Celeste nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She held back, swallowing, then said, “I know. But she’ll be free. Free of that man, of that pain. She’ll be free.”
Lacey laid a hand on the thin shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Yes, she will,” she said. “All thanks to you.”
Celeste chuckled and shook her head happily. She looked around as if just waking from a dream.
“I’m ready for a cup of tea,” she said brightly. “How about you two?”
By the time the three women were seated in the living room with cups of tea and slices of coffee cake, Lacey could almost imagine they were a normal group of friends chatting of normal things. Almost.
“This is excellent coffee cake,” she said.
“Paula brought that,” Celeste said. “I don’t cook anymore. I take all my meals down in the dining hall.”
Lacey looked about at the accommodations for the first time. Sedate furniture: cream-colored leather sofa and chairs, gleaming cherry wood tables. Interesting and beautiful objects sat on tables and shelves or hung on the off white walls. Most had an African feel to them—tribal masks, drums, wood carvings of stylized giraffes and zebras.
“You’ve amassed quite a collection of mementos,” Lacey said. “I’m assuming these are all your own furnishings.”
“Yes,” Celeste said. “I had to downsize quite a bit before I moved here but that was good. I had so much stuff.” She chuckled. “We spend most of our lives accumulating all the things we can, then we get to a point where we start divesting ourselves of it. You start to realize what’s really important and what’s just… stuff.”
Lacey could relate. She and Derrick had had a lot of stuff. The biggest TV, the latest phones, almost new cars. When her life imploded, she started over very simply. It was less of an adjustment than she’d expected.
“Do you like it here?” she asked. “I mean, is it a good fit for you? I ask because a friend’s mother has been moved to a place like this, and I wonder how she’ll do. I’m going to visit her soon.”
“I wasn’t sold on the idea at first,” Celeste said, smiling over at Paula. “But now I know it was a very good move. The people here are very nice, and they check on me every day. If I need help, I can call anytime. All my housekeeping is taken care of, the cleaning, the laundry. If Paula’s not available, I can even have someone do my shopping for me. It’s really quite worry-free.”
“I’m glad,” Lacey said. “There’s nothing wrong with taking it easy, especially with all you’ve done and still do.” She was fairly certain, however, that it wouldn’t be quite the same for Margaret. Lacey doubted she could afford this level of care.
“Reaching this point in life,” Celeste said, “really puts things into perspective for you. The things that used to seem important just fall away. What really matters is knowing you lived a good life, did some meaningful things. And family. That’s all. All the rest is just… noise.”
Lacey nodded, sipping her tea.
“You’re doing good things,” Celeste said. When Lacey looked up, she found that determined blue stare focused on her.
“I hope so,” Lacey said. “It… it feels good. It feels important. At least in a small way.”
“Oh, yes,” Celeste said. “I would say in a very big way.”
She lifted her tea cup to Lacey in a silent toast.
~~~
THIRTEEN
Friday, riding on the tide of the successful meeting, Lacey buckled down and started her search for Doreen Tynan. She had a feeling it was going to be a bit more difficult than her other searches. Doreen had not followed in her parents’ footsteps, had not gone into acting or become a public figure in any way, so there was less about her. Lacey found one small newspaper article about her marriage to a Robert Kendahl, a magazine editor, in 1969. There was one sentence about her being the daughter of Lance Tynan and Nora Messenger.
Then, nothing.
Lacey turned back to the genealogy website and checked census records for 1970. She found them in Santa Monica, husband and wife; no children. In 1980, they had moved to Huntington Beach and now had a son, William, and a daughter, Emily. In 1990, she found Robert—alone. No wife, no children.
Lacey searched marriage and divorce records and got a hit. They divorced in 1984.
She went back to the census of 1990 and searched on Doreen’s maiden name. Nothing. Had she moved away after the divorce? Left California?
She searched the 2000 census for both Doreen Tynan and Doreen Kendahl. Neither showed up. Staring out the window, Lacey felt that familiar brick wall against her forehead.
