Stephen hung up the phone. There definitely was more going on than Mrs. Bonaventure was telling him. He sat on the edge of the bed. Paulie DeLuca had broken out of prison. Were they in danger? Should Phillip hire a guard or something?
Stephen reached for the phone. Maybe he should call his uncle again. No. DeLuca would probably try and head back to where he came from. New York City would be a good place to hide. Stephen sighed. He really didn’t need something else to worry about. He pulled out a phone book and started looking up all the hospitals in the area.
Ten
A temperature inversion kept the smog in Los Angeles from dissipating, as billowing clouds of thick, choking smoke slowly rose over the freeways. Johnny Stampos stared out his window from the eighteenth floor of the Howard building. He turned as Tony Palmeri burst into the room. “Hey, what the hell’s wrong with you? Don’t you know how to knock?”
“I’m sorry, Boss, but—”
Johnny turned back to the window. “How is it out there? Looks like it’s a bad one. I can’t even see the freeway from here.”
“Everyone’s coughing. Nobody can breathe. The news said a couple of old codgers already kicked the bucket because they couldn’t get enough air. Just another day in paradise, Boss. But I got some news. Some news about Barbara.”
Johnny spun around. “What is it?”
“I finally found out where she’s run off to.”
Johnny’s eyebrow’s arched. “Really? Where’d the bitch go? Redondo Beach? Wait. I know. She went down to La Jolla.”
Just as Tony was about to say something, the telephone rang. Johnny picked it up. “Hey, Marty. How are you?” He put his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, “It’s Marty Saltzman from Vegas.” Johnny pressed the receiver to his ear and listened. Finally he said, “No, I don’t know no Al from New York. He wants what? Hell, no. Tell him to go screw himself. I don’t care about that.” He slammed down the phone.
Tony asked, “How’s things in Vegas?”
“Out of control. Marty wanted to know if I knew some guy named Al Rossio from New York. Some shit about his friend broke out of prison, and he wanted Marty to help get him to Vegas. Marty wanted to run it by me. Al Rossio? Who the hell is that? Anyway, where were we? Oh yeah, Barbara. Where’d you find her? Was it La Jolla?”
Tony laughed. “Hardly. If she was that close, I would have brought her back by now.”
Johnny peeled the wrapper off of a thick cigar. “Well? Where’d the bitch run off to?”
“You know that director that makes all of those scary movies?”
“Hitchcock?”
Tony shook his head. “No. Kahle. Phillip Kahle.”
“Oh, that guy. Yeah, I heard of him. She’s been in a bunch of his movies. She’s always yapping about him.”
“He’s got some big house up in the woods in Michigan. She’s staying with him for a while.”
“Michigan? What’s in Michigan besides car factories and snow?”
“Who knows?”
“What makes you think she’s there?”
“She’s been calling a bunch of her girlfriends. I’ve been shacking up with this red-head who lives next door to Barbara down in the valley. She told me Barbara’s bored out of her mind. According to her, there’s no mall within a hundred miles. She’s sick of looking at trees all day. She wants to go shopping.”
“No mall?” Johnny laughed. “Yeah, that’ll drive her crazy. Perfect. You need to bring her back. If she thinks running out on me was such a good idea, she’ll find out pretty quick, it wasn’t. When she gets back here, I’m going to mess up that pretty little face of hers. Her actress days are over.”
“Hey, Boss. When you get done with her, she’ll be perfect for the monster parts in that guy’s movies. She can play The Bride of Frankenstein without the makeup.”
Johnny exhaled a thick cloud of blue smoke. “Yeah. She can be the monster. You found the bitch, now go get her.”
###
Doctor Franklin watched through her window as Nurse Stefano rounded up the women for their group therapy session. From all accounts, the new intern, Ralph Comstock, was doing a good job. He showed up on time and listened to what Angela told him. She glanced out her other window. A storm was brewing to the north. Gray clouds were moving in from Lake Superior. That wasn’t good. Storms brought tension to the facility. Many of the patients would start to shake and scream when a storm was imminent.
