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“Please, put me down, Dr. Mattson. I’ll be all right,” Melanie protested as he carried her into the adjacent bedroom. Kent set her down near the bed, aware that Murphy was right behind him.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he said.
“Go scope out that room, Kent,” Murphy interrupted before Melanie could respond. “T. Ray wants to bag the body and get started on the autopsy. I’ll get the paramedics to check her out.”
Kent took advantage of Murphy’s orders and fled the room, Melanie’s distress affecting him more than he liked.
“The pretty lady okay, Doc?” T. Ray’s crooning drawl greeted Kent as he reentered the crime scene.
T. Ray was standing beside the bed, alternately staring down at the body and then scribbling in his notebook. “She’ll be fine,” Kent responded, pulling on the latex gloves Murphy had handed him in the elevator, and wondering if the same could be said of him.
“’Course she will, my man. You caught her before she could hit the floor. Smooth moves for a Beverly Hills shrink.” T. Ray lowered his pen and projected a solemn, patronizing air. “Look, I’m real glad you took my advice about getting back into the social scene, but if this is your first date, y’all could be in big trouble with that one. Pizza parlor would’ve been a better bet.” A mock frown concluded this brief lecture, then T. Ray said, “You let me know when you’re done snoopin’ around, Doc, ’cause I’m itchin’ to get to work on this one.”
There was a room-service cart draped with a white linen parked near the door. A single long- stemmed rose, apricot-colored, in a slender glass vase with a spray of baby’s breath and a sprig of leather leaf, was on the cart, along with a covered plate, a napkin, still folded and unused, several pieces of silverware and a teapot with accompanying cup and saucer.
“What did she order for room service, T. Ray?”
“Looks like a bowl of clear beef broth, some soup crackers and a pot of ginger tea. Didn’t touch any of it, though. I’m not surprised. She must’ve been pretty sick for a while, judging from how dehydrated she is.”
Kent checked out the bathroom, noting the neat array of feminine toiletries beside the sink, and the thick terry-cloth towel, damp and crumpled in a careless heap on the floor after the victim had apparently taken a shower.
“Has the bathroom been checked out?” he called to T. Ray.
“Head to tail with a fine-tooth comb. You know how Murphy is. They’ve vacuumed for hair samples and sprayed for blood, videotaped, photographed, measured and sketched. Paw around all you want, Doc, just don’t touch the body. That’s my domain.”
Kent pulled his own notebook out, annoyed by the tremble in his hand as he wrote. Melanie reminded him of Susan. There was no use denying the way she made him feel, and it wasn’t just the beauty and grace of her. There was something else, some intangible quality he couldn’t quite put his finger on…. He moved through the guest room methodically, jotting notes and making sketches, his years of police work inuring him to the buzz and bustle of activity around him until he heard Murphy speak his name. He glanced up as she strode into the room.
“How’s it going, Kent?” she said, her words terse and her dark eyes flashing with a restlessness he’d grown used to over the years.
“I’m about done here.”
“Good. Your young woman’s asking to speak with you,” she said. “The paramedics have checked her over. She’s in a state of moderate shock, not surprising considering that’s probably the first body she’s ever seen. The next time you ask a woman out, I suggest taking her to the movie theater instead.”
“She’s not my young woman,” Kent said with a flash of irritation. “She’s just a client who gave me a ride to the scene and for some reason followed me up here.”
Murphy’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “Whatever you say. I’ll have one of the officers drive her home when she’s ready. She’s in no condition to sit behind the wheel of a car. She’s pretty shaken up, though she won’t admit it.”
“Thanks. And I’m sorry about her barging in like that. I don’t know how she ever got through the barricades.”
“The officer thought she was with you. You’re forgiven, just barely. What do you make of the victim?”
Kent crouched on his heels again to examine the body. “Looks pretty much like the victim we found this morning. I’m thinking we’re going to see the same cause of death.”
