The Look of Love (17 page)
Authors: Mary Jane Clark
T
onight is the night. There’s no point in waiting any longer.
Everything is ready. The cooler was transferred to the rear of the golf cart. The turpentine-soaked rags were inserted in the bottle necks to serve as wicks to the flammable liquid inside.
Once the Molotov cocktails are hurled into the window of Jillian’s cottage, the golf cart will provide me with a speedy escape, disappearing silently into the night.
T
he phone was ringing. It was rare that anyone called, especially at night.
Sister Mary Noelle was saying her prayers in her room. She rose from her knees, went out into the hall, and picked up the receiver.
“Monastery of the Angels. May I help you?” she answered softly.
“Nina?”
Sister Mary Noelle recognized her sister’s voice and sensed that something was wrong. “Jillian. Is everything all right?”
“No, Nina, everything is terrible.”
Between whimpers Jillian told Sister Mary Noelle about George Ellis’s visit. “I’m scared of what he might do!” she cried. “I’m all by myself now.”
“Where’s Ben?” asked Sister Mary Noelle.
“He’s out with a friend,” said Jillian. “Or at least that’s where he’s supposed to be. His cell phone goes immediately into voice mail, and I called the Chateau Marmont, where he said he was having dinner, and they say he’s not there.”
“Did you call Dad?” Sister Mary Noelle asked.
“No, he has so much on his plate already. I don’t want to give him any more to worry about.” Jillian pleaded, “I want to be with you, Nina. Can I come over?”
“Oh, Jillian. I’m so sorry, but that won’t work.” Sister Mary Noelle lowered her voice to a whisper. “I can’t ask Mother Mary Dominic to have a night visitor.”
“Maybe she’d make an exception, since I’m your sister.”
“No, Jillian. That’s not going to happen.”
“Well, can you get out and come over here?” Jillian asked hopefully.
Sister Mary Noelle thought about the car in the parking lot. She had the keys. She could probably sneak out and drive over to Elysium without anyone in the convent even knowing. That would be deceitful. But Jillian was her sister, and Jillian needed her.
“Let me see what I can do,” said Sister Mary Noelle.
S
he couldn’t sleep. She wasn’t the least bit tired.
The actress watched television for a while, flipping through the channels. After the eleven o’clock news, she turned off the set. Picking up a magazine, she began flipping through the pages. The pictures of the young, nubile models in the advertisements depressed her. She tossed the magazine onto the floor beside the bed.
She got up and walked out onto the terrace, pulling her robe closer to warm herself. Though cool, it was a beautiful, clear night. The moon was almost full, its beams illuminating Elysium’s grounds.
Her thoughts turned to Kyle Quigley and his sleep treatments. She was disappointed she hadn’t accomplished the goal of capturing his alleged misconduct. Maybe there wasn’t even anything to catch. Maybe the reporter had it all wrong.
The actress raised her hand to feel her face. The skin was soft and smooth. At least the time in Kyle’s treatment room hadn’t been a total loss.
She went back inside, knowing that she was not going to be able to fall asleep yet. Maybe a walk would do her good. A stroll in the night air might relax her. The actress went to the bureau and took out a heavy sweatshirt. Pulling off her nightgown, she noticed a fresh black-and-blue mark.
A
s she walked through the lobby, the actress waved to the clerk at the registration desk.
“I’m going for a little walk,” she called. “If I’m not back in half an hour, send the cavalry.”
As she went out the door, the actress felt confident. Elysium was a safe haven, carefully guarded so no undesirables could get in. She also had her cell phone with her.
She started down the lit path, passing the art studio and the apothecary. She stepped up her pace as she approached the yoga, spinning, and Pilates house. Just before she got to the end of the walkway, the actress stopped short.
She pulled out her cell phone and dialed 911.
T
he heavy flashlight brightens the way to Jillian’s cottage. The golf cart pulls up slowly and silently comes to a stop. Everything else is done very quickly. Opening the chest, taking out the bottles, lighting the wicks, and throwing them. Propelled through the air from close range, the firebombs hit their marks.
