Blood Orange

by Karen Keskinen

  “Killer? What do you mean, killer? I just—” Sarah’s mouth gaped.

  Behind me, still stuck in the closet, Cynthia let out a bleat. “Sarah! What is she talking about? Does this have something to do with your father? Sarah, I demand—”

  “Dad? It doesn’t have anything to do with Dad!” Sarah spun around and screamed at her mother. “Shut up. For once why don’t you just shut up!”

  “I’m your mother, I’ve every right—”

  “It’s Sutton. Is that all right with you, Mommy Dearest? He never even liked you. Didn’t you know? All the time it was me he wanted, he just used you so he could be close to me!”

  Cynthia sagged. Then she buckled at the knees and slumped to the floor.

  * * *

  I climbed into Gabi’s station wagon and pulled the door shut. Then I removed the four sacred objects from my pocket and rested them side by side in the passenger seat. The medallion, the cross, the bracelet, the necklace. I knew exactly what they were: trophies taken by Sutton Frayne from his victims. One trophy per rape. Possibly, one trophy per kill.

  And I knew something else: although Sarah probably had no knowledge of the jewelry’s original owners, she hadn’t simply stored the pieces away. No, I’d bet my sweet life on it: she’d worn them when requested. The rhinestone bracelet, the cross, the necklace of x’s and o’s, and Lili’s medallion: Sarah wore them when she and charming Sutz had sex.

  I reached over into the back and grabbed one of Gabi’s yellow rubber gloves, slipped the jewelry into the fingers, and tucked it into a bucket holding brushes and rags.

  Then I switched on my cell and phoned the office. “Gabi, any results?”

  “Not yet. Miss Jaymie, she won’t stop to eat nothing, I’m trying to tell her—”

  “Forget about food. Tell Claudia to keep digging into Frayne’s past. She needs to comb through the newspapers, find every single rape and rape-murder committed wherever he’s lived. Sutton Frayne, Gabi. He’s the one.”

  * * *

  I turned the key in the ignition and began to move forward down the Wiederkehrs’ private lane. Out of nowhere, a gunmetal-gray limo pulled sideways across the exit into the road, blocking it. The vulture-like face of Celeste Delaney peered at me through a side window.

  I braked and fumbled blindly for the power-lock button, just as Ken Utman wedged his shoulders out through the limo door. Then an even larger man, a thug I’d never seen before, rolled out from the front passenger side and walked around the limo to stand beside Ken.

  Celeste rapped on the glass with her stick, then dropped the window an inch. Ken bent his neck and angled an ear to the opening. Then he straightened and said something to his companion, the mountain of flesh. They started toward me.

  I was tempted to run the goons down, and maybe that’s what I should have done. Instead, I stepped on the gas and surged past them.

  The limo was stretched sideways across the lane. There was a gap between the rear bumper and a stone pillar supporting the wall—but I realized too late that the gap was a foot too narrow for Gabi’s wagon. I jumped on the brake and stopped several feet short of Celeste Delaney’s door. The woman had nerves of steel: all this time, she hadn’t taken her black eyes from me.

  I must have missed the power button, because Ken yanked my door open with ease. I swiveled around and managed to place a swift kick squarely in his gut. I’d aimed lower, but this did the job and sent him tottering. The other goon opened the passenger door, and when I turned to confront him, the butt of a gun whacked against my cheekbone. I yelped in pain.

  “What’s the matter, Utman? The little girl hurt ya?” Mountain Man laughed.

  “Get out, Zarlin,” Ken snarled behind me. He grabbed my shoulder and dragged me to the ground. I scrambled to my feet, but the other guy had already circled the station wagon and trained the gun on me.

  Ken’s face was red with rage. He frisked me roughly, removed my cell, and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he frog-marched me over to the limo.

  “She wants you treated nice—for now,” he spat in my ear. “I couldn’t care less, so behave yourself or there’ll be a little accident.”

  “Remember, Ken, she’s the boss.” I hoped my voice sounded cocky, but maybe it didn’t. I was terrified.

  The guy with the gun opened the limo door, and Ken shoved me into the seat facing Celeste. “You want Hurley to sit back here with you, Miss Delaney?”

