As I pulled up to the curb I decided he was a big boy. It wasn’t my job to protect him, and he likely wouldn’t appreciate it if he knew I wanted to. I would trust that he knew his friends better than I did and let him do this his way. “So you’re going to tell them right?”
I couldn’t emphasize this enough. There was a time to keep your pie hole shut and a time to involve the police. And I drew that line at getting shot in the head.
“Yes, Mom. I’m going to tell them. I’ll call you later.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rules of the Scam #44
Be ready to be anything or anybody when the situation demands it…
I spent the next two hours pacing, desperately waiting for him to call me back and give me the 411 on how the cops were treating both Nate’s murder and Harrison’s attack. I paced the house, organized my mother’s files, and helped out Mr. Wong for a few minutes.
He was silent while I helped him fix the stuck lint trap on a dryer. But the silence ended when I started helping him load the soap dispenser.
“You like this boy across the street? I see you with him every day.”
I sighed. At least Mr. Wong wasn’t going to try to convince me of Harrison’s net worth and what I might do with it. “He’s just a friend, Mr. Wong.”
“You need more friends.”
By now I was used to being told what I needed by Mr. Wong, so I shrugged and added another box to the slot. We were silent again, but I knew it was only because he was making a mental list of things he needed to tell me I should be doing. He drew in a big breath and pulled his shoulders back, ready to launch in with verve.
The door opened, and the heavy New Mexico winds banged it against the wall. Harrison would have made a dramatic picture standing in the door, if not for the fact that he flinched when the door hit. Then the cinematic moment was over, and he shook off the moisture of an uncommon rainstorm. He was still wearing white, probably out of respect for his mourning family, but a different outfit now. A white v-necked sweater and white cords. Which made sense on account of his bleeding all over the other one.
He looked tired, smudges of black under each eye, and very, very pale. I wasn’t sure if it was stress and fatigue, blood loss or just being washed out by his clothing. Regardless, he was cutting a tragic figure, standing pale and wet in the doorway. It didn’t matter though. I was so thrilled that anyone was here to cut Mr. Wong off before he got started, that I’d have been happy to see a leather-clad biker, a crab fisherman, a taxi driver, Peter Gray, my mom, anyone. Well, maybe not Gray. But anyone else.
I crossed the room and asked the most pertinent question first. “How’s your head?”
His mouth twisted wryly, and he lowered his hood revealing a small shaved area on the side of his head. “Seven stitches.”
“When will you go to the police?”
His right eyebrow raised. “I’ve already been.”
“How’d you have time for the emergency room and the cops?” Did even the emergency room bow to his will?
“Oh, I didn’t go to the emergency room. I told Ana I fell. She took me to the set doctor. He couldn’t, like, put on a cast, but he can certainly do some stitches. He knew as soon as he looked at it that it wasn’t from falling though. He said he had a legal obligation to call the cops. I said go ahead, I was headed there anyway.”
Once again I’d forgotten that life was totally different when you were loaded and the son of a famous dude. “Well, what did the police say?”
He scowled. “First, they wouldn’t talk to me, though they asked me to come. They said I’m a minor, so a parent had to be there. They could have told me that before. They’re trying to jack me around. But Dad left for LA after the funeral, and Mom’s gone with the rest of the family to India.”
“So what did they do?” I wasn’t surprised they’d elected to make him wait and sweat it out. Intimidation techniques were a favorite for cops the world over.
“They called Kanako, though I’m not sure she’s legally able to represent me the way they were suggesting. By the time she finally showed up, they were pretty annoyed that they couldn’t find a parent and that they wanted to talk to me. If it doesn’t hold up under scrutiny they’ll be pissed though.”
“Well, they didn’t seem to mind that you were alone when they were interrogating you in front of the church.”
“Well, that wasn’t official.” He made air quotes with his fingers. “So they could prod me all they wanted. I think that’s why Hopkins was so pissed that I wouldn’t talk to them.”
