by Dianne Emley
Evan carried Summer’s two hastily packed suitcases down the path that traversed the old hotel’s broad lawn. She walked ahead of him, her wet blonde hair flattened against her head and down her back. Her pink knit dress, which left little to the imagination when dry, now held no secrets at all when drenched through. She located the bungalow, in a corner on a knoll above Sunset Boulevard.
The Château Bordeaux Hotel, built in the 1920s on several acres of rolling lawns above the section of the boulevard known as the Sunset Strip, had once been a renowned hideaway for the rich and famous. It was now in need of some TLC, but the slightly derelict air was one of the attributes the hotel’s loyal patrons liked best.
Most of the rooms were located in the three-story main structure but a handful of bungalows—some with notorious reputations for the celebrity deaths and other scandals that had occurred in them over the years—were scattered among the once well-tended gardens.
Summer unlocked the door of Bungalow 5 and quickly appraised her new surroundings, inspecting the sitting room, tiny kitchen, bathroom, and separate bedroom.
Evan sat in an easy chair by a window. He lit a cigarette and set the package and lighter on an end table. “So Kip flipped out.”
Summer left the bathroom rubbing a plush towel over her wet hair. She sat on a sofa, picked up the receiver of an old rotary telephone on an adjacent end table, and began dialing.
“Who are you calling?” Evan asked.
“I have to do something about Brianna.” She waited for her call to be answered. “Iris? Hi, it’s Summer Fontaine. I’m sorry to bother you, but Kip threw me out of the house.” She rolled her eyes as she listened to Iris’s response. “Look, I’m not calling about me. I’m worried about Brianna. Kip’s acting strange. He’s sitting in Bridget’s office in the house, in the dark, with a gun.”
She paused. “He says it’s the gun used to kill Bridget. He says he took it from the storm drain where he hid it after Bridget’s murder. If that doesn’t tell you who killed Bridget, I don’t know what does.”
She listened again. “I don’t care what you think about me, but you’ve got to get Brianna out of that house. I’m staying at the Château Bordeaux in Bungalow Five, on the corner closest to Sunset. Please call. Thanks.”
Summer hung up and was startled when she looked out the window over which sheer drapes were drawn.
“What’s wrong?” Evan asked.
“I thought I saw someone looking in.”
Evan got up and pulled the drapes open. “There’s no one there.”
She tightly closed her eyes, as if to block out an image. “I’m getting as bad as Kip, seeing boss monsters everywhere.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Iris pulled the Triumph out of her office building garage, clicked on the windshield wipers, and waited for a break in the traffic so she could turn right onto Flower Street. She had noticed another car, a dark blue Lincoln Continental with tinted windows, fall in behind her as she made the twists and turns to exit the garage, including dodging the guy with the dustpan, but she didn’t think anything of it. It was a big building and people were always coming and going.
She got on the southbound Harbor freeway, then changed to the westbound 10. She drove to west Los Angeles, fifteen miles, with the Lincoln staying a polite distance behind. She exited on Overland and pulled into a 7-Eleven’s parking lot. The Lincoln parked a short distance away.
Iris pulled her phone directory from her briefcase, looked up the numbers she had for T. Duke, and dialed one. She stepped outside with the cellular phone to her ear, popped open her automatic umbrella, and walked up behind the Lincoln. Through the tinted glass, she could see the driver’s profile.
He answered the ringing car phone. “Baines.”
“Why are you following me?”
He whipped his head around and saw that the Triumph was empty.
“Baines, over here.”
He spun his head the other direction and saw Iris standing in front of the car.
“Call T. Duke, like a good bruiser, and tell him I want to talk to him.”
He hesitated.
“Now, please.” Iris ended the call, pressed the antenna down, and slipped the cellular phone into her skirt pocket.
The Lincoln’s tinted window slowly slid down. Baines handed Iris his phone.
“Why are you having me followed, T. Duke?”
