Chapter 25
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DAVID’S CAR WINDS ITS way through the Santa Monica Mountains along Mulholland Drive. We made the stop by our loft. While David stood guard, we quickly packed our necessities and left before anyone tried to murder us. Again.
I stare out the back window as his car takes the serpentine route along the crest of the mountain. At times, I’m staring at the vast sea of lights to the north in the San Fernando Valley or the endless lights of the Westside to the south. It’s peaceful up here, the kind of place I need to be for now.
“Who do you think killed Leona?” David finally asks.
I’m not sure what to tell David. I know what killed her. My list of suspects is also shortening down to the semifinalists.
“I’d look into Hugo,” I say.
“The enforcer?” he asks. Clearly, he’s familiar with Hugo’s work.
“Yeah. Hugo Escalante. Enforcer and children’s-literature enthusiast.”
The Dodge turns into a private driveway and stops at a large iron gate. I reach out through the window and enter in the code that was given to me.
“Who the hell do you know who lives up here?” David asks.
“A very old friend.”
The gate slides open, and David pulls into a circular driveway that loops around a metallic fountain that resembles a Cubist sculpture of a tree. We park at the front door of the house—a modern geometric structure of glass, steel, and cement. From this angle, it looks like it’s only one story, but I know from prior visits that there are two more floors below, wedged into the side of the Santa Monica Mountains.
David follows as Paige and I wheel our luggage up the well-lit path to the front door. Before we ring the bell, the door swings open to reveal Fiona, dressed in casual but luxurious loungewear. She hurries forward.
“Hello, my darling!” She embraces me tightly. It’s automatic for her, and it’s not until I wince that she looks at my sling. “What happened to you?”
“Got shot,” I say casually.
“Did you deserve it?” she asks with the same casual air.
I grimace.
She turns to Paige. “Look at you. So beautiful!” She engulfs Paige in a hug.
Fiona’s eyes turn to meet David. “Aye, and look at this one.”
David is dumbfounded, his jaw nearly on the ground. Admittedly, part of the reason I didn’t tell him I was staying with Fiona was so I could see that look when he first saw my celebrity friend. It was totally worth it.
“You must be David,” she says.
“That’s right. It’s, uh, nice to meet you.” He reaches out his hand, but she slaps it away and embraces him.
“Please, I feel like I already know you. Darcy is always on about you.”
My smile slips away, and my stomach sinks. “No. No I don’t.”
Fiona ignores me. “You were recently promoted to Homicide, right? Congratulations.”
I sometimes think there is no hell worse than the damnation of embarrassment.
David casts a sideways glance at me. “Yes, that’s right. Thanks.”
Fiona is beside herself. “Look at him, dear. Such a handsome fella. I bet you’re an excellent detective.”
David shrugs. “I… try.”
“He took my gun away,” Paige chimes in.
“What?” Fiona exclaims, dismayed. “You cannot go about this awful city without a gun. You can borrow one of mine.”
David shakes his head. “Wait… what? No. Don’t give her a gun!”
Fiona smiles. “Look at him.” She turns to me. “He is cute when he gets angry,” she says, agreeing with something I never actually said—not even once.
David shoots me a look.
“Well,” I say, “This has been fun, but I think we’ve imposed on Detective Resnick enough.” I drag my luggage forward and corral Paige and Fiona into the house. “Thank you for the ride and—you know—the whole keeping-us-from-getting-thrown-in-jail thing. Drive safely. Bye!”
I shut the door on David’s face. “What the hell, Fiona?”
She only smiles. “I like him. He’s cute.”
“Yeah, I know!”
David calls through the door with crystal-clear clarity. “So, uh, will the gate open automatically on the way out?”
I die inside.
Fiona approaches the door and speaks through the solid oak. “Yes, dear. Thanks again for bringing the girls.”
David calls again, “Okay.” Silence. “Bye.”
Fiona locks the door. She mutters something against the door and gestures with her hands. I know she’s casting a protection spell, so when Paige casts a concerned look my way, I nod to assure her everything is fine. When I spoke with Fiona on the phone earlier in the evening, I asked if Paige and I could crash at her place because we were no longer safe in our apartment. Fiona agreed, no questions asked. If she can extend that courtesy and trust to someone who could potentially bring a shitload of trouble into her home, I need to trust she intends to keep us safe.
“We’re safe now.” Fiona turns and struts past us, moving deeper into the house. “It’s late. You’ll be wanting to see where you’ll sleep.”
The weight of my mortification keeps me in place until Paige pushes me forward. We follow Fiona downstairs to the bedrooms. The stories of her home are inverted from the way they would be in a normal house. The top floor is for socializing—it’s where the kitchen, dining room, and living room are located. Downstairs are the private quarters and study.
She guides us to a guest bedroom larger than our living room, with two beds and its own bathroom. Opposite the beds is a view overlooking the entire Los Angeles Westside, from downtown to the ocean.
Fiona glances at her Breguet watch. “I’ll let you sleep in.” She turns to me. “I know you’ll have a lot to tell me, but I’m thinking it can wait until the morning.” She excuses herself and closes the door.
I pull off the Crocs and dump them in the nearest trash can then examine the bandages around my feet. The blood has soaked through, so I retreat to the bathroom. After washing and rewrapping the wounds and pulling on some thick wool socks, I emerge to find Paige standing on the
