Читать книгу Life Of Lies - Sharon Sala - Страница 9
ОглавлениеThe house phone rang as Lucy was wiping off the counters. She tossed the dishrag back into the soapy water as she went to answer it.
“Hello?”
“This is Detective Colin Shaw, Homicide. May I speak to Miss Travis?”
“Just a moment, please,” she said, and hurried out of the kitchen and through the house to Sahara’s bedroom suite. The door was open. Sahara was stretched out on the sofa and staring out the window with the television on mute.
“Sahara, Detective Shaw on the phone for you,” Lucy said.
“Thank you,” Sahara said, and sat up as she reached for the phone.
“Hello, this is Sahara.”
“Miss Travis, Detective Shaw here. I have some information for you. Do you have a minute?”
“Yes, of course,” Sahara said. “What’s up?”
“Lab tests are back. You were right. It was cyanide in the food that killed Moira Patrick. We don’t have any leads at the moment, though we’ve been through the hate mail your manager sent over. We’re still studying everything, but I need you to try to remember if there’s anyone you can think of that you’ve recently had words with?”
Sahara closed her eyes. So nothing was supposition anymore.
“No.”
“Maybe someone you work with who seems envious of your position, or resents your success?”
“I’m telling you, Detective, there’s no one. I mean, it’s believable that they exist. No one escapes that in this business. But there hasn’t been anyone who’s said anything of the sort to my face.”
“When does filming resume?” he asked.
“I haven’t heard.”
“Well, then, be careful and remember that familiar faces do not necessarily belong to friends.”
Sahara shivered. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, and then hung up the phone and immediately called Harold.
Her manager was in the middle of quarterly tax reports and started to let it go to voice mail until he saw who was calling.
“Hey, honey, how are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m all right,” Sahara said. “I just got word that the food was, indeed, poisoned with cyanide. I need a favor from you.”
“Anything. What do you need?”
“The address and phone number of Moira Patrick’s parents.”
“Why?” Harold asked.
“Because I need to express my sympathies and let them know I intend to pay for her services.”
“I’ll do that for you first thing in the morning,” Harold said.
“No. No, you won’t. This is my job. I want to call them before the night is over, so please get it for me now.”
He sighed. “Yes, of course,” Harold said. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll get what you need.”
“Thank you, Harold. I appreciate this.”
“No problem. It’s part of the job.”
He disconnected and called Detective Shaw, rattled off what he needed and why, then sent the info to Sahara in a text and returned to doing taxes.
Sahara got the text and then stared at the number, trying to muster the courage to make the call. Basically, it came down to doing what was right, so she called, then waited.
A woman answered in a weak, shaky voice.
“Patrick residence. This is Amanda.”
“Hi...” she replied hesitantly. This call wasn’t going to be easy. “This is Sahara Travis calling. I’d like to speak to either one of Moira Patrick’s parents.”
“Oh, Miss Travis. I’m Moira’s mother.”
Sahara took a deep breath. “There are no words for how sorry I am about what happened to her.”
“Thank you, thank you,” Amanda said, weeping across the line. “Moira loved her job, and she admired you so much.”
“Thank you for that,” Sahara said, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I’d do anything to bring her back. She was a wonderful person. This is a nightmare, and we still have no idea who is responsible. But I want to let you know that I’ll be paying for the services myself. Not the company. Me. I wish with all my heart this had not happened.”
“That’s very kind of you but not necessary.”
“It’s important to me that I do this,” Sahara said. “I insist. I just need the name of the funeral home and I’ll cover the cost of whatever you choose for the arrangements.”
“Well, all right, then,” Amanda said. “Just a moment while I get the card to make sure I relay the proper address.”
“Why don’t you just send me a text with the information when you have time,” Sahara said.
“Yes, all right, and thank you again for this kindness.”
“It is the least I can do to honor a young woman I greatly admired. I can’t show up in person to the services—I wish I could, but between the mobs of people and the media...it wouldn’t be appropriate and you deserve peace when you have to say goodbye to Moira. But I want you to know my heart will be with all of you.”