As Nurse Stefano was getting the women seated, Freda Miles asked, “Are you anxious for your vacation?”
Slightly taken aback, Angela said, “How did you know I was taking a vacation?”
“I heard you talking with the new intern.”
“You’re going to see your sister in San Diego in a few days,” Louise Applegate interjected. She sighed. “I sure wish I was back in California.”
Angela turned back to Freda. “Yes, I am anxious.” She stepped back and addressed the group. “Let’s get settled, ladies. Today Ralph is going to start the session. Please give him your full attention.”
As Ralph started talking, Angela could see he was already losing his audience. Half the patients were staring out the windows as rain started pelting against the building. She tried to get his attention. Janice Anderson was pulling her hair and swaying from side to side.
Freda stared out the window. She clasped and unclasped her hands. She looked back at Ralph and her eyes became slits.
As Nurse Stefano stepped closer to the group, Freda Miles pointed at him. She shot from the chair, grabbed Ralph by the neck, and screamed, “It’s you who raped me. You!”
Louise Applegate flew from her chair and attempted to loosen the woman’s grip. “Let go of him, Fritzie! He’s not the one who raped you. He’s an intern.”
Ralph struggled to push the woman away. He couldn’t breathe. Nurse Stephano pried Freda’s hands from his throat, as Louise pulled her back onto a chair. Angela tried to remain calm. “Come along, Fritzie. It’s time to get you back to your room.”
Several orderlies rushed up and assisted Nurse Stephano in returning the women to their rooms.
Doctor Franklin pushed her door open and walked over to Ralph. “Are you all right?”
He slumped down on one of the folding chairs and tried to catch his breath. “Yes. Damn, that lady was strong. I…I couldn’t push her away. Strong and fast. I didn’t see her coming at me until it was too late.”
“You’re lucky Louise decided to help you. If she had joined in with Fritzie, by the time the other orderlies got to you, you probably would have ended up in the hospital.”
Ralph took a few deep breaths. “I know. When I saw Louise jump up and come at me, I started to panic a little. I read her file. Guess it was my lucky day.”
“We’re not always staffed as we should be,” Doctor Franklin replied. “That’s one thing you need to get used to. Michigan, like most states, is cutting way back on mental health funding.” She looked over at Angela. “We need to talk. Ralph, why don’t you go down to the cafeteria and have a coffee. Relax for a few minutes. Angela will come down when we’re through.”
He stood up. “Okay.”
Doctor Franklin and Angela entered the office. “Didn’t you see what was happening out there?”
Angela felt her neck get red. “Um, well, no. I was focusing on the group. I should have paid more attention to the weather. I mean, I heard the thunder, but somehow I forgot how it riles up the women.”
“Poor Ralph. He had no idea a storm would affect them so much. He was like a sitting duck. You really have to watch out for him. We don’t want a repeat of what happened to the last one.”
“I know. I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Stephen tossed his suitcase on the bed of the new motel. It was only a few blocks from the Los Angeles airport. A string of airplanes lumbered off the tarmac and flew directly over his room. Would he be able to sleep?
He pulled a thick phone book from a small desk and flipped thr
ough the pages until he found the address for Bonaventure and Plotnick Investments. He wrote it on a piece of hotel stationary and checked the time. Twenty minutes after three. Even with L.A. traffic, he should have enough time to try and meet with Irving Plotnick.
Forty-five minutes later, after grabbing a cab in front of the motel, he was standing near a large Victorian building with a bronze sign that read Bonaventure and Plotnick. The cab driver told him they were in the Bunker Hill part of town.
Stephen walked up a set of steps and entered the lobby. A woman stared at him through oversized glasses. “May I help you?” A gray bun of twisted hair balanced on top of her head. It was held in place with a pencil.
“Yes. I’d like to see Mr. Plotnick.”
