Emerald

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  The light on top of the tramway up Mt. San Jacinto beckoned us for miles, like a blue star. When we reached Palm Springs, the mountain already cast its shadow across the town. Soft lights glowed upward through palm trees that lined the streets, and when we crossed Palm Canyon Drive its bright shop windows shone like jewel boxes in the dark.

  At the gatehouse, the man called Gack sat in his car waiting, and he gave me a knowing grin as we drove by. We followed the road through the upper gate, to find Wally’s car parked on the bricks of the terrace. I held out my hand to Jason.

  “Thank you for a beautiful day.” Feeble words, but all I could offer in gratitude.

  “Thank you.” Then he added, “Take care of yourself, Carol.”

  For all our edgy exchanges, a certain fellowship had been established between Jason and me. Perhaps we were on the same side, after all.

  Helsa took the two boys in charge and told me that Linda had gone out. Miss Arlen had left word that I was to come to see her the moment I arrived.

  Did that mean she’d forgiven me? I wondered. And why was Wally here, if Linda was away? I hurried upstairs, to find Monica’s carved door ajar, and when I tapped she called to me to come in.

  I walked into her living room, totally unprepared. Owen Barclay was sitting on the sofa beside her.

  TEN

  Owen stood up, bowing with mock courtesy, and Monica smiled a warm welcome—which I wouldn’t have expected, considering the way we’d fast parted. I could only stare at them both, stunned and shocked.

  Monica was in full “costume” again, dressed in something of filmy azure, and once more wearing the chestnut wig that had seen service in Mirage. She seemed younger, and strangely eager, as though new hope had come unexpectedly into her life.

  “Ah, Carol! I’m glad you’re home. Linda has gone off somewhere—such a nuisance!—but her young man was kind enough to bring Mr. Barenklovich to see me.” She turned to Owen. “This is my great-niece, Miss Hamilton. Carol is going to do a biography about me. Wally, do come in here and explain to Carol.”

  I was still too stunned to speak, and I looked around to see that Wally Davis stood beyond the glass door to the balcony, talking to Ralph. He came cheerfully into the room to greet me, closing the door carefully behind him. I saw why at once. All three cats had been shut outside on the balcony, and I noted Owen’s look of aversion in their direction as Wally came in. Monica did well to protect her pets.

  Moving carefully, I walked to a chair and sat down. I’d been completely betrayed, and I still felt too alarmed to say anything. My one clear thought was to hide my inner trembling from Owen. He would know very well how frightened I was, but I didn’t mean to show it outwardly.

  “Hi, Carol,” Wally greeted me. “Saxon sent Mr. Barenklovich to me, since he was finding it difficult to see Miss Arlen. I phoned Linda this morning and she made the arrangements.”

  Monica broke in delightedly. “Carol, what do you think! Mr. Barenklovich proposes to buy my Beverly Hills house!”

  There was a tightness in my chest as I stared at Owen. He looked as he always did—handsome, with his tightly curled gray hair, penetrating dark eyes, and a mouth that would never again seem anything but cruel to me. As always, he had the lithe, predatory look of a tiger on the prowl. Monica had no idea of the danger, but his overpowering presence was making her behave in a keyed-up way. Usually, she was in control, but with Owen present, everyone snapped to attention, a little off-balance.

  He smiled at me sardonically. “I’d like to tell you what I have in mind, Miss—uh—Hamilton.”

  I looked away from him, focusing on the iris that lay across Monica’s knees. Not for a moment longer could I bear to watch him, but I had to hear whatever it was he was planning. I had to listen above the quick beating of my heart.

  “I’ve needed a West Coast house for a long time,” he went on blandly. “My agents out here have been looking around, and when they told me that Monica Arlen’s famous home was on the market, I flew right out to make an offer. I’ve suggested three million dollars.”

  A fit of coughing shook me, and I was glad to be sitting down. It was true that even in a lowering market, houses in the Los Angeles area could sell for still larger sums. But not one of these white elephants like Cadenza, no matter who had lived in it.

