The OC

by D P Lyle

  CHAPTER 20

  I HAD AN hour to kill before we rolled north toward Malibu. Since it was only an overnight trip and not much would be needed, I had tossed a few things into a small bag and was good to go. Nicole stalked around doing the same. Megan, who had reluctantly moved in the night before, had disappeared into her room to get squared away for the trip.

  I found Pancake on the deck, his computer in his lap. I took the chair next to him.

  “You good to go?” I asked.

  He gave me a look. The one that said of course he was. One thing about Pancake is that he was never late, and never unprepared.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Looking into Darren Slater. Megan’s researcher.”

  “You thinking he could be the one doing this?”

  “He’s close. He knows her schedule, her contact info, probably where she lives.” He worked the keyboard. “Toss into the soup the fact that he has a crush on her.”

  “Those do sometimes turn into obsessions.”

  “They do.”

  “So?” I asked. “Anything?”

  “Nada. He has no criminal record, a solid work history, and he’s been at the station a few years. He graduated from UCI with an English Lit degree and then taught high school briefly before this current gig. No red flags. Nothing very exciting.”

  “Aren’t the quiet ones the ones you have to watch out for?” I asked.

  “That makes you two safe,” Nicole said as she stepped onto the deck. “But then looks are deceiving.” She leaned on the rail facing us. “What are you doing?” she asked Pancake.

  “Looking at that Darren dude.”

  “Better not let Megan know.”

  “Let me know what?” Megan stood in the open slider, rolling up the sleeves of the untucked yellow shirt she wore. That and a pair of white shorts.

  “Nicole’s just being a drama queen,” Pancake said. “I’m checking out Darren, your research guy.”

  “Darren? Why?”

  Pancake ran through it—he was close, had knowledge, and a crush.

  “No way,” Megan said. “I told you that. Darren’s as sweet as anyone I’ve ever known.”

  “Sure looks that way,” Pancake said. “But since we’re churning the water and not getting anywhere, everybody is fair game.”

  “Let me guess,” Megan said, “you found nothing.”

  “Not a ripple.”

  “You about ready?” Nicole asked.

  Megan nodded. “Yeah. What time are we leaving?”

  “Ten,” I said. I glanced at my watch. “Did you hear from Abby?”

  “She’s on the way. I’ll finish up my hair and I’m good to go.” She disappeared toward her room.

  “Want to sit?” I asked Nicole.

  “You offering me your chair?”

  “My lap.”

  “Don’t want to scare the neighbors.”

  “I’ll behave.”

  She laughed. “No, you won’t. Besides, I think that seat’s taken. By Maryanne.”

  Took me a few seconds then I retrieved the name. “Flight attendant Maryanne?”

  “She has dibs.”

  “Flight attendant?” Pancake said. “One of my favorite flavors.”

  “You’re a pig,” Nicole said.

  “Proudly.”

  “Well, dear old Maryanne has the hots for Jake.”

  “Everybody does,” I said, proud of myself for the snappy comeback.

  “Not me,” Pancake said. “I see you more as a pain in the ass.”

  The doorbell buzzed. I heard Megan open it and Abby come in.

  We decided that we could all drive up in the Range Rover. Maybe a little tight but not as tight as parking in The Malibu Colony. We left a little before ten and actually made good time. LA traffic is never light but at least today it moved on. We made it to Uncle Charles’ place by noon.

  A black Porche convertible, top down exposing a rich gray interior, sat in the drive. I parked next to it and we climbed out.

  Nicole had said his home was magnificent, but that didn’t come close to covering it. Nicole pushed open one of the two huge carved-wooden entry doors, which led us into a cavernous foyer and then an even more cavernous room. Open concept on steroids. A giant living room, kitchen, dining room with twenty-foot ceilings. The far wall was all glass panels, the ones that slide into one another and merged outside and inside into a single space. Beyond a massive infinity pool, a party-sized bubbling jacuzzi, the beach, and the Pacific, calm and flat today.

