by Amy Vansant
The girl fell into nervous giggles. “Like I said, I don’t mind but she locks it so—”
Broch looked at Catriona and motioned to the back of the living room with his eyes.
“Hey, Sandy, come and look at this.” Catriona walked toward the windows overlooking the street, motioning to the girl to follow her. With a last glance at Broch, Sandy followed and the two peered through the windows together.
Catriona pointed to the street. “I thought I saw Jessie’s car out here. What kind of car does she have now?”
“An old red one. Though I saw her in a blue truck before she left. It looked about a million years old.”
“Ford? Chevy?”
Sandy shrugged.
Behind her, Catriona heard a pop.
“Okay. Thanks.” She called out for Broch. “Hey honey, where’d you go?”
“Ah’m in ’ere.”
They followed Broch’s voice into Jessie’s room.
Broch stood just inside, staring at them. “Door wis open.”
Catriona spotted the splintered wood around the door jamb and glanced at Sandy to see if she’d noticed. She found the girl ogling at Broch, twirling her long brown hair around a finger.
No reason to worry she’d notice the door.
“You talk funny. Where are you from?” Sandy asked him.
Catriona looked away, rolling her eyes for Broch to see. He remained guileless, grinning at the girl.
“Ah’m fae Scootlund, lassie,” he purred.
The girl giggled. “That accent is amazing.”
“Thank ye.”
“Ah’m fae Scootlund lassie,” mocked Catriona under her breath. She pushed past the Highlander and stopped, staring at the corner of the room.
Someone had erected a shrine. There were photos, some of Jessie and some of a younger version of the girl. Ribbons, candles, bits of jewelry, several dolls and a ceramic horse rounded out the collection.
Beside the shrine, a pile of small dolls lay jumbled on top of one another, each dressed in a cowgirl outfit, tiny cowboy hats pinned to their heads.
Above the shrine in shaky red scrawl it read, I will avenge you sweet girl.
Catriona pressed her finger against the lettering and glanced at her fingertip.
“So heavy-handed I thought it might be blood.”
She glanced up to find no one listening. Broch remained in the doorway, blocking Sandy’s view of the shattered door lock, chatting with the girl. Catriona heard her giddy tittering.
Sandy looked as if she’d twist herself into a knot if Broch said another guttural word.
“Sandy, can you look at something for me?”
The girl slid past Broch, not trying with any real effort to avoid rubbing against him as she did.
Catriona pointed to the shrine. “Was this always in Jessie’s room?”
The smile fell from Sandy’s face and she gawked at the shrine.
“Oh my god, no. That’s like, cray.”
“Is it possible someone was able to get into this room?”
“You think someone else did this? Not her?”
Catriona pointed to the red words on the wall. “It looks like a shrine dedicated to her.”
Sandy stared at the lettering and shivered. “Ooh. That’s creepy.”
“So, could someone have gotten in here?”
Sandy fell silent and appeared to ponder the possibilities. “I mean, I’m not here all the time. I’m an actress, but I waitress at night.”
Catriona smiled.
Of course you do.
“Maybe she gave someone a key? Her parents? Uh, I mean our parents?”
Sandy frowned. “I thought she said your mom’s dead or gone or something? She mentioned her dad once or twice...”
“Right. She would. Mom’s flaky to say the least.” Catriona laughed to distract Sandy from her floundering lies.
The girl took another step forward, studying the collection of memorabilia, her face twisted with concern.
“That’s what she looked like,” she said, pointing to the dolls.
“Who? Jessie?”
Sandy nodded. “She was dressed like they are. Just like that. But her face was—worse.”
“Are there any more current photos here?”
“No—oh, there’s some on Facebook.”
Catriona made a mental note to tell people she was a distant cousin in the future. Certainly Jessie’s sister would know she was on Facebook. “Right. I, uh, don’t use social media. She has a Facebook account?”