“If that’s the case it will be the first real clue that these two women have a common denominator.” She straightened with a frustrated shake of her head, then touched Kent’s arm. “Better go see your young woman. She could use some professional soothing, but make it quick. I’m going to ride along with
T. Ray to the preliminary postmortem.” Kent rose to his feet, too distracted to correct Murphy for a second time about his lack of involvement with Melanie. At the present moment he didn’t feel the least bit professional, or even remotely capable of soothing another human being. The two crime scenes today, plus Melanie’s involvement, had brought back too many memories of Susan. Nonetheless, he forced himself to return to the adjacent room, where Melanie was sitting up on the edge of the bed, refusing to take the hot drink that one of Murphy’s officers was offering. As soon as Melanie spotted Kent, she rose to her feet. Her face was still very pale. Murphy was right. She was badly shaken and appeared on the verge of tears.
“It’s all right,” Kent said to Melanie, giving the officer a nod of dismissal after retrieving the mug of hot cocoa from her. “I’m sorry you had to see that, but you shouldn’t have followed me up here. This is a crime scene, and civilians aren’t allowed.”
“I…I didn’t know if you wanted me to wait for you or not….” She sat back down again. “You left so suddenly, I didn’t know what to do. I was parked in and couldn’t leave, so I thought I should find you and ask….”
Kent felt a pang of guilt. He had left her abruptly, with no explanation. “You should drink some of this,” he said, extending the mug. “It might make you feel better.”
Melanie shook her head. “Thank you, but nothing will make me feel better right now.”
Kent sighed. He set the cup on the bedside table and drew up a chair. “Look, if you think it’ll help, I’ll write out a prescription, something that you can take when you get home….”
She shook her head, then drew in a sharp, gasping breath and covered her face. She remained rigid for a few moments, then dropped her hands. Her eyes burned into his, filled with the same nameless torment he’d glimpsed in his office…only this time it was far more intense.
“You don’t understand,” she said in a voice that trembled with emotion. “My sister Ariel and I haven’t spoken in six months. I never wanted to see her again after what she did. When Stephanie called and begged me to come to the special dinner to celebrate the birth of Ari’s little girl, I…I hung up on her! Oh, God, she was my best friend. That was the last time we talked….”
Kent had to resist the urge to take Melanie into his arms when she buried her face in her hands and painful sobs shook her slender, vulnerable form. Instead, he racked his rattled brain for something soothing to say while at the same time he was processing everything she’d just said. Melanie wasn’t making any sense, but she was obviously distraught. Hadn’t Murphy said the victim’s name was Stephanie Hawke? And the movie star with the young baby was Ariel something-or-other? Was it possible that Melanie was connected in some way with this crime scene? Kent’s thoughts were jumbled.
“I’m sure she realizes why you were upset,” he said, confused. “That’s what best friends are for. Maybe you should consider calling her back and accepting that invitation to dinner. Whatever happened between your sister and yourself, it’s never too late to make amends.”
Under the circumstances, this was the best Kent could manage, but if Murphy had thought his professional training would be of some comfort to Melanie, she’d been dead wrong. Never in his entire career had Kent’s words generated such a negative response. Melanie dropped her trembling hands, raised her streaming face and stared at him for a few moments in silent shock.
“You don’t understand,” she repeated. “I’ve known Stephanie for years. She was my closest friend, yet I lost my temper with her because she befriended my sister. I can’t ever make amends for that, because she’s lying on the floor of that bedroom, dead. My best friend is dead.”
CHAPTER THREE
TWO HOURS AFTER officially identifying Stephanie’s body at the Beverly Hills Regency, Melanie was waiting in numb silence at the police station, fingers curled around a cup of lukewarm vending machine coffee, staring blankly at the constant parade of officers, detectives and civilians that shuffled past the row of seats outside of Captain Carolyn Murphy’s office. She’d never been so cold in all her life, though she knew the chill she felt had nothing to do with the ambient temperature of the station house.
Stephanie was dead. She’d died at the Beverly, in the same top-floor two-bedroom suite Ariel had booked every time one of her movies was released. According to the investigators, Ariel had allegedly made the reservation over the phone, using her Harris surname instead of her stage name to maintain privacy, but according to the hotel clerk, Stephanie had checked into the room with a young infant. Baby things had been strewn throughout the suite, the baby was missing and nobody had seen any sign of Ariel…but she had been there.
