She was exquisite. Her hair was swept up, soft and natural, into a loose knot at her neck. Her makeup was perfect—her skin appeared flawless, her eyes large and luminous. She was wearing a sweeping red silk caftan with large gold jewelry.
If you’re going to make an appearance, she had once told Jennifer, make it a real statement.
Abby could not be accused of being shy. Her entry was remarkable, a very bold statement. There was a hush in the room, and all eyes turned to Abby.
“Hello! Welcome, everyone. Thanks so much for coming.”
“Abby!” The name was whispered by at least a dozen pairs of lips. And the company began to flock to her.
She looked frail in the encompassing caftan, Jennifer thought. Too frail. She had taken too much medicine; she wasn’t shaking. Not now …
Ah, yes, there were the telltale signs. That movement of her chin; the trembling in her fingers as they fluttered. Yet she ignored the symptoms that plagued her, turning graciously, talking, chatting, smiling, laughing, putting on a performance.
“Drew, Jennifer.”
She glided across the room and kissed her daughter, smiling slightly. See, my darling, see how well I can do? You mustn’t worry about me so much. You don’t need to lock me away just yet.
“Drew!”
She did tremble more evidently in greeting her old friend. The emotion in her voice was deep and sincere. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad to be here as well. I miss the old place. Haven’t been here in ages now, Abby.”
“You’ve got great stories, I imagine,” Serena said.
“I do. In fact … come along, anyone who is interested. I’ll tell you the truth behind the legend of the stained glass in the foyer above the stairway.”
As the company began to file out, Abby leaned on Drew.
Jennifer hung back.
Conar remained behind the bar. He was straightening up. She walked over to him and sat on one of the bar stools before him. She ate an olive. He mechanically washed glasses in the whirling-brush machine.
“What’s the matter?” she asked him.
He didn’t look up. He shrugged. “David Granger bought the Tiffany piece for his wife after he’d been accused by Genevieve Borthny of fathering her child. I’ve heard the story,” he said briefly.
“I don’t mean that. Why did you suddenly get so strange?” she asked him.
His steely gray eyes shot up to hers. He was still moody and tense, she thought.
“Why are you suddenly so concerned?”
He wasn’t hostile. In fact, he was insultingly indifferent.
She smiled. “Because you were almost human just a few minutes ago, and now you’re nastier than ever.”
He hesitated. She thought she might have drawn a smile at that, even a mocking smile. But the sharp gray eyes continued to assess her without humor.
Disturbed, she said, “All right, look, I’m sorry, whatever I said, whatever I did.”
He turned the water off. “It wasn’t you.”
“Oh.”
He wiped his hands, then leaned them on the bar. “I went with Liam today when he left here.”
“I know,” she said, then realized he was halfway answering her. “All right, where did you go with him?”
“To the police station,” he said flatly, then added, “On his desk were a slew of pictures. You should have seen her. Really; in fact, you should see her. You wouldn’t mind my being here so much.”
“Brenda Lopez?”
“Yes, Brenda Lopez, except that you’d hardly know her. You can’t imagine what that kind of violence does to a human being.”
She felt a sickness at the pit of her stomach. “I didn’t realize … I mean your mood seemed to be fairly decent before … I don’t think that Vera meant to be flippant. She’s just a bit of an airhead.”
“I know that she didn’t mean anything.”
“Then …”
“I saw those pictures. That’s all. I pushed it all back in my mind, knowing how important tonight was to Abby. But when Vera said that, well … I guess my mood changed.”
Vera Houseman burst back into the room in a blur of motion. “There you are, you two.”
“Vera,” Conar murmured. He tried for pleasant; his voice was stiff. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. He seemed as tense and hostile as a caged beast suddenly.
“Séance!” she said.
“Séance?” Jennifer inquired warily.
“Yes, my dears, a séance. How fun! Come along, children, we’re heading into the great room. With the double doors open, we can sit in a group, hands touching, see the magnificent window … and try to contact the spirits of those who haunt this house.”