Sahara waited for the text, then forwarded it to Harold with a note to cover the cost of everything from her personal account.
* * *
The next morning she got a call from Dr. Barrett’s office, asking for an update on her burn. Sahara informed them that the pain was lessening, but that she hadn’t taken off the bandage to look.
“Would you be available today for Dr. Barrett to stop by to check the injury?”
“Yes.”
“Great. He’ll be there within an hour or so.”
The moment the call ended, she went to the bathroom to get a towel and shampoo and quickly washed her hair at the kitchen sink. Then she hobbled back to the bathroom and toweled it dry. The thick, long curls were a menace to control, but that was what professional hair and makeup teams were for. She was fine with it on a day-to-day basis, and there was always someone around to fix it if it didn’t please the people who wrote her checks.
She was wearing pink shorts and a white T-shirt, her ode to a California summer, and as usual she was barefoot. She’d sent Lucy on an errand to get makeup and her brand of toiletries, so when Lucy Benton’s name popped up in caller ID, she answered without caution.
“Hello.”
“Who is this?” a man asked.
The male voice startled her. Her heart started to pound. Was this the man responsible for Moira’s death? Did he do something to Lucy? She didn’t want to be the reason people were dying.
“Where’s Lucy?” she demanded.
“Who’s Lucy?” he asked.
“She’s a friend, and you just called me using her phone.”
“Look, lady, I just found the phone in a shopping cart at Whole Foods and called the first name on the contact list. Just trying to help out.”
“Then please drop it off at the customer service counter. They’ll page her.”
“Yeah, all right.”
“I'm her boss, and I already took a picture of your face, so if you don’t turn in the phone, I will turn you in to the cops,” Sahara said, bluffing completely, but he didn’t have to know that.
“Well, hell, lady. How did you—”
“I see where you are, and it’s nowhere near customer service.”
“I’m going, I’m going there right now,” the guy said.
Sahara could hear him panting as he ran and then heard him turning the phone over at the counter just as she heard Lucy’s voice in the background.
“That’s my phone!”
“It was just in my basket, lady. I was on my way to turn it in, that’s all...”
“Oh! Then thank you very much,” Lucy said, as the manager at the counter took the phone, verified the info and handed it over.
Lucy pulled out a ten-dollar bill and gave it to the man who’d turned it in.
“Not a lot of honest people in the world anymore. I appreciate you turning this in.”
The guy took the ten, then waved it in front of Lucy and the phone.
“Turn the phone around...let that woman on the phone know that I did the right thing.”
Lucy frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, uh...I called the first number on your contact list trying to find out who owned the phone, and the woman said she took a screenshot of me talking to her and was going to turn it in to the cops if I didn’t hand over your phone. I mean, I was gonna do that anyway, but...well, you must be pretty important to have a boss who’ll do something like that.”
He walked away, poking the ten-dollar bill into his pocket, and the manager looked at Lucy in confusion.
“I’ve never heard of a phone that could take a picture of the person you’re talking to unless you were FaceTiming or something.”
Lucy grinned and put the phone to her ear.
“Hello, are you still there?” she asked.
Sahara was grinning. “Yes, I’m here. I heard it all.”
“Many thanks. I don’t know if I believe he would have brought it back if it hadn’t been for the story you sold him.”
“Are you okay, otherwise?” Sahara asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It must’ve slipped out of my purse when I was paying, I guess. Be there soon.”
“Good to know. Gave me quite a scare to hear a man’s voice calling from your number. Just for a moment I was afraid someone else had been targeted because of me. Be careful.”
“Of course,” Lucy said, and disconnected as she hurried outside and got into the car.
The sun was bright. It would be another hot day. She missed the changing weather from back home and, not for the first time, wished Sahara Travis lived in the hills.
* * *
By the time Lucy got back to the penthouse, Sahara was on the phone with Tom.
“I understand you have a burn on your foot,” Tom said.
“Yes, but it’s getting better. The doctor is coming by in a bit to change the dressing and check it out.”
