THE HOUSE THAT VANITY BUILT

by Nancy Cole Silverman

  Despite the inconvenience, I left a voicemail and marked it urgent. I told Romero I believed I had made a break in the case and that I needed to see him in person. I also suggested he bring along Detective Williams.

  Two hours later, I got a call back.

  “Sorry, Misty, I’m—”

  “I found the gray sedan,” I said. “It’s parked behind Conroy’s garage.”

  I didn’t wait for Romero to explain why he had taken so long to call me back or why he hadn’t chosen to see me in person. I expected him to be elated.

  Instead, I was blindsided.

  “We have a problem, Misty.”

  “What?”

  “Dr. Conroy’s filed a restraining order against you.”

  Me? I was stunned.

  “How could he? I was just there this morning. Amy invited me to tea, and—”

  “He says you’ve been harassing her, that she’s intimidated by you. That you convinced her to invite you to tea today so you could get onto the estate.”

  “I did no such thing. You know better than that, Detective.”

  “I’m afraid I really don’t.” Based upon what I told Romero concerning my covert visits to the mansion, I couldn’t blame him. “And it’s not up to me. The doctor was quite persuasive and insisted we investigate his claim.”

  “Claim? What proof did he have?” I asked.

  The words had barely escaped my lips when I realized what he might be talking about. The tea set. The exorbitantly expensive Hammersley china tea set I’d knocked to the floor. The doctor had no doubt shown the detective the accident scene. Perhaps even staged the site to make it look worse than it had been. In my mind’s eye, I pictured the tea set, not just those pieces I had caused to fall to the floor, but the entire set, worth thousands of dollars broken into slivered pieces on the floor.

  There was no point in trying to explain my actions. The detective would never believe that the doctor’s dead wife and his paramour were haunting him, or that they had subconsciously convinced Lupe to poison the doctor’s tea. Or that by upsetting the tea service, I had actually saved the doctor’s life. I could only move forward and hope the presence of the gray sedan hidden behind the doctor’s garage might help to prove my case.

  “Do you want the license plate number or not?” I asked.

  “The car’s not there. I got your call before we visited the estate, and we looked. It’s gone.”

  “But—”

  “Relax. It’s not as bad as you think, and you may have Detective Williams to thank for it.”

  I took a deep breath. I couldn’t imagine Detective Williams being any help to me at all.

  “Detective Williams? And how is that?”

  “That bottle of cologne you brought back from Conroy’s guest house?” Romero said.

  “The one Detective Williams said couldn’t be admitted into evidence?” My stomach tightened.

  “We tested it anyway, turns out you were right. Williams got the results back from the lab this morning before we got the call from the doctor requesting we come by the house. The bottle had three times the amount of bee venom of any commercial product approved by the FDA. Williams thinks you might be on to something.”

  “Really?” I sat down on the sofa. “So the young detective believes I might be psychic after all.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. At least not yet, but it was Williams’ idea once he learned about the concentrate of bee venom in the cologne that we play along.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought you said the doctor filed a restraining order against me.”

  “He has. And for the record, it was Detective Williams who suggested the doctor file the order. But in truth, it was more for show,” Romero said.

  “It’s not real?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s real all right, and you can’t go back there. Not under any circumstances. You need to stay at least one hundred feet away from the doctor and Amy.”

  Somehow being slapped with a restraining order didn’t feel like a closed door, but more like a preemptive strike.

  “So, if I’m correct in my thinking, it sounds like the young detective may have bought us some time to continue the investigation.”

  “Not us, Misty, or not you and me anyway. You’ve done everything you need to do. If you can give me that plate number, my team and I’ll take it from here.”

  I wasn’t thrilled Romero had cut me out of the investigation, but after nearly being poisoned by the doctor that morning, I didn’t mind taking a step back and letting Romero and his team wrap things up.

  “It’s a Nevada plate,” I said. “Personalized. The letters are X-T-R-M-N and the number eight.”

