by Cassie Miles
"Yes, ma'am."
After they'd fed, cleaned and bedded the animals, Jenna checked her appearance in the privacy of her tiny dressing room. Not as gorgeous as Dinah Aaron, former fashion model. But she looked okay.
Perched on the edge of her sofa bed, Jenna dialed the phone number for the ranch. Technically, she and her mother were partners in Denardo Animal Wranglers, and she needed to tell Kate about the developments on this project.
As Jenna expected, the answering machine picked up. Her mother never answered the phone without screening the calls. After the beep, Jenna began talking. "Mom, it's me. It seems that I'm going to be running long on this contract. Tonight, I'm going to talk with Hugh Montclair about—"
"Hello, Jenna." Her mother's voice was rousing and cheerful. Though she'd buried herself at the ranch after her husband's death, she maintained the illusion that she was bright and optimistic. "You sound wonderful, honey."
"No, I don't. I'm tired. And this movie is a disaster." Since her mother never watched the news, Jenna filled her in on the death of Eddy Benson and her own part in finding him.
"I'm so sorry," Kate said. "I liked Eddy."
"So did I."
"Now, what's this about Hugh?"
"I'll need to be here another week at least." And there was more. The incident with Darius had convinced her that she couldn't handle this number and variety of animals all by herself. But she didn't want to enlist the aid of Danny Vincenzo. Allowing Hugh Montelair to call the shots set a bad precedent. "Also, I need to hire another handler to help me out."
"Jenna, honey, that's going to eat up all our profits."
"Not if I can get Hugh Montelair to pay for it."
"That old skinflint? He didn't get to be a wealthy man by spending extra. On his trips to Africa, he was famous for not hiring enough bearers to carry his equipment."
Jenna was puzzled. "Do you know him?"
"It was back in the days when I thought I might become an actress." Her mother's voice took on a dreamy quality. "Gosh, it must have been thirty years ago. Before I met your father, I dated Hugh."
Would wonders never cease! Dating the reclusive Hugh Montelair was akin to having a relationship with the late Howard Hughes.
Her mother continued, "Hugh was the one who got me interested in animals. He's a veterinary anthropologist with lots of other academic degrees. I think he even wrote a book about animal behavior."
"I didn't know."
"He's always been a little sweet on me," she said. "Actually, it was Hugh who called to offer the Alien Age job."
"You're amazing, Mom."
"I'm just old, honey. I've done a lot of living."
Jenna had an inspiration. "We wouldn't need to hire another handler if you'd come to the set and help me out."
"Me? Leave the ranch?"
"Sure. Berta and Jim can take care of everything while you're gone. They know the routine."
"I don't think so," Kate said quickly. "One of the mares is about to foal, and I—"
"Darius got out."
"My God, what happened?"
"No one was injured. Darius is fine."
She hadn't planned to tell her mother about the tiger escape, hadn't wanted to worry her needlessly. But Jenna was willing to play that card if Darius's adventure convinced her mother to leave the secluded ranch and get back into the mainstream of living. "Please, Mom. This job is too much for me to manage all by myself. I need you."
A silence hummed through the telephone wires as Kate considered. For the past three years, her mother had barely travelled farther than the local supermarket. Too often, she never even left her bed. Or she didn't sleep at all. She forgot to eat. Sometimes, she would spend hours wandering among the twenty-six orange trees she'd planted—one tree for each year she'd been married to Jenna's father.
"All right," Kate said. "I'll be there in the morning. And, please, tell Hugh that I will be participating. We'll need more compensation."
"You got it." Jenna would have paid out of her own small savings for her mother to begin living again. "I'll see you in the morning. Nine o'clock?"
"Earlier. You know how little I sleep." She sighed. "I hope I'm not making a mistake."
"Definitely not."
As soon as Jenna hung up the phone, she did a little happy dance in the limited space of her living quarters. Maybe Alien Age wasn't such a huge disaster, after all.
There was a tap on the door, and she heard Rafe's voice. "Jenna? Are you all right?"
She flung the door wide. "Everything is great!"
