One of Those Malibu Nights (17 page)

“You have a friend? Someplace to stay?” he said. “If not, we’ll get you a rental apartment for the time being.”

Ampara said she had friends, she was calling them now and she and the dog would go there.

The police arrived in minutes; they didn’t mess around in Beverly Hills and Bel Air. They surveyed the mess, inspected the alarm system, brushed everything for prints, took pictures and agreed it would be better not to let this leak to the media. “Don’t want to scare everybody,” was
what the detective in charge said to Mac, who knew him well from his guest appearances on his TV show. “What we need to do now is get in touch with Mr. Perrin and Miss Ray.”

“Doesn’t everybody,” Mac said. “Trouble is, she’s in France and nobody knows where he is.”

“Probably on some tropical island drinking mai tais and getting an expensive tan,” the cop said.

Mac didn’t think so but he wasn’t about to tell the cop that. He was just glad that Allie was away and that Ron Perrin had not been around for the main event.

Or maybe he had? It gave him something to think about.

The next morning, Mac drove to the address Jessie Whitworth had given, on Doheny in West Hollywood. If she was home, he’d ask to speak to her about Allie. If not it would give him a chance to check her out with the apartment manager, find out if she was a good tenant, what the manager thought of her.

The apartment building was not a bad one though he guessed the apartments themselves would be on the small side, studios and one-bedrooms, most likely. Still, it looked well maintained and there was a smart new canopy over the entrance. He pressed the button that said “J. Whitworth.”

There was no reply and he pressed again. When he got no answer he rang the bell for the apartment manager.

A woman answered. He told her he had seen the For Rent sign outside and was interested.

“Wait a minute, I’ll be right there,” she said.

She arrived in a hurry, all dressed up in a fluffy top, cropped jeans and strappy heeled sandals.

“I’m Mila. Gotta be quick,” she added with a cheerful grin. “I’m late for my date.”

“Sorry to bother you then,” Mac said. “It’s just that a friend of mine lives here. She told me how much she liked it, said she thought I would too. Jessie Whitworth’s her name.”

“Jessie?” Eager to show the apartment, she was already unlocking the door to 3J. She stepped aside, waving Mac through. “Wait a minute though, don’t I know you from somewhere?” She looked straight at him for the first time. “Oh my God, it’s
you,”
she said, stunned. “Mac Reilly from the TV show.”

Mac smiled. “Got it in one,” he said.

“But hey, what would you—I mean a famous man like you—be wanting an apartment like this for? I mean they’re nice but not in your league.” She caught Mac’s rueful glance and said, “Uh-uh, have I put my foot in it?”

“Well, it’s really for a woman I know,” Mac said. “I just don’t want it broadcast around. Right?”

“Right. I mean, of course. I’m the soul of discretion, anyone here will tell you that.”

“So how’s Jessie anyway?” Mac asked casually. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Jessie? Oh she and her friend left early this morning. Off on vacation. Cancún, in Mexico she told me. Lucky things.”

“Yeah,” Mac agreed, walking round the small apartment, opening cupboards, checking out the bathroom. “So who’s her friend?”

“Elizabeth, you mean?”

“I don’t think I know Elizabeth.”

Mila turned out to be far from discreet; in fact she was full of chat and ready to diss anyone and everything.

“A bit haughty, I thought,” she said. “Though I guess she’s nice enough. Tall and blond, kinda thought she was gorgeous and heading for Hollywood’s hot spots. In fact she looked a bit like Allie Ray, the movie star. You know who I mean?”

Mac agreed that he did. “Cancún, eh?” he commented thoughtfully as they walked back outside. “Well, thanks for showing me the apartment, Mila. I think it’s a bit small for what I wanted, but if I change my mind I’ll let you know.”

“Thank
you
, Mac Reilly,” she said, giving him a hopeful flirtatious smile. “You can call me any time.”

Back in the car, Mac got Roddy and Lev on the Bluetooth in a conference call and filled them in. “Elizabeth Windsor’s a blond Allie Ray look-alike,” he told them. “A copycat.”

“Maybe
a jealous
copycat,” Roddy said.

“And I’ll bet a
dangerous
copycat,” Lev agreed.

“Anyhow, she’s Jessie Whitworth’s roommate, and Jessie had access to the Bel Air house keys and I’ll bet she also knew the code for the alarm.”

“Bingo,” Roddy said.

