No Place Like Home - A Camilla Randall Mystery (The Camilla Randall Mysteries)

by Allen, Anne R.

  This was it. She had to face whatever music was about to play. She knew it wouldn't be sweet.

  She heard a bark.

  In bustled little Toto, with Marvin close behind.

  "I thought you'd left me." Doria sniffled like a child. She felt ridiculous.

  Marvin grinned and tossed her what looked like a wool seaman's cap and a large plaid jacket.

  "Put those on. I don't know if they're watching this place, but if they are, I'd rather be caught helping a homeless drunk get to the shelter than harboring a wanted felon. Do you understand?"

  She did understand. She was going to impersonate Lucky. Or more likely Bucky, from the masculine look of the jacket. And Marvin, bless his odd little heart, was going to get her the hell out of Dodge before the Marshal showed up.

  She put on the clothes and Marvin helped her in the cab of the truck. He said he'd be right back after he got what he needed from the pool house.

  The little structure was on the other side of the property, several hundred yards away, which is why it had survived, but she wished he'd come back to do his searching later. She wanted to look through the place herself, when she felt a little better.

  Luckily, the Oxy was kicking in and she wasn't in such terrible pain, but she needed a real bathroom and running water—right away. The blood had dried into a sticky brown glue, cementing her pants suit to her bandages.

  Toto seemed glad to see her and climbed onto her lap. She slumped down in the truck seat and tried to pretend to be Bucky.

  She had no idea what Marvin might have left with Harry that was so important.

  Something about Marvin seemed phony. He appeared to be kind, and she needed him right now, but she wasn't going to trust him any farther than she could throw him. Which wouldn't be very far. His body was slightly built, but looked like solid muscle.

  He came back a few minutes later, carrying something in a re-usable grocery sack. He grinned as he got into the truck cab.

  "So you found what you were looking for?"

  "Yup."

  Nothing annoyed Doria more than people who announce they have a secret and then fail to reveal it.

  "Can I know what it was? What could be worth that kind of risk? You could have got in some serious trouble if the FBI had showed up."

  Marvin handed Doria the sack. Inside was a small handbag. Crocodile, from the look of it. Rather elegant.

  "You carry a woman's handbag?"

  Marvin was odd enough she could imagine he might.

  "Not me!" He looked shocked. "It belongs to a lady friend. She took it to Harry's last party and drank too much and left it behind, so I told her I'd get it for her. It's super valuable, she tells me. A Birkin, like yours."

  Doria pulled the bag out of the sack. It did look like the one she'd left behind at Betsy's. Except the interior wasn't real leather. And the hardware was obviously cheap metal. She hoped Marvin's friend hadn't paid more than fifty bucks for it.

  She saw a twenty dollar bill folded inside, some make-up and a business card case. She clicked it closed, not wanting to seem too snoopy. It gave a tinny snap—not like the real thing. Marvin had taken a dreadful risk for twenty bucks and a knock-off bag.

  "You're a good friend," she said. No point in telling him this woman had put him through all that for a fake. "I'm not sure I'd risk arrest by the Feds, even for a Birkin bag."

  He didn't respond and started the engine, taking them down the private drive and out on to Edna Valley Road toward the coast.

  They drove in silence for several minutes.

  Doria began to feel a little apprehensive. All she really knew about Marvin was that he was good at lying to the police and a very bad judge of handbags.

  "You seem to be driving us all the way to Pismo Beach. I thought you said you were our neighbor."

  "I am. Our houses aren't that far away as the crow flies, but we use different access roads. I'm on the other side of the creek."

  "How do you know Harry, anyway?"

  "We, um, did some business together."

  That "um" did not bode well.

  Marvin wasn't telling her the whole truth. That's the one thing she knew for sure.

  Chapter 50—Gangster's Moll

  "Where's Jason?" I whirled around, looking out the alley toward the street, terrified Brianna hadn't come on her own.

  "Gone. He dumped me. Told me to move out. And it's your fault."

  "I'm so sorry. But it may be for the best, you know."

