All Things Considered

by A B Plum

  Chapter 37

  Seventy-five minutes later, confirmed by the antique clock on Comfrey’s desk and Ryn’s watch, she felt disoriented by the time warp. Reality was a cassette clicking—a tape rewinding.

  No, Alice, you did not knock out all your brains when you fell through the rabbit hole. She laughed weakly. “I see we both survived.”

  Comfrey nodded, concentrating on his top drawer as if it held a treasure of gold and rubies.

  “Can I assume I didn’t confess to a life of vice, crime, and depravity?” She laughed again. Her bladder screamed in warning.

  Comfrey removed a small black plastic box and set it in the middle of his desk. Each movement scraped Ryn’s nerves. Why had he reverted to The Chief Shrink?

  She pushed out of her chair. Her fingers—frozen and rigid—hung from her hands like icicles from a roof. “I need a bathroom break.”

  “Coffee? Something to drink?”

  “I prefer a little 7-UP with my hemlock,” she called from the doorway.

  Comfrey winced.

  “Water’s fine.” What the hell had she said on that tape to make Doc so morose? Had she admitted to something that put him in an ethical bind? As soon as she saw the bathroom, she unzipped her jeans. First things, first.

  When she returned to Comfrey’s office, he stood, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, staring at the lights below. He closed the drapes and faced her, dropping in his chair as she sank into hers. His hands lay like dead birds on the desk’s shiny surface. A mug of steaming coffee sat opposite a large glass of ice and a can of 7-UP.

  “Let’s play the whole tape and then talk.” He clicked on the machine, and his voice followed, much slower than normal.

  COMFREY: “I’d like you to relax and then focus on this piece of crystal.”

  A rush of white noise—her breathing?—for a couple of seconds. In real time, he dangled a slender, oblong piece of crystal over his desk.

  Ryn nodded. She remembered it.

  Comfrey laid the crystal in his drawer and removed a paper clip as his recorded voice stated, “You are becoming very relaxed. Your eyes feel heavy.”

  Another long pause. The metal clips rattled in their box as he removed another one, bent the edge, and hooked it over the first clip.

  COMFREY: “You are now totally relaxed. Too relaxed to open your eyes.”

  The skin on Ryn’s arms prickled. She licked her lips and reached for the 7-UP. This was exactly like all the movies she’d ever seen about hypnosis. And like the town children following The Pied Paper, she’d apparently followed Comfrey’s suggestion and opened the doors into her mind without five seconds of resistance.

  COMFREY: “I’d like you to go back to the night Stone was killed. Tell me where you were at eleven o’clock that night.

  HER VOICE: “I was in the media room of my home in Beverly Hills.”

  COMFREY: “What is the address of your home?”

  HER VOICE: “One zero zero nine Mariposa Court.”

  COMFREY: “Where was the housekeeper?”

  HER VOICE: “She and her husband had the evening off after dinner.”

  COMFREY: “How were you and Stone getting along?”

  HER VOICE: “We were arguing. Stone wanted to watch TV. I didn’t.”

  COMFREY: “What time was that?”

  HER VOICE: “We started at eight. I went to bed at eleven.”

  COMFREY: “Were you asleep when he came to bed?”

  HER VOICE: “I was reading. He got mad because I said it was too late for sex.”

  COMFREY: “When he got mad, was he abusive?”

  HER VOICE: “Not physically. He tried to intimidate me emotionally.”

  COMFREY: “What did he do?”

  HER VOICE: “He threw his shoe against the wall. Then he took a shower.”

  COMFREY: “What did you do while he was in the shower?”

  HER VOICE: “I opened a bottle of melatonin I had in the bedside table. I took one pill. I was very tired.”

  COMFREY: “Did you buy the melatonin?”

  HER VOICE: “No. Amber gave me the bottle.”

  “Stop the tape.” Ryn grabbed the edge of Comfrey’s desk. “Play that part from my answer about the melatonin.”

  Without comment, Comfrey complied. Ryn listened and then told him to go on to the next part. Why couldn’t she remember taking that pill?

  COMFREY: “Do you regularly take anything to help you sleep?”

  HER VOICE: “Nothing.”

