Dream a Little Death, page 15
I tapped my foot. “What does Miles have to say about this?”
She whipped out some packing tape and started sealing up the cardboard box. “What do you think? He’s like a pig in shit! His fiancée lived through a suicide attempt, she’s back home good as new, his life is rainbows and snow cones and unicorns! Fucking hashtag blessed is what he thinks! So take the money, and get ready for your close-up!”
Pee Chee kicked the cardboard box and me out, and retreated into the apartment, slamming the double doors behind her.
Yeah, I took the money.
But she wasn’t getting rid of me that fast.
Chapter 27
Twenty minutes later, I was sunning myself by the Eastern Columbia’s rooftop pool, a glass of Cristal in my hand.
The path there had been only mildly circuitous.
After Pee Chee bounced me to the curb, I walked back to my car and drove to the closest pay lot, which seemed prudent given that there was now $40,000 in my trunk. Then I put up the top, scooted down in my seat, stripped out of my clothes, and slipped on the tiny green bikini Petal Collings had made me buy the day before. My white peasant blouse kind of worked as a cover-up, but unfortunately, the only shoes I had were my knee-high moccasin boots. Pocahontas meets Bunny Lebowski. Could’ve been worse.
“Welcome back, Miss Black,” the concierge said. “Forget something?”
“Nope!” I said brightly. “Just heading back up for a swim with Pee Chee!”
“I’ll let her know you’re on your way.” He picked up the phone.
“Oh, no,” I cried. “I want to surprise her.”
The concierge shook his head. “Against the rules.”
Just then a group of blinged-out Russian gangster types strolled into the lobby. I don’t know if they were already drunk at 11 a.m., but they were making a lot of noise—laughing, high-fiving, bellowing into their phones. One of them shook the concierge’s hand, then slipped a hundred-dollar bill into it. Then they headed to the elevator at the rear marked, “Pool/Spa.”
“Hey, guys!” I called out. “Perfect timing!”
They turned around en masse.
I flashed my bikini top. “Who’s ready for Marco Polo?”
They were into it.
The one with the hundred-dollar bill got me settled onto a striped chaise lounge, then helped me out of my cover-up. What a gentleman. After making a couple of phone calls, he produced a bottle of Cristal, poured some for each of us, and offered to buy me a plane. Well, that’s what it sounded like. Maybe he just wanted to take me on one. I couldn’t understand most of what he was saying, but I figured if I kept on smiling and nodding and evincing vague delight at the sight of him and his friends in Speedos I could stay up there long enough to figure out how exactly I was going to sneak into Maya’s bedroom window to make sure she was still breathing.
“Dreamy!” That was what my new boyfriend was calling me. “I have question for you.”
I hit stop and looked up from my phone. I’d found a video on YouTube posted by the real estate broker who’d handled the listing when Miles had bought the penthouse several years ago. Apparently, it was 3,800 square feet and took up the entire northwest side of the building. On the first level was the living room, dining area, and kitchen, stocked with stainless steel appliances. On the third level, there was a wraparound balcony and full production suite. I was interested in the second level, which had the marble bathrooms with the sunken tubs, and the bedrooms with the walk-in closets. If only I could figure out which side Maya’s was on.
“Dreamy, would you like the mozzarella sticks or the fried calamari?” my boyfriend asked. “We get it sent from the restaurant downstairs. Lev!”
Lev was in the hot tub, sipping a frozen margarita. “Da?”
“Call for the fried calamari for Dreamy. I will have the nachos.”
“Sauce on the side?” Lev asked me.
A girl could totally get used to this.
While Lev was calling in our order, and another one of the henchmen was adjusting the umbrella so I wouldn’t get too much sun on my alabaster skin, I Googled floorplans of the penthouse. The day we’d met, Miles had dragged me into his bedroom to show me his collection of Black Masks. Through his window I’d seen the neon roof sign of the Orpheum Theater, which, according to the blueprint on my screen, meant his room faced east. Maya’s bedroom, Miles had said, was directly across the hall, which meant it faced west. Right?
