Horace raised his chin. Looked up from the gun right into Ruth’s eyes.
“I was in the Army, young lady. It’s not the first time I’ve had a gun pointed at me.”
She pulled back the hammer. A shudder passed the length of his face, chin to eyebrows.
A car drove past on East Jennings, headed for town. I didn’t recognize the vehicle. Even if they’d looked towards the house they wouldn’t have made out the gun in Ruth’s hand.
“Ruth,” I said.
She didn’t acknowledge me. Continued staring at Horace.
“Aster told me all kinds of things, Horace. Before I put her on her plane the other night. That’s right. I couldn’t believe it either. Just hanging out at the hospital with what looked like the rest of the world and there walked Disaster. All upset. I got her though. I got her, I calmed her down, and greased her with a couple drinks, and wow, the things I learned.
“And actually, Lucy, you’ll find this interesting, too. Aster said Horace didn’t care if Maddy lived or died. In fact, he kind of hoped that whoever had taken her, made a martyr of her. She would be more valuable as a martyr. Like any dead celebrity. Elvis. Jimi Hendrix. Once they’re dead, they’re a commodity. Maddy’s value as a living, breathing movie star was pretty much over. Isn’t that what you told Aster? Soon enough she’d be doing TV. That’s the gutter compared to motion pictures. That’s why you didn’t pull all those strings you said you’d pulled. There was no army from a private security firm coming to help look for her. You never made that call. Because dead, she’d become an icon of the church. It’d draw in some sympathy. And more important the insurance money would be helpful, that policy you helped Maddy agree to. And Jack would be malleable for sometime, too. The weeping widower. You could direct him to sign over even more of his paychecks. In Maddy’s memory.
“The thing that I still couldn’t get straight from Aster, Horace, was whether or not you actually helped her write those letters to Mr. Pederson.”
He didn’t respond. He seemed to be staring at his kneecaps.
“Horace. Hello?” Ruth said it in a singsong voice.
Horace said, “I don’t even know who that is.”
“Who?”
“Pudderson.”
“Pederson.”
“Whatever.”
Ruth laughed. She lowered the gun.
“Sadly, I believe you. You wouldn’t. Nawzat would have to remind you. Where is she anyways? Or did you make sure this was one of those meetings even a big girl like her wasn’t quite old enough for? It doesn’t matter. What’s important, what Lucy might not know is that Aster and you were an item for a while. That is, until you and Nawzat became an item.”
Ruth looked at me. Her eyebrows up.
“Yep. Think about that. This old turtle and those comparatively young women. Kind of ‘ewwwww’, isn’t it? Nawzat’s boyfriend has no idea. Or totally knows. I don’t know. He’s ‘Becoming’. You swallow anything in that phase.”
She laughed. Talking, she walked closer and closer to him.
“You rascally Lucentologists…I lose track of those regularly shifting boundaries of yours. What’s right. What’s wrong. Letting someone starve to death. Letting someone become a martyr. You were just going to give Maddy the ‘freedom’ to die weren’t you? Oh, Horace. You just kind of play it as it lays, don’t you? Whatever keeps the dough rolling on in.”
She stood right over the top of him.
She pointed the gun at his head.
He looked up at the barrel. His eyes almost crossed.
“My terms,” said Ruth. “You can take every last penny your organization has and you can burn it. You can turn it into slag, metal, fake metal, whatever it turns into if it gets hot enough. I don’t want it. And not a lick of it brings my sister back to life.”
“Kip was…unfortunate.”
“You murdered her.”
“How?”
“Sure as I’m standing here. Sure as you’re sitting there, you’re responsible. Same as you’re responsible for Griffin, for Selkie, and you almost were for Maddy.”
“Ruth,” I said. “Ruth. Put down the gun. Please.”
“Why? So he can keep doing it?”
Her hand shook. Close as she was to Horace it didn’t matter. Once fired, a bullet would hit him.
Horace put a hand to his throat and cleared his throat.
Looking at Ruth he said, “Ignition.”