  “Exterminate?” Romero said.

  “Clever, huh? Dr. Conroy hired the man to take care of a gopher problem. But if you ask me, I think he’s a hitman, hired to do the doctor’s dirty work. And if I might make a prediction, when you find the car, you’ll not only find a cat crate in the back seat, but you’ll also find something to connect him to Jared’s murder as well.”

  “We’ll see. In the meantime, no matter what happens, don’t go back to the Conroy Estate. Promise me.”

  I promised. A promise I fully intended to keep.

  But things happened.

  Chapter 28

  Later that evening, Wilson and I were in the study discussing this morning’s near double murder. How I had foiled both Eli’s and Christina’s attempt to get Lupe to poison the doctor, and dodged my own death when the doctor attempted to drizzle a drop of toxic lemon into my tea. I’ll admit, having escaped death, I was in a celebratory mood.

  At Wilson’s behest, I opened a bottle of Chateau Mouton Rothschild, a gift he had received from a producer for his work on an award-winning Broadway production of The Drowsy Chaperone. While Wilson couldn’t imbibe—shades can’t eat or drink—my description of the dark, rich, full-bodied wine seemed to suffice. Together, despite Conroy’s restraining order against me, Wilson and I got silly while reenacting what I felt was one of my better investigations.

  Maybe it was the wine, but I was confident that by now, Romero and his detectives had found the gray sedan along with my masked man and that his connection to Conroy, and Matthew and possibly Madeline, were all they needed to determine who and how Jared had been murdered. I had visions of the three of them sweating it out while the police questioned them. As for me, my part was done. I had led the police to my masked man—the missing link—and I was certain they would put the pieces in place. It was just a matter of time. Soon Billy would be free and Amy out from under the doctor’s influence. I toasted Wilson to our victory and to Amy’s happy-ever-after. To the baby, and Billy’s release. I was savoring my success when my cell buzzed.

  “Misty.” Amy’s voice was but a whisper. “I need you to come back to the house. I have to see you right away.”

  “Are you okay?” My first thought was that the police had been there, arrested the doctor, and Amy was alone, distraught, and in need of support. My second thought was darker. The police had yet to arrive, the doctor was still there, and based on the strain in Amy’s voice, holding her hostage.

  Time in the psychic world is easily confused. Past, present, and future can fold on top of one another, and in my stupor, I had confused what I wanted to believe with the reality of the moment. All was yet to come.

  “Please, Misty, come quick.” Amy’s voice quivered. “I’ll meet you at the guest house, and don’t tell anyone. I don’t know who I can trust anymore.”.

  “I’ll be there,” I promised.

  I gave a quick thought to calling Romero and pressed the auto-dial on my phone. When his voicemail answered, I left a brief message that Amy had called, and I was headed her way. In my mind, despite Romero’s warnings, I couldn’t forsake Amy. Not now. Not in her moment of need. My overwhelming sense was that Amy fel
t she was drowning. I was her lifeline, and I needed to act.

  I had no idea what to expect as Wilson and I approached the Beverly Park guard gate. For each of my previous visits, I’d had an excuse or an invitation and sailed through security without a problem. But tonight, in my haste to come to Amy’s aide, I hadn’t considered what I would say to the guard. Fortunately, as we pulled forward to the kiosk, I didn’t need to think about it. Amy had left word she was expecting a delivery. The guard checked his clipboard for my name, then did a double take as he glanced back at the Jag.

  “Nice car for deliveries. What year is it?”

  “Fifty-four,” I said. Wilson had insisted after our last slow getaway in the Rolls that we take the Jag. “It’s a surprise for the doctor.” With my fingers to my lips, I pantomimed twisting a key in a lock and smiled.

  “Nice,” the guard said. “Amy asked me to tell you to use the back road.” Then waving us through the entry, he pointed to the utility road that footed the back entrance to the Conroy Estate. The same road I suspected my masked man had used to access the property in his gray sedan.