Nobody had seen her enter or leave the hotel, but the little beaded bag lying on the floor near Stephanie belonged to Ariel. Melanie had spent most of the past two hours telling investigators almost everything she knew about her best friend and the missing Ariel. But Melanie was exhausted and so emotionally drained that some of her memories felt almost dreamlike now. It was hard to recall that last distraught message from her sister, word for word, so she hadn’t volunteered any information about Mitch. When Captain Murphy had questioned her about who the father of Ariel’s baby was, Melanie had told her the father was dead—and repeated the fact that she and her sister hadn’t been on speaking terms for the past six months.
Could Ariel have had something to do with Stephanie’s death? Was her sister somehow involved? Why had Stephanie been at the suite with Ariel’s baby? Where had Ariel been with her fancy beaded purse? She only carried that when she was going out someplace jazzy for the evening. It was one of her favorite little costume extras. The forgotten purse and baby things bespoke an ominous degree of haste and panic in Ariel’s departure from the room.
“Melanie?”
She heard Dr. Mattson’s rough, masculine voice and glanced up, feeling a welcome jolt at the sight of him.
“Sorry this is taking so long,” he said. “I know how hard this must be for you, but we needed to compile your notes as soon as possible. The first twenty-four hours of an investigation like this is critical.”
“I understand,” she said, clinging to his every word. “Have you located my sister?”
“Not yet. She’s not at her apartment and hasn’t been seen there for some time. We’ve put out an all- points bulletin to locate her and the baby. I’m sure she’ll turn up soon. Look, you’ve had a bad shock, and you really shouldn’t be alone. Is there someone I can call for you who could come pick you up? A relative or friend?”
“I’m fine, Dr. Mattson. Really.” To prove her point, Melanie tried to stand, but she sat back down abruptly as her knees betrayed her and a wave of dizziness darkened the edges of her vision. “I’ll be fine in a moment,” she amended, taking several deep, slow breaths.
In point of fact, the last place Melanie wanted to go on this ghastly day was home. She wanted desperately to talk to someone about Stephanie, but Rachel, her coworker and a friend of Stephanie’s, wasn’t answering her cell phone, and neither was Victor. He might be able to shed some light on Ariel’s activities. According to Stephanie, he had very generously offered Ariel the caretaker’s cottage at Blackstone to use until she and Mitch sorted out their lives, but to Melanie’s knowledge Ariel had declined. Ariel, addicted to the nightlife, was too fond of her apartment in the city, which was conveniently close to all the clubs and bars she loved to frequent.
Nonetheless, it had surprised Melanie that Victor had offered the cottage to Ariel. It had surprised her even more that Victor hadn’t mentioned this to her at all, that she’d had to learn about it from Stephanie. No doubt Victor had only been trying to help the struggling Ariel who, despite the high fees she’d commanded as a successful actress prior to her pregnancy, let money flow through her hands like water, saving little against just such a contingency as an unexpected maternal hiatus. And, of course, Mitch—damn the man, she still couldn’t think about him without feeling that sharp stab of pain— only made the big money when he was taking the big risks as a stuntman.
It was probable that the couple had faced grim financial restrictions as Ariel’s pregnancy had progressed. For the life of her, Melanie couldn’t imagine the two of them trying to make a go of it. Ariel was so ethereal, her head lost in the clouds, drifting and dreaming her way through life. Mitch was so animal, so basic and so dangerously sexual. Maybe that was what drew the women to him.
Melanie shivered and tightened her arms around herself, focusing on Dr. Mattson’s rugged face, the stubble darkening his jaw and making him look more masculine than ever. He was as weary as she, yet his eyes were clear and keen, and honest in a way that Mitch’s had never been. In spite of the horrors of the day, she felt drawn to him, safe in his presence, and she most definitely didn’t want to go home. Not yet, anyway.
“You really shouldn’t drive,” Dr. Mattson was saying. “Look, I’d be happy to drop you off at a friend’s house….”
Melanie was taken aback by his unexpected offer. “Thank you, Dr. Mattson. I’d appreciate that. And, if it’s not too much trouble…my car is still at the Beverly.”
