I stopped in the hall, deciding whether I should continue my search for the camera or get the hell out. I smelled smoke…cigarette smoke. I wasn’t alone in the house. I stared at the closed door at the end of the hallway. Had I not had the gun in my purse, I think I would have run. But I was learning that a gun, like a couple of drinks, makes you bolder, though not necessarily smarter.
The door opened. She stood there staring at me with nervous eyes and a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. Her quivering hand pointed a gun at me. A gun in the purse is not worth a gun in the hand.
“Did they send you?” The Smoker asked. She didn’t recognize me.
“Yes,” I lied. “I didn’t know which room you were in…”
“What happened to Erwin?”
“Don’t need him around.”
“Do you have the money?”
“Yes.”
“Come in here. Slowly!”
As I walked toward her, she backed farther into the room till she was against the wall. Once I was in, she said, “Shut the door and sit on the bed.”
I sat on the bed. It was a metal frame and a mattress. It was the only piece of furniture in the room.
“Where’s the money?”
“Where’s the codicil?”
She peered at me through a curl of smoke. Her eyes focused with thought. I knew I was in trouble. I could almost see her secretarial mind flipping through its cerebral Rolodex trying to place my face with my phone number and address.
“Hill, Maggie. Shit,” she said.
“There are some skills a good secretary never loses.”
“What do you want?” She coughed.
“Guess.”
“Don’t be cute. I’ve got the gun.”
“True. But you should remove the safety catch.”
She looked down at the barrel. I drove my hand into my purse, trying for my gun, but rammed it into the jewelry box. She fired. We stared at one another, eyes wide, mouths open. Her cigarette clung to her lower lip. It fell to the floor.
“The safety catch isn’t on,” she observed, crushing the cigarette with her foot. “Don’t move.”
She came toward me, jerked my purse from me, and threw it across the room. We both looked at my clasped hand. I held my grandmother’s rosary.
“Gives me comfort in time of stress,” I said, looking around at the wall in back of me.
The bullet hole was about two feet over my head. I wondered if that was an intended warning shot or if she just didn’t know about guns kicking.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came for a pink jewelry box. Has a little ballerina that pops up and dances to ‘Greensleeves.’ Does that mean anything to you?”
“I think you and I are beyond pink boxes with dancing ballerinas,” she sneered.
“True.”
“So what the hell am I going to do with you?”
“You could give me the codicil and let me go.”
“Shut up. I have to think. If you hadn’t butted in on any of this, Roger would be alive. We’d have it made by now. I’ll let them take care of you…that’s what I’ll do. We’ll wait.”
“Who are we waiting for?”
“Shut up!” She paced back and forth at the foot of the bed.
“Whoever it is, they’ll probably take care of us both. Just like they did Valcovich,” I said.
“But I’ve got what they want.”
“But once you give it to them…”
“Shut up!” She jabbed the gun in my direction.
“Look, I was the one taken advantage of. The codicil was stolen from me by Judith Kenilworth. Did she tell you to come here?”
“I phoned her. Told her I just wanted a fair price. She said to call back in an hour. I did. A man told me to come here.”
“Was it Erwin you talked to?”
“Different voice.”
“Who killed Valcovich?”
“I don’t know. Stop playing with that!”
I let the rosary fall into my lap. “How did you get the codicil?”
“I was getting ready to leave. Roger came out of his office and said he was going to strike a deal. But he wanted to play it safe, so he gave me the codicil. He thought as long as they didn’t have it, they wouldn’t hurt him.” Tears filled her eyes. “He went back into his office. Whoever it was came in through the private door. It was only seconds and I heard the shot. And I knew.” Tears rolled down into the deep lines of her dry, sunken face. “I hid in the closet. I heard the killer searching the files, my desk, and then he left.”
“He? You saw a man?”
“The closet door was shut. I didn’t see a thing. Man, woman—what does it matter now?”
“How can you do business with the people who killed the man you love?”
“I have a right to get something back for a change!” Her voice cracked. She coughed a couple of times. With her free hand she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “We were going to go away. Tahiti. You ever been?”
“No.”
“I thought maybe you could tell me what it was like. Doesn’t matter. I’ll go. Alone. I’ve always wanted to get away.” Her shaking hand brought the pack to her mouth, and she nibbled a cigarette loose. “Anywhere. It doesn’t matter. As long as I get away.” The cigarette moved up and down when she spoke. She slipped the pack back into her pocket and came out with a lighter.
“Did you see the hole in his throat?” I asked.
The sagging skin on her cheekbones flushed.
“He didn’t die right away,” I said. “It takes a few minutes to bleed to death.”
“I swear to God I’ll fire this gun again if you don’t shut up!”