  I turned so Brianna could see my black eye. "Since he hit me, I'm pretty sure he was hitting you, too. Or he would have, sooner or later. Abusers are like that."

  An angry, lovesick girl added another level of complication I didn't need, but if I could calm her down, Brianna could actually be a help. It was after ten and customers would be expecting to get in to the shop. The store was probably a bit of a mess from the scuffle yesterday, but I'd rather have the customers see a messy store than be turned away.

  If I was going to buy the place, I needed to think of the customers. My customers.

  I walked toward the back door of the store and reached in my purse for the keys.

  "If you want your job back, Brianna, you can have it. No hard feelings. And I promise you'll get your back pay plus bank fees. I need somebody to open for me today. I'll pay you double time. How about that?"

  Brianna walked behind me, strangely silent. I heard her rummaging in the dumpsters to the side of the door as I pulled out my keys.

  "I wouldn't work for you again if it was the last job on earth. You and your cheapskate faggot boss and your Mafia boyfriend."

  The girl spat out the words as she brandished a broken bottle at me. It had jagged edges—one of the wine bottles I'd thrown the other night. I recognized the label.

  "I can defend myself," Brianna said, increasing her hostile tone. "Jason showed me how. I know what's right. You're going to give me my money."

  Apparently the girl was planning a repeat of yesterday's attempt to use violence to get blood from a stone.

  "Please, Brianna. I had nothing to do with that check bouncing, and Ronzo, he's not really…"

  I started to tell her Ronzo was simply a glib guy from Newark, but I stopped myself. Maybe it would be better if Brianna thought I had dangerous gunman on speed dial.

  Brianna's eyes narrowed to slits and she stepped closer to me, clutching the bottle neck and aiming the broken points at my chest. I didn't suppose a thing like that could have killed me, but it certainly would do damage. I stepped away, my back against the door now.

  "You pretend to be so high and mighty, but you're really some mobster's girlfriend. Jason was going to come here today and teach you a lesson, but I can do that just fine on my own."

  This wasn't looking good. I didn't know whether to wish for Ronzo to show up with his magic ballpoint pen, or to wish I'd never met the man, since he had escalated a problem with a bounced check to this by injecting the threat of lethal violence.

  "Listen, Brianna, I'll call Silas and tell him you need your money right now, okay?"

  I dropped the keys back into the purse and reached for my phone. All I had to do was hit the button for 911…

  But Brianna grabbed the phone with her other hand.

  And brandished the bottle, only inches from my neck.

  "No way. You'll just call the cops."

  Maybe she was smarter than I'd given her credit for.

  "Okay, let's be calm here," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I know you're feeling bad. A break-up can feel like the end of the world. I've been there." I tried to sound sympathetic. "Are you sure he really wants to break up? Maybe he's simply having a bad day."

  I had a feeling Jason had a lot of those.

  "No! He said he never wanted to see me again because I can't hold my liquor. He wouldn't even let me get in the Mercedes because I was throwing up and he said I'd mess up the leather upholstery. I had to call my mom." Tears glinted in Brianna's eyes. "And now she says I hav
e to live with her until I graduate."

  "Jason bought a Mercedes?" This was a new and improbable shift for a man who had nothing but a broken-down truck yesterday.

  "He didn't buy it. Exactly." Brianna sniffled. "But it was sitting there with the key in the ignition so he said it was fate. He said it meant he didn't have to hang out with skanks like me. He called me all these mean names. I lost my boyfriend and my home. Because you wouldn't give me my money. You rich people don't give a damn about whose life you're ruining."

  I had to catch my breath as she waved the bottle around my eyes. Did she intend to blind me? This was getting seriously scary.

  "So you're going to give me my money now." Brianna's voice had gone hard.

  I glanced in the direction of the cottage, hoping the man with the overalls might be eavesdropping. No such luck. The dumpsters kept us out of sight of the workmen.

  "Oh, no," Brianna said. "You're not going in the house. You've probably got your gangster boyfriend hiding in there." Brianna's eyes had that dead look I'd seen in Jason's right before he hit me.

