“Technically, Mr. Jenkins, uneducated and ignorant are the same thing,” said Bella, her armpits prickling and damp. She wanted to hurt this man. Bad. Very, very bad.
“Ms. Webber, did they arraign your boyfriend today? Is that why you’re so nasty this evening? Pity he murdered a girl when you’d only just started dating. You really should let me pour you a drink.”
How did he know this? She opened her mouth to make a retort, but Peter stopped her with a light touch on her shoulder. “Mr. Jenkins, thank you for your time. We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions.”
They all stood. Bella’s legs were shaking, making it difficult to walk. How dare this arrogant greedy man insult Benjamin Fleck? Someone good and decent. Someone who took care of the people who worked for him. Someone who respected his customers.
At the doorway of the study, Jenkins put his chubby fingers on Bella’s forearm. “You give me a shout when you decide to dump that loser boyfriend. I’d love to show you what a real man could do for a girl like you.”
“It would be a cold day in hell when I’d let you anywhere near me,” she said through gritted teeth.
Peter took her arm, steering her out of the house and almost shoving her into the car. “Not worth it, Bella. Not worth getting your hands dirty. Trust me.”
“I want to take him down, Peter. Hard.”
“You and half of America.”
“Wait until I tell Mike about him. He’ll want to chew nails. After all the effort he’s put into saving River Valley and an asshole like that is spending all his time trying to figure out how to ruin towns just like it. Makes me sick. How’s the little guy supposed to survive in this world, Peter? The little business owner doesn’t stand a chance.”
Peter chuckled. “You’re starting to sound like a River Valley resident. Those friends of Annie’s are contagious with this stuff.”
“I know. It’s just I never thought about all these small towns going under because of Connor Jenkins’s giant stores and meth until I spent time in River Valley.”
“Yeah, I know. The town I grew up in on the Oregon coast, same deal.”
“I hate Connor Jenkins.”
“Why do guys like that always win?”
“They won’t in the end.”
“Why’s that?”
“There’s one major difference between a guy like Mike and a guy like Connor Jenkins that matters in the end.”
“What’s that?”
“Mike has a soul.”
***
Rawley Hough was tall and ruggedly handsome with just a beginning of a receding hairline. His home was modest compared to the ones they’d just visited, but nice just the same, set on a corner lot in Brentwood.
A petite blond woman wearing yoga pants and a spandex top opened the door. A yoga mat and a gym bag were on the floor. “May I help you?” she asked. Her features were bland and blond. Vanilla pretty, thought Bella. She looked like so many upper middle class women in Los Angeles—soccer moms, PTA leaders, professional shoppers for dresses to attend their husband’s work functions, obsessive daily trips to the gym, a little Botox now and then.
Peter took out his badge. “Your husband’s expecting us.”
She flinched. “About what?”
“Official police business,” said Peter, without taking his eyes from her.
She’d flinched and looked frightened. Or had Bella imagined this?
Rawley was behind them now, carrying a drink in his hand. Probably scotch by the looks of it. Expensive, no doubt, thought Bella. “It’s all right honey. I know why they’re here. Just work stuff. Nothing to worry about.”
“I’m Julia Hough,” she said, holding her small, tanned hand out first to Peter and then to Bella. She trembled slightly, almost like someone with a degenerative disease. “I’m just on my way out to yoga. I go in the evenings after I get the girls to bed.” Why the need to explain this, wondered Bella? Was it to convince them of the normalcy of the household? Just a happy family? With an extremely nervous matriarch.
Peter gave her a slight smile. “How old are your girls?”
“Six and ten,” she said.
“Fun ages,” said Bella, as if she knew anything about children. Alder was ten. He was fun. That was about the extent of her knowledge of children.
Rawley led them into a sitting room off the foyer. It was decorated in the same vanilla bland as his wife: tan wingback chairs with patterns of pink flowers and a sea grass green couch, pink striped pillows, and dozens of small details obviously designed by a professional. There was not a thing out of place; no one actually lived in this room.
