THE HOUSE THAT VANITY BUILT

by Nancy Cole Silverman

  The detective grunted. “All right then, Misty, tell me, what have you been up to that makes you think—excuse me, feel—that Jared’s death was anything more than accidental? And don’t tell me it’s because you’ve summoned his spirit and spoken to him.”

  Wilson softly tapped one of the pots again. The hollow sound, barely audible, like that of a wood chime. Romero’s eyes flashed quickly back to the pots overhead then snapped back at me. Was I playing games?

  I shook my head. Sometimes Wilson could make things so difficult.

  “You don’t need to worry. You’ll be happy to know Jared’s been unavailable to me. He has no intention of making contact with those he’s left behind. All the same, I have spoken to several of his mortal friends. Persons more to your liking. In fact, Carlene Muller, Amy’s best friend, came by to visit me Sunday morning.”

  “Carlene Muller?” Romero’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t recall anyone with that name on the list of Jared’s friends the police talked to.”

  “I’m not surprised. Carlene was more of a secret friend. She was the one who introduced Amy to Jared. Neither she nor Jared or Amy, for that matter, wanted anyone within the Conroy clan to know about their relationship.” I put Bossy on the floor and turned my attention back to my soup.

  “Because?” Romero pulled up a chair opposite me and sat down.

  Information, like hot soup, is best dished out slowly. I took a sip of my soup and smacked my lips. “Umm. Not quite right, needs a little more salt.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Misty, tell the man.” Wilson stood behind us, his hand back on the frypan.

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “Because her real name isn’t Carlene Muller at all. It’s Carlita Munoz. She’s Dr. Conroy’s illegitimate daughter. And yes, before you ask, she has the DNA testing to prove it. Her mother was Conroy’s housekeeper, and Carlene, or Carlita as she was known back then, grew up on the Conroy estate. It was all very hush-hush. After Carlita went off to college, her mother died, and Dr. Conroy refused to let her return to the estate. He made it very clear he didn’t want the girl around or to have any connection to the family.”

  Romero set his elbows on the table and tented his hands. “And yet, if what you tell me is true, she did.”

  “Carlene ran into Jared shortly after he returned from Europe. It was an accidental meeting.” I explained how, after Carlita graduated from college, she had changed her name, thinking it would be better for business. “She was working as a party planner when she ran into Jared at a smoke shop in Beverly Hills. The two talked, and Jared told Carlene he was working for his father and not at all happy about it.”

  “Did she tell Jared about their connection? That the doctor was her father too?”

  “Not right away. But when Jared started to talk about his father and how anxious he was to collect this inheritance and move on with his life, things came out. They bonded over their genetics as much as they did their dislike for the doctor.”

  “Are you saying they came up with a plan to defraud the doctor?”

  “Not exactly. At least I don’t think you would call it fraud. Jared made it very clear to Carlene he had no intention of remaining with his father’s company. He wanted to separate himself from the doctor and the business as soon as possible. He just needed his inheritance to do so.”

  “So the two of them cooked up a scheme to secure Jared’s trust.”

  “All Jared needed to do was prove to his father he was sober, that he had changed his lifestyle, given up drugs and alcohol, and wait for his thirty-first birthday. Carlene suggested she could improve upon that plan a little by bringing around a nice girl who might help to convince Jared’s father of his son’s newfound ways. And if romance followed, so be it. Either way, Jared could pay Carlene a finder’s fee, something that might provide her with a small stipend to make up for the fact the doctor had written her off.”

  “How much of a stipend?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars.”

  “Nice fee. But it’s not a crime. Not between two consenting parties.”

  “Maybe not, but certainly something to think about. You see, when Carlene left here Sunday morning, the last thing she told me was that she was worried about Amy. She’s concerned the doctor was overstepping his bounds with Amy and the baby by insisting she stay with him.”

  “Still not a crime, and understandable. The man’s just lost his son, and the girl Jared was planning to marry is carrying the doctor’s only grandbaby. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Yes, but what if it’s more than that? What if the doctor found out about Carlene and Jared’s agreement? What if he’s involved?”

  “With Jared’s death?” Romero wrinkled his face. “Misty, the doctor’s driving the investigation, why would he do that if he were involved?”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “You really think he’d kill his own son?”

  “There are those who believe he killed his wife.”

  “Rumors,” Romero said. “Nothing more than tabloid gossip. The District Attorney never brought charges. The woman was depressed and had a history of mental breakdowns, and the coroner ruled her death a suicide.”

  I decided for the time being to let the rumor lie and moved on. After all, I had no physical evidence, and Romero certainly wasn’t going to accept that I’d been chatting with the doctor’s late wife.

  “What if I were to tell you Amy came by to see me yesterday?”

  “What for?”

  “To get her ring, and—”

  “Her ring?” Romero jerked his head.

  “Yes. It’s why she came to see me in the first place. She had lost her engagement ring and—”

  “She expected you to find it?”

  “I’d told her she had probably misplaced it, and I didn’t really think I’d see her again. At least not about that, but then she came back after Jared died. She was concerned something wasn’t right, and she didn’t know what to do.”

