"I was on my way over here when you phoned, remember that?"
"Ah, yes, your card on the table . . . I only meant to find out if she had spoken again to you . . . and now the stalker . . . I am not sure what to think."
"Don't leave out the phone calls." The Detective did not mention the delivery of dead roses and Day of the Dead dolls. He passed his hand through the shallow desk drawer and picked up Sylvia's rhinestone- encrusted cigarette holder. "Your wife doesn't smoke, correct?" Andre confirmed that. "She did the wash?"
"What?"
"There's a lot of quarters in the drawer."
"Oh, yes. She likes doing laundry. There is one here, just below. You find me somewhat distracted, I'm afraid, Detective . . . Collins. But isn't the computer a hopeful sign? I believe she was writing some sort of book; she may have wanted only to do that. You know, get away to work?" The Detective would have said, why not say so, why all the mystery, but Andre's cell phone rang for perhaps the tenth time. He looked at the screen. "I have to . . . Carola, will you take this for me? Dammit. It's Jonas Campion. . . ."
Carola ran up to Andre. She took the ringing phone from his hand. "Should I say Ardennes is missing?"
"Merde. No. Tell him, tell him— stall, say there is a problem; no, don't say that. Say I am on another call; say things are moving along, I will get back to him." Carola nodded and walked to the sitting room with Andre's phone. "You see, if the press gets hold of all this . . . that was the production company head, Jonas Campion." He pointed toward Carola on his phone. "The point is, we do not know she's gone . . . missing."
"This Campion wants Ms. Thrush to replace the lead, that's what you said earlier; do I understand correctly?"
"I want her in the role."
"She told me she no longer acts."
Andre eyed the Detective as if seeing him for the first time: the essence of manly handsome. "Ardennes Thrush is at her best potential right now. The part is a silk glove tailor- sewn for her."
"I see."
"Do you?"
The Detective, unseen, slipped Sylvia's cigarette holder into his pocket and closed the desk drawer. "Inconvenient as the news might be, Mr. Lucerne, I think your wife may be in real trouble."
The first look of genuine concern crossed Andre's face, as if the situation had slipped out of his control. That was the way Detective Collins would describe his expression. "I'll file a missing- persons report if you think that will help," Andre said. The Detective nodded.
Back in the sitting room, Detective Collins asked Andre to retrieve his laptop out of his car. They would look up Ardennes Thrush's filmography, find out who'd worked on her last films, and try to locate the name of the production person who'd taken her to Indio. Andre wanted to send Carola, but the Detective said he wanted a word with her. He didn't want a word— more to take a reading. They waited while Andre went out to his car, the silence between them as thick as wet felt. Detective Collins did not have the sense Carola was up to anything, at least not regarding Ardennes directly.
"You're friendly with Ms. Thrush?" he asked.
Carola smiled. "I admire her! She's a great actress—"
Andre burst into the room, the computer held under his
arm. He'd hurried up the steps from the parking lot and was breathing hard. "Look, Detective Collins, I checked; her car is gone. I don't see where we are going at this point. If she did go to Indio, or somewhere to be alone, to think, as her phone message— why not let it go at that?"
"That would satisfy you?" Andre was quiet. "What company did she rent her car with?"
Carola had taken Andre's computer and set it on the table, and was waiting for it to boot up. She looked up at the two men. "I can answer that. We all use Enterprise."
"Did the film rent her car?"
"No," Carola said, "but Enterprise may have given her our group discount. The lot is over on Ivar Avenue."
The Detective nodded. The lot was near the diner where he and Ardennes had had lunch. "I'll have to go back to my precinct to clear this case with my captain. Get some blue on board."
"You are going to bring in more police? Aren't we getting a bit carried away?"
"What would you suggest, Mr. Lucerne; we pour ourselves a smoky single malt, sit back and wait for your wife to walk in the door?" He looked at his watch, then at Andre, his eyes revealing nothing.
At that awkward moment Fits showed up. He knocked twice and rang the bell. Carola looked at the Detective, who nodded and slipped out of sight behind the bedroom door.
" Hello there, cutie," Fits said, eyeing Carola when she opened up. He saw Andre and walked past her. "Mr. Lucerne, I'm a friend of Ardennes's, an actor who has enjoyed your work."
Fits had come from the set. He wore his usual loose clothes, a kind of urban- cowboy- biker look, his graying hair long and cha otic. He still had face makeup on. To Andre's amused stare, he added, "I came from work. My character's a ruffian— with a good heart."
"Matthew Fitzgerald, if I am not mistaken," Andre said, smiling broadly. He was looking Fits over. "I wonder we haven't worked together."
"I wonder the same."
The Detective stepped out from behind the door. Both men turned to face him.
Andre took over. "Mr. Fitzgerald, this is Detective Collins—"
"Everyone knows me as Fits," Fits said, nodding to the cop. " Quite a little fete going on here. Is something the matter, Detective?"
Detective Collins lowered his eyelids halfway. "What brings you to the party?"
