Secrets and Ink (9 page)

He chuckled and let my hand go. “You seem like a nice boy, and I’d love to help you out. Sadly, Clay is out and won’t be back till nightfall. I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

My disappointment was half real, half fake. “Too bad. I really need to go, or my boss will have my head. Nice to meet you, Mister…”

“Call me Warren. I trust you can find the front door from here,” he said with a hint of a smirk. “Or Maria could help,” he added as the maid entered.

“No, thanks. I’ll be fine. Bye!”

I shot a straight line for the door, but before getting into my car, I took a farewell look at the house and noticed a figure quickly moving away from an upstairs window. Hm.

Chapter Six

I could’ve driven back downhill and to the freeway, but I chose the scenic route. I knew I could take Mulholland Drive most of the way. I rolled down the window, hoping that the rush of wind would freshen up my mood. Too bad some asshole was tailgating me in a dark SUV. After a few minutes of it, irrational anxiety started to kick in. I told myself it meant nothing. It was just a jerk in a hurry, and this whole country was full of dark SUVs. Paranoia didn’t give a crap about logic and told me that through the pounding of my heart.

I knew this road well. I knew the ravines were on alternating sides—to my left now, but not far up, they’d be on my right. Where another car could run me off the road. When I saw the lookout spot coming up on the left, I acted without thinking. I made a sharp left and pulled in. One other car sat there already, and I parked next to it. The SUV revved its engine and sped off.

I sat in the car for minutes, till my heart calmed and my hands stopped trembling. Finally, I got out and enjoyed the view, till the occupants of the other car—a young couple too obviously in love—got back from their stroll. We smiled at each other and said brief greetings. I left when they did, following their car from a respectful distance, but not too far. Fortunately, they drove the opposite direction I originally headed, and we soon reached Coldwater Canyon Road. I continued north, into the safe, ravine-free land of the San Fernando Valley, keeping my eyes peeled for black SUVs. There were plenty, but none stuck out.

I wanted to change clothes and crash out on the couch so bad it hurt, but I checked in on Mrs. G first. Unlike me, she was in a chipper mood. I could see her sitting in her chair by the door, knitting something unseasonable and tittering to herself. About six months ago, when she’d told me she loved reading but her eyes got tired too easily, I’d given her my old iPod. I hadn’t been using anyway, but first I’d loaded it up with a bunch of public-domain audiobooks. She’d treated the gadget with suspicion at first but warmed up to it once I showed her how to use it.

When she noticed me, she first pulled the iPod out of her pocket to pause it and then tugged the earbuds loose. “That Bertie needs somebody to look after him. He reminds me of you.” Well, apparently, she was still on a P.G. Wodehouse kick.

“That would be nice, Mrs. Gallagher, but I’m afraid I can’t afford a manservant.”

Her rheumy eyes twinkled. “Is that what young people are calling it these days?”

“Behave now, Mrs. G.” I patted the red FTP canvas bag hanging from my shoulder. “I brought you a few things.”

She pushed herself up. “I’m too old to behave. Stand still for a moment.”

I did, and she held her knitting up to my chest. She hemmed and said, “Come on in, then.”

I helped her put away the eggs and milk, and opened the box of ginger cookies for her. We chatted about the weather for a few minutes; then I went upstairs.

As I unloaded wallet and phone, my fingers bumped into bits of paper. With sudden anger, I dug all the photo pieces out of my back pocket and chucked them into the toilet. Next I found the original photo, ripped it tiny pieces and threw them in there too. I flushed and watched them get sucked into oblivion. Good riddance.

I’d barely changed into comfy shorts and a T-shirt when a storm cloud in the shape of Nick showed up at my doorstep, announcing his arrival with loud banging.

“Don’t have to kick the door down,” I grumbled.

He swept me aside and into the living room. “What the hell were you doing at Clay Carson’s house?”

“Delivering groceries. How did you know I was there?”

“I called Olly when I couldn’t get hold of you, and he told me where you went. Seriously, what is wrong with you?”

Olly, that ratfink. Unfortunately, a long day and rattled nerves had left me prickly. I crossed my arms. “I don’t know, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me. And since when do you have Olly’s number?”

“Since I asked him for it. Why shouldn’t I be friends with your friends?”