“Not to worry,” Kent said. “I’ll arrange for an officer to deliver it to your house, just give the desk sergeant over there the address and your car keys.” He held up his hand as she began thanking him again. “It’s the least I can do, after all you’ve been through today. I’ll go round up an unmarked car, and you just point me in the right direction.”
BLACKSTONE WAS NEARLY an hour’s drive from the station house, not because it was all that far as the crow flies, but because the Santa Monica Freeway was choked with bumper-to-bumper traffic. Melanie was content to leave the driving to Dr. Mattson. Twenty minutes into the trip, as she gazed out the passenger window in a blank haze of exhaustion, he said, grinning, “Are we there yet?”
She cast him an apologetic look. “It’s not much farther. I’m sorry, Dr. Mattson. I should have taken a cab. You’ve had a long day, too.”
“I don’t mind.” He shrugged. “This is actually a pretty drive. Living so near the ocean you’d think I’d see it more often. Fact is, I hardly ever lay eyes on the Pacific, except when I’m flying to the ranch.”
“You’re lucky to have a place where you can get away from it all.”
“I couldn’t survive without it,” he said. “Especially with this job. There are days when it’s hard to find the good side of anything, kind of like today. But then I think about Chimeya at sunrise, when the sun rounds out of the east, the sky lights up from inside itself and the mountains glow like fire…. There’s nothing else like it, and no place better for centering the soul.”
Melanie felt the tension in the pit of her stomach ease as she listened to Kent. “It sounds lovely,” she said. “Are you really going back there tonight, with all that’s gone on today?”
“I do my best thinking there, and there’s no commuter traffic. Just a fast taxi and a straight one- hour shot to heaven.”
Melanie studied his profile as he spoke. She wanted to ask him if he was married, but didn’t know how to phrase the question without sounding nosy. How could he not have a partner in his life? He was damn near perfect. In fact, she was still searching for some annoying fault, some irritating quality that would reaffirm her belief that she was far better off without a man in her life. He had to have at least one or two bad habits, aside from drinking too much coffee.
“You told us that your sister had a lot of male friends,” he said, glancing at her, “and that you hadn’t spoken to her in six months, but maybe you could tell me a bit more about who the father of her baby was? Who knows? It might give us some clues to help us find her.”
His tone was casual, but Melanie felt the anxious knot form in her stomach again, even as a voice within whispered, Tell him. Tell him everything.
She wanted to. She sensed that Dr. Mattson knew she was withholding information. His long silences had been filled with the loudest unspoken questions that Melanie had ever endured. She bit her lower lip and stared out at the thinning blur of traffic as they sped away from the city. The irony of this situation was not lost on her. What she couldn’t, wouldn’t, talk about in Dr. Mattson’s office was no longer her secret to keep. Not as long as Ariel and the baby were missing. She drew a painful breath and released it slowly.
“The father was Mitch Carson, and he was my fiancé.”
AS KENT DROVE DOWN Blackstone’s private drive, access to which had been ensured by Melanie’s obvious acquaintance with the security guard stationed at the gatehouse, he was struck by how isolated and unique this property was. He liked the way the natural beauty of the place had been allowed to flourish, an unusual sight amidst this obsessive modern culture of manicuring every blade of grass.
He also liked the way Melanie had begun to open up to him, talking about her fiancé, her sister and her wedding day. It hadn’t been easy for her to broach the subject, but once she started, the words came faster and faster, tumbling out in a rush to release all the pent-up emotions of the past six months. When she had finished, she slumped back in her seat with a dazed look, as if she couldn’t quite believe she’d finally confronted the demons of her past. For the last five minutes she’d been silent, gazing out the window. Kent was glad for the break in conversation. It gave him a few moments to process her revelations and how they may or may not be connected to the day’s events.
“That’s the guest cottage,” Melanie said, rousing as he rounded a curve and a simple gabled dwelling tucked in a grove of eucalyptus trees came into view. “The mansion’s on top of the ledges, another quarter of a mile beyond here.” She sat up straighter. “Look, the door’s open. Maybe Victor’s inside. If you’ll stop here, Dr. Mattson, I’ll go check.”
