Fatal Identity (7 page)

He shuddered again, pushing back the memory of sweat-soaked sheets and nasty sounds in the night. It was over. He was here. The Red Lady could no longer hurt him with the Uncles. That chapter in his life was closed. The final word had been written. The Red Lady was neutralized, and he would never be forced to endure another Uncle.

His ears were alert for any sound as his eyes searched the familiar shadows. There was no longer any red in the pool. It had been drained and filled with fresh water. But this red gave off an almost palpable scent, hot and angry and violent. It was here somewhere. He had to find it.

The bougainvillea was flowering but its blossoms were orange. There was no danger in orange. And the night-blooming jasmine had white flowers. No danger there, either. The rose garden was neutralized. He'd seen to that right after the housekeeper and the children had left, digging out the roots of the American Beauty Rose and tossing them in the Dumpster at the bottom of the hill.

Could his instincts be wrong? He wrinkled his nose and sniffed the air again. Damp and dark, with a hint of jasmine. And then he smelled it again, a faint trace of red that tickled his nostrils with a scorching, metallic odor.

He sniffed his way across the patio, to the potted palms at the end. And then he saw it, a shiny red matchbook left carelessly on the arm of the lounge chair. Who had left it there? Not the housekeeper. And certainly not the children. A repairman perhaps, or one of the gardening crew. It really didn't matter. He had found the red, and now he could neutralize it.

He approached slowly, stepping carefully over the red mist that rose around his ankles. His mind was filled with thoughts of destruction. Which method should he use? Which ancient element would give him the power to destroy the evil red?

Earth, air, fire, and water. He would use fire, of course. He pulled out the matches he carried in his pocket, the matches from her wedding. White matches with gold tips in a white satin box. The gold writing on the cover spelled out their names, Brad and Mercedes, September twentieth. Nine, two, zero. It was the combination for the gate, the one the husband had thought was so clever.

He glanced down at the matchbox and frowned. They had been kept in a large white basket on the bar at the reception. Although he didn't smoke, he'd taken several for just this purpose.

Even though the matches were over two years old, he was certain they would work. She had always bought quality goods. But the red mist was rising up toward his knees, and he had to hurry.

He used a towel that had been left on the chair to flick the red matchbook from its hateful resting place. Then he opened his pure white matchbox, took out a match, and struck it.

The flame was a bright flicker in the darkness as he dropped to his knees and brought the point of fire to the edge of the evil red matchbook. It was a bit like bringing coals to Newcastle, and he would have smiled if he'd been able.

The red matchbook smoldered, the cover was flame resistant. For a moment, he thought he might have to light a second white match, but just as he was about to strike the second match, it blazed brightly, almost leaping up to lick his face.

He stumbled back awkwardly, catching himself as he began to fall. Then he got to his feet by the flaming pyre, and glanced up toward the windows. A woman had come in the night. He'd seen her arrive with the lawyer, but it had been too dark to see her face. She was staying in his love's room, something he found disturbing, but perhaps she was only an overnight guest.

No light spilled from her window, and he breathed a deep sigh of relief. No one could know that he was here, inside the locked gates. His presence was a secret that had to be kept.

The fire was dying now, fading to a flicker and then to darkness. He stared down at the small pile of ashes the ancient element had left in its wake, and gave a shaky smile. No need to sweep the patio. The morning breeze would lift the ashes and bear them away. He would have time to get to a place of safety, before the blackness closed in and made him sleep.

CHAPTER 4

Marcie awoke to sunlight streaming through sheer sea green curtains. Very pretty. It was a lovely color that reminded her of spring, and tiny green shoots of early-blooming irises peeking up through the cold, white snow. But the curtains in her bedroom weren't green. They were harvest gold!

The shock made Marcie sit bolt-upright in bed. She blinked in confusion at the array of perfume bottles and jars of makeup on the white wicker dresser. She didn't wear makeup, and this wasn't her dresser. Her dresser was an antique oak piece she'd taken from her parents' house. She turned her head, blinked at the enormous walk-in closet, the white wicker chaise lounge in the corner with its peach and green cushions, and finally . . . the waving palm tree outside the window.

“Mercedes!” Marcie closed her eyes as the pain washed over her in a crashing wave. She was in her twin sister's bedroom. And Mercedes was dead.

Marcie sat there for a full minute, blinking back tears. But it was against her nature to dwell on tragedy. She had to get up and get busy. Rosa and the twins would be home today, and they would need her. And Brad would need her, too. She had to hurry and dress.

One glance at the clock on the white wicker bedside table, and Marcie let out a groan of remorse. It was almost ten in the morning. How could she have slept so late? And so soundly? She'd expected her dreams to be full of painful memories, perhaps even a nightmare or two. But she'd slept very peacefully. The sheets weren't twisted up in a ball as they usually were when she was upset, and the blanket was still tucked in. She felt almost guilty for sleeping so well on the night after her sister's death.

Marcie stood up and stretched. She felt rested and ready to cope with the day. Then she remembered that she had nothing to wear. Had her suitcases arrived while she was asleep?

