Lust, Loathing and a Little Lip Gloss (11 page)

“You think Scott is behind Enrico’s murder?” I broke into a full laugh. “Not in a million years.”

“You’re defending him,” Anatoly said flatly.

“No, I’m explaining him. Scott is capable of doing a lot of horrible things, but not this.”

“Before that open house you two had been out of touch for ten years. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“I know I can handle him and I know I’m not moving.”

Anatoly rose to his feet, eliminating my height advantage. I glared up into his face, my fists clenched at my sides. “I don’t want you in this house,” he said again. “I won’t let you put yourself in danger again.”

“Let me?” I scoffed. “Who says you have the power to
not let me
do anything? I, on the other hand, don’t have to
let
you talk to me like this.” I walked to the door and threw it open. “It’s time for you to go.”

Anatoly’s jaw was extended by at least an inch. I waited for him to argue, to throw something, to tell me I was behaving like a child, but instead he picked up the keys to his place and cavalierly tossed them in the air. When he reached the door he stopped less than an inch away from me. I tried to focus on my anger, but the faint scent of his aftershave was amazingly distracting. He put a hand on my waist. “I don’t own you,” he said, his hand now slipping up my back, “but you
are
mine. I’m going to find out if Scott is a threat to you and if he is…”

His voice trailed off as his eyes slowly made their way up and down my figure. He pulled me closer and used one hand to lift my face up to his.
Give in to this,
my body screamed.
Argue with him tomorrow or later tonight, but this is a make-love-not-war kinda moment, just go with it!
But when he brought his lips to mine I whispered, “You’re wrong. He’s not a threat.”

Anatoly dropped his hands to his sides. “I hope you’re right,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to resort to violence.”

I watched him walk into the cold and eventually ride off in the distance on his motorcycle. I had essentially kicked two men out of my house in less than twenty-four hours. I hadn’t had the opportunity to do anything like that in years.

I looked over my shoulder to see that he had left his jacket draped over a box underneath my father’s picture. The fact that the cold night air hadn’t immediately reminded him of his forgetfulness proved that he had been more troubled by our exchange than he had let on. I sighed and closed the door. All I wanted to do was get as comfortable as possible so when I finished the drink Anatoly had made me (and perhaps three more just like it) I would be able to pass out in my jammies. Mr. Katz approached and rubbed himself against my leg in a plea for attention.

“Later,” I said apologetically. “Let me change first.” He glared at me and I stuck my tongue out in response before trotting up the stairs.

With the flick of a switch I realized to my great irritation that the hall light had burned out. The hallway was pitch-black but it was manageable since there weren’t any boxes or other items blocking my way to the bedroom. Fortunately, the bedroom light worked fine. I slipped out of my shoes and went straight to the bathroom to wash the makeup off my face. I was working up a worthy lather when the lights in my bedroom went out.

“Hello?” I called out. No one answered, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone there.

I looked at my reflection, the foam of my cleanser now sliding down my cheeks. “This,” I whispered, “could be very bad.”

9

It was once accepted belief that if a corpse didn’t decompose right away the deceased individual was either a vampire or a saint. Now it just means they had a good plastic surgeon.

—
The Lighter Side of Death

FOR A FULL MINUTE, I STOOD THERE, FROZEN, TOO FRIGHTENED TO EVEN
turn off the faucet. I looked again into the mirror to see if I could make out anything through the open bathroom door. The bathroom light was enough to cast a very pale glow over my room, but the shadows were almost worse than pure darkness. Keeping my eyes on the mirror I opened the drawer and fumbled around for something sharp. All I could find was my Tweezerman. I glanced down at its sharp tip and decided it would have to do. At least I might be able to gouge out an eye. I turned slowly and walked into my room. No one seemed to be there. I went to the light switch. It was pointing up, exactly as I had left it. I flipped it down and up and the light immediately went back on. A relieved laugh bubbled up my throat. A short circuit, that’s all it was.

God, when had I become so paranoid? I went back to the sink and rinsed the soap off and of course the light went out again, but this time I knew it was nothing to worry about.

I went back to the room to try to once again rectify the problem when I saw it. The brooch that had been in Oscar’s hand was now pinned to my pillow.

Had that been there when I walked in the room a minute ago? It was possible; it’s not like I had been looking for it. I stared at the darkness of the hall beyond my room. Was there someone waiting for me there? I glanced toward the bedside table, but of course there was no phone. In fact, the only working phone in the house was my cell and I had left that downstairs. I turned my gaze back to the brooch. Maybe the person who had placed it there wasn’t in the hall after all? What if they were under the bed?
Lift the bedskirt and find out,
my inner voice yelled, but I couldn’t get myself to do it. Instead I carefully backed up into the bathroom and reemerged with a plunger. I knelt down quietly, as far away from the bed as I could and still do what I needed to do. Then, with a sudden thrusting motion I shoved the plunder under the bed, jabbing it this way and that, ready to suction up the face of any intruder who might be lying there. Nothing.

The closet was crammed with boxes, so unless the person who had been in my room had been able to transform himself into that
X-Files
villain, he wasn’t going to be able to fit in there.

