by Gail Bowen
When we felt like splurging, the Sahara Club was one of our favourites. It was located in a sketchy neighbourhood, but during the two and a half years we lived in that neighbourhood we came to appreciate the restaurant’s charms. From the strutting neon camels on the sign over the door to the muted lighting, ruby red leather banquettes, menus without prices, and the tender tunes played by the moustached gentleman at the baby grand, the ambience was strictly 1960s. The food was invariably terrific, and Zack said the martinis were almost as good as his.
As I pulled into the parking lot, I was looking forward to a pleasantly indulgent evening. The first hint of complication came when I spotted a silver BMW with a familiar vanity plate. I pointed it out to Zack.
“DANCE,” he said. “So Zephyr’s here. I saw Margot just before I left the office. She said Zephyr’s been driving her crazy, but she didn’t elaborate.”
“She elaborated with me,” I said. “But tonight that topic is verboten, so let’s just breathe in the scent of that gorgeous wreath on the door. No plastic for the Sahara Club—that wreath is the real thing.”
Taylor would drive home, so Zack and I both had a martini. After the first sip, Zack groaned with pleasure. “My old boss Fred C. Harney used to say a martini is the reward for one who bears the hope and burden of the day with grace.”
Taylor regarded her drink thoughtfully. “I wonder what a virgin margarita is the reward for?”
“Keeping your parents out of the hoosegow for a DUI,” Zack said.
Vale smiled. “Fred C. Harney sounds like a person worth knowing,” she said.
“He was, and one of the best decisions I ever made was to article with him,” Zack said. “I’d had other offers when I graduated.”
“My dad was top of his class at the College of Law,” Taylor said.
Zack’s face creased with pleasure at our daughter’s praise. “The U of S law school has a solid reputation and deservedly so,” he said, “but when I graduated, I knew I still had a great deal to learn about the practice of law. In our first and only interview I realized that Fred C. Harney was the man who could teach me.
“He was brilliant, but he was a high-functioning alcoholic. His performance in court was inspiring—he was quick, articulate, and he knew when to pounce and when to hold back, but he had blackouts. My job was to sit next to him in court, watch everything that happened, and when court was over to go back to the office with him and give him a blow by blow of what had taken place. When I was finished, Fred C. would critique himself—always in the third person. ‘He should have pressed that witness.’ ‘He should have cited Haynes versus Olinski. ‘He should have realized at that point that his client was lying.’ That sort of thing. Fred C. was the best. In law school, I’d learned about the theory and practice of law. Fred C. taught me how to be a lawyer.” Zack picked up his menu. “Now, we should probably decide on what looks tempting—our server over there by the fireplace is starting to look anxious.”
Zack and I ordered the Chateaubriand for two, and the young women decided to share an assortment of appetizers: escargot, stuffed mushrooms, scallops and bacon, Tuscan goat cheese, and then split the tableside Caesar salad for two.
It was a great meal. Zack told a couple of Fred C. Harney stories; Vale told us that when she auditioned for The Happiest Girl, Ainsley, Gabe, and Roy had liked what they saw of her audition tapes, but they wanted to see her in action. She walked into a rehearsal hall which was bare except for the table where Ainsley, Gabe, and Roy sat. Ainsley said, “You’re a fourteen-year-old girl who transforms into a bear.”
Vale’s eyes were bright as she remembered. “It was a strange experience,” she said. “I didn’t have to think about it at all. My body just knew what to do, and I followed along. I forgot there were people in the room. I saw a wastepaper basket in the corner. I went to it and started pulling things out. Someone had left the wrappings from their lunch there. I pulled them out and sniffed at them, but there was nothing left on them. Then I found a yogurt cup that still had yogurt in it. I started licking, and then I crushed the cup, so I could get the rest. That’s when I heard Gabe say, “You can stop now. We’ll need to talk, but your chances of getting the part are excellent.”
Vale looked around the table. “Getting that part changed my life,” she said simply.
