Double Lucky (47 page)

“How much did your mother promise?” the lawyer asked.

“One hundred thousand dollars,” Henry said calmly. “And also please have your office arrange a black American Express card for me. I'll need it while I'm traveling.”

“Where will you be going, Henry?”

“Europe. In the meantime I've decided to put the house on the market, so perhaps you can take care of that too.”

“You're putting your mother's house on the market?” the lawyer said, expressing surprise. “Surely you should think about this for a while.”

“I do not need to. My mother and I discussed it many times. She didn't want me living here by myself surrounded by memories. She was adamant that when she died I must sell the house.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I'm not sure, but I'll be in touch. And I wish to have the money and the credit card before the end of the week.”

The house was delightfully peaceful when everybody finally left and he was alone. The live-in couple retired to their apartment above the garage, while Markus went home at night.

Before Markus left, Henry had informed him that he would shortly be going on a trip. “Prepare the Bentley,” he'd ordered.

“Mrs. Whitfield-Simmons's Bentley?” Markus had said, acting as if she were still alive and likely to object.

“The Bentley is mine now, Markus, so make sure it's gassed up and ready, because last time I took the Volvo it ran out of gas. That was your fault. Isn't your job to see that each one of the cars are fully gassed at all times?”

Markus had shied away from Henry Whitfield-Simmons, who seemed to have developed a new aggressive personality overnight. “Yes, Mr. Henry,” he'd muttered.

“Then if you wish to keep your job, make certain it's done.”

Alone in the house, Henry wandered around, realizing that the only part of the house he was really familiar with was his own room. Now he could go where he wanted, touch whatever he felt like touching. As a child the only words he remembered his mother saying over and over were, “Don't touch that, Henry, you're so clumsy, you'll break it.”

Now he could break anything he felt like, because everything was his.

He sat in Penelope Whitfield-Simmons's bedroom and read her obituary in the
Times
. Then he carefully cut it out and placed it in his wallet.

Penelope Whitfield-Simmons was dead.

It was her own fault.

 

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

“Jeez,” Ace whistled. “You didn't warn me that you lived in a freaking palace.”

“This is just a rental place,” Max said casually, greeting him at the door. “Our real home's in Malibu.”

“A rental?” he said, shaking his head in wonderment. “More like a hotel. I've never seen anything like it.”

“Now that you're here, come on in,” she said, taking his arm, trying to conceal her excitement at seeing him.

“I dunno why I said yes to this,” he mused.

“Oh,
I
do,” she said teasingly. “You were
desperate
to see me again. You couldn't
wait!
”

“You're a cocky little thing, aren't you?” he said, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“So I've been told,” she replied, leading him into the grand entry hall.

“I feel like I'm in the lobby of a Hilton,” he said, gazing around.

“Mom would
love
to hear that,” she said, laughing.

“Is the dragon lady around?”

“She'd freak if she heard you calling her that. And no, she's safely in Vegas awaiting our presence.”

“Does that mean I get to meet her?”

“Of course,” she said, still holding on to his arm. “C'mon, let's go upstairs, I'll show you your room.”

“I have a room?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I thought the whole point of my coming here was that we were heading straight to Vegas.”

“We're leaving first thing in the morning,” she assured him. “Tonight you get to see L.A.”

“It wasn't what we planned, Max.”

“Plans change, and Harry's got a new SUV, so—”

“Who's Harry?” he interrupted.

“I told you about Harry, he's my gay friend. You don't mind that he's gay, do you?”

“Why would
I
mind?”

“Just thought I'd fill you in.”

“You think he'll try to jump me?”

“Sure,” she joked. “
Scared?
”

“Shaking,” he deadpanned.

“My other friend, Cookie, is meeting us later with Harry,” she said, opening the door to the guest room.

“Is she gay too?”

“No. Now
stop
it,” she said, laughing again.

“Am I supposed to sleep here?” he said, throwing his duffel bag on the floor. “It's bigger than my entire house.”

“It's not
that
big. By the way, did you bring a tuxedo?”

“Do I look like the kinda dude who
has
a tuxedo?” he said, giving her a quizzical look.

“No,” she said, hardly able to take her eyes off him. “But I told you the opening was like, black tie, didn't I?”

“How do
I
know what black tie means? I brought a suit and I brought a tie. Sorry—neither of them are black.”

“We could rent you a tuxedo,” she suggested.

“No thanks.”

“Why not?”

“The penguin look doesn't suit me.”

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Kinda,” he replied.

“Let's go down to the kitchen then.”

He followed her downstairs where she asked Philippe to make them a sandwich. Then she led him out to the pool.

“This place is like something out of a movie,” he marveled. “It's so big.”

“Our house in Malibu is much nicer. I love the ocean, don't you?”

Philippe brought them out toasted-cheese-and-tomato sandwiches and a selection of soft drinks.

“You really live the cushy life, don't you?” Ace said.

“Uh, how's your girlfriend?” She couldn't stop herself from asking.

He threw her a penetrating look. “If I was still with her, do you think I'd be here?”

“You mean you broke up?” she said, attempting to sound casual, but desperate to find out everything.

“You got it.”

“What happened?”

“She dumped me.”

“
She
dumped
you?
”

“Yeah.”

“Why'd she do that?”

“'Cause I was supposed to meet her the night we got kidnapped, and when I never turned up she was pissed, so she went off with one of my friends.”

“Wow! That's not nice.”

“This is even not nicer—they both got drunk and got it on. When I found out, it was my turn to be pissed, so I guess you could say we kinda dumped each other. End of story.”

She was dying to ask him a ton more questions, but then she figured it wouldn't be cool if she showed too much interest.

“What's going on with you an' your boyfriend?” he asked, springing open a can of Coke.

“Uh … we broke up,” she mumbled.