Right.
In theory.
But sometimes theory is all you have.
I downed the rest of my champagne, then stood up. I told my new boyfriend that I needed to stretch my legs. I appreciated his saying they were perfect as they were, but I had work to do.
The turquoise clock tower was even more spectacular up close. At its foot a lushly landscaped private terrace extended out from the penthouse’s first floor. And all I had to do was get through the locked gate, tiptoe through the bougainvillea, and scale the wall to get to the second level, where I was going to find Maya and save her from a perilous fate.
Just as I was approaching the gate, the opening guitar chords of “Someone Like You” sounded. Shit. I’d forgotten to put it on silent. I fumbled with my phone, and said, “Hello?”
It was Miles.
I took a header into the nearest petunia bush.
“Sorry I missed our meeting this morning,” he said.
“No problem,” I whispered.
“Do you have a cold?” he asked.
“It’s just a bad connection.” I spat out some leaves.
“Well, there’s something I need to talk to you about. I’m here now, if you can make it.”
“Here where?” Not here here. Please.
“At the office.”
One down, but he was hardly my only problem. “What about Pee Chee?”
“What about her?”
“Is she at your penthouse, or there with you?”
“Hello—Dreama? I can’t hear you. Just come by when you can.”
He hung up on me.
I was pushing my way out of the bush, trying not to think about the carnage that would ensue if Pee Chee were to catch me in the act, when I heard a clatter behind me. I turned around. It was a guy carrying a weed whacker and a rake. The gardener. He walked toward the gate and pulled out a key.
I cut him off at the pass. “So glad you’re here!”
He looked at me, then drew himself up like a puffer pigeon. “Really?”
“I came out to work on my tan and forgot my sunscreen inside. Would you mind letting me back in?”
“I’m sorry, but you are—”
“Miles’s baby sister. Visiting from our hometown of Detroit. Go . . . Steelers!”
“The Steelers are from Pittsburgh,” he said.
“You think I like Detroit? Anyway, I’ve been calling Miles for an hour, but he’s at work. What else is new?” I shook my head. “Finally, he calls me back.” I turned my phone around and showed him my recent calls. “He’s kind of a douche, if you want to know the truth. He told me to go downstairs and get a key from the concierge, but I don’t exactly feel comfortable parading around half-naked.” I looked down at my bikini and smiled demurely. “I’m not like these L.A. girls.”
The poor guy let me onto the terrace.
“Word to the wise,” I said. “Miles is not happy about that fig tree over there.” I pointed around the corner. “You might want to start there.”
I gave him a little wave as I reached for the French doors to the living room. But as soon as he turned right, I turned left. West. Where the ocean is. Where the sun sets. Where Maya lay sleeping. It all made perfect sense.
Once I was standing there, one flight below her bedroom window, I was less certain. First of all, how was I supposed to get up there? If only a window-washer had left behind some scaffolding. Hmm. There was a drainpipe. One option was to shimmy right on up that thing.
I was reckless, but not that reckless.
And then I noticed the fire ladder. Standard issue back in 1930 when the building was erected. Designed for safety. I slipped my phone into my moccasin boot, and climbed up onto the first rung, flattening myself against the ladder as much as I could, trying not to tremble, promising myself I wouldn’t look down. By the time I was halfway up, I was basically on the ledge. All I had to do was step off the ladder. I reached for the top of the window frame, hooked my fingers around it, and pushed off. Yes!
So there I was, standing on a window ledge, at the top of a thirteen-story building, in a Bunny Lebowski bikini. If I could have reached my phone without losing my balance and plunging to my death I would’ve documented this milestone, like the people who make it to the top of Mount Everest. Of course, climbers say the getting up isn’t the hard part. It’s the getting down.