“Anyhow, the two of them left for Cancún this morning. Taking a little vacation.”

“Are you sure that’s their destination?” Roddy said.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Mac said. “But Allie’s at the Hôtel du Cap. And nobody will get in there, not with all the extra security for the Film Festival. In fact, I’ll call her right now and tell her what’s going on.”

But when he called she did not answer. And when he called the Hôtel du Cap he was told Miss Ray had already left.

Mac heard about Allie’s disappearance on the car radio, driving north on PCH, on his way to the Malibu Fish Company for a quick lunch with Roddy.

The news reporter said the movie star had left the gala dinner in Mougins alone and been driven to Nice airport. She had not boarded a flight and she had not been seen since.

Since her new movie had received scathing reviews, they said perhaps Allie was simply avoiding the press. But there were also rumors about her marriage being on the rocks, and about Perrin’s penchant for another woman, and after all, Allie was about to hit forty. They said there was more trouble in Allie Ray’s life than the average fan knew about.

“But hey,” the newscaster added with a smile in his voice, “that’s Hollywood for ya. On top one minute, down the next. So? Is it goodbye, Allie Ray?”

Mac made a quick right into the parking lot then walked to the wooden shack that sold fresh fish to take out, if you were lucky enough to have a woman at home who could actually cook, that is. Otherwise you sat outdoors at scarred wooden benches and they cooked huge platters of fresh snapper or halibut, or almost any other type of sea creature, with mounds of fries that would satisfy any carb addict’s soul.

He ordered the Cajun salmon sandwich, took his number and went and sat on the upper deck with a view of the beach and the pushy gulls begging for scraps and squadrons of brown pelicans zooming past, and the sun casting a golden glow. It was another beautiful day in California. Sheltered from the breeze by a clear plastic awning, he drank his Diet Coke, waiting for Roddy and thinking what to do about Allie.

He wished now that he had said yes when she’d asked him to accompany her to Cannes. But that would have been wrong, it wasn’t his place to intrude on her life. Besides, it would have caused havoc with his relationship with Sunny.

He checked his watch. Twelve noon. Nine p.m. in France. He dialed Allie’s cell. It rang but there was no reply. Still, her phone worked and if he knew women she wasn’t going anywhere without it, so she had to be somewhere around.

He drummed his fingers on the table worried that she had not at least gotten in touch with
him
. She knew whatever happened, he was on her side.

He checked his watch again. Roddy was late. His order number was called and he loped down the wooden steps to pick it up. Biting into his Cajun salmon sandwich he called Sunny.

She was at the spa having a massage but she took his call anyway, to the annoyance of her masseur who grumbled that it ruined the whole aura. Mac could hear new age music whining in the background. He didn’t understand why they always had to play Enya to soothe your soul. What was wrong with a little Bach?

“Allie’s gone missing,” he said, taking another bite of the salmon.

“Where’s she gone?” Sunny said.

“If I knew she wouldn’t be missing, would she?”

“Ohh. Right. Well, after those reviews I’m not surprised. She probably wanted to get away for a bit of peace and quiet.”

“She hasn’t contacted anybody.”

“Not even you?”

“Right.” He waited a minute then he said, “If she doesn’t show up soon I might have to go and find her.”

Sunny’s groan rang in his ear.

“It’s not what you think,” he said quickly.

“That’s what they all say.”

“Jesus, Sunny, give me a break. The woman is missing. Her husband is missing. And his girlfriend is still waiting for him in Rome.”

“How d’you know that?”

“She e-mailed me yesterday. She’s panicked, doesn’t know what to do.”

“Isn’t Demarco taking care of her? Or the Italian producer?”

“I guess so. I might have to go to Rome too. Find out what’s going on there.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Okay.”

“Oh.” Sunny had thought he would object. “Well, maybe I’ll let you go on your own this time,” she said. “I’ve got a job that needs my presence.”

“I’ll miss you,” Mac said, grinning.

“Huh. Right. Of course you will. Anyway, where are you now?”

“Waiting for Roddy. Eating a Cajun salmon sandwich at the fish place on PCH. With the wind in my hair and loneliness in my heart …”

“You bastard,” Sunny said. But he could tell she was laughing.

Roddy pranced up the steps, holding a giant-size Coke and a shrimp cocktail.

Mac said, “I keep telling you, you should get Diet. You’ll get fat drinking that.”