I figured that Hopkins was Bad Cop. Good Cop hadn’t seemed all that annoyed. Mostly bored. Sometimes slightly amused. “So what happened?”
“I told them about the car accident and the gun shot. First thing.”
I could tell by the pinched sides of his mouth that it hadn’t gone all that well. “They didn’t believe you.”
“Not even a little bit. I mean they had to believe the accident. There were tons of witnesses and a police report. The set doctor called them and told them it was obvious to him that I’d received a gunshot wound to the side of my head. But they said it was all very convenient, wasn’t it? That the car was the day after Nate died, and the gunshot was right after they questioned me.”
“So who do they think did those things?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s what Kanako asked, actually. If they thought I’d shot myself.”
He seemed surprised, still, that she’d come to his defense that way. Then again, maybe we were giving her too much credit, and she’d genuinely been asking for the available ways Harrison might have screwed up. “So what did they say to that?”
“They said they didn’t know who did it, but that they believed it was a setup. They questioned me again about that morning. I told them all of it again. Then they asked me about the bank.”
I stiffened. I glanced back at Mr. Wong, afraid he was listening to every word. But he seemed intensely disinterested in us, cursing at a dryer in Chinese. “You didn’t tell them anything, did you?”
“I may not be as skilled as you at lying, Talia. But I’m not stupid. Of course I didn’t tell them anything. I played dumb.”
I glanced around again to be sure, but Mr. Wong was definitely not interested. “So if the police don’t believe you, what do we do now? I mean, they don’t actually suspect you, do they?”
His mouth pinched. “I really think they do. They dutifully took a report, but they thought I was full of crap. So all my efforts didn’t matter.”
“We have to find out who killed Nate.”
He threw up a hand. “I thought that’s what we were already trying to do, and so far it isn’t helping.”
“Then we need to try harder. And we need to consider uncomfortable things, even questioning people you know and like, like Mark and Ana.”
“Mark and Ana wouldn’t try to kill me. It’s impossible,” he protested.
I begged to differ on that one. But now wasn’t the time. At least I’d broached the subject of Ana being questioned at all.
“Well, maybe they know something they don’t realize they know. It’s clear to me that Nate was killed because someone wanted to get to you. You are the catalyst here. We can’t let this go any further.”
“Fine. Let’s step up our game. This weekend we talk to everyone left on the list, and to everyone on Dad’s staff.”
“Okay, I’m with you. What’s the plan?”
He shrugged, glancing out the window. “I’ll meet you outside at seven. We’ll start with the farthest people geographically, and then work our way in.”
It sounded sensible, but I was pretty sure that he was looking for another way to avoid going to see the people on his father’s staff.
At seven in the morning, we met silently at the curb in front of The Library like we’d been doing it every day for years. Though it had only been one week, frankly, it was starting to feel like that.
We were seeing a number of peop
le today, and there wasn’t any chance one ruse would work for all of them. So I’d packed a bag to help me follow rule number forty-four. Be ready to be anything or anybody. I’d shoved it full of outfits for every occasion and personality type I might need. I’d borrowed props from my mother, too. Makeup, jewelry, all sorts of little things that made a persona so real to the mark.
For awhile we were silent as I plied myself with caffeine and he drove out to the highway. We jumped onto I-25 heading north, so I figured we were on our way to Santa Fe. It wasn’t a shock since a lot of stars and other people associated with the movie business lived there. Even before New Mexico became a hot spot for movie making.
Once my caffeine infusion was finished, I asked, “Where are we going?”
“There’s someone living in Santa Fe, the woman Gregory mentioned, the shut in. There’s also a man in Las Vegas. New Mexico, I mean. Not exactly the same as the last Las Vegas we went to.”
Sixty-five miles outside of Santa Fe, I learned that was an understatement. Las Vegas, New Mexico was a little town. A sign said the population was around fifteen thousand, split through the middle by a river. “That’s the Gallinas River,” Harrison pointed out. “I learned that in New Mexico history class. Wow, I’ve never once repeated anything from that class before.”