“Oh, Vera, really—” Jennifer began.
“Drew Parker knows all the low-down dirt! He’s a fascinating man. Come, come. Your mother has given her approval, and we’re all in on it.”
Vera disappeared. Jennifer and Conar looked at each other for a moment, then followed her, nearly colliding at the door.
They both paused, caught together in the old and slender space. She smelled him. Felt him. He smelled very good. His body radiated greater heat than a furnace.
“After you,” he said politely.
She nodded and hurried on through.
The long, dark oak medieval table had been taken from the side wall and set in the center of the great room. Chairs from all about had been dragged in, and the guests were gathering around the table.
Drew Parker, smiling a bit ruefully since he had accidentally started it all, was seated at the head of the long table. Abby was across from him. Vera, charming and flirtatious, was next to Drew. Joe Penny was next to Abby, and Hugh Tanenbaum was to her right. With their backs toward the open doors to the patio, between the two “head” seats, sat Kelly, Serena, Doug, Andy Larkin, Jim Novac, and Hank Newton—the silver-haired, impossibly straight, baritone-voiced patriarch of Valentine Valley. On the other side were the various “techies.”
“Hey, kids,” Hank called deeply, indicating the empty seats on his side of the table. “Hey, Conar!” He rose, shaking Conar’s hand. “Welcome! And thanks—you’re going to raise all our ratings.”
“Well, we’ll see,” Conar said. The scene was interrupted as others in the gathering, who hadn’t seen Conar as yet, rose to greet him.
“Hey!” Andy protested then. “Conar knows we’re all glad to have him. Hell, we paid him a fortune. Let’s get back to this. The spirits are waiting.”
With the commotion going on around her, Jennifer had lost sight of Abby. As people sat again, she looked at her mother. “Mom … ,” she began, feeling uneasy about the proceedings.
“It’s fine, darling, do sit down.”
“Such a scene was filmed here once, you know,” Drew told them. “David Granger was a good fellow, but a wannabe in the worst way. He wanted to be a great director or an actor. He mostly wanted to be Houdini—the greatest magician ever. He rented out the house. That great séance scene from Death in the Dark was filmed with a company around this very table, just as we are now.”
“How exciting,” Vera said.
“Exciting,” Drew said flatly. “Except that Celia Marston, the star of the film, died soon after visiting Granger and his wife.”
“That’s the allure,” Vera said.
“That’s the tragedy,” Conar murmured.
Jennifer was surprised to realize he had his hand at the small of her back, the bulk of his body behind her. She was more surprised to feel a certain comfort in the fact as he courteously pulled out her chair. She didn’t know if he was actually paying any attention to her at all. He didn’t like the séance. He was still, in his mind’s eye, looking at those pictures on Liam’s desk.
“This is Hollywood,” Drew said, “land of dreams—and the death of dreams.”
“Technically,” Doug said, “we’re not in Hollywood.”
“Oh, close enough,” Vera said with exasperation.
“We
’re going for mood here, people,” Jim Novac told them, grinning.
“Yes, Drew, what do we do now?” Hugh Tanenbaum asked. He winked across the table at Jennifer. The director was in his late forties and had been around as long as she could remember. He had worked with her mother years ago, and they had remained friends since. He was known as a moneymaker because he did films on reasonable budgets that drew crowds at the box office. It didn’t matter what the decade—people liked to be scared.
“Really, let’s do this. I’m starving,” Jay Braden announced.
“All right, all join hands,” Drew said. His hazel eyes sparkled. He lowered his silver head—after winking at Abby.
Jennifer joined hands with Conar and Hank. She looked down the table. Her mother was now watching her. She smiled in assurance as she joined hands with Joe Penny and Hugh Tanenbaum.
“Shall I turn out the lights, Mr. Parker?” Edgar asked from the doorway.
“Yes, please, Edgar, and see that the French doors are open to the pool area.”
All of them fell silent as the lights went out. The French doors opened, seemingly on their own, since the darkness had hidden Edgar’s trek across the room.
