Richfield & Rivers Mystery Series 1 - Combust the Sun Page 15

  "Are you all right?" Callie asked touching my arm. "You're perspiring."

  "Fine," I said as we watched a man remove his belt buckle and keys for the metal detectors. By now I was starting to hyperventilate, and Callie pulled me over to the side of the concourse leading to the boarding area.

  "You're not going to die in a plane," she said forcefully.

  "No, I'll be blown apart and die in pieces in the air."

  "You will not die in any plane-related event."

  "I don't even want to be scared in a plane-related event," I said emphatically. "I can't tolerate the bouncing."

  "There won't be any bouncing," she said firmly.

  "You can't promise me that."

  "I just did."

  "Okay."

  I boarded the plane and took my seat behind the wing in the tourist section, that area of the plane I had decided was most likely to survive a crash. "People in first class always die," I assured Callie as I struggled to get past a three-hundred-pound man who had the aisle seat in our row. I liked sitting next to fat people. I liked to think of them as gigantic human life rafts. If we crashed, my fantasy was I would fall from the sky and be saved by landing on a fat person.

  I looked up in time to see Raider pass our row and take a seat three rows back across the aisle.

  "That's him!" My heart nearly stopped. "The guy in the black leather jacket, the guy I axed! Maybe he's here to blow up the plane!" It was too late. We were already taxiing down the runway. My distress over Raider overshadowed my fear of takeoff. I remembered to be upset over flying only after I felt myself being G-forced into the seat at liftoff.

  "Pretend you're an angel and think of these airplane wings as your own wings, and you're lifting yourself off the ground by your own power," Callie said in a soothing tone.

  Moments later we were airborne. I was a wreck the entire trip, afraid that Raider had boarded the plane to plant a bomb. I was certain at any instant we would all be nothing more than metal confetti. Why the hell is he on the plane? I craned my neck every minute or two for the next hour to check on him. He was drinking, eating, sleeping, and reading, just like the rest of us.

  Three hours later we were descending into the landing pattern. I had to go to the bathroom. I'd insisted neither of us go, because we'd have to pass Raider, but now there was no waiting. I glanced back and saw his blanket pulled up to his ears. I unstrapped my seat belt and headed for the lavatory. The Occupied light was on, so I stood unsteadily waiting my turn. Callie had been correct, there had been no bouncing, just sort of a mild sliding side to side. I kept my back to the door so I could keep an eye on Raider's chair. The lavatory door opened, and with lightning speed, a hand reached out, grabbed my jaw like a vise and yanked me backward inside the stall, locking the door behind us. Successful attack is nine-tenths surprise, and Raider had more than surprised and terrified me. Jammed into the bathroom up against his sweaty body, I could feel the coarse stubble on his chin scratch my forehead as we both struggled.

  When I banged on the side of the bathroom wall, he wrapped his belt around my neck. "I'd just as soon kill ya, really. My boss is not amused. He says the stone from the dead guy's eye is a fake and you got the real one." He reached down into my blouse, fishing in my bra until he came up with the death stone. "Bingo!" he said, holding the stone up. Then into my face he crooned, "Nice tits. Wish I had more time. Now you're going to go back to your seat and say nothing, understand? Because from where I'm sitting, I can blow a hole through both of you before you can ring for a Bloody Mary, got it? Oh, and don't try to have me searched." He took the stone, put it in his mouth and swallowed it. I marveled that anyone could pop a one-by-two-inch tile into his mouth and eat it like a piece of popcorn. The guy had to have a windpipe the size of the Lincoln tunnel! He tightened the belt around my throat, gripping it so tightly that I could feel my neck pulse, and I became light-headed.

  "Stone tasted like you." He grinned. "Like your perfume and just a little salty."

