with alarm.

“Oh no, I’m just asking for the sake of thoroughness. If you had gone through an agency or had someone look into her employment history, it would allow me to follow up on those sources.”

“I see.”

“One more question, if I may…and I’m sorry for the nature of this inquiry, but it’s standard in this type of background check.”

“Go ahead,” Susan said.

“At any time during Teresa’s employment, did anything go missing—any personal items of your mother’s or yours?”

“Oh heavens, not that I remember.”

“Well, thank you so much for your time. If you happen to think of the former employer’s name or anything else that might assist my inquiries, I’d be grateful if you’d give me a call.”

After giving Susan Kellogg her contact info, Madeline ended the call and took out her earbud. She hadn’t made as much progress as she’d hoped, but it was already 9:00 and she needed to get to the Alexander estate before Cherie started losing her grip again.

Four more days, she thought with dread as she collected her things. Though it was an odd thought, she realized she was looking forward to the time when she could devote herself to figuring out Lionel Usherwood’s next move. If he doesn’t kill me first, she thought solemnly.

ELEVEN

Madeline was halfway to Cherie’s when she spotted her tail. Now she understood why Mike hadn’t been around to insist on accompanying her. She pushed her Bluetooth button and called him on his cell phone.

“Your tracking skills could use some improvement,” she said.

“When did you figure out it was me in the Toyota? I thought a Prius was the most unassuming vehicle out there.”

“That might’ve been a wise choice if you didn’t look like a giraffe stuffed inside it.” To not crush his spirits altogether, she added, “I picked you out when you entered the roundabout behind me.”

“I knew I should’ve let another car go ahead of me, but I thought the honking behind me would get your attention for sure. At least I know you’re looking out for yourself.”

“I am. So you don’t need to waste your time shadowing my every move. What were you going to do, park on the shoulder on Sycamore Canyon and wait for me to leave? That would’ve been subtle.”

“No, I was going to text you to say you failed to make me and scold you for not being more careful,” Mike said.

“Okay, this is where I turn in and you buzz off,” Madeline said, slowing as she prepared to turn into the gated entry.

“I want you to give me a ten-minute heads up before you leave, okay? Promise me that, or I will camp out on the side of the road.”

“All right, I’ll call you,” Madeline said, reaching for the button to end the call.

“Promise me.” Madeline groaned as she lowered her window for the guard.

“I promise,” she said reluctantly. She watched her rearview mirror until Mike’s rental car crept past, then turned her attention to Max and the new guy standing behind him.

Looks like they’re already beefing up security, Madeline thought. She took a small degree of comfort from that. She just hoped it would give Lionel Usherwood second thoughts about seeking revenge while she was holed up in this fortress.

For everywhere else, she’d have to rely on Mike and whatever resources the FBI felt inclined to assign to her protection. If the thought of coming face to face with her captor wasn’t so frightening, she might’ve laughed. Instead, she sighed and steeled herself for another long day of babysitting the rich and famous.

Madeline’s hopes of sneaking off to visit Vivian first were dashed as soon as Alice let her in.

“You’d better go see Cherie right away,” Alice cautioned.

“What’s wrong now?”

Alice gave Madeline a meaningful look and leaned in closer. “She’s…not acting herself.”

This bulletin shed no light on the matter. In the twelve months since she was hired for this questionable affair, Madeline had seen so many mood swings, she wasn’t sure who the real Cherie Alexander was. “Can you be more specific?”

Before Alice could reply, Madeline got her answer. Both looked up to the top of the sweeping staircase, where their employer was standing in a lavishly sequined, silvery gown, cut above the knee in front and tapering to the ground in back.

Madeline and Alice regarded Cherie with open mouths as she pressed a button on her smartphone. Sultry, almost campy music blared out as Cherie descended the stairs, a scene easily borrowed from a 1950s musical.

“Ta da!” Cherie pronounced gleefully as she came to a halt on the second to the last step, the proper height for viewing the impossibly brilliant diamond necklace she was sporting.

“That must weigh over a pound,” Madeline said without thinking.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Cherie asked, lifting it off her chest for better viewing.

“It’s stunning,” Madeline agreed. “Is it real?”

“Of course it’s real!”

“Wow,” Madeline said, genuinely impressed now. A smile of relief spread across her face as she put the pieces together. “From Ross?” she asked excitedly. That kind of gesture would do a lot to bolster his wife’s fragile ego. She figured she got it wrong when Cherie’s expression lost most of its euphoria.

“No. It came this morning from Lamont et Fils. Isn’t it exquisite?”

“Absolutely. It’s a marvel. So, who’s the benefactor?”

Cherie stared at her blankly. “What?”

“Who’s it from?”

“I told you—Lamont et Fils.” Cherie studied Madeline for a moment. “It wasn’t a gift, if that’s what you think. It’s on loan—for the party.” The look she gave Madeline all but screamed DUH. “It’s a very common practice in the film business. You didn’t think all those stars actually own the stuff they wear, did you?”

“No, I understand that, but I didn’t connect it with you, for some reason…never mind. You look like a billion-dollar bombshell, regardless.” No matter how Madeline tried to reassure Cherie of her innate sense of style and glamor, the words fell flat. Cherie may not be a brain trust, but she knew when Madeline was being candid and when she was just giving lip service. Fortunately, Madeline was rescued by another delivery.

Alice came away from the front door balancing four distinctive Hot Couture boxes.

“Oh fabulous!” Cherie nearly squealed. “I love that company. I ordered four more dresses after you left yesterday, and voila! here they are.” Cherie took two boxes and gave one to her assistant and one to Madeline to carry upstairs.

“More dresses? I thought you had your wardrobe all sorted out yesterday,” Madeline said, her tone not nearly as gay as her client’s.

“Yes, that true,” Cherie said over her shoulder as she led the procession upstairs. “But then I had the most amazing inspiration.” She stopped her small entourage at the top of the staircase to deliver the big news.

“I started to see each of the three days in parts, because really that’s how it’s going to be. Like scene changes. So it hit me that I should make a costume change between cocktails and the performance, dinner and dancing.” Cherie looked to her two hired hands for kudos on her inspired showmanship.

“That’s a perfect idea!” Alice endorsed. She hoped to hang onto her job when this weekend-long gala was over, though there were times when she wondered how long she’d last.

“Don’t you think that will add a certain air of drama to the event?” Cherie asked Madeline.

“You’ve got a flair for drama like I’ve never seen,” Madeline said with all the sincerity she could muster.

“Okay, now I’m going to need both of you to help me figure out which dress goes best with what part of the program. Isn’t this exciting?” Cherie twittered as Alice and Madeline fell in behind her like doomed sheep being led to slaughter.

Two hours later, Madeline emerged from Cherie’s dressing room. She had a throbbing headache and no longer trusted herself to make wise business choices. Before Cherie could call her back on some flimsy pretext, Madeline went straight to Vivian’s rooms. The door was locked and no one answered when she knocked.

She headed down the back staircase to the first floor. From there, she decided to check out the solarium. Vivian and her companion were not there. Madeline was tempted to ask Helen if she knew their whereabouts, but she didn’t relish a run-in with the housekeeper just yet. She would want to know what Madeline had learned about Vivian’s companion, and Madeline wasn’t prepared to give out those details yet. Until Madeline was able to ascertain whether Teresa had stolen Vivian’s jewelry or not, she needed to make sure the girl didn’t get spooked and disappear. She certainly didn’t want her fired, not until she figured out her guilt or innocence.

She went out to the gardens and checked the area where she had encountered the actress the day before. Again, no luck. She was about to call Vivian’s cell phone on the off chance that she carried it with her, when she and the girl came walking up the path.

“Good morning, Miss Story,” Madeline said casually. “Actually, it’s already afternoon, isn’t it?” Madeline smiled brightly as if she hadn’t a single thing on her mind.

“I heard a rumor that you arrived a couple hours ago,” Vivian said.

“Yes. I was needed to help Cherie figure out her wardrobe changes.”

Vivian laughed. She didn’t even try to hide her amusement at her daughter-in-law’s caprices. “I don’t suppose she served you lunch while you were held captive in her boudoir?”

“No, and I’ve got a king-size headache to prove it.”

“Teresa, would you be a dear and tell Helen that Madeline will be joining us for lunch?”

“Yes, Miss Story. Let me help you to the bench first, then I will go.” Madeline watched Teresa escort her charge to the lion head bench. Once she was seated, Teresa wrapped the cashmere stole carefully around Vivian’s shoulders.

“I’ll be right back,” Teresa said cheerfully.

“Take your time, dear.” Vivian and Madeline watched Teresa until she was out of hearing range. Vivian got right down to business. “What have you found out?” she asked.

“Frustratingly little, other than Teresa used a false Social Security number and address on the W-4 she filled out for Helen.” Vivian took this news stoically, which made Madeline wonder if she had other reasons for suspecting Teresa was a thief.

“Could it just be that she’s moved since she filled out the form?”

Madeline shook her head. “She may have, but the address she gave doesn’t exist.” Madeline detected a sadness in Vivian’s eyes when she heard this. “I did speak to Sybil Wately and another woman who employed Teresa to take care of her mother. Susan Kellogg also ‘inherited’ Teresa after the death of a friend. So far, that makes a total of four women I know of who’ve had Teresa as a caregiver-slash-companion in the last two years, yourself included.”

Madeline decided to leave out the detail that the other three were no longer among the living, a coincidence that just registered. She didn’t like where this investigation was heading. She wondered at what point she would have to bring Vivian’s son into the loop. Because he was stuck on the set gave her conscience some wiggle room. Legally, she was answerable only to Vivian. Morally, though, she was torn.

“I see. Am I getting the vibe that you suspect a pattern here?” Vivian asked. Madeline wobbled her head noncommittally.

“It’s too early to tell. I’ve got two other leads to follow up on. In the meantime, I’m hoping I can manage to sneak out of here when Teresa is about to leave and offer her a ride home…” The corners of Vivian’s lips curved upward as she caught onto Madeline’s plan.

“I don’t know why not. At least you might find out where she really lives.” By Madeline’s silence, Vivian knew there was more that she wasn’t sharing. “What’s troubling you, dear?”

Madeline let out a sound that approximated a laugh. “My instinct is to ask her about the jewelry.” Vivian sat back, clearly pained by the thought. “I know you want your jewels back—that seems to be the highest priority right now. The question is how long do we act like nothing has gone missing? And how much time do we allow for the items to disappear on the black market? I realize you’re very attached to her, and we don’t know if she’s the culprit or not, but if I can approach it in a way that will give her an out and minimize the fear, it might be our best shot at either retrieving the stolen goods or eliminating her as a suspect.”

Vivian let out a deep sigh. She had engaged Madeline to do both a background check and hopefully recover her favorite keepsakes. But now that it came down to acting on Madeline’s advice, she felt paralyzed by inertia.

“What you’ve said makes perfect sense, and I know I should let you act on your professional instincts…”

“But…?” Madeline coaxed.

“Could you please hold off on confronting her until this turgid weekend is over? I really don’t think I could survive it without her.”

Madeline nodded thoughtfully. Vivian was the client; she had no other choice but to do as she requested.

“I do like your idea of giving her a ride home, though. If nothing else, it will give us a starting point if she decides to bolt,” Vivian continued.

Madeline looked up in time to see Teresa exiting the house and coming their way. “Okay, that will be the plan. As soon as my assistant tracks down her other employers, I’ll see what I can learn about her past from them. Every little clue is important,” Madeline said, turning on a carefree smile as Teresa approached. Vivian returned her smile, but her eyes reflected her sadness.

TWELVE

The three women sat at a table in the solarium, enjoying the pasta with shrimp the cook had prepared for them. They had wanted to sit on the upper patio, but the gardening crew was working at full throttle to make sure every blade of grass, every flower and leaf was just so. Tomorrow, there would be a new onslaught of soldiers, working feverishly to prepare food, drink, floral arrangements and all the rest of it in the few short hours before show time.

The warmth of the solarium was making Madeline relaxed to the point of wanting to curl up and nap in the sun. She asked for and received an iced coffee to keep her from nodding off.

Vivian, on the other hand, was in her element. A cozy luncheon with two female companions set her mind back to happier days. She regaled her listeners with colorful stories from her illustrious past. Madeline made the appropriate remarks in all the right places, though her mind was swimming with all the duties and conflicts facing her. She tuned back into the conversation—or soliloquy, as it would be better described—just in time to interject some discreet probing.

“When in August were you born?” she asked Vivian, who looked at her with mild surprise. She was in the middle of a particularly fascinating tale and not keen to lose her place or momentum. When Madeline continued to stare expectantly, she took her cue.

“The 13th. That’s always been a lucky number for me,” Vivian said with a demure smile. Madeline cocked her head as she calculated the year.

“So, August 13th, 1928…?” Madeline asked.

“Oh don’t—that makes me feel so ancient!” Vivian said with a self-deprecating laugh.

“I was born in 1970, and that already sounds so long ago,” Madeline said in a clumsy attempt to make Vivian feel better and further the conversation.

“What month?” Vivian asked. The light of recognition in her eyes told Madeline she was onto the game.

“September. September 28th,” Madeline replied. “I’ve still got a few months before I roll over the odometer again.”

Vivian looked to Teresa. “Tell me again when your birthday is, dear.”

“It’s in June,” Teresa said after politely wiping her mouth.

“June what?” Vivian asked all smiles.

“June 21st.”

“That’s right! How could I forget!” Vivian said, sitting back, satisfied smile on her face.

“The first day of summer,” Madeline beamed pleasantly.

“Yes. My sister, Esmeralda, was always jealous of me for my birthday. It seemed so special when we were young,” Teresa said almost shyly.

“It is special,” Madeline said. “But you were probably born close to the end of the century—the twentieth century, that is.”

“1992,” Teresa confirmed.

“Ohhh…” Madeline said dramatically. “So that means you’ve got a big birthday coming up soon…” Teresa became self-conscious as Vivian laughed warmly.

“We’ll have to do this all over again for your benefit,” she joked. Teresa blushed and lowered her eyes, but her smile revealed how pleased she was to be among such company and joining in on the fun. Vivian shot Madeline a quick look, and the latter dabbed her lips and thanked her hostess for a lovely lunch.

Once Madeline found a secluded spot, she sent Lauren a text: Pls search phone #s for Abigail Dawson and Joan Neuwirth. Should be local. Text me when u have results.

Madeline stared down at her phone while she tried to think of some way to run a search for Teresa Maria Gomez now that she had a date of birth. She didn’t have a valid SSN, and even if she did, Madeline was beginning to suspect she wouldn’t have any credit history anyway.

She sent another text to Lauren: Need u to do a criminal records search on Teresa Maria Gomez, DOB 6-21-92. Text me the results asap. She then set an alarm to go off at ten to four. Hopefully, she’d have enough time to extricate herself from Cherie’s needy clutches and intercept Teresa before she left the premises.

As she went in search of her client, Madeline racked her brain for the best way to get the truth out of Teresa. No alarms went off when she was around the girl. To her, Teresa seemed pretty much as advertised: a sweet Latina, who may or may not be in the country legally. But was that the whole story? She didn’t think so. Still, she was having a hard time making the leap to thief, or worse. At least Madeline had a rapport with her now, which would make it easier to question her later.

Madeline let out a weary sigh. She had checked the gym, Cherie’s rooms and the salon without finding her. She couldn’t even find Alice. She could trudge around the vast house another fifteen minutes or she could use her phone to locate one of them. She chose to save her feet.

“Hey, do you know where Cherie is?” she asked when the assistant answered.

“No, I just got back from lunch,” Alice replied.

“She lets you leave for lunch?” Madeline asked, surprised.

“Not lately, but I had to get my hair and nails done. This was my last chance.” Madeline looked at her own nails and rolled her eyes. Oh well, she thought, no one’s going to be looking at me anyway.

“Okay, I’ll try her cell.” Madeline placed the call as she retraced her steps toward the stairs.

“Hi. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“I’m by the pool,” Cherie hollered over the din.

“What’s going on?” Madeline asked as she changed course and headed down the back staircase, taking the shortcut to the swimming pool.

“I’m having some photos taken,” Cherie said.

“Oh…”

“Cassandra suggested it. After you left, I still had reservations about what outfits to wear when. She came up with the idea of taking snaps so we could look at them side by side. That way we can number them and it will take all the thinking out of the changing process.”

Good thing, Madeline thought unkindly. She shook her head at the amount of time, energy and sheer decadence that was going into what she’d committed herself to. As she approached the tall hedge surrounding the pool area, Madeline could tell there was a lot more going on than Cherie implied. Her guess was confirmed as she opened the gate and found a dozen bodies in various states of repose, in the pool and on the chaises longues. A nightclub beat wafted from the speakers, just loud enough to be heard over the chatter.

Everyone looked at the newcomer with bored detachment as it registered that Madeline was “not one of them.” The fact she wasn’t stripped down to hanky-size bits of fabric like the others made her feel as conspicuous as if she were stark naked.

Cassandra, the third fashion consultant Cherie now kept on retainer for the upcoming bash, was bobbing around the birthday girl, catching each angle as Cherie twisted and turned like a cover model. Madeline found the whole scene revolting. After a couple more poses, Cherie called for a break.

“Okay, we’re down to two more outfits,” Cassandra said. Cherie topped her glass of champagne and motioned Madeline closer with a jerk of her head. Cherie filled a fresh glass and thrust it toward her.

“No, thanks—too early for me,” Madeline said, earning a pouty look from her client. The pique passed as Cherie took a generous drink from the glass. There was a strange vibe emanating from Cherie that Madeline found hard to decipher. It was almost as if Cherie was defying Madeline to censor her. Madeline chose to ignore it.

“I’m going to make the rounds of the property, then make a few phone calls before I leave. If you need me for anything, call. I need to be out of here by 3:30,” she said, consulting her watch for emphasis. She was hoping the half-hour buffer she’d given herself would be enough to keep her on track for giving Teresa a lift home.

“Cool,” was all Cherie had to say on the subject. Her attention had been usurped by the photos taken thus far. As Madeline took her leave unnoticed, she overheard Cherie announcing a new brilliant idea.

“Wouldn’t it be awesome if we took the best shot of each outfit and had them printed out—like postcards? You know, they could be like souvenirs. And we could have some little caption on the back, you know, like who the designer was…I wonder if we can get that done in time…”

Madeline sped up her pace and turned off her phone. There was no way in hell she was going to involve herself in that asinine project, regardless of what they were paying her. She’d hide out in the coat closet until Teresa left for the day, if that’s what it took to stay off Cherie’s radar.

She made a tour of the grounds at a fast clip, checking off each area and detail of concern on her notepad. There were only two minor changes that had to be made, and once those were taken care of, she felt as confident as she could—considering the circumstances—that the festivities would go off without a hitch. With her due diligence behind her, she sat on the stone wall bordering the upper terrace and made a few phone calls. Since she was the mother hen of this event, she had to make sure all her little chicks were lined up and ready to perform their duties.

As she had worked with most of the suppliers before, her calls to them were merely a courtesy check. But she had never orchestrated the rental of fifteen limousines—some to be stationed at the Edgecliff Hotel, some at the Riviera Hotel, and the others at the Santa Barbara Guest Ranch, to ferry the ninety-odd guests to the estate and back—and the logistics made her nervous.

After going over the particulars one last time with the man in charge of directing his four location managers, Madeline felt somewhat relieved. There was bound to be a screw up; with that many temperamental, egotistical film industry bigwigs, someone was bound to hold up the dispatch, which would throw off the planned events, which in turn could put Philippe’s soufflés in jeopardy.

Madeline closed her eyes tightly to dispel this aggravating scenario. C’est la vie, she thought dismissively, getting to her feet. The fete would come off or it wouldn’t; either way, the world wasn’t going to end. Her career might take a hit, but luckily she had new career in the offing, one that held a lot more appeal for her at the moment.

THIRTEEN

Madeline checked the messages that had come in while she was on her phone as she walked in the general direction of the entrance. There was only one text message from Lauren: there were no criminal records found for Teresa Maria Gomez, DOB of 6-21-92. That put her back exactly where she had started—nowhere.

She checked the time: 3:35. She still hadn’t figured out the best strategy for getting information out of Teresa. She had bits and pieces of possible conversation starters in her head, but at this point her directive from Vivian was to not come out and ask if she had taken the jewels. So, that left her with pumping the girl for clues to her past, in hopes of getting at least one detail that would yield some solid information.

Having worried that subject as much as she could, she put it aside and another conundrum immediately took its place: Lionel Usherwood, or more specifically, how best to avoid death by his hands. This reminded her of her promise to call Mike before she left Hollywood-by-the-Sea. Once she drove through those gates, she knew she wouldn’t have the same sense of security she felt on the estate. But she also knew that might be nothing more than an illusion, fostered in part by the “Neverland” qualities the place had taken on.

Now that her most pressing duties as event coordinator and private investigator had been handled, there was nothing to keep more disturbing thoughts from taking over. The name Lionel Usherwood flashed in her mind like a faulty neon sign, her sense of impending doom rising by the second. For the first time all day, she was grateful to have this job—or more correctly, both jobs—to preoccupy her thoughts while wandering without fear in this fantasy fortress.

For whatever good it would do, her security man had beefed up the surveillance at her house while she was at work. She had received a text from him saying he had added motion-detecting sensors that would record any movement on her property. Brian had set it up so that she’d receive alerts on her cell phone when anything was picked up. Every movement would create a photo that could be scanned and saved on her phone. Oh, the marvel of the digital age, she thought with a keen pang of gratitude.

In addition to the motion detectors, Brian also installed glass-breaking sensors that would trigger an alert to local law enforcement. Madeline appreciated that Brian was giving her the latest technology on the market, but she remained skeptical about the glass-breaking gizmos. Even if Lionel Usherwood would be brazen enough to break one of her windows, she’d be dead by the time the cops got there.

She glanced at her watch. She still had another fifteen minutes to wait for Teresa to appear. Rather than hanging around the house—where she could easily be waylaid by Cherie, or Alice, or Helen—Madeline got in her car. She felt safer there until she realized she hadn’t inspected the vehicle prior to getting in. Her justified paranoia propelled her out of the car.

As nonchalantly as she could manage, she walked around the perimeter of her SUV as she casually peered in the windows. Nothing looked out of place and there was no sign of the boogie man.

As she opened her car door, another unsettling thought occurred to her. She had been so distracted by business matters, she had overlooked basic safety measures, like checking for GPS trackers and the other nefarious devices that were Usherwood’s stock in trade. What could be simpler than having her car blown to smithereens while she was driving down the road?

I need Mike, she thought, grabbing her phone. He could meet her just outside the property with his equipment and give her car the once-over. That would make him happy, and it would at least keep her imagination from running away with her.

“Hey,” he answered on the first ring, “are you about to leave Cherie’s?”

“In a few minutes.”

“Good. I’ll be right over,” Mike said.

“Wait! I need you to bring the sweeps. I know I’m being silly, but I’d feel better if I knew for sure Usherwood hasn’t tampered with my car.” Mike was silent for a moment. Madeline could almost hear what was going through his mind.

“I can’t believe we didn’t think of this sooner,” he moaned. “We’re professionals, for God’s sake!”

“Are you at the office?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Okay, but I’m going to shanghai Vivian’s companion by offering her a ride home.”

“Why are you doing that?”

“So I can find out where she lives,” Madeline replied coldly.

“Is that really a priority right now?”

“Yes, it certainly is,” Madeline said, wishing she hadn’t woken the sleeping giant.

“All right, I’m heading to my car right now…”

“Teresa’s shift ends at four. I imagine I’ll be coming out the north gate two minutes later. The timing could be perfect. You can follow me and after I drop Teresa off, we can check both our vehicles.”

“Roger that,” Mike said. Madeline rubbed the back of her neck. It wasn’t the first time she questioned her judgment regarding their multi-faceted relationship. But she knew there was no one on this earth who supported her more than Mike did. And probably vice-versa.

“Okay, Magnum P.I.—I’ll be looking for you,” she said, ending the call. She looked up just in time to see Teresa emerging from the far side of the house, heading for the exit gate. She tapped on Mike’s number and started her car.

“She’s just walking down the drive,” Madeline said, putting the car in gear. “I’ll stall until she gets close to the gate. Instead of taking Hot Springs, go down Coast Village Road and take Middle Road up. That’s probably the safest bet for catching me at Sycamore Canyon.”

“Got it,” Mike said, all business now.

Madeline let her foot off the brake and idled down the drive. Teresa looked back over her shoulder as the crunching of the crushed granite got closer. When she saw it was Madeline driving, she turned and waved. Madeline coasted to a stop, drawing out every second. Teresa remained stationary while the window lowered.

“Hi!” Madeline said. “Heading home?”

“Yes,” Teresa said.

“Hop in—I’ll drop you off,” Madeline offered cheerfully.

“Oh, no—that’s okay. I take the bus,” Teresa said, backing up. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“What part of town do you live in?” Madeline asked, shifting the car into park. This simple action told Teresa Madeline wouldn’t be so easy to evade. The girl’s eyes went skyward as if her address were written in the clouds.

“Do you know where is San Andres Street?”

“Oh sure, that’s just a few blocks from my office. That’s not out of my way at all. Hop in. I’ll get you home in a jiffy,” Madeline said, unlocking the doors.

Teresa walked in front of the vehicle, clearly uneasy about the situation she now found herself in but trying to hide it. Madeline couldn’t help but wonder why she was so reluctant to ride in a comfortable automobile instead of jostling along on the city bus. Either she was ashamed by the part of town she lived in or she didn’t like to impose on people above her station in life.

Or maybe she has other reasons for keeping a low profile, Madeline thought, flashing Teresa a friendly smile as the girl opened the door and got in. Madeline put the car in drive but waited while Teresa negotiated the seatbelt before lifting her foot off the brake.

“Are you ready for tomorrow night?” Madeline asked, giving Teresa a big, conspiratorial grin that she hoped the girl would find contagious. Madeline saw the corners of Teresa’s lips turn up, her clue that she had used the right ice-breaker.

“I bet you’re a little bit excited about seeing all those movie stars.” This guess had Teresa smiling ear to ear. “It’s going to be a night we’ll never forget,” Madeline said, laughing as she waved goodbye to the pair of guards at the exit, another crew she had never seen before. But she was glad to see the reinforcements, and not only because of the paparazzi that would be hovering like gnats. The more eyes scrutinizing the entrance and exit, the better—for her sake, as well.

For a split second she almost regretted refusing Cherie’s offer of camping out in one of the guest suites for the weekend. The weakness passed quickly and she felt as though a huge burden slipped off her shoulders as she turned left onto Sycamore Canyon Road.

By the time Madeline exited the freeway at Carrillo Street, she had Teresa laughing with abandon. Gone was the trepidation Madeline had first sensed in the girl. Now she had her giggling with previews of the following evening’s madcap celebration.

In a remarkable show of consideration, Cherie had included Teresa at the table with Vivian and four of her friends from the old Hollywood days. As Madeline was intimately aware of who was sitting with whom, she also knew the other couple at the table would not be thrilled to be secluded from the real movers and shakers in attendance.

Teresa wouldn’t be wearing a glum expression. That she had landed in the middle of tabloid heaven was beyond her wildest dreams. But she never would’ve been happy working at the Alexander estate if not for Vivian. Madeline could tell by the way Teresa spoke of the aging actress she clearly adored her. And Madeline’s instinct also told her that if Teresa had taken Vivian’s jewelry, she’d probably been put up to it by somebody else.

“Which way on San Andres?” Madeline interrupted herself as she approached the intersection.

“Oh, right,” Teresa said nervously, looking at the bumper to bumper traffic in the lane next to her.

“Shoot, I don’t think I can get over,” Madeline said, stretching her arm across the back of Teresa’s seat as she tried to get the attention of the driver behind her to the right. Realizing the futility of begging, Madeline said, “It’s okay. When the light changes, I’ll just go up and turn around…”

“No, it is no problem. I can get out here,” Teresa said, undoing her seatbelt while she checked the side mirror.

“No, Teresa…let me pull over up ahead…the light should be changing soon…” Madeline said as the girl opened the door and slipped out.

“Thank you for the ride. See you tomorrow!” Teresa called out, waving heartily before she weaved her way through the idle cars.

As soon as Teresa was safely on the sidewalk, Madeline called Mike. She had seen his vintage brown Mercedes glide through the yellow light about five cars behind her as she exited the freeway. She scanned the vehicles around her and spotted the soft top of his convertible.

“She just turned right on San Andres, on foot,” Madeline said when he answered the call.

“I’ll find her,” Mike said as the light changed and traffic began to cross the intersection. “Where are you headed?”

“Home.”

“Go slow. I’ll catch up with you.”

Madeline watched her rearview mirror until she saw Mike’s Mercedes turn right. She continued up the hill, where it became Meigs Road, then descended the snaky course that gave way to a spectacular view of the ocean. She turned right on Cliff Drive and took the long way to her house, all the while keeping watch on every vehicle close to her. She took the further precaution of driving past her street, then executed three right turns. When she was certain no one was trailing her, she turned left and headed back to her street. Brian’s car was still out front when she pulled onto her driveway.

She let out a deep sigh, relieved that it was still daylight and that she wouldn’t have to walk into an empty house alone.

“Brian?” she called out from the front steps after she had opened the door wide enough to be heard. “Brian?” she said, more loudly this time.

“Hey, there you are!” Brian said as he yanked the door wide open, almost giving Madeline a coronary. “Are you all right?” he asked, steadying her by the arm as she wobbled.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Madeline said. It suddenly occurred to her she might never feel comfortable walking into her own home again, unless Usherwood was out of the picture permanently.

“Maybe you’re not used to the furniture arranged like this yet,” Brian suggested. “It threw me off when I got here,” he said with a chuckle. Madeline walked cautiously to where her sofa now sat.

“This is the way I found the place when I got home last night.”

Brian turned away from what he was working on. “You didn’t do this…?” he asked, motioning with his eyes. Madeline’s deadpan expression said it all. “Oh, crap… That is some spooky shit,” Brian said, abandoning his work. “And the wires to the alarm hadn’t been tampered with.” Madeline shook her head. “I checked them myself, just to be sure. That means he’s got some pretty sophisticated tools.”

Brian went to the front door and inspected the lock. He saw no marks that weren’t consistent with normal use. He crossed through the living room and checked the back door. Madeline didn’t have it in her to tell him the police and FBI had already beat him to it.

“Okay…well, not to worry. We’ve got a couple new layers of protection that are very well concealed. So far, everything is operating perfectly.” Brian became silent, his gaze focused on an abstraction.

“You know, it might not be a bad idea to go with a much more advanced entry system. I’m thinking a keypad that will only operate when your fingertips are pressed on it. We could have a secondary control panel inside. That way if someone forced you into the house and you didn’t manually disarm the second keypad, a silent arm would sound. That would get the police over here immediately.” Madeline nodded as she kicked off her heels and began rubbing her sore feet.

“Whatever you think is best, Brian. I trust your judgment. Just do it.” Madeline headed to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

“I may have to drive to L.A. to get what I need,” Brian called out. The front door opened, causing him to jump.

“Hey, Mike. Just ‘creep-proofing’ Madeline,” he said.

“Good. Hopefully it’ll work this time.” Madeline watched from the kitchen doorway, too beat to play referee.

“I’m going to change my clothes. Then maybe you can help me put everything back where it belongs,” she said to Mike.

“Let me clear your room first,” he answered, his sweep in hand. Madeline threw out her arm as an invitation to be her guest. She watched Brian collect his things and put them back in his case.

“I’ll get an early start tomorrow and hopefully get back here by noon. I’ll probably need a couple hours to get it all set up. And you’ll need to be here when I program it.”

“Okay, as long as I can be out of here by three-thirty,” Madeline said as she walked him to the front door.

“Got it. Hope you sleep well tonight. With the new deadbolts and the sensors, as long as you’re inside, you should be safe.”

“Thanks, Brian. See you tomorrow.”

Madeline closed the door and slid the bolt into the doorjamb. She couldn’t say she was thrilled with the aesthetics, but she did appreciate the peace of mind. She drew the drapes in the living room and checked the bolt on the backdoor. She unzipped her dress as she headed down the hallway to her bedroom.

“Everything’s clear back here,” Mike said coming out of the bathroom as she passed by.

“Good. Thanks. Do you feel like an early dinner? I’m craving Thai food.”

“Your wish is my command,” Mike said, earning a weak laugh out of her.

He watched as her shadows played on the walls of her bedroom as she slipped out of her dress. She was the great love of his life, but they would never be a couple again. Those days were long gone, never to be repeated. But they were still occasional lovers, when it suited her. He would take whatever he could get, even if it meant being solely business partners. What he couldn’t take was a world without her.

FOURTEEN

“Damn, this thing is heavy,” Mike complained as they struggled to put the sofa table back in the center of the room.

“Tell me about it. That’s why I knew Carmen couldn’t have moved it, as you suggested.” They let go of the mesquite table and stood up. Madeline stretched her back and staggered over to the kitchen table to get her vodka tonic. She killed what was left of it and fixed herself another.

“Do you want any more of this pad Thai?” she asked as she picked up a glob of noodles with her fingers and dangled them into her mouth. This may have been the most uncouth moment of her life and she didn’t give a damn, which on the face of it seemed like a good thing to her. She had spent too many years trying to be Ms. Perfect and where had it gotten her? She flopped down next to Mike on the sofa and propped her feet on the table.

“So, while you were at Cherie’s, I did a little research,” Mike said, reaching forward to grab a file folder off the table.

“On what?” Madeline asked. She was so exhausted, she could barely keep her eyes open.

“Not what, who,” Mike said. He pulled the sheaf of papers out of the manila folder and tossed it back on the table.

Madeline leaned her head over Mike’s shoulder to look at what he was talking about. It took about three seconds for the face and name to register in her overworked brain. She stiffened and reared back, wide awake now. Mike put his hand on her arm to reassure her.

“Just when I had finally gotten that bastard out of my head,” Madeline said, getting to her feet, ready for a good fight. “Did you really have to spring that on me now?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Mike said, meeting her aggression with some of his own. Madeline turned away in a huff, incensed that the man she trusted the most would try to provoke her during the first moment’s peace she’d had all day.

“Look, as of tomorrow you’re going to be at Cherie’s for three solid days. This is the last time we can huddle and study our opponent. So, come sit back down and I’ll fill you in on what I’ve found out about Usherwood’s past.” Madeline glared at her partner for a moment before grasping the wisdom of what he was saying.

“All right. This better not keep me awake all night,” she warned, sitting tentatively on the edge of the sofa.

“Okay, first thing I did was check his military records. From that I was able to learn when and where he served, which then allowed me to check other members of his unit.” Madeline watched as Mike laid out photocopies of military photos.

“By searching each record of everyone in Usherwood’s immediate company, I was able to find links that overlapped in the years after his discharge from the service. We already know about Rick Yeoman, Terry Linbald and Lance Rombach. One down, two behind bars. That leaves Usherwood and these four men—Stewart Mitchell, who you remember from SBPD,” he said, pausing a beat to check Madeline’s reaction. He wasn’t surprised by the look of revulsion on her face. Mike cleared his throat and continued “…Frank Salazar, George Graff, and Justin Oaks. These were the men who were in Usherwood’s squad, who later followed him into the ‘military for hire’ business. That seems to really appeal to guys who can’t get enough sanctioned killing. I guess another euphemism would be soldiers of fortune.”

“Mercenaries,” Madeline preferred to call them.

“Yep. But after that period ended, the group split up. Mitchell worked his way up to detective with the Santa Barbara police force in short order, which came in very handy for Usherwood. It was his tip-off that led to your abduction,” Mike said, though the recap wasn’t necessary. Madeline would never forget that chain of events.

“So, what did the others get up to?”

“Salazar became an advocate for veterans’ rights. He spearheaded one of the most successful fundraising machines for veterans’ health issues. The nonprofit, Healing Our Veterans, has raised over ten million dollars for prostheses alone. As a former fundraiser yourself, I’m sure you can appreciate that.” Madeline raised her eyebrows in tribute to such a noble cause.

“Chances are he wouldn’t be Usherwood’s go-to guy when an execution is called for,” she surmised.

“I think we can put him at the bottom of the pile,” Mike said.

“So that brings us to Graff.”

“Right. After three years of providing ‘protection’ in Iraq, Mr. Graff returned to his native Wisconsin, where he took over management of the family farm. With the money he made working for Usherwood, he was able to modernize it and turn it into a growing concern—excuse the pun. Patriot Farms employs hundreds of locals and gives back to the community through food donation programs.”

Mike took another glance at Madeline.

“It’s comforting to know not everyone who worked under Lionel Usherwood became permanently warped,” she said. “Okay, what about Oaks?”

“I ran into a dead end on Oaks. He seems to have vanished off the planet.”

“Did he leave Iraq when the others did?”

Mike nodded. “Yeah. I was able to trace him to Florida. He had family there when he got back. There doesn’t seem to be anyone left now. His father died while he was in the army, his mother died three years ago—both due to health-related issues. His sister was killed in a car crash eighteen months ago. After that, his trail just stops.”

Madeline took a look at the four photos. She put the ones of Salazar and Graff aside and concentrated on Oaks and Mitchell. Looking at Mitchell’s face made chills run down her arms. She knew all too well what he was capable of. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine him having a hand in her stalking. After all, he had lost his job and his pension when his role in her kidnapping came to light.

“Mitchell has his own security firm now,” Madeline said, looking to Mike for confirmation.

“Yep. It’s located in San Jose.”

“So, he’s in a perfect position to keep tabs on everyone associated with the fall of his pal Usherwood,” Madeline said, leaning back, wrapping her arms around her knees. “To me, he’s the most logical player. The question that remains is how is he involved? Would he kill Yeoman and play head trips on me, or would he put one of his own goons on it? Or would he just be the conduit through which information flowed…?”

“You mean notifying Usherwood that Yeoman cut a deal and was being released in Santa Maria?”

Madeline nodded as he spoke. “All he did last time was make a phone call, and look at the consequences he had to face. Would he really risk his livelihood a second time to do Usherwood’s dirty work?”

“Good point,” Mike said. “But he’s his own boss now, and it may be impossible to link him to any involvement, if he is involved. On the other hand, wouldn’t any debt to Usherwood have already been paid?”

After regarding each other for a moment, Mike said what they were both thinking. “Mitchell earned his freedom the first go-round. Anything beyond an untraceable phone call is probably unlikely.”

“So, Mitchell may be the intel source, but probably not the muscle,” Madeline concluded. “That leaves us with two candidates to choose from—that we’re aware of.” She got up and began to wander around her living room as she considered other possibilities.

“Was Oaks employed prior to vanishing?”

“Off and on. It looks like he’d take on almost any kind of work, but he wouldn’t stay with it long,” Mike said.

“Substance abuse?”

“He had several visits to the VA hospital for drug and alcohol related issues. Two were overdoses.” Madeline sat down on the mesquite table.

“Sounds like a pretty sad return to reality,” she said. “The next question is whether he turned to his former leader for help after falling into the abyss.” They mulled over this scenario for a moment.

“Yeah, that’s a good question,” Mike said. “It’s really hard to know the odds on that because we don’t know where Usherwood’s been the last three years. It seems a little implausible that he’d stay in the country all that time and just happen to be around Oaks when he went missing.”

“When you say ‘missing’…”

“After his sister’s death, the neighbors never saw him again. He just walked away from the house that would’ve gone to him as the only surviving next of kin.”

“When was that, exactly?” Madeline asked. Mike looked at the printout.

“October of 2011.”

Madeline started pacing again. “You got all this information today, between shepherding me to and from work?” she asked suspiciously.

“I hired a P.I. in Florida,” Mike confessed. “I was able to get pretty far just with the military records alone, but once Oaks fell off the radar, I figured I needed to bring a local in on it.”

Madeline smiled. “Good call, P.I. Delaney,” she said.

Mike tried to hide his pleasure. “You’re not the only crackerjack at M. D. Private Investigators.”

“I know that. So, the question remains—did Usherwood hire out for Yeoman’s murder? I would venture that whoever whacked him, did the spook number here,” Madeline said, looking around her home with renewed trepidation.

After pondering this conundrum for a while, they looked at each other and shrugged.

“That is the big question, for sure,” Mike said.

“With all you’ve uncovered so far, what’s your gut-level feeling?”

Mike’s gaze strayed to the ceiling as he pondered the question. “I guess I’d go back to what you said last night—about being able to ‘smell’ him. If you had an olfactory memory hit you when you entered the house, that’s where I’d put my money.”

“Then that’s our operating assumption, unless we learn differently,” Madeline said. Though it was hardly a comforting thought, she was proud of their ability to put personal opinions aside in order to sift through the data for clues. She patted Mike on the knee as she stepped in front of him to retrieve her handbag.

“Going somewhere?” Mike asked.

“I need to sync my phone to my computer so I can print the photo I took of Teresa and Vivian.” Madeline stopped in her tracks. “I totally forgot to ask if you got her address,” she said, her mouth hanging slack in embarrassment. Mike suddenly didn’t appear so cocky.

“Don’t tell me you lost her…”

“She just vanished.” Madeline’s handbag landed with a thud on the floor as her arms were called in to wild gesticulating.

“What do you mean, vanished? She was right there on San Andres Street. I saw her with my own eyes.”

Mike held his tongue and let Madeline rant; the pressure she felt from everything had to be vented somehow. It certainly wasn’t the first time in their long acquaintance that she’d unleashed on him, though it was one of a handful of fits when he didn’t lash back. It had taken eight years of sobriety to earn him is Dalai Lama-like calm in the face of an irate woman. That Mike wouldn’t fire back took most of the steam out of Madeline’s fury.

“There’s a whole lot of ‘vanishing’ going on, if you ask me,” she huffed, picking up her bag and heading to the office alcove off the kitchen.

“In the hierarchy of things, I’d say your imminent danger outranks other concerns,” Mike ventured once he figured his partner had enough time to simmer down.

He listened to the sounds of electronics coming to life, biding his time until Madeline was willing to speak to him again. After a couple of minutes, he recognized the sounds of the printer spitting out a full-color image.

“There,” Madeline said as she came back into the living room and handed Mike the photo, “that’s your visual aid to show people when you start knocking on doors tomorrow.”

An incensed bark escaped Mike as his equanimity began to crumble. “Now wait a second,” he said, rising off the sofa, photo dangling limply in his hand, “this case is your baby,” he said, trying to foist the picture back into Madeline’s hands.

“It’s our case. We’re partners, remember? And as I recall your only case to date has been solved. And since I’m going to be virtually bound to the Alexander estate for the next three days, you get to do the canvassing. Besides, it was you who lost her,” Madeline said, arms folded, a satisfied smile threatening to spoil her intractable stance. This last comment caused Mike’s jaw to clench. “Okay, then—I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said breezily, walking behind the sofa toward the front door.

“You’re throwing me out?” Mike asked incredulously. “I thought I was going to stay here tonight.” Madeline stopped and regarded him in disbelief. “I don’t mean…I just meant, you know, to stay here for security reasons…or emotional support…I don’t know,” he finished lamely.

“You know, Mike, I’m really not in the mood tonight,” Madeline said bluntly. As the two stared each other down, the absurdity of all that had transpired in the last thirty-six hours hit home. Like two people trying to win a staring competition, twitches and snickers began to break out. Within seconds they were laughing so hard they had to hold onto the sofa for support.

“Does this mean I can stay the night?” Mike asked through the last gasps of laughter. Madeline tried to regain her upper hand, but it was too late and she was just too wrung out.

“You sleep out here,” she said as she went to double check the alarm and the locks.

“Oh, come on—I need a decent night’s sleep too,” Mike lobbied. Madeline glanced at her watch and calculated how many hours of horizontal time she had.

“You lay one hand on me and you’re out,” she said, leaving Mike to turn off the lights.

Mike did as he was told and threaded toward the glow coming from Madeline’s bedroom. He didn’t need sex; he just needed to guard his best friend in the world.

FIFTEEN

Madeline was barely out of the shower when her cell phone rang. Mike groaned awake as she snatched the phone off the side table. Cherie. She checked the time: 6:23. Not already, she thought as she took the ringing phone into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Birthday Girl,” Madeline said as she switched on the coffeemaker. It was a glib effort, but unfortunately it didn’t stand a chance of soothing Cherie’s frazzled state of mind.

“Ross isn’t coming back this morning, like he promised me he would.”

Oh God, not this, Madeline thought, sinking onto a kitchen chair. She had seen the warning signs posted along the way but chose to ignore them, figuring the Alexander marriage wasn’t any of her business. Ross’s enthusiasm had been keen in the beginning, suggesting to her he’d support anything that would keep his wife occupied and let him go about his merry way.

“When does he get in?”

“I have no idea,” Cherie pouted. Madeline wasn’t quite ready to play twenty questions. She gave Cherie a moment to elaborate. “I was too mad to ask him. I hung up on him and he hasn’t called back.” Cherie’s voice dissolved into a raspy croak as she lost the battle to keep from crying.

Madeline rested her forehead on the palm of her free hand. She had already gotten a mental visual of how the rest of the day was going to play out. Many others would be driven to tears in an effort to salvage all the planning that had gone into this weekend-long bash.

Mike laid a hand on her shoulder as he stumbled into the kitchen wearing one of her robes, a sight that would’ve normally made her laugh with abandon. It did distract her from Cherie’s wailing long enough to miss what she had said.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Madeline asked.

“I said, Ross isn’t coming back today.” Madeline held the phone away from her ear and looked at it with disgust. “He’s going to miss the entire first day of my party!” Cherie yelled before she started blubbering again.

“Cherie, look I need you to pull yourself together—”

“I can’t!” she howled. “It’s ruined. Everything is just ruined!”

Mike slipped a mug of coffee in front of Madeline. She looked up and gave him a pinched smile of thanks. Mike pantomimed eating a bowl of cereal as an offer to make her something to eat. Madeline shook her head.

“Cherie, I just got out of the shower. I’m going to get ready and I’ll be at your place as soon as I can…” Mike got Madeline’s attention and acted out buttering a slice of toast. Madeline waved him away, but like an Italian mama, he persisted.

“Cherie, you need to stop crying and listen to me. Have you had a shower yet?” Madeline asked. Again she was distracted by Mike. Okay, okay! she mouthed, giving in to the toast offer. “What time is Delia coming to do your hair?” The crying was replaced by sniffling.

“Eleven,” Cherie said, her voice faint and childlike.

“Okay. That gives us plenty of time. And Sally’s doing your makeup?”

“Uh huh.”

Madeline rolled her hand as though she were encouraging Cherie to keep going. “When?” she prodded.

“When I call her.”

“Okay. Everything is going to work out fine—”

“How can you say that?” Cherie spat indignantly. “My husband has totally bailed on me. I’m going to be standing there—in front of all my friends—and they’re going to know Ross doesn’t love me anymore!” Cherie sobbed. “I can’t face it…I just can’t face any of this!”

“Cherie, listen to me—you are going to face it and face it like the strong, beautiful, poised and together woman that you are. Do you hear me? You are Cherie Alexander. Your adoring husband, the highly acclaimed Ross Alexander, has been waylaid by one of his future Oscar-winners. You are going to be admired all the more for your dignity in the face of adversity. You will have love and lavish gifts showered upon you on this momentous occasion.”

The line went quiet and even Mike was dumbstruck by this rousing pep talk.

“Cherie?” Madeline asked the silence.

“I’m here,” she said sheepishly.

“Good.”

“Am I really going to be able to pull this off?” Cherie asked.