  To my left, caterers were already busy setting up the dining area for serving. The living area held two deeply cushioned sofas and several comfy-looking chairs. Uncle Charles and Nicole’s parents, Bob and Connie Jamison, sat on the sofas talking. They all stood when we came in.

  Nicole hugged everyone and then introduced Megan, Abby, and Pancake. I shook hands with Bob and Uncle Charles and hugged Connie.

  “So good to see you again,” I said.

  Connie took a step back and looked me up and down. “Is Nicole not feeding you enough?” She laughed. “Actually, you look great.”

  “She feeds me just fine. Except she ends up eating it all.”

  “Been that way her whole life,” Bob said. He wrapped an arm around Nicole and pulled her against his side.

  “Just trying to keep up with Pancake,” Nicole said.

  “Fool’s errand,” I said.

  Pancake grunted.

  “Please,” Uncle Charles said. “Relax. Make yourselves at home.”

  “We were having some lemonade,” Connie said. “Any takers?”

  “Maybe later,” Nicole said. “I want to show Megan and Abby around.”

  “Wow, just wow,” Megan said, her gaze swiveling around, taking in the entire room. “I’ve never seen any place like this.”

  “My humble abode,” Uncle Charles said.

  “Thank you for inviting us,” Abby said. “Even though we feel like we’re crashing the party.”

  “No, no. It’s my pleasure. I’m glad you could make it.”

  A woman who looked to be in charge of the catering crew motioned to Uncle Charles.

  “Looks like I’m needed,” he said. “The guests will begin trickling in around four or so. In the meantime, enjoy.” He walked away.

  “Is that who I think it is?” Nicole asked. She motioned toward the pool deck.

  It was. Kirk Ford. He had been sitting in a lounge chair, back to us, facing the ocean, phone to his ear. Now he stood, slipped the phone into the pocket of his shorts, and waved. He wore a black tee shirt and cap, each with the “Space Quest” logo front and center.

  We walked out onto the deck. Nicole hugged him and then introduced Megan and Abby, who each now had that starstruck, deer-in-headlights look. Kirk did that to people. Particularly women.

  “You two look great,” Kirk said to Nicole and me. “I take it all is well.”

  “It is,” I said. “What about you?”

  “Couldn’t be better.” He glanced at Nicole. “Now that she’s hired me to be in her movie.”

  “That was Uncle Charles.”

  “He might sign the checks, but I know the idea was all yours.”

  Nicole shrugged.

  “I think you have a winner on your hands,” I said. “Not that I’m an expert in any of this, but I read the script. It’s excellent.”

  “It is,” Kirk said. “Grabbed me from the first scene.”

  “What’s it about?” Abby asked.

  “It’s called Murderwood,” Kirk said.

  “It’s a riff on a true Hollywood mystery,” Nicole said. “A never-solved case.”

  “I get to play the hero detective.” Kirk laughed.

  “Sort of like Space Quest?” Megan asked. “Which, by the way, I’m a huge fan.”

  “Love to hear that. No, this is about as far from that as possible. It’s a dark story.”

  “Nicole wrote it,” I said. “Would you expect less?”

  Sh
e punched my arm. I’ve got to learn to disconnect my mouth from my brain. Boy, how many times have I told myself that over the years? Pancake and Ray, too. Probably too late for that but I made a mental note to work on it. Maybe I should count to ten before speaking. That seemed long so maybe just to three, or two. Change is hard.

  “It’s going to test my acting chops,” Kirk said.

  “You’ll be outstanding,” Nicole said. “That’s why I wanted you for the part.”

  “I’ll do my best to live up to your expectations.”

  I started to say something like good luck with that. That I tried all the time and still stuck my foot in my mouth. Or did something that resulted in her punching me. Instead, I said nothing. See, I’m getting better already.

  “Let’s get everything out of the car,” Nicole said, “and settle Megan and Abby in their rooms. Then let’s take a walk on the beach.”

  “I’m all over that,” Abby said.

  CHAPTER 21

  I WATCHED NICOLE, Megan, Abby, and Kirk stroll up the beach, near the waterline. Nicole wore an orange bikini, not much to it, but it did the job. If revealing a lot of flesh was its purpose. My, my. Megan and Abby chose more modest suits.