* * *
—
We dawdled over supper and the girls had dessert so it was close to ten when we left. We were waiting for the bill when a group led by Zephyr Winslow exited the private dining room. They’d obviously been at a holiday party and the guests were merry, but Zephyr looked grim.
When Zack waved at her, she stared at him seemingly without comprehension and then she started towards us. She seemed unsteady on her feet and I wondered if she’d had too much to drink. She moved towards Vale. “Whore,” she hissed, and then she seemed to collapse. The people with her were clearly alarmed, but Shawn O’Day was quick to act. He put a supporting arm around Zephyr, murmured, “Be quiet,” and led her out of the restaurant.
“Are you all right?” I said.
Vale’s expression was unreadable. “Do you believe what she said?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t.”
“Even though you know about what I did with Gabe.”
I nodded. “We know, and we don’t think you’re a whore. Not in the least.”
Vale’s smile was tinged with sadness. “Then I am all right,” she said.
The server arrived with the bill. Zack protested, but Vale was adamant that the dinner was her treat. After she paid, she pulled out her phone. “I have to check on the time of the call for tomorrow.” She read the text. “Not too early,” she said. “I can sleep till seven.”
She scrolled the other messages. “Nothing, nothing, nothing,” she said under breath. Suddenly, she stopped and stared at the screen. “I only checked my messages once today. I must have missed this,” she said.
Taylor read the words on the screen and then handed the phone to me. The text was concise: “Please forgive me. We can do this together. You will be my Sally Love.” It was from Gabe Vickers.
“This was sent at three-thirty this morning,” Vale said. “Lizzie called me at a little after five. Does that sound like a goodbye to you?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I want you to stay with us tonight. This is not a night to be alone with your thoughts.”
Vale and Taylor were quiet on our way home, but they seemed fine when Zack and I said goodnight to them. Taylor held her arms out for a hug and then, after a moment’s hesitation, Vale did too.
* * *
—
Zack and I didn’t talk about the text till we were in bed. “Did Gabe’s note sound to you as if he were saying goodbye?” Zack said.
“No,” I said. “There was nothing valedictory about those words. The man who sent that text wasn’t planning to end his life. He was preparing for the next chapter, and Vale Frazier was at the heart of it.”
Gabe Vickers’s text to Vale raised many questions, but neither Zack nor I mentioned them. Too much had happened that day, and we were tired to the bone. Soon after Zack got settled in bed, he fell asleep. I listened to his steady, even breathing and was both relieved and envious.
For what seemed like forever, I tossed and turned until finally, I fell into a dream-troubled sleep. Like all dreams, mine were fragmentary and disjointed, but one seemed to contain a logic that was just beyond my grasp. It started with a memory of a real event—Sally Love’s fourth birthday party. In my dream, her young guests were watching Sally unwrap presents. Nina’s gift to her daughter was a set of the Madame Alexander Little Women dolls, and Sally’s friends were enchanted. Nina was introducing each of the dolls. When she held up a doll with brown hair and blue rickrack on her plaid dress, Nina said, “This is Jo—she likes to read, just like our Jo does,” and I was thrilled when she handed me the doll. Nina picked up a blond doll wearing a pretty red-and-white checked dress and said, “This is Amy.
She has beautiful blond hair like Sally, and she’s her mother’s little artist, just the way Sally is my little artist.”
The next part of my dream had also been part of the real party, and my heart began to pound. Sally’s face turned dark with rage, and she grabbed the Amy doll by the ankles and smashed her china face repeatedly against the edge of the table. Her voice was shrill with hysteria. “She is not me,” she said. “I am my own Sally Love.”
But the voice was not Sally’s voice. It was Vale Frazier’s, and it was Gabe Vickers who stood beside her. Vale repeated the words I am my own Sally Love and began gouging at his face with her nails but her nails had become like bear claws. She kept growling and clawing at him until his face was unrecognizable as human, and he fell to the ground. She looked down at him. “I am not your Sally Love,” she said. Then she shrugged. “I didn’t have to think about it at all. My body just knew what to do, and I followed along.”
