Monsters Under the Bed (10 page)

The giant moved off and placed the cloak that encompassed the whole night sky in it over the anvil again. What magicks had created it, I did not dare to imagine.

He took a simple stool and sat on it, and I joined my companion on stools opposite him. I felt like a Lilliputian staring up at a Brobdingnag as the giant’s eyes of fire fixed on me from a great height. I swallowed hard but couldn’t turn away.

The giant shoved a glass in my hand. What had been a miniscule, little, itty-bitty thing on his palm filled my whole lap. “
Kampai
,” he said.

“What is this?” I asked my friend with some concern.

Fairy-Mo winked at me. “Drink.”

I did, barely able to hold the glass up enough to tilt the edge to my mouth. The sharp, burning taste of sake filled me. Now I understood his greeting: “cheers” in Japanese.

The giant drank his tiny drink in one swallow, nodded to us, and rose to return to the hearth and forge. Something smelled delicious, and I peered over the stone edge to see a whole boar roasting. Funny. I’d never really cared for boar, having tasted it exactly twice in my time. Yet now it was the flavor of hunger sated as I ogled and drooled.

Then I heard distant growling behind me and swung around. The flames continued to burn, but I thought I saw shadows prowling amid them. “Is there something there…?”

Angel-Mo nodded, solemn and concerned. “Monsters. Monsters from the sea.”

What sea? I only saw fields of fire. An ocean of fire?

But then the image of Mo chuckled from my side and nudged me with his shoulder. “Time for you to go, dreamer.”

I turned to him, ready to argue. “But you haven’t told me all I—”

“All you need to know,” he finished for me and looked past me.

I swiveled around and found my Ford standing there in his low-riding jeans and white button-down shirt, his hand extended, beckoning me with a smile. Without argument or hesitation, I went to him and sank into his embrace.

“I love you, Sam,” he whispered in my ear.

“I love you, Ford,” I replied.

And then I was floating, flying, plunging forward—where? I knew not where.

I startled awake in the dark of my bedroom, but I kept my eyes closed tight, as if the mere prospect of pulling up my eyelids would let out a can of worms in the form of nightmares that knew no end. The bed was warm, the scent of fresh linens safe and familiar, and the oddities I had seen began to disperse.

I felt Ford’s arm heavy and hot around my waist, and his soft snores echoed close to my neck. I kept my eyes closed and let the strange dream vanish from my mind. I had learned long ago to trust, not just my instincts, but my subconscious. Neither had steered me wrong so far. But for now, in the calm of my home, I could let that go.

Like Scarlett O’Hara, I’d think about it all tomorrow.

T
HE
following morning I was granted an audience with the hard-to-reach Lady Giulia Capello. She was no longer a resident at the Ritz-Carlton, I was informed. Was I surprised that her magnificently modern mansion was situated less than half an hour away from Mo’s place, in the rich part of town? Hmph. What do you think?

On top of a hill stood the glass and steel luxury palace. Large greens, lush copses, and huge pools decorated the grounds, while the building itself was one of those curiosities of illusions of privacy. Glass partitions seemed to show right into the heart of the house when, in fact, there were concentric walls that, like a labyrinth, led to an inner sanctum beyond where the eye could see.

A butler of a different sort—a coquettish, lovely young thing with barely anything but silky veils covering her ample bosom and round hips—directed me onto an inner terrace. It seemed the mansion had been built on several levels, and some of them had inner courtyards that opened to the sky above and with an outlook over the sea.

In one such place, I was greeted by a sight that would have had me kneel down on all fours and beg for attention like a good puppy. But since I was gay, the view of a collection of girls, each one sexier than the one before, really didn’t make either of my heads swell with interest. Yet, it had a cartoon-y feel to it, like a Bond villain gathering beauties around, all of them nefarious killers.

Though outside this palatial estate the air was barely above fifty, here it was warmer, almost tropical. I suspected the ground was heated, as was the pool between me and the swarm of girls, all in various states of undress. Chirping sounds of chatter surrounded me, as if I were in the midst of a flock of birds.

And behind them all stood a lonely, magnificent apple tree, with huge yellow apples hanging from the thick branches. Funny for the fruit to be so plentiful since it was spring, I thought.

