Randall #02 - Ghost Writers in the Sky (15 page)

“
I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been asleep since you left. Somebody woke me up trying to get into my room. I haven’t left it until just now.”

“
Fine. Whatever.” He leaned an arm on the icemaker. His body looked relaxed, but his eyes were fierce. But before I could as much as blink, he leaped toward me and with dance-like grace, twirled me around. In one quick move, he grabbed me from behind, yanking back both my arms in a painful grip.

“
I’ll take that,” he said, as he pulled the gun from my fingers.

His grip was painful. Now his anger management issues had to surface?

“
You could have asked. There is no need to be rude.”

He didn’t move. I knew there was no point in fighting him, so I stood quietly and waited for him to get over it.

That was when I smelled patchouli—layered with tuberose and apricot. Very girly. And very weird if this woman in his bed had been a dream.

“
Is that her perfume? The woman who climbed in bed with you? Couldn’t you tell it wasn’t me from that scent?” 

 
Rick released me and stood back, his gun pointed at me as if I were a criminal. He sniffed his shoulder.

“
I don’t know. It’s a lady’s perfume. You wear perfume.”

“
I wear Chanel. Chanel is light and classic. This is heavy. Retro-trendy. Not me at all.” A thought came to me— “This woman who came in your room—was she wearing a Burberry coat—you know the fawn and cream plaid with the red stripe?”

Rick lowered the gun a little.

“
How should I know? It’s pitch dark in there. Maybe it was one of the damned ghosts.”

“
It wasn’t a ghost. Ghosts don’t leave scents as far as I know. There has to be another explanation. In spite of that thing I saw without its head, I don’t believe in ghosts.”

An eerie creak came from the wall across from the ice machine.

We both froze as some ghostly force slid open a piece of the solid wall. If I’d had the breath to speak, I would have taken back those last words.

Rick trained his gun on the ghostly wall, his body taut and threatening.

“
There you are, you two.” Gabriella’s voice.

She stepped out of the shadows. “So you got together after all! I thought it was a shame when Miguel said you wanted separate rooms. You can put the gun away, Captain. I’m not a gangster.”

“
I didn’t know you had an elevator there,” Rick said.

I studied his shadowed face as he put his gun in his jacket pocket. The set of his jaw showed anger: Captain Road Rage.

“
They used this for loading booze back during Prohibition,” Gabriella said. “This wing was the barn then. We rebuilt the lift for Hank’s wheelchair, in his last days. Toby insisted we keep it working. Most of the time, I prefer the stairs. But tonight, I guess I’m just weary. Fiscalini’s making such a mess of my office. I don’t know why. Toby hardly ever set foot in the service wing.” She headed for the ice machine and slid open the metal door. “Speaking of Toby, I have a favor to ask of you two.”

She seemed to be fishing around in the ice for something.

“
You want to reach in there, Rick? Your arms are longer than mine. I think I felt it—a bottle of champagne. Well, sparking wine anyway.
Blanc de Noir
. From our first Pinot harvest. I’ve got some more in the cellar, but it’s not chilled.”

As if this were a routine request at three-thirty in the morning, Rick knelt in front of the ice machine and reached inside.

I glanced into the shadows. Was the phantom woman still here, hiding? 

 
Rick’s arm went deeper into the ice machine.

“
The old goat used to stash a bottle or two in here when he had a rendezvous with one of his students,” Gabriella said. “I think he used it as a signal—‘bottle in the ice machine, coast is clear’—something like that. I have a feeling he was planning a little tryst tonight, poor bastard.” 

“
Is this it?” Rick pulled out a foil-topped bottle and handed it to Gabriella.

She cradled it like a child. I wondered if she was going to cry.

“
Well, come on.” She started toward the elevator. “It’s not the greatest champagne in the world, but it won’t kill you.” She held the doors open and gave us a stoic smile. “Please come up. It’s a promise I made to Toby. “

“
I don’t think so…” Rick rubbed his chilled hands together.

But Gabriella went on. “He was sure I’d outlive him, even though I’m twelve years older. He made me promise that the night he died I’d drink a toast to him with a bottle of our
Blanc
de Noir
.”

Rick started to speak again as he looked helplessly at his watch.

But I knew better than to argue with Gabriella Moore.

The private apartment upstairs merged the Western theme with mid-century Rat-Pack luxe. Directly across from the elevator was a bar padded in red leatherette, with six matching stools. The bar was backed by sleek mirrored shelves and lit with a wrought iron chandelier. I could almost smell the Lucky Strikes and gin.

A wall of books and a mahogany desk made a cozy nook in the opposite corner. While the large part of the room was clean and orderly, the writing nook was a mess of piled papers, books and dozens of those gold-colored folders. On the corner of the desk, a big old wood-grained answering machine flashed an urgent red light.

“
Sit! Sit!” Gabriella waved us toward the bar stools.

She handed the champagne bottle to Rick.

“
Why don’t you do the honors, Captain? Glasses are behind you. Look at that phone machine, flashing away. That’s an unlisted, private line—but every session, some kid trying to get on the reading list always manages to get hold of it. No matter how many times Toby says, ‘You gotta be there to sign up at the end of the workshop or no reading’…” 

She stopped herself.

“
Said. He said. Used to say….” Her eyes were moist as she turned away and took a quick breath. “Open the damned champagne, Rick.”

“
Yes, ma’am.” Rick sounded less than enthusiastic. He rubbed his neck before picking up the bottle.

“
What’s the matter? Head hurt?” said Gabriella.

“
Yeah,” Rick said. “You mind if I make an ice pack with some of those cubes?  I’ve got a heck of a headache, even if some people don’t believe me.” He directed the last remark at me.