The window glass shatters. Red and orange flames explode as the bottles hit the floor inside the cottage. The fire begins to spread in a fierce, destructive blaze.
The flames are mesmerizing as they dance. It’s tempting to stay and watch, but there’s no time to waste.
A glance in the direction of the path coming down from the main building reveals a woman standing beneath the light.
The golf cart rides away into the darkness. When it’s in a hidden place, it comes to a stop. The sounds of distant sirens cut through the night air.
Are the police already on their way to Elysium? Has the woman called for help?
Think. Think.
This isn’t the way it was supposed to go. No one was supposed to see anything. What was that woman doing out in the middle of the night? What exactly did she actually see?
Maybe she won’t be able to identify me. She was illuminated by the light on the path, but I wasn’t. Do I dare let it go and hope for the best?
But if she did see me, I have to kill her before the police come. I have to kill her before she tells anyone who she saw.
The sirens are getting closer.
T
he actress sprinted toward the cottage. She tried to open the front door, but it was locked. She ran around to the back. It was locked, too.
She pounded on the door. “Fire! Fire!” she yelled. “Wake up, wake up! Fire!”
She coughed repeatedly as thick black smoke entered her lungs. Ferocious flames poured from the broken window. She couldn’t tell if it was a bedroom window. If it was, the person sleeping inside could already be dead.
The actress could hear the sirens in the distance. Would they get there in time? Was it already too late?
As her heart hammered and these thoughts raced through her mind, she didn’t hear the golf cart pull up behind her.
T
he blare of the sirens woke Piper. She got out of bed and hurried over to the balcony. She watched as fire trucks and police cars sped into the courtyard, their flashing red and blue lights cutting through the darkness.
She pulled on a pair of jeans, slipped her feet into sandals, and ran out the door. When she got downstairs, the lobby was full of other alarmed guests trying to learn what was happening. One woman was crying hysterically. Piper made her way through the crowd and went outside.
She followed in the direction that the rescue workers were going. It was the path she’d taken just hours before when she went to Jillian’s cottage. Her pulse raced as she saw flames in the distance.
“Oh, my God. It
is
Jillian’s,” Piper whispered to herself as the cottage came into view. Police spotlights had been set up to illuminate the front of the bungalow. Firefighters were breaking all the windows and training their hoses on the openings to spray water inside the house.
More guests and Elysium staff members hurried down the hill to watch. Piper searched their faces, looking for Jillian. She couldn’t find her.
W
hen the fire was finally extinguished, the acrid stench of smoke filled the air. While the scorched cottage remained standing, most of its exterior was covered with heavy black soot.
“Chief, you gotta take a look at this!” called a fireman.
Piper broke off from the crowd and followed unobtrusively, making her way across the soggy grass to the rear yard of the cottage. Several firefighters and police officers were gathered in a circle, looking down at the ground. Piper watched with increasing dread as one of the policemen broke off from the group, bent over, and vomited. The space left open by his departure afforded her a better view.
The body of a blond woman was lying facedown in the dirt.
P
iper saw Vernon Abernathy pushing through the crowd. He rushed right past her to get to the spot where the cops and firemen were gathered.
“Jillian! Oh, my God, is that Jillian?” Vernon yelled.
Irene Abernathy reached out to pull her husband back. “Don’t, Vernon! Don’t look!” she screamed.
Ignoring his wife, Vernon pushed aside one of the officers. He knelt on the ground beside the woman. The back of her head was smashed in, revealing mangled brain matter. Her blond hair was matted, thick with blood.
Somebody produced a flashlight and trained the beam on the lifeless body. Vernon leaned in closer as the body was turned over. Everyone was quiet while they waited for him to identify his daughter.
Slowly Vernon stood up. “That’s not Jillian,” he said in a low voice. “That’s not my daughter.”
P
iper heard his pronouncement. Her first reaction was one of relief. Her next emotion was confusion.
If it wasn’t Jillian, then who was it? And where
was
Jillian? Was she still inside the ravaged cottage?
