Night Night, Sleep Tight (18 page)

Chapter 34

S
taring at the Harley eagle patch, Deirdre tried to remember when Henry had gotten into muscle bikes. Seemed like it hadn’t been until after he dropped out of college with only a collection of electric guitars and a few demo tapes to show for his dreams of becoming a serious musician.

“What are you thinking?” Tyler asked. He pushed away his empty plate and signaled the waitress to top off their coffees.

“I’m thinking it’s a shame that my brother never finished college.”

“He was cool. I remember in high school, he had that swagger. And girls—” Tyler whistled.

“Yeah. Girls were all over him. I think he had a great time in high school. Not me. I was so glad when it was over.”

“Me too.”

They talked for a while longer, comparing notes on what Beverly had been like if you didn’t cheerlead or play football or drive a Ferrari. Deirdre could easily have stayed and talked longer, but at half past eight Tyler said he had to get to work. He told her that first thing in the morning was the best time to file a request for the record that the insurance adjuster needed. The Records Office at City Hall opened at nine. Deirdre stopped on her way home, pulled the number 12 from the number dispenser, and was out of there twenty minutes later.

As she drove home, she thought about Henry. He’d tacitly deflected the blame to Arthur for photographs that he’d taken. He’d also let her father take the blame for the car accident that left her crippled. Which reminded her of something Arthur had mentioned in his memoir—Bunny’s comment that Arthur was as much to blame for what had happened as she was.

When Deirdre got home, she would question her mother and Henry, both of them. Together. She wanted to know exactly what each of them knew about what happened that night. No more sidestepping, shading the truth, or lying to protect anyone, including herself.

But when she neared her father’s house, she realized a dark sedan was parked in front. She pulled over to watch from a distance as a pair of uniformed police officers got out of the car and started up the front walk.

Any plan she’d had of confronting Henry and Gloria evaporated. The police must have obtained another search warrant, as Sy had predicted. If they looked in her bag, she didn’t have a good explanation, even for herself, for what was in it.

She drove slowly past the front of the house. Caught a glimpse of the front door opening. Just then, a motorcycle came roaring out of the driveway and sped past her, up the block. Deirdre recognized Henry’s red-and-gold helmet. He’d probably seen the police arriving and decided to disappear. She made a quick U-turn and took off after him.

Henry slowed at a stop sign a few blocks later. Deirdre tooted her horn and flashed her lights. But he barely glanced over his shoulder. Just flipped her the bird before peeling out and roaring up the street.

So it’s like that, is it?
She accelerated, peeling out after him. Thirty miles an hour. Forty. Henry slowed but didn’t stop to turn left onto Sunset. Deirdre had to screech to a halt at the corner as a stream of cross traffic held her back. Taking advantage of a minuscule gap between cars, she nipped out onto Sunset, earning herself a horn blast and her second expressive middle finger of the morning. Ahead of her, she could see Henry on his bike slowing. Turning into the driveway of the Nichols’ estate. Why was he going there?

Without thinking, Deirdre turned in behind him, making it through the gate just before it closed. By then, Henry and his motorcycle had vanished up the driveway.

Deirdre stopped the car. Now what? Should she drive up to the front door, march up the steps . . . and then what? Throw pebbles at Joelen’s window? What Henry was up to was his own business. At least it would have been if he hadn’t been lying to her, insisting that he had no ongoing relationship with Joelen Nichol. Maybe she could figure out what was going on without embarrassing him.

She drove slowly up the driveway. When she got to the pool, she backed into the carport that was camouflaged by a bank of bougainvillea, then killed the engine, grabbed her crutch, and started to walk up the drive toward the house. Bunny was obviously not addicted to thirty laps a day. Close up, the pool not only looked gross, it smelled scummy, like sour milk and rotting leaves.

Deirdre continued up the hill, moving as quickly as she could. By the time she rounded the final bend she was out of breath. Henry had parked his bike in front and was crouched behind it, looking at the engine or the tires, she couldn’t tell which. His fancy, custom-made helmet hung from one of the handlebars.

The minute he stood, Deirdre realized her mistake. The man by the bike wasn’t Henry; it was Jackie Hutchinson. He started walking toward the front door, wobbling a little on the chunky heels of a pair of black cowboy boots that, like his helmet, could have been Henry’s.

