Dead Man's Rules (4 page)

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“They’re coming out,” someone called from across the grass. Reporters and photographers scrambled from their chairs. Grabbing microphones, notepads and cameras, the media throng rushed toward the courthouse.

“Oh, hell,” Freeda shouted, jumping to her feet.

Cere still reeled from her discovery about Marco Gonzales and the words took a few seconds to reach her consciousness. She blinked away the spooky image as she closed her computer.

Damn! Audrey was asleep in the van. Cere glanced around in case the shouts had wakened her. Gail and her producer sprinted across the lawn, but Audrey was nowhere to be seen. Cere banged on the side of the van and opened the door to yank at Audrey’s foot, making her moan.

“I told you they’d be out early. Hurry! Get up!”

As a groggy Audrey rose, Cere spied movement from the side of the courthouse. A door opened and a familiar cherubic face poked out. She froze as the black limo turned the corner not far from the door.

“What are you doing?” Freeda cried, but didn’t wait for a reply. She dashed toward the crowd which was already jockeying for positions at the front of the courthouse.

Audrey grabbed her camera, and Cere jabbed her finger at the side door, which was now fully open. “Let’s go that way.”

The photographer’s eyes widened and she nodded without saying a word. The limo glided to a stop near the side entrance, but no one else seemed to notice. Walking with determined steps but not fast enough to draw attention, Cere and Audrey moved toward the waiting limo. The chauffeur stepped out and waited.

The pair reached the door as Randy and his mother stepped through it. Cere thrust her microphone toward the boy, knowing Audrey would be ready. “Did you testify?”

His mother pulled her son behind her and faced Cere, wide blue eyes startled. “No, he didn’t. The case is settled. We didn’t want to make him choose.”

“We’re going home.” Little Randy flashed his familiar smile as he peered around his mother’s waist.

A rotund man in a blue suit whom Cere recognized as their attorney shot her a furious look. He grabbed the woman’s arm and hustled her and Randy toward the car.

Without missing a beat, Cere whirled to the blue-suited man. “What was the settlement?”

“There was no settlement. A statement will be issued from my office later,” he snapped.

Audrey’s camera followed the group into the limo and then the car as it glided toward the intersection of a main thoroughfare. Shouts erupted around the building and news crews swarmed toward the limo.

“Let’s follow it.” Cere grabbed Audrey’s arm as heavy traffic immediately stalled the car’s progress.

“I’ll never get the van out.”

Freeda appeared, dangling car keys. “I parked across the street since I arrived late. I’ll drive, but we share all video.”

“No problem.” Cere’s expensive heels dug into the wet grass as they jogged, but she didn’t hesitate. Catching the limo could get her the lead on the national broadcast and put her in front of the corporate brass.
Take that, Gail!

They darted across the street, and she flung herself into the back seat of Freeda’s Honda so Audrey could take the front. Freeda grabbed a ticket off her windshield and slid in. Audrey began shooting the instant Freeda steered the car onto the street. Skillfully, she maneuvered her way through traffic to a spot behind the limo much to Audrey’s shouted delight.

The limo led them east to the 405 Freeway, then north to Sunset Boulevard where they wound through the curves of Beverly Hills. It finally turned onto a side street and stopped in a driveway. Freeda whipped the car around in a U-turn.

As Randy and his mother emerged from the limo, Audrey steadied herself on the door and began shooting. The woman glanced toward the street, face pale, her lips pulled into a thin line. The boy stood frozen for a moment, looking bewildered.

“Zoom in on his face,” Cere called to Audrey.

The door to the house opened, and a tall, familiar figure appeared. Richard Waverly had starred in dozens of movies and there was no mistaking his thick blond, wavy hair.

“Daddy,” the boy shouted and ran toward him.

The man caught Randy in his arms. “Welcome home, buddy boy.”

The woman gestured toward the street as Waverly looked up. He put his arm around her and Randy in a protective motion and they walked toward the house. The portly attorney glared at the three women as he climbed from the limo, but Audrey kept recording.

Cere waved a fist in triumph. “They can issue all the statements they want.”