  “And that’s when you called me and then later decided to take matters into your own hands.”

  I shrugged. Romero already knew about my visit to the Conroy Mansion.

  “When I was at the mansion, I met Lupe, Conroy’s housekeeper. Lupe told me she had found Amy’s ring in the guest house and had given it back to Jared for safekeeping. Of course, it was exactly as I’d told Amy it would be. She had simply misplaced it, taken it off, and forgotten where she left it. Lupe said Jared put the ring in the pocket of his wedding tux and planned to surprise her with it when the minister asked him to place the ring on her finger.”

  “Kind of romantic,” Romero said. “But it doesn’t explain why you had the ring.”

  “Yes, well, it’s really quite simple. Lupe gave me the tux, thinking I was from the mortuary—which I know you think was wrong—and after she handed it to me, she remembered Jared had put the ring in the pocket. That’s when she showed it to me.”

  “And you took it. Because you thought she’d steal it.” Romero folded his hands and twiddled his thumbs.

  “See, Detective, intuition isn’t all that hard. Although I’d prefer to say I borrowed it. I gave the ring back to Amy this afternoon.”

  Romero put his hand to his head and looked at me from beneath his bushy brows. “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t the end of the story?”

  “Perhaps because it’s not. In fact, I think it’s just the beginning.”

  “Go on. Tell me everything.”

  “The day of Jared’s memorial, Lupe spotted me. I really thought she wouldn’t recognize me. I had done such a good job trying to disguise myself after visiting the mansion. I had on this hat with a little brim to it, with my hair tucked under and a long duster jacket—”

  “Spare me the details of what you were wearing. What happened?” Romero’s thumbs twiddled faster.

  �
�Well, she came after me like some psycho, with her arms flailing, and grabbed me by the wrists. She accused me of stealing Amy’s ring. But then I convinced her I was working undercover with LAPD, and—”

  “You what?” Romero sat back and slapped his hands on the table.

  “Relax, Detective. She knows better now, but when I went back to the mansion—”

  “Wait a minute. You went back to the mansion?”

  “Why, yes. I had to. Lupe insisted, she wanted to see me. Anyway, my point is, when I was there—”

  “When?” Romero raised his voice.

  “This afternoon.” I paused and swept my spoon slowly across my soup. Romero’s news that the police were ready to dismiss the case had come as no surprise to me. However, the next words out of my mouth would be a big surprise to him. “I talked to Billy, the beekeeper. Did you know the doctor keeps bees on the property? Oh, probably not. I’m sure your detectives were busy checking the guest house and talking to the guests. Surely they knew, but even if they had seen the hives, what were they going to do, arrest a bee?” I chuckled. If the police had spoken to Billy, they had no doubt dismissed him as a suspect in light of the coroner’s report believing Jared’s death to be accidental. “Anyway, Lupe told me Billy was planning on leaving, and I decided I should have a talk with him.”

  “The beekeeper?” Romero repeated the word like it was the first time he had heard of such a person. Clearly, the detectives who had visited the mansion the night of Jared’s death hadn’t mentioned anything to him.

  “Yes, the beekeeper. He and Amy were an item once. High school sweethearts. She broke up with him when she moved to LA. Anyway, to make a long story short,” which I was enjoying immensely, “I was standing there, chatting with him, when he threw his toolbox into the back of the truck. And guess what?”

  “What?”

  “It fell open.”

  “And?”

  “And an EpiPen fell out.”

  “A what?” Romero’s jaw dropped open.

  “An EpiPen. You know the type Jared used for allergic reactions. I asked Billy about it. I mean, who wouldn’t? He told me the doctor had given it to him. Interesting, don’t you think?”

  Romero reached into his pocket for his cell phone. “And you didn’t think you should start out this conversation with that little piece of information?”

  I shrugged and took another sip of my soup.

  “I’m afraid I just wasn’t feeling it, Detective. Besides, Billy blames himself for everything that happened. He told me he had been stung the morning of the party, and he’s convinced he’s the one who exposed Jared. But I hardly think he’s your suspect. He’s no Visha Kanya if you will. I’m just not getting that assassin vibe off the boy.”

  “Maybe not, but I need to call LAPD and put out a BOLO alert. We’ve been missing an EpiPen, and if Billy’s got one hidden in his toolbox, I’d like to see it.”

  I looked back down at my bowl. My soup was growing cold. “I suppose that means you and Denise won’t be going to dinner together tonight.”

  Romero shook his head. “You knew that when I came in, didn’t you?”

  I smiled.

  Chapter 16

  How Bossypants got outside, I may never know. She may have snuck out when Romero left the night before. Bossy’s an escape artist, an indoor-outdoor mouser well into her seventh or eighth life. I’m not sure which. She came to me, as spirits do, embodied as a mature feline, set in her ways and in need of little more than food and shelter. We had an understanding. I supplied her with her creature comforts, and she supplied me with the occasional leg rub, brushing up against my tired calves, or whatever seemed to please her. I always felt her spirit was that of a former working girl, who, for whatever reason, the universe had returned, which explained her need to cat-about late at night and to drag home the oddest of creatures.