Jennifer didn’t realize that she had tensed up until she felt both Conar and Hank ease their fingers from her death grips. They held her hands then rather than allow her to choke their bones once again.
“Celia Marston,” Kelly said, “what happened to her? I know you can visit her grave. In fact, I think she’s right near Marilyn.”
“Marilyn?” Doug asked.
“Monroe,” Thorne McKay supplied with exasperation.
“Hey, all of you,” Andy Larkin said with aggravation, “this is a séance, not a coffee klatch.”
“Yes, but how did she die?” Jim Novac asked.
“She fell, they say, down the cliffs at the back of the house,” Hugh Tanenbaum provided.
“She did fall,” Jennifer said, aggravated. “According to all the reports about the incident.”
“Ah, but did she fall—or was she pushed?” Andy demanded with deep, husky dramatics.
“We’ll never really know, will we? None of us was here,” Conar said.
“Oh, but I was here,” Drew announced.
“If we’re going to chat all night, can I get a drink to bring to the table?” Jay Braden asked.
“Come, come, children, let’s play nice or not at all,” Jim Novac directed.
“So was she pushed, or did she fall?” Andy demanded.
“May I get a drink?” Jay asked again.
“Jay, we’re supposed to keep holding hands,” Serena reminded him.
“Celia Marston—did she fall, or was she pushed?” Jim Novac asked, repeating Andy’s question.
“I don’t know. I heard her scream, but nothing more,” Drew said, his tone provocative. “And then there she was … at the bottom of the canyon.”
“It had been a wild night, and everyone had been drinking, and God knows what else, and she certainly just fell,” Conar said. His tone was curt. Silence fell around the table.
He was still seeing that other body at the base of the canyon.
“Well, we’re having a séance, right?” Abby asked lightly, looking at Conar. She smiled, as if they shared a secret. “Drew will just summon Celia to the table, and we’ll ask her.”
“All right, concentrate now. Listen to the air, the world, feel the night around you,” Drew directed. The room was no longer completely dark. The lights from the pool area spilled in, causing a deep cavern of shadows and forms. Outside, the moon rose high over the pool, where palms dipped and waved, the foliage whispered …
“Hold hands,” Drew instructed.
“We’re already holding hands,” Serena reminded him.
“Close your eyes and concentrate. Celia … Celia Marston … ,” Drew intoned. “Years ago you left this very table where we are joined now. You were young, you were beautiful, you held the world in the palm of your hand. You left this house that night. And wandered … and plunged to your death. We’ve come to help you, Celia, to solve the mystery. Talk to us, Celia, let us know that you’re with us …”
A wind suddenly ripped through the room. Something fell over with a thud; the curtains flew and fluttered.
A scream was heard from the other side of the table.
“What is it?” Jennifer cried, jumping up.
“Andy Larkin, get your hand off my thigh,” Serena sputtered.
“Serena, I wasn’t—”
“Oh, bull!” Serena announced.
“Hey!” Joe Penny protested. “This was going pretty well. What a great breeze! We should have had a camera going. Serena, hell, the two of you were married. What difference does it make if he slipped a little?”
Serena let out an aggravated groan. “Joe, you really don’t understand what a wretched chauvinist you can be.”
“Serena, sweetheart, darling—”
“I rest my point.”
Conar stood, ready to turn on the lights.
Suddenly, there was another scream. They all froze. There was a figure in the center of the open French doors, a silhouette created in the light and shadow. Standing there, staring at them. As if on cue, lightning rent the sky.
A shadow, a form that didn’t disappear.
So still, standing, staring, watching them, as if summoned from the depths of hell.
“The Grim Reaper!” Jay Braden whispered.
“My God!” Kelly breathed.
Lightning split the sky, but the shadow remained, dark and ominous, staring, watching, waiting …
There, dark and haunting, against the night sky.
“She’s come back!” Vera whispered. “She’s come back!”
“Who … who … ?” Kelly began.
“Who has come back?” Serena whispered.
