Hollywood Taken Read online

  “I think she’s talking ‘bout some bloody ghosts,” Natalie said. “She claims she can see dead people.”

  “Do you think we should go after her?” I asked.

  Mo gave me her opinion. “No way. I need a break from her or there will be a dead body, as in her own.” She sipped her wine. “Speaking of that, I heard you’re working on that Winslow case. Do you think she’s dead?”

  “How did you hear about my case?”

  Natalie answered. “We had lunch at a restaurant today and met us somebody who works for the police department. He was real friendly and told us everything.”

  “He liked baby sis a whole lot, if you get my drift,” Mo said.

  I did get her drift. “As you probably know, the missing woman is Faith Winslow, but it’s too early in the investigation to know what happened to her.”

  “Rumor has it, she and her hubby had one of them open marriages,” Mo said.

  “They were swingers,” Natalie added, her hazel eyes becoming wider.

  I knew from today’s interviews there was possibly of some cheating in the Winslow’s marriage, but I doubted it was on the level of an open marriage. “Did you get any more details?”

  “Just that Faith was a looker and her husband...” Mo looked at Natalie.

  “Jack was a happy boy,” Natalie said. “Mainly ‘cause his joystick was gettin’ lots of overtime.”

  What they’d said was generally consistent with what Joan Clausen had told me. “What about Faith? Did you hear any rumors about her being unfaithful?”

  “Not sure,” Mo said, pouring herself another glass of wine. “Baby sis and me thought we’d do some snoopin’ ‘round tomorrow, see what we can turn up.”

  “I can’t have you interfering...”

  My words were cut off when we saw Mattie coming out of the vineyard. “The bodies are over there,” she said when she got over to us. She pointed to a place where the creek ran past our cottage. “It looks like the entire family was butchered.”

  Mo said to Natalie, “I think it’s time you get out the crazy mask and put auntie to bed.”

  While Natalie tended to Mattie, I said to Mo, “I think I’m going to stretch my legs, go for a walk.”

  “You see any ghosts, don’t send ‘em this way,” she said as I stood. “I’ve had my share of crazy for the day.”

  The evening was turning cool and I pulled my sweater tighter as I walked along the stream. The sun had just gone down and the sky was ablaze with reds and golds, giving the vineyard a magical feel. I was about a hundred yards from our cottage when I saw a man sitting beside the stream. I went over and said hello, realizing it was Dave Turner.

  He turned, studying me for a moment. His eyes seemed glazed over and it took him a moment to respond.

  “Sorry, I was lost in thought,” he said, smiling. “Nice to see you.”

  His dog Cruz was at his side and came over to me, doing a tail wag. I gave him some attention, at the same time saying, “It’s a beautiful evening.”

  He agreed. “Did you get settled in?”

  “Yes, but I should probably tell you about my friend’s aunt. She’s older and a little on the eccentric side. She’s been wandering through the vineyards”

  He motioned for me to take a seat on a nearby rock. “No worries. Maybe she’ll liven up the place.”

  I took a seat and smiled. “I have no doubt about that.”

  The dusky light seemed to magnify his luminescent green eyes. I forced myself to break eye contact, looking off toward the water.

  “Do you come out here a lot?” I asked, as Cruz nestled his big head in my lap.

  “Most nights. It’s therapy for me.” He looked at his dog. “And Cruz.”

  As I brushed a hand through the dog’s fur. Wade’s statement about his friend being damaged came to mind. This place was about as far from the violence and trauma of war as anyone could ever find.

  I took a breath of the cool evening air. “It’s so peaceful here.”

  “Wade told me you work homicide.”

  I nodded. “Yes. I’ll be going back to the LA area when I’m finished here.”

  He studied me, his expression serious. He didn’t break eye contact and I was starting to feel uncomfortable when he finally said, “How do you manage?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  He was looking at the water now. “The death, how do you deal with what happens?”

  I thought it unusual that he’d asked such a direct question when we hardly knew one another. It took me a moment to find the words to answer him. “It’s difficult. I guess it’s the work I do for the victims, for the dead, that keeps me centered. I want to do the right thing by them, bring them justice.”

  His beautiful eyes shifted back to me. “It doesn’t always happen.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Sometimes there’s no justice in this world.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The first rays of daylight seeped through the cracks in the trapdoor of Faith Winslow’s underground prison. She stirred, the remnants of a long ago scene skittering through her consciousness. She and Jack had been taking a walk in the woods, trying to come to terms with what was happening to their son.

  “Owen’s just going through a phase,” Jack had said. “He’s still a little boy in a lot of ways.”

  Faith stopped walking and looked at him. “It’s more than that. His teacher said he’s not making eye contact with the other children and he’s socially awkward.”