There was more room to maneuver up there than I would have expected, though I was kind of distracted by the birds flapping their wings in my face. At least they weren’t landing on my head, which is what happened in that episode of I Love Lucy Gram and I had watched at least half a dozen times. Anyway, if by some miracle the window was unlocked, I could just crouch down, shove it up, and step on inside.
It was.
And I did.
Only to hear someone out in the hall turning the doorknob.
I darted into the walk-in closet, pulling the door closed behind me.
The closet was truly something. Huge, with built-in shelving and drawers and matching black velvet hangers. I sank down onto the plush ottoman and wondered what it would be like to be the sort of woman who nibbles on chocolates in a closet like this while trying to figure out which pair of Christian Louboutins would look best with her outfit. The thing is, there were no outfits in the closet. No shoes. No purses. No negligées. Where was the mountain of stuff from Neiman Marcus?
“I can’t believe this! Where the fuck did I leave them?”
I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
Pee Chee Lowenstein.
I waited for Maya to wake up and tell Pee Chee she’d had quite enough of her filthy mouth. But there was only silence. I slipped deeper into the closet and cowered behind a mirrored pillar just as the closet door swung open and banged against the wall. Pee Chee was so close I could smell her perfume, a hideous amalgam of incense, stale Halloween candy, leather, and fresh blood. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. Anyway, I wanted to retch, but I didn’t so much as flinch as she turned on the light, stepped inside, and yanked open the drawers. After what felt like a very long time but was probably only thirty seconds, she gave up. The light went off and she stomped out of the closet. Then the door to Maya’s room closed.
I stood there for another minute, listening for sounds. Nothing. I opened the door to the closet as quietly as I could, and peered through the gap. The lights were off, so I couldn’t see very clearly. But I could see clearly enough.
No slipper chair.
No vanity.
No brass lanterns.
The only thing in the room was Maya’s gondola bed, shoved in the corner, its sheets and blankets stripped, its beautiful gilded headboard cracked in two.
And it was empty.
Chapter 28
The fried calamari looked delicious, but I’d lost my appetite. My boyfriend didn’t seem to mind. While I was gone, he’d plowed through the nachos and a slice of blackout cake, and was now trying to decide if he should order some beef and cheese empañadas. I handed over my plate. After he finished it, he said he liked a woman who ate like a bird, which was yet another reason he and I were not going to make it.
On my way down to the car, I called Cedars, and was informed that Maya Duran had been discharged at eight this morning. I asked to be transferred to the nurses’ station on the sixteenth floor, where they refused to tell me to whom she’d been released, and whether or not it had been against medical advice. When I inquired as to the doctor’s whereabouts, the nurse asked me what my relationship to the patient was. I wasn’t sure, so I hung up.
Here’s another thing I wasn’t sure about: if Maya wasn’t at the hospital, and she wasn’t home in her gondola bed, where was she?
That was going to be the first question I asked Miles when I finally sat down with him in his office. And after I asked him about Maya, I was going to ask him about Carmen. And after I got an answer about Carmen, I was going to ask him what he knew about Pee Chee taking Maya to get an exact copy of Carmen’s lotus flower tattoo. And who exactly came up with the pitch-perfect pseudonym “Phyllis Dietrichson.” And what he knew about Lizeth Pimentel. And that was just for starters.
Twenty minutes later I’d wriggled out of the bikini and back into my clothes, then pulled into a pay lot across the street from Miles’s office building. Another ten dollars down. Going up in the elevator I’d felt somewhat apprehensive, but by the time the doors creaked open I had on my game face.
“Boss is waiting for you.” Mookie had evidently wearied of Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas and was now shooting rubber bands one after another into the trash can. “Down the hall.”
The door was open. Miles was sitting in a chair, his back to me, looking outside. At what? Telephone poles, trees, birds, neon signs. Nothing special. Business as usual. But not for long.
“Miles?”
He rose, straightened his big white T-shirt, hiked up his baggy pants, and for a split second, I had the feeling he was going to hurl himself through the window. But then he turned around.