Rawley, unlike the men from their earlier visits, did not offer them a drink. Even Jenkins had offered them a drink, thought Bella. She shivered, thinking of Jenkins’s sweaty, fat face leering at her.
“As I said on the phone, we know you’ve been blackmailed,” said Peter, straight away. “And we know by whom.”
One eyebrow lifted. “Yes?”
“Tiffany Archer.”
“The actress?” He moved his glass from one hand to the other; the ice rattled.
“Correct.”
“The dead actress,” said Rawley. It was not a question but a statement. “How would she have access to Ms. Zinn’s client list?”
“We believe she stole it from Ms. Zinn’s home. They were friends. Rehab.”
Rawley took a sip of his drink, watching Peter over the rim of the glass. “Rehab. That makes sense.”
“Did you have any idea who was blackmailing you?”
He moved his gaze into his drink. “Of course not. If I did, don’t you think I’d have turned it over to the police, given my line of work?”
“Not necessarily,” said Peter. “Turn it over to the police, everyone knows. Including your wife.”
“I am not a man who negotiates with blackmailers.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I didn’t pay the bitch a penny of what she asked for.”
“How long since you visited your hometown?” asked Peter.
“Pardon me?”
“You heard me.”
“Since my mother died. Ten years ago. I’m not fond of River Valley.”
“Were you aware Tiffany Archer was filming a movie there?”
“I saw it in the news. Hard to miss since it’s been on every news station. Apparently our media isn’t interested in real news, instead spending every waking moment detailing the death of a two-bit actress dying in some town no one’s ever heard of.”
“They’ve heard of it now,” said Bella.
“Where were you Thursday and Friday?”
“Here. I have a big case I’m working on. My family went to the desert.”
“So you were here alone?”
“Correct.”
Peter’s gaze was on his notebook as he scribbled notes. “Do you have anyone to vouch for seeing you Thursday night? Take-out delivery person, housekeeper, that kind of thing?” He looked up, staring at Rawley in a way Bella could only describe as intimidating.
“I stayed in. My wife left food for me so there was no need to go out.”
Peter stuffed his notebook back into his pocket. “Thanks for your time. We’ll be in touch if we have further questions.”
***
Outside Rawley’s home, Peter drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. Bella swore she could hear him thinking. After a moment, he turned to her. “Surely he has the resources to figure out it was Tiffany, given his position. He went up there to get rid of her.”
“He’s the only one without an alibi.”
“Yeah. And, really, the most to lose of the four of them. The others faced scandals but not losing their positions. And he’s not nearly as rich as the others.” Peter started the car and pulled out onto the street. “When we get back to your house I’ll call Fred and ask him to see if Hough was checked into the lodge over the weekend. He most likely registered under a false name but we might be able to
spot him on the security cameras.”
They were quiet on the way back to Bella’s apartment. It was almost eight o’clock by the time they arrived and Bella’s feet hurt as they walked up the three flights of stairs. “Why didn’t we take the elevator?” asked Bella, as if she didn’t know.
“No reason not to take the stairs. Ever.”
“You’re starting to get on my nerves.”
“I do that to my real partner too. He also likes donuts.”
“I haven’t eaten any donuts.”
“Not today. But I’ve seen you devour a piece of cake the size of your head. For someone so tiny you eat like crap.”
“You sound like my brother.”
When they reached her apartment she slid the key into the lock and walked inside, Peter following closely behind her. The temperatures had dropped and they’d left the screen door open. “You cold?” she asked Peter.
“A bit, yeah.”
“You want a beer? I’m having one whether you do or not.”
“You have any scotch?”
“No. Sorry. I never have any male visitors. Red wine or beer.”
“Beer’s fine.”
After closing the screen door and turning on the fireplace, she fetched them both a beer. Bella sat cross-legged with her head resting on the back of the couch, her thoughts turning to Ben. Was he despairing, sitting in a jail cell? If she concentrated hard enough, might he hear her thoughts? She imagined them traveling up the coastline and then jagging across the Siskiyou mountain range to southern Oregon. Ben, I’m here. We will get you out of there.