“You’re in danger,” T. Duke responded. “I told Baines to watch out for you.”
“I’m flattered about your concern for my welfare. Who am I in danger from—you?”
“My son has hatched a scheme to kill you and Kip Cross and make it look like I’m responsible.”
“Interesting. He told me to watch my back around you.”
“Don’t trust him, Iris.”
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to trust. My own instincts. By the way, I reject your offer of four seventy-five a share for Pandora. I wouldn’t sell to you if you were the last buyer on earth. Have a nice day.” She handed the phone back to Baines and pointed at the Aryan giant. “Scat.”
Iris stood on the porch of the Cross home, hunkered under her umbrella in the pouring rain, and rang the doorbell for many long minutes. When she received no response, she started banging the solid brass knocker. After there was still no response, she tried the door. It was unlocked. She pushed it open and stuck her head inside the darkened house.
“Kip?” she said tentatively. She didn’t hear anything but the pounding rain.
She closed her umbrella and stepped inside the door, dropping the umbrella into a nearby stand. “Kip? You home?”
She straightened her suit jacket, which she had not removed while driving because it was cold in the Triumph, and dusted raindrops from her skirt as she looked around. She couldn’t see much in the foyer. Reaching for a light switch on the wall, she toggled it with no response. It then occurred to her that the streetlights in the neighborhood were also off. The storm had knocked the power out.
She ran from the house and back to the Triumph. Once she was safe inside her car, she was tempted to crank the engine to beat a retreat, but didn’t give in. She fished a flashlight from the glove compartment and banged on it when it wouldn’t light.
“Dollar ninety-nine special,” she muttered.
The cheap instrument finally emitted a weak beam. She walked back to the house where the door stood ajar, as if beckoning her. A rambling old mansion, a madman, no electricity, and no weapon. It was the makings of a grade B horror flick. She would have fled in a nanosecond if it weren’t for Brianna. She took a deep breath, steeling herself.
“Kip?” she called again from inside the foyer. She turned left and walked through the living room, dining room, and then entered the kitchen, banging her hand against the flashlight, which kept cutting out. The kitchen was empty. A set of cook’s knives of all sizes were affixed to a magnetized strip on the wall. She selected an eight-inch kitchen knife and shoved a less conspicuous paring knife into her skirt pocket, hoping, even under the circumstances, that it didn’t cut the fabric.
From the kitchen, she walked into the family room. Outside, she could see the dark pool and patio area, which appeared to be empty. Distant fingers of lightning crackled. A clap of thunder sent her heart into her throat.
She went back up the tiled steps to the foyer, then turned down the dark corridor where the bedrooms and Bridget’s office were located. She passed the office, took a quick look inside, and continued on. Something wasn’t right. She turned back and looked again.
“Come in, Iris,” Kip said from where he sat behind the desk.
Holding the knife behind her back, she swung the flashlight beam around the room.
“No lights!” he ordered.
As if on command, the flashlight cut out on its own.
“He works in darkness. He won’t come if the lights are on.”
“Who?”
“Who do you think? Sit down.”
A crackle of lig
htning briefly cast a halo around Kip’s head. Iris saw the handgun on the desk in front of him. She tentatively sat in a chair near the desk, first turning it so she could quickly exit if she had to, and tucked the knife under her thigh.
“Iris, do you think if a person commits a crime, once that moral boundary is crossed, there’s no going back? Is that person now likely to commit more crimes and more serious crimes? Is crime so seductive that, once you’ve tasted it, you’re doomed?” He spoke in a quiet voice that was a bit hoarse, as if she were the only person he’d spoken to all day.
“I don’t know, Kip. I haven’t really thought about that.”
“I have. I used to think criminals were low-life scumbags. Those guys who were in jail with me, I thought I was superior to them. But now I understand them. Living outside the law is seductive. You get a feeling of control. There’s a jolt from taking what you want for no other reason than you want it. It’s better than sex.”
