One of Those Malibu Nights (30 page)

Demarco had finished the vodka. The TV was still blaring, only now it was some newscaster talking fast.

Breaking news, he said.
“A woman’s body has been found in famous movie producer Renato Manzini’s villa.”
Demarco couldn’t understand the details but he got the picture, and also that Ronald Perrin’s name was mentioned several times.

How convenient, he thought, settling back with a grin. They obviously suspected Perrin not only of killing Ruby but now also Marisa. He took the yellow diamond ring from his pocket, twisting it in his fingers, watching it sparkle. He couldn’t just leave it on her finger after he’d killed her. It must be worth over a hundred thou. Besides, nobody really knew she had it. He’d be able to sell it secretly, later, when Perrin was doing life for her and Ruby’s murders and the fuss had died down.

There was more breaking news, though.
“A scoop, as yet undisclosed on any other show. Not even the as yet unbroadcast show by the French TV journalist who had discovered her
.

“Allie Ray, the movie star wife of Ronald Perrin, missing since the Cannes Film Festival, has been found working as a waitress at the Bistro du Manoir, near Bergerac in France.”

A map flashed on the screen showing the region and pointing out the exact village.

Demarco stared blankly at the TV. With Perrin missing and now a prime murder suspect, only one person stood between himself and all the money in Perrin’s private offshore accounts. And only that person could know the correct numbers.

He packed his bag, checked out of the motel and drove to the airport. He took a flight to Bordeaux. It was less than a couple of hours’ drive from there to Bergerac and the village where Allie Ray was living.

He didn’t know it, but he had a good start on the other people on Allie’s trail.

Sunny got Mac’s text message on the Cessna flying to Bergerac:

Mac to Sunny:
DEMARCO IS THE KILLER. DO NOT KNOW HIS WHEREABOUTS. ALLIE HAS ACCOUNT NUMBERS DEMARCO WANTS. HE MAY BE ON HER TRAIL. TAKE GREATEST CARE. IN OTHER WORDS SUNNY PLEASE DO NOT DO ANYTHING SCARY AND RISKY. WHEN U FIND ALLIE STAY WITH HER. HIRING FASTEST AVAILABLE JET WILL MEET U THERE. CALL ME AND WAIT TILL I GET THERE. LOVE U …MAC

Sunny to Mac:
SINCE WHEN DID I EVER DO ANYTHING FOOLISH OTHER THAN BREAKING AND ENTERING (THREE TIMES) AT YOUR REQUEST; SPRAINING AN ANKLE WHILE ON TRAIL OF A KILLER; ALMOST GETTING MYSELF KILLED IN AN EARTHQUAKE (WITH U) AND OPENING A REFRIGERATOR
WITH A BODY IN IT (ALSO WITH U) AND ALMOST GETTING STRANGLED. WHAT DO U EXPECT FROM GLAMOROUS PI (IN TRAINING)? WILL CALL WHEN MISSION COMPLETED. ANYWAY WHAT HAPPENED WITH PERRIN? AND YES SINCE U DIDN’T ASK I DO LOVE U THOUGH THERE ARE MOMENTS WHEN I WONDER WHY. ANYHOW HOW DO U KNOW DEMARCO IS KILLER AND NOT PERRIN
?

Mac to Sunny:
TRUST ME I KNOW. MUST GET TO ALLIE BEFORE DEMARCO FINDS HER. URGENT AND DANGEROUS. I WISH I’D NEVER SENT U ALONE
.

Sunny to Mac:
HAH! I’LL TAKE CARE OF IT DON’T WORRY. AM CALLING BISTRO DU MANOIR SOON AS I GET OFF THIS—RATHER NICE—PLANE. COULD GET USED TO THIS. BY THE WAY WHO IS PAYING FOR IT? DIDN’T I TELL U YOU’D NEVER GET RICH?

Mac to Sunny:
BE SERIOUS. BE CAREFUL. BE MINE. SUNNY TO MAC: OH MY GOD … I THOUGHT YOU’D NEVER ASK
…

Mac to Sunny:
I THOUGHT U ALREADY WERE MINE … SERIOUSLY SUNNY THIS IS DANGEROUS
.

Sunny to Mac:
FORGET DANGER. THERE’S BEING YOURS AND “BEING YOURS.” WE MUST TALK ABOUT THIS. I’LL BE CAREFUL
.

Mac to Sunny:
THANK GOD. CALL ME WHEN U ARRIVE
.

Allie had been invited to dine at the Château Montfort. It was Saturday and Petra had given her the night off, “for good behavior,” she’d said. Then she’d winked and added, “Not that I expect you to keep to that.”