Okay, switching gears, she thought. She had another issue to contend with, one she’d put off for long enough. After meeting Celeste, seeing her and her granddaughter, seeing the fierce bond they had, she knew she had to check on Margaret. At least see her, make sure she was all right.
Lacey dialed the state prison.
She was not surprised when her call went to a department that handled inmate communications. No, she could not be connected directly; she could leave a message. She did that.
I can see you next week.
She hung up and prowled the apartment.
At least they were close to closure on Estelle. She felt certain, with Celeste’s help, they could untie the string that held Estelle to the house. Sam had thought so, too, when she’d called him last night to report on her meeting with the two women. He’d been pleased with her success.
“They didn’t know it, but they never had a chance,” he’d said with a soft chuckle.
“Well,” she’d said modestly, “Paula never had a chance. Once Celeste saw the video and heard Estelle call her name, it was a done deal.”
And Estelle would be a done deal on Saturday.
But Lance…? She opened her refrigerator and stared at the contents, seeing none of it. If Doreen had moved out of California, Lacey’s job would get exponentially more difficult. Sure, there were records, but how many would she have to check? This could take days, weeks.
She began to wonder if they had enough information now to confront him. Even if they didn’t have all the details, all the dirt, would just recognizing his sexual persuasion and his father’s judgment be enough? Could they bluff a ghost? She had no idea. She’d have to talk to Sam about that.
As she’d expected, it didn’t take long for Derrick to call her back. Her phone rang just less than an hour after she left the message for him.
“I knew I could count on you,” he said as soon as she answered.
“Just so you know,” she said with an edge to her voice, “I’m doing this for your mom; not for you.”
“Oh, of course,” he said. “Absolutely. When can you come?”
Lacey stared at her calendar, depressingly empty except for Saturday. She knew visiting days were only weekends and holidays, so that limited her choices. “How about Sunday?” Might as well get this over with, she thought.
“Hey, Sunday’s great. What time?”
She calculated quickly. Almost 100 miles. Freeways. Sunday drivers. “I’d say eleven or eleven-thirty. Depends on traffic.”
“Sure, no problem. Sounds great.” He lowered his voice. “Can’t wait to see you.”
She snorted. “Goodbye, Derrick.”
She ended the call with a forceful punch. Was she crazy? Just the thought of seeing that face, that smug, smiling, confident face, pissed her off all over again. She had two days to get her anger under control.
Time to hit the workouts with renewed energy.
~~~
FOURTEEN
Saturday morning dawned clear and cool. Lacey took it as a good sign. She picked up Sam first, then headed to Meadow View. She was feeling antsy about the day. She had no idea how this was going to go, but Sam seemed his normal relaxed, stoic self. For that she was glad, and rather than query him about the plan for the day, she accepted his quiet confidence at face value and left it at that.
At Meadow View, she parked as close
as she could to the front door, then led Sam to the apartment. Paula opened the door immediately at her knock, and Lacey introduced her to Sam.
“Hello,” she said, her cool professionalism in place. She offered her hand a trifle tentatively, but if Sam noticed, he gave no sign, shaking easily. Lacey couldn’t help but note how Paula’s eyes assessed him, the long black ponytail, the soft suede moccasins laced up to his knees.
Not exactly the Long Island Medium, is he, she thought.
Paula led the way to the living room and Lacey greeted Celeste, then introduced her to Sam.
“Sam,” she said, clasping his hand warmly. “I am so glad to meet you. I think what you’re doing is absolutely wonderful.”
Sam, to his credit, didn’t spin any false modesty. He nodded to Celeste and said, “Thank you. I’m glad I’m able to help.”
“Well, we’re ready,” she said with a small nervous laugh. She had a light shawl around her shoulders and played with it, smoothing it unnecessarily.
“Then let’s go,” Lacey said. She smiled to Paula, but the return smile was strained. Having second thoughts? Lacey wondered. She hoped the woman’s reticence wouldn’t negatively influence the day.