  “Absolutely not. I cannot bear the sight of the man. Did you recover the trinkets?”

  “They’re not on her. Too big to stuff up her—” Ken stopped himself. “We’ll come back later and go through the car. Or she coulda stashed them in the yard on her way out.”

  “If you go onto the property, be discreet.” She turned to me. “How are you, my dear?” Her smile was tender, for a flesh-tearing raptor.

  “Just fine, considering I’m being kidnapped.” I was determined to be plucky. Showing fear to Celeste Delaney was not a good idea. For one thing, this was the aunt of Sutton Frayne.

  “You really are brave, aren’t you? Most commendable, I would say.”

  The two front doors thumped shut, and the glass partition whirred into place. The limo glided into the road, so smoothly that we seemed to be rolling forward on a sheet of stainless steel.

  “I have to admit I rather admire you, Jaymie. Tell me, this business about the jewelry. How did you know where to find it?”

  I knew I should say nothing. But my anger was growing, and apparently I wasn’t going to keep my mouth shut. “Sarah had revealed she had a lover—an older man. I’d guessed Frayne had snagged her. After all, what better way to raise merry hell than to screw your friend’s wife and daughter? I knew Lili’s murderer kept the medallion as a trophy, and once I figured out your nephew was the killer, I put two and two together. How jolly to have a teenager wear your victim’s jewelry while you fuck her—wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Vulgarity does not become you, Jaymie. I think you are losing your cool, as they say. But it is understandable, I suppose, under the circumstances.”

  “Where are we going?” I demanded.

  “You shall see soon enough.” She tapped me lightly on the neck with her cane. “Soon all your questions will be answered, little detective. Then you will need to question no more.”

  Her head tipped to one side. It was odd: Celeste’s face was beginning to look like a totem, the wooden mask of a vulture. Was fear causing my mind to play tricks on me?

  We rose in elevation as the limo slipped up the winding roads of Montecito, where large secluded estates backed into mountain ravines. Twenty-foot-high hedges of Victorian boxwood hid the properties from view.

  We glided to a stop before a pair of tall iron gates topped with spikes. Ken stuck his arm out the window and punched in a code. The gates swung back. “Stonecroft,” Celeste observed. “Barely tolerable in midsummer, and a miserably cold cave in the winter. A mausoleum for the living, in a way.”

  The crushed granite road snaked through redwoods and ferns, then ended in a circular drive. A gray stone mansion, three stories high, loomed in the crook of a steep hill. The shaded slate roof was thick with mold-blackened moss.

  “Come closer, Jaymie. I have something to tell you, something for your ears alone.”

  I can’t say why I obeyed my captor. Maybe it was my unquenchable curiosity, the kind that killed the cat. Whatever the reason, I did lean toward Celeste, and allowed her claw to grip the skin of my neck as she breathed an odor of carrion on my cheek.

  “You have tried so very hard, my dear, with so little reward. Before you go, I should like to do something for you. I am going to introduce you to Daphne. The very archetype of Daphne.”

  * * *

  The elderly housekeeper who opened the door was dressed in a gray skirt and black sweater. She glanced quickly at me, then stepped back and stared at the floor.

  “Janet,” Celeste snapped as she entered. “Is she in the sitting room?”

&nb
sp; The lady visibly cringed. “Yes, Miss Delaney. Today, she—”

  “That will do, Janet. I don’t need to hear how her bowels are behaving, or some such thing. Take the boys to the study.”

  “Yes, Miss Delaney.” The woman twisted her hands.

  I had an urge to leave a trail of bread crumbs behind me. “Hello,” I said firmly. “I’m Jaymie Zarlin.”

  “Hel-Hello,” Janet faltered.

  “Never mind about her,” Celeste ordered. “You come with me.”

  Everything about the interior was massive and heavy. The floors were stone, the walls paneled in dark oak. This was not a California house, but a structure that belonged in the East. Perhaps it had been built by a wealthy industrialist, before the Great Depression.

  Leaning on her stick, Celeste tapped her way over the stones like a blind person. But her path was unerring, across the hall and down a long corridor. We entered a great kitchen, large enough to serve an army. A teakettle, the only item that spoke of life, whistled away on the concrete counter. “Janet is thick as a plank. Look at that: the idiot’s left the kettle boiling. Pull out the cord.”