However, this was not the rendezvous for two Petra and Allie had expected. It turned out that Robert had invited eight other guests.

Allie was in her room, getting ready. Dearie was sprawled on the chintz-cushioned window seat, his favorite place to sleep, keeping a reproachful eye on her, as though he already knew that this time he was not included on the guest list.

Allie twisted and turned in front of the spotty triplicate mirror over the dresser. She had traveled light when she ran
away and did not have much choice. Now she was wearing a cream skirt that hit just above the knee and a thin black cashmere sweater that left her shoulders bare. Her only jewelry was the gold hoops and her wedding band. Somehow she still could not bear to take that off. It was too final.

She brushed her hair, which now looked the way Audrey Hepburn used to wear hers, falling in short bangs over her forehead. Then she put on the disguise glasses and sprayed on a little Chanel. She peered into the mirror again, wondering if she still looked like Mary Raycheck. Feeling suddenly lost, neither one thing nor the other, she went and sat on the edge of the bed, wishing she had said no to tonight and didn’t have to go. She was remembering the woman she used to be when she was Ron’s lover and then his wife. It seemed a lifetime ago.

Petra had already left for the Bistro and the house seemed too empty. Allie hated to leave Dearie, but she gave him a farewell kiss and made for the door. Of course the dog followed her. She stopped in the kitchen and gave him a chew bone. “I’ll be right back,” she told him.

It was the first time she had been to the Château Montfort and she found it hidden at the end of a tree-lined drive, emerging like a surprise in all its symmetrical pale limestone glory. There was a columned entry atop a shallow flight of steps and tall French windows that reflected the lights within. Other cars were parked in the gravel circle.

Allie pulled down her skirt, smoothed her hair, took a deep breath and marched up the steps to meet her fate. If Robert Montfort was to be her fate, that is. She still didn’t know.

“Welcome,
chérie,”
he said, kissing her three times, first on one cheek then the other, then back again, in that welcoming way the French have for intimate friends. He looked appreciatively at her, then said, “Come with me, beautiful woman. I want to introduce you to my friends. In fact you already know one of them. Félice de Courcy. She surprised me by showing up unexpectedly.”

Oh God, the Paris blonde was here
. Remembering Félice’s behavior last time they had met, Allie’s heart sank. So, okay … “I’m happy to meet all your friends,” she said.

Taking her hand in his, Robert walked with her into the grand
salon
where the rest of the guests were drinking champagne. He made the introductions and mentioned that Mary might be interested in buying a cottage with a small vineyard attached.

People smiled welcomingly and the talk was general and mostly, for her sake, in English. Allie relaxed. Nobody was looking at her like she was anything special, just another pretty woman of which there were at least two others that night. Not counting the Paris blonde, who had taken up a stance near the fireplace, vodka tonic in hand, and who was watching her through narrowed eyes.

Fortunately, Robert had placed Félice at the far end of
the table, with Allie on his right, and all seemed well until the end of the evening, when they assembled once more in the beautiful pale-paneled
salon
for coffee.

“So, Madame Raycheck.” Félice was quickly at Allie’s side. “Tell me, how are you enjoying the quiet of the Dordogne? After Hollywood it must come as quite a culture shock.”

“Actually, it’s the other way round,” Allie said quietly. “Hollywood is always a culture shock.”

“And do you miss it? That other life?”

“Not especially.”

There was a cunning look in Félice’s narrowed eyes and a tight smile on her lips that made Allie nervous. Félice glanced at her watch, then turned to face the room, clapping her hands for silence.

“Messieurs et Mesdames, I have a surprise for you. Normally, I would not disrupt a party but this is special. It is time for my TV show.”

She pressed the button and a panel slid back revealing a TV set. Switching it on, she went to stand by Robert. He glanced at her, puzzled, then at Allie who was watching the lead-in to the program.

THE FéLICE DE COURCY SHOW
was imprinted over the journalist’s face and then she came into view.

Allie thought Félice looked pretty good on TV, blond hair swinging free, eyes narrowed in that habitual knowing
stare, elegant in a low-cut black silk jacket showing plenty of cleavage.

“Tonight, my friends, I have something very special for you. A ‘scoop’ you might call it. In fact two ‘scoops.’ Like ice cream only better.”

The other guests glanced at each other, smiling, but Allie didn’t understand completely what she was saying, only the word
scoop
.

“Missing billionaire Ronald Perrin is now wanted for questioning in the murders of two women, both reputed to be his ex-girlfriends.”

