“Why concerned?”
I didn’t want to overplay it. “She’s high-strung and she’s had emotional problems in the past. Just a call or drive by her place to make sure she’s okay would be great.”
“I’ll get an officer out there as soon as I hang up. I’m sure we have someone in the Hollywood Brat Babysitter department. Hey, if Federico’s daughter was in Malibu-”
“She was in Petaluma, according to her roommate, at the time of Suzy’s death.” That wasn’t a proven fact, but I didn’t want King giving Estelle the rough treatment until I knew she was guilty. “Even though you’re ill-tempered, I thank you.” I meant it, too. If I knew Estelle was truly in Malibu-and okay-it would give me some necessary answers about what was happening in Petaluma.
“When is the film crew returning to the States?” he asked.
“In a couple of days. We’re almost finished.”
“Tell Marquez to check in with me as soon as he gets into town. And let me remind you, Miss Delaney, that if you aren’t involved in the murder, then it’s possible you’re a future target. Bobby Joe Taylor has convinced me that the note left on the mirror was meant for you. So take that into account when you’re flitting around the area.”
“I feel better knowing that you’re concerned for my safety. Have a good afternoon.” I hung up. Even though I enjoyed my moment of one-upsmanship, King’s words troubled me. Bad things were happening around this movie. Someone had a burn on for Federico or someone involved with the film. And until we found out who that person was and stopped him or her, things could get worse.
Once Tinkie and Chablis were safely tucked in bed, Graf and I found some time alone. Instead of a stolen few passionate kisses in the garden alcoves, we had the night to ourselves. With all of the commotion going on, I hadn’t been able to focus on Graf and my feelings for him. As the moon peeked in the bedroom window, I set about putting that to right.
A breeze with a trace of salt rumbaed with the sheer curtains and teased our superheated skin as we made love. We were different, both of us, than we’d been in New York. We were gentler in some ways and more savage in others. But there was no doubt that we were kinder to each other in every way. The sense that time would run out for us-an emotion that had dominated our relationship in New York-was gone. We took our time with each other, savoring each touch, each sensation.
There is no aphrodisiac like self-confidence, and I found a willing partner in Graf. In our bed, there wasn’t room for fear. In that wonderful way of passion, the more I had, the more I wanted.
Graf had just begun a wicked exploration of the backs of my knees with his mouth when there was a loud crash from downstairs followed by an eardrum-piercing scream.
Sweetie began barking and clawing at the bedroom door with such franticness that it sent a shaft of fear through me. Tinkie was alone in her room with only Chablis to protect her. Chablis would do her best-and could be a fearsome adversary if she had the element of surprise on her side-but she only weighed three pounds.
Galvanized into action, Graf and I threw on robes and hurried into the hallway to peer down the stairs. Sweetie didn’t wait for us. She took the steps four at time, landing at the bottom in a dead scramble for the kitchen.
Hysterical sobbing came from there, and Graf and I ran. Along the way he picked up a heavy candlestick, and I clutched one of my beautiful spike heels.
Pale and shaken, Federico joined us. “Jovan is missing,” he whispered.
But not for long. We found her in the kitchen hunkered in a corner and crying. She was so terrified she fought Federico when he captured her in his arms to console her.
“She’s afraid,” Graf said, looking around. Nothing in the kitchen was out of place except for a platter that was smashed on the floor. I examined the broken pieces and realized it had been valuable, a handmade piece that was signed by the artist.
As Federico and Graf lifted Jovan from the floor and into a chair, I gathered the large pieces of clay and swept up the sharp shards. Sweetie patrolled the kitchen, whining at the sink and clawing at the cabinet door.
I opened the cabinet, but only neat rows of cleaning supplies were in evidence. I had no idea what was wrong with Sweetie Pie. She kept nosing the cabinet like a rib eye had been dropped there, but I couldn’t find a thing.
Tinkie, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, joined us. “What’s going on? I thought I heard a scream and a crash.”
Jovan whimpered before she answered. “There was a woman, here in the kitchen. A stranger.” She was shaking so violently that her teeth chattered. Her pale blue eyes were glassy with shock.
Federico put his arms around her and held her. “You’re safe,” he said, but he looked around the kitchen as if he expected to see the intruder hiding in a corner. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking for his dead wife. A chill swept over my body at the thought.
“What did she look like?” Tinkie asked gently. She took a seat at the table and patted Jovan’s hand. “Can you tell us? Then we’ll find her.”
“She had on a red dressing gown.” Jovan inhaled with a shudder. “She was standing right there, at the sink, and she turned to face me.” Tears ran down her cheeks and she choked back a sob.
“Jovan, darling, take a deep breath.” Federico rubbed her arms and kissed her head as he did his best to give her comfort. “You’re safe now. We’re all here with you.”
She inhaled deeply and continued. “She was so beautiful, at first. I thought she was an actress I hadn’t met yet, someone dark and exotic and beautiful.” Her eyes welled with tears again. “But then she glared at me. Her eyes were dark and they burned like hot coals.” She sobbed in earnest. “It was awful. She looked at me with such hatred, and then she lunged at me and said, ‘Get out! Get out of my house before you die!’ ” She closed her eyes. “She said we were all going to die.”
Even though we were all in the kitchen with the lights on, I edged closer to Graf. Tinkie, on the other hand, took practical action and went to check the door that led to the outside. It was locked. From the inside.
“Which way did she go?” Tinkie asked. “Did anyone else see her?”
We all shook our heads.
Jovan wiped her tears away. “I don’t know. That platter shot off the counter and smashed. I was startled and glanced at the broken dish. When I looked up, she was gone.”
Federico rubbed the right side of his face. “That platter was made for Carlita by Pablo Rameriz.”
“The famous artist?” Tinkie knew exactly who he was.
“Carlita sometimes modeled for him. He adored her. She valued that platter highly.”
Jovan turned so that she could look at him. Her eyes widened. “She broke it so we couldn’t use it. She is haunting this house, like everyone says. She hates us so much she’d destroy a work of art to keep us from using it.” She burst into wild tears.
“I’ll check the front door and the windows,” Graf volunteered.
“Take Sweetie with you.” My hound was pacing the kitchen. When she went with Graf, Chablis followed.
“Jovan,” I said, “are you sure you haven’t seen this woman before?” I refused to name her Carlita. If the idea that Federico’s dead wife was out to get us circulated through the film crew, we would shut down.
Jovan covered her eyes. “The first night I came here. When someone pushed me down the stairs. I saw her upstairs. I think she must have pushed me.”
“You’re positive it was the same woman?” I’d resisted believing that a ghost could harm any of us-or even that a ghost was involved. But Jovan had evidence.
She nodded. “I’m sure of it now. It was her. The same woman I saw on the second floor. The one who pushed me and could have killed me. And she said we’re going to die.”
I spoke before I thought. “She has to be in the house somewhere.”