She padded, barefooted, across the deep pile rug and opened the door. The hallway was deserted. No suitcases. She was sure Brad would have brought them up if they'd been here when he'd left for his golf tournament. She remembered how apologetic Brad had been last night, when he'd mentioned the tournament. He'd told her he'd tried to cancel, but he hadn't been able to find a replacement on such short notice. Marcie had urged him to go. His partners were depending on him, and the tournament was for charity. It would do him good to get out of the house and be with his friends. She'd promised him that she'd take care of things on the home front so he needn't worry. Sam was coming over to help with all the arrangements, but they'd wait with any final decisions until Brad got home.

Poor Brad. When she'd mentioned the arrangements, he'd confessed that he just couldn't face making them. Anything she wanted was fine with him, as long as it was private. Could Marcie please take care of it for him?

Of course, Marcie had agreed. Brad shouldn't worry. She would take care of everything. But in the cold light of morning, Marcie wondered exactly what she should do. How did one arrange a funeral in a city as large as Los Angeles? Thank goodness Sam was coming over this morning to help her. But he could be on his way right now, and she wasn't even dressed!

Marcie walked to the connecting door to Brad's room, and knocked. Perhaps he hadn't left yet. She needed to ask him if she could borrow some of Mercedes's clothes until the airline delivered hers. But there was no answer.

Marcie opened the door and peeked in. There were several crumpled towels on the floor, and she could smell the faint hint of his cologne in the air. She was too late. Brad was gone.

Even though she'd urged Brad to go to the golf tournament, Marcie still felt a bit deserted. But that was why she'd come, wasn't it? She was there to deal with the tragic details and spare Brad and the children. She just wished that Brad had knocked on her door to say something before he'd left.

Marcie hesitated in the doorway for a moment, and then she stepped in. Brad's room was done in dark green, with green and gold plaid on the overstuffed chairs on either side of the fireplace. Mercedes had mentioned that Brad's favorite color was green, and the room was obviously decorated to please him. There was a heavy mahogany bed with dark green sheets and a matching bedspread. It was flanked by two mahogany bed tables, with identical brass lamps on their tops. On the far wall was a huge mahogany dresser, six drawers high and four drawers wide. There was a life-size portrait of Mercedes in a brass frame hanging over the fireplace, and several Remington prints on the walls.

Even though she knew she shouldn't intrude on Brad's private quarters, Marcie couldn't resist walking over to examine the prints. She reached up to touch one, and gasped as she realized that they weren't prints. Four Remington originals! Marcie's mind boggled at what they must be worth. Then she saw the sculpture on the table between the two overstuffed chairs, and she gasped again. Another original Remington. It must have cost a fortune!

Marcie took a quick turn around the room, noticing the large walk-in closet filled with expensive clothing on wooden hangers, and the bathroom with its private sauna. This was a totally masculine room, the direct opposite of Mercedes's feminine boudoir.

Marcie had been shocked when she'd first learned about her sister's living arrangements. Wasn't there something wrong when a married couple chose to sleep in separate bedrooms? But then Mercedes had explained it, and it all made perfect sense. She often had early calls when she was working on a movie, and Brad was normally a late sleeper. Mercedes preferred to go to bed early, and Brad stayed up past midnight almost every night
. It's just that we have conflicting schedules,
Mercedes had said with a laugh.
It doesn't mean that we don't love each other. After all, we have a connecting door.

Marcie walked back to Mercedes's room and shut the connecting door. She felt slightly guilty for examining Brad's room, but she couldn't help being interested in the handsome man her twin sister had married.

She still hadn't solved the problem of what to wear, but perhaps Rosa was here by now. Marcie picked up the telephone on her sister's night table, and pressed the intercom button. She really didn't want to wear the same clothes she'd worn yesterday. They were wrinkled from her long airplane flight. But she wasn't sure it was right to wear her sister's clothes. She'd ask Rosa what to do.

“Miss Marcie!” Rosa answered on the first ring. “I'll bring your tea right up.”

Marcie frowned. For some strange reason, she didn't feel like tea this morning. “Rosa? I think I'd rather have coffee, if you don't mind.”

“I don't mind.” Rosa sounded amused. “Why should I mind? I think it's about time you stopped drinking that awful herb tea. I made a big pot of coffee for Mr. Brad so there's plenty left for you.”

A moment later there was a knock on the door, and Rosa came bustling in. She set the tray down on the dressing table and rushed over to give Marcie a big hug. As Marcie hugged her back, she realized that there were tears in her eyes. She'd known the heavyset Hungarian housekeeper for ten years, and Rosa had always treated her like one of the family.

“Oh, Rosa.” Marcie stepped back to give her a teary smile. “I'm so sorry you had to be the one to . . . to . . .”

Rosa shook her head. “Don't worry, Miss Marcie. You should be glad it was me, and not the babies. I've seen a lot of tragedy in my life. And I know Miss Mercedes is happy with Mr. Mike in heaven now. He was her first and best love.”

Marcie nodded. She certainly didn't want to start a philosophical discussion about the existence of a higher being right now, and she was glad that Rosa could draw comfort from her faith in the hereafter. “How are the twins taking it?”

