One of Those Malibu Nights (14 page)

She stopped her confessional monologue and looked at Sunny. “You’ll know what I mean when I say it was meant to be. The thing between me and Ron. It was like we had known each other in some other life.”

“You were head over heels,” Sunny said, and Allie laughed.

“And so was he. We met at a New Year’s Eve party in
Aspen. We left them all to their Happy New Years and champagne and went back to Ron’s log cabin in the woods with the snow piled outside the door. I ruined my expensive shoes that I’d gone without lunches to afford but I didn’t care. I just wanted to be with him. And I was lucky, he wanted to be with me.

“Ron was a superb skier,” Allie said as Sunny brewed more coffee. “His body’s compact but it’s hard from all the weight lifting and his legs are strong. In his black Bogner ski suit he skimmed down those mountains, looking like a dark bird of prey. I wasn’t nearly as good, in my fur-hooded movie-actress ice-white suit that he made me promise never to wear again.

“I remember him saying, ‘Don’t you realize that if you’re dressed in white and anything went wrong, an accident, a fall, or God forbid an avalanche, the rescue team would never be able to see you in all that snow?’ The next day he took me to the store and bought me a bright red suit and boots to match. Then he took me to a jewelers and bought me a diamond ring. An eternity band.

“ ‘It’s only the beginning but I feel in my bones, in my heart, this is for eternity,’ he told me, holding me by my scarlet shoulders and looking into my eyes.”

She looked at Sunny. “It was then I felt our souls connect,” she said. “And I knew he was right. We were meant for each other.

“We took the cable car to the top of Ajax Mountain
where we celebrated over a mug of hot chocolate, with many soft and gentle kisses. Few people realize that at heart, Ron is a very tender man, because he never allows that side of him to show. He was trained in business and the boardrooms of the world to be poker-faced, unemotional, a hard man who never gives up.

“Ron got me my first really big role, starring in the movie that made my name. I was already well known, of course, but the sexy, glamorous
Good Heavens, Miss Mary
, established me in the kind of fresh comedic romantic role that became my trademark. That role ‘branded’ me and made my fortune. After ten years I was an overnight success.

“We had celebrated with a trip to Europe, stopping in Paris to shop, and in Saint-Tropez to lie on the beach and drink rosé wine over long lunches. Life was sweet then.

“I owe a lot to Ron,” she said. “And that’s why I’ll never forget him.”

“And now you’ve lost him,” Sunny said gently.

Allie’s eyes met hers. “Have you ever been heartbroken?” she asked.

Sunny considered. “Once or twice I thought I was. But now I know, never in the way you mean.”

“So now you understand why I’m unhappy.”

“Because you’re lonely,” Sunny said, putting her arm around Allie’s shoulder. “And you are hurting.”

“It’s just that I thought I had it made, all my ducks in a row—and now it’s all falling apart,” Allie said.

She wasn’t crying but Sunny could see the held back tears glittering silver in her blue eyes.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said gently. “I’ll never betray your confidence.”

“I’m sorry I used your shoulder to cry on,” Allie said wistfully.

Sunny leaned across and kissed her cheek. “That’s what girlfriends are for,” she said.

But she thought Allie seemed almost embarrassed when she left, as if she had revealed too much of herself. Sunny only hoped that spilling it all out had helped her in some way.

“Call me again, let’s get together soon,” she said when they kissed goodbye. And though Allie promised she would, somehow Sunny knew she would not.

Minutes after Allie had left, Mac called. Sunny was dying to tell him all about Allie’s visit, but he cut her off.

“Tell me later,” he said, sounding urgent. “I’ve got something more important to tell you.”

And then he told her the Lipski story. And about RP buying an expensive diamond watch as a gift for a woman who was supposed to be his secretary and who was now missing, and that Lipski believed she had been murdered.

“Interesting,” Sunny said, thinking of poor Allie, who despite everything, still wanted to believe her husband was a good guy.

“What’s even more interesting is I’m on my way to break into Perrin’s house myself, just the way Lipski did.”

“ Why?” she demanded, shocked.

“To look for evidence, of course.”

“You can’t do that. You’ll be committing a crime—”

“No I won’t,” Mac said calmly. “I’m not breaking in. I have the keys.”