  Jack raised his voice. “He’s shy, some kids are like that. We need to give him time to grow up.”

  Faith ran both hands through her long hair, pushing it behind her shoulders and sighing. “Why won’t you let him get the help he needs?”

  Jack moved on down the trail, calling back to her, “And why won’t you give him a chance to find his own way.”

  Faith sat up in bed, the images receding as she tried to clear her head. It had been a couple years since she and Jack had gone for that walk and argued about Owen’s problems. Since that day, things had only gotten worse. Owen’s grades had slipped and he seldom tried to interact with other children. She’d searched the Internet, trying to find out what was wrong with their son. She was almost positive he had something called Asperger’s Syndrome. Children with the disorder often lacked social skills, they had trouble dealing with new or unfamiliar situations, and they sometimes had delayed motor development. Owen had displayed all those problems, but no matter how she tried to broach the subject with Jack, he’d insisted their son would get better.

  Faith’s thoughts lingered on that day. She remembered trailing behind Jack as they’d walked down the mountain trail, feeling like her world was collapsing. That was the first time she’d seen the woman. It seemed almost unbelievable at first. Faith was almost certain the woman had followed them and was hiding in the woods. She remembered turning and seeing movement through the trees, a flash of sunlight on her white blouse. Then the woman had stopped for an instant, her hateful blue eyes fixing on her.

  When she’d told Jack what she’d seen, he insisted she was seeing things. He even accused her of being so preoccupied with Owen’s issues that she was suffering mental problems of her own. After that the problems in their marriage had only gotten even worse. The woman...

  Faith’s thoughts surfaced. Somewhere above her she thought she heard a sound, like the crackle of leaves under a footfall. She moved beneath the trap door, looking up at the sliver of sunlight filtering through the boards. The sounds came again, this time louder.

  “Is somebody there?” she called out.

  Silence. Then, the sound of something or someone moving through the brush came. Faith was suddenly filled with panic. Maybe it was a bear. It might find a way to break into her prison and...

  There was a sudden rustling sound from above, someone maybe working a lock. She saw movement above the cracks in her prison. Someone was here!

  “Please help me,” she yelled. “Who’s there?�
�

  There was no response. Faith was filled with both anticipation and dread as the door creaked open. She was blinded by the sudden bright light, only seeing the silhouette of a figure above her, someone wearing a cap. Was it a man or...

  Water. She was suddenly drenched with an icy cold blast of water. She stumbled back, falling to the ground, at the same time realizing someone had dumped a bucket of water on her. When she regained some composure, she saw a bag had been thrown down to her. Then, the door to her prison slammed shut again.

  Faith got to her feet and scrambled over to the trapdoor. “Why are you doing this?” she screamed. “Please help me.”

  Her question and plea hung in the silent air. She heard footsteps moving away from her, even as she called out again. Why was this happening? Why would someone hold her prisoner?

  Faith slumped to the ground, tears filling her eyes. Her hand found the bag that had been thrown down to her. It was food, some sandwiches and fruit. None of this made any sense. Whoever had taken her wanted her kept alive. But why?

  THIRTY-FIVE

  As Wade drove us to San Francisco to meet with Darren Larsen the next morning, last night’s strange conversation with Dave Turner filled my thoughts. I had the impression that he had been talking about the war.

  Sometimes there’s no justice in this world.

  I knew what he’d said was true. There had been many cases I’d worked, far too many, where justice wasn’t served. And, I knew that was also true in war. Innocents were often killed, quickly forgotten, and justice often wasn’t even a passing consideration. What had happened to Dave Turner in Iraq that had caused him to lose his way in life?

  That question was still haunting me as Wade said, “How was your evening?”

  I looked at him, regaining focus. “It was nice, other than my friend’s aunt looking for ghosts in the vineyard.”

  “Ghosts?”

  “She’s a little eccentric, thinks she’s a ghost hunter.”

  He laughed. “I doubt that she’ll find anybody from the spirit world on Dave’s place unless it’s a dead squirrel or two.”

  I smiled. “Dave’s nice, very kind.”

  When I didn’t go on, he said, “And?”

  I tried to choose my words carefully. “He seems a little distracted, maybe still trying to deal with the war.”

  He nodded. “Some people might call it that. Others would say he has PTSD.”

  “Do you have any idea what happened to him in Iraq?”

  He shook his head. “I tried asking him once, but he made it clear he didn’t want to go there. That’s why he has the dog.”

  “Cruz?”

  “Yeah, he’s a therapy dog. A veteran’s group trains dogs to help veterans readjust to civilian life and placed him with Dave.”

  I now realized what he’d meant about the dog being therapy for him.

