“From about one o’clock to about two,” I answered.
Waingrove studied Erwin. “Could Jerry have come into the garden, the day before yesterday, and taken a piece of paper from her purse?”
Erwin shifted his weight. “All the poor souls go to special school from eleven to three each day.”
Waingrove glowed with triumph. He turned on Claire. “Now, you may leave.”
Claire smiled. “You’ve been very helpful. I’d like to ask Mr. Erwin a few more questions, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind. And so does Sutton,” he added quickly.
“Miss Conrad wishes to ask some questions,” Boulton said.
“I don’t give a damn what Miss Conrad wishes,” Waingrove said. Boulton moved toward him. Waingrove stepped back. “You don’t intimidate me.” Waingrove’s eyes never left Boulton.
“Yes I do,” Boulton said matter-of-factly.
“I don’t see, Brian, how a few more questions would matter at this point,” Sutton offered nervously.
“Are you Jerry’s father?” Claire asked Erwin.
“I could breed better than that.” He looked quickly at the men, his eyes seeking masculine approval before they looked back down. “They’re wards of the state. I’m paid to care for them in my house. And I do a good job,” he added defensively.
“I think I can explain,” Sutton offered. “About three, four…maybe even five years ago…time goes so fast…somebody in Sacramento decided that certain mental patients…the ones who are not dangerous…could be spread throughout southern California. The people who live here were not pleased at the time—Mother and I among them. But the neighborhood was already changing.” He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “Mother…well, they still upset her. But, I must say, the poor souls, as Mr. Erwin calls them, haven’t caused any problems.”
“What state hospital do they come from?” Claire asked.
Erwin rubbed at his chin. “I don’t know. Different ones.”
“You know that Ellis Kenilworth is dead?”
“Yes.”
“Who told you to fix your fence?”
“Nobody.” Again the eyes darted toward Sutton.
“I did,” Sutton said. “Ellis was the only one who enjoyed Jerry’s company.”
Claire studied him. “Why did he enjoy his company?”
“We are a family that doesn’t express our emotions easily. Ellis especially. I think that’s why he liked Jerry. He was fascinated by his simplicity.” A tone of superiority crept into Sutton’s voice. “His primitiveness.”
“His innocence?”
“Yes, you could put it that way.” He looked at Erwin. “Your eye is swelling. Would you like to see our doctor?”
“I’d like to go.”
“You may leave,” Claire said.
Erwin picked up his hammer and without looking back slipped through the hedge.
“By the way,” Claire said to Sutton, “it must be exciting to have such a famous niece.”
“Niece?”
“Victoria Moor.”
“I don’t think of her as family. But yes, I guess she is my niece. We rarely see one another.”
Claire reached in her pocket. “My card. In case you need to get in touch with me. I live quite close to you.”
“Oh…the hotel…things do change…we never should’ve sold it. Life would be so different. Have you heard what they plan to do with the hotel?”
“I think they’ve sold it to the Japanese, who will tear it down and rebuild, of course.”
“Of course. Times change,” he said sadly. “Well, good afternoon.” He turned and looked at me as if I were somewhere far away from him. “Goodbye, Maggie.” He and Waingrove walked back to the house.
“Where is the car, Boulton?” Claire asked.
He sauntered to the hedge. “This way, madam.”
“Oh, God. Come along, Miss Hill.”
I followed her through the privets into an alley lined with garbage cans. The alley was a block long. The Kenilworth property ran about three-quarters of the block. Opposite us was a small house. A wood fence surrounded the backyard. The house was flanked by apartments on the right and two larger houses in need of paint on the left.
“Is that where Jerry lives?” Claire asked Boulton.
“Yes. The house faces Beech Street. I got the address. Testy bloke.”
“More nervous than testy, Boulton.”
We walked down the alley to the Bentley. The damp, bitter smell of garbage mixed with the sweet, fresh smell of fruit trees. Flies circled like miniature vultures. We got into the car.
