Down and Out in Beverly Heels

by Kathryn Leigh Scott

  If Paul has anything to do with it, I’m sure there will be.

  I glance back over my shoulder. The Land’s End cabins are now distant smudges on the sandy beach. Marshy shallows and an outcropping of jagged rock obscure my view of the corral. How long did the desk clerk keep his eyes on me, wondering if I was up to handling his horse? He appeared sublimely unconcerned, looking more confident in me than I was. Besides, he knows I have to make it back by sundown. I’ve left behind my car and a hostage with only Coca-Cola to sustain her.

  Prieta settles into an easy pace, sudsy water lapping at her hooves. Sand, rock, and swaying marsh grass meet in pastel harmony with the milky wash along the horizon. Pristine nature. Ripe for development. A new resort? A housing tract?

  I look up at the bluffs, imagining them ringed in concrete, with telephone poles and power lines piercing the sky. McMansions looming like giant pink Taco Bells with acid-green irrigated lawns. Ten-car garages. And Paul in charge of it all, throwing down a blanket, inviting me to share his dream of moving mountains, or at least rearranging them. I just need someone to believe in me, cookie. If a development here was Paul’s latest scheme, surely it was shattered in the mortgage meltdown. Or has he found more willing dupes?

  The fire in my belly is stoked. Prieta picks up on it. She twitches her mane and snorts, her pace quickening. I crane my neck, expecting any moment to see signs of the Harbor Queen Landing. Boats. A dock. A ramp. Instead, I see an inlet with a stand of eucalyptus trees.

  I turn away from the shore, heading across dry sand toward outcroppings of grass and bleached logs set upright at regular intervals near the trees. As I pull closer, I realize that the eucalyptus trees ring the backside of the inlet. The landing must be just on the other side.

  I’ve come far enough on horseback. I dismount and stroke Prieta’s neck, guiding her toward the shady recess of grass between the logs and the trees. I tether her and reach into my shoulder bag for one of Donna’s free apples, now a bribe to buy Prieta’s patience.

  I creep into the shadow of the trees, for the first time giving some thought to Jack. I’m doing precisely what he told me not to do, and I have no intention of turning back. I’m not afraid of confronting Paul. Nor do I have any doubt I’ll find him on the other side of these trees. Meanwhile, with dampness seeping into my athletic shoes, I’m more concerned about the spongy ground and dense undergrowth. Snakes, rats, and poisonous insects come to mind. So does a swampy sinkhole.

  With some relief, I edge out of the woods and climb up an outcropping of rock. To my left I can see the rutted road I followed earlier across the marshy fields. Barely visible through the reeds, parked at the edge of the road, is a gray, mud-spattered SUV, one of its tires sinking in the marshy shoulder. From there, the access road winds around a terra-cotta hacienda with a turquoise door and tile roof. The windows are dark. There’s no sign of anyone.

  I squat low, scanning the terrain. The cell phone rings inside my shoulder bag. I scramble to find it beneath the jumble of keys, Kleenex, and Habana cigars.

  “Where are you? I don’t see you on the beach.”

  “You’re supposed to be napping, Donna.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I got to thinking you were awfully anxious to race off. The guy pointed me in the direction you were going, but I don’t see you anywhere.”

  “You’re not following me, are you?”

  “Just what I figured. Meg, you promised!”

  “Go back to the cabin. I’ll see you there.”

  “No, damn it!”

  “I’m turning off my phone, Donna. I have to do this alone, so don’t call me back. I mean it. Don’t follow me.”

  I snap the lid and set the ringer to vibrate. I attach the phone clip to the inside of my waistband. Easing back to the far side of the outcropping, I begin climbing among the rocks, trying not to think of Donna slogging down the beach. Why couldn’t she just stay put?

  I scramble to the topmost boulder and lie flat, my cheek against the warm stone. After catching my breath, I look up to get my bearings and almost gasp. The milky-white veil has lifted, revealing a breathtaking panorama I instantly recognize from the photographs I found in Doug’s garage.

  Sparkling cobalt water shimmers against creamy sand and glittering stone cliffs. In the clear, rippling water, a dinghy rocks gently against a rough-hewn dock with a rope handrail. A wooden ramp, buttressed with fraying rubber tires, inclines from a rough cement track. Further out, a thirty-two-foot sailboat, canvas battened down, bobs in the water, its name gleaming gold against sparkling white lacquer: Coop, Too. It’s an almost exact replica of the WindStar.

