Murder in a Hot Flash (14 page)

She'd be too old to work the streets and there are no such things as psychics.

And if she is or was a hooker? How do you tell Libby?

“There's nothing casual about sex,” she'd warned Libby again and again. “Not for the woman.”

“You oughta know, UM,” was Libby's standard reply.

“You always give away something of yourself that you can never get back.”

And here Charlie had slipped between the sheets as casually as a bimbo on a daytime soap, given something of herself, something irretrievable.

Oh, get a grip, you knew exactly what was going to happen the minute you saw him frying your eggs at Dead Horse Point.

Edwina probably knew it too.

Careful with that, you're going to get yourself worked up again. The guy needs his rest.

Mitch Hilsten didn't snore, he whistled.

The whistle turned to a snort when the phone rang. He reached across Charlie's chest for it before his eyes were open but she already had it in one hand and the other clamped over his mouth.

“Richard?” Charlie sat up, losing the sheet but still muzzling Mitch. “What are you doing up this early? How'd you know where to find me?”

“Called Larry the Kid, he'd talked to your lawyer-neighbor-lady. Listen, babe, I'm real sorry about your mother, but don't forget you also got a daughter and a mortgage and a normal load of shit. And you need your job. And your agency is having major trouble here.” Richard Morse had a way of verbally transferring ownership of the agency to his employees when he deemed the prospect of unemployment could save it from some threat and then taking it back when all was safe. This time, Charlie feared even “downsizing” couldn't save Congdon and Morse Representation, Inc.

“Eric Ashton's dropping
Phantom of the Alpine Tunnel.
”

“Like a hot bagel,” her boss said. “And we both know what that means.”

The rumors had been rife. Ashton was not a Congdon and Morse client, but his costar, Cyndi Seagal, was. Cyndi Seagal was also about the last major talent the agency could boast. If this project sank, Cyndi would abandon ship for another agency. And Congdon and Morse and Charlie's investment in a condo in Long Beach and the career that fed her and her illegitimate ungrateful offspring could be history. Fortunes change quickly anywhere, but in the quicksand of Hollywood, you can't afford to take time to blink.

“But listen to me, doll, we can still pull the lox out of the fire.”

Charlie noticed Mitch's startled eyes and mouthed, “My boss.” He relaxed under her hand. No problem. But you mess with somebody's wife, lover, sister, mother, automobile, you can find yourself facing the bore of a gun in this country.

“I'm a literary agent. I delivered on the book and the screenwriter. I've done my part.”

“We're in the trades again and for all the wrong reasons again. Right? And all because of you again. You got debts building up to astronomical around here, babe, you don't want to forget that. I been up all night working this out.”

“Richard, will you get to the point?”

“I'm also reading that Mitch Hilsten is working the documentary your mother was playing expert on. You didn't tell me that.”

“I didn't know that. Not till I got here.”

“Charlie, you're always telling me he's your matinee idol.” Richard used dated expressions because most of their clients worked for things like false-teeth-glue commercials.

“So?”

“So, if you can talk to him … or … get him off in a cozy corner … you know. He'd be great for the train engineer's part. Hilsten in the picture, Seagal stays. And, Charlie, with the two of them Jack Nicholson is going to take another look at the villain role. Think about it. I know you're over thirty. But you don't look it. And there's a lot at stake here.”

“Richard, are you suggesting—”

“Hey, times are tough all round, you know? I mean you don't have to … but you could … well … use your imagination … Charlie, if you've already got the hots for him—what's it gonna hurt? Congdon and Morse is counting on you. What can I say?”

“You can say good-bye.”

Charlie was in the shower trying to cool off when the phone rang again. She yelled at Mitch not to answer it. What if it was Libby and a man answered this early in the day? Or Edwina calling from jail? Or good old Sheriff Sumpter—Jesus.

But it stopped after one ring and she figured the damage was already done. She'd managed to finish rinsing the shampoo out of her hair when he pulled the curtain aside to join her and steal the hot water. “You answered it, didn't you?”