  I sat at an umbrella-shaded table near the pool with Pancake, Bob, and Connie. The catering crew brought out lemonade and chips and salsa. They also found the time to whip up a giant ham and cheese sandwich for Pancake. He busied himself devouring it.

  They say that if you want to know how people will age, look at their parents. Not sure I buy that. Rather I prayed it wasn’t true. I didn’t want to be Ray. But if that’s true, Nicole’s future looked bright. Her mom was basically a twenty-year-older version of her. Lean, fit, blond, and with the same deeply blue eyes. Connie’s were even bluer, if that was possible. From the few other times I had been around her, she had the same smart-ass attitude as Nicole.

  Uncle Charles had the same good looks and trim build as his sister, Connie. The family had good genes.

  Bob, also lean, fit, and tanned, had darker hair, which he kept cut short. Quieter and more soft spoken than Connie, and very smart. I sensed that from the first time I met him. He and Connie were successful producers, writers, directors, the whole enchilada. I figured that Bob was the brains behind their success but that Connie was the straw that stirred the drink. A good combo. Sort of like the Arnaz duo—Lucy and Desi. Except that Bob and Connie, each with the looks to be movie stars, had chosen to work their magic behind the lens.

  I saw some of each of them in Nicole. Beauty, brains, and an attitude. Heavy on the attitude at times.

  “What’s new with you guys?” I asked.

  “Lots of stuff,” Connie said. “We have a few too many irons in the fire right now. Several productions we’re working on.”

  “But this one, Nicole’s project, has pushed those aside for the time being,” Bob said.

  “A lot is riding on this,” Connie said. “Nicole’s first big project. Kirk’s rehabilitation with his fans.” She shoved her hair back. “Not to mention the salvaging of Space Quest.”

  “Nicole has felt the pressure,” I said. “Not that she’d ever admit it, but I see it.”

  “I do too,” Connie said. “She appears a little tired.” She looked at me. “But I thought maybe that was your fault.” She laughed.

  See? Just like Nicole.

  “It is,” Pancake said. “They’re like a pair of rabbits.”

  Connie laughed again. “I like you. Nicole has told me a lot about you and it’s about time I got to meet the mysterious Pancake.”

  “Not much of a mystery,” I said. “He’s exactly what he looks to be.”

  “What? Hungry?”

  Pancake grunted. “My body’s a temple and it needs feeding.”

  “Want another sandwich?” Connie asked.

  “Wouldn’t turn it down.”

  She waved to one of the crew, motioned him to make another sandwich. He nodded and smiled.

  “Megan and Abby seem nice,” Bob said.

  “They are.” I looked at him. “I assumed you guys had met Megan before.”

  “No,” Connie said. “Nicole was going to bring her up once, maybe a couple of years ago, but something came up with her work.”

  “She’s a TV reporter, isn’t she?” Bob asked.

  “Yeah. She’s good at it.”

  Bob nodded, said nothing. Glanced out toward the water. Then, “What’s the story on this guy that’s bothering her?”

  I laid out the chronology of what had happened so far and what we knew about him. Which wasn’t much.

  “He sounds like he could be dangerous,” Bob said.

  “Could be,” Pancake said. “Sure starting to smell that way.”

  “Any idea who it is?” Connie asked.

  “Nope,” Pancake said. “Not even a clue.”

  “I hate this crap,” Connie said. She reached over and took Bob’s hand, lacing her fingers with his. “Resurrects all those memories of what Nicole went through.” She took a sip of lemonade. “It was a horrible time. Notes, and gifts, and phone calls, and showing up everywhere she went. Nicole was beside herself. She couldn’t sleep and became wary of people and of going out anywhere. Not like her at all.”

  “The only silver lining,” Bob said, “was that she knew who he was. Which of course ultimately led to his day in court. It didn’t go well for him.”

  “We hired a private investigator,” Connie said. “Like you guys. We were able to build a solid case against him.”

  “Sort of stalked the stalker?” I said.

