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Authors: Ellen Hart

BOOK: Night Vision
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“A
h, the toxic smell of ozone,” said Cordelia, stopping for a moment and taking a deep breath. “I love airports.” She adjusted her sunglasses, then resumed her pacing.
Jane figured they'd have some time to wait before the plane came in, so she'd saved her big news until now. Besides, she always felt apprehensive in Cordelia's Hummer, as if it might launch a missile at any moment. “You'll never guess who walked into the bar at the Xanadu Club last night.” She leaned against the front of the truck, the runway directly in front of her. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, cool and breezy. In Jane's opinion, the ozone didn't add much.
Cordelia stopped again. She was the only one Jane knew who could pace in three-inch heels over cracked pavement and not break both her ankles. “Who?”
“David Carlson.”
She deadpanned. “You're kidding me.”
“Odd synergy, wouldn't you say?”
“You mean … are you saying he didn't know his sister was coming to town?”
“Had no idea.”
“Freaky.”
Today, Cordelia wore a bright red, yellow, and blue sundress. She looked like a human beach ball. This was one of Cordelia's more restrained outfits. While on their way to the airport, she'd said she wanted to tone herself down so that Joanna could take the spotlight. Jane complimented her on her sensitivity.
“Why's he here?”
“I'm not sure,” said Jane, looking up at the thin, wispy clouds spreading across the sky.
“He didn't say?”
“He said he needed a break, thought a road trip would be fun.”
“Sounds like you don't believe him.” She leaned back against the hood next to Jane.
“I'm not sure what to think. But something's not right.”
“And you know this how?”
“He looks terrible—like he hasn't slept in weeks.”
“You think he's ill?”
“I hope not.”
“Maybe there's trouble in paradise.”
“You mean Diego? He didn't mention that. On the other hand, he did kind of skirt the subject when Diego's name came up.” Jane pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her pants. “I'm worried about him, Cordelia.”
“Where's he staying?”
“Well, he was going to stay with me, but, see—”
Cordelia pushed off the hood and pointed at an approaching blip in the distance. Checking her watch, she shouted, “That's Joanna!” She began to wave frantically with both arms.
Jane wondered what Cordelia must look like to the pilot as the plane approached the runway. “Follow the bouncing ball,” she whispered.
“What?” said Cordelia.
“Nothing.”
As the small jet slowed and then taxied to the gate, Jane said, “We can't get past security without a ticket, so I guess we wait here. I figured there would be a swarm of reporters.”
“No paparazzi,” said Cordelia. “All information about Joanna has been stamped strictly Top Secret.”
A moment later the hatch opened. The stairs came down and Joanna descended. She had on dark glasses and was wearing beige linen slacks and a matching long, belted cardigan. Her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail. She looked glamorous, tanned, and healthy—but years older than the last time Jane had seen her. Jane tried to remember when that had been and decided it was probably close to eight years ago, when Joanna had invited Cordelia and Jane to Sandpoint for the big Fourth of July celebration. They'd stayed for a long weekend.
For the moment, all they could do was cool their heels. A few minutes later, Joanna came out of the doorway, followed by a man pulling a luggage cart. Cordelia charged up to her and gave her the official “Thorn bear hug.” Jane followed with one that was equally welcoming though less bone crushing. Joanna seemed happy to see them, but distracted. As they walked to the Hummer, she kept looking around, like she expected someone to leap out at her.
“There're no paparazzi,” said Cordelia, reassuring her. “You can relax. Only a few people at the theater know your schedule.”
“How was the flight?” asked Jane.
“Is
that
what you're driving these days?” Joanna asked as they approached the Hummer. She lifted up her dark glasses to get a better look.
“Sure is.” Cordelia beamed and patted the rear end. “Ain't she a beaut?”
“What's it get? Twenty feet to the gallon?”
“How come everyone wants to slam my car?”
“Ever think about the larger ramifications of the gas crisis, Cordelia? Our dependency on foreign oil?”
“I drive a Mini,” said Jane. “I figure that evens things out.”
The burly guy pulling the cart loaded the luggage into the back of the Hummer.
As they were about to get in, something fluttered at them from between the parked cars.
They all turned as a woman rushed up to the right rear bumper. “Hi,” she said, her eyes cast down. She seemed out of breath. “Can I talk to you for a second, Ms. Kasimir?”
Jane stepped in front of Joanna. “Can I ask what this is about?”
“I, ah … I was hoping that I could, you know … like … like, see, I'm a freelance journalist.”
“You want to interview me?” asked Joanna.
The woman smiled shyly, finally lifting her eyes. “I'm such a huge fan of yours. Maybe even your biggest fan. I realize I'm nobody in the scheme of things, and you're, like, this amazingly successful celebrity. I'm sure you get asked for interviews all the time by really important people. Maybe this seems ridiculous to you. I wouldn't blame you if it did. But if you could just give me, like, even fifteen minutes, it would be such an incredible honor.”
“Do you write for a particular paper or magazine?” asked Joanna.
“Well, like I said, I'm freelance.” She tucked one side of her chin-length brown hair behind her ear. “But I've had pieces in
The Rake. Minnesota Monthly. City Pages.
I don't make a living at it yet, but it's my dream that someday I will. Everyone should have a dream, don't you think?”
Jane noticed Joanna's eyes flicker. Something the woman said had touched her.
“Yes, actually, I do.”