Sandy looked at Catriona as if she’d grown a glittering unicorn horn. “Yeah.”
“Can you look up her page for me and let me know the last time she posted?”
“Sure. Let me grab my phone.”
Sandy bopped out of the room.
“Whit dae ye think?” asked Broch when she’d gone.
“I think she’s too young for you.”
“Ah wisnae flirting wi’ her.”
Catriona squinted one eye and invoked Broch’s accent. “Ah’m fae Scootlund, little lassie...”
He smirked. “Ah dinnae sound lik that.”
Sandy reentered the room, staring at her phone. “It looks like she hasn’t posted anything in like three weeks.”
“How about before that? Did she post often?”
“Every other day or so. She’d post pictures of her makeup jobs and stuff. This is the last one she did.”
Sandy held up the phone and Catriona glanced at the image of a smiling woman.
Catriona’s jaw creaked open as she realized she was staring at a photo of Fiona Duffy. The tight scarf she wore around her throat in the photo identified the production as Camping Under the Stars. She’d seen the commercials for it and all the actors had worn similar color-coded ties.
“This woman was her last client?”
Sandy nodded.
“Show him.”
Sandy pointed the phone at Broch and his eyes widened. “Na...”
“You guys know her?”
Catriona grunted.
Oh sure. She’s my sister who time-traveled here to make my life miserable.
“Could I find Jessie’s Facebook page by searching her name?”
“Yeah. That’s how I found it. I didn’t have it saved or anything.”
“Great. Thank you. Look. I’m not entirely sure what’s going on yet but there’s a chance I’m going to have to call the police and have them look at this. Can you not touch anything until I get back to you?”
“She pays rent three months in advance so I wouldn’t try to move her out for another month and a half anyways.”
“Great. Thank you. Let’s just leave the door shut? Don’t touch anything the police might want to check for fingerprints.”
“No problem.” Sandy frowned. “Is it okay if I get the front door lock changed? This is all kind of creepy...”
“Sure. Of course.”
As they left the room, Catriona noticed a small piece of paper tucked between Sandy’s fingers. They said their goodbyes and she watched as the girl covered Broch’s hand with her opposite hand while shaking with him. When she removed her hand, the paper was gone and Broch glanced at his closed fist.
Catriona scowled.
That little hooker...
They headed for the Jeep and Sandy stood in her doorway, waving until the elevator doors closed.
“Ah dinnae lik’ the leuk of that shrine,” said Broch as they stepped outside.
Catriona sighed. “It looks like someone knows she’s dead.”
“Aye.”
Catriona glanced down. Kilty’s hand was still closed.
“She gave you her phone number, didn’t she?”
Broch unfurled the paper and sniffed it. “It smells pretty.”
“I bet.” Catriona chuckled. “You know you’re not going to trick me into marrying you by flirting with other people, right?”
He smirked and made a show of stuffing the paper in his pocket.
Chap
ter Nineteen
Catriona peeped at Broch side-eyed as they rode the elevator together to their apartments.
His eyes were closed.
Poor thing. That wound is catching up with him.
The elevator stopped with a shudder and his lids sprung open. He rocked heel to toe to catch his balance and glanced at her to see if he’d been caught catnapping. Finding her staring, he bounced his pecs, one and then the next, grinning.
She arched an eyebrow. “You are so not allowed to watch stripper movies anymore.”
“Stripper,” he echoed, seeming to enjoy the sound of the word. “Ah’m going tae hae tae practice mah knee slide a wee bit mair.”
“Your dancing might have actually delayed any chance of marriage for an additional year.”
“Na.”
“And you’re not fooling me. You’re falling asleep on your feet. You need a break.”
He scowled. “Ah dae nae.”
They stopped in front of her door.
“Whit noo?”
She frowned. “I’m serious. I think you should rest. How does your wound feel?”
“’Tis grand.”
She spotted a small stain on his shirt. “Maybe I should look at it again. It’s in a bad spot. Every time you move...it looks wet again.”
