Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (232 page)

“Can I bring my dog?”

“You can bring fifty fucking dogs for all I care. What do you say, Edie? You in?”

Evie, Edie, makeup chick, whatever—I didn’t give a damn what she wanted to call me. I was definitely in.

CHAPTER SIX

THREE WEEKS LATER, and I was kind of inclined to agree with Brenda regarding the house (mansion, villa, whatever it was). Blake’s place was a little creepy. And any time I asked about Blake, the owner, I got the brushoff. The only thing Brenda had added one day when I was prepping to do Simone’s makeup (Brenda was busy looting her sister’s closet while Simone soaked in a tub of goat’s milk and tuberose petals … don’t get me started) was that she’d heard the place was haunted.

“Haunted? Really? By who?” I asked.

Brenda shrugged. And then Simone walked in wearing a plush pink robe.

“What are you doing?!” She snatched a silky-looking shirt out of Brenda’s hands. “Get the hell out of my fucking closet. Go buy your own clothes and leave Edie alone. And no more shit about her place being haunted.” She turned to me, an exasperated look on her face. “You don’t believe in that shit, do you?”

Here’s the thing: I sort of do. When I was a kid, I saw a ghost. Or at least I think I did. I remember waking one night from a deep sleep to see a little girl, pale and, well, ghostly, pad silently past my open bedroom door. She held a candle, and the flame was the only thing with any kind of real color to it—a faint, yellow glow. She turned to face me and, with a smile, brought her free hand up to her face and shushed me with her finger. I wasn’t scared, just surprised. I remembered wanting to talk to my mother about it, but never did. Fact is, ghosts and things that go bump in the night weren’t exactly embraced with open arms in my household. And then, as I got older, a part of me began to wonder if maybe it had all been a dream.

Simone was looking at me expectantly. “Please tell me you don’t believe in that crap. Brenda also thinks we’re descended from space aliens.” She walked past her sister and smacked her lightly on the top of her head. Brenda rolled her eyes.

“Um, no … not really,” I stuttered.

Well, what did you expect me to say?
Oh yes, Simone! Not only do I believe in ghosts, but I can also touch people, get a glimpse of their psychological baggage, and help them heal!

Speaking of Simone, when I did, on occasion, touch her face … there was nothing overly traumatic about her past that jumped out at me (aside from her fixation on an old magazine article that mentioned her slight weight gain). The only thing I did pick up from her was a deep, aching loneliness—surprising, because she was constantly surrounded by people. Nevertheless, it allowed me to feel some empathy for her, even though she was often incredibly obnoxious.

Whether or not the house was haunted, I had yet to experience anything frightening. I mean, how could I complain? I’d gone from living in my van and sleeping at the bar to staying at a seven-thousand-square-foot mansion overlooking Los Angeles. Simone was paying me good money, too. Oh, and I got to have Cass with me—at the house, that is. Simone wouldn’t allow my dog anywhere near her.

So the house was huge and it made me feel, well, uncomfortable. I figured eventually I would adjust to the size of the place. Even with Cass by my side, it was hard to get used to having all that space … all those empty rooms … to myself.

The house was tastefully decorated—all in whites, pale yellows, and light greens, with hardwood floors, and lots of bamboo and bougainvillea. There were a handful of Buddha statues and crosses scattered throughout (at least all my spiritual bases were covered, although my daddy would have had a heart attack seeing Jesus hanging with the Buddha, even if only in décor form). It was as if a fancy Mexican hotel lobby had mated with an Asian-themed resort spa.

There was also a boarded-up guesthouse on the back forty. Now, that place
really
creeped me out. It looked like a smaller version of the Amityville Horror house (yes, I managed to see that movie one night at a sleepover … and I didn’t sleep for about two weeks after that). The property was on two acres, and the guesthouse stood just above the slope of a gentle hill beneath a cluster of pepper trees.

