And then suddenly it came to me. I told Dinah we had to go somewhere quickly. Once we got in her car, I directed her back to the dead-end street. As she drove, I explained my sudden inspiration. “I looked at E. Conner’s footprint and it reminded me of the footprints on the dirt road. A mountain bike would leave an impression, too. An impression that could identify that particular bike,” I said. “We can’t very well make a plaster cast, but I could take a photo.” I held up my smart phone and sent a silent thank-you to Mason for giving it to me.
“I get it, I get it,” Dinah said in an excited voice. Dinah parked and we got out. The kids were excited at the prospect of an adventure.
We walked around the gate, past the sign marking it as part of the Santa Monica Mountain conservancy, and the kids ran ahead. As soon as I looked down at the short stretch of dirt road, my beautiful plan fell apart. Maybe if it had been a regular day at this time of year when the road was damp and the area quiet, the track of a mountain bike might not have been disturbed for a day or so. But yesterday had turned out to be anything but regular. “I forgot about the police cars and ambulance,” I said as we looked down at churned-up sandy dirt.
“It was a good idea,” Dinah said.
“Yeah, a good idea that didn’t work,” I said. I didn’t have the heart to ruin the kids’ moment, so we took them on a short walk—going in the opposite direction on Dirt Mulholland, while I tried to come up with plan B.
IT SEEMED LIKE I’D JUST COME BACK FROM MY lunch break/side trip to the mountains and then it was closing time at Shedd & Royal. The store was getting busier and busier as the holidays got closer and closer and time flew by. I’d just sent my last customer up to the cashier stand with an armload of books when I passed Mr. Royal standing by the travel section bookcase while a customer picked up a book on Burma. As Mr. Royal bent to point out another book, I noticed the leather sheath hanging from his belt. The image of Mr. Royal slashing open the boxers of Anthony accessories floated into my mind’s eye. More things surfaced. He’d been absent from the bookstore during the crucial time, and since Mrs. Shedd had told him about her loss putting the bookstore on shaky ground, Mr. Royal could have been very, very angry at Bradley.
Mrs. Shedd had already started turning off the lights as the last customers checked out. There was no time to talk to Mr. Royal now, but it was definitely on my to-do list.
As I was walking to my car, my BlackBerry rang and I pulled it out.
“You answered,” Mason said, sounding surprised and pleased when I said hello.
“This time I heard it,” I said with a little chuckle. He claimed he’d reached an insurmountable snag in Spike’s sweater. Could he come over? He’d asked me if there’d been any more incidents with Emily after he’d left, which made me wonder how much his coming over had to do with the sweater and how much a desire to protect me in case Emily came over again.
As an antidote to the recent events, I had planned to get snuggy in old sweatpants and a tee shirt and actually have the ice-cream dinner I’d planned before while I watched a romantic comedy. But I was good at changing plans in midstream.
Barry had only been able to call the previous night. He’d picked up a homicide. The call was short and I knew there were ears around listening, so it was very business-like. I had told him about Emily’s visit and he lectured me on leaving the door unlocked. I thanked him for calling Mason.
“I didn’t know what else to do. My hands were tied and I knew he’d be able to handle things, just in case,” he said. Then his voice got low, as if he didn’t want anyone around to hear. “He didn’t take advantage of the situation, did he?”
I laughed. So much for the nice gesture.
The reporters were camped out in front of the Perkins’ house again and the pools of their lighting seemed strange on the dark street. The hoard ignored me, instead descending on Mason as he got out of his car. He parked on the street and was an easy target. I came across the lawn with the idea of rescuing him. When I got closer, I had to laugh at myself. What was I thinking? Mason was always giving out some kind of statement about some high-powered celebrity client who’d gotten in trouble. It usually went something like, when the full story came out, his client’s innocence would be confirmed.
Maybe I was a little bothered by how easily he lied on camera. Maybe it concerned me that stuff he said to me was more about winning—me being the prize—than about the truth.
By the same token, it was impossible not to like him. He was thoughtful—the kind of person who if he couldn’t personally bring you chicken soup when you were sick, would get it delivered. He was always willing to help with my sleuthing activities. He thought I was fun and cute. I liked the me I saw reflected in his eyes.
There was something else, too. Mason was closer to the world I was used to. High-profile lawyers and public-relations people like my late husband Charlie traveled in the same circles.
And the bonus was he didn’t want to corral me. For the first time, I was dealing with being in charge of my life—as much as anyone ever really is. I liked having my own identity.
For now, I liked having both Barry and Mason in my life. Maybe it was nice being regarded as the prize.
Mason made quick work of the reporters. Easy because they all knew him.
“Molly Pink always thought the Perkins were great neighbors. She’s in shock about Bradley Perkins’ death and the alleged issues about his financial business.”
Someone asked if it was true that I’d been one of the hikers who discovered his body and if I was a suspect.
Mason addressed the group with a warm chuckle and assured them I wasn’t a suspect. A gush of questions followed. Did I think Emily had killed Bradley? Had I invested money with him? Mason charmed them with his smile and answers that sounded good, but really said nothing. Ryder somehow got in the middle of it.
“If you want to know about the Perkins, check out my YouTube piece ‘Life and Death in Tarzana,’ ” he said. Mason made points with him by actually paying attention to him.
Mason ended the media encounter by wishing them all happy holidays and walking across my lawn to meet me. “That should keep them satisfied and they ought to leave you alone.” He held up his leather tote. “Thanks for helping at the last minute. I’ve done something wrong, but I can’t figure out what.”
It was a relief to get inside away from the circus. Though hardly quiet inside. Cosmo was parked in the window barking at the reporters. The cats were stationed on either side throwing in an occasional weird meow. Blondie was silently watching from across the room. I closed the shutter on the big window and Cosmo gave up. I asked Mason why he’d deflected the question about me being one of the hikers.
Mason’s smile evaporated. “It’s information they don’t need to have.” Then he gestured his head toward the Perkins’. “Any more visits?”
“No,” I said. “The more I think about it, I might have overreacted. It wasn’t as if she actually picked up a knife and when I realized there wasn’t any blood on her clothes ...”
“Molly, you’re looking at her the way all these people who gave Bradley money looked at him. It’s the idea that someone you know couldn’t have done something bad. It works with my celeb clients, at least most of the time. They’re familiar faces so people find it hard to believe they did something awful.” Mason made a point of locking the door after I’d let the dogs have their yard run. “It’s better to be safe than sorry,” Mason said.
Mason made some comment about missing dinner and wondered if I had as well. I let go of my plans for ice cream and a movie and said I’d cook something. He followed me into the kitchen. I’d heard of being able to feel someone’s eyes staring at your back, but I could feel his smile. I’d never cooked anything just for Mason.