A moment later, nothing seemed to have happened. Ruth started laughing.
“What was that? What the fuck? ‘Ignition?’” She laughed. She sounded hysterical.
“Ms. McCall,” said Horace. He looked at Ruth. “Ms. McCall, is there a bright red dot on Ms. Arnett’s person?”
I didn’t understand. But I looked. I didn’t see it and then I could.
It barely moved, just beneath the spot where her head hit her neck. Tiny. Bright. Just like you see in the movies right before a gun starts shooting.
“Ruth,” I said. “Ruth. There is. It’s a dot. I don’t know-“
I looked over my shoulder, to the driveway, to the slight rise on the other side of East Jennings to Skinny Arbogast’s property.
“I don’t see anyone. But it’s there. It’s like it’s from a rifle. Like a laser sight.”
I couldn’t see Ruth’s face. Horace stared up at her. He looked amused.
“There’s one other word I can say, Ms. Arnett. And if I say it, you will lose your life. And Ms. McCall will have to see the police again and just when things were settling down in her life.”
I very nearly said Ruth’s name again, but then she finally gave in. She dropped her arm. Horace put out his hand. Didn’t even speak. It was like a teacher indicating a kid should put the offending item in his hand.
She gave him the gun. He handled it daintily, like it was soggy and heavy, and set it on the steps beside his left hip.
He brushed his hands on his knees and then ran his palms along his thighs, smoothing wrinkles or getting the gun feel off his skin.
“I cannot revive your sister. For that I am sorry. I’ve said I’m sorry multiple times. Let this be the last. Now I am more than happy to pay you for the diaries you’ve in your possession. Right this moment it isn’t necessary that you give me a dollar figure. Think on it. Formulate. You know Nawzat’s number.”
Horace stood. He handed Ruth the diary and seemed a bit put off that it took her arm so long to rise to receive the diary as it did.
“If it’s real, I’m delighted. If it’s a forgery, it’s very well done. Either way, I have no issue with compensating you. You would seem to need money at this moment in your life to either burn through or to help put yourself back together. And though I know you find it distasteful, keep in mind, Lucentology always embraces lost souls. Whatever you’ve left, here, here,” pointing at her head and at her chest, “there’s still some hope you might move forward.”
He walked past her towards me. He read the look in my eyes as he pulled up alongside me. He looked back at Ruth, the red dot glowing on the side of her head like it was the sole survivor on Christmas tree lights that had otherwise burned out.
“Yes,” said Horace. “She is still in danger. If she’s foolish enough to try and grab her gun, she will pay a price. I don’t take chances where I don’t have to even at this point in my life.” He grinned at me. The old familiar skull smile.
“Come then, Ms. McCall, let’s let Trent out of that car trunk before he passes out.”
Horace walked ahead of me and Mojo ran out ahead of both of us, a little disappointed once it became apparent we weren’t going for a walk after all.
Ruth left right after they did. Silent. Running to her car part of the way.
Not until she turned out onto East Jennings did I notice the gun on the porch. Left where Horac
e had set it.
After setting the gun inside I picked up the brown paper bag that had held the diary, intending to take it in to the recycling, and hopefully all evidence of the near bloodshed with it.
First I walked out across East Jennings, up the slope that had housed Camp Maddy a thousand years ago.
I looked and looked for any possible point a sniper or any one good with a gun could’ve mounted, waiting for Horace to give the word to end Ruth’s life. I couldn’t pick it out. I couldn’t see dust rolling off anywhere indicating a vehicle had driven over fields, mission accomplished.
Dina had said Rocco was their best shot.
I headed back to the house. Mojo looked utterly betrayed when I yelled at her for getting underfoot, but it was the kind of mood occupying me. Minutes later I told her I was sorry. She nuzzled my hand, my snapping at her totally forgotten, and that just made it worse.
Chapter 62
The plan seemed brilliant. And it came to me suddenly, less than an hour since Horace and Ruth had left the property.