Another thing I’d noticed was the random smell of marijuana. Not that I’ve ever smoked it, but given Brady’s total lack of activities for teens, my high school years were heavily dotted with the pungent scent of weed: smuggled into football games beneath the bleachers, during lunch behind the library, and at informal gatherings in the parking lot of the local pizza joint. The only thing I could figure was maybe the neighbor on the hill below me liked to get high, and the breeze carried the scent up to my house now and then.

Cass absolutely loved our new place, but even she was wary of the guesthouse and tended to keep her distance. She immediately took to the swimming pool, and spent at least an hour or two a day swimming in circles and diving in to retrieve the toys I threw in for her. She was doing just that one afternoon when Simone called to say she didn’t need me for the night. That was a first. In the few weeks I’d been working for her, she needed me pretty much night and day to do her makeup—do it Goth, do it like Garbo, do it like Gaga—you name it, Simone wanted it.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Yes,” Simone sniffled. “I mean, no. I’m fucking sick! Me! I have a cold. I was going to tell you to bring me some soup, but Bren’s getting it. She said I work you too hard.” She paused for a moment, “Do you think I work you too hard?”

“Um … no. I’m good.”

“Okay. Oh! But I do have a photo shoot in the morning and I cannot look like death warmed over,” she said in a congested- sounding voice. “And my nose looks like Rudolph the Red- Nosed fucking Reindeer!”

I cringed. Her constant use of the F-bomb was rapidly becoming my least favorite aspect of her personality. “I can fix that. Don’t worry.”

“Good. Be here by seven, and bring me a double-shot, skinny, pumpkin spice latte and don’t let them give you any shit about how they only sell pumpkin spice lattes during the holidays. They have it and I want it. See you tomorrow!”

I placed the phone back on the cradle and sighed, looking over at Cass. “Early morning tomorrow, but I get tonight off.” Cass wagged her tail in approval. “Let’s go to Nick’s!”

I grabbed my guitar, promising Cass some fish tacos once we got there. It didn’t take much to convince her. She flew into the back of the VW and we headed toward La Cienega.

At Nick’s, the usual crowd was there, including Becky, who had become a frequent flier, and one who constantly fawned over Nick. I had the impression Nick liked Becky fine, but Becky was way into Nick. Meanwhile, Candace seethed every time Becky came in.

Mumbles was on his forty-fifth gin and tonic, and Candace was happily nursing a “Candace Special,” which as far as I can tell, has Midori and pineapple rum in it. At least that’s what I put in when I made them for her and she hadn’t complained yet. I shuddered to think about the state of her liver.

Becky, on the other hand, never strayed far from her chilled Chardonnay.

I noticed Jackson back in his corner booth, his laptop propped open on the table. He glanced up at me and waved briefly, his eyes almost immediately dropping back down to the screen in front of him. He was definitely distracted.

I thought it was kind of odd Jackson had never really made good on the rain check after our first conversation. In fact, as good-looking as the guy was, he was pretty moody. One night he’d be pleasant and sort of flirtatious. The next, he’d be cold and act like I wasn’t there. I didn’t know what to make of him. I had never been one to make the first move, and honestly, with him being so wishy-washy, I’d pretty much lost interest in him as a prospect. Not that I was prospecting. I had to steer away from hand-holding for a long time with someone and try to get to really know them before I took a good look at their most painful life experience. It made me shy of dating.

“Evie, g’see you. Got black eye.” Mumbles pointed to his good eye.

Whoa! So he did. “How did you do that?” I asked, staring at the huge shiner spanning his eye.

“Oh, he fell off the stool last night. We missed you,” Candace said.

I shook my head and sighed. “Someone really needs to check you two into rehab.”

“Ouch! That hurts.” Candace waved a hand in front of her face. “But know what, honey? You may be right, but what’s the point? Ain’t nobody out there who’d care one way or another.”

“Oh, Candace, that’s not true. I think you just like to be the victim.”

“Damn girl. Don’t talk to Auntie Candace that way! Be nice and pour me another Special.” She lowered her voice suddenly and sidled over. “You know what, sweet pea? That boy over in the corner has it bad for you.”

