The Tell-Tale Con (23 page)

The second the door opened I knew I would have to talk fast to get into this house.  The woman on the other side was the expected nurse.  Early to mid-twenties, the stern set of her mouth didn't improve her flat-faced profile.  Dressed in scrubs bleached until they'd turned yellowish, her hair was pulled into a ponytail as punishing as her expression.  Before I said anything, her gaze moved from me to Harrison and back again with open disapproval. 

“So, is it true this is where Vickie Bridges lives?”  I glanced up and down the street like I might not be in the right place.  “Please tell me it's true, because I have been in that car so long I could totally have picked up like six guys and a couple of beers by now.”

I winked at her, ignoring her dour expression.  “Not that I would do that, right?” 

Her mouth barely moved when she spoke, giving off the bizarre impression that she was some kind of ventriloquist and we were just not seeing her dummy yet.  “It is Vickie Bridges house.  But she doesn't receive guests.”

I pouted theatrically.  “Don't tell me that, okay?  I have waited my whole life to be exactly like Vickie Bridges, and now I have Van Poe eating out of my hand, and my chance to be a star has come.  But I've heard some stuff, you know, about the way Van treated her.  About Van.  I need to hear it right from the horse's mouth.  Or whatever.  Please ask her if she'll see me.” 

I injected enough pleading at the end to be sincere, but not horribly whiny.  I didn't know if it was enough.  I couldn't tell from the nurse's expression.  Finally, she opened the door and gestured for us to pass.  “I'll ask Vickie what she thinks, but don't expect her to see you.  She doesn't see anyone.”

Inside it was so dark I could barely see.  Not a single light was on or a curtain cracked to break up the shadows.  I almost tripped over a statue of what I thought might be a lion positioned by the door before righting myself and electing not to move any farther for safety's sake. 

“Thanks so much for asking,” I enthused.  “I was like so excited at first, right?  Until I heard about why Vickie Bridges had really left the movie scene.  That was such a bummer, you know?  She was my favorite.  The reason I started acting in the first place.  But it was all a dream, you know?  Until my dad won all this money, you know?”

My eyes were beginning to adjust, and I could see that not only was Vickie Bridges agoraphobic, she was also a hoarder.  There was crap everywhere.  On, like, every single available surface.  A stack of newspapers here, and a pile of cloth diapers there. 

I put the cigarette into my mouth, but made no attempt to light it.  No one wanted to see me coughing all over the living room anyway.  I caught the hard glare the nurse gave me and shrugged philosophically.  “Don't worry, I won't light it.  I'm trying to quit, you know.  But it's such a bitch.  My mom says it's tacky, but who cares right?  But then my agent told me it's going to ruin my veneers.”

The nurse pinched her barely mobile lips and asked, “Whom may I say is here?”

“Oh, sorry.”  I waved my hand around like she knew how it was.  “I'm Angie.  Griggs.  And this is Manuel.  He's my…”  I giggled and gestured to Harrison.  “Uh…bodyguard?”

One of Harrison's eyebrows cocked up over his sunglasses, and he gave the nurse a lopsided grin that said he was good at guarding bodies and wasn't ashamed even a little bit.  He was so freaking good.  It was almost, kind of, just a little bit, freaking hot.  I was still staring at him when the nurse went off to check to see if Vickie would see us. 

But how could I see what I hated in my parents and Gray in another person and find it attractive?  Especially Harrison?  He was so…Harrison.  He raised his eyebrows.  “What?  I was following your lead.”

“I know.  You're doing amazing.” 

I couldn't help being resentful of that.  Because right now I was wondering who I was, if something abhorrent to me in some people could still be attractive in others.  Maybe it was his intent.  He didn't mean to rob anyone.  It was a better answer than anything else I could come up with.  But I was still unsettled.

The nurse came back and shook her head slightly.  “Vickie isn't up to receiving visitors today.  Well, ever.  But she gave me permission to answer any of your questions that I can.”

