Box Office Poison (Linnet Ellery) (18 page)

Merlin laid the tip of his right index finger on the end of his nose and pointed at me with the left. A young waiter and an older woman (I was betting she was his mother because of their body language) came to the table with our appetizers. We sat silent for a few minutes, munching on rice paper–wrapped spring rolls, pork satay, and mee krob.

I played with my fork, tapping it against the edge of my plate, and said, “I’ve been getting a lot of weird hang-up phone calls. Then it progressed to a couple of nasty phone calls. I think the Human First movement, or at least some member of the group, is behind the calls, though I can’t prove it.”

Identical pairs of blue eyes focused on me. “That’s kind of scary,” Merlin said.

I shrugged. “As long as it doesn’t escalate beyond phone calls I’m not worried.”

“Good woman,” Maslin said, and then punched his brother on the shoulder. “You are such a wimp.”

“Better than being a macho asshole.”

I jabbed my fork at them. “Hey! No sibling rivalry bullshit. I have enough of that with my own brother.” I pinned Maslin with a look, and drawled, “And aren’t you a little short to be a macho asshole?” I wanted to kick myself. I’d been complaining about the constant movie quotes, and here I was doing it. I decided the habit must be catching. Something in the water of California.

“Precisely why I have to be a macho asshole. And you should talk, shorty,” he said with a grin.

“But back on the subject, guys. Kerrinan said Human First protestors were on the sidewalk in front of the driving range, and they were certainly outside the studio after Jondin’s … episode.”

Maslin typed on his netbook. “Okay, so we have possible suspects. The real question is, how? How in the hell do you drive an Álfar to murder?”

“Well, that’s why I went to talk to Qwendar.”

“And what insights did he have to offer?” Maslin asked.

I opened my mouth and realized that while we’d talked for a number of hours, and I enjoyed the conversation I didn’t have a lot of specifics. “He said Álfar physiology differs from human in terms of blood types and blood chemistry. He told me a lot about their pride and love of beauty.” I frowned.

“Not very helpful,” Maslin said.

At that moment our food arrived. I had ordered the pad thai, but the aroma of Merlin’s garlic beef and Maslin’s mint noodles with chicken was seductive. I saw them eyeing my noodles.

“Family style?” I suggested. Smiles broke out all around, and we quickly passed the plates.

We ate for a few minutes, then Maslin pulled his Apple Air back in front of him and started typing. “Okay, following up on what we do know. Different physiology … maybe drugs? Something like angel dust that can cause a murderous rage but in Álfar.”

“Hypnosis. Manchurian candidate stuff,” Merlin suggested.

“You watch too many movies,” Maslin said. “Blackmail. They were forced to do these things.”

“Because somebody can threaten them with something worse than a first-degree murder charge and life imprisonment?” Merlin asked. Once again the snark was on the rise between the twins.

They fell silent. I gathered my courage and said, “There’s a reason the Powers are called the Powers, and it’s not just because they’ve had their hands on the levers of power in the world for millennia.”

“What are you saying?” Merlin asked.

“Well, for lack of a better word—magic. That’s what I really wanted Qwendar to talk about, but he stayed pretty mum.” They both stared at me. “Look, I know it’s the twenty-first century, and we’re all about science and being rational, but let’s get real.” I pinned Merlin with a look. “We work for a bunch of immortal dead guys. I was raised in a vampire household, and I don’t have a full understanding of their abilities. They’re careful about what they show humans.” I turned my attention to Maslin. “You wrote a piece for
Time
last month. That means a werewolf authorized your paycheck. Hounds are stronger than normal people, heal faster, live longer, and they can turn into a wild animal at will, and that’s what we know. What other powers and abilities might they have? We know the Álfar live in a slightly skewed reality. Legend has it that they are irresistible to normal people. My vampire foster father was always warning me about the Álfar. Once again, we have no idea the range of their powers and abilities. And it’s not like they share this information with each other. Despite what people … real people … human people think, the Powers aren’t united in their interests or their methods. They’re just united when it comes to dealing with us.”

The men seated across from me sat silent, but their expressions betrayed their discomfort.

“Okay,” Merlin said. “That gave me a shiver.”