“Have you committed a crime?”
“Would you think differently of me if I had? Would you be afraid of me?”
She felt his eyes on her without seeing them.
“Yes, you would. You’re afraid of me now. I can sense your fear. It’s exciting in a way. I made a fortune trying to give people that feeling while they were sitting safely at their home computers, but it’s a pale imitation of the real thing. Life’s strange, isn’t it? It frequently exceeds anything I could ever imagine.”
Iris leaned toward him. “Let’s get out of here, Kip.”
Kip shook his head. “I can’t. I have to stay right here. It’s part of my strategy.”
“Where’s Brianna?”
“She’s in a safe place. I’ve seen to that. This is the only way I can trap him. That’s the secret key at the highest level of Suckers Finish Last, you know. Levels one through nine require the player to use aggressive action, speed, agility, wits, and big weapons. But then the player reaches the tenth level and the strategy changes completely. Players call Pandora’s tech support lines in droves, tearing their hair out because they’ve tried and tried and failed each time to win the final level. They accuse me of making the game impossible to win, but it’s not true. See, the key to winning the final level is sitting quietly and waiting. The boss monster will eventually seek the player out, and the player will be ready. I must sit here and wait in the dark. I have the advantage. The boss monster is getting closer.”
“Who is the boss monster?”
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
“No. No, Kip. I don’t think you’re crazy.”
Kip rapidly inhaled and exhaled, silently laughing. “You always were a lousy liar, Iris. It’s a trait I found rather endearing.”
“Where did you get that gun?”
“This is the gun that was used to shoot Bridget. I found it the night of Bridget’s murder. When I jogged home, it was sitting right there on the fifty-fourth step up from Capri Road. Then I saw the bloody footprints go off into the brush and dirt. I heard the police sirens and the commotion and I knew immediately what had happened. For a while I had felt something was at play, something had started. I just didn’t know what it was yet. But now it’s clear. The boss monster had made his move, killing one enemy and setting things up to punish his other enemy for life. He’d stolen my gun, disguised himself as the wild creation of my darkest thoughts, killed my wife, left my footprints and left my gun, still smoking, for the police to find. But I found it first. His strategy was imperfect.”
“You picked up the gun. That’s how you got gunshot residue on your hand.”
“And I climbed into the brush, in the opposite direction of the bloody footprints, to the storm drain Bridget and I installed. I pulled it apart, threw in the gun as far as I could, put the drain back together, took a branch, wiped out my footprints, and then ran up the stairs to enter the patio of death.”
“You have to turn the gun over to the police. Don’t you want them to find Bridget’s murderer?”
“They think they already have. You know they don’t want to hear anything that questions their view of reality. I’ve said too much already. I’m caving in to my emotions. I can’t make the same mistakes he made.”
“Let me take Brianna home with me.”
“No.”
“Certainly she doesn’t have a role in this thing.”
“But she does. A very important role. His strategy was foiled in large part because of her. I’ve become a secondary target.”
“Kip! How long are you going to…play this game?”
“Until it’s over. We’ve got plenty of earthquake supplies. I had them put away for four people. We’re only two now. If we eat modestly, we can make it stretch for weeks.”
“Earthquake supplies?” A bead of perspiration formed between Iris’s shoulder blades and made its way down her back. “Aren’t you afraid the boss monster might harm Brianna?”
“Not if I intercept him first. This is going to be played out one way or another. You don’t seem to understand that.”
Iris stood, taking the knife with her.
Kip didn’t get up. “Iris, she’s not yours to take.”
“I refuse to let her be used as bait, Kip.” Iris banged the flashlight against the back of the chair until it lit.
Kip stood behind the desk. “Iris, I’m warning you.”
She shone the beam into Kip’s face. He moaned and covered his eyes. She flew to the doorway, closed the door behind her, and pulled a low bench that was against a wall in front of it. She broke into a run down the corridor, looking in the numerous rooms for the child and not finding her. “Brianna!”