I stared at Boulton. “You’ve got blood on the side of your face.”
He peered at himself in the mirror. “So I do. He must’ve nicked me with the hammer.”
I leaned back in my corner and watched him wipe at the side of his face. I remembered a fight Neil had been in. We were in a bar where policemen hang out, and he and this other cop got into it. Over what…it doesn’t matter. They punched each other silly. Blood poured down their faces. Exhausted, they collapsed into each other’s arms, holding one another, crying. As a woman I’d never felt so isolated.
Boulton turned around, his big brown eyes taking me in.
The blood was gone.
“Better, Maggie?”
10
WE DROVE BACK TO the cottage. The white limo was there. Bobby Alt leaned against the front fender, head tilted back toward the sun, reflective glasses pushed on top of his orangy-blond hair, eyes shut, white shirt open to the top of his tarnished brass belt buckle. A black chauffeur’s jacket was folded neatly on the spread of white hood. Boulton let us out. He took the car around to the garage in the back of the house.
Alt opened his eyes, blinked, and stretched his muscular, tanned arms, puffing his broad chest. “I can almost feel myself growing under the sun.” His voice was thick with self-satisfaction. “Your maid wouldn’t let me in.” Self-satisfaction turned to hurt.
“Gerta’s instructed not to let visitors in while I’m gone. Button your shirt,” Claire said flatly.
His head tilted to one side. His mouth curved open, revealing a flash of teeth as white as the limo he drove. “My sex appeal bother you?”
“Wasted effort bothers me.” She walked down the stairs and pushed the doorbell with the tip of her walking stick. Gerta peered out and let her in.
Unperturbed, Alt transferred his efforts to me. Eyes playing with mine, he slowly moved his hands up his chest, buttoning his shirt. He had spent a lot of time looking into the mirror getting that flagrantly sexy pose just right.
“Do I bother you?” He dropped his arm to his side. His hand brushed his crotch.
“Only if you’re the jerk who ransacked my apartment and destroyed my belongings.”
His eyes widened, making him look like a surprised little boy. Giggling, he grabbed his jacket and bounced down the stairs. There was something disturbing about Bobby Alt. And it wasn’t his sex appeal.
I dragged behind him, watching his broad shoulders, narrow waist, tight little ass. I needed a bath. I needed to lie down. I needed to get out of this ugly beige dress. I was tired. I was tired of men. Tired of their big arms around me. Tired of their big brown eyes on me. Tired of their manly rituals. Tired of their overt poses. Tired of their neediness. Tired of their seductions, rejections, and betrayals. Tired of their tight little asses—especially asses that looked better than mine.
Claire imperiously graced her Queen Anne chair. The crown would never be too heavy for her. Bobby sat among the wine-colored pillows, stroking his right thigh. The guy couldn’t leave himself alone. I sat on the sofa across from him. Boulton leaned against the big round table in back of him.
Claire fixed her eyes on Bobby. “You dislike classical music with a passion.”
He paused in the feeling of his thigh. “Huh?”
“Is it true that you dislike classical music?”
“It gives me stress. You can’t get a hold of mus
ic like that. It keeps moving away from you. I need music my body can feel. You brought me here to discuss music?” Another flash of thick white teeth.
“Miss Hill had classical music playing in her apartment.”
“Good for her.”
He continued stroking his thigh and let his eyes play coy with mine. It was his eyes that disturbed me. They didn’t fit his overt sexuality. He had the eyes of an eager, untroubled child. Relentlessly innocent eyes. Virgin eyes.
“She had classical music on when you broke into her apartment,” Claire said.
The innocent eyes blinked at her. “My being here doesn’t mean I did anything. I just came to hear what you have to say. That’s all.” He leaned back on the sofa pillows and stretched his arms, pleased with himself.
“The classical music put undue stress on you, so you changed to a station that played music your body could feel. Suddenly there was a banging on the door. The landlady was screaming at you, demanding you change the station or else she’d come in with a pass key. You rushed to the radio and changed the station back.”