“I haven’t even met any of your friends!”

“You met Gary.”

“Who’s Gary?”

“Detective Lipkin.”

“Ha! He knows me only as a murder suspect. Hardly the same. You keep tabs on me because you don’t trust me, admit it!”

“Why should I? You charge around like a loon. Sometimes I wonder if you have any common sense at all. And you keep blindsiding me with your secrets. Olly was babbling something about you having a photo of Carson.”

“Ah, that. I didn’t want to bother you with it. Riley sent me a second picture—similar to the first one, but with an extra person and a blowjob added. I might have ripped it up a little, and Olly saw one bit. No big deal.”

“You didn’t—” He pressed his lips together, but his jaw muscles kept working. He took a deep breath and evened his voice. “Is it Carson in the picture?”

“Olly swears to it, but I’m not convinced. He’s liable to see Carson’s face on a piece of burned toast. I thought if I just got a glimpse of Carson, maybe I’d remember. Actors look different in real life than on the screen. I once sat in a restaurant next table to what’s-her-name from that cop show, and she looked so much plainer. And I didn’t tell you about the photo because I knew you’d get all huffed up about it. As you are now.”

“Jem, I swear…” Another moment of heavy silence stretched between us. “I’m huffed up, as you put it, because you can’t follow the simplest directions. I explicitly told you not to get involved in the investigation.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I’m not involved. This has nothing to do with Riley’s murder.”

I feared Nick’s eyes might pop out of their sockets, the way he glared at me. “Nothing to do…? What do you keep in your skull? Spare cheese? Your scheming ex-boyfriend possibly has a photo that could destroy Clay Carson’s career, and then he’s murdered. Don’t you think there might be a connection?”

I hadn’t, but now it seemed so obvious. “Oh. I didn’t think of it that way.” The wave of embarrassment washed away my earlier annoyance with Nick treating me like an idiot. I was an idiot. “Do you think Riley was blackmailing Carson? But—” It didn’t add up. “Why would he send me the pictures?”

Frustration radiated from his every pore. “I wish I knew. I’m getting the notion your ex was even more screwy than you are.”

“Hey!” I yelped, because his comment hurt. Truth does.

Nick cared not at all about my sore feelings. “So, did you see Carson?”

“Nope, only the maid and some bow-tie-wearing weirdo.”

“Okay. Just give me the damn pictures.”

“Umm.”

“What now?”

“I can’t. I don’t have them anymore.”

“Who does?”

“Nobody. I flushed them down the toilet.”

The sound of Nick smacking himself on the forehead was loud enough to make me jump. “You’re a menace. I have half a mind to book you for obstructing justice and criminal stupidity, but I don’t want to deal with the paperwork.” He put on his most intimidating cop face I’d seen so far and poked his right index finger in the middle of my chest. “You. Stay. Put. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t do anything. Don’t talk to anyone. If you get a bright idea, ignore it. I have to go. We’d better not see each other till this case is over. You have my number. Call me only if it’s an emergency. No. Call 9-1-1 if it’s an emergency. Call me only if it’s something very important but not quite an emergency. Keep your nose out of trouble.” He put extra stress on those last words, and then he turned and let himself out.

I rushed after him. “Nick!”

If he heard my voice or the pleading in it, he didn’t let me know. From the door, I saw him walk away without as much as a wave good-bye. I rubbed my stinging eyes. Fine. This will pass. But I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t erase the image of Nick’s annoyed and disappointed expression. I’d screwed up with him again. I was a serial screwer-upper. The sun went down while I agonized over every word that had passed between us. I felt depressed and tired to the bone. I went to bed early but couldn’t sleep, because my brain refused to power down. After tossing and turning for an hour, I marched to the bathroom and took a prescription sleeping pill. It was the last one in the bottle. Well, that had to be for the best. I didn’t want to get addicted to that stuff. I put the empty bottle down on the counter and went back to bed. Tomorrow would be another day and all that crap.

The next one was a dull, dull day. So was the one after, and the one after that. I didn’t see or hear from Nick the whole week, and it made me surly and twitchy—not a good thing when you man the register in a store for a couple of hours a day. It was already the most taxing part of the job—some customers thought that working behind the register meant you were some kind of loser and got snooty about it. And you could do nothing but give them fake smiles and snicker inwardly about their food choices. Roger, our boss, must’ve noticed something too, because he rearranged my schedule so I spent the peak hours stocking dairy, which was fine with me. Unfortunately, it also gave me time to keep wondering if I’d ever see Nick again.

