silent as a tomb and as clean as an operating room.
“I was surprised to see you open your own door. Malibu people usually have out-of-work B-actors standing at attention all day hoping someone comes up the drive.”
“I’m sure some do but I don’t keep a staff. It’s just me up here, so door opening is a skill I’ve had to master all on my own.”
The foyer is dark but there are dim lights on in the other rooms. I’m going to need night-vision goggles if I want to see anything interesting without starting a bonfire. What I can see in the dimness is an unlit chandelier over an oval space. A sweeping staircase to the second floor. A slice of a dining room and living room off to my left. Tables around the edges of the foyer are dotted with sculptures made from bones. Birds. Dogs. Flowers. Teddy is sort of an abattoir Tick Tock Man. It’s good to see he has something to while away the long days and nights all by his lonesome.
Teddy says, “I don’t usually have guests in the house.”
“So I hear.”
“What I mean is, it’s a bit rude of you to barge in, even if you are one of Amanda’s friends.”
“I’m not Amanda’s friend. She’s way too low on the totem pole for that. This isn’t where I want to be today, so I really don’t care if you’re put out. I also don’t see any tributes or signs that you’re part of Amanda’s world. Where are the sacrificial virgins and inverted pentagrams?”
I caught Teddy off guard. He laughs nervously and keeps his hand on the doorknob.
“You won’t find any virgins around here, and as for tribute to Lord Lucifer, I keep those in my private rooms. They sometimes upset the few guests I have over.”
“Any I can see?”
“Nary a one.”
“Nary? And you called me rude.”
I walk around the room taking a closer look at the sculptures. They’re strange little things. Intricate and crude at the same time. I think some of the bones might be human.
“Who maintains the grounds if you don’t have a staff?”
“People come and go. I find if you keep any crew around too long, they get bored and the work gets sloppy. A steady flow of new faces coming through keeps everyone on their toes.”
That’s the first thing he’s said that sounds like the rich asshole I was expecting. He doesn’t like me inside his castle. It’s more than me being rude. His heartbeat is up and his pupils are constricting under the strain of maintaining his calm.
He says, “The truth is, I value my privacy more than I value a pristine lawn. Now, how can I help you, Mr. Macheath? Amanda said you were visiting temples around California and had some questions about my collection.”
Good work, Amanda. Maybe I’ll keep your kid out of the fire after all.
“I do. First off, what exactly is it?”
“Ah, definitions. Always a good place to start. Most people who know about the estate say I—meaning the family—collect cemeteries. That is wrong. In fact, it’s backward. We collect ghosts. We’re a ghost sanctuary in much the same way that there are sanctuaries for wolves, tigers, and other endangered creatures. The cemeteries are the