Kent parked the unmarked police car and followed her to the cottage. The spicy sweet scent of the rose bushes lining the brick path mingled with the salty Pacific air. Grapevines adorned both sides of the arbored entry and a purple wisteria twined against the shingled outer walls. Six o’clock in the afternoon, and the sun’s rays were strong and golden, spilling into this small Tudor-style cottage as Melanie pushed the door completely open.
“Victor?” she called out as she entered. “Vic?”
Kent stepped over the threshold and into the dim coolness that smelled faintly of cedar paneling, leather and wood smoke. He stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the lower light level, then followed Melanie into the living room, which was dominated by a beautiful fieldstone fireplace, the old andirons still cradling several half-burned logs. Built-in bookshelves lined both sides of the fireplace, and comfortable leather furnishings and a braided rug complemented the restful feel of the cozy space.
“We used to live here, Ariel and I,” Melanie murmured, looking around.
“For how long?”
“Three years.” Melanie walked to the bookshelves and scanned the titles. “Victor offered it to me a few months after I began working for him. He knew I was struggling to raise my sister and having a hard time making ends meet on a gofer’s pay. We lived here until Ariel landed her first big movie role and Victor’s wife had a few too many glasses of sherry and came here to tell us she thought it was high time we moved on.” Melanie glanced at him with a wry smile. “I never told Victor that the reason we left was because his wife was jealous of Ariel. At the time I thought that was ludicrous. Ariel was only nineteen. She was still just a baby…or so I thought.”
Kent followed Melanie up the narrow stairs, where four doors opened onto the landing. The first room Melanie looked in was big, with a queen-size antique sleigh bed and two dormer windows framing an ocean view over the treetops. “This used to be my room,” she said. “At night, with the windows open, I could hear the waves pounding against the Blackstone ledges.”
The bedroom was simply furnished and uncluttered. There was one framed picture atop the bureau, which Melanie studied for a few silent moments before turning away abruptly. Kent glanced at the photograph, a high quality black and white of a lean, athletic man on a Harley wearing an arrogant grin, leather pants and a dark T-shirt. Arms like Sylvester Stallone’s and features reminiscent of a young and virile Marlon Brando.
Melanie drifted out of the room and into the corridor. Kent followed as she passed a second door that opened onto a tiny bath. He glanced inside. Old-fashioned porcelain sink with brass bistro fixtures, small claw-foot tub, vintage pull-chain toilet. Everything clean and neat as a pin. A third door opened onto a smaller bedroom. “This was Ariel’s room,” Melanie said, stepping inside and looking around. “The wisteria vine growing against the cottage was so thick and strong that she’d climb down it like a monkey and spend the night raising hell with her friends. Ariel hated school, and couldn’t have cared less about her grades. It’s a wonder they graduated her.”
Melanie paused outside the fourth door off the landing. “This used to be what we called the study, but Ariel never used it for studying.” She was still smiling as she swung the door inward. She gasped and froze, hand still on the doorknob. Kent glanced over her shoulder and saw a charming nursery, painted in pale pastels, complete with a crib, baby toys and a changing table. A tiny writing desk set beneath the window and a day bed completed the furnishings. “Stephanie must have been wrong. Ariel did come back,” she said, gazing around the small space. “I knew she’d been trying to work things out with Mitch before he was killed. She must have hoped he’d move in with her here and help raise the baby.”
“What?” Kent burst out. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you tell Captain Murphy that your sister lived in Beverly Hills?”
“Yes. That’s true. She has an apartment there which she loves, but according to Stephanie, Victor offered the guest cottage to Ariel a few months before the baby was born. Stephanie told me she didn’t take him up on his offer, but she was obviously wrong.”
Kent stared, first at Melanie, then back at the baby things. He had to restrain himself from cursing aloud. “So you’re telling me your missing sister might have been living here?”
Melanie shook her head, puzzled. “It doesn’t really look like they were living here. I mean, there are no personal belongings, just that damn picture of Mitch and a nursery that looks as if it’s never been used. I’m sure Victor would have told me if Ariel had moved in.”
Kent stood beside her, analyzing every detail of the small room. The entire cottage had an empty feel to it, and this room was no exception. Even the desktop was bare, although… Kent spotted the small, cream-colored envelope propped against the base of the table lamp at the same time as Melanie did and they crossed the room together. On the face of the envelope, in a childlike scrawl, a name had been written and underlined twice.
