Hollywood Games: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller Page 12

  I’d almost forgotten about Van Drake’s most famous role. Maybe his ghost had taken up residence and had severe gastrointestinal problems.

  As Madrigal got her bag and made preparations for the exorcism, I asked my mother how she was feeling. Mom had been away, staying with her sister for several weeks after Ryan Cooper, my father’s killer, had broken into her house and attacked her a few days before he was killed. She’d recovered from her physical injuries, but I knew her emotional recovery would take a lot longer.

  “I’m feeling almost as good as new,” Mom said. “I have several street demonstrations lined up and I’m getting back into doing my readings.”

  “Swell,” I said, then changed the subject. “And Bubba? Is he adjusting okay?”

  “We’re like best friends. He’s even been sitting in on some of the readings.”

  My mother’s two callings in life were to promote world peace and provide psychic readings under the name Miss Daisy. I could only hope that Bubba would adjust to Mom’s odd assortment of friends and her eccentric lifestyle.

  Lindsay came over while we waited for Madrigal. We chatted for a few moments. My half-sister had only met my adoptive mom once before, but they seemed to hit it off okay.

  There was a knock on the door. Mo answered it and then led Larry and Phyllis into the living room. After introducing them to Madrigal, she said, “I figure if we stir up any bad spirits these two will come in handy.”

  Larry and Phyllis looked at one another, folded their arms, and nodded. I almost laughed, thinking the two big men could star in their own twisted version of Ghostbusters.

  “We must form a spirit circle,” Madrigal announced after a moment. I saw that she had a candle and a large bowl containing something that looked like marijuana.

  “Don’t tell me we’re all gonna smoke pot,” Mo said. “Last time I had a joint I was sick for a week.”

  “It is sage and sweet grass that I will burn in my spirt bowl,” Madrigal explained. “Something to help drive out the evil spirits.”

  “Maybe it works like one of them bug bombs,” Natalie said to Mo. “The evil spirts go belly up like a bunch of cockroaches.”

  “All I know is we’re gonna need a big bomb for this place,” Mo said before Madrigal told us to all join hands.

  I felt like a complete idiot but did as instructed, taking Madrigal’s and then Claude’s hand, which I found to be limp and cold. I had an errant thought that maybe he really was a vampire.

  We all formed a circle and began walking counterclockwise. I looked over at Larry and Phyllis who reminded me of a couple of oversized school boys being forced to do a dance.

  After a couple of turns around the room, Madrigal stopped, lit her candle, and in a deep ominous voice said, “Cleanse this house and make it clear. Let no evil spirts remain in here.”

  I felt a sudden draft, as though someone had opened a window. Even Bernie stood up, apparently taking notice, or maybe just amazed at how utterly insane human beings could be.

  “It is the presence,” Madrigal announced. “It has been awakened.”

  “I got a bad feeling ‘bout this,” Mo said. “I hope some blood sucking evil spirit doesn’t show up with his head spinning around on his shoulders.”

  “Me and my bro will take care of them,” Larry assured us.

  Phyllis nodded. “I ain’t ‘fraid of no ghosts.”

  “Well, I am,” Lindsay whispered to me. “And this is a little creepy.”

  “The longer you hang around my friends,” I said, “the more you’ll get used to this kind of thing. I think we’ve got to just go with it, see what happens.”

  “Shhh,” Madrigal said. “We have brought forth the spirit. Do not upset it further.”

  Our exorcist retrieved her bowl and lit the ingredients with her candle. The sage and sweet grass flared up and smoke billowed from her bowl. We spent the next half hour going room to room before Madrigal gave us her diagnosis. “Our spirit has taken flight.”

  “You mean he’s gone?” Mo asked.

  Madrigal shook her head. “He has sought refuge from my cleansing in the bowels of this abode.”

  Mo looked at Claude. “I think she means he’s now living in the basement with you.”

  Claude shook his head, his voice pitching high. “I’m not worried about it. And I don’t believe in this nonsense anyway.”