“So if they’re secretive with each other, how the hell do
we
find out about these powers?” Maslin asked.

“We hope our ally proves to be more forthcoming,” I said brightly.

Merlin pulled his brother’s laptop over, and his fingers flew across the keyboard, the click of the keys like bird pecks on glass. “Looking for authorities on the Powers. Wow, lot of cranks out there … a few university papers. I’m going to have to do some research.”

“That’s right, you’re the research guru,” I said. I looked at Maslin. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Back to the basics. Meet people, ask them questions. We’ll talk to the Human First people and retrace Kerrinan’s steps on the day of the murder.”

“Won’t that alert Human First?”

“Yeah, but when people get nervous they make mistakes,” Maslin said breezily.

“You know, last summer I said almost the same exact thing to a friend—about how desperate people make mistakes.” For an instant John’s face was before me, and I was back in his apartment. The sudden memory brought a heavy lump into the back of my throat. “He said sometimes they made mistakes and sometimes they didn’t, and if they didn’t you ended up dead. He was right—I damn near got killed.”

“So, you think we shouldn’t talk to them?”

“No. I just think we should be careful.”

*   *   *

I had started sleeping with my cell phone under my pillow. That way if there was an earthquake, and the roof fell in I could call out to the rescuers digging for me. Of course that was predicated on the assumption I wouldn’t be thrown from the bed, and lose track of said cell phone. But I wasn’t much paranoid about earthquakes … oh, no.

So when my ear started vibrating and the theme from
Star Wars
came muffled through the pillow, it levitated me right off the mattress. I jammed my hand under the pillow with enough force to send the phone skittering to the other side of the bed. The music was now below me. It must have slid right off the bed. I flung myself in a belly flop across the mattress, and groped for the faint glow of the phone.

“Hello? Hello!”

“Linnet Ellery?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Sam with Equine Transporters. I just wanted to let you know that I’m about thirty minutes out from the Equestrian Center. I’ve informed the trainer, but the shipper thought you might like to be on hand to help unload the horse.”

“Right. Yes. Absolutely. I’ll be there.”

Sam hung up. I scraped the hair off my face, and peered at the time. Four a.m. It was a law of nature that haulers either picked up or dropped off a horse at ugh o’clock. I snapped on a light and realized that water was washing down the outside of windows. And it was raining. Perfect.

I scrambled into jeans, boots, and a hoodie and headed out to the car. Horrifyingly, there were already a few people getting into their vehicles, and judging by the clothes and briefcases they were heading to work. They had to have the commute from hell. I got into the car and headed down rain-slick streets toward the Equestrian Center. I hadn’t actually gotten to the facility since Jolly’s call had come, but a Google map gave me what I needed.

What I hadn’t expected was to drive past the Disney Studio on my left and a weirdly shaped building on my right. It was all glass and wood like the gondola of a dirigible. Above the entrance to the building was a giant blue wizard’s hat covered with stars and a moon. I recognized it as the hat Mickey Mouse wore when he was the sorcerer’s apprentice in
Fantasia
. A sign informed me that this was the Animation Building. I tried to imagine having enough money and cultural relevance that architecture matched your dreams.

Then I was a few blocks past the studio. I entered into a pretty residential neighborhood. A street sign showed the outline of a horse and rider, which I thought was encouraging. The road curved lazily along and then on my right the large white gate of the LA Equestrian Center appeared. Turning in I drove past a grass jump arena on my left, then what looked like retail space and a clubhouse. Behind the low buildings the darker shadow of an indoor arena showed against pale clouds. On my right was more grass, a little house, a dressage arena, and then three barns with parking out front.

There weren’t a lot of cars. There was the familiar shape of a vet’s truck parked near one barn, and I knew someone was having a stressful night. I shivered with sympathy. There was nothing worse than needing a vet in the wee small hours for your horse. The only other vehicle was an SUV. The interior light was on, and I saw someone inside. She appeared to be texting. I pulled up next to her and cut the headlights. We eyed each other through rain-washed car windows.

What I saw was a young woman around my age with a mane of thick black hair. We both stepped out of our cars and pulled up our hoods against the persistent rain. She was taller than me (of course), with really long legs. No matter how you sliced it I was short, and short is hard when you ride dressage.

