Death in Daytime (18 page)

"You should be leaving both to the police," he said, "but at least you can leave his."

"I feel bad for her," I said, "for Julia . . . and for Marcy. Divorced, fending for herself . . . I identify with her a little, although I can't imagine ever denying my child."

"You have enough to do with feeling bad for yourself," George said. "If you're going to do this and keep doing it right, you're going to have to concentrate."

I nodded. "Starting tomorrow I'll retrace my steps, talk to the same people, see who looks nervous--"

"See who tries to kill you again?"

"I hope not," I said.

We both sipped wine and I saw his eyes starting to droop. I wondered if he could notice mine doing the same thing. So tired we were both being wiped out by one glass of wine.

"You know, there's one thing I wanted to do that I never did."

"What's that?"

"Go to Marcy's house."

"Didn't she live in the Hollywood Hills some where?"

"Yes," I said, "I was there once for a cast party when she got the job."

"What do you expect to find there?"

"I don't know," I said. "But I do know I want to have a look."

"How will you get in?"

"I'll improvise."

"Well, I'm going to improvise myself into bed right now," he said. "You can use the guest bath. We won't hear a thing. We're on the other side of the house."

"Okay," I said. "Give me your glass."

He did so, and then leaned down and kissed me on the cheek.

"You and your crew can stay as long as you like."

"You're the best, George."

"I know it," he said. "Good night."

While he went off to bed, I took the two wineglasses to the kitchen and rinsed them out. Then I fished out my cell phone to call Paul, but it vibrated at that moment. I checked the readout and saw it was him.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I was just about to call you to apolo--"

"Alex, don't," he said. "I acted like an ass and I'm sorry."

Basically we did a kiss-and-make-up session on the phone, and then I invited him to breakfast the next morning. We said good night, and I was oddly pleased that he hadn't said, "I love you."

I walked to the front of the house and looked out the window to make sure our cop was still there.

"Why
do
you park on the other side of the street?" I wondered aloud.

I was going to have to ask Jakes if that was some sort of procedure.

I stood there until I saw a small flare in the car. He was lighting a cigarette. Satisfied that he was, indeed, still alive, I went to bed.

True to his word we all woke up to delicious smells coming from the kitchen as Wayne whipped up a huge breakfast for us all. When I got out there George was helping him, and they even had Sarah happily mixing pancake batter. And sitting at the table with a cup of coffee was Paul.

"He was parked on the doorstep when I got up,"

Wayne said, "so I took pity."

Paul kissed me and I gave him a big hug.

"Hi, Mommy," Sarah called out.

"Good morning, baby," I said. I could hear the bacon sizzling and smell it cooking; the aroma of strong coffee also filled the room.

"Mom is still asleep," I said.

"So's Julia. She snores," Sarah said. "It's funny."

I figured she wouldn't think snoring was fun when she grew up, got married and found out her husband did it.

"George snores, too," Wayne said.

"I do not."

Wayne turned from the stove and stuck his tongue out at him.

"I breathe heavily, darling," George told Sarah. "It's not the same thing at all."

Sarah giggled.

"I like it here, Mommy," she said. "Everybody's funny."

Thank God she thought it was all fun and games.

"Can I help?" I asked.

"Yes," Wayne said, handing me a mug of coffee, "take this and get out of my kitchen. And you'll have to be the bad guys and wake the other ladies when it's time to eat, because we're having only one sitting this morning."

"Gotcha."

I walked to the front window and looked out. The car was still there. A man was in it, but I had no idea if it was the same man or not. I was tempted to take him some coffee, but Jakes had said not to. I considered my options for the day and decided to stick with my plan. I was going to go to Marcy's house and have a look around. I just didn't know if the policeman would follow, or stay here to watch over Julia. Which of us was the priority? I wondered.

"Time!" Wayne called out.

I went and woke Momma first, then went along to the room Julia was sharing with Sarah. From the hall I could hear that Sarah was right. Julia did snore--like a buzz saw.

