Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (70 page)

She recalled Sybil’s words to Dr. Lowdell: “‘She should find something better to do with her time than to look for menace makers.’”

Was that what she was doing? Looking for menace? Yes. Yes, she was. She thought that was exactly what Sybil wanted her to do. She had
Menace Maker
and
Forever Yours
in her private collection. There was another film, one that wasn’t one of Sybil’s, yet she’d mentioned it during their last visit. What was that damn title? Something about sin. Yes.
Sins of the Family
. Piper found the movie online and loaded it onto her iPad. It was a stretch, of course, to think she might find an answer in these movies. But from what she knew of Sybil Squire, mystery and intrigue was in her blood.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The following morning, wet and chilly, Luke came to her door with a roll of clear plastic sheeting and a staple gun. The rain that day would keep him from working outdoors.

“Thought I’d take advantage of the bad weather and get your window fixed,” he said. “A strong gust could cave it in on you.”

Piper stepped aside to let him enter. She had been working on the documentary. The room was dim, the only light coming from the twin monitors.

He stopped and looked at her workspace. “So this is what a film editing system looks like? For some reason I thought there’d be more to it.”

“This is all I need for what I’m working on now.” She leaned over to pull open the drapes at the window nearest her worktable.

“Can I see how it works?” he asked.

“Sure.” She let the drape fall back. She explained what she was working on and then gave him a brief demo of Film Editing 101, including viewing footage and cutting a segment.

“Editing seems to be a lot like putting together a jigsaw puzzle, except there’s no picture on the box cover to guide you.”

“It’s better than a jigsaw puzzle. If the piece won’t fit, I simply cut it to make it fit.”

When she finished, she pulled open the drapes, letting the light into the room.

“How can you stand to be cooped up all day in a dark room?” Luke asked. “Don’t you go stir crazy?”

“Not really. The weather dictates my schedule. During the day, I only edit when the weather’s bad, like today. Usually I work at night.”

“Is it lonely?’

“It can be. Unless I’m so pumped about a project that I forget about everything but the piece I’m cutting. That happens a lot. You should know. A writer’s life isn’t much different. You shut yourself away with only your characters for company.”

He smiled.

“So when do I get to see one of your screenplays?” she asked, leaning back in her chair and rocking slightly.

“You were serious? I thought you were just shining me on.”

“I wouldn’t do that. I said I’d have a look. I can’t guarantee anything except that I’ll read it and let you know what I think.”

“Yeah. Sure. That’d be cool.”

His tone was casual, matter-of-fact, which she thought rather odd. It was her experience that whenever anyone close to a studio exec or a producer offered to read your work, that called for a celebration. At the very least, some measure of enthusiasm. Luke seemed almost put-off by her offer to help.

He removed the broken pane, taking down the entire frame. He stapled the plastic over the opening.

“Will you be home this evening?” he asked. “I’ll go get the new pane and set it in tonight. That work for you?”

“I’ll be here.”

#

Piper spent the afternoon viewing all three movies, looking for anything that could shed light on Sybil and her life, past and present. By the second viewing, Piper’s concentration dissolved. At five o’clock, frustrated, she gave up and soaked in the tub. What was Sybil trying to tell her? As a big fan, she should get it.

She dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a V-neck cotton top. At seven o’clock the headlights of Luke’s truck swept across her front windows.

When she heard his steps on the stairs, she ran her fingers through her hair and answered the door in her bare feet.

“Come in,” she said, moving aside for him to get by with the windowpane.

He wore clean jeans and a button-down faux-suede shirt in a deep blue that brought out the blue of his eyes. He leaned the windowpane against the wall. A quick trip to his pickup for tools and within minutes he was back upstairs and hard at work.

Not sure what to do with herself, she turned on the radio, a swing music station, and went into the kitchenette. “Care for something to drink?” she asked.

“Love something. Whatever you’re drinking is fine.”

“Wine?”

“Wine’s great.”

“Red. Or do you prefer beer?”

“Red’s cool.” He began to pull out the staples holding the plastic sheeting to the wall. A breeze caused the clear plastic to flap against the front of his jeans.

She took a glass to him.

He stopped in the middle of prying out a staple, took the glass and tapped it lightly against hers. “Here’s to…whatever makes you happy.”

“To whatever does.” She drank.

“What would make you happy?” he asked.

“I’m happy.”

He smiled and set his glass down. “Mind holding an end?”

She helped him position it into the empty frame.

While he reset the window, they talked about old movies and their mutual penchant for Hitchcock.

“What’s your favorite?” she asked.

“Psycho.”

“Why?”

“The obvious. The shower scene. What’s yours?”

“Rear Window.”

He glanced toward the Squire house. “You have your own rear window thing going on here, don’t you? I couldn’t help noticing the telescope pointed at the house next door. What’s with that?”

She felt her face grow warm. Why hadn’t she moved the damn telescope? “Busted,” she said with a grin. “I’m a big fan of Sybil Squire.” The expression on his face told her he wasn’t sure what to make of that statement. She pointed at the bookshelf to her collection of Squire movies. “I’m not a groupie or a stalker. I just have an interest in her.”

“An interest.”

“Well, lately it’s more than an interest. I’m concerned about her, actually.”

“Yeah, how so?” he asked, tipping his head.

“Before I answer, let me ask you this,” she said, detouring somewhat. “You’ve been around here for awhile, what do you know about her?”

“Not much. I know she was big in the movies at one time, old, and that she swims naked. Not appealing, if you know what I mean.”

“Do you know anything about the people who take care of her?”

He shook his head. “Naw. I’ve seen the woman and the man coming and going, but I’ve never had reason to talk to them. The guy reminds me of that bug-eyed Chinese actor, what’s his name?”

“Peter Lorre playing Mr. Moto.”