“Who did the dumping?”

“Who do you think?”

“You?”

“I caught him out with another girl, so I said good-bye.”

“We're some pair.”

“
Are
we a pair?” she asked hopefully.

“No, we're two people who just got caught up in a bad scene and now we're friends.”

“Sure we are.”

“Hey, Max, I'm not forgetting how old you are, so don't go reading anything into this trip.”

“What's my age got to do with anything?” she said, irritated.

“You're sixteen, Max. I'm here as your friend an' that's all.”

“Ooh,” she said with an exaggerated eye roll. “And there was little old me thinking you came to ravish my teenage body.”

“I came 'cause I needed to get away,” he said, quite serious.

“Not to see me?”

“To see you too. Oh yeah,” he added, lightening up, “an' to get that twenty bucks you owe me.”

“Like I'd forget,” she said, digging in her jeans pocket and handing him a couple of crumpled tens. “See, I had it all ready for you.”

“I was kidding.”

“It's your money, take it.”

Later they met up with Cookie and Harry at the Cheesecake Factory in Beverly Hills.

Cookie took one look at Ace and liked what she saw. “Definite babe magnet,” she mouthed to Max behind his back.

“Ace just broke up with his girlfriend,” Max announced as they sat down.

“That's convenient,” Harry said, paler than ever. “Now you two can get it on.”

Max threw him a furious look.

“My dad's taking a plane up to Vegas tomorrow, so if we don't feel like driving, we can fly with him,” Cookie said, ordering a Diet Coke. “Anyone wanna do that?”

“I thought we were testing out my new car,” Harry interjected. “Got a few records I wanna break.”

“What do
you
feel like doing?” Max asked, turning to Ace.

“You people are unbelievable,” he said, wondering what he was doing hanging out with this bunch of rich kids with whom he had nothing in common. “Planes, new cars—I'm not used to this.”

“Yeah, well, since you and Max are hooking up, you'd better get used to it,” Harry said, picking up the menu.

“Nobody's hooking up,” Max replied, glaring at him. What was wrong with Harry? He was behaving like a dick.

“That's right,” Ace said. “We're just friends.”

“Really?” Cookie said disbelievingly.

“I guess Max told you what happened to us?” Ace said. “It was some screwed-up experience.”

“Yeah, like
major
spooky,” Cookie said. “I warned her about weirdos online, but Max never listens to anyone.”

“Please don't talk about me as if I'm not here,” Max said quickly.

“I was all for going to the cops,” Ace said. “She wouldn't let me.”

“Good boy,“Harry sneered. “You'll find it pays to be obedient around our Max, she's a total control freak.”

“Shut
up
, Harry,” Max warned. “What's up with you?”

“Nothing,” he answered sulkily.

“Max told us you were kinda like a superhero,” Cookie said. “Y'know, rescuing her, getting her outta there.”

“I did what I had to,” Ace said modestly, while Harry made a face and pretended to throw up.

During the course of the dinner, Max discovered several things about Ace. He did not smoke, he did not do drugs, and he went to church with his brother every Sunday. He was so unlike most of the boys she knew, and she was fast becoming totally crazy about him. By the time they'd finished eating and had made their way to the club Harry was so sure they'd get into, she was feeling quite dizzy, and not in a bad way.

Harry circumvented the line outside the club and marched up to the burly doorman, who was unimpressed—especially when Harry started yelling and waving hundred-dollar bills around. It made no difference. Underage was underage, and they couldn't get in.

“This is bullshit,” Ace said, grabbing Max's arm. “Let's split.”

“Sure,” she said, nudging Cookie, who got the message and dragged Harry away from the entrance to the club and back to his car.

“I'll drive,” Ace said.

“No way,” Harry objected, swaying slightly.

“You're stoned,” Ace accused.

“No way,” Harry repeated, glaring at him.

Crap!
Max thought.
So this is why Harry is acting like such
a
prick. Ace is right. He's totally stoned.

“Hey,” Ace said forcefully. “Either
I
drive or we're getting a cab.”

“Go ahead,” Harry said belligerently, spiky black hair standing on end.

“Cool it, Harry,” Cookie said, stepping between them. “Let Ace drive. What's your problem?”

“It's
my
car and I'm driving it,” Harry shouted. “So you can all go fuck off.”

“He's not usually like this,” Max whispered to Ace. “I don't know what's up with him.”

“Listen,” Ace said. “He's your friend, and I'm sorry, but neither of us are getting in a car with him.”

“What about Cookie?”

“She shouldn't drive with him either. Tell her.”

“Cookie, come with us,” Max said.

“I'll stick with Harry,” Cookie decided. “He's not
that
stoned. You two take off, we'll see you in the morning.”

“I'm so sorry about Harry,” Max said as she and Ace walked off down Hollywood Boulevard.

“Those two are your best friends?” he said.

“They're normally great, but lately they're into this whole getting-stoned mind trip. It's not
my
idea of a fun time.”

“Glad to hear it. I went through that phase when I was sixteen, but I didn't drive. Truth is I didn't have a car.”

“My mom thinks doing drugs is totally uncool. That's one thing we agree on.”

He took her hand as a couple of suspicious-looking guys walked toward them.

“I'm really glad you're here,” she said, loving the way her hand felt in his.

“I'm not getting in a car with Harry tomorrow,” he said. “We'll take my brother's truck.”

“Really?”

“Your friend is on a roll, Max. I don't want to be around when he crashes and burns.”

“Isn't that like rather dramatic?” she said, looking up at him.

“Maybe, but it's what happens.”

“Harry's going through a tough time. His dad is some kind of mogul, and his mom's a born-again. They went through a bad divorce, plus he's stuck in the closet, so he's major screwed up. Cookie, Harry, and me have been best friends since we were like five years old.”