  COMFREY: “Have you taken melatonin before?”

  HER VOICE: “Two years ago. I stopped after a week.”

  COMFREY: “Why?”

  HER VOICE: “It didn’t help me sleep.”

  COMFREY: “So why did you take it on June 17?”

  HER VOICE: “I wanted to avoid Stone.”

  COMFREY: “Were you asleep when Stone finished his shower?”

  HER VOICE: “No. I was almost, but he woke me up. We started to make love and then he got mad and stopped.”

  COMFREY: “Why did he stop?”

  HER VOICE: “He didn’t like the moles on my neck.”

  COMFREY: “What did you do during the argument?”

  HER VOICE: “I went to sleep in the guest bedroom. I don’t remember going there, but I remember the next morning coming back to the master bedroom.”

  COMFREY: “Did you waken in the night?”

  There was a white noise on the tape, broken by a shallow rasping. In the office, the paper clip made a scratching noise on the polished desk as Comfrey added one more link.

  COMFREY: “You are still very relaxed, Ryn. Your breathing …”

  Almost instantly, the recorded breathing returned to the deep, relaxed, in-and-out pattern.”

  COMFREY: “Did you waken in the night?”

  HER VOICE: “Yes. I heard a man yelling.”

  COMFREY: “Could you hear what he was yelling?”

  Comfrey punched up the volume, but Ryn still had to lean forward to hear. He smoothed his chain, stretching the paper clips across the desk in a long, straight line.

  HER VOICE: “Stop acting crazy. Put that gun down.”

  COMFREY: “Did you hear anything else?”

  Across from Comfrey, Ryn realized she was holding her breath. Sweat dotted her hairline. Comfrey’s eyes swiveled up and met hers.

  HER VOICE: “Yes.”

  COMFREY: “What did you do?”

  HER VOICE (small, a whisper): “I lay down in bed and pulled the covers over my head.”

  COMFREY: “Why did you do that?”

  Panic squeezed her heart. She wanted to clap her hands over her ears.

  HER VOICE: (smaller, trembling): “I was scared. I hoped it was a bad dream.”

  COMFREY: “Do you recognize the other voice?”

  During another elongated pause, Comfrey dropped his eyes to add another paper clip to his chain.

  Ryn’s heart leaped to her mouth. She massaged her throat. Why was Comfrey playing with his damn chain instead of making eye contact?

  HER VOICE: “Yes-s-s-s.” On the tape, Ryn sounded like a robot. “She reminded me of my … of … my … my mother.”

  The tape clicked once before the whir of the rewind started again. Comfrey snapped off the recorder and swept his paper-clip necklace into his hand. All without glancing at Ryn. Legs shaking, she stood and hugged her waist.

  “So much for identifying the killer, huh, Doc?”

  “We need to talk—”

  “Can’t do it.” She took a first, wobbly step. She couldn’t feel her toes, but at least her feet moved. “I have that appointment. I have to make sure about Beau.”

  “Ryn?” Comfrey stood. “Martha will take care of Beau.”

  “No, Comfrey. Not tonight. I’ll call tomorrow.” She walked out the door and jogged for the elevator.

  Mind racing, she prayed Martha had left Beau with the caregiver. Ryn had already paid with her credit card. She doubted the caregiver would mind leaving
two hours early. Cannot face The Monkey Boys.

  Their smart-aleck mouths and naked ambition required more energy than she could summon. If they got bent out of shape because she stood them up, tough. Let them sue—if Stone hadn’t, in fact, disinherited her.

  In the underground garage, a movement—or a shadow—paralyzed her momentarily. Silence enveloped her. Nerves screaming, she clicked the car’s remote. She was still feeling the after effects of her adrenaline surge in Comfrey’s office. She’d let hope grab her and smother the doubts in the lowest pit of her stomach.

  And then she took a punch in the guts. The truth laughed in her face. Under hypnosis, she stated she heard Stone arguing with a woman.

  A woman who sounded like mama.

  That one statement made the whole session a farce.

  She didn’t know anyone who sounded like Mama.

  No one. You asleep, Ryn?

  What a joke. So simple. She’d dreamed the whole bedtime argument—unless she was the woman arguing with Stone.