The very lightning strike aspect of the plan was evidence I should ignore it, but of course I didn’t.
The first step involved getting Jamie Jane’s phone number. I got on my computer and went to the E! website. I clicked around and found a link to the channel’s ‘Personalities’ page, but the link only went to a page that told me I’d reached it in error.
Shit.
So I did what not too many other people in the world could.
I called Jack Ford.
My call went to voicemail. I immediately regretted making the call. I wished I could erase it, or go back in time and stop myself from making the call. My adrenaline rush from Ruth and Horace’s face off began to finally ebb a little.
I froze up wondering what I’d do if Maddy called back or maybe Dina. Or Trent. Maybe he’d just breathe into the phone.
Jack called back. I stared at the phone while it rang. I didn’t want to answer it. But I did.
He said, “Lucy. Jack.”
“Hey Jack.” I could hear the hitch in my voice, trying to sound like everything was normal. “Where are you?”
“Hermiston.”
“I kind of know where that is.”
“It’s great. Great small town. Oregon. Might be perfect for the project.”
“Oh. Wow. Nice.”
In the quiet I forgot to speak and how to think and then just like that I did a little reboot. My faculties available once again. Jack completely unaware of the emergency that had befallen me and just as quickly taken care of itself.
“Did you need something, Lucy?” Stated nicely like he’d been waiting for me to call and ask a question. Maddy would’ve sneered it like I’d committed a transgression she’d never ever forgive.
“Jamie Jane,” I said. “The reporter. The E! reporter. She told me she was doing a story on siblings, you know, brothers and sisters of celebrities, before, I mean, you know, everything happened, and um, I, I mean, she gave me her number, but somehow I lost them. It, I mean. The number. I lost the number.”
There was no response. I could visualize Jack staring at the phone in his hand like he’d somehow read my mind, and knew what I was up to.
“Hold on,” he said. “I am talking to you and looking through my contacts at the same time.”
“Great. Thanks.”
I heard Maddy’s voice, somewhere in the background.
“Lucy,” said Jack. “I’m getting her some digits.”
Maddy called out, “Hi Lucy,” like everything was fine, like the meet up with Dad hadn’t happened, like I hadn’t seen Horace or Ruth Arnett nearly get killed an hour ago.
I called back, “Hi, Maddy.”
Jack said, “Ok. Luce, I don’t have her number, but I have the number for one of the producers at E!. Graham Scott. Great guy. Call him. Ok? He’ll get back to you almost instantly. He’s married to his phone. It’s a little creepy in fact.”
“Sure. I’ve got a pen and paper ready.”
“Outstanding,” said Jack.
Off the phone with Jack I made a check of the Internet. Went to Ruth’s blog. Found the link to the list of Hollywood Lucentologists. Checked it for Jamie Jane and then one Graham Scott. Nope. I said a silent prayer that the list had been updated ten minutes ago at the latest.
I called Graham Scott.
He called me back in 20 minutes.
It weirded me out that he was so trusting, and so willing to give me Jamie Jane’s number, but then I remembered caller ID. I gave him the same spiel I’d given Jack. Graham Scott kept saying ‘sounds great’ like he wasn’t even hearing what I was telling him, he was just getting the call to the point I’d shut up and take Jamie Jane’s number already.
It took Jamie a good hour to call back.
I used my downtime effectively. I looked at Ruth’s gun. I looked at guns on the Internet. I was looking at an article on how to remove the clip from a handgun when the phone rang.
The first thing Jamie said was, “Oh my god. I nearly didn’t check the message. I saw ‘McCall’ and the area code and thought it was a butt dial or something.” She laughed. “Lucy! Wow. Long time no see. How are you? I mean, my god. You’ve been through so much, right?”
“Uh huh.”
“Wow. Just…wow. Sorry. I was on the 405 for the last half hour. I think the car A/C froze my brain.” She laughed.
“You know Horace Walton?” I asked.
For several seconds I thought she’d gone, but when she came back on, she sounded subdued, substantially less perky.