“Yup, we got the real story right here.” Audrey tapped her camera off as the door to the house closed.

“I bet everyone complains about us following the limo and interrupting the family reunion,” Freeda added with a delighted giggle.

“Only after they ask if they can have the video,” Cere said. “I guess Daddy wasn’t in Italy after all. Good work, ladies.”

The three exchanged high fives and slid back into the car.

Chapter Four

“To the Waverly reunion.” Cere lifted her glass of champagne as Freeda and Audrey joined her. They were giddy even though they hadn’t drunk a single drop. Audrey’s video had won Cere the coveted lead spot on the
Scope
broadcast and had been the headline video for the network. Gail used it in her report, but Cere didn’t care. She’d done so many interviews with national TV outlets, her face would be everywhere for the next twenty-four hours.

“Did you call Nena
and
Tia
Lottie?” Freeda asked. Cere might be the caretaker, but Freeda made certain they met familial obligations.

“I’ll call in the morning. When I sober up.” They cheered and drank another gulp of champagne.

“Now that the trial is over, we should go see your mom,” Freeda urged. “I’ve heard New Mexico is beautiful in June.”

Cere’s champagne glass thumped on the marble table top. “Are you kidding? I can’t leave now. Tomorrow I’m calling the Waverlys to see if they’ll do an interview.”

“The network tried that,” Audrey said. “The family left town for Mexico or New Mexico. I overheard a producer telling the bureau chief this afternoon.”

“Our network chief?” Cere asked. “What were you doing hanging with the enemies?”

Audrey focused on her champagne glass. “I might as well tell you. The network has asked me to work out of the LA bureau. Alan called when I got back today and I met with the bureau chief. He wants me to start in two weeks.”

Cere didn’t know if she was pleased or envious. Probably both. If anyone deserved a shot at the network, it was Audrey. Had the brass noticed her efforts too?

“Congratulations!” she said, raising her glass again. “Now we really have something to celebrate.”

“I put in a plug for you,” Audrey said. “Don’t be surprised if they call you next.”

“They’ll call if I track down the Waverlys and get an interview.”

Audrey shook her head. “You never quit, do you?”

Cere drained her glass. “Nope.”

Audrey grabbed the bottle and frowned. She lurched to her feet. “We need more champagne and I’m buying the next round.” Without waiting for a server, she pushed her way through the crowd toward the bar.

“You okay, babe?” Freeda leaned toward Cere.

She nodded, though her smile dissolved. Audrey deserved a chance, but so did she. “I just need a big story to get noticed.”

“We should do that story from the newspaper. Didn’t you say Alan loves cold cases and ghosts?”

Scope
did a combination of unique stories—from Hollywood gossip to undercover reports, unsolved mysteries and investigations of the occult. Alan Dunn, the executive producer, was always begging for something new.

“Who cares about some old suicide in New Mexico?”

Freeda tapped her arm. “Hey, according to that article he might not have committed suicide. The story hints at murder. Where do you think the ghost stories originated? He was accused of some crime, sent to jail but swore he was innocent. He said he’d come back and prove it. Maybe that’s why he’s haunting your dreams.”

Cere hadn’t thought about Marco Gonzales all day. She waved a hand. “At least my dreams make sense now. I bet I saw his picture when I opened the email and it brought back those scary memories.”

“Maybe.”

She knew why Freeda was so enthralled. Her cousin’s earliest memories were of New Mexico and it still fascinated her. They’d also recently heard rumors that Freeda’s father might be living there. Joe Ferguson was constantly on the move, though he turned up every so often to visit Freeda. He’d been doing that ever since leaving her at a New Mexico commune after her mother died. Freeda hadn’t remained there long. Nena
dispatched Cere’s dad to get her granddaughter. During the trip, Cere and Freeda bonded, in part because of their visit to the Palladium.

Freeda reached into her bag and pulled out a sheaf of printed pages. “I don’t know… You’ve been dreaming him for a while.”

“Oh, stop it. Show me the damn thing already.” She shivered as she viewed the photo of the man in her dream. The caption read, “
Saint or Sinner?”
Had she seen that picture before the dreams started?