"Julia, honey?" I called softly. I wasn't prepared for her reaction. She came out of her deep sleep with her eyes wide, sat straight up and was about to scream. I put the coffee mug down and grabbed her, held her tightly and told her everything was okay; she was safe. I stroked her hair until she calmed down.

"I--I forgot where I was," she finally said.

"I know," I said. "I did that myself this morning when I woke up. Are you all right now?"

"Y-yes." She leaned back. "Is--is that bacon I smell? I'm a vegetarian. Now I really want to puke!"

"It's not just meat by-products. I'm sure we can rustle you up something on the veggie side," I said, "and Wayne wants everybody out there now."

She was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of panties.

"I--I'll put on some shorts, wash my face and be right out."

"Okay, sweetheart."

"Nobody's ever called me that," she said, as I stood up and grabbed my mug.

"What?"

"Sweetheart," she said. "I don't remember my mother calling me anything but Julia, and my dad--well, he called me his princess."

"Would you like me to stop calling you that?" I asked. "I'm sorry, it's something I call Sarah. It just comes out."

"No, no," she said, kind of embarrassed, "I like it. It's fine."

"Okay, then," I said. "I'll see you at the table. You better make it quick. Everybody's starving."

"Thank you, Alex," she said. "For everything. I was such a . . . bitch when we first met."

"You were no such thing. Well okay, you were, but I understand," I said.

I went out to the dining room, where the table was set with bowls of scrambled eggs, plates of bacon, a platter of pancakes, lots of toast, more coffee, and Wayne had even made tea for my mother. There was even a plate of cut-up fresh fruit.

"This is amazing, Wayne," my mother said. "Thank you so much."

"Now you see why I keep him around," George said.

Julia came out looking freshly scrubbed, still wearing her T-shirt and a pair of cutoff jeans.

"Wow," she said, when she saw the table.

"I wanna sit next to Julia," Sarah yelled.

"Come on, then, half-pint," Julia said. We all got seated and started passing the bowls and platters around. Paul sat on Sarah's other side so he could poke her from time to time, and across from me.

"No diets this morning," Wayne said, smiling, "for any of us."

George was sitting next to me. He leaned over and asked, "Are you still going to Marcy's house today?"

"Yes."

"What about your bodyguard?"

"I have a feeling he's Julia's bodyguard," I said.

"We'll see."

"What's this about going to Marcy's?" Paul asked.

"I'll tell you after breakfast," I promised. We devoured the breakfast Wayne had laid out, and then helped clear the table and take everything into the kitchen.

"What are we supposed to do with ourselves now, honey?" my mother asked, coming up next to me. "You're going to stay here with Wayne and George, Mom, and watch out for Julia and Sarah."

"And you?"

"I have to go out."

My mother sighed.

"Why does that not surprise me?"

Later when I was getting ready to leave I explained to Paul what I was going to do.

"Let me call the studio," he said. "I'm supposed to work today, but I can reschedule the scenes--"

"You don't have to do that," I said. "I'm only going to look at an empty house."

"You mean you're going to break into an empty house. Alex, you can't--"

"Paul, I don't know how to break into a house," I said. "I just . . . feel a need to go there and snoop around a little."

"All right," he said, "I'm not going to argue with you. You want to do this on your own, but you know I'm only a cell phone call away, okay? You call and I'll come running."

"I know you will."

He drew me into his arms and kissed me, and I kissed him back for a while.

"So we're okay?" he asked.

I kissed him again, and said, "We're very okay." But I had this annoying feeling that I wasn't being one hundred percent honest.

By the time I was ready to leave, my mother, Julia and Sarah were already outside by the pool with George and Wayne. I got five waves good-bye and George called out for me to be careful.

I went out the front door and happily noted there were no photographers. I crossed the street to the cop in the car. He sat up straight as he saw me coming and put a container of coffee on the dashboard. He looked impossibly young for his job.

"Good morning, Detective," I said.

"Officer, ma'am," he said. "Just Officer, uh, Bailey."

I winced at the "ma'am." "Okay, Officer Bailey, I have to go and run some errands."

