Sympathy for the Devil

by Jerrilyn Farmer

  “So that guy who was nuts about his new car?” I asked, remembering back. “And the guy who dated his secretaries?”

  “Yeah. It was hilarious. I had these big powerful men shaking! Bruno was supposed to meet me at the dinner break to get the details. He thought it was the biggest hoot.”

  Holly cleared her throat. “You predicted I would get a new boyfriend before Christmas.”

  Angelica grinned. “You weren’t on Bruno’s hit list, so I just made it up.”

  “And what about Madeline? You said Arlo would propose.”

  “Now that was Bruno.” Angelica turned to me, smiling. “He said I should rub in what an old maid you are.”

  It figured. The joke was on me, too.

  “I’m not that old,” I mumbled, more to myself or maybe to Bruno than to anyone in that room.

  “Bruno told me to think of it as an audition. So I really got into the character. Things just started coming to me. Can you believe that? I actually started getting, like, messages. I felt that something awful might happen at midnight. Isn’t that wild?”

  Well, Stanislovsky said that acting is believing. I could tell she’d make quite an actress some day. Maybe even a Kudrow.

  In my kitchen, with the sun shining on her young pretty face, there was none of that ethereal quality I’d noted on the night of the party. If anything, there was a bit of the Valley girl.

  “Nice performance,” I commented.

  Her dimples deepened and her shiny black ponytail bobbed.

  “But wait a minute.” Holly was confused. “Bruno couldn’t have met you during dinner. That was when I accidentally walked in on Lily and him in their bedroom.”

  “Right,” Angelica said, coolly. “He didn’t show up. I was really pissed about it at the time.” She smiled ruefully. “I thought he was going to put some moves on me during dinner.”

  “At his own party?” Holly asked, thrilled.

  “Oh, you get to know about these directors and producers. They pretty much want what everyone wants.”

  “And you give it to them?” Holly was dying to know how these things worked.

  “Look, why sell it on the street for a few hundred bucks when you can date these powerful men, travel first class, get great clothes and stuff, and land a career that will net you millions? Am I right?” She turned to me, like this is the way all us business women get started.

  “Is she?” asked the ever-curious Holly.

  “Making it in Hollywood…” I said, selecting my words carefully, “there are many paths. Some, such as Angelica, favor the time-honored route. Many don’t. But tell us,” I said, quickly steering a conversational U-turn back to the party, “did you ever see Bruno that night?”

  “Never. I was stuck telling fortunes until late. Then around twelve o’clock, somebody called me on the walkie-talkie saying that Bruno is, like, dying. It just creeped me out! I mean, all night I’d been getting vibrations about midnight!”

  “But you said there was a mistake…” I reminded her, trying to get back to what she’d said when she entered my kitchen. The comment that had given me something to hope for.

  “Oh, yeah. The other night, I borrowed a car from my cousin Perry. His Bentley. See, he was out of town and I know his bodyguard pretty good. I was real careful to get his car back before he came home. But then you show up at his house! How’d you find out about him, anyway?”

  “The license plate.”

  “Well, that was a mistake. My cousin is like paranoid. He doesn’t dig strangers is the thing. He’s really an okay guy, but he kind of flipped when you showed up on his doorstep. He just wasn’t expecting you is all.”

  “I got that impression.”

  “So he’s real sorry he got the wrong idea. He told me to make sure everything was okay. You know, with your car and all.”

  “Those are some dogs he’s got.”

  “Nancy and Hillary. Yeah. But really, they’re fine when they know you.”

  “So what does your cousin Perry do for a living?”

  Angelica hesitated.

  “Or shouldn’t I ask?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Maybe you shouldn’t,” she agreed, but then her tone brightened. “Oh! Perry wanted me to give you this. It’s his way of saying no hard feelings.” She reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a white envelope.

  “What’s in it?”

  “Money, I think. For fixing up your car. He’s awfully mad at me about everything. So it would be great if you could take this money and make the whole incident disappear. Could you do that?”