“You better believe it! You’ve got a hundred guests and an army of tradespeople who are counting on you. You’re Hollywood royalty, Cherie. The show must go on.” Madeline looked up at Mike as he placed a slice of buttered toast in front of her. Both of them had to fight to keep from laughing.

“I’m never doing one of these celebrity ego orgies again,” Madeline said as she towel-dried her hair. She blasted it with the blow dryer for a couple of minutes, then brushed it as she came out of the bathroom and stood in front of her closet.

“Did you get back to sleep after that alert went off?” Mike asked. Like a guest who wants to be invited back, he was making the bed so Madeline wouldn’t have to.

“Yes, but I lay awake for over an hour,” Madeline said, letting herself be distracted from the chore of trying to figure out what to wear. She grabbed her phone off the bedside table and revisited the photo alert that had come in at three in the morning. There, caught in the flash of the security camera, was a very startled neighborhood cat.

“At least we know it works,” Mike said, peering over her shoulder. “It might be deterrent enough to keep Usherwood away.”

Madeline gave him a dubious look. Even if Lionel Usherwood had been living in a cave for the last three years, it wouldn’t take him long to become acquainted with the latest technology and ways to get around it. He was in a whole different class than they could ever hope to be in, partly because they weren’t criminally inclined to start with.

“So, what’s the agenda?” Mike asked.

“I’m heading over to Cherie’s as soon as I can get my act together,” she said while peeling off her robe and slipping into a light blue sheath dress. Mike helped her with the zipper. “I’d like to talk to Vivian, but I imagine Cherie will suck up most of my time. I guess I can’t really complain about that, considering she’s paying dearly for my services.”

“I suppose that’s some consolation,” Mike agreed.

“I need to spend some time following up on Teresa’s two other former employers, but that’s going to have to wait until I sneak away this afternoon.” While she was thinking about it, she set an alarm to call Brian at 12:30 to get a status report.

“Anything I can do to help?” Mike asked. “If you give me the names and numbers, I can make the calls for you.”

“Thanks, but I think it would be better for me to make the calls.” Mike looked a little put out by this. “I haven’t really had time to bring you up to speed on this case yet.” Madeline let out a big huff, frustrated by almost everything on her plate. She would’ve liked nothing better than to sit in her office and brainstorm with Mike over their new case. But that was going to have to wait.

“You’ll need to check with Philippe to see when he wants you at his facility. I’ll send you his contact info. Everyone working in catering will need to convoy over to the estate in his vans. Since you’re not really involved with the food prep, you can spend your morning trying to find someone who knows Teresa, or whatever her name is.” Mike didn’t seem too excited by the prospect.

“It’s what we do, remember?” Madeline said sarcastically, though she couldn’t help but smile at the image of Mike going door to door with photo in hand. Something told her it would be a futile endeavor, but she knew every angle available had to be pursued. In this case, there weren’t many. At some point, she would have to scrutinize the rest of the staff. Talk about lousy timing, she thought as she slipped into a pair of platform sandals.

The fact that Mike hadn’t said anything in the last minute caught her attention. She turned around and found him staring out the window.

“Look, if I wasn’t inexorably tied up, I’d take that photo around myself. But we’re a team, and I need—”

“I don’t mind knocking on strangers’ doors,” Mike said somberly. Madeline regarded him as she put on her diamond studs.

“What is it then?” By the expression on his face when he turned around to look at her, she knew something heavy and uncomfortable was coming her way.

“Denial is the weapon we use against ourselves,” he said simply.

In the back of her mind, Madeline had been preparing to defend herself for the division of labor that she was conveniently unable to participate in. Instead, what she got was a blow to her solar plexus. Hearing that simple statement, she realized there was nothing harder in life to dodge than the truth.

“Do you remember when I called you from jail?” Mike asked. The way he was looking at her sent chills through her body. She knew what she was about to hear was an assessment of herself she wasn’t emotionally or mentally prepared to deal with. She met his gaze and held it for as long as she could stand it.

“Yes,” she replied coolly as she fastened her wristwatch. Mike waited until she gave him her undivided attention again before continuing.

“I told you that I had been picked up on bogus charges. I begged you to come bail me out and you only agreed to help if I went into rehab. You remember?” Madeline nodded her head but lowered her eyes. Her heart began to thud.

“Mike, if you’re trying to get back at me for being tough when you needed me to be—” Mike’s features softened but his stance remained firm.

“The point I’m trying to make here is that you weren’t going to make it easy for me in order to make it easier for yourself. You, despite your comfy lifestyle and years of insulation, knew that I would continue to self-destruct unless someone had the courage to intervene…”

Madeline tried to laugh, but it came out more like a self-conscious wheeze. “I’m not sure I know where you’re headed with this…”

“I think you do,” Mike said.

“It’s late. I need to go,” Madeline said, stashing her phone in her purse as she got ready to leave. Mike walked across the room and made himself a human barrier in front of the doorway.

“You are in denial about the threat Usherwood poses to you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mike,” Madeline said, righteous indignation giving fire to her words. “I haven’t stopped thinking about him since Conrad called me over to his office.” Mike tilted his head ever so slightly, a gesture that was tantamount to waving a red flag.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

“I’ve been there, Maddie. I know what avoiding reality looks like.” Madeline snorted her disapproval for this unwarranted attack.

“Look, don’t try to equate your former addictions with being stalked by a murderous vengeance seeker. There’s no comparison.”

“Can you honestly tell me you’re not using Cherie’s melodrama to hide from the threat Usherwood poses to you?”

“This is ridiculous. I’ve got to go. Move!” she said when Mike refused to let her pass.

“Tell me you know the danger you’re in. Tell me that you will listen to me when I’m trying to protect you!”

The forcefulness of Mike’s words stopped Madeline in her tracks. To her horror, tears filled her eyes.

“Now look what you’ve done,” she said, retreating to the bathroom to get a tissue. She blotted the tears before they ran down her face and marred her makeup. “Can we talk about this later?” she asked sullenly. The tone of her voice reminded her too much of Cherie Alexander. She found herself laughing and crying at the same time, a state that made her feel ridiculous. She dried her tears again with shaking hands and gave Mike an apologetic, embarrassed smile.

“Okay, point taken,” she relented. “But you’ve got to realize I’m in no position to go all to pieces right now. What can I do—bail on my commitments so I can paralyze myself with fear? No matter how you look at it, I have to stay strong right now. There’s just no alternative. I wish the FBI had done their job properly so I wouldn’t have to feel like any minute I’m going to be grabbed from behind and have my throat slit.”

Mike’s face grew pale as Madeline said this. She sat down on the corner of the bed, shoulders slumped forward.

“The only good thing about this weekend-long event is that I won’t have time to dwell on that psychopath. And I do feel safer when I’m behind the gates with lots of people milling about. And if I’m really lucky, maybe by Sunday evening they’ll have found that monster and blown his rotten brains out.” Madeline paused as she regarded her partner.

“So, you see old pal, I’m not really in as much denial as you think I am. Just enough to keep me functional. And having you to badger me and watch my back makes this scenario just about doable.”

Mike crossed to the bed and sat down next to her. They exchanged glances that almost brought tears to both their eyes. Madeline lowered her gaze and Mike slipped his arm around her and held her tight to his side. After a moment of quiet reflection, Madeline gave him a peck on the cheek and got to her feet.

“Good luck with Cherie,” Mike said. There was so much worry on his face, Madeline could barely look at him.

“Thanks. And good luck tracking down our mysterious Latina.”

SIXTEEN

By the time Madeline pulled through the gates at the Alexander estate, the long U-shaped drive was already clogged with vehicles. This had to mean the service entrance parking had already filled up. She parked as close to the house as she could get and rounded up her paraphernalia, mentally bracing herself for the day ahead, a day that would blur into three without skipping a beat.

As she walked up the front steps, she was passed by a man dressed in a black suit and tie. He nodded perfunctorily before descending the steps and weaving his way to a black Town Car, double parked. He opened the driver’s side door and got in. It looked to Madeline like a special delivery of some sort. She hoped it was from Ross.

Helen held the door open for Madeline and closed it behind her. The housekeeper’s normally cheery attitude toward her had been replaced with distrust and annoyance.

“How’s everything going?” Madeline asked as pleasantly as she could in the face of such a cold reception. Helen snorted and folded her arms across her chest.

“Considering I was awakened by furious screeching and breaking glass at ten to six, I guess things are going about par for the course.” Madeline’s contrived smile wilted as she conjured up images of Cherie throwing a shrew-like tantrum.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, though it wasn’t really her place to do the apologizing. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“See if you can turn that bleached-blond hussy into something approximating a lady,” Helen said before turning on her heels and marching down the hallway toward the business end of the house. She did an abrupt about-face and retraced her steps.

“What have you found out about that girl?” she barked, all pretense of civility gone.

“Teresa?” Helen’s expression was all the confirmation she needed. “Unfortunately, nothing at this point.” Helen raised her eyebrows, a contemptuous smile punctuating her disdain for Madeline’s apparent ineptitude.

“Do you even know her real name? Or where she lives?”

Before Madeline could answer, Helen grunted condescendingly and walked away.

“Oh, fabulous,” Madeline said, her stomach churning.

As she mounted the staircase, she could hear sounds of excited laughter, which seemed incongruent to the scene Helen had described. As she approached Cherie’s bedroom, she paused to get a sense of what was going on.

“Can you believe it?” Cherie squealed. “Oh…it’s so stunning, don’t you think?”

“It’s…so you!” Alice agreed enthusiastically.

“Madeline was right—she predicted this would happen,” Cherie said.

“She predicted Matt Connolly would send you a couturier dress?” Alice asked, clearly stunned by the notion.

“Not in so many words, but she said that Ross’s absence would cause my friends to rally around me and shower me with love and amazing gifts.” Madeline took this as her entrance cue.

“Did I hear someone say ‘amazing gifts?’” Both women swiveled around to greet her, enormous smiles on their faces. Without warning, Cherie flew at her, nearly crushing her with a grateful hug. The impact and the sheer surprise of it almost knocked her off her feet. It was not the kind of reception she had been expecting.

After the affectionate attack, Cherie stood back so Madeline could take a gander at her gift, turning slowly so Madeline could take in all its sparkling opulence.

“Wow,” she said, duly impressed.

“It’s from the fall collection, but I think because it’s short it’s okay to wear now, don’t you think?”

“Oh, sure,” Madeline concurred, awestruck by the amount of embellishments. The design of the dress was rather simple, but the mosaic of crystals covering it made it look like a true work of art. “It must weigh a ton,” she said, lifting the hem to get an idea of the heft of the creation.

“It does, but that’s okay. It’s like the weight of a crown,” Cherie said languidly. By the way she was admiring herself, Madeline couldn’t be sure she was joking or if she fancied herself as royalty. “But this screws up everything!” Cherie exclaimed, eyes suddenly wide with concern.

“What are you talking about?” Madeline asked, bracing herself for the surreal.

“Don’t you see? Now I have to figure out when to wear it!” She scurried to her dressing table to retrieve her costume-changing itinerary, replete with photos.

As she observed Cherie once again struggling to attain perfection, Madeline was hit with a strange sense of déjà vu: she saw herself as she was three years earlier—the same age as Cherie was now—with the same desire to maintain and improve her social standing, serving on several nonprofit boards to that end. Then, wham—her whole world eroded in a matter of hours.

It gave her a sick feeling to recall how quickly she was stripped of everything she’d held dear. It also gave her a chill to recognize that Cherie could be headed for a similar upheaval of her cherished lifestyle. Madeline found herself pitying Cherie; there was no amount of praise or riches that could take the place of a loving relationship.

How many times had she seen the unmistakable look of longing mixed with apprehension in Cherie’s gaze? Too many to not realize the barrenness of Cherie’s life with Ross. Madeline also could spot Cherie’s futile efforts to fill the void with material goods. It hadn’t worked for her, not in the long run, and it probably wouldn’t work for the Alexanders much longer.

Without a word, Madeline turned and left the room, trying to refocus on her responsibilities after the unsettling premonition. She was halfway down the hall when Cherie called out to her.

“Wait! You can’t leave yet—you’ve got to help me figure this out,” she said, sounding both panicky and imperious.

“Call Cassandra. She’s got a better handle on your wardrobe lineup. I’ve got to get down there and crack the whip, make sure everything is falling into place.”

Madeline walked toward the stairs, head down, doing her best to avert her mind from the impending catastrophe. She wasn’t sure what form the disaster would take, only that it would be ugly. And dramatic. She sighed and wondered if she could survive on her P.I. earnings alone.

This last thought made her change direction and proceed cautiously towards Vivian’s wing. She knocked with her ear close to the door. She could hear nothing. She glanced around before knocking a little louder. Still no response. She tried the handle, but the door was locked. Not a bad idea after the theft, Madeline thought as she retraced her steps to the main staircase.

Halfway down, she encountered the first two of the four videographers hired to cover every aspect of the party, from the behind scenes preparations through the over-the-top, nonstop celebration. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember their names.

“If you hurry, you might catch Cherie wearing a gift from the hottest man in Hollywood,” she said once she realized one of the camcorders was on and pointed straight at her. She gave the camera her brightest smile, then held her hand up to block the lens as she continued on down the stairs. As soon as she hit the foyer, the florist and her minions started streaming through the front door.

“I couldn’t get near the service entrance,” Jessica explained, pausing to shift the huge floral arrangement to rest against her other shoulder. Madeline caught a glimpse of the vans double-parked out front. She glanced toward the kitchen and saw Helen heading their way.

“I’ll take care of her,” she said. “How long do you think it’ll take to unload everything?”

“I can probably have both vans emptied in fifteen minutes, then I can send them back for the rest. I don’t have any idea how long it will take to place everything,” Jessica said as Helen came to a halt in front of them.

“The service entrance is still backed up. They’re going to have to bring all the flowers through here,” Madeline informed the housekeeper.

“Fine. But I suggest you make it snappy. What we don’t need is a surprise visit from the fire department,” Helen said coldly before moving on.

It was clear to Madeline that Helen was not going to prostrate herself trying to run the show. She would let Cherie take the responsibility for whatever transpired over the endless weekend. With another pang of anxiety, it dawned on her that Cherie would ultimately place all the accountability at her feet.

“Bonjour, Madeline,” Philippe sang out as he led his staff in, smiling ear to ear. She had never known Philippe to lose his cool, no matter what the circumstances. She returned his greeting and immediately felt her jitters calm down. With any luck, Philippe would have the entire household humming along in good-natured synchronicity and Madeline could steer this ship away from the rocks.

But as Philippe’s crew disappeared into the kitchen, Madeline’s nerves revved up again. The food would be fabulous, the floral arrangements breathtaking, the venue hip and trick enough, even by show business standards. Those were the things she could count on to turn out well.

Her stomach knotted as she reviewed the wild cards in the pack: an unhinged client teetering on the brink of divorce, the missing jewels, an illegal alien who may or may not have taken the loot, and the movie-making elite with their inevitable demands.

SEVENTEEN

Madeline brushed the loose strands of hair from her face and stood up. She and two of Philippe’s staff had just gone over what china should be used with which meals and which courses. The various patterns—all especially created for the occasion—had to be removed from the packing crates, counted and washed. Both dishwashers were humming quietly and would be for the rest of the day.

Madeline checked the time, alarmed that this chore—which really should’ve been handled by Helen and her staff—had taken over an hour of her precious time. It was almost 11:30 and she hadn’t had a chance to track down Vivian yet.

She left the kitchen through the side door and walked around the grounds, ostensibly checking the placement of the floral arrangements. She had just about run out of places to look for her elderly client when her phone rang. It was Mike. She hoped he had some good news.

“Any luck?” she asked, skipping the pleasantries.

“On which front?” Mike asked, earning an irritated snort from his partner.

“The Teresa front,” she said, keeping her voice low as she scanned her immediate surroundings. “Have you found out where she lives yet?”

“No, and that’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Madeline plunged the phone down to her side, giving herself a few seconds to regain her composure. It had taken all her self-control to keep from hanging up on him. Mike was mid-sentence when she replaced the phone to her ear. “You’ll have to start over—I didn’t hear what you said.”

Now Mike was peeved. He could read Madeline’s behaviors like a roadmap. “Hey, I’m the partner, remember—not the dumping ground.”

“Mike, I don’t have time for this,” Madeline said plaintively. “Just tell me what’s on your mind…”

“A lot, actually. But I’ll start with our mystery girl. After going back to the spot where we lost her and driving around to get the lay of the land, I realized that me going door to door with her photo is the fastest way to put Teresa on alert and spook anyone brave enough to speak to a tall Anglo dude.” Mike gave Madeline a moment to digest this argument. “You see what I’m saying?” Madeline let out a long sigh. She did get his point. “I’m thinking we save that tactic until we’ve run out of chances to follow her directly to the right spot. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, I do see the wisdom in that,” Madeline grudgingly admitted.

“So, I’ve figured out the bus routes she’d need to take to get home. When she leaves at four o’clock today, I’ll be in position to follow the number fourteen bus when she boards. Then I’ll just creep along the route and be waiting to tail her once she gets off. What do you think?”

“That’s a good idea, but unfortunately it won’t work. Teresa will be leaving here early today so she can come back this evening to accompany her employer to the party.”

“Oh. Well, when is she leaving?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been able to track either of them down yet. I’ll call you when I find out,” Madeline said, resuming her perusal of the grounds.

“Hold on, I’ve got something else to tell you.”

“Make it quick,” she said, finding herself at the amphitheater.

“I think I’ve found Oaks.”

It took a couple beats for the name to register. “Where?”

“I did some more research and called several VA hospitals. I finally got lucky. A Justin Oaks with the same birthdate and serial number turned up at the VA hospital in Los Angeles on January 15, and again on March 31st.” Madeline lowered herself onto one of the cushioned stone benches as she processed this information.

“Were you able to get an address?”

“It wasn’t easy, but I did.” Madeline smiled in spite of herself. She knew Mike could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. “Now we just need to find out if it’s valid.”

“Okay. Good. So, how should we go about that?”

“I’ve already made contact with a P.I. in Simi Valley. His name is Bob Leonard. He’s going to physically check it out. If the residence exists and Oaks is actually living there, then we can decide what we want to do next.”

“I guess one option would be to give the information to the Feds,” Madeline suggested.

“We could, but chances are they already know all this,” Mike said. “And either Oaks didn’t lead them to Usherwood or they don’t consider it an important line of inquiry. They certainly don’t feel inclined to share what they do know with us, so I think whatever we find out, we just keep to ourselves for the time being.”

“I’m with you on that. So, if your guy can locate Oaks, what then?” Madeline asked, digging into her handbag for a protein bar. Her stomach felt so hollow, it seemed as though the sides were touching. She was also dehydrated, which was partly responsible for the throbbing headache in the back of her skull. She managed to get the wrapper open without using her teeth and began devouring the bar while she listened to Mike outline his strategy.

“I say we have him followed for a few days. Simi Valley isn’t that far a drive to Santa Barbara. Oaks could be putting Usherwood up, or he could be the one who whacked Yeoman and put the gris-gris on your place.”

“Any idea what he was being treated for?”

“No. The last woman I spoke to at the VA hospital balked at disclosing that information.”

Madeline was losing interest in this Oaks character rapidly; she had far too much on her mind as it was. She finished her bar and stood up, shouldering her heavy bag as she left the amphitheater.

“From what your Florida connection told you, Oaks had a substance abuse problem. If that’s true, it strikes me as unlikely that he’d be reliable enough to trust with a hit and a B&E. I believe Usherwood’s directly involved. Go ahead and have Oaks tailed, just in case we get lucky. It’s a small price to pay to have that base covered, if there is one to cover,” she said.

“Will do,” Mike said. “I’ll wait to hear from you about Teresa.”

Madeline ended the call and put up her radar. Vivian and her companion had to be somewhere on the property. She listened to the various sounds, both distant and near, and set her sights on the house.

With all the chaos going on, Vivian would either be back in her rooms or somewhere relatively quiet, like the library. Since it was located on the ground floor, she decided to check there first. But as soon as she reentered the house, she was waylaid by the arrival of the photographers. All four of them were loaded down with equipment like pack mules and eager to receive their marching orders.

When she hired this bunch, she had been under the impression they handled events like this on a regular basis. Rarely did she have to give professional photographers blow-by-blow instructions, except at weddings. But after a couple minutes of discourse, she gathered they were feeling the pressure of such a prestigious gig and didn’t want to risk getting the assignment wrong.

Madeline choked down her impatience and walked them through the areas of the house where they would be permitted to take photos: the entrance hall, the massive living room, and the kitchen would likely see most of the action worth memorializing.

As the videographers were intent on following the star of the show, she didn’t bother taking the still photographers upstairs. She gave them a brisk tour of the grounds while indoctrinating them with Cherie’s vision of what moments she wanted captured on film. Madeline gave them a rundown of the schedule of events and the best vantage points to take it all in.

After she felt moderately confident they would be able to do the job properly, she reminded them the contract they had signed strictly forbids any photo taken on the premises to be leaked to the media.

“The full wrath of the entertainment legal machine will be set loose on you,” she said solemnly, looking each of them directly in the eye to make sure she’d put the kibosh on any ideas of making a fat score with snapshots taken at a Hollywood wildlife sanctuary. She then took the studio owner aside and told him to get the job done well and there’d be more work in the future. By the way his head bobbed in an incessant nod, Madeline felt she could dispense with the threats.

Once she had finished that chore, she took a moment to review all the various components of the soiree to make sure she had everything else buttoned down. With that done, she placed a call to Lauren while she resumed her search for Vivian.

“Check off china, videographers, flowers, photographers and Philippe,” Madeline rattled off as she started up the back staircase. “Everything is in order on those fronts. Tell me what you’ve got covered on your end.”

“I’ve double confirmed the rooms at all three hotels, and triple checked the livery service,” Lauren informed her. “Sharon from the booking agency called and we confirmed all the acts and the timing, so that’s completely under control. Looks like we’ve got it all nailed down. I think this shindig is going to be a huge success.” She paused for a second and added, “You can start breathing again…”

Madeline laughed weakly. Her cohorts knew her so well.

“Okay, I’ll try to remember to breathe.”

“Too bad you can’t squeeze in a karate class—that always gets rid of the stress,” Lauren said.

Madeline sighed wistfully; thinking of escaping to the peaceful presence of Master Coffee filled her with all sorts of emotions. Teri could help her on so many levels right now, but that kind of solace would have to wait. She’d just have to rely on the skills and attitudes she had absorbed over the last three years. If she could keep focused on those tenets, she’d be able to get through anything. Hopefully.

As a challenge to this theory, the specter of Lionel Usherwood rose up in her mind. But before it could shake her equilibrium, it was promptly banished by the sounds of pre-party cavorting escalating to almost delirious levels.

Madeline told Lauren she’d check in with her later and passed Vivian’s suite of rooms to take a gander at the wild goings-on in Cherie’s quarters. As she reached the main staircase, she intersected with two of Philippe’s staff carrying a large copper tub between them, glistening with moisture and filled with bottles of Roederer Cristal and champagne flutes.

The waiters smiled broadly, assuming the event coordinator would be pleased that the client was having such a fine time.

“Got a call for more refreshments,” one of them said to Madeline as they passed.

“Please ask Philippe to send along some heavy hors d’oeuvres so that the honoree doesn’t pass out before the guests arrive,” she said, trailing behind them to see exactly how bad the damage was so far.

A semi-drunken roar went up as the waiters entered Cherie’s sitting room-slash-closet, where the party had obviously gotten off to an early start. Cherie’s entourage consisted of her hairstylist, makeup artist, costume designer, three girlfriends Madeline knew from her own days in the highlife, two of the videographers and the D.J.

As Madeline walked into the room, Cherie rushed her, showering her with admiration and more of the unaccustomed affection she’d received earlier. Madeline put on her happy face while taking a reading on her client’s mental condition.

“Slow down, girlfriend,” Madeline whispered as she stared into Cherie’s glassy eyes. “You don’t want to have to watch the video to find out how your birthday party turned out.” Cherie gasped as if offended, but even that response proved she was already too tipsy to care about anything.

“I’ll make sure Philippe sends up some wildly delicious morsels. Be a good girl and eat some of them. Okay?”

I guess I should’ve hired a nanny, Madeline thought as she extricated herself from the merrymakers, several of whom were trying to foist champagne on her. She spotted a bottle of mineral water and gratefully snagged it on the way out.

EIGHTEEN

“It’s open,” Vivian called out. Madeline let herself in and found the grande dame seated in a chair by the window, taking in the view of the koi pond. At this moment, her sitting room was the most tranquil spot on the estate.

“How are you holding up, dear?” Vivian asked, indicating the chair across from her.

“So far, so good,” Madeline said, a smile breaking across her face as she sat down. It was no wonder Vivian had sought refuge in her suite. Madeline drank in the comfort and solitude for a moment, knowing she wouldn’t have another respite for many hours. “Where’s Teresa?” she asked belatedly, turning around to scan the bedroom.

“We decided it didn’t make sense for her to come out here until four o’clock. That way she can help me get all gussied up, and she won’t have to make two trips out here and back home.”

“That makes sense,” Madeline said.

“I also arranged for someone to pick her up and take her home. Can’t have her taking the bus! I can just imagine her trying to get through security on foot,” Vivian chuckled.

“Good point,” Madeline agreed, her mind racing. There went Mike’s chance to follow her again. “Who’s going to fetch her?”

“Shoreline Cab. The service I usually use seems to be a bit overwhelmed this weekend…” They both laughed.

“So, this would mean you have an address for her now…” Madeline surmised.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Vivian said, reaching for a pad of paper on her side table. She tore off the top sheet and handed it to Madeline. 721 Chapala Street.

Another bogus address, Madeline realized.

“Unless she lives in a retail store at Paseo Nuevo, this is no good to us,” she said. Vivian’s smile faded, her mouth twitching pensively as she thought this over. At length, she let out a deep sigh.

“She must be terrified of being deported,” she said, her gaze going to the window as she wrestled with the knowledge that her young companion carried a lot of secrets. Madeline could sense how torn the elderly star was: it had to be very heartbreaking to discover she couldn’t really trust the person she relied on the most.

“I’ve got an idea,” Madeline said. “Call and tell her that because of the tightened security, no taxis will be allowed to drop off any guests. Tell her my personal assistant will pick her up at the address she gave you at four o’clock.” Vivian rose and went to the phone. Madeline coached her on what kind of car and driver Teresa should be looking for while the call went through.

“Very good, dear. I’ll see you when you get here.” Vivian replaced the receiver slowly. “It’s all set, then.”

“It’s going to work out fine. We’ll just make sure that Lauren gives her a ride home. Lauren is a very likeable chatterbox, but she’s also good at getting information out of people. At that time of night, she’ll convince Teresa to let her drop her off at home, where it’s safer. I’ve been meaning to ask you—are the missing jewels insured?”

“Yes,” Vivian said as she headed unsteadily back to her chair. Madeline held out her arm and helped her across the room. “I always had a separate rider for them, but when I moved to the estate, Ross had them added to his insurance.” Madeline nodded thoughtfully. “You’re not suggesting I notify them yet, are you?”

“That’s your call. I can understand how conflicted you are on all angles of this situation, but every day that goes by, the chances of reclaiming your jewelry diminish. But what I’m really wondering is if we can get our hands on some photos of what we’re looking for.”

“That I can help you with,” Vivian said, her face brightening. “Be a dear and hand me that photo album on the right side of the bookcase…that’s it.”

Vivian found three photos of her wearing the missing pieces. The daisy brooch was the clearest image, but Madeline felt there was enough detail showing of the earrings and the bracelet that could be enhanced by enlargement.

“This is good. I’ll get these to my partner. He’s working on black market channels for this kind of item,” Madeline said, though it was a bit of a stretch. Mike would be working on it at some point. “Well, I guess I better get back to work…”

“Madeline, before you go…” Vivian rose to her feet. “I want you to know how much I appreciate you helping me with this. I’m not sure I’ve done the right thing by hiring you, though. Don’t get me wrong—those pieces are my most treasured possessions. But I find myself wondering if the havoc their absence is going to stir up is worth getting them back.”

Vivian lowered herself to the chair. Madeline did the same. If Vivian wanted to end the case now, that was okay with her. No matter which way the cards fell, many people were going to be affected.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured in any way to continue with this inquiry. We can put it off until this weekend is over, or we can put a halt to it for good.”

Vivian held up her hand to silence her P.I. “No, dear—the truth is a close second to the memories these pieces revive for me. You let your partner and your assistant run with it. But let me just share with you something that Walter wrote in the card that accompanied the brooch.” Vivian cleared her throat and lifted her head, giving away her thespian past. After composing herself, she closed her eyes and began.

“Purest white,
slender petals.

Brilliant center
rivals the sun.

Dainty and fleeting,
a symbol of youth.

Yet, the urge to pluck
is too strong to resist

Pulling delicate slivers

I redesign my Daisy.

I overlap the tips
to spell a fairer flower,
whose elegance belies her power
and whose grace is never ending

V I V I A N

My eternal blossom

When Vivian had finished reciting the verse, she opened her eyes and smiled. Her face was so serene, Madeline could see the young woman who had inspired those words. She forced down the lump in her throat and blinked away the beginnings of tears. She reached out and took Vivian’s hand in hers and held it for a moment.

“See you at the carnival,” she said, getting to her feet. Vivian laughed, a sound that made her eyes well up again.

Madeline put on her earrings while she listened to Brian explain her new alarm system. She had dashed home to shower, change and ready herself for the long night ahead. What she really wanted to do was turn off her phone and go to bed.

“Okay, you’re going to use the three middle fingers on your right hand to program the keypads—this one and the one outside. You’ll have two levels of security that you must disarm when you enter the house. You’ll have thirty seconds from the time you disarm the pad by the front door to disarm this one. Got it?”

Madeline nodded perfunctorily. This was the wrong time to be learning how to work these sophisticated upgrades. Right now, babysitting a half-smashed client was of greater concern than a run-in with Lionel Usherwood, though she was sure she’d feel differently if he suddenly showed up on her doorstep.

“Give me your hand.” Madeline slipped on a shoe before complying with Brian’s orders.

“I’m not going to remember all this,” she warned as Brian had her place her fingertips on the pad and hold them there for several seconds.

“Try to concentrate. I’m doing this for your own good. I’m not the one who’s got a spook rearranging my home.” A green light came on indicating the prints took. Brian pulled Madeline by the hand toward the front door.

“Hang on a sec,” she said, slipping her other shoe on with her free hand.

“You look pretty hot in that dress, by the way,” Brian commented, earning a frosty look from his client. They repeated the process on the keypad by the front door.

“Okay, now what?”

“When you leave the house, you’ll need to punch in an activation code—”

“Fingerprints and a code?” Madeline asked. It was Brian’s turn to glare at her.

“A code to arm it, fingerprints to disarm it. Easy peasy. Now, pick a four digit code, different from the last one.” Madeline tapped in the new numbers. “Okay, that’s the new code. When you arm the system, you’ll have ninety seconds to leave the house before the alarm triggers. So make sure you’ve got all your stuff together before you punch in the code.”

“Got it.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard.”

“But wait a second…what about when my cleaning lady comes, or Mike?” Brian thought about this.

“The only thing you can do is let them in, give them the code and leave.” Madeline wasn’t thrilled by this wrinkle, but she didn’t have time to argue. “We can work out something more flexible once you’re out of imminent danger,” Brian added. “Okay, let’s go over the app I’ve set up on your phone.”

Madeline drew in close as Brian explained the surveillance sensors he had installed outside the house. There was a total of four, all equipped with night vision, that not only picked up and recorded any movement outside the house, but also sent the images to her iPhone.

“You can change this so that you can review the photos whenever it’s convenient for you, but right now it’s set up to alert you to any significant movement as it happens.”

“Okay,” Madeline said tentatively, already anticipating being awakened in the middle of the night again when a cat traversed her property. But that was a small price to pay if it ever caught a midnight marauder. Or a murderous fugitive.

“Well, thanks for getting this all done,” Madeline said as she checked her bag to make sure she had everything she needed.

“I haven’t explained the glass-breaking sensors yet,” Brian said.

“Sorry, I have got to go.” Brian looked put-off by her lack of interest in his latest wizardry. “I think I get it—someone breaks a window and a silent alarm alerts the police…right?”

“Actually, any glass breaking will trigger the alarm.”

“Oh. Okay, no more throwing my wineglasses in the fireplace,” she said drolly.

“You’re awfully blasé for someone being stalked by a homicidal fiend with a vendetta to settle,” Brian said cavalierly.

“You are a comfort, Brian,” Madeline said, hurrying him out the door.

“Well…let me know if you run into any glitches,” Brian said once they were standing on her front steps. His hesitancy to leave told Madeline he had something else he wanted to say. But she was in too much of a rush to make reassurances for her security man’s sake that she was going to be all right. Her safety wasn’t really his department, anyway. All he could do was provide her with warnings of what was happening on the home front. Once she left her baby Fort Knox, she was a moving target. The harsh reality was only luck would save her.

Brian watched Madeline from his car as she pulled out of her driveway and disappeared down the street. He would’ve liked more time to test the new systems, especially since this wasn’t just a “peace of mind” installation. He ran over all the possible contingencies and their antidotes in his head before he felt confident that he’d done the best he could for her at this juncture. He’d do more brainstorming later, after he tended to his other clients.

He scanned the neighborhood through his dark glasses before starting his Mini Cooper. It gave him the creeps that an ordinary, quiet Santa Barbara street could seem so sinister in broad daylight. He pulled away from the curb, still unaware that he’d been watched the whole time.

NINETEEN

When Madeline arrived back at the estate, Mike was already in uniform, trying to pretend he was invisible.

“That is an excellent disguise,” Madeline whispered to him as he stood sentry in the courtyard off the kitchen. Mike bristled at her condescending remark.

“How’d it go?”

“Fine, I guess. I could have SBPD showing up at my house at all hours, but that might be a good thing.”

“As long as it makes you feel less afraid,” Mike offered somewhat feebly. Madeline barked out a harsh laugh.

“Right now, I’m more afraid of what’s going to happen here than I am of Lionel Usherwood.”

“This is a swanky party. You’ve obsessed this thing into submission. What could go wrong?”

Madeline let out a strained laugh. “Oh…just about anything,” she said.

“You can imagine the worst, if that makes you feel better. But I can tell you one thing that won’t happen—Lionel Usherwood won’t be crashing the party.”

“Nothing’s impossible,” Madeline said, leaving Mike to his surveillance duties.

A hush of anticipation fell over the hustle-bustle inside the house as the first group of revelers spilled out of the party transport. Despite her years of manning the helm at high-profile events, even Madeline felt a surge of adrenaline as film stars, directors, producers, agents and assorted showbiz movers and shakers climbed the front steps.

Contrary to Madeline’s fears, the night progressed all the way through the main course without a hiccup. She blended into the shadows and kept the kitchen in sync with the flow of events. Cherie made costume changes between arrival cocktails and the first round of entertainment, and as the main course plates were cleared away, she sashayed off again after promising her guests a dazzling surprise.

“They love me,” Cherie whispered to Madeline as she glided past her and up the stairs. Though she wasn’t staggering yet, Madeline knew by the glazed look in her eyes that Cherie had more rushing through her system than rich food and expensive booze. Catching sight of her sniffing and dabbing at her nose had been the real give away.

Madeline glanced at her watch. Ten past nine. They were four hours into the festivities, almost two hours into dinner. Her eyes roved over the tables, checking the progress of the wait staff. As she got a feel for who was finished eating and who wasn’t, she discovered Vivian and Teresa’s chairs were vacant.

“Do you know where Vivian is?” she asked Lauren, who had just floated up next to her. It took several seconds for Lauren to process the question.

“They went back to Vivian’s room, I think. She wasn’t feeling well. All this excitement was probably a bit overwhelming for her,” Lauren replied, her eyes still glued to the action inside the pavilion. As an afterthought, she handed a folded piece of stationery to Madeline.

“Vivian asked me to give that to you.” Madeline opened the note, which simply read: I must speak with you at your earliest convenience. Urgent. V

“When did she give this to you?” Madeline snapped.

“Oh…I guess about thirty minutes ago,” Lauren replied uncertainly.

“We need a ten-minute heads up for dessert service,” Philippe’s sous chef said over Madeline’s shoulder.

“All right. I’ll check on the birthday girl’s status and call it in to you.” Daniel nodded and slipped back to the kitchen. Turning to Lauren, she said, “Where’s Helen?” Lauren shrugged. “Find her and get her out here. I need her to monitor the floor while I hurry Cherie along and speak to Vivian. And make it fast!” she said, putting some sting in her orders to bring Lauren back from La La Land.

As Madeline waited impatiently, Mike sidled up next to her.

“You look tense. Something wrong?” She showed him Vivian’s note.

“What do you think it is?” he asked. Madeline threw out her hands.

“I don’t know, but star-struck Lauren forgot to give it to me.”

“Where is she?”

“Lauren? I sent her to find Helen so she can stand in for me while I check on Cherie and her mother-in-law. It’s taking her forever.”

“Go. I’ll stand in for you. What should I be doing?”

“Just make sure all the plates are cleared and the wait staff gives everyone a fresh glass of champagne for the toast.”

“Consider it done,” Mike said, earning a terse smile from his partner.

Since the kitchen was at a standstill until they got a handle on the timing, Madeline detoured from her preferred objective and checked in with Cherie. She was surprised when she opened the door and found Cherie alone, slumped on her vanity chair, wearing only her skimpy lingerie.

“What’s wrong? Do you need help getting dressed?” she asked, alarmed by Cherie’s sudden unraveling. “Everyone’s waiting on you,” she gently scolded her. When Cherie looked up with an empty stare, Madeline braced herself for an emergency intervention. The whole affair could deteriorate into chaos if the honoree abandoned ship.

“Ross doesn’t love me anymore,” she said, her voice hollow and listless. Oh God, not this again, Madeline thought as she pulled up a chair in front of Cherie.

“It’s over, I can feel it.” Cherie looked down at her hands as if she didn’t recognize them. “I’ve been kidding myself for a long time now, but he couldn’t have made it any clearer. Not coming to my 40th birthday party sends a pretty big signal. I’m over the hill—time for a newer model,” she groused indignantly. “And after all the effort I’ve put into our marriage. I singlehandedly created a legacy garden. You’d think he’d appreciate that. Ha! It was so great in the beginning…traveling with him while on location…” Cherie shook her head, smirking at some secret grievance. “I’m the one who should be disappointed, not him.”

Madeline was at a loss for words. Part of her felt sorry for Cherie. Another part of her felt she was a spoiled, bitter woman who had expected a lot out of life and had given little.

Regardless of Cherie’s mindset, Madeline couldn’t let her derail the evening. Cherie could cancel the next two days, which would suit her just fine. Her fee was set, come rain or shine or sudden divorce.

“Listen, Cherie—you’ve got some of the world biggest luminaries waiting for you to make your grand entrance. We’ve been all through the Ross thing. You know he’d be here if he could. I can understand you feeling rejected, especially on a milestone birthday. I’m also damn sure you’ll make him pay for his tardiness,” Madeline joked. Cherie looked at her with eyes devoid of hope. “But he’ll be here tomorrow, so—”

“He’s not coming back until Sunday night,” Cherie said sharply. Madeline closed her eyes and let out a pained sigh. “He doesn’t love me. He wouldn’t do this to me if he did!” Cherie whimpered, bursting into tears.

Madeline rubbed her temples and summoned her most commanding presence.

“Cherie…Cherie, stop crying and listen to me,” she said, handing her a tissue to limit the damage. “Whatever is going on between you and Ross at this moment is immaterial. You’ve got ninety-six successful, powerful, pampered people down there waiting for you to dazzle them. You wanted a big Hollywood bash, you got one. No matter what happens to your marriage, if you blow this night, it’s never going to be repeated.”

Madeline got up and retrieved the crystal-laden dress from the clothing rack and thrust it at her.

“Put this on, fix your makeup and get your butt down there before you lose control of the evening,” she said, stunning Cherie into obedient silence. They heard a knock on the door as Sally, the makeup artist, entered.

“Perfect timing,” Madeline said, motioning for Sally to take over. “I’m calling down to the kitchen to fire the dessert. You’ve got ten minutes to get her presentable and get her down there. Ten minutes,” Madeline reiterated for good measure before storming out of the room. She made the call to the kitchen and bypassed the staircase, heading instead to Vivian’s suite.

“Vivian,” she said softly after rapping lightly on the door. When she got no response, she increased the volume. After three attempts, she tried the door handle. It was unlocked.

“Vivian?” she asked as she crept in and closed the door. The lights were on in the sitting room, so Madeline took the liberty of continuing on. “Vivian?” she called out again. Still no response.

She crossed through the sitting room and peered into the bedroom. The lamp on the bedside table shone brightly enough to illuminate the body that lay sprawled across the floor.

“Oh dear God,” she cried out as she ran to Vivian and turned her face up. “Oh God, oh God,” she pleaded, quickly feeling Vivian’s carotid artery for a sign of life. She was about to attempt CPR when she saw the ligature marks across Vivian’s neck.

Madeline staggered to her feet in horror as Vivian’s features came into focus. She could now see in Vivian’s eyes the lost struggle of trying to draw in air. Madeline reached down and touched Vivian’s face. It was unnaturally cool to the touch. She dialed 911, fighting to control her emotions as the dispatcher’s voice came on the line.

TWENTY

Madeline sat in the same chair she had occupied earlier that day, when Vivian recited Walter’s poem to her. Like everyone else now confined to the estate until their statements could be taken, she was in a state of shock.

The coroner had Vivian’s body transported to the County Morgue. Because of her celebrity status and the nature of her demise, the autopsy would be performed immediately. The coroner’s initial conclusion was death by strangulation; that was at least part of the story. His team continued to take photos while a variety of city and county law enforcement officers sealed off the area, searched for clues and collected evidence.

Having been the one who found the body, Madeline had been kept in Vivian’s sitting room, answering questions while desperately trying to put the pieces together for herself.

She was explaining the circumstances of her discovery for the third time when Detective Slovitch arrived. He gave her a look she couldn’t quite interpret: surprised by her presence, but in a way, not surprised, as if becoming accustomed to finding her wherever trouble lurked.

When the sheriff’s deputy was through with her, Slovitch moved in with some questions of his own.

“So, I take it you’re here in the role of event planner.”

“Actually, I was performing two functions here. I was hired by the victim’s daughter-in-law to oversee her 40th birthday party. Two days ago, I was hired by the deceased in my capacity as a private investigator.” Madeline knew her admission guaranteed this was going to be a very long night. Detective Slovitch motioned for her to follow him out of the now crowded suite of rooms to somewhere he could grill her in private.

“Okay, start with two days ago,” he said as he closed the door in one of the guest suites. Madeline took advantage of the opportunity to sit down and kick off her shoes. “Go ahead, make yourself comfortable,” he chided her.

“It’s been a very long day and night,” Madeline said defensively.

“And it’s going to get a lot longer,” Slovitch said as he pulled out a desk chair and turned it around so that he was seated with the chair back to his chest. “Why did Vivian Story hire you?”

Madeline weighed her options. Her employer was now dead, and since the circumstances of her death were in question, she couldn’t very well plead client confidentiality, especially if this was a homicide, which it certainly appeared to be. This, she realized, gave her no options at all.

“Three expensive pieces of jewelry were taken from her room.”

“When did this happen?”

“About ten days ago. They had been missing for a week when Vivian approached me.”

“So, Miss Story hired you to find the missing jewels?”

Madeline considered this. The case wasn’t very straightforward; the identity and background of “Teresa Maria Gomez” was a complicating factor sure to throw this murder into a whole different light. Madeline’s empty stomach churned at the thought of Teresa as the main suspect in a homicide. Could she be capable of such a thing? Madeline had her doubts, but things were not looking good for her. At this stage, she was no longer Madeline’s worry. Finding Vivian’s killer was the top priority.

“Ultimately, yes,” Madeline answered at length. “But her first concern was to find out more about her hired companion. Teresa had worked for a friend of Vivian’s until that woman’s death. She came to work for Vivian straightaway. There was never any vetting process. And as I found out from speaking to the daughter of Vivian’s late friend, she was hired out of a similar set of circumstances.

“So, to answer your question, Vivian wanted me to run a background check on Teresa, see if there was anything in her past that she should know about. I thought then, as I do now, that she suspected the girl of taking her jewelry. If I had come to that conclusion after a thorough background check, I don’t think Vivian would’ve pursued the matter any further.”

“You said the jewels were expensive?” Slovitch asked, taking a pad and pen from his jacket pocket.

“Yes. She hadn’t had them appraised in a long time, but I’m guessing they were worth about fifty grand, each. She told me yesterday when I asked for photos to work from that her son had the pieces insured under his policy when she moved in here last year. It’s possible that he or his carrier know their current value.”

Detective Slovitch’s phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and took the call.

“What is it?” he asked. After the caller spoke, he put his hand over the phone.

“There’s a woman trying to get in the front gate. She says she’s the housekeeper.” This news came as a shock to Madeline. “Was she on duty this evening?”

“Yes.”

“Let her through and have her wait in the foyer,” Slovitch said. He slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket.

“If the housekeeper was on duty tonight, why wasn’t she on the premises when the body was discovered and the house shut down?” he asked.

“That’s a very good question,” Madeline answered. She could think of no reason for Helen to be off the premises. She lived in a cottage on the estate and she was as involved as anyone in overseeing the party.

“I thought she was here all evening. I was looking for her to cover for me so I could hustle Mrs. Alexander along and check in with Vivian.” Madeline suddenly remembered the note in her pocket. She pulled it out and handed it to Slovitch.

“When did you get this?” he asked, his face becoming tense as he realized they had a solid clue to the victim’s death. Madeline thought back.

“My assistant gave it to me around 9:15. I believe Vivian had given it to her right before she and Teresa went to her rooms. According to Lauren, that would’ve been around 8:45.”

“So, half an hour had elapsed between the victim giving your assistant the note and you finding her dead—is that right?”

Madeline’s face colored. She suddenly felt like she was going to be sick. If she hadn’t wasted time waiting for Helen to cover for her, or detoured to Cherie’s room first, could she have prevented Vivian’s death?

She stood up on wobbly legs and bolted for the bathroom. Detective Slovitch bowed his head and let out a strained sigh as he listened to the dry heaves coming from the other room. When he heard muffled sobs, he got up and rapped lightly on the door with his knuckles.

“Madeline…are you all right?” he asked.

Madeline dried her eyes and blew her nose, then opened the door. “I’m sorry. It just occurred to me that if I’d checked on her sooner, Miss Story might still be alive.” Detective Slovitch put his hand on her shoulder, giving it a compassionate squeeze before getting back to police business.

“I want you present when I interview the housekeeper. Is there somewhere else we can convene?” he asked as Madeline slipped her shoes back on her angry feet and passed out into the hallway.

“The library is a good spot, if it’s not already in use,” Madeline suggested. Detective Slovitch barked out a laugh.

“Oh perfect—the housekeeper in the library with the candlestick,” he quipped. “I should’ve guessed.” Despite Detective Slovitch’s sanguine attitude, there was nothing remotely humorous about murder. And now the question blazed in her mind like a neon sign: Who did it?

As they headed for the stairs, they were assaulted by the dramatic sobbing coming from Cherie’s wing of the house. They halted as Detective Slovitch made a call to his partner.

“It sounds like Mrs. Alexander took the news of her mother-in-law’s death pretty hard,” he said when Detective Eames answered. “You doing okay in there?” Cherie suddenly let out a furious shriek accompanied by the sound of something breaking. Slovitch put his hand over the phone.