  “Wally, get Carol a glass of water,” Monica said, regarding me kindly. “Isn’t it wonderful, dear? I’ve been wanting to sell the house for a long time, and I do think Mr. Barenklovich’s offer is very generous. I can’t wait to tell Linda what has happened.”

  With an effort I found my tongue, and when I spoke it was with an intensity that made them all look at me.

  “Don’t believe any of this,” I told her. “It’s true that his name was Barenklovich when he was born, but it’s Owen Barclay now, and you’ve all been had!” I flashed an angry glance at Wally. “Owen is my ex-husband and Keith’s father. Aunt Monica, I came here to be protected from this man.”

  Monica started to fall apart quite visibly. The hand resting on the iris trembled, and her deep-set eyes looked suddenly wild. Wally’s mouth had dropped open, and Ralph, watching through the glass, came quickly into the room. Even the cats were staring in, though they stayed safely outdoors, beyond Owen’s malevolent reach.

  “Hey, Miss Arlen,” Ralph said. “It’s okay. You’re all right now. What do you care who he is, if he pays you a lot of money for the house?”

  “Exactly,” Owen said. “That I was once married to Carol hasn’t any bearing on anything. I’ve made you a genuine offer, Miss Arlen.”

  He sounded utterly and completely convincing, though I didn’t think for a moment that he really meant to hand out three million dollars for a Hollywood mansion that no one wanted.

  Under Ralph’s ministering, Monica rallied and spoke to Owen with that impressive dignity she could command.

  “Thank you for coming to see me. I’ll have to think about this. Please give me a little time.”

  “All the time you want,” Owen said cheerfully, and moved toward the door. “I’ll leave now, but I’m staying with friends in Rancho Mirage, and I’ll get in touch with you when you’re less upset. Of course my offer stands.”

  He beckoned to Wally and went out the door. Wally, still in a state of confusion, gave me a displeased look and hurried off in Owen’s wake. I ran after them both. If Owen made the slightest move toward Keith …

  He didn’t. I stood rigidly at a terrace door downstairs, and watched as Owen got into Wally’s car and they drove away. Keith and Jonah were safe in the kitchen with Helsa, busily licking a frosting bowl, unaware of Owen’s alarming presence. What I was to do now, I didn’t know, but first I must return to Monica.

  I found her sitting on the sofa weeping helplessly, with Ralph beside her, offering a shoulder. The very sight of him gave me a chill. It had surely been his hands in the dark water last night, pulling me down. Who else could it have been?

  I sat on Monica’s other side, and patted her arm. A cruel trick had been played on her, and the result was devastating.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” I said. “But you mustn’t believe anything Owen Barclay tells you. He’s trying to use you to get at me. You’d better not see him again, Aunt Monica. He’ll only hurt you in the long run.”

  She looked up from her weeping. “He seemed such a nice man—a charming man. And I know he has all that money. Three million dollars won’t even mean much to him, and it means everything to me right now.”

  I thought of something that might reach her. “He’s far from nice, though he can seem to be charming. I saw him kill a kitten once by throwing it from our apartment terrace.”

  She was as shocked as I’d expected her to be. “How awful! How wicked! He did seem to dislike cats, so I had Ralph put them on the balcony.”

  “That was good—to put them out there, where he couldn’t hurt them.”

  The balcony door was open now, and Annabella, followed by the Persians, stepped gingerly i
nto the room—as though she walked on burning coals. Her fur stood up along her back, her tail was twice its size, and even her ears looked angry.

  Annabella leaped onto Monica’s knees and the white cats rubbed their heads against her legs, all three offering more comfort than either Ralph or I could give.

  “Just the same,” Ralph said, “this man wants to buy your house. You don’t have to see him again to pick up his offer.”

  “Don’t listen to Ralph, Aunt Monica,” I said hotly. “He doesn’t know anything about Owen. Besides, I don’t think you can trust Ralph. I think he was the one who pushed me into the pool last night. He tried to drown me!”

