Which raised an interesting question. Were the Álfar a strain of humans that had branched off way back in the evolutionary tree, or were we a less magical strain of Álfar? Or, final choice, were they a different species altogether? The Firsters movement was now led by a savvy lobbyist by the name of Belinda Cartwright, and Reverend Trager had been pushed to the background, which was probably why the initiative was starting to gain traction. I found a few man on the street interviews that had been uploaded onto YouTube. A few people defended the Álfar, but most talked about mesmerizing powers that drew in unsuspecting girls. I found the whole thing incredibly depressing.
I dug a bit deeper into Ms. Cartwright and found she and her advocacy group, Liberty Front, had been behind several anti-immigrant statutes passed in various states and now making their way up to the Supreme Court. They also made commercials that were in favor of carbon dioxide and said the melting of the permafrost was a good thing. If you warm up Siberia it could be a new breadbasket.
“Which we’re going to fucking need, since Iowa, Kansas, and Nebraska are going to be deserts!” I muttered aloud.
Grit seemed to have invaded my eyes. I rubbed them, and realized that it was not just my eyes, but the tops of my thighs were burning from the heat of the laptop. I sat it on the couch next to me and went into the kitchen area for a glass of water. It was three thirty a.m., and I had been at this for hours. I should have gone to bed, especially since I had to talk to the police in the morning—this morning—but I was damn sure I wasn’t going to be able to sleep, and not sure what I’d dream about if I did manage to.
Tomorrow, or rather later today, I would try to find out who was representing Kerrinan. I took my phone from my purse to charge it and realized I had turned it off when we went onto the movie set hours and another lifetime ago. I turned it on and found a number of messages that was depressingly reminiscent of when Chip had been killed and lots and lots of media outlets had called—LA Times, Entertainment Weekly, Variety, the Hollywood Reporter. Among them was a message from my father.
“I’m at the airport. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I love you, honey.”
I snuffled and wiped away a sudden surge of tears. Last time I had been in trouble he had been inexplicably absent. I knew it was crazy for him to fly across the country, but I was so glad he was.
The earliest message was from Joylon. It was the call I had missed when Debbie had told me to turn off my phone. The woman’s face swam into focus. I remembered her intensity and obvious love of her job. I sank down on the couch. As the police had hustled us away from the soundstage I had seen her body at the bottom of the stairs leading into Jondin’s Star Waggon. She had been the first victim of the actress’s murderous rage. I blinked back tears and keyed back the message. This one I would listen to; maybe it would make me feel better.
The rich baritone made even more velvety by a BBC British accent filled the room. “Hallo, Linnet, first, not to worry, Vento is fine. He misses you. Which got me to thinking; if you’re going to be stuck on the Left Coast for weeks and perhaps months it might make it more tolerable if you had your horse. So, Vento is on a van heading to the LA Equestrian Center. He should arrive day after tomorrow. Everything in terms of board has been arranged, and I have a dressage instructor friend who will keep an eye on him, and she can both coach you and ride Vento if you are just too busy. Cheers.”
I stared at the phone. It wasn’t all that uncommon in horse circles. Vans crisscrossed the country carrying race horses and top show horses from coast to coast each week, but I wasn’t a professional rider, and Vento wasn’t really my horse; he was Jolly’s. He was clearly a madman, but if the Englishman had been closer I would have kissed him. I was good about using the health club at the Oakwood, but the surroundings were so sterile. How much better to be outside with a horse.
I went to bed, feeling marginally better because I had good news and a plan of action. Something strange was happening, and I wanted to get to the bottom of it.
9
In addition to the pools, the heath club, and the clubhouse complete with Ping-Pong and pool tables, the Oakwood had a dry cleaner and a small grocery store on site. At six thirty, after three hours of sleep, I staggered into the kitchen. An examination of my fridge revealed a deficit of orange juice, so I decided to make use of the market. As I walked down paths and stairs to the little market to pick up a carton of orange juice and the LA Times, I wished David had called to tell me the time of my appointment at police headquarters. Stressing that it might be at eight a.m. was what had me get up at so damn early.
As if in answer to my thoughts my cell phone rang, but it wasn’t David, it was Caroline calling from New York. My first paranoid thought was for the cat.
“Oh, God, is Gadzooks okay?”
“He’s fine,” she said with that faint tone of impatience that she always had when she talked to me.
“Then why are you calling?” I asked.
“Don’t be dense! To check on you, of course.”
“Oh, no. How did you find out? Is it in the New York papers. Tell me it’s not in the New York papers.”
“The shooting is, but you’re not singled out. David called the senior partners, and the word got out.”
“Wow, the vamps must be slipping. They’re usually better about keeping things quiet. Wonder—”
“Would you stop nattering! Linnet, how are you? Are you okay? Did you get hurt? All we heard was that you were there, the partners did fine about keeping quiet about the stuff that really mattered. Like if you were okay. And why didn’t you call any of us?”
Even through the forced impatience I could hear the honest concern, and it warmed the cold place that I hadn’t realized had settled into my chest. I sat down on a convenient (if damp) bench and blinked away the sudden moisture that filled my eyes.
“I didn’t think about it. There’s something—” I broke off realizing how easy it was to hack cell phones. “I was checking out a few things, and then I tried to get a little sleep.”
Caroline wasn’t stupid. Nobody was who worked at Ishmael, McGillary and Gold. “Call me back when you feel like it’s appropriate.”
“Will do. Tell everybody hi.”
“I will. They’ll be glad to know you’re okay.”
Tears threatened once again as I stuck the phone back in my pants pocket and considered the women that I worked with. All of them brilliant and dedicated, graduates of the finest law schools, and most of them would never make partner as long as they stayed at a vampire-owned law firm. Maybe we were all crazy, and what we really needed to do was set up our own firm. I continued to the market, stepped through the doors, and headed to the cold case. There was an elderly man with a great smile pulling out a yogurt.
“What do you need, young lady?” he asked.
“Orange juice.”
“Good healthy thing. That’s how you stay so beautiful.” I blushed, as he handed me a carton. “Did you get up early to watch the announcement?”
“Announcement?” I repeated stupidly.
“For the Academy Awards. I’m still interested even though I’ve been retired for almost twenty years.”
“Uh, no. I didn’t know it was happening,” I replied.
He chuckled. “You must not be from around here or in the industry.”
“Both. Anything interesting in the nominations?” I asked as we walked toward the checkout counter together.
“One of those Álfar fellahs got nominated. Best Supporting Actor.”