“Maybe we better speak with the lady of the house first. She might be under sedation before long.”

Madeline was forced to agree with his logic. She knew Cherie could be quite volatile when things weren’t going her way. But the fit she was apparently throwing seemed incongruent with the passing of a family member. It sounded a lot more like Cherie feeling outrage for a betrayal against Cherie.

As they got closer, Madeline felt a growing sense of dread; surely after what had happened, she should be off the hook where her involvement with Cherie Alexander was concerned. Another jolt of anxiety hit her as she envisioned the scene down below: dozens of guests and assorted professionals—from the catering staff to the photographers and videographers to law enforcement—all in a dither, each in their own way trying to escape the bedlam.

What a disaster, Madeline thought as she followed Detective Slovitch into Cherie’s dressing room. And the worst part of it all was the loss of a truly lovely woman. Now the most pressing question was who would want Vivian dead?

That conundrum was promptly pushed from her mind as she came face to face with Cherie. Madeline had already been expecting the worst, but she was shocked by the sight of her client. All semblances of dignity and civility were gone; Cherie’s silk kimono barely hung on her shoulders and did nothing to cover up her wispy undergarments.

“He couldn’t come back for my fortieth birthday—noooo way! Couldn’t possibly hold up the shooting schedule!” Cherie groused loudly for Madeline’s benefit. “But now he’s borrowed someone’s jet and he’ll be here in three hours. It really shows where I rank in the scheme of things,” she said, tossing back what was left in her champagne flute.

Now Madeline understood why she’d been dragged into this scene: the last thing the detectives wanted to deal with right then was a deranged woman. She looked at each man, sighed sadly and took charge.

“Cherie, let me help you get dressed,” she said, picking out a silk shirt and a pair of slacks from her regular wardrobe.

“Dressed for what?” she snarled, pushing the clothes away. Madeline yanked her off to the side, out of hearing range from the detectives who were quite content to ignore the women while they compared notes.

“Cherie, you have to pull yourself together. You cannot throw temper tantrums in front of the police. Listen to me!” she said forcefully, keeping her voice low. “For God’s sake, your mother-in-law has been murdered. You acting like an eight-year-old spoiled brat is not going to make you look so good in their eyes.”

“Why should I care what they think?” Cherie spat, though there was less venom in her delivery this time. She glanced at the detectives, some of her bravado waning.

“Think about this, Cherie. Vivian is dead. Someone killed her. Do you really want anyone thinking you have so little feeling for your mother-in-law? Come on, get a hold of yourself. If Ross sees you acting like this, or even hears about it, you might as well start packing now.”

Madeline’s words finally broke through the self-pity. Cherie’s face crumbled as the reality of her situation hit home. Short, staccato sobs broke free, accompanied by copious tears. Madeline patted her shoulder in a half-hearted attempt to comfort her.

“What am I going to do?” Cherie moaned. “Madeline, what am I going to do?” She sank onto the large ottoman, her eyes locked on Madeline’s, like a drowning woman clinging to a life preserver. “Ross is going to blame me, I know he is. And my beautiful party—a year’s worth of planning—all ruined! Oh God, I wish I were dead!”

Madeline shot Detective Slovitch a look. He responded by meeting her halfway.

“This woman could probably do with some medical attention,” she said quietly.

“We really need to get a statement out of her first,” Slovitch said.

“Has she been any help to your partner so far?” Madeline challenged. Slovitch shook his head.

“I think she’s in shock, which unfortunately for her, manifests itself in rather a narcissistic way.”

“Have you added ‘psychoanalyst’ to your roster of professions?”

“No,” Madeline said, ignoring the barb, “but I’ve spent a solid twelve months with this woman and I know what makes her tick.”

“Are you speaking as a party planner or as a private investigator?” Slovitch asked.

“Why do you ask that?”

“Right now, I think you need to realize that you’re not really in a position to advocate for this woman.”

Madeline’s mouth opened, but she was unable to speak. Slovitch’s insinuation completely stymied her. Cherie Alexander was a mess; she was a woman who was constantly insecure about her social standing and feared for the future of her marriage. She disguised her bundle of insecurities with a childlike indulgence for wielding power over others, and spending money like it was minted specially for her use.

But was she a murderer? Madeline found the notion almost preposterous. The ‘almost’ part bothered her.

“Well, like you said, Detective Slovitch, I’m not really in a position to ‘advocate’ for her, so I’ll leave it to the pros. Did you still want me to be there when you take the housekeeper’s statement?” Detective Slovitch nodded thoughtfully before cocking his head, a signal for her to follow him.

When Cherie realized Madeline was not going to be staying with her, she panicked.

“Where’re you going? Please don’t leave me! I don’t know what to do.”

“Cooperate with the police. If you have a family attorney, it might not be a bad idea to give him or her a call.” This last suggestion had a sobering effect on Cherie. “And remember that Ross has just lost his mother.” Madeline gave her a look of pity mingled with disgust and left Cherie in Detective Eames’ capable hands.

TWENTY-ONE

“I had been keeping an eye on Miss Story throughout dinner, which is why I went to check up on her when I realized she and that girl had left the party,” Helen explained to Detective Slovitch. Her face was composed as she recounted her movements prior to Vivian’s body being discovered, but her hands gave her away. Her fingers squirmed nervously in their tight grasp, as if trying to wiggle free and escape the interrogation.

“What time was this?” Detective Slovitch asked. Madeline observed his body language as his gaze penetrated the potential suspect. Even the formidable Helen Bagley flinched under his seemingly placid scrutiny.

“Um…” Helen cocked her head, eyes averted as she thought back, “it had to have been almost nine o’clock. I remember all the guests were well into their entrees. That’s when I noticed the two vacant spots at Miss Story’s table. Everyone else was seated,” she said, her confidence reasserting itself. She stopped fidgeting and sat back ready to meet the detective’s inquiries with her usual no-nonsense authority. She had deftly managed to put Madeline’s presence out of her mind.

“Was Miss Story already back in her rooms when you caught up with her?”

“Yes. The girl was helping her undress when I got there.” Slovitch nodded for her to continue. “I asked if she was feeling okay. She said she felt a little drained from all the excitement. I asked if there was anything I could do to help. She said, yes, as a matter of fact, it would be a great relief to her if I could drive the girl home. My mouth must’ve dropped at the request. Miss Story has always been very kind and conscientious toward me. To ask me to leave my responsibilities in the middle of the party was so out of character for her.”

Helen’s focus went inward for a moment, as if she were reliving the scene. Detective Slovitch cleared his throat to bring her back to the present.

“Well, it was against my better judgment—to put it mildly—but I acquiesced. I turned down the bed while the girl finished getting her undressed. When Miss Story was all settled, Teresa and I went down to the kitchen so I could let my assistant, Elaine, know I had a quick errand I had to run. I grabbed my purse from my office, then we went to my car.”

“You and Teresa?”

“Yes, the girl, whatever her real name is, and I went down to my car.”

“Did you notice the time when you left?”

“Uh, yes. It was a quarter after nine.” Detective Slovitch looked at his watch. It was now 10:57.

“You got back here less than fifteen minutes ago. Where does she live, Thousand Oaks?” he asked, not bothering to hide his skepticism. Helen’s features hardened at his surly tone.

“No, she told me she lived out in Isla Vista.”

“Isla Vista is a twenty minute drive from here—forty minutes round trip, max, especially this time of night,” Slovitch said, leaning forward, hands planted on the arms of the chair, almost as if he were preparing to pounce on her. Even Madeline shifted uncomfortably as she noted the change in body language. Helen’s resolve faltered again. “Why did it take you seventy-five minutes instead of forty?”

It took Helen a couple beats to respond. “Well, it wouldn’t have taken so long to get back if that girl hadn’t jumped out at a stop sign on El Colegio Road and ran down a side street and into a culvert. It was pitch dark out there, no apartments or structures around. I drove down Camino Del Sur with the windows open, yelling for her to come back. She had left her purse on the seat.” Helen reached into her large handbag and brought out a beaded silk clutch. Judging by the style, Madeline guessed it had been loaned or given to the girl by Vivian.

“I knew she was running around, scared—no money, no phone and probably no key. I must’ve spent twenty minutes driving around in circles trying to find her.” Helen exhaled deeply, her large bosom heaving up and down as she relived the ordeal in her mind. She leaned over and handed the bag to Detective Slovitch, who opened it and inspected the contents. He took out each item and placed it on the side table to his right. After he had removed a tube of lip gloss, a cheap compact, a plastic comb, four twenty-dollar bills and a key, he turned the bag upside down and shook it. Nothing else came out.

Madeline had been hoping there’d be at least one form of identification, even a library card or a bus pass—something, anything, to prove they weren’t dealing with a phantom. She and Slovitch exchanged curious glances. The detective replaced the items in the clutch and handed it back to Helen. The housekeeper held up her hands and shook her head, rejecting it.

“This doesn’t tell us anything. I don’t need it for evidence,” Slovitch said. When Helen refused to take it from him, he got up and placed it on the round table between her and Madeline. “One of you can give it to her when she comes tomorrow.”

This last statement gave Madeline a jolt. What a horrible shock it would be for the mystery girl to learn her employer had been killed. If only I knew where to find her, I could tell her before she hears about it from the media.

“She won’t be coming back here. Ever,” Helen said. The looks she received from Madeline and the detective forced her to qualify her remark. “I fired her.”

“When did this happen?” Madeline asked, forgetting for a moment her place in this interview. When Detective Slovitch didn’t override the question, Helen’s gaze dropped to her lap before answering, as if she were trying to find the courage to fess up. She was bound to feel even worse when she learned of Vivian’s death.

“While I was driving her home.” Turning to Madeline, she said, “Regardless of what you may feel about that girl, it comes down to me to make sure the people on staff here are of the highest integrity. You told me yourself the address on her application doesn’t even exist. That alone is grounds for dismissal,” Helen concluded righteously.

“So, would that be the reason she bolted from your car, leaving her handbag with her money and house key behind?” Detective Slovitch asked. Helen colored at the implication.

“Look, we have laws in this country regarding employing illegal aliens. I was working for Mr. Alexander when the authorities came down on him for having an undocumented worker on the gardening staff. The media made hay with it and it cost him a lot of aggravation. The caretaker at the time was fired. I cannot afford to lose my job. That girl should’ve never stepped foot on the estate. I know Miss Story won’t be happy about it, but I’ve got a couple girls in mind who would easily fill the bill. Besides, how could I keep her on knowing she’s a thief? Mr. Alexander will be furious enough when he learns that his mother’s jewelry was stolen from her room.”

“That has yet to be proven,” Madeline said. Helen shrugged and raised her brows as if the fact that Teresa was in the country illegally was all the evidence she needed.

Detective Slovitch took a moment to digest this news and regroup his thoughts.

“Anything else you’ve left out?” he asked. Helen cleared her throat before expanding on her confession.

“I told her if she ever showed up on the property again, I’d call the INS. I think she got the message.”

“Okay, so you did your bit as an upstanding citizen…did you really drive around for twenty-plus minutes trying to find her?” Slovitch asked.

“Yes, I did. I may have strong feelings about illegal immigrants, but I’m not an uncaring bitch. I did try to find her—for twenty-some minutes—and by the time I gave up the search, I was so turned around, it took me forever to find the freeway entrance. Then when I got to the gate, I was detained while all these emergency vehicles passed through.” She let out a perturbed grunt and gave the detective and Madeline each a stern look.

“Now, can somebody please tell me what is going on here? I do run this household, after all. I believe that gives me the right to know what the hell is happening.”

Madeline turned her attention to Slovitch. He remained silent as he tapped his fingers on the armrests. She looked at Helen to gauge her reaction. As she suspected, the silence was making the housekeeper shift nervously in her seat.

“Is it Cherie?” she asked, her tone censorious. “Don’t tell me she’s…”

“She’s what?” Detective Slovitch asked, suddenly intrigued by Helen’s concern. Helen turned to Madeline in hopes of getting a reading from her expression. Madeline’s features revealed nothing. She, too, was curious about Helen’s suspicion.

“Well, when I last saw her, she was in a fit of rage again.”

“When was this?”

“It was on my way up to check on Miss Story.” Detective Slovitch consulted his notes.

“Around 9:00?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And where did you see her?”

“I saw her just as I got to the top of the staircase. I heard her screaming. I looked down the hallway and I could see her in her dressing room, walking back and forth in front of her door, which was open. She was throwing her clothing and shoes and anything handy. I didn’t want any part of her histrionics, so I continued on to Miss Story’s room.”

“Was she still raging when you left with Miss Story’s companion?” Detective Slovitch asked.

“I don’t know. I took the girl down the back staircase.”

“I see. Is that the way you usually go downstairs?”

“Yes. And the only reason I took the main stairs up was because it was quickest way to get to Miss Story’s end of the house. I didn’t want to be away from my duties any longer than necessary.”

“I see,” Detective Slovitch said. Whether he believed her or not, Madeline couldn’t tell. Her own radar was picking up on something, but she couldn’t figure out what exactly.

“Now can you please tell me what’s going on?”

“Miss Story is dead,” Detective Slovitch said. A trembling hand flew to Helen’s mouth.

“Oh, dear God, no…” Her face became ashen and Madeline thought for a moment she might faint. “What happened? Was it her heart…?” she asked, her voice no louder than a whisper.

“We believe she was murdered.”

Helen’s eyes widened. She shook her head and tried to rise out of the chair only to sink back down. “Who on earth could possibly want to…to do that to Miss Story? She was the kindest, sweetest woman you could ever want to meet…” Helen’s voice trailed off. Without warning, she burst into tears. “Poor Ross! He’s going to be just devastated…” She suddenly snapped to alertness. “Does he know? Has someone contacted him?”

“Yes. He’s on his way home.” Detective Slovitch consulted his watch again. “He should be here around midnight.”

Madeline found Helen’s reaction to this bulletin rather unusual. The color came back to her face and her eyes brightened at the prospect of her employer being on the scene so soon.

“Well, in that case, there are plenty things I need to see to,” she said, standing up and smoothing down her dress.

“I’m afraid your regular duties will have to wait,” Slovitch said as he also stood up. “I understand there are surveillance cameras stationed around the house.” Helen shot Madeline a look before answering. It was the first time she had physically acknowledged her presence.

“Yes, there are several.”

“Good. I’ll need you to show us where the monitor is and walk us through the footage.”

“Now?” Helen asked, clearly put out by the prospect.

“Yes, now.”

TWENTY-TWO

Naturally, the surveillance equipment on the Alexander estate was the most advanced money could buy. It took Helen several minutes to figure out how to call up the relevant footage. Madeline started to wonder if perhaps she was deliberately stalling. Maybe there was evidence that contradicted her previous statements.

This theory was laid aside once Helen pulled up the recordings taken from the vantage point of both stairways. As the time stamp advanced past nine o’clock, Helen could be seen climbing the steps, hand on the railing. Shortly afterwards, the three of them watched as Cherie mounted the stairs, wobbling slightly in her four-inch stilettos. Both figures disappeared once they cleared the landing.

“No cameras upstairs?” Detective Slovitch asked, though he had already guessed the answer.

“No. Mr. Alexander doesn’t want their privacy invaded.” Slovitch understood the reasoning, though it was a shame in this instance.

“How many people are aware of that?” he asked.

“Everyone who works here. Everyone who normally works in the house, I should say. I doubt the groundskeepers know about the particulars of the interior surveillance.”

Detective Slovitch rewound the feed past Cherie’s appearance. This time Vivian and her companion could be seen as they slowly climbed the stairs. They reached the top at 8:49. This meant it had taken Lauren more than thirty minutes to deliver Vivian’s urgent message. Had Vivian known her life was in danger? This thought made Madeline feel sick all over again.

Detective Slovitch fast-forwarded through the footage, stopping as Cherie appeared in the foyer. Just before she reached the stairs, she turned back, said something, dabbed her nose and continued up to the second floor.

Madeline recognized the scene. She had been just on the other side of the French doors, where she had been observing the party. Detective Slovitch made a note of the time—9:05—and rewound to Helen’s appearance. At 9:01, Helen appeared on the screen. After recording the time, he skipped to Madeline’s ascent. The time read 9:25.

Slovitch jumped through the tape, stopping it when Sally appeared on the stairs at 9:37.

“Who is this?” he asked.

“That’s Sally Verlain, Cherie’s makeup artist. She came into Cherie’s room just as I was leaving,” Madeline informed him.

Slovitch fast-forwarded the tape. At 9:45, the sheriff’s deputies stationed at the house raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He logged the time and switched to the surveillance footage of the backstairs and clicked through the frames looking for any movement. Helen and Teresa appeared at 9:11. He ran the footage at normal speed, but it still seemed to Madeline that they were moving at a fast clip.

“Is that normal speed?” she asked.

“Yep.” Detective Slovitch backed it up and watched it again.

“I told you I was not keen on abandoning my duties. And I’ve had a bad feeling about that girl since the moment she arrived here,” Helen said defensively.

“But you both left Miss Story’s suite at the same time, right? No one doubled back?”

“That’s correct.”

Madeline’s head was swimming with doubts. Everything lined up so perfectly with Helen’s account of events. There had been no one else going up or down either staircase after Helen and Teresa went down and Madeline ascended.

Again, she had an uneasy feeling about Cherie. Detective Slovitch hadn’t let on what his thoughts were one way or the other, but process of elimination was going to put Cherie at the right place and the right time. No one else fit that window of opportunity. Unless…unless someone had been hiding in Vivian’s room prior to her arrival. That would take a lot of luck…unless there was a reason for Vivian suddenly not feeling well.

Madeline got up and stretched while Slovitch continued replaying footage for various cameras stationed inside the house and around the grounds.

“I’m going to get some water. Anyone else want some?”

“I could use some coffee,” Detective Slovitch said without taking his eyes off the screen.

“I’ll make some coffee and get your water,” Helen said, rising out of her chair.

“No, I need you to stay here and explain these locations to me. Madeline, you seem to know your way around here…” he said, this time glancing over his shoulder. Their eyes met, but Madeline wasn’t sure if there was a message in them for her or not. If there was, she hadn’t picked up on it.

“I do.”

“We keep the ground coffee in the freezer,” Helen said. It was clear in the way she said this she didn’t like interlopers on her turf. Though Madeline was hardly a stranger in this house, she had managed to get on Helen’s bad side. Not having any more obligations to fulfill in Helen’s domain was a huge weight off Madeline’s shoulders.

“Thanks,” she muttered, grateful for a chance to be alone to sort out her thoughts. She exited the housekeeper’s office and walked through the maze of butler pantries and satellite food prep areas to the heart of the kitchen. She took a glass out of a cupboard and filled it with water from the tap. She drank it down while she routed out the coffee and stood in front of the coffeemaker, her mind too frazzled to focus on the simple task before her.

“Need some help?” Mike asked, making Madeline jump. She swung around and found him sitting at the far end of a kitchen island the size of an SUV.

“Christ! You scared the hell out of me,” she panted, leaning against the counter for support. “What are you still doing here?”

“I told Detective Eames I was working with you on the theft case and was undercover as a waiter so I could observe the staff. I also told him I had to wait and take you home. You didn’t expect me to abandon you in the midst of this crisis, did you?”

“With everything that’s happened, I totally forgot you were here.”

“Thanks, it’s nice to feel needed,” Mike said with mock sarcasm. Madeline hung her head, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan escaping her throat. “Why are they keeping you here so long?”

“Because Vivian hired me shortly before she was murdered, Slovitch wanted me to hang around, give him feedback. Helen was apparently off the premises when Vivian was killed, which is pretty weird on the face of it.”

“That is pretty strange—leaving with a major party underway? How long was she gone?”

“Well over an hour. And what’s even weirder is she left with Vivian’s mystery companion. The camera caught them going down the back staircase together.”

“So, she’s got her alibi,” Mike said. “I guess they both do.” Madeline let out a heavy sigh as she stared off into space. “And speaking of cameras, the media’s already all over this story.”

“Damn. How do you know?”

“I watched the 11:00 news. They’re making hay out of it. I imagine we’ll be seeing a lot of coverage over the murder of a beloved star, mother of Ross Alexander, and the search for the killer. The tabloids will be feeding off this for weeks.”

Madeline closed her eyes tightly, as if she could block out the grim future. After a few seconds, she inhaled deeply and exhaled. She did this three times, picturing herself at the karate studio, with Master Coffee coaching her. The visualization and the breathing helped. When she opened her eyes, she had almost forgotten where she was.

“What are you eating?” she asked, snapping back to the scene in front of her. Mike looked down at what was left of the Dover sole, spring pea puree and Yukon Gold whipped potatoes with a chanterelle sauce.

“Leftovers. You want some?” Madeline’s salivary glands became over-stimulated at the mere whiff of food. She was starving yet simultaneously repulsed by the thought of eating after what had happened.

“No, thanks,” she said, turning back to the chore at hand.

Mike wiped his mouth on a napkin and crossed the kitchen, wrapping his arms around his partner. He held her without speaking—a particular talent he had—and Madeline felt most of the grief and stress fall away from her.

“I’ve got to make some coffee for Slovitch,” she said, gently pulling away. She would’ve much rather stayed in the comfort of his protective embrace and try to forget where she was and what had happened in this unhappy mansion.

“There’s some in the room around the corner. Philippe had three big pots brewed before he and his crew took off.”

“Philippe is an angel,” Madeline said as she rubbed at a kink in her neck.

“I’ll get it for you. Are you going to have some?” Mike asked as he checked the cupboards for simple coffee mugs.

“No, thanks. I’d really like to sleep tonight,” she said, helping him with the search. “But I’ll take two, in case Helen wants some.

“I’m so sorry you were the one to find her,” Mike said as he poured coffee into two oversize cups. He placed the coffee carafe on the counter and searched Madeline’s face for clues to her state of mind. “Are you okay, Maddie?”

Madeline’s eyes welled with tears. I would’ve been okay if you hadn’t said anything, she thought as she wiped at the tears with a napkin. Unfortunately, one look at Mike to reassure him that she was okay was all it took to burst the dam.

“I can’t do this right now,” she said, transferring the cups, spoons, sugar and creamer to a tray. She quickly dried her eyes, sniffled and pulled herself together, at least on the outside. She promised herself a proper unraveling once she got home.

“Let me carry that for you,” Mike said.

“No, I’ve got it,” she said. “I’ll try to find out how much longer Slovitch wants me to hang around. I’ll be right back.”

Halfway to Helen’s office, Madeline regretted refusing Mike’s help. The tray seemed a lot heavier than it should have; fatigue—emotional, physical, and mental—had taken its toll on her resources. She hadn’t had anything resembling a proper meal all day and was definitely feeling the effects of acute hunger.

“Thanks,” Detective Slovitch said as Madeline slid the tray onto Helen’s desk.

“I brought you a cup too, if you want it,” she said to Helen. The housekeeper looked up at her, resentment written all over her face. Madeline chose to ignore it. “How’s it going?” she asked Slovitch.

“Good. I figured out how to send all this data to my computer so I can study it at length later on.”

“That’s great,” Madeline said, hands on hips as she tried to stay alert. “Does that mean you’re going to be finishing up soon?” Slovitch looked up at her and smiled before pouring a liberal amount of cream and sugar into his coffee.

“It means you can go any time you like, provided you can be at my office first thing in the morning,” he said. Madeline caught the message this time: her involvement in this case was far from over.

“Sure. What’s ‘first thing?’” Slovitch looked at his watch. It was already quarter ’til midnight. He ran a hand down his face and blinked hard a few times before answering.

“Whew…” he sighed, “nine?” Madeline nodded her consent.

“Does that mean you’re finished here for the night?” Helen asked as pleasantly as her mood would allow.

“No. I plan to speak to Mr. Alexander as soon as he arrives.”

“The poor man has just lost his mother,” Helen protested. “He’ll be emotionally wrung out.”

“I realize that, Ms. Bagley. It’s just protocol.” Slovitch took a sip of his coffee as he regarded her. “But you’re free to go, for now. I’m sure I’ll have more questions for you when I come back tomorrow.”

Helen rose out of her chair and stood there, stymied by the dynamics of the detective’s presence. She didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone in her office, but it was clear he had dismissed her.

“I think you might be more comfortable waiting for Mr. Alexander in the living room,” she suggested. “That way you’ll be able to catch him when he comes in.”

“I’m fine here. The deputies at the gates will notify me when he arrives. In the meantime, I’m going to keep looking at the tapes. Great coffee, by the way.” Helen glared at the detective, then said an obligatory good night.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Madeline said after they listened to Helen’s footfalls retreat down the hallway.

“What’s your take on all this?” Slovitch asked.

“About…what…exactly?”

“Her, the girl, Mrs. Alexander…”

Madeline groaned and sank into the chair just vacated by Helen. It was still warm, and that slightly repulsed her. “I…don’t know,” she replied, shaking her head. “I really haven’t had enough time to process any of this.”

Slovitch’s gaze lingered on her for a moment. “Fair enough. See you in the morning.”

“Good luck with Ross,” Madeline said, happy to be discharged from duty. When she left the room, she looked back. Slovitch was already reviewing the surveillance footage again. She had to admire the man’s dedication. For the most part, his job was a thankless one. She certainly didn’t envy him having to interview Ross Alexander the moment he returned home.

As she retraced her steps back to the kitchen, she was overwhelmed by the sudden urge to flee as fast as her feet could take her. It hit her then that the Alexander estate had never really felt like a home; it was merely a grand edifice in which to stockpile the trappings of wealth, an announcement of the owners’ station in life. She wished with all her heart she’d never have to step foot on these unhappy grounds again.

TWENTY-THREE

Madeline ordered French toast and a glass of milk and handed the menu to the waitress. Mike ordered the Big Kahuna: three scrambled eggs, a sausage patty, bacon and cheddar cheese on rye toast with cottage fries, and a hot chocolate.

“How can you still be hungry?” Madeline asked. “You just ate.” Mike checked his watch.

“That was over an hour ago. I’m hungry,” he said with a shrug. “Murder does that to me.” Madeline let out an exhausted wheeze, holding her head in her hands. “You look wiped out,” Mike said. For some reason, Madeline didn’t seem happy to be told this.

“Hmmph,” she responded. “This has been one of the most surreal days of my life. Actually, the whole week has been like a bad dream.”

She glanced around at her fellow late-night diners, mainly to keep from looking at Mike. He knew her better than anyone, and she didn’t feel like being under his microscope just then. Mike could sense this, but at the same time, he couldn’t stop being himself, no matter how hard he tried.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked.

“No. I don’t. I’m already sick to death of talking about it and I’ve barely started.”

“I realize that, and I’m sorry you have to go through all this shit. But sometimes it’s good to have someone you can just vent to.” Mike shrugged again. “I’m just putting it out there.” He wanted to take her hand, but he knew better than to do that.

He sat back and pretended to enjoy the dubious ambience of Henry’s Hole-in-the-Wall. More like Henry’s Dump, he thought as his eyes roved over the odd assortment of dingy nautical items like old life preservers, diving gear and a ship’s wheel, along with out-of-state license plates, plastic leis and competing beer posters.

Even he felt bored with the task of trying to find something appealing about the décor. In his estimation, the place survived was because it was open around the clock and the food was cheap, and better than just edible. He figured it was a sign of Madeline’s frazzled state of mind that she hadn’t complained when he suggested coming here.

Mike looked back at his partner and was startled by the sharp contrast between her and the surroundings. At that moment, she reminded him of Audrey Hepburn standing in front of Tiffany’s wearing a tiara while eating a Danish out of a paper bag. Not that Madeline looked like her, but she was dressed like she should be dining at Le Cirque, not Henry’s Hole.

“A hundred-dollar bill for your thoughts,” he said, breaking into her silent contemplation. He managed to get a small smile out of her, which he found encouraging. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

Madeline shifted in the semi-circular booth, her eyes floating around the dimly lit room. “I’d hate to see this place with the lights turned up,” she said. Not exactly what Mike was shooting for, but he took it as a positive sign. At least she didn’t lash out at him.

“I was hoping you might share your thoughts about what happened tonight.”

The air went out of Madeline’s lungs and she seemed to shrink a little. “I’m furious with Lauren,” she said. “When we were looking at the surveillance footage, I realized how much time had passed between Vivian giving her the note and her giving it to me. If she hadn’t been so damned star-struck, I might’ve been able to save Vivian’s life.” Madeline’s face hardened at the thought. “At least I would’ve been able to find out what she wanted to see me about. That alone could’ve prevented the murder.”

The waitress appeared with their food. Madeline glared at hers like it was the most contemptible mess she’d ever seen. As soon as the waitress left, she pushed it away.

“You need to eat,” Mike insisted, pushing it back toward her. “Look, I shouldn’t have brought this up… Eat. We can talk about this later.” Madeline folded her arms across her chest stubbornly. Mike pushed his plate away. “Okay, talk. We’ll eat later.”

Madeline let her breath seep out through her nose. She leaned across the table and snagged one of Mike’s fries and ate it. Mike pushed his plate closer, but she waved it away.

“I’m just so furious with myself for detouring to check on that idiot Cherie first. I wasted precious minutes trying to talk that bubblehead out of her funk. She was just sitting there, nearly naked, making no move to get herself dressed and get back down to the party—her damn party. I had to cajole her into action. Fortunately, the makeup girl came and I let her take it from there.”

Madeline cadged another potato off Mike’s plate, lost in thought. She ate it absentmindedly, then looked at Mike, a startled expression on her face. What she saw was the same look of sudden comprehension on his face.

“She was just sitting there…undressed…in a funk?” he asked. Madeline nodded her head slowly. She brushed her hair back as her gaze went inward again. Mike watched on as the realization of what she had encountered hit home.

“Good God! Cherie.” Madeline’s eyes widened as goose bumps ran down her spine. She was temporarily at a loss for words. “Oh…shit,” she said at length, after reviewing all the comings and goings on the stairs in her mind’s eye. Cherie had gone up on cloud nine, yet she was a basket case when Madeline found her twenty minutes later.

“Do you really think she’s capable of killing someone?” Mike asked as Madeline rooted around in her bag for the notes she had made. “She sounds like a self-centered ditz with a prima donna complex, but…killing her own mother-in-law with dozens of high-profile people waiting for her to return…? I really find that hard to believe.”

Madeline regarded him silently for a moment. His assessment of Cherie was pretty accurate; so was the fact that she was playing hostess to a large crowd. Yet, Madeline couldn’t completely discount her possible involvement based on those factors, when in reality she had the opportunity that no one else shared…at least that they were aware of at this point.

“The whole thing is hard to believe,” Madeline said as she smoothed out the piece of paper detailing who went up and down the stairs and when. “But here are some specifics that are hard to argue with.” She explained her shorthand and what it meant as far as a window of opportunity was concerned.

“See, between 8:49—when Vivian and Teresa went up the main stairs—and 9:25 when I went up, only Cheri and Helen were seen going up either staircase. And since we have clear evidence that Helen and Teresa left together, that only leaves Cherie. And Sally, who came up after I did. But judging from the time stamp of my 911 call, she didn’t have time to detour to Vivian’s room first. So, it’s back to Cherie.”

“And you,” Mike said.

“Ha, ha.”

“Hey, I know you didn’t do it, but you had as much opportunity as Cherie did,” Mike pointed out, shrugging innocently.

“Do you think I killed Vivian?” Madeline asked, her voice sharp with impatience.

“Of course not, but I’m not law enforcement. I mean, you can’t assume SBPD isn’t going to have a picture of you tacked up on their incident board. I’m just saying you have to consider that.” Madeline drew back as though she’d been slapped.

“Well, thank you very much for bringing that to my attention and making a hideous night even worse,” she said. After smoldering for a few seconds, she flagged down the waitress.

“Are you still serving alcohol?” The waitress looked at her watch.

“Yeah. What would you like?”

“A Maker’s Mark Manhattan, up. Make it a double.”

“We don’t have Maker’s Mark.”

Madeline craned to see the back bar. “Jack Daniels is fine.”

“Anything for you?” the waitress asked Mike. He looked at the waitress two beats longer than necessary, which made Madeline perversely happy. Not that she wanted to see him mar his eight years of sobriety just so she could gloat.

Madeline shook her head to dispel the nastiness that had seeped into her tone. This ordeal was almost more than she could cope with, on top of everything else.

“I’m sorry I said that,” Mike offered contritely.

“No, you were right to point that out. I certainly had the opportunity. Until the coroner’s report is released, we won’t know what the ‘means’ were. If Vivian wasn’t strangled with something in her room, then that would probably put me in the clear.”

“Unless you, or someone else, grabbed something from one of the other rooms upstairs,” Mike pointed out.

“Right. That could be true in any case,” Madeline said thoughtfully. The waitress appeared with a Manhattan in each hand.

“We only have the one size,” she explained as she set both drinks in front of Madeline.

“Thanks,” she said, embarrassed by her obvious need for an alcoholic sedative. She took a tentative sip from the closest glass. It went down smoothly enough to encourage further sips.

“Feel better?” Mike asked.

“I feel like a shameless drunk,” she said, leaning back against the booth, drink in hand.

“You could never be a drunk.”

“You don’t know that,” Madeline replied in a rare moment of self-pity.

“If you haven’t crawled into the bottle to escape reality after all you’ve been through, it’s never going to happen.” Madeline smiled and set her drink down. She pulled the plate of now-cold French toast toward her and cut off a bite. Mike picked up her notes and tried to make sense of them.

“H, arrow up, 9:01? Is that when Helen is seen going up the stairs?” Madeline nodded, her mouth full of food. She hurriedly chewed it and washed it down with a sizeable swallow of the Manhattan.

“And see here, H &T down BS 9:11. There was a fourteen minute gap between them leaving by the backstairs and me going up the front. It isn’t recorded anywhere, but I made about a ten-minute detour to Cherie’s room prior to discovering Vivian.”

“Were Helen or Teresa seen on any other cameras after they went down the back staircase?”

“They were seen driving out together at 9:22,” Madeline said.

“So, that leaves both of them in the clear. I wonder if there’s another way to get to the second floor, like a trellis, or something.”

“I don’t remember one. There are three balconies off the second floor, so someone could’ve entered and exited that way.” The two were quiet as they considered that while they ate. “But I’d be very surprised if those balconies weren’t covered by video surveillance. I’m sure we’ll find that out tomorrow.” The thought of the fast-approaching appointment with Detective Slovitch made Madeline lay down her fork.

“I’m ready to get out of here whenever you are,” Mike said, picking up on her renewed fatigue.

“I’m ready,” Madeline said, killing the first Manhattan. Mike signaled for the check and paid it. He pulled the table aside so Madeline wouldn’t have to squirm over the worn booth to get out. The second, untouched drink sloshed over the rim as the table jostled. Madeline regarded it with a smirk.

“You’re right—I don’t really have the makings of an alcoholic,” she said with a dispirited laugh as they weaved through the tables toward the exit.

“Don’t worry, I’ve done enough drinking in my life for both of us,” Mike said, holding the door open for her. What he didn’t tell her was how close he’d come to slipping, mainly due to worrying about her.

“You know, the one thing you haven’t mentioned is motive,” Mike said as he opened the passenger side door for Madeline.

“That’s the tricky part,” she said, slipping in and fastening her seatbelt as Mike walked around to the driver’s side. Once he was seated, she continued. “Out of the four people who had the opportunity—as far as we know now—I can only see Cherie or Teresa having any reason for wanting Vivian out of the picture.”

“Teresa because Vivian might have confronted her about the missing jewels…?” Madeline nodded. “And Cherie…because…she’s out of touch with reality…?”

“In the year that I’ve been working with her, I’ve noticed Cherie becoming more paranoid around her mother-in-law, like she thinks Vivian was giving her son negative feedback about her while he’s out of town.”

“Do you think she was?” Mike asked, turning right onto Carrillo Street, heading west.

“I doubt it. I don’t think that was really Vivian’s style. She wasn’t a mean person at all. I think she actually felt sorry for Cherie. I know she didn’t approve of everything her daughter-in-law did, but there’s a big generation gap between them. Still, I think Vivian would’ve rather seen her son have a successful marriage with Cherie than go through another divorce.”

“Where are we going, your place or mine?” Mike interrupted as they crossed the intersection at San Pascual and headed up Carrillo Hill. They were almost to the turnoff that would’ve taken them to Madeline’s house.

For the last several hours, a long, hot soak in a bubble bath and her extra-cushiony slippers had been Madeline’s promise to herself for having survived this tragic night. But as she thought about the new security system Brian had installed earlier that day—was it really the same day?—she didn’t feel up to wrangling with the sophisticated technology in her current state of mind. She could easily envision setting off the alarm and having another encounter with Santa Barbara’s finest.

“Your place,” she said. She tilted her head back and decided to enjoy the ride. The longer she could stay off her aching feet, the better.

“My place it is,” Mike said, revving the engine in order to bound up the steep hill.

“Take it easy, Andretti. I’m in no rush. I’d rather get there in one piece than not get there at all,” she teased him.

“It’s your vehicle’s fault. It just wants to go!”

Madeline smiled and let her mind wander back to the previous topic. “And we can forget motive as far as Teresa is concerned, because she didn’t have the opportunity. Even if she was so inclined, she had Helen in the room with her.”

“True. And there’d be no reason for Helen to lie about being in Vivian’s room at the same time as Teresa…?

“No,” Madeline said dismissively. “Hey, seriously, go easy on this road.” They had started the descent down the other side of the hill, on a road that was made dicier by the alternating curves.

“I can’t slow down. I’ve got the brake pedal to the floor and nothing’s happening!” Mike said, his voice full of alarm.

“Oh shit!” Madeline said, reflexively pushing back against the seat, feet pressed hard against the floorboards, as if somehow that would help matters. Realizing it wouldn’t, she grabbed the parking brake on Mike’s side of the armrest and pulled up on it, bracing herself. Nothing happened.

“Oh God, oh no…” Madeline said, her voice weak with terror. In an instant, the realization of what had happened hit home. She had been thrown off her guard by all the mayhem of the last several hours; vigilance for her own safety had gone right out the window.

“That fucking Usherwood!” Mike swore. He began to try slowing the vehicle’s descent by slaloming, which at the speed they were going, almost rolled the SUV on its side. As the headlights’ beams swung erratically, Mike saw a chance and took it.

“Hold on, Maddie!” he warned as he cranked the wheel to the right. The SUV skidded sideways to the left. Mike held the steering wheel tight, turning it the opposite direction to straighten them out. The backend swung to the right. Mike corrected the trajectory by bringing the wheel back to the center.

These actions took seconds, terrifyingly long seconds. But as they felt the backend on the driver’s side connect with a stationary object, the airbags inflated. The first impact did little to slow their descent. Though they couldn’t really feel it, the first obstacle was actually two objects. The airbags were already deflating when the vehicle immediately took the impact of three more similar objects. This slowed the car somewhat, though it continued to slide like it was on ice.

They hit another grouping of something large. This reduced their speed enough so they could see which way they were pointed. It wasn’t good. They were now perpendicular to the road and could actually feel the car struggle to remain upright as gravity propelled them down the hill. They each clung to the door handles for dear life.

The SUV continued to shift direction as it plowed across driveways and bounced over curbs. This repeated movement, which was as terrifying as it was painful, shifted the frontend of the vehicle so that it was now headed downhill, rear end first. Mike and Madeline looked at each other, their eyes wide, too scared to breathe. They felt the vehicle as it rose and then took another hit as they careened into something else. This time they could actually hear the soft crunch as one by one the objects were mowed down by the Audi. They could also tell that whatever was wedged underneath them had brought the SUV to a slow, skidding halt.

“Are you okay, Maddie?” Mike asked, his hand reaching across the car in search of hers. It took Madeline a couple of seconds to find her voice.

“I think so. Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” They could hear the sounds of people yelling.

“What did we hit?” Madeline asked. Mike could hear the threat of hysteria in her voice.

“Trashcans,” Mike said. He sat there numbly. He couldn’t believe it had worked.

“Trashcans?” Madeline echoed, her voice raspy as she cried with relief.

“Yeah, trashcans.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Mike and Madeline stood on the sidewalk near the banged up Audi as they waited for the paramedics and the tow truck to arrive. The police had finally gotten everyone to go back inside their homes; the squawk of their radios continued to punctuate the stillness of the night. Madeline was shivering under the blanket that some kind resident, whose trash cans they had probably obliterated, had wrapped around her. She wasn’t really cold, just in shock.

Despite their harrowing brush with mortality, neither of them felt there was any need for medical attention; they were sore, but nothing seemed broken. They were lucky the cops had arrived as quickly as they had, given all the excitement and need for personnel at the Alexander estate. First thing the officers on the scene did after making sure there were no fatalities or life-threatening casualties, was to put Mike through a round of sobriety tests.

After he finally convinced them he hadn’t been drinking, he gave them Federal Agent Caulfield’s number and told Officer Cardoza to let him know Lionel Usherwood had nearly succeeded in killing them.

“How do you figure that?” Officer Henley asked.

“The brakes failed, both of them. Get Agent Caulfield on the line. The fiend who messed with the brake lines is one of his cases. The body that was found a few days ago at Lake Cachuma? Same guy,” Mike said. This last statement earned him the first acknowledgement of credibility he’d received so far. Both officers were now taking a greater interest in the situation. Mike took out a copy of his P.I. license and several business cards and handed them to the officers.

“If the homeowners contact this number, we can provide them with Ms. Dawkins’ insurance info.” In addition to eight garbage cans, the Audi had also taken out two mailboxes and a curbside tree. “But in the meantime, I think you should also call Detective Slovitch, since he’s aware of the threats on my partner’s life.”

“Detective Slovitch is involved in a homicide in Montecito,” Officer Cardoza informed them.

“We know, we just came from there,” Madeline said, surprising everyone. Those were the first words she’d uttered since the police arrived.

“I’m going to make those calls,” Officer Henley said to his partner, consulting his pad for Agent Caulfield’s number.

The city maintenance crew had just started picking up the debris that was strewn in a wide swath across the road and sidewalks when Detective Slovitch arrived on the scene. Traffic, what little there was at that late hour, had been rerouted through the side streets, and hazard lights and florescent orange cones created a temporary holding area for Mike and Madeline.

“It had to have been Usherwood’s doing,” Mike said as Detective Slovitch approached. Slovitch shined his flashlight up and down the area, getting a sense of what had taken place. “The brake lines must’ve been tampered with.”

“That’s what I heard.” Turning to Madeline, Slovitch asked, “This was the same car you had at the Alexander property this evening?” Madeline nodded. “Was it there all day?”

“No, I went home around 3:00 to get ready for the event and get acquainted with my new security system.” Madeline laughed humorlessly at the wasted effort.

“And the brakes didn’t seem soft to you on the drive back to Montecito?”

“No.” The detective and the two P.I.s quickly connected the dots.

“So you stopped somewhere on your way home…” Slovitch guessed. Madeline and Mike looked at each other as they nodded.

“Henry’s Hole,” Mike said. “We were there about forty-five, fifty minutes.” Mike looked to Madeline for confirmation, not only for the time frame but the opportunity. Slovitch motioned for one of the patrolmen.

“I want a forensics team to go over this vehicle. In addition to the brakes, have them scan it for a tracking device.”

“Got it,” Officer Cardoza said. “What about these folks? You want us to take them home?” This sounded like an excellent idea to Madeline, but before she could voice her opinion, Agent Caulfield pulled up next to them. He was barely out of the car when Mike’s famous temper blew.

“So now you probably think she cut her own brake lines in an effort to get someone’s attention,” he taunted Caulfield. “You think she maybe over-played her hand a little this time? I mean, after all, we almost got killed.”

Agent Caulfield’s expression and body language said loud and clear he didn’t take that kind of crap from anyone but his superiors, and certainly not from a couple private dicks.

“Tone it down, Delaney, or I’ll have you sitting on your hands in federal custody.”

Mike’s reaction was so swift, only Madeline caught it in time. The blanket fell from her shoulders as soon as he threw the strike. She blocked it—blocked it and stopped his attack with a well-aimed strike of her own that she pulled a centimeter from Mike’s temple. After staring him into submission, she turned to face the FBI agent, whose hand rested on the handle of his pistol.

“You even think of doing something like that again Delaney, and you will be charged with attempted assault on a federal agent,” Caulfield threatened.

“Can you really blame a man for being furious that the ineptitude and lack of concern on the part of the ‘federal government’ almost cost us our lives? Do you think the only people in this country who rate protection by the ‘federal government’ are convicts that rat out other convicts?”

“Ms. Dawkins—”

“Take a look around you, Agent Caulfield. Do you not recognize a potentially deadly scenario that was avoided by the quick reflexes of the man who at this moment thinks the federal government is basically using me for bait?” Madeline asked scornfully, her eyes riveted to the agent’s.

“And you know what the most pathetic part of all this is? Lionel Usherwood has been tiptoeing in front of your men and they’re just too damned blind to see it. All I can say is I’m sure glad I have my own protection, because so far law enforcement has really let me down.”

Madeline let her words sink in before turning her back on the agent. Officer Cardoza motioned for her and Mike to come with him. He let them in the backseat of the cruiser and got in the front. Officer Henley got Mike’s address and made a U-turn, heading in the direction of Shoreline Drive.

Mike put his arm around Madeline, who was now shivering with cold and contempt. At least I’m not scared out of my mind anymore, she thought, though as soon as she realized this, the memory of who had unleashed their recent terror soon filled her mind with dread. Dread and a spark of defiance.

If we have to fight this war by ourselves, then that’s what we’re going to do, she vowed to herself, moving in closer to Mike, her one true ally, the only person she could really count on.

Detective Slovitch handed Madeline and Mike each a Styrofoam cup of hot, weak coffee. He sat down opposite them in the interview room and took of sip from his mug, then leaned back in his chair, rocking almost imperceptibly as he gathered his thoughts.

Neither Madeline nor Mike looked very happy about being there. They both seemed stiff and sore when they came in, no doubt due to their roller coaster ride the night before. Even so, Madeline comported herself in a professional, neutral manner, and looked not much worse for wear.

The same couldn’t exactly be said about Mike. He was making no attempt to hide his irritation. He was radiating aggression, something Slovitch normally wouldn’t tolerate. But in this case, the detective was willing to cut him a little slack. They were both on the same side, though Slovitch had the power of the law behind him and the authority to use it. If Mike couldn’t control his temper, then Slovitch would have him removed from the premises.

“How is forensics coming along with the car?” Mike asked. He’d wasted enough time sitting on his hands at Detective Slovitch’s leisure. His time could be better spent running down various lines of inquiry, which he was anxious to get started on.

“I don’t know,” Slovitch answered. “Caulfield had it taken down to the FBI lab in L.A.”

“Why?” Mike didn’t bother to hide his impatience. “Isn’t that just going to take longer? We need answers now. The Bureau has already shown us where Madeline rates in their book.”

“Actually, they outrank us, and since this attempted murder may be connected with one of their cases, it falls under their jurisdiction. We’ll be playing second fiddle if it turns out that the brake lines were deliberately tampered with.” Mike’s jaw tightened at the roundabout suggestion that their brush with death might be something other than intentional.

“Then what are we doing here?” Mike asked angrily.

“I assume you’re here in your capacity as chauffeur,” Slovitch replied, eyeing Mike coldly. “Ms. Dawkins is here because of the murder at the Alexander estate. You can have a seat outside if all this is boring you. But don’t go too far. Agent Caulfield should be here soon to discuss your case.” Mike let out a peeved snort, but kept his temper in check for Madeline’s benefit.