  Chapter 38

  “We’ve got trouble,” Elijah announced as soon as Ryn answered the phone two hours after leaving Comfrey’s office.

  “Tell me about it.” She tore open her third aluminum-wrapped package from the fridge and ripped the flesh off a fat chicken thigh with her front teeth. Nerves. Physically, she felt like a kicked dog. Emotionally, she felt like a starved wolf.

  Ryn’s mouth watered as the aroma of grease and oregano filled the kitchen. “Give me five. I have to let Beau know.”

  To her surprise, he didn’t want to go downstairs with her. As soon as Martha left at ten, he’d gone to get ready for bed, informing Ryn, “I want to think some more about what other CDs to give Martha for Doctor’s office.”

  Involuntarily, Ryn’s mouth twitched. Martha now had an ardent admirer.

  “I want to give Martha an autographed copy of a CD by The Stoned Gang. So I’ve got too much on my mind to go downstairs right now if that’s okay.”

  In fact, his decision was a relief.

  Ryn left him in his pajamas muttering and sorting CDs into three piles. “Definitely yes. Definitely no. Definitely maybe.” The YES pile, twice as high as the other two, tottered as he added one more CD on top of the others.

  Let him enjoy the moment.

  When Ryn opened the front door for Elijah, he sniffed.

  “You hungry?” He looked more tired than hungry.

  “Depends.”

  “On?” Ryn tore off the rest of the thigh, wiped her fingers on a napkin, and inserted the elevator key.

  “On if you tell me you were at home all evening.”

  Caught halfway between Ryn’s esophagus and stomach, the chicken she’d swallowed felt like a load of wet cement. Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed reflexively. Yes, a black cloud hung over her and now the locusts were coming, too.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Aw, shiiit,” Elijah groaned. He banged the paneled wall twice in succession.

  The elevator doors slid open, and Ryn thought Elijah looked as if the gates of hell yawned open at his feet. Half-moons of sweat circled under both his arms.

  “What? Tell me. Get it over.” Beau was okay so … “Is it Danny?”

  “The geeks are dead.” In the dim light, Elijah’s ebony skin reflected the tinge of old ashes.

  The floor rolled and she grabbed the round antique table, missed, and felt Elijah’s fingers close around her elbow.

  “Shit, I’m sorry. You better sit down.”

  “Okay.” She kept her head very still. The room was spinning, but she hung onto Elijah’s arm. She tottered the three feet to a rose velvet sofa under a painting of a young girl, face toward the sun, lying in a field of pink, yellow, and white flowers.

  Elijah touched the back of her neck. “Head down.”

  She leaned forward and squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could do the same with her ears. She didn’t want to hear the details. Her mind had leaped ahead and returned with bad news. Very bad news. They didn’t die in a car accident.

  And their house hadn’t burned down or any other freak accident, either.

  “You’re sure?” A stall because she wanted to believe she was having one more damn nightmare.

  “The cops have positive identification. Someone snuffed them.”

  Ryn wet her lips. “Tell me what you know.”

  “Shot—both of them. By an unknown person or persons around eight-thirty tonight.” As if standing in front of a TV camera, Elijah looked right at her and spoke in the same monotone TV professionals universally used.

  She clenched her teeth and held back a wail. What if she’d shown up at nine? She’d have found them—The Monkey Boys—like she’d discovered Stone. Behind her closed eyelids, the red hibiscus image exploded, leaving the taste of salt. She laid her chest on her lap, mentally counted to twenty, and searched for an intelligent question.

  Why had no answers.

  “How—how do you … eight-thirty?” Her thoughts tumbled over each other in jerky stops and starts.

  “Two other roommates who left at eight-twenty came home at nine forty-five and found them. They called 911 right away. The story they told the cops was that the victims were meeting some woman at nine to talk about …” Elijah broke off his recitation and tugged on his bottom lip before he picked up his thoughts. “They were meeting a woman to talk about—”

  “Playing with The Stoned Gang.” Impatient and defiant, Ryn finished the sentence without blinking.