  I needed a minute to think that one over. “Holly, could you get Angelica’s driver’s license and xerox it for our files?”

  Angelica looked at Holly and me and then mashed through her bag and drew out her license. Then she held out the envelope to me and said, “Could you just forget about Perry and, well, all the shit that happened when you visited him?”

  I looked at her young face. It was clearly unstruck by any slap of conscience. She had planned to accept Bruno’s advances in exchange for that big break. Perhaps she had built up their future affair in her mind, had even seen herself as the next Mrs. Bruno Huntley. Was the gypsy so angry at Bruno for standing her up that she killed him?

  “What were you doing with a gun at the party?”

  “L.A.” She shrugged. “You know. It’s dangerous.”

  “And that white powder in your purse,” I continued, “what was that?”

  She didn’t question how I knew the contents of her shoulder bag. Still holding the envelope, she reached into her bag with the other hand. Holly, God love her, ducked.

  “It’s coke. You gonna bust me?” She held up the vial.

  A twenty-year-old who nonchalantly carries a gun? And drugs? Well, it wasn’t the L.A. I knew personally, but I read about Angelica’s L.A. in the paper all the time.

  “Are you going to give me a break?” she asked.

  I took the envelope. “This is simply to fix my windshield? Nothing else?”

  “Perry just wants to know that you’re his friend.”

  I handed her back the envelope. It had felt thick. “I don’t think…”

  “Oh no! You really have to take it.” She was definitely stressed. “He told me his dogs may have scratched your paint job. Perry takes cars very seriously. Look, he really wants you to have this. Please. Don’t disappoint Perry.”

  The last thing I needed right now was some sort of gang leader annoyed that I wasn’t “his friend.” What was so wrong about letting him pay for my car’s damage?

  “Please,” Angelica pleaded.

  I find it incredibly hard to say no. Call me a wimp. I didn’t disappoint Perry.

  Angelica left, and I was startled by the time on my kitchen clock. I quickly packed the cooled croissants into a white box. I poured cafe au lait into a thermos. I grabbed Perry Hirsh’s envelope and started for the door.

  Holly stopped me.

  “How much?”

  I opened the envelope and scanned the contents.

  “There are sixty five-hundred-dollar bills,” I said quietly.

  “Yow! How much is that? Like…” Holly was breathless, doing the math. “Like…like thirty thousand?”

  “Nice paint job.”

  Chapter 28

  The attorney’s name was Del Schreiner. He was extremely “business suit” in appearance, but actually seemed to have a sense of humor. That helped. When I offered him a fresh-baked croissant, I said, “I’m pretty sure this one’s from the batch that wasn’t poisoned.”

  Del accepted the pastry, bit into the delicate crust with gusto, saying, “If I get your friend off, will you marry me?”

  We were scheduled to go in to see Wes in thirty minutes. I would get a mere five minutes to meet with him alone. How to tell him all that I’d found out in such a short time? That Lily may be kicked out of her home and lose the millions and the land because it was not physically possible for little Lewis to be Bruno’s biologi
cal son. That through a wild scheme of semen bait-and-switch, or just old fashioned hanky-panky, unto them a child was born. And, that Carmen Huntley is really a Feliz of the “Curse of the Felizes” fame. That she and her mom were trying to buy the very same land that Wes had sold to Bruno.

  I had to fill him in on the missing soothsayer and her connection to the incredibly shifty Perry Hirsh. How is he connected to Bruno’s murder? I was pretty sure Wes would have a fit about me accepting the thirty grand and want to shuffle me off in the witness protection program.

  What I really wanted to do was to ask Wesley about the poison. Where the hell did it come from? Please, Wes, have a really good answer.

  “So,” the newly hired attorney, Del Schreiner, said after neatly finishing the chocolate-chip croissant, “where the hell did that strychnine come from?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be coming up with all kinds of ways to suppress the evidence? Like illegal search or something?” I asked.

