Murder Under the Italian Moon (7 page)

It was Sabrina, from the mission. "Oh, Lella, I'm sorry."

"Sorry about what?" I fought to control the stress level in my voice.

"Haven't you heard about Ruby? It was on the news. Her house burned down last night."

Not about Kyle
. Relief and guilt battled for control. "Is Ruby okay?"

"I'm guessing so. The news reported the estimated damaged to the house, but they never mentioned anyone dying. I got the short version while I watched
Good Morning America
. You know how they break for brief local news. I thought you knew."

"I didn't read the paper yet."

"I doubt it made the paper, since it happened quite late last night."

"Maybe I should get over there. Thanks, Sabrina. Got to go." I hung up on her before she could say another word.

I ran upstairs, got dressed and had almost made it out the door when the phone rang again. "Good Morning, Lella." Larry.

With all the opening lines I had been rehearsing, I found myself tongue-tied again.

"Lella? Are you okay?" He sounded concerned, but not too concerned.

"I can't talk to you. Got to run." I hung up while cursing myself and my lack of social grace. I should have said, "I can't talk to you
now
." The way I had said it, it sounded like I didn't want to talk to him ever again. Great. I noticed Kyle's Porsche wasn't in the garage when I went to get in my car. Maybe he spent the night at a friend's house. Or got home late and left early this morning. I would call him later.

I drove to where Ruby's house used to be. The streets of Nellie Gail Ranch were anything but deserted today. Lots of cars. The traffic worsened close to Ruby's place. The lookers were out
en masse
. It got so bad that I ended up parking my car on the side of the road and walking the last block. I saw workers busy installing a link fence around what once was Ruby's French chateau. The roof of the house had caved in. So had most walls. Only the brick chimney stood tall and straight, like a sentinel guarding the place. Part of the garage was left untouched, and you could see the charred remains of the Jeep. Mrs. Snoopy had described it accurately. If only that Jeep jammed against the garage door could talk. Yellow police tape warning people to stay away fluttered above the ashes in the morning breeze, along with the acrid smell of smoke lingering in the neighborhood.

I wanted to talk to somebody, ask questions. The uniformed people looked like fresh arrivals, and the rest of the crowd hoped to catch the show. I knocked at Mrs. Snoopy's door. Seemed like an eternity went by before she opened a few inches, recognized me and stepped out, closing the door behind her. She wasn't going to invite me in?

"Hi." She looked me over from behind her glasses. She wore a fussy dress, her hair was teased and sprayed and she had on full makeup. It was morning and she looked ready for a night at the opera.

"What happened?"

"Somebody burned the house down." Her response was matter-of-fact.

"Arson?"

I noticed the uneasiness. She avoided my eyes and readjusted her glasses. "I'm not supposed to discuss it. I already spoke to the police."

"The police told you not to discuss this?"

More hesitation. "Look, the lieutenant is on his way to see you and talk to your son. Ask him."

"My son? What does this have to do with my son?"

"Lieutenant Devin wants to talk to your son, the movie star."

She said "movie star" with such disdain I felt blood rushing to my face. Her expression changed and a slight smile appeared, but her eyes focused somewhere past me. I turned and it all became clear. A van with the Fox News logo parked around the corner. They'd come to interview her. I realized she said Devin, Lieutenant Devin. My Larry was on his way to my house—not to pursue a relationship with me, but to question Kyle about his involvement with Ruby's house burning down? I turned around and started to jog to my car. Why didn't he tell me he wanted to talk to me? Because I didn't let him. And she said he wanted to talk to Kyle. Larry had never met Kyle. This added puzzlement to my confusion.

I tried to process all the information, but my anger grew, and by the time my car crossed the gate to my townhouse I was in a pretty lousy mood. I entered the common garage expecting to find Larry's Mercedes taking up space. Instead, what I saw convinced me once again that life is never about what we anticipate, but rather about what we ignore. Right there, next to my reserved space, sat Ruby's Ferrari Testarossa.

My heels hit the path from the garage to my front door in unison with my heartbeat. Ruby, finally. Where could she be waiting for me? At the neighbors? She didn't have the keys to my place, she returned them. Could she have found a way to get into the house?

Strange.

I wanted to tell her about Larry, but first we needed to talk about Tom and the loss of her home, such terrible things. She needed a place to stay, of course. We would sit in the quietness of the living room, hug each other and exchange stories over a glass of Chardonnay. Everything would be okay. I opened the door wide and called out, "Ruby!"