“Have you heard back from the coroner?” Madeline asked, trying to initiate a more constructive dialog.

“Not yet, but he said we should have something soon…” Before he could finish the sentence, Detective Eames opened the door and handed the autopsy report to his partner. “We’re about to get started,” Eames said.

“I’ll be right there,” Slovitch replied, taking a minute to peruse the coroner’s findings.

“Well, it was definitely death by strangulation,” he said at length.

“Does he have an idea what was used?” Madeline asked.

“I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you at this time,” he said, laying the report face down on the table. Madeline glanced nonchalantly at Mike. He had predicted she would be treated the same as everyone else who’d had opportunity and means.

“Ordinarily, I wouldn’t be against your professional input, but in this case it’s not really appropriate, seeing as how you haven’t been eliminated as a potential suspect yet.”

“I see,” Madeline said.

“According to the surveillance tapes, there was a fourteen-minute gap between the time you reached the second floor landing and the time you called 911.”

“Yes, that appears to be correct,” Madeline said, making and holding direct eye contact with the detective. “As I told you last night, I went to check on Mrs. Alexander before I went to see Miss Story. And as I said last night, I truly regret not checking on Miss Story first. She might still be alive if I had.”

“Did you see anyone else on the second floor?”

“Just Sally Verlain. She came to Mrs. Alexander’s room about four or five minutes before I made the call to 911.” Slovitch consulted his notes.

“That would’ve been 9:37.”

“That sounds about right. And she can verify that I was in Cherie’s room trying to get her pulled together.”

“You were seen going up at 9:25. Sally goes up at 9:37. That still gives you a total of twelve minutes in which you could’ve easily popped into Miss Story’s room, had an altercation about something. Maybe she was disappointed with your progress in finding her stolen jewelry. When her back is turned, you strangle her, then dash down to the other end of the hallway to Mrs. Alexander’s room, giving yourself an alibi. Sally backs up that you were there when she got to Mrs. Alexander’s room. You’re home free,” Slovitch postulated.

“You don’t really think I killed Vivian Story, do you?” she asked. Slovitch raised his brows evasively. “With a three-day party in full swing, do you honestly think I had the time to plot a murder? I can only assume you’re playing devil’s advocate here…” Slovitch shrugged ambiguously. Madeline held his stare, then let out a weary wheeze.

“As far as I’m concerned right now, we’ve got five individuals who were on the second floor of the Alexander estate when Vivian Story was killed. Until I find further evidence one way or the other, all five will remain on the list of suspects. It’s just standard protocol.” Slovitch gave Madeline a hint of a smile, as if to say “no hard feelings.”

“You two need to sit tight. Agent Caulfield will be here soon. I’ve got to get to the incident room.” Slovitch picked up his coffee and the autopsy report, leaving them alone in the interrogation room.

Mike and Madeline exchanged skeptical glances. Neither of them was thrilled at the prospect of wasting more of their morning. There were plenty questions they could bat around, but they knew everything they said or did could be observed by unseen parties on the other side of the two-way mirror.

Madeline’s phone rang. She looked at the caller ID, then decided to let it go to voicemail. She wanted a heads up before she engaged in a conversation with Ross Alexander. Her caffeine-filled stomach churned at the thought of doing battle over her fee. In her experience, sometimes the super-rich were quite contentious when it came to financial matters.

“Who was that?” Mike asked, keeping his voice low. A voice message alert appeared and Madeline showed him the screen. He was as intrigued as she was. Madeline listened to the voicemail.

The message was short and to the point: Ross Alexander wanted to speak to her ASAP. He asked that she come over at her earliest convenience. Madeline forwarded the call to Mike’s phone. After listening to it, he sent her a text.

What do you think he wants?

I don’t know. Want to come with?

Sure. I have to take you there, anyway – right?

Madeline let out a deep sigh. Of course. She had no car.

After we see him, what’s our agenda? Madeline replied.

I think we need to talk to Teresa…

Madeline looked at him after she read his message. Teresa might not know that Vivian was dead. Unless she watched the news, which was possible. The story was all over the media. Either way, it would come as a big blow to her. Helen fired her on the spot, and according to her version of events, there was no mention of paying Teresa’s final wages. But Helen had supposedly warned the girl that if she stepped foot on the property again, she’d be deported.

You’re right. The trick will be finding her, Madeline texted back.

I’ve got the photo – we can put up a flier offering a reward for any info about her whereabouts. We can stick it up all over town. Madeline thought this over.

We wouldn’t want to scare anyone off, she warned.

I can come up with something subtle. Madeline cracked a smile. Subtlety was not Mike’s calling card. Ok. What else should we be doing? Madeline thought this over.

Since I hired the photographers/videographers, I think I can get copies of their files before the cops do. We can run our own investigation.

Good thinking

I’ll send them a text right now…

Madeline was in the middle of tapping out the message when Agent Caulfield came in and shut the door behind him.

“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked without any real concern.

“I’ve felt worse,” Mike said. “What have you found out about the car?” Madeline’s last text could be heard whooshing away. She looked at Caulfield expectantly.

“Well, you were right—the brake lines were definitely tampered with. There was no brake fluid in the lines at all.” Mike was wearing a smug smirk, which faded as Agent Caulfield continued.

“They did a sweep of the car from tip to tail. No GPS.”

“How can that be?” Mike asked, frustration getting the best of his manners again.

“Don’t forget who we’re dealing with,” Madeline reminded them. “He would never leave any evidence that could be followed up on. He must’ve attached the GPS when I went back home to change. We gave him the opportunity at Henry’s Hole and he took it, along with the tracker,” Madeline said, directing her summary of probable events to Agent Caulfield.

“That makes perfect sense, unless of course you still don’t believe Usherwood’s behind this,” Mike said, his hackles up.

“I have no reason to doubt your version of events,” Caulfield said. “We just don’t have any hard evidence that Usherwood is behind this. For all we know, there’s someone else out to get you.”

“Hey, now there’s a comforting thought,” Mike said snidely.

“Let me see if I understand you clearly,” Madeline said. “If you can’t find anything to link Usherwood to the break-in and the attempted murder, then there’s no reason for the FBI to be involved. Is that correct?” Caulfield’s reticence said it all.

“So, is this bounced back to SBPD?” Mike asked angrily.

“The incident happened on their turf, and since we can’t connect it to Lionel Usherwood, then yes, it’s a matter for the local authorities.”

“What about my vehicle?”

“It’s at our L.A. facility. I’ll make sure it’s ready for release and let you know when it can be picked up.”

“You’re not going to have it brought back up here?” Madeline asked incredulously.

“I’m afraid that will be your responsibility.”

“I don’t even know if it’s drivable or not.”

“I think you’ll need to have it towed.” Caulfield reached into his pocket and brought out a business card bearing the address where it could be picked up.

“Thanks,” Madeline said acidly. She was almost too mad and bewildered to speak. Mike looked like he was ready to unleash the pre-AA Mike Delaney. What she didn’t need on top of everything else was to bail his butt out of jail.

“Well, I guess we’re done here,” Madeline said, getting to her feet. Mike looked up at her, surprised that she was willing to give up without a fight. She had two branches of law enforcement trying to foist this case on each other, with Madeline stuck in the middle.

“Come on, Mike. We’ve got a meeting to get to.”

“I’m not leaving this building until we speak to someone higher up on the food chain. You need protection. Usherwood’s made two attempts on your life, and I’ll be goddamned if we’re going to let these suits jerk us around.”

“If anything else happens, call me,” Caulfield said. Madeline let out a snort of disbelief as she stood up. Mike glowered at Caulfield. “If anything else happens, I doubt I’ll be in a position to make that call,” Madeline said.

“I’m making a record of this, and if anything happens to either one of us, I’m going to make sure the shit sticks to you, even if I have to do it from the grave,” Mike said.

“Come on, Mike. We’re wasting our time here.” Mike glared at Agent Caulfield once more before following Madeline’s lead.

Agent Caulfield cracked open a bottle of water and took a swig. There were times when he forgot why he chose this line of work. Something told him that with or without the arrest of Lionel Usherwood, this was going to be a case he’d never forget.

TWENTY-FIVE

“Can you believe that bullshit?” Mike asked, fuming as he unlocked his trunk and pulled out his scanner. “Apparently, you have to be dead before anyone in law enforcement takes you seriously.”

Madeline was still too furious to speak. She got in the front seat and sat there with the door open while Mike made a thorough scan of the car, including underneath. After what she’d been through at the hands of Lionel Usherwood, she agreed with Mike that you had to stay ever-vigilant where personal safety was concerned. She wouldn’t put it past him to sabotage Mike’s car, even when it was parked in front of the police station. The guy seemed to thrive on flaunting his stealth.

“We’re just going to have to run this case ourselves. It’s time we start aggressively pursuing Usherwood.”

“And how are we going to do that?” Madeline asked as Mike got in and started the car.

“Just like we would if we’d been hired to track down any other stalker.”

Madeline crossed her arms and sat back as she tried to imagine what steps they would take in a situation like that. Personally, she doubted they were any match for Lionel Usherwood, and they certainly didn’t have the same access to information that the FBI had. But on the other hand, they could put more time and energy into finding him, and more to the point, their lives depended on it.

“We know that the tracking device was probably attached while I was at home yesterday afternoon. That was the only time it was parked off the Alexander estate.”

“Right.”

“So, when we drove to Henry’s, he followed us, messed with the brake lines while we were eating, then vanished into thin air,” Madeline said, frustrated at hitting a dead end so soon. “Wait a second,” she exclaimed excitedly, startling Mike. “Surveillance tapes!” Mike looked over at her, trying to catch up with her line of thinking.

“You mean at Henry’s?” he asked doubtfully.

“If we’re right about when the GPS tracker was attached, then the cameras had already been installed at my house by the time I got home.” Madeline took out her cell phone and scrolled down the screen until she found Brian’s number. When she got his voicemail, she ended the call and tapped out a text: Call me asap!

“Where was your car parked?”

“On the driveway,” Madeline said, lost in thought.

“Will movement on the driveway trigger the camera?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out. I was too rushed yesterday. I barely heard a word Brian said.” Madeline let out an impatient sigh. “I wish we didn’t have to go to Montecito. I want to get home and figure out how all that new gadgetry works.”

“Why do you think we’ve been summoned?” Mike asked as his Mercedes turned down Garden Street. Without warning, he hit the brakes and continued to do so as the car stuttered down the block. Madeline braced herself against the door and dashboard until he was satisfied they weren’t in for a repeat of last night’s wild ride.

“I imagine he wants to make sure the party’s been called off.”

Mike shot her a doubtful look. “Isn’t that something you could’ve discussed on the phone?”

“I’m sorry, I’m just not up to guessing what is ordinary and customary in situations like this with someone like Ross Alexander. He makes a call, he expects people to come running,” Madeline said testily. She heaved a deep sigh and turned her face toward the open window in an effort to let the fresh air revive her mind and spirit. She’d been up since dawn making sure everyone involved in the furtherance of the party knew their services were no longer needed.

“Maybe he wants you to organize the memorial service,” Mike said, half in jest. Madeline laughed, in spite of the circumstances.

“I sure hope not,” she said. “That’s not an area I’m looking to branch into.” She let her gaze drift out the window again as her mind jumped from her brush with death to Vivian’s murder. She groaned at the futility of plowing through the same unfertile turf.

“I just don’t understand how someone could do that to such a sweet, harmless woman,” she said absently.

“I guess not everyone thought she was so sweet and harmless.”

“Apparently not. But then again, it might’ve been someone seizing an opportunity.”

“The opportunity to do what, exactly?” Mike asked.

“To shut her up…to take more of her jewelry…to get rid of a thorn in someone’s side…?”

“Well, the good news is the field of suspects isn’t very wide,” Mike said.

“True. And I know I didn’t do it, so that leaves only four other possibilities—Helen, Teresa, Cherie and Sally.” Madeline looked over at Mike as he merged onto the freeway.

“And from the time Sally is seen at the top of the stairs to the time I made the call to 911, she couldn’t have dashed to Vivian’s room, strangled her, and run down to Cherie’s room before I left it. Subtract the time it took me to get to Vivian’s room, wait for a response and discover her body, there’s no possible way she could’ve done it. She would’ve had less than two minutes. Besides, what would her motive have been?”

“To cover up the burglary?” Mike suggested. “If she was intent on murdering Vivian, she could’ve pulled it off. She would’ve had to know exactly when to do it…” Madeline shook her head.

“No, that seems too farfetched.”

“Why? Vivian sent you a message. Maybe she had discovered who’d taken her things.”

“That’s possible, but Sally wasn’t around when the jewels went missing.”

“Are you sure about that?” Mike challenged.

“Yes, I’m sure. She was in Brazil on a fashion shoot.” Mike looked disappointed that his theory had been shot down so quickly.

“The ‘shutting her up and taking more of her jewelry’ motive sounds like it would have to come from either the housekeeper or the companion. Getting rid of a thorn in one’s side seems to point to Cherie,” Mike deduced.

Madeline chewed on a nail as she turned the speculations over in her mind. “I think we’re trying to overlook the obvious,” Madeline said, a pained expression on her face. “Helen and Teresa alibi each other and were seen going down the backstairs together. There was no love between the housekeeper and the companion, so there was no conspiracy. That only leaves Cherie.”

“Any chance Cherie put Sally up to it?”

“To killing Vivian?” Madeline asked doubtfully. “Oh, sure—they had it all planned out. First Sally whacks the meddling mother-in-law, then they hock Vivian’s jewels and run off to Australia together. I don’t think Hollywood could come up with a storyline that farfetched.”

Mike looked pained by her ridicule. “Okay, then—that leaves your girl Cherie,” he said as he cruised through the roundabout and headed up Hot Springs Road.

Madeline didn’t argue; she had come to the same conclusion. It made her feel sick to her stomach, but she couldn’t deny that Cherie had the means and opportunity. The motive was still debatable, but there were several to choose from: jealousy, paranoia, revenge or simply an unbalanced mind. From what Madeline had witnessed over the last twelve months, all those motivating factors could be behind Cherie’s desire to get her mother-in-law out of her home and out of her life, permanently.

“Actually, I think we have to consider Cherie for everything,” she concluded.

“You really believe she would steal her mother-in-law’s jewelry?”

Madeline shrugged. “Her marriage is not what I would call solid. Maybe she was trying to secure a little extra severance pay. Besides, Helen and Teresa’s alibis are inextricably linked. If Helen could’ve seized the opportunity to implicate the girl in Vivian’s murder, she would’ve—whether she’d done it or not. So, that leaves us with Cherie.”

“And Sally,” Mike added.

“And Sally. But then we’d have to come up with a realistic motive,” Madeline said as they passed a crowd of news media outside the Alexander estate. There were two sheriff’s deputies, one posted at each gate to keep the crowd to a minimum. There was no shoulder to park on, which is why all the TV news vans had been parked around the corners of Middle and Hot Springs roads.

The crush of reporters grudgingly parted as Mike pushed his imposing vehicle toward the guardhouse of the estate. Madeline slunk down in her seat as the onlookers peered inside their car and cameras flashed, apparently mistaking them for “someone.” The guard on duty recognized Madeline and waived them through. As they wound up toward the house, Madeline was filled with dread. After what had happened the previous night, just the sight of the place filled her with trepidation.

TWENTY-SIX

Helen Bagley held open the door to let Madeline and Mike in. Unlike the numerous times she and Madeline had gone through this very same routine, no pleasantries were exchanged. There was now a keen distrust between the two women that Madeline figured would never be cleared. She had no problem with that scenario, nor did she imagine she’d have to trespass on Helen’s turf again.

“Mr. Alexander’s is expecting you,” Helen said curtly, leading them down the hallway, past the formal living room and library. She rapped lightly on the door of her employer’s study and listened.

“Come in,” they heard Ross say through the heavy wooden door. Helen opened it and stood aside to let the visitors pass.

“Can I get anyone anything?” Helen asked. Madeline and Mike shook their heads.

“No thanks, Helen,” Ross said from his chair by the unlit fireplace, his voice sounding husky and hollow. He was dressed in plaid shirt and khaki chinos, both heavily creased, and butter-soft Italian loafers with no socks. It could’ve been the unkind morning light shining through the window, but Ross’s brown hair seemed grayer than the last time Madeline had seen him. Judging by his attire and the day-old stubble, she figured he hadn’t been to bed yet.

He beckoned them in with a limp wave of his hand. The door closed quietly behind them as they made their way through the large room toward their host.

“Ross, this is my partner, Mike Delaney.” Mike stepped forward to shake hands as Ross roused himself halfway out of his chair.

“Our condolences on your loss. Your mother was a truly special woman,” Madeline said.

“Thank you. Please, have a seat.” They did as instructed and waited expectantly. Ross seemed to have trouble making eye contact with them. The three sat in awkward silence for a long moment, while Madeline tried to think of something appropriate to say.

“I understand you were the one who found her,” Ross said, his voice not much louder than a whisper.

Madeline cleared her throat nervously before answering. She had met Ross Alexander years ago when she was married to Steven Ridley, and had encountered him a number of times in the past year, but they had hardly become intimates. On those infrequent occasions when he was home during her visits, he was always too involved with his latest film projects for casual chitchat.

“Yes, that’s true.”

Ross nodded, then his face crumbled with the onset of tears. He hid behind his hand as he cried silently. Mike touched Madeline on the arm, signaling toward the door with his eyes. Madeline shook her head and returned her focus to Ross.

“I’m sorry,” Ross said, regaining his composure. “I just never expected to lose her this way.” He sniffed and pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket and dabbed his eyes. “I had it in my head she’d live until she was ninety-six. That’s what I always said to her…”

Ross got up and went to stare out the window. Madeline could sense there was something he wanted to discuss with her besides his mother’s death. She was merely a casual acquaintance; he surely had many close friends or confidants he could turn to in this time of grief.

“She was very proud of you,” Madeline said, hoping it didn’t sound as trite to him as it did to her own ears.

“Thank you,” Ross replied. He took a deep breath and exhaled, hands in his pockets, then turned to face his visitors.

“How is Cherie doing?” Madeline asked gently.

Ross let out a strained sigh. “She’s sedated.”

Madeline nodded. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

Ross sighed again, his eyes lifting toward the dark wood paneled ceiling. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to pull himself together. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he said as he eased himself back into the chair. Madeline let a few beats pass before coming to his aid.

“I’ve contacted everyone who was working the party to confirm that it’s been canceled.”

A slight groan escaped Ross, as if the termination of Cherie’s party was small consolation. “Thank you for that,” he said as an afterthought. His gaze wandered for a bit before his thoughts caught up with him. “Has everything been settled up?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good.”

“Philippe, the caterer, will speak to Helen about arrangements for the food.”

“Fine.”

Silence fell over the room again. Why did he ask to see me? Madeline wondered. In the interest of time, she decided to lay her cards out. “Are you aware that your mother engaged my services as a private investigator?” The look on Ross’s face confirmed what she had suspected.

“No. Why? When was this?”

“Three days ago. She approached me because some of her jewels had gone missing.”

“Which jewels?” Ross asked, his eyes fixed on Madeline’s. She reached into her bag and pulled out the envelope containing the photos Vivian had given her and handed it over. Ross flipped through them quickly, then took another, longer look at each of the three photos of his mother, decades younger and clearly full of happiness.

“These were her favorites. My father had the daisy brooch made for her,” he said, turning the photo toward Madeline, his voice cracking with emotion.

“That’s what she told me. She said she didn’t want to keep them locked up in the safe because she enjoyed looking at them so much.” Ross huffed, a smile of recognition curling the corner of his mouth for a moment. But the fond memory quickly faded. He sank back into the chair, doing his best to control his emotions.

Mike and Madeline shifted uncomfortably, wondering if it was time to make their exit. Before they could decide, Ross seemed to snap out of his painful reverie. When he turned to face them, he seemed calmer and more alert. He looked directly at Madeline, as if something she’d said had belatedly registered.

“I don’t understand—why would my mother hire you to find her jewelry? Aren’t you the event coordinator?”

“Actually, Mike and I are partners in a private detective agency.” Ross looked even more confused than before. “At the time Cherie hired me to arrange her party, I was still doing my three years of apprenticeship with a local private investigator. Now Mike and I have our own company and I’m phasing out of event planning.” As of this minute, Madeline thought to herself.

“Are the police aware of the robbery?” Ross asked.

“Yes. I told Detective Slovitch everything last night.”

“Are you positive the jewels are actually missing?” he asked, his manner suddenly skeptical.

“I searched every inch of her rooms, with her present. She said she had double checked the safe, just to make sure she hadn’t absentmindedly put them back.”

“Did you check the safe?”

“No,” Madeline replied. With a purposeful set to his jaw, Ross got up and went over to a large oil painting above an antique sideboard. He swung the painting back on its hinges to reveal three wall safes.

With his hand poised in front of the keypad on the right, Ross paused and looked upward, as if he were trying to recall the code. He shifted his body to shield his movements and punched in a sequence of numbers. A muffled mechanical sound was heard as the lock released and the door opened.

Ross took out a long box similar to a safety deposit box at a bank. He set it on the sideboard. He took out various jewelry cases and laid them side by side, then methodically searched all of them. When he repeated the process, Madeline knew he hadn’t found Vivian’s special pieces. He stood back, hands on his hips, clearly upset.

“I take it you didn’t find them,” Madeline said, startling Ross back to the present.

“No, they’re not here,” he said, turning around to face her and Mike. His hand rested at his chin as he tried to absorb this new element in his mother’s demise. Inspiration flashed in his eyes and he turned back to his mother’s valuables and carefully returned them to the safe.

Without a word to his onlookers, he opened the safe on the far left. He hastily searched through the assorted contents. Unsatisfied, he poured everything out on the sideboard, spreading it all out with a wide sweep of his hand.

“Damn!” he muttered softly. His movements became almost frantic as he dropped everything back in the box haphazardly and returned it to its slot. He repeated the process with the safe in the middle while Madeline and Mike became increasingly more apprehensive. Ross not finding his mother’s favorite jewelry was like losing her all over again.

A ragged sob ripped the silence as he clumsily tried to stuff what appeared to be Cherie’s jewels back in her private box. Frustrated and overcome with heartache, Ross swept everything to the floor.

“This can’t be happening!” he yelled. “This cannot be happening.”

Watching his agony was more than Mike and Madeline could bear. They both stood, faces drawn with worry and compassion as Ross wept openly. They averted their eyes and moved toward the doorway.

“Don’t go!” Ross pleaded with such force, it stopped them in their tracks. “No, don’t go…I need you to find out who took her things.” He approached them, staggering like a drunk, desperation etched into his features. He stopped just short of where they stood and used the back of a chair for support. He sniffed deeply and roughly wiped at his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall apart like this…”

“It’s perfectly okay. We understand what you’re going through,” Madeline said, laying her hand on his arm. Ross grabbed it with his and held it. He looked into her eyes and her relative calm seemed to reassure him. After a few shaky breaths, he pulled himself together. He patted Madeline’s hand and shot an embarrassed but grateful look at Mike, then ponderously made his way to the liquor cabinet.

He poured a highball glass half-full and took two large swallows. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned to face the P.I.s. He lifted his glass in an invitation to join him. Mike and Madeline both politely declined.

Ross nursed his drink in private, then downed what was left. He let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan, shook his head, then ran his fingers through his hair. Composed, he turned back to his guests.

“You said my mother hired you three days ago?”

“That’s right,” Madeline replied.

“And you haven’t figured out who stole her jewelry?”

“No.”

Ross signaled for them to be seated. After Madeline had settled herself, she gave Ross the particulars of her assignment.

“Your mother wanted this handled a certain way—very discreetly. She balked at the idea of reporting the theft to the police. Instead, she wanted me to do a background check on her companion. I got the distinct impression she suspected Teresa had taken her things to sell them. I know she really wanted her keepsakes returned, but she told me straight out that if I had found solid proof Teresa had taken and sold them, she would not turn her over to the police.”

“Why not?” Ross demanded. “Was she afraid of retribution?”

“No, I think she valued the girl’s company over the jewels. They seemed to have a very sweet relationship, very respectful of one another. Teresa doted on her with genuine affection.”

“You say that, yet you think she stole some very valuable, cherished gifts from my father,” Ross said, his tone challenging.

“I had not come to that conclusion yet. But ultimately, it was your mother’s call. When I informed her that the girl’s Social Security number was bogus and her address didn’t exist, she became philosophical instead of vengeful. She wanted me to continue on with the background check, dig up as much as I could on Teresa’s real identity and her past. I gathered from that she was willing to keep the girl on, but she wanted to know the truth about her. Maybe she held on to the hope that she could get the jewels back and still keep her friendship with Teresa.”

After listening to this assessment, Ross got up to pour another drink. He kept his own counsel as he drank, looking out at the gardens in front of the house. It was one of the few vistas that hadn’t been altered by Cherie’s vision of a “legacy garden.”

“So…” Ross said, tuning back to the conversation. “What have you found out about this girl, Teresa…?”

“I’ve had two phone interviews with previous employers, though they weren’t able to shed much light on her past. They both thought she was heaven-sent, appearing in their lives just as their respective parents needed a companion-slash-caregiver. I’ve got two more contacts to follow up on,” Madeline said, her voice trailing off as she realized how much time had been wasted on Cherie’s party when Vivian’s problems were much more pressing. She also knew that technically her case had been terminated by Vivian’s death.

“Ross, legally, I’m no longer employed to investigate this matter. I can give you a full written report and you can do with it whatever you choose.”

Ross looked down into his glass thoughtfully for a moment. “So, this is just a formality, really…if I want you to continue your background check on the girl or locate the missing jewels, you’ll need me to sign a new contract giving you the authorization to do so. Do I have that right?”

“Essentially, yes,” Madeline said.

“Okay, let’s do it this way—I want you to find out everything you can about this girl’s background. If in the course of your investigation you happen to find mother’s jewelry, then great. But I’ve got sources I can put specifically on the gem search, people who are pros at this kind of thing.”

Ross didn’t seem aware of the slight and Madeline and Mike took it in stride. Ross had accurately pegged them as being neophytes. Madeline took out her iPad and went to work on the contract.

“Ross, how about we amend our duties to include our own investigation into who killed your mother?”

Though Madeline had used her most diplomatic tone, there was a harshness and finality to her words. Ross reacted as though he’d just taken a punch in the gut. He drained what was left in his glass to steady his trembling hands. When he had regained his composure, he nodded his consent.

“If you give me an email address, I can send this to you and you can sign it right away. Then we won’t have to intrude on your privacy again,” Madeline said, as she typed the pertinent information into the form fields of her P.I. app.

“I guess I need to write you a check…” Ross said, hands in his pockets, as the reality of what he was now engaged in hit home.

“I have your mother’s retainer. I haven’t had a chance to calculate the amount of hours spent on this case so far, but I’m sure there’s still enough in the trust account to cover several days of investigation.”

Ross nodded imperceptibly before wandering over to stare out the window again. Madeline and Mike locked eyes and read each other’s thoughts. What they both silently agreed on was this was going to be a tough case. They would need to use every bit of their cunning and know-how—and maybe a little “beyond the grave” help from Burt Latham—to sort this one out. But as sad and unsavory as the job might be, they were thrilled to have a crack at it.

TWENTY-SEVEN

It took only a few more minutes to get the paperwork finalized. Ross already seemed more like his normal self. Madeline understood from personal experience that people accustomed to being in charge functioned better in dire situations when they were able to take action.

“Thanks,” Ross said, shaking both P.I.’s hands as he walked with them toward the door.

“We’ll do everything we can to locate the girl and get to the bottom of her story,” Mike said. Ross stopped abruptly as he took in what Mike had just said.

“Your mother apparently asked Helen to drive Teresa home last night. After leading Helen on a wild goose chase to Isla Vista, the girl jumped out of the car and disappeared into the darkness,” Madeline informed him.

“Why the hell would she do something like that?” Ross demanded angrily.

“According to Helen, she fired the girl on the drive out to I.V.” Ross closed his eyes as if that would shut out this disturbing news. “I believe Helen did it out of a sense of loyalty to you,” Madeline suggested. “She said you had a problem with an undocumented worker on your payroll before.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ. So now we have no idea who or where this girl is.”

“Not at this time,” Mike said. “But we’ll find her.” Madeline looked at him askance. First rule of the P.I. business: never make claims you can’t guarantee. She smiled tightly to hide her irritation. At least Ross seemed somewhat comforted by this pledge.

“Oh, one more thing before we go,” Madeline said, bringing them all to a halt again. “It would help our investigation tremendously if we could get a copy of any insurance riders you had for the missing items. Your mother told me you put her valuables under your policy when she moved in here. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Ross said, his glance straying as he tried to recall the details. “I’ll call my agent. I should alert them of their disappearance anyway,” he said, walking to his desk to make a note to himself.

As he did so, all three became aware of several vehicles coming up the gravel drive. Even through the thick walls, the muffled sound of car doors closing and voices conferring could be heard. Ross ushered his visitors down the hallway just as Helen approached the front door from the other side of the house. She opened the door as Ross, Madeline and Mike came to a halt in the foyer.

“How can I help you?” Helen asked, all business as she regarded the crowd of police personnel gathered on the front steps. Madeline recognized several of them from last night and other previous encounters with law enforcement. Detective Eames was leading the brigade followed by two detectives with the sheriff’s department, Loman and Pulaski. Eames flashed his badge in one hand and held up a piece of paper in the other.

“We have a warrant to search this property, including the house, the grounds and any other structures on the grounds,” he said.

“Does this have to happen now?” Helen asked indignantly. “The house is in mourning, as you know.”

“Yes, ma’am, we do know. But it’s our job to solve this case, which is why we have to expand our search before any evidence can be removed or destroyed,” Detective Eames said, standing aside to let the uniformed police in.

“My wife is under doctor’s care and is sedated right now. I do not want her disturbed,” Ross said, stepping forward to block the invasion. “Can’t this be done later?” he demanded to know.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Alexander. You have our sympathies for your loss, but I’m sure you can appreciate that we need to catch whoever did this to your mother,” Detective Eames said, guiding Ross out of the doorway so the others could pass.

“I really resent this intrusion into our privacy,” Ross countered, his tone hard and unyielding. “What exactly are you looking for? Who signed that warrant?” he demanded. Eames handed the document to him. Ross smirked and handed it back. He took his cell phone from his pocket, his agitation growing as Eames pointed the team of investigators in various directions.

“Judge Haskell happens to be an old friend of mine,” Ross informed the detective as he scrolled through his contacts. “I’m sure he would be appalled at this gross lack of consideration in our time of grief.” He found Lawrence Haskell’s cell phone number and placed the call.

Detective Slovitch brought up the rear of the procession that seemed to Madeline to be a dozen-strong. He gave the others an inquiring look, as if to ask what the holdup was. Eames shrugged, his eyes shifting to Ross.

“Larry? Ross Alexander.” Ross regarded the detectives as he paused to receive condolences from the judge. “Thank you. It has been a huge loss.” The detectives shifted uncomfortably as Ross lorded his influence over them. “Actually, there is something you could do…”

Ross turned toward his study as he conferred with the judge. Apparently the conversation hit a snag, for Ross’s body language signaled a change in his former confidence. He lowered his voice as he moved further away from the foyer. Slovitch and Eames exchanged knowing glances and Slovitch headed for the staircase.

“What are you two doing here?” Eames asked the private investigators, his tone accusing and blunt.

“We are here at the request of Mr. Alexander,” Mike said, matching Eames in attitude.

“For what purpose?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask him, as we’re not at liberty to discuss our privileged conversation with anyone,” Mike replied coolly. Ross’s voice suddenly rose, momentarily putting a halt to the muscle flexing.

“What do you mean you can’t rescind the warrant? You signed it.” Ross’s voice trailed off again as he shut the door to the library.

“In case you failed to grasp the fact, your ‘partner’ is on the short list of suspects in the murder of Vivian Story,” Eames said.

“You know that’s totally ludicrous,” Mike shot back. “In case your memory failed you, my ‘partner’ has herself been the victim of two very recent crimes—breaking and entering and attempted murder. With all that going on, do you seriously believe she has the motive or inclination to kill her own client? Doesn’t that strike you as just a tad unlikely?”

“Could the two of you please stop talking as though I’m not here,” Madeline butted in. “I’m a suspect in the technical sense of being in the vicinity of the crime when it was committed, but so were four other people. And Mike makes a point that’s hard to dismiss. Plus, killing my own client when I know I’m going to show up on surveillance footage would be sheer stupidity. I sincerely hope the SBPD has a more sophisticated way of detecting probable suspects.”

Mike wore a lopsided grin in appreciation of his partner’s chutzpah, while Eames’s cocky expression lost most of its smug authority. But the victory of MDPI over the law was short lived.

Ross returned to the foyer and thrust the warrant back at Detective Eames. “You can do your damn search for the item mentioned, but if any of you disturb my sleeping wife, I will sue your asses from here to doomsday. Do you understand me?”

In lieu of a response, Detective Eames folded the warrant slowly and placed it in his jacket pocket. Without a word, he headed up the stairs.

Mike pressed in the last pushpin and stood back to regard the two incident boards. The one on the wall across from his desk was devoted to photos and other data regarding Vivian Story’s death and the disappearance of her jewelry. The board on the wall to the right was covered in index cards that laid out the timeline of the two crimes committed against Madeline. He backed up and rested against his desk next to her as they contemplated the two complex cases.

“Okay,” he said, picking up his coffee, hoping the caffeine and the boards would bring the details into clearer focus. He took a sip and waited. Somewhere in all this information were the keys to unlocking three mysteries. Madeline got up and switched the order of two index cards and stepped off to the side to let Mike see the changes.

“Why do I feel like the answers are staring us in the face?” he asked.

“Because they probably are,” Madeline replied. “What are we missing?” She went back to her former vantage point, her head pivoting from one cork board to the other. She barked out a sharp, ironic laugh.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me,” Mike coaxed.

“I’m sure it’s just the product of an overwrought mind.”

“Tell me,” Mike insisted. Madeline positioned herself between the two boards, then hesitated.

“Never mind, it’s too farfetched,” she said.

“Would you just tell me, for God’s sake.”

“All right…the assault on me started with the death of Rick Yeoman…” she said, coming back to the desk to write his name on an index card. She moved the first card on her board down and placed the new one at the top.

“You mean psychologically,” Mike surmised.

“Yes. That should’ve been enough warning by itself.”

“Warning against what, exactly?”

Madeline mulled this over. What was Usherwood’s game plan? The attempt on her life seemed to be the final blow that failed. If he was only trying to make her pay for her testimony against him, then all this would make sense and would be in keeping with his extremely warped sense of justice. It would also follow that he wasn’t through with her yet.

“Of what’s to come,” she said at length.

“So, killing Yeoman and rearranging your furniture were the appetizers to the main course of a fatal car crash caused by compromised brake lines…?”

“Yes. But the big crescendo fell flat. So, what does a devious sadist like Usherwood do to make up for his failure to kill me—and you?”

“Try again?” Mike said after attempting to divine the answer from Madeline’s expression.

“What if…” Madeline said as she pointed to both incident boards, “these two situations are linked somehow…?”

“Vivian’s murder and your attempted murder?” Mike asked, clearly baffled by the suggestion.

“Yeoman’s death, the psychological assault on my home, the brake failure and Vivian’s death…” Mike still looked puzzled. “Okay, I know it’s sort of a stretch, but I’m finding it more than a bit curious that after almost being killed, I’m now considered a suspect in Vivian’s murder.”

Mike’s mouth went slack as he connected Madeline’s dots. “You’re suggesting Lionel Usherwood killed Vivian so you would be framed for her murder?” Hearing her wild notion repeated back to her by Mike’s unlikely voice of reason made her slump dejectedly. “Problem with that idea is the attempt on our lives happened after Vivian’s death.”

“Right.” Madeline let out a self-deprecating laugh and rubbed her sore neck. “I told you I wasn’t thinking clearly. It was just a wild theory, anyway,” she said, returning to her perch on Mike’s desk. “I think I’ve gone too long without sleep.”

“Maybe your theory’s not all that wild,” Mike said, getting to his feet as he examined both boards. “So far, we don’t have a clear motive-plus-opportunity combo with any of the five suspects, counting you. But the big question here is how would Usherwood gain access to the house when it was heavily guarded?” The question spurred him to his computer.

“What are you looking up?” Madeline asked, coming around to look over his shoulder. What she saw was an aerial view of dense vegetation dotted with sprawling structures, land bisected by snaky gray paths she recognized as roads. Mike zoomed in closer to the Alexander estate, then shifted toward the rear of the property to the parcels directly adjacent to it.

He hit the plus sign again, and as the image refocused, they found themselves staring at what looked to be a subdivided parcel directly behind the estate, with several residences on it.

“I know that street,” Madeline said, checking her contacts on her cell phone for confirmation. “Lindsey Paul lives at the very end.”

“Give me the address,” Mike said as he opened Google Earth. Madeline gave it to him and within seconds he was closing in on the street.

“I can’t quite tell—is this street gated?”

“No, but most of the individual properties have gates.”

“How about your friend’s place?” Mike asked.

“No gate. She runs a photography studio in her guesthouse, so people are always coming and going. And I wouldn’t call us ‘friends’ anymore,” Madeline said with a meaningful look. Not many of her former friendships survived the breakup of her marriage and the exposé of her ex-husband’s illegal business dealings. Many of those friends and acquaintances who didn’t take a sizable financial hit were still scandalized by the events that precipitated Madeline’s fall from the height of Montecito society and the incarceration of Steven Ridley.

“Think it would be possible for Usherwood to access the Alexander’s property from her place?”

“He definitely could gain access onto her parcel. But I don’t know what type of security Ross has on his perimeter. You’d think it would all be buttoned down. I could ask him, though technically speaking we’re supposed to be concentrating on finding Teresa and clues to her past,” Madeline reminded him as she turned her attention to the far left side of Vivian’s board.

Under the index card with Teresa’s name was the photo Madeline had taken of Vivian and the girl, and the photos of Vivian and her missing jewels. Underneath these were cards with the names and contact info for Teresa’s previous employers. Tacked to the side were Teresa’s fake SSN and fictitious address.

Of the three mysteries before them, Teresa’s whereabouts and history didn’t seem as compelling when compared to murder and attempted murder. Yet, that was their only official case, the one they’d been paid to carry out.

Madeline let out a defeated huff. She had taken on a relatively simple assignment, but her prior commitment to Cherie had hampered her ability to deal with it in a timely manner. Her stomach knotted at the thought that had she been more diligent…had she been less absorbed in Cherie’s self-obsessed melodrama…had Lauren not failed to give her Vivian’s note right away…

“I’m surprised Lauren didn’t show up this morning,” Mike said, as if reading her thoughts.

“It’s a Saturday,” Madeline reminded him.

“Yeah, but she would’ve been working anyway…”

“I sent her a text telling her not to come in,” Madeline said, keeping her eyes averted to the incident boards. Mike chewed his lip methodically. Having known his partner all her adult life, there were times when he knew her as well as she knew herself.

“Are you really going to lay the blame for Vivian’s death at that poor kid’s feet?” he asked, his tone even and nonthreatening. Madeline spun around and glared at him, lips parted in exasperation, as if the question was as much of an affront as Lauren’s inattention to her job.

“It’s not for me to place blame,” she said, though she did blame her assistant. The justification repeated itself over and over in her mind until Mike’s reproachful stare made her consciously dismiss it.

“At any rate, we need to get our hands on some solid facts about our mystery girl,” she said as she examined the photo. “I think we need to make a new flyer and plaster it all over town, especially in the Hispanic areas.”

Mike opened another program and pulled up the old flyer. He swiveled the laptop around so Madeline could see it.

“Maybe we should do two flyers—one in English and one in Spanish,” Madeline suggested. “And maybe we should offer a reward of some kind…”

Mike copied the document and began changing the text. “What are we offering a reward for, and how much?” he asked as he translated the copy. Madeline mulled this over for a moment.

“How about we change the heading to read ‘Missing—Please help us find Teresa’,” she offered tentatively. Mike typed it in and sat back.

“What if Teresa is the name she uses with gringos?” he asked.

“Okay…good point. Let’s go with the standard ‘Have you seen me?’” Mike nodded and made the change. “Then, under her picture, put in quotes ‘Teresa Maria Gomez’, then under that, ‘Last seen near Isla Vista. If you have any information on this young woman’s whereabouts, please call 805-777-5843. $500 reward to anyone who has information that will help us find her.’”

Mike finished the flyer in English and read it aloud.

“What do you think?” Madeline asked.

“I think we probably need a height and weight description, and anything else that might make her more readily identifiable.”

“Well, she’s…” Madeline used her hand to approximate Teresa’s height, making allowances for the platform heels she was wearing. “About five-foot-three or four,” she guessed. “Couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds.” Mike’s fingers typed in the statistics while he kept his eyes on Madeline, waiting for more telling characteristics.

“Problem is we don’t really know much about her. She seems to have a knack for gaining the confidence of those in need of her services without ever divulging much about her past. What she gave Helen was complete fabrication.”

Madeline turned back to the board. She gathered up the index cards with the contacts she’d gotten from Sybil Wately.

“While you work on that, I’m going to try to reach these women again. Eleven o’clock on a Saturday…maybe I’ll have better luck this time,” she said as she headed for her own office. As long as we have at least one lead, we still have hope, she tried to convince herself. But she couldn’t shake the feeling Teresa Maria Gomez had vanished like a ghost.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Mike unlocked the door just as Madeline was ending a phone call. He placed the two stacks of flyers on Lauren’s desk and walked into Madeline’s private office. As had become his habit, he scanned the parking lot for signs of law enforcement protection from her window. The lot was already filling up, but he didn’t see any marked or unmarked cars.

“Any luck?” he asked.

“Not really,” she said as she typed up her notes. “Did manage to speak with the two women who hadn’t returned my calls, but I didn’t learn anything new from either of them. They both remembered Teresa as being pleasant and reliable…quiet, polite, a Godsend, etcetera. But I don’t think they gave her background a single thought. As with her two other former employers, they both found her ‘serendipitously’ through the deaths of their parents’ friends.”

“That’s a creepy scenario,” Mike said, draping his lanky frame on the chair across from her. “I guess we could always wait until Vivian’s memorial and see if she turns up to find her next employer.” Madeline shot him a look—partly critical, partly amused, partly intrigued.

“Hopefully, we’ll find her before then,” she said, swiveling around to face him. “I also called Sybil Wately and Susan Kellogg again to see if they remembered anything else that might be of help.”

“No luck?”

“No luck.”

“So, what’s the plan now?”

“I guess we split up and start handing out flyers.” Neither one of them was very enthusiastic about a day filled with accosting strangers, especially after a long, sleepless night. The private eye’s job was never glamorous, but it could be rewarding. They’d never get rich from it, but they both loved solving puzzles, righting wrongs and sorting out other people’s messes as a means of keeping their grey matter sharp.

As they were shutting down the office, Madeline’s phone rang. It was Ross Alexander.

“This is Madeline.”

“They’re taking Cherie in for questioning,” Ross said. He sounded like he was just barely holding it together. Madeline put the call on speaker so Mike could hear the news.

“Is she coherent enough to answer questions?”

“I’ve never seen her so out of it. We had to literally pull her out of bed and pour coffee down her to get her eyes open.” Ross held his hand over the phone as he spoke to someone else. “I regret letting the doctor give her a sedative last night. God knows what else she had in her system. She looks like hell.”

“Have the detectives already left the house?”

“No. They’re waiting around for Cherie to get dressed. She’s completely distraught. Helen’s up there with her right now trying to get her pulled together. Oh Jesus. I can’t believe any of this,” Ross said weakly.

“So, they’re actually taking her in?” Madeline asked, looking at Mike with alarm.

“Apparently.”

“Have you called an attorney?”

“I just called Larry Sloan and got his assistant.” It didn’t surprise Madeline that Ross would seek out one of the most high-profile defense attorneys in the country. “Hopefully I’ll hear back soon. But what do I do in the meantime?” Ross asked, his voice quavering with emotion.

Madeline exhaled slowly, her eyes glued to Mike’s. He shook his head and shrugged. “I can give you the name of a good local attorney who can cover things until you speak with Larry Sloan,” Madeline suggested. “Cherie needs legal representation immediately.”

“Right. Okay, what’s his name?” Ross asked. They could hear the sound of frantic searching in the background.

“Her name is Liz Sweet, but don’t let that fool you. She’s a barracuda. If I were ever on the wrong side of the law, she’s who I’d call,” Madeline said, regretting her choice of words as soon as they left her mouth. “Which detective did you speak to?”

“Detective Ronald Pulaski of the Santa Barbara County Sheriff’s Department,” Ross read off mechanically. “This place is still crawling with uniforms. Do they honestly believe my wife would kill my mother with a houseful of people waiting for her downstairs? This is absolute insanity.”

“Did they find…what was used…?” Madeline couldn’t bring herself to say “murder weapon” while speaking to the deceased’s son.

“I assume so,” Ross replied hotly. “They’re not telling me a damn thing. The warrant said they were looking for a ‘silk cord.’ But that doesn’t really tell me a whole hell of lot.” Madeline immediately thought of the cords used to hold back the silk drapes adorning the dining pavilion. So many people could’ve had access to one of those.

“Okay,” Madeline said, keeping her voice calm and soothing, “I’ll send you the contact info for Liz Sweet.”

“Please do,” Ross said before ending the call. Madeline looked at Mike searchingly, though she didn’t know what she hoped to find on his features.

“You have to admit, she was our pick for the murder,” he said. Madeline eased herself onto the corner of Lauren’s desk and searched her contacts until she found Detective Slovitch’s cell number. She placed the call. It went immediately to voicemail. She decided not to leave a message.

“Yes, but if the cord was taken from outside the house, then that opens up the field to other possible suspects,” she said.

“Then they would’ve had to have found another way upstairs,” Mike reminded her.

“Right,” she agreed absently. She lost herself in thought for a minute as she tried to figure out their next move. “I wonder where they’re going to take her,” she mused out loud.

“Eames had the warrant, but the sheriff’s office has the jurisdiction,” Mike answered.

“Let me find Liz Sweet’s contact info. If Cherie doesn’t have counsel in there with her, it’s practically a guarantee she’ll incriminate herself, guilty or not.” Madeline shook her head at the thought. “Okay, here it is… I just forwarded it to Ross. So, let’s hit the streets, for whatever good it might yield. I’ll take downtown, you take Milpas.” Madeline could tell Mike would prefer to eat nails.

“If you’ve got a better game plan, I’d love to hear it,” she said, taking a handful of fliers from each pile and letting Mike close up shop behind her.

“I don’t like the idea of you out on the streets by yourself,” Mike said from the doorway. Madeline turned and gave him an annoyed look. “Usherwood could pick you off like a fly.”

“Thanks for the comforting visual.”

“I think we should stick together,” Mike urged. “You could take one side of the street and I’ll take the other.” Madeline didn’t even bother to reply. She gave him a backhanded wave and turned down the stairs.

“Call me if you learn anything,” Mike yelled after her. “And be on the lookout for Usherwood!”

Madeline checked her watch. She’d been on State Street for thirty-five minutes and still had most of her fliers. Her rudimentary Spanish seemed to confuse the Hispanic passersby and the rest took one look at Teresa’s photo and shook their heads. She hoped Mike was having better luck. At least he spoke the language and was in the right part of town.

Temporarily giving up, she caved in to her craving for caffeine and joined the line that stretched out onto the sidewalk in front of The Roasted Bean. She retrieved her phone from her pocket, as if somehow the device would focus her scattered thoughts. It didn’t.