"Uh-huh." He nodded. "I heard you talking. Is there someone in here with you?"
"Don't worry, Rafe. I'm not losing my mind. I'm just happy. Come on, I'll explain on the way."
Unlike most men, he was a good listener. As they drove toward the Beverly Hills estate of Hugh Montclair, Rafe paid thoughtful attention as she explained about her father's death and her mother's self-imposed seclusion.
"If it wasn't so tragic," Jenna said, "I'd think it was romantic for my mother to be pining away over the one true love of her life."
"It sounds like your parents had a special sort of love."
"A perfect love. Warm and affectionate, but not goopy. They had a grand passion. Even when they disagreed, they were never cruel to each other."
When she was growing up, she never realized how remarkable their relationship was—not until she started dating and discovering the complexities of relating to a man. "Maybe that's why I'm not married. My parents' perfect love convinced me that I wasn't willing to settle for less."
"You deserve as much," he said.
"Well, thanks. But you hardly know me. I'm lousy at relationships. It's always been easier for me to relate to animals than to human males."
"Some people would say they were one and the same—the human male and the beast."
It was the second time he'd made a disparaging remark about humanity. "You don't seem to hold our species in high regard."
"I've seen too much," he said. "Man is, by far, the cruelest animal."
His words were heavy, and she wondered what could possibly have caused such sorrow. "Tell me about yourself, Rafe. I've hardly given you a chance to talk."
"Right now," he said, "I'm very hungry."
His physical hunger, Rafe thought, must be the reason for this gnawing emptiness he felt inside. Physical discomfort was part of being mortal, and he needed to be aware of the needs of this body that was so foreign to him.
"We can't stop, Rafe. We're running late." She dug into the glove compartment and pulled out two candy bars, offering one to him. "Chocolate?"
He accepted the morsel. Though he was more accustomed to gourmet dining, the sweet taste aroused his human taste buds. Apparently, he was less discerning as a mortal.
She handed him the map Dorothy had drawn for them. "The turnoff is around here somewhere. Help me look for it."
As an angel, he could have flown to this estate in the blink of an eye. Being mortal required more patience. He studied the map and directed her along winding roadways that climbed one hill and descended another. The foliage in this part of the world was dull, ordinary shrubbery, prone to the devastating, southern California fires that scorched the landscape. The homes in this exclusive territory were set back from the road.
At the final turn, Rafe experienced foreboding. How did humans cope with these constant sensations? A tingling crawled across his scalp and shivered down his spine. When the carved stone gateway leading to Hugh Montclair's estate loomed into sight, he was aware of a gathering turmoil within him.
"Wow!" Jenna said. "It looks like Count Dracula's castle."
There were angels here. Rafe couldn't see them in his human body, but he sensed the nearness of dark angels, fallen creatures who thrived upon destruction and despair. It was most fortunate, he thought, that he had assumed a mortal disguise. They wouldn't recognize him for what he was.
He looked up at the stone gargoyles that hunched in grotesq
ue poses on either end of the gateway above a heavy, wrought iron scrawl that spelled "Montclair." The iron bars across the gateway were narrowly spaced to keep intruders out—or to confine the evil within.
Here, Rafe knew, he would find the solution to Eddy Benson's murder.
When Jenna pulled up to the intercom and announced their presence, a dark-skinned man came from a gatehouse to unlock the bars and wave them inside. Though his hair was longer and his attitude more pleasant, he resembled Danny Vincenzo.
"Thank you," Jenna called out.
"You might want to roll up your windows," he advised. "At nightfall, the bats come out."
Jenna rolled up her window and whispered, "What did I tell you? Count Dracula."
They followed an asphalt road, lit by mushroom lamps, as it wound through a forest that seemed to have been imported from all around the world. As well as palm trees, there were maple, birch and fruit-bearing trees. There was wildlife as well. A fat furry animal darted away from the headlights. Rafe spied a lemur among the high branches of an elm.
They parked in front of a sprawling stucco villa, covered with vines and topped with a bell tower and a red tile roof. At the carved mahogany doors, they were greeted by a man who looked like a clone of the gate-keeper. He introduced himself as Nick as he showed them into a spacious living room, which was furnished in a light, modern, airy style with panoramic windows offering a view of the grounds.
