Tinkie’s face was aglow. Not even the goose egg at her hairline could detract from her joy. “I spoke with the veterinarian, and he said I could get Chablis in a day or so.” Tinkie played with the swirl of lemon peel decorating her glass and a shadow fell over her features. “He said if we hadn’t acted so quickly, she would have died.”
“But she’ll be good as new, right?” I asked. “No permanent side effects?” Chablis could not be crippled.
Tinkie sighed. “He’s almost positive. But he’s cautious.”
“Chablis is tough,” Graf said. “She’ll heal.”
“I want to go home.” Tinkie blinked back her tears. “I take Oscar for granted sometimes, but I realize how much I rely on him. He’s irascible and self-involved, but he’s also there when I need to lean on him, and I’ve got to say, I’m feeling like letting him play the big, strong he-man.”
“That’s what the best relationships are about-you rely on each other,” Graf said softly. He reached across the table and picked up my hand. “I know you miss Oscar. As soon as Chablis can travel, we’ll get you a flight home.”
“But that’s like abandoning Sarah Booth with this criminal stalking the film crew.” Tinkie put her hand over ours and squeezed. “I may be short, but I’m generally the one who saves Sarah Booth’s behind.”
“True,” I easily agreed. “She’s arrived in the nick of time more than once. If it weren’t for Tinkie and Sweetie, I’d be dead. But on this case, which I might point out isn’t really a case since no one is paying us, I think the film is the target.”
Tinkie swirled her drink. “I’m not in the film, but I was still hurt. If we could find Estelle, I’d feel a lot better.”
And so would I, but Tinkie needed to go home as soon as she could. She didn’t need to hang around, worrying about a young woman who might or might not be in trouble.
“I have some news,” Graf said. “Federico said something today about wrapping the filming here tomorrow. He’s ready to head back to L.A.”
That was news to me, and I must have looked shocked.
“He was planning on filming some of the other interior scenes around here, but he says he can do it as well on one of the studio lots. He wants to leave. This whole thing with Estelle so angry and Jovan getting injured-it’s taken a toll on him.” Graf drained his glass.
The idea of going back to California should have excited me, but it didn’t. There were still questions unanswered about this house and what was going on. “I didn’t expect to leave so quickly.” The truth was, the sooner everyone was out of that house, the better. Still, I found myself reluctant to go.
Graf stood up and stretched. “I want to visit Chablis.” He checked his watch. “The clinic is open late this evening. Tinkie, what about a trip to cheer the patient?”
“Wild horses couldn’t stop me.” She jumped to her feet. They both turned to me.
“You two go ahead. I want to talk to Ricardo again.”
Graf put his hands on my shoulders. “Are you sure you want to stay here alone?”
“I’m not alone. Federico and Jovan are here. The security guards are outside. I saw Daniel Martinez walking toward the gate not half an hour ago. I think Ricardo may open up to me if I’m alone.”
“Good luck,” Tinkie said. “He’s like a split personality. All charming one minute, and then all surly and rude the next. At the best of times, he’s not the most forthcoming person I’ve ever met.”
“That’s why I want to talk to him. He sounded genuinely upset earlier. He said no one ever listened to him or Estelle. I want to give it a try. If he’s got something to say, I want to hear it.”
Graf came up behind me and pulled me against his chest. “Be careful. Take Sweetie with you wherever you go.”
“That’s a promise.”
Graf leaned around to kiss me, a warm kiss that was fiery and tender. “That’s my girl,” he said.
“Give Chablis a kiss for me. When you get back, we’ll have some dinner.” As much as I wanted to see the little dustmop, I needed to talk to Ricardo. Alone. He was sulky, charming, angry, uninterested. His emotional range made me wonder about several things, including drug use.
I walked Graf and Tinkie to the front door, then turned back to knock at Federico’s room. No one answered and I pounded louder. My heart rate did triple time as the possibilities of what could have happened zipped through my brain. I was about to put my shoulder to the door when Jovan opened it a crack.
“Federico is asleep,” she said softly.
“Sorry.” It looked as if I’d awakened her. “Are you feeling better?”
“A little. I think we’ll all feel better once we’re back in the States.”
I couldn’t argue that, so I excused myself and went to look for Ricardo. Sweetie padded along with me as I walked through the west wing of the mansion. Portraits hung on the wall, most of them bearing some family resemblance to the painting of Carlita in my room. There were oil paintings of my mother’s and my father’s family throughout Dahlia House, but I’d never had my portrait painted.
It was traditional for a Daddy’s Girl to have her image rendered on canvas at the time of her debut into society. My parents were dead by then, and I was strong-willed enough to sidestep Aunt Loulane’s attempts to give me a debutante ball. The ball gown and portrait went hand-in-glove.
A long Persian carpet covered the hallway and muffled our footfalls as Sweetie and I made our way to Ricardo’s suite.
According to the floor plans of the architect, there were no secret passages in this part of the house, which had been designed for guests, not family members. Old man Gonzalez obviously hadn’t felt a need to spy on houseguests, only his daughter and son-in-law. No matter how I tried to explain that away, it was still creepy. What man would attempt to watch what was happening with his daughter and her new husband?
Ricardo’s door was open, but his rooms were empty. I hesitated, standing in the hallway, wondering if I should search his personal belongings. Sweetie took the decision in hand and entered the room.
Glancing left and right down the hallway, I didn’t see a sign of Ricardo or anyone else. I followed my hound straight to his suitcase on the floor. Sweetie nudged the bag, whining softly. Sweetie is an above-average dog, but she hasn’t had drug training. Yet that was the first thing I thought. Drugs would explain Ricardo’s Jekyll-Hyde behavior.
Before I had time for second thoughts, I opened the soft leather bag and began to move his clothes around. The only pills I found were health food vitamins, a blend with green tea extract for additional energy. I kept searching, and my efforts were rewarded with a slim journal. Sitting on the bed, I opened it. Pages were filled with the long, fluid scrawl of Ricardo’s handwriting. I wasn’t a big fan of private schools, but I had to admit that his penmanship was excellent.
I eased down onto his bed for a quick read. My theory on snooping is that if a person is going to do it, then do it one hundred percent. Don’t invade someone’s privacy and do a half-assed job of it.
The journal was a running account of the filming and what Ricardo had learned working under the tutelage of the cinematographer. The passages were filled with enthusiasm about different shots. If I’d wondered if Ricardo was serious about a career in film, I held the evidence.
I also saw a side of Ricardo he was loath to show-one where he worshipped his father. In comment after comment, he raved about Federico’s brilliance. I thought how much this journal would please Federico, but I also knew that I could never show it.
I was about to put it away when I noticed Estelle’s name. The entry was dated the day she supposedly went back to California.
An additional entry written this morning noted that he was “worried about Estelle.” It didn’t elaborate, and there was nothing else of interest in the small book.
I put the journal back and did a cursory exam of the rest of the room. Sweetie had fallen asleep with her nose in one of Ricardo’s shoes. I found a small amount of marijuana and lots of dirty clothes. Nothing that would cause the mood swings I’d seen Ricardo display. When I was ready to leave, I woke my hound.
Something was nagging at me. Federico had said that Ricardo had arranged for the security crew, and Daniel was mentioned in Ricardo’s diary as someone who had influence with Estelle. Perhaps it was time to have a little talk with the head of Promise Security Agency, Daniel Martinez.
