by Diane Capri
“You’ve never seen him at the house next door?”
“No.”
“All right, let’s try to think this through. You start butting into your neighbor’s business and suddenly this guy shows up, pretending to be someone he’s not in order to gain access into your life?”
“Yes, something like that,” Piper said. “Though he couldn’t possibly think he could get away with it. Not for long, anyway. He was operating with his own funds. That’s why Belle got suspicious. Their handyman never paid for anything out of his own pocket, not so much as a nut or bolt. Luke—or whatever his name is—bought windows, spackle, bricks and mortar. Why would he do that?”
“If they’re fleecing the old gal, they have the cash to do it. Her cash. But it takes time. It would be worth the expense to keep a close eye on you, to make sure you don’t screw up the cash-cow flow before they’ve gotten everything there is to get out of it.”
“If they killed Sybil’s housekeeper, why haven’t they tried to kill me?” she asked. “Luke’s had more than one opportunity.”
“One reason is that no one believes you. The police, social services, even her personal doctor thinks you’re delusional. Even so, to go after you now would be too risky for them. You’re probably safe until they’ve gotten everything they’re after.”
“And then?”
She grabbed Piper’s hands and squeezed. “Look, stay here. For a couple of nights, at least. Get some good sound sleep. With Erica gone, I’m rattling around in this big place by myself. The guest room is made up. The fridge is full. Stay. We’ll have that slumber party. I’ll pop in some of those old movies you’re so crazy about. I have everything you need like clothes, makeup, whatever. Lord knows I wore your stuff for years. You just didn’t know it.”
Piper laughed. Lee didn’t have to press too hard. Going back to the Vogt’s tonight held little appeal for her.
Lee opened another bottle of red wine. They tossed their shoes in a corner and drank wine while lying on throw pillows on the floor of the den and watching films from the fifties. She felt giddy. The pressures of the last week or two trickled away like the water in the courtyard fountain. She and Lee acted like two schoolgirls, rolling around on the carpet, giggling at the stiff dialogue and the corny special effects. She cracked up when Lee mimicked the melodramatic lines of the lead actress, exaggerating their already over-the-top dialogue. Tears streamed down her face. “Stop, I’m going to pee my pants,” she said. They laughed harder, clutching at each other. Lee pressed on her belly, saying, “Gotta go, huh? Gotta pee?” Then suddenly everything changed. Lee’s arms were around her, holding her in a different way, her hands on her buttocks, pulling her closer. Her mouth came down on Piper’s, her tongue probing. No. Don’t ruin it, Lee. Please don’t.
She pulled back. Lee moved in again. Before Lee could kiss her again she pushed her away. Piper scrabbled backwards on the floor, shaking her head. “Dammit,” was all she could say.
Lee reached for her. “Piper, I’ve never stopped loving you. You know that. I’m still the same person who loved you all those years ago. Inside…” she laid her palm flat against her chest, over her heart. “Inside here, you’re my first love.”
“No, Lee. No. It’s not the same. It changed. When you changed, it changed—that way. I’m sorry.”
Piper rose slowly to her feet, straightening her skirt and blouse. She quickly crossed the room, retrieved her shoes, and slipped them on, balancing with her hand against the wall. “I’m going to go home now.”
“Ah, crap. Don’t be mad. Don’t go. It won’t happen again. It was the wine. It was the breakup with Erica. It was — ah, shit, Piper, it won’t happen again. I promise.”
“I know. But I’m going to go home now.”
Lee didn’t walk her to the door. She knew Piper well enough to give her some space. Piper drove home through the clear night, the sliver of a moon following above, grinning like a madman.
Since her change, Lee had never let on that she wanted Piper in that way. Their relationship had grown strong because Piper believed they could be friends. Her feelings for Lee could never be passionate again. Confused and disturbed, she wondered if they could ever make it okay again, ever get back the close, platonic relationship which had taken years to develop after their divorce and throughout Lee’s transition.
