An Evil Guest (19 page)

Palma only shrugged.

A few minutes after that, when they were deep in the second dream scene, Cassie glimpsed India in the wings—and a familiar face next to hers. They were gone by the time the scene was over, and Margaret was there instead.

A small folding screen shielded Cassie from prurient eyes while she exchanged her faux-grass skirt and flowered bra for Mariah’s ankle-length white cotton nightgown. “I saw Zelda, Margaret. She was standing here with India, so something’s up. Do you know what’s going on?”

Margaret shook her head. “I don’t, Miss Casey. They went into your
dressing room. Miss Dempster has a key. I told them they shouldn’t, but they said they’d leave if you didn’t want them in there. Shall I tell them to go?”

“If necessary—how’s my hair?”

“Beautiful, Miss Casey. Only I really ought to braid it.”

“Over my dead body.”

At which point Cassie had to sneak onto the darkened stage and into bed.

I
N
her dressing room after the show, she leveled fingers like pistols at her visitors. “I told Margaret that I’d drive you two out with a stick if I had to. I might do it, too, but not before Zelda tells me what made her take a hundred-mile drive.”

“I hopped.”

“Well lah-de-dah!”

“You’re down for two percent of the gross, Cassie, and I’m down for ten percent of you. I get two-tenths of one percent of everything this show brings in. I’ve got a cute little pink hopper now with three years to pay, and I don’t think they’re going to be repossessing it.”

India announced, “We’ve been negotiating a recording contract for you, Cassie. I represented Wally—he owns the songs. Zelda represented you.”

“It doesn’t mean a darned thing . . .” Cassie’s voice was muffled as she struggled out of her green gingham gown. “Unless I sign it.”

“
Until
you sign it,” Zelda said firmly. “You will. Wait ’til you see it. For one or two mornings’ work.”

“I sleep in the morning.” Cassie switched on her fan.

“Ten to one, maybe. We can work that out with the studio.”

“I get up at eleven, don’t I, Margaret?”

When the contract had been signed and Zelda had left for her hotel, Cassie said, “I meant to talk to you about the FBI. I said I would, and I want to. But darn it, I need tea. I want to sit down and breathe and drink tea. Cookies, too. Gingersnaps or something. Only we can’t talk about this in a restaurant.”

“That stuff,” India said firmly, “is what assistant directors are for.” She got out her cell phone and gave orders.

“There was a man in here who said he was from the FBI,” Cassie began. “I’d gotten a call from the FBI, from an Agent Martin.” She recounted both conversations.

“This guy wasn’t for real?”

“No. He said he was from the FBI. He showed me his badge and everything, and he was carrying handcuffs.”

“He had a gun, too,” Margaret added softly.

“I didn’t see it, but he probably did. He said he was Agent Martin and he was looking for Gideon Chase. He gave me his card. Wait a minute.”

Margaret handed Cassie her purse.

“Are you sweet on this Chase?” India asked. “There was something in the paper about you two.”

“No! He’s just a friend.”

“Right.” India sighed. “Got it. Come to think of it, you’re supposed to be sweet on Wally.”

“I’m not!”

“One word, Cassie. Diamonds.”

Cassie looked up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just keep it in mind. Diamonds.”

Margaret said, “Get a box at the bank, Miss Casey. Miss Sinclair’s jewelry was stolen while I was with her. One of those bank boxes is a lot safer.”

“You two are so out of it!” Cassie held up the tall man’s card. “ ‘Bernard B. Martin, Special Agent, Federal Bureau of Investigation.’ Read it for yourself.”

“Buy some card stock,” India said, “and you can print up all the cards you want on your computer. You ought to know that.”

“Well, I believed him, and I was supposed to call him and tell him anytime I saw Gid. Then I went back to the hotel, and the real Agent Martin was waiting for me.”

India nodded thoughtfully. “You made sure the second guy was the real deal?”

“You bet I did. I looked at his ID and read every word and wrote down the number on his badge. Then I called the FBI office here and got the woman to describe the real Bernie Martin. After that I badgered her into looking up his badge number. She was even meaner than most cops, by the way . . .”

“What is it, Cassie?”

“I just remembered something, that’s all. Back home, I saw a guy. It was only for a second, and I couldn’t think who he was. It just hit me.”

“None of my business?”