She turned her head slightly and, sucking in, lit her cigarette. I lunged toward her, slashing the rosary across her face. She screamed. Beads and crucifix scattered across the room. The gun flew from her hand. It went off. We both threw ourselves to the floor. A bullet ricocheted. I got to my feet first. I went for the gun. She grabbed my ankle. Teeth punctured my flesh. Pain shot through my leg. I kicked her in the stomach with my free foot. She grabbed both my ankles. I went down hard on the bare floor. She crawled on her hands and knees toward the gun. She had it. I scrambled for her, throwing myself on top of her back. We rolled on the floor, our bodies pressing together. I could feel her breasts against mine, soft, vulnerable. Our hipbones banged sharply. Women’s bodies aren’t made for fighting. I ended up on top of her. She was breathing hard. Remembering Boulton, I jammed my leg between her legs. I laid my forearm across her throat. She raised her head and gagged. I jerked the gun out of her hand, took a deep breath, and drove it once against her head. Her eyes rolled back and closed. I pulled myself off her. Sore and dazed, I sat next to her. She looked too still. I leaned my ear close to her mouth. She was breathing.
I thought about getting in my car and driving out of Pasadena and never coming back. Oh, hell, I’d had that thought before. I crawled over to her purse and went through it. No codicil. I crawled back to her and felt the pockets and lining of her jacket…nothing. I ran my hands down her skirt…nothing. I yanked and pulled, trying to get her skirt over her hips. It wasn’t easy; she was dead weight. I finally succeeded. She had on one of those girdles that comes down to the knees. Through little blue hearts embroidered on the stretchy front panel of the girdle, I saw the folded dove-gray paper pressed flat against her stomach. I shoved my hand between the girdle and her dry, loose flesh. Carefully, so it wouldn’t tear, I pulled the codicil out. I leaned against the foot of the bed. I had the codicil in my hand. I had it!
I struggled to my feet and put it in my bag. I picked up my rosary beads. Forgive me, Blessed Mother. Forgive me, Grandmother. Forgive me, Mother. I looked at The Smoker. Forgive me, Smoker. I put the beads in the jewelry box. Then I shook her shoulders. “Wake up!” She groaned and was out again.
I couldn’t leave her here. I opened the door and looked down the hall. The house was still. I decide
d that if I threw cold water on her, I could at least get her to her feet and maybe out to my car. Starting toward the bathroom, I heard keys jingling in the front door. I stopped. The front door opened. I hurried back to the room and shut the door. Looking around, I discovered an empty closet. I grabbed our purses and threw them into it.
“Erwin?” Waingrove’s voice came from the living room.
Shit! I grabbed her by the legs and pulled her into the closet. Her head bumped noisily against the floor. I could hear him coming slowly down the hallway.
“Ellen Renicke?”
I shoved myself into the closet with her. Closing the door, I saw the gun in the middle of the floor.
“Erwin?”
I rushed back out and picked up the gun. He was at the door.
“Ellen Renicke?”
I made it back to the closet. I pulled at the door; it wouldn’t close—her feet pushed against it. Waingrove knocked on the bedroom door. I jerked the door as hard as I could. I held it by the handle. It remained open about an inch. I held the gun with my other hand.
“Ellen Renicke?”
I heard the bedroom door open. He came into the room. I held my breath. He came into view, standing at the foot of the bed. He had a gun in his hand. I gave The Smoker a quick look. Her eyes were wide open, watching me. She opened her mouth; I jammed the barrel of the gun into it. Her eyes bulged, but she didn’t scream. Waingrove stood staring at the floor, then moved out of view. I heard him leave the room. I stayed, holding the door and keeping the gun in The Smoker’s mouth till I was sure he’d had time to get out of the house.
I took the gun from her mouth and said, “Okay, you’re coming with me. I want you to meet Claire Conrad.”
She went into a coughing fit.
I had the gun in the small of her back. We walked down the sidewalk toward my car just as Boulton had walked with Erwin. Except for one difference. The Smoker stopped and said, “Shoot me.”
“Get in the car,” I said.
“Shoot me,” she screamed, backing away from me. “Shoot me! I don’t care how I get away. I just have to get away.”
She was facing me, walking backwards down the sidewalk. I still had the gun pointed at her. Two children came out and stood on their porch, watching us. A man across the street leaned in his doorway, polishing off a beer. I couldn’t believe I was standing on a sidewalk in the bright afternoon sun, in a cozy neighborhood, holding a gun on a woman who wanted me to shoot her while the neighbors watched.
“If you want what I have so badly…shoot me!” she demanded. “Go on! I don’t care anymore. I just want to leave Los Angeles!”
Oh, hell. I put the gun in my pocket, got into the car, and drove away, leaving Ellen Renicke there on the sidewalk. I wasn’t going to shoot her. I didn’t have to. When she got home and looked in her girdle and found out she didn’t have the codicil, she’d drop dead anyway.
18
I STOOD IN FRONT of the door I had once called conceited and waited to be let in. The crown slid sideways. I knew Boulton or Gerta was staring back at me. Gerta opened the door.
“Is Erwin still here?” I asked breathlessly.
“If you mean that frightened man they have in the living room, yes.”
“Go in and tell Claire that I have to see her. It’s urgent. I’ll wait for her in my room.”