Still, the brooch didn’t walk into my room by itself.

Just then the chime of the doorbell echoed through the house. I jumped as if I had just heard an explosion. I had to get the door. Maybe it was Anatoly. God, was I regretting kicking him out now. But getting to the front door meant walking through that dark hallway.

I pressed the base of my palms against my eyes and cursed. I didn’t want to be afraid. In fact, I wouldn’t be afraid. I lowered my hands. This was my house! No one was going to make me afraid of being in my own house!

Armed with both a plunger and a Tweezerman, I forced myself to start my journey down the hall. I stopped at each room so I could turn the light on, increasingly illuminating my path. I couldn’t see any evidence of another person being there, but I kept my weapons raised, just in case. It occurred to me that the plunger would be more dangerous if I held it by the rubber end and swung the stick, but I was pretty sure that I would rather die.

When I reached the top of the stairs the bell rang again and this time I decided that speed was my friend.

I ran down the steps and practically launched myself at the front door, but I checked myself before opening it. “Anatoly?” I called, putting the plunger to the side.

My only answer was the sound of the doorbell ringing a third time. I backed up. If I walked to the window in my living room I could see who was there…and they’d be able to see me. And if they had a gun I’d be providing them with a perfect shot.

But really, what else was I going to do? I counted quietly to three and then rushed to the window, fully prepared to rush away if I saw anything sinister.

No one was at my door. I stared at the empty spot where I had assumed a person would be. And then the doorbell rang again.

It rang and there was no one there to ring it.

“Another electrical short,” I said quietly. I glanced back at my couch, hoping to get a look of agreement from Mr. Katz, but all I saw was the swish of his tail as he rushed from the room.

“Coward,” I whispered, although I was tempted to flee myself. I turned back to the window…and screamed. There was a woman there now. I stumbled back and almost screamed again when I realized who it was. Venus stared at me through the glass and raised her hands as if to show me that there was no need for alarm.

Something about the forced innocence of the gesture infuriated me. I went back to the door and threw it open.

“Why on earth are you screaming?” she asked, her silky brown hair loose around her shoulders.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” I demanded.

“Was what me?” she asked warily.

“You were the one who put that thing in my bedroom. Why?”

Venus cocked her head ever so slightly and for the first time I noticed the tiniest little scar right on her throat. “I assure you, I didn’t put a thing in your bedroom.” She pushed past me and walked into the living room. “I simply thought I’d stop by and find out how you’re settling in.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn’t find my voice. She was every bit as cold as that brooch.

“You haven’t unpacked much,” she went on, running a slender finger along the mantel of my fireplace and then making a face as if disgusted by the dust she had found there. “I suppose that’s practical since it’s not actually yours yet, is it?”

“I’m still in escrow, but it’s mine,” I said, my vocal cords finally popping back into action. But my legs were still shaky. “Why did you break into my house earlier?”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about. But I do know that until you have a deed you can’t really claim ownership of a property,” she said, offering me an evil little smile. “But Scott’s going to make sure you get that, I suppose. It’s so nice that you two have been able to rekindle your friendship after all these years.”

I swallowed and looked up at my staircase again. It had to have been her. Her showing up now…it was too big of a coincidence.

“Anyone with eyes can see that the two of you care for one another,” Venus continued. “I suppose it’s natural considering that you were married…what was it, ten years ago?” She smoothly maneuvered around the boxes and then lowered herself onto my sofa. “My goodness, I was still in puberty ten years ago. I always forget how much older you are.”

“Guess that’s because your complexion is so much duller than mine,” I growled.

If my remark had stung she showed no sign of it. Instead she stretched both arms out to the side and looked up to the ceiling as if she was offering herself up for crucifixion. It was a tempting idea.

“This house has such a rich history. Do you know it?”

I didn’t answer.

“Oscar was here for quite some time, but before him there were many others. Have you heard of Cecile Mercier?”

I shook my head mutely.

“Ah, and it’s such an interesting story. You really must hear it. You see Cecile lived here at the turn of the century, having bought it with her inheritance. Quite scandalous at the time, a woman buying a home without the benefit of being married. But Cecile didn’t care about social conventions or rules. She was independent and reckless and quite frequently foolish.”

“And you know this how?” I asked. What the hell was she up to, anyway? First the brooch and now this story that sounded more like an urban legend than a historical account.

“I have studied the history of San Francisco’s more beautiful old Victorians. I’m not as interested in the architects or the workers who built them as I am in the people who lived in them and the spirits that remain in them to this day.”

“The only spirits in this Victorian are alcoholic,” I snapped. Was she actually trying to gaslight me? Did she think I was that stupid?

“You’re wrong, Sophie,” Venus said. “You are never alone here. Oscar may visit periodically, but Cecile lives here. She’s the one who really owns this house.”

“Well, according to you, you can’t own a home unless you have a deed, so I think poor dead Cecile is shit out of luck. Plus, she’s dead.”

“But I told you, Cecile has never cared for rules. Not when it comes to houses, and not when it comes to men.”