Allie’s face drained of color. She stood rooted to the spot, not even hearing as Félice’s voice droned on.

“The first woman is Ruby Pearl.”
A picture of a pretty dark-haired woman came to the screen.
“The second is Marisa Mayne.”
It was the glamorous redhead’s turn.

It wasn’t Ron
, Allie was thinking …
It couldn’t be him Ron could never kill a spider … he wouldn’t do that
…she’d swear to it …

Then suddenly her own face flashed onto the screen.
“Ron Perrin’s wife, the movie star Allie Ray, glamorous at the Cannes Festival on the arm of her director,”
Félice said.

“This is the last picture taken of the famous movie star before she too disappeared. Some said forever. And after the critical reviews of her last movie”
—Félice shrugged dismissively—
“who could blame her? Or could Ronald Perrin
have killed her too? But then
… “She was smiling into the camera now as another picture flashed onto the screen.
“Take a look at this. This is Mary Raycheck, a waitress at the Bistro du Manoir in the Dordogne.”

Allie gasped. It was the photograph Félice had taken with her cell phone that night at the Bistro. “Oh God,” she said, turning to run.

“Wait.” Robert grabbed her hand, glaring at Félice.

“So, my friends
, who is
Mary Raycheck? Well you and I and most of the world know her as Allie Ray. The ‘missing’ movie star. So Ronald Perrin did not kill her after all.”

The stunned faces of the other guests swung Allie’s way, but she didn’t wait for more.

The last thing she heard was Félice’s laugh as she fled, and Robert calling out to her to wait and that it was okay.

It was not okay. She was Allie Ray again and now everybody knew it. And Ron was wanted for murder.

Paradise was lost.

Allie drove back through the narrow country lanes as thunder rumbled all around. Then quite suddenly the rain came down, sloshing across the windshield in a mini-waterfall the wipers had trouble keeping up with. Allie’s tears matched the rain and she was forced to a crawl.

Lightning lit up the beautiful valley bright as a carnival fairground, then darkness settled over her again and she peered through the windshield, looking for the safe lights of “home.”

Dearie heard the car and was waiting for her, tail wagging enthusiastically as she rushed in through the kitchen door, brushing rain and tears from her face. She stopped, surprised.

Petra and another woman were sitting at the kitchen
table, drinking wine, deep in conversation. Their backs were toward her and their heads swiveled as they heard her come in.

“Oh, hi, Allie,” Sunny Alvarez said, sounding relieved. “Am I glad to see you.” But then Sunny’s face fell. “Oh my God,” she said in a kind of breathless way that sounded scared.

Allie stared at them puzzled. Both women were looking past her. She turned to look and saw Demarco standing there.

She said, astonished, “What are you doing here?”

Demarco took a step toward her. “Ron asked me to find you, Allie,” he said. “He’s my friend and now he’s in trouble. I’m helping him. He wants me to get his private account numbers, the ones you have on your laptop. He needs them now more than ever. If you give them to me, I’ll be on my way back to him.”

Allie looked at Sunny and Petra. They were sitting perfectly still, eyes glued on Demarco. She looked back at him and this time noticed the hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. She took a quick wary step backward, still not quite understanding.

“That’s my ex-husband’s hunting rifle,” Petra said suddenly. “Where did you get it?”

Demarco shrugged. “You should not leave your doors open, madame. And rifles should be kept in locked cupboards.” He turned to Allie.

“Come on, Allie, let’s just go get them,” he said.

“Where’s Ron?”

He sighed. “I’m afraid Ron’s wanted on two counts of murder. That’s why he’ll need his money. It’s better if you and I cooperate, my dear. We’ll sort out all the problems together. All I want from you are those account numbers.”

Allie knew what he was talking about now. Ron had put the coded numbers on her computer a long time ago. So long ago, in fact, that she had erased them.

“I erased them,” she said truthfully.

Demarco’s cold eyes told her he didn’t believe her. He said, “Well isn’t that too bad. Then I suggest we go look again.” In a quick movement he grabbed her arm.

Sunny screamed and Dearie gave a warning growl.

“He’s the killer, Allie,” Sunny yelled. “He almost killed me a couple of days ago, and now he’ll kill us all if necessary. He’s
crazy
, Allie—”

Demarco took a step toward Sunny and backhanded her so hard her head snapped.

“Shut up, you interfering Mexican slut,” he snarled.

Dearie gave a warning growl and jumped to his feet. Sunny bit her lip hard in an effort not to cry, and Petra clutched her hand under the table.