She gestured into her darker den, and we followed, picking our way gingerly over the mess.  She gestured for us to have a seat on a circa 1980's plaid love seat.  I examined it critically for signs that I might be sitting on anything alive and/or formerly edible, but it was too dark.  I would have to sit with faith.  I positioned myself on the very end, just in case, and waited. 

The nurse pulled a spindly-legged, light-colored plastic chair from another room and stuck it in the only free area in the room.  Like two feet in front of us.  Wigged out a little more by Nursey than I was by the couch, I scooted back in my seat slightly. 

“I'm Jennifer O'Malley.  I've been Vickie's nurse for the past three years.  Can you tell me again exactly what brought you here?”

“Sure.”  I gestured to myself like Nurse Jennifer might not know of whom I spoke.  “So, I've wanted to be an actress since I saw my first Vickie Bridges movie.  But there was no way that was going to happen, right?  Not without money.  But then my dad won the Nebraska lotto last year, and ever since then I've been getting ready, you know.  I totally want to do this.  Then my dad hooked it up so I could audition for Van Poe, right?  I was thrilled because, OMG, it's Van Poe.  He's, like, the man, you know.”

Tight lipped, Jennifer nodded at me, and I took that as some form of encouragement to continue.  “So I came up and ‘
auditioned
.'”  I made finger quotes.  “I think my dad gave him money or whatever.  But he offered me a good a part, and he doesn't fool, right?  So I figure I must be okay, you know.” 

I glanced up at her, but her expression hadn't changed.  “Anyway, I got, like, really excited, right?  But then I heard about Van and how he treated Vickie, and I have to know if it's true.”

Jennifer took me in for a long, measured moment.  Then she asked, “What's your favorite Vickie movie?”

I was thrown by that being her first question.  I had expected something reasonable.  If I was my mother, or if I'd still been in the business, I would have researched before I came.  All I knew about Vickie Bridges was she'd been in thirteen movies and she was cuckoo for cocoa puffs. I didn't know any of the movies.  I had never seen one.  I felt Harrison stiffen next to me, and I suspected he knew the answer, but there was no way for him to convey it without me giving myself away.

So it was time for some righteous indignation.  “Are you serious?” I demanded, flooding my voice with disgust and horror.  “Which is my favorite?  Do you come up to a mother in the grocery store and demand to know which child is her favorite?  Do you ask a woman with two beautiful, beautiful boyfriends which is her favorite?  Do you ask a stranger which of their fingers is their favorite?  Of course you don't.  Oh.  Em.  Gee.  How could I possibly begin to catalogue what's better?  The subtle nuances of…”

“Baby,” Harrison laid his hand on my knee as soon as I kicked him in the foot.  Good boy.  Very, very good.  “She doesn't need a lecture.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled.  To Jennifer I said, voice full of censure, “I don't have a single favorite.”

Smirking, Jennifer reached forward and snatched the cigarette out of my fingers.  “Despite the fact you aren't going to light it, Vickie is on oxygen.  You can't have that in here.”

I shrugged, and she twisted her lips into this bizarre thing that might have been a smile.  Jeez, she was creepy.  But she was definitely not the person who had shot Harrison.  Not close.  Plus, why would a nurse want to kill him? 

“Okay, what kind of questions do you have?” 

“Can you tell me what actually happened?”  I leaned forward to seem earnest, but not too far since she was like right on top of us. 

“Well, I wasn't there you understand.”  She set the cigarette down on top of a massive pile of “Boy's Life” magazines, dated 1961 and dusted off her hands.  “But it's my perception that Vickie was always a bit mentally…frail.  But Van Poe pushes his people very hard.  You ought to know it.  Her last film came at a bad time for her.  She was in the midst of a bitter divorce.  Her husband was trying to take everything she had, including her two children.  She says he cheated on her and shouldn't have been allowed anything, but heaven knows if that's actually true.”

I made no commentary because, frankly, I didn't care.  Vickie's divorces were of almost no interest to me.  Unless she was trying to kill Harrison over her divorce, which seemed unlikely.  “And then what happened?” I asked with wide-eyed interest. 