“Exactly.” He laughed, slapping the wall.

“Actually, Peter Lorre was not Chinese, or Asian even. He was Austrian or Hungarian.”

“No kidding. I guess in those days they had white actors play all the foreign parts, made them up to look the part. Wonder why they did that? There was a shortage of foreign actors, or what?”

“I don’t know.”

“So does your neighbor still skinny-dip?”

“She hasn’t in a while, at least not that I’m aware of.”

“You’d be surprised how many of those old babes like to run around in the buff. No inhibitions. It’s creepy. I’ve been on jobs where I have to move fast or risk being cornered and groped. I’m nobody’s boy toy, that’s for damn sure.”

Piper smiled. She had no doubt he was telling the truth. “Have you ever done any jobs for her?”

He shook his head again. “An old relic like that—the house, not the lady—needs more than this handyman could handle. I’m not that ambitious. I’m into writing and music.”

“Music? You’re a musician?”

“Drummer.”

“A band?” she said, refilling their glasses.

“What’s left of it. The lead guitarist put the lead singer in the hospital when he caught him poking his ol’ lady, and now he’s serving two to five in Soledad. Second guitarist is in and out of rehab—in more than out, lately. Our manager stopped returning calls. Guess you could say I’m in search of a new group.”

She nodded.

He hovered near the telescope. “Why are you so concerned about the naked swimmer?”

She told him about the fire and her week in the hospital. “They released her in the care of this nurse and that man. She doesn’t seem the same anymore.”

“They’re hurting her?”

“I don’t know. She had a black eye last week.”

“No shit.” He drank deeply. “That’s extreme.”

“Sybil’s housekeeper died after going over there. I found the woman’s body and now I’m involved.”

He turned to Piper. “You think these two people did her in? What do the cops think?”

“They don’t believe me. They closed the case.”

“Hey, look, if these assholes threaten you in any way, I want to know. You let me know. Okay?
Okay
?”

She suddenly felt uneasy. Not sure where this conversation was going and sorry she had brought it up.

“Yeah. Okay.” Even as she said that, she knew Luke would be the last person she’d go to if she were threatened. Something about the look in his eyes when he said those words disturbed her. She thought of Robert Mitchum in
Night of the Hunter—
a flash of evil behind a benevolent mask.

She went into the kitchenette and busied herself unloading the dishwasher while he wadded up the clear plastic sheeting. He used jerky, agitated movements, as if trying to punch the plastic into submission.

“Goddammit!” he hissed under his breath, shattering the uncomfortable silence. He stuck his finger into his mouth.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Staple. Burns like a sonofabitch.” He snapped his hand in the air, then squeezed the wound until blood welled up and began to run down the padded flesh of his palm. “Gotta make it bleed. Gets rid of the poison.”

She tore off some paper towels and brought them to him. He twisted the towels around his thumb, but not before blood had dripped onto the wooden floor and the fringed edge of the area rug.

“I’ll get some antiseptic,” she said.

“Don’t bother. I’ll live,” he said. Then he smiled, his eyes suddenly bright and crinkly at the corners. “Hungry? How ‘bout we go out for a bite? There’s that Thai joint on Fairfax. Or are you into sushi?”

Although she was starving, going out with Luke, even on a casual basis, was not going to happen.

“No, I’m sorry, I … I can’t. I—well, I don’t date.” She turned away.

“Who said anything about a date? You gotta eat. I’ll run over and pick some up, bring it back here.”

“Really, no. Thanks, but—” All of a sudden she was eager to say goodbye and have him gone.

“Okay.” He sank down on the sofa, crossed his leg at the knee and leaned back, sipping his wine.

“I really should get back to work,” she said, nodding toward the monitors.

He stared down into his glass, rolling the contents around. Just when she was about to repeat what she’d said, he downed the rest of his wine in one gulp. He stood, handing her the empty glass. While he gathered up his tools, she rinsed the wine glasses in the sink and dried them.

He walked to the door. Only after he opened the door did she cross the room to see him out.

Instead of stepping out onto the deck, Luke pulled her into his arms and lowered his head for a kiss. She pushed at him, turning her head. His mouth brushed across her temple.

“No,” she said.

Luke’s large hand cupped her jaw, turned her head toward him.

“Goodnight, Luke.”

He dropped his arm, nodding. Without saying goodbye, he went down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

She spent the rest of the evening staring at Sybil Squire on the screen, yet she couldn’t stop thinking about Luke. She saw his blue eyes become hard and dark. She saw the muscle in his jaw contracting with tension. His hand holding her face, squeezing. In an instant, something had made him change.

#

That night Piper woke with a scream echoing in her head. A woman’s scream, bloodcurdling and shrill.

She leaped from the Murphy bed and stumbled to the window, stubbing her foot on the leg of a chair in her path. Her toes throbbed, making her curse. The house next door was dark and without movement inside or out. Then a light blinked on in Sybil’s bedroom, a soft light from a bedside lamp. She focused the telescope at the window.

Sybil came into view. Wearing a long, shiny robe and carrying a rock glass filled with an amber liquid, she crossed to the window, staggering slightly. Behind the transparent sheers, she stood silhouetted in the dim light, gossamer and otherworldly, before she yanked the drapes closed. There was something familiar about her actions. A scene from one of her movies. Piper shook her head. She was beginning to jumble real life with make-believe.

Piper sank to the floor and rubbed her throbbing toes. She thought about what she’d seen and heard. The scream puzzled her. Had it come from Sybil? She looked fine. Probably the cats again.

She climbed back into bed and pulled the covers tightly around her. When she closed her eyes, she heard the scream, high-pitched and chilling. The perfect
movie
scream. Had there actually been a scream, or was it merely a figment of an overactive imagination?