“What are you talking about, dear girl?” Hearst asked, his voice heavy and unnatural-sounding.
There were tears in Patricia’s eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She stood tall and glared defiantly first at Hearst and then at Marion. The little girl fell away, and she suddenly looked years older.
“You’re right, WR. It is time for me to tell you, and the world, exactly what I’m talking about.” She practically bristled with ferocity. “Do you want to bring Louella Parsons in too, or will these people be enough to spread the truth at last?”
Hearst looked alarmed, an expression Lulu never expected to see on his usually supremely confident face. “Officer Milligan, will you kindly leave the room and clear every staff member from this wing?”
He looked disappointed, but he complied.
“Now, then,” Hearst said. “Have a seat, my dear, and tell us what’s on your mind.” His voice was gentle and conciliatory, which was apparently entirely the wrong tone to take with Patricia at the moment.
“Stop treating me like a child!” she roared, so loud that any staff that hadn’t yet been evacuated would surely hear. “I will not sit down. I will not be made small! I will stand and I’ll be heard, damn it!” Every jaw in the room dropped at this mature oath.
“Yes, it was me,” she admitted proudly, Lulu thought, as she started to pace the small room. “You would never admit the truth, even to me. But I knew! I found the records! Good old Aunt Marion and sort of, kind of Uncle WR have been so kind to give me such a good home, haven’t they?” Her lip curled in a snarl. “But what would the world say if it knew the truth?” She fixed her eyes on Hearst. “What would your wife say . . . Dad?”
The entire room fell silent.
Patricia turned to Marion. “How about you, Mom?”
Marion burst into tears.
“Thirty thousand,” Hearst muttered to himself.
“Yes, the price you paid in hush money for Marion’s sister Rose to take me in and pretend I was her own.”
“And the four hundred and sixty-eight dollars?” Hearst asked.
Patricia gave a mirthless laugh. “Oh, that’s the best part. Mama Rose wasn’t content with the thirty thousand dollars. She wanted a new mink cape, too. She even kept the receipt, with a note scribbled on it: ‘partial payment for P.’ Isn’t that rich? Oh, believe me, I know it all now. I found everything, eventually, in Rose’s attic. I had to dig and dig, but I even found the original birth certificate.”
“No,” Marion breathed. “You couldn’t. It was destroyed.”
“Rose might have told you that, but her husband—my supposed father—must have thought the documents would come in handy one day. If I hadn’t blackmailed you, he would have, eventually. Fine family we have, eh? I found the original birth certificate for Rose’s baby, the one who lived only a few days. Then I found the altered one with my name on it. How convenient, that your bastard could just take that other baby’s place.”
“We never . . . ,” Marion began, but Patricia held up her hand.
“The only problem was, I was already three years old when Rose’s baby was born.” She turned to Lulu and Freddie. “How do you think they took care of that? They had my fake father kidnap me for five years. Anyone can tell a three-year-old from a newborn. But by the time I was nine or ten, you all could just pass me off as a seven-year-old who was big for my age and fiendishly clever.”
The tears began to fall now. Hearst, who usually dominated every conversation, was completely silent.
“Do you know what it was like for me?” Patricia asked, anguished. “I never felt love from them, not once. They were supposed to be my parents, but I always knew they didn’t feel for me anything like a parent’s love. Can you imagine what that’s like for a little girl? And then, when I found out the truth after you took me in, I waited . . . and waited . . . and waited for you to tell me. Hell, I wouldn’t have even cared if you hadn’t told me, if you’d only shown me. Here I was at last with my true parents, and you still treated me like no more than some relative you’re fostering out of the goodness of your heart.”
“We love you, Patricia,” Marion said, choking back her sobs.
“If you loved me you would have owned me!” Patricia countered.
“WR is married. And my career would have been over,” Marion said. “What do you think would have happened to me if the world knew I had a baby? An unwed mother?”
“You had WR! You didn’t need a career. You had a choice, and you picked acting over your own child.”