“I'd already said hello when you yelled at me. I was kind of committed. It was just your boss again.”

“Richard? You didn't tell him who you were?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Tell me everything he said.”

“Said to tell you he was sorry and then he said, ‘Wait a minute, who the hell is this?'” Mitch's impersonation was damn close to the reality. “And when I told him, he was quiet for a while and then he laughed, called you a good girl, and hung up. What did he say to get you so pissed anyway?”

“Don't ask.” She tried to step out of the tub but he barred her way.

“Look, I spilled my guts to you last night and all I get from you is. ‘Don't ask.' What kind of a deal is that?”

“I told you about my getting knocked up in a cemetery at sixteen, didn't I?” And, boy, had that heated things up.

“Why wouldn't you answer my question about why you didn't have an abortion or have the baby adopted out?” Mitch returned her to her place under the hot water and washed her back.

“I was a real little shit, okay? I probably kept her to spite Edwina. It was all a big mess. Might have hastened Howard's death, nearly ruined my life. I decided it wasn't going to ruin Libby's. And I thought I had it made, until she turned thirteen. Then I realized the jury was still out on that one.”

The last three years had been hell. If Charlie hadn't had a job she loved, she didn't know how she'd have lived through them. How women who stayed home and raised kids kept their sanity, she'd never understand.

This wasn't the first time she'd considered quitting Congdon and Morse because of Richard Morse and this time the old chauvinist had really shown his true colors. But what if she couldn't find another job in her field? Charlie rinsed off her back and washed his.

“No kid's a ‘real little shit' for no reason. Were you spiteful because you were adopted?”

“Howard was sort of distant, but kind. I never lacked for anything important. They loved me, but they were involved in their work. Like I am now.” Charlie was rebellious like many kids that age. But Charlie got caught, and then refused to admit she could have been wrong. And, because she'd been through this and understood it, she thought she'd be a perfect guide to help Libby through these difficult years. But Libby had decided her mother didn't know anything, just as Charlie had decided the same about her own parents.

Charlie'd put Libby on the pill at the first scary signs. But Libby stopped taking it when she gained weight.

“Besides, it can't protect you from AIDS like a condom. And even besides that, I'm not doing anything.”

Would some potent adolescent have the control to reach for the slender packet as smoothly as had the man whose back she'd just washed? No questions. No apologies. Barely a pause in the foreplay.

What if Charlie became a grandma at thirty-two?

Last night Charlie had forgotten about Libby and Edwina and murder and her job and even that this guy was a superstar. (And possibly a murderer, but that now seemed as farfetched as Edwina's being one. Innocent by reason of intercourse.) Just as Edwina had feared she would forget. Just as Charlie feared Libby would, was doing, with someone else. To Edwina, it was just plain wrong. To Charlie, it was just plain dangerous.

They were toweling when the phone rang again. He didn't even make a move for it this time.

It was Libby. “Like, I guess you're all mad at me. I'm sure Maggie and Larry made everything sound much worse than it was. Of course
my
friends can do no right.
Your
friends can do no wrong.” Charlie's daughter started in on the attack before her mother could get in a salvo. Maggie had probably insisted she call and apologize and Libby probably really was sorry, but that tended to make her more defensive than contrite.

And there stood Charlie Greene dressed in her skin and goose bumps, staring back at a naked movie star in a tiny run-down motel room and her with only seconds to make decisions that could affect Libby's life forever and hers too.

She could threaten to make Libby pay for all or part of the damages to the condo with the money she earned on her summer job. Charlie could ground Libby for the rest of the school year. But she knew her daughter would simply run away, as Charlie would have once.

“Mom, you still there?”

“Yes, honey, I'm still here.”

And there were streets in L.A. where a nymphet could live and hide a long time before being found. Charlie had read of one who'd lived two years that way before she committed suicide. The autopsy showed her body racked with drugs and venereal disease.

“We'll discuss this when I get home,” Charlie said finally. “Meanwhile, you get yourself to school and stay with Maggie at night and—”

“Whoa, no way. You know what that bitch made me do? Scrape crud off the carpets where people got sick. You can't make me stay over there again tonight.”