  I slid my hand down his pants, as if I were about to do something very pleasurable for him. He loosened his grip almost entirely with his right hand to help. I grabbed a fistful of his crotch in a viselike grip, and hoarse from his choking me whispered, "It's a shame a woman has to continually use this particular portion of the male anatomy like a timeout buzzer, but it seems to be the only thing that works. Let go of the belt, asshole!" He complied, and I opened the door and shoved him out. A man waiting to get in realized there were two of us in the bathroom and leered at me as I headed back to my seat.

  "What took you so long? I was worried about you."

  "Raider dummied up his seat with pillows. He was waiting for me in the lavatory," I said, showing her the belt.

  "Did he attack you?" she asked, her voice alarmed. Then she saw the marks he'd left on my neck. "Did he have you by the throat?" Callie's voice rose.

  "He pulled me inside, strangled me, and he got one of the stones."

  Callie jerked her seat belt off. "How dare he touch you!" She bailed over the top of me on her way to the aisle. I was surprised at the vehemence in her voice, and my heart beat a little faster knowing she felt protective of me.

  I grabbed her belt loop and hauled her back into her seat. "I'm okay, and the stone he's got is fake. Plus, he swallowed it."

  "He swallowed it?" she said incredulously. "Well, we don't want it back, that's for sure."

  I laughed for the first time since I'd boarded the plane.

  "If my parents ask about the marks on my neck, I'll say you did it," I said.

  But Callie was looking over her shoulder at my attacker, her eyes as cold as steel, her jaw set tight. "Whenever someone attacks the things I care about, the cosmos always takes care of it."

  I chose not to pursue that comment, but made a mental note. Don't hack off someone tapped into the cosmos.

  Within seconds the wheels touched down safely in Tulsa. I was so happy I was almost speaking in tongues.

  Raider hovered around the terminal, trying to decide what to do about me and periodically hoisting up his pants. I went directly to airport security and pointed him out. He vanished, never picking up any luggage, and I felt nauseated and somehow violated that he had gotten away not only with stealing, but with sticking his hand down my blouse and insulting me.

  "Are you sure he got the fake stone?" Callie whispered.

  "I'm from Hollywood. Everything in my bra is fake. The stone from Orca's and the stone from Barrett's tea canister are sewn into my belt. Actually, I just cut some stitching on the back side of the belt and slid them in between the two layers of leather." I bent my belt back to show her.

  "You cut up your good belt?" Callie asked in alarm.

  "I can get another one." I shrugged.

  "But that belt matches your Ferragamos."

  "Yeah—"

  "But now it has a hole in it! When this is over, I'll take it to a shoe repair place and we'll get it fixed. Next time, tell me when you're looking for somewhere to hide the stones and I'll help you come up with something." She sighed and headed for the rental car counter.

  "If you were really cosmic," I said, "you wouldn't care so much about clothes."

  "Angels are always shown in white satin or silk. The cosmos is very into look and feel," she replied.

  I phoned Mom and Dad from the car to say I was in town. Mom asked how the Anthony story was going, as chipper as if it were a school project. I couldn't tell her it was going so well that we'd been put on the A-list for most likely to be found dead or missing. I hung up and laid the phone down in the butter-soft leather seats of our rental car. "Why did you rent a Cadillac?" I asked Callie.

  "I like them. Why?"

  "They remind me of little old ladies with chubby butts," I needled her.

  "So you must be very comfortable," she said cheerily, making me laugh.

  From the airport, we drove downtown, where the runner-up for Miss Tetons was still manning the reception booth at the Tulsa Health Club. I a
sked her if we could get into the men's locker room and have a look at Frank Anthony's locker, reminding her that we were the women who were writing a story about Mr. Anthony. She gave us a furrowed look and said she "just couldn't." Normally, I would have snapped at anything that fluffy standing between me and what I needed to accomplish, but I refrained.

  "Maggie." I tried to charm her by having remembered her name. "We work for a very tough editor." I was about to launch into my next ingratiating set of lies when Hank Caruthers stepped out of the locker room, ready to leave the gym. He exhibited pleasant surprise on seeing us again. Maggie quickly filled him in on our request.