I heard someone moving around upstairs, running down the steps, then Kyle appeared, smiling. "Hi, Mom, is Ruby here?"

"Kyle, you're here? I didn't see your car."

He looked at me, he seemed half amused, half apologetic. "About the car…"

I could hardly contain my newly found eagerness. I wanted to talk to Ruby. Kyle could tell me where he parked later.

"You did see my car in the garage." He dangled keys in front of my face. "A shiny Ferrari?"

"You bought the same car as the Russells?"

"No, I bought the Russells' car." He stared at me with those puppy eyes, waiting for a treat after a well-performed trick.

I felt sick. I sat and put my handbag on the floor, not sure what to do next. I must have looked awful, because Kyle came over and kneeled next to me. "Mom, are you okay? What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"A ghost of common sense. How, why? Tom's car? Did you buy it before or after Ruby shot him?" Did I say that? Ruby shot him? What was wrong with me?

"Ruby shot who? Mom, maybe you should lie down. You don't look too good." He helped me up from the chair and walked me over to the sofa. I let him lead me without arguing while my head reeled over this latest development.

"Kyle, you do know about Tom, don't you?"

He stared at me. I sensed his hesitation. He would choose his answer carefully, hoping not to say the wrong thing. He might be in his twenties, but he was still like a child reacting to his mother being upset with him. He didn't want to do or say the wrong thing.

"Tom is dead and the Russells' house burned to the ground last night." What I lacked in bedside manner I made up for with straight truth. I watched Kyle's face change expression and color faster than a chameleon sitting on a rainbow. He collapsed next to me on the sofa. I could hear the furious beating of his heart. I watched his Adam's apple bob when he swallowed.

"By the look on your face, I'm gathering the answer is no. You know nothing about anything." I thanked God for my self-control.

Kyle kept staring at his shoes.

"Kyle, Tom died a couple of days before I came back from Italy. I don't have many details. I'm guessing you didn't hear about it if you were in Palm Springs. It must have made only the local news. It was ruled an accidental death. Ruby reached for the gun Tom had been cleaning. The thing went off and hit Tom in the back of the skull. He died instantly. Here is my problem: I can't find Ruby. Do you know where she might be? When did you get the car? Kyle, where is
your
car?" Images of the Porsche parked in the garage the night before crossed my mind. I needed to let him talk. He rose and walked around the room. He looked like he was trying to work out the timeline for himself before telling me anything. I waited.

"We traded," he said.

"You traded what?"

"We traded cars, my Porsche for her Ferrari."

I shook my head. This was a car, not a toy. I couldn't believe he "traded" his car for hers so casually. I closed my eyes, found my composure and spoke with a strained voice. "Kyle, this is serious. You need to sit and tell me the whole story. Start from the beginning. I want dates and places. This is important." The last sentence came out a little louder than intended. He took a deep breath and launched into his story.

"Ruby came to Palm Springs. She showed up at the hotel, late, a few nights ago." He paused to count on his fingers. "Three nights ago. You know Ruby, all bubbly and excited, said she had to make a delivery for Tom out of state. She was on her way back and knew we were filming in Palm Springs, so she decided to stop and say hi."

"And?"

He paced, still avoiding my eyes. Not a good sign.

"Kyle," I shouted, and fought to control my voice. I could almost hear his brain processing what I had told him about the shooting, and wondering why Ruby hadn't mentioned it to him.

"That's why."

"Why what?"

"All the mystery, the games…" He looked straight into my eyes. "Ruby acted strangely the entire time she was there to see me. It felt uncomfortable. She cracked jokes and made her usual snarky comments, but she sounded different. Like her heart wasn't in it. She told me that the Ferrari had been broken into, things taken, and that Tom was mad. He wanted to get rid of the car.
Pronto.
She knew how much I liked the Testarossa and the fact that I was in Palm Springs was a good omen. Those were her exact words." Kyle cradled his head in his hands. "We had drinks in the hotel bar—she said she wanted a martini something bad—and then she got really sleepy. I had a suite, so I took her up to my room and let her crash on my bed. I ended up sleeping on the couch in the sitting area watching a movie. In fact, I slept terribly that night. My back was all kinked up from the couch, and I had a terrible headache. I arrived late to work since my alarm wasn't set." He got up and paced the room, avoided looking at me. "Ruby had left when I got up. There was an envelope on my night table, with the keys to the Ferrari and a note saying she had to go, she had taken the Porsche and we could work out the legalities later. I was going to call the Russells when you got home."