Lines formed around his mouth and showed across his forehead. He raised his guiltless eyes to Claire.
“A landlady hears music she doesn’t like—what does that have to do with me? Are you saying she saw me in the room?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t think there’s anything more to talk about.”
He stood up. Boulton put his hands on Bobby’s shoulders and shoved him back down onto the sofa.
“Hey! What’s going on here?!”
“Sometime before the landlady started pounding on the door, you took off your gloves. I can only assume you were warm or they were causing you undue stress. In your haste to change the station you forgot to put on your gloves.”
The lines tugged at the corners of his mouth, drawing it down. “I don’t get it.”
“As I told you, you left your fingerprints on the radio. We had a policeman friend of Miss Hill’s check the fingerprints and up popped your name.”
“You told the police?” He looked shocked and betrayed.
“As of this moment, Miss Hill hasn’t pressed charges. But if she doesn’t like the way you answer my questions she will.”
“And if she does like my answers?”
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
“That’s no kind of deal!” He started to stand, remembered Boulton and thought better of it.
“Who told you to go to Miss Hill’s apartment? Patricia Kenilworth?” Claire crossed her long legs and gave him a sideways glance.
“Not exactly.”
“Terrible answer,” I said.
“Victoria wanted me to go. Patricia didn’t think it was a good idea.”
“What were you looking for?” Claire asked.
“A photograph with some writing on the back of it.”
“Not good enough,” I said.
“It’s the truth! Look, Victoria showed me a photograph—said you had a duplicate, and that it was hers and she wanted it back.”
“Describe the photograph,” Claire said.
He giggled, and his lips spread into a depraved smile. The eyes remained naive. “She and some guy were going at it—not exactly doing it, but pretty hot.” He went at his thigh again.
“And who was this man?” Claire asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Stupid answer.” I decided to sound bored.
“It’s not a stupid answer. She didn’t tell me his name.”
“Very stupid answer,” I yawned.
“You got yesterday’s paper? L.A. Times? I saw his picture in there. Now, that’s a good answer.” He stretched triumphantly.
Claire went to the big table and took a newspaper from under other papers and handed it to him. Slowly, he went through the paper page by page. He lovingly licked his index finger before turning each page. I had the feeling he was getting off on it. Since I hadn’t read the paper yesterday, I had no idea what famous person was in there. I wondered if Brian Waingrove was famous enough. The famous, the rich, the poor, and the crazy are the only people ever written about in the newspapers.
“This is him!”
Claire took the paper. “Are you positive?”
“Yeah.”
Claire handed it to me. I stared at a picture of Ellis Kenilworth smiling happily from his two-column obituary. I slammed the paper down on the coffee table.
“I don’t believe it! It can’t be.” I looked at Bobby, his eyes wide and blameless. “I don’t like your answer. You better come up with a better one.”
“That’s the only answer there is.”
“Kenilworth would not…not with his own…do you know Victoria Moor is his daughter?!”
“Hey, I just drive her. I don’t know…daughter?”
He thought about that for moment. The corners of his mouth turned up, and the lines disappeared. Revelation made Bobby Alt look younger. “You mean insex?” he asked breathlessly.
“Yeah, I mean insex. And I think you’re lying through your caps.”
“These are my real teeth!”
“I’m calling the police!”
“I’m not lying! I’m not!” He turned to Claire and pleaded, “Victoria showed me the photograph so I’d know what to look for. I swear on my mother’s grave that’s the man in the photograph.”
I leaped up. “We talked to your mother this morning. Unless you buried her between then and now you’re a liar.”
“All right! I only said that ’cause you think I’m lying and I’m not. I’m not!”
“Where’s the phone?” I demanded wildly. Anger mixed with some sort of deep hurt I couldn’t get hold of, and I knew I was losing control. “Where’s the goddamn phone?”