Like a languid feline, Giulia Capello was lying on a lounge chair—well, a couch really, given the size. It was impossible to miss her. All other women paled in comparison, and gay though I was, even my insides stirred, and I was in awe of her. Not because of her beauty, per se, but the sense of her—power, strength, sex, money, and appeal to end all appeals.

Nonetheless, she
was
ravishing. With black high heels, silk stockings on her long, slender legs, and a body-hugging Japanese-style brown silk dress, delicately embroidered with jewels and cherry blossoms, and revealing an ample slit up one side, she appeared every inch the woman in touch with the latest fashions. Her long black hair, straight and shiny, was as immaculate as her attire. Behind dim sunglasses she observed her domain with cool reticence, like a statuette amid live lovelies.

Even though I couldn’t see her eyes, I knew exactly when her gaze landed on me, the shameless intruder. “Prying into people’s private business does not seem like a productive way to spend one’s days, hmm?” Wow. I was taken aback by her flat tone. It wasn’t hostile exactly, but it sure as hell wasn’t amiable either. Her tone gave me chills.

“I apologize for intruding on your privacy, Ms. Capello,” I replied courteously. “Is there a reason why you wouldn’t wish to help me find out what happened to Mo Chance?”

Her absolutely sensuous lips, full and pouty and blood red, curved into what could be described as a sarcastic smile. “Mo is dead. I am alive. What more is there to say?”

“Do you believe he took his own life?”

“Does it matter what I think, Mr. Garrett?” I guess I didn’t need to introduce myself to her, then. Had this woman sent the goons out to rough me up? Possibly. “You’re the investigator. So go and investigate.”

“That’s precisely what I’m doing right now.”

Her left eyebrow rose. With one gesture she managed to convey half a conversation. I would have to learn this skill. “Being flippant will not serve you here.”

“How about being direct? I have reason to believe Mo Chance did not commit suicide. He was murdered.”

That got to her, my suggestion piercing the icy crystal veneer. She didn’t get up but gave a mere wave of her hand, and everyone sauntered off, rank and file, until only Giulia and I were left in the open courtyard. With another elegant gesture, she indicated for me to sit down, and I did so, on a lounge chair opposite hers.

Her whole demeanor changed in an instant. As she took off her sunglasses, I saw blue eyes, the bluest I’d ever seen, midnight blue. And the look in them was without guile. “You believe Mo was murdered, or you know?”

“I believe. As for proof, well, that’s why I’m here.”

Giulia studied me a moment, her expression pensive. “Would you like a drink, Mr. Garrett? My Eryt here makes an absolutely to die for appletini.”

A lovely young woman approached subtly, question on her face. Magnificent red hair surrounded her in a cloud of curls. Stunning, I thought. Almost made me wish I were straight.

“No, thank you.” I turned to Giulia. “Not much of a drinker.”

Eryt bowed slightly and walked off into the shadows of the house.

“So, Mr. Garrett.” Giulia paused to take a sip of her golden-hued, sparkly afternoon cocktail. “I’ve never been questioned by a private investigator. How is this done exactly?”

“There are several methods. I prefer straight up to the truth. How about you?” Giulia actually smiled at that and nodded her acquiescence. “When was the last time you saw Mo?”

Giulia took another sip before answering. “On the day he died, after lunch.” I waited for more, and again I was not disappointed. “First off, I wish to apologize. I was rude to you before. You see, Mo was very dear to my heart. I was convinced you were trying to work up the gossip mill and ruin his reputation after death.”

“I assure you, Ms. Capello, that is not my intent at all. If Mo was murdered, I want to find this person and bring him to justice. If he wasn’t murdered, well, closure never hurts in the long run.”

“But you think he was murdered?”

“Yes, I do. Why did you see him on the day he died?”

Giulia sighed, rueful. “He wanted… he demanded Bliss.”

I was taken aback by that. Bliss was a drug from a mythical, magical fruit few knew of. The narcotic was not in widespread circulation, but it was well known among the wealthiest of people. Money could buy anything, mythical or no. The high was, as the name indicated, pure bliss. Perfect happiness with a bite or a snort.

“Was this common practice for Mo?”