“Men,” I repeated.

“Cecile was having an affair with Vincent Davincourt, a man who was promised to a woman named Miranda Whit-worth. Cecile thought she had the right.” Venus’s eyes narrowed and her voice lowered to something that resembled a hiss. “She thought she had the right because he had wooed her once before, when they were both too young to see that they were ill suited for one another. The romance between Vincent and Cecile died before it had ever really begun, but she actually thought she could reclaim him whenever she saw fit.”

And right away Venus’s motivations became crystal clear to me. They should have been clear the moment she mentioned my so-called renewed friendship with Scott, but I had been too shaken to immediately read the writing on the wall.

“You know,” I said slowly, “old stories usually get a bit altered in the retelling. I bet Cecile wasn’t having an affair with Vincent at all. I bet she was more than happy to let some other woman deal with him so that she could get on with her life.”

“No,” Venus said quickly. “Cecile was foolish, but not stupid. She saw Vincent for what he was.”

“An asshole?” I offered.

“A charming, intelligent and handsome man…. But not strong. Cecile was able to lure him to her bed easily enough. He still loved Miranda, of course, but men will be men. They lack the discipline and resolve of a woman.”

“Seriously?” I asked. “You think that if a guy strays it’s the other woman’s fault?
Seriously?
”

Venus waved my question away with a flick of her wrist. “It doesn’t really matter how much fault lay with Vincent. We are talking about Cecile and she was hardly an innocent.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, whatever. I assume Cecile got caught, otherwise you wouldn’t know about it.”

“She did get caught,” Venus confirmed. “By Miranda.”

“Yeah? And how did Mandy take it?”

Venus smiled. “She stabbed Cecile to death.”

“You have got to be kidding me. You did not really come here to tell me this.”

“Cecile did try to fight back. She must have grabbed at Miranda’s throat because she managed to rip off the brooch that Miranda always wore on her collar.”

The anger was rumbling inside me like a storm.

“In fact,” Venus went on, “it was the same brooch Oscar had in his hand when you found him. Yes, I know about that,” she said, responding to a question that no one had asked. “Scott told me all about it. I contacted the hospital Oscar was taken to, but oddly enough no one had any idea what I was talking about. It’s as if the brooch just vanished…or has been reclaimed.”

I visualized myself getting her into a headlock and slamming her into the wall over and over again. But instead I swallowed hard and looked away. “You’re trying to mess with my head. You come into my house,
my
house and try to scare me with your brooch and your stupid story…”

“It’s not my story and—”

“Did you actually think I would buy it? Any of it?” I asked. “Have I done something to make you think that I’m a total moron? I’ve had people try to convince me that I’m crazy before, but you really thought you could make me believe in ghosts?”

“But you do believe in ghosts,
Soapy,
” Venus said. “At least that’s what you told Kane. It was a requirement for moving in, wasn’t it?”

I sucked in a sharp breath. I couldn’t let her goad me into giving her the rope to hang me with.

“Anyway, I do love stories that one can learn from,” Venus continued. She stood back up, moving her body with the grace of a ballerina. But it was practiced, everything about Venus felt practiced. The way she moved, the way she talked, even the way she cried. It was like humanity was something she had studied and mastered, but never internalized.

“The lesson here,” she said, “is to never try to steal another woman’s man. The woman wronged might not be very forgiving.”

I craned my neck back in order to meet her eyes. “Are you threatening me, Venus?”

Venus blinked and then the corners of her lips curled up in amusement. “I’m simply telling you a story. One that I hope you will find useful.” She stepped back and glanced at her watch. “Is that the time? I must get going. If that brooch shows up again I’d be happy to take it off your hands. I’d like to have something of Miranda’s. I believe the two of us have a lot in common.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “You want it back? Sorry, but you’re the one who broke in here and pinned it on my pillow. That makes it a gift. So thank you and goodbye.”

For a few seconds Venus didn’t move or speak, but I could sense that her mood was getting darker and that was saying something. “There was no gift.” Her voice was different, so different that I found myself looking behind her to find the ventriloquist. “If you have found the brooch, if it was left here by some
thing
then you should give it to me. I understand what it is and you never will.”

“There’s something familiar about this,” I mused. “Oh, I know! You’re the gatekeeper from
Ghostbusters!
You’re Sigourney Weaver! Now all we have to do is get you a pet gargoyle and a perm and you’ll be all set to film the remake.”

She turned on her heel and marched to the stairs.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I asked, grabbing her arm. She yanked it away with unexpected strength and went up the stairs. I ran after her, my legs having to work double time to keep up with her longer ones. I watched as she entered my room. She looked over at my bed and let out something between a growl and a curse before snatching up the brooch, literally tearing the pillowcase it was attached to in the process. She walked past me again, and this time I didn’t try to stop her, but simply followed her back down the stairs. Her audacity was literally awe-inspiring. Before leaving she dropped a few twenties on the sofa. “For the pillowcase,” she said. “If it’s more than that, save the receipt.” She stopped again just as she was about to step outside. And peered at me over her shoulder. “I almost forgot, Scott sends his love.”