Rosa smiled. “I think they'll be fine, Miss Marcie. They've got each other, and now they've got you.”

“Where are they?”

“Oh, Mr. Brad told me to take them back to school this morning. He says the longer they wait, the harder it'll be.”

Marcie frowned. “But did they want to go back this soon?”

“No, but I told them to call if they needed me, and I'd drive right over to bring them home. But they haven't called, so they must be all right.”

“I suppose their friends will ask a lot of painful questions. Brad said there was a story in the paper.”

“On the front page.” Rosa nodded. “But if Trish and Rick don't want to answer those kinds of questions, they're going to say it makes them feel bad to talk about it. Their friends don't really want to hurt them. They're just kids, and they're naturally curious.”

Marcie raised her eyebrows. Rosa knew more about human nature than anyone else she'd ever met. “You've got so much common sense, Rosa. How did you learn so much?”

“I'm fifty-two and I've raised four of my own.” Rosa shrugged the compliment away. “You don't get to be my age without learning something.”

“I suppose that's true. At least in your case. I'm not so sure about me.”

Rosa laughed. “Don't be silly, Miss Marcie. You've got plenty of common sense. So where are your clothes? I'll hang them up for you.”

“They're in my suitcases, and the airline sent them to Chicago by mistake. They're supposed to send a man out with them this morning, but Sam told me I'd better not count on it.”

“Airlines!” Rosa snorted. “That's what happens when you deregulate things! My daughter lost a suitcase once, and they never did find it. And all they paid her was fifty dollars! She couldn't even replace her shoes for that! So you don't have any clothes?”

“Only what I wore to the airport.”

“That's no problem. You can wear some of your sister's. She always said you should dress better.”

“She did?” Marcie frowned slightly.

Rosa nodded. “But she didn't say it in the mean way. Miss Mercedes told me that you always tried to hide your beauty, even when you were just a little girl. I know that if she was standing here right now, she'd open up her closet and tell you to wear anything of hers you wanted.”

“But how about the twins? Won't they be upset, if they see me wearing their mother's clothes?”

Rosa shook her head. “The twins love you. And they know their mother doesn't need clothes in heaven. I think they'd like seeing her pretty clothes on you.”

“Well . . . perhaps.” Marcie wasn't convinced. “But it might bother Brad.”

Rosa shrugged. “Take it from me, he'd never know the difference. I don't think he ever noticed what Miss Mercedes was wearing. But if you want, I'll look for some new things that Miss Mercedes never wore. I know I can find something.”

Marcie sat down at the dressing table and sipped her coffee. To her surprise, she was actually learning to like the taste. Rosa was a problem solver, no doubt about it. If she dressed in something new, no one would know it had belonged to Mercedes.

“I found some.” Rosa carried an armload of clothing to the bed. “Here's a pretty new blouse. This royal blue would be a good color for you. And here's two pairs of shorts, the kind that look like little short skirts. And I found a brand-new jogging suit that Miss Mercedes bought last year, before she had those peach ones made. And here's a skirt to go with the blouse. A wraparound, see? And I even found a new pair of Italian sandals. Is that enough, Miss Marcie? Or do you want me to keep on looking?”

“That's enough. The skirt and blouse will be perfect for today, and maybe I'll have my suitcases by tonight. Thank you, Rosa. I really appreciate it.”

“You'd better hurry, Miss Marcie.” Rosa glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “Mr. Sam called twenty minutes ago, and he said he'd be here in an hour.”

After Rosa had left, Marcie took a quick shower in her sister's bathroom. It was a huge, mirrored room with a large, glass-walled shower, a bathtub that could easily accommodate four people, and a full-sized Jacuzzi. Even though she told herself she was being overly sensitive, Marcie felt like a thief when she used Mercedes's perfumed soap and body lotion. It seemed almost like they were in high school again, and she was sneaking some of her sister's expensive perfume.

Marcie had just finished dressing when Rosa called to say that Sam had arrived. She slipped her feet into the new pair of sandals, and took the time to run a comb through her hair. Then she hurried down the stairs to greet the man she already thought of as a friend.

“Marcie.” Sam gave her a little hug. “How are you this morning?”

“I'm fine, and my suitcases are having a wonderful vacation.”

“I told you.” Sam grinned at her. “There's something about American Tourister. Once it lands in Hawaii, it wants to stick around to get a suntan. Is there anything you need, Marcie? I can run out and get it.”

Marcie smiled. “Nothing, Sam. Rosa found me some clothes, and I can wait for the rest.”

“Are you sure?”

Marcie began to frown. Everything else could wait, but there were two things she'd remembered to ask Harriet Scharf to pack. A set of acrylic paints for Trish, and a collector album for Rick's baseball cards.

“What is it, Marcie?” Sam looked concerned.

“It's nothing really. I had some gifts for the twins, but I'm sure my suitcases will come, sooner or later. It's just that every time I fly out to California, I always bring them a little something.”

“That's not an insurmountable problem. I'll take you down to the biggest mall in town right after we finish our business. Would you like to have lunch while we're out?”

Marcie hesitated. “That would be wonderful, but I want to be here when the twins get home from school. And I'm not sure if Rosa has . . .”