by Lisa Jackson
“How do you know this? She was sitting alone.”
“She was on the phone to lover boy.” Ravinia yanked her arm from his grasp. “I heard her side of the conversation, or at least part of it. She said she’d see him Tuesday at Casa del Mar and to give her a week. She said she won’t be able to stand it any longer.”
“Huh.” Rex handed a valet his ticket and watched as the valet hurried off in search of the car, “What else? Anything?”
“You know a producer named Frank Milo?”
“I think I’ve heard of him,” Rex said thoughtfully. “He’s got a couple hit TV shows.”
“Dragonworld?”
He stared at her as if he didn’t believe this backwoods girl who’d been locked inside a lodge in Oregon could know anything about Hollywood. “Yeah, maybe. But I don’t get it. Is that who Kimberley was talking to?”
“Nope. Auditions are just going on. It was the talk in the bathroom.”
He muttered something under his breath and shook his head.
“But now you have some time,” she pointed out with a lift of her chin, “when nothing’s going to happen with her. So, you can start helping me.”
“If I believe you.”
“I don’t lie.”
He made a sound in his throat she couldn’t quite decipher, and then said, “You and I haven’t written up a contract.”
“What kind of contract?”
“A business contract. That’s how this kind of thing works. I give you a contract with my rates, and you sign it and give me a retainer.”
The valet showed up with the gray car and Rex handed him some bills.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was annoyed with her, so before he could leave her on the street, which Ravinia sensed wasn’t that far out of range, she slid into the passenger seat and dutifully buckled up. “And after I sign this form, you’ll find Elizabeth?” she clarified.
“I’ll try.”
She hesitated. “What’s a retainer?”
He rubbed the first two fingers of one hand against his thumb. When Ravinia regarded him blankly, he said, “Money,” as if she were dense.
She threw him a dark look.
As they pulled away from the curb, Rex looked in his rearview mirror. “Well, you were right about one thing,” he admitted and she twisted, craning her head to peer out the back window. “That’s Dorell now. Her husband. He must be meeting her.”
“I was right about everything,” she corrected.
His answer was a snort.
Forty minutes later, Rex walked Ravinia into the motel office of the Sea Breeze Inn, a two-level motel on Santa Monica Boulevard that looked like it could use a little less sea breeze and a little more TLC on the peeling paint and cracked pavement of the parking lot.
“I can book my own room,” Ravinia said testily.
He didn’t know what the hell he was doing with her. It was like she was the daughter he’d never had and he felt responsible for her in a way that defied description. One minute she seemed streetwise and sly as a fox, the next naive as a lamb.
“Yeah, but will you?” he asked.
“I have money. I just don’t like using it.”
“I’m not leaving you on the street so you can sleep in the park.”
“Fine, fine. We’re here, aren’t we? I’ll take the room.”
He’d tried several other motels first, but she’d shaken her head and been completely obstinate until he’d pulled into the Sea Breeze, which was a few rungs down the ladder on luxury.
He held open the door and she swept under his arm, her back stiff. No one was at the desk and so Ravinia, spying a bell, rang it half a dozen times, slapping her palm on it so rapidly that it jumped and jangled and looked like it had a will of its own.
“Are you going to start tonight?” she asked, not looking at him.
“Looking for your cousin? No. I’m going to go home and have a drink and think for a while.”
“Where’s home?” She turned and looked at him with those blue-green eyes.
“About an hour away in good traffic, so most of the time an hour and a half away, maybe two.”
“But where?”
“Costa Mesa,” he said reluctantly. You should just lie to her.
“You live with anybody?”
“No. And I’m not planning to, either.”
“I wasn’t asking to move in,” she said tightly.
“Good. Because I don’t need a roommate, and if I did, I’d choose someone with better credentials than yours.”
“What do you know about my credentials?”
“Nothing. From what I can tell, you don’t have any.”
“I’m truthful, and I’m not crazy.”
“Good for you.”
“Slow down, slow down, honey!” A middle-aged woman in black sweats and bleached, spiky blond hair appeared. Waving Ravinia away from the bell, she glanced over at Rex and smiled. “You want a room?”
“She does,” he said. “Alone.”
“I have cash,” Ravinia told her in that straightforward way he was growing used to. “No credit card.”
The woman eyed Ravinia sourly. “Well, then you’re gonna have to put down a cash deposit, just in case, you know.”
“No. What do you mean?”
“Now, don’t get all riled up,” the woman advised, holding up her hands, palms out. “Just in case you skip out, that’s all I’m sayin’.”
“I’m not going to skip out,” Ravinia said huffily.
Rex had to fight the urge to put his own credit card down. What the hell was that all about? It wasn’t like him to want to fix a situation, but in Ravinia’s case, it was almost like she’d put him under some kind of spell that made him act out of his usual cynical character. Then again, according to Ravinia herself, a spell wasn’t that far outside of her or her family’s “gifts.” Oh, hell. He was starting to actually listen to her fantasies.
As she and the woman behind the reception counter hashed out the details of the transaction, Rex hung around, not leaving until the business between Ravinia and the Sea Breeze was concluded. After he saw that she was being handed a key, he made his escape by walking across the parking lot to his car. He didn’t get far.