Brushing tears from her face, she wondered if Lee, too, had shed tears tonight. Why had this happened now? Was it something she had said or done to encourage her? Maybe it was nothing more than her leaving Gordon, which had brought them closer together again. Just how spontaneous were Lee’s actions tonight? Piper thought about the romantic setting in the courtyard, the wine and the invitation to spend the night. Damn, she didn’t see it coming, so wrapped up was she in her own affairs. Spontaneous or planned, it hurt to think she might have lost Lee. She needed Lee more now than ever. She was the only one to share her morbid interest in what was going on at the house next door. She was the only one to believe her.
#
Before pulling into the Vogt’s driveway, she drove to the end of the street looking for Luke’s truck. When she didn’t see it, she pulled in and parked at the side of the main house. She wanted to check on Dr. Jekyll before going up to her place.
Dr. J seemed more agitated than usual. He squawked out a stream of nonsense words, refusing to say any of his learned words and refusing to cuddle, kiss or make his cooing sounds. Piper was in no mood tonight to put up with his pissy temper. It was too late to let him out to stretch his wings. Unless he had at least thirty minutes to strut and put on a show, he balked about returning to his cage. She didn’t have thirty minutes. Not thirty minutes she wanted to spend with an irritable, screeching bird.
While still in the main house, she went upstairs to check out the back of the Squire estate. No lights burned in the window where she’d seen the hand. She checked through all the windows on the second floor. The house was dark.
She went up to her place, guided by a light from the lamppost near the garage. Standing on the threshold, she flipped the switch just inside the door, but the light did not go on. The closest light was straight ahead in the kitchenette. She paused. She had no intention of crossing the room in the dark. A definite rustle to her right. The hair on the back of her neck rose along with the goose bumps on her arms. She wanted to run but her feet were locked in place. Someone was in her living room. She couldn’t see him but she knew he was there. A dark figure passed in front of the window. She caught a glimpse of a tall, well-built man an instant before he slammed into her. She screamed as she was knocked to the floor. She screamed again as a gloved hand clamped over her mouth. Kicking and twisting, she flailed out and raked her nails at the face above her. Over the roaring in her ears, she heard footsteps on the deck. The hand over her mouth eased off. It was too dark to see anything, except that there were two of them. Two tall men scrambling around on the deck. A thud, scuffling, and groans followed. One of them vaulted over the railing, hitting the ground below with an exaggerated grunt.
This wasn’t happening. Her fears had been realized, she was now a target. There were two of them. One was still out there on the deck, his back to her, leaning over the railing holding a gun. Fighting the panic paralyzing her, she struggled to her feet and groped around inside the front door searching for something hard or sharp. Her fingers wrapped around the cast-iron doorstop. She sprang into action. The man spun around. She swung the heavy metal, catching him a glancing blow just above his eye, but the blow didn’t drop him. She raised the doorstop again. He grabbed her, pinning both her arms to her body and pushed her against the front of the guesthouse, pressing his body into hers, hard. “Take it easy, Piper. It’s me. It’s Jason Bower.”
Jason Bower?
“Detective Bower.”
“Detective?” The doorstop slipped from fingers when, in the light of the lamp below, she saw him in profile. A stream of blood coursed down the side of his face. “Oh my god.”
&n
bsp; “Inside,” he said shielding her body with his as he propelled her through the doorway. “We’re targets standing out here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“… a dream come true. I’m married to the most marvelous man in the world,” Sybil told Hollywood columnist Hedda Hopper. “We have a beautiful son. Our daughter Norma has returned to us from England and Sam has initiated steps to adopt her. With my loving family, the Oscar nomination for Black Ribbon, and my upcoming film, Judgment Day, I couldn’t be happier.”Six months after that interview her baby boy was dead and her teen daughter committed to a sanatorium. A month later, her husband’s private plane crashed into the side of a mountain range in rural Nevada. Shattered dreams.