“Aye. The shield fell aff in the shower. Ah forgot tae tell ye.”
Catriona sighed. “You’re going to have to be more careful. Do me a favor, go rest a little while?”
He frowned. “Whit are ye going to dae?”
“I have work on my computer to do.”
Broch glanced at his door. “Aye. Ah’ll tak’ a wee nap. Bit tell me if we hae tae gang anywhere.”
“I will, I promise.”
He leaned down to kiss her on her hairline and she felt herself blush.
“Ye be careful,” he murmured.
“What do you think can happen to me in my apartment?”
He shrugged. “Ah just worry about my bride when ah’m nae there to protect ye.”
“Oh shut up.” She laughed and smacked him on the hip as he twirled away and headed for his room, chuckling.
She watched him wink, enter his apartment and disappear inside.
She waited a beat and then beelined for the elevator.
~~~
Catriona pulled her Jeep to the curb outside Fiona’s house and took a deep breath. It couldn’t be a coincidence Fiona Duffy was the last person Jessie Walker worked for before she went missing.
It just couldn’t.
Fiona was playing the long game, of that Catriona was certain. She didn’t know why or what the woman hoped to accomplish, but she knew one thing—her sister was bad news.
Catriona walked down the walkway and knocked on the door. A figure moved on the opposite side of the Craftsman-style home’s stained glass window and Catriona felt nerves writhing in her stomach like a ball of garden snakes. She hadn’t brought a gun. Why did she feel like she needed one?
Stick to the case. Don’t let her suck you into anything.
Catriona repeated the thought in her mind like a mantra. It seemed to her Fiona liked getting a rise out of her, and this time, she wasn’t going to let it happen.
The door opened.
And you are...not Fiona.
A blonde woman at least ten years older than Fiona blinked at her.
“Can I help you?”
Catriona’s mouth fell open and her planned speech caught in her throat.
“I, um, Fiona?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I was looking for Fiona Duffy? I thought, I mean, I dropped her off here...”
The woman smiled, her eyes squinty. “That’s so funny. Some mail showed up for her today. That was kind of exciting. I loved her on California Knights.”
Catriona let this information process long enough that the woman became curious why she was still standing on her doorstep.
“And you are?”
Catriona snapped from her thoughts. “Sorry. Catriona Phoenix. You?”
“Patricia Timms.”
“Nice to meet you, Patricia. Do you mind if I ask how long you’ve lived here?”
“Ten years. Though we were in France for the last six months. My husband’s work. The agency rented our place to Ms. Duffy while we were gone, but we never met her.”
“Oh, do you know where she moved?”
“No. She didn’t leave a forwarding address, but I guess famous people don’t leave their addresses with just anybody.” She laughed.
Catriona’s shoulders slumped. She hadn’t realized how much she was looking forward to talking to her supposed sister until the chance had passed. Where had Fiona gone? Maybe she’d returned to ancient Scootlund. That would be a good thing. Or maybe their father had come after all…
I’ll get in touch with her agent. Do a little digging. Fiona was still a working actress, as far as she knew, so it wouldn’t be too hard to track her down.
She realized the blonde woman remained in the doorway, staring at her.
Catriona flashed a smile. “Sorry, lost my train of thought. Thanks. Sorry to bother you.” She turned to return to her Jeep.
“Wait,” called the woman. “Are you going to go to Fiona’s new place? Are you a friend of hers?”
Catriona nodded.
Sure. Friend. Let’s go with that.
The woman frowned, unconvinced, so Catriona added another layer of trust.
“I work for the studio.”
Fiona didn’t work for Parasol Pictures, but over the years Catriona had found saying I work for the studio encouraged star-struck people to trust her with almost any information. Nobody knew which actors worked for which studios.
As predicted, she watched the woman’s eyes light up, her mouth shaping into a little “O” of awe.