“Why don’t we wait in the breezeway?” she suggested and pointed at the wide doorway into the first barn.

“Sounds like a plan.”

We ran inside. There were the sounds of shifting hooves in sawdust, a soft
chussing
sound. Down the line of stalls a horse coughed, and another blew out air in a gentle
whuff
. The air warmer than the damp chill outside, thanks to forty or so hay burners. The air was rich with the scents of dust, stall shavings, leather, hay, manure, and horse, a smell that for me was the embodiment of love and comfort.

“Hi, I’m Natalie Ogden. You must be Linnet.”

“Yep.” We smiled at each other.

“Well, at least he didn’t arrive at two a.m.,” Natalie said. “I’d be getting up at five anyway, so this wasn’t too bad.”

“Wow, you’re hard-core. I get up at six,” I said

“I’m at the gym by five thirty because my first lesson is at seven.”

“So, what is the plan? What did Jolly … Mr. Bryce arrange?”

“I’ll work the horse when you can’t, and if you want coaching that’s included,” she said.

“Oh, that would be great. Eyes on the ground.”

“What level do you ride?” Natalie asked.

“I’ve ridden the Grand Prix, but then I lost my horse and just haven’t had much heart for it. Vento is a joy. He’s third level right now, but he’ll go up the levels really quickly. But you’ll see.”

Small talk, punctuated by more than a few yawns filled the minutes until we heard the deep-throated rumble of a diesel engine. We stepped to the door of the barn as a giant semi pulled down the road. It went past us and into a large dirt area where it carefully turned around. We braved the rain as the haulers jumped out of the cab and began pulling down the ramp on the side of the truck and putting safety rails in place. There were plaintive whinnies from inside the giant rig, which set off a chorus of neighs, whinnies, bugles, and whickers from across the Equestrian Center. I realized there were more barns on the other side of the facility, and in front of me was a galloping track and another big jump arena. It was an impressive setup.

I moved up to the edge of the ramp. In the front end of the truck were four yearling Clydesdales looking nervous and alarmed. Across from them was a box stall. One of the haulers pulled open the gate, and Vento stepped out. The baby Clydesdales were as large as my boy, but it didn’t matter. He was perfect in my eyes. His expression was curious but soft. No sign of alarm or nerves. The man brought him down the ramp, and put the lead rope in my hand. While the driver got Natalie to sign the shipping order indicating we’d received the horse, the hauler said to me, “Nicest horse I’ve ever hauled. Nothing bothers him. I swear I kept expecting him to talk.”

I patted Vento’s neck. “He is great, isn’t he.”

“Oh, there’s a blanket for him.” He ran back up the ramp and emerged with a bulging black plastic garbage sack.

Natalie led us to his stall. Vento paced around, inspecting his surroundings, pawed the shavings, lay down, and had a good roll. He then stood and shook, sending shavings flying. It made him look like a fantasy horse figure in the center of a shaken snow globe. He then paced to the front of the stall and studied me carefully.

I went off and prepared a bran mash mixed with carrots and apples and moistened with corn oil and hot water. Natalie and I watched as he ate, though he paused after every couple of bites to gaze at me.

“I can see why you’re so crazy about him. It’s like he thinks that you’re his rather than the other way around, and he’s making sure you’re all right,” Natalie said.

“Yep. He’s special. Look, how about if we meet tomorrow and get him out for a ride.” I dug into my purse for my card case. I was still carrying the one that had been dented by a killer’s bullet. It was a good reminder. Of what I wasn’t exactly sure, but I just felt I needed to keep it, and not replace the case. I gave Natalie my card. “My cell phone number and email address are on there. We’ll coordinate a time.”

“Good.” She checked her watch. “Well, off to the club.”

“Well, back to bed,” I said and we exchanged smiles.

I wasn’t meeting Maslin until ten a.m. Plenty of time to catch another few hours of sleep. Back in the car I checked the time. Five thirty. Which put it at—I did sleep-deprived calculation—eight thirty in New York. Jolly would want to know his horse had arrived safely. I dug out my phone and called. He answered on the first ring.

“Hi, Jolly, the boy arrived. Looking calm and collected and fresh as a daisy. I fixed him up with a bran mash, and I’ll give him today to rest.”