Randall #02 - Ghost Writers in the Sky (22 page)

There was awful logic to the theory. Except I did not want to believe any of them was guilty. Not Rick, in spite of his thing with Luci. And not Gabriella. Or Miguel and Donna. They’d all have to be very good actors if they were part of some murderous conspiracy.

Besides, Plant was right. Gabriella would not have authorized vandalism of her cowhide walls. It was going to cost a fortune to re-cover them.

When I got back to Gabriella’s apartment, I was startled by a noise: something between a thump and a snap.

“
Luci?” said a voice from inside. A voice I didn’t recognize.

Maybe the investigators were back.

“
Officer?” I called down the hall.

No answer.

I opened the door and gasped.

There she was—the Burberry woman: blonde, about my height and figure—maybe a bit taller, with considerably bigger breasts—wearing a vintage
prêt a porter
Chanel suit in a color and style I happened to own myself. On her wrist was what looked like the Paloma Picasso diamond hugs and kisses bracelet Jonathan had given me for our tenth anniversary. Over her shoulder was a huge Fendi-style spybag—a knock-off of the very one I carried until a few months ago.

This was a caricature of my own last year’s self—a Bizarro Camilla. Like a very bad dream. I grabbed the door jamb in an attempt to make contact with reality.

 “
Dr. Manners!” The woman’s voice had a deep, whisky-and-cigarette rasp. “I thought you’d be at dinner.” She laughed as if this were terribly funny. “Thank God it’s you. I was afraid you were Luci Silverberg. That woman is the devil, you know that? Satan in support hose. She’s over sixty. Did you know how much work she’s had done?”  She eyed my shoes. “Are those real Louboutin sandals? I love the bronzy cobra skin. If only he made them in my size…” She stepped from behind the bed, displaying astonishingly large feet.

I kept a firm grip on my shoes and spoke in my most intimidating Manners Doctor tone.

“
Who are you, Madam, and what are you doing in my room?”

“
Oooh, I just love that: ‘Madam’. That is so classy.”

The thief went back to ransacking my Vuitton suitcases, now open on the bed.

“
That’s your appeal. You just ooze class. That’s why Dr. Manners is my trademark character. I used to do Martha Stewart, wearing the little apron, spanking them with a sweet little antique wooden bread paddle, but, well, Martha’s so over, isn’t she? After jail everything she does is boring. I do Sharon Stone—and Ann Coulter, of course, but once I started doing Dr. Manners, you wouldn’t believe how my client list grew. And with this new press you’re getting…”

She laughed again and went back to rummaging in my suitcases.

“
How nice my humiliation has been good for somebody.” My head reeled with the implications of having a real dominatrix impersonate me. “You haven’t answered my question. What are you doing in my bedroom?”

She smoothed out my ravaged Dolce and Gabbana suit.

“
I didn’t know it was yours at first. Honestly. I came up here looking for some, um, property that Toby should have returned to me. When I was poking around, what should I find but all your gorgeous things! Couldn’t resist a peek. Do you realize how much this means to a Dr. Manners impersonator?  Mostly I base my wardrobe on magazine photos, but here—well, it’s a treasure trove!” She picked up my Oscar de la Renta charmeuse chemise

I grabbed it and tossed it in the bag.

“
You were going to steal my clothes?”
            “Steal? Oh no, sweetie. I do not steal. Besides, they wouldn’t fit me, would they? You’re a little curvier around the hips than me and, well, my girls here—” She looked down at her gravity-defying breasts. “When I had them put in, I told the doc to just fill ’em up—give me a D cup. I wouldn’t have if I’d realize how much harder it would be to fit into designer clothes. But it’s not like I’d ever had breasts before.”

“
You’re a transsexual?” That would explain the husky voice and thickish neck.

“
Pre-op. I’m saving. That’s why I do this.” She opened my make-up case.

“
This? Sneaking around people’s apartments and not stealing things? Does that pay well?”

“
Oh, sweetie, don’t be hostile. I admire you so much. No—I only go where I’m invited. And you’d be amazed how many places that is. I work for a celebrity impersonator escort agency.” She studied my tube of Lancôme Vintage Rose lipstick.

“
You’re a prostitute who pretends to be somebody famous? Like in the film
L.A. Confidential
?”

I could see Donna’s manuscript folder lying on the dresser behind the intruder. I’d retrieve it, then go tell the investigators they had a new suspect. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my face calm.

“
Right. Like
L.A.
Confidential
. If you paid attention in that film, sweetie, you know that pretty much everybody in L.A. is a whore. But I don’t sleep with my clients. I discipline them.” She dropped the lipstick back in my case.

“
You’re one of those people with the leather corsets and whips?”

She sighed, as if this was too boring for words. “Leather is so vanilla these days. That’s all gone mainstream, hasn’t it? So for us professionals, the secret is to come up with something fresh, like…”
            “Like impersonating me?” I walked to the dresser, grabbed Donna’s folder and slipped it into my tote bag. “Please leave. Now.”

 
She eyed my tote bag. “You don’t carry that fabulous Fendi spybag any more?”

“
No.” I was not going to admit I’d had to sell it.

“
Too bad. I love mine, even though it’s not the real McCoy. It’s roomy enough for all my make-up and…well, you know, props.”

I did not know about her “props.” Nor did I want to. I wanted this creature to disappear from the galaxy.

But now he/she smiled broadly and grabbed my hand, uttering one incomprehensible word that sounded like “Marva.” 

“
Marva?” I awkwardly shook the hand. It didn’t let go.

“
Used to be Marvin.” With a sudden move he/she slipped my tote bag from my wrist as if it were the most normal action in the world. “Shows what sort of a childhood I had. What kind of parents name a kid Marvin?”