“Right. It isn’t important anyway. He’s a friend of a friend, and he gave me a ride one time. That’s all. I was going to say I called Sharon Bench,
too. I got her to describe the FBI guy who’d been talking to the people who lived in that apartment. The one Gid was in when he was shot. I had to promise I’d tell her the next time I dated Wally. I’ll do it, too, if there is a next time.”

India sighed. “You’re our star, Cassie, and you’re knee deep in something I don’t understand. Knee deep, and sinking.”

“I don’t understand it either. But I don’t think I’m getting in any deeper.”

Margaret said, “I do, Miss Casey.”

They were arguing about it when Ebony appeared with a pot of steaming water, half a dozen tea bags, four thick china mugs, six cookies, and four sandwiches.

“Reuben on rye. That’s yours, India.”

India nodded. “You bet it is. Only I’m not sure you’re invited to this tea party. Cassie?”

“Oh, let her stay.” Cassie was dousing Earl Grey with hot water. “Margaret’s here, and I know you trust Ebony.”

Ebony smiled her thanks. “Ham and Swiss. That’s on rye, too.”

Margaret took it.

“BLT on white. That’s mine. So this one’s yours, Cassie.”

India winked. “No calories, right?”

“Right,” Cassie said firmly. “How about filling Ebony in while I eat?”

“If you want.” Grunting, India shifted her position to face her assistant. “Cassie’s been getting visits from the FBI. The first one was a fake. Is that right, Cassie?”

Chewing, Cassie nodded.

“The second one was for real. She told him about the fake, right?”

Cassie nodded again and swallowed.

“What I want to know,” India continued, “is what the second one wanted. Cassie will have to tell us.”

“That’s not what I want to know,” Cassie said between bites. “What I want to know—what I’d love to know—is why the first one was so hot to find Gid.”

“That’s Dr. Gideon Chase,” Margaret whispered.

Ebony nodded gratefully.

“Was he?” India asked. “Really anxious?”

“He didn’t seem like it, but he had to be. Posing as an FBI man is serious. You can go to prison. He went to the trouble of faking a photo ID and a badge. He even had handcuffs. But why?”

Ebony said, “Why’s India been looking so hard for somebody new to play the sailor?”

India said, “That’s different.”

“I don’t think so. India’s looking for somebody with a better voice. For a better dancer.”

“I think I’ve found somebody, too.” Briefly, India looked pleased. “It’s freaky and Cassie will have to okay it, but I like this a lot. He’s my Hitler.”

Cassie sipped tea. “I don’t see what it has to do with Gid.”

“Well, it’s always the same.” Ebony was smiling, but sounded serious. “I don’t know your Gid, but either he’s got something this fake guy wants or he can do something this guy wants done.”

“Okay.” India sighed. “Sure. Gee, Ebony, I’m glad I let you sit in on this. Now that we know—”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”

“About the fake, what was it the real one wanted him for, Cassie?”

“It wasn’t that he wanted something. He said that the president knew him, and now that he’d dropped out of sight the president was worried about him. He’s asked the FBI to find him, and it’ll protect him if he needs protecting.”

India grunted. “Smooth.”

“You don’t believe him.”

She shook her head.

“He was the real thing. I told you.”

“Yeah. I believe that. What I don’t believe is that business about the president being worried. Nuts.”

Margaret put down the sandwich she had been nibbling. “If someone wanted to get Cassie to cooperate . . . ?”

Frowning, India nodded emphatically. “If somebody wants Cassie’s cooperation, they couldn’t have dreamed up anything better. Only it’s too damned good to be true.”

Ebony said, “Are you going to, Cassie? Cooperate?”

Cassie swallowed the final bite of her sandwich and reached for a cookie. “I haven’t decided.”

“She’ll ask him.” India stood. “That might be smart. I don’t know.”

“Wait!” Cassie waved her cookie. “Aren’t you going to tell me about this new dancer you found?”

Ebony said, “If she won’t, I will.”

India grinned. “Have you ever seen anybody dance on one leg, Cassie?”

She shook her head.

“Neither had I, but he can do it. He had a peg leg made up, like a pirate. He can dance on it, and he’s got one hell of a voice.”

Ebony murmured, “Good tenors are terribly hard to find, Cassie.”

“I know. Can he act?”

“That,” India told her, “is what we’re going to find out. Can you come in early tomorrow night? I’ll have him here then. His name’s Corby.”

“He’s kind of short, too.” Ebony bobbed like a cork in India’s wake. “We want somebody who’ll make Vince and Tiny look bigger.”