“Technically
it’s a crime …”

Mac was laughing. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“No. Mac, wait. I’m coming right over. Promise me you’ll wait.”

“Okay, I promise,” he agreed.

As usual the traffic was hell. Stalled off Surfrider Beach on the throbbing bike, Sunny thought that if you were not in a hurry sometimes driving PCH could be quite a turn-on, what with all those bronzed muscular young surfers stripping off their skintight wet suits behind parked SUVs, or else simply gift-wrapped in skimpy towels.

But she had no time for such erotic thoughts now. Immediately after she’d spoken to Mac, she had called Roddy to enlist his aid in stopping Mac from breaking and entering, but Roddy was in Cape Cod for a long weekend. So now it was up to her to stop him.

You didn’t need to be an expert to know that house-breaking was a criminal offense. And besides, she had that gut feeling that not one of the people involved—not
Marisa, not Demarco, not even Ruby Pearl, and especially not Ron Perrin—was worth it. It was up to her to use all her arts of female persuasion to stop Mac from making a fool of himself, and maybe ending up in handcuffs, photographed by the paparazzi, disheveled and looking guilty with a two-day growth of beard, en route to the Malibu courthouse.

The traffic unraveled and she coasted to the Colony, waving to the guard as she drove in. She didn’t bother to ring the unmusical captain’s bell; as usual Mac’s door was unlocked.

There was one of those red sunsets going on where the sun looks like the ball of fire it really is, painting the neon blue sky with a coral and orange glow. Pirate glanced up, no doubt checking to see if the dreaded Tesoro was with her. Satisfied she was not, he gave Sunny a welcoming grin then went back to his snooze.

Mac got up to give her a little more than a mere welcoming grin. “Hello, fellow housebreaker,” he said, kissing her soundly.

“What d’you mean?” she gasped, coming up for air.
“Fellow housebreaker?”

“Okay, so technically, it’s not housebreaking. I have the key.”

“Where’d you get that?”

“Lipski. I have to give him credit, he even got the alarm code.”

“Jesus!” She dropped onto the metal lounger and felt it
sink a little even under her modest weight. “You need new chairs,” she reminded him while she thought of it.

“Okay. Now listen. So far no police are involved. There’s no way anyone will even know we’re in the house.”

“We?”

“We,”
he said firmly. “I’ll need help. Anyway, there’s nothing for the police to be involved in yet. Perrin’s just a rich man who’s taken off by himself somewhere. Rich men do that all the time, y’know.”

“I didn’t.” She gave him a withering look.

The wind blew her long hair and Mac leaned over and gently brushed it back again. The last of the sun’s glow lit her face and he bent again to kiss her. “I love you, Sonora Sky Coto de Alvarez,” he murmured, dropping his lips from her hair into that favorite place of his where the pulse beat at the base of her throat.

“You’re just smooth-talking me,” she said warily, but she was softening. She gave him a smile.

“I am,” he agreed. “But maybe I’ll save that for later.”

“After the break-in.”

“Right. Meanwhile, why has Perrin disappeared? Is it because the FBI are after him for fraud? Or perhaps for money laundering? And maybe he killed Ruby Pearl who knew too much? Who knows, maybe Marisa and Allie are next on his list.”

“Jesus,” Sunny said again. She was a little scared by this time.

Mac took a seat on the end of the lounger. Leaning forward, hands clasped between his knees, he gazed earnestly at her. “I don’t know if Perrin is really a killer, but I do believe Lipski is right about one thing. There has to be something, some evidence,
a clue
at least in that house. Remember I told you RP was shredding documents that morning? I’m hoping he didn’t get around to all of them. I’m asking you to help because it’ll be faster having two of us go through the place.” He looked at her, one dark eyebrow raised. “So? Are you with me or not?”

Sunny sighed. It was a foregone conclusion.

They waited until it was dark, then, leaving Pirate at home this time, they walked down the empty beach. The tide was receding and Sunny worried out loud that their footprints in the wet sand would lead incriminatingly to the Perrin house but Mac said to stop being Sherlock Holmes, nobody was looking.

She hurried up the beach steps after him, glancing nervously over her shoulder as he opened the side door. The alarm pinged and, twisting her hands in an agony of fear that they would be discovered, she waited until he’d switched it off.