  "Hasn't been a woman allowed back there since the place was built in 1934. If a woman ever got back there, why, rumor has it the shower heads would fall off and the wallpaper would peel." Hank chuckled, seeming to make fun of the very rules he enforced. "It's not because we're hiding anything...'Cept the family jewels, of course!" He laughed at his own joke. "But I understand entirely about doing your job. Why don't you gals give me a call at my office and we'll talk? I'll tell you anything you want to know. I mean I was the first person on the scene, so that ought to be worth something to your editor."

  Hank handed us both his card. We thanked him with big, insincere smiles and left moments after he did. As his car pulled out of the parking lot, I felt my legs go weak, and I had to lean up against the hood. Callie was immediately at my side, wanting to know what was wrong.

  "Look at his card! Thomas Harold (Hank) Caruthers. Initials THC. Frank was clutching the stone to tell whoever found him to look on the towel for the murderer. The towel says THC. Tulsa Health Club."

  "Or Thomas Harold Caruthers," she said. "I'm getting chills."

  Chapter Twenty

  I drove us across town to Maple Ridge, a historic district of ivy-covered mansions built by long-dead oil barons and the home of Ramona Mathers. I was almost certain Frank Anthony had confided in her before he died. She was so easy to talk to, and I knew for a fact that she would be the one person involved in this case who would be happy to see me.

  Ramona came to the door in full makeup and a decollete dressing gown, as if I'd phoned ahead.

  "Well, look at the package delivered to my doorstep." She took a step back and surveyed me head to foot. Then, catching sight of Callie, she added, less pleased, "And you've brought a friend."

  She graciously welcomed us into the stone foyer of her baronial mansion, whose hollowed halls and granite walls echoed eerily as we all clattered down them into her warm study. There was a large chaise lounge built for two by the fire, and I imagined Ramona had coaxed many a secret out of a well-lubricated oilman in that very spot.

  I asked her if she knew anything about Lee Talbot's relationship with Hank Caruthers.

  "And if I tell you, is there just some tiny something in it for me?" She gave me a seductive smile.

  "My intense gratitude." I returned her gaze.

  "Well, that's a start, isn't it? Talbot and Caruthers went way back. Hank Caruthers got Lee Talbot the CEO job at Marathon. Lee Talbot wasn't a very good businessman, which most people didn't know, but Hank felt he could shore up the financial side for him. He didn't take into account how much money Lee Talbot could throw away on one picture, and pretty soon, the studio's foreign loans were being recalled. That's when, out of sheer desperation in an attempt to shore up profitability, the barter deals started. Frank told me that he thought there was more to it than that.. .embezzlement, as he put it. Frank was such a conservative. He said he had a list of some sort that contained evidence of what was going on. Hank believes that if the list ever existed, it was stolen during the breakin at the Anthony mansion right after Frank's death. And that, my dear, is everything I know.. .well, everything I know that I can share with you in public." And she smiled. I thanked her profusely and promised to visit her again.

  "She's creepy," Callie said, "Coming on to you like that. Horrible!"

  "At least she's being cooperative."

  "Only because she thinks she's going to get in your pants," Callie said in disgust. "She's undoubtedly slept with everyone on both coasts. She probably has several diseases. I wouldn't even shake her hand, much less sleep with her!"

  I reached over and took Callie's small hand in mine. "I don't have any intention of sleeping with her. As a matter of fact, I really don't have any intention of sleeping with anyone...with the possible exception of you."

  Callie turned my hand over lovingly and stroked the palm and then placed it against her soft cheek and then kissed it. Callie was not a person to apologize or to take the blame, because her beliefs placed none, but this gesture came pretty close to asking me to forget the past and begin again.

  "So I'm not the first," I began, referring to her sexual history, "but as the country song says, that's okay, so long as I'm the last."

  She pulled me into her and kissed me, and her mouth was so hot that I was instantly turned on. She released me too soon, startling me with the question, "Why aren't you living with anyone?"

  "I've lived with women." I found myself defensive.

  "Not for long, though." She seemed to know without being told.

  "No."