“No, absolutely not. Drugs… well, he experimented on making them, but he didn’t use them.” Giulia hesitated, and I could tell her next revelation was a painful one. “The only time I’ve ever seen him indulge in illegal substances was when his brother….” Her voice waned. Her anguish was real, that much was certain.

“You say he made drugs but didn’t use?”

Giulia nodded, her expression back to neutral in the blink of an eye. “It was all science to him, you understand. Chemistry. He wasn’t interested in the mind-altering part of the process. Only in the making of them. He just wanted to see how chemical components interacted. It was all about the science to him. Nothing more.”

Cecil had suggested something similar, only in his version Mo did use drugs. The question was to whom had Mo been closer. Whichever one it was, it seemed likely Mo would have kept the truth from the person he valued the most. From what I had learned, that individual had to be Giulia. Mo’s relationship with Cecil had been tenuous at best.

“Did you give him any Bliss?”

Giulia shook her head adamantly. “No, I most certainly did not. Since you are not the police, I can tell you I didn’t refuse out of any possible lack of the substance in question—I have a private stash—but I declined to give him any because he already seemed so shaken. Ill, to be precise.”

“If he seemed sick, why did you let him leave?” I kept my tone level because I didn’t want it to sound like an accusation, even though in part it was. I was probably getting too close to my client, dead though he was.

Giulia laughed at that. “Mo was not a person you said no to easily.”

“You were his nanny. Surely you had experience with that particular word?”

Giulia smiled, seemingly lost in memories. “Yes, I was. Mo was a sweet, kind child. He never disobeyed. Not once. If I told him no, he adhered. Not because he was ordered, you see, but because he had a strong sense of right and wrong. And he brought out the best in others too.”

“You respected him.”

“Respected, admired, loved, treasured.” Giulia’s smile vanished, and her blue eyes glistened in the sunlight. “And now I’m left missing him.” She shook her head as if to clear her mind of the swell of emotions. “Mo spent most of the afternoon here. We talked, ate, played games. By the time he left he seemed better, more… like the way he used to be. His spirits lifted. He didn’t ask for Bliss anymore, and I think he had overcome the momentary compulsion to crave it.”

“What time did he leave?”

“Oh, it must have been after seven. I asked him to stay for dinner, but he refused.”

“Why?”

“He said he had a prior engagement.”

“Did he say what that was?”

Giulia looked at me then, with utter sadness and despair. “Mo said he had a date—with destiny.”

I leaned back in my lounge chair and let my thoughts roam free, unhindered by the fact I was not alone, but a guest in a lady’s house. The ride from here to where his car had crashed would not have taken three hours. So Mo must have made another stop along the way, or he had gone to Lincoln Boulevard and waited—for what? I couldn’t say.

As far as Mo’s possible drug habit was concerned, I was of two minds about it. The problem was Mo had been a gifted child. Those with higher than normal intelligence were prone to experimentation with their minds, and narcotics could enhance perception. Was Mo the type to try to peer beyond reality? I had to conclude that to my mind, he wasn’t. He seemed to have been more intrigued by the idea of such things rather than empirical research into the subject.

But did I know for certain? No.

And I had other fish to fry before getting to that.

“Ms. Capello, I understand you are of noble birth.” She nodded elegantly. “Why work as a nanny?”

“The truth? Because I felt like it.” Giulia gave an exasperated sigh. “I knew Adriana Marinos before she died. I knew her before she married Norman Chance. When they had children, I offered to be a part of their lives. Adriana was a dear friend. I was happy to do it.”

“What were the kids like? Mo and Haydn?”

Giulia’s eyes flashed like lightning. “You know about what happened to Haydn?” The softness that crept into her voice was not my imagination. I nodded briefly. “I guess that was to be expected. One couldn’t talk about one without the other.” She paused, as if arranging her thoughts.

I strove to keep her slightly off balance. “What was Haydn like?”

Giulia’s eyes flashed again, and this time the spark of irritation was clear. “What does that have to do with Mo?”

“Haydn disappeared. Mo lost his whole family. One could hardly blame him for taking his own life, all things considered.”

“You just said you don’t believe he committed suicide.”

“I don’t. But it’s plausible, given his past.”