“Looking for someone?” The voice from behind her startled Deirdre. She whipped around to see Bunny Nichol wearing a pink satin quilted bathrobe, a chiffon scarf wrapped around her head and tied over her forehead. She was in full makeup, of course. “You’re here a little early for a visit.”

“I thought—” Deirdre started. But before she could come up with a plausible excuse for being there, Bunny hooked her arm and called out, “Jackie!”

Jackie turned around as Bunny propelled Deirdre forward toward the house. “You remember Deirdre?” Bunny said. “She was at the house a few days ago?”

“Sure. You were up there.” Jackie pointed vaguely in the direction of Bunny’s bedroom. “You look . . . different. I’d never have recognized you.”

“I didn’t recognize you in that helmet,” Deirdre said.

Jackie looked down at the helmet hanging from his hand. “Pretty cool, isn’t it?”

“I’ve only seen one other like it.”

“You must know Henry Unger.”

“He’s my brother.”

Jackie narrowed his eyes at Deirdre. “You and Henry? Really. I was just over there. Small world.”

Maybe not that small. “You work with him?” Deirdre said.

“Not with him.
For
him. He’s an old friend of Bunny’s.”

“Deirdre,” Bunny said, “I know you need to be on your way. I’ll walk you back to your car.” She started escorting Deirdre down the driveway.

Deirdre didn’t mind being given the bum’s rush, as her father used to call it. She was as anxious to get out of there as Bunny was to be rid of her. But as they walked away from the house, she picked up her head. Was that the
woop-woop
of a siren?

“Shit,” Bunny said under her breath. “You parked at the pool?”

Deirdre nodded.

“You must have triggered the alarm.” Bunny gripped Deirdre’s arm tighter. “You really should have telephoned first.”

As they approached the carport by the pool, the alarm fell silent. A black-and-white car with a row of stars and
SECURITY
stenciled on the door was parked behind Deirdre’s car, blocking it in. A uniformed guard with a brushy salt-and-pepper mustache emerged from under the overhanging bougainvillea. “Der-dra Unger?” he said, mispronouncing Deirdre’s name. He had her wallet open in his hand and was holding her messenger bag. “That your Mercedes parked in there?”

“Yes. And that’s my bag.”

“She’s all right, Martin,” Bunny said. “False alarm. I’ll take those.”

Martin the security guard reached into Deirdre’s bag and pulled out the knife. “You sure she’s all right, ma’am?”

“She’s just returning that to me,” Bunny said, and held out her hand. Martin gave her the knife, hilt first.

Bunny turned the knife over. The blade flashed in the sun. “Did you know,” she said, giving Martin a coy smile, “that I once worked with quite a famous magician? In the early days, of course. Before I became a star.” She rotated the knife so she had the blade between her fingertips. “Can you imagine this? I’m dressed”—she poked a bent knee through the opening in her robe—“scantily.” She gave Martin a wink. “Strapped to a board. Then Jasper sets me spinning. Backs away. Looks out at the audience as if to say
Dare me
. Pretends he’s about to throw the knife but doesn’t. Not yet. Suspense builds. Tension thick. You can hear a pin drop.” Bunny reared back, holding the knife aloft. “Then suddenly Jasper throws the knife. The audience gasps. The board slowly stops spinning and everyone can see where it’s landed, right between my legs.” She drew her leg demurely back into the folds of her robe.

Martin exhaled audibly.

“Pure skill,” Bunny said. “Not an illusion, as so many magic tricks are.” She lowered the knife, moving it to her other hand and grasping it by the handle. “It was simply quite amazing that he could throw as accurately as he could. Frankly, I was terrified. I needed a stiff drink before each performance and kept my eyes shut from the moment he set that board spinning until it stopped.”

Bunny’s gaze softened, focused in midair. “He also used to make the knife vanish.” She blinked. “Now that’s a trick I can show you. I store some of our props—mementos, really—in the pool house. Of course, I’m not a master like the Great Jasper, but I’ve always been a quick study, and I saw him do the trick often enough.”

Bunny handed Martin the knife and let herself in through the gate to the pool. Moments later, she emerged holding a painted box. “Here we are.” She blew on it, raising a cloud of dust, and rubbed it with her sleeve. “Covered in cobwebs. Like we’ll all be ourselves one day.” The box was red lacquer, decorated with gold stars and crescent moons.