“
I never said I didn’t believe you!” This was getting annoying. A murderer was out there, lurking—and he was feeling sorry for himself because some woman came on to him in the dark. I kept wondering if he’d met the Burberry woman. I knew she couldn’t be a hallucination.

But he just ignored me as he opened the small fridge, emptied a tray of ice into a dishtowel, rolled up the towel and draped it around his neck.

“
Your mama never tell you about aspirin, Rick?”  Gabriella gave a dry laugh.

“
I don’t have any of my medications.” He perched on his stool. “All my stuff is in somebody else’s room. Somebody I was trying not to disturb.”

I could only roll my eyes.

Gabriella gave Rick a motherly pat.

“
Toby usually has a few aspirins stashed in his desk for hangovers.” She started searching in the writing nook. “You want to get some champagne glasses, Camilla?” 

I found no proper champagne flutes, but there were some saucer-shaped glasses that I supposed were what Gabriella and Toby used. I put two on the bar and grabbed the third as the cork exploded toward the ceiling with a loud “pop”. I rushed to catch the fountain that spurted from the bottle.

 “
Damn!” Rick jumped as the wine splashed on his shirt. The dishtowel fell from its perch on his shoulders.

I scrambled to pick up the ice and rolled it back in the towel.

 “
Rick, you’ve got to believe it wasn’t me in your room.” I handed him the towel. His pale yellow shirt was covered in damp, pink blotches. He pulled away, as if I intended to hurt him. Did he believe the stupid
Post
article after all?

“
Listen, Captain, I’m not whatever the late night jokesters are saying. It’s just my ex-husband’s lies. The media can print any stupid thing, and there’s nothing I can do about it without a whole lot of money for lawyers. Which I haven’t got.”
            Rick gave a grim smile and settled back on his stool.

“
Yeah. I’ve been there. You know that so-called road rage video of me they played a million times on TV? They left out the part where I busted that dude for an illegal weapon. He’d been threatening an old farmer in a slow-poke truck for miles. He was the one with the goddam road rage. The department knows I was just doing my job, but because the tape got to the media before the truth did, I gotta live in a cage labeled “dangerous weirdo” my whole damned life.” 

That helped. I got back on my bar stool, too.

 “
Oh, hell!” Gabriella gave a low moan from the writing nook. “It’s not here!” Her voice sounded close to tears.

 
Rick ran to her side.

“
It’s only aspirin, Gaby. I’ll live.”

“
Not the aspirin.” She continued her frantic search. “It’s gone—the folder with the Montgomery manuscript. It was supposed to be right here on top of the desk. Toby promised he’d have it ready tonight. He’s ghosting a memoir for Walker Montgomery. Walker came by last night in a tizzy, demanding to see the pages Toby had promised him. He’s coming back for them tomorrow. Damn, where did that old goat put it? You do not piss off Walker Montgomery.”

“
Walker Montgomery, the anti-gun-control guy?” Ick. Walker Montgomery was one of those old-time TV tough guys who hadn’t mellowed with age. President and spokesperson of a national gun club.

Then I remembered: “He was here last night—the night I arrived? I saw some old TV star in the lobby. I couldn’t place him.”

“
Probably him. He and Toby some big brouhaha just after the reception. He stomped out of here like he planned to kick the place down with his own little feet.” Gabriella tossed papers around, looking old and tired. “It could be still here, I guess—in any one of these folders, but they’re not labeled. I over-ordered our Golden West folders last year, so Toby uses them for everything… Shit. Luci Silverberg will be here tomorrow—finally. But if the deal’s off with Walker, she is going to have a conniption fit.”

 
At the mention of Luci’s name, Rick massaged his neck more intensely.

“
Gaby, what do you say we have our toast and get a little shut-eye? It’s been a long day.”

Gabriella looked up from her rummaging. “What happened to your shirt?”

All Rick could do was point to the champagne sitting on the bar.

“
Exploded on you?” Gabriella returned to the bar and studied the bottle. “I’m surprised. I never thought this vintage had that much pep.”

She sat on a stool next to me and picked up a glass, handing me another.

Rick lingered by the desk. He seemed fascinated by a grimy-looking Rolodex full of dog-eared address cards.

“
Come on, Captain. It’s almost sunrise, for goodness sake. Camilla looks exhausted.” Gabriella petted my hand. “You don’t have to go back to those god-awful rooms. We only keep the fourteens for emergencies. You can both sleep up here. There’s plenty of room, if one of you doesn’t mind sleeping in Toby’s room. In fact…” Gabriella set down her glass again and disappeared down a hallway. “I’ll only be a minute.”

I sipped wine, glad to be here with Rick. I had to admit I felt safer with a man who carried a gun. Especially if he didn’t suffer from uncontrolled rage after all. But I wished he’d understand that his encounter earlier in the evening hadn’t been with me. And that I hadn’t imagined that intruder in the Burberry coat.

Rick flipped through the Rolodex.

“
I wouldn’t want Walker Montgomery as an enemy either.” He grinned at me over his shoulder. “Do you remember him on that old TV show? What was his name? Tom Colt—that P.I. who killed ten people every week and never got collared?”

 “
I remember he had a crazy car that turned into a boat.” Trivia games. After all that had happened tonight, we were playing trivia games.

“
The amphibious red Mustang! Awesome. Especially on those Hawaiian beaches. Amazing—those beaches were always empty except for bad guys waiting to be shot.”

“
Not Hawaii. Florida—Palm Beach. It was called
Eye on the Beach
.” Gabriella reemerged from the bedroom. “Before that, Walker starred in a cowboy show called
The Brazos Kid
—but you’re both too young to remember that one—here.” She held up a Ralph Lauren pullover tennis sweater.