"This is lovely," Jenna said. "Somehow, I'd expected antiques."
"Dr. Montclair will be with you in a moment," Nick said. "In the meantime, may I offer refreshment?"
"Water for me," Jenna said.
Nick turned to Rafe. "And you, sir? We have an excellent wine cellar."
In his angelic existence, Rafe had savored many fine wines without the ill effects of intoxication. His human taste buds were aroused by the mention of wine. What would it be like? Would he appreciate the flavor and bouquet? Would he merely taste the alcohol? "A merlot."
"Certainly."
After Nick left to fetch their drinks, Rafe wandered through the room, studying the furnishings. This room seemed bland, designed purely for social occasions, except for a display of artifacts on open glass shelves. Most of the objects were talismans from Africa, and one was remarkable. It was a small, stone Venus with drooping breasts. Though she stood only a few inches tall, the statue exuded power. She was a graven image, the recipient of many heathen prayers.
From the picture window, Jenna beckoned to him. "Take a look at this landscape. Down there, at the bottom of the hill, that huge building looks like a barn. This place is incredible. I wish it was daylight, so we could see better."
As he looked into the trees, Rafe saw a furtive movement among the shadows. The resident deer? Or something more sinister?
"Good evening."
Hugh Montclair made his entrance. Impressive, Rafe thought, and he wondered why the wealthy producer would bother to strut for them. Montclair's khaki bush jacket and trousers showed excellent tailoring. His mustache was thick but trimmed. Though he must have been in his sixties, his tall, muscular frame gave the appearance of youth, and he was confident enough not to hide the fact that his short-trimmed gray hair had thinned to near baldness.
The aura of wealth and power was unmistakable. Rafe had been acquainted with many men like Hugh Montclair. Too often, they had been adversaries.
"Jenna Denardo," Hugh said warmly, "you're as lovely as your mother. Seeing you takes me back to a more innocent time."
Rafe crossed the room and exchanged a firm handshake. "Rafe Santini," he said as introduction.
"And you're looking for a job as a stuntman. Alex Hill seems impressed with you. Did you really tame a tiger simply by looking in his eye?"
"It's a trick I learned in Africa," Rafe said carefully. "I'm glad it worked."
"So am I. This film has enough bad publicity with Eddy Benson's death."
"Did you know Eddy?"
"Very well, indeed." Hugh gave nothing away. He didn't express a liking or a dislike for Eddy. "Tell me where you've been in Africa."
As they chatted, Nick returned with Jenna's water and Rafe's wine. He uncorked a full bottle and poured the sparkling ruby liquid into a crystal glass.
Rafe's first sip awakened astounding sensations in his mouth. His tongue came alive. His nostrils twitched with the fragrance. He nodded to Nick. "Delicious."
"It's from a vineyard up the coast," Hugh said. "It was founded and run by my dearest friend, Paolo Vincenzo. He was Nick's father."
Recognizing the sadness that shaded Nick's brown eyes, Rafe assumed that his father's death was recent. He held up his glass. "Your father's memory lives in his artistry."
"Paolo's memory lives in many ways," Hugh said. He turned to Jenna. "Tell me about your mother."
As Jenna spoke about the ranch and her mother, Rafe studied Nick Vincenzo. Though the young man moved with the silent unobtrusive air of a perfect butler, his posture was not that of a servant. The lining of his navy blue sports jacket was scarlet silk. Likewise, there was a surprising strength in his manner.
After carefully measuring Hugh's drink, Nick didn't leave the room. Nor did he stand at attention, awaiting orders. He seated himself at a small desk, opened a drawer and calmly perused a leather-bound booklet—not intruding on their conversation, but overseeing.
Jenna concluded, "Anyway, Mom will be joining me tomorrow to work on the film."
"Kate will be coming here?" Hugh brightened.
"Yes, sir. That is, of course, if you agree to the monetary changes in our contract."
"Name your price. I'll make the necessary contractual adjustments immediately."