I was short-tempered enough to snap at Olly when I spotted him furiously texting behind a stack of boxes. “Are you reporting to your bosses, Mata Hari?”

He looked at me with confusion. “Who?”

“She was a famous spy.”

He pinked. “Are you still upset about me talking to Nick? You know I can’t lie. And how was I supposed to know it was a big deal?”

I grumbled something about silence being golden, but his eyes were already back on the phone screen. “You don’t seriously think I keep tabs on you for Nick?” he asked.

“Nah, of course not.” Well, except in my darkest moments, but Olly was really a terrible liar. He would’ve made a hopeless spy. I watched with awe as both his thumbs flew over the keys. I typed with my index finger and slowly.

Ultimately, he huffed and stowed the phone away. “One of my roommates’ rent check bounced again. He makes plenty enough on tips but spends it all on stupid stuff. Seriously, who needs fifteen pairs of designer jeans? Some people are so irresponsible. It’s a total waste on him too—he can’t coordinate to save his life. Dylan has less fashion sense than you.”

“Hey, I have fashion sense. I just don’t waste it on work.”

He gave me a once-over. “I don’t know how you hooked someone like Nick looking like a straight guy. What’s with him anyway? Has he come in at all this week?”

“We’re on a break,” I explained and tried to sound nonchalant about it.

“Well, that explains why you’re such a grump. Don’t worry, hon, he’ll be back. You have a nice bod under those rags, and he knows it. I gotta go set up for the demo—pita chips and hummus.” He patted my arm and scampered away.

Life went on in much of the same humdrum manner all the way till Friday afternoon. I was stocking boxes of green tea and mango-flavored mochi ice cream in the frozen-food section when I heard a faintly familiar voice say, “Well, there you are!”

I looked up and saw what’s-his-face from Carson’s house standing there. What the hell was his name? Oh yeah, Warren. He appeared pretty much the same as I’d last seen him. He still wore a gray suit, albeit a shade darker, and his maroon bow tie had tiny white polka dots. He also had the same wire-rimmed glasses with tinted lenses.

“Can I help you?” I asked in the friendly tone all FTP shoppers had the right to expect.

His lips quirked as he held out a folded black card to me. “Maybe I can help you.”

Nonplussed, I took it. “What’s this?”

He gifted me with another one of his condescending smiles. “That, my friend, is a hard to come by invitation to a very exclusive Hollywood party tomorrow night. Clay will be there.” He must have seen the confusion on my face, because he added, “You said you wanted to meet him. Now you’ll have your chance. Make the most of it. Oh yeah, wear something nice.” The smile still playing on his lips, he strolled away.

I stared after him till he disappeared, and then tucked the card in my back pocket and went on with my business. Fridays were always busy, and I didn’t get a chance to take a better look at the card till later, when I had my next break. I opened the slender card and saw only a date and a Beverly Hills address, embossed in gray ink. Understated yet rich. This was my opportunity to meet Clay Carson face-to-face and hobnob with beautiful people. Who knew, I could end up snorting cocaine with someone famous. Exactly the kind of thing to make Nick blow a gasket.

I kept daydreaming… If life was like the movies, I’d go, get in trouble and get rescued by Nick. No wait, if life was a movie, I’d be the expendable gay friend and Nick would rescue the sexy blonde girl. Gross. Going to the party was out of the question.

“Hey, what’s with you now? You’re scowling again. Seriously, whatever you did to piss off your hunk, just apologize.” Olly drifted into the break room, took a swig of his organic kombucha and flopped next to me on the manure-colored couch. “Whatcha got there?”

“A party invitation.” I let him take a look.

Olly made a surprised squeal at the sight of the address. “No fucking way. This must be some fancy shindig. How did you score this?”

I winked at him. “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

“Asshole,” he said affectionately.

“Do you want it?” It made sense. Why waste a perfectly good invitation, right? Olly would fit in that crowd so much better than I.

His eyes lit up like a couple searchlights. “Are you serious?”