“I do. Wait. Hold on.” I could hear a door close. I could hear her breathe as she moved back to her chair and sat down. “Ok. Yes. Horace Walton.”
“He knew about the letters Aster Cupps sent to Mr. Pederson. The teacher that kidnapped Maddy, I mean, you know, kidnapped her from the kidnappers.”
“Right.”
“You know about that right? I haven’t been following the news so much. I don’t really know what everyone else knows.”
“No. That’s. People know. The teacher with the weird fascination. Yeah. People know. Um…I don’t know that it’s been confirmed who in the Lucentology organization might’ve been in communication with the teacher though, but-”
“Ok. Well, Aster wrote the letters. Horace knew what Aster was doing. He and Aster were kind of a…”
“Couple. Right. Got it.”
“Did you know Aster got fired?”
“No.”
“Aster got fired.”
“Ok.”
“She’s back there. In LA.”
“Ok.”
“She could tell you about the letters. She could also tell you Horace didn’t care if Maddy was found dead. In fact he wanted a martyr. For the organization.”
“Shit. Wow. Ok.”
“He kept telling us that he had some private security thing, company, that was going to storm the town. They never showed up. I mean there was a helicopter at one point, but that was it. I don’t know if they, the security thing, I don’t know if they even existed.”
“Lucy, can you hold on? Can I type this? I’m trying to write it down, but it’s easier…”
“Sure.”
I waited. I heard her sniffle. Mutter. Start to type. About a minute later she told me I could continue.
“Do you know Ruth Arnett?” I asked.
“No. Wait. Was she the blonde, the short blonde that-“
“Kip Arnett’s sister.”
“The twin. Yeah. I know her. Ok, well, of her.”
I told her all about what had happened in front of the house.
Jamie Jane said ‘Wow’ and swore a lot. After I told her everything she went back through her notes and asked me questions.
I emphasized she should talk to Aster. I didn’t know where Aster lived in LA
. Jamie Jane said there were people she could contact. The Lucentologists were a tight knit group, but even among them were those not above taking money for information. Also there was a network for personal assistants. Jokingly the acronym for the unofficial group was NDA – Network for Disgruntled Assistants.
Jamie knew who to talk to. She’d find Aster. She’d get her to talk.
I told her about my fib to Jack and asked if Graham was ok to trust. She said no problem. Graham had probably already forgotten talking to me let alone giving out Jamie’s number.
“If you can’t find Aster, do you have enough information to make some sort of report?” I asked.
Jamie sighed.
“Honestly…I don’t know.”
“Ok.”
“No. Lucy. It’s good stuff. It’s amazing. It’s…It’s, you should call someone there. Call the cops. That’s. You nearly saw Ruth get shot. You nearly saw Horace get shot. That’s not good, not for anyone, but even worse considering what you’re been through.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s like you’re in a movie or something.”
“Whether I want to be or not.”
I could hear her smile. “Right. God. You poor kid.”
She told me she’d call me before 11 pm and let me know what was up and before hanging up she thanked me for trusting her.
Chapter 63
Monday night, exhausted, I’d slept easily.
Tuesday night it’d taken sometime to get to the point I could fall asleep and then go back to sleep after a bad dream. I ended up leaving lights on downstairs and even turned on the upstairs hallway light, too. Mojo curled up at the foot of the bed until she’d get up and instead curl up on the rug in front of the front door downstairs. She just wasn’t into curling up on a bed. Or maybe I was too twitchy for her.
Wednesday night, not even Wednesday, but early Thursday I woke up shaking.
I’d dreamed a hand had my dress bunched up around my face, another encircled both my hands, and another clutched my ankles, allowing someone else to pull my underwear down, and then a flashbulb went off, again and again, a voice hissing at me to lie still, lie still, even as cool, heavy fingertips traced an ‘L’ over my collarbone and then slid slowly down and traced another ‘L’ between and below my breasts and then the finger slid down my ribs and abdomen and then, even as I protested, even as I begged, the hand dove down between my legs.