Death by Sudoku (5 page)

“I’m surprised you didn’t fold them up and put them in your bra.” Derrick glanced over again. “Which I wouldn’t advise. It would ruin the lines—”

“Just keep your eyes on your driving—or flying, or whatever,” Liza told him.

And Derrick had. The cockpit view for their flight up the California coast had been interesting, stretches of emerald green (representing carefully watered lawns) cropping up against the reddish brown, arid tones of the natural landscape where development had yet to extend its tentacles.

Now, looking out the SUV’s window, she found plenty of growth on the rocky slopes around them, mainly of the evergreen variety. Was the greenery natural or irrigated? Given the price of the real estate up here, she could well imagine hand-planted forests being installed to improve the view.

Derrick’s place was a surprise, a somewhat rambling house of native stone tucked away on a flank of the rising slope. Liza could hardly make it out from the distance.

“You were expecting maybe a hacienda?” Derrick joked, glancing at her expression as he parked. “My dad was a salesman, and he hated the hot dogs who were always showing off. Brand-new cars, brand-new suits, all bought on credit. I guess I picked up the same attitude, so when I had the chance, I built this place for comfort, not for show.”

He hefted her travel bag. “Besides, with a small place, I can get by with just a couple people coming in by day to help out with the upkeep and cleaning. So don’t expect a majordomo.”

He conducted her inside, and Liza could see what he meant. The place wasn’t palatial, but was definitely roomy, and whoever had done the décor hadn’t left interior designer fingerprints over everything. The furniture was a surprise, amber-toned all-year wicker, somewhat on the rustic side, definitely masculine, and downright comfortable.

After allowing Liza a quick pit stop, Derrick brought her to what he called “the movie-star part of the house,” a plush home theater that doubled as a private screening room.

“We’ll get this done, then no more obligation,” he said as he cued up the film. “It’s just a scene—a screen test, really.”

He shut up as an image appeared on the big screen—a clapper board with a scrawled name on it—J something or other.

Then a girl walked into camera range.
Oho
, Liza thought as the girl began a fairly tense scene with another actor. The young woman was beautiful, a commodity Liza had come to expect in Hollywood. But this was a beauty that translated well to the screen, or as insiders would say, “The camera loved her.”

In fact, the young woman had a feminine version of Derrick’s own screen attractiveness—a good brow, a straight nose with just a hint of uptilt, generous lips, and big green eyes that went perfectly with her russet hair. As evidenced by the brief scene, she moved gracefully, had some traces of acting training . . . and had to be about thirty years younger than Derrick.

The scene ended, and Liza turned to Derrick. “So you’ve found yourself a protégée?”

“She’s my niece—no, really,” he assured her. “I wouldn’t be caught dead using such an old-fashioned Hollywood line. She’s my older brother’s only child. Jenny lost both parents in a car accident a couple years ago, and now she’s come out here after finishing drama school.”

Derrick looked at Liza—the perfect image of a defendant waiting for a verdict. “So am I crazy, or does she have it?”

“Well, you
are
crazy,” Liza replied, unable to resist the straight line. “But I think you’re right about Jenny.”

Beautiful boys with talent often wound up with Hollywood careers like Derrick’s—playing beautiful but troubled men until their beauty turned craggy. Beautiful girls with talent, however, provided they weren’t completely brainless or complete witches, only had the trouble of picking between dozens of scripts. Jenny Robbins had what it took to go places, if she had the right backing. And Markson Associates could do that . . .

“I’ll get in touch with Michelle and make sure the test gets to her,” Liza promised as they exited the screening room. “I think once she sees—”

She broke off when she found a young woman hovering in the hallway outside—Jenny Robbins, in the flesh.

“What are you doing here?” Derrick asked in obvious surprise.

“I decided to drive up. It seemed kind of silly, waiting at home while you discussed . . . I mean, while the two of you . . .” The girl glanced from Derrick to Liza, color slowly rising in her face.

“I thought you were seeing Liza Kelly. Did I come on the wrong day? Am I in the way here? I can leave if this is supposed to be a . . . um, special evening or something.”

Liza looked over at Derrick, who suddenly had a similar rush of color. For that matter, Liza’s own cheeks felt warm. Well, it had been a possibility ever since she’d met Derrick at the airport. He was a widower, and she was well and truly separated from her husband. There had been a little spice of boy-girl in the way they’d gotten along since they’d “met cute.”

