Mystery

and Mark and Tiara had spent so many quiet evenings before retiring for fun. The hotel was going down forever, perfect metaphor. You wrote the script: ingenue, bodyguard. Experienced older woman calling the shots. The inevitable merging of flesh. You even had Tiara wear the outfit you wore in Death Is My Shadow. Told her to order the same cocktail. Use the same cigarette holder and sunglasses. Because we know how that scheming character ended up. But perhaps there was another reason, Leona: Maybe you were finally eliminating traces of the persona you’d played your entire adult life. Bad girl pushed too far who inevitably loses. Time for a new you.”

I smiled. “The Prime of Miss Olna Fremont.”

She waved that away.

I said, “Tiara complied superficially, but once again, she improvised. Wore the watch Mark had given her. Talk about a subtle little fuck-you.”

She fidgeted.

I said, “The plan was the three of you would ‘meet’ in a dark cocktail lounge, go off together, end up somewhere—probably right here on satin sheets. Stevie was looking forward to a night of fun. Loved playing Secret Agent Man.”

She snickered. “His brain was potting soil.”

“Two against one, Leona. You’ve got guts.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“How did it go down?”

“What’s the difference, let’s talk business.”

“Here’s what I think: You kept Tiara waiting, finally phoned Stevie and told him there’d been a change of plans, returning to the main house was out of the question. Stevie said, ‘Bummer.’ You said, ‘No problem, we’ll party at the other house. Where Tiara’s staying, anyway.’ Your log cabin, you bought it with your own money, so it was unsullied by Mark. It appealed to you because it reminded you of all those western sets. You had the two of them meet you somewhere, picked them up in one of your cars. Not the Rolls, too delicate, not the Mercedes, too small. Had to be the Range Rover, perfect for mountain roads. You drove, they rode. A few miles before Old Topanga Road, you stopped and pulled over and said, ‘There’s a great view spot, I want to see if the stars are out.’ The three of you got out, maybe you pointed out some constellations, it is beautiful up there at night. And then Tiara met the Asp.”

She studied me. Scooted closer, stroked my fingers. “I take it all back. You are a smart boy.”

“Thanks, but you made it easy. That last scene in Death where that cop tries to wrest your weapon away from you and you get shot during the struggle. Little side-by-side derringer, the one you kissed in previous scenes. It’s a distinctive-looking weapon. Ralston Firearms model XC324, aka the Asp. Last manufactured fifteen years ago, crude but flexible: Each barrel can take a .45 bullet or a .410 shotgun shell and any combination thereof. The coroner was puzzled by how evenly aligned the wounds were on Tiara’s face because she’s assuming two shooters. But one double-whammy from a single person would explain it perfectly. From what I’ve read, it’s got quite a kick but nothing a gopher-blasting gal couldn’t handle. Risky, though, because if you missed, you’d need time to reload. But you had confidence. Bye-bye pretty face. That was the whole point. Enough slavish devotion to youth and things that don’t matter. How’d Stevie react?”

“What do you think?” Her mouth dropped like a trapdoor and hung slackly. She bugged her eyes.

Aping a dullard’s surprise.

I said, “You weren’t worried he’d attack you?”

“Not a chance,” she said. “He always did what I said.” Smiling. “Guess that was the attraction.”

She played with her hair. “It’s not like I gave him time to think about it. I kicked her down the hill, got back in the car, and started it up. He stood there, looking like he was going to be sick. I said, ‘Are you going to keep staring like a jackass or can we finally have some real fun?’ ”

She walked her fingers along a seat cushion. “I got a little specific about the fun. What you’d call positive reinforcement. He scampered right in, I touched him where he liked to be touched. Tossed it into his lap.”

“The Asp.”

“It was still hot,” she said. “That’s a problem with it, it gets hot. I wore gloves.” She broke into throaty laughter. “When it hit his crotch, he shot up so fast he banged his head on the roof. I said, ‘Calm down, darling. We’ll have a blast.’ No pun intended.”

Slapping her knee. Squeezing my hand.

I said, “But it was intended. A mile later you stopped again, pulled out a second gun from where you’d been hiding it. A .357 that could be fired a whole bunch of times. You ordered him out of the car. Why didn’t he fight back then?”

“Scared,” she said. “Like a pathetic little girl. I almost wanted him to try, he’d have ended up with no face himself. But too much to clean up.”

“He got right out?”

“Dropped to his knees and begged.” Huffing. “Pathetic. He started asking me why. ‘None of your business,’ I said. ‘Now get up and let’s have an adult discussion.’ ”

Laughing. “He actually thought he was going to be okay.”

“Then you shot him in the back. Why twice?”

“What I wanted,” she said, “what I’d thought about—was to have him drop his pants and shoot him where it counted. Watch the look on his face when he realized what I’d turned him into. Watch him realize he was oozing away. But a girl has to be practical. I needed to get it done and move on.”

She touched my cheek, let her fingers trickle toward my chest. I intercepted her. No way for her to conceal a weapon under the tight sweats but my heart was pounding and I didn’t want her to feel it.

Being this close to her made me want to bolt.

Like holding a defanged snake. An asp. The cerebrum says Safe. The primitive brain, the one that kicks in when survival’s at stake, says Get the Hell Out of There.

“Shame,” she said. “You’re evil but you are cute, we could have all sorts of fun.”

“Until you’d had enough.”

“Touche. Okay, what do you want for the story rights to your little drama? Make your best offer, I don’t negotiate.”

I said, “I’m figuring over a two-year period Mark paid Tiara close to a hundred and fifty thousand, probably more. Given the circumstances, I don’t think twice that amount is unreasonable.”

She wriggled. I let go. She tried to slap me again. I backed away. Stood.

“You’re out of your mind,” she said.

“How about two hundred, then? Less than you paid for the Rolls and Phil and Frank get to continue as best friends forever. Not to mention, you stay out of jail.”

“I’ll never see the inside of any jail, darling. It’s a story, nothing more.”

“A true story.”

“Prove it.”

“If you’re that confident, why haven’t you gone for the Glock?”

“That’s obvious,” she said. “The other thing.”

“Phil and Frank.”

“Even so, two hundred is ridiculous. Even half that’s ridiculous.”

“I disagree, Leona. Two hundred’s my best offer and if you don’t meet it, I’ll walk out of here and tell my story to Lieutenant Sturgis. Like I said, the cops aren’t geniuses but they can connect dots.”

“And what will happen to you?”

“They’ll thank me and pay a consultant’s fee.”

“Fifty thousand. That is my best offer and you’d do well to take it.”

“A hundred.”

“You are tiresome. Seventy-five.”

“Split the difference,” I said.