The path that led to the mansion approached from the west, the side of the house where my room was located. I could see my balcony as I climbed the winding path that clung to the incline in a series of wooden steps and steep dirt.
From this view, the house was lovely. Many of the rooms were illuminated, and it looked like a palace waiting for a party. The wind chimes showered the night with music.
As I approached, I froze. Someone was standing on my balcony.
I eased closer, moving through the palm fronds and the small trees that contained heavenly night blossoms. When I had a clear view, I stopped. A slender, dark-haired woman gazed out toward the water. Something about her made me think that she had done this many times.
Night had fallen, and though the moon was full, I couldn’t see clearly. Her features were indistinct. It could easily be Estelle. She was the same size and build, with the same flowing black hair. But I couldn’t be certain.
I’d locked my door when I left, but that meant nothing in a house where the daughter would surely have keys to all the rooms.
“Hey!” I called out. “Hey, you!”
Either the figure didn’t hear me or she ignored me. She continued to gaze out toward the ocean, as if she waited for some signal.
“Hey!” I yelled louder and jumped up and down, waving my arms. “What are you doing in my room?”
I was about to run the rest of the way to the house when I felt a firm grip on my arm. I turned to see one of the burly security guards eyeing me with suspicion.
“That woman is standing on the balcony outside my room.” I pointed to the second floor, and we both looked.
The balcony was empty.
“Shall I help you into the house?” the guard asked in perfect English with a Spanish accent. I recognized him from the night before. He was the same man who’d been outside the front door when I’d seen the woman leave. He’d also claimed that the door hadn’t opened.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Daniel Martinez,” he said. “The owner of Promise Security Agency, at your service.” He almost gave a bow.
“Did you see that woman on the balcony?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t see anyone, but it’s dark. Let me check your room.”
“Okay.”
We walked into the house together. When we came to my room, the door was locked. I opened it with my key. Daniel did a quick walk-through of the room and adjoining bath and found nothing.
“The light here can play tricks,” he said. His smile revealed strong white teeth and his dark eyes danced. “The locals say this house is haunted, though. Perhaps you saw the ghost.”
“The ghost of whom?”
He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “The owner, the mistress, the murdered maid. Aren’t the stories all the same? A ghost must be unhappy to remain behind to haunt a place.” His smile widened. “And it’s almost always a woman, yes? Something to think about.”
Great, a security guard with a misogynistic comedy routine. “Thanks for your help, Mr. Martinez.”
“Call me Daniel. I hear you’re going to be a huge star when you return to the States. Perhaps I can get your autograph later.”
I must have looked like a gaffed fish because he laughed. “No one has ever asked for my autograph,” I confessed.
“Maybe if you leave one for the ghost, she’ll go away happy.”
“Clever.”
“Call me if you need anything, Ms. Delaney. I’m at your service.”
When he left I locked the door and searched the room myself. There was no evidence that anything had been tampered with. Then again, ghosts didn’t normally move papers. If the ghost of Carlita Marquez was haunting the mansion, what did she want and why was she trying to get it from me?
“Well, this place puts the Delta to shame!”
Tinkie’s lilting Southern drawl echoed in the huge foyer of the mansion, and I ran down the stairs to smother her in a hug. Right behind her were Millie and Cece, both wearing hats and huge sunglasses even though it was dark outside.
“Sarah Booth, dahling,” Cece said, inching her sunglasses down her aristocratic nose. “You look underfed and over-fucked. How do I get that job description?”
She gave me air kisses on each cheek before yielding to Millie, who gave me a big warm hug.
“The paparazzi took our photographs! They were like vultures fighting over a dead possum in the highway. It was wonderful!” Millie stepped back from me and began to ooh and ahh over the house. “I can’t believe I’m here.”
“She’s afraid the café will close while she’s gone,” Tinkie said, a laugh in her voice.
“Don’t worry about that! Everyone in town will show up and eat for days trying to pry gossip out of you,” Cece told Millie. “In fact, you should set a twenty-dollar minimum. Not one shred of gossip about Sarah Booth unless the tab is at least twenty bucks.”
“Where’s Graf?” They were embarrassing me, and I wanted to change the subject.
“I think he’s getting the luggage. We also brought Jovan with us from the airport.” Cece gave a little moue. “Beautiful but not a great conversationalist.”
“I couldn’t stop staring at her,” Millie said. “She’s so gorgeous. They call her the Ice Princess in the tabloids. They say she’s such a hot model because it’s that contrast of Nordic cool and the hot Latino men they use with her in the ads.”
“Graf has a surprise for you, Sarah Booth.” Tinkie could barely suppress her glee.
“What kind of surprise?” I asked. Tragedy tapping at my door had made me suspicious of surprises.
“The kind you’ll like.” Cece put her arm around my shoulders. “Give us the tour. Millie especially wants to see the balcony where the prop guy almost fell to his death.”
Millie pulled a shining digital camera from her purse. “I brought my camera. I intend to document this entire trip. You would think Cece would do this. She is, supposedly, the journalist.” She started snapping photographs. “Is the young man who fell doing better?” she asked.
“Joey is fine. His injuries aren’t serious. In fact, he’s back on the set already.” And he was. He couldn’t do much, but he was doing what he could. I led the way upstairs, unlocking my door to a curious look from Tinkie.
“Long story,” I whispered under my breath.
While Cece and Millie toured the room, both stopping in front of the striking portrait of Carlita Marquez, Tinkie went straight to the balcony. Even in the dark she suspected the balustrade had deliberately been weakened.
“Were you the target?” she asked.
“I don’t think so. There’re some strange things happening in this house.”
“Strange as in fatal?”
“Strange as in… supernatural.” If I’d ever thought of telling Tinkie about Jitty, I knew better now. Her face showed clear doubt and a good measure of worry.
“Are you saying a ghost tampered with the balcony?”
“No.” What was I saying? “Ghosts can’t-” I broke off. Far be it for me to explain the rules and regulations of the Great Beyond. “Someone did that but it’s possible it wasn’t directed at me. It could have happened long before the filming started.”
“Or not.” Tinkie stared into my eyes, searching for some answer. “Suzy Dutton died in the ravine by the house you were living in. She was pushed off a cliff.”
“Did the coroner rule homicide?” Being so far away from California and without access to a computer, I hadn’t thought to check on the news stories about Suzy.
“The coroner’s report hasn’t been released, but law enforcement officials have been all over that canyon, and they hauled Bobby Joe Taylor in for questioning. They wouldn’t do that if they felt Dutton’s death was accidental.”
“How do you know all this?” Foolish question.
“Millie keeps up with things. And it’s a good thing, too. I’d never have known about the prop man falling if it wasn’t for her.”