  My stomach soaks up the warmth of the boulder as I watch the boat gently bob, recalling how it felt to lie on such a deck, the sun on my back, the sea rocking beneath me. Lulled by memory, I listen to the distant caw of gulls and the wash of the ocean against the ramp pilings. I hear something else, too, even closer. A swishing sound and someone humming.

  I look to my left, to a flight of wooden steps leading down from the side of the rock face to a flagstone courtyard with tables and a bar area. Swinging on chain hooks, barely visible through a tangle of bougainvillea, is the mate to the sign near the highway: COOP’S FAJA CANTEEN. CERVEZA. ALMEJA. Beneath the sign is a kidney-shaped bamboo bar with wooden stools. Stemware and liquor bottles crowd the shelves behind it.

  I lean farther over the edge of the boulder. A cubbyhole booth, with the words HARBOR QUEEN LANDING: BOOKING OFFICE stenciled above shuttered windows, is sandwiched into a corner of the courtyard. The patio in front of the thatched-roof bar is deserted, but I hear the splash of water. Just then a spray wets down the area just below my perch.

  A woman in T-shirt and cutoffs comes into view, humming to herself while she hoses down the flagstones, her bare feet swishing through the foamy swirls. I hold my breath, my fingers digging into rock. As crazy as it seems, I know the voice. I recognize the loose blonde ponytail, the long slim legs. It is Carol Baskin.

  I press myself hard against the rock, my body rigid with shock. Did I gasp? Could she have heard me over the splashing water? With horror, I realize that the shadow of my own head is imprinted on a driftwood table directly below. I watch Carol’s profile tilting toward the sun-bleached tabletop. Her toes stop wriggling. The hose falls from her hand and slithers across the flagstones. As she whips around, I spring to my feet.

  She screams and sinks back against the table, staring up at me. “My God! You scared the hell out of me. What’re you doing here?”

  “Just thought I’d drop by.” I watch her warily, my mind racing. “So your mom’s down here? How’s she doing?”

  Her shoulders drop. “Oh, shit. Don’t get cute. I can’t stand that.” She glares at me, shaking her head. “Man, I really don’t need you here.” She reaches in the pocket of her cutoffs and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, a red plastic lighter tucked inside the cellophane wrap.

  “Smoking? You’re kidding me.”

  “Well, I couldn’t smoke at home. Sid hates it.” Her hands shake as she puts a cigarette to her lips. She starts to light up, but her trembling hands knock both the cigarette and the lighter into a puddle at her feet.

  “Shit. Just shit, shit, shit!” She fishes the lighter out of the water, shakes it, and then fumbles to get another cigarette. “Damn! Why do you have to spoil everything?” She makes another attempt, holding the lighter in both hands.

  I watch her dip her head to the flame, my own shakiness ebbing. “Sorry, Carol. You don’t seem happy to see me.”

  Carol sucks deeply, stuffing the lighter back in her pocket. She stares up at me, smoke boiling out of her nose and mouth. She takes another drag, her eyes narrowing. It’s a Mexican standoff, except that I’m elevated at least ten feet above her head.

  She squints, then raises her hand to shade her eyes. “How’d you get up there?” Her voice is harsh, accusing. “That’s my place. It’s where I go to meditate.”

  “Really. Nice view.”

 
; “Stop it. Just stop. What do you think you’re up to? Just get the hell down here.”

  The stairs are only a few steps away, but I have no desire to be on equal footing with her. Especially when I don’t know where Paul is. Or whose SUV is parked in the access road. I widen my stance and fold my arms, knowing I’m driving her crazy.

  “C’mon, Carol. It’s my Focus Day, remember? You hauled me out of bed yesterday and told me to expect the unexpected. So, here I am. What’re you doing here? Don’t you usually leave this kind of yard work to Guillermo and Olinda?”

  “You think you’re so funny, don’t you? Why do you always have to ruin things for me? You’ve always got to horn in.” She tosses the butt into water pooling near the table, her face pinched in anger. “I hate you! I’m sick of you grabbing everything for yourself. For once, everything is going my way! Can’t you back off and give me a break? Get out of here!”