  As I did so, it crossed my mind that the boiling water was a weapon I could use to free myself. But my curiosity was growing, conquering my fear.

  Celeste hobbled toward a door at the far end of the kitchen. “Open it, will you.”

  The door opened into a simple room, no doubt originally planned as a breakfast room off the kitchen. It was furnished with a scattering of chairs and small tables, and a big old television set, which crackled and hissed in a corner.

  Sunk into a motor-powered recliner facing the TV was a large pale-skinned woman with wispy white hair. “Why, Ce-Celeste—” Her flaccid cheeks quivered as she attempted to speak.

  “Really, Caroline.” Celeste hobbled up to the woman. “Your sweater is food-stained. Make yourself presentable, can’t you?”

  Caroline. So this was the mother of Sutton Frayne.

  “But, Celeste … I didn’t know you were … were…” Poor Caroline. She tried to smile at me, but her expression collapsed in defeat.

  “Were what, coming to visit? What if I have? Now pay attention. This is Miss Zarlin. Miss Zarlin, my sister, Caroline Frayne.”

  “Hello, Caroline.”

  “Hello, I—I—”

  “Honestly, Caroline, pull yourself together,” Celeste scolded.

  Caroline looked down at the knitting abandoned in her lap.

  So, where was the fabled Daphne? I glanced around the room, almost expecting her to pop up from behind a chair.

  “What are you looking for?” Celeste asked in a sly tone. She leaned heavily upon her cane, watching me now. “Or should I say, whom?”

  “You said you’d introduce me to Daphne. I was just wondering … Oh.” I looked again into the sad lost eyes of Caroline Frayne.

  “Yes, what year was it, Caroline?” Celeste leaned down and shouted into her sister’s ear. “What year was it you were selected to be Daphne, and raped by Daddy’s old friend?”

  “But Celeste,” Caroline said in a shivery voice, “you said—you said we must never—”

  “For heaven’s sake, close your mouth,” Celeste snapped. “Every time you open it I must wonder what fresh inanity will issue forth.”

  The television crackled on and on.

  “Well. As it happens, the half-wit is right—we tell no one. Except for Janet, even the staff do not know.” Celeste hobbled to a chair and eased herself down. “She was impregnated, you see, and Daddy arranged for an idiot to marry her quickly. But even Reggie Frayne could not tolerate her in the end.”

  Celeste pointed her cane at me and cackled. “Oh my, if you could see your face!”

  Apparently I’d been called upon to bear witness to the shame and suffering of nearly six decades. I turned to Caroline. “I’m sorry. Truly sorry for what happened to you.”

  “You are sorry for her? But why?” Celeste patted her hair with a shaky hand. “Father took care of my doltish sister from then on. Though I daresay that was only fair. You see, it was Daddy who had arranged the rape of our Daphne. He told her it was an ancient solstice tradition, the sacrifice of innocence, and she should be honored to play her part. But in fact, Caroline was sacrificed in exchange for a business favor—the oil rights to a large parcel of land in the Los Angeles basin. Oh my”—she laughed again at my expression—“you do find it shocking, don’t you?”

  “Caroline,” I said gently. “You never told anyone?”

  “I—I—”

  “Certainly she did not,” Celeste interrupted. “In our day, a girl kept quiet about such things. She remained silent out of shame, I suppose, but also out of respect for the family and the tribe.” Celeste turned to her sister and again raised her voice. “Isn’t that right, Caroline? You kept quiet about what Jack Caughey did to you.”

  Jack Caughey? “What, do you mean Cynthia Wiederkehr’s father?”

  “Certainly I do. Cynthia is Sutton’s half sister, and that clever daughter of hers, Sarah, is Sutton’s niece.”

  I was quiet for a moment as Celeste’s words sank in. So Frayne had sex with his sister and then with his niece. I glanced over at Caroline. Her face had grown blank, and she seemed to have abandoned her body.

  “Don’t look to her for answers,” Celeste said. “You’ll come up empty-handed.”

  The stark cruelty of her remarks nearly took my breath away.

  “I’d have drowned the infant at birth, had it happened to me,” Celeste continued. “Still, it all worked out, in a way. I was able to take a strong hand in Sutton’s upbringing, especially after my grandson’s death.”

