All Things Considered

by A B Plum

  She jogged across the busy intersection at Foothill Expressway and First Street. Like race horses waiting for the starting gun, ten, maybe fifteen cars lined up behind each other at the white pedestrian line. One jockey gunned his motor. She’d always taken for granted she and Stone would die in old age. If they died prematurely, she figured a car wreck would take their lives. Heart thudding, she reached the other side of the street. Why had she always taken it for granted she and Stone had plenty of time to repair their relationship?

  Ryn rounded the corner to The Breakfast Place as a meter maid drove into the empty spot next to the rental car. Damn, damn, damn. In no mood for a parking ticket, Ryn beeped the remote and sprinted the last few feet. She opened the driver’s door with a casual precision she hoped fooled the meter maid. Two cops in the park. One on the street. Was Los Altos the center for law-enforcement types?

  She drove toward the apartment, checking the mirrors—not for the meter maid, but for the black Cadillac limo with heavily tinted windows. Imagining McCoy in the backseat with Señor Vega slowly losing his mind because McCoy would not stop asking questions. The image helped take the edge off her terror that Vega had, in reality, kidnapped McCoy and Beau.

  Elijah’s empty jeep sat in front of the apartment building, and Ryn’s heart suddenly felt lighter. Beau and McCoy must have come back and let Elijah in. She parked behind the Jeep and raced up the stairs to the front door. Ears ringing, she punched the intercom. After her mental count to two hundred, Beau answered. His name out of her mouth, and he let out his five-year-old’s shriek.

  “It’s Rynit’srynit’sryn.” His chant grew fainter.

  Elijah said, “Beau’s on his way.”

  “Not alone?” Her heart missed a beat. Once, in his own apartment building, Beau had ridden alone up and down in the elevator for forty minutes. Terrified, he hit every control button at once, stalling the elevator between floors for two hours before the fire department rescued him.

  “Unless McCoy changes his mind. Which might happen. They seem to be best buds.”

  “Wonderful.” It took weeks for Ryn to convince Beau he wasn’t too dumb to operate an elevator.

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  “He’s in the downstairs hall.” Ryn stood on tiptoe and peered through the etched panel. “No McCoy.”

  Beau slammed the front door open with such force that the glass rattled. His fat, apple-cheeked face lit up with such undisguised joy that Ryn swallowed her warning to be more careful.

  “Beau, I can’t breathe.”

  He released her immediately, and she stumbled backward on the marble step. He grabbed one of her hands, and she heard bones cracking. Irritated by his clumsiness, she pushed him away. His thin, blond eyebrows hovered over his china-blue eyes like butterflies over blue daisies. “Ryn, I was so worried about you. I was afraid they kept you at the clinic.”

  Her selfishness stuck in her throat like a fish hook. She hugged him. “I’m sorry you were worried. I stopped by earlier—”

  “I ate all the eggs in the fridge because I was so worried, so Garrett took me out for pancakes.”

  And what did The REal really want? She led them into the lobby. “Did you have a good time with Garrett?”

  “My pancakes were excellent.” Beau held his arm across the electronic eye, waiting for Ryn to step into the elevator. He inserted the key into the penthouse slot. “Garrett sure talks a lot, though. I told him I couldn’t talk and eat at the same time. He laughed and laughed and laughed. Kinda like a crazy man.”

  Ryn bit back a laugh. “Did he let you eat in peace then?”

  “Yes, indeedy.” The door opened, and Beau kept his stubby finger on the OPEN button until Ryn stepped into the penthouse foyer.

  Elijah and McCoy stood in a golden pool of late-morning sunshine blazing through the three skylights. A persistent tic twitched under McCoy’s right eye, and the fine, red lines still streaked Elijah’s eyes.

  “We need to talk,” the men said in unison.

  “How long did you rehearse that?” Ryn asked.

  “Our timing was pretty good.” Elijah grinned

  “But totally spontaneous.” McCoy edge closer to Ryn.

  Beau shouldered his way between the men. “Don’t bother Ryn. Can’t you tell she’s tired?”

  Reflexively, McCoy lifted his arm and shoved Beau’s shoulder. In turn, Beau pushed the reporter backward with his pumpkin belly and shook his finger in McCoy’s face. “You let Ryn get some rest.”