Firefighters were searching the cottage, looking for any survivors or victims. It seemed like an eternity before one came out and yelled, “All clear! There’s nobody in here!”
Piper witnessed Irene crying as she and Vernon clung together.
“Dear God, where is Jillian?” he pleaded.
And just then a woman’s voice called out, “Here I am.”
J
illian and Ben stood there as they were swarmed by the people who had feared that she’d been killed. Piper listened as she explained.
“I’m so sorry. I needed to get out, and I just went for a ride,” she said. “While I was driving, Ben called and asked me to meet him and his friend. They’d decided not to go to the Chateau. They were at STK, the steak house on La Cienega.”
“Thank the dear Lord you’re all right,” said Vernon, pulling Jillian to him and hugging her.
“I’m sorry that I scared you, Daddy,” she said.
“Yeah,” said Ben. “I’m sorry that
all
of you went through this.” He put his arm around Irene, whose face was drained of color.
Piper glanced over to the spot where the dead woman’s body lay. She noticed Anastasia standing nearby as the body was lifted onto a stretcher. The journalist was holding up her cell phone. Piper realized that Anastasia was recording video of the scene.
She broke off from the group, walked over to Anastasia, and tapped her on the arm. Anastasia turned, saw Piper, and then turned back to the cell-phone camera.
“This is unbelievable, isn’t it?” said Anastasia.
“Awful,” said Piper. “Did you get close enough to see the woman’s face? Do you know who it is?”
“Hold on a minute,” said Anastasia. She twisted at the waist as her camera followed the stretcher being carried away. When the stretcher had been loaded into the ambulance and the truck had driven off, Anastasia stopped recording. She texted something and pushed another few buttons before closing the cell phone and turning to Piper.
“It’s our friend, the actress,” she whispered.
Piper stared at Anastasia, not fully comprehending what she was saying.
“The dead woman is the
actress,
” said Anastasia. “I talked her into taking another sleep treatment today and bringing the camera with her. She didn’t get the goods on Kyle, but we suspected that he’s onto us. Now I’m thinking that’s why she’s dead.”
Before she could utter a word, Piper saw something moving into her field of vision. It was Vernon Abernathy, charging at Anastasia. He grabbed her by the arm.
“Give it to me,” he sneered.
“What are you talking about?” asked Anastasia, trying to wiggle free.
“Give me your damned phone!” demanded Vernon. “I
thought
you were the one who took the video when Esperanza was killed. Now I
know
it was you. I’m not going to have you splashing tonight’s ugliness around the world.”
“Too late,” Anastasia said with a weak smile. “The video has already been sent.”
P
iper’s hand shook as she inserted the key card into the lock. She shed her clothes, depositing them in one of the plastic laundry bags in the closet. She held her forearm up to her nose. Her body smelled of smoke.
She went into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was covered with soot and ash. Her long blond hair was tangled.
Piper got into the shower and turned the water on, as hot as she could stand. She let the rushing water and soft soap wash away the smell and grime. She could see the water turn black at her feet before it drained.
If only she could wash away the thoughts that were going through her mind.
The actress was dead. What had Lillie Ulster been doing at Jillian’s cottage in the first place? If she hadn’t been killed in the fire, someone had killed her. Who and why?
Piper wished she’d had more time to talk to Anastasia, but Vernon had ordered his security team to immediately escort the reporter off the property. Piper was still trying to assimilate the information that Anastasia had gotten the actress to help her with her investigation. Was that the reason the actress had been murdered? Besides being a pervert, was Kyle Quigley a killer? Finally, was the murder of the actress connected in some way to the murder of Esperanza Flores and the acid attack all those months ago?
Turning off the shower, Piper squeezed the water from her hair and twisted a towel around it. She dried herself with a luxurious bath sheet, enjoying the soothing sensation against her skin. Taking a spa bathrobe from the hook on the wall, Piper wrapped herself in it and padded on bare feet to the bedroom.
She ached to talk to Jack.
Suddenly it didn’t matter one bit who called whom first.
