Addison and Luke returned to the living room. She rewound the video-tape and pressed play.
“What are we looking for?” Luke asked.
“See that woman on the bench?” Addison pointed. “I am almost positive she’s my neighbor.”
“The old woman who brought you the pie? She’s so young. How can you tell?”
“It’s her mannerisms. She moves just like she did back then.”
Luke looked closer at the screen. “I don’t see anything unusual.”
“I know it’s her,” Addison stated. She fast-forwarded the tape until the end credits rolled and read the names of the cast members aloud. In the “also starring” category was Roxanne Rafferty. It took another minute or two for Addison to find what she was looking for, an actress known as the “lady on the bench.” Only her name wasn’t Helen. It was Vivian Bouvier.
“Did she introduce herself when you two met?” Luke asked.
“She said her name was Helen. She never gave her last name.”
“Then it’s not her.”
“Vivian could be her stage name.”
“It’s nearly five in the morning—you’ll have to wait a few hours, maybe more, before you can find out.” Luke said.
Addison yawned. “I’m going to try to get some sleep.”
“I can stay on the couch if you want, in case anything happens.”
“I’ll be fine. Thank you for staying with me through…well…everything. I know I was a mess earlier, but everything has changed now.”
And it had. She didn’t know why or how, only that she felt like a new woman was emerging inside of her—a woman who wasn’t scared or afraid of the unknown. In fact, she was fearless.
CHAPTER 22
Helen didn’t look the least bit astonished to see Addison standing on her doorstep. But then, Addison assumed not much shocked the woman at her age.
“I wondered when you’d stop by and see me,” Helen said, ushering Addison in. “How is the house coming along, dear?”
“Just fine.”
Addison glanced around the room. A faint whiff of perfume permeated the air. It smelled familiar, like a fragrance created by Coco Chanel. A grand piano rested peacefully in the corner, giving the impression that it was used more often as a place to rest one’s wine glass than a spot people gathered for a festive sing-along. On the far wall was an array of black-and-white photos grouped together in three rows. There were at least thirty head shots, and all of them had been signed by the actor or actress in the picture. Most were of people she wasn’t familiar with, but there were a few familiar faces in the mix: Greer Garson, Lana Turner, and even a smug-faced Marlon Brando looking hunky and svelte, a far cry from the man he became in later days.
“Where did you get all of these pictures?” Addison asked.
Helen’s eyes sparkled with delight. “Oh, here and there over the years.” She took her cane and angled it at one of the photographs Addison didn’t recognize. “Bob’s my favorite.”
Addison stepped closer. “I don’t know him.”
“Don’t you?” She shook her head. “I suppose you wouldn’t. Shame, really. Mitchum was one of the greats of his day. Now then, why don’t we sit, and you can tell me why you’ve come.”
Addison did as requested, taking a seat across from Helen, who stared back at her like she was some kind of bubble-gum-toting kid she’d never fully understand and didn’t want to, even if she could.
Addison took a moment to rehearse the words she’d mulled over at least a dozen times. “I was thinking about the day we first met,” she began. “You never answered my question.”
“Which question was that?”
“Why did my grandmother leave the manor?”
The old woman’s shoulders bobbed up and down as if on cue. “What makes you think I know?”
“You were friends, weren’t you?” Addison asked. “That’s what you said.”
“We weren’t attached at the hip, if that’s what you’re suggesting. She didn’t tell me everything. Why does it matter now anyway? You said she was dead. Let her rest in peace.”
Addison brushed off her smug reply and persisted. “You’re evading the question, even now. Do you know what made my grandmother leave, or don’t you?”
Helen’s face hardened. “No. I do not. One day she was here, the next she was gone. Satisfied?”
Far from it. As her mouth opened to ask her next question, a shrill, clattering sound rang out from a back room, the sound mimicking pieces of tin hitting the floor.
“What was that?” Addison asked.
Helen’s eyes widened, and she flicked her wrist, just like she’d done in the movie. “What was what? I don’t hear anything.”
“The noise I just heard. There’s no way you didn’t hear it.”
Addison stood.
“What are you doing? Sit down!” Helen shrieked.
Helen’s words fell on a deaf and determined Addison, who buzzed down the hall like a bee’s stinger set to maximum impact. “Hello? Who’s back there?”
Silence.
“Hello? Come out. I know you can hear me.”
Addison neared the door, flattened her hand, and pushed the door open. A miniature tan-and-white ball of fur with a haircut resembling a baby lioness bounded down the hall and into the living room, where it sought reprieve in the arms of its owner. A slender, wrinkly-faced man limped not far behind.
“I thought you said you lived alone,” Addison said, whipping around.
“I do,” Helen replied. “He’s my help.”
“Your help?”
What century is this woman living in?
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the man said. “She got away from me.”
“That’s all right, Milton. Take her for a walk, would you?”
The dog spun around a few times, then curled into a ball on Helen’s lap.
Helen rolled her eyes. “Oh, never mind. Give us a minute, won’t you?”