  Stunned by her fury, I step back, imagining Carol rushing up the steps, going for my throat. “What are you talking about? What’ve I done?”

  “God, you are so oblivious.” She flaps her arms wide, in full operatic mode. “Whatever you want gets handed to you, doesn’t it? No matter what I do, you get the whole damn works. The guys. The career. Am I supposed to stand around applauding all the time?” She kicks at the water, entangling her foot in the hose. She yanks free and kicks again, tears running down her face. “Damn it! Watching you play victim is really galling. It’s sickening. Really sickening!”

  “Carol, this is crazy. I don’t get it. You’ve got everything you could want. What are you doing here? What about Sid?”

  “You kidding? Who wants Sid? First you get Dirck, the sexiest guy on the planet. Or at least in acting class. He was amazing.”

  “Amazing? Wait, are you saying that you and Dirck—?”

  “Yeah, so what? You were off doing a movie. Big deal.” She grins and brushes the tears from her cheeks. “And in the end I get Paul, too. I’m the one he wanted, not you. He’s mine!”

  “You called him scum, Carol. You know what he is.”

  “Sure, but if you’re looking for the perfect man, you couldn’t do better than a con man. He’s got it all figured out.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “You don’t, do you?” She laughs, her eyes glistening, her face still tear-stained. “But you’ll see—and he’s all mine.”

  I freeze. “He’s here?”

  “He will be. You know something? It’s worth it just to see the look on your face. Maybe I’m glad you did turn up. This’ll be priceless.”

  “When is he coming?”

  “Can’t wait, can you? Don’t worry. You’ll see him. He won’t be all that surprised you tracked him down. He knows you’ve been looking for him. God, everyone and his uncle is looking for him.” She sloshes to a spigot hidden in the bougainvillea and turns off the water. “You know, I tried to warn you to forget about him, to move on. You could have spared yourself this humiliating little jaunt. You should have listened to me.”

  “When? If you knew what was going on, you sure didn’t tell me.”

  “Oh, God, what an idiot you are! Your marriage was a sham from the beginning. I saw right away that he was way above your league. He was just using you. It’s not my fault that he turned to me. You hadn’t a clue what he was all about.”

  “And Sid?”

  “What about him? He’s in so deep he wouldn’t dare make trouble.” She looks up at me and grins, her confidence restored. “You never figured that out? Paul was fronting for a Russian outfit, pulling in high-end investors for the Mulholland development. Sid bought his pitch. Then Paul used Sid’s connections and got him to handle the transactions. It all blew up when the housing market collapsed. A lot of people got burned, including Sid.”

  She laughs and begins yanking the hose, hand over hand, drawing its length into a coil at her feet. “Sid, always Mr. Big Shot, never saw any of the money. It was laundered and funneled back here through some Mexican contacts. By the time Sid got wise, he’d sunk so much money in—his own and other people’s—there was no way out. With the feds breathing down his neck, he pointed the finger at Paul. Wrong thing to do.” She tucks the last of the hose into the coil. “The feds can’t touch Paul. God, Sid can be thick sometimes.”

  “So that’s when you dumped him for Paul?”

  “No need to be crass, Meg.” She shakes her head, eyeing me with pity. “I looked out for myself. You didn’t. Everything that’s gone wrong for you is your own fault. How you could have missed all the warning signs is beyond me. You have to live with that.” She picks up the hose, heaving it onto her shoulder. “You’d better also face the fact that Paul loves me. He’s working out a deal so we can be together.”

  “Congratulations. I should probably look into getting a divorce.”

  “That would be nice. Sid’s probably thinking the same thing, though I’m not sure it matters.” Carol tosses the coiled hose into a trough near the bougainvillea. “You want a beer? Glass of wine?” She looks up at me, expectantly. “C’mon. Sun’s over the yardarm, and we’re closed Mondays. I’m having something.”

  “I’ll pass, thanks.” I take a deep breath and look out on the Coop, Too in the bay. An image of Rick Aquino aboard the WindStar flashes through my brain. He and his brother were probably involved in the money laundering. But who killed them off? Vladimir Ivanovich Proznorov would be my guess. Who’s next? “Tell me, is it part of the deal that you and Paul stay here?”