CHAPTER
16
The atavistic violence of the dream had filled me with a dread that still shadowed me when the dogs and I returned from our run. The scene that greeted me was comfortingly familiar: the coffee was made, the juice was poured, Pantera’s and Esme’s dishes were filled, and Zack was at the kitchen table checking his messages. I took off my parka and boots, drank my juice, poured myself a cup of coffee, and joined Zack at the table.
“So the day begins, and the inevitable must be faced,” I said. “If Gabe didn’t commit suicide, then he was murdered. So where do we go from here?”
Zack shot me a sour look. “And good morning to you,” he said.
“Sorry,” I said. “This has been gnawing at me all night.”
“It’s been gnawing at me too,” Zack said. “Have you come up with anything?”
“Not much,” I said. “Vale has to show Debbie the text Gabe sent her. It’s not decisive, but it does reveal Gabe’s state of mind an hour or so before he died, so it’s relevant. And Zack, Vale has to tell Debbie about what Gabe did to her and her suspicion that Gabe might have attacked Chloe Kovacs.”
“Agreed.” Zack sighed. “There’s certainly no shortage of people who might have helped Gabe over that balcony rail, especially if Gabe was as badly beaten up as Nick. Speaking of…Nick and I have to talk sooner rather than later. I’m assuming Gabe’s condo building has surveillance cameras. In this weather, Nick wears that parka with his company’s name on the back everywhere, and I’m sure the police will find the Kovacs Electric logo interesting.”
“Zack, when I was speaking with Ainsley yesterday, she told me that Gabe’s last words to her were to have Roy Brodnitz check his contract for Flying Blue Horses,” I said.
“That, too, is significant,” Zack said. “Because Roy’s contract, like yours, legally gave Gabe Vickers and Living Skies a lot of control. When Falconer Shreve’s entertainment lawyer and I were going over that, she explained that financing a movie or TV production often involves a number of production companies, and because the executive producer is the deal-maker he’s the official contractor.”
“As soon as Roy pitched the series to him, Gabe was determined to get the legal rights to produce it,” I said.
“When Gabe and I talked about expediting the signing of the contracts, he told me he had an investor with very deep pockets in mind, but he needed to beat a rival producer with another project to the finish line.”
“Did he offer any specifics?”
“No. Wheelers and dealers like Gabe Vickers always keep their cards close to their chest. He did say the six-part series would be a vehicle for Vale, and to be perfect as the young Sally Love, Vale needed—in his words—‘to be just on the cusp of becoming a woman.’ ”
I shuddered. “That makes my skin crawl.”
“Mine too, but it does provide another explanation for Gabe’s eagerness to get you to sign the option contract. Legally, Gabe could have taken the project to New York and produced it without the involvement of Ainsley or Roy. Gabe would have had to convince you, but he would have offered compelling reasons for you to let him proceed: you want the story told, and Vale will be passionate about playing the role of Sally at fifteen.”
“But Gabe must have known that I wouldn’t betray Roy. Flying Blue Horses was his idea. If he lost it, he would be devastated.”
Zack frowned. “That’s a bit melodramatic, isn’t it? People in theatre have reverses just as people in any other business have reverses. It’s a blow at the time, but you get over it.”
“Most people do, but Roy invests a lot of his worth in his creative projects. I’m sure that’s true of many artists, but for Roy more than most.”
“Do you think Ainsley might have killed Gabe to protect Roy from being dealt another punishing blow?”
“I honestly don’t know. Roy told me Ainsley married Gabe to ensure that The Happiest Girl was a success.”
Zack whistled. “That’s a significant line to cross.”
“The loyalty between those two is primal,” I said. “You know how fond I am of Roy. He’s a decent man, but I believe Roy would cross many lines for Ainsley.”
Zack drummed his fingers on the table. “There is another candidate who’s less painful to consider. Zephyr’s new escort, Shawn O’Day. Gabe humiliated him the night of the celebration for Zephyr. That must have stung.”