As she inched her way forward, flashes of the previous night’s horrific events splashed across her mind’s eye, making her groan at the remembered terror. The young couple ahead of her turned around and she gave them an apologetic smile that came out more like a grimace.

She again turned her attention to her phone, willing it to come up with solutions to her myriad concerns. Her body ached from head to foot; she couldn’t tell which was more responsible, the lack of sleep or the accident. She tilted her head to the side, eliciting a loud, painful crunch.

As she rubbed her sore neck, she was able to grasp the most pressing matters as they flittered through her head and assign them some sort of priority. The job came first. Now that Cherie’s party had gone up in flames and the Campbell wedding was still days away, her assignment to investigate Teresa’s background and, if possible, locate the missing jewels, was her paramount concern.

Of course, staying alive should rate just as highly, but there was little she could do to assure that end. Unless she wanted to hire around-the-clock armed guards, there was nothing to stop Lionel Usherwood from carrying out his vendetta. Even that wouldn’t guarantee my safety, she amended glumly.

The crowd crept forward again, but she was still sixth in line. She closed her burning eyes for a moment, only to relive the frightening descent down Meigs Road. She opened them with a start as her Audi hit the first group of trash cans.

A muffled cry escaped her and she almost got out of line. But now she was aware of fierce hunger gnawing at her stomach. Changing lines wouldn’t do her any good, so she decided to make the most of her time by reporting the accident to her insurance company. As she scrolled through her client list, another fragment of memory registered, this time making her feel wide awake.

In a vivid flashback, she recalled Vivian as she placed a call to Teresa to tell her of the change in picking her up. With blinding clarity, it finally dawned on her that Teresa had some type of phone, though there wasn’t one in the clutch Helen brought back last night. This last detail struck her as rather curious.

Madeline parted the crowd standing behind her as she made a hasty exit and sprinted up State Street. She powered through a yellow light at Carrillo and didn’t slow her pace until she reached the stairs to her office. She let herself in and went straight to the file cabinet where Vivian’s file was stored.

The copy of Teresa’s W-4 was under the signed contract and her notes. There was a phone number listed, with the correct area code, but Madeline didn’t jump for joy. It was just as likely to be fictitious, like the rest of her information. The one thing that did give her a spark of hope was recognizing the prefix as a local cell number.

“Let’s see if we get lucky,” Madeline said to herself as she settled in front of her computer. She dialed the number and listened to it ring repeatedly before hanging up. She sat there, chin on her fist, as she wondered why the call hadn’t gone to voicemail. She wondered if there were still packages out there that didn’t offer such features for those on a tight budget. At least it was a working number. That triumph got her mental juices flowing.

There were five cell service providers in the Santa Barbara area. The only thing to do was start at the top of the list and work her way down. After forty minutes of speaking to one representative after another, giving out her credentials and jumping through all the necessary hoops, Madeline finally got her first real break.

“That number is registered to Enrique Alvarez,” the rep said.

“Can you give me his address?” Madeline wrote it down and thanked the man for his help. She grabbed her cell phone and called Mike.

“Have any luck?” she asked.

“Nada.”

“Well, I have. Come and get me. I’ve got a bona fide address.”

TWENTY-NINE

Mike pulled up to the curb across from the address on Voluntario Street. He and Madeline regarded the duplex, looking for signs of activity at 305 A. There were two young children on hard plastic trikes making a joyful racket on the driveway in front of 305 B. Nothing stirring on the other side. The curtains were closed and all was quiet. There was a car in the driveway—old, small and battered by the sun and stationary objects, by the looks of it.

That it was there was a promising sign, one that made Madeline’s heart race with anticipation. And hopefully Enrique Alvarez would be able to give them their first solid clues into Teresa Maria Gomez’s past. If they were really lucky, they might even find her there.

As they crossed the street, both became aware of the attention they and Mike’s fancy car were receiving. If they turned up nothing here, maybe the interested locals would know something about the mystery girl. That’s if they were inclined to speak to a couple of unfamiliar gringos. The two children in the adjoining yard stared silently as the strangers made their way up the front walk.

Mike knocked on the door and stood back behind Madeline. Within seconds, the door flew open, expectation written all over a young Latino’s worried features.

“Es Enrique Alvarez?” Mike asked. The man seemed nervous. He was holding a girl less than two years old on his hip, bouncing her lightly to pacify her.

“Si. I am Enrique Alvarez,” he said in nearly perfectly English. “Who are you and what do you want?” Madeline handed him one of their business cards.

“I’m Madeline Dawkins and this is my partner, Mike Delaney.” They each took out their wallets and showed him their P.I. licenses. “We’re doing a background check on a young lady named Teresa Maria Gomez. Do you know her?”

The detectives watched as Enrique’s eyes darted back and forth between them while he tried to assess the level of threat they presented.

“I do not know anyone with that name,” Enrique said, smiling politely as he started to close the door. Mike raised his arm to brace the door open while taking another step forward.

“I can’t help you,” Enrique said matter-of-factly, jiggling the toddler, who had started to cry.

“The phone number used to contact Teresa by her former employer is registered to you,” Madeline said. Picking up on the man’s stress, the child began to wail. “Perhaps we can come inside for a moment? We’ll be as brief as possible.”

Enrique sensed he was cornered and grudgingly relented. He pulled the door open wide to let them in. He put the child down in the center of a pile of baby dolls and assorted toys, then stood back, his eyes still on the girl as Mike questioned him.

“Let’s try this again,” Mike said, removing a folded flier from his back pocket and handing it to him. Enrique took shallow breaths as he looked at the photocopy.

“What do you want with her?” he asked, licking his lips nervously.

“So you do know her?” Mike said.

“I’m not saying anything until you tell me why you are looking for this girl.”

“Her employer hired us to do a background check on her, since it was discovered that the address and Social Security numbers she listed on her application don’t actually exist,” Madeline said. Enrique shoved his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the little girl, who was now playing happily on the floor.

“Enrique, I’m getting the feeling you’re worried about something, about Teresa…” Madeline said, leaning forward to break into his sightline. She could see his eyes moisten while he tried to control his trembling lips. “Perhaps we have information about her that could help you…”

Enrique met her eyes for the first time, revealing his frantic worry. “Do you know where she is?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“Does she live here, Enrique?” He nodded, swallowing hard to keep his emotions in check.

“She didn’t come home last night?” Madeline asked gently. Enrique’s resolve crumbled as tears welled in his eyes.

“She called me about ten minutes before nine to tell me she would be home around nine-thirty. I called her cell phone all night. It just rings and rings. I don’t know what to do,” he said, wiping his eyes as he turned his attention back to the child. “No, no, mija—don’t put that in your mouth,” he said, taking away a slobbery snap bead.

“Is that her little girl?” Mike asked. Enrique nodded before bursting into tears.

“I’m sorry. I have this terrible feeling…here,” he said, his hand resting on his heart. “I fear something terrible has happened.” Enrique’s legs became shaky and he sank to the sofa, burying his head in his hands.

“Have you tried calling all her friends?” Madeline asked. Enrique steadied himself and wiped his nose with a faded bandana he pulled from his pocket.

“Teresa don’t have no friends. It’s just the three of us. We keep to ourselves.”

“What about her sister, Esmeralda?” Madeline asked. Enrique looked up sharply at her, his face hard, scared and distrustful all at once, as if Madeline was playing a cruel joke on him.

“Esmeralda died five years ago,” he replied.

“She told her employer, Miss Story, that Esmeralda cleans houses,” Madeline said. Enrique let out a melancholy wheeze.

“That was Teresa’s dream—to come to America with Esmeralda and clean houses for rich people and make lots of money to send back to El Salvador.”

“El Salvador? I thought she was from Mexico.” Enrique shook his head. Another lie, Madeline thought. So far, they had discovered many things about the missing girl that didn’t jibe with what any of her employers knew about her. Yet to look at her, you’ve never guess someone so innocent looking could be so duplicitous.

“Have you seen the news today?” Madeline asked. Enrique paused before shaking his head, as if he couldn’t understand what that had to do with Teresa. “After Teresa left with the housekeeper last night, Miss Story was found dead in her bedroom. She was strangled to death.” Enrique’s face turned ash-white.

“Dios mio,” he uttered, shocked by the news. “No, no—this can’t be true.” he wailed, getting up to pace.

“I’m sorry to say that it is,” Madeline said.

The toddler, disturbed by the outburst, began to cry. Mike walked over and picked her up. At first the child reached out for Enrique, who was so absorbed by his own troubles, he lost sight of the little girl’s distress. Madeline was about to intervene, but the child became suddenly fascinated by Mike, leaving her able to console and question Enrique.

“I’m sorry you had to hear about it like that,” Madeline said, laying a hand lightly on his arm. Instead of pulling away, as she was afraid he might, he looked up into her eyes.

“The police don’t think Teresa do this?” he asked, his accent growing heavier as true panic set in.

“They would like to ask her some questions, but from what was caught on the surveillance cameras, it would appear the housekeeper and Teresa left together. I would say it’s highly unlikely she was involved.” Enrique stared blankly at Madeline. “She’s not officially a suspect,” Madeline clarified.

“But maybe she is scared they think she did this thing to Miss Story?” Enrique speculated.

“We don’t know if she’s aware of what happened or not,” Madeline said. “Can you think of anyone she might know in Isla Vista?”

“Isla Vista? No,” Enrique said, shaking his head emphatically.

“Why did Teresa keep her address a secret?” Mike asked, still holding the now gurgling child.

“The nonexistent address she gave on her application was way over on the other side of town, not far from the fairgrounds,” Madeline said. “I tried to give her a ride home on Thursday. She had me take her toward San Pascual, on the other side of the freeway, then jumped out when I was stopped at a light.”

“The housekeeper for the Alexanders said Teresa had her drive out to Isla Vista, then pulled the same stunt,” Mike said.

“Why all the secrecy about where she lives?” Madeline asked. Enrique closed his eyes as he let out a defeated wheeze.

“Teresa is an illegal,” he said. “She is always afraid of La Migra sending her back to El Salvador. “I have my citizenship now. Isabella was born here. If Teresa is deported, what do we do? I have a good job here…” Enrique shook his head. “What would happen to us?”

“Well, let’s not assume the worst,” Mike said.

“But if the police talk to her, they will send her back,” Enrique worried.

“Maybe they’ll find out who killed Miss Story before they get around to questioning Teresa,” Madeline offered hopefully. “The main reason we were hired was to find some very valuable things of Miss Story’s that have gone missing. I’m going to ask you something and I need an honest answer from you. Has Teresa ever brought home any jewelry? Perhaps she said they were gifts from her employer…?”

Enrique shook his head, his face devoid of emotion. Madeline reached into her bag and produced copies of the photos she’d been given.

“Do you recognize any of these?” Enrique took the photos and looked at them carefully. He had probably never seen pictures of the woman Teresa had been working for all these months.

“Teresa did not have this jewelry. Miss Story was very generous with her, but she did not ever give her these things,” Enrique said, handing the photos back to Madeline.

“Is it possible Teresa took them without letting you know about it? Did she need money for something important? Is there anything or anyone you can think of that might have made her take the jewelry?” Enrique shook his head adamantly.

“Teresa would never do that. She would never steal. Never.”

Mike and Madeline exchanged glances. They had more background info about Teresa than they had started out with, but they were still at square one in the investigation.

“I want you to imagine a situation where someone blackmailed Teresa into stealing from Miss Story. Think. Is there anyone who might know of Teresa’s relationship with the actress who might use that knowledge to blackmail her? Do you understand what I’m saying?” Madeline asked.

“Blackmail?”

“If anyone knew or guessed Teresa was here illegally, they could have used that as a threat to get her to steal something of value from the Alexander estate,” Mike said.

The light of recognition shone in Enrique’s eyes for a moment before he gave himself up to serious concentration.

After a pensive moment, he shook his head. “Teresa never tell me about anyone other than the people she works for.”

“Did she speak specifically about any one person there? Maybe someone she had become friends with?” Mike asked. Enrique shook his head again.

“According to Miss Story, Teresa rode the bus to and from work every day. Is it possible she made friends with someone she met on the bus?” Madeline asked. Enrique held his hands palm-side up, as if to say he had no way of knowing about that. “She never spoke of anyone who’d become friendly with her on the bus route? Think hard, Enrique. This is very important.”

Enrique got up and paced. Little Isabella’s attention strayed to her daddy. Mike handed the child over, though she had a sudden change of heart at the end.

“Venga, mija,” Enrique said, prying her off Mike’s chest. Isabella let out an ear-piercing cry before giving into her father. Mike was quickly forgotten as she began playing with the medallion Enrique was wearing on a gold chain around his neck.

“Do you know which bus numbers Teresa takes to and from her job?” Madeline asked.

“She takes the number fourteen bus both ways.”

“Does she have a bus pass?” Mike asked.

“Yes,” Enrique replied. “I saw it on the table by our bed,” he said as he walked into the bedroom.

“What do you think?” Mike whispered to his partner.

Madeline shrugged. “We’re not getting the whole story,” she replied right before Enrique rejoined them.

“Here is her bus pass,” he said, taking it from Isabella’s hands, eliciting a scream larger than something so tiny should be capable of making.

“Who takes care of Isabella when you’re both working?” Madeline asked.

“No one. I work night shifts at the newspaper. I go in at eleven and get off at seven. Teresa leaves the house at 7:30 and gets home around 4:40.”

“That’s a rough schedule,” Mike said, wondering if Enrique was really so disciplined at his age. “When do you sleep?”

“On the weekends, usually.” The full impact of all his worst fears hit him at once. But instead of bringing him to tears again, the terrifying insights seemed to leave him hollowed out, bereft of any emotion.

“If you hear from Teresa, please tell her to call me,” Madeline said, taking two more cards out and leaving them on the table in front of the sofa. “Write down a number I can reach you at in case I find Teresa before you do.” Madeline handed him a pen and he wrote down his cell phone number. She looked at the number, then tucked the card in one of the pockets of her handbag.

“I believe you when you say Teresa isn’t capable of stealing,” Madeline said. “But her disappearance tells me she might know who took Ms. Story’s jewelry. Something has definitely frightened her enough to go into hiding. She needs our help. Please try to convince her of that.” Enrique nodded solemnly and trailed Mike and Madeline as they made their way out.

Madeline glanced back at him before ducking inside Mike’s car. The expression on his face told her he knew his life had been forever altered.

THIRTY

“So…we at least know she had her phone with her last night,” Madeline said. “And it wasn’t among the contents of her handbag when Helen turned it over to Slovitch.”

“If she had the presence of mind to take her cell phone with her as she bailed out of Helen’s car, why not take the handbag too?”

Madeline gazed out the window as she visualized Helen’s version of events. “I don’t know. Helen says she fired her on the way out to I.V. Maybe, since she had been threatened with deportation if she ever stepped foot on the estate again, Teresa removed her phone from the handbag, knowing she wouldn’t be able to return it to Vivian herself. Helen brought the purse in with her. There was no phone inside.”

“Then why isn’t she answering Enrique’s calls?”

Madeline shook her head, disturbed by the implication. She could understand the girl not answering calls from numbers she didn’t know, but surely she would want the father of her child to know she was safe. “I don’t like what I’m feeling here,” she said. “I’m just wondering if Teresa saw something she shouldn’t have…like one of the other staff pilfering Vivian’s special keepsakes. I think it’s entirely possible that someone else helped herself to those jewels. They were kept in an unlocked china box right on Vivian’s dressing table. And naturally the blame would fall on the illegal alien, who had plenty of opportunity. She certainly didn’t help her situation by lying on her W-4.”

“Hmm…” Mike said, feeling frustrated by the lack of certainties gained by their constant brainstorming. “But how do we prove that? There are no cameras upstairs,” he sighed. “Right now, my brain feels like it’s running in circles. There’s just too much information floating around, but none of it qualifies as hard facts.”

“Except for two things—Vivian was killed, and my brake lines were tampered with. And I think it’s safe to add that Teresa never made it home last night.”

Mike looked over at her, a grave expression on his face. She looked away, unwilling to follow that line of thought any further. As if making its own protest to the events of the last eighteen hours, her stomach growled loud enough to be heard even with the windows down.

“I’ve got to get some food in me,” she said as the aromas wafting through the air from nearby restaurants made her weak with longing.

“Pick a place,” Mike said. “Some of the best Mexican food in town is right on this street.”

Madeline looked at the clock on the dashboard. “It’s only eleven-thirty? I feel like I’m stuck in a never-ending day. Well, since we’re so close, let’s drive by Gusto Mundo. If there’s already a line, we’ll go to Tiny’s. How’s that?”

“Your wish is my command,” Mike said, steering the handsome land yacht down Milpas Street, his mood already lightening at the thought of savory, soul-nourishing, tummy-filling delights. As his many experiences with all-nighters had taught him, there was almost nothing that satisfying, greasy food and sleeping like the dead couldn’t cure.

Madeline got a text from Brian as she was swabbing her plate with the last shred of her tortilla.

“He says he can be at my place in fifteen minutes. Good,” she said as she tapped out a reply. “Maybe we can nail down one more elusive piece of info, on another front.” When Mike looked questioningly at her, she added, “We’ll find out if the camera’s field covers the driveway. If so, we might catch a rat.”

“I get ya,” Mike said, placing a tip on the tray. “At least he can show you how all that new technology works.”

“If my brain is up to accepting new knowledge,” Madeline said doubtfully as she slid out of the seat with effort. “Home, James.” As soon as the words left her mouth, visions of her bed almost made her swoon. Home. She wondered if she’d really ever feel safe there again.

Madeline brewed a pot of strong coffee to get Mike and her through the arduous task of comprehending high-tech wizardry from a young guy so steeped in its mysterious workings, they almost needed a translator to bridge the divide. Though Mike was fairly computer savvy and had no problem operating the assorted spyware they employed in their trade, what Brian had pulled together was the most up-to-the-minute technology available to the public. Which would probably mean that by the time Madeline got comfortable with it, it’d be obsolete.

“I think you’ll find this pretty simple to operate,” Brian said, earning skeptical glances from both onlookers. He explained to Mike all the upgrades he’d made before launching into how the systems operated.

It took every drop of caffeine they could get down to stay alert during the training session. But by the time Brian left, Mike was competent enough to break it down in layman’s terms for Madeline. Equipped with his new knowledge and eager to put it to use before he forgot how, Mike ran through all the frames showing movement detected by the camera positioned toward the driveway. Madeline watched over his shoulder, getting excited as the time stamp showed they were getting closer to Usherwood’s window of opportunity.

But as they suspected from what they’d seen so far, Madeline’s SUV inadvertently created a blackout area on the west side of her property. If someone like Usherwood wanted to sabotage her car, he would only have to remain low to the ground and stay on the far side of the vehicle to remain hidden from the camera’s view.

“If only I had pulled up closer to the house,” Madeline lamented, “then he would’ve been seen as he stepped onto the property.”

“Well, if we’re going to stick to our original theory—and so far, it’s the only one we’ve got—then that means Usherwood was here while you and Brian were setting up the new alarm system.” The very thought made Madeline shiver like someone had poured cold water down her back.

“Oh God,” she groaned, reaching for her sweater and wrapping it tightly around herself.

“Okay, I think it’s safe to assume this is where Usherwood or someone in his employ attached the GPS tracker. Which also means that he was behind sabotaging the brake lines.”

“There was never any doubt in my mind about that,” Madeline said, kicking off her shoes as she lay down on her sofa, arranging her sweater over herself like an undersized blanket.

Mike’s phone rang, startling both of them. “It’s Bob Leonard, the P.I. in Simi Valley,” Mike said before taking the call. He wandered into the kitchen as he listened to what the investigator had to report.

“Yeah, email me the photos,” Mike said, as he came back into the living room. “Sounds like you got a pretty comprehensive assessment of the guy. No, I don’t think you need to keep tailing him. Yeah, thanks. I really appreciate it.”

Mike ended the call and looked down at Madeline, who was doing her best to keep at least one eye open.

“What did he find out?” she asked, her voice thick with fatigue. Mike fiddled with his phone, trying to enlarge the photos enough to see what Bob had found out.

“I wish I hadn’t left my computer at the office,” he said.

“Forward it to me and then you can view the photos on my iPad.”

“Good thinking, especially considering you’re only partially conscious,” Mike said.

“And not by choice,” Madeline added, closing her eyes in an effort to correct that problem. Once they were closed, she could feel herself recede from reality. Faintly, she heard bits and pieces of what Mike was saying as he looked for her handbag and asked for her logon password. But the garbled words and images coming from her overly-stimulated and sorely neglected subconscious soon drowned out all outside stimuli.

Madeline’s ringtone chimed, jolting her from a disturbing slumber. Her head throbbed from dehydration and she nearly blacked out from sitting upright too quickly. Her eyes darted around the room as her beleaguered mind tried to determine where the ringing was coming from. She caught sight of her phone on the dining table and inadvertently stepped on a slumbering Mike as she rose up to fetch it.

“Ouf!” Mike gasped as Madeline teetered off his stomach and smacked her shin on the coffee table.

“Oww!” Madeline howled as she limped to her cell phone, rubbing her shin with one hand as she answered the call with the other. “Hello?” she croaked. “Hello? Damn,” she said, figuring the call had already gone to voicemail.

“Madeline?”

“Hello?”

“It’s John Slovitch.”

“John,” Madeline said, forcing her eyes open with exaggerated effort.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. I, uh, must’ve fallen asleep,” she said, heading for the kitchen to get a glass of water.

“Sorry. You probably didn’t get much sleep last night,” Detective Slovitch said.

“Try none. To what do I owe this call?” she asked before taking a long drink of ice cold water from the dispenser.

“I figured you’d want to know…” Slovitch said, his words acting like smelling salts on Madeline’s numbed senses. “A hiker and his dog discovered the body of a young Hispanic woman on Rattlesnake Trail this morning. There was no ID on her and her fingerprints aren’t in our database. Something tells me we’re not going to turn up any dental records, either.” Madeline had to consciously force herself to breathe. She began trembling as her mind grasped what Slovitch was telling her.

“I can’t be certain,” Slovitch continued, “but I think she might be the girl we saw leaving with the housekeeper on the surveillance video last night. I was hoping you could come and verify if it’s her or not.”

After quietly agreeing to meet him at the County Morgue, Madeline ended the call and stood there, stunned, unable to decide if she was dreaming or living a nightmare.

Detective Slovitch silently escorted Madeline back to the morgue, where he introduced her to Sergeant Rizzo, who oversaw the coroner’s office. Such pleasantries as the situation would allow were exchanged before Slovitch motioned for the coroner, Donald Ferguson, to pull back the sheet.

There, on the cold metal table lay the body of Teresa Maria Alvarez. The wide gash across her throat caused Madeline to rear back in horror. Though she had suspected the worst after Slovitch’s call, she hadn’t been sufficiently prepared for the sight of such brutality. Clean and even as the wound was, it was impossible not to imagine the act that had ended this sweet young woman’s life.

“Can you identify her as the girl in the surveillance videos?”

“Yes. This is the girl known as Teresa Maria Gomez. She was the companion to Vivian Story. She’s the one seen leaving with Helen Bagley last night.”

Madeline related this information as though she were reading it from a script. At the sight of the lifeless Teresa, her mind had shifted to autopilot, allowing her to detach from her emotions long enough to get through the heartbreaking task. Even so, she had a hard time steadying her trembling legs.

As Dr. Ferguson replaced the sheet over the young Latina’s face, Madeline brought up her hand to stop him. Ferguson looked to Detective Slovitch, who nodded his consent.

Madeline bent down for a closer examination. On both sides of Teresa’s neck, above the deadly gash that cut clear through her windpipe, were two faint red marks, almost identical.

“What do you make of these?” Madeline asked the coroner.

A subliminal message passed between Slovitch and Ferguson. “Offhand, I’d say they look like marks made by yanking a chain from the victim’s neck,” Ferguson said. “We’ll know more when we start our tests.”

“Did you see her wearing anything like that last night?” Slovitch asked.

Madeline thought back. She remembered Lauren and Teresa standing in the foyer as they arrived ahead of the other partygoers. She recalled how pretty and excited Teresa had been, wearing a pale pink dress and matching jacket… She shook her head as the detail of jewelry eluded her memory. “I have seen her wearing a medallion on a thin gold chain, but I can’t be sure she had it on last night. There might be photos of her with Vivian at the party. I assume you have the contact info for the photographer and videographer… I would check with them,” Madeline said.

She avoided making eye contact with the men because she wasn’t telling all she knew. It surprised her that she would consciously withhold information, but then again, this didn’t seem the time or place to share her visit to Enrique Alvarez with the authorities. She couldn’t help wondering if Enrique and Teresa wore matching medallions in lieu of wedding rings.

Turning to Ferguson, she asked, “Do you have an approximate time of death?”

“She’s been dead for more than twelve hours,” the coroner replied, keeping his answer vague. “We’ll know more after the autopsy.” But will you tell me? Madeline wondered doubtfully.

Slovitch motioned to the coroner and gently drew Madeline away from the dead girl by her elbow. As they exited the morgue, Detective Slovitch brought them to a halt.

“Thank you,” he said. “I know that couldn’t have been easy, but it will save us a lot of time getting her data.”

“I doubt you’ll find her in any database,” Madeline said, her voice flat and emotionless. She turned to face Slovitch. “As you know, I was hired by Vivian Story to do a background check on her. I only got a break today when I traced the ownership of the cell number she listed on her application.”

Slovitch recoiled slightly at this admission. “What else do you know about the dead girl you haven’t told us?” he asked, his officious tone grating against Madeline’s already frayed nerves.

“Let’s not forget that I just learned of her death,” she countered. “Until twenty minutes ago, I was still trying to track her down.”

“You knew she was missing?”

“Yes.” Madeline hesitated before telling Slovitch about her encounter with Enrique Alvarez and their child, who was now motherless. As she recounted their conversation, she became increasingly saddened by the fate that had befallen the little family. It pained her even more to imagine the police breaking the news of Teresa’s death to the already distraught Enrique.

“What’s the address?” Slovitch asked. Madeline hesitated. Slovitch gave her an exasperated look, trying to shame her into compliance.

“I did you a favor by coming down here. Let me break the news to her husband.”

Slovitch looked at his watch. “I’ll give you a twenty-minute head start,” he said.

Mike had remained in the waiting room while Madeline made the identification. He nodded circumspectly to Slovitch before ushering his partner out to the car. Sensing her mental state, he walked her around to the passenger’s side and held the door open as she got in. It wasn’t until they pulled out of the parking lot that he broke the silence.

“Are you okay?”

There was a lot of information packed into her irritated snort. No, she was not okay. How could she be after all that had happened in less than a day? Two sweet, gentle women had been callously murdered, and she had no idea why.

“Where to?” he tried again.

“Back to Enrique’s. Slovitch is letting me break the news to him.” Mike knew better than to weigh in on that idea. He got back on the freeway, cruising at a respectable speed, giving Madeline all the space she needed. It didn’t take long for her to test her most reliable sounding board.

“I just don’t understand this,” she said, averting her eyes out the window. “Helen takes Teresa out to I.V., where she bolts, and her body ends up on Rattlesnake Trail. That’s got to be at least ten miles away.”

“Do we know if she was killed at the scene or taken there afterwards?”

Madeline rubbed her shoulder. They were at a distinct disadvantage in their roles as private investigators. “No. We don’t know. They do, but they aren’t saying much.” Madeline let out a rueful huff and fell quiet for a moment. “I wish I knew if they have CCTV out in Isla Vista,” she thought out loud.

“We could have a look for ourselves. Or we could ask Slovitch.”

“We might have to take a drive out there,” Madeline said. She became silent again, but now Mike’s mind was churning with hypotheses.

“Maybe Helen made that whole story up…” he suggested.

“Believe me, I’ve been thinking the same thing. I just can’t imagine why.”

“Well, Teresa was a thorn in her side, right, for being an illegal in her employ? Maybe she fired her and forced her out in a bad part of Santa Barbara, like around the baseball field on Cabrillo. A lot of crazy shit goes on down there…murders, attempted murders, rape—”

“All right, I get your point,” Madeline said irritably.

“Sorry…just brainstorming…”

“I know. I didn’t mean to snap. I just don’t know how I’m going to tell Enrique…” her voice trailed off and she bit her lip to keep from crying.

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Mike pulled up in front of the duplex this time. He opened his door, thinking he was going to accompany her, but Madeline said she preferred to do it alone.

The front door opened as Madeline approached. Mike could see Enrique, the terse exchange before he let her into the house. Mike knew he should use the time to assimilate all that had transpired since Vivian Story was found dead, but he was too anxious about Madeline. She hadn’t been under this kind of stress since her sadist of a husband had torn her life apart and nearly succeeded in getting her killed.

On top of the murders of Vivian and Teresa, Madeline also had to cope with the resurfacing of Lionel Usherwood. Mike hadn’t had the chance to tell her the latest on that front. Now he was afraid to even mention it. Out of sheer nervousness, he got out of his car and paced back and forth, continually checking his watch for lack of anything better to do.

After fifteen minutes of weaving an unproductive path beside his car, Mike heard Enrique’s door open. He waited until Madeline was on the front walk before going around to her side to let her in.

“Where to now?” he asked as he started the car. Madeline opened her mouth to speak and suddenly burst into tears.

“Can we just get out of here?” she asked, shielding her face with her hands. There was so much to mourn on top of so much to process. As the sobs broke from her chest, Madeline wasn’t sure who she was crying for. All she knew for certain was that there was a lot more pain yet to come.

THIRTY-ONE

“Do you know where the trailhead for Rattlesnake Canyon is?” Mike shook his head. “Okay, I’ll tell you how to get there. I think the quickest way from here is to take A.P.S.”

Mike got in the left hand lane and made a U-turn, heading north. He had been driving aimlessly while Madeline unburdened herself of the sorrow that had finally overwhelmed her. Now, despite bloodshot eyes, she had sprung back into her role of private investigator. If there was one thing Madeline did especially well, it was compartmentalizing her life. Now she was all business, as good a defense against uncertainty as she could erect.

When they pulled up to the entrance to Skofield Park, they realized by the number of TV station vans present that Teresa’s death had already been picked up by the local media.

“Oh perfect,” Madeline said dejectedly as Mike scouted out a place to park.

“Maybe they know something we don’t,” Mike said, his cheery optimism earning him a cynical look from his partner. As Madeline got out of the car, she recognized Julia Cummings, one of the reporters from the Santa Barbara station. Her first instinct was avoidance, but Mike’s comment made her reassess the opportunity. Instead of ducking out of sight, Madeline walked straight into Julia’s line of vision.

Julia wrapped up her report and made a beeline for Madeline, whom she had been acquainted with for several years, long before Madeline Ridley, socialite and fundraiser, had transformed into Madeline Dawkins, event coordinator and sleuth.

“Madeline!” Julia called out amidst the confusion of reporters, police personnel and curious locals. Pretending to acquiesce, Madeline came to a halt and waited for Julia to catch up. Mike, sensing her game, gave the women a wide berth and wandered up to where the police had strung up an impressive amount of crime scene tape.

“Julia,” Madeline said, wearing the expression of captured prey.

“Is it true that you were the coordinator for Cherie Alexander’s party last night?” Julia asked conspiratorially. What she really wanted to know was if Madeline had an inside scoop on the death of Vivian Story.

“I can’t really talk about that,” Madeline said, looking over her shoulder as if she expected spies. “Confidentiality, you know…” A reporter and camera man from a rival station traipsed past on their way to the cordoned off site.

Julia pulled Madeline aside to make sure she got the full message in her loaded look. The subliminal message Julia was sending was this: don’t forget I gave you a pass when the news about your criminal ex hit the airwaves.

Madeline responded with an aloof expression that said: don’t give me that—you were as blood thirsty as the rest of them. Julia got the message and covered the sting of it with a faltering smile.

“Isn’t there anything you can give me without breaching confidentiality?” she asked. “I mean, really—Ross Alexander and his mother are public figures. They’re used to being hounded by the press. It comes with the territory. Besides, the law says they’re fair game.” Madeline let out a haughty sniff and turned to leave.

“Madeline, wait. What are you doing here?” Julia asked, belatedly realizing how odd it was that she should turn up at this crime scene. Madeline smiled tightly, as though she’d been caught out.

“What do you know about this?” Julia asked, motioning with her head to the activity behind her. When Madeline just regarded her silently, Julia got the message: tit for tat, her turn first.

“A young Hispanic woman was found here around seven a.m. this morning. The authorities don’t know who she is, or if she’s even from around here. Your turn.”

“That much I know already. Are they saying if she was murdered here or if they think she was killed elsewhere and dumped here?” Madeline asked, ignoring Julia’s demand for reciprocation.

“They aren’t saying.”

“I thought you were an ace reporter,” Madeline said a little louder than Julia liked. Julia glanced around and pulled Madeline away from the foot traffic.

“You can’t really see any blood up there. From what I was told—and if it gets out, they’ll know who leaked it—she had a pretty deep cut across her throat. With that kind of injury, there would’ve been plenty of blood.”

“Why can’t you report that?” Madeline asked.

“The next of kin hasn’t been found and notified yet. They don’t want anyone finding out on TV that their daughter or sister has been slain in some savagely gruesome way. Now, you tell me, what’s the scoop with Vivian Story?”

“How much do you know?”

“Only what I’ve read in the tabloids,” Julia said.

“Which is what?”

“That her daughter-in-law did it. That a crazed, eighty-year-old fan who had been stalking her for months did it. That she hung herself because she had Alzheimer’s… all that loony kind of stuff.” Now Madeline was in a spot because she really couldn’t give Julia anything.

“I can pretty much confirm it wasn’t the latter,” she said. Julia laughed feebly, as if Madeline were making a joke.

“That’s it?” she asked incredulously as Madeline went mute. “Does that mean Cherie Alexander did it?” Julia asked excitedly.

“With dozens of people around her? Don’t let your imagination run away with you.”

“You were there—who do they suspect?” That question made Madeline look away, lest the reporter’s nose got a whiff of her unease about being on the short list of potential suspects.

“It’s been pandemonium over there. You do know that almost a hundred Hollywood hotshots were in attendance…and every one of them had to have their statements taken…?” Julia’s eyes grew big as she envisioned such a scene.

“I knew there was a grand soiree going on when it happened, but I didn’t know the extent of it. Whoa. That must’ve been a mess…”

“It was,” Madeline confirmed. Julia looked lost in thought for a moment before remembering her mission.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here,” she said irritably. Just as she was putting the screws to Madeline again, Mike came walking down the path from where the body was discovered. With a wag of his head, he let Madeline know he had gotten everything he could out of the cops at the site.

“Sorry, Julia—I’ve got to go. My partner’s leaving…” With that, Madeline slipped away, leaving a very pissed-off reporter in her wake.

“Madeline, wait!” she called out. The P.I.s quickened their pace.

“Did you learn anything?” Madeline asked once they were out of hearing range. Mike gave her a look that said he was insulted by her lack of confidence in him. “Okay, tell me,” she said, opening the passenger’s side door. Mike smiled to himself; he’d rather see Madeline feisty than depressed.

“No blood at the scene, other than what was on her clothes. The sheriff’s department is out en masse in I.V. with K-9 units, while the rest are canvassing door to door. We’ll see,” Mike said doubtfully. “What about you? Did you pick up anything useful?”

“Not really. We clearly know more than the press does, which tells us the sheriff’s department is being quite tight-lipped about what little they do know. According to Julia, the tabloids are having an orgy of speculation about Vivian’s death. She said one claimed Cherie killed her.” It took each of them a couple of seconds before they were on the same wavelength.

“I think we need to see which rag pinned the tail on the donkey, don’t you?” Mike said. “Maybe someone’s got an inside source more willing to part with information than our sources are.” Madeline was one step ahead of him. She had taken out her iPad and was searching for any info on Vivian’s death.

“It’s more than a little weird that both Vivian and Teresa were killed on the same night,” she said as she scrolled through her options.

“In two different places, with two different weapons. What we need is a motive, for one or the other, or both,” Mike said as they glided to a stop in front of the Mission. “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Sutton’s okay? Their deli’s open all day.”

“Perfect,” Madeline replied as she skimmed the Intruder, already appalled by what she had read. But at this point in the investigation, any harebrained theories were worthy of at least a cursory glance.

Madeline dug into her macaroni and cheese like it was the first edible thing she’d seen in days. Once she had conquered the gnawing in her stomach, she followed Mike’s example and helped herself to the stack of tabloids they had picked up at the checkout counter. Now that she had some food in her, the wild, far-flung speculations on Vivian Story’s demise seemed ridiculous, almost to the point of laughable. She wondered when and if the press would pick up on the murder of her companion, and what loony suppositions that discovery would bring about.

“I hope someone’s keeping this kind of thing from Cherie,” Mike said, passing one of the rag sheets across the table for Madeline’s perusal.

“‘Director’s wife kills mother-in-law. 40th birthday bash ends over bizarre love-triangle. Was this woman playing casting couch with Ross Alexander under wife’s nose?’ This is a picture of Sally,” Madeline said, looking up at Mike incredulously. “This must be photo-shopped,” she insisted. Mike raised his eyebrows as if reminding her he had suspected something of this nature from the beginning.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re still stuck on that wild-ass idea of Sally and Cherie cooking up this whole thing,” Madeline scoffed. Mike’s maddening leer made her want to throw the paper at him.

“Hey, I was trained to keep an open mind,” Mike said calmly. Madeline tossed the tabloid aside and studied her partner, not so much for what he was saying, but more to pick up the thread of earlier, more constructive dialogs.

“Finding Teresa with her throat slashed only hours after Vivian’s strangulation is perplexing. Either they are inextricably linked or they’re a very unfortunate coincidence. You know how I feel about coincidences.”

“I do,” Mike said before taking a sip of his coffee. “I’m inclined to believe that myself, but sometimes coincidences do happen.”

“Okay, let’s run through this again. There were only five people seen going upstairs, besides Vivian—Cherie, Teresa, Helen, Sally and me.”

“Do we know for sure there wasn’t someone already up there, maybe camped out for hours, lying in wait until Vivian was alone?” Madeline let out a perplexed wheeze as she tried to discount the validity of Mike’s hypothesis. “There aren’t any cameras upstairs, right?”

Madeline shook her head. “I was sitting there when Slovitch fast-forwarded through the footage on both staircases. If someone else was hiding up there, it would’ve had to have been someone who was cleared at the gates.”

“Not necessarily,” Mike said stubbornly.

“Then when did that person leave, and how? The place was crawling with cops within minutes of me finding Vivian. And why are we looking for ghosts when we already have several suspects to choose from?” Madeline sat back, hands behind her head as she picked Mike’s assertion apart. “Even if they could’ve blended in with the crowd, they still had to descend one of the staircases.”

“Or exit out of one of the second floor balconies,” Mike chimed in.

“That reminds me,” Madeline said, taking out her phone to make a note to herself.

“Are you going to share that thought with me?” Mike asked, sneaking a forkful of her macaroni while she was preoccupied.

“I want to ask Ross if his security system is set up to record the opening of those doors upstairs. I wouldn’t be surprised if they did, and it would be one way for us to scratch the phantom killer theory off the list.”

“Maybe it was someone on the payroll, like the household staff or all the people hired for the party.”

Madeline groaned at the suggestion. “If that’s the case, we may never know who did it. Regardless of who killed her, we need a motive. I can understand Teresa’s murder being a product of opportunity and impulse. But strangling Vivian in her bedroom requires opportunity, planning and a motive.”

“You don’t think it was brought on by a flash of anger?” Mike asked.

“I didn’t say that. I could see Cherie losing it and acting on a rash impulse, unfortunately. I wish I could say she wasn’t a high-strung, impetuous spoiled brat, but after all the time I’ve spent with her, I know how irrational she can get.”

Madeline let out a groan of frustration, her gaze drifting as she willed herself to come up with good reasons why Cherie Alexander couldn’t have killed her mother-in-law. Sadly, this vein of reasoning only added to the list of motivating factors.

“So, you think Cherie did do it?”

“I didn’t say that either,” Madeline hedged.

“Then, does that mean you’re more open-minded to the concept of it being someone other than the five?”

“Four—I didn’t do it. And yes, I’d say we can’t discount it. But I would limit that to people with a legitimate reason for being there. Even casting the net that wide makes my head hurt.” Madeline picked at what was left on her plate, more as a distraction than out of hunger. When that proved nonproductive, she turned to her iPad.

“Hey, who is this?”

Mike lowered the tablet so he could see what Madeline was looking at. He still couldn’t make it out, so Madeline turned it around to give him a better view.

“Oh…that’s Justin Oaks…army buddy of Usherwood. Remember, I hired that P.I. down in Simi Valley to follow up on the leads I found?” Mike handed the tablet back to Madeline who regarded the man in the photos curiously.

“This is the guy? Well, I’d say he’s probably not the one who rearranged my furniture or fiddled with my brake lines.” Madeline flipped through all of the photos Mike had forwarded to her iPad. What they showed was a man so mentally and physically beaten down by war, loss and substance abuse, he was barely able to stagger down his front walk to the mailbox.

“I guess that leaves Usherwood doing his own dirty work…” Madeline said.

“Don’t forget about his connection with Stewart Mitchell,” Mike reminded her.

“How could I?” Madeline said, her mind instantly flashing back to her interview with Mitchell at the police station three years earlier. His tipoff to Usherwood almost got her killed.

“He would be a natural source for this kind of work, if Usherwood was unable to do it himself.”

“You mean a contract on my life, with an appetizer of terror for starters?” Madeline asked, shifting uneasily in the booth. Somehow, having two parties working on her demise seemed doubly awful, which didn’t really make any sense since one was more than amply sufficient to do the job.

“Yeah, something like that.” Mike gave her a sympathetic look. Sure, he too almost died in the attempt on her life, but that would’ve been collateral damage. It was Madeline’s car that lost its brakes; whoever sabotaged it wouldn’t have known she wasn’t the only one at risk. It had been dumb luck that had saved both their lives.

“How do we even figure out if Mitchell is involved? He’s in the same line of work Usherwood was in before he was arrested. With his police background and connections, plus all the latest in surveillance and security technology, how can we even get near enough to him to find out if he’s involved or not?” Madeline asked wearily.

“I had an idea for that,” Mike said.

“Tell me.”

“It wasn’t a very good one.” Madeline telegraphed that she wasn’t in the mood for guessing games. “It didn’t really pan out.”

“Would you just spit it out already?”

“I tried to hire someone to do some discreet snooping,” Mike said nonchalantly.

“Oh, really? Who?” Mike cleared his throat, intentionally stalling, uncertain how she would react to the answer.

“Barnett.”

“As in Russell Barnett?” she asked incredulously.

“What’s wrong with that? He was good enough for training us—”

“He was the only one who would’ve trained us, and that was because of the dirt we had on him.”

“What are you saying, that he isn’t qualified to do some digging into Stewart Mitchell’s enterprise? That wouldn’t be a very good reflection on us, would it?” Mike asked testily. Madeline let out a cynical snort.

“We are about as green as you can get for licensed P.I.s. And what we got out of our apprenticeship with Barnett was greatly enhanced by our naturally superior intellects.”

“Barnett’s not stupid,” Mike maintained.

“No, I wouldn’t say he was stupid, either. Burt trained him, which is the only thing the guy’s got going for him. Boy, I wish Burt was still around,” Madeline said wistfully, getting a catch in her throat. He would be, if he hadn’t gotten tangled up in my mess, she thought dispiritedly.

“What’d you say?” she asked, coming out of her dismal reverie.

“I said, I think Russell actually learned a lot working with us.” This observation got a smile out of Madeline.

“You may be right there,” she conceded. “So, have you talked to him already?” Mike nodded. “Has he come up with anything?”

“No,” Mike said sheepishly. “He suddenly remembered he had business outside the country.” Madeline laughed out loud.

“Now, why am I not surprised?” she asked rhetorically, though she could hardly blame Barnett for fearing Usherwood. After she and Mike struck a deal with him to train them in lieu of handing him over to the D.A., they got him to cover his ass with the D.A. with testimony against Madeline’s ex. It had been the only way to keep Steven Ridley from using Barnett as his own bargaining chip. If there was one person with a bigger target on his back than Madeline, it was probably Russell Barnett.

“I guess if I had any sense, I would’ve done the same thing,” Madeline grudgingly admitted. She tried to laugh for Mike’s benefit, but it came out more like a wheeze.

Troubled anew by the predicament Madeline found herself in, Mike turned his gaze out the window to check on his car. He had parked it so he could keep an eye on it while they ate. The fact that it was on State Street also decreased the likelihood that anyone could tamper with it, but he wasn’t going to take any chances.

“My butt’s getting sore,” Madeline said, squirming uncomfortably, trying to find a spot on the cushion that hadn’t been flattened by countless other customers.

“Where to?” Mike asked, scooting his way out of the booth.

“I’d like to go to the office. There’s really too much to try to assimilate without the boards.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

“I should call Ross, let him know about Teresa before he learns it from the police. After all, he did hire us to dig into her past. Wouldn’t want him to think we didn’t do our job,” Madeline said, standing up with effort. As she bent over to pick up her bag, her cell phone rang.

“It’s Ross,” she said, looking at Mike before she took the call. They both sank back into the booth.

“Hello, Ross.”

“Madeline. I need your help.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Can you come over?”

“Now?”

“Yes. Please. I’m about to lose my mind here.”

“We’ll be right there.”

THIRTY-TWO

Now that the sheriff’s department wasn’t around to disperse them, the paparazzi were swarming outside the gates of the Alexander estate unfettered. Cameras flashed as eager reporters pressed themselves against the windows of Mike’s Mercedes. Two helicopters could be heard crisscrossing overhead. The guards, now armed, kept the gates closed until Madeline’s identity had been established and they were cleared to enter.

“Oh, God—what a nightmare,” Madeline said, clearly shaken by the experience. It was no wonder Ross was on the brink of losing his sanity. Even the usually unflappable Mike seemed bothered by such an unruly mob.

“Blood-sucking leaches,” he said as he eyed the swarm in his rearview mirror. He was able to pull up right in front of the steps, now that all the merrymaking of the day before had come to a premature end. He and Madeline eyed each other thoughtfully before they took the plunge.

“Something tells me we need to brace ourselves,” Mike said, as he stowed his sunglasses in his shirt pocket.

The front door opened as they climbed the steps. Elaine nodded somberly, then secured the door behind them and led the way to Ross. This time they found him on the upper terrace, facing the gardens, wrapped in a thick cashmere sweater despite the mild weather. A bottle of scotch and a half-filled glass sat in front of him. They didn’t realize he was on a call until his voice suddenly erupted.

“For Chrissakes, Morrie, my mother was killed last night.” He paused as he listened to the party on the other end. “We wouldn’t be behind schedule and off budget if that marginally talented prima donna could learn her goddamned lines!”

Elaine looked as frightened as Dorothy confronting the Wizard of Oz. Apparently figuring she had done her duty, she fled, leaving Mike and Madeline in the awkward position of eavesdropping without meaning to.

Something finally tipped Ross off to their presence. He shifted around in his seat, still engaged in the heated argument.

“Look, Morrie…Morrie…the undertakers are here…yeah, yeah…thanks, no, I know…Jesus. Yeah, tomorrow.” Ross pulled out the earbud and dropped it on the table next to his cell phone.