“So if we resumed shooting soon, you’d be able to come to set?”
“Yes. You may have to shoot around a bare foot or something for a while, but I’m not bedridden by any means.”
“That’s good. Yes, yes, that’s good,” Tom said. “The investors are on my ass, so—”
“Don’t worry, Tom. Just send my car and the pages and tell me when to show up.”
“That’s great!” Tom said. “You’re a real trouper, Sahara. I’ve been trying to get a new trailer moved out for you, but—”
“There’s no need for that,” Sahara said. “I’m not superstitious, and I don’t intend to run from this creep. The trailer is fine as long as they’ve cleaned up the crime scene.”
“Of course,” Tom said. “Absolutely. See you soon.”
Sahara rolled her eyes at Lucy as she disconnected.
“That was Tom. He’s getting antsy. Sounds like we’re going to resume shooting soon.”
Lucy nodded. “Good. The sooner this is behind us all, the better.”
Sahara turned around and stared at Lucy a few moments and then walked out of the room. There were a whole lot of things she could say about how callous that sounded, but she wouldn’t. It had been a stressful experience for all of them. Maybe this was just how Lucy dealt with the strain of what had happened.
“Any death threats in my email?” she asked, changing the subject.
Lucy shook her head. “No, thank goodness.”
“Well, that’s good news. Oh, the doctor is coming here soon to change the dressing on my foot.”
Lucy pushed back from the computer and ran to catch up with her boss.
“Do you want something cold to drink? Raspberry tea maybe?”
“That sounds good. Yes, thank you,” Sahara said. “Do we have hummus and pita chips?”
Lucy grinned. “Does a bear—”
Sahara laughed. “I am in something of a rut with snack choices, aren’t I?”
Lucy grinned. “I’ll bring your snack. You get settled in wherever you want to receive the doctor.”
“In the living room,” Sahara said. “But not the one in my suite. The one we never use.”
Lucy went one way while Sahara went another. When Sahara reached the formal living room, she had a purpose in mind. She sat down at the baby grand, adjusted the seat and the pedals, and then ran her fingers up and down the keys. It was slightly out of tune, but it had been ages since she’d played, so maybe it wouldn’t matter.
She sat for a few moments with her fingers on the keys and her eyes closed, and then followed the music she heard in her head.
Lucy brought the snack and left it on the piano, but Sahara was lost in the song and didn’t look up.
* * *
Chris Barrett was about to ring the doorbell at Sahara Travis’s penthouse when he realized he was hearing piano music. He paused in the hall, smiling. Last time he’d heard music like this had been in his grandparents’ house when he was a kid. “Sentimental Journey” was a song out of their youth, and so were pianos.
Curious as to who was playing, he quickly rang the bell.
The personal assistant let him in again, but this time without criticism.
“Good morning, Lucy.”
“Morning, Dr. Barrett. Sahara is waiting for you in the living room.”
“Where’s that music coming from?” he asked.
“Oh, that’s just Sahara. She’s always playing grandma music.”
Chris was surprised, and when they reached the living room, he stopped and put a finger to his lips. Lucy left him alone to watch as Sahara played all the way through to the end. The moment she dropped her head and put her hands in her lap, he began to clap.
Sahara looked up. “Dr. Barrett!” she said, startled. “I didn’t realize you were here.” She stood and motioned toward the sofa. “Should we sit?”
“Sure,” he said, then waited until she crossed the room and plopped down on the sofa.
She smelled like the tropics, and Chris thought about what it would be like to come home to a woman like this every day.
“How has your foot been feeling? Any problems?” he asked, as he began removing the bandage.
“It hurt a lot the first night, but not so much now. We’re going to resume filming soon. I’m hoping it’s not going to present a problem.”
“Let me get the rest of this off so we can see what we have going here,” he said, and as soon as he had the bandage off, he gloved up and began examining the injury. “It looks better than I would have expected,” Chris said. “Healing quickly.”