The man’s face was thin but arresting, with high cheekbones and a determined jaw with the wisp of a goatee. His dark eyes seemed to burn off the page despite the age of the photo. He stood with his fist in the air, a symbol of protest. His dark beret and Army jacket painted the same picture. Cere could not take her eyes off him. Even now that unreal voice echoed in her ear.

“Help me.”

Flipping the page, another blurred picture caught her eye. She studied it—a smudged outline of a palm print, the sort a child might make in finger painting class. Her stomach did a funny jiggle. She didn’t need to read the caption to know the hand print was supposedly made with the dying man’s blood.

Freeda’s voice seemed to come through a fog. “See that? The hand on the wall. It’s still there.”

The bloody handprint was what she, Freeda and her cousins set out to see at the Palladium. Marco’s ghost was only part of the allure.

“What are you guys reading with such interest?” Audrey asked as she swung back into a seat at the table, carrying a fresh bottle of champagne. She refilled glasses as Freeda explained.

“When Cere’s folks came to get me, we stayed with her mom’s family for a few days. One night a friend of her cousins told us about a ghost that haunted this old building. He offered to drive us out there for five bucks.”

Cere touched her wrist to interrupt. “Correction. He invited the boys. They didn’t want to take us. Scared little girls, you know.”

“Naturally Cere pulled her weight and…”

“Not weight. Money. They didn’t have enough, so I volunteered two dollars from my allowance.” She didn’t add that her hand trembled as she gave them the bills. She’d felt like a scared little girl as they crammed into the boy’s Ford.

She gazed at the picture of the Palladium. Was that dilapidated building really the place that haunted her? As a child, she viewed it as a looming skyscraper in the darkness—strange and sinister. Even the misshapen trees around it appeared monstrous. Now they were simply stubby juniper trees.

Freeda tapped the pages. “Kids still go looking for the ghost. We thought we heard him. Remember?”

Cere shivered, and for an instant she was in the claustrophobic room on the second floor of the Palladium. She stood with the small group as they gathered around the handprint. The only light came from a flickering flashlight trained on the spooky, smudged outline.

“When we saw the handprint, those noisy guys shut up,” she recalled.

“Total silence,” Freeda agreed in a soft tone as though she could feel the quiet too.

Audrey looked from one to the other. “You’re freaking me out.”

“It was spooky,” Cere said. “Then something happened. A creaking? What was it?”

Freeda thrust up her arms in a dramatic gesture. “More of a groan. Maybe a gust of wind made the building creak. Whatever it was, we ran like bats out of hell and all the doors slammed shut.”

Cere’s throat constricted. She hadn’t escaped with the others. The slamming doors closed with her inside that room.

The noise of the bar fell away until she was alone in a space darker than night.

For an instant she feared she was locked inside forever with the ghost. Her shaking fingers felt for the door and found the big round knob. She twisted, but it refused to turn. She shouted, but the footsteps beyond the door faded. In fear she stumbled around the room, feeling the walls for a way out. As she neared the wall where she knew the handprint was, the door behind her swung open with a squeaky sound. A flickering light guided her.

She ran down the stairs well behind the others, hurtling through the open front door. As she dashed toward the car, nearby dark, fat shapes transformed into animated monsters marching toward her. Something grabbed at her legs and she tumbled to the ground. She rolled onto her back, staring up at a star-filled sky. Was that the last sight she would ever see? She looked to the side. The walls of the building towered over her as though reaching out to claim her. To the other side, those dark shapes moved closer.

What was that rustling sound she heard? Chanting?

Fear snatched at her, telling her she was going to be captured. Heart thudding, she waited for the ghost and his unearthly army to claim her...

“I was so damn scared.” Cere shivered and shook her head to clear it. She hadn’t recalled that awful night in years. She realized her fingers were shaking and put down her tilting glass so the others wouldn’t notice.

“Hell, we all were,” Freeda agreed. “I still don’t know how you got back to the car first.”

Cere didn’t know either. She’d closed her eyes and kept them shut tight when strong arms lifted her. “Someone carried me. I think it was that stupid kid who took us out there. I was surprised to open my eyes and find myself staring at the car door.”