“Sorry about that,” he said, standing up to greet them as he ran a hand through his uncombed hair. “Thanks for coming.” By the hollows under his eyes, it was obvious Ross was still running on alcohol and no sleep. He motioned for them to have a seat.

“What can I get you? Helen!” he bellowed over his shoulder.

“Nothing, thank you. We’re fine,” Madeline said. Ross took in this information as though it had been given to him in a foreign language. His lips moved silently, a look of bewilderment in his eyes. He shook his head as her words belatedly registered.

Elaine appeared at the doorway, hesitant but ready to take orders. Ross looked at her crossly. “Oh, I forgot,” he said, heaving a beleaguered sigh. “Never mind,” he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. He sat brooding for a moment, apparently forgetting he had company.

The inner turmoil that played out across his features was painful to watch. Both Mike and Madeline had each known the dark range of emotions Ross was experiencing. But recognizing it didn’t make it any easier to assuage.

“How can we be of help?” Madeline ventured.

Ross exhaled deeply, his gaze dropping to the empty glass in front of him. Mike watched Ross struggle over whether or not another drink would solve anything, resisting the impulse to intervene. Just because Mike was an alcoholic didn’t mean Ross was. But Mike also knew that alcohol could only postpone the suffering, never relieve it.

As if he had telepathically transmitted that message, Ross’s hand pulled away from the glass mid-reach. Ross took a deep breath and expelled it, hard enough that Mike could smell the liquor on it.

“It’s Cherie,” Ross said at length. Madeline and Mike waited expectantly for further elaboration.

“Is she okay?” Madeline asked finally.

“I don’t know…” Ross said, shaking his head. At a loss for words again, he got up and began to pace.

“Were you able to make contact with Liz Sweet?”

Ross looked at her for a second before answering. “Yes. Thanks. She’s great. She got to the station before Cherie cracked and said something stupid. But the thing is, Liz thinks—given what she learned by the questions they were asking Cherie—that they’re going to come back with a warrant for her arrest.” Though Madeline had been afraid this would happen, it made her stomach churn to find out the threat was a real likelihood.

“What exactly did Liz learn?” Madeline asked.

“That the…drapery cord used to…” Ross cleared his throat before continuing. “The cord was found in the bottom drawer of Cherie’s lingerie dresser.”

The sound of songbirds could be heard in the background as Madeline and Mike absorbed this news. Sharing this bulletin with them seemed to bring more life into Ross. His eyes looked more alert as he gauged their reaction.

“Madeline, help me here…you’ve spent a whole year getting to know Cherie. Do you think she could’ve done this to my mother?” Madeline thought for a moment before shaking her head.

“Truthfully, no, I don’t think so,” she admitted, realizing it herself for the first time. Ross’s body sagged with relief.

“Oh, thank Christ!” he said, throwing his head back as if directing his gratitude to the heavens. When he looked at Madeline again, he was almost smiling.

“I have to tell you, Ross, if I didn’t know her better, I probably would think she had done it, based on how strangely she was behaving last night.”

Ross tensed again at hearing this. He lowered himself slowly to the chair, his eyes riveted to Madeline’s. “Strangely, how?” he asked.

“Right before she went upstairs, she was ecstatic. The party was going perfectly. She was ‘feeling the love’ and practically floating on euphoria. I can’t honestly say how much of that was due to having a crowd of admirers singing her praises and how much was due to the substances floating in her bloodstream.”

“What kind of substances?” Ross asked guardedly. Madeline shrugged.

“Plenty of alcohol, for sure, and I strongly suspect cocaine. Look, I don’t want to prejudice you against your wife,” Madeline said as Ross pursed his lips and turned away, “but I think it’s important to know about her state of mind before her attorneys start painting a picture of her as prim and proper. Dozens of people saw her in that condition, and some probably contributed to it. You don’t want anyone testifying that they gave her drugs just prior to your mother’s death.”

The mere idea of seeing his wife in court on murder charges impelled Ross to pour himself another drink.

“But you still don’t think she did it?” he asked, his voice begging for reassurance.

“No. Not even after seeing her in a totally abject state shortly after she went upstairs.”

Ross reached for his drink again. He slugged back half of what he had poured and inhaled deeply before he could confront what Madeline had said. “What do you mean by ‘abject?’” he asked.

“She was such an emotional wreck, she couldn’t dress herself. She railed at you for not being there. I think it hit her she was turning forty, which can be really hard for some women. I think she had doubts about your marriage and her future.”

Ross took this news rather calmly. He had spent most of the past twelve months away from home, living his life the way he wanted, following his love for creating films, hanging with his crowd, where his talents were revered. He had moved his mother into his home for mostly selfish reasons—so that she and Cherie would keep each other company while he was on location. He essentially tried to force a bond to grow between the two, but it had only made Cherie resentful and his mother lonelier.

“And you don’t think she went from ecstatic to abject because she had just killed my mother?” he asked. Madeline shook her head. “Why?”

“I can see Cherie taking her frustrations out on Vivian, perhaps blaming her for coming between the two of you—”

“That would be all the more reason to get my mother out of the way,” Ross argued.

“True. But I don’t believe Cherie possessed the mental wherewithal to formulate a plan involving selecting the means and the weapon. Screaming, yelling, crying—sure, she was capable of theatrical venting. If Vivian had been hit in the head with a heavy object that was within Cherie’s reach, then I would strongly suspect her as the murderer,” Madeline said. Even though this reasoning seemed perfectly logical to her, she could tell Ross was having trouble with it.

“The way Madeline explained it to me this morning,” Mike began, “removing one of the drapery cords without tipping off your mother, and somehow surprising her from behind would’ve been a difficult maneuver for Cherie if the two of them had been quarrelling.”

“And you think they were quarrelling?” Ross asked Madeline.

“I don’t think they had the opportunity. I think Cherie’s helium balloon of a high deflated once she encountered her reflection in the mirror. I don’t think she left her room before I got there.”

“And you don’t think she went there first?”

“No. Frankly, I think your mother couldn’t have been further from Cherie’s thoughts. Besides, Teresa and Helen were both with your mother until they were seen on the back staircase at 9:11. Cherie would’ve had less than fifteen minutes between their departure and my arrival, and there was no way for her to know that in advance.”

“I wish you could explain that to the police,” Ross said, still perplexed but not seeming as distraught as when they had first arrived. “Would it help if you talked to the detective in charge?” he asked hopefully.

“What would help the most is finding a suspect that fit the crime better,” Mike said. “If we do a little digging of our own, we might be able to find someone with the means, opportunity, and motive. If Cherie looks like the best fit for the crime, then they’d be figuring the murder as a spur-of-the-moment rash act. What other motivation could they possibly come up with? Cherie doesn’t stand to inherit anything from her, does she?”

Ross shook his head to confirm. “But they could make the case she was jealous and resentful of having my mother in the house, especially when I was out of town so much of the time.”

“And she was willing to wreck her big party in order to get rid of an unwanted houseguest?” Mike asked. “I was here last night for surveillance purposes, and I watched Cherie. She was in her glory. I would say she positively loved everyone last night, including your mother. She was feeling no pain, that’s for sure, but she was totally high on life. I seriously doubt she was nursing a grudge to the point of taking action when the party of the year was being held in her honor.”

Mike’s words were very persuasive; Ross now looked fairly convinced of his wife’s innocence. Mike hoped Madeline’s instincts about the woman were correct. In any event, further investigation into the matter was certainly in order.

“What you said earlier, about finding a more likely candidate—can you do that? Can you two run your own investigation? Or should I hire a bigger firm with more experience behind them?” Ross asked, thinking out loud.

“That’s your call,” Mike said. “But there are certain advantages to engaging our services as opposed to seeking out another company. First, we’re here. We don’t have to acquaint ourselves with the events of last evening or the cast of characters. Second, we’re very low-profile, which, when you consider the crowd of reporters stationed outside your gates, is definitely a plus. And third, we’ve already gotten results on the matter you and your mother hired us for.”

“The background check on Teresa…your mother’s companion…” Madeline said, trying to jog Ross’s memory.

“Oh, yes…of course,” he said hastily. “What did you find out?” Mike and Madeline both shifted uncomfortably in their seats before Madeline spoke.

“We were able to locate her real address, which is nowhere near Isla Vista. We went to the house and spoke with the father of her child, who was very worried because Teresa did not come home last night.” Madeline could see Ross’s thought process play out on his face.

“She didn’t go home last night?” he asked excitedly, as his mind jumped to some hopeful conclusion. “Do you think she could’ve killed my mother?” The P.I.s consulted each other before answering.

“We seriously doubt it,” Mike said. “Right now, piecing together her last few hours is the sheriff’s department’s job.”

Ross regarded them uncomprehendingly. “So, they think she’s guilty?” Ross asked. The possibility of clearing his wife’s name with any other suspect completely renewed his spirits. It would solve one half of the nightmare scenario he was now facing.

“We don’t know what they think at this point. But now they have two murders on their hands. Whether or not they’re connected remains to be seen,” Mike said.

“Did I miss something?” Ross asked.

“The body of your mother’s companion was discovered on Rattlesnake Trail early this morning. I was called in to identify her at the morgue,” Madeline informed him.

Ross’s hopeful expression turned to one of pure shock. It took several seconds before he could successfully string words together.

“I don’t understand this,” he said. “I wa…I thought I heard that Helen took her home last night.”

“Helen took her to Isla Vista, where Teresa bailed out of the car at a stop sign. This is according to Helen. She also said she searched for the girl for twenty minutes before returning here.”

“What the hell is going on?” Ross exclaimed, slamming his fist on the table. The suddenness of his fury caused Madeline to flinch.

“At this point, we have more questions than answers. Teresa’s death throws everything into a different light,” Mike said calmly.

“But…Cherie couldn’t have killed her…right? She was here—sedated—all night. I can vouch for that, and so can Helen.”

“That’s true,” Madeline said. “That may be one of the few things we know for sure.” Ross digested this turn of events for a moment.

“Speaking of Cherie…she would really appreciate a visit from you. I’m sure you two have formed a strong bond, working so closely together all these months,” Ross said.

Madeline gave him the warmest smile she could manage. But as far as ‘bonds’ went, Madeline just didn’t feel a connection with Cherie. They were similar in superficial ways and too dissimilar in regard to things that really mattered. She did have to admit a certain kinship with Cherie, now that her life had taken a dramatic turn for the worse. It gave Madeline a pang to think of the way her own life imploded three years ago, at the same age Cherie was now. Turning forty could be a hazardous affair, Madeline thought wryly.

“Yes, I’d like to see her, if she’s up for it.”

“I’ll have someone check on her,” Ross said, getting up from the table.

“But first,” Madeline said, stopping him as he stood up, “I’d like to speak with Helen. I’ve got a lot of questions I’d like to go over with her.”

“Helen asked for a couple days off,” Ross replied. “Her son was having some sort of trouble, as usual, so she went down to see him.”

“Oh, I see…”

“She’ll be back tomorrow night,” Ross said. “Believe me, I’m not thrilled with it either,” he added, noticing the way Madeline’s face had clouded over.

“Hmm…I’m afraid my questions won’t keep. Could you give me her cell phone number?”

“Sure…let me look it up.” Ross found Helen’s number and read it off to Madeline as she stored it on her phone.

“Thanks,” Madeline said, standing up. “Oh, there is one question you might know the answer to…”

“What is it?”

“Does your security system monitor all the doors in the house?”

“Do you mean when they’re opened?” Madeline nodded. “Yes.”

“Even the doors to the balconies on the second floor?”

“Yes, I’m sure they’re on the system.”

“Great. Then I assume you can go back to a specific point in time and check the status…?”

“Yeah, I’ve never done it, but I’m sure it can be done,” Ross said.

“Is there someone who could familiarize Mike with the system so he can make sure the security upstairs wasn’t breached yesterday?” Ross looked back and forth between the P.I.s in his employ. He needed answers, lots of them, and it appeared these two were ready to get on the job.

“I can show him the equipment while you’re upstairs with Cherie,” Ross said, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched, a quizzical, almost shy look on his face.

Madeline and Mike both got the read on him simultaneously. In his own home, Ross was alone now. His mother was dead, his wife was the source of many doubts, and his trusted housekeeper of twenty years had abandoned him on his darkest day. But these two were on his payroll and getting down to the matter at hand. As unlikely as it seemed, they were the best thing he had going for him right now.

“Let’s do it,” Mike said, giving Madeline a wink as he and Ross left to do “man’s work.”

THIRTY-THREE

Madeline found Cherie sitting in the bedroom she shared with Ross when he was in town. It was the last place she thought to look, mainly because she had only been in it once before. With all the other rooms at her disposal, Cherie rarely entered the massive corner suite unless her husband was in residence. It wasn’t hard for Madeline to understand why: though elegant, it seemed overly spacious and impersonal. A petite woman like Cherie could easily get lost in here.

At first, Madeline didn’t see her. She was sitting in a chair half-facing a window. The afternoon sun, filtered by hundred-year-old oaks, dappled the room, making it unnaturally bright in some spots and too dim to see in others. Only the twisted stream of smoke from a cigarette tipped Madeline off to Cherie’s presence.

“Cherie?” Madeline called out softly. Cherie’s head swung toward Madeline as she reflexively ground out the cigarette in a teacup.

“Hi,” Cherie said, her voice sounding both anxious and lethargic. Madeline walked slowly in her direction, giving Cherie time to stash her vice out of sight. She sat in the wingback chair across from her former client and regarded her for a moment.

Cherie’s hair had been pulled back into a neat chignon, probably in an effort to make her appear respectable and respectful. She was wearing a St. John knit suit in navy with white trim. Her usual eye-catching array of jewelry had been pared down to her amply large wedding ring, the ID bracelet from Tiffany’s and simple diamond stud earrings. Under her makeup, her eyes were bloodshot and puffy.

But the biggest change to come over Cherie was inertia. The once flamboyant, irrepressible ball of fire now looked like someone who had given up on life. Despite her former feelings for the woman, Madeline found herself saddened by the transformation. Merely looking at Cherie brought back images and feelings from her own sudden fall from lofty heights.

In Cherie’s case—unless she was missing something, unless some version of Mike’s crackpot theory of a lesbian conspiracy were true—Cherie could come out on top again, virtually unscathed by the events of last night. A lot would depend on how fast Vivian’s killer could be run to ground.

“How are you holding up?” Madeline asked. Cherie grimaced at the question, as if the answer should be obvious by the sight of her. “Ross said you wanted to see me,” she said, unperturbed by Cherie’s indifferent attitude.

“I just don’t know what happened,” Cherie said, looking toward the window. After a moment, she reached for her cigarettes. “Do you mind?” It was more of a challenge than a courtesy.

“It’s your house,” Madeline replied. Cherie let out a small huff, effectively saying, yeah, but for how much longer?

Cherie took a long drag off the cigarette and blew the smoke out to the side, away from Madeline. “Do you think I’m a murderer, too?” Madeline casually shook her head. “You don’t?” Cherie asked, her tone suddenly hopeful.

“No. I don’t think you killed Vivian. And I know you didn’t kill Teresa.” Cherie’s jaw went slack. She sat staring at Madeline, as if her ears must’ve been deceiving her, until a length of ash dropped onto her lap.

“No one told me about Teresa…” Cherie said accusingly, jumping up to flick the ashes off her skirt.

“That’s because I just identified the body less than an hour ago.”

“Oh my God,” Cherie cried, her hands cradling her head as if it had shattered. “Why…who would do these things?” she moaned, tears dampening her eyes. “I just don’t understand what is going on here,” she gasped, giving in to hopelessness as sobs shook her body. Moved by the first real emotion she’d ever seen coming from her former client, Madeline got up and held her while she cried herself out.

“Madeline, why are these things happening to us? What did we do wrong?” Madeline went to get some tissues, leaving Cherie to wrestle with those questions on her own. She held the tissue box while Cherie struggled to pull herself together.

“Madeline, do the police really believe I killed Vivian?”

“I think you are the most convenient suspect at this point.”

This admission seemed to awake a larger fear. “Do you think I’ll go to prison for a murder I didn’t commit?” Cherie asked, her voice breaking again at the mere thought of being stripped of her life and branded a killer.

“Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves. So far, you’ve only been taken in for questioning. Liz Sweet is a crackerjack attorney. She’ll make sure your rights aren’t trampled. And Ross is behind you all the way.”

That got Cherie’s attention. “No, you’re wrong,” she said, turning away to face the window. “As far as he’s concerned, I’m nothing but a money-grubbing party girl, a frivolous airhead who resented having to share him with his mother.” Cherie’s delivery of this harsh characterization almost made Madeline laugh. “What do you find so funny?” Cherie demanded between sniffles.

“Nothing. I just wonder if maybe you’re being a little over-dramatic.” Cherie’s mouth dropped, her outrage igniting and threatening to spew. “And you’re wrong about Ross. I happen to know he doesn’t believe that.”

“Those were his exact words!” Cherie spat. “Everyone has this image of Ross as being this super laidback, calm guy, but they don’t know his other side. He can be vicious, when he wants to be.”

Madeline held up her hands to stop Cherie’s tirade. “I was just hired by Ross to find out who else had the means, opportunity and motive to kill his mother.” This bulletin almost floored Cherie.

“Why would he do that?” she asked indignantly, looking at Madeline as if she was out of her mind. The whole concept had Cherie so perplexed, she was stunned into silence.

“Cherie, there’s something you don’t know about me. Event planning is really sort of a sideline for me,” Madeline said, playing down the financial importance that career played while she and Mike fulfilled their three-year training requirement. “As it happens, Vivian knew that I’m also a licensed private investigator. She hired me on a matter just a few days ago.”

Cherie backed up on unsteady legs, her arms stretched out behind her, seeking a chair to fall into. “You’re a P.I.,” she stammered as she bumped into the wingback and sank down. Madeline nodded. “Oh my God, that is so…amazing…” she said, staring up at Madeline with renewed appreciation. “And Ross hired you…to…find out who killed his mother?”

“My partner and me, yes.”

“Wow…this is so weird. I really feel like I’m dreaming this whole awful thing, and any second I’m going to wake up.”

“Well, I wish it were that easy, but Vivian and Teresa are both very much dead. Our job now is to find out who is responsible so that you aren’t railroaded into a conviction because it’s handy.”

“Oh, Madeline—I’m sorry I was such a bitch to you,” Cherie said, rising out of the chair, slowly assimilating the new slant to the horrible situation. “Can you and your…partner…”

“Mike Delaney.”

“Can you two really find out who killed Vivian?”

“We’re going to use every means available to us,” Madeline said, falling short of making a promise she didn’t know if she could keep. “I feel a special need to solve this, for Vivian’s sake.” Madeline could see the thoughts behind Cherie’s blue eyes and the effort she was making to hold back the question she was longing to ask.

“Because Ross has asked us to continue on with the matter his mother hired us to investigate, I’m not at liberty to discuss it with anyone, including you.” Instead of becoming put out by this disclaimer, a mysterious smile spread across her features.

“You really are a detective. And you’re going to get us through this nightmare.”

Madeline felt herself cringing at the responsibilities she had so recently taken on. Vivian’s fairly benign request for a background search had morphed into a two-headed dragon. She and Mike now had two murders on their laps, and the background check had been upgraded to a search for a thief. And, of course, there was the small matter of a fugitive from justice with a blood-lust to satisfy. Suddenly, she envied Cherie and her simple case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Speaking of which, I better be going,” she said, turning toward the door.

“Maddie, wait.” Madeline turned to face Cherie just as her former client nearly tackled her with a hug. “I feel so much better knowing you don’t think I’m a murderer and that you’re going to fight for me,” Cherie said, freeing Madeline from her embrace.

“We’ll do our level best, Cherie.”

“You look wrung out,” Mike said as they descended the steps and headed for his car. “Is Cherie okay?”

“She’s bouncing off the walls. One minute, she’s semi-suicidal, the next, she’s throwing her arms around me like I’m her salvation,” Madeline said as she opened the passenger side door.

“You might be.”

“We might be, if we’re lucky. But it’s going to take a lot of luck to sort out this mess.”

“Where to?” Mike asked as he started the car.

“The office, I guess. We’ve got some serious updating to do on our boards.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes. You?”

“Always. This detective business seems to burn up the calories in a hurry,” Mike said with a smile.

“Unless you’re on a stakeout,” Madeline amended.

“Should we pick up something?” Before Madeline could answer, her phone rang.

“Bonjour, Philippe.” Madeline looked over at Mike as she listened to the chef. When her eyebrows shot up appreciably, Mike mouthed the word “what?”

“Well, that’s very sweet of you. But it would be better if we came by your place instead.” She paused briefly as she listened to Philippe and pointed which direction to go. “We’re actually just leaving the Alexanders’. We could be at your facility in five minutes.” She paused and flashed Mike a thumbs up. “I can’t wait. A bientôt.”

“What was that about?”

“Food. We need to make a pit stop.”

“What kind of food?”

“The kind fit for kings,” Madeline said with the first real smile of the day. “Per Helen’s request, most of the food that would’ve been served today and tomorrow was divvied up—the prepared food going to the Rescue Mission and things like butter, eggs, fresh fruit and vegetables sent to the Foodbank. What didn’t go to those places went to the Alexanders—several days of prepared food, which is nice.”

“That is nice,” Mike agreed, though he felt like he was missing something.

“And because Philippe is such a darling, as a personal thank you for hiring them for the job, he’s put together a couple eight-course dinners for yours truly.”

“And friend, I hope you mean,” Mike said.

“Naturally.” They grinned at each other like they had just pulled off the bank heist of the century. “He’ll have it all packed up for us by the time we get there,” Madeline said, her mind already filled with the visions and aromas of past Philippe feasts.

“Ah, Madeline,” Philippe said with his charming French accent, as he kissed her on both cheeks. “What a horrible thing, no? It is just so hard to understand who would do such a thing,” he commiserated, his normally cheerful smile replaced with an expression of deep concern.

“It is truly baffling, and heartbreaking,” Madeline agreed.

“Do they know who did this?” Madeline shook her head. Philippe made tsk, tsk sounds as he shook his head. “Ah, and the paparazzi—they are everywhere! Everywhere I look, I see the story. C’est terrible!”

One of Philippe’s sous-chefs appeared with a smoked trout terrine and placed it on the work table in front of his boss.

“Ah, beautiful,” Philippe said as he wiped his hands on his apron and prepared to cut off two portions. His cheerful demeanor suddenly became uncharacteristically sour. Sensing his dissatisfaction with his staff, Madeline discreetly turned her attention to the framed photographs of Philippe’s culinary masterpieces while he down-dressed one of his sous chefs in his native tongue. An exchange took place and the contrite underling made his apologies.

“Sorry about that. I think we are all still a little shaken up from last night,” Philippe confided to Madeline as he placed the slices on two plates already primed with a delicate yet undoubtedly rich sauce.

“I can certainly understand that,” Madeline said. “It must’ve been a nightmare for all of you, trying to complete the service when an army of law enforcers descended on the kitchen.” Philippe threw his glance heavenward.

“It was unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head to dispel the memory. “It is certainly something for my memoirs,” he joked as he covered the last of the goodies and put them in a third insulated carrying case.

“You are all set, ma cherie. Bon appetit!”

THIRTY-FOUR

“What’s in that one?” Mike asked as Madeline removed the lid off another plate. She inhaled deeply, savoring the sublime aroma.

“Duck confit with figs and black truffles.” She took the lid off the side dish and took a taste of the trio of pureed vegetables that accompanied the main course. “Oh, yum…celery root…” She tried the one next to it. “Umm…” She stood back and motioned for Mike to try it.

“Wow, that’s amazing,” he declared. “What is it?”

“Wild yam with chestnuts.”

“What’s the third one?” Both spoons went at the remaining puree simultaneously. Madeline took a tentative taste and smiled.

“Heavenly,” she sighed.

“What is it?” Mike asked.

“It’s the sunchoke and cauliflower puree with fresh horseradish.”

“No fair, you already know what all this stuff is. Well, what are we waiting for?”

“I’ll get some plates.”

After gorging themselves on the most delectable food either of them had had in years, they tried to focus on their many assignments and concerns. With very little sleep squeezed into the last two days, it was hard to concentrate properly, especially when their bodies were trying to digest the feast.

“I need coffee,” Madeline said as she got up to put on a pot. While it was brewing, she came back into Mike’s office carrying two small plates and a creamer.

“What now?” Mike asked as he struggled off the sofa to get a better look. Madeline set the plates down and trickled a rich-looking sauce around both.

“Something that will probably keep us awake for hours,” she said, handing Mike a spoon. “This is Philippe’s killer marquise of dark chocolate, white chocolate and espresso, with a mint crème Anglaise.” Mike made a dubious face. “Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it. I’ll go get the coffee.”

“Isn’t that a little redundant?” Mike asked, hazarding a taste. “Whoa, that’s insanely delicious. If I were a woman, I’d marry the guy.”

“I know. I should’ve ditched Steven for him before everything went to hell,” Madeline joked as she reentered Mike’s office carrying two mugs of coffee.

“What? And miss out on having this glamorous career?”

“Which one?” Madeline asked sarcastically.

“Well, the perks are definitely better in the event planning business,” Mike said through a mouthful of dessert.

“As fabulous as it is to work with a chef like Philippe, I don’t know if I can handle doing that line of work anymore.”

“I get that you’re burnt out after dealing with Cherie so long, but it did land us our first big case.”

Madeline couldn’t argue with that. And the Story case was the kind of job that could lead to others, if they could manage to solve it. With that objective in mind, Madeline opened her computer and got to work. Finding what she was looking for, she got up and turned on the printer. She came back a couple minutes later with new photos. She rearranged the boards and regarded the picture of Vivian and Teresa she had taken in the garden, back when the biggest worry either of them had was the upcoming party. She stood there for a moment, lost in thought. She let out a deep sigh and continued her task.

The rest of the photocopies were taken from video coverage of the event. She hung a picture of Sally as she put the finishing touches on Cherie’s makeup. Next to that, she put a picture of Helen in profile as she oversaw the festivities from the exterior doorway to the kitchen. The final picture was of the birthday girl in all her glory.

“Have I left out anyone?” she asked as she stood back to regard the changes. Mike got off the sofa to take a closer look.

“I guess that’s the short list.” They let their eyes wander over the photos and index cards, each changing the order to make the story they told more sequential.

“Okay…we’ve got everyone who was seen on the stairs immediately prior to and after Vivian’s death,” Mike said, looking to Madeline for confirmation. She got up closer to scrutinize Sally’s photo. She tapped it several times with her fingernail before taking it off and moving it to the bottom of the board.

“Why’d you do that?” Mike asked.

“Sally is seen going up the stairs at 9:37. It would take her about a minute to reach Vivian’s bedroom. She was in Cherie’s dressing room probably a minute, minute and a half before I left to go see Vivian. It would’ve taken me well over a minute to reach Vivian’s room, knock, wait for an answer and then discover her body. I placed the 911 call at 9:43.” Mike did the math in his head.

“You don’t think she had enough time to have done it,” he surmised.

“No, I don’t. She would’ve had to know where all the players were. And how could she be sure Vivian would be alone?”

“Okay, that leaves us with two suspects…”

“That we know of…” Madeline said.

“Cherie and Helen. And you don’t think Cherie had enough presence of mind to pull off a strangulation…”

“Not in her condition,” Madeline maintained.

“And you don’t think her condition was cleverly orchestrated?” Mike challenged her.

“You think she’d wreck her own star-studded party? After planning it for a year?”

“Maybe she was planning Vivian’s death along with it…”

Madeline shook her head in exasperation. “You haven’t spent as much time with that woman as I have. Trust me, her idea of heavy mental lifting is packing for a two-week vacation. Pulling off a murder when there were so many variables—like over a hundred—I find inconceivable.”

“She could’ve been acting dumb all this time,” Mike suggested.

Madeline laughed out loud. “Right. If her acting ability was that good, she’d be an Oscar winner herself. Besides, if she’s so damn clever, why would she hide the murder weapon in one of her own drawers?”

Mike narrowed his eyes and tapped his fingers while he considered this. “Good point,” he conceded. “Unless things happened faster than she had anticipated and she couldn’t dispose of it as planned. You showed up in her dressing room. Sally came in to fix her makeup, which she was doing when you discovered Vivian’s body. After all hell broke loose, she was sedated.” Mike shrugged as if to say the ball was in her court.

Now it was Madeline’s turn to capitulate. “Okay, that is within the realm of possible, if Cherie is the ruthless mastermind you claim she is.”

“I’m not claiming anything,” Mike said defensively. “I just think we have to look at this from every angle.” Madeline walked back to the desk to take a sip of her coffee.

“Well, if that’s the case, let’s take a tug at Helen’s alibi,” she challenged.

“Okay…you start,” Mike said, a lopsided grin on his face. Madeline let out a weak laugh and went back up to the board to examine the cards under Helen’s picture.

“All right…Helen is seen going up the stairs at one minute after nine, twelve minutes after Vivian and Teresa went up. Ten minutes later, Helen and Teresa are seen leaving down the backstairs.” Madeline paused, as her mind tried to find any farfetched motive to go with the opportunity.

“So…there’s a ten-minute window in which Helen walks to Vivian’s room, agrees to take Teresa home and then makes it to the back staircase with Teresa in tow.” Madeline stared at Mike while she strained her brain to come up with the part about Helen killing Vivian.

“Helen and Teresa are walking down the hall and Helen stops—she’s forgotten to tell Vivian something. She has Teresa wait for her in the hallway. She goes back into Vivian’s room on some pretense. Vivian goes about her business of getting ready for bed. Let’s say Helen fiddles with the drapes to close them tighter or something. She casually removes one of the silk cords, sneaks up behind Vivian, chokes her with the cord and she’s back out in the hallway. The whole thing takes less than two minutes.”

“What about the cord?” Mike asked, amused by Madeline’s fanciful imagination.

“She takes it with her.”

“How?”

“She hides it in her ample bosom.” Mike chuckled at the thought. “You’ve seen her—she’s a big woman.”

“I think someone would notice if she had a tasseled rope stuck in her blouse, along with everything else.”

“Okay…” Madeline said, reworking the supposition a different way. “Just past Vivian’s suite is a walk-in linen closet. I passed it one day while Helen was taking inventory.” Madeline paused and then began to pace as the scene worked its way through her head.

“So…Helen hides the cord—one way or another—and as she approaches Teresa, who’s been waiting in the hallway for her, she pops into the linen closet, stashes the cord under a stack of whatever’s closest, and rejoins Teresa.” Madeline came to a stop and regarded her partner, who was watching her with a sly smile.

“What’s wrong with that theory?” she asked. Before Mike could answer, the first notes of Harlem Nocturne heralded a new text message. He pulled the phone from his pocket and read the message with a frown. He tapped out a hasty reply and slipped the phone into his pants pocket. When he returned his gaze to Madeline, he found her smiling at him in a way that meant she knew what that was all about.

“Forget something, or should I say ‘someone’?” she asked with feigned innocence.

“Nothing that can’t keep,” Mike said, avoiding eye contact. Madeline looked at her watch. It was quarter after eight.

“We’ve been going at this all day. Go on, make someone happy,” Madeline teased.

“It’s fine. She’ll get over it.” As soon as the words left his mouth, another text came through. Looking irritated, Mike left the room to make a call. Though she wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, it was impossible not to hear snippets of the conversation. It didn’t sound pleasant.

During their apprenticeship with Russell Barnett, Mike would never let work stand in the way of his social life. Being financially well-off, thanks to the inheritance from his father, he always considered his foray into private investigations as something of a lark. Madeline found it heartening that he felt differently about it now that they had their own agency. Then again, she reconsidered, maybe it has more to do with the girl in question.

“Look, these things are going to happen in my line of work…” Mike said as he paced in front of his office doorway.

Somebody’s pissed, Madeline thought, trying to get her focus back on Vivian’s murder. Mike’s voice receded and became so quiet she could actually concentrate again.

As she stood there staring at the board, she realized there was a phone call she needed to make. She looked up the number Ross had given her for Helen’s cell phone. She was weighing the benefits of making the call when Mike came back into his office.

“Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” Madeline said, eyeing her phone intently.

“You calling someone?” Mike asked.

“Thinking about it,” Madeline replied vaguely. Mike waited a few seconds, hoping for further enlightenment. Madeline could feel his need to know what she was thinking. She propped herself against his desk and appeased his curiosity.

“I was going to give Helen a call.”

“Oh. Why?”

“I guess I’d like to hear her story again, see if it’s changed at all.”

“Are you just going to come out and ask her to repeat it?” Mike asked in a challenging manner.

“No, I don’t want to do that,” Madeline said distractedly. “But I do have a good conversation starter, sad as it is.” She looked up at Mike, their eyes meeting and holding. “I don’t suppose anyone has thought to inform her about Teresa’s death.” The light of comprehension shone in Mike’s eyes.

“Ah, I see where you’re going…” Madeline stood up suddenly and went back to the board.

“The focus so far has been on Vivian’s murder. We haven’t really speculated much about Teresa’s.”

“Okay, let’s shift gears. Tell me what you’re thinking,” Mike said, coming to stand beside her.

“Is it really just a bizarre coincidence that Vivian and Teresa were killed on the same night?”

“Are you suggesting the same person killed them both?” Mike asked. “If so, that would rule Cherie out, because she was incapacitated.”

“I know. That only leaves Helen.” Mike crossed his arms and regarded her skeptically.

“I know it seems weird, but think about this…what if Helen did strangle Vivian…What if she was caught in the act, or if Teresa walked back into the room and saw Vivian lying on the floor, the way I found her. Instead of calling for help, Helen hustles Teresa down the backstairs and into her car, the threat of deportation keeping Teresa’s movements in check. Helen knows she’s going to be seen on several cameras, so she plays it cool. But now she knows she’s got to get rid of the girl too, so she takes her somewhere and slits her throat, wraps her body up in something to keep the blood contained, then moves it to Rattlesnake Trail. She comes back with this cockamamie story about driving out to Isla Vista, but that’s just to cover for all the time she’s been away.”

Mike drew back and inhaled deeply as he tried to get his head around this new hypothesis. “I think all that sugar and caffeine have put your brain in overdrive.”

“What don’t you like about that theory?”

Mike leaned against the wall while he dissected it. “Well, I guess I could go along with the first part, but slitting Teresa’s throat in one place and moving her somewhere else seems very problematic. For starters, there would’ve been a lot of blood. It would be almost impossible to not get it on some part of her car, even if Helen wrapped her in something.”

Madeline considered this. “True, but Helen is conveniently out of town before we learned of Teresa’s death.”

“Even if she went somewhere to clean the trunk, let’s say, forensics will more than likely find some residue that the human eye can’t detect. And you’re making a big assumption that Helen had something in her car that she could use to wrap the girl up in. That would have to be premeditated, whereas your idea is founded in spur of the moment necessity. Besides, what’s Helen’s motive?”

Madeline was stymied. It hadn’t taken Mike long to shoot her theory all to hell. But something was still nagging at her.

“What if she grabbed something like a sheet or blanket out of the linen closet when she stashed the cord?” Madeline proposed, making Mike chuckle.

“Did it look like she was carrying a blanket on the CCTV footage?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. “You really do have a grudge against this woman, don’t you?”

“Not at all. The problem is we only have two suspects—”

“That we know of,” Mike reminded her.

“None of the French doors off the balconies had been opened all day. You found that out for yourself. There was no one else seen going up either staircase who didn’t come down prior to Vivian and Teresa going up. And don’t forget, it was all hands on deck because of the party. If the smallest cog in the wheel went missing for any length of time, someone would be sure to notice.”

“Now, think about what you just said. If one of Helen’s staff had stolen Vivian’s jewelry, they would have reason to silence Vivian. Remember Vivian’s note…it was ‘urgent’ that she see you ASAP.” A pang went through Madeline’s heart as she thought of how Lauren’s lollygagging had probably cost Vivian her life.

“But no one else had the opportunity,” Madeline said, putting them right back where they started.

“All right, for argument’s sake, let’s assume it was Helen. You speculate that she seized the opportunity to kill Vivian. Then she gets caught in the act by a hapless Teresa. Forget the ‘how’ for a moment. What about the motive? Why would Helen kill Vivian Story?”

“Because Vivian figured out who had stolen her jewels?”

“And who do you think that was?”

“One of Helen’s own staff?” Madeline suggested. “Maybe Helen herself?” she added half-heartedly.

“And how did Helen find out Vivian knew?” Mike drilled her.

“I don’t know. She must’ve sensed something. Maybe she saw the note being passed. She already knew I’d been hired to find out about the missing jewelry.”

“I don’t think Helen could get arrested for murder on such a weak hypothesis,” Mike said, sitting down on the corner of his desk, feeling just as frustrated as his partner.

“I know. We definitely have more blanks than we have answers. But we must know something we’re just not putting together yet…”

Madeline chewed on a fingernail while she ran over what information they knew for certain: Cherie and Helen appeared to be the only suspects; Teresa was last seen walking down the back staircase with Helen before supposedly disappearing in I.V.; Cherie was sedated and couldn’t have killed Teresa.

Was it possible for Cherie to have killed Vivian and Helen to have killed Teresa? she asked herself. Possible, but very hard to imagine. They were hardly pals, so it would’ve been very unlikely they were in on it together, which makes it more implausible.

“I think we’ve worn out our brains enough for one day,” Mike said, stretching his arms and back. “We need sleep to process this mess. Let’s go home.”

“You’re right, we’re punch drunk. But I really think I should give Helen a call first.” Mike started to protest, but Madeline cut him off. “It’s going to bug me all night if I don’t at least get a gut-level read on her.” Mike started to argue, but decided to defer to her judgment.

“Before you do that, I’d like to boggle your mind with one other conundrum,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“Lionel Usherwood.” Madeline pulled back as if she’d been struck.

“What about him?” she asked crossly.

“We’ve been so absorbed in the two deaths, we haven’t been thinking about our own safety, or yours, at any rate.”

“Yes, and it’s been like a vacation,” Madeline said, her tone accusatory. “So why bring him up now?”

“Because, until we came back to the office, my car was parked at either the Alexanders’ or the sheriff’s office, places Usherwood couldn’t access or wouldn’t dare risk being seen.”

“We were also at Rattlesnake Trail,” Madeline added.

“A media and law enforcement circus,” Mike countered.

“So what’s your point?”

“I’m not really up for a night of playing find the booby-trap. And it’s too dark to scout around for bad guys lurking in the parking lot. I suggest we take a cab home. Have it pick us up out front, leave all the lights on in here, pretend we’re stilled holed up inside, and then we can deal with my car in the morning, when it’s light out and hopefully we’ve gotten some sleep.”

“That’s the best idea you’ve had yet,” Madeline said, feeling a good deal of the tension in her body seep away. Though she had been quite preoccupied with everything else that had been going on the last several days, thoughts of Lionel Usherwood had not been far from the surface, lurking like a crocodile waiting for one vulnerable moment to make his strike. “You make your call, I’ll make mine.”

“How much time do you think you’ll need?” Mike asked as he searched for a cab company on his phone.

“Ten minutes, at the most.”

“Good. I’ll see what I can get.”

THIRTY-FIVE

Madeline dialed Helen’s cell phone number and listened to it ring several times, wondering if she should leave a message if the call went to voicemail. Suddenly, she heard Helen’s voice on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Helen, it’s Madeline. I’m sorry to disturb you on your much-deserved day off,” she said in her most diplomatic tone.

“How did you get this number?” Helen asked, not so diplomatically.

“Ross gave it to me.” This seemed to give the housekeeper pause.

“I see. How can I help you?” Helen asked perfunctorily, making it clear whatever civility existed between them before had been lost once Madeline started poking her nose where it wasn’t welcome, namely in the running of the Alexander estate.

“With everything that’s transpired in the last twenty-four hours, I figured you might not have been informed of the latest piece of bad news.” The line got quiet while Helen tried to puzzle out Madeline’s true intention. Madeline imagined her bristling at the thought of an event planner acting as some sort of surrogate to the Alexanders, just because she was away for a couple of days.

“What is it now? Have they arrested Cherie?” Madeline let the caustic remark linger in the air for a moment. She wanted to be very careful how she played her cards.

“It’s not about Cherie. It’s about Teresa.” Helen remained silent. “She was found on the Rattlesnake Trail in Santa Barbara early this morning.”

“When you say ‘found’…”

“Teresa’s body was discovered by a hiker’s dog. Her throat had been slashed.”

“Oh, mother of God,” Helen said with such convincing emotion, Madeline wasn’t sure if it was put on or not. “What was she doing all the way over there? She got out of my car in Isla Vista. I don’t understand this…are you sure it’s our Teresa?” Our Teresa? Nice touch. Madeline thought, picking up on the first false note so far.

“I was called to the County Morgue to ID her. It was definitely Teresa. I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but because of the severity of the wound and the lack of blood that would normally be present, the police believe she was killed somewhere else and dumped on the trail.”

“Oh, God—this is just…too horrible. First Vivian, and now the girl. What is going on? Who could do such things? How can this be happening? Oh, this is all my fault,” Helen said, her voice trailing off. “I should’ve never fired her like that. I should’ve waited until she came to work. The poor thing. Running off down the road, in the pitch-dark. Oh, I just feel sick…”

Madeline heard rustling as Helen covered the phone with her hand. She was surprised at the level of emotion Helen was displaying. It made her wonder for a moment if her suspicions about the woman were wrong.

“Do they have any idea who could’ve killed her?” Helen asked.

“I’m not sure. If they do, they weren’t sharing it with me. But I do know they’ve got K-9 units out all over Isla Vista and are conducting a door-to-door search for anyone who might have seen her. I wouldn’t be surprised if they want to interview you again. Any light you can shed on the subject would probably be very much appreciated. You might be the last person to have seen her, before the killer, that is.”

“Oh, you’re right…” Helen’s voice trailed off. “I just feel so terrible about this,” she said. If Helen killed Teresa, she was one cool customer.

“Anyway, I didn’t want you to be broadsided by the news when you got back to the Alexanders’,” Madeline said.

“No…thank you. I’m so glad you called. Poor Ross…I mean, poor Mr. Alexander. I feel awful now that I left, but I felt like I just had to get out of there for a couple of days. All the hoopla that’s been going on for a year now…and then poor Miss Story’s death. And now the girl’s. Nothing makes sense anymore.”

“It sure doesn’t,” Madeline agreed. “Okay, well…I hope you get some much deserved rest.”

“Thank you. And thanks again for the heads up.”

“You’re welcome.” Madeline ended the call and looked up at Mike.

“Taxi’s out front,” he said.

“Great. Let’s get out of here. I can’t wait to see my bed,” Madeline said, slinging her overloaded bag onto her shoulder.

Before Mike locked the door, he made sure he had all the safety measures in place, small traps that when tripped would let him know if someone other than them had entered and disarmed the alarm. Usherwood may be the king of high-tech espionage and subterfuge, which was why Mike resorted to more subtle, old-fashioned methods to throw him off. If Usherwood bothered to break in, Mike would know about it. His ability to sleep depended on it.

“What was that?” Mike yelled, jumping out of a sound slumber, feet planted firmly on the ground, knees slightly bent, arms held in front of him, ready to strike.

Madeline, more disoriented by sleep than he was, nearly knocked over the lamp as she grappled to understand what was happening. She caught it and fumbled to turn it on. Her phone chimed again, the second heralding of an incoming surveillance photo. Mike crawled across the bed to look on as Madeline opened the image. What they saw made them sink back onto the bed with relief.

“Maybe we need to put that cat in protective custody for a while,” Mike said, hand to his heart as he monitored the thumping.

“This is a different one,” Madeline said once she found her voice. “Poor kitty—looks more startled than we were.” Mike looked again and disagreed.

“I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”

“Sorry. This is supposed to give us more peace of mind, not coronaries.” Madeline put the phone back on the bedside table and looked over at Mike. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. That was just such an adrenaline rush.”

“Tell me about it. I thought for sure I was going to see a photo of Usherwood in head to toe black, just his evil eyes visible.”

“The black cat stood out pretty well,” Mike said.

“I guess that’s some comfort.” Madeline waited until her heart rate returned to normal, then switched off the light.

“Are you okay?” Mike asked. Madeline hesitated before answering.

“No, not really.”

“You want to talk about it?” Mike asked, scooting closer so he could stroke her hair. Madeline inhaled deeply before answering.

“I have this strong feeling I’m never going to be free of Lionel Usherwood.”

Mike’s instinct was to contradict her, but he respected her too much to offer platitudes. They both knew Usherwood had the upper hand. He was apparently more crafty and ruthless than anyone in law enforcement; either that or he was the beneficiary of an overtaxed system and lack of funding. Stalking her was beyond settling a score; it was the pastime of a truly vile man who valued the suffering of his foes as highly as exacting his revenge.

“Let’s get out of Santa Barbara for a while,” Mike suggested, propping himself up so he could see Madeline’s features in the dim light. “Let’s go down to LAX, pick the next flight out to wherever and just go. We won’t pack anything or tell anyone what we’re doing, and even if Usherwood followed us down there, he wouldn’t be able to get on the same flight.”

Madeline rolled over and turned on the light. She regarded Mike thoughtfully before dismissing his fantasy escape.

“We could hop on another plane after that and really confuse him,” she said cynically. “We could spend the rest of our lives and the rest of your money jumping from city to city, outpost to outpost and I’d never be free of the fear that he was standing right behind me. Running isn’t the answer.”

Mike rolled over and grabbed his phone. Madeline turned on her side to face him, wondering what his latest brilliant idea was. “Who are you calling?”

“Agent Caulfield.”

“It’s not even five o’clock yet,” she protested. “Besides, what’s he going to do for us?”

“Put around the clock protection on you, that’s what,” Mike said, holding the phone to his ear. Madeline reached over and snatched it out of his hand and ended the call. “Give that to me!” he growled, making a lunge for it. Madeline was too quick for him. She was out of the bed, phone behind her back.

“Before you get your cape caught on something, I want you to just listen to me.” Bruised by her words, Mike folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the headboard, using every ounce of self-control to keep his mouth closed.

“It doesn’t matter where I go, or how many bodyguards I’ve got following me around, I will never be able to get Usherwood out of here,” she said, pointing to her head. “He’s a sick bastard who enjoys tormenting people. He gets this big thrill out of watching everyone bumbling around trying to figure out his next move. He’s in control, and you and I and the FBI and police are all playing defense. That’s the thing of it—he’ll fire off the next shot and we’ll all scramble around trying to figure out where it came from.”

“You’re right,” Mike said after mulling over what she’d said. “It’s time for us to play offense.”

Madeline’s posture sagged. “How?” she asked. It didn’t surprise her that Mike couldn’t come up with an answer. “This is what I’m trying to explain to you. I am at his mercy, and will be until one of us dies.”

“Unless the Feds catch him. They could be intentionally letting us believe they’ve given up the chase to make Usherwood think you’re unguarded,” Mike said, wild hope bringing him to his feet.

“Even if he were locked up in maximum security for the rest of his miserable existence, I’d still have this fear of him escaping. I had just gotten to the point where I didn’t think of him every day, and look what happened. He popped up and proved once again he is smarter than all the rest of us. I know it’s not easy for us to understand a psychopath’s mindset. I think it’s what unnerves me the most—not knowing what would compel someone to stalk and kill for pleasure. What…?”

“Nothing.”

“I know that look. What are you thinking?”

“It’s probably lack of sleep…” Mike said, stalling while he tested his latest theory for plausibility.

“If you’ve got an idea about something, share it with me,” Madeline demanded.

“You already shot it down once.”

“What?”