"Really?" He looked concerned. "Ma'am, my orders are to stay with the younger wom--I mean, the teenage, uh, the one named Julia?"

"That's fine," I said. "I won't be out long, and since my mother and daughter are also in the house, I'll feel better if you stay here."

"I'm, uh, also supposed to radio in to Detective Jakes if you leave the premises." "That's fine," I said. "I wouldn't want you to get into trouble for not doing your job."

"Uh, thank you, ma'am. Could you wait while I, uh, ma'am--"

"Would you mind not calling me "ma'am"? It's just a thing I have. . . ."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, ma'am. I mean miss." Okay, so that didn't sound right, either.

He was scrambling for his radio as I walked away from his car, got into mine and drove away. I probably should have been too afraid to come out of the house after someone had tried to kill me, but as I told George, mostly I was still mad. I didn't see anybody following me, so I felt pretty safe, and my family was surrounded by men.

There was no chance that the killer would be waiting there for me. Why would he be? And if he just happened to be there--well, that was too much of a coincidence to even consider, wasn't it?

So, to my way of thinking I was completely safe driving to Marcy's house in Hollywood Hills. I pulled up in front of Marcy's house and got out of my car, looking around for murderers and, even worse, photographers. When none leaped out of the bushes I walked up to the front door. When I reached it I felt silly. What was I planning to do, ring the bell? I tried the doorknob; naturally it was locked. I turned, stood on the doorstep and looked around. I had to drive up a winding driveway to reach the house. There was a gate, but it had been opened. From where I stood I could not see any neighbors' homes, and I assumed the neighbors could not see me. I decided to take a walk around the house and see if I could find an open door or window. It didn't take long. When I got to the north side of the house, there was a pair of French doors that stood ajar. The glass wasn't broken. It looked as if someone had simply left them open. I stood back and inspected them. Again I thought what were the odds that someone was actually in there at exactly the same time?

This is the part in the movie theater where you want to yell at the heroine, "No, no, don't go in there!" and she goes in anyway. That moment could never be adequately explained to film critics--"Thumbs-down because having her go into the house at that moment just didn't make sense to me, Roger"--but in I went. Later I'd be asked to explain why I did.

I found myself in a dining room, complete with table, chairs and hutch. They were horrible. I'd always noticed Marcy's terrible taste in clothes, and it seemed to have carried over to her home furnishings. It appeared to be 1970s style. But not good 1970s. If there is such a thing. Ugly colonial furniture and lots of
chachkis
. You know, glass birds, porcelain angels with dried flowers glued on. All she was missing were a few velvet paintings. I was trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe all this crap had sentimental value to her. And then I remembered whom I was thinking about. Not a sentimental bone in her dead body.

I moved slowly through the house, looking for signs of somebody else being there. I was halfway down a hallway when I heard it.

There
was
someone else in the house. Somebody was moving around, and not doing it quietly. I started to look around for a place to hide. Then I decided to retrace my steps to the French doors and get out of there. I turned, went back down the hallway and tripped over a god-awful brass umbrella stand. The stand hit the hutch and knocked over the glass bird.
Crash!
I heard movement from the other end of the hall.

Somebody was coming.

I sprinted for the French doors, but Marcy had this ugly two-tone braided rug on the floor that slid out from under my feet after I'd taken only two steps. I went down on my tailbone--hard.

The woman was dead and her furnishings were trying to get me killed, too. I struggled to get to my feet. My butt and my pride were hurting, and then something hit me on the head and all the hurt faded away. . . .

When I came to, Jakes was kneeling next to me, looking down at me. God, he was cute, and he smelled good, too. Paul smelled good, but different. Flustered, I started to sit up, but my head and his hand stopped me.

"Take it easy, Alex," he said. "You got hit on the head--again. I swear, you're worse than a fictional private eye."

He pushed me back to the floor, and I realized he was in shirtsleeves, and his jacket was folded and slipped beneath my head.

"Wha-what happened?" I asked.

"You remember where you are?"