by M. Z. Kelly
She finally looked back at me. “All I know is some rumors I heard ‘bout the guy. Word has it he’s some kinda nutcase who thinks he’s here to save people.”
“You mean, like a religious figure?”
“Sorta, but this guy’s train has gone off the tracks and over a cliff. I heard he’s a bad dude who steps on anyone who gets in his way.”
“Maybe your friend Mel told him what she thought, and it cost her big time,” Natalie suggested.
“Maybe.”
David Baxter had said something about Mel secretly investigating the group. Maybe she was planning to go to the authorities when she was killed. The more I thought about that, the more I was convinced that Marilyn Peters was the key to solving our case.
My thoughts were interrupted when I got a call from Joe Dawson. I excused myself and went into another room to take the call.
“Just seeing how your move is coming along, Buttercup.”
“It’s gone really well, if you don’t mind the smell of burning camel dung and jars full of body parts.” I took a moment and told him about our ghostbusting experience and what we found in the basement.
He laughed. “Maybe you need another house cleansing, only this time use a bulldozer.”
“Not a bad idea. So, what’s new with you?”
“I’ll be in La La Land tomorrow for a meeting. I thought we could have dinner if that works.”
I hesitated, knowing that Joe asking me to dinner was his way of wanting to become more involved. Despite that, we were friends, and I saw no way to refuse the invitation. “Just text me and let me know when and where to meet.”
After ending the call, I came back into the living room and mentioned Joe had called.
Natalie said, “Sounds like GI Joe isn’t givin’ up. Does he know ‘bout Ross?”
I took a seat again. “Yes, I’ve made it clear that we’re just friends.”
Mo looked at Natalie. “You know what a guy friend is?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s a dude who’s waitin’ for an opening to jump your bones.”
Natalie agreed, telling me, “Friendship with the opposite sex is like believin’ in Santa Claus.”
I sighed. “Maybe you’re right, but the truth is I’m not sure where my relationship with Ross is going anyway.”
Natalie got up and headed for the hall closet. “I think Kate needs a session with Dr. Doris.” In a moment, she returned with a life-sized cutout of Nana. “Any advice for Kate?” she asked the cardboard version of our former landlord.
I laughed as Natalie worked her hand behind the figure and Nana’s mouth moved while she tried to imitate our elderly friend’s voice. “She just needs to get laid and ask questions later.”
“So, Nana’s agreed to be your Dr. Doris,” I said.
Natalie left the Nana likeness and came back over to us. “She’s got experience from doin’ that TV show ‘bout sex, so unless you change your mind, we may have to go with her.”
“There’s no way that’s going to happen.”
I spent the rest of my day putting the finishing touches on my room, before agreeing to join my friends for cocktails. Natalie’s Gutless Gophers were better and stronger than I expected. I went to bed early and slept like a baby until two in the morning. That’s when I heard a growling sound and sat up in bed. I saw that Bernie had trotted over to my closet and was standing at the door like he had something or someone cornered.
I turned the lamp on and went over to him. My dog was fixated on my closet and continuing to growl. “What’s going on, buddy?”
Bernie whined and continued to stare at the closet. I took a breath, tried to steady my nerves, opened the closet door, and nearly fainted.
“What the hell?” I screamed.
Two red eyes were glowing in the darkness, then strobe lights flashed, and there was the creepy sound of demented laughter. I had an errant thought that maybe the ghosts of Maurice and Lola really had come to visit me.
I stumbled back, looking for my gun on the nightstand as Bernie barked. I found my gun and went back over to the closet.
I aimed my gun at the glowing lights, running my hand along the interior of the closet wall, feeling for the light switch. When the light came on, I saw there was a trapdoor at the top of my closet. Then I saw a man peering down from the opening in the ceiling, working a puppet on a string with lights affixed to it.
“Forgive me,” the man said, tipping his hat at me. “I was hoping to scare you off.”
THIRTY
“My name is Otto,” the intruder said. “I’m the man of the house. I apologize for the lights and sound effects, but I thought there might be a chance you would all leave and afford me the measure of privacy I’m accustomed to.”
I looked at my friends, who were sitting on the living room sofa across from the man I’d found in my closet. I’d gotten Natalie and Mo out of bed as I’d taken Otto downstairs at gunpoint.
“Did you know about him?” I asked my friends, motioning to the man with my gun.
They rubbed their eyes and shook their heads, maybe still feeling the effects of the Gutless Gophers.
Our unwelcome guest was a short bald man, probably in his fifties, with a compact, rotund body that looked like an egg. He was formally dressed in black and wore a bowler, maybe the outfit du jour for someone haunting your attic. He reminded me of a manservant I’d seen in some old movie. While he seemed harmless, I couldn’t get over the fact that he’d been hiding in my closet and pretending to be a ghost. Bernie was apparently less convinced he wasn’t a threat. He continued to fix his eyes on our guest and growl.
“What do you mean you’re the man of the house?” I asked the odd little man.
When he spoke, his speech was formal, like maybe he’d gone to one of those eastern boarding schools in his youth. “I was hired by the Alscott family that occupied the dwelling after that unfortunate incident with the Cravens. When things didn’t work out so well...” He took a breath and shook his head, “...I ended up staying. There’s a small room in the attic, where I have my belongings.”