We passed a huge, gorgeous old hotel, three stories tall and made of brick, with the large name, “Plaza Hotel” at the top. The entire town seemed to have a distinctly Victorian bent. We pulled to a stop in front of a robin’s egg blue two-story Victorian with a white picket fence. Not exactly what I’d been expecting.
I asked Harrison to pull up about a block and park so that I could prepare. “So who is this person?”
“His name is Stuart Pibbs.”
I couldn’t hold back a giggle. He glanced at me, and I shrugged. “Mr. Pibbs is a funny name. Sue me.”
He smiled slightly, putting the car in park. This morning, he’d let his hair cover the stitches, and if he had a bandage over them, I couldn’t see it. At least we didn’t look like a couple of ruffians. I hadn’t yet decided what I was going to look like for Mr. Pibbs.
“Tell me about this guy.”
“There was a big dustup a few years ago. He gave a large amount of money to a project with the promise that he would be an executive producer with say in the casting. But when the time came Dad wouldn’t let him. Which I suppose wouldn’t have mattered except the only reason he’d given the money was to get his daughter a part. She wanted to be an actress.”
“Hmm. Underhanded, but hardly murder-worthy.”
Harrison cocked his head. “Who knows what’s murder-worthy if you’re crazy.”
I pointed at him. “Good call with that one. What do you know about this guy? What does he like? Better yet, what is his daughter like?”
Harrison checked his appearance critically in the mirror and then sighed. “He’s kind of old fashioned. I mean, he’s old. Like sixties at least. He likes girls who wear dresses and people who go to church on Sunday. That kind of crap. His daughter looked like the girl on the Wendy’s sign, the last time I saw her.”
Yum. Wendy’s. And score. Prissy red-haired daughter for the win. I pulled the bag out of the backseat and rifled through it until I found a flowered pink number that looked like I was going to knock on Mr. Pibbs’ door and offer him a copy of The Watchtower.
I stripped down to the basics, a fitted tank top and bike shorts, the best way for a public quick change. Didn’t want to give anyone a free show or embarrass the stiffs. Though I was fully dressed still, Harrison averted his eyes. Likely, in this scenario anyway, he fell under the stiffs. When I was dressed, we walked the block back to Mr. Pibbs’ house while I gave some thought to the best way to get information out of the guy.
Once again, if he was the one trying to kill Harrison, he would know who we were no matter what I said. If he wasn’t, I would need to be cautious to keep Harrison’s identity a secret. By the time we got to the doorbell, I knew who I was going to be this morning.
The door was answered, promptly after one ring, by a man in his mid-sixties with baby fine white hair and a pair of too large tan slacks pulled up to his underarms and secured with a braided belt.
“Hi.” I smiled as sweetly as I knew how and offered my hand. “I’m Bonnie Radcliffe, and this is my brother, Ben. I’m so sorry to just drop in on you like this.”
He looked me over, then trained his gaze on Harrison. He didn’t comment on the fact we didn’t look related, but if he did later, our parents were totally Christian missionaries who had adopted us. “What can I help you kids with?”
“Ben and I are working on a large scale project for our humanities class about the possible negative ramifications of the increase of film work being done here in New Mexico. We have a section on the corrosive influence of Van Poe, who does a great deal of filming here in the Land of Enchantment. We were told that you might be a good source of information about his work ethic and behaviors.”
Mr. Pibbs snorted, his nose flaring alarmingly, presenting us with a show of dancing hairs. “Well, I certainly do know about Van Poe. You kids want to come in?”
We followed him into his brightly lit living room, every curtain pulled back to allow in the sun. “You want some lemonade?”
I declined, and Harrison politely agreed that he would. When Mr. Pibbs disappeared into the kitchen, Harrison raised an eyebrow at me. “Your brother?”
“We were adopted by missionaries. You shouldn’t be so judgmental.”