  “Ahhh.” The groan escaped from Elijah’s throat in a single, protracted syllable. His eyelids, a smoky purple slammed down over his eyes and then snapped up again.

  “Did you think I did it?” Her heart raced.

  “No. I did not.”

  Why not? “I met them this morning. By chance.” Grimacing, she rubbed her temples. Fourteen hours ago they were alive. “I told them I’d listen to an audition. I’d listen only to them.” She exhaled. “I swore I’d let them know if I was going to be late.”

  “Where were you at eight-thirty?”

  “Driving around.”

  Incredulity, astonishment, and flat out worry raced across his face.

  “I was driving around,” she repeated and tapped her temple. “Like three quarters of all Americans, I’ve watched enough TV to come up with a more original alibi.”

  “Which means no one saw you?”

  “No witnesses—isn’t that the other part of the cliché?” She snapped her fingers. “It’s pretty desolate on the Coast.”

  He gazed up at the ceiling. “Did you leave from here?”

  Ryn shook her head. “I had a session with Comfrey. I left his office in Palo Alto a few minutes after eight and pulled into the garage here a little before ten. Comfrey’s receptionist left six minutes later.”

  Elijah’s steady gaze held so much sympathy that Ryn imagined laying her head in the curve of his neck and giving in to the tears.

  “They—Chance and Harpo—didn’t tell the roommates the woman’s name.” Elijah placed a hand in the small of her back. “They said they were gonna talk to a woman about a gig they hoped to land.”

  “I told them not to tell anyone.” She shivered and whispered, “Under all that macho swaggering and swearing, they were still a couple of kids.”

  “They must’ve figured this was their big chance.”

  “The Opportunity of a Lifetime,” she agreed. In the guise of karate-chopping Ryn Davis, who had knocked them on their monkey butts.

  Why was she so surprised they’d kept their word?

  She stepped away from Elijah and saw their exhilaration when they told the roommates. She could feel their euphoria—higher than any drug they’d ever tried—as they got ready to play for her. Their anticipation and apprehension, fueled by hopes and fears, must have invaded every corner of their house as they waited for her to show up.

  In their eyes, she had the power to make them immortal.

  They would now never grow u
p. Like Stone.

  Elijah fished in his back pocket, removed a large, snowy handkerchief, and brought her back to the real world. He said, “Whoever killed them smashed their drums and guitars. Threw the pieces all around the room …”

  Three o’clock. Elijah gone for hours. Ryn lay on her back in the king-sized bed and stared at the shadowy ceiling. A sliver of light from the courtyard leaked through the hair-line crack in the drapes. The red numerals on the clock radio flipped over. After Comfrey’s success in hypnotizing her, she’d really thought she might fall into a trance if she gave the numbers her full and absolute attention.

  Problem was, her mental TV set kept broadcasting Chance and Harpo in the park, honking and braying after she’d agreed to meet with them.

  Were their mothers lying awake staring into the dark at that moment?

  On his way out of the apartment, Elijah had said, “Get some sleep. The police won’t show up at your door for the simple reason they don’t know you had a connection with Chance and Harpo.”

  “Makes sense to me.” She’d nodded her head but made no effort to smile.

  There is no sense in the murder of Chance and Harpo.

  “I’ll touch base before you leave for Comfrey’s,” Elijah said, adding, “Remember, we agreed. Wait to call the police until they make the murders public. I don’t want to jeopardize my source in the department until I can get every bit of intel I can from him.”

  Neither mentioned notifying Danny.

  Had he returned to Los Angeles or was he hanging around to chat up Comfrey? She turned over on her side, punched her pillow, and flopped down on it. Had Danny put Comfrey up to the hypnosis session? Was that why Comfrey had rushed to get her under his spell?

  Groaning, she rolled onto her back and slapped her hands over her ears. Hell, with all the voices screaming in her head, she wasn’t an insomniac. She was a schizophrenic. Schizophrenia might explain Comfrey’s tape looping non-stop all the way to the Coast.

  Drenched in sweat, Ryn kicked off the comforter. For no logical reason, Chance and Harpo appeared, pumping their six-packs in Safeway. The flashback ended as abruptly as it had started, the subliminal memory of the Kotex triggered a new memory.