  McCoy’s eyes narrowed—as if measuring what it would take to break Beau’s finger at about the second joint, but he jammed his hands in his pockets and drawled, “Fine. I’ll talk to her later.”

  Ryn gave Beau’s elbow two quick tugs. Face hard, he took one step backwards. She spoke to McCoy. “How about after lunch? Around two?”

  McCoy gave her a curt nod, ignored the two men, and punched the DOWN button. After the door closed, they moved into the living room.

  Beau said, “Maj missed you tons, Ryn. She had a reeely hard time sleeping ’cuz Garrett McCoy snored worse ’n me allll night.”

  Elijah’s cough covered Ryn’s snicker long enough for her to ask, “Did you tell McCoy he snored?”

  “I sure did. He said, No way. No damn way. Right, Maj?” Maj purred and stretched long in Beau’s arms. “What was the sleep clinic like, Ryn? Was it scary?”

  “I had a beautiful room. With a fireplace.” Wouldn’t that reassure Beau—knowing she had a beautiful room? “The doctor came in to talk with me several times.”

  Beau’s brows creased together, and he squinted. “Couldn’t you just take pills to sleep—like they do in those TV ads?”

  “Pills would mess up the signals in my brain. The doctor needs to study those signals to see if there’s a reason why I don’t sleep well.” Melatonin …

  “But your brain isn’t fried like mine—’cuz you never did drugs when you were a kid, right?” Frowning deeper, Beau blinked repeatedly.

  “That’s right, And sleeping pills don’t really fix what’s wrong—except maybe for a few nights.” What the hell happened to that melatonin?

  They entered the living room like a small parade. Elijah sat in “his” chair and tapped buttons on his iPhone. He didn’t say a word.

  “I wish I was smarter.” Tears thickened Beau’s voice.

  “Me too.” Ryn hugged him. “I wish I was smarter too.”

  The intercom interrupted the moment, and Beau raced to answer as Ryn’s mind spun in another dèjá vu disconnect. Was her brain shifting gears for when they locked her up in Stockton?

  Danny Leopold’s voice jerked her back to reality. No surprise, really. When she thought about their phone call, she’d been expecting him to show up on her doorstep. She said to Beau, “You can go down and let him in, right?”

  Beau’s chest swelled. “Yes, I can. You stay here and rest.”

  Elijah stood and stretched his long fingers toward the ceiling. “How about if Beau and I go out for lunch? Give you and Danny some quality time together?”

  “Thank you—though I’d rather go with you and Beau.” Ryn pulled her knees under her and reached for Maj.

  “That would really piss him off. He’s still hot I told you about the cartel.” Elijah grinned, and his brilliant white teeth sparkled like those in a TV commercial. “He cooled down a little when I suggested he hire someone else.”

  “Just like that?” She snapped her fingers.

  “PIs are like lawyers. A dime a dozen, I told Danny. That comment raised his core temp all over again.” Elijah laughed and pulled at the neck of his red Stanford sweatshirt.

  “… Ryn never told me it was s’posed to be a secret.” Beau’s protest carried from the hall as clearly as if he stood in the living room next to Elijah.

  Hands out, Danny rushed into the living room. “Ryn! How are you? Beau said you had a rough night in the sleep clinic.”

  Beau lumbered across the room, his hands squeezing his pudgy finger
s in front of his chest. “I said you had a nightmare. Was it s’posed to be a secret?”

  Ryn caught his agitated hands. “Of course, it wasn’t supposed to be a secret. You did fine, Beau. It’s okay.”

  Elijah shook hands with Danny and then invited Beau to an early lunch, promising they’d bring something back to Ryn so she could rest. Beau resisted, but Ryn said it was too beautiful for him to stay inside. “I’ll be fine with Danny.”

  “And with Maj.” Beau scooped up the cat and handed her to Ryn. “Maj is your own private tiger.”

  “Thank you.” Out of the corner of her eye, Ryn watched Danny pacing like a caged tiger ready to leap on Beau like a piece of raw meat. “Have a good lunch.”

  The crash came almost as soon as he disappeared from view.

  “The flowers.” Ryn swung her feet over the edge of the sofa.

  “That guy’s a bull in a—”

  “Stay here, please. I’ll be right back.”