He cut off his laugh, disguising it as coughing when Mr. Pibbs returned with a glass, which he immediately handed to Harrison. “Maybe this will help.”
Harrison took a giant swig and then coughed harder. When he was finally done trying to choke to death, we took a seat on a delicate settee by the window, and Mr. Pibbs sat on the patchwork easy chair across from us. He had a fire going, though it wasn’t cold.
“Well, now, you’re doing a paper on all the movies getting made here?”
“That’s the intention, yes.” I smiled again, making sure to turn my head in the way that best displayed my one very lame dimple.
He sighed and stared out the window behind him for a moment. “I have a daughter, Maggie. She looks a little like you.” He pointed at me, and I feigned surprise. “She always wanted to be an actress. But she’s shy. A little bit nervous. So when she got a divorce and she thought the whole world was over, I thought I’d do her a bit of a favor.” He sighed again. “I guess I shouldn’t have.”
Harrison leaned forward to put down his empty glass and smiled gently. “I think a child always appreciates a kind gesture from their parent. Regardless of whether or not it works out.”
I wasn’t certain whether Harrison was sincere or not, but either way, Mr. Pibbs seemed to appreciate the sentiment. “Well, I tried to help. I had some money from her mother’s life insurance. I thought I would help her to get a little part in some movie, and then maybe she could get her self-confidence back. It wouldn’t have been anything major. Just something to make her happy again. Divorce is so hard, you know. On the young people.”
He fiddled with the TV remote but didn’t try to turn it on. “I gave about twenty thousand dollars to Van Poe with the understanding that I would ‘help with the casting,’ you know.” He made finger quotes. “But we both knew the point was for Maggie to get a part. I wasn’t asking for a big part. Just a little something. But once he started casting he refused to consider her. Not even for the extras.”
Dude. Van was a real dick. It wasn’t like I didn’t know that, but still. Sometimes it came as a shock. “What did you do then?”
“Well, I asked him for the money back, and of course he wouldn’t give it to me. We didn’t have a contract or anything. Ours was a gentleman’s agreement. I should have checked first to see if he was a gentleman.” Mr. Pibbs’ mouth twisted, and he put the remote back down.
I wasn’t getting the crazy kill vibe off this guy. Maybe Maggie was the
killer we were looking for. “Did Maggie take it very hard?”
He seemed caught unawares by the question. “Why, she never knew. I didn’t tell her what I was planning. It was supposed to be a surprise. I felt later that I had definitely made the right choice in keeping my own council. She would have been most disappointed.”
Well, that ruled Maggie out as a suspect, I supposed. “Where is she now? Did she ever make her Hollywood dreams come true?”
“Oh, my, no. She isn’t cut out for that, you know. It’s a silly dream but one I wanted to indulge her in. No, now she lives in Mississippi and is married again to a probate judge. She’s due to have her first baby in three months. She’s thirty-seven! What is that, now I ask you? In my day no girl would be having her first baby at nigh on forty.”
I had no idea how I was supposed to respond to that, so I made little noises I hoped might be taken for whatever he expected the proper response to be. Harrison rested his hands on his knees like he was prepping to stand up, but he didn’t move. Instead, he asked a great question.
“What about the money? Did you make it up? Or was it lost?”
Mr. Pibbs laughed harshly. “I didn’t get it back. I paid twenty thousand dollars for a lesson in being naive. No matter, though. The money was Maggie’s anyway. I mean, her mother and I always intended her to have it. And there was more where that came from. I’m mostly ashamed I was so easy to fool.”
I shook my head. “Don’t be ashamed. You’d be amazed the kinds of things people will believe. It’s Van Poe who should have been ashamed.”
I had seen people believe crap my parents told them that defied imagination. Stuff that was too utterly ridiculous to ever be true. But people believed it because it made them feel good.
“So, you would recommend less filming in New Mexico? Do you think the state is profiting financially, but suffering morally?” Harrison sounded so earnest that I was, once again, impressed with his acting ability. He was a natural.
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