"I came to see Ardennes. I didn't expect a crowd."
"Fits, this is my AD, Carola," said Andre; he seemed to want to control the conversation.
"Pretty," Fits said. "So, ah, what's with the convention?"
"Will you step into the bedroom, Mr., ah, Fits?"
"We've hardly met, Detective . . . and it's just Fits." He followed Detective Collins into the bedroom. The Detective closed the double glass doors.
The king- sized bed didn't leave much room for two big men, one round, the other tall. "Have a seat," Detective Collins told Fits.
Fits sat on the bed. The Detective pulled out the small rattan desk chair, seating himself on it backward.
"Did Ms. Thrush expect you today?"
"No. I said I'd call, but they wrapped my character early. We're shooting at Universal Shitty, traffic was weird, like there were no cars; I took it as sign and came over."
"You've been here before? You know the gate combination?"
Fits made a laughing grunt. "No, I popped in behind a garbage truck."
"That can be verified."
"He's still out there. Verify."
"How'd you get the room number?"
"I saw Lucerne trot up the steps, first door I knocked was wrong, guy inside set me straight. Can I ask a question now?"
"Why'd you decide to pay a visit?"
"Besides that we go way back and way deep and she sounded pretty unhappy?"
"For starters."
"She called late last night. She had a fight with Herr Director." He pointed with his thumb toward Andre in the sitting room. "Apparently he walked out."
"Why would she call you?"
"Like I said, we have a history."
"An intimate one?"
Fits leaned back, amused. "Is this off the record? ' Cause I'm not a kiss- and- tell sort of guy."
The Detective paused. "Did you call her today?"
"No, I came over, like I also said."
" Would you call her now, on your cell phone?"
"What's this all about?" Fits asked, punching Ardennes's speed- dial number. He listened to the message. "It's Fits, baby. Call me," he said into the phone. He hung up, put his phone back into a breast pocket. "Indio?" he asked the Detective.
"Mean anything to you?"
"Polo? I mean, who goes to Indio?"
"So you have no idea where Ardennes Thrush is?"
Andre knocked on the bedroom door. "We think we have a name, Detective."
Fits stood up
. "What's going on?"
"Fits, I can count on your discretion? You won't repeat what you learned here?" It was Andre talking.
"I haven't learned anything."
"Ms. Thrush said absolutely nothing to you last night about going away?" It was the Detective talking.
"You spoke to Ardennes?"
"Sure. She called me after you pulled your little disappearing act to another hotel. Nice move."
The Detective walked purposefully to the sitting room and stood over Carola at the computer. "We think it has to be Beverly Henry, production designer on Ardennes's last feature," Carola said.
"Hey, I know Beverly Henry— well, I worked on a film she was on, good lady, talented," Fits said as he walked past Andre.
"Have you got her information?"
Fits was already punching into his iPhone. "I never toss a connection. Here it is, Detective." He showed him the number.
" Would you mind calling? Keep it friendly . . . just how are you . . . Ardennes said something about going to Indio —"
"Got it." He pushed talk and walked out onto the balcony. "Hey, is this Beverly, yeah, Fits here . . . you remember . . ." He moved out of earshot.
Andre said, "I could use some coffee. I think there's some hotel brand. Detective? Carola?" They both nodded, and Andre went to the kitchen to put together a pot. Carola followed to help.
Fits came back into the living room. He shook his head. "Beverly hasn't heard from Ardennes in a couple of years. When she dropped out— of acting— she kind of dropped out on her people out here too."
"But she spoke to you?"
"Yeah, I looked her up after her agent, Harry Machin, died. We had a drink at Musso and Frank's the other day."
"How was she then?"
"Pretty lost." The Detective nodded. "So, ah, what's the Beverly Henry connection, if I can ask?"
"She went to Indio with her after her last film, to a friend of Beverly's ranch out there."
"So she's supposed to be in Indio now, but you don't think she is?"
"She could be."
"It's kind of nowhere down there, except for the Salton Sea, which most people think is a chemical dump. Not that many hotels to choose from. Not the best place to get lost in. Or maybe it is."
"And conveniently close to the Mexican border."
"You think maybe Mexicans have her?"
The Detective shook his head. "I don't think anything and I think everything at this point."
Carola put out four cups and a container of milk. Andre poured the coffee. "Detective?" he said, then paused. "I was thinking, there has been no request for ransom. There has been nothing."
That remark brought forth no comment from the Detective. There was a brief silence while they drank their coffee. Detective Collins set his empty cup down on the side table. "Okay. You have my numbers. Mr. Lucerne, you hear the slightest peep, a hint of a peep, find me. You too, Ms. Santosa." He handed Fits a card after writing his cell and home phone numbers on it. "I'll report back after I check up a few things. All right?" He glanced all around. There were bashful nods. "Mr. Lucerne, you will go to the Hollywood precinct to file a missing- persons report, agreed?" Andre said he would go right away.