“I’m Liza Kelly,” she said, extending a hand. “I think that was a great audition, by the way—glad your uncle brought me up here to see it. We discussed the best accommodations for me on the drive up here,” Liza said tactfully, mentioning the name of a fairly posh resort on the other side of town. Michelle had used it to put up people who were passing through Santa Barbara. “I plan to stay there tonight.”

While Liza shook hands with a mortified Jenny, Derrick stood behind the girl, shooting Liza a grateful look.

“I’ll get the number and make a reservation for you,” he said, heading off to the phone.

Jenny swallowed audibly. “I’m sorry I acted like such a geek.” She had lived down most of her embarrassment but was still fairly nervous. Out of makeup, the girl had a sprinkle of freckles under her California tan.

“Uncle D never mentioned you were Asian. After hearing the name Liza Kelly, I guess I expected—”

“Something completely different,” Liza finished for her. “I guess I’m a Hibernasian—Dad was Irish, and Mom’s family came from Japan.”

“Well, I think you got the best of both worlds,” Jenny told her. “With looks like yours, I’m surprised you’re not in front of the camera.”

“I never even thought of that,” Liza confessed, “which is a good thing. I don’t translate well to the screen. With my figure, I look like Xena, so I’d have to live on a starvation diet for a traditional movie career. Which reminds me—what’s for supper?”

“I stopped off at a farmer’s market to get the makings of a good salad. Uncle D always has half a cow or something in the freezer—” She broke off, anxious again. “Unless you’re a vegetarian. So many of you Hollywood types are.” She paused, then realized her gaffe. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“Well, I think I could go for a quarter of a cow,” Liza told her, “and I bet so could you. So Derrick will just have to fend for himself.”

Jenny grinned, at ease again.

They dined alfresco in the rear of the house. A low wall topped with planters marked the end of the flagstone terrace. Beyond, they looked down and across the mountains to the sea in the distance. Jenny had brought an abundance of salad and expertly grilled a few steaks.

Derrick reappeared wearing a shabby sweater with a pattern loud enough to make Liza wince. “They’ve got a nice room ready for you,” he said. “And I dug up a bottle of the good merlot.” He blew dust off the bottle while his other hand juggled three long-stemmed, wide-belled wineglasses.

“Why don’t you just wipe it with that rag you’re wearing?” Liza kidded.

“My lucky sweater?” Derrick replied, shocked. “I’ve had it for years—I even thought of wearing it to the tournament. And you’d be glad for a sweater when this terrace gets a bit cooler.”

“Give me that one and I’ll throw it over the side,” Liza mock-threatened while Derrick expertly removed the cork to let the wine breathe. He poured out the heady red wine as his niece began serving their meal. Jenny picked up her glass and sipped appreciatively, a good sign in Liza’s book. She never trusted that white-wine crowd. In fact, after settling down and getting into safer conversation, Jenny pretty much confirmed Liza’s impression of her as a nice kid, if a little anxious right now.

Seeing that things were going well, Derrick had settled down, too, keeping up an interesting flow of table talk. “Like it or not, the acting business is about looks, and you’ve got those,” he told Jenny. “For the rest, all you have to do is remember your lines and not bump into the scenery.”

“You stole that from Laurence Olivier,” Jenny accused her uncle impishly.

“The world’s greatest actor,” Derrick replied. “I bet he also said to steal from the best.”

Jenny got embarrassed again when she heard how her uncle had gotten Liza to the house in the first place.

By now, though, Liza had gotten philosophical about coming in second at the sudoku tournament.
A
close
second
, she reminded herself. “Looking at it from a publicity viewpoint, Will probably likes it better that Derrick won instead of Liza K.”

“You’ve got a point there,” Derrick admitted. “Liza K is somebody the sudoku mavens know. But Will can probably get a lot more mileage with the general public with an actor, even with a has-been actor like me.”

“You’re not a has-been,” Jenny loyally argued. “And you’d know how popular you still are if you didn’t lock yourself up in your study.”

“Locking myself in my study is how I won the championship today,” he replied. “You’d be amazed at what you can find sometimes in sudoku.”