  As we approached Conroy’s back gate, Wilson dimmed the Jag’s headlights and parked as close as he could to the fence.

  The security fencing surrounding the back of the estate was complete with cameras and automatic lights triggered by a motion detector. I could only hope Amy had thought to unlock the gate and turn off the security lights long enough for me to sneak onto the property. Wilson would be no problem, but for a mortal like myself, one false move, the lights would go on, and I’d be discovered.

  “You wait here.” Wilson slipped out of the car and checked the gate.

  The lock sprung open in Wilson’s hand. He pushed open the gate and motioned for me to join him.

  I left my bag in the car so that I might be more agile, and tiptoed toward the gate, ready to spring as best I could in any direction should the security lights come on. When the lights didn’t respond to my passing, I paused and looked up at the Conroy mansion. The House that Vanity Built stood like a castle on the hill, a black silhouette beneath a full moon, dark but for a dim yellow light in the solarium. Whether Amy had thought to cut the power to the backyard’s security lights or the luminaries had somehow shorted the power, I wasn’t sure. Only that I felt a heavy sense of foreboding as I stumbled through the gate.

  Wilson caught me. “I’ve got you, Old Gal, don’t worry.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about, Wilson. It’s your lady friends.” I pointed to the solarium window where Eli and Christina sat, looking down at the backyard like fans at a football stadium with front row seats, waiting for the games to begin. “I sense they’ve upped this morning’s ante.”

  “Don’t worry about them. You go ahead and find Amy. I’ll take care of them, and if I see the doctor, I’ll warn you.” Wilson started up the path to the house, then stopped and looked back at me. “And if you see Conroy first, snap your fingers, and I’ll coming running.”

  It seemed like a plan, or at least as much of a plan as I could think of at the moment. Amy needed me. And Wilson? I could only hope he was smart enough not to be part of whatever end game the luminaries had in mind.

  I continued in the dark along the pathway in the direction of the guest house. I had gone maybe twenty feet when I heard a sound.

  “Psst. Misty, over here.”

  Amy appeared from behind the guest house. Dressed in a robe and slippers, she held an unlit flashlight in her hand. With her finger to her lips, she whispered for me to follow, then tiptoed around to the back of the house and slowly opened the door to the kitchen. Inside, the house was dark, the only light coming from a small digital clock above the kitchen stove—10:43 p.m.

  In a voice little more than a whisper, she said, “I found something. I don’t know what it is, but I think it might have something to do with Jared’s murder.”

  “Where is it?” I asked.

  Amy checked to make sure the shutters above the kitchen sink were closed tight, then turned on the flashlight and pointed it in the direction of the kitchen counter. In front of us was a thin, rectangular wooden box, like nothing I had ever seen before—no more than an inch-and-a-half high, and about ten inches long and six inches wide. Wires had been strung across the top about an eighth of an inch apart, and on the side was a small off-and-on switch taped to a battery.

  “I’d turn it on,” Amy said, “but I’m afraid I’d electrocute myself.”

  “Hand me the light. I want to get a closer look.” With the light in my hand, my gnarled fingers traced the wires, then stopped. Caught between two of the wires was a small, scaly, winged creature. “What do you think this is?”

  Amy leaned over my shoulder. “A bee maybe?”

  Carefully I held the creature’s remains up to the light. “It certainly looks like it to me.”

  I put the dead insect down on the countertop and looked back at the box. The top portion was removable, and beneath it was a small thin cookie sheet. I slid the sheet out from beneath the box and noticed what looked like razor blade scrapings across the bottom and the remains of a thin crusty residue along the sides. I closed my eyes and hugged the sheet close to my body. With the pan against my chest, I sensed the frenzied buzz of a thousand angry bees like tiny pinpricks against my chest. This had to be bee venom.

  I put the cookie sheet back on the counter. “Where did you find this?”