“Family trait,” she said, and leaned forward for a better look. “The blister broke. That skin is coming off. What’s going to happen there?”
“We would expect the skin beneath to already be in a stage of regrowth, and it appears that it is. I’m going to remove a bit more of this dead skin, and then we’ll redress it and bandage it back up. Don’t wear any kind of shoe that rubs against the burn area.”
“How much longer before you would call it healed?”
“It’s hard to say.”
He heard her sigh. It obviously wasn’t the answer she wanted. He glanced up, fully intending to keep talking, but she was so stunning—even without a hint of makeup—that it caught him off guard.
Sahara frowned, then leaned forward and snapped her fingers in front of his face.
“Paging Dr. Barrett!”
He jumped. Well, damn it.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “But, uh, I have an excuse. I left my sunglasses in the car and...was blinded by your beauty?”
Sahara threw her head back and laughed.
“Oh Lord. Where did you hear that one?”
“My pool boy...on the phone yesterday...trying to talk his girlfriend out of being mad at him.”
Sahara laughed again. A doctor with a sense of humor. That was a nice change of pace.
“Did it work on her?” she asked.
Chris grinned. “Nope.”
“And yet you thought you could pull it off?” she said.
“I thought since I had age and this pretty face going for me, it might work.”
Sahara shook her head. “Nope. It’s a no go from me, too.”
“Well, it never hurts to try,” he said with a smile, and began packing up his bag. “As usual, I’m on the way to somewhere else. Take care, Miss Travis. I’ll check back in on you in another couple of days.”
“When can I get it wet?” she asked.
“When the skin isn’t so new and tender. Probably still a few days.”
She sighed again. “Not ideal, but thank you.”
Lucy appeared in the doorway as if by magic, just in time to see him out. She met Sahara on her way into the kitchen.
“Your timing is impeccable,” Sahara said.
Lucy shrugged. “I was eavesdropping in the hall.”
“At least you’re honest about it,” Sahara said with a grin.
“I didn’t sense a connection in the making. Was I wrong?” Lucy asked.
“No, you weren’t wrong at all,” Sahara said. “Do we have any shrimp left?”
“Yes. How does a shrimp cocktail sound?”
“Sounds delightful. And some iced tea. I don’t care what kind.”
Lucy nodded and began assembling plates and pulling food from the refrigerator.
“So, what did the doctor say about your foot?”
Sahara looked up and grinned. “You didn’t already overhear that, too?”
Lucy giggled. “No. Seriously, are you healing okay?”
“Yes, it’s just going to take time for the new skin to toughen up, but it will happen soon enough.”
“Okay, then,” Lucy said, and dug out the deli-made red sauce that Sahara liked and began assembling the tasty appetizers.
“Double up on that shrimp, please,” Sahara said. “This is lunch...not an appetizer.”
Lucy smiled and squeezed some more shrimp into place around the rim of the dish. She was digging in the pantry for poppy seed crackers when the house phone rang.
“I’ll get it,” Sahara said, and slid off the bar stool to pick up. “This is Sahara,” she said.
“Afternoon, Miss Travis. This is Adam. I have an envelope here for you from the studio.”
“Is the messenger still there?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I’m getting a little stir-crazy. How about I ride down to meet you at the elevator. You won’t have to leave your post, and I’ll pretend I just went on some lavish shopping spree.”
Adam laughed. “Yes, ma’am. That would be great. I’ll be there when the doors open.”
“On my way,” Sahara said.
“Pages already?” Lucy said.
“I think so. Tom certainly didn’t waste any time. I’ll be right back and I’ll let myself in.”
“Okay,” Lucy said, and continued assembling lunch as Sahara grabbed her keys and left the penthouse.
Just getting out into the hall between her apartment and the elevator felt like she was escaping. It angered her that she’d let some faceless coward run her to ground, hiding like a criminal. She punched in the code on the keypad. The doors opened. She walked in and rode down. Adam was waiting with the envelope as promised.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she said.
“My pleasure, Miss Travis. How’s your foot?”