  Madrigal took a step closer to our house vampire. “We must go to the basement and drive the spirit away or you will not be safe.” Her gaze swept over the rest of us. “None of you will be safe.”

  “I think we should do what she suggests,” Mom said. “You can’t be too careful about these sort of things. I once knew a man whose house was possessed. He went insane and had to be committed to a psychiatric facility.”

  I wondered if I wasn’t already in a nut house as Claude protested, “I won’t have a bunch of strangers going through my living space. I need my privacy.”

  Mo put her hands on her hips. “What you trying to hide, Claude? You got a family of werewolves living down there with you?”

  Claude laughed. It sounded forced and artificial. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Mo motioned to Madrigal. “Come on then. Let’s go chase the evil spirit out of the basement before he and the vampire get together and kill us all.”

  Claude continued to protest as we all took the narrow stairway down into the basement where we found an assortment of pipes, heating and air conditioning equipment, and a water heater that was leaking. Our house guest’s bedroom and living quarters were directly adjacent to the plumbing.

  “No wonder there’s never any hot water in the house,” Mo said to Claude. “How come you never said anything about this?”

  Claude shrugged, his dark eyes darting back and forth. “I didn’t think it was important.”

  I had the impression that Claude was trying to hide something when we all heard the groaning sounds coming from somewhere beyond the walls of the basement. This time the sound was much louder than before. Seconds later, we heard a swooshing sound as Maurice flew by and screeched, “Fuck you.”

  Mo took a swat at the raven but missed. She turned to Claude. “What the hell’s going on down here?”

  “It is the spirit,” Madrigal said. “He must be dispossessed.”

  “Bullshit,” Mo said. She turned back to Claude. “What’s that noise?”

  “Maybe he’s holdin’ someone hostage down here,” Natalie suggested. “He could be one of them mad dog killers who wears a hockey mask and hacks people up in his spare time.”

  “I’m not a killer,” Claude protested. “It’s just…oh my…this is getting out of hand. I guess I’d better explain.”

  We all watched as Claude walked over and moved several pieces of wood on the wall. A moment later a large door creaked open and we saw a dark passageway leading away from the basement.

  “What’s in there?” Mo demanded. “You got a family of vampires in there?”

  Claude pulled out a flashlight, waved a hand for us to follow, and said, “You’ll see soon enough.”

  We followed him down a narrow passageway that opened into a large room that was lined with shelves containing several boxes. There was a table in the middle of the room where the contents of some of the boxes was being sorted by an elderly little man. The man doing the sorting, looked over the glasses resting on his bulbous nose, and waved to us.

  “This is Dr. Herman Lester,” Claude announced. “He’s a forensic anthropologist.”

  “Say what?” Mo said.

  “I like to think of myself as a detective,” the little man announced in a voice that pitched high with excitement. He invited us to come closer to the table where he was working. I saw there were some photographs spread out, along with various artifacts, and notes. “I’m piecing together the clues to a murder.”

  No sooner had Dr. Herman Lester explained what he was doing than he slumped back down in his chair and his head fell against the table. He sucked in a
long breath and groaned like he was suddenly possessed by one of Madrigal’s evil spirits. Maybe it was the location of the room being near the water pipes, but when the little man groaned the sound was amplified giving the impression it was something not of this world.

  “Jeeze,” Mo said, between one of Lester’s thunderous groans. The little man’s body had gone slack. “Did he just drop dead?”

  “I think he’s possessed,” Natalie said. “Betcha some evil spirit named Damien has taken control of his body. We better watch ourselves. He might come at us with a knife.”

  Madrigal stepped forward, waved her smoky spirit ball at the little man, and said, “Spirit take flight, leave our sight.”

  “He has a medical condition,” Claude said, fanning the smoke, and glaring at Madrigal. “It’s a rare combination of narcolepsy and Catathrenia.”

  “I think he means the old guy’s got the spirit of some dead woman inside him,” Natalie said. “If Catherine puts on a wig and comes after us with a knife you need to shoot him, Kate.”