"Mind if I walk out with you, Detective?" Fits asked.
The Detective nodded and they left together. On the steps Fits said, "What about a trace on her cell?"
"Right. Outside of the movies, that doesn't happen like magic."
"Ya know, some actors take off after they achieve big fame. Ardennes didn't— she wasn't super huge yet, but on her way, I'd say, and she just walked away."
"And that bothered you?"
"Huh? Well, yeah, it wasn't very polite to her friends. And I don't know why she did it."
"Quit?"
Fits put a hand up; a braided black leather band adorned a thick wrist. "Hold on, I just thought of something. Somebody sent Ardennes a bunch of dead flowers."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. She thought I did."
"You didn't?"
"My sense of humor's not that profound."
"When was this?"
"Two days ago . . . three. Wait a minute, my cell history. Yeah, here it is." He showed the Detective the time on his phone. "It was yesterday." The Detective glanced at Fits. "What? I have a recovering pothead's sense of time, okay?"
Detective Collins suppressed a smile. "Okay. She say anything else?"
"I wasn't paying real close attention until she mentioned the dead flowers. Then she had to go; someone was at the door."
"What time was that again?"
To the Detective, Fits's information meant someone had definitely been to see Ardennes before he arrived, and that someone had been female— he'd gotten that much from the lousy perfume Ardennes tried to pass off as the maid's cleaning products— and the dead roses had already been delivered.
"You've been helpful. If you think of anything else . . ."
"Yup."
The detective and the actor got into their cars and drove off. Fits turned left, the Detective right, toward Beverly Hills. A block later he turned around and headed for the Enterprise Rent- a- Car on Ivar Avenue. It took over twenty minutes to find out that Ardennes's contract had been canceled, but not at that location. Another few minutes turned up LAX as the drop- off point, and she'd paid a fee for a different drop- off location. Ardennes's American Express card had been used, and the gas tank had not been full, another penalty. No one remembered seeing who'd dropped off the gray four- door Nissan Sentra. They'd gotten what they were owed; what did they care if the customer or her great- aunt Tillie paid up? The Enterprise employee name on the receipt was Dave, but that was from the Ivar location, where the car had been picked up. He came to the desk and said he remembered Ardennes. "She's some kind of actress, right? I thought I recognized her," he said.
The Detective wondered that no one had recognized the actress at the airport location, but LAX was nonstop, and actors did come in. . . . Even for basic cars like the one in question? Sure. And they sometimes covered up with wigs and things. The key was that Ardennes Thrush had been with Andre and Carola, on their way back from Century City, around the time the car was being dropped off at LAX. The Detective thanked the clerk, gave him a fax number, and asked that a copy of the receipt be sent over to the Beverly Hills precinct. He asked one more question: Any damage to the vehicle, anything unusual inside? Negative on both counts.
Unless Ardennes had wanted to take herself off, had gotten someone else to drop off the Nissan for her, then gone to another car- rental company or bought a plane ticket to Disappearsville, Detective Devin Collins had a missing person on his hands. He thanked the Enterprise people and entered his own vehicle for the trip back to Beverly Hills. How long would he be able to keep the case out of Hollywood's hands? More to the point, how much trouble was Ardennes facing? Attacked by a bird had to be a clue tied to Indio, he told himself, reasonably certain that was not where his victim was located. That was all he had to go on.
I did finally let it out that first night in the closet, cried myself to sleep, and I had no Kleenex but a few ragged bits from the bottom of my purse. I took an iota of revenge by blowing my nose on one of Sylvia's fuchsia- colored blouses, which I then tossed near the chamber pot. I cried like badly needed rain. It didn't change much, or maybe it did. I fell asleep trying to remember the last time I'd cried with such abandon, freely, fully, emptying the heart of poison and hurt. Maybe when Daddy died. After his death I put the brakes on that much raw emotion, as if feeling too much could kill me. There was Joe, the hell of that ending, but it was only when I acted that I let it out, where I was safe to let go what I refused to otherwise touch. And now? Now that I'm no longer an actor?
A thin strip of gray light shone under the door when I woke up. Either it was raining or just dawn. The closet had turned cold in the night. The plaid pink flannel blanket was placed over my shoulders. Sylvia must have covered me, and I must have slept through it. The flashlight was off. I d
idn't remember clicking it off, so Sylvia must have done that too. Did she lie about the milk, or did I really sleep that soundly? Babies cry themselves to sleep why not grown- ups? Yeah. I'd bet the milk was spiked.
I turned the flashlight on and stood up. I stretched as much as I could with my hands tied. I peed and drank what was left of the water. I did some squats and tried some crunches, turning my back and my neck this way and that. Take control, I told myself. I struggled with the little flannel blanket, to get it around my shoulders again when I was done stretching. Then I set to work with my loft keys to try to pick through the little diamonds of the fishnet stockings, one diamond at a time. They weren't silk or nylon but acrylic or some such sturdy stuff and tougher than I thought the material would be. I wasn't making much progress.
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