“But if I wasn’t an actress, WR would never—” Marion broke off abruptly and looked down at her fingernails. Lulu knew exactly what she was going to say. Hearst wasn’t just in love with Marion the woman. He was in in love with Marion the actress. He was fascinated by her power to charm the world. If Marion had given up her career for the sake of her daughter, then Hearst would have given up her. She and her daughter would have been cast adrift. Oh, maybe Hearst would have supported them. But neither of them would be rich beyond measure, the center of glamour and style.
“And hiding my age,” Patricia went on bitterly. “Do you know, I was hardly taught to count until I was seven, just so I wouldn’t accidentally give anything away. I didn’t even understand the concept of years for the longest time! I was shipped around the world, and every time someone said ‘what a charming little girl; how old is she,’ we moved on again. I didn’t have a birthday until I came here. You dressed me in short frocks and ribbons and did your best to convince me I’m ten years old. I always felt like a freak and didn’t know why. But I’m not ten! I’m almost thirteen, almost a woman with a woman’s feelings and dreams and brain!”
Remembering herself at thirteen, Lulu thought Patricia’s claims a bit dramatic. But then, drama is what being thirteen is all about.
“Oh, my poor darling girl,” Marion said, rushing to embrace her. Patricia stood stiff as Marion’s arms went around her. “You don’t know how hard it has been for me. For us.” She gave Hearst a look, begging for his support. He stood still and stony while Marion showered her daughter with kisses. Lulu could suddenly see a strong resemblance between Hearst and his daughter: the pride, the stubbornness, the hard set of the cheeks. Patricia didn’t soften under Marion’s affection.
“Hard for you?” Patricia said. “That’s rich.”
“Don’t you realize it broke my heart to give you up? But I have you back now, as my very own darling girl. I’ll never let you go again.”
“Why did you go to all this fuss?” Hearst asked suddenly. “Why didn’t you just tell us you knew? You disappoint me, demanding money. Don’t I give you everything you need?”
Patricia held her own against his steely gaze. “I wasn’t going to keep your money for myself,” she said with contempt. “I was going to leave it at the St. Vincent de Paul soup kitchen when it was delivered. All I want—all I’ve ever wanted—was to know who I am and who I belong to. I thought if I made up the blackmail, then the truth would all come out in the investigation. Once you brought in Mr. Waters and Mr. Van, I was sure they’d find the evidence themselves, and it would all be exposed.”
“You wanted to expose our family secrets to the world?” Hearst asked.
“If that’s what it took.” She sighed, and finally put her arms weakly around the caressing Marion. “I just wanted you to admit what you did. I just want to be your daughter. For real.”
Hearst shifted his great weight from foot to foot, pondering. Lulu half thought that even now he was considering that if he threw a great deal of money at this problem, he could make it go away again. How far would he go? Would he get rid of Patricia somehow to protect himself? And Lulu and Freddie, too? Lulu held her breath as she watched the family drama. At last Hearst’s shoulders sagged, and he held out his arms to Patricia.
“You are my daughter. Our daughter,” he said, as if it cost him great effort to admit it. All the same, Lulu was almost sure she saw relief in his face. “But you must be co
ntent with that. I won’t have it known. In this house, though, when we’re alone, you are our child.”
Patricia paused, looked up at her father, and nodded as she was enfolded in his arms. Finally.
“Thank you, Lulu, for bringing this to a crisis,” Hearst said over Patricia’s bent head.
Inspired, Lulu said, “Oh, it wasn’t me at all. Freddie had the idea. I was the one silly enough to try to sneak into your office, but Freddie was the one who figured the whole thing out.”
Freddie opened his mouth to protest, but Lulu shushed him with a significant look. “In fact,” she went on, “Freddie has some compelling new evidence about the two deaths at the Ranch.” She controlled herself and didn’t say “murders.” “I hate to interrupt this happy time, but if you could give him your attention for a while, I think you’ll be surprised by what he’s come up with.”