  Claude went over and checked on the sleeping little man. “You don’t understand. Catathrenia is a condition that causes a person to hold his breath for several seconds and then groan during expiration.” He glanced back at his slumbering companion. “I’m afraid in Dr. Lester’s case, it’s a rather severe form of the condition.”

  No sooner had he explained what was happening than Lester raised his head and said, “Sorry about that. I don’t have any control over my condition when it hits me.”

  I stepped forward with Bernie, who was on alert. I looked at Claude and the odd little man. “Okay I need some explanations. What’s this all about?”

  Dr. Lester got up and came over to me. He was a couple of inches short of five feet tall, probably in his eighties, with only a tuft of white hair around his large ears. Something about him reminded me of a troll, or maybe a gnome.

  “I’ve been living down here for the past few days at Claude’s request,” Lester said. “We believe his cousin Russell Van Drake was murdered and could be buried on the grounds of this estate.” He motioned to the table. “These are all clues to the crime.” His eyes held on me. “I’ve heard you’re a detective. I could use your help.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I spent most of the evening with Dr. Herman Lester sifting through what he called evidence of Russell Van Drake’s murder. I learned that Van Drake had used the secret room in his basement for several trysts he had with women, unbeknownst to his wife. Lester was convinced that one of the women had turned on him out of jealousy and murdered him. The elderly little man had even taken photographs of various locations around the sprawling estate, thinking one of the sites could be where Van Drake’s body was buried.

  There were lots of notes and letters that went back and forth between the deceased actor and the women he’d hooked up with, but there was nothing substantial enough to indicate one of them had murdered him. It was all just speculation on Lester’s part, but I told him that I’d call our cold case unit and discuss what he’d learned and find out about any progress they’d made in solving the actor’s disappearance.

  Our house exorcist, Madrigal, had left just before midnight, telling everyone that Ravenswood was now cleansed. Mo and Natalie said the estate might be free of spirits, but we now had both a vampire and an ancient troll living in our basement.

  When Bernie and I got to the station the next morning, I saw that Pearl was already meeting with Gluck behind closed doors. I said a silent prayer that he could talk some sense into Cop Hollywood as my phone rang. It was Basheeba, the reporter for the Herald-Press.

  “I’d like to do a follow-up to our previous interview,” the reporter said. “I’ve received some confidential information that I think would be of interest to you.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “I’d rather not say over the phone. Would you be available to meet me for lunch at Al’s on Melrose? I think you’ll find it worth your while.”

  I glanced over at the lieutenant’s office. He was meeting with Captain Decker, probably still dealing with the fallout from my prior interview. If he got wind of me meeting with the reporter I’d be facing certain discipline. Even so, what Basheeba had said intrigued me.

  “I’ll agree to meet with you on one condition. The meeting is completely off the record. That means nothing we discuss goes in your paper and you don’t tell anyone that we met.”

  “It sounds like you’re dealing with some repercussions from our earlier interview.” I didn’t respond. After a moment she said, “I’ll agree to your terms. See you at noon.”

  A few minutes later Gluck came out of Pearl’s office looking like a schoolboy who had been in the principal’s office and was being sent home from school. “I’m still not feeling well. I’m going to tell the lieutenant I’m sick and take the rest of the day off.”

  I thought about giving him a pep talk but decided that whatever Pearl had told him was enough for now. “Hope you feel better,” I said as he slogged out of the station.

  On the way to Marcel Frost’s house to question the actor about George Bundt’s murder, I told Pearl that after their talk Gluck looked like he’d just been given a death sentence.

  “I just had a little come to Wally meeting with him,” Pearl said.

  “A what?”

  He laughed. “My dad’s name was Wally. When my brother and I got out of line when we were kids he told us it was time to have a little talk.” He glanced at me, his dark eyes shining as the morning sun glared into the car. “We called the sessions Wally Talks. I’d rather have been spanked, grounded, or dragged over hot coals than have a Wally Talk. My dad had a way of getting his point across in no uncertain terms.” He smiled as we got on the freeway. “Harvey just spent the morning at Wally World. I think he got the message.”