  Time to make serious noise. I called to the workmen for help. Loudly. Some of them would have to hear.

  "Oh, no you don't!" Brianna screamed. "You damned rich bitch!"

  She came at me with the bottle.

  I grabbed her arm and pushed as hard as I could with one hand as I tried to protect my face with the other.

  "Oh, my God," Brianna shouted. "You're getting blood all over."

  There did seem to be blood. Lots of blood. It came before I felt the pain. But the pain did arrive. Then the blackness.

  Chapter 51—Getting Clean

  Marvin pulled onto a dirt road that led to a modest mid-century ranch house—probably no more than three or four bedrooms. Not exactly Home magazine material. But at the moment it looked like heaven to Doria. All she wanted at the moment was a clean bathroom.

  The place was decorated beautifully, just as Marvin said. It looked as if Doria Windsor had done it herself.

  "Bathroom?" she said.

  He pointed down the hall.

  The pre-op instructions said she was to take no showers until the stitches came out, so Doria hoped to make do with a sponge bath. But her filthy clothes stuck to skin with the dried blood. And the elastic girdle-thing was saturated. The sight of it made her feel faint.

  She was going to have to get under the shower head, clothes and all, in order to melt the blood and peel the clothes off. Which was going to make a hideous mess all over Marvin's bathroom—so elegantly decorated with pale green wallpaper and deep lavender towels and curtains. There was even a matching lavender robe hanging on the back of the door.

  Good. She'd have something to put on after the shower. Her Dress for Less suit was probably headed for the trash bin. And she'd left Betsy's jogging suit in the car. It would be soaking in the Pacific now.

  Sad about that car. Betsy would be so annoyed.

  Doria got the shower water running nice and hot and stepped into the tub. That was something of a hassle, trying to climb over the edge, but when she stepped under the warm, RainFall showerhead, it felt like heaven.

  She got her blouse off fairly easily, but the pants were a pain. She got them over the drains, but as she pulled them down, blood started flowing out. She must have disturbed something.

  That's when she fell. She stepped onto a slick patch in the tub and lost her balance. She reached out for the wall, but there was nothing to hang onto. She could feel her head thunk against something as she fell.

  Next thing she knew, she was lying in the tub, which was overflowing with what appeared to be blood.

  Toto jumped up and down, barking like a demented thing.

  Marvin stood over her. He must have turned off the shower.

  "Thank goodness that little dog has such a loud bark. Oh, my God, Doria. You look like Jean-Claude Marat expiring in his bath."

  Chapter 52—Par Avion

  When I came to consciousness, my arm was heavy with bandages and dull pain. I lay in a bed with a crowd around me. But my body didn't quite feel like mine.

  I felt as if I might be watching the whole scene from far away, or maybe seeing a movie.

  A dream. It was probably a dream.

  Plant, Silas, George and Enrique were all in it. And a strange person who might have been the flooring man in coveralls.

  "You lost a lot of blood," Plant said. "Luckily she missed any major arteries. You're going to be okay. Brianna is in custody. You're safe now."

  He put a gentle hand my good arm. His touch brought tears. This was real. And it was horrible. My hands instinctively went to my face.

  "She didn't get your face. You're fine. Only your forearm was slashed. You'll have a scar, but you won't need plastic surgery," Silas said.

  "You're safe now," Plant repeated.

  I didn't feel safe. I felt furious.

  "No. I'm not safe. I have no home. They took my home. They painted it mauve. And I can't find my check." My words came out thick and slow.

  I looked at the man in coveralls.

  "What are you doing here? I can't believe you're in such a hurry to take my house that you'd come to the hospital..." I looked around. "I am in a hospital, right? What day is it?"

  "It's still Monday," Plant said. "And yes, you're in the hospital. They're going to keep you overnight for observation. You lost a lot of blood."

  Silas harrumphed. "Steve here saved your life. He pulled that lunatic girl off you. He got cut up himself."

  Coverall Steve raised a bandaged hand. "The guys chipped in for some flowers." He waved in the direction of at some roses on the nightstand.

  I knew I should be grateful, but I wasn't going to let him—or Silas—think that made anything okay.

