Wishbones (23 page)

"Did you discover anything from Ricardo?" Tinkie asked as she began to help tidy up the kitchen.

I told them about his journal and the marijuana. "No serious drugs. No amphetamines or things like that."

"No prescriptions?" Graf asked.

I shook my head. "I think his mood swings are emotional. He's worried about Estelle."

"While we were in town, I stopped by Estelle's apartment. Regena still hasn't heard from her, and now she's getting worried," Graf said.

"She was very willing to talk to Graf," Tinkie said, a teasing note in her voice. "She would have told him anything he asked, I think."

"I have a very effective interrogation technique," Graf said.

"You have a handsome face, a beautiful body, and a way with the women," Tinkie responded. "We could use that at Delaney Detective Agency."

Tinkie looked as if she wanted to take the words back, but she couldn't. There it was, the question that we each knew had to be faced eventually. Was I an actress or a private investigator?

"Almost all of the television PIs are handsome." Graf was doing his best to patch the silence. "Magnum, Rockford. A man can have good DNA
and
a brain."

"Both of those stars are delicious," Tinkie agreed, "but are they really intelligent? I mean, can a man be both things at once?" She hid her smile as she began pouring liquor in a blender. "This isn't the time to worry about tomorrow. Where are we going for dinner?"

I hadn't told them about the woman in red at the staircase, or what she'd said to me, and as I took the margarita that Tinkie offered me, I debated whether I should. The problem was, I couldn't get her out of my mind. She'd been a terrifying presence.

"Are you okay, Sarah Booth?" Graf asked.

"I need to speak to Daniel Martinez. He was mentioned in Ricardo's journal. While you two get ready for dinner, I'm going to find him. It won't take ten minutes."

Graf and Tinkie exchanged a glance I couldn't read. "He was at the gate when we came in," Graf offered.

"I'll wait for you there. And I'm starving." Still clutching my drink, I headed out the front door and down the drive to the gates.

I saw Daniel's silhouette standing in the doorway of the small office where a security guard checked vehicles in and out. Since the last days of filming had gone without incident, most of the paparazzi had moved on to fresher meat. Without the scent of tragedy or scandal, they had nothing to follow, so they'd left.

I recognized Daniel from a good distance away, and I slowed my pace as I realized he was talking to someone on a cell phone.

When I got close enough to hear what he was saying, he saw me and snapped shut the phone.

"Ms. Delaney, what can I do for you?" he asked.

"Tell me about Estelle."

"I believe she's returned to California," he said. The man was smooth, I had to give him that.

"Really," I said with a hint of sarcasm. "Do you know that for a fact?"

Concern slipped into the furrow between his eyebrows. He cleared his expression with an effort. "Her father told me she'd returned to Malibu. I haven't seen her hanging around the house."

"And would you report it if you had?" I asked.

He knew I was on to him, and in the light from the guard booth, I watched him decide how to play his hand. "So you know Estelle and I are . . . friends." It was a statement, not a question.

"Don't you think that was something you should have told your employer?"

He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "Perhaps. But maybe not. I've done the job he paid me to do."

"Let me count the ways I disagree with you. I was nearly drowned, Jovan has been pushed down stairs, my friend Tinkie was attacked in the house--"

"Attacked! No, that's not possible. And anyway, Estelle is gone."

"So you admit you knew she was responsible for what happened to me and Jovan."

He sighed and waved me into the guard shack where two stools were almost knee to knee. "I'll tell you what I know," he said. "The truth is, I'm worried about Estelle. I've called her house in Malibu repeatedly. She doesn't answer. Her roommate in town hasn't seen or heard from her. Estelle is like the wind--she blows from place to place. But she always calls and checks in. Always."

Not everyone on the set could be an actor, so I believed the worry in Daniel's face. He cared about Estelle, and he was concerned for her. "When was the last time you saw her?" I asked.

"Her father made me escort her out of the house. You were there. You saw it."

I nodded.

"I took her back to her apartment. Regena was there and we both talked to her. We told her she was going to end up in jail. Federico is Petaluma's star. He's like a national hero, and if he snapped his fingers, the local authorities would lock Estelle up, at least until Federico finished filming."

I hadn't realized that the director carried such weight in Petaluma, which begged the question of why he didn't want some officers to check out the mansion once Joey had fallen and nearly been killed. That was when action should have been taken. He could have stopped this before it got started.

"What did Estelle say? What were her plans?"

"She promised me that she'd stop bothering the film crew. She'd meant to frighten you with the ghost stories. That's all. She never meant for anyone to be hurt. She was going to Malibu. She'd given up, she said."

"Did she admit to any of the incidents that happened at the mansion?"

He shook his head, and the furrow deepened. "Only the cameras and the balustrade. But she never meant for anyone to fall. She thought the railing would give only enough to halt filming. She insisted that her mother was unhappy with the film crew in the house." His gaze dropped, but he continued talking. "She truly believes her mother's ghost is there, angry at the people in her home."

I cleared my throat softly. "And what do you believe, Daniel?"

When he looked at me, I was unprepared for the directness of his gaze. "I love her, Ms. Delaney. She's troubled. I know that. She was hurt so deeply in her past that she can't overcome it without help, but I'm willing to see that she gets that help."