  "Because?" she asked, then responded to my knitted brow, "I'm asking because a lot of women seem to know you, and yet you live alone."

  "Living together gets dull, predictable. I guess it depends on whether you think highs and lows are interesting or merely a sign that you need a refill on your lithium scrip."

  "Are you on lithium?"

  I began to giggle. "Based on my behavior, if I were on lithium, I would say it doesn't work. Are you asking because you think I would have a better life through chemistry?"

  "No, I like the way you are: spontaneous, wild, temperamental. Do you think I'm predictable?" Callie asked.

  "A little. I can see trips to the mall and evenings at the computer."

  "Really?" She smiled.

  "Where's this going? Are you thinking we should live together?"

  "Absolutely not!" she said, and hurt my feelings.

  "Just checking," I said, as if I didn't care one way or the other, and I quickly changed the subject. "I'm betting Caruthers was skimming off the top at Marathon."

  "Why Caruthers?"

  "Because Frank Anthony said he had a list, but Caruthers convinced Ramona Mathers that there probably never was a list, and if there were, it had to have been stolen the night the Anthony mansion was broken into. Sounds to me like Caruthers was covering himself because he knows there is one. If Talbot was bankrupting the studio with bad motion pictures, then the board must have been trying to hire someone to take his place. If Talbot was replaced, maybe Caruthers's embezzling activities would be exposed. Caruthers would have to shore up profits quickly, make Talbot look good, and get the board off his back. So Caruthers hired Isaacs and got him to do the barter deals to bring in big stars for very little cash. Then to keep Isaacs in line, maybe Caruthers blackmailed him over those very deals. It might seem like a lot of trouble to go to, but just one percent of Marathon's 784 million dollar annual gross is a payday worth killing for. Maybe we didn't contribute to Talbot's death. Maybe Talbot was catching on to what was happening, and Caruthers knocked him off or had Isaacs do it."

  "But what about the list?" Callie asked.

  "I don't know, but I'm beginning to think we should buy vanity plates that say NO LIST, and maybe people will stop trying to knock us off."

  I told Mom and Dad I'd be staying at Callie's high-rise.

  "Well, that makes no sense," Mother said. "You have a perfectly good bed over here at our house."

  "Maybe Callie's got a better mattress," Dad said sincerely and gave me a wink.

  "Well." Mother tried to salvage some vestige of caregiving. "You'll at least return that rental car right now and use your father's car. That's just an unnecessary expense you don't need." I complied, having learned long ago to pick my battles.

  That night, as we lay in bed, my mind retrace
d the events from that fateful luncheon with Barrett. Suddenly I sat bolt upright.

  "Curtis!" I shouted. "I gave my business card to Detective Curtis and told him when I was leaving for Tulsa. That's how the thugs knew when I was on the highway. That's how the guy knew to follow me to Needles and Tucumcari. That's how he had my fax number. He's the one who sent me the welcome home fax when we got back to L.A.! That's how Raider knew what flight I was on. I told Curtis!"

  I got Curtis's business card out and stared at it. It had a police emblem at the bottom and the words Detective Curtis on it. I dialed L. A. information and asked for the phone number of LAPD homicide. The prefix wasn't the same as the number on Curtis's card. I dialed the LAPD number and asked if there was a Detective William Armand Curtis working for the LAPD. The voice on the phone said they had no officer by that name. I hung up and stared at Callie.

  "This is a bogus number he gave me."

  "How does he answer when you call?"

  "Curtis."

  "So you could have been calling his cell phone or his home. He could be one of their guys."

  "Yes, but he doesn't know I know that." I picked up the phone and dialed the number on "Detective" Curtis's card. He answered in his usual manner.

  "I think I know who's behind this," I told him. "I'm on my way back to L.A. Forget coffee, I'll come directly to the station and meet you there."

  "Could you hold on a minute?" He put me on hold.

  I covered the receiver and whispered to Callie that he must be on another line right now asking what to do with us next. Another minute passed before he clicked back on.