"The Russells' phone hasn't worked in days, and last night the house burned to the ground. Did you try her cell?"

His face turned white. He sat on the couch again, pulled something from his pants pocket and placed it on the coffee table. "Ruby's cell phone." He pointed to the small object he had laid next to the crystal bowl. "She left it in Palm Springs, in my hotel room."

A long pause. I waited.

"Did you say the house burned? How? Mom, you think it was an accident?"

We looked at each other, our eyes mirroring the same thoughts.
How did the house burn?
And where was Ruby with the Porsche?

"Kyle, I have a bad feeling about this whole situation. We need to tell the authorities. Did you check to see if Ruby left something else in the car?"

He shook his head. "I was so excited, wanted to show you the Ferrari. She never mentioned Tom being dead or her being the one who killed him. You think she's using?" He looked at me, searching my eyes for answers.

"You mean drugs? I doubt it. I haven't seen her in over a month, but I doubt it. Let's go take a look at the car, and we'll call the authorities. We can make a phone report of the car swap. And let's put her cell back in the glove compartment of the Ferrari. It's not our phone." We headed toward the door and I noticed Flash under the couch, watching us with a look of annoyance.

The underground common garage was always dark. Today wasn't any different. The white Ferrari created a bright spot. Kyle unlocked the driver's side and examined the glove compartment. I couldn't get myself to touch the damn thing.

"Anything?"

He wasn't listening. His eyes focused somewhere behind me, his whole expression morphing. I could swear even the color of his pupils grew darker.

I turned around.

Audrey, the next-door neighbor, breezed toward us. Where did she come from? It didn't seem to matter to Kyle. In his hurry to get out of the car I heard him hit his head on the metal doorframe. He didn't let out a sound. His face had the idiotic grin of a prime candidate for a broken heart.

She wore a dress made of a gauzy fabric, not short or fitted. The dress moved with her, fluttered around her lithe body, quivered with her every step. She carried some plastic grocery bags, her little brother tagging behind her, licking a lollipop.

"Hi!" My son offered her his hand. "Kyle York."

"Audrey Bernard." She smiled, bending a little forward to show that her arms were full of groceries.

He smiled back, and I felt invisible. I wasn't invisible to David. The kid flashed me a big grin. The contrast of his lips, bright red from the lollipop, against the pallor of his complexion somehow looked ghoulish. He noticed the Ferrari.

"Awesome!"

"You like it?" Kyle clicked something on the keys he held in his hand. The trunk opened, spooking David. The three of them laughed like old friends.

David craned his neck. "What's this?"

I looked. The plush carpeting covering the storage compartment of the trunk was ripped off on both sides.

I gawked at the sight. "What happened?"

"Thieves," Kyle concluded. "Tom's stereo equipment was stolen. That's why I got such a hot deal."

"Can I help you carry something?" Kyle glanced at Audrey.

She zapped him another smile and handed him one of the grocery bags. With David trotting behind them they walked toward Audrey's place, leaving me alone by the nefarious Ferrari. I assumed Kyle locked the car with his remote, as I walked back to my home alone and more confused than before.

Maybe Larry could—forget Larry. Wait a minute, Mrs. Snoopy told me that Devin was headed to my house. That was a long time ago, and by my personal clock it was an eternity. Did he change his mind?

Flash jumped on my lap, and I turned on the local news channel. They mentioned the house fire, and the fact that luckily there weren't any victims. No mention of foul play and no mention of Ruby missing either. Something wasn't right. How come no one seemed to be looking for Ruby? Larry never asked me if I knew where she was. Was she only hiding from me? Why? Hiding in plain sight? She was in Palm Springs three days ago and the Porsche was in my garage the night before. If Kyle hadn't been driving it, Ruby must have been here. So, where was she now? She couldn't hide in the ashes of her house. Kyle asked me about the possibility of Ruby using drugs. I said no without hesitation. What made me such an expert? Ruby had these peculiar…episodes, had had them for four years—ever since Nick's death. Forgetting a whole day of her life. Buying things and then claiming someone else did it.