“Well, she was on the cusp of a breakdown anyway, but Van Poe had the idea that he would sequester the actors, deprive them of normal life needs, do what he could to push them to the edge of madness because he thought it would seem more sincere on film when the characters broke down.  But, unfortunately, it was so sincere for Vickie she had to be hospitalized.  It was several years before she was able to live outside of an institution.  She continued to live in LA for a number of years, but about five years ago her doctor suggested that New Mexico might be a healthier environment for her other physical problems.  So she moved here.”

Jennifer randomly reached to a side table and began to straighten a pile of old film slides.  “At any rate, here she is.  She never leaves the house.  What money she does have, after the divorce, goes to her care.  Even the doctor comes to her.  Which is rather nice of him.  Whatever she needs to have handled, I do for her.  I don't know how much longer she'll live though.”

“Wow.” I sat back.  “Do you, like, blame Van Poe for that?”

Jennifer shrugged.  “Do
I
?  No.  I don't have any real opinions.  I think she's been a tad crazy from the start.  Does
she
blame him?  I think so.  But she also thinks that the president is asking her to search her toilet for explosives every time that the State of the Union comes on.”

“You think she'd a'been fine if she hadn't worked with Van, though?” I pressed, making it seem as though my mental health was my only concern at this juncture. 

Jennifer sighed and glanced out the door, at the part of the house Vickie was likely in.  “I don't know.  Maybe.  I doubt it though.  I don't know that she was ever fine.  But I would caution you that, from what I do know, Van is not a nice man.  He pressed too hard and will take anything he can get from anyone he can force it out of.  But that's the Hollywood life for you.”

My bottom lip trembled.  “But it's my dream.”

“Then take your chances.  Just go in aware that Van will take advantage, if he can.  I'm sorry that Vickie couldn't see you.”

“Me too.  Could you have her sign my underwear?”

I thought that nurse Jessica's lips twisted in what might have been amusement.  “I'm pretty sure she wouldn't do that.”

I pouted.  “Well…okay.” 

Jennifer stood, and we took that as our cue that we were leaving.  We followed her to the door where I thanked her again.  “Remember.  You should be careful.  I wouldn't want you to have to pay for your association with Mr. Poe.” 

There was such a bizarre vibe to her.  She freaked the crap out of me.  But she was way too young to be Vickie Bridges herself, and, clearly, the meaning-laden glance she gave to Harrison and me was just her being the creepy person that she was. 

She shut the door practically before we were out of it and left us standing in the courtyard.  I shivered, but didn't say anything until we were down the street.  We opened the doors to the car, and Harrison immediately whipped off the sunglasses and replaced them with his regular pair. 

“What the hell was that?”

“Which part?”  I considered whether or not to bother changing into my normal clothes.  Guess it depended on who we were going to see next.  Honestly, this was getting a little boring and was starting to feel pointless.  And, in the last case, kind of freaky. 

“That was the craziest place I've ever been.  Good lord.  Did you see the pile of stuffed taxidermy animals stacked in the corner?  Again I say, what the hell?”

“I didn't see it.  Frankly, I'm surprised you could see anything in those sunglasses.  It was like midnight in there.” 

I decided not to bother changing and belted myself in, readying for the drive to the next place.  He started the car. 

“I have very good night vision, but even if I didn't, I don't know how a person could sit in a room with a pile of dead animal heads and fail to notice.”  He glared at me accusingly, like this was some kind of reflection on me on as a person. 

If only he knew how many other rational things he could easily judge me for. 

“There was a lot to take in.”  I fiddled with the radio until we were back on the highway.  “What do you think?  I mean, if Vickie Bridges doesn't leave the house, it isn't her.  That nurse, though her creep factor was about two thousand, was not the person who shot you.  I got a good look at her, and that was not her.”

He kept his eyes on the road, his mouth pressed into a thin line.  “I'm not sure how much this is helping.  I mean, I guess there are people we can cross off the list.  But if we talked to the person who killed Nate, would we know it?”

I thought that I might.  But only because I was so good at seeing people for everything they loved and hated and secretly were on the inside. 

Clearly, I wasn't Starsky, and Harrison was no Hutch.