Magic. It’s all about misdirection.
That was what Bunny had said when she contemplated how to costume Deirdre so she’d be invisible for her visit to City Hall.

With a practiced gesture, Bunny tapped the surface of the box with delicately tapered nails. “Tricks are so much fun when you don’t know their secrets.” She rotated the box, then twirled it corner to corner until the stars and moons painted on its shiny enamel surface were a blur. Then she held the box perfectly still. She glanced in Deirdre’s direction, then lifted the lid and opened a door in the side. Lowered her hand in through the top. Her fingers waggled, visible through the open side door against a black-and-white-striped interior. “See? Nothing whatsoever inside.” She pulled her hand from the box, closed the side door, and held out her hand to Martin. He gave her back the knife. With a flourish, Bunny dropped it into the box. It made a thump when it landed.

Bunny snapped the lid shut. Frowned and looked at the box as if she wasn’t sure what to do next. Smiled, like a lightbulb had gone off in her head, then twirled the box again. Once, twice, three times. Waved her hand over it. Murmured, “Magic words, magic words, magic words.”

Anyone who’d ever seen a magic act knew that the knife would disappear. Even so, Deirdre gasped when Bunny opened a side panel to reveal that it had. She closed that panel and opened the lid, peered in, and gave a momentary look of surprise. Then she reached in and began pulling out a shiny red silk scarf. Knotted to the end of it was a green scarf. Then a yellow one. Scarf after scarf streamed from the box until there were no more.

“
Et voilà!
” Bunny said with a wave of her arm, sending the string of scarves flying in a zigzag overhead before stuffing them back into the box.

Martin applauded. Deirdre applauded. Bunny tucked the magic box under her arm and took a little bow. “I’m sorry, Martin, that you had to bother coming all the way up here for nothing,” she said.

“Not a bother,” Martin said. “Never a bother, Miss Nichol. Wouldn’t have missed this for anything.” He dropped Deirdre’s wallet into her messenger bag and transferred it into Bunny’s arms. “You’re sure there’s nothing more I can do?”

“I’m sure. Thank you. Thank you so much,” Bunny said. She rose on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his cheek. Martin flushed so red that for a moment the lipstick smear she’d left on his cheek seemed to disappear.

A minute later Deirdre stood alone with Bunny, watching the security car disappear down the driveway.

Bunny turned to face Deirdre, hands on her hips. “So.”

Deirdre’s first instinct was to apologize, but she was through apologizing. She was tired of being treated like a child who had to be lied to. “I thought you might recognize that knife.”

“Should I?” Bunny opened the messenger bag and, to Deirdre’s astonishment, pulled the knife from within it. Then she peered into the open bag. Lifting the edge of the yellow dress, she added, “I see you still have this. Where did you find it?”

“Among some things Henry says Dad told him to get rid of. I think that’s the same dress and knife that you showed my father the night Tito was killed. You told him you were keeping it for insurance. Insurance against what?”

Bunny’s eyes turned watchful. “How do you know that?”

“I . . . he told me.”

“He told you?”

Deirdre stared hard at Bunny, determined not to let her gaze drop to the bag Bunny was holding. The manuscript was in it, underneath the yellow dress.

“I asked, how do you know that?” Bunny repeated with a cold, hard look.

“He wrote about it in his memoir,” Deirdre said defiantly.

Bunny reared back, clearly shaken. “Where did you find this memoir?”

“Does it matter?”

“Where is it?”

“I gave it to Sy,” Deirdre said without missing a beat.

“You gave it to Sy?” Bunny narrowed her eyes and stared into Deirdre’s.

“He said he’d take it to his office. He thinks publishers will be all over it, given the content.”

“Your father wrote musicals and romantic comedies. He got paid to make things up.”

And you get paid to act,
Deirdre thought.

“Don’t you think it’s time people knew the truth?” Deirdre said, the words coming out strong and sharp even as her eyes filled with tears. “My father was here. He helped you move Tito’s body from Joelen’s bedroom. When he asked you where I was, you said he should be asking where Henry was.”

Henry.
Bunny mouthed the word as her eyes widened. “What else did he write about Henry?”

Deirdre tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “What I want to know is how did the dress I was wearing that night get like this?” She pulled it from the bag. “And how”—Deirdre waved her crutch—“did I get like this?”