She was right on his heels. “Wait up!” she called.
“What?” he asked, stopping short and turning to face her.
“I need a way to make money, and I could help you.”
“No.” He kept walking, but she stayed in step with him.
“I know what you’re like,” she announced, shifting her backpack from one shoulder to the other. “Tough on the outside, but all gooey and soft on the inside.”
“You don’t know anything about me.” He ignored the memory of their first meeting when he’d thought for just a second that she could see into his soul.
“You like me and you don’t know why because you’re basically suspicious and really don’t like anybody at first. I don’t blame you for that. I get it. And you want to think I’m a whack job, but you’re half-convinced I’m not.”
He dug his keys from his pocket, and using the remote, unlocked the car from a distance. But she didn’t stop.
“You won’t admit it, but you want me to help you. You weren’t as pissed off at me as you feel you should have been after I went into the Ivy and got information you didn’t. You’ve been looking for a partner and here I am.”
Rex’s mouth dropped open, more at her attitude than her accuracy. “How old are you? Twenty? Twenty-one?”
“Nineteen,” she admitted after a moment.
“For the love of God.”
“This was the best day you’ve had in a long time,” she insisted.
“You don’t know anything about me,” he repeated, not quite believing it himself.
Her chin inched up a notch and those intense eyes stared at him. “I know you were bored with your job and now you’re not.”
“I gotta go,” Rex said, the hairs on his arms lif
ting. “You’re damn eerie, you know that.”
“Yeah. It’s kind of a family trait.”
He held up his hands to ward her off and give himself some space as he reached the car. “I’ll look into your cousin’s whereabouts, I promise. See what I can find out.”
“Elizabeth Gaines.”
“Got it.”
“You have my cell number?” she called as he turned away.
“Yep.” He climbed into the rental and started the engine. As he backed around, then shoved the gears into drive and hit the gas, he saw her in the side-view mirror.
She hadn’t moved, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched him leave.
Chapter 12
Twenty minutes later, Ravinia stepped out of the shower and dried herself with one of the Sea Breeze’s thin towels. The room was foggy as the fan didn’t work, but she felt refreshed, her skin and hair clean, her mind already racing ahead to her next move.
As she swiped at the condensation on the mirror, she heard her cell phone ringing.
Naked, she ran to where she’d plugged it in and left it on the faux-wood desktop. Snatching it up, she looked at the screen. Rex already? Her eagerness was blunted when she saw it was a number she didn’t recognize. “Hello?” she answered cautiously.
“Ravinia?”
Aunt Catherine.
Ravinia felt more anxiety than elation. Though she really, really wanted to talk to her aunt, Ravinia also needed some time to process her day with Rex Kingston and everything she’d learned. Something was happening. She could feel herself being pulled in the right direction for the first time in a long while, as if some unseen presence was holding her hand and making sure she found the right path. Maybe I have a guardian angel.
“Did you get a cell phone?” Ravinia asked. She couldn’t hear the background noise she always associated with the Drift In Market, the store where Catherine usually used the phone, so it sounded as if her aunt was somewhere else.
“I’m using your sister’s,” she said primly.
“Ophelia? She’s got a cell phone?” That kind of pissed Ravinia off for reasons she couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was because Ophelia was the only one of her sisters at the lodge who was living in the twenty-first century. Or, more likely, it was Ophelia’s superior tone, the one she used as if she were somehow in charge—which, of course, she wasn’t. Ophelia had told Ravinia she’d gotten her driver’s license and she was all about modernizing the lodge, and that was all for the good, but she’d blithely gone and done all sorts of things—privileges—with nary a word to any of the rest of them, except, of course, Aunt Catherine. Ophelia had known how much Ravinia had wanted her own driver’s license and it was almost as if her older sister had been lording it over her.
“Yes.” Aunt Catherine was short. She hated being interrupted. “How are you doing? Are you all right?”
“Fine,” Ravinia said, eyeing her bleak surroundings, the stained blue carpet, faded bedspread that didn’t quite match the curtains, the TV that was about the same age as the one at the lodge. “I’m fine.” She unzipped her backpack with her free hand, finding her underwear.
“So, have you made any progress?”
“I made it to Santa Monica,” she said, struggling into her clothes. “I haven’t found Elizabeth yet, but I’ve got some ideas.”
“Ideas? Nothing concrete?”
“Not yet. But I haven’t been here long.” When her aunt didn’t respond, Ravinia asked, “Has anything changed? Have you heard from Silas or—”
“No. Not really.”
“What’s that mean?” Silas was her brother, the good one, the one she considered her friend, one of the few people in the world she trusted. Juggling the phone, she pulled on a pair of jeans.
“We haven’t been bothered. No one’s come here,” her aunt assured her. “But that doesn’t mean we’re safe, nor you, nor Elizabeth.” She sighed loudly. “I’m afraid it could be just the calm before the storm.”
Ravinia’s insides clenched. “But you’re still sure Elizabeth’s a target?”
A pause. “Yes,” Aunt Catherine whispered softly, her worry audible. “I just want to make sure she’s safe.”
