Looks to Die For (5 page)

“Yes.” I felt my voice quavering and stared at a crack in the step. “We got married very young and had Grant and Ashley quickly, while Dan was still in medical school. By the time Ashley was eight, Dan had a well-established practice and we decided —”

“It’s okay.”

I glanced up and saw Chauncey Howell smiling at me. “You don’t have to justify having children,” he said. “It’s just that with the age difference, I didn’t want to have any surprises.”

“No surprises,” I said. “They’re all ours and they were all planned as carefully as a Carnival cruise.”

Chauncey laughed briefly, then turned serious. “One more thing, Mrs. Fields. And think about this before you answer. Have you and the doctor had any marital problems lately?”

“No.” I said it much too quickly, and caught Chauncey glancing at me keenly over the tops of his wire-rims. I took a breath, then said, “We’ve been married a long time and we still love each other. Dan laughs at my jokes and I listen to his stories. We have a good, normal family life. I mean, what happened last night is crazy. Out of the blue. It’s got to be a mistake, Mr. Howell.”

Chauncey adjusted his eyeglasses, pushing them back with two fingers. “I don’t know enough yet to have an opinion,” he said slowly, “but I’ll be honest. You need to be prepared. Your husband’s not a movie star, but he’s a well-known, well-respected figure in the community. The Los Angeles police don’t need more bad publicity. They wouldn’t have gone this far without evidence.”

My stomach clenched. “Don’t you think it’s all just a bureaucratic mistake?” I asked. “A nightmare out of Kafka? An innocent man arrested and caught in an inexplicable system. You have to untangle this.”

He glanced at his watch and then stood up, a small man towering over me. “I’m going to do the best I can, believe me. Right now, I need to go inside and talk to Dan so we can get the bail hearing done.” I felt glued to the concrete, too weak to pull myself up next to him, so I just shielded my eyes against the sun and tilted my head up as Chauncey continued. “With luck, nothing has been leaked about Dan’s arrest. It’s a bad idea for us to play this out in the press until we have a position. You can bet the police have their statements all ready for the news conference. I’d just like to put that off as long as possible.”

I crossed my arms over my gold buttons and suddenly understood Chauncey Howell’s understated appearance. He didn’t want to call attention to Dan — or himself — today. I felt slightly embarrassed by my flashy designer suit and thought of explaining to Chauncey that I’d been trying to look the part of supportive - woman - behind - the - man - in - court. But the instinct that had seemed so on target in my bedroom this morning looked awfully foolish in the harsh, yellow-hazed morning light of the courtroom steps. This was real life. Murder. And I was acting like an extra on
One Life to Live.

I stood up, brushed off my skirt, and handed Chauncey his legal pad. “What shall I do this morning?” I asked, trying to sound as competent as I possibly could.

“Does Dan have a passport?”

“Pardon?”

“A United States passport. For travel.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I may need it. The judge could ask for it as a condition of bail, to make sure he doesn’t leave the country. Usually I have twenty-four hours to turn it in, but sometimes a judge wants it in his hand before the defendant is released.”

“I’ll go get it and bring it back.” With a mission in mind, I heard my voice take on a certain authority.

Chauncey reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek Tiffany silver cardholder (so he had one Beverly Hills affectation) and handed me his business card, which was elegantly engraved (or two affectations).

“Not necessary to come all the way back. Drop it at my office.”

“What if you need it quickly to get him out?”

“I have messengers between my office and the courthouse all day. They’ll have it to me faster than you could imagine.”

I glanced at the address. Beverly Boulevard. More my part of town, but still. I took a deep breath. “Mr. Howell, is there a reason you don’t want me in the courthouse?”

He looked puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I want you here?”

I shrugged and let my hands flit from my waist down the sides of my skirt. “I can change if this isn’t appropriate.”

“You look lovely, Mrs. Fields.”

“Call me Lacy.”

“Then call me Chauncey. Look, I don’t have any secret agendas. It’s just not necessary to have you in the courthouse this morning. The prosecutor will present the charge, which is murder in the second degree. That’s murder with intent. There’ll be an affidavit from the police and I’ll waive having the complaint read. That’s it.”

“Don’t they have to say why they arrested him?”