Peter paced with his beer, which remained untouched, tugging occasionally on his ear. Bella, after spending the last twenty-four hours as his sidekick, knew better than to interrupt or ask him any questions. A few minutes later her cell phone rang and she hopped up to dig for it in the bottom of her purse. It was Annie.
“Annie, what’s going on? Was Drake able to bail him out?”
“We have to wait until tomorrow. After the arraignment.”
“Were you able to see him?”
“No, honey. We weren’t. But the attorney did. He’s fine. Will you guys be home tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Around mid-morning. I have to be on set right after lunch. Cleo and Gennie are both filming.”
“Drake will go to the arraignment and arrange bail. We’ll have him home by tomorrow night.”
Bella fought tears. “Is it awful? The place where they’re keeping him?”
“The attorney says it’s fine. He’ll be safe there until we can sort this whole mess out. Did you guys have any luck?”
She filled Annie in on everything, asking her to relay it to Drake, and then they said goodnight.
Peter was outside on the balcony, leaning against the railing with his head down, talking on his phone.
She went to the kitchen and opened another beer, realizing they hadn’t eaten since lunch. Peter must be starving. As she was thinking about what to feed him, Peter came inside, closing the glass door behind him. “Talked to Fred,” he said. “He’s going to look through the hotel security footage for us, see if he can spot Hough in the lobby at any point during the day.”
“That’s good. That’s really good.”
“And he’s going to show the front desk people Hough’s photo. If he was there, surely one of them will remember.”
But what if he wasn’t in the footage? What if the clerks didn’t remember him? Then what?
“You want me to order a pizza or something?” asked Bella.
“How about some hummus and pita bread?”
“Yep, you’re officially on my nerves. And just for that I’m going to punish you by taking you to my favorite diner tomorrow for breakfast. Nothing but carbs and grease.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE SHOW WENT ON, thought Bella, watching Cleo and Genevieve film their scene for the sixth take. Tiffany Archer’s body was still in the morgue and here was her replacement filming the scene she’d filmed less than a week ago.
The scene was the first in several conflict sections between the two sisters. Cleo was holding her own, even playing against Genevieve, who was as good as they came in this business. Bella would have never guessed had she not known that Cleo had never filmed a professional movie in her life. She never missed a line, hit every mark Richard gave her, and adjusted after he gave her direction with every take. Genevieve, at one point, looked over at Bella and mouthed the words, “She’s good.”
While Richard was setting up for the scene they’d film that evening after it turned dark, Bella hiked along through dead grass, heading toward Ellen White’s house. The heavy rains from earlier had ceased but the sky was dark and moody. There was a sliver of gray smoke rising from Ellen’s chimney and Bella took in a deep breath, enjoying the scent of wood-burning smoke. When had she smelled that last? Growing up in Seattle, perhaps. In October it would suddenly be in the air. Once, walking hand in hand with her mother, she put her nose up in the air and sniffed. “Mommy, it smells like campfire.”
She reached the bank of the river. There was an old oak with a rope swing tied to it. Alder had told her of this; he often used it when he stayed with Ellen. The farmhouse and this swing, they needed children and laughter and the smell of wood smoke in the air. Would she and Ben have the opportunity to do all the living they dreamt of together? Perhaps they could live here in Lee’s farmhouse and have babies and teach them to swim in this river with Alder and her new little niece. She went to the swing, held the rough rope between her fingers. When the weather warmed this summer, she would come here with Alder and Ben. They would take turns swinging and she would watch. She could not swing, of course; the height as the rope glided over the water would be too frightening. But she would watch. Maybe she’d have Ben’s ring on her finger by then. Maybe there would be a wedding to plan.