“I'm a good writer. A really good writer, but sometimes I don't come across well in, like, interviews. I mean, like, sometimes I seem too aggressive, and at other times I'm not aggressive enough. I never get it right. But I know I could produce a piece on you we'd both be proud of. I don't want to bother you. I mean, just tell me to go away and I will. I'm used to being turned down.”
“What's your name?” asked Joanna.
“Hillary. Hillary Schinn. I live in Richfield with my dad. He's ill and I help take care of him. And then I also have a job. But I've got plenty of time to write. I wouldn't disappoint you, I promise.”
She was so eager, so earnest, thought Jane. She was attractive enough but didn't seem like she had much confidence.
“Do you have a card?” asked Joanna.
“No, but I wrote my information down for you.” Hillary opened her purse and took out a folded piece of paper. “It's my home number. I have a cell phone, too, which I included. Look, I know I'm asking a lot—that you're very busy. But if you've got a few minutes someday and you want to get together, well, I mean, I'd be so blown away. If you want, I could send you some of my articles.”
“Let me think about it.” Joanna took the paper and slipped it into the pocket of her cardigan.
“Okay, sure. Gee, it was so great to meet you. I hope you have a wonderful time here. Thanks. I guess … I mean, I suppose I should get going.” She backed away, smiling, her eyes locked on Joanna. “Thanks again. Really, this was so cool. Like, just meeting you, talking to you.” She disappeared behind a dark maroon minivan.
“Uff,” said Cordelia after she'd gone. “The price of fame, I guess. The weird ones are always out there waiting to pounce. I wonder how she knew when your plane would land.”
Jane thought it was a good question, but Joanna didn't say anything. She gazed after the young woman for a long moment, then climbed into the backseat of the Hummer.
On the way back to Minneapolis, Cordelia brought up the subject of David. “He's in town, you know.”
Joanna leaned forward, put her hand on the front seat. “You've actually seen him?”
“I have,” said Jane. “He came to my restaurant last night.”
“God, you don't know how glad I am to hear that. I've got to call Diego right away.”
“Why?” asked Cordelia, glancing at Jane with one eyebrow discreetly raised.
“Because David's been missing for weeks. Diego is out of his mind
with worry.” Joanna explained everything she knew, which confirmed Jane's initial impression that something was terribly wrong.
“Where's he staying?” asked Joanna.
“Well, he was planning to stay with me,” said Jane. “But there was an accident in the middle of the night. David went down to make himself something to eat. He must have left the faucet on in the kitchen because when I got up this morning, there was water all over the house. It caused some significant damage. David said he'd take care of it. He was really embarrassed. Said I would probably need to move out for a few weeks while the work is being done.”
“Where will you stay?” asked Joanna.
“At the Lyme House. My office has a big couch and a bathroom.”
“No you won't,” said Cordelia indignantly. “I won't hear of it. You'll move in with me.”
“No, really—”
“The matter is settled. If you stay at the restaurant you'll be working twenty-four/seven.”
“You're exaggerating.”
She held up her hand. “The issue is closed. Hattie and I will take good care of you and Mouse until you can return home.”
“And David can stay with me,” said Joanna.
Jane closed her eyes. She recalled what David had said. She was glad Joanna was in the backseat and couldn't see her expression.
“Actually,” continued Joanna, “this couldn't come at a better time. To be honest, I could use the company.”
“Any particular reason?” asked Cordelia. Her nose twitched the way it always did when she sensed a secret.
Joanna was silent for a few seconds. Glancing out the side window, she finally said, “Something happened before I left Sandpoint. I almost called you and canceled the trip.”
“What?” Cordelia nearly drove off the road.
“I didn't, so don't have a coronary. Look, I really don't want to get into it right now, but it … unsettled me.”
“But,” said Cordelia, staring at the road ahead, “you
will
talk about it eventually, right?”
Joanna turned to look at her. “You haven't changed a bit, have you.”
“Prurient to the core,” said Jane.
A slow grin broke over Cordelia's face. “I'm one of life's immovable objects, dearhearts. I am the sphinx. Always there, waiting and watching.”
 
 
Bel Air, California
Spring 1989
 
 
I
f Joanna had learned anything in her many years in Hollywood, it was that physical beauty existed in a very small pond, but that ugliness was an ocean. She had to admit to a certain shallowness when it came to the opposite sex. She liked male beauty. She'd been married twice since she arrived in Hollywood in the fall of 1981. Both marriages had been lust at first sight. Marriage number one had slowly given way to disinterest and finally outright disgust. Marriage number two never even got off the ground.
The famous director Freddy Kasimir had been the first to catch Joanna's eye. She must have caught his, too, because it wasn't long before they were a hot item in the tabloids, then engaged to be married. Somewhere along the way she was cast as the ingenue in his next movie. The marriage had given her the professional break she'd been praying for. Once the door was open, she walked through and never looked back. She hated to think that Freddy was simply a means to an end, but in the final analysis—in the biography somebody was bound to write one day—that's the way it would look. Freddy had been a clever man. When the sex got boring, as it always did, he was capable of decent conversation. Maybe she should have hung on to him. At the very least, he made her laugh, and that was saying something with the caliber of narcissistic bad boys she was currently dating. To a man, they'd all fallen in love
with their beauty and had a hard time wresting their attention away from the mirror.

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