“Oh my God,” she said, shivering. “Tell me, Mac Reilly, why am I doing this? Am I crazy or what?”

“Crazy,” he agreed. He was standing by the window almost exactly in the place he had been that night when Marisa had pointed the gun at him. “There’s got to be something,” he
whispered to Sunny. “Some evidence of wrongdoing, something Perrin forgot.”

“Okay.” She had stopped shivering but was still distinctly nervous.

In an alcove of the enormous living room was a computer. Mac went over and switched it on. Its start page was an Internet chat room with pictures of young women with short bios and even shorter skirts, and messages urging you to get in touch.

Mac whistled. So Perrin really was into chat rooms. Marisa had admitted that’s where she’d met him, and Lipski had said the same about Ruby. He guessed that for Perrin it was anonymous and better than going the old-fashioned route via a Hollywood madam who might one day get arrested and spill the beans about your sexual activities and preferences.

The two of them began to go systematically through the house. Mac took the upstairs, Sunny down, grumbling when they found nothing. There were no files and the shredder was gone.

Sunny was in the kitchen when she heard the steel gate leading to the street sliding back.

“Oh my God, Mac,”
she called in a piercing whisper.
“Somebody’s coming.”

Mac raced down the stairs. He grabbed her hand and rushed her through the kitchen door into the garage. He stood for a second until his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
He’d wondered what car Perrin would drive and now he knew. A Hummer. Silver. RP’s color, it seemed, with windows tinted black so you could not see inside. Next to it was a silver Porsche. Plus a red Harley. And in a corner, the pièce de résistance, an original Indian motorcycle.

“Oh—My—God.” Sunny stared reverently at the bike.

Mac was peering through a crack in the door to the kitchen. He could make out someone moving around. A man. He had not put on the lights, so like them, he obviously didn’t want it known he was there. It definitely was not Lipski though. The man turned and looked his way.

Mac grabbed Sunny, opened the Hummer’s back door and shoved her inside. “Get down on the floor,” he said. “Don’t say a word, whatever happens.”

“Oh my God,” she said again, but this time with a panicked wobble in her voice. “Is it the FBI?”

Mac climbed into the front seat. He got down on the floor and stretched out as best he could. Then he locked the doors from the inside.

“It’s Demarco.”

“Ohh …”
Her agonized moan almost made him laugh.

His shoulders were cramped and his head was stuck under the steering wheel. Above him dangled not just the Hummer’s key but a whole set of keys and an electronic opener. He reached up and slipped them into his pocket.

“It’s hot as hell,” Sunny whispered. “I think I’m dying.”

“No you’re not,” he said confidently. But lying on the
floor of the squat Hummer was like being in a hearse without the benefit of a coffin. He was sweating.

In the back of the car, Sunny gripped the side pockets, hauling herself into a more comfortable position. Her fingers encountered a piece of paper. She took it and stuffed it in the pocket of her shorts.

Demarco was standing in the garage, staring around, a baffled look on his face. He was still wearing a pin-striped suit. Not the usual uniform for housebreaking. And unlike most people’s garages, this one was not full of stored junk. It was clean as a whistle. There was nowhere to hide anything. Except in the two cars.

Mac ducked as Demarco made for the Hummer, hearing Sunny’s little whispered whinny of fear.

Demarco cursed as he tried the Hummer’s door and found it locked. Next he tried the Porsche. He opened the door and looked inside it, but obviously did not find what he was looking for. Mac watched him stalk back into the house, allowing the door to slam behind him.

Mac felt in his pockets for the keys.

“Guess what,” he said to Sunny. “I left the house keys in the kitchen.”

She shot up from the floor in back of him.
“You mean we’re locked in this garage?”
she said in a loud whisper.

“Shh.” He gestured toward the house. “Actually, yes. That’s exactly what I mean.”

Sunny moaned. “I’m gonna die in here. I’ll leave a note
asking that the Indian bike be buried with me. We’ve got to get out,” she added. “Who’s gonna give Pirate his dinner?”

“You are.” Getting up, Mac helped her out of the car. “See that?” He pointed to the locked side door with the dog flap.

“You mean that
doggie door?”

“Must have been for Allie’s Maltese.” He glanced encouragingly at Sunny. “Think you can make it?”