  Amy pointed to the kitchen door.

  “It was sticking out from beneath the steps outside. I nearly stumbled over it when I came in. I didn’t know what it was, but something about it didn’t look right.”

  “You’ve never seen it before? It wasn’t there last time you and Jared were in the house?”

  “Not that I remember. Jared and I seldom went out that way, and I haven’t been down here since he died. I can’t help but think that somebody was trying to hide it under the house.”

  I had the same feeling and wondered if that might have been what Conroy’s handyman had been up to when I had discovered his car behind the garage.

  “Whatever this thing is,” I said, “I believe it has something to do with Billy and his bees and was used to collect bee venom.”

  Amy squinted. “But how?”

  “I’m not an expert on bees, and far as I know, only two people on the property were: Dr. Conroy and Billy.”

  Amy put her hand on top of the box. “You think it’s the doctor, don’t you? You got a reading off the box, and you think he had something to do with Jared’s murder.”

  “The box can’t tell me who killed Jared. I only know it’s connected to bee venom and that Jared died as a result of shooting himself with an EpiPen full of it. I’m not saying the doctor did it, but I do know he’s not a well man, nor is he innocent of some of the things that have gone on around here. I’m not a doctor, and I can’t tell you what form of mental illness the doctor has, but on some level, close as you are to all this, you must suspect something.”

  As an intuitive, I found people frequently knew things about themselves and those around them, whether they were conscious of it or not. Deep down, they always had some understanding. My job was to help them see it. To open those doors they may have been too afraid to look behind and to accept the truth so they could move forward. Amy had been hanging on to the idea that a baby and a new start for the doctor would help them to create a perfect family—something she desperately wanted. It was all within her reach if she would only trust herself.

  Amy bit her lip.

  “I’m not sure what I think. With Jared gone and Billy not around, I’ve been so confused. Jared always said his father was odd. I know he’s not emotionally balanced, but when Dr. Conroy offered to help Billy with a lawyer, I guess I wanted to believe he was going to look out for me like a father might. He kept telling me how it was only the two of us now. That once the baby was born, we’d b
e a family. I needed to believe that. I needed to feel like I fit in somewhere.”

  “I know you do,” I said. “I also know you’re stronger than you think, and there’s a reason you came down here tonight in your bathrobe and slippers. What made you sneak out of that big house and come down here all alone? What was it?”

  Amy brushed a tear from her eye.

  “After you left today, the doctor surprised me. He said he’d been collecting things for a nursery, and he wanted to show me what he had done. He thought it might make me feel better.” Amy put a fisted hand to lips and quivered. “Misty, he’s got a room upstairs made up for the baby. He never mentioned anything about it before. I had no idea. But the room has everything. A crib. A bassinet. A rocking chair. He said if I didn’t like it, I could send it all back. It was entirely up to me. Then tonight, after dinner, the doctor went into his study, and I decided to go back upstairs to spend some time in the baby’s room. I was sitting in the rocker, thinking how strange it all was when I got this craving for chocolate. I remembered that the week before Jared died, I’d made brownies. The kind with a gooey marshmallow-swirl inside, like my mother used to make. I could have eaten them all. Jared told me if I didn’t stop, I wouldn’t fit into my wedding dress, so I wrapped them up and put them in the freezer.”

  “And that’s why you came down here? Because you had a craving for chocolate?”

  “I couldn’t help myself. But I didn’t want to disturb the doctor; he’d probably tell me chocolate wasn’t good for the baby, so I decided I’d sneak down and come in the back door. If he didn’t see any lights on, I figured he wouldn’t know.”

  I could relate to both Amy’s cravings and her concerns about the doctor’s unpredictable response. But in the end, chocolate had won out. I was about to suggest we sit down and split what was left of the brownies when I heard a thump outside.

  “What’s that?”

  Amy’s eyes widened. “I don’t know.”

  “Sounds like footsteps,” I said.