Chauncey shrugged. “The prosecutor will promise that he has a strong case in order to get a high bail. But they won’t present anything today. The police didn’t have a warrant last night, but you let them in the house — which is consent — so I won’t argue unlawful arrest. They had probable cause. I can take care of this end, and then we’ll get to our real work, back in my office. With luck, I’ll be there with Dan by noon.”

We shook hands, and when he headed back to the courthouse I went to my car. I wasn’t in a rush this time, but still I raced home, my heart beating so hard that I felt like I’d just gulped a pot of espresso. I always kept the passports in the second drawer of my bedside table, which happened to be a Shaker medicine chest that I’d uncovered in a flea market for $16, refurbished, and put on a gold-leaf stand that I’d had made. Okay, the gold-leaf part was wildly extravagant, but the result, incredibly creative, appeared in a feature in
House Beautiful
. What more could an interior decorator want? It got me a couple of movie moguls’ wives as clients, and all of a sudden I was a celebrity decorator, with my own column in a glossy L.A. shelter magazine called
Abode
. Not too many readers, but definitely the right ones. When a normal client wondered if I was too upscale now for her budget, I just lowered my voice and murmured, “Don’t worry about that night table. I bought the darn thing for sixteen bucks.”

As I dashed upstairs to the bedroom, I had a sudden dread that the documents would be gone. Inexplicably vanished. I’d yank the drawer open and find nothing.

But when I pulled it open, all the important documents lay in their usual place. The world had turned upside down, but the papers hadn’t moved. I got out Dan’s passport and flipped through it, staring at his photo for a minute. Dan, my Dan. The man I knew better than anyone on earth. Glancing at the stamps on the pages reminded me of the exotic trips Dan and I had taken together — Paris, Panama, Machu Picchu. But no place had ever seemed stranger or more foreign than where we were right now. Forget passing through customs — I felt like I’d slipped through a worm-hole to another dimension.

Trying to stay grounded, I reached for Chauncey Howell’s business card, called his office number, and asked his secretary how soon I could come over.

“A couple of hours would be fine,” she said. “I can’t imagine that Chauncey will be back earlier. I checked, and he won’t need the passport until then.”

How efficient of her. But how could I get through the next two hours? I thought of calling Molly Archer, my best friend since college. Sophisticated, smart, and inexplicably single, Molly had played all the important roles in my life: maid of honor at my wedding, godmother to Grant, only person to advise me that I looked awful in yellow sweaters. We always told each other everything, but for the first time ever, I couldn’t imagine what I’d say after hello.
Hey, Dan might have killed somebody, do you want to do lunch?
No, better to keep this to myself for a while. Talking made it too real.

I planted myself on the edge of my bed, trying to make sense of what obviously made no sense at all. Part of me still believed that in another week, this would just be a funny story to tell over margaritas and Mexican food. But my more rational side knew that everything had changed. In twelve hours, I’d gained a whole new vocabulary. Murder in the second degree. Murder with intent. Where did these words come from, anyway? Chauncey’s legal phrases seemed to belong to someone else’s life, not mine. I was a normal suburban mom-slash-decorator who worried about kids, carpools, and carpets, not dead actresses. I took yoga classes, jogged when I could, and fought off the four extra pounds at my thighs. Maybe I had fabulous clothes and a flair for design, but mostly I helped with homework, fed Jimmy’s gerbils, and fussed over my family. I liked to putter in my garden, and I knew about geraniums, not jail cells.

When the phone rang, I jumped to answer, hoping it might be Chauncey with news of Dan. But it was only a client wanting to chat about the fabric samples I’d dropped off at her house yesterday. Yesterday? More like a million years ago.

“Is this a good time?” she asked. “You sound distracted.”

“This is fine,” I said, putting on my best business-as-usual manner. Apparently the rest of the world was still spinning on its regular axis, even if mine had slipped off-kilter. Let’s see, fabric. I remembered that. We discussed thread count, nub, and durability. I steered her toward chenille, and as soon as she agreed, I switched gears and described the advantages of velvet. I wasn’t being contrary — just using up time.