“Fat? Me? I’d poison myself first!” Roddy tossed his blond head, ever the drama queen. “Anyhow you’re the one who’ll put on weight. Just look what you’re eating.” He waved a shrimp, minus cocktail sauce, in front of Mac’s eyes. “Stick with me, Mac Reilly. I know what’s good for you.”

“I’m hoping you know something else,” Mac said.

“Like who broke in and slashed all Allie’s frocks? I wish I knew.”

“What else?” Mac asked.

“I’ve got all the dirt on Perrin. And trust me, it’s juicy.”

“Just tell me what he’s been up to, businesswise.”

“Okay! So. Perrin’s business dealings are a very tangled web indeed. Multiple companies, multiple transfers, multiple everything. There’s no way to trace where money comes from, or where it goes, though the Caymans and the Bahamas are strongly suspected. Perrin flies to both places frequently, on his own jet, always with the excuse of a fishing or gambling trip, and always in the company of half a dozen or so male friends. No women this time.”

“So I guess we can assume Perrin took more with him than just his male buddies.”

Roddy nodded. “Anyways, the FBI caught on to it, and Perrin found out. That’s why he’s a frightened man.”

Mac said, “Plus Allie’s attorneys are demanding a full accounting. Which obviously Perrin couldn’t give.
And
he had Marisa lobbying either for marriage or money. Who really knows which? And then there’s the case of the missing woman, Ruby Pearl.”

“Ruby Pearl?” Roddy cocked his head inquiringly. “Sounds like the poor girl’s mother was into jewelry! Am I wrong, or did I miss something?”

Mac told him the Lipski story and about his break-in at Perrin’s, and that he’d seen Demarco also looking around the house.

“I can’t find anything much on Demarco,” Roddy said. “Except like Perrin he seems to have an awful lot of spare
cash. He just built a large house in the desert y’know. A very classy area, movie folk and celebs and just plain rich folk. Our Mr. Demarco is mingling with the best.”

“I’m not surprised. Which reminds me … Mac took out his cell and placed a call to Lipski.

Lipski said, “I hope you have some satisfactory news for me, Mr. Reilly.”

Mac sighed. The poor guy was desperate. “Not yet. I’m sorry, Lipski. I checked the Malibu house—absolutely zero of any interest. I’m off to France for a few days, but I’ll tell you what, when I get back I’ll also check out Perrin’s Palm Springs place. You got the address?”

He wrote it down, said goodbye and looked at Roddy, who was looking back at him, a question in his widened eyes.

“’Scuse me?” Roddy said.
“France?”

Mac glanced at his watch. “If I move my butt I can be on the late afternoon Air France to Paris.”

“Paris?”

“Then the flight to Nice. Be back in a couple of days.”

“Thanks very much for telling me.” Roddy turned his head away huffily. “I don’t suppose you’re gonna tell me
why
you’re off to France.”

“Allie Ray. She’s gone missing.”

Roddy’s head swung back. His eyes opened wide. “No shit. And you’re setting off on your charger. The cavalry to the rescue of the poor missing maiden?”

Mac grinned. “Darn right I am,” he said.

Sunny paced her condo with Tesoro nipping at her heels, demanding to be picked up, but for once her mind was not on the Chihuahua. She was wishing she had gone to France with Mac. She had recognized Allie’s despair and her isolation, and was concerned about her. Women—especially famous ones—didn’t just go missing. But wasn’t that exactly what Allie had said about her husband, Ron? And he was missing too.

Before he left Mac had brought Sunny up-to-date on Perrin’s possible money-laundering activities. Mac said Perrin had done it before and now it looked as though he was doing it again.

“Once a thief,” Sunny had said and Mac had agreed she was probably right.

She stared out at the expensive boats in the marina. Maybe she would go out with a couple of her girlfriends tonight, sink a couple of martinis at one of the local bars, try a little “fine dining” …

She picked up Tesoro, who bit her hand just for the hell of it. Scowling, she walked into the bedroom to check her closet in search of something to wear.

She picked up the pair of shorts lying on the floor and put them into the laundry hamper. As she did so, a piece of paper fell out of the pocket. Impatient, she threw it into the wastebasket.

Wait a minute though. Those were the shorts she’d worn when they’d broken into Perrin’s house. And that must be the piece of paper she’d grabbed from the Hummer’s side pocket.