“You still want that driver's license?”

An extended pause and then an outraged whisper, “You wouldn't … You have no right. It isn't fair … you—”

Charlie hung up, fear making the breath in her chest hurt. Libby was a formidable adversary. And the trouble with this kind of decision was that you might not know if it was the right one for years.

“Hey, let me grab a shave and then let's get you out to breakfast before that phone rings again. You can't take much more of this.” Mitch crossed the room to comfort her and Charlie started feeling guilty and one thing led to another. Again.

Well, I'm
not
going to say one word to him about
Phantom of the Alpine Tunnel
and I
am
going to look for another job as soon as Edwina's out of this mess, but before I quit the old one, Charlie thought while watching Mitch shave later. She tried not to admit to herself how marvelous she felt, just hated that sappy postcoital look she knew she wore. He was growing increasingly limp with all this stimulation, but at least he hadn't learned his lovemaking from
Playboy
.

He used foam and a safety edge, his chin screwed up toward the ceiling so he could scrape away the foam and whiskers under it while trying to look down past his nose to see into the mirror. Charlie wondered briefly what it would be like to be married and then clamped her mind shut on that idea. Marriage was not for career-women-mothers. Any more complications in her life and Charlie would drop dead of the strain by thirty-five.

Until last night she'd been celibate for almost two years and preferred that blessed state. But the emotional upheaval and the time of the month and the fact that this guy was the second most gorgeous man Charlie'd ever encountered had ganged up on her.

The most gorgeous was Larry Mann, her assistant at Congdon and Morse. But he was unavailable, untouchable. So every now and then Charlie took him out to lunch just to look at him.

Chapter
16

“… a sense of serenity and quiet beauty on the mighty Colorado River. Don't miss
The River by Night
!” the local cable TV channel implored them, with scenic wonders and a voice-over and ethereal music, as they dressed.

But when the local news began, Mitch nearly caught himself in his zipper.

A man seated on a kitchen chair behind a wooden table said, “You'll be glad to know that Ed Buchanan, night watchman out at the old Texas Petroleum mill, has been found safe and sound. Missing for three days, Ed was discovered wandering along the cliff road up north of town last night by Bud Hawly and son, Gary. According to Bud, Ed has no memory of where he's been.”

The speaker wore a red-and-black-plaid shirt like John B.'s and he leaned forward with his elbows on the table, unconsciously rocking his body from side to side as he talked. A floral arrangement took up half the table and hid most of his face when he rocked to the right, as if he were playing hide-and-seek with the viewer.

“Latest on the gruesome murder out at Dead Horse Point of Gordon Cabot, the famous Hollywood director, is that Rita Latham, noted defense lawyer, is due in from Salt Lake today to decide whether she wants to defend Mrs. Edwina Greene, whose ax it allegedly was that killed Mr. Cabot. Mrs. Greene's daughter, Charlemagne Catherine Greene, a self-styled psychic, was one of those who found the director's body out at the campground.

“Meanwhile, the
Animal Aliens
pic should wrap location shooting in a day or two. Sheriff Sumpter himself agreed to take a minor role and died—I understand very nicely—yesterday while trying to stop the giant rats invading the earth and Mrs. Regina Ottinger over on Fifth Street is due to meet a similar fate today.” He went on to note other local notables who either had performed as extras or were scheduled to, but Mitch interrupted.

“Charlemagne Catherine Greene?” His incredulity overcame the story of the watchman found wandering the mesa.

“Howard was a history professor.” And who told the local news? Only one person seemed likely. Edwina. And damn it, the news wires were in town and probably everybody's stringers. Charlie's belly burned like the flush on her face. “And I'm not a self-styled psychic.” No mention of her real job.

“That's the local gab on this morning's edition of ‘Cliff Notes,' folks. We'll go off the air now until three this afternoon when Jake ‘Jeremiah' Johnson will bring you his ‘River Watch' program. And this evening, there should be an interview with Sheriff Sumpter on the latest developments in the murder investigation.”