  "You threw everything out. You took all my things. Even my mail."

  "That's why I'm here," Steve said. "My guys found your mail in a kitchen cupboard. Here." He picked up a pile of envelopes from the nightstand and handed them to me. "We're real sorry. We didn't have a clue escrow hadn't closed on the property…"

  I grabbed the pile with my good hand. There it was, with the familiar blue and white Par Avion sticker and the British postmark. I couldn't get it open one handed. But I suppose it didn't matter now. The spoiled daughter of those L.A. people was probably already moving into my house.

  I turned to Silas. "Those mauve people. Have they moved in?"

  "No." Silas gave me an odd grin. "And they won't. The sale didn't go through. They can barely afford to pay the painters and Steve's people. It seems they've been pretty much wiped out by Harry Sharkov and Doria Windsor. Just like us."

  "Let's not get into this now, Silas," Plant said. "Camilla doesn't need to know…"

  "No. I do." I fought my druggy brain-haze as I tried to open the envelope. "The L.A. buyers? They lost their money? To Harry Sharkov?"

  "It seems they hadn't been paying attention to the news," Silas said. "They'd put all their millions with him because he offered such a high rate of return. They were idiots. Like me."

  "I'm so glad!" I would have jumped for joy if I could have moved any jumping muscles. Instead I tore at the envelope with my thumb. It wouldn’t open. One stupid envelope was standing between me and my future. "I need a letter opener! It's going to solve everything!"

  George and Enrique exchanged horrified looks.

  Plant shook his head. "Camilla, this isn't exactly good news. We're wiped out."

  I wanted them all to stop the doom and gloom and be happy.

  Silas opened the envelope and handed it back to me.

  I pulled out the check. It was real. Twenty-five thousand, four hundred dollars and thirty-five cents.

  I waved it at them. "Don't be sad. This is good. Really good."

  Everybody stood staring at me with their stupid long faces.

  "No. Plant has been right all along," Silas said. His voice cracked like a teenager's. He looked weepy, too. The result of no sleep, probably. "I got taken in by thos
e crooks and Plant and I are about to be homeless."

  "No," said Plant. "We aren't homeless. We can always move into your old motel up by Ragged Point."

  "Yeah, after we evict the raccoons." Silas gave a sad laugh. "Harry actually wanted to buy the old Raggedy Inn—I have no idea why. Kept pressuring me about it. I guess I'm lucky I'm such a sentimental fool about that place, or he'd have conned me out of that too."

  "No." My words weren't coming fast enough. "You don't have to be homeless. And maybe I don't have to be either." I handed him the check. "Go save your house. Then maybe we can save mine."

  "What's this?" Silas said.

  "A down payment on the store and the cottage. Those L.A. people can't buy it, but I can."

  Plant took the check and examined it.

  "Where did you get this?"

  "My publisher," I said. "The Manners Doctor is very big in India."

  "Do you really want to buy the property?" Silas asked. "With this?"

  "Let me endorse it," I said. "And as soon as it clears, buy me some paint!"

  Chapter 53—Marvin's Secret

  Doria had been tucked into her cozy bed at Marvin's house for what seemed like days. Could have been weeks. She had no idea.

  She had no idea of anything.

  Except that Marvin was her new best friend. She'd been ridiculous to doubt him. It seemed he'd been a medic in the army. He knew all sorts of things about healing people who had been wounded. He'd cleaned her up, given her antibiotics, removed the drains and probably saved her life.

  He even bought her Jell-O.

  His nicely-decorated house was a pleasant place to stay, and he was kind and sympathetic, if not very forthcoming about his own activities. He understood she was as much a victim of Harry's crimes as his investors.

  Marvin was even nice to the ugly little dog, Toto, and seemed to have had the creature bathed and combed. It had been sleeping happily at the foot of her bed most of the time she was here and she was getting rather fond of the little mutt.

  Best of all, Marvin didn't try to talk her into going to the police. He seemed as interested in avoiding law enforcement as she was. He was willing to let her stay dead for the time being, which was fine with her.