The woman glanced down at an appointment book. “Your name, please.”
“Stephen Moorehouse. I’m here on behalf of Phillip Kahle.”
“Phillip Kahle?”
“Yes. He’s my uncle. He’d like me to talk with Mr. Plotnick about something. He would have preferred to come in person, but circumstances wouldn’t allow it.”
She looked down at the appointment book again. “Mr. Plonick’s booked for the rest of the afternoon, but I’ll let him know you’re here. It may be a while before you’re able to speak to him.” She pointed to an area behind him. “You can wait over there.”
“Thank you.” He found a chair and sat down.
Half an hour later, the woman approached. “Mr. Plotnick said to meet him at the bar in the Mayfair Hotel around five-thirty. Booth twelve.”
Stephen got to the hotel fifteen minutes early. He stepped into the lobby and immediately stopped. His jeans and black tee-shirt were not going to cut it in this place. He glanced around. What should he do? There wasn’t time to go back to the motel. Even if he could, he hadn’t brought anything fancy enough to change into. He spotted the entrance to the bar. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. He walked up to the host.
“Can I help you, sir?” The man stepped back and looked him over. A slight smile crossed his lips.
“Yes. I’m supposed to be meeting someone here at five-thirty. Booth twelve.”
“That’s wonderful. But may I inform you, we have a dress code here at the Mayflower.”
“I see. What do I need? A tie? A jacket?”
“Precisely.”
Stephen looked at his watch. He didn’t have time to go shopping. He turned toward the door. He’d just have to talk with Mr. Plotnick outside.
“Sir?”
Stephen stopped.
“We do have a spare jacket and tie if you’d be interested.”
“You do? Yes. That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
The host smiled. “Wait right here.” Several minutes later he came back and handed him a jacket. “Here you are, sir.”
Stephen held up the garment. “Ah, what size is this?”
“It’s a 44 long.”
He handed it back to the host. “I take a 38 regular.”
“It’s all we have, sir. Either you put it on, or I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.”
Stephen struggled into the oversized jacket and grabbed the matching tie. He felt like a fool as he followed the host to booth twelve.
Just as he finished tying the tie around his neck, Irving slid into the booth across from him. He glanced at Stephen. “Interesting.” He stuck out his hand.
“I’m sorry. I…I wasn’t thinking.” Stephen attempted to shake Irving’s hand, but the jacket was too big. Stephen’s hand was buried deep in the sleeve. He brought his arm back down and hoped Irving hadn’t noticed.
A cocktail hostess came by. “Good evening, Mr. Plotnick. Your usual?”
“Yes, please.”
She turned to Stephen, and without a smile or even a pause, asked him what he would like to drink.
“I’ll have a whiskey and ginger, please.”
As she walked away, Irving said, “So, Mr. Moorehouse, nephew of Phillip Kahle. What brought you to my office this afternoon?”
“I don’t know how to tell you this, but Cyrus is missing. He went to Florida for a wedding and disappeared. It appears to be a kidnapping. His wife’s been trying to reach you, but she said you haven’t returned any of her calls. My uncle’s talking to her. After hearing what she had to say, he’s tried to reach you several times too. When he finally did have a conversation with you, he was concerned. He asked me to come and talk to you in person.”
The waitress returned and set their drinks on the table.
“Thank you, Donna.” Irving picked up his glass and stared at it for several moments. He took a long swig and then looked over at Stephen. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He paused. “Knowing Cyrus as I do, I don’t think you, or your uncle, should get too worried about it.”
Puzzled, Stephen asked, “And why is that?”
“Cyrus has a terrible gambling problem. I’d bet just about anything he’s gone and made himself scarce for as long as it takes to round up enough money to pay off his bookie. Believe me, the people Cyrus deals with are not to be trifled with.”
Stephen took a drink. “So you think this is all a big nothing.”
Irving shrugged. “If I had to bet.”