“About Usherwood being behind the murders of Vivian and Teresa in order to throw you off balance. What you said about tormenting people…about having it in for you… I’m beginning to wonder if you were right. He could be playing with you, killing two women who you were working closely with to throw everyone off. What could be a better way to distract law enforcement?” Madeline shook her head, rejecting the theory a second time. “Think about it…we’ve got two suspects, and neither one of them is a shoo-in for the part. It could all be a subterfuge to keep you off balance. Maybe it’s his way of getting even after having his ass kicked by a girl.” Madeline laughed in spite of herself.

“I’m not going to waste my mental energy trying to figure out his warped mindset. But unless he can walk through walls or make himself invisible, it couldn’t have been him. He would’ve shown up on the CCTV footage.”

Madeline smiled sadly. It would be wonderful for her on all fronts if Lionel Usherwood could be blamed for everything. But she knew it wasn’t that simple. Mike’s face became a stony mask. Without a word, he began to get dressed.

“Where are you going?” Madeline asked as Mike pulled on his pants. He stared at her without speaking as he slipped his arms through his shirt, buttoning it as he walked toward the door. “Mike, what do you think you’re doing?” she tried again as she moved in front of the door, blocking his exit.

“I’m going to see if there’s anyone camped out on the street, watching this place. Usherwood or FBI or SBPD, I don’t care. I just want to know what, if anything, is being done to protect you, and how bad the threat is at this moment,” Mike said. The intensity of his words made Madeline regret she had shared her fears with him. She knew better than to get him wound up when there was no way for him to offer a solution.

“I’m not looking for you to fix my problems, Mike,” she said forcefully, arms at her sides, feet slightly apart, using the anger welling up inside her to make him back down. They stared at each other until Mike grudgingly relented. He turned away, running his hands through his bed-tangled hair. Madeline could feel the heat of frustration emanating from him. She could envision him picking up her chair and hurling it across the room as clearly as if it were actually happening.

“I should’ve never said anything,” she said, her voice cracking. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes to stop the tears from breaking free. She stood there, trembling with rage and helplessness. Seeing her in that state made Mike’s anger drain away.

“Maddie, I’m sorry…I only want this nightmare to end for you.” He crossed the room and held her close until he felt her muscles relax and her heartbeat grow steady. She pulled away and sat on the bed, her eyes staring blindly at the wall in front of her.

“I sometimes just want to stand out in the open somewhere and get this over with.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, Mike. I’d rather look him straight in the eye than be constantly worried that he’s going to pop out of the next doorway. I know you don’t like to hear this, but short of seeing his corpse, I will never feel completely free of him. I don’t know how much more of this cat and mouse crap I can stand.”

“Maddie…” Madeline balled her hands into fists, shaking with rage until the anger and loathing seeped out of her. She looked back at her pillow and thought about trying to get some more sleep, but she knew she would only lie there, her mind whirling. Rather than putting herself through more futile speculation, she opted for getting a jump on the day.

“I’m going to get in the shower,” she said as she walked over to her dresser. “We need to figure out how to get your car. I guess we could just jog over to the office,” she suggested, her tone brightening at the thought of a short run at sunrise.

“Sure. I’m game if you are,” Mike replied. Madeline turned and gave him a tentative smile before heading to the shower.

THIRTY-SIX

“Helen Bagley,” Madeline said, then spelled the last name for the service rep and gave him Helen’s cell phone number. “I need the billing address and the names and numbers of anyone else on this account. Sure, no problem.”

Madeline listened to schmaltzy violin music on the speakerphone while she typed up notes on the expanded Alexander file. Mike was on the other side of the room, busy examining the incident boards for clues they might’ve missed. The rep came back on the line just as Madeline’s cell phone rang.

“It’s Ross,” she said, hand over the office phone. “Sorry, Jason—I’ve got a call I need to take. You can give my partner the information,” she said, as she got out of Mike’s chair and handed him the phone. She hurried to her own office as she took Ross’s call on the fifth ring.

“Ross?”

“Thank God you answered,” he said, his voice verging on hysterical.

“What’s going on?”

“Cherie…she slit her wrists.” Madeline was so stunned, she could barely speak.

“When?” she asked, her heart thumping against her chest. As thoughts flew frantically through her mind, she had to wonder how she didn’t see this coming. She sank onto the edge of her chair, dismayed by the rampant spreading of mortality in the Alexander household.

“It was after the cops showed up with a warrant for her arrest. She was in the shower when they arrived. I should’ve never left her alone,” Ross agonized, regret making his voice quake.

“What time was this?” Madeline asked, abandoning her chair in favor of pacing aimlessly.

“I don’t know—an hour or so ago?”

“Is she going to be all right?”

Ross struggled to retain his composure. “I think so. If Elaine hadn’t gone up to check on her.…” His voice quivered as he choked back tears. Madeline waited patiently while he pulled himself together. “She lost a lot of blood…” Again Ross went silent while he battled for control. Madeline fought the urge to offer groundless reassurances, sensing they would sound shallow and useless.

“She collapsed in the shower and was unconscious by the time I got there,” Ross said after a few ragged breaths. “I should’ve known better than to drop that bomb and leave her unattended. I could’ve lost her,” he said, his voice cracking again.

“Did she say why she did it?”

Ross cleared his throat before answering. “She couldn’t face going to jail. She said she’d rather die.” This bulletin hit Madeline hard. She sank back into her chair, her skin prickling with fear. Had her instincts about Cherie been so wrong? It was hard to deny how badly this looked for her. It was tantamount to an admission of guilt.

“Did she confess to killing your mother?”

“No. She didn’t say anything about my mother. She just begged me to not let them take her to jail. I don’t know if she’s even focusing on the more imminent threat of being arraigned on murder charges…” Ross’s voice trailed off for a moment. Madeline sat silently, trying to assess the situation and what her next course of action should be. Mike came in and sat down across from her. She put the phone on speaker.

“Have you been in contact with Liz Sweet?” she asked.

“Yes, she called right after we got to the hospital. She had just gotten word that a judge had signed a warrant for Cherie’s arrest. She couldn’t believe they had gotten there so fast, on a Sunday morning, no less. I can’t believe any of this. I don’t know how things can get any worse…” he said, his voice turning raspy.

“What can I do to help?” Madeline asked. Ross took a few seconds to regroup before answering.

“Tell me you have proof my wife didn’t kill my mother.” Madeline looked up at Mike. So far, all they had for proof was Madeline’s strong belief that Cherie wasn’t a murderer. That optimistic hunch was looking iffier by the minute.

“I wish I could, but we’re still poring over the evidence. It’s sometimes hard to prove a negative. In this case, that’s what we’re trying to do. It will be the prosecution’s job to prove she’s guilty, and everything they’ve got so far is circumstantial.”

“That’s basically the same thing Liz told me,” Ross said, discouraged.

“But Mike and I are also trying to find out who is responsible. That’s something the police or the District Attorney won’t be doing. That’s really the only way to prove Cherie’s innocence.”

“I hope to God you can,” Ross said skeptically. Madeline shot Mike an inquiring look. Mike arched his brows, which Madeline took as a good sign.

“Is there anything I can do in the meantime?”

“I hate to take you away from your job, but Cherie asked for you on the way to the hospital.”

“Do you think they’ll let me see her?”

“I’ll find out and let you know.”

“What about the arrest warrant?”

“Liz has a call into the D.A., but she says Cherie’s suicide attempt will probably make her look even guiltier in the eyes of the law.” Madeline and Mike exchanged worried glances.

“Are you going to stay at the hospital?” she asked. She barely recognized Ross’s voice when he responded.

“Yes. I’m going to be here,” he said. He sounded as though he were the last man standing after a massacre.

“I’ll get there as soon as I can,” Madeline said. Ross hung up without a reply.

“What happened?”

“The cops came with a warrant for Cherie’s arrest while she was taking a shower. Rather than facing the humiliation of spending a whole day and night in the county jail, she slit her wrists.”

“Oh, Christ,” Mike said, shaking his head mournfully. “How much worse can it get?”

“Don’t ever ask that question,” Madeline said as she gathered her things together. “I’m going to walk down to Enterprise.”

“What for?”

“To rent a car,” Madeline said, more snip in her voice than she intended. “I can’t have you shuttling me all over town.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve got more important things to attend to.”

“Fine. But you’re not walking there,” Mike said, his tone intractable as he held up his keys.

“It’s just a few blocks from here,” Madeline protested. “It’ll take twice as long to drive there.” Mike stood there mutely, arms folded across his chest. “Oh, for God’s sake. Okay, fine—we’ll take the slow boat. At least then you can tell me what you found out about Helen on the way there.”

To underscore her resentment at being hung up by Mike’s compulsive desire to protect her, Madeline was already halfway down the hall by the time he emerged from their office. Mike let out an amused snort as he locked the door behind them.

“You’re lucky you’ve got me to worry about your safety,” he said, loud enough for her to hear. Madeline just bobbed her head back and forth as if she had heard it all before and wasn’t impressed. Mike put his long legs into service and caught up with her as she alighted from the bottom step.

“You were right about Helen’s son,” Mike said as he scanned his car for tracking devices and other signs of tinkering. It struck Madeline how curious Mike’s actions must appear to passersby. He was so used to the routine by now, he didn’t give it a thought. Fortunately, there weren’t many people around. For the sake of thoroughness, he insisted they do a visual inspection of the two dozen or so vehicles in the lot to root out any suspicious characters. Madeline couldn’t argue against his diligence, though she did resent the loss of precious time.

“Right about him how?” she asked.

“He is on Helen’s cell phone plan.”

“But no Social for him, right?” Madeline asked while Mike stowed his equipment in the trunk.

“No, but he was the only Trevor Bagley that came up on a criminal records search in this state.”

“Oh, do tell…”

“Three arrests—one for shoplifting and two for possession with the intent to sell.” Madeline wore an expression of startled delight.

“That would be three strikes.”

“It would’ve been, but one of the charges was dismissed.”

“Did he serve any time?” Madeline asked as she fastened the seat belt.

“Hard to tell. I need to do some more research. I did get a DOB and a LKA for him.”

“Good,” Madeline said, her mood lightening as they proceeded out of the lot. “He’s pretty young to have such a record, isn’t he?”

“Born March 22, 1991.”

“That makes him twenty-two. What’s his last known address?” Mike fished around in his shirt pocket and handed her the slip of paper with his notes.

“Port Hueneme. Hmm.”

“‘Hmm,’ what?” Mike asked, hazarding a glance at his partner as he turned left onto De La Vina.

“Just curious, that’s all.”

“About what?”

“About Ms. Prim having a bad boy for a son. Ross mentioned something about him getting into trouble, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“I wonder if he ever lived in Helen’s cottage on the estate.”

“It might be worth knowing,” Mike said, but he could tell Madeline was too distracted by her own thoughts to have heard him.

“What’s the plan, then?” he asked as he made another left onto Cota Street. It took Madeline a moment to focus on the question.

“Ross will be there when I go to see Cherie at the hospital. I’ll try to do a little discreet digging. I’ll let you know if I learn anything significant. What’s your plan?”

“I guess I’ll go back to the office and see what else I can uncover about the Bagleys, mother and son.”

“All right, sounds good,” Madeline said as Mike pulled into the Enterprise lot.

“Maddie, why don’t you take my car and I’ll rent something?”

“No, thanks. I’m going to need a car anyway. Who knows when I’ll get mine back, and if it’s even drivable.”

“If you take mine, you can get on your way quicker.” Madeline took a few seconds to consider the offer. Mike’s early 60s convertible was a classic gem, but she was used to modern technology, like GPS and Bluetooth. Going through the rental process might slow her down on the front end, but she’d feel more efficient in the long run.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll call you later,” she said as she closed the door.

“Maddie, wait!” Mike hollered. Madeline caught herself mid-stride and made an about-face, doing her best to conceal her annoyance.

“What?”

“Be very careful,” he warned.

“I’m going to be in a hospital, one that’s very hip to security risks,” she said, hoping that would placate him.

“Where are you going after the hospital?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said, starting to resent Mike’s overprotective inclinations.

“Be sure you call me when you leave there. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t. I promise,” she said, moving closer to Mike’s car to let another vehicle pass. “I’ve got to go,” she said, eyeing the growing line at the rental counter. “Stop worrying. I’ll be fine.”

Madeline exited the freeway at the Pueblo Street off-ramp. From a block away, she could see that word of the latest calamity to befall Ross Alexander’s family had already gotten the attention of the media. There was such a crush of reporters and their accompanying relay vans, two patrol cops were on the scene trying to keep the mob from entering the hospital and tying up traffic around it.

Madeline crept along, waiting her turn to cross the intersection. A sinking feeling came over her as she imagined how two murders and a suicide attempt involving show business elite would monopolize quasi-news programs for months to come. She had a flash of her own headline shocker after the salacious details of her fall from grace were picked up by the media, thanks to her video-recorded rape being unleashed on the internet. The subsequent bombshells of murder, attempted murder and embezzlement turned her life upside down and inside out for longer than she could stand to remember.

She pulled herself back to the present, feeling only partial relief at the realization that the problems she faced now were not her own. She weighed her parking options and decided her best hope would be the lot behind the hospital, in the area reserved for the ER. But as soon as she rounded the building, she discovered more TV crews and equipment virtually blocking all ingress and egress. Uniformed hospital security guards were having little luck dispersing the unwanted visitors.

Madeline found herself sandwiched between other hapless motorists when red and blue lights flashed in her rearview mirror. Within seconds, several patrolmen alighted from the squad cars and immediately descended on the satellite vans and their occupants, delivering warnings via loudspeaker against civil disobedience and creating a public hazard.

While the parking area off the emergency entrance was slowly and cumbersomely cleared, Madeline inched along with her fellow motorists, trying to come up with another plan for gaining access to the hospital without tipping off the press about her association with the high-profile family. She sorely missed her Audi with its stash of emergency goods, such as her all-purpose wig, hat and nondescript raincoat.

After a ten-minute delay, she found herself moving again, though her parking options were not looking good. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a vehicle backing out of a space in the ER visitor parking. She pulled into the lot and put her blinker on to claim the spot.

It had been an hour since she told Ross she’d be right over. The lapse of time weighed heavily on her mind; it wasn’t professional and they certainly couldn’t afford the luxury of wasting time. She grabbed her bag, and as inconspicuously as possible, squeezed through the horde of displaced reporters and paparazzi.

She managed to climb the steps and traverse the freshly-cleared ambulance parking area without notice. She was approaching the automatic doors when she heard her name broadcasted by the shrill voice of Julia Cummings. She stepped up her pace and went inside without looking back.

As she entered the newly remodeled Emergency Trauma Center, she was greeted by one of the volunteers on duty, which in itself was a marked improvement over the chaotic atmosphere of the old ER. As she stated her business there, she became aware of another familiar voice, equally if not more assertive than the local reporter’s. She glanced around and found Liz Sweet sitting off to the side by the hospitality table, giving someone on the other end of the line their marching orders.

Liz became aware of Madeline’s presence and nodded her acknowledgment. Madeline turned her attention back to the volunteer and took the two proffered red and white stickers, one to place on her blouse and another to put on her dashboard so her car wouldn’t be towed. This last instruction created a problem for her.

“One of the reporters outside knows me. She tried to get my attention when I came in. She already knows I’m working with the Alexanders. If I go out there now, it’s just going to create a bigger frenzy.” The petite volunteer, a woman in her late sixties, had more going on than just a sweet disposition.

“Write down the make, model and license number of your car and I’ll see to it security doesn’t have it towed away.”

“Thank you,” Madeline said, relieved. “Mrs. Alexander asked to see me. I’m working on her behalf,” she added, pulling out her identification. The volunteer examined it out of politeness, but it was clear by her demeanor that no one was going to have access to the patient.

“Mrs. Alexander is going to be moved to a private room in the main building. Her doctor will then decide if she is up to seeing visitors,” the woman said. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

“You’ve been very helpful, thank you.” Madeline restored her wallet to her handbag and walked toward Liz Sweet’s makeshift office. The fact that they were the only two people in the waiting area probably accounted for the lack of enforcement of the “no cell phone” sign. Liz ended the call as Madeline approached, a look of intense concentration on her face. Madeline took a seat next to her. Neither spoke as Liz made notes on her computer.

“Thanks for the referral,” Liz said, her head still bent over her task.

“I’m glad you were able to take it on. I know you like these high-profile cases.” Liz looked up over her reading glasses.

“Yes, I do. But I prefer the ones I have a chance of winning.”

Madeline had no comeback to that; yesterday Cherie’s case could be won on the grounds that the evidence was strictly circumstantial. Now it was going to take a lot of hard work and some much needed luck to keep Cherie from being convicted of murder.

“So, how does the warrant stand now?”

“As soon as she’s discharged, she’ll be taken into custody until she’s arraigned,” Liz said.

“Did you see this coming during questioning yesterday?”

“Yes and no. I figured since they didn’t bring anyone else in for formal questioning, Cherie was pretty much their prime suspect. But I certainly didn’t expect an arrest warrant so soon. Either they’re very confident with their evidence, and perhaps have something they’re holding close to their vest for the time being, or they’re getting a lot of pressure to put this case to bed, or all of the above. Regardless, Cherie’s actions didn’t do us any favors.”

Liz sat back against the chair, arms folded. She turned to Madeline, focusing the full power of her laser-sharp mind on her.

“Tell me you’ve got some promising leads on another suspect,” Liz said. It wasn’t a plea; it was an order. Madeline smiled apologetically. “Nothing?” Liz asked irritably.

“Nothing concrete,” Madeline hedged.

“Does that mean you’ve got someone in your sights?” Liz grilled her.

“Yes. But that’s all I can say for the time being. My partner, Mike Delaney, is working that end of the equation right now. I’m here because Ross said Cherie asked for me on their way over. Who knows? Maybe she wants to confess…” Liz’s permanent frown sagged into a scowl.

“But I still don’t think she killed Vivian,” Madeline added, earning herself closer scrutiny by the attorney.

Liz let out a disdainful snort, obviously not impressed with Madeline’s feelings regarding her client’s guilt or innocence.

“Ms. Dawkins?” the volunteer called out. “Mr. Alexander would like to speak to you. If you could follow me, I’ll take you upstairs.”

Madeline hoisted her bag over her shoulder and glanced down at the attorney, who wasn’t looking too happy about being left out of the confab.

“Let me know what your leads turn up,” Liz said.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be the first to know.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

Madeline found Ross in the corridor outside Cherie’s room. She barely recognized him in his current condition. Like some men, Ross had sailed through two decades without showing his age. Today, however, was the catching up point. Whatever signposts of life he had managed to skirt had finally made their imprint on his features. One look into his eyes and Madeline could feel all the hours of missed sleep, all the tears that had fought their way out when no one was watching. Cherie might be the most likely candidate for a murder rap, but her husband bore the look of a man condemned.

Though she thought he saw her advancing, it wasn’t until she was right next to him that his mind put the person and the place together. Even then, Ross flinched as she spoke his name.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Ross cleared his throat, embarrassed by being caught off guard. The events of the last two days had reduced him to raw nerves housed in a body and mind battered and deprived of the essential elements of survival: food, sleep and an understanding of what was happening around him.

For one awful moment, Madeline thought the doctors had failed to keep Cherie alive. Then it hit her that Cherie’s death might bring a modicum of sanity to Ross’s life by eliminating the horror and disgrace of having a wife accused of killing his mother. But a quick glance at the bodies and the equipment monitoring Cherie’s vital statistics dismissed that fear.

It wasn’t until Ross shifted away from the entrance that Madeline became aware of the policeman standing sentry at Cherie’s door. It was another undeniable reminder that Cherie’s life had been forever altered, regardless of her guilt or innocence. A suicide attempt—especially one played out in the public arena—was something that would follow her around for the rest of her life.

“When was the last time you had something to eat?” Madeline asked. Ross let out a sad wheeze as he shook his head.

“I don’t remember. But it makes me sick to even think of food right now.”

“How about some coffee?”

Ross held out his hand, which trembled from the amount of caffeine in his system.

“Okay, let’s at least get you some herbal tea to calm the jitters,” Madeline said, motioning with her head for Ross to follow her to the cafeteria. He looked back into the room where his wife lay, pale and oblivious to those around her, before falling in step with Madeline.

Madeline placed a porcelain teapot and a selection of decaffeinated teas in front of Ross, along with a cup, some fresh fruit and a scone. She set a cup of coffee and a cranberry muffin on her side of the table and returned the tray to the stack. When she came back to the table, Ross was ineptly trying to tear the cellophane wrapper off a teabag. Madeline resisted the urge to do it for him. Instead, she took a sip of her coffee and peeled off a chunk of muffin.

Ross gave up on the wrapper and tossed it aside. He leaned back against the booth, the muscles around his jaws pulsating with tension. As innocuously as possible, Madeline reached for the discarded teabag. She kept her eyes trained on Ross as she tore open the wrapper and placed the bag in the teapot.

Soothed by Madeline’s calm demeanor, Ross let out a deep sigh and tackled the scone. For a moment, Madeline wasn’t sure if he meant to eat any of it or was merely intent on demolishing it. He finally popped a piece into his mouth and chewed listlessly before washing it down with a sip of tea.

“I appreciate you sitting here with me,” he said, his voice hoarse and low. Madeline gave him a tight smile as she reached across the table to place her hand on his. It was a small gesture of support, one that made Ross choke up at the kindness of it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, retrieving his hand to blot his eyes.

“No need to apologize. You’ve been through hell.”

Ross laughed weakly. “I guess I’ve had an awfully big dose of reality served to me the last couple of days,” he said, then took another sip of his tea. He sat back, his eyes roving over his surroundings as his mind raced to catalog the various stages of loss and regret he had gone through in less than two days.

“In the ambulance, it hit me that I’ve completely lost control over my life. I’ve had numerous nightmare situations over the years, but I’ve never felt like there was ever a problem I couldn’t eventually work through. Since I got the call Friday night, it’s as if I’ve become a passive participant in my own life. My mother’s dead, Cherie almost killed herself—and may very well have killed my mother—and now the studio is trying to take my film away from me. Not that I give a shit at this point.”

Ross grunted at the irony of his predicament. He sat back and rested his arm along the top of the booth, his eyes focusing on nothing in particular as his gaze went inward.

“I realize now my whole adult life has always revolved around my career as a director. The three wives, the two kids—they’ve been ancillary to my world. It was never about marrying Linda or Stephanie or Cherie because of a deep love for them. It was always about how they fit into my world, how living with them would improve my life. That’s all. They’ve just been accessories to the fantastic Ross Alexander, man with the overgrown ego…”

Ross hid his face with his hands. Madeline watched as his chest heaved in and out. He let his hands drop, revealing the expression of a man bereft by his own actions.

“If Cherie did kill my mother, then I’m just as culpable as she is. I talked my mother into coming to live with us. She didn’t want to leave Casa Contento, but I convinced her it would be good for Cherie to have company when I was away on location. And I convinced Cherie she couldn’t come with me anymore because I didn’t want to leave my mother alone. It was totally self-serving and it probably caused a lot of resentment between them. I guess I never really bothered to check in to see how miserable the situation was. As long as I got what I wanted, I didn’t care.” Ross let out a huff of self-loathing. “Like I’m the only one who matters…”

Madeline had kept her expression neutral while Ross punished himself. That he had confessed his shortcomings to her was no surprise; her clients often did. Whether it was due to the level of disclosure inherent to the process of investigations or event planning, she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was her unbiased demeanor, or maybe it was their familiarity with her own very public downfall that inspired others to bare their souls without fear of censure.

Ross smiled wanly and placed his hand on the table, inviting Madeline to take it in hers as she had done before. She took her cue and Ross clutched her hand so tightly it almost hurt.

“All that coffee’s going right through me,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze before he excused himself.

Madeline sat back and let all the air seep out of her lungs as she reviewed where they stood in this case. She took a sip of her tepid coffee, which left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. She ate the rest of her muffin while checking her messages. There were two texts from Mike. She figured it would save time to just call him.

“I’m at the hospital cafeteria with Ross. He’s gone to the restroom. I haven’t got much time—any luck?”

“Not sure at this point, but I’ve definitely hit on some interesting dirt.”

“Tell me quickly, before he gets back.”

“Look, since you’ve got Ross’s ear, find out what you can about Helen’s son. I would wager Kris has a bit of a gambling problem, pardon the pun.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I decided to take a drive down to Port Hueneme. I’m sitting outside Kris’s rental right now,” Mike said, catching Madeline off guard.

“I hope Helen didn’t spot your car.”

“I got a rental. Besides, her car isn’t here.”

“Maybe it’s in the garage.”

“Trust me, Helen would not be spending time in a dump like this,” Mike said defensively. “If she was here at all, she’s not here now. I saw the kid get into his Trans Am ten minutes ago. Definitely in a hurry to get somewhere.”

“So, what makes you suspect he has a gambling problem?”

“Kris and his worthless buddies live across the street from a very sweet, very observant elderly woman.” Madeline caught sight of Ross as he reentered the café.

“Ross is coming back. What’d she tell you?”

“That Kris came back from a few days’ stay at the hospital with a battered face and his arm in a sling. She’s noticed times when he seems flush with cash. Brand new fancy vehicles come and go. Rough looking bruisers showing up at all hours, and not for social calls.”

“When was he in the hospital?”

“About a month ago,” Mike said. Madeline watched Ross as he zigzagged closer to their table, her mind racing.

“Good work. I’ll see what I can find out,” she said, ending the call without waiting for a reply. Ross slid back onto the banquette, his gaze averted as though he was on the lookout for the press.

“Ross, while we’ve got the chance, there are a few questions I need to ask you,” Madeline said once he had settled in across from her.

“Shoot.”

Madeline cleared her throat as she put her thoughts in order. “Helen’s been with you a long time, hasn’t she?”

Ross nodded slowly, the look on his face reverential. “She’s been my anchor. She’s seen me through three marriages and two divorces.”

“She’s been your housekeeper for twenty years, is that right?”

Ross tilted his head while he worked the dates. “Yeah, right around twenty. She came to work for us while Linda and I were living in Brentwood. The girls must’ve been in their teens. That was probably three years before we got divorced.”

“And Helen stayed with you?”

“Went with me. Yeah, that was a big bone of contention with the first ex-Mrs. Alexander. She found Helen, trained her, and then I stole her away—according to Linda. The truth is, Helen begged me to take her with me. I wasn’t going to refuse. I was a bachelor for three years before Stephanie and I got together.”

“And she followed you to Santa Barbara. That’s a devoted employee,” Madeline said, sweetening the statement with a smile.

“She knows I’d be lost without her. She asked for two days off to spend time with her son and I nearly lost it. The woman has hardly had a day to herself in a year and all I could think about is how am I going to function without her anticipating my every need. Especially in the middle of these crises. I’m lucky she didn’t walk out on me.”

“From what I can tell, she’s completely devoted to you.” Ross’s eyes softened as she said this. “When did you and Stephanie move up here?”

“It was in 2001. We’ve been in the Montecito house for twelve years—or rather, I’ve been there for twelve years. Helen and I have been there together. The wives changed,” he said with a sad smirk.

“Has Helen always lived in the guesthouse?” Madeline asked, getting around to what she was really interested in.

“Yes. She’s been there since day one. She and Kris,” Ross amended. Madeline detected a change in his tone at the mention of Helen’s son.

“Does that mean she was a single mom?” Ross nodded.

“She and her husband split up shortly before we moved up here.”

“How old is Helen’s son?”

“Twenty-two. Twenty-three? I can’t recall right now.”

“So, he was lucky enough to attend Montecito Union,” she said, fishing.

“Actually, I paid for him to go to Crane,” Ross said, a little uncomfortably, Madeline thought.

She smiled appreciatively. “That was very generous of you.”

Ross ducked his head in a self-deprecating way. “Well, I pretty much treated him like a son…when I was around.”

“He’s a very fortunate young man, then. Is he still in college?” Madeline asked. Ross became suddenly interested in his mangled scone. After a while, he gave up the pretense and leaned back against the booth.

“Unfortunately, I think living in a Montecito mansion with a famous film director who treated him like a son whenever it suited him had a deleterious effect on Kris. I think he grew up confused about where he belonged. I loved the kid, I did—as much as I was able to love anyone, I suppose. But that fickle kind of caring is more of a curse than a blessing.”

“He didn’t go to college,” Madeline surmised.

“No. I did try to encourage him to go, but by that time he had discovered hedonistic pleasures, like surfing, partying all night, hanging out with trust fund babies who had more freedom than sense. He developed a cavalier attitude about money, and then…” Ross laughed humorlessly, “and then he no longer had access to all the comforts of living on the estate. How do you spoil a kid who isn’t even yours? I’ll tell you. You just play the rich uncle until the kid disappoints you, then you lose interest. It’s guaranteed to fuck up a boy’s mind. Sorry, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Everywhere I look in my life I see my failure to do the right thing.”

Madeline gave Ross a few seconds for self-reflection before pressing him again.

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” she said. Ross waved away her apology. “But something’s been hounding me… and now that I know Kris lived on your estate, it makes me wonder…”

“Wonder about what?” Ross asked apprehensively.

“Well, the thing that has stymied Mike and me, along with the police, is that there are so few potential suspects for your mother’s murder, according to the surveillance footage. We’ve seen for ourselves everyone who went up and down both sets of stairs…”

“And…?”

Madeline leaned in conspiratorially. “The estate is old, right?

“Built in 1928,” Ross said, still puzzled over what Madeline was getting at.

“An era of grand homes built with great care given to the layout and functionality of the house…” Ross regarded her with mouth agape.

“I don’t know where you’re going with this,” he said.

“Are there any secret passages that would connect the downstairs with the upstairs?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Ross said, his expression still uncertain.

“But a boy who had free rein around the house in your absence might have discovered something like that, wouldn’t you think?” Ross shook his head dubiously. “Ross, the only way we can prove Cherie’s innocence at this point is to figure out if someone else could’ve gotten upstairs and back down without being seen.”

Ross stared into Madeline’s eyes as the point hit home. “You don’t think Kris could’ve done it?” he asked, his brow creased with worry. Madeline’s eyes shifted ever so slightly as the possibility cemented itself in her mind.

“No, no. I just want to find out if something like a hidden passage exists. If it does, it opens the door to a plethora of potential suspects,” she said, sitting back while Ross digested this.

“Now I see what you mean…no more fingers pointed solely at Cherie.”

“Exactly,” Madeline said. “If we could inspect every room and crawl space, we might find some type of passageway.” She watched as Ross’s face came alive with hope.

“Mr. Alexander?” a tall brunette asked as she bent down by their table.

“Yes,” Ross said anxiously, already scooting off the banquette. “Is my wife all right?”

“Yes, she’s out of danger. But the doctor would like to speak you,” the woman said, smiling politely and encouragingly at both of them.

“I’m right behind you,” Ross said. As the brunette turned to lead the way, Ross leaned over the table. “Thank you, Madeline. If you can get my wife out from under this nightmare, I will be forever in your debt.”

“We’re going to do everything we can,” Madeline assured him. As she watched them leave the cafeteria, she wondered if Ross would really be happy with the results of their digging.

THIRTY-EIGHT

As soon as Ross was out of sight, Madeline called Mike.

“Did you get anything useful?” he asked.

“I got some interesting background info on Kris Bagley, like the fact that he lived on the estate with Helen for several years. And that Ross paid to put him through an expensive private school. Sounds like he would’ve paid for college, too, if Kris hadn’t fallen in with a fast crowd. Ross blames himself for the problems the kid’s gotten himself into. I guess the money tap turned off once Kris opted out of college.”

“Does Ross know about all his arrests?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask him about that. But something did occur to me while we were discussing Helen’s troubled son,” Madeline said, her voice trailing off. Mike recognized the silence that followed as his partner’s mental gears turned.

“Are you going to share that thought with me or not?” Mike asked after a significant pause.

“What if there’s a hidden staircase in the house that the Alexanders aren’t aware of? What if Kris discovered it? Or any of the staff, for that matter.”

“You’re suggesting that someone other than Cherie or Helen killed Vivian…?”

“I’m just wondering if we’re not overlooking a vital piece of the puzzle. It’s certainly worth checking out,” Madeline said.

“I agree. Anything is worth checking out at this point. Did you share your theory with Ross?”

“No. It’s not so much a theory as it is a question mark. I just can’t stand by and watch Cherie go down on a murder charge without exhausting every possible alternate scenario,” Madeline said, surprised to find out how committed she was to a person she had grown to dislike.

“So, what’s our next move?”

“I want to get Ross’s permission to inspect every square inch of that place. Including outbuildings,” Madeline said as the caretaker’s cottage, Helen’s guesthouse and the pool cabana came to mind. “The house was built in the middle of Prohibition, so it wouldn’t be farfetched to imagine a tunnel or two on the property.”

“You’re getting quite cloak and dagger here, aren’t you?” Mike chided her.

“Look, I’d have no qualms going straight for Helen as Vivian’s killer, but she’s alibied up the wazoo.”

“And your intuition still tells you Cherie didn’t do it,” Mike challenged.

“It’s not just intuition. There are too many actions on Cherie’s part that don’t add up to those of a murderer.” Mike had an argument against that assertion, but he already knew Madeline’s counter, so he stayed silent on the matter.

“I guess we could start trying to poke holes in Helen’s alibi,” Madeline said more to herself than Mike. “But with proof of her and Teresa leaving together, we would be clutching at ether. At least if we can prove or disprove the existence of a secret staircase or tunnel, then we would know it was worth our time trying to dissect Helen’s airtight alibi. Do you get what I’m saying? If there’s a hidden passageway, Cherie’s defense becomes a lot easier.”

“Yeah, I follow you. So, tell me what you want me to do.” Madeline let her eyes wander aimlessly while she considered the next logical step.

“I’ll talk to Ross about searching his property. He’s in with Cherie right now.” Madeline let out a forceful sigh, part frustration, part bewilderment. “I guess it would’ve been useful to follow Helen’s son,” she thought out loud.

“I decided to take the more subtle approach of putting a tracker on his car.” This visual put a smile on Madeline’s face.

“Okay, so what’s your plan?”

“I’m just watching his movements for a while before I give chase. For all I know, he could’ve run down to the liquor store for more booze and cigarettes. If he doesn’t come to a stop in a minute, I’ll see go see what he’s up to.”

“Good. I guess I’m supposed to hang around here until they let me in to see Cherie,” Madeline said, checking her watch. Not that it mattered, for time had lost its constancy over the last forty-eight hours. “Once I do get in, I’ll have to turn my phone off, so I’ll call you when I’m leaving.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Mike said, signing off.

Madeline dried her hands while she regarded her reflection in the restroom mirror. She wasn’t exactly thrilled by what she saw. Of course, the fluorescent lighting didn’t help. Nor did having so many worries on her mind.

She tried to rationalize that she would’ve been working just as hard with plenty of aggravations to sort through if Cherie’s party had gone as planned, without any suspicious deaths to investigate. But catering to the whims of the rich wasn’t even in the same category as dealing with the bereaved and trying to solve two murders. She touched up her lipstick and ran a brush through her hair and called it good enough.

As she walked back toward the waiting area, the same tall brunette who had tracked Ross down now made a beeline for her.

“Mr. Alexander sent me to find you. Mrs. Alexander is asking to see you. The doctor has okayed it, but you’ll have to keep it brief,” the woman instructed as Madeline fell into step with her.

Ross was exiting the room as they approached. He looked distracted and thoroughly worn out as he ran his hands across his temples, lacing them together behind his head as he let out a powerful huff.

“Madeline,” he said as she came to a halt in front of him.

“How is she?”

Ross labored over his breathing as he searched for the words. “Physically, she’s going to be all right. Emotionally…” Ross shook his head. “She just can’t make sense of what’s happened to her life. I can’t blame her. I feel the same way. She’s petrified about being arrested and held until the arraignment tomorrow.”

“Is there anything the doctors can do to postpone the process?”

“I haven’t had an opportunity to speak to them about that yet. I need to talk with Liz and get her reading on the situation,” Ross said, his eyes straying down the hallway.

“She was in the emergency waiting room when I was brought up. I think she’s working remotely until she has a chance to see you.”

“Good. I’ll see if there’s a place we can meet,” Ross said, scouting around for the helpful brunette.

“Can I see Cherie now?” Madeline asked as she tried to peek inside the private room.

“They just chased me out while they check her over. It shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“There is something I need to talk to you about,” Madeline said as Ross raised his hand to get the facilitator’s attention.

“What is it?” Ross asked, dropping his hand to his side, his attention now solely on Madeline.

“I’d like to have your permission to do a thorough search of all the structures on your property.”

“Sure, of course. What are you hoping to find?” Ross asked, folding his arms across his chest, his eyes probing Madeline’s with great interest. Madeline was afraid to get his hopes up too high, and she wasn’t sure exactly how to spin her somewhat desperate hypothesis.

“I’d rather not point any fingers until we can back up our suspicions,” Madeline said tactfully.

“Does that mean you think you’ve figured out who killed my mother?” Ross asked eagerly. Madeline opened her mouth to hedge her position, but Ross cut her off. “So, you believe someone else besides Cherie is responsible?” Ross was smiling ear to ear, a sight Madeline had never witnessed. It rendered her temporarily speechless. Fortunately for her, the doctor emerged from the room in time to make a reply unnecessary.

Ross made the introductions and then Dr. Burgess gave Madeline permission to see Cherie, with caveats.

“Please try not to excite her,” Dr. Burgess warned. “She’s weak and in a very fragile state of mind. We’re monitoring her closely to make sure her body has no adverse reaction to the transfusions.”

“I understand.”

“Good.” The doctor checked the time on his electronic tablet. “You have ten minutes,” he said. With a nod to Ross and Madeline, he went about his rounds.

When Madeline entered the room, she was shocked by the sight of her former client. For a moment, she thought she’d gone through the wrong door. Besides appearing as small as a child, the woman tucked into the hospital bed bore no resemblance to the Cherie she had come to know. What she saw before her was the stripped-bare version of the glamorous Hollywood persona. Her hair had dried in thick, wavy strands that seemed oddly unruly compared to her almost angelic features, scrubbed free of all traces of cosmetics.

At first she thought Cherie was asleep. It wasn’t until she turned to leave that Cherie opened her eyes and spoke.

“Madeline.” Cherie’s voice was thin, barely above a whisper. It froze Madeline where she stood. “Please don’t leave,” Cherie begged.

With Cherie’s fragile condition, Madeline wasn’t sure what help they could offer each other. But the look of despair in Cherie’s eyes compelled Madeline to cross the room and sit in the chair beside her.

An inscrutable smile flickered across Cherie’s face, striking Madeline as alarming, if not sardonic.

“I guess I should be thankful for all the protective measures they’ve taken to make sure I don’t croak,” Cherie said, taking in all the monitoring devices surrounding her. “I certainly won’t get this kind of kid glove treatment where I’m headed.” If the remark was designed to illicit sympathy, it was wasted on Madeline.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I wish I were dead,” Cherie said. She must’ve regretted the flippant remark; her expression softened and her eyes teared up. “I don’t really,” she amended, choking up at the grim reality she now found herself in.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Find out who’s doing this to us,” Cherie pleaded. “This has to be some kind of vendetta by some crazed lunatic.”

“Why do you think that?” Madeline asked, hoping there was some concrete reasoning behind this supposition. What she and Mike needed most of all right now was a motive to work with.

“What else could it be?” Cherie asked crossly. Madeline leaned back in the chair and regarded her calmly. “I’m sorry. I don’t…I’m so confused, and scared and frustrated. I just don’t understand how this can be happening.”

“Do you know of anyone who has a grudge against you or Ross? Has anyone ever threatened to get even with you? Is there anyone you’ve ever had a falling out with who would be vindictive enough to go to these lengths to bring you down?” Throughout the questioning, Cherie bit her bottom lip thoughtfully and shook her head as her eyes stayed trained on Madeline’s.

“There were an awful lot of people at that party Friday night, a lot of people with fragile egos. Maybe there was someone in that crowd who’d do anything to trade places with you…” This scenario caused Cherie’s features to cloud over as she mentally went through the guest list for possible cutthroats.

“I don’t know,” she said, bewildered.

“And you don’t know of anyone who had it in for Vivian…?”

Cherie shook her head adamantly. “Everyone adored her. Even me, though she thought I was a self-centered ditz.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Madeline said.

“How would you know? She loved Linda, not me. I was just a third-rate replacement, as far as Vivian was concerned.” Madeline gave her a look that said she knew better.

“Like I told you yesterday, I was working for Vivian at the time of her death. I know that she was very fond of you.” Cherie pouted, unconvinced. “You don’t pass on a treasured heirloom to someone you don’t have true affection for,” Madeline said, catching herself as soon as the words left her mouth. This admission now hung in the air as clearly as if it were written there.

“What are you talking about?” Cherie asked, squirming into a more upright position.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Madeline said, coloring at her faux pas.

“Tell me!” Cherie demanded without raising her voice. Madeline looked toward the door while she wrestled with her dilemma.

“I don’t want to spoil the surprise,” she said, causing Cherie to laugh out loud.

“Umm, I think now would be a good time for some major cheering up, don’t you? Besides, I may never get to see whatever it was Vivian was planning to give me,” Cherie said, a peek of that winning charisma showing through her wretchedness.

In that split second, the answer hit Madeline like a lightning bolt, as several pieces aligned themselves, presenting such a conclusive, convincing scenario, she could barely control her urge to run out of the room.

“Did you set up a heating duct cleaning service a week or so ago?” Madeline asked.

“A what?”

“Did you arrange to have the heating ducts cleaned?”

“Of course not. That’s not my job,” she said sharply. “Why in the world would you think that?”

“Never mind. It’s unimportant,” Madeline said, as a wave of heat washed over her. “Cherie, listen to me…I think I understand what’s behind all this. I can’t tell you now,” she said, standing up and raising her hand to ward off Cherie’s protest. “I’ve got to move fast. I’ll keep Ross informed. But please, whatever happens with the police, don’t lose hope.”

“Madeline! Where are you going?”

“Stay calm. And remember what I said. Vivian did love you, more than you realize.”

Only the uniformed policeman was outside the door when Madeline came charging out. She grabbed her phone and placed a call to Alice as she went in search of Ross. When Alice answered, Madeline wasted no time on pleasantries.

“You logged all the gifts Cherie received, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but only a handful were opened,” Alice replied after missing a beat.

“How about Miss Story? Did you log a gift from her?” Madeline asked anxiously as she reversed direction and went down the corridor toward the cafeteria, her eyes darting everywhere.

“No, but she did come to me the day before the party, asking if I wouldn’t mind wrapping a gift for Cherie. I told her I’d be happy to.”

“And…?”

“She told me she’d have it ready for me soon, but then I forgot about it until the day of the party.”

“So, she didn’t bring you a gift to give to Cherie…?”

“No. It occurred to me while I was logging the gifts as the guests arrived that she hadn’t brought hers to me yet. So I went up to see if she still needed me to wrap something for her.”

Madeline stopped in her tracks when she heard this, giving Alice her full attention. “Did you speak with her?”

“Yes. I thought she’d be getting ready for the party, but when she opened the door, I could tell she hadn’t started to dress or anything.”

“What did she say about the gift?” Madeline asked, resuming her search for Ross.

“When I asked her if she still needed me to wrap something for her, she seemed really distracted, like she didn’t know what I was talking about. Then she told me she would take care of wrapping it herself. I offered to do it quickly for her, but she became sort of flustered and said that wasn’t necessary.”

“Alice, this is very important—did Vivian bring you the gift before the party?”

“No.”

“Could she have put it in the gift room later?”

“I guess so. But I didn’t see her do it.” Madeline abandoned her search and headed for the nearest nurses’ station.

“Can you meet me at the Alexanders’ right away? It’s very important,” Madeline stressed. “I’ve got to make sure if there’s a gift from Miss Story or not.”

“Sure, I can be there in about ten minutes,” Alice said.

“Great. If you get there before me, start looking for something that snuck in without you seeing it.”

“Okay…”

“And don’t let anyone at the house know what you’re doing there. Just tell them you’re doing something for Cherie. Be as vague as you can.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks,” Madeline said, ending the call. She paused at the nurses’ station and asked if they knew where Mr. Alexander was. When all she got was shaking heads, Madeline thanked them and looked his number up on her phone. Ross answered on the first ring.

“Are you still with Cherie?” he asked.

“No, I just left her.”

“How does she seem to you?”

“Okay. She seems pretty even, under the circumstances,” Madeline reported.

“Oh, thank God. That’s such a relief.”

“Ross, yesterday, when you were looking for those missing pieces of your mother’s jewelry, did you happen to come across an art deco diamond and sapphire bracelet?” The line went silent for a moment while Ross grappled with her question.

“Does that description ring a bell?” Madeline prompted.

“Oh sure, I know exactly the piece you’re talking about. I don’t remember seeing it, but I was pretty out of it at the time. Why are you asking about that piece? I didn’t think it was one of the pieces taken.” Madeline steeled herself before replying.

“Ross, I hate to ask, but I need you to meet me at your house so we can be certain if the piece is missing or not.”

“Now?”

“Yes,” Madeline answered matter-of-factly.

“You just need me to open the safes, is that it?”

“Yes, and identify the bracelet, if it’s there.”

“I can get Helen to open the safes for you. She has access to all the combinations, in case of emergencies. It sounds like you know what you’re looking for…” Madeline felt a clammy chill run through her body.

“I thought Helen took a couple days off to visit her son…”

“She’s back, bless her. She said she couldn’t relax knowing what we’re all going through.” Madeline fought down a strong feeling of nausea.

“Ross, I can’t go into it now, but it’s very important that Helen not know I want to check the contents your mother’s safe.” There was a pause during which all she heard was Ross’s labored breathing. “Ross, you’re going to have to trust me on this. Don’t let anyone know. Not even Liz or Cherie. Do you understand?” Madeline asked as she headed for the elevator.

Ross hesitated for a moment. “Yes, I understand. All right. I’ll get back to the house as soon as I can. I need to check in with the doctor and Cherie, then I’ll head over, if I can get through the mob of reporters.”

“Please hurry. Alice is meeting me there to go over the gifts. If we find what we’re looking for, I’ll let you know.”

“If you find what you’re looking for, do you still need me to go home?”

“No. But I have a feeling that’s not going to be the case.”

THIRTY-NINE

Madeline left the hospital through a side exit on Pueblo Street in order to avoid the throng of reporters still hanging around the main entrance. As soon as she pushed through the door, she called Mike.

“Where are you?”

“I’m on the 101 heading south, in Camarillo, just about to go up the Conejo Grade,” Mike said. “I caught up with Kris’s car just in time to see him leaving a pack of very dodgy-looking miscreants. He seemed pretty agitated, scared I’d say. I’ve been following him ever since, though it appears he’s trying to set some land speed record. Had I known I was going to be shadowing Al Unser, I would’ve rented something with more spunk.”

Madeline listened to this accounting as she walked around to the back side of the hospital, where her own rental car was parked. It took effort to follow Mike’s story; she could barely keep up with her own thoughts. Somewhere in the coursing information, the two scenarios intersected.

“Listen, I think you need to stay on the kid,” she said. “I just found out from Ross that Helen’s back at the estate. Not only is she back, but she is now at the top of my list for both murders.”

“What did you find out?”

“Nothing conclusive yet, but while I was talking to Cherie, I recalled a conversation I had with Vivian about a bracelet she planned to give Cherie for her birthday. It had recently been appraised at nearly fifty-grand. I just got off the phone with Alice, and it appears that Vivian’s gift never materialized.”