They trooped down to the elevator, Paula setting the pace as she pushed Celeste’s wheelchair. When they reached the front door, Lacey held it for Paula and pointed her toward the car. “The little white Hyundai,” she said.
She unlocked the car and opened the passenger side door, hovering in case Paula needed help. She needn’t have bothered. Paula set the brake on the wheelchair and Celeste, surprisingly, pushed to her feet, her thin arms sinewy strong on the arm rests, and shuffled to the car.
“I can walk,” she said with a wry smile, “just not very well.” She stood beside the open door and held on to it. Paula came to help her slide onto the seat, then showed Sam how to fold up the wheelchair for stowing in the trunk. Once Paula and Sam climbed into the back seat, Lacey got in the front and started the car.
“Sorry it’s not too roomy back there,” she said. She glanced in her rearview mirror, wondering how Paula liked the close proximity with the silent Navajo. Neither face showed any emotion.
As Lacey drove through Hollywood, Celeste looked around brightly. “I love spring,” she said. “I love the colors of the bougainvilleas everywhere.” She turned slightly and spoke over her shoulder to Paula. “We should go out to lunch more often when the weather’s good.”
Paula grunted agreement. Lacey was glad to see that nothing—not Paula’s silent reservations, not the uncertainty of the day—was putting a damper on Celeste’s mood. She sat up in the seat and looked forward with excited anticipation.
When the house on Laurel Canyon came into view, Celeste craned her neck to see. “Oh, my,” she said. “It looks lovely.”
“Deidre has gone to a lot of work to restore it,” Lacey said. “I think she’s done a wonderful job.”
Celeste nodded. “It looks so much better than the last time I saw it.”
Lacey glanced over. “When was that?”
“Oh,” Celeste calculated quickly, “I’m not sure, maybe twenty years ago. A long time.”
“The house was empty for a lot of years,” Lacey said. “Mansions like this don’t do well in recessions.”
She parked the car and by the time Paula had Celeste safely in her wheelchair, Deidre had joined them outside. Lacey made the introductions, then Deidre led them in.
Just inside the entry, Celeste put her hands on Paula’s, stopping her granddaughter from wheeling her on. She gazed up at the high ceiling, the balconies, the graceful staircase. She put one hand to her throat, and Lacey saw her swallow uneasily. Was she already feeling her sister?
Sam stepped in front of her. “Please,” he said, motioning to the side. “Let’s go in here for a moment. Talk about what we’re going to do.”
Celeste had to tear her eyes from the uppermost balcony. She smiled and nodded, and Paula pushed her through the double doors to the living room.
Everyone sat; Sam took the chair closest to Celeste, leaving Paula to sit beside Deidre on the couch. Lacey pulled her video camera from her purse.
“I believe,” Sam said to Celeste in a low voice, “that your sister is waiting. I feel some… expectation. Do you have any questions?”
Celeste thought for only a second, then shook her head. “No. I’m ready.”
Sam turned to Deidre. “Where’s the elevator? And where does it open out upstairs?”
“It’s back in the kitchen area,” Deidre said, waving a hand toward the back of the house. “It’s small, so you won’t all fit, but there should be enough room for Paula and Celeste. It opens out in the kitchen of the north apartment.”
“Estelle’s room?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Okay, good.” Sam turned back to Celeste. “Lacey and I will meet you up there. I think we’ll start in the apartment and see what Estelle’s energy is like. Then, depending on how that goes, we’ll come out to the balcony. Does that sound okay?”
“Yes.” Celeste nodded eagerly. “That’s fine.”
“Good.” Sam hunched forward. “As you saw on the video, I normally do the talking, but you also saw Lacey speak to Estelle. If you feel that it’s appropriate, you are welcome to talk to her, too. We’re pretty wide open here, so I would say that you should do whatever you’re moved to do. You know Estelle the most. You’ll know the best way to help her.”
Again, Celeste nodded. It was both agreement and preparation. She was ready.
Sam stood up. “Deidre, could you show us to the elevator?”