Stephen decided not to tell him about the note Elena had showed him. Had it been real? Instead, he said, “I’d like to ask you a question about something you hinted at when you talked to my uncle.”
Irving tilted his head. “Really? What’s that?”
“Phillip told me he had a feeling something was going on between you and Cyrus. Can you tell me about it?”
Irving settled back into the booth. “No. I can’t.”
Stephen thought for a moment. “You realize, something like that could put the financing of any future projects for us in jeopardy.”
Irving smiled. “And that would certainly have an effect on our bottom line. Your uncles’ last picture did very well for us.”
“But you won’t tell me what’s going on?”
Irving took another sip. “I’d change won’t to can’t and leave it at that.”
“That’s why you wouldn’t return Elena’s calls?”
“Not really. You don’t know about all the times Cyrus has gotten himself into jams where Elena had to call me to help bail him out.” Irving smiled. “Figuratively, not literally. I guess I’ve just run out of patience. After everything I’ve had to put up with that man, I finally had to draw a line. I refuse to get involved any longer.” He stopped talking and looked over Stephen’s shoulder. “A client I’m meeting just stepped in. I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave. So nice meeting you.”
Stephen undid his tie and removed the jacket. “Thank you for taking the time.” He walked out of the lounge and wondered what to do next. The only two people he knew in L.A. were Barbara Jenkins and Caroline Brentwood. Barbara was making everyone’s life miserable back at Cliffside Manor, so that left Caroline. What did Phillip say her married name was? Rivera? Yes, that’s what it was. Would she even be in town? She was probably on her honeymoon somewhere.
Stephen dug into his pocket and fished out her phone number and address. Good old Phillip. He thought of everything. A pay phone was in the lobby. He dialed Caroline’s number. He was about to hang up when a man’s voice answered.
“Ah, yes. I’m trying to reach Caroline Brentwood. Oh, I mean Caroline Rivera. My name? Stephen Moorehouse.” A minute later, Caroline was on the other end. She was surprised to hear from him.
“I’m in L.A.”
“That’s wonderful. What brings you here?”
“It’s kind of a business trip.”
Caroline asked, “Is Phillip with you?”
“No. Not this time. I was wondering if we could get together.”
“That would be wonderful. Can you stop by tonight? We can go out to dinner.”
He wrote down her address. With several hours to kill, Stephen caught a cab back to his motel. He tried to take a nap, but the noise of airplanes landing and taking off m
ade it impossible to sleep.
He thought of Jeanette’s reaction when she saw he was working on his resume. Why hadn’t he brought a copy with him? He had no idea that he’d be going to L.A. after Florida. Not a problem. Why not write it over from scratch. It wouldn’t take long. It was only one page.
Stephen pulled out a pad of motel stationery from the desk and tried to duplicate what he had put together back at Cliffside Manor. After twenty minutes, he was finished. He went down to the front desk. A pretty brunette was working on a cross-word puzzle from the paper. “Excuse me, do you know where I could go to get something typed up?”
She noticed the paper in his hand. “What do you need? How long is it?”
“It’s a hand written copy of my resume.” He smiled. “It’s not long. Only one page.”
She reached up from the counter. “I can do it. I’m just sitting here trying to make the time go by.”
He handed her the paper. “That would be great.”
Ten minutes later she pulled the resume out of her typewriter. “It’s finished. I can print some copies for you, but I’ll have to charge you for them.”
Stephen reached for his wallet. “That’s fine. How about making me five.”
She stepped back into an office. Several minutes later she returned and handed him the copies.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Two dollars.”
“What about your time?”
She waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. I see you’re looking for an assistant director’s position.”
Stephen nodded. “I am. I did a little directing on my uncle’s last picture, and I’d like to do more.”
“Who’s your uncle?”
“Phillip Kahle.”
She smiled. “The last picture you worked on. Was that the movie about a creature living in a creepy springs. A remake of The Creature From the Black Lagoon?”
The Monarch Graveyard Page 8