Madeline unlocked the rental car from a distance as she waited for Mike’s response. Instead, she heard four beeps, signaling the call had ended. Annoyed, she got in the car and started it before she called him back. The call went to voicemail.

“Shit!” she swore as she whipped out of the lot and headed for the freeway. Her phone rang as she sped up the onramp. She cursed again for not taking the time to set up the Bluetooth. She merged with the traffic and answered the call just before it went to voicemail.

“Sorry, I must’ve gone through a blackout area,” Mike said. “What were you saying?” Madeline growled in frustration.

“I’m headed to the estate to see if I can prove Helen is the murderer,” she said, keeping her voice as steady as possible.

“Should I come back?”

“No, stay on the kid. If my hunch is correct, he may be on his way to fence another hot bracelet.”

“Are you sure you don’t need me there?” Mike asked. Madeline weighed the pros and cons of having some backup versus having Helen’s son tailed, but only out of courtesy. “Hey, why don’t you give Lauren a call? I’m sure she’d drop whatever she’s doing to help out.”

Madeline let out an exasperated huff. “I don’t need her help,” she snapped.

“C’mon, how long are you going to blame the girl for what happened to Vivian? She didn’t lag intentionally,” Mike argued.

“Look, I don’t have time to mollify an employee. And I don’t need her or anyone else under foot. If I’m right, I’ll call Slovitch.”

“I didn’t hear that last part,” Mike said, his voice coming in faltering bursts. “You’re breaking up again.” Madeline ended the call, barely resisting the urge to hurl the phone out the window. Instead, she stuffed it back in her purse and changed lanes to exit at Hot Springs Road.

By the time she pulled up to the security gates, Madeline had managed to get thoughts of her coworkers out of her head. Her mind was completely focused on the task ahead. Only a faint flicker of doubt kept her emotions in check.

As she got out of the car, Alice pulled up behind her. Madeline waited for her and they fell in step together as they neared the front door.

“Helen’s back,” Madeline warned under her breath. Alice looked at her inquisitively.

“I didn’t know she was gone,” she whispered back.

Madeline considered this. After the party broke up on account of Vivian’s sudden demise, there was no need for Alice’s services, especially since Cherie was the prime suspect in her mother-in-law’s murder. That also meant she was completely in the dark about so much that had happened.

“We can’t let on to Helen what we’re doing here,” Madeline said quietly as they mounted the front steps. “By the way, Cherie is in the hospital.” Alice looked at her aghast. Madeline cut her off with a raised hand. “Just follow my lead. What we’re looking for is vitally important.”

Madeline composed herself before giving the brass knocker a series of short raps. The door opened within seconds, a sign that Helen hadn’t been far away and had probably observed their arrival.

“Helen, I thought you had taken a couple days off,” Madeline said, shifting her body closer to the threshold, wearing a smile that was meant to be both convivial and reverent.

“Duty called,” Helen said stoically. Madeline leaned in slightly as if to enter the house. Helen didn’t budge.

“Ross asked us to do a favor for Cherie,” Madeline said, her smile tightening as she assumed the role of intermediary. “She’s going to be all right, thank God.”

With this remark, Madeline nodded slightly to Helen, signaling to the housekeeper that she needed to step aside so they could get busy with their task. Helen backed away, but kept her head high and her gaze aloft, treating the visitors as if they were ordinary tradespeople, not part of Mrs. Alexander’s entourage. Madeline maintained eye contact with Helen and motioned for Alice to lead the way.

“What happened to Cherie?” Alice asked as soon as she closed the door to the giftwrapping room.

“She tried to kill herself,” Madeline said bluntly. The crush of reporters camped out around the estate had made her mindful that employees are easy targets for tabloid bribes. And if Madeline was wrong about Helen’s role in this multiple tragedy, then Alice would soon be unemployed, which would make selling her inside story all the more alluring.

“Oh, my God!” Alice cried, hand to her mouth as she dropped onto a nearby stool.

“Alice, if we’re going to save Cherie from going to prison, we need to work fast and methodically. Do you understand?” Alice nodded, her face a vivid canvas of confusion and grief. “All right, let’s go through these packages one by one. You tell me who it’s from and I’ll check it against the list. We’re looking for one that Vivian might have slipped in when you weren’t here.”

Madeline set the clipboard down and fished out her cell phone to call Ross. “It’s Madeline. We didn’t find what we were looking for.”

“I’m just pulling into the gates.”

A surge of adrenaline rushed through Madeline’s body. They were so close to finding the truth. If she was right. “I’m worried about Helen bolting,” she said. Her concerns were met with silence. Walking into the storage closet so Alice couldn’t hear her, she tried again. “Ross, I realize this is hard for you to face, but right now, it comes down to either your wife or your housekeeper as your mother’s murderer. We have to err on the side of caution.” A muffled sound, like a choked-down sob, was all Madeline could hear on the other end.

“Ross?”

“I’ll call security to make sure she doesn’t leave.”

“Better have someone on the back perimeter. On satellite photos, that looks like a weak spot.”

“All right,” Ross said before disconnecting.

Madeline tapped the backside of her phone with nervous fingers while she debated calling Detective Slovitch to give him a heads up. It would save time if her suspicions were right, but it would be a waste of the detective’s time if she were wrong. Plus, it would tip her hand as far as Helen was concerned. Instead, she rejoined Alice just as Ross walked in the front door.

Helen was there to greet him, the significance of which was not lost on Madeline. She stood beside a very confused Alice as they watched the interaction between employer and employee. The tension in the air was palpable. It was obvious to Madeline that Ross felt suddenly awkward around the woman he had trusted to run his home for twenty years.

Covering her embarrassment, Helen became overly solicitous, offering refreshments all around. Ross was quick to decline for everyone, leaving Helen with orders that he not be disturbed for any reason. Madeline was reluctant to take her attention away from the housekeeper, yet very anxious to find out if she was right about her or not.

As she turned to follow Ross to his study, she nearly smacked into Alice. Now a new quandary presented itself: what to do with Cherie’s assistant. Madeline caught Ross’s attention as he opened the door. She conveyed with a sideward glance the downside of leaving Alice unattended. Ross silently evaluated the situation and motioned with his head for both of them to come into his study.

“You remember that you signed a very binding confidentiality agreement when you were hired…?” Ross said to Alice as she passed into the room behind Madeline.

“Yes, sir,” she replied nervously, her distress and confusion palpable.

“Have a seat over by the fireplace,” Ross directed. Alice complied at once, sitting on the sofa with her back to them, making herself as small as possible. Once she was out of the way, Ross got busy opening all three safes.

“This will go quicker if you help me,” he said to Madeline as he laid the contents of Vivian’s safe out on his desk. They each examined everything carefully and came to the same conclusion.

“Okay, let’s see if it got put in mine by mistake,” Ross said. There was no enthusiasm in his voice, only urgency. “You know this doesn’t really prove anything if we don’t find it,” he said quietly to Madeline before restoring the first safe and taking out his.

“It might lead to the proof,” she maintained, though she knew Ross was right.

“Nothing here. That leave’s Cherie’s.” They each took a deep breath, both realizing that things could go from bad to worse if the bracelet showed up among the items in Cherie’s personal safe.

Ross exchanged the safes and put Cherie’s on the desk. After a thorough rifling, they stood back and regarded each other solemnly. “It’s definitely not here,” Ross admitted. Even though it was the outcome Madeline had been hoping for, it didn’t conclusively point to Helen as the thief.

“We should check Vivian’s room,” she said.

“We can’t. It’s still cordoned off.”

Madeline sagged against the desk, uncertain what the next move should be. The only prudent course of action was to call Detective Slovitch, but that was risky. If the police searched the rooms and found the bracelet, there went the hope of throwing suspicion away from Cherie. The longer Madeline entertained the notion of Helen being behind the theft of all four of Vivian’s missing pieces, the more she warmed to it. Not only did it tie nicely together with Vivian’s murder, but it practically guaranteed that Helen was responsible for Teresa’s brutal death as well. All three crimes dovetailed into place when Helen was inserted as the perpetrator, whereas they remained random and disjointed without her.

“I think it’s time to call the police,” Madeline said. “Your mother’s bedroom has to be searched.”

Ross didn’t say anything at first. Madeline could now see he had become invested in casting Helen as the villain, as painful as it must’ve been to embrace the idea of the woman he trusted the most killing the woman he had loved all his life.

“Make the call.”

“I’m still concerned about Helen getting suspicious. If we’re right,” Madeline said, her voice low so only Ross could hear her, “desperation might make her do something reckless.”

“As soon as you make the call, I’ll ask her to bring some coffee.”

Madeline nodded and retrieved her phone from her purse. She called Detective Slovitch’s cell number as she walked to the north-facing window to be out of hearing distance from Alice.

“John Slovitch,” the detective answered. Madeline gave him a succinct accounting of her hypothesis, stressing the urgency of searching the primary victim’s rooms for the missing bracelet. Before she could finish, Detective Slovitch interrupted her.

“I just got a call from your partner. He requested police backup in Reseda. He witnessed Kris Bagley going in the rear entrance of a pawnshop. According to the detective I spoke to, the owner of the shop has a prior for fencing stolen goods. A search confirmed Kris was carrying some hot rocks. A very expensive looking diamond bracelet. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a solid motive for murder.”

Madeline held her hand over the phone and turned toward Ross. “Ask Helen for the coffee now,” she said, her heart pounding. Ross wasted no time. He crossed to the door and opened it to yell out his request.

“Helen!” he called out while Madeline resumed her conversation with Slovitch. “Can you bring me some coffee?” he said, sheltering the view inside his study with the door. “Just one,” he answered. When he closed the door, Madeline ended her call with Slovitch.

“He was already headed over here,” she informed Ross. “It appears Kris Bagley was caught red-handed with your mother’s bracelet.”

FORTY

Within minutes, the sound of gravel crunching under the tires of two vehicles could be heard as they pulled up and parked in front of the house. Ross opened the door of his study just as Helen reached for the front door handle with her free hand, balancing a tray with a French press and a china cup and saucer on the other. Before she knew what was happening, two uniformed officers stepped into the foyer, one relieving the housekeeper of her task while the other placed cuffs around her wrists.

“Helen Bagley, you are under the arrest for grand larceny,” Slovitch said, holding up his badge as he began reciting the Miranda warning.

“How could you do this?” Ross screamed, charging down the hallway toward his housekeeper. “Did you kill my mother because she caught you stealing? Answer me! Did you kill my mother?”

Helen’s wordless expression of shock and fear betrayed her guilt. Before anyone could stop him, Ross backhanded her across the face. Helen gasped at the sudden attack and the venom with which it was delivered. Tears sprang to her eyes and she shook with indignity at being humiliated and restrained like a common criminal. Detective Slovitch pulled Ross away from her and swung him across the foyer.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Slovitch continued. “Anything you say may be used in evidence against you in a court of law. Do you understand?” Helen nodded morosely.

“After all I’ve given you, after all the years I’ve supported you and your worthless son,” Ross spat as he recovered his balance, “you thank me by killing my mother?” Slovitch interrupted himself once more and motioned for the officers to take Helen to the car.

“No, no—not yet,” Ross said, backing up slightly as Slovitch tried to keep him at bay. “I’ve got to hear from this monster why she did this to me,” Ross insisted, all semblance of self-control gone. “Why? Why did you kill her?” Ross beseeched her as tears streamed down his face.

The muscles in Helen’s jaws clinched as she strained to keep from crying. “I never planned to hurt Vivian,” she said as tears began to trickle down her face. “But she figured out I was the one who took her jewelry,” she continued, shooting a look of pure loathing at Madeline. “She wanted me to return the pieces, but I couldn’t do that. They were already gone.” Helen hung her head for a moment as she mustered what was left of her pride. “She was going to tell you, and I couldn’t bear that.” Helen sniffed back her tears and looked dejectedly at Ross.

“But why did you steal from her? I pay you two-hundred grand a year! If you needed more money, you could’ve come to me,” Ross said plaintively, as though he could renegotiate the past. “Her life was worth more than a few pieces of jewelry…” his voice trailed off as he stared at Helen. Contempt took the place of grief as the reality of his betrayal sank in. As his features hardened, so did Helen’s. She pulled herself up to her full height, her face contorted by a condescending sneer.

“What did you ever care for any of us?” she hissed. “You threw Linda and your girls away just as you did with Kris. And when you couldn’t deal with your current bimbo wife, you brought your mother in to take your place. Is it really any surprise that your egocentric, self-serving existence has come back to haunt you? What did you expect when you treat people like they’re disposable commodities?”

The blood drained out of Ross’s face while he listened to Helen’s tirade. The rancor in her voice seemed to pierce his heart. He slumped against the banister as Detective Slovitch gave a nod to the patrolmen to escort Helen out the door.

“The bracelet Kris Bagley was caught trying to hock was recovered,” Slovitch said, directing his report to Ross. “The LAPD is going to put out a search for the other pieces. If you have photos, send them to me and I’ll pass them along.”

Reaching the zenith of his emotional endurance, Ross staggered down the hallway to his study. Madeline hurried to catch up with the detective as he walked out the door.

“I believe Helen is also responsible for Teresa’s murder,” she said, keeping a wary eye on the disgraced housekeeper. “I think the coroner will find her wound consistent with a knife taken from the caterer’s sous chef the night of the party. I can find out exactly what type of knife it was and let you know. If we’re really lucky, there might be some video footage of her going into the kitchen with Teresa in tow.” Slovitch regarded her for a moment.

“You seem to have a knack for this, don’t you?” he said, catching Madeline off-guard with the unexpected compliment. The detective left her standing there as she absorbed the ramifications of all that had just transpired. She turned away as the patrol cars headed for the exit, not wishing to see that malevolent face again.

She went back inside and encountered Alice, who was still standing in the foyer, rooted to the spot by the shock of what had transpired. They regarded each other resignedly, both wrung out by the drama they had just witnessed and the awkwardness of being the last two people standing among the ashes.

“Thank you for coming, Alice. Things will never be the same in this house, but at least Cherie will be coming home. I’m sure she’ll need your help now more than ever.”

Alice wiped the corners of her eyes and sniffed back the tears. She tried to smile but the gravity of the losses to the Alexander household made it hard to shake the deep sadness she felt. She crumpled into sobs as Madeline put her arms around her.

Elaine and one of the other domestics appeared in the hallway off the kitchen. They came forward, their cautious footfalls mirroring their trepidation.

“What happened now?” Elaine asked as she peeked out the doorway at the departing police vehicles. It was certainly a fair question, after all the horrific surprises of the last two days.

“Helen was just arrested for stealing from Miss Story. She also admitted to killing her.” Madeline said, causing both girls to gasp. There was no point in sugarcoating it; the house staff no longer had a leader and the family they served was too wounded to take charge. “It will fall to you, Elaine, to take over Helen’s duties for now. Cherie is out of danger and will be coming home. That’s the good news.” Having done all she could, Madeline left Alice with the others to commiserate.

She found Ross in his study throwing back the contents of a highball glass. She stood in the doorway, her shoulder braced against the jamb. A drink sounded awfully good to her, but so did getting as far away from the Alexander estate as possible.

“Thank you,” Ross said, his gaze dropping back to his empty glass. Madeline nodded. It belatedly hit her that she had solved her first case under her own license, and she was sure it was one she’d never forget. Now that Helen had admitted to killing Vivian, Madeline had no doubt she was responsible for Teresa’s murder, too. But proving that was out of her hands. The police and the D.A. would have to work that out.

“Do you think Helen’s responsible for that girl’s death?” Ross asked, picking up on her thoughts.

“I do. Now that we know Helen committed the robberies and the first murder, it stands to reason she viewed Teresa as a liability. After going to such lengths, I don’t think Helen was willing to take any chances. Teresa could’ve walked in and caught Helen in the act, or your mother could’ve confided her suspicions to her earlier. Or maybe the girl was ignorant of both and just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. We may never know. It’s a tragedy, either way,” Madeline said, pushing herself away from the doorway to retrieve her handbag. She hadn’t felt this emotionally and physically exhausted in years. By the looks of him, neither had Ross.

“Is there anything else I can do before I go?” she asked. The thought of Madeline leaving seemed to jar Ross back to the present.

“I guess I need to settle up with you,” he said, taking a key from his pocket to unlock a desk drawer. Madeline was so surprised by the gesture, she almost laughed.

“Oh, no—don’t worry about that now,” she said, waving her hands as if to erase the idea. “That can wait. Right now, you need to let Cherie know she’s in the clear and she’ll be home soon. And hopefully you can get some rest!” she said, her voice betraying the lightheartedness she was starting to feel. The nightmare was over, and both she and Ross could sense it now. She smiled at him and turned to go.

“Madeline, I’ll never be able to thank you enough,” Ross said. She nodded sagely.

“It’s all part of the job,” she said, making them both twitter with delirious fatigue.

She was relieved not to find anyone loitering in the foyer. She let herself out, hoping it would be the last time she passed over that threshold.

Madeline had just cleared the mob scene outside the gates when her cell phone rang.

“Good work, partner,” she said, her face now beaming with pride.

“Same to you, partner,” Mike replied.

“They just took Helen away in handcuffs. Ross went ballistic on her and she pretty much admitted to Vivian’s murder.”

“Awesome. I can’t believe it’s over,” Mike said, his voice jubilant.

“I know. I’m still trying to absorb it all. I’m so glad you dug around in Kris Bagley’s patch. Great instincts, Mike.”

“You’re the captain. I was just covering all the angles.”

“Well, we couldn’t have nailed Helen so quickly if you hadn’t. Hell, we might not have nailed her at all,” Madeline said as she turned onto East Valley Road. “Oh, remember when we picked up the goodies from Philippe, I heard him scolding one of his sous chefs for misplacing his knife. I believe Helen used it to slit Teresa’s throat.”

“Oh, God. Sick. But you’re right—that would’ve been a way to cover her tracks. She’s one cold-blooded woman.”

“Tell me about it. Ross is devastated. Hers was a betrayal of the worst order.”

“You’re not kidding. To think you know someone for two decades, only to find out that person’s really a demon,” Mike sympathized. The line went quiet for a moment while they each processed the significance of having solved a murder case.

“Where are you now?” Madeline asked.

“I’ve just left Reseda, headed back up. How about you?”

“I just left Ross. I’m going to get something to eat before I pass out.”

“I’m going to stop on the road somewhere. Are you headed home after that?”

“Ah, I don’t know. I’m totally whipped, but I think I want to write up my notes for the file first. That way I can collapse knowing this whole nightmare case is over and done with,” Madeline said.

“Amen to that. I guess I’ll meet you at the office, then.”

“Mike, I think this calls for a proper celebration.”

“I couldn’t agree more, partner. See ya later!”

Madeline smiled to herself as she came to a stop at the intersection at Hot Springs Road. She made a mental note to pick up a half bottle of Champagne. Better make it a full bottle, she amended. After what she’d been through, she wouldn’t have any problem polishing it off by herself.

She was idly wondering where she might find some caviar to go with the Champagne when her cell phone rang again. Figuring it was Mike—probably on the same food wavelength—she picked up the phone. Instead of Mike’s photo, she saw Lauren’s eager face. She set the phone down like it was radioactive, then quarreled with herself for being such an unforgiving bitch. She took the call right before it went to voicemail.

“Hi Lauren,” Madeline said, trying not to sound too cheery. She was still upset with her assistant for her lack of professionalism. Whether Vivian’s life could’ve been spared if Lauren hadn’t been so high on star contact was something they would never know. If they hadn’t just wrapped up this case, she certainly would’ve been in no mood to speak with her. As it stood, Madeline figured it would cost her nothing at this juncture to be magnanimous.

“Hello, Madeline.”

Madeline’s heart stopped. For one long, horrible moment her body went into shock along with her mind. Fortunately, the road was straight and the speed limit low. Still, it was all she could do to remember how to drive.

“It’s been a long time,” Lionel Usherwood said, the distinctive English accent he had held onto since childhood sending ripples of gooseflesh from head to toe. “What’s wrong, Madeline—cat got your tongue?”

“What do you want?” Madeline croaked.

“That’s the spirit. Listen very carefully and do not deviate from my orders and your lovely young assistant might live through the day.”

FORTY-ONE

“What do you want me to do, Lionel?” Madeline asked, her hand shaking so badly she could hardly hold the phone to her ear. Though it had been over three years since Madeline had heard his voice—and when exactly that had been, she couldn’t recall—memories of the day his gang of “security” hoods abducted her at knife point flooded her mind’s eye. She would never forget the look on his face as he reversed the black Suburban and tried to run her down in front of the police station, in broad daylight.

“That’s better. Very obedient. Perhaps the years have humbled you,” Lionel said. “But then again, from the looks of things, you still haven’t learned to mind your own business.”

“What have you done with Lauren?” she asked with a quavering voice.

“Nothing, yet.”

“I want to hear her tell me she’s all right. Put her on the phone.”

“I’m the one making demands, Madeline, not you.”

“Would you take my word for something as important as this?” Madeline challenged him. She heard a rustling sound then Lauren’s painful bleat.

“Maddie!” was all Madeline heard before Usherwood’s voice came back on the line.

“Satisfied? You’re going to turn into an alley on the left and drive all the way to the very back and park by the dumpsters. The alley’s coming up…”

The realization that Usherwood was following her movements froze Madeline like a statue. She hazarded at glance in her rearview mirror. There was a man in a black Jeep, but it didn’t look like him. When her eyes returned to the road, she slammed on the brakes, barely avoiding a rear-end collision. The Jeep swerved across the yellow line, just missing the back of Madeline’s rental car. She studied the driver’s face in her side view mirror as she crept forward, the acrid smell of burnt rubber assaulting her nostrils.

“Watch what you’re doing, Madeline. Any funny business and you’ll never know what happened to pretty Lauren,” Lionel warned, before swinging back into position behind her. “Okay, turn left here.”

Madeline put on her signal and waited for the oncoming traffic to pass, taking advantage of the momentary delay to think ahead. In all the years she’d lived in Santa Barbara, she’d never been down this alley. She couldn’t remember if she even knew it existed. She turned into it after the last oncoming car passed.

“Toss your phone out your left window,” Lionel said as the Jeep bounded into the alley behind her. “Now!” he commanded, clearly irritated at her slowness to comply. Madeline lowered her window and threw out her phone, watching her mirrors as Usherwood’s vehicle crushed it under its tires.

Tears of rage came to her eyes at the same time that she remembered her iPad. Cautiously, she reached her hand across the seat to get it out of her handbag. When all her hand could feel was the fabric of the seat, Madeline shifted her eyes to the floorboard, where her bag had landed in a heap after she slammed on the brakes.

Think, think, think, she admonished herself, but nothing useful came into her mind, only visions of the cruelty Usherwood undoubtedly had in store for her and Lauren. She slowed to a crawl to postpone the unavoidable, hoping against reality that Usherwood’s plan would be curtailed by the appearance of delivery trucks, garbage collectors, someone, anyone.

Now that she didn’t have her phone, Usherwood communicated to her by bearing down on her rented Ford Focus. She held to her pace knowing that these were the last few seconds of control on her part. If anyone had been watching, they might’ve assumed Madeline’s car was being push-started, so close was the Jeep on her tail. But no one appeared. Madeline closed her damp eyes and sent up a prayer that she and Lauren would somehow come out of this ordeal alive. At this point, she didn’t see any other hope except divine intervention.

She coasted to a halt beside the dumpster. Before she could undo her seatbelt, Lionel was on her. She barely got a look at him before he yanked her out of the driver’s seat and bound her arms behind her with zip ties, a sensation that had haunted her dreams for years. He dragged her toward the Jeep, which was directly behind her vehicle. Within seconds, she was pushed by her head into the backseat, where she encountered a tear-streaked Lauren, who was similarly bound.

When their abductor had resumed the driver’s seat, he trained the rearview mirror on Madeline, grinning at her with delight. Only by his teeth was Madeline able to make a positive ID on her captor; his face was covered with a dark beard, dyed to match his formerly mousey brown hair. But if the crooked teeth hadn’t given him away, the voice did. It was unmistakable.

“Isn’t this sweet? A reunion of old friends. Right, Madeline? We used to spend quite a bit of time together, me shuttling you to this event or that event. Always in high style,” Usherwood sang out, his twisted sense of humor making him laugh out loud as he reversed the Jeep so quickly, Lauren slid across the backseat and collided with Madeline. Madeline comforted her the best she could without the use of her arms.

“Not that you noticed me,” Usherwood continued. “I was just the faceless hired help. I seemed to be invisible to you and that cocksucker husband of yours, pardon my French.” After fishtailing to a stop, Usherwood cranked the wheel and sped out of the deserted lot and back down the alley they’d come up.

“I did dream of you, though, beautiful Madeline. Dreamt all sorts of erotic adventures, just you and me. Am I making you blush?” Usherwood asked, peering into the mirror. “Now isn’t that sweet? Puts me in the mood for a lovely threesome,” he laughed.

Though Madeline was more or less pinned against the door, she did notice that Usherwood turned up Picacho Lane. She couldn’t determine if this boded well for them or not. If Usherwood somehow had access to any of the properties on this road, their cries for help would probably get lost in the acres of foliage.

While they continued straight up Picacho, Madeline searched for any options at her disposal that might derail Usherwood’s plans. She still had the use of her legs, though with Lauren essentially lying on top of her, she couldn’t think of a way to unleash their power.

As Usherwood detailed his fantasy of wild sexual escapades with Madeline, and Lauren continued to weep, Madeline turned her thoughts inward, conjuring up the calming visage of Master Coffee.

At some point, he’s going to have to take you out of the car. This is good. You still have the use of your legs. That is also good. If you have a clean shot to incapacitate him, take it as early as you can—you might not get another one. But if you’re not absolutely sure you can take him down, don’t risk it. He won’t give you another chance if he knows you’re going to fight him. Breathe, stay calm, remember where your strengths lie, and seize justice with all your might. He doesn’t know about your new skills—that will also give you an initial advantage. Keep your eyes on his and you’ll be able to anticipate his moves. You’ve got very quick reflexes and tremendous power. And best of all, he thinks of you as a beautiful doll. He has no idea what he’s gotten into.

“It’s not polite to act so bored, Madeline,” Usherwood said crossly. Madeline eyed him in the mirror, her face a serene mask. “My God, you are gorgeous. A little frazzled, perhaps, but that’s as should be expected.”

Usherwood slowed down slightly as he turned left on Mountain Drive. Lauren slid back to her side as the Jeep careened around the corner, looking even more bereft, if that were possible, at being separated from Madeline.

“Lionel, now that you’ve got me, let Lauren go, please.” Usherwood gave her a lopsided smirk via the mirror.

“Sorry, love—afraid I can’t do that. The sweet young thing has become a threat to my freedom, and you know how I feel about anyone who threatens my freedom.”

“Why’d you risk coming back here, then?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Madeline. Yeoman got himself sprung by giving me up. It would go against my integrity to let something like that slide.”

“I had no intention of crossing paths with you again, Lionel. Did you really consider me a threat to your freedom?”

“No, darling. This is straight old-fashioned revenge, with a pleasurable interlude on the side.” She felt Lauren’s silent sobs shake the back of the seat. She could hardly bear to look at her. Whatever grudge she’d worked up against her assistant was ludicrous compared to the danger she’d inadvertently gotten her into. If anything, it raised the stakes, making it absolutely imperative that she save Lauren’s life, even if it was the last thing she ever did.

“You know, Lionel, I’m puzzled by your sudden interest in me. I never got even the slightest indication from you that you found me attractive. I always got the impression you barely knew I existed,” Madeline said frankly. She knew better than to play him for a fool.

“Ah, how little you know, darling. Many were the nights when your face was the last thing I thought of before I drifted off into some very sexy dream. I must’ve watched that video of you at the Edgecliff a dozen times,” Usherwood said with a lascivious glint in his eyes. Madeline turned away from the mirror in disgust. The thought of him touching her nearly made her gag. After the nausea passed, she tried again.

“I don’t think you got as far in life as you have without being a practical man,” she said. “And I’m not sure I really buy the killing for the sake of killing argument. I think that if you could walk away without any threat of reprisals, you’d be smart enough to do it.”

“I will be walking any without the threat of reprisals,” Lionel said.

“Maybe. But if you took me with you, you could have it all. Right now, no one knows for sure it was you who killed Yeoman—”

“Not even Yeoman,” Usherwood boasted.

“So let Lauren go and you can take me back to wherever you’ve been safely hidden the last three years. I will make a pact with you and I will keep it. I’ll swear to it on everything I hold dear.” Though Madeline had made a convincing plea, the eyes staring back at her were filled with mocking contempt.

“Nice try, Madeline, but you must really take me for a patsy,” he said as slowed and veered off Mountain Drive. The Jeep came to a halt in front of a rudimentary gate fashioned out of 2x4s and wire. While Usherwood got out to open it, Madeline tried to work the door handle with her bound hands. She was able to pull on it, but it had been safety-locked by the driver’s controls. Giving up, she leaned over as far as she could and whispered in Lauren’s ear.

“I’m going to get you out of this, Lauren. I swear to you I will. Please try to calm yourself, sweetheart. I may need your help.” She righted herself as she saw Usherwood walk back toward the Jeep. Madeline glanced back at Lauren who was trying to dry her soaking wet face on her shoulders. She took this as a sign her assistant might be able to aid in their escape.

Lionel got back in and put the Jeep in four-wheel drive. They passed through the gate and he got back out to close it.

“What do you have in mind?” Lauren asked, her voice raspy but surprisingly steady. Madeline made a shooshing sound and leaned across the seat again.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, cautious of listening devices. “Just watch closely and know that I’ll be looking for an unguarded moment.” She wiggled back to her side just as Usherwood passed by. He got back in and slowly drove up the rutted shale road. Madeline memorized every feature of the landscape, hazarding a guess that they were somewhere between Coyote Road and Riven Rock, on the up side of Mountain Drive.

After a bumpy climb, they reached a flat clearing that was surrounded by a ring of trees. A dilapidated barn lay at the northern edge of the pad. Usherwood pulled up to it and set the brake.

“All right, ladies. We have arrived,” he said jovially as he reached into the glove compartment, removing a revolver and a hunting knife in a sheath.

Usherwood went around to Lauren’s side and pulled her out first. Both doors unlocked at the same time and Madeline ran through her options. She could pull the handle and open the door, but that would leave her sitting in an awkward position. Lionel would be on top of her by the time she got out and she’d have no chance to strike a blow with her feet. She thought of coiling her legs and kicking with both feet when he opened the door, but she thought of it too late. Usherwood reached in with his free hand and pulled her out. He hauled them by the arm, one with each hand, to the barn, where he kicked the door open with his foot.

Light from a single filthy window was all that illuminated the interior of what, judging by the lingering scent of pesticides and other chemicals, was used as a storage barn. On the hard dirt floor, over by the northwest corner, was a bedroll and a small assortment of gear. Other than that, the barn was empty of any type of implement that might be used in fending off their kidnapper.

“Now, Madeline…you may have noticed that I didn’t bind your feet together. There are two reasons for that. And you’re so smart, I’m sure you can figure what those reasons are.” With that, he shoved Lauren hard enough to knock her down, face first. Madeline winced as she hit the ground. Lionel removed the shirt he had layered over a tight fitting T-shirt, exposing his well-developed upper body and the gun he had tucked into his waistband.

As he pivoted to toss the shirt on his bedroll, Madeline saw where he had fastened the knife sheath over his belt. Any attempt at having sex with either of them meant he would have to shed his weapons first. But by then, Madeline reasoned, he’d have already knocked her flat as he had with Lauren. If he went for Lauren first, she’d have a chance to attack him from behind, if he didn’t bind her ankles together.

Madeline concentrated on her breathing as she watched Usherwood sizing up the situation. With a malicious leer on his face, he pulled from his back pocket a zip tie, which was long enough to strap her ankles together. She forced herself to keep her eyes fixed to his while she anticipated his options for further restraining her. If he approached her with a mind to trussing her legs together, she’d have a split-second opportunity to land a combination of strikes with her feet that would render him unconscious before he could strike back.

She mentally geared herself for a side kick to the groin with her left foot and a roundhouse kick with her right foot that would jerk his head up and back as he doubled over in pain from the injury to his private parts. As if reading her thoughts, Usherwood’s left leg shot out straight for her abdomen. Reflexively, she jumped back to avoid the strike, berating herself as she did so. The leer spread into a grin as Usherwood warmed to the idea of a spirited form of foreplay.

It wasn’t the way she had hoped to reveal her training, but now that she had played mouse to his cat, there was nothing she could do but keep moving. Her eyes remained locked on her opponent’s; she watched for any movement toward his weapons in her peripheral vision. Another kick came at her, high enough that she had to duck. As she did, she positioned herself to turn and step backward, just in time to dodge a backhanded strike.

“Should’ve known with all that dancing you’d be quick on your feet,” he said, openly smiling at Madeline’s diverting moves.

With the use of both his hands, plus the two lethal weapons, Madeline figured the best thing for her to do was stay on the defensive for as long as she could while maintaining a safe enough distance. Her only real hope was to tire him out a little while reinforcing his belief that evasion tactics were all she had going for her.

Usherwood led them in a dance of strike and avoidance that he found exhilarating for the first couple of minutes. When his expression changed, Madeline sensed he was starting to be bored from the lack of physical contact. His strikes intensified in speed; the combinations were more advanced than anything Madeline had learned to do yet. But she had a keener motivation than Usherwood, however deadly his ingrained modus operandi. Lauren’s life and hers depended on besting a highly-trained combat warrior.

“Cute, but this isn’t exactly how I want to spend our limited time together,” Usherwood said. He was breathing heavier now, exposing his crooked, discolored teeth, which Madeline took as a good sign. His next strike came from his right foot, followed by a powerful right punch that grazed Madeline’s face and rocked her footing. The follow-through brought him so close, she had no choice but to step back far enough and launch a strike—a powerful kick to his chest that made him stagger backwards.

The fury that contact unleashed sent Madeline’s adrenalin rushes into overdrive. Usherwood came at her with everything, landing two punches, one to her shoulder and one to the knee she had used to block the strikes. Panting now, he backed up and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. His next strike was a continuation of that seemingly innocuous move. When the backhanded punch failed to connect with Madeline’s body, he had to work to control his anger.

He stood back, arms up, feet apart, knees slightly bent. The guttural yells he unleashed as he intensified his attack—hands, arms, legs whipping so fast, they stirred the air—told Madeline she was dead if any of the strikes landed on their targets. With her hands restrained by the painful zip ties, her repertoire of strikes was handicapped. This factor wasn’t lost on her opponent, who now realized he was being physically out-maneuvered by a half-bound woman.

“Fun’s over Madeline,” he said, standing back, winded. He pulled the gun from his waistband and aimed at her. Quicker than a muzzle flash, he swung around and pulled the trigger, eliciting an excruciating cry from Lauren as the bullet pierced her shoulder. During the skirmish, she had managed to roll over onto her back, which accounted for Usherwood’s poorly placed shot.

Disgusted now on two fronts, he turned his attention away from Madeline while he adjusted his aim. Before he could squeeze the trigger, Madeline landed a vengeance-fueled kick to his back, pitching him forward hard enough for him to lose the gun. He stumbled and staggered toward the firearm, giving Madeline enough time to set up a debilitating combination of kicks that landed him out of reach of the gun.

Livid and raging like a wounded bull, Usherwood pitched himself off the ground, unsheathing his knife like a seasoned gang member. Crouched low, he swore furiously, tipping off Madeline that she had pushed him to the point where his anger made him careless, but also more deadly.

She was seconds away from death. Visuals of the aftermath of Usherwood’s frenzied mutilation of their bodies made terror and defiance rise up through her body, giving vent in a savage roar that dwarfed Lionel’s earlier battle cry. With the roar came the most fierce heel kick she’d ever unleashed, aimed at his solar plexus. He fell back on his butt and expelled a whoosh of air like that of a punctured ball, rendering him unable to move or breathe. Despite his immobilized state, he still had hold of the knife. Madeline planted her right foot behind her left and sidestepped into a kick that slammed into the fist holding the knife and set it sailing across the barn.

Now that both weapons were out of reach, Usherwood turned on the commando instinct for survival. He bounced to his feet and began to circle Madeline. She matched him step for step, but it became apparent to her that in sheer usable body parts alone, she would be the loser in this fight, which meant the end for her.

She thought of poor Lauren, sobbing in agony, blood soaking her shirt at a sickening rate. Madeline was the only thing standing between both their deaths. It was an uneven match, but it gave her an unexpected thrill at having put up as much of a fight as she had. As they went around, vigilantly evaluating each other, she became aware that Usherwood was favoring his now-swollen right wrist. The odds had moved slightly in her favor, but not enough. Even if Lauren had the presence of mind to capture one of the discarded weapons, she was still in no position to aid in Madeline’s fight.

But then it hit Madeline that Usherwood, with his back to the gun-shot girl, had dismissed her as an adversary. With her eyes still riveted to her enemy, she feigned a momentary dividing of her attention. A minor shift of her gaze to Usherwood’s right, accompanied by a mere twitch of her lips, had him whipping his head around to the back, giving her a precious second to execute a stunning heel-to-the neck kick that knocked Usherwood unconscious.

Not willing to risk his revival, Madeline moved in fast and came down with all the might left in her, delivering another blasting heel kick to his right temple. The sickening yet beautiful sound of bone crushing gave Madeline her first sign of hope. Winded, she staggered back, panting to bring air back to her lungs. She stood, leaning forward, her legs aching like nothing she’d ever experienced, fearing that the monster was only napping, when bright red blood began to trickle out of Usherwood’s ear.

Giddy with her victory, Madeline laughed as she cried while staggering off in the direction of the knife. She kicked it towards Lauren like she would have a soccer ball.

Lauren was conscious but weak. It took her a while to understand the battle to save themselves from unspeakable torture was over. Madeline lowered herself next to her, and managed to grasp the knife with her fingers.

“We’re going to make it, sweetie. We’re going to get you to the hospital as soon as I can get my arms free.” Lauren looked at Madeline with eyes that were starting to glaze over. “Honey, I’m going to transfer the knife in my hands to yours. Can you hold onto it while I try to cut through this restraint?” Lauren nodded weakly. “Okay,” Madeline said, “just lean more to your left side…that’s good. All right, now I’m going to give it to you…can you feel that with your fingers?” With her back turned to Lauren, all Madeline could do was use her sense of touch to guide her.

“Oww…” Lauren yelped softly.

“Sorry.” Madeline used her pinkie fingers to locate Lauren’s hands while gripping the knife handle as well as the restraint would allow her. After dropping the knife twice and struggling to pick it up again without cutting her fingers, she finally got it situated blade-side out in Lauren’s grasp. It was painfully difficult on both of them, but after sawing at the strong plastic, Madeline had cut away enough of the zip tie to break free of it. She rubbed her almost numb hands together and worked fast to free Lauren. Madeline checked Lauren’s pulse while whispering words of encouragement. She grabbed the knife and found Usherwood’s discarded shirt and sliced off a sleeve to wrap around Lauren’s wound.

As Madeline passed by Usherwood’s inert body, she stopped to check his pockets for the keys to the Jeep. She found them and a disposable cell phone. She bandaged Lauren’s shoulder and got her to her feet. Together, they stumbled out into the blazing sunlight. Madeline got Lauren into the front seat where she could keep an eye on her. As soon as they were headed down the shale drive, she called 911 to advise them she was bringing in a gunshot victim to the ER who’d lost a lot of blood. She lost reception as the rutted driveway descended between the hillsides. She felt the need to inform Slovitch of Usherwood’s death, but that would have to wait.

When they came to the ramshackle gate, Madeline reached across and strapped the seatbelt around Lauren. She then pushed her foot down on the gas pedal and plowed through, as hunks of boards and barbed wire exploded around them. She hazarded a glance at Lauren as she whipped the Jeep through the curves of Mountain Drive.

“Don’t give up on me, Lauren. You’re going to make it, sweetheart. I promise you,” Madeline said as she blinked away the tears.

FORTY-TWO

Mike and Madeline were seated behind Ross and Cherie as they waited for Helen’s arraignment to begin. They had been informed by Conrad Adams that Helen had agreed to a plea bargain in order to avoid a trial. Because the son she had stolen and killed for had given her up in order to save his own hide, Helen was still going away for life for confessing to grand larceny and two counts of murder.

At first Helen denied having killed Teresa, but with Madeline’s help, the police were able to prove the knife that cut the poor girl’s throat had been taken from the catering crew during Cherie’s now infamous party. Once they had that knowledge, the forensics team found traces of blood in Helen’s Volvo that matched Teresa’s. Video footage from various sources was used to piece together Helen slipping into the kitchen with the unsuspecting girl in tow. The wound on Teresa’s neck was consistent with the blade of Philippe’s sous chef’s missing knife. Confronted with that information, Helen finally confessed and told the police where she had disposed of the weapon.

As part of the agreement, Helen had to allocute the crimes she had committed. After confirming with the defendant that she wished to plead guilty, Judge Holbrook ordered her to rise and give an accounting of her offenses. From three rows back, Mike and Madeline watched as Helen rose. She stood resolutely before the court, hands to her sides, facing her day of reckoning.

“Tell the court your actions on April 16th of this year that led to the crimes you committed,” Judge Holbrook directed her. Helen took a moment to compose herself. When she spoke, it was in a clear and steady voice.

“Shortly before the arrival of Mrs. Alexander’s guests, I returned to my office and found Miss Story there. She seemed nervous but determined to speak to me. I knew right away she had figured out I was the one who taken the diamond and sapphire bracelet from her safe. I knew she suspected her companion of taking the other three pieces that I’d stolen ten days earlier, but since I was the only other person besides her and Mr. Alexander who knew the combination to her safe, I realized she had put the two together.” Helen inhaled deeply before continuing.

“I denied it and told Miss Story her undocumented companion was a liar and a thief, and that she should be turned over to the authorities immediately. I could tell Miss Story was not prepared for our conversation to end that way. She left looking very fragile and out of her depth. But I knew at some point the truth was going to come out. That’s when I realized I needed to put a stop to it.

“With all the festivities under way, I had little time to think. If I could’ve returned the pieces to Miss Story, I would have. But I knew that the three pieces I’d taken from her room had already worked their way into the black market. I also knew that Miss Story had hired Ms. Dawkins to find out who had taken the missing jewels. And since I had taken the bracelet out of the safe only hours before the party, I was banking on the fact that Ms. Dawkins was still unaware it had gone missing and that I was the only person who could’ve taken it.”

Helen reached for a glass of water. After taking a sip, she picked up where she left off, seeming more relaxed now, as if she were recounting the actions of someone other than herself.

“When Ms. Dawkins arrived to oversee the party, I kept my eye on her and Miss Story, making sure I could intervene on some pretext in order to keep them from speaking. When I saw her hand Ms. Dawkins’ assistant a note, I knew my time to act was running out. After Miss Story and Teresa left the party and went upstairs, I waited a few minutes, making sure no one else was going up at the same time. I then went up the front staircase to Miss Story’s room.

“Teresa had already gotten her undressed when I let myself in. Miss Story was visibly upset to see me. She was nervous about Teresa and the threats I had made. I made a big show of being helpful, insisting that I personally drive Teresa home. Miss Story protested, but I was so insistent, it put her in an awkward position. I knew she was afraid, but I don’t think she understood the lengths I was willing to go to protect my secret.

“After Teresa and I left Miss Story’s suite, I said I had forgotten to check something and told the girl to wait in the hallway for me. I slipped back in without Miss Story noticing. I took one of the silk drapery cords and snuck up behind her. I took the cord with me and stashed it in the linen closet. After Mrs. Alexander had been sedated and put to bed, I put the cord in one of her dresser drawers.”

Muffled sobbing interrupted Helen’s confession as Ross’s grief broke him down. The judge asked him if he wanted to leave the courtroom, but Ross pulled himself together enough to decline. Cherie, her face awash in tears, held his hand tightly in hers. The judge signaled for Helen to continue.

“Before we went to my car, I had to retrieve my handbag from my office, which took me through the kitchen. I had Teresa wait by the doorway as I went in and got it. As I passed back through the kitchen, I took advantage of an idle knife and shoved it into my purse.

“As I walked Teresa to my car, I apologized for threatening to have her deported. I told her I understood how important she was to Miss Story and that I had no intention of calling the INS. I don’t think she believed me at first, so I told her that I was going to increase her pay to prove her job was secure. After that, she was much more relaxed. I made a quick detour to the caretaker’s shed while Teresa got into my car.

“I told her I had to take the back roads because of all the reporters. When I got close to the curve on Camino Viejo, I faked a flat tire by riding on the rough shoulder. I told her my phone was in my handbag, which was in trunk. I faked a call, then told Teresa I was going to have to change the tire myself.

“I made enough racket pretending to look for the tire jack, Teresa got out to help me. I waited until she was standing beside me, then I grabbed her and pulled her into the wooded area and slit her throat. I waited until she had stopped bleeding, then I wrapped her in a tarp I’d had taken from the caretaker’s shed. I put her body in the trunk and drove to Rattlesnake Trail and hid it in the brush. I drove to Milpas Street and threw the tarp into a dumpster behind a grocery store.”

Helen took another sip of water. “That’s all of it, Your Honor.”

The courtroom was silent for a moment as everyone absorbed Helen Bagley’s chilling allocution. There had been a distinct lack of remorse in her statement. Though she hadn’t been able to negotiate anything lower than life imprisonment without the possibility of parole, she seemed unfazed by the sentence before her. Having lost the support of her only child and the employer she had idolized for two decades, there didn’t seem to be anything left to lose. Her sentence had been set beforehand and there was nothing left for the judge to do except go through the formalities.

The only good news for everyone else involved was the quick closure to a multi-layer nightmare. Ross and Cherie had become the country’s darlings for having endured such tragic losses. The paparazzi thus lost interest in them, except as a footnote to the conviction of “The Housekeeper from Hell.”

“Do you want to grab something to eat before our first interview?” Mike asked as he and Madeline left the courthouse.

Madeline’s stomach was aching with hunger, but she didn’t have much of an appetite. She was emotionally drained and not at all looking forward to trying to find a replacement for Lauren. It was hard to imagine finding someone else who could competently handle both businesses the way she had. Or whose personality was so compatible with her two employers.

Still, Madeline certainly couldn’t blame Lauren for quitting; she would’ve been shocked if she hadn’t. After the horrors she had endured at the hands of Lionel “Thank God He’s Dead” Usherwood, it would take her months, possibly years, to recover. Her departure was made even more difficult knowing she was going to miss working with them as much as they were going to miss her.

Mike wasn’t surprised his question had gone unanswered. As they crossed Anacapa Street at Figueroa, he could practically hear the thoughts ricocheting around in Madeline’s head. He had definitely seen a change in his partner after Usherwood’s death. Over all, she was less tense, but more distracted. At times she seemed dispirited; others times, almost serenely at peace. But she had crossed over into another classification of people, one that she probably never thought she’d belong to. She now ranked among those who had taken a life. He knew this weighed heavily on her. He also knew she wouldn’t change the outcome of her last faceoff with Usherwood if she could.

As they passed the windows of Claire’s Croissants, Madeline peered inside.

“It’s not crowded yet. You want to get something here?” Mike smiled and motioned for her to lead the way. No matter what happens in life, a body’s got to eat.

Also by Cynthia Hamilton

Novels

Spouse Trap

Lucky at Love (Some guys just never give up…)

Alligators in the Trees

Golden State

Memoir

Once Upon a Lyme… A Tale of Two Journeys

Table of Contents

- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO