THE HOUSE THAT VANITY BUILT

by Nancy Cole Silverman

  I pulled Bossy back to my chest, cupped one hand on her head, and whispered in her ear. “How?”

  Wilson started to answer.

  “No. Not you, Wilson. Bossy needs to tell me herself. I need to see what she saw.”

  Animals speak in pictures. They relay symbols and signs in the form of mental images, and Bossypants and I had a large vocabulary of such graphics. I bent my head close to her face and closed my eyes until I could see in my mind’s eye the very images she wanted to share.

  I translated for Wilson.

  “Bossy believes our kidnapper lay in wait for her last night—she must have gotten out when I didn’t see. He grabbed her, stuffed her in a cat crate, and took her back to his place.” I stroked Bossy’s back. I could feel her resist her napper’s cruel hands as the muscles on her back tightened. “It’s not far from here. It doesn’t feel like a house, more like an apartment. When they got there, he took something from the trunk of his car.” I pinched my eyes shut tighter and tried to concentrate on what it might be. I pictured a gallon bottle of something dark brown. I couldn’t make it out, but I did have a clear image of a heavyset man carrying Bossy up the stairs with the crate in one hand and a gallon bottle in the other. Then another picture. The man took a piece of salmon from the refrigerator and poured liquid from the gallon jug over it, then stuffed the fish inside Bossy’s crate. “He tried to poison her. He left the fish in the crate with her, and when he came back to check on her this morning and found she hadn’t eaten it, she tried to scratch him.”

  Wilson stepped to the window and peeked out to the porch. “He intended to kill her. A little Godfather-ish, don’t you think?”

  “Very,” I said. “But when he found Bossypants alive, he decided to bring her back and threaten me directly.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “We,” I said, “aren’t going to do anything. You, on the other hand, are going to stay here with Bossypants and make sure she’s okay. I’m going to call Detective Romero. I’m convinced whoever followed us home from Jared’s memorial is the same person who tossed the rock through the window in an attempt to frighten me. And when that didn’t work, he kidnapped Bossypants. I’ve had enough. The detective needs to understand this isn’t just some disgruntled client or unhappy neighbor. This has to do with Amy, and I intend to prove it.”

  Chapter 17

  I called Romero, and we agreed to meet at Jerry’s Deli in the valley, a popular lunch spot for the Hollywood set, and a favorite of the detective’s. When I arrived, I found him sitting in the back of the restaurant in a red vinyl booth, facing the door. Cops always sit facing the door. Mostly so they can see if trouble comes in, but in Romero’s case, I knew it was more about star sightings so that he might brag to Denise about whom he had seen that day.

  When he spotted me, Romero stood, wiped his face with his napkin, and waved for me to join him. He had ordered one of Jerry’s specialties: pastrami on rye with a giant green pickle on the side and a diet cream soda. Seated next to him, with plates piled equally as high with deli-specials, were two other men—detectives, one of whom I recognized.

  “Misty Dawn.” Detective Smiley, the elder of the two, extended his hand. “We met a couple of years back. You were called in to help us find that missing college girl.”

  “My celebrity case,” I said. Years ago, I had helped LAPD locate the body of a missing college coed. She’d fallen into one of the piling holes contractors had dug for the building of a new dorm, and despite the use of police dogs, her body could not be found. The case had brought a renewed interest in my ability as a psychic and the respect of LAPD.

  “Big fan of yours. Have to say, you made me a believer.” Smiley elbowed the detective sitting next to him. “She found that girl despite the fact contractors had already filled the piling in with cement. Dogs never had a chance.”

  Romero offered me the seat next to him and introduced the second, younger detective.

  Williams put his sandwich down and wiped his mouth.

  Romero made introductions. “Detective Williams—meet Misty Dawn.”

  Williams, Romero explained, despite his youth, was the lead investigator on the Conroy investigation. He was new to the unit and had taken the chief’s call the night the doctor called in and requested the police look into the matter.

  Williams shook my hand.

  I sensed the young detective was anxious to make points with the chief and was not a believer.

  “Misty here’s been keeping me busy. She’s convinced Jared Conroy didn’t die accidentally. She’s the one who gave me the lead on Billy Martín yesterday.” Romero looked at me, “The reason Detectives Smiley and Williams are here with me is because I thought you should know that we picked up Billy last night. He had an EpiPen with him, just like you said, and he was planning to move back to Carpinteria.”

  “He’s not your man.” I pulled a menu from the center of the table. I wasn’t in the mood for much, but I had never been able to pass up a slice of one of Jerry’s pies. I signaled the waiter and ordered a deep-dish apple a la mode.

  “You don’t think so?” Smiley put his sandwich down and leaned back against the booth.

  “No, not at all,” I said. “He’s broken up over Jared’s death, but he’s too gentle-natured to have murdered anyone. Doesn’t have it in him.”

  Williams scoffed, then bit into one of the green pickles in the center of the table. “I’ve arrested a lot of murderers whose mothers would have said the same, but the courts didn’t agree, and I don’t either. Romero tells me Amy confessed to you that she and Billy were involved. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find your client’s got something to do with all this. Jealousy can cause a man to do things he might not otherwise.”

  My pie arrived, and I pushed it aside.

  “Jealousy? That’s your proof? That Amy and Billy were involved in high school?” If the investigation stopped there and the police charged Billy with Jared’s murder, I’d be hard-pressed to suggest any other suspects without some type of physical proof. And nobody, particularly this young detective, was going to believe my conversation with a couple of vengeful luminaries.

  “It’s more than that, Misty.” Romero crumpled his napkin. “Late yesterday, the coroner got the results back from Jared’s blood tests. There were no signs of epinephrine in his system. The coroner said that didn’t make sense. There should have been something. Instead, there were traces of bee venom found in the tissue around the injection site. The coroner thinks instead of epinephrine that Jared shot himself with an EpiPen full of bee venom.”

  “Bee venom?” I shut my eyes and had a vision of Billy’s hives behind the garage and the sound of swarming bees in my head. “What are you saying?”

  “We think someone may have messed with Jared’s EpiPen and replaced the epinephrine with bee venom. It certainly explains why the EpiPen went missing, and neither the paramedics nor the detectives could find it.”

  Right away, I could think of three people who might possibly have known how to alter the pen, and they all had connections to Conroy Cosmetics: the doctor, his sister-in-law Madeline, and her son Matthew Conroy. All would have had easy access to the venom through the company. As for Billy, I doubted Billy, a simple beekeeper, would have the knowledge of how to harvest bee venom without killing the bees. Something Billy certainly wouldn’t do. And yet, he had been found with an EpiPen.

  “Are the police convinced the pen they found with Billy is the same pen Jared used the night he died?”

  Romero answered. “Not yet, but we’ll know shortly. Forensics is running tests now.”

  “I assume you asked Billy where he got the pen. He told me the doctor had given it to him.”

  “The doc denies it,” Smiley said. “He says he can’t believe Billy had anything to do with Jared’s murder. He thinks maybe Billy’s confused, that maybe Jared gave Billy the pen, ju
st in case.”

  I looked at Romero. “So you’re waiting to see if the pen you found is the same one Jared used the night he died. And once the results from the tests come back, if it’s positive for bee venom, you’ll arrest Billy, and until then, you’ll hold him. Is that right?”

  Williams answered. “We can hold him for up to forty-eight hours. Right now we’ve had him less than twenty-four.”

  “Well, Detectives, I think you’ll be surprised.” I explained Billy believed he was to blame for Jared’s allergic reaction at the party. That Billy had been stung that morning and had several open wounds on his face. Without thinking about it, he had hugged Jared at the party and exposed him to the venom. “Billy feels guilty about what’s happened, and I also think he’s still in love with Amy. But I don’t for a second think Billy killed Jared.”

  “You’re sure of that?” Williams asked.

  “Certain enough for me to suggest you keep looking.” I knew they wouldn’t believe me if I told them I was beginning to think the doctor was a possible suspect. I had no proof. Just because the luminaries had accused the doctor in their own deaths didn’t mean Conroy had killed his son. And with the doctor’s close ties to the police commission and his insistence the police investigate, I would be pushing an idea they thought ludicrous. As for Madeline, I could understand a mother’s ambition for her son’s success. Her desire to see him as Conroy’s new VP. Matthew certainly would have had no problem with his new role. But beyond my suspicions about either Matthew or his mother, I had nothing concrete. However, there was one other possibility.

  “Have you given any thought to the man in the gray sedan?” I asked. “The one who followed me home from Jared’s memorial, and later came back and tossed that rock through my window.”

  “You’ve seen him again?” Romero wrinkled his brow.

  “Not just seen, but spoken to. In fact, it’s why I wanted to see you this morning. He was on my doorstep less than an hour ago with my cat. He tried to kill her.”

  Romero briefed Williams and Smiley on the gray sedan that had followed me home, and the two exchanged a look. The type of look one gives a young child who makes up stories or an elderly indigent no longer in touch with reality.

  I didn’t wait for them to fantasize further about my situation. I blurted, “He told me to leave the girl alone. And he was wearing a mask.”

  “A mask?” Williams asked.

  “More like a black bandana. He had it wrapped around his face so I couldn’t see him. And he had a raincoat on, and gloves too. Odd for this time of year, don’t you think? My guess was so Bossypants couldn’t scratch him, but I’m sure she did. If you tried, we could get scrapings from under her nails, and—”

  “What? Do a DNA test? On a cat?” Williams dropped his head. “You’re not serious?”

  Romero interrupted. “Hold on a minute, I’d like to hear what Misty has to say about what this masked man told her.”

  “He said he was a messenger, and that if I knew what was good for me, I’d leave the girl alone.”

  “The girl?” Smiley asked. “He didn’t use Amy’s name?”

  I shook my head. “No, but—”

  “And you think this man in the gray sedan meant Amy?” Williams’ eyes bore through me.

  “Of course he meant Amy. Who else could it be?” I stabbed at the pie in front of me. My ice cream was melting, along with my hopes anyone would take me seriously.

  “No disrespect, ma’am, but do you have any clients who might also want to send you the same message?” Williams looked at Romero. “I mean he just said leave the girl alone, he didn’t use Amy’s name.”

  I put my fork down. “I don’t have unhappy clients, Detective Williams. Not like that, I don’t.”

  “You’ll excuse me if I say I don’t have a lot of respect for what you do.” Williams wiped his hands on his pants. “I get that you found that college girl and all, but for all I know, it was a lucky guess. You and everybody who read the paper knew about the construction going on at the university. You probably figured the girl went out for a walk after dinner. Isn’t that what her roommate said? Hey, it was getting dark. She was new to the campus. You told reporters you thought maybe she took a short cut back to the dorm and fell into one of the piling holes. How many pilings did you point to? Two? Three? Come on. It didn’t take much to figure out. Construction guys dig up a couple, and suddenly you’re taking credit for finding her.”

  “If only it were that easy,” I said.

  Even those who believed in psychics thought information just suddenly appeared out of the ether. That it’s a painless journey when so often it’s wrought with raw emotion and the knowledge that the news I would deliver would cause pain to those seeking the truth they hoped to avoid. Frequently, it’s a battle of the senses, weighing the truth as I knew it to be, versus as I would like it to be.

  “Look,” Williams threw his napkin on the table. “I’ve dealt with a few of your kind before. Not that you’re the same, but fortune tellers aren’t exactly high on my list of credible witnesses.”

  I pushed back from the table. I didn’t appreciate the comparison.

  “How dare you, Detective Williams. I’m not a fortune teller. I don’t use crystal balls or cards, and if I were you, I wouldn’t be so quick to judge.”

  “Psychic then. Whatever you want to call it, doesn’t matter to me. I don’t believe any of it.”

  “Why? Because you were burned?” I asked.

  “Nice guess. Only it wasn’t me. It was my mother. Psychic took her for ten-thousand dollars. Ten-thousand dollars we didn’t have. Told her she had a curse on her, and only she could remove it. Believe me, if I thought I could have gotten the money back, I might have done the same thing as your masked man—shown up on your doorstep and threatened you.”

  Romero cleared his throat and pinned his eyes to Williams, a clear message for the young detective to dial it back.

  “I think we’re all interested in what you have to say, Misty. You’ll have to excuse Detective Williams. He’s new to the idea of working with someone like yourself. Speaking for me, it takes some getting used to, but I’ve found leads come from people and places you may least suspect, and it’s best to keep judgment to yourself and your eyes and ears open.”

  “Thank you, Detective Romero.” I flashed a smug, if not overly confident, smile at Williams and proceeded to explain how I felt the masked man on my porch was a hired hitman. “I don’t believe he’s Jared’s killer, but I do feel as though if you could find him, he’d lead you to whoever killed Jared. In fact, I’m quite confident about it.”

  Romero responded. “Unfortunately, you didn’t get a plate number, and without it, it’s just not possible for the police to track every gray sedan in the city.”

  I expected such a response and explained he might not have to. “You see, my cat told me the man who kidnapped him—or in this case, catnapped—lives in an apartment. A walkup, somewhere on the west side, I believe. She described it as an older unit. I’m sure if you put your detective skills to work, you could cross-reference apartment dwellers with owners of a gray sedan or whatever it is you do to track down criminals these days.”

  Williams put his hand to his head and laughed out loud. “Your cat told you that?”

  Smiley took his napkin from his lap and put it on the table. If he was about to come to my aid, I didn’t care. I had had enough of this smug, young detective, and was about to slap his hand when Romero interrupted.

  “I think we’ve got everything we need here, Misty. You need a lift home?”

  I nodded. I had taken an Uber to the restaurant. I could have driven my old VW van, but I didn’t trust it on the road. And Wilson’s cars? Well, by now, I’d gotten used to a driver.

  “Then how about I drive you home and take a look around your property? See if I see anything, and Detective Williams here can
order up a car to increase patrols in your area. That fine with you, Detective?” Williams nodded. “If this masked man of yours has anything to do with Jared’s murder, we’ll find him. I promise you that. Meanwhile, batten down the hatches and stay close to home. Okay?”

  Chapter 18

  The following morning the universe was abuzz with news of Billy Martin’s arrest. On both sides of the veil, news traveled like a hoard of bees, across telephone lines among mortals, and on the backs of light waves in the spirit world.

  After hours of interrogation—even while the results from the forensics lab on the EpiPen found in Billy’s truck still weren’t back—Billy rolled over and confessed. In addition to the EpiPen, the police had recovered a note stuffed into the glove box of Billy’s truck. A single page apology Billy had written to Amy and planned to post before he left town. Unfortunately, the police pulled Billy over before he had a chance, and the note’s contents read like a confession. Billy penned he was too distraught over Jared’s death to stay behind, and he was sorry for the pain he had caused everybody. He hoped Amy would be able to forgive him. He’d never forgive himself.

  Per the law, Billy was given one call. He made that call to Amy, told her he had been arrested, and asked if she’d call him a lawyer. Amy, shocked at the news, came unglued. The doctor found her in the kitchen with the phone in her hand, slumped against the counter, crying hysterically.

  Dr. Conroy insisted Amy lie down and promised her he would look into Billy’s arrest. She shouldn’t worry herself. Bed rest was what the doctor ordered. While Amy was returned to bed, Eli and Christina reached out to Wilson, who through their cosmic ability to communicate on the back of light waves, shared with Wilson the news of Billy’s arrest, and the happenings inside the House that Vanity Built.

  Meanwhile, from her bed, riddled with guilt and shame, Amy called Carlene and poured her heart out to her friend about Billy. No sooner had Amy hung up then Carlene called me.