She turned toward Rafe. "And will you be hiring Rafe? He's very good with the animals."
"Certainly. I trust your judgment implicitly, Jenna." He glanced toward Nick. "Would you run off the contracts for me? Standard union scale for Rafe Santini. Double the existing amount for Jenna and her mother."
"Thank you," Jenna said. "That's most generous."
He clapped his powerful hands together and rubbed the palms. "The pleasure is mine."
"My mother mentioned that you were responsible for her interest in animals."
"I merely aroused her natural talents," he said. "She accompanied me on a trip to Brazil. It was the first time she'd seen Rio. Through her eyes, I experienced a beauty I had not known."
As Hugh reminisced, Rafe finished the wine in his glass and poured himself another. A subtle warmth had spread through his body, relaxing his limbs. Perhaps the apprehension he'd felt earlier was due to thirst. He would have to remember to drink more liquids when he was in human form. Even his vision seemed sharper.
Suddenly, it occurred to him that he was ignoring his social manners. Introspection in the company of others was considered rudeness. "Your landscaping," he said to Hugh. "It's unusual."
From the surprised expressions on the faces of Hugh and Jenna, Rafe deduced that he had blurted. He hadn't been following their conversation.
"Yes," Hugh said. "All the planting was supervised by Paolo. We were quite a team. He was the expert in plant life, and I specialized in animals."
"My mother tells me that you have several academic degrees," Jenna said.
"Biology, anthropology, chemistry, veterinary science."
"And Paolo?" Rafe asked.
"He was a genius." Hugh's tone and facial expression were tinged with a darkness, an anger. He continued, "The man who opened the gate for you is another of his sons. Though he modestly calls himself a gardener, he has an advanced degree in botany."
"And Danny Vincenzo," Jenna said. "He's another son, isn't he?"
"A good boy. Possibly not as bright as his brothers, but Danny is a good worker and has his uses."
"I'd like to dismiss him as soon as I return to the set," Jenna said. "It's nothing personal. You understand."
"For tonight, Jenna. Danny will stay near you."
"I don't need a bodyguard."
Hugh nodded toward Rafe. "Apparently not, but I insist."
Rafe knew he should respond, but his tongue felt pleasantly lazy and his brain couldn't come up with the words. He took another sip of wine.
"You seem to be a man who enjoys the finer things," Hugh said. "Would you care for a cigar, Rafe? I am privileged to have a supply of Cubans."
Rafe exhaled a blissful sigh. "That would be heaven."
Jenna piped up, "So would I."
"You smoke cigars?" Rafe asked.
"My father always said that special occasions should always be celebrated with a fine cigar."
"He advised you to smoke?"
"I have two younger brothers," she explained. "After any noteworthy achievement, my father used to take them into his study, and they'd all smoke cigars. One time, my mother and I decided we shouldn't be excluded."
Rafe's gaze lingered upon her. Her thick mass of blond curls framed the loveliest face he'd seen on earth or in heaven. And she smoked cigars! Truly, Jenna was the perfect woman.
As they savored excellent Cuban cigars, Rafe couldn't take his eyes off her. He admired the perfect "O" of her mouth as she puffed on her cigar. The cylinder of brown tobacco looked huge in her small, graceful hand. She conversed with vivacious energy, gesturing frequently. Her entire body was involved as she talked.
Then, Rafe heard the name "Eddy Benson," and he remembered why he was here, in human form. He was investigating. His job as an avenger was to find who killed the old man who coordinated stunts for the movies.
"I understand that you found Eddy," said Hugh. "Is that right, Jenna?"
"He was dying," she said.
"That must have been difficult for you. Do you have any idea why he was with your animals?" He leaned forward, showing great interest. "Did Eddy have a chance to explain?"
"He couldn't talk." Jenna sighed. "Maybe he was with the animals because he'd been concerned about one of my pigs. That worries me."
"And why is that?"
She frowned at the glowing tip of her cigar. "This afternoon, I discovered that one of my pigs is missing. There was a substitute."
Nick, who had returned to the room with a sheaf of papers in his hand, said, "About the pig. May I explain, sir?"