“He’s weird,” Mumbles mumbled. “Questions. Movie. Dunno ‘bout him.”

“Huh?” I said.

“He’s not weird,” Candace slurred. “He’s an artist. A filmmaker. I think Nick is being an idiot for not helping him out.”

“Creeps,” Mumbles mumbled.

I was definitely getting interested in this conversation.

“Slow down you two. First you.” I pointed at Candace while I stepped behind the bar to fix her a drink. “You think he likes me?” I tilted my head toward Jackson.

“Oh yeah. He has the hots, big time.”

“Creep,” Mumbles said a bit more clearly than usual.

I leaned in closer to him. “What’s the problem, Mumbles?”

“Dunno. Feeling. Looks at you. Don’t like it.” He glared down into his glass.

“Oh, Mumbles, you’re a softy.”

“Youse a kid. He’s … not right.”

“Evie, honey, don’t listen to him. He’s an old drunk,” Candace said.

“What are you?” Becky butted in from her seat a few stools down the bar.

Candace pulled herself upright and nearly launched herself at Becky. “You know what, bimbo? I’ve had about enough of you. In fact, I had enough of you twenty-five goddamned years ago.”

Whoa! This was getting good.

Becky narrowed her eyes to angry slits, her mouth pressed into a thin line across her face. “I can say the same thing about you, you lush. And it’s been almost thirty years!”

“Ladies, please!” Nick rushed out from the kitchen, his arms spread wide. “Can we please leave all of that in the past? Just let it go and let’s move on.”

“You mean like how we let Roger go?” Candace asked, her voice dripping with hostility.

Becky rolled her eyes and looked away, sullenly sipping her wine.

Nick leaned in close to Candace and lowered his voice. “I warned you, Candy. I have told you time and again to let that shit go. It’s done and buried. I don’t need any problems. You and I are friends now. All cool, right?” He glanced quickly over to where Jackson sat, his dark eyes trained on the entire scene. He looked the way a dog does when it’s got an injured squirrel in its sights. For a split second, I understood Mumbles’ comments about Jackson, and a shiver spun its way down my spine.

Candace sat back and crossed her arms. She eyed Nick for a long second and to me, it looked like a warning. I might just be a small-town girl from Brady, Texas, but even I could tell things were heating up good, as my mama would say. And that’s when a really big dude walked in.

When Nick spotted him, he recoiled.

Big Guy didn’t waste any time getting to the point. “Hey, you skinny, stupid fuck! We need to talk,” he pointed a thick, meaty finger at Nick.

“Whoa…” I stepped out from behind the bar. I know I probably should have stayed put, but where I come from, that kind of talk is just plain rude. “You can’t come in here talking to people like that. You need to leave.”

He eyed me and started laughing. “She your bouncer, Nick? You’re cute, sweetie. Stick around for a little while and maybe we can have a drink after I’m done chatting with your boss here. The name’s Pietro SanGiacomo.” He reached out to shake my hand. I quickly shoved my hands in my back pockets and kept them there.

I was about to fire out a not-very-cute response, when Nick stepped up next to me and laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. It just so happened I was wearing a tank top because of the hot weather. Which meant skin-to-skin contact … and an unexpected glimpse into Nick’s past. It only lasted a few seconds: a pool with a dead body and then Nick, sobbing.

I quickly stepped away from Nick’s hand, even as he was saying, “Evie, it’s okay.” He turned back to the jerk. “Pietro, why don’t we go in the kitchen and work this out.”

Pietro drew his eyebrows down threateningly. “Yeah. Why don’t we?”

We all turned to watch them go. I did not like this one bit. I was debating about whether or not to follow them when Becky reached out to grab my arm. I quickly moved out of her reach, before she could make contact. She looked at me in surprise and I mustered a weak smile. Frankly, I was not ready to see Becky’s demons if she had them, and I was pretty sure she did.

“It’s going to be fine. Nick has a problem with gambling. He gets in a little deep with the wrong people. If he needs it, I’ll loan him the money.” She took a last sip of her wine and sauntered into the kitchen.