  Monica’s face seemed to crumple all over again, and she flung out her hands with a wild gesture that the old Arlen would never have used. “I’m so awfully sorry about that, Carol. I’ve been sorry ever since it happened. Sometimes I’m just too impulsive.”

  I stopped patting her arm and stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

  “I only wanted him to give you a scare—that’s all. I wanted him to make you go away and leave me alone. I could tell that you were going to do my book all wrong. You were just going to tell the old lies about me over and over again.”

  I caught her flailing hands and held them tightly. “Did you tell Ralph to push me into the pool? To drown me?”

  “No—no! Of course I didn’t! All I told him was to give you a good scare so you’d want to leave. That was all. I never thought of the pool, and I never wanted to harm you, Carol.”

  “Ralph?” I challenged.

  He didn’t trouble to speak to me directly. “Miss Hamilton’s crazy. I never went near that pool last night, until I heard her yell. I wrecked a perfectly good watch jumping in after her—and look what thanks I get.”

  I knew he was lying, but in spite of her own words, Monica believed him, and suddenly she was furious with me.

  “You’ve spoiled everything! Ever since you came, you’ve caused nothing but unhappiness. So now you can take your troubles and your child and go somewhere else. Just go away—now!”

  Ralph grinned at me triumphantly. “You better go, like she says.”

  I stood up to face him. “I’m going to talk to Linda about this. And if you lay one more finger on me I’ll call the police. Or she will. You don’t want the police asking questions, do you?”

  He made an effort to shrug off my words, but I’d reached him. I didn’t think he’d try anything more—for a while at least.

  Monica was weeping into her handkerchief again, but I had no more comfort to offer her. I walked out of her apartment, leaving her to her cats and Ralph. I felt thoroughly shaken, and not a little terrified.

  As I followed the upper passageway, I found the door to Ralph’s room ajar, and I looked in. He was my enemy now and out in the open, so I wanted to know all I could learn about him.

  His room had an almost spartan appearance, its only decoration the rifles and handguns displayed above the bed. He would be a collector of lethal weapons. I went past quickly, feeling a little sick.

  I wished Linda would come home. She had helped Wally make the arrangements for Owen’s visit, and we had some serious talking to do. Owen had found exactly the right approach to Monica, and had cut into the heart of my defense with one clever stroke. What was worse, his identity might not matter in the least to Monica, if she chose to believe that he would buy her house for all that money.

  Nevertheless, I wouldn’t pack up and leave right away. My terror was laced with anger that made me feel stubborn. This was exactly what Owen wanted—to smoke me out of Monica’s house, so that I’d be at his mercy. When Linda returned we’d decide what should be done. I wanted to believe that she too had been fooled. Besides, an hour from now, Monica’s feelings toward me might change again. There was still the book she wanted me to write and that might keep me here.

  As for Ralph, I must simply be on guard against him, and he wasn’t clever enough to know much else but the use of force. He would have enjoyed pushing me into the water and making me think I might drown. But he had also pulled me out in time, and he wouldn’t go so far as really killing me. There’d be no profit for him in that.

  Moving idly, seeking something to distract me, I went into the Arlen room, where Linda had collected so much material about Arlen and Scott. Without much interest, I began to look through the files. I needed something powerful to quiet my racing heart and jangled nerves.

  A large folder on Saxon Scott caught my attention, and I took it out and sat in the red chair. With an effort, I made myself concentrate. For the first time, I learned that Saxon’s real name was Crofton Scott, and that he’d worked under that name in a few roles on Broadway. He’d made no great stir until he’d come to Hollywood. Even then, he hadn’t been noticed particularly until Monica asked for him as a leading man. By that time she’d made several successful pictures, and the studio gave her what she wanted. Crofton had changed his first name to Saxon, and once they began making films together, he’d emerged as an actor to be respected in his own right, to say nothing of becoming a new heartthrob for the country. The rest was movie history.

  It was curious that after so many years of silence, Saxon should be making a gesture in Monica’s direction, even to the point of phoning her. I must see him soon, if I was going to stay—if I was really to write Monica’s story.