Mel
Kent heard Melanie’s sharp intake of breath. “Oh, Ari,” she said as she reached to retrieve the message.
“Wait,” he said, staying her hand with his own. “You shouldn’t touch it. It’s evidence….” Her hand was ice-cold in his, and as she lifted her pleading eyes, he felt his resolve begin to crumble. After a few moments he sighed and reached into his jeans pocket for the fresh pair of latex gloves he’d grabbed earlier at the Beverly Hills Regency. “All right,” he said. “I’ll open the letter and lay it on the desk for you to read, but you can’t touch it. Understand?”
She nodded.
The envelope wasn’t sealed, which made things easier for Kent. He withdrew the folded sheet of matching stationery, acutely aware that Melanie was clinging to the edge of the desk and her face was even paler than it had been before. He hesitated, caught between knowing what was right and what his heart was telling him to do. Not only did he stand to lose his badge twice over for doing this, but Melanie was probably going to faint on him again.
And yet, she deserved to read the note. Hell, if it was his sister that was missing under suspicious circumstances and his best friend that T. Ray was examining probably at this very moment in the hospital morgue, wouldn’t he want to study the note before the investigators arrived and took it to the crime lab? Damn straight he would, no matter what it said, good or bad. And so Kent carefully unfolded the piece of stationery and laid it flat on the desktop.
Dear Mel, I’ve messed up everything so bad…
The words seemed to float up from the pages to her eyes. As she read, the unmistakable delicate scent of CK One, Ariel’s favorite perfume, wafted up from the paper. Melanie swallowed hard, blinked a tear from her eye and prayed that the letter would hint at Ariel’s whereabouts, and reassure her in some way that her sister was all right.
I’ve ruined my life and, worst of all, I’ve de¬ stroyed the lives of the people I love most. I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk to me. I don’t even blame you for hating me. After what happened with Mitch, I guess it’s what I deserve. But, I have to tell you—beg you to understand— I never, ever meant to hurt you. What I did was selfish and stupid, I know, but when I first met Mitch it was love at first sight, or at least that’s what I thought. You must be able to understand that.
Melanie certainly could. It was the same effect Mitch had had on her when Victor had introduced them on the location of Hammerhead Row. The movie was full of explosions, fights, high-speed car chases and numerous other risky stunts, and Mitch had been the body double for the lead actor.
Melanie remembered the almost electrical charge she had felt when she and Mitch met. Hammerhead Row had been shot almost entirely on location in San Francisco, and that required Melanie’s constant presence. The initial mutual attraction between them had led to lunches, which soon evolved into dinner dates at various city hot spots. By the time the movie was into its third week of production they were sleeping together. In fact, Melanie could still blush recalling those first passionate encounters in Mitch’s trailer. By the time the film wrapped they were living together and by the premiere, they were engaged. And all that time, Mitch was playing both Melanie and Ariel.
Melanie forced the memories out of her mind and turned her attention back to the letter.
I don’t expect your forgiveness, but maybe one day you will want to meet your new niece. She’s so beautiful, and I hope she takes after you. Strong, smart, brave and dependable. All the things I’m not. All the things I admired so much about you. All the things I lost. And please try to forgive Mitch. I think, no, I believe, he realized how much he had hurt both of us. He wasn’t a bad man. He was just caught up in the Hollywood scene and he let it go to his head. He really wanted it to work between us and to support this baby. I regret she will never know her father.
Mel, I love you. If nothing else, please believe that. I would like to tell you that in person, and maybe someday in the future I can. We’re going away for a few weeks but maybe when I get back we can come visit you. Motherhood is going to be the toughest part I’ve ever played. It’s going to be hard and it’s going to be lonely, but I can do it. I have you for a role model, after all. You’re so strong, and I’ve been so weak, but that’s going to change, I promise you that. And I ask you to promise me one thing. No matter how you feel about me, if anything ever happens to me, please, I beg you, take care of my little girl.
So, for now this is goodbye. When we get back, I’ll call you. I can only hope it is a call you will take.
All my love,
Ari.