T
HE
white limousine was waiting for Cassie when she left the theater. She stopped abruptly, staring at it and at its driver.

“For you, señora.” The driver opened the rear door with a flourish.

“You’re wearing a gun, Carlos.”

“Sí, señora.”

Reis’s voice floated through the open door. “I got him a license.” There was something slightly spectral about that voice. “Under the circumstances, it seemed advisable.”

“Hello, Wally. I was hoping you weren’t here.” Cassie had not taken another step.

“Am I as bad as that?”

“No. I am. I’ve been eating . . . well, sardines and onions. A sardine and onion sandwich. I love them, but my breath would gag you. Let me get a cab, please.”

Reis chuckled. “Get in. I have a gift for you, and news. I only regret I can’t kiss you—I’m eager to test your theory.”

“Really, Wally—”

“Unreally, Cassie. I’m not here. I’ll see you and hear you, but I cannot touch you, however much I wish it. Nor can I smell your breath.”

She shook her head.

“You’re frightened.”

She smiled. “Not frightened enough to admit it if I am, Wally.”

“Then why won’t you get into my car?”

“Because I’m knee deep in a terrible mess already. And sinking. That’s what your friend India says, and I’m afraid she’s right. On top of that, I’m as tired as five-cent roses. I want to go back to the hotel and go to bed. Nothing else. No side trips.” Cassie turned away.

And discovered that Reis’s driver was standing in front of her. Very softly he said, “No, Señora Casey.”

“Allow me to offer a compromise, Cassie. Will you listen? Carlos could fold you like a paper doll. I won’t have him do that, you understand. I wouldn’t even think of it.”

Less loudly than she had intended, Cassie said, “No indeed. Of course not.”

“Right.” If Reis had been struck by her sarcasm, his ghostly voice conveyed no sign of it. “First, let me say that I’m a man of my word. I may break the law at times, and in fact there are so many that nobody can live without breaking them. Now and then I may cheat a man who would’ve cheated me if he could. My word is good, however. Good always. Good to everyone, but particularly to you.”

Cassie’s nod felt forced.

“Here’s my compromise. If you’ll get into my car, where I can see you and you can see me, Carlos will return to his place behind the wheel, leaving the door open. I’ll tell you my news then. I may or may not give you the gift I mentioned. It was expensive, even for me, so if the moment doesn’t seem appropriate I’ll withhold it.”

Her courage had returned. “Please do, Wally. I don’t like to take gifts from men. If you’re a friend, you don’t have to prove it by giving me presents. If you’re not, I don’t want anything from you.”

“I’m financing the show you’re in as a vehicle for you, Cassie.”

She nodded. “I suspected that, and I’m grateful. But I didn’t ask for it, and if you’d asked me whether I wanted it, I’d have said no.”

“Please sit down.” Reis’s voice was spectral as ever. “You’re tired, as you said. Your face says it for you, and more forcefully. I never enjoy cruelty, and I detest the idea of being cruel to you. Sit down. You have my word.”

As she slid onto the white leather seat, Reis’s face floated above a seat facing her own. “That’s better. Much better. Is the door still open?”

Her eyes darted toward it. “Yes. Thanks, Wally.”

“You’re very welcome. If you’ll look to your left, you should be able to see into the front seat. Is Carlos there?”

She nodded. “He’s just getting in.”

“Good. Look at this.”

Reis’s face vanished. The stage replaced it, and she herself stood singing on that stage.

“It’s only when I’m quite alone
that I can see my soul,”

Her vidimage stood beside her, and seemed about to speak.

“It’s then that I am Woman
the one thing God made whole.”

She clasped hands with her soul, and the two began to dance.

Her images vanished. After a half second of darkness, Reis’s face filled the screen once more. “I wanted you to see yourself as others see you. I wanted you to see what the audience sees—what I’ve seen so often, playing and replaying the Cassie Casey captured for me by a friend’s digital camcorder. Now that you have, do you understand why every man who sees you wants you so badly?”

“No.” Cassie shook her head. “No, I don’t, Wally. There are a lot of good-looking women out there.”

“Could they play Mariah Brownlea? Would they draw the crowds you do in the part?”

Cassie said nothing.

“I came back to America to entrap you, Cassie. To entrap and destroy you. When you came up to the microphone to take my gold bracelet, I realized I had made a horrible mistake. For a time—a brief time—I continued on the path I’d laid out for myself. I’m stubborn, and I can be stupidly stubborn.”