“Yet he was strolling along the hall with Gabe and Ainsley a couple of days ago. Zack, there are so many loose ends here…”
“And the police will see where they lead. Jo, we have a solid police force. I saw that up close when I was mayor. You and I could save ourselves a lot of grief by letting go and letting them do their job.”
“I’m not trying to do their job, Zack, but this isn’t like that board game we play at the lake. We’re not debating whether Colonel Mustard did the deed with a candlestick in the conservatory or Miss Plum used a dagger in the drawing room. We’re talking about people we know and, in at least three cases, people we care about. At best, we might come up with a theory that would prove their innocence.”
“And at worst?”
“At worst, we can help them prepare for what’s to come. Zack, I had a terrible dream about Vale last night.”
Zack listened intently. When I finished, he was clearly shaken. “Do you really think she could do it…?”
“I don’t know. My heart goes out to her, and I know yours does too. But we’ve both heard Vale talk about feeling dissociated from her actions, and Gabe used her—he used her body and he used her talent. And the tone of that final text he sent her was menacing.”
“You will always be my Sally Love,” Zack said the words with distaste. “God, Jo, I hope it’s not her.”
* * *
—
By the time Vale joined us in the kitchen, showered and wearing an outfit of Taylor’s, Zack and I had deliberately switched to the more cheerful topic of what to get Charlie and Colin for Christmas.
Vale looked tired, but as always, she was controlled. “Taylor said to borrow what I wanted, so this is what I chose. She’s sleeping in. She’s coming over to the set later, but I’ve got that early call, so I’m taking off.”
“If you want to stay and eat something, I can drive you,” I said.
“As I told Lena, craft services is there for us 24/7, but thanks.” Vale came over to the breakfast table. Her face was open, and her tone, gentle. “Thanks for everything. Both of you. I had a difficult night, and it was a great comfort seeing Taylor in the next bed and knowing you two were in the house.” She paused. “And that you still thought I was worth caring about.”
When Vale left, Zack wheeled over to say goodbye. “Whatever happens, she needs to know we’re behind her,” he said.
“Yes,” I said. “She deserves that.”
* * *
—
Roy Brodnitz called at eight-thirty, sounding relaxed and at ease. “How are you?” he said.
“All things considered, I’m fine,” I said. “And you?”
&n
bsp; “Conflicted. I know I pushed for us to sign Gabe as executive producer of Flying Blue Horses, but Ainsley is like a part of me, and even with the stress of the police questioning her, Gabe’s death seems to have lifted a huge weight from her shoulders. I didn’t realize how much she was carrying. Of course, a weight lifted from her shoulders is a weight lifted from mine.” He paused. “Now, if you’re free for the next hour or so, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you face to face.”
When Roy arrived, he appeared rested, and he was freshly shaven and smartly dressed in pressed blue jeans and a cashmere crewneck, the same shade of blue-grey as his eyes. I’d made tea and we took it to the table overlooking the creek, which seemed to have become “our” spot.
He smiled his winning crooked smile. “Have the Vizslas been by yet this morning?”
“They’re not due till ten-thirty.”
“I only have an hour, so I’ll have to catch them another time,” he said. “Margot and Brock and I have been talking about getting Kai and Lexi a puppy. If you happen to see your neighbour, would you mind asking her if we could bring the kids by sometime when she’s out walking Zoltan and Bela?”
“I’m sure she’d be delighted,” I said.
“So would Lexi and Kai,” Roy said. “Every child needs a dog.”
“I agree. Did you have a dog?”
Roy shook his head. “No. That’s why I know every kid needs one. Anyway, now to business. Rosamond asked to see what I’d written of Flying Blue Horses so far. As you know, there’s not much, but she and I talked about what there is, and she’s concerned that the balance is wrong between Sally’s story and yours.”
“And there’s a good reason for that,” I said. “Flying blue horses are more dramatically engrossing than a porcupine quill box.”