It was the way of the world, she knew. Hearst would be far more likely to listen to a man than he would to hear the evidence from her. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair . . . but it was a sacrifice she was willing to make if it meant the man who’d murdered two innocent girls would get what he deserved.
“Very well,” Hearst said. “If you’ll come back in an hour or so, we can discuss anything you like. For now, though, we have some family matters to work through. May I trust in your discretion?”
Lulu and Freddie both nodded. Hand in hand, they left the family alone to sort things out.
Twenty-Four
As much as I appreciated that absolute lie you just told in there, you do know that that was totally unnecessary,” Freddie protested as they walked slowly down the dimly lit hallway. “Why wouldn’t you graciously take the credit you deserve? All of it! You cracked the blackmail case. And without you, that man lying unconscious in the hospital would take the fall for a crime he didn’t commit.”
“Frederick Van, what good could it possibly do for me to get a reputation as a private eye? Maybe another week of gossip, a spread in Photoplay? Honestly, Freddie, I only want the public to know me as the characters I play. I have nothing to gain, but you stand to profit tremendously by taking the credit.”
“Is that so?” he asked coyly.
“You know full well that’s so! Waters is a lush, yet Hearst has been supporting his investigation business for years. Waters must have done something, sometime to gain Hearst’s endless gratitude. What do you think he could do for you, the one who actually solved the crime?” Lulu stopped and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “But now you have to get ready to present the evidence about Emerson’s guilt to Mr. Hearst. And I have to get ready for that unfortunate competition tonight.”
“After all, the show must go on.” Freddie sighed, giving her a peck on the nose.
As Lulu walked dreamily through the grounds of the Ranch she thought that while she might not stand any real chance of winning the competition, she had accomplished everything that really mattered. She and Freddie were reconciled and stronger than ever. She’d not only found the blackmailer but also brought about a family reconciliation. And most important, she had solved two murders. Within a few hours the murderer would be under arrest and the girls of the world would be much safer.
She felt free and light for the first time in days. All of her burdens and worries had been lifted, and life was sweet again. Maybe I do have a chance after all, she thought. The other girls were pulling out all of the stops and doing lavish numbers in glittery outfits that would showcase all of their assets. Her poetry reading was distinctly tame by comparison. But at least it was different. Quiet, substantive, and authentic. That might count for something.
For almost the first time since coming to the Ranch, Lulu considered taking her performance that night seriously. Tonight she could stand before the highest glitterati of the entertainment business and present herself as the serious actress she longed to be and had worked so hard to become.
So far her practice had been mostly simple, purist recitation. She needed to add true emotion to her performance. She needed guidance, but she had no access to her acting coach, Vasily. This was a terribly inconvenient moment for her to be coachless. Then it occurred to her. She might not have Vasily, but she did have access to another artist who was uniquely skilled in unearthing deep emotional resonance. Paul Raleigh might be able to offer her some insight.
She couldn’t find him in any of the obvious places, and when she asked the grooms at the stable, they said he’d abandoned his ride once Patricia was called away. Maybe he’s in his room, she thought, and with hardly a qualm about propriety, she made her way there and knocked.
There was no answer. She hesitated only a moment, then went inside, flipping on a tall marble lamp on a table just inside the door. She knew Paul wouldn’t mind if she waited there for him. Then, after pacing around for a few minutes, she sat at his desk, fiddling with his paperweight and looking idly over the pages scattered on the surface.
Naturally enough, she mused about finding the lurid, disturbing writing that had seemed to incriminate Paul. How frightened she’d been . . . until he’d explained. Of course a writer had to take what chance they could to explore even the most terrible facets of human nature. She didn’t envy him. She supposed some people must have sick fantasies exactly like that, but of course Paul was just a kind man who was willing to suffer for his art. He had no bad thoughts or intentions toward anyone. He probably wrote scenarios about bridge parties, golf games, lovers’ quarrels—everything, just to hone his skills.