—Excerpt from the biography of Sybil Squire: The Platinum Widow
by Russell Cassevantes
Inside the guesthouse, in the dark, Piper felt her way around editing bay to the kitchen and turned on the light.
Glass from the broken ceiling light fixture glittered on the editing equipment.
Piper looked back at the detective. He was dabbing at the cut on his head with the side of his thumb.
“Oh God, I’m sorry! Your head. I did that. I thought you were one of them. I have to get you to the emergency room.”
“It’s okay, it’s not as bad as it looks. Head wounds always look worse than they are.” He peeled off a paper towel from the holder on the bar counter then sat on a nearby stool holding the towel to his head. “How about you, are you hurt?”
“No. No, I don’t think so. Really shook up, though.” Piper hurried into the bathroom for something to dress the cut until he could get it properly tended to. He was on his cell phone when she came out. She heard him give out her address before disconnecting.
“The police are on their way.”
With a wet washcloth, she cleaned away the blood on his cut brow.
“Did you see who it was?” he asked.
“No, but I’m pretty sure it was the man who’s been posing as the handyman.”
“The one I saw fixing the windows of the main house?”
“Yes.” For the first time, he was wearing casual clothes. Off-duty? “Why are you here?” she asked.
“I got a call from the Fraud Section of the Financial Crime Division, a Lieutenant Stroller. Why didn’t you inform me about that particular development?”
“Why? It had nothing to do with the now closed Wade case.”
“I—okay—I guess I deserve that.”
She put a dab of antiseptic on a Band-Aid and pressed it to his head a little harder than necessary. He winced.
“That doesn’t answer my question. Why are you here…tonight?”
“I believe you,” he said. “I checked out a few things. What I found turned things around. For instance, the nurse, Judith Avidon, has a son. It’s possible that son is the phony handyman and the man that attacked you tonight.”
Avidon had a son. That shocked her.
“If that’s true, then we have them.”
“When was the last time you saw Sybil Squire?” he asked.
“The real Sybil?”
“Real or otherwise.”
“Yesterday. In an upstairs room that isn’t her bedroom. Just before that, I tried to talk to the Sybil imposter before her accomplice drove her away in the Lincoln.”
“Imposter?”
Piper told him about her theory. “That’s how they’ve managed to fool everyone for so long. With this woman posing as Sybil to the authorities and denying that there’s anything wrong, time is on their side. If we wait too long, they may kill Sybil.”
“If they feel threatened they might kill her now and run. I suspect there’s something they want from her that she’s not giving them.”
Yes. That made sense. And it had something to do with the bank. “Vera told me that the same day the stranger came to the Squire house, Sybil made Vera take her to the bank. She had a large valise, which she took with her to a second bank. It’s my guess she cleaned out her account and safe-deposit box and transferred the contents to another one.”
He nodded. “They want the safe-deposit key and she’s not cooperating.”
“When you were struggling with the man on the deck, did you see his face?”
He shook his head. “It all happened so fast. He wore a bandana on his head—like the man in the video clip you sent me.”
“I have pictures of Luke.” She glanced at the end of the counter where she’d left the envelope. It was gone. “He took them. But I’ve got the digital shots on the PC.”
Piper uploaded the picture album on the computer. She scanned through it twice. “They’re gone. He deleted them.”
He stood and looked around. “Anything else missing?”
She crossed the room to the camcorder. It was empty. “The shots I’ve taken from the past weeks of the house next door. Gone.” She sank down on the ottoman.
He went to the kitchen sink and dampened a paper towel. He picked up the antiseptic and Band-Aids, crossed the room and kneeled in front of her. When he touched her leg at the hemline of her skirt, she looked up at him.
“It’s your turn.”
Her right knee was skinned from where she’d been knocked to the deck. He gently dabbed at the scraped skin, then applied antiseptic to the Band-Aid and covered the abrasion. He was gentle but efficient, as if he’d done this many times before.
He smelled good. A knock on the door startled her.
“That’s LAPD,” Detective Bower said rising. “Let me handle this, okay?”
“Gladly.”