“Ooh, maybe you could give her the mail we received? I don’t have any way to get it to her and I don’t want her to think we’re keeping it on purpose. Selling it on Ebay or something.” The woman tittered another nervous laugh.
The blonde disappeared inside and reappeared with several letters and a clothing catalog in her hand. She offered Catriona a sheepish grin. “It’s all junk. She probably doesn’t want it. But if you find her maybe you could let her know I gave it to you. If she wants to come by and let me know where to send anything else we get...”
Catriona took the letters. “I’m sure she’ll want to stop by and thank you personally. I’ll let her know.”
She’d do no such thing but the idea of it seemed to make the woman happy.
Patricia gasped. “Thank you. Tell her I loved her in California Ice, too,” she said, invoking the name of a cheesy primetime soap opera about California hockey players’ wives who ran a high-end jewelry boutique together. Fiona had played the bitchiest wife, from what Catriona could recall from the commercials.
Actors were generally typecast for a reason.
She grinned. “Will do.”
Catriona returned to her vehicle and set the junk mail on the seat next to her. She called Jean at Parasol and told her someone might call her soon to confirm she had a meeting with Fiona Duffy. She needed Jean to back up her story.
“Oh I love this double-oh-seven stuff,” said Jean, already giddy at the idea.
Catriona next called Hell Hound Pictures, Fiona’s home studio, and in a frantic voice told the woman on the line she had a meeting at Fiona’s home but had lost the address. She gave them Jean’s number for confirmation, and after waiting on hold for a minute, the woman returned to rattle off Fiona’s new address.
Nice job, Jeannie.
Catriona hung up and stared at her steering wheel.
I know that address.
She knew exactly where Fiona lived. Los Angeles had recently started building high-rises, relying on modern advances in building technology and tossing concerns about earthquakes to the wind.
Fiona’s high-rise apartment stood directly behind Parasol Pictures. Catriona could see the buildin
g from her window.
She growled.
Fiona couldn’t have moved closer to her without moving into her closet.
Catriona slammed the Jeep into gear and flew to Fiona’s new home. The high-rise loomed ahead of her, a swanky monstrosity of gleaming white walls and tinted windows. After she parked, a gray-haired doorman expedited the way for her, and by the time she announced her arrival to the lobby attendant, any trepidation she’d had about talking to Fiona had disappeared.
Nerves had been shoved aside by fury.
“Let me see if Ms. Duffy is available,” said the man behind a Carrara marble desk, lifting an ornate phone that appeared swiped from an early “talkie” movie. “May I tell her who is calling and what this concerns?”
Catriona frowned. “You can tell her it’s her sister and that it’s none of your business.”
The man tucked back his chin, pressing his lips tight with disapproval at her answer. He dialed, and a moment later Catriona heard a woman’s muffled voice on the opposite end of the line.
“Your sister is here to see you,” said the man. The way he said the word sister implied he didn’t entirely believe the claim.
“Oh, yes. Very good, Ms. Duffy.”
He hung up, settling the phone into its cradle as if it were made of china. “She said to come up. The elevator is behind you. You’ll need this key.” He handed her a plastic card. “Please return it to the desk when you’re done. She’s on the fifteenth floor, number fifteen hundred and one.”
With a saccharine smile, Catriona took the card and rode to Fiona’s floor, trying hard not to admire the wood veneer and gleaming gold trim of the elevator. For its ultra-modern exterior, the building’s interior design successfully invoked old Hollywood.
When the doors slid open, Fiona stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall with her pipe-cleaner arms folded across her chest, smiling.
“Fancy meeting you here, sis.”
Catriona scowled and stepped into the hallway.
“Nice elevator.”
“Thank you.”
“Place is charming.”
“I thought so.”
Fiona wore impossibly tight, fashionably ripped jeans and a deep-scoop black t-shirt that appeared unremarkable in every way except she’d probably paid eight hundred dollars for it.