Derrick turned to Liza. “Do you follow the puzzles in the
Seattle Prospect
?”

“I’ve tried a few,” Liza admitted, “but not since I started working for the
Oregon Daily
. The folks on my paper consider the
Prospect
to be their deadly enemy.”

“Well, I’ve got a daily subscription for both. I enjoy your column, but I’m intrigued by the
Prospect
. And a bit worried. Whoever does the puzzles for them is a worse recluse than Liza K. I haven’t been able to find out who the creators are, and I want to.” He frowned. “And there’s something strange about the
Prospect
columns. They’re not just puzzles, they’re codes.”

Liza blinked. “Really?”

“I think whoever’s behind those puzzles is sending messages—and it’s not anything innocuous like ‘Happy Birthday.’” He looked down at the table, brooding. “I worry I’m getting paranoid. Then I look at the puzzles, and I know I’m not. I don’t care how much they complained,” he muttered. “They didn’t deserve to be burned—and they sure as hell didn’t get burnt with the Lord’s fire.”

For a long moment, Liza and Jenny stared, openmouthed, at Derrick, both at a loss for words. Had he suddenly flipped his lid? What on earth was he talking about? Liza wondered. Then Derrick looked up and went back to his normal charming self. “Enough of that. What have we got for dessert?”

Jenny hurried off to slice up some fruit and cheese, clearly relieved to leave the table. Derrick disappeared for a bottle of Essensia, leaving Liza to wonder if she’d imagined what had just happened.

Derrick returned, totally playing the role of considerate host. “You’ve got to try this,” he said. “It’s like liquid sunshine.”

Liza stayed in her seat, staring off into the gathering dusk.
Just when I start to really like the guy, he brings out snapshots of his last visit to the Twilight Zone! What just happened here?

The wine was excellent, a sweet muscat flavored with orange essence, perfectly complemented with chocolate biscotti. The fruit and cheese were great, too. But the conversation suffered after Derrick’s lapse into strangeness, no matter how normal he seemed now. A pall of discomfort hung over the table, and conversation degenerated into compliments on the deliciousness of the repast.

“It’s getting a bit late,” Liza finally said, breaking into another round of trite observations about the food. “Maybe I should call a cab.”

“That’s a point. We’ve had enough wine that I probably shouldn’t drive you myself.” Derrick led Liza to the kitchen phone.

“Twenty minutes,” she announced after talking with the dispatcher.

“Then you have time to see one thing.” Derrick brought her down a hallway to a beautifully paneled door. “I think you’ll really like it. The entrance to my study,” he said with an ironic smile. “As you’ve heard, Jenny hates it when I hole up in here.”

Liza almost had to catch her breath as she looked around. Built-in shelves held a library on sudoku and cryptography that any university or government agency would covet. A wide teak desk facing a window with the same view as the terrace provided a working space for Derrick. His desk was empty now except for a folded newspaper and one discordant note—a Gideon Bible, its leatherette cover faded and worn almost to tatters.

“Need religion to help you get through the hardest puzzles?” Liza teased.

Derrick glanced over at it. “It’s a personal item—very sentimental. My dad was a traveling salesman. That Bible gave him a lot of comfort during some bad times on the road.” He smiled reminiscently. “While my brother and I were growing up, Dad often quoted the Good Book to us, chapter and verse. When he passed on, I ended up with it.”

The actor’s smile faded. “Imagine my surprise when I fooled around with one of those oddball
Prospect
puzzles and found a reference to one of Dad’s favorite taglines from his old Gideon Bible.

“I thought it was a fluke, but I decided to decode some copies of old
Prospect
puzzles I had around here. Not only did more quotes turn up, but I realized they tied in with stuff happening in the news—bad stuff.”

He stopped when he saw the expression on Liza’s face. “I know you’re hoping I’ve got some kind of punch line coming up when I talk about this. I don’t. I just know something funny’s going on, and I don’t like it. Unfortunately, this isn’t a pitch for a flick called
Conspiracy Theory II
. I’m serious. Somebody on that paper is up to no good. I wanted to run this past someone who knows sudoku, and I was planning to do it at the tournament today. Unfortunately, Will was running around like a madman the whole time we were there and I never was able to get him alone, so you’re elected. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to, and I probably shouldn’t have waited until we finished the second bottle of wine to do it.”