  “Exactly. We had him dead to rights. We knew where he was and what he was doing.”

  “To say that the judge was impressed would be an understatement,” Bob said. “We had pictures, videos, phone and text records, even recorded all his calls. No chance for him to deny any of it.” He sighed. “I can’t even imagine what it would be like not knowing who was doing it.”

  “It does add an extra layer of fear,” I said.

  “I see that,” Connie said. “Not knowing if it’s a total stranger or someone right next to you. Someone you know or work with.”

  “How are you going to find him?” Bob asked.

  I glanced at Pancake.

  “I’ve got a few things working,” Pancake said. “But the truth is that since he’s using anonymously purchased and apparently rotating burner phones, finding him will be close to impossible. Unless, until, he steps out of the shadows, reveals himself, and does something stupid.”

  “Does something?” Connie asked.

  “It’s the something that’s the problem,” Pancake said. “Hopefully he’ll show up, drop to a knee, and ask for her hand in marriage.” He tapped the tabletop with an index finger. “Not appear with a weapon of some sort.”

  “So it’s not possible to track a burner phone?” Bob asked.

  “Not impossible but not easy. We can, of course, find where it was purchased—which we did. That didn’t help. These purchases are always made under a fake name so unless you have security video from the store, the purchase info won’t help. Many of these stores don’t have such systems and even if they do they get erased every two to thirty days. Like in this case. We can track where it’s used. Where he logs into Wi-Fi to send messages. Mostly after the fact so this isn’t often helpful. Since these devices don’t typically have a GPS function, locating him in real time doesn’t happen.”

  “Poor girl,” Connie said. “No one should have to go through this.”

  Hard to argue with that. The minor little stalker types I had had, mainly girls who wouldn’t take “so long it’s been nice,” as a final answer, were merely annoyances. Not scary at all. Or maybe I misread the entire thing. At least none of them ever shot at me or boiled a rabbit on my stove. There was this one girl who tossed a pair of jogging shoes I had left at her condo up onto my porch. Middle of the night since I found them early the next morning. I remembered I had felt uncomfortable that she had been on my property. Not a
fraid, or concerned, just uncomfortable. I couldn’t imagine what Megan must be going through.

  “What’s your next move?” Bob asked.

  “I got a few ideas,” Pancake said. “Maybe a way to smoke him out. Still researching a couple of things. We’ll get on this as soon as we get back tomorrow.”

  “Good,” Connie said. “In the meantime, let’s have a fun day.”

  Sounded like a plan to me.

  CHAPTER 22

  NICOLE, MEGAN, ABBY, and Kirk descended the steps to the beach. They angled across the sand to the water’s edge where the sand was firmer and headed north. They walked four abreast with Abby hanging as close to Kirk as she could without climbing in his knee-length bathing trunks. Nicole guessed she’d actually like to do just that. Knowing Kirk, it wouldn’t be rejected. He rarely passed up an opportunity. Any opportunity.

  Most people ignored them, only a few stopping, pointing their way, whispering to each other.

  “Looks like you have some fans,” Megan said.

  “Better here than most places,” Kirk said. “Folks in The Colony, even those who visit here, aren’t as starstruck as most. Or maybe because there are so many movie stars, and rock icons, and TV folks here that they can’t focus on anyone.”

  “I suspect all the attention can get tedious,” Megan said.

  “It can. In LA, I don’t think I’ve ever completed a meal without signing a bunch of autographs.”

  “I bet it can get crazy,” Abby said.

  “It can. But, you know, all those folks buy tickets. They pay for everything I have. So part of me is grateful.” He waved to a couple of kids, boy and girl, early teens, who called his name from the deck of a modern white stucco and glass mansion. “That’s Shane and Willa Cuthbert. Good kids. Their parents are fairly heavyweight producers.”

  “My, they’ve grown,” Nicole said. “I met them years ago. When they were maybe five or so. At Uncle Charles’ place.”

  “Have you had any crazy ones?” Abby asked. “Fans?”

  “Sure. Unavoidable. But you know what? Every time I feel like complaining about the loonies, I remind myself that I’m not Elvis.”