“You’re so disheveled—”
“Gerta, please!”
I hurried to my room. I took The Smoker’s gun from my pocket, Boulton’s gun from my purse, and along with the jewelry box and the codicil I laid them on the bed. I tried to organize my thoughts so that I could give Claire a clear picture of what had taken place. I stared at my strange bounty and realized that I was smiling. I had slammed a poor woman in the head with a gun, and I was feeling pretty good about myself. No, not just good—triumphant! Damn it, I had the codicil!
Claire knocked and opened my door all in the same motion. “You’ve discovered something, Miss Hill?”
I proudly handed her the codicil. She took it and read it. A slight smile flickered, then disappeared. “Inform me, please.”
We sat on the chairs by the unlit fireplace and I told her everything that had happened, careful not to leave out the slightest detail, including the gun and The Smoker’s head. She listened intently, tapping her finger on the handle of her stick. When I finished, she leaned forward. I anticipated her congratulations and had decided on a subdued but immodest acceptance.
“How in the world could you let her get away?”
“What?!” I leaped up. “That’s all you have to say to me? I come back here with a document that awards you a four-million-dollar coin collection…and all you can say is—”
“Don’t get huffy.”
“Huffy? Huffy! What was I supposed to do—shoot her?”
“It’s all illusion, Miss Hill. You don’t have to shoot people. You just have to make them believe you will shoot them. You’ll learn.”
“I don’t want to learn!”
“But you are. Let me see this jewelry box.”
I took it from the bed and placed it on the coffee table. Sulking in my chair, I watched her lift the lid. The music played and the ballerina twirled. She quickly closed the box.
“I have just come face to face with hell—doomed to pirouette for all eternity to ‘Greensleeves.’ What do you make of this odious pink box?”
“Rebecca has one just like it.”
“She does?”
“Yes,” I said smugly. “I saw it in her room. She told me her grandfather had given it to her.”
“Ellis? How intriguing. Do you know if he befriended this woman with the mad blue eyes?”
“Not that I know of. I never saw her playing in the garden. Only Jerry. I would think if he was going to give a gift to anyone, it would be him. So why would he give her a gift?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“Don’t you think it’s odd that she had the jewelry box hidden in her parka?”
“Disturbed people often hide things. Their demons are very quick to give and very quick to take away. But they can also have an acute sense of guilt. They would hide things they know they are not supposed to have, just like normal people.”
“But why shouldn’t she have the jewelry box if it was given to her?”
“Maybe it wasn’t given to her. Maybe it was given to someone else.”
“Oh, God, I’m so confused. I thought if I found the codicil I would find the truth, and the only thing I’ve found is that I’m capable of knocking a woman senseless after I’ve struck her across the face with my grandmother’s rosary.”
“One does get a little dirty searching for the truth.” Claire stood and walked slowly around the room, stopping at the bed. “You overheard something that was very important.”
“I did?”
“Yes. You heard Waingrove let himself into the house with a key.” She picked up Boulton’s gun.
“Erwin could’ve given the key to him,” I said.
“But why, if he was waiting there to let him in?”
“I don’t know.”
“A key implies ownership.”
“Waingrove owns Erwin’s house?”
“This gun has a slight kick.”
“I know!” I snapped.
“I don’t believe Boulton has ever given this gun to anyone before. It was his mother’s.”
“I know!”
“She killed two—”
“I know! I know! So Waingrove owns Erwin’s house. I don’t see the significance.”
“Neither do I. We’ll have to ask our Mr. Erwin.”
She put the gun down and picked up The Smoker’s gun.
“Valcovich was killed with a Derringer. This is a thirty-eight…and not well cared for. I don’t understand why people have guns, pets, and children, and then don’t care for them properly.”
“Only you would lump guns, pets, and children together. Did you get anything from Erwin while I was gone?�
��
“I showed him the photograph, and he agrees that it’s a picture of Ellis Kenilworth. He said the woman looked like a famous television actress. He couldn’t remember her name because he doesn’t watch television that much.”
“So he sees the photograph like everyone else.”
“Not everyone. Rebecca saw it differently.”
“You’re going to take that strange little girl’s word—”
“I want you to call the Kenilworths and tell them we have the codicil. Tell them to come here immediately. I want to see what happens when they mingle with Erwin.”
I went to the phone and dialed. Judith answered in a nervous, expectant voice.
“Judith, it’s Maggie Hill.”
“I can’t talk now.”
“I’ve got the codicil.”
A very long pause.
“Miss Conrad would like you to come to the cottage as quickly as possible.”
“But you can’t have—”
“Trust me, Judith. I have it in my hand.”
“I’ll have to talk to Mother…Sutton…” Her voice quivered. She took a deep breath and said, “If you already have it, I don’t see any purpose in my coming there. It’s all over now.”
“Hold on a second.” I put my hand over the receiver and said to Claire, “Since you already have the codicil, she sees no reason for coming over here.”
“Remind her that I do not want the codicil.”
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