Detective Bower let the two uniform police officers inside and explained the situation to them. He described the break-in and the assault to her, and his scuffle with the intruder. After thoroughly canvassing the grounds of the Vogt estate, the two officers returned to the guesthouse and took a statement from her and the detective.
Detective Bower said, “Mrs. Lundberg and I have reason to believe the residents next door may be harboring a fugitive—the man that attacked her tonight. The owner of the house is a friend of Mrs. Lundberg and an innocent party to any of this. I know that legally you can’t do anything without a warrant, but the owner of the home may let us in to interview her and her caregivers.”
#
Officer Lovett knocked on the front door of the Squire residence. The door cracked open. Mr. Moto’s face peered out, his expression one of bafflement when he saw the two officers, Piper and Jason.
The officer informed Mr. Moto that there had been a crime committed at the Vogt residence. “Would it be possible to speak with the lady of the house, Mrs. Squire?”
Piper looked directly into his eyes through his round glasses, and though his expression was grave, smug amusement shone in his eyes like happy on a clown. He bowed his head and stepped back, allowing them to enter. He showed them to the living room and left the room.
Piper held her breath. It seemed too damn smooth, too easy.
The first thing she noticed was the bare shelves where the dozens of Q. Letec figurines had once stood.
Minutes passed, minutes that felt like an eternity. Piper shifted from one foot to another. No one spoke.
A soft voice broke the silence. “Is there a problem?”
Piper whirled around to see a platinum-haired woman coming into the room. Her steps slow but sure as she walked to the wingback chair, with Mr. Moto at her side, she lowered herself into the chair. The woman’s hair was perfectly coiffed. She wore an expensive dressing gown. On her feet were ballet-type slippers. Lacy gloves covered her hands and reached to well above her wrists. It was remarkable how much she resembled Sybil, especially the hair and eyes. In this town, she could be wearing a wig and contact lenses, even a latex mask, designed by a special effects film artist.
The birdcage next to the chair was empty.
“Excuse my informal attire,” the woman said to no one in particular, looking around the room. “I was in bed.” She turned to Piper. “Mrs. Lundberg, why are
you doing this to me?”
“You’re not Sybil Squire.” Piper turned to the two officers. “She’s not Sybil Squire.”
“How well do you know Mrs. Squire?” Officer Lovett asked Piper.
“Well enough.”
“I’ve had her to the house one time. The visit was short.”
“Twice. I’ve been here twice. Sybil would know that.”
“I didn’t invite you the second time,” she said.
“If she’s not Mrs. Squire, who is she?” the other policeman asked her.
“I don’t know. That man,” Piper said, pointing to Mr. Moto, “is Sybil’s caregiver. He and a nurse named Judith Avidon moved in about a month ago. There are more of them. At least one other man. I strongly believe they’re financially exploiting their patient. Not to mention physical abuse.”
“What proof do you have?”
“Well, for starters, ask her what happened to the figurines that used to be on these shelves, figurines worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
“I sold them. I never liked them. They belonged to one of my late husbands. After the last earthquake, several were damaged, so I decided to sell them to someone who loved them as much as Alec loved them. Officers, I’m liquidating my assets and moving east and possibly abroad.” She turned to Piper again. “Is that all right with you, dear? Or do I need your permission?”
“What happened to the canaries?”
“I’m afraid they’re gone.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “One became sick and then all were sick. They died. That’s the main reason I’m leaving. There’s nothing to hold me here now.”
“Where is Judith Avidon?” Piper asked.
“On the east coast. She’s setting up things for me there. Preparing us for the move.”
“She’s lying. If you fingerprinted this woman and compared the prints to Sybil’s, you’d see she’s not who she says she is.”
“Fingerprints to compare with what, Mrs. Lundberg? I’ve never been fingerprinted.”
Piper refused to look at the imposter, directing her questions to the taller cop, Lovett, the one who seemed to be running the show. “What about DNA? Find something of Sybil’s and run a DNA test.”