She marched toward the ribbon of smoke. The grasses were wet but her boots were high. Warmed from the exercise, she took off her fleece and tucked it under her arm, her breath not exactly labored but increased. Physical exertion after yesterday’s sedentary activity and riding on the airplane this morning cleared her mind and buoyed her spirits. Of course they would get Ben out of this. She would have the life she wanted.
Before she knew it, she’d reached Ellen’s house. She knocked on the front door and heard footsteps before the door was thrust open, revealing Ellen. She had on an apron covered in flour and carried a rolling pin. “Bella, what a nice surprise. Come on in.” She opened the door wider and motioned for Bella to follow her.
It was warm inside and smelled of cinnamon and butter. Ellen’s house looked remarkably similar to Lee’s house. She said as much to Ellen. “Well sure, Lee’s grandfather built this house right after he built the other. We had a tiny one-room shack for a whole year before this house was built. Let me tell you, spending a long rainy season with my husband, well, it wasn’t what you’d call a party. He was a drinker, you see, and a mean drunk. Used to get in the whiskey and start beating on me. I’d have to run on over to Rose’s and hide out there ‘til he sobered up.” Without pausing, she cut a piece of apple pie and put it on a plate. “You better go ahead and have a piece of this. I’ve made plenty.” Ellen pointed to the counter. There were six pies lined up in a row. Two more, uncooked, sat by the stove. Two others were in the oven.
“Why so many? Is there a bake sale or something?” River Valley was the type of place to have a bake sale, right? What was a bake sale for? Raising money for something, Bella supposed. Venice Beach did not have bake sales. Maybe she should learn to bake. Then she could participate in bake sales.
Ellen clapped her hands together. “Where did you go there, sugar? Your eyes got all glazed over.”
Bella shrugged, feeling sheepish. “Just daydreaming about learning how to bake. Or bake sales.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m delirious from the last couple of days.”
Ellen was now pouring a glass of milk. “I can’t ever
get Lee and Annie to eat any of my pies. Those two nitwits always worried about their weight, which is ridiculous—don’t know why you modern girls think being stick thin is attractive. What I wouldn’t have given for Ava Gardner’s figure.”
Bella dug into the pie. It was heaven: a burst of cinnamon and apple and the crust was flaky and tasted of butter. “I may have to have another piece of this,” she said between bites. “What did you say all these were for again? ‘Cause if it’s a bake sale, I want to buy one.”
“You just take whatever you want home. I made these for the crew. Oh, and that director Richard—what a nice man—so polite and intelligent, not at all what I would have expected from someone from Hollywood. You know, I never actually met a Jewish man before. Now don’t look at me like that. Around here we don’t have any Jews, not that I have one thing against them. Matter of fact, I’m not one much for organized religion or doctrine. Lee’s always trying to get me to go to church now she’s married to Tommy—he’s a Jesus lover, you know.” She opened the oven and leaned over, peering at her pies. “Yep, these are done.” Using oven mitts with a pattern of roosters, she pulled out the pies. Gooey sauce spilled from the sides and onto the counter. “Shoot, Bella, I never saw such a sight in my life as this movie business right here in River Valley. I hate to admit it, but I’m a little star struck, which is downright embarrassing. But think of it! Filming a movie in the old Tucker place. Oh, Lee’s other grandmother, Rose, she was my best friend you know, she’d have gotten such a kick out of this. She practically swooned for the movies. I always thought it was a bit of nonsense but we used to go into town and watch the matinee. We’d wear our hats and our Sunday best and Rose’s husband always sent a few extra nickels with us so we could buy a treat. Lord, that Rose loved her candies. She was a plump little thing, always sneaking a cookie even when she told me she’d like to reduce. That’s what we called it back then, reduce. I was always skinny as a bone. Lee took after me that way, nothing but a flat board. The amount of cottage cheese poor Rose used to eat. That’s what all the magazines back then would tell you. Cottage cheese to reduce. Ridiculous, of course. Well, I guess. Actually, I shouldn’t say that, not having ever been on a diet in my life.”
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