  Down on his hands and knees, Beau was picking up shards of the blue-and-white Chinese vase that had held a bouquet of elaborate silk flowers. Elijah knelt beside him, murmuring what sounded like accident.

  “Ryn.” Beau’s head whipped around. Because of his blimp belly, he tottered on his heels like Humpty Dumpty. Elijah’s strong hands kept him from falling on his butt. He wailed, “I’m sorry. I was running for the elevator and—”

  “It was an accident, Beau. You can pay for the vase, okay?” She went down on one knee. “Elijah and I will help you stand, okay?”

  On either side of him, Elijah and she hauled Beau to a standing position. He immediately wanted to pick up the rest of the broken vase, but Ryn said to leave it until after lunch.

  “Need more help?” Danny kept his distance, but his tone carried an up-close contempt.

  “Fix yourself a drink, Danny. We’re fine. Elijah and Beau are just leaving.” She kissed Beau’s cheek and whispered, “See if you can make Elijah laugh.”

  After they left, Ryn stood absolutely still, her head banging like Beau’s drums, her thoughts so agitated she imagined blood leaking into her brain and swamping reason. Danny’s arrogance—no, contempt—for Beau. Worse than Stone’s so-fuckin’-superior ’tude. So … mean. She dug her fingernails into the back of her wrist. Beau’s a genius.

  She repeated the phrase three times. There was, she’d read, magic in threes. She forced her fingers to relax and re-entered the living room.

  Danny was sitting in “Elijah’s chair,” but he rose and started speaking before she sat on the sofa. “When are you going to admit he’s not getting any better?”

  Ryn didn’t trust herself to speak.

  “Stone talked to me about putting Beau in a good, private mental insti—”

  “When it came to Beau, Stone was a selfish bastard. Did he ever tell you they’ve known each other since they were babies? Beau’s probably the only reason Stone never did drugs.”

  Danny opened his hands wide. “I’m just say—”

  “Beau isn’t going to a damn mental institution. He’s not dangerous.”

  Danny examined his perfect manicure and pushed the cuticle back on his left thumb. “You sure about that?”

  Ryn’s heart slammed against her lungs, taking her breath away. “I’m more than sure. I’m positive.”

  Danny arched a brow on his salon-tanned face. “Have you forgotten he threatened to kill Stone?”

  The room went so still Ryn thought she heard molecules of air bumping into each other. She stared at Danny, but saw—with perfect clarity—Beau stabbing Stone’s chest with his index finger. “Don’t you ever hit Ryn again or I’ll kill you dead, Stone.”

  Danny broke the silence. “The police know about it.”

  “Who—”

  “No idea.” He shrugged. “They asked me. I couldn’t lie.”

  “Of course not.” Ryn imitated Danny’s reasonable, logical, fake tone. “I suppose you also told them you weren’t there when Beau made his threat?”

  “Of course. I’m sure they talked to the witnesses.”

  “Not to me. Jericho never mentioned it.” Had he? Her brain went blank.

  “It just came up a couple of days ago. Jericho’s digging up all kinds of dirt. Which brings me to why I came to see you.” He paused, pulling his flint-eyed lawyer’s stare that he’d used with Jericho.

  Ryn waited—a trick she’d learned living with Stone. She closed her eyes and put her fingertips to her temples, chanting, “I see it clearly. Chance Hunter and Harpo Marx. The next rock superstars—”

  “How about the loudmouths who can put you behind bars for a long time?”

  “Hold on.” Her eyes narrowed. “Two minutes ago you implied Jericho was interested in Beau’s threat. Now, you think the story that I punched out these two wannabes makes me the prime suspect for Stone’s murder?”

  “You are Jericho’s prime suspect. He’s only interested in Beau’s threat because he thinks Beau will do whatever you tell him.”

  Ryn hooted. “Jericho’s an idiot.”

  “Along with every other man you know—except for Beau?” Danny kicked his foot out in front of him and crossed his legs, revealing a patching of tanned skin above his long, black socks.

  “Meaning what?” She flexed her fingers.

  “It means a lot of people have noticed how aggressively antagonistic you’ve bec—”

  “Name one.” Too late she wanted to add, exclude The Monkey Boys, Elijah, The REal McCoy, and yourself. She went with one name. “Amber doesn’t count.”