So it was with an easy mind that she started to read the typed pages scattered on Paul’s desk.
A moment later, Lulu’s mouth went dry and her heart began to race. Her mind recoiled with disgust as she read page after page of sick fantasies. These weren’t explorations of the human psyche that tormented Paul’s delicate artist’s soul. They were his personal fantasies of gruesome murders.
What kind of twisted mind could write these things?
Her heart was thudding wildly in her chest. How had she been so easily deluded by the innocent, gentle-seeming Paul? As she read the pages, she realized that these must be his blueprints, which he’d later acted out in real life.
Lulu tore through the pages. The words filled her with revulsion.
I drugged her so she wouldn’t cry out, although it dulled the keen edge of my pleasure that I could not hear her scream as the tiger tore into her. She was conscious, though, which was almost enough. Her sluggish body fought as well as it could, but she was alive as the great ravening beast ripped her viscera from that tender belly and ate it before her dying eyes. . . .
And there was more, and more. . . . Lulu skimmed through, sickened and terrified.
Then she saw her own name.
When I saw her pawing through my trash like a spy, I wanted to wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze the life out of her, killing her the same way that other blond tart died, her face turning slowly blue . . .
He wanted to kill me, the way he’d killed Juliette, she thought as she fumbled through more pages of grotesque confessions.
She was a child still, but almost with a woman’s body, a young Diana, racing her steed across the flower-strewn field. How alive she was . . . until I looped the rope around her neck and pulled her from her horse.
Patricia had been about to go riding with Paul. If they hadn’t called her away, would this have been her grisly fate?
The door creaked behind her.
“Hello, Lulu,” Paul said in his soft, slow voice. “I imagine you remember Bluebeard’s wife. Don’t you know what happens to girls who snoop?”
Twenty-Five
I can’t believe it! Emerson!” Hearst ran his hands over the wave of gray-blond hair that fell over his forehead. “Are you sure? Tell me everything again.”
Hearst had now fully embraced Freddie as his principal confidant following his unraveling of the blackmail case, so much so that he had sent a rather intoxicated Waters back to Los Angeles, confused and none too pleased with h
is subordinate. But it was taking much longer than Freddie had anticipated to convince Hearst of Emerson’s guilt. It had been midday when he started, and now it was late afternoon, not more than an hour before the actresses’ competition was slated to begin.
Freddie was getting frustrated, and he imagined that Lulu, as she waited for news, was as well. His primary fear, of course, was that Emerson could very well kill again if action weren’t taken soon. But convincing his employer that the husband of one of his closest friends was potentially a serial killer was deeply problematic. Freddie would have liked to go straight to the police, but he desperately needed Hearst’s support. If Hearst didn’t believe him, he’d quash even the soundest investigation.
For at least the fourth time, Freddie, attempting to quell his aggravation, presented the evidence that Lulu had gathered. He once again named and quickly eliminated all of the other suspects he had considered, from Docky to Sal to Marion herself.
“Now, Marion I would almost believe,” Hearst said with what sounded to Freddie like grudging respect. “I joke, of course, though hell hath no fury like a woman scorned for getting older. But if she wanted that part, or any blasted movie she desired, she could have had it. I’d buy that woman the sun if it would make her happy. She did ask, once, about this role, but truthfully I didn’t think she’d be quite right, and I suppose I hinted that. She never mentioned it again. But if she’d pressed me, I would have made sure she got it, whatever her age. But Emerson! I know he has his . . . issues. In my experience, all geniuses do. But murder? It’s . . . it’s too much. I can’t believe it.”
“The facts all fit,” Freddie insisted. “He had a clear motive to kill Juliette, who was blackmailing him over their love affair and that letter. He went into her room and searched it. He was heard fighting with her. And as for Dolores, he all but admitted it, and his possessions were found at the crime scene.”
“But what about that colored man . . . ?”
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