“On the table,” Claire said quietly.
Bobby scooted along the edge of the sofa closer to Claire and babbled, “Don’t let her call them. I’m telling the truth. I swear to God! Ask Victoria. Ask her!”
I pushed past Boulton and grabbed the phone. “You’re lying. I know Ellis Kenilworth!”
“Do you, Miss Hill?” Claire asked.
I stared into her calm, inquisitive eyes. Did I know Ellis Kenilworth?
“Oh, hell.” I slammed the phone down and glared at Boulton just for the thrill of it. He had on his discreet butler face. I went back to the sofa and glared at Bobby.
“What kind of photograph is it?” Claire asked.
“I told you. It was a picture of Victoria and…her…her…daddy,” he giggled.
“I mean, was it in color? Was it taken with one of those instant cameras?”
“That was weird. The photograph was black and white. Like an old snapshot.”
“Did they appear younger in the photograph?”
“No. It was just an old black-and-white photograph.”
“Excuse me a moment.” Claire went into her bedroom.
“If you’re lying, you’re going to jail,” I reminded him.
“What are you so excited about? He wasn’t your old man.”
Claire came back into the room with a box of photographs and put it in front of Bobby. “Pick out a photograph that resembles the shape and size of the one Victoria showed you.”
I got up and looked over Alt’s shoulder. He searched through the box as if it contained chocolates and he was looking for the best one. Everything this guy did had a specialness to it. I wondered if that was how he looked when he was ransacking my apartment. A picture flipped over and a young tall girl in jodhpurs stared up at me. Her face was somber. Her eyes squinted in the direction of the camera as if she were studying it. Another picture showed a tall, handsome man and a stylish woman of the forties standing by a Bentley. The gangly young girl stood next to them holding a small bouquet of wildflowers.
He plucked a black-and-white snapshot from the box. “Like this one.”
Claire took the photo. “This was taken in the fifties, I believe.” She handed it to me. “Is this similar in size to what you saw?
”
I looked at a picture of two women wearing funny white caps and long aprons over their dresses. Servants. I studied the shape of the photograph. “I think so.”
“I gotta get back to the studio. They’ll wonder where I am.”
“Which woman is your new mother?” Claire asked, sitting back down.
Bobby looked at her. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes you do.” She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Who is she?”
“You really did talk to my mother.” He realized Claire had her eyes shut, so he turned it all on me. “I hurt her when I told her that. I was angry. I didn’t mean mother in the real sense…just that she takes care of me…loves me.”
He stroked his arms lovingly.
“You’re irritating me, Mr. Alt. Who loves you?”
He sucked at his lower lip. “Patricia.”
“How did you meet her?”
“I was delivering flowers at the time. She had some guy sending them to her practically every day. We got to talking. She was going to buy a limo. I told her I had a chauffeur’s license. One thing led to another. Let’s face it, she likes my body.”
He took a deep breath and expanded his chest. He exhaled, but the chest remained puffed. He looked coyly at Claire. She still wasn’t looking, so it was back to me.
“You won’t tell them, will you? I mean, that I was here? That, you know, I have a record? They don’t have to know that you know I was in your apartment.”
“Why shouldn’t I tell them?” I demanded.
“’Cause Victoria will fire me. She doesn’t like people who make mistakes. Come on, I didn’t take anything! I just messed the place up a little bit, like she told me to.”
“Why did she want you to do that?” Claire asked.
“Scare her.” Virtuous eyes peeked at me.
“You’re a real prick,” I said.
“I don’t care what you think of me. Just because I forgot to put my gloves back on doesn’t mean I should get kicked out. Hey, this is my chance to be a part of the center.”
“The center?” I asked.
“Yeah. Where everything happens.”
Claire reluctantly opened her eyes. “Just remember, Mr. Alt, Miss Hill has the power to put you in jail. Another place where everything happens. You’ll be hearing from us.”
Mother Shadow Page 11