Once we hung up, I stared at the phone, wondering if I could use my powers of persuasion for something more important — like convincing Jimmy that everything was fine. It wouldn’t be easy. Jimmy was a scared little boy, but he was also smart. When he lost his first tooth, a dollar bill appeared under his pillow. Waking up in the morning, his hair rumpled and his voice still groggy with sleep, Jimmy had clutched the money in his little fist but refused to believe in the tooth fairy. “I think Mommy or Daddy left it, or maybe Grant,” he’d said solemnly. Try to tell him now that nothing bad had happened to his dad? Sure, and Easter eggs come from a bunny.

I got off the bed and went through my closet to see if I had a better talking-with-the-lawyer outfit. After a few minutes, I gave up in defeat and decided not to change. To keep myself busy, I looked around the bedroom, thinking about what I could improve. I moved a Murano mint bowl from one side of the dresser to the other, and pushed the Steuben swans Dan gave me for our last anniversary to the front of a shelf. The swans’ mate-for-life symbolism used to strike me as corny, but now I felt a surge of gratitude. Only a thoughtful, kind, and caring man would buy love birds for his wife. And who ever heard of a thoughtful, kind, and caring killer?

Needing to get out of the house, I drove over to Beverly Boulevard. It was too early to barge into Chauncey’s office, but his law firm happened to be located in the best design district in town. I found an expensive antique store to wander through, but it seemed about as diverting as Kmart. Not even a blue-light special could attract me now — all I wanted was to see Dan. Giving up, I made my way over to Chauncey’s place, willing to wait however long it took.

But it didn’t take any time at all. Chauncey had worked fast, and when I got to the office, Dan had already arrived. He was sitting resolutely on Chauncey’s black leather sofa, sipping a bottle of his favorite ginger Honest Tea. When a secretary ushered me in, Dan smiled tiredly, then came over to give me a little hug. I’d planned to stay cool, but at Dan’s touch, a wild mix of emotion flooded through me. I lay my head against his chest, overwhelmed with relief, confusion, and dread.

“Are you all right?” I asked, barely whispering.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He looked slightly paler than usual, but he had on pressed khakis and a new powder blue polo shirt with a Ralph Lauren insignia. Either Chauncey Howell had picked it up for him coming to court this morning or the prison had a Barneys in the basement.

I stepped back, reminding myself to stay strong. With everything else collapsing around him, Dan didn’t need his wife crumbling, too. But imagining for the thousandth time what Dan had gone through last night, I gave a little shudder.

“Was it terrible in the…cell? My God, I saw a drug addict being dragged back.” I looked at him with what I hoped was tender sympathy.

But Dan just shrugged and sat down again on the sofa. “There’s really nothing dramatic to tell. Chauncey handled everything quickly this morning. I’m sure this will all be over soon.”

“Honey, I’m scared. This can’t be happening. It’s just way beyond awful.”

“Not so bad.”

Dan crossed his arms in front of him and I pinched my lips together. So Dan was being brave and taking it like a man. When Zeno of Citium invented Stoicism in 300
B.C
. and declared that males should be unmoved by joy or grief, did he realize that he was going to piss off women for the next two thousand years?

“Chauncey’s just been getting some information from me,” Dan said, avoiding any emotional discussions by sticking with facts. “You can probably help.” He gestured toward a chair across the room, and I sat down, pulling at the edge of my slim skirt. I had to remember to tell the tailor to go an inch longer next time, though it probably wouldn’t matter. I’d feel vulnerable right now even if I were bundled in a burnoose.

Chauncey strummed his fingers on his desk, not seconding the invitation. “Dan, you have complete lawyer-client confidentiality in this room, but we have some difficult topics to cover. I need you to be able to talk freely.” He glanced at me, and I got the point.

“I don’t have to stay. I can wait outside,” I said, jumping up to leave.

Dan shook his head. “Don’t do that. I want you here.”

I sat down again, feeling a little like a marionette, with Chauncey and Dan pulling the strings.

Deciding just to ignore me, Chauncey turned back to Dan. “Let’s go over Tasha Barlow, or Theresa Bartowski, again.” He pulled out the picture that I’d seen that morning, along with several others. “You’ve had a little time now. What do you think?”

Dan leaned forward to look at the images, but then sat back again. “I meet a lot of women at parties and charity benefits, so it’s possible our paths crossed. If that’s it, she made no impression. I’ll go by my office later and check my files. But I’m good at remembering patients’ faces, and hers just isn’t one I know.”