  “How did you know I was at the Wiederkehrs’ today?” I asked quietly. “Did Cynthia phone you?”

  “Cynthia? Hardly. Caroline, ring the bell. Caroline, I spoke to you!”

  Caroline crept back into her skin and looked confusedly about.

  “The bell, you fool!”

  Sharp high rings stabbed at the air.

  “No, it was Sutton who phoned me, of course. He was up in Carmel when Sarah called him, quite distraught. Apparently you upset the girl. He is on his way here now, as we speak.”

  “You never cared about Danny, did you? That was just a ruse.”

  “You are catching on!” Celeste clapped her hands together. “Great God in heaven, why would I, of all people, trouble myself over an impoverished Mexican boy? All that matters to me is my lineage, and Sutton is my only living heir. You know, my nephew thought you were an idiot, nothing to worry about. But I suspected otherwise. You were determined to get that boy out of jail, and one way or another, I knew you’d succeed. Paying the bail was merely a way for me to keep an eye on you, my dear, to keep ‘in the loop.’”

  “And supplying me with the photographs from the parade and the park? A diversion, I suppose.”

  “I rather prefer the term ‘red herring,’ don’t you? It has a whiff of the literary about it.”

  “You knew Sutton was guilty. You knew from the start.”

  “No, that’s not so. But I suspected as much. You see, I know what he is capable of.”

  “Celeste,” Caroline said in a quavering voice, “what is she talking—”

  “Shut up,” Celeste barked. She turned back to me. “There’s no harm in telling you now. Yes, I know my nephew rather well. Something happened while Sutton was in college, you see, involving a coed.”

  “He raped a girl, didn’t he. Did he kill her?”

  Caroline let out a cry. “Celeste, what is she—”

  The door opened and Janet stepped into the room. “Did someone ring?”

  “Tell Ken and his dog to come in, Janet. Tell them the package is ready.” Celeste smiled. “‘The package.’ That’s what they say in the movies, you know.”

  But I had no intention of becoming anybody’s package.

  I jumped up and ran for the door, pushing Janet aside as gently as I could. I jogged down the hall, turned right and then right ag
ain. I found myself in a utility room with no windows or exit.

  At that moment I heard a commotion: Ken and his dog. The hunt was on, and I was the fox.

  I hurried back into the hall and jogged around a corner. Here the hall ended in a series of steps. I peered down and saw another door, which looked as if it might lead to the basement. I took the chance and raced down. Miracle of miracles, the door swung open onto a small landing. I stepped through, pulled the door shut behind me, and turned the bolt.

  The half-basement was gloomy and vast. A row of small windows set just above ground level allowed in a little light. No doubt there were electric lights too, but it wouldn’t be smart to switch them on. A strip of light around the door could announce my presence.

  I felt my way down the steps, sliding my hand along the rough wooden banister. I was so focused, I felt no pain when a splinter drove into my palm. By the time I reached the cellar floor, my eyes had adjusted to the low level of light.

  The cellar was crammed with many decades’ worth of discarded tools, boxes, and massive pieces of old furniture. Places to hide—but what I needed was a way out.

  The windows were fixed in the wall and too small. Even if I managed to break one without being heard, I wouldn’t be able to squeeze through. Heavy footsteps above. Stuck! My heart hammered in my chest.

  Now the feet pounded directly overhead. I wound my way through the debris to the back of the space. And there I saw it: a fine beading of light outlining a pair of angled double doors. It was an old wooden cellar hatch, built into the wall. But as I made my way toward it, the doorknob rattled at the top of the stair. Time was up.

  I found an old Victorian sofa, tipped it over, and slipped my body into the inverted V between the seat and the back. Dust filled my nostrils, and I felt as if I might choke. I coughed several times, then covered my mouth with my hand as a heavy body slammed against the cellar door. I knew the old wood could not withstand the force.

  With the third onslaught, the wood splintered and the door burst apart. Immediately, a strong beam of light passed over the room, shining for an instant into my narrow den. Then the room was flooded with harsh light. “Zarlin!” Ken bellowed. “You wanna make it easy for yourself, get your ass out here!”