Milton nodded and shuffled out of the room.
Helen eyed Addison curiously. “Well, are you going to sit back down now, or is there something else you want to check out first?”
The more time Addison spent with Helen, the more she despised that authoritative tone in her crackly voice. All her life she’d listened to others, doing what they wanted her to do—taking advice instead of following her own intuition. But not today. Today the bone in her back felt straighter. She held her head higher. She meant what she’d said to Luke the night before; she did feel different. A change was taking place inside her, and although she didn’t know where it would lead, she knew she’d never be the same again.
“Milton has been with me for over fifty years,” Helen remarked.
“I’m not here to talk about him. I want to talk about you, Vivian. That is your name, isn’t it?”
The old woman stroked the dog, her rumpled, spotted hands beginning to tremble. “No one has called me that in a long time. How did you know?”
“I saw a movie last night. A Night in Paris.”
“How did you recognize me?”
“You still move the same.”
“I don’t understand,” Helen said.
“Your hand gestures. They haven’t changed.”
Helen gave a slight nod. “No one has noticed me in years. Not that I get out much anymore. I’d rather stay here where it’s quiet. I’ve been out of the limelight for several decades now. If you knew anything about the business, you’d understand why I chose the simple life in the end.”
Addison crossed one leg over the other. “So which is it—Helen or Vivian?”
“Helen Bouvier. My father was French.” She glanced out the window. “I’ve never been to France myself. I was raised here in America. In any case, the studio execs loved Bouvier, but they weren’t so keen on Helen. They said Helen sounded like the name of a bored housewife. Vivian, on the other hand, had a touch of flair. So that’s who I became.”
“Were you in a lot of movies?”
“Several. Never aspired to my goal as lead actress though. I never even starred as a supporting actress. Your grandfather got me a role in Ride the West Wind that turned out to be the best speaking part I ever had. I thought there would be more, until he left town.”
Addison’s jaw tightened. “My grandfather? What did he have to do with acting?”
Helen shook her head. “It surprises me that your mother never told you any of this. Your grandfather, Norman Grayson, was an assistant director in Hollywood. He was a very important man in his day.”
“If that’s true, why would he give it all up like he did?”
“You can’t imagine the stress he was under. The kind of stress that ages a person far beyond their years. He was tired of the game—he wanted out and he got out.”
The revelations kept coming. What else don’t I know?
“You must have known my grandfather well then if he got you parts in his movies.”
She shrugged. “Well enough. There was a group of us who had apartments in and around Hollywood but preferred life elsewhere when we weren’t on set.”
“So the manor wasn’t my grandparents’ only residence?”
“Oh no, dear. They rented a lovely home in Hollywood. I always thought your grandmother would end up there, but she sold the place, something I’ll never understand.”
Helen gave the dog a gentle nudge, and he hopped to the floor. She grabbed the cane next to her and scooted to the edge of the chair. “If you’ll excuse me, Addison, I have to take a ride to the city in a few minutes. Thank you for coming to visit. I don’t get much company these days. I’ll give you my phone number in case you find yourself in need of anything else.”
“There’s something I need right now.”
Helen raised a brow. “Oh, what’s that?”
“I want you to tell me what you know about Roxanne Rafferty.”
CHAPTER 23
If uttering Roxanne Rafferty’s name out loud came as a surprise to Helen, she didn’t show it. Her composure remained the same, her tired eyes not registering any sudden movement that would give away her innermost thoughts. She twisted her cane back and forth with the palm of her hand and stared straight ahead, choosing her next words carefully. “Why are you asking about Roxy—is it because of the movie? No one knows where she—”
“I know all of that already.”
“What exactly do you think you know?” Helen snapped.
“Roxanne went missing after attending a party at the manor. She was never seen again.”
“Is that why you’re so curious—because of the scandalous history behind her disappearance? You’re wasting your time. That was ages ago.”
“I’m interested in a lot of things.”
“Such as?”
“How you knew her.”
“From the movie set, of course. There’s no reason to hide it, so I won’t.”
“Did she attend many of my grandparents’ parties?”
“I don’t remember seeing Roxanne at more than one or two. She wasn’t a staple like some of the others.”
“What about the night she went missing—did you see her then?”
Helen shook her head. “I had an audition in California.”
“For what?”
“A role I never got.”
“What was the name of the movie?”
“Why do I get the feeling I’m being interrogated?”
“I’m just asking a few simple questions.”
Helen squirmed in her seat. “I get the feeling it’s a lot more than that. You’re meddling into something you shouldn’t.
“I read in the newspaper that my grandfather went missing that same night. Were they having an affair?”
“Norman and Roxy—how would I know?”
“You were their neighbor,” Addison stated. “I’m sure you heard things.”
“I wasn’t here that night. I already told you.”
“Did you know Roxanne well?”
“Not really. We talked a few times on set or when we saw one another at social gatherings.”
“Who else was at that party the night she went missing?”
“I don’t know. I never asked. Now—as I said before, I have an appointment to get to.” Helen stood and called for the help. He came quickly, as though he’d been standing in the next room, listening and waiting.