“I’m working on it. Really. I don’t want anything bad to happen to her or anyone else,” Ravinia said, feeling her aunt’s urgency as if it were directly transmitted to her.
“Me neither. Please. Stay safe.”
Ravinia’s throat clogged at her aunt’s concern. She felt tears touch the back of her eyelids but pushed them back as she found a nearly clean long-sleeved T-shirt. “I’ve got this number now, so I can call you or Ophelia back.”
“Yes. Good. Phone when you find Elizabeth. Or if you just learn something.”
“I will.”
“And make it soon.” Aunt Catherine added, “Please,” as if hearing how demanding she sounded. “Be careful, Ravinia.”
“Will do,” Ravinia answered, hanging up and praying Rex was going to get on the job ASAP. She wiggled into her T-shirt, then walked to the window and peered through a slit in the curtains. Dusk had given way to night, but the darkness was kept at bay by the street lamps and security lights that cast bluish shadows over the parking lot in front of the units. In a weird way, this night-turned-day seemed more dangerous to Ravinia than the complete darkness that surrounded Siren Song at night. There, she heard the dull roar of the ocean in the distance, the rush of wind through the fir boughs, the pelting of rain in the crushing darkness, but there was a safety in the Stygian depths of the Pacific rain forest.
In the city, not so.
She felt an unlikely shiver run through her and for a second, she longed for the safety of her home, the tall walls surrounding Siren Song, the quiet hoots of the owls, the soft purr of bats’ wings, the familiar security of her family, her aunt and sisters surrounding her.
Steadfastly, she tamped those emotions deep into the back of her consciousness. No room for maudlin nostalgia or second-guessing. She had a job to do, a mission she embraced.
She let the curtains fall into place, wishing to high heaven tomorrow wasn’t Sunday because she wanted, no, she needed Rex Kingston on the job.
Sitting on the edge of her daughter’s bed, Elizabeth closed the book she’d been reading. Chloe was already out cold and snoring softly. Her daughter ran at full speed and slept so hard a cannon could practically shoot off next to her and she would sleep through it. “Good night,” Elizabeth whispered, kissing Chloe’s crown and drawing the cover over her shoulders. “Love you.”
Flipping off the light, then softly closing the door behind her, Elizabeth turned toward her own bedroom, then detoured to the third bedroom, which had been turned into Court’s den. A modern desk with a glass surface resting on curved metal legs sat in the center of the room. Upon the desk, next to the files she’d brought from the office, was her laptop. She ran a finger over its cover before glancing to the row of industrial black file cabinets that rested beside the window and against the wall. Court had kept the cabinets locked, but in the past few days she’d found the key and opened all of them one by one, searching quickly through the documents and finding nothing sensitive inside, at least as far as she could see.
She’d found piles of paid bills and various and sundry desk items—a stapler, a box of pens, paperclips, scissors, and such in the desk. One drawer was filled with stacks of unused printer paper, which fed the printer that sat atop a credenza across the room. The credenza wasn’t much more than two smaller file cabinets stuck together with a painted black metal top, but she remembered Court insisted on purchasing it despite its cost—a small fortune—and now the damned piece of office furniture had outlived him.
Something inside her broke and for a second, a few tears burned in her eyes, though she knew they were more for her small family, her dream of what it should be and not really for the man. The three of them, Court, Chloe, and her, had been a family once, if only briefly, though in truth, he’d never been much a part of it. Clearing her
throat, she brushed aside the single tear that had tracked down her cheek and concentrated at the task at hand.
A number of unpaid bills had come in over the last week and she’d tucked them aside as she hadn’t felt like tackling them. She sat down at the desk, slit open the envelopes, and laid the bills on the desk beside the work files, then switched on her computer. Court’s laptop had been with him the day he’d died, and though she’d asked for it, the police hadn’t given it to her yet. They clearly believed there was foul play involved in the accident, though nobody, including Detective Thronson, would come out completely and say so.
Elizabeth paused, her hand poised over the keys as she thought about the police. It was bothersome and aggravating and she couldn’t help but feel a low-grade fear whenever she thought about Detective Thronson’s call. A woman who looks like you was at Tres Brisas and in some kind of race or game on the freeway with Court and Whitney Bellhard.
Elizabeth adjusted the desk chair, thinking about that. Was there a possibility that the accident had been more about Whitney than Court? Whitney’s husband Peter had admitted to following them to Rosarito Beach, but no one was saying anything about that. Maybe he was more upset about their relationship than Elizabeth had been. In life, Whitney had been pushy and tough. She’d rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. If foul play had been involved, if a crime had been committed, could Whitney have been the target, and the horrible deaths of Court and Whitney the result of that?
Elizabeth sat back in her chair. Court had been at the wheel, yes, but if someone had been chasing them down, forcing an accident . . .
A blond woman in a dark SUV.
Elizabeth almost bought into her new theory when two faces—Mazie’s and Officer Unfriendly’s—flitted across the screen of her mind. They, too, had died violently. . . seemingly because of her. She shook her head, putting Court’s accident and the reasons behind it aside for the moment and concentrated on what she could do, which was get her life back on track, starting with the finances.