As a group, they moved through the back rooms to a small gated shaft next to the kitchen. Deidre opened the gate and helped Paula jockey the wheelchair in. “It’s not fast,” she said, closing the gate in front of them. “Just push the up button.”
Paula reached out and depressed the button on a panel. The elevator lurched, then began a slow, steady climb. Celeste waved to them with a smile.
Deidre led Sam and Lacey to the stairs. As they made their way to the third floor, Sam spoke softly to her.
“You’re welcome to witness this with us,” he said.
Deidre shot a startled look at him, almost missing a step. “Witness?” she repeated.
“Yeah,” he said. “If you want. You don’t have to. It’s entirely up to you.”
She pondered that as they took the last few stairs. “Uh, all right. I-I think I’d like that.” She glanced at Sam. “Thank you.”
Lacey nudged Sam’s arm with her elbow and smiled at him. Smooth move, she thought.
On the third floor, Deidre led them through the north apartment back to the kitchen. They arrived just as the elevator rose into view behind the second gate. Once the elevator locked into place, Deidre opened the gate so Paula could push the wheelchair out. They all stared at Sam.
“Ready?” he asked.
All four women nodded.
“Let’s go.”
He led the way into the apartment’s main room. He took up a stance in the center. Lacey started her video camera.
“Estelle,” he said in a low voice. “Do you see who’s here? It’s your sister, Celeste. You wanted to see her and now she’s come. She’s here.”
He turned slowly, his unfocused eyes sliding across the walls of the room. Lacey trained the camera on him, but dialed back on the zoom to get the widest view possible. As he turned, she was able to get Celeste in the frame, sitting forward in her wheelchair, questing for her sister.
“Talk to us, Estelle,” he said. “Talk to your sister.”
They all stood quietly for a heartbeat. Lacey watched Sam’s face, his body. He breathed deeply, his eyes hooded. He held himself in tense abeyance.
Suddenly Celeste gasped. Lacey moved the camera slightly, putting her in the center of the frame with Sam to the side. Celeste lifted a hand and put it to her cheek. She raised her eyes to Sam.
“Do you feel her?” he asked gently
.
“Yes.” Celeste’s voice was full of wonder. “She… she touched me. My cheek.”
Sam nodded. “She’s so happy to see you. Talk to her.”
Celeste swallowed nervously. “Estelle?” she called in a soft voice. “I’m here. I was so sad to hear that you were tied to this place all these years. I know what you suffered. I know how unhappy you were.” She paused. “Can you… let go now? I don’t want you to be sad anymore. I want you to move forward. With joy. More is waiting for you. Are you ready to move on?”
Her words faded into silence.
Sam moved his head, angling it to one side. “She’s stopped crying.” He pulled a smudge stick from his pocket and lit it with the click of a lighter. “She’s ready to leave this room.” He toured the room, smudge stick in hand, trailing the fragrant blue smoke behind him. When he’d made a full circuit, he came back to stand in front of Celeste. “She wants us to go out on the balcony.”
Celeste nodded. Paula stepped up and pushed the wheelchair carefully through the door. The others followed, Sam coming last, streaming the cloud of smoke.
Lacey stepped to the side so she could get everyone in the viewfinder. Paula stopped in the center of the balcony, but did not leave Celeste. Instead, she kept her hands on the push bars, standing guard. Lacey could understand that.
Sam came to stand beside Celeste. He raised the smudge stick, wafting the smoke all around.
“What is it, Estelle?” he asked. “Tell us what you need to say. Tell us your truth.”
The smoke fluttered and dipped, wavered and drifted. Lacey glanced from Sam to Celeste and back again, looking for any sign of contact. They both waited. Celeste held her breath.
Suddenly Lacey felt that push again, those fingertips on her back. They rocked her forward, just a half step. Then, as she watched on the small screen, Sam jerked forward. Then Celeste, just a small push, a nudge forward in her chair.
What? Lacey wondered. What was she pushing them to do now? Hadn’t they done what she wanted? Had they read her wrong?
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