  “Of course, Madeline, of course. That’s what we always do when there’s physical evidence so damaging that no jury in its right mind could fail to convict on it.”

  My mind raced, feeling trapped. “But what about the Menendez brothers? They admitted shooting their parents, and two juries were still hung trying to decide if they were guilty.”

  “If there is any way that we can prove that Bruno Huntley had been sexually abusing your friend Wesley for years, I think I can assure you we won’t have a problem with the jury.”

  The thing about humor in horrible situations is this: I never really appreciate it when someone else does it.

  Before I was allowed to walk into the conference room I was relieved of everything I was carrying: my purse, my box of croissants, the thermos of cafe au lait, my notebook. No one explained the rules. Perhaps they were wary of concealed weapons or drugs or chocolate chips, who knows?

  Sitting on the other side of the large table in the center of the bare room was Wesley, wearing L.A. County prison blue, a one-piece jumpsuit of navy cotton. He didn’t really look as bad as I’d imagined.

  But as soon as I spoke to him, I could tell the difference in the man. He no longer made jaunty jokes. He was taking things seriously now. He seemed older, somehow, more sober and manly. Like maybe he grew up.

  “Wesley!” I just stared at him, tears coming quickly to my eyes. Now where the hell did they come from?

  I had so much to tell him, so much to ask him, and I could say nothing.

  “Madeline. You know I didn’t kill Bruno. You know that, right?”

  “Right.” Of course I knew it. Of course. How had I started doubting the one person I know best?

  “The poison must have been planted in my apartment. I can’t remember when the last time was when I baked a cake.”

  “A cake?”

  “They found the strychnine powder in the large glass jar I use for storing cake flour. I was just trying to pin down when was the last time I really looked at the cake flour.” He shook his head. “I just don’t know.”

  “Wes, whoever killed Bruno had to know about your history with him, right? That would leave out most of the people involved in Bruno’s company and the general Hollywood crowd.”

  “But why frame me?”

  “You know this town. It’s not so much talent as just being in the right place at the right time.”

  Wes smiled weakly.

  An officer came over to us and said our time was up.

  “Hey, Wesley. Hang tough, okay?”

  He just looked at me helplessly. On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t have used the word “hang.”

  Chapter 29

  While I was out, Holly fielded calls from everyone we knew. Friends were shocked by the arrest. Clients were making sure we would send back their deposit checks as soon as possible. The tabloids were making offers. One paper was interested in purchasing the exclusive rights to the recipes we’d used for the Halloween party, including how many teaspoons of strychnine per serving. Wes’s mother called. Lizzie Bailey called. Lily called. And Chuck Honnett called.

  I shuffled through the message slips a few times and put the one from Honnett on the top. I stood there, in front of my desk, just staring at his name written in Holly’s loopy penmanship. Then I firmly rotated it to the back of the pack.

  “Madeline, I didn’t write it down, but Arlo has called you every fifteen minutes. He knows Wesley’s been arrested. He sounded kinda tense. Would you like me to get him on the line for you?”

  “Thanks, Holly.” I had meant to call Arlo last night and tell him about Wesley myself. Things were just getting away from me.

  Holly called from her desk in the next room, “They’re getting him.”

  I picked up my phone and waited. Arlo’s voice came on almost immediately.

  “Mad? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. I’m angry.”

  “Mad Bean angry? You’re never angry. Hey, I think this is a growth thing for you.”

  Arlo had a lot of money invested in therapy.

  “I wish there was something I could do, Arlo. I wish I could take care of things so Wes could come home. But it’s just beyond me, you know?”

  “You always want to take care of people, Mad. That’s the neat thing about you, but, hey, sometimes you have to give yourself a break. Remember we were talking about getting out of town? How about Vegas? Let’s take some time to unwind.”

  “Unwind? No. I don’t think so, Arlo. I’ve got to stay wound until I can figure out what was really going on at our party last Friday night. It’s just a total nightmare. Not only is Wes in trouble, but my whole brilliant career is up in smoke. Our catering company has zero clients.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got a lot of grief work to do.” This is what Arlo is like when he’s being sympathetic. I actually prefer him when everything’s a joke.