  When I’d replaced the folder in its file, I started looking at titles on the nearest shelf. One book was about the great tragedies and scandals of Hollywood, beginning with the Fatty Arbuckle affair, continuing with Mabel Normand, and on to Paul Bern, who had killed himself soon after marrying Jean Harlow. Even the Olivier-Leigh story was here, but the book wasn’t recent, and it ended before Marilyn Monroe’s death.

  Searching the index, I found Arlen and Scott listed, and turned to the page number, only to discover that the entire chapter had been torn out. Just ragged edges showed where the pages had been. I was standing there with the book in my hands when I heard a car coming up the mountain. Linda had come home. Carrying the mutilated volume, I went into her office and sat down to wait.

  In a few moments she breezed in cheerfully. “Oh, good—there you are! I’ve some interesting things to tell you. How was your visit to Jason’s ranch?”

  “Fine,” I said. That wasn’t what interested me most now. “We do need to talk right away, Linda. About that man you allowed Wally to bring here to see Monica—”

  “Mr. Barenklovich? How did they get along? Wally told me what he has in mind—to buy the Beverly Hills house. I think it’s wonderful. You can’t imagine how hard it is to move those old Hollywood mansions these days. I wonder what sort of offer he’s made.”

  “Listen to me,” I said. “It’s not wonderful. Mr. Barenklovich happens to be Owen Barclay, my ex-husband and Keith’s father. What you did, Linda, was to invite the man I’m trying to escape straight into this house!”

  For a moment she looked as Wally had, with her mouth open, but she collected herself quickly, threw off her shoulder bag, and dropped into the chair behind her desk.

  “Carol! How awful! I didn’t dream … He must have fooled Wally completely, and then I bought it too. What happened? Is he still here?”

  “No, he’s gone. I told Monica who he is, but Owen said the offer still stands, and he means to get in touch with her later.”

  “I’m sorry, Carol. Truly I am. How did Monica take all this?”

  “It’s upset her, of course. She’s ordered me out of the house again. And now that it’s no longer safe here …”

  “Of course it’s safe! Now that we know who this man is, he can’t possibly get back in.”

  “There’s more,” I said, and told her about the directions Monica had given Ralph—to frighten me so I’d leave. “Only, after he’d pushed me in the water, he followed his own brutal instincts and tried to torment me. Linda, if anything else happens to me, you’re to go straight to the police. I’ve told him you’ll do that, so perhaps he’ll l
eave me alone.”

  To my astonishment, Linda began to laugh. She choked on the sound immediately and apologized. “I’m sorry, Carol. It’s just that I’m so relieved.”

  “Relieved?”

  Again she apologized. “Oh, I know how that sounds. But I was so upset about what happened. So afraid that someone had managed to come in from outside that I’ve been a little crazy with worry. I want to protect Monica, as well as you, you know. That’s my main job.”

  Not merely a job, I thought—it was her career, her purpose in life, and I didn’t think that was a healthy way for her to live. For the first time, I was beginning to understand her brother’s concern.

  “Ralph we can handle,” she said. “I really am relieved.”

  “Did you have the pool searched for Monica’s emerald?”

  “Yes. I went out there with Ralph this morning and we both couldn’t see a thing on the bottom of the pool. He dove in and searched, but he didn’t come up with anything.”

  More ramifications. If Ralph had pushed me in the pool, then he could have pulled the ring from my finger. So now of course it wouldn’t be found. And that was terrible to contemplate.

  “We simply can’t lose that ring,” Linda went on. “I haven’t dared to tell Monica that it’s missing. You’re sure you were wearing it last night, Carol?”

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  She was silent again, and I waited. “You know,” she said at last, “if your ex-husband would really buy that house, it would solve all Monica’s problems for a while. How much did he offer?”

  My exasperation sounded in my voice. “The offer was for three million dollars. But it doesn’t mean a thing. He won’t buy it. He’ll just stall and keep trying to see her. Then she’ll let him in again, and—”

  “Not necessarily. I can fix it so that any further transactions take place away from the house. Not even Monica has to see him.”