“What happened to the Alscotts?” Mo asked. Her dark eyes were wide, like she was still trying to process my finding a man hiding in our attic.
“I make it a practice never to discuss my previous employers’ circumstances, other than to say they were forced to leave in a hurry. I will grant you the same level of confidentiality.”
“Just so you know, Mr. Otto,” Natalie said. “We don’t got any money to hire you.”
“I’m happy to work gratis until such time as your means allows for my compensation.”
Natalie looked at me. “What the hell did he say?”
“We don’t have to pay him, if we let him live here.”
Mo wagged a finger at him, apparently now fully conscious and coming to grips with events. “How do we know you’re not just some homeless guy who’s been living in our attic, pretending to be a spook?”
“He might even be plannin’ to slaughter us in our sleep,” Natalie added.
“I can assure you that my references are impeccable,” Otto said. He removed an envelope from his pocket and handed it over to Mo. “Please feel free to contact anyone on the list.” His intense, dark eyes fixed on Natalie. “As for your concerns about me harming you, I can assure you I abhor violence in any form.”
Mo took a moment to glance through his references. She then said, “Here’s the deal, Otto. You can be our houseman, providing you do all our domestic chores. That includes the laundry, cooking, and poop-scooping after Bernie.”
Otto’s gaze found my dog, and he took a breath. “If you insist.”
I was about to take exception to the arrangements they were making when my phone rang. As I answered, I saw that the call was from Leo.
“We found Mel’s sister,” Leo said.
“Where’s she been hiding out?”
“I would ask her, but she’s not talking.”
“Why is that?”
“She’s dead.”
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br /> THIRTY-ONE
“The house is on a hill,” the man, who said his name was Carson, told Haley. “It has a magnificent view of the city. I think you’ll be impressed.”
Haley smiled, reached over and touched his thigh as he drove them into the Hollywood Hills. “I have no doubt it will be wonderful.”
While she expected the house would be one of those fancy mansions, Haley was unprepared for the dazzling glass structure they stopped at a few minutes later. “It...it looks like it’s made of glass.”
Carson parked his car. “It’s called Highpoint, and it is made entirely of glass. It’s been on the cover of several magazines over the years.”
Haley got out of the car and looked up, still marveling at the massive structure. It reminded her of a church she’d once seen on TV, made of glass. She wished Lizzy could see it.
“What are you thinking about?” Carson asked.
Haley met his eyes. “I was just thinking about my sister. She would be amazed by the house.”
He took her hand. “Let me show you around.”
Carson gave her a tour of the home, telling her that he was an architect, and pointing out all the unique features. After walking through the home, her companion opened a series of folding glass doors that made the living room seem like it was outside. Haley then saw the swimming pool shimmering below the deck. It was one of those pools that seemed to disappear onto the horizon.
“Wow, this is really beautiful,” she said after they walked over to the pool.
Her date took her in his arms. “No, you’re beautiful.” He bent down and kissed her. After the kiss ended, he whispered what he had in mind.
Haley pushed away from him, sickened by what he’d done and said.
“What’s the matter?”
She took a step back from him, reaching into her purse. The timbre of her voice lowered, taking on an accusatory tone. “I know what you did.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Monsters.”
Now he took a step back. “I don’t understand.”
Haley pulled the scalpel out of her purse. “You’re the monster who murdered my sister. Now you’re going to die.”
THIRTY-TWO
I left the house in a hurry while my friends were still in the process of outlining Otto’s duties as our manservant. Hiring someone who was living in our attic and pretending to be a ghost was about the last thing I would ever consider, but I had a feeling Natalie and Mo wouldn’t be able to pass up the idea of having their own live-in servant.
Bernie and I met up with Leo in the Hollywood Station parking lot, where we got an unmarked car. As we pulled out of the parking lot, he told me what he knew about Marilyn Peters’ homicide.
“Olivia’s at the scene now, with Darby and Woody on their way. From what I know, she was found in her bedroom by her friend, Marla Laurent. She’d been shot in the head.”
“Someone must have not wanted her talking about Mel’s homicide.”
“Maybe Laurent can tell us something.” We discussed possible motives before Leo asked about my move. “Did you get settled in?”
“Yes, except for the body parts in our cellar and a man living in the attic.”
His smile widened. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish.” I took a few minutes, filling him in on the move, the jars full of body parts in the basement, and our upstairs roommate. “I’m a little worried Natalie and Mo are actually going to hire Otto as our manservant.”
“Otto, huh? You might want to run some background checks, make sure that’s his real name, and he doesn’t have a hidden agenda.”
“Not a bad idea. It might be that he’s actually Bobby Craven’s insane uncle.”
When we got to Marilyn Peters’ house in the Hollywood Hills, we met up with Olivia before checking out the crime scene. It was a gruesome sight. Peters was wearing her nightgown, lying in her blood-soaked bed. She’d been shot through the head, but there was no sign of a gun. I had the impression someone had surprised her, probably woke her up, and engaged in an unprovoked attack.