  “The finer points are under discussion, but seeing as how everyone seems to know where to find us, I doubt it. I hate it when people just drop in. We’ll go somewhere else. Start fresh. Just the two of us.” Carol, looking as carefree as a kid after a sun shower, splashes through the puddles. She stops to brush leaves off the walkway with the edge of her foot. “Hey, you’re not afraid to come down here, are you? Believe me, nothing’s going to happen to you.”

  “Why would it?”

  “Right. The cards are on the table. No reason we can’t be civil about this.”

  I can’t resist taking advantage of Carol’s affable mood while it lasts. Does she really know everything about Paul? Or is he lying to her, too? “So why can’t the feds touch Paul?”

  Carol brushes her hands on her shorts and shrugs. “He’s got a longstanding deal with them. And he knows how to work it.”

  “Then why did he take off and fake a kidnapping?”

  “Who says he faked it?” Carol lights another cigarette and squashes the empty packet in her hand. “When people get burned, they turn nasty, and that goes for Nat Wiggens. He was stupid enough to set Paul up for the kidnapping down here. But Paul’s no fool. He did what he had to do to save his own skin.” She exhales sharply, her eyes narrowing. “Nat Wiggens took the hit in the end. He deserved it. So did the kidnappers, a couple of beaners laundering money down here. They thought they could take over the whole operation. But these Russians don’t play around when money goes missing.”

  “And Jack?”

  “The feds didn’t figure in until Sid blew the whistle. With all his damn maneuvering, Sid could’ve ended up like Nat. He doesn’t know how lucky he is.” Carol spreads her feet and exhales a trail of smoke. “Are you coming down or what? I’m getting a little tired of this long-distance grilling. You want to talk, get yourself down here.”

  I move slowly toward the stairs. “And Jack?” I repeat.

  “Nice guy, don’t you think? And he can’t lay a hand on Paul.” She takes a last drag, then flicks the cigarette into the muddy stream flowing off the patio. “Hold your friends close, your enemies even closer. It always pays off.”

  “That includes me, right?”

  “C’mon, you’ve always been a friend. You know, I really meant all that stuff about your chart. If you’d listen to me, you’d be way ahead of the game.” She laughs and stuffs her hands in her pockets. “Besides, Sid told me the other day you were living on the street. What’s that about?”

&nb
sp; “I’m not! That’s ridiculous!” Finally she gets under my skin, and I almost lose it. “I don’t know where Sid got that idea.”

  “Yeah, I figured. Just Sid feeling sorry for you again. You do know how to play the victim card, I gotta say.”

  She shrugs, waiting for me to reach the bottom of the stairs. She steps forward, taking advantage of her height to look down at me. “And Sid thinks he’s got Jack in his pocket, do you believe it? What a lunk.” She slowly shakes her head.

  “Pluto must be taking good care of you, too.”

  “Better than you could dream, speaking of big changes. I did Paul’s chart, too, and we’re on the same course.” She pulls the elastic off her ponytail and shakes out her hair. “Okay, you want cerveza or vino? I’ve got Pinot Grigio stashed in the cooler. C’mon, when did you ever turn down a glass of wine?”

  “Sure. A glass of wine.” I wait until Carol turns and walks toward the tiki bar, then follow. “Sounds like you really have a handle on all this. Did you happen to come across a woman named Lucy?”

  The name barely escapes my lips before Carol whips around, eyes glittering. “Yeah, some cheap grifter who latched onto Paul when I wasn’t on the scene. He used her, then flipped her to a Russian kid. Now she and this dim-wit have some two-bit deal going in San Diego.” She brushes my arm with a backward slap. “Greg Proznorov’s an idiot, but he suits Lucy. She likes young flesh and heavy metal.”

  “She liked my earrings, too.”

  Carol stares at me, her eyes losing luster. Or maybe it’s the sun going down, casting shadows. She bites the inside of her cheek, then blinks at me. “Okay, that’s one thing I’m really, really sorry about. Get mad at me if you want, but we had to give her something.”

  “My earrings?” Realization dawns even as I ask the question. “How did you happen to have my earrings?”

  Carol chews her lip. “This is the part that’s not so nice, okay? That call Paul asked you to make after he was kidnapped was to Vladimir Proznorov, his partner. He sent me to make the pickup. It wasn’t easy to sneak out of the house without Sid knowing.”