“Thanks for coming, Dreama.” He walked toward the door, brushing against me. “Mind if I close this?”
“Don’t you like the cross breeze?” I asked. “It’s kind of hot in here.”
He kicked the door shut. “I’ll turn on the A.C.”
It wasn’t exactly like I had a choice. Not if I wanted to get to the bottom of things. But Miles pre-empted me.
“Enough bullshit.” He sat back down in his chair. “I know what you did.”
“What I did?”
He opened the drawer, pulled out a USB flash drive, stuck it into his laptop, then spun it around so I could see what was on the screen.
And there I was, less than two weeks ago, sitting on the white chaise in Miles McCoy’s living room, a wallet in my hand. I didn’t have to watch the rest. I knew what happened. I’d stolen Miles’s photograph of Carmen Luz. End of story. Actually, that had been just the beginning.
“Mookie goes through the surveillance footage every Sunday night,” Miles said. “Last Sunday was the night of the shooting, so we were all kind of preoccupied. He got caught up yesterday. And look what he found.”
“I can explain,” I said.
Miles shook his head. “I don’t want to hear it. I just want you to return what you took from me.”
“I didn’t mean to take it,” I said.
He put up his hand. “Look, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, if it’s blackmail, or you just get off fucking with people’s heads—”
“Blackmail? What are you talking about?”
“You’re going to deny it? Please. Don’t make me call Mookie in here.”
Jesus. “Can’t we just talk about it?”
“Secrets never stay buried,” he said. “I am such a fool.” He put his head in his hands.
“Will you listen to me, Miles—”
He looked up. “No, why don’t you fucking listen? Sorry to ruin your little scheme, but the truth is I don’t give a shit anymore!” He laughed out loud. “That’s right! I didn’t realize it until this very second. I do not give a shit! So go ahead. Tell the whole fucking world what I did. The only person that matters to me is Maya. And she already knows. Obviously.”
“What exactly are you saying?” Was he admitting he’d tried to murder her?
“Nothing,” Miles said. “I just want my picture back. What about that don’t you understand?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s not here.”
“Stop fucking lying.”
“I’m not! Look, I was curious about Maya. I thought it was a picture of her. I didn’t know it was a picture of Carmen.”
“Don’t you dare say her name!” he cried.
“Sorry,” I said, stunned. “I meant no harm. Really.”
“Maya found out what I did to Carmen.” Miles nodded robotically. “Just like you did. That’s why it all fell apart. We were so fucking happy. We were going to have this fucking amazing life.”
I shifted my weight, turned around, looked longingly at the closed door. But I couldn’t go. I wanted to hear what Miles had to say.
“I put on a good show for you that day at the hospital, didn’t I?” He pulled his prayer beads out of his pocket and started pacing. “Goddamn fraud, that’s what I am. Pretending to look for someone to blame for what happened to Maya when all I had to do was look in the goddamn mirror! I’m the one who’s to blame! I’m a fucking monster! I’m a fucking defiler! There!” He threw his beads against the wall, and the string broke, little balls of green sandalwood rolling into the corners of the room. “You happy now?”
I wasn’t happy. I was confused. And from the looks of it, so was Miles. I thought he might be having a heart attack. His face was flushed, his pupils dilated. I dug in my basket and handed him a water bottle. “Drink this.”
He downed the entire thing.
“You okay?” I asked.
He stared at me. “Why do you give a shit?”
“I have no idea.”
“You don’t know? About what I did?”
I shook my head.
“It’s an ugly story,” he said.
I said, “It won’t be the first I’ve heard.”
“It’s the reason I don’t touch alcohol anymore. It’s the reason I became a Buddhist. It’s the reason I still carry Carmen’s picture in my wallet. To remind me every single day of the worst thing I’ve ever done.”
Carmen’s black eye.
That was Miles.
But evidently, that wasn’t the end of it.
“I raped Carmen,” he declared.