  I chuckled. “I hope so. When he left your office he looked like he does just before he gets sick at a crime scene.”

  “He got off easy. My daddy, God rest his soul, would have eaten him alive.”

  Marcel Frost lived in an upscale area of Pasadena, about thirty minutes from Hollywood. A woman, who we learned was Carrie Frost, the actor’s ex-wife, answered the door and led us inside. Bernie settled at my feet as Pearl took a moment, explaining why we were there.”

  “And you suspect my ex-husband was somehow involved in this security guard’s death?”

  Frost’s ex-wife was a willowy blonde with even features and blue eyes. She looked like she could also be an actress. Maybe she was and I just didn’t know it.

  “We’re just gathering facts at this time,” Pearl explained. “We have reason to believe Marcel and the security guard had a confrontation shortly before his death.”

  “That wouldn’t surprise me. My ex-husband has a temper and when he loses it you don’t want to be anywhere near him.”

  We learned that she and Marcel had been living apart for almost a year because he’d cheated on her numerous times with several women.

  “Any idea where he’s living now?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Probably with one of his girlfriends. I’m not really sure.”

  “Do you have the name of anyone we might talk to?”

  “I heard recently there’s a Molly and a Donna. Not sure about their last names. There’s probably a half dozen other women. I wish I could be of more help, but Marcel and I haven’t spoken in several months.”

  After asking about friends or relatives who might know where her ex-husband was living and not getting much that was useful, we left.

  “I’ll make some calls to the studio and see if anyone there might know where he’s been staying,” Pearl said as we drove toward the station. “You interested in stopping for lunch?”

  I checked my watch and realized it was almost noon. “I’m supposed to meet someone. Can you drop me at Al’s on Melrose? I’ll catch a ride back to the station later.”

  As we pulled to the curb in front of the café, I saw that th
e reporter was on the sidewalk waving to me. Pearl also saw her. I turned to him and said, “Thanks for not mentioning this to anyone.”

  Pearl gave me what I decided was his best Wally stare and said that he’d see me later.

  Basheeba and I took seats on the eatery’s outdoor patio while Bernie settled in a nearby shady corner. After we ordered sandwiches and our drinks arrived, we chatted about our backgrounds for a few minutes.

  I learned that the reporter’s given name was Rhonda Gaynor. She’d studied ancient history in college where she’d learned about an Egyptian princess named Basheeba and decided to change her name.

  “My parents hate my new name and refuse to use it.”

  “We’ve all got our crosses to bear,” I said. “My dad was a big fan of old Hollywood and gave me the actress Hedy Lamarr’s given first name for my middle name. Don’t tell anyone but I’m a Hedwig.”

  She laughed. “At least it’s unique.”

  I learned that the reporter grew up in Miami where she’d worked for a local newspaper before relocating to Los Angeles a couple of years ago. I found her to be pleasant and easy to talk to, but she was a reporter so I was careful about anything I said.

  As the conversation shifted to Jerry King’s arrest, I became aware that Basheeba also had her doubts about the realtor’s guilt.

  “From what I understand,” Basheeba said, “both Biggs and King were playing the field, dating a lot of women. They were also into drugs.”

  I knew about Biggs apparently being involved with lots of women and using the prescription meds that I found in his bedroom, but this was the first I’d heard about King using drugs. “What kind of drugs?”

  “There’s a doctor over on La Brea. His name is Nolan Cruise. He supplies a lot of the local celebs. According to my source, he was also supplying Biggs and King at one time.”

  I’d heard Cruise’s name before and remembered seeing his name as the prescribing physician for the pills I’d found in Biggs’ bedroom. I suddenly made the connection. Dr. Nolan Cruise was referred to as Doc Hollywood in some circles because of the massive amounts of prescriptions he wrote.