“Oh, my God!” Vera cried out, rising, her hand flying to her throat. “Oh, God, oh, God! You have summoned the dead!”
“What the hell’s going on?” a deep voice demanded.
The silhouette stepped forward.
Chapter 7
DREW PARKER QUICKLY ROSE to reach Vera as she slumped in her chair.
Conar swore—and reached for the lights. Brightness flooded the room.
“Is everyone all right? Just what the hell is going on here?”
The “ghost” was Liam Murphy, standing between the double doors that led to the patio. He was wearing a trench coat, Jennifer realized, which had given him the appearance of a floating, spectral visitor.
“Liam,” Abby breathed.
She had remained calm and rational, not panicking like Vera, who was now back in a chair, flushed, her eyes opening, enjoying the attention of those who hovered around her. Kelly had gone for water, Drew was fanning her.
“I knocked at the front door, but no one seemed to hear me. So I came around and the gate was open … What the hell is going on?” he demanded.
“A séance,” Serena explained, studying the newcomer.
“And who are you?” Jay asked.
Abby laughed softly. “Don’t worry, he’s not another actor.”
“A cop,” Andy suggested.
“This is Detective Murphy,” Jennifer agreed.
“Lord,” Hugh Tanenbaum exclaimed, “you haven’t found another body, have you?”
Liam smiled. “No,” he said softly.
Andy Larkin rose and walked over to him. “Well, how do you do, Detective? Andy Larkin, producer, actor, Valentine Valley. You sure do look the part. If you ever need extra work, we can always use a good cop on the show. Anyone want a drink?”
“Hell, yes!” Joe Penny announced.
En masse the company rose from the table, heading for the bar.
The food was delicious. Abby had done the menu, Edgar had done the ordering and the hiring of the help. There were elaborate vegetable plates for the vegans among them, sushi, delicate egg rolls, spiced chicken wings, turnovers, patties and pastries and fruit.
&nbs
p; Jennifer freshened drinks for the company, hovering near her mother, who was holding court in one of the large leather wing-backed chairs in the den.
Hugh Tanenbaum was trying to get her to accept a role in his movie. “Just a cameo, Abby. You’re so beautiful, so sensational.”
“And so not up to it at the moment,” Abby told him politely.
“You’re as stubborn as your daughter,” Hugh said.
Abby’s eyes touched Jennifer’s. “Hugh offered you a role?”
“Um,” she murmured.
“The two of you in the same movie … You’ve never appeared together, have you?” Hugh asked.
“Hey,” Joe Penny protested, “if Abby does any more acting, she does it for me.”
“You’re a soap, I’m a movie.”
“You mean you’re legitimate and I’m not?” Joe said sharply.
“I didn’t say that at all. Movies are just easier. I can work around Abby far more easily if she isn’t feeling well,” Hugh said.
Andy Larkin sniffed in protest. “We’d do anything for Abby.”
“You know, I have scriptwriters who can do anything,” Hugh said.
Doug lifted his glass, clearing his throat. “Excuse me. They have a scriptwriter who can bring bodies back to life out of the bellies of sharks!”
The laughter that followed his statement eased the tension that had begun to grow.
“You know I admire your work,” Joe told Hugh. “I sent my writer to study your moviemaking.”
Hugh lifted a glass to Joe. “You all are the best soap out there.”
“Hear, hear,” Drew said and applauded.
“We’re quite an admiration society,” Jennifer murmured, filling Hugh’s glass with ice. He wanted another Stoli on the rocks with double lime.
She looked up. Conar was across the room leaning against the mantel of the fireplace. He had been watching her, she realized.
Her …
And Abby.
“You make a fortune with your films,” Joe Penny commented to Hugh. “You must be pleased.”
Hugh shrugged, smiling at Abby. “Well, I pay the rent. But things just aren’t the same anymore. Abby and I can remember when filmmakers were great, when actors acted rather than relying on special effects. The greatest filmmakers … created excitement, fear, suspense … from thin air.”
Long, Lean, and Lethal Page 10