Addison sighed, her hope of learning something useful from Helen drifting away like an inflatable raft tossed around an unruly ocean. She was about to leave—disappointed at having gotten only meager explanations to her queries when one last question entered her mind. She pivoted on her heel. “Do you remember the names of the detectives who worked on the case?”
“How could I forget? They hounded me and everyone else I knew that first year.”
“Why?”
“The public demanded answers, and they thought if they kept interviewing us, eventually someone would change their story.”
“I’d like the names of the detectives.”
“Dobbs and Houston. Why do you want them so badly? What’s your motivation in all of this?”
Addison’s stomach lurched. She crossed her arms in front of her and looked Helen in the eye, amazed at how hard it was to speak the simple truth. “I…I believe Roxanne was murdered.”
Helen’s gasp resonated throughout every corner of the valley. She smacked her cane down on the tile floor with both hands and stood firmly behind it. “Now wait just a minute! Why would you say something like that?”
“I’m not the only one to suspect foul play.”
“But there isn’t any proof.”
“I’m entitled to my own opinion. I don’t need any proof for that.”
Helen fell silent and remained that way for over several seconds. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I don’t see what harm it will do now. There was a rumor going around the time of Roxanne’s disappearance.”
Addison stifled a smile—finally she was getting somewhere. “What was it?”
“Supposedly your grandfather and Roxanne were having an affair. For how long, I never knew. Someone found out about it and told the producer of the movie he was working on.”
“But you just said you didn’t know if they were having an affair,” Addison said.
“I also said I needed to leave, and since you’re standing in my way, I’ve decided that since you want the truth so badly, why not give it to you? You seem to think you can take it.”
“Go on.”
“If the affair turned out to be true, and I never knew if it was, it would have been a big deal at the time because the producer accused your grandfather of convincing the studio he worked for to hire Roxanne for roles in movies that should have gone to other actresses. Something like that could have ruined his career.”
“And you believe that’s why he left?”
“I believe it’s why they both left. In my opinion, she went first and he followed once a little time had passed. You asked me if I knew why your grandmother left the manor. I don’t. But I imagine living there after finding out everyone in Hollywood suspected her husband of messing around behind her back would have been enough to break any woman.”
CHAPTER 24
It couldn’t be true. Addison had seen Roxanne. She’d seen the room, held the stained dress in her hand. Helen’s confession was spoken like she was under oath, testifying with one rigid hand flattened over the Bible. She believed Norman and Roxanne had run off together, and had most likely given this theory to Detectives Dobbs and Houston.
A call to the local police department yielded nothing. The sprightly, young secretary who answered explained she didn’t have time to look up anything about the case “right now.” She took Addison’s name and number and said she’d have someone call her back “at their earliest convenience.”
Addison needed a distraction while she passed the time, and she found it in Hugh Brandon, one of Roxanne Rafferty’s supposed lovers. There were three Hugh Brandons listed
in the phone book. Addison considered calling first, then decided showing up in person was best. No one could hang up on her that way, and if a door was slammed in her face, she’d just wait around until it reopened again.
The first Hugh Brandon turned out to be a thirty-something investment banker who didn’t spend much time at home, a testament his neighbor was all too happy to give.
Two more to go.
Adjacent to Central Park was one of the most architecturally sublime condominium communities Addison had ever seen. The Pallisades was a pre-1900, highly sought-after residence most people couldn’t afford if they lived a dozen lifetimes. It came complete with a gloved bellman at the door and a mirrored elevator that looked like it had been dipped in gold. Addison stepped inside and pressed the button for the third floor. She found the right apartment number and knocked. No one came. She knocked again, this time hearing a faint, “Hang on,” wafting through a tiny crack.
A stunning, leggy, young girl opened the door. She had long, blond hair-extensions, Addison surmised, that ran halfway down her back and the waifish figure of a person who nibbled nothing more than a few bites of rabbit food each day.
“I must have the wrong address. Sorry to bother you.” Addison shook her head, disappointed. She’d struck out—again. Or had she?
The girl scanned over Addison’s less-than-model-worthy body, repeatedly flicking the metal zipper pull on her fur vest with the tip of her fingernail. The cropped vest exposed her pierced belly button and appeared to have nothing beneath it. “Are you looking for someone?”
“Hugh Brandon. He was an—”
“Actor.”
Addison rested a hand on her hip. “You know who he is?”
“He’s my dad, I’d better.”
Impossible.
“You look a little young to be his daughter.”
She rolled her eyes indicating she’d heard that particular line many times before. “I was adopted. Long story.” She glanced at the screen of her pink bedazzled cell phone. “Anyway, my dad’s not here right now, so…”
“Is there some place I can wait?”
A woman appeared behind the girl. She looked old enough to be Hugh Brandon’s wife. She had pale, greyish-blue eyes and wore a button up rayon blouse and black trousers. Never before had Addison seen a woman so fit for her age. “Who’s this?” The woman gestured toward Addison.
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