“Slowly healing, and thank you again for being my knight in shining armor and getting a doctor to make a house call.”
He beamed. “Yes, ma’am. My pleasure. Have a nice day.”
“You, too,” Sahara said, and rode back up and let herself in.
She laid her keys on the table by the door and headed for the kitchen, opening the envelope as she went. Sure enough, it contained pages of the script with all of the dialogue and costume changes marked.
“We’re back in business, I guess,” Sahara said, as she laid the pages near her place setting and slid back onto the bar stool.
She scanned the memo on top and then leaned back with a sigh.
“It’s an early call tomorrow, and they’re sending a car for me, so you can just meet me on set.”
Lucy carried the food to the island.
“Sure thing,” she said. “I’ll stop by that little French pastry shop that you like and pick up some croissants, and I’ll also pick up your lunch. No need taking a chance on someone getting to your food again. It’s going from my hands to yours.”
“I appreciate that,” Sahara said.
“And I am happy to do it,” Lucy said. “So, what’s going on in the new scenes that required wardrobe changes?”
“I don’t know. Let me see,” Sahara said, and she plucked a cold peeled shrimp from the bowl and dredged it in the spicy cocktail sauce before popping it in her mouth.
* * *
After waiting to see if Sahara Travis would ever come back out of that penthouse, Bubba was getting antsy. Right after he learned that the wrong woman died eating the poisoned food, he’d begun preparing the next wave of attack. His plan? Bomb the elevator. It had to work because it was the only way she could leave her apartment.
He got the name of the company The Magnolia used for mechanical repairs and set the next step in motion. That meant finding someone to build and place the bomb. Once that happened, there was nothing he could do but wait.
It was midafternoon a few days later when he learned Sahara would be leaving the penthouse the next day. He contacted the bomber he’d arranged for with one text message.
Go fix the elevator. It needs to be in place this evening. She’ll be leaving the penthouse by 5:00 a.m.
The bomber reacted calmly. Everything was ready. He put on the disguise, slipped the bomb into a big yellow toolbox and then carefully covered it with tools and headed to The Magnolia. He circled the building several times before he saw a service vehicle pull around to the back. He waited until the vehicle left, then parked, grabbed his toolbox and headed inside.
There was a small hallway that led to a check-in window. He walked up, quickly eyeing the security camera in the far corner of the room behind the receptionist’s desk. He tapped on the counter to get her attention.
She looked up, recognized the uniform, saw a company ID tag from where she was sitting and smiled.
“How can I help you?” she asked.
“Got a call to check brakes and cables on the penthouse elevator.”
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“I go where they send me,” he said with a shrug.
The receptionist was hesitant. It was Magnolia policy to never bother the residents. Their job was to make life as private and luxurious as possible, so calling to confirm a repairman who wasn’t going anywhere near the penthouse itself could mean a black mark against her work record.
“Well, I guess it’s all right. Sign in on the clipboard and sign back out when you leave.”
He signed in, then tapped the counter once more.
“Which way from here?”
“Down the stairwell to the basement. The residential elevators are on the west wall. The single one on the south is the penthouse.”
The bomber nodded, picked up his toolbox and shuffled off.
Once in the basement, he went straight to work. Someone had obviously come down in the elevator earlier, because the car was on the first floor, and it didn’t take long for him to get to the controls to bring it one floor farther down. At least he didn’t have to climb up the ladder inside the shaft to get to the car, although he’d been prepared to do so, if needed.
After a quick glance around, he climbed up on top of the car to set the bomb, fastening it right against the cables, then set a small camera on top of the emergency exit in the ceiling, aiming it down into the car so that when the Travis woman got in, he could see her and detonate. If she didn’t die in the blast, she certainly would when the car crashed into the basement.
Once he was done, he gathered up his tools and headed for the stairwell. Now that this was done, he needed to disappear. His only witness was the woman in the office, which concerned him some. However, when he got back to the office to check out, there was a sign on the window.
Back in Fifteen Minutes.
He signed out and left. A simple trip to the bathroom had saved the woman’s life.