Dr. Larry Randolph had already done a preliminary examination of the scene and told us his findings. “She might have been asleep when the attack occurred. She suffered a single penetrating gunshot wound to the left occipital region. She’s probably been dead four to six hours. We’ll be able to recover the round during the autopsy.”
“Any sign of defensive wounds?” Olivia asked.
“Nothing apparent, but we’ll do the usual microscopic analysis and take scrapings, just to be sure.”
I looked over at Kathy Maitland, who had her crew already setting up. “Anything, so far?”
She shook her head. “No sign of forced entry. The front door was unlocked, so somebody either had a key or simply walked in unannounced.”
“Let’s see what her friend has to say, then canvass the neighborhood,” Olivia told us.
Darby and Woody had arrived and followed us into the living room, where Marla Laurent was with a uniformed officer. Marilyn Peters’ attractive friend had been crying as she asked Olivia, “Who could have done this?”
“We were hoping you might help us with that,” Olivia said, taking a seat next to her. “Tell us how you found Marilyn’s body.”
“I’d been staying here because...” She used a tissue, dabbing her eyes. “...Marilyn was still having trouble dealing with everything. I went to a concert with my boyfriend and got home a little after one. I saw the light was on in her bedroom, and...” She didn’t go on, her emotions taking over.
“Did you see anyone or anything out of the ordinary when you got home?”
She shook her head. “No, but the front door was unlocked, which was strange, because Marilyn always locks up at night. I didn’t see anyone.”
“Who might have wanted to harm her?” Darby asked, using his best interrogation voice.
Laurent’s watery eyes found him. “I have no idea.”
“What about the Society?”
“The what?” Her pretty hazel eyes shifted, looking at Olivia.
“We think Marilyn might have been involved with a group called the Society,” Olivia said. “Their leader goes by the name Lazarus. Did she ever mention him to you?”
Laurent shook her head. “No. Marilyn was...” She took a breath. “I think she was seeing someone, but she didn’t tell me who.”
“Why is that?”
“She was very private, kept things to herself.”
“Did she ever mention that her sister was involved with a man named David Baxter? He’s a former police officer who knew about Mel’s involvement with the Society.”
She shook her head. “Like I said, Marilyn didn’t share a lot.”
“Like maybe her sister had a relationship with a bunch of gigolos,” Darby said, apparently deciding on a different tactic.
Laurent looked perplexed. “What are you talking about?”
“Mel was seeing male prostitutes. Maybe her sister shared that same interest.”
“Prostitutes?” Laurent looked at Olivia again.
“Men she met on the Internet,” Olivia explained. “Apparently one night stands.”
Laurent shook her head and exhaled. “I don’t know anything about that.”
We spent the remainder of the night processing the crime scene. As the sun came up, Leo and Woody volunteered to talk to the neighbors. While they were gone, Olivia expressed her frustration to me and Darby. “We’ve got to find this Lazarus person. Both murders might be connected to him.”
“I still don’t think we can rule out Reginald Dunbar, since he had a motive,” I said.
Darby’s brow tightened as he looked at me. “You’re way off base. We know from Mel’s computer that she and Marilyn were involved with this Lazarus nut. We find him, and it’s a matter of time until we find the motive.”
“Maybe. I just don’t think we should rule anyone out at this point.”
“If it wasn’t Lazarus, there’s still t
he prostitute angle.”
I decided that Darby was like the wind, you were never sure which way it was going to blow until you were outside. “How would Mel dating men she met online be tied to Marilyn’s death?”
He shrugged. “Maybe Mel confided something to Marilyn about one of the guys she was seeing, the guy wasn’t happy about it, and it cost them both.”
Olivia exhaled. “We’ll need to continue to follow up with Dunbar and the list of men Mel was seeing and see if there was any connection to Marilyn, but in the meantime...” Her dark gaze moved off as her phone rang. “I want Lazarus found. I’m going to put Jenny and Molly on that.”
We waited while Olivia took the phone call. She listened for a minute, jotted down an address, then ended the called. “Let’s roll. It looks like it was a busy night. Our Wonderland killer may have been at work again.”
THIRTY-THREE
Olivia asked Leo and Woody to remain at the Marilyn Peters crime scene, while she, Darby, and I drove farther up into the hills to a landmark residence known as Highpoint. As the glimmering glass structure came into view, Darby said, “What’s that old saying about people in glass houses?”
“They shouldn’t throw stones,” I said from the back seat with Bernie. “Especially at one another.”
The pudgy detective was looking out the window as Olivia pulled into the driveway. “Full moon over Hollywood, explains why both cases went south on the same night. Joseph Wambaugh called it a ‘blood moon’.”
“What do we know about our victim?” I asked Olivia as we parked in the circular driveway on one of the highest points in the Hollywood Hills.
“Carson Wakefield, a wealthy architect from Solano County, who was looking to buy the property. He had permission from the Realtor to tour the residence on his own. One of the security guards let him inside with a young woman who generally matches the description of our suspect on Wonderland. An hour later the guard found Wakefield’s body floating in the pool off the backyard deck.”
“Nice little place,” I said as we moved up to the front door.