  “Stone.” Danny looked right at her, his head tilted to one side like a bird waiting for a worm to stick its head out of the ground. “And he didn’t use any euphemisms. He said you’d turned into a ball-breaking bitch.”

  Chapter 35

  “Don’t you believe it,” Stone’s raspy voice whispered in Ryn’s ear as she stared at Danny.

  The impulse to pop him in the mouth tingled in her fingers.

  He’ll call Jericho. His smirk dared her to belt him. The roof of her mouth burned with the need to yell insults. Neither one moved.

  When the intercom buzzed, Danny literally jumped as if she had shot him. She fought a laugh. Oh, yes, he believes I’m innocent.

  “You know me better,” Stone whispered on her detour to the elevator.

  “Yes.” She muted the intercom.

  “I saw Elijah and Beau leave,” McCoy sounded as if he was calling from a laundry chute full of dirty clothes. “You and I really need to talk.”

  “Five minutes.” She glanced at the clock and tried to figure out the first sentence of what she’d say to Danny. He had to leave. Now. Before she did or said something she’d regret. “I have to find the elevator key.”

  Crrrunch. Ryn’s shoulder muscles bunched. Danny. He’d stepped on a piece of the broken Chinese vase. Her jaw cracked. As a lawyer, didn’t he know the meaning of privacy?

  Arms crossed, she faced him. “I have an appointment I need to keep.”

  “Who was that?” he spoke as if she was smiling at him.

  She punched the DOWN button. “No one you know.”

  “If Jericho catches wind you attacked those kids, he’ll ask the Los Altos cops to take you into immediate custody.”

  Her ears rang with the blatant threat. The elevator door opened, and she stood in front of the eye. Could he see the pulse pounding in her temple? “I’m not worried. Comfrey, you, and I are the only ones who might blow wind his way.”

  “We still need to strategize.” Danny made no move to enter the elevator.

  “Call me later.” She stepped away from the silver door. Her voice hardened. “I have an appointment.”

  As the door started to glide shut, Danny planted his body sideways in the sliver of space. “I’ll call you in a couple of hours. There’s another matter I have to discuss with you.”

  In her best ball-breaking-bitch tone, she said, “We’ll see.”

  In case the elevator stalled or Danny took a joy ride up an
d down like Beau, Ryn jogged down the stairs to McCoy’s apartment. He answered on the third ring of the doorbell. A scorched smell hung in the air. McCoy led her to the living room. His tomato soup, he explained, boiled over in the microwave while he’d picked up his messages at The Enquirer.

  “A new scandal about the president’s brewing.”

  “I haven’t been following politics. The old OJ case on the other hand—”

  Frowning, McCoy pointed to the white leather sofa. “OJ Simpson?”

  A snapshot of the white Bronco flashed, shimmered, and faded. “Another story for another time.”

  “Okay, I’m hooked. But for the record, I’m not the kind of reporter who asks someone hit by a train how it felt.”

  She smiled. “I hate that. And I hated questions about what it was like living with Stone.” A memory of the Beverly Hills mansion floated in and out of her mind. “Reporters never liked it when I said we had our good days and bad days. Living in a pseudo-castle with servants, limos, private planes—let’s say the reporters wanted to hear we lived charmed lives.”

  “That’s why the tabloids exist.” McCoy leaned over his knees, his green eyes shiny, his hands grasped together as if prayer. “Readers want fairy tales about the charmed lives of the rich and famous.”

  “Getting murdered? A charmed life?” She shrugged. “I’m confused.”

  “When a superstar like Stone Wall dies, it’s a blow to our belief in immortality.”

  Ryn tapped her galloping pulse. “Call me cynical, but I don’t think it helps when the sleazoids print headlines like STONE WALL SIGHTED IN FAN’S TOOTHPASTE.”

  McCoy grinned and the skin around his eyes crinkled. “I agree.”

  “How about ALIEN SENDS MESSAGE STONE’S SON WILL BE BORN IN A BETTER GALAXY?”

  McCoy sniggered and wagged a finger at her.

  “Wait.” Ryn tugged her bottom lip. “Here’s my all-time best. STONE WALL KEPT ALIVE WITH ELVIS IN PATAGONIA.”

  McCoy whinnied. “Proves my point. No one wants to believe death is out there—waiting for us all.”