  “Arlo…” He could hear the warning in my voice.

  “Honey, why don’t you and I get together for dinner?” He was trying his best to be there for me.

  “Great. Where shall we meet?”

  “Actually, I didn’t mean tonight. See, we’re still in major fucking rewrites tonight. You know how it is on Tuesdays. But how about on, well, Saturday?”

  “Sure. Fine.”

  It’s lucky we have dedicated sitcom writers hard at work in Hollywood, or, God forbid, we might not have new episodes of “Suddenly Susan” and “Woman’s Work” every week.

  I looked at the message now on the top of the stack and wondered what Lily was calling me about. I had become her best friend in the last few days. After dialing the number, I kept sorting through the rest of the slips and stopped, again, at Honnett’s.

  “Hello?” Lily’s breathy voice answered after one ring.

  She had called to say how shocked she was that the police had arrested Wesley.

  “I guess I should be relieved that they are not seriously considering me as a suspect,” Lily said, “but the idea that Wesley murdered Bruno is absurd! I called them and told them that, but they seem to believe in what they are doing.”

  “Thanks for your sympathy, Lily. I appreciate it.”

  “Ever since Bruno died, nothing has gone right. I had called to tell you that I’ve been asked to leave the house. In fact, the trucks are coming tonight to start packing.”

  “Lily! Are you serious? Why are you moving?” It was the first I’d heard that Lily didn’t mean to stay in the Huntley mansion on the hill.

  “It’s the paternity issue. Bruno was not Lewis’s father.” She let out a shaky sigh, but then pulled herself together.

  “That was the lab’s conclusion and that’s enough for the attorneys to rescind Bruno’s will and award the entire estate to Graydon and Bru, Jr.”

  “But did you tell them what you told me?”

  “Please. The attorney said that for thousands of years babies have been born by a very simple process. And no matter how technical I was trying to make it, Bruno was not Lewis’s father.
Since Bruno had set up his will to question my loyalty, the lawyers think he was suspicious of me all along.”

  Lily sounded so matter of fact. No emotion. I wondered, again, what the truth of Lewis’s parentage really was.

  “But what about your doctor? She’ll explain that you were inseminated and Bruno provided the sperm to her office. I think you need to get a lawyer on your side, Lily.”

  “I never really wanted Bruno’s money. Won’t it seem like I’m just a greedy little…?” Her voice trailed off.

  “I’m sorry you have to leave the house,” I said. “Do you need any help?”

  “Thanks, Madeline, but the moving company will pack me up. Bru, Jr. is intent on getting me out as soon as possible, it seems.”

  “Lily, at least check with a lawyer. Maybe you will have to leave the house eventually, but this moving you out in the middle of the night sounds awfully fast to me. Be careful.”

  Things were not going well. I stewed over Lily’s odd story for a minute. Then, remembering Holly’s sperm bank theory, I pulled out the Yellow Pages.

  From my open door, I could hear the phone ring and Holly picking it up. As I flipped through the phone book, looking for sperm banks, Holly peeked in at my door.

  “Hi, I know you’re busy returning calls, but I’ve got Carmen Huntley on the line. Do you want to take it?”

  Did Carmen know something about Bruno’s murder that she had forgotten to mention yesterday?

  I thrust the Yellow Pages toward Holly.

  “Would you start calling all the sperm banks to see if you can get any information on their customers. It’s a long shot, but maybe we can find someone who can verify that Bruno Huntley bought himself some sperm.”

  As Holly backed out of my office, her nose in the listings, I picked up the phone.

  “Carmen?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry to disturb you. I saw in the newspaper that your friend has been arrested. It seems the police must have made a mistake. I just don’t believe that your partner was responsible for Bruno’s death.”

  “He isn’t.”

  “I called the detective and told him that it didn’t make sense to arrest Mr. Westcott. Bruno liked him.”