I put a hand on his knee. "Does Federico know how you feel about his daughter?"

He shook his head. "Ricardo knows. I told him when he offered me the job. I think that's one reason he made sure my security firm was hired. He loves his sister, even if he thinks she's insane."

"And what do you believe about the ghost of Carlita?" I was cheating, trying to get a consensus of opinions before I made up my mind.

"I've never seen the ghost. Other people claim that they have. And Estelle certainly believes it. But she's still that little girl desperate for her mother's love and attention. She wants it to be true, because that's the only chance she'll ever have to know Carlita."

Daniel was not only a security guard, he was also familiar with human behavior. "What's your story, Daniel?"

He looked surprised, then sheepish. "I'm working toward a degree in psychology. I want my own practice. I met Estelle in class at the local university." He rubbed his chin again. "Estelle is messed up in some ways, but she isn't dangerous. She wouldn't push Jovan down the stairs. And she wouldn't have tied you up to drown or attacked Mrs. Richmond."

When I looked at him, hard, he held his ground. "She wouldn't do that," he said. "She might try to scare you out of the house, or even threaten. But she would not harm anyone."

"How can you be so certain?" I asked.

"Because I know her. I love her. It's as simple as that."

And perhaps it was--or not. Because Daniel believed her, he might not have been as vigilant in watching her as he should have.

"You're positive you haven't seen or heard from Estelle since that time you escorted her from the building?"

The way he licked his lips was a dead giveaway. He was going to lie.

"I haven't," he said.

"Thanks, Daniel." There was no point backing him against the wall, but I believed Estelle had been in the house--and that Daniel Martinez knew it.

The only thing I knew for certain was that the security forces hired to protect all of us were not as effective as Federico thought.

I left the guard shack and was standing in the pool of light when Tinkie and Graf came tearing down the driveway, ready for dinner.

When we returned, I would talk with Federico. Perhaps I would seal my fate as an actress. But I had to do it.

Graf pulled me into his arms and kissed me, long and thoroughly. My body yearned to yield to him and forget the chore I'd set for myself. When we'd come in after dinner, Federico's door was closed, and there was no sign that he or Jovan had been in the kitchen. They were most probably sound asleep.

Graf and I were in the hallway outside my room. I'd hoped that he would wait for me in bed while I had a talk with Federico, but Graf had other ideas.

Tinkie had gone to her room, full of a wonderful seafood dinner. Chablis was healing, and she knew she'd be winging her way back to the Mississippi Delta in little more than a day. Graf was of the opinion that we'd done all we could for the moment. He wanted to make love to me--an option that was becoming more and more difficult to resist.

"Sarah Booth, come to bed," he whispered in my ear, knowing full well the effect it would have on me. Shivers raced along my skin. Graf was not above applying unfair tactics.

"Give me ten minutes," I said.

"No." He kissed my neck, moving up to my earlobe. "Come to bed."

He was turning me from a responsible actress/private investigator into a wanton. My will crumbled, and I put my arms around his neck, kissing him back. As much as I wanted to talk to Federico about his past with Vincent Day, I wanted Graf more.

I found the doorknob of my room with one hand, opened it, and pulled Graf inside. The night was warm, and the doors to the balcony were open. The curtains puffed on the breeze, and for one indefinable moment I thought I saw the figure of a woman in the billowing material. But then it was gone, and I gave Graf every shred of my attention. I meant to bring
Graf to his knees, literally. And I spent the next hour doing just that.

After Graf had fallen asleep, I couldn't stop thinking about Jitty and her insistence that Graf and I would have a beautiful child. Graf had mentioned wanting children. I'd always assumed that I would have one eventually. Or maybe two. Not more than that.

My parents had had only me, and once I'd asked Loulane why. She'd frowned and said, rather sharply, I thought at the time, that my mother said that once she achieved perfection, there was no need to try again. The memory of that conversation made me smile. Aunt Loulane was never one to give out such bounteous praise. She was afraid she'd spoil me and I would become worthless, or worse.

Graf turned in his sleep, and I shifted so that I spooned against him. It was funny how love came in such different varieties. I had loved Coleman, but it was different from the love that was growing for Graf. Coleman was arid soil. No matter how much I'd cared for him, nothing could grow there. Not that he didn't care for me. I understood that he did. But not enough to change his life or give up his idea of who he was. Honor had claimed him, and kept him tied to Connie and her lies. There was no room to grow the love that had sprouted between us.

I heard the jingle of silver bracelets, and I was aware that Jitty was in the bedroom. I pulled the sheet up to my shoulders, causing her to give a low chuckle.

"I've seen you in your birthday suit since the day you were born," she said.

"You can't be in here," I hissed at her. "This is private time."

"Graf sleeps sounder than that hound dog. He won't never know we had a chat."

"I'm not in the mood for a chat." All I needed was for Graf
to wake up and hear me talking to what he would assume was myself. Psycho ward for sure--right beside Estelle. And perhaps that was why I had such sympathy for her, I suddenly realized. She wanted to be haunted, and I was.

"How long does it take cotton to grow?" Jitty asked.

I couldn't get a good look at her. The room was too dark. "Why are you asking that now?"

"Just tryin' to calculate the maturation of a crop."