“
What do you think you’re doing?” I reached to retrieve my tote. “Give me that!”

Marva only smiled wider as she pulled out both gold pocket folders—Donna’s and the one with the steamy letters and horrible photograph.

“
Now what’s this? Two folders, and they look just alike! Think of the confusion that could cause!” He/she tossed one folder back to me. “I’ve already seen this. Do you think a book about pundits in love will sell?”

I took Donna’s folder and cringed as Marva opened the other.

“
Oh, my, my.” Marva flipped through the steamy letters. “These are good. No wonder Toby didn’t want me to see them.”

The time for manners was over. I lunged, reaching for the open folder. Marva’s grip was firm, but I did get my hand in one of the pockets to grasp a couple of the envelopes, but the awful photo slid out with them and onto the floor. As she bent over to pick it up, I stuffed the few letters I’d grabbed into my tote. At least I’d have proof they existed.

“
Here it is.” She stood and studied the awful photograph of Jonathan with cool detachment. “So how did you get this stuff out of Toby? I’ve ransacked the place looking for this folder. Even Luci has never seen these letters—not that I know of.”

“
Luci is involved with those love letters, too?”

“
Of course. She and Toby were partners. Did you kill Toby, you sly thing?”

“
Of course not. Why would I do that?” This was getting creepier by the minute.

 “
Maybe because you didn’t want this photo all over the Internet? Blackmail is a powerful motive.”

“
Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not even me in the picture.”

“
Of course not. It’s me.” She gave a big laugh. “But who cares? By the time the word got out it was fake, Dr. Manners would be history. It only takes a few days to gerbil somebody these days.”

I didn’t know whether to be afraid of this person or laugh at her. “You attack people with gerbils?”

She gave another throaty laugh. “You of all people should know that nobody cares if a story is true; they only care if it’s juicy. Like those old urban legends about the hottie of the hour having anatomically impossible sex with a gerbil. I’m sure certain Hollywood leading men would like to kill whoever started those gerbil-sex stories.”

“
I didn’t kill anybody. Or molest any rodents. Besides, Luci has a copy of that photo. I’d have to kill her, too, wouldn’t I?”

“
No. Because she doesn’t have it any more.” Marva reached into her faux Fendi bag and pulled out a familiar little Lulu Guinness rose basket purse. “I switched it for a knock-off this afternoon when she was at the Maverick Saloon with that hunky L.A. cop.”

The Maverick Saloon. So Marva did business there. That explained why my biker-chauffeur friend talked to me about “the Saloon” when we met in Santa Barbara. And why he thought I wanted to go there. He must be one of Marva’s customers. Apparently a satisfied one.

Marva dangled Luci’s stolen handbag from a sturdy finger. “It’s cute, but I could never carry such a dinky thing, could you?” She lifted the fabric rose lid and pulled a second copy of the photo from the bottom of the purse. “Only two copies were printed, and the picture was deleted, so you’re safe now, dear.”

I did not feel the slightest bit safe.

“
The person in the picture with you—it’s really Jonathan?”

 “
Of course.” Marva smiled. “The riding helmet was his idea. He says you ride English and hunt foxes and stuff? That is sooo old money. My riding is strictly Western. In fact I used to work cattle on this ranch when I was a boy. Working for Gaby was the best summer job in town.”

I did not want to hear Marva reminisce while my head felt about to explode. “Jonathan was in on this? He wanted a transvestite to…”

“
Transsexual, sweetie. There’s a difference.”

“
But Jonathan hired you to impersonate me and…”

“
Spank his naughty bottom? Yes, he did. But if it makes you feel any better, he didn’t like the fact that I’m trans.”

“
How could he accuse me, when he was the one who was getting kinky…?”

“
Oh, don’t get all judgmental on me. Remember what the Manners Doctor says, ‘There is no place for judgmental behavior in a civilized society. If you believe you are morally or spiritually superior to another being, the only way to prove it is to be kind’.”

“
Do you think allowing this photograph to be taken was a kind thing to do?”

“
No. But I don’t claim to be superior to anybody. Besides, I didn’t know about the pictures. Turns out my former boss hid cameras in the rooms. She called it ‘business insurance.’ But she made the mistake of shopping her memoirs to Luci. And Luci started approaching our clients—getting them to pay to keep the book off the market.”

“
Luci gets celebrities to pay her to keep her books from getting published?”

Marva nodded.

Things started to click into place. It sure explained Rick’s book. It was full of dirt on thinly disguised A-listers.

And Luci wanted me to agree to a fake “memoir” so she could blackmail Jonathan.

There was an authoritative knock on the front door. We both froze.

“
Cops,” said Marva. “Nobody else knocks like that. “I’m outta here.” She rushed right toward the hidden elevator. She must have done more than herd cattle around the place when she was a boy. She knew its secrets.

“
I’ll send the elevator back up for you, sweetie,” Marva blew a kiss just before the red leatherette doors clicked shut. “I’m sure you’re better with cops than I am.”

The knocking got louder.

“
Camilla? Is that you in there? Why did you leave the dining room so fast? We need to talk. Gaby…her arrest. You know she’s not guilty, right?”

I was so relieved it was only Rick and not Detective Fiscalini that I opened the door and threw my arms around him before I remembered I was angry with him. I eyed the new leather jacket, and all my fury at Luci came pouring forth.

“
Do you know what Marva said about Luci? She said she’s the devil. Satan in support hose.”

“
Whoever Marva is, she’s probably right,” he said.

I started to explain. “Marva is…”

Did he just say I was right about Luci?