Kip opened the door and felt with his hands the bench that Iris had shoved in front. He could easily have moved it out of the way, but didn’t. “Leave her alone!” he shouted.
Iris reached Brianna’s room near the end of the hall. She frantically searched it with the flashlight but didn’t see the child. “Brianna!” She heard something in the closet, fell upon the door, and opened it. There the little girl was, sitting on the floor with flashlights all around, playing with her dolls.
“Don’t take my daughter, Iris!”
Iris exhaled with relief. “Hi, Brianna.”
She seemed dazed. “Aunt Iris?”
“Yes, sweetheart. It’s Aunt Iris. You’re going to stay with me for a little while. Okay?”
Brianna got to her feet. “Who’s going to take care of my daddy?”
“I’ll check on him to make sure he’s okay.”
Holding Brianna’s hand in one hand and the flashlight and knife in the other, Iris walked into the corridor. The bench in front of the office door had not been moved. They hurried past the office. Iris saw Kip standing in the doorway.
“Iris, please,” he said.
She jogged the rest of the way, moving as fast as Brianna could go. She left her umbrella in the stand and loaded Brianna into the Triumph. Thankfully, the starter worked on the first try.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“She looks so much like Bridget,” Rose commented.
“Poor thing must have been exhausted,” Iris said. “She’s still asleep. It was so weird. It was like Kip couldn’t leave that room.”
“He probably wanted you to take Brianna,” Marge said. “That’s why he didn’t stop you.”
The women moved from the doorway of Iris’s home office where Brianna was sleeping on a pull-out couch and walked into the kitchen.
“I have some darling little great-nieces. Maybe they can come and play with Brianna today while you’re at work,” Marge suggested.
“Iris, you did the right thing,” Rose said, guessing what was on her daughter’s mind. “From what you said, it sounds like Kip has lost his mind. That poor child has been through enough.”
Iris sighed deeply. “I don’t even know what the right thing is anymore. Could Kip have me arrested for kidnapping? I’d better call Brianna’s grandparents and let them know where she is.”
As Iri
s was dialing the Tylers’ number, Rose peered inside the refrigerator. “No wonder you look like skin and bones. There’s no food in this house.”
Iris dug her thumb into the loose waistband of her skirt. “I’ve lost weight. I’ve been so busy, I hadn’t noticed.” She looked out the picture window at the rain that was still steadily falling as it had all night. “Hi,” she said into the telephone. “This is Iris Thorne. Who’s this?…You’re one of Bridget’s brothers, aren’t you? I’m sorry to be calling so early. Is Natalie around?…No, no, there’s no need to contact them. Let them enjoy their time away. Everything’s fine. I just wanted to let them know that Brianna’s staying with me for a few days. My number should be in Natalie’s book.…Okay. G’bye.”
“Where does Brianna go to school, Iris?” Marge asked.
“School?” Iris said. “I forgot about school.”
“She can miss one day,” Rose said.
Iris looked at her watch. “I’d better make an appearance at the carnival of horrors. I’ve got my own boss monster to deal with. See you later.”
Iris walked into McKinney Alitzer’s sales department with her head held high, her footsteps firm and certain, and a pleasant smile pasted on her face. She was late arriving and the department was in full swing with everyone pitching product as if their lives depended on it. They did.
She saw Evan Finn on the phone in his new office and had to count to ten to calm down. Your hours are numbered, pal, she silently reassured herself. Kip Cross isn’t the only one with a strategy.
“Morning, Louise,” she said to her assistant, who looked at her over the top of her half-glasses. That gesture always made Iris feel like a recalcitrant schoolgirl. “How’s the temperature?”
“I think everyone’s trying to pretend that Evan doesn’t exist. Half a dozen people have asked me what in the world is going on.”
“And you tell them?”
“Nothing’s going on.”