  Which she did, the very next morning.

  I was in the kitchen, prepping my tea when I heard a knock on the door. Not the kind of soft knock a client might use early in the morning, but a heavy banging, like a jackhammer. A pounding so strong it shook the entire house. Whoever it was wanted my attention, and they wanted it now.

  I shuffled to the door, and Wilson poked his head out from the study. “What’s up?”

  I shrugged. I had no idea. Only that as the pounding continued, my caller sounded ever more insistent.

  Wilson fell in behind me. I opened the door, the screen between myself and a beastly looking man who held my cat in his arms. Bossy struggled to escape. The man was short, square bodied, and dressed unseasonably in a gray raincoat with gloves and a scarf about his neck that covered his mouth and nose. On his head, he wore a low-fitting baseball cap, which made his face and eyes hard to see.

  “This your cat?” The man’s voice matched his husky appearance.

  I opened the screen. “Yes, it is.”

  Bossypants sprang from the man’s hands and scurried inside like she’d been shot from a cannon. It didn’t take being psychic to know this was no Good Samaritan returning my cat. The hat, the heavy raincoat, and the gloves hadn’t been so much to hide the man’s appearance, as it was to assure Bossy wouldn’t claw him.

  I pulled the screen door shut, a thin barrier between us. “Who are you?”

  “Just a messenger, ma’am. Here to tell you to keep an eye on what’s yours and leave alone what doesn’t concern you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I pushed the latch on the screen to the locked position and put my hands on my hips. I’d been threatened before and wasn’t about to let this derelict get the best of me.

  “I think you know damn well what it means, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave the girl alone. I’d hate to have to come back and finish the job. Have a good day, Ms. Dawn.”

  I slammed the door, something I seldom do. I hoped the sound of it returned a message to this heartless middleman that I wasn’t scared, and that I wasn’t about to abandon my mission to help Amy.

  I joined Wilson in the study. He sat on the window seat next to Bossypants and stroked her, while she purred like a broken muffler.

  “How is she?” I knew better than to be deceived by the sound of Bossy’s purr. A cat’s purr can be as much of a sign of distress as it can happiness, and I sensed Bossypants was far from content.

  “Frightened.” Wilson placed his hand gently on her back and closed his eyes.

  “You’re reading her,” I said, “or attempting to.”

  “You might say that, but I can do much better. Watch this.”

  Wilson stood up in front of the cat and assumed a ninja pose. I had never seen him do anything like this before and was uncertain what he had in mind. With one leg raised, his knee bent at a forty-five-degree angle, and one hand above his head, he twisted his wrist and pointed three outstretched fingers in the direction of the cat. I felt a wave of energy pass between the two, then Bossy stood, arched her back, and hissed.

  “Stop!” I grabbed Bossy off the window seat and hugged her to me. “Is this what your lady friends have been teaching you?”

  The idea Wilson had sought their advice and had learned how to communicate with the souls of animals didn’t rest well with me. It was silly, I knew. Wilson had grown and was free to experiment and learn that beyond what I could teach him. But it worried me. I had felt a growing kinship to Wilson. The idea his lady friends might steal him from me, tarnish his soul with no concern for his future, and send him on at the mercy of the universe, sent a sharp pain through my chest. Tears began to form behind my eyes. Nothing I dared let Wilson see. I turned my back, snuggled Bossypants to my chest, and looked up at the ceiling.

  Wilson put his hand on my shoulder. “You’re not worried about losing me to a couple of luminaries, are you, Old Gal?”

  I blinked back the tears. “You give yourself too much credit, Wilson
. If you think I’d be worried about such a thing, you’re wrong. You’re perfectly free to come and go as you please—fraternize with whomever you like, but remember, luminaries, aren’t about freely sharing their energy, not without getting something in return.”

  “You don’t think I know that?”

  “I don’t know what you know. Only that I worry you’re being foolish.” I brushed Wilson’s hand from my shoulder.

  “Maybe so, but there’s only room for one spirit guide in my life, and like it or not, I appear to be stuck with you. However, the fact of the matter is my lady friends do appear to have mastered the ability to communicate with the wilds around them. And as you’ve so wisely pointed out, I best learn what I can do to improve my lot with the universe with what little time I have. So I’ve been practicing.” Wilson kissed me on the forehead.

  I caught my breath and was surprised by my own reaction. Like many professional relationships, I’d grown fond of Wilson. He was as irritating as he was entertaining and had grown to be a delight. I assured myself my feelings were nothing I needed to give any deep thought to. Wilson was my spirit guide—my connection to the other side of the veil—and I was his friend. How could I possibly think the two of us, each of us so opposite from the other, could possibly feel anything else? And yet, he was the energy in the room, like the sunshine on my back and the gentle breeze on my face. And most importantly, I reminded myself, a temporary distraction, and one in which I dare not lose myself. I turned my attention back to my cat and held her up to my face so that we were nose to nose.

  “And just what does Miss Bossypants have to say for herself?”

  Wilson put his hand on her head. “She says the man who kidnapped her tried to poison her.”