  “It’s a wonderful thing,” I said.

  After chatting about Dave and his dog for a moment, Wade again gave me his thoughts about our meeting with Faith Winslow’s former boyfriend. “Just so you know, I think this is a dead end. Larsen’s probably going to refuse to even talk to us.”

  I looked over at him. “A rabbit trail?”

  He glanced at me, nodded.

  “Tell me something,” I said. “Do you really want to solve this case?”

  His eyes narrowed on me, causing him to swerve, the car hitting some gravel. He corrected the wheel, getting us back on the road before saying, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You don’t want to talk to Darren Larsen. Yesterday, you said it was a waste of time to re-interview Joan Clausen. Tell me the truth. What’s really going on?”

  He sighed. “It’s just...”

  He didn’t continue. “Just what?”

  He brushed a hand through his short hair. “The other guys at the station, they’re not happy about you being here. Maybe some of their attitude rubbed off.” He took a breath. “I’m sorry.”

  We rode in silence for a moment. I knew it must be difficult, him being a newer detective and having to work with an outsider.

  I decided to lighten up the conversation. “You ever wonder how those TV detectives solve cases?”

  He glanced at me, looked back at the road. “Not really.”

  “Sometimes there’s a McGuffin.”

  “Come again?”

  “It’s a plot device, often used in the movies. Sometimes it’s an object, like a holy grail. It’s serves as a motivation for the characters and can play a role in solving a crime.”

  Some of his earlier tension eased as he smiled. “You really have gone Hollywood, haven’t you?”

  I grinned. “Just the opposite. What I’m trying to say is that real police work isn’t about a McGuffin. It’s about the grind.”

  “You’re losing me.”

  “It’s following the facts, doing the grunt work, being persistent, and...” I looked at him. “There’s only one kind of real success in this line of work. It’s doing the heavy lifting, day in and out. And, that means sometimes plowing the same ground over and over until you come up with something.”

  His smile was there again. “Like a McGuffin.”

  I nodded. “Sometimes, but usually it’s just finding a little nugget of truth, that eventually leads to a bigger nugget.” My thoughts went to my former partner, Charlie Winkler. “I had a partner once who called it busting your hump.”

  He nodded, maybe something I said connecting with him. “Then let’s hope Mr. Larsen gives us a nugget.”

  We checked in with the receptionist at Collingsworth Properties and learned that Darren Larsen was holding his broker’s open house on Beach Street, a couple blocks from the bay. After finding the house, it took us another half hour to find parking.

  As we walked up the street, the cool, foggy air hit us, and Wade said, “According to what I heard, this place is on the market for just under five million.”

  “That’s probably the price of finding parking in the city.”

  After entering the expansive two-story house, we were greeted by a pretty young hostess. “Are you from out of the area?” she asked, probably realizing we weren’t Realtors.

  Wade showed her his credentials. “Napa PD. We need to talk to Mr. Larsen. It will only take a few minutes.”

  Her eyes grew wider. “I think he’s upstairs with another broker. Let me find him.”

  After she scurried off, I strolled over to the kitchen that had lots of marble and stainless steel. A bay window in the living room had a partial ocean view. I had no idea if the house was worth the asking price, but knew it was in one of the city’s premium locations.

  When Darren Larsen came downstairs and we introduced ourselves, he was obviously unhappy we were there.

  “I’m working and can’t talk,” Larsen said, lowering his voice.

  I locked eyes with the handsome Realtor. “We can wait around until you’ve got the time. I’ll be happy to walk through the property and explain to the other brokers why we’re here.”

  His features hardened as he folded his arms across his muscular chest. “This is ridiculous.”

  “Call it what you like, but we’re not going anywhere.”

  After huffing and puffing, he relented, taking Wade and me to an upstairs balcony that had a one-hundred-eighty-degree view of the ocean.

  Larsen wasted no time, fixing his dark eyes on us and voicing his displeasure again. “I’ve already talked to the other detectives. I haven’t seen Faith since college.”

  “You mean, since you battered her,” I said.

  He took a breath. “What happened is ancient history. I was young and regret what happened.”

  “It’s history, nevertheless,” Wade said. “When were you last in Napa?”

  Larsen rubbed his jaw and shook his head. “I went on a winery tour there about a year ago. But, I didn’t see, or even think about, Faith.”

  “How long were you and Faith together when you were in school?” I
asked.

  “About a year.” He checked his watch. “I’ve got a group from Caldwell due here any minute. I really don’t have time for this.”

  “I’m sure your pretty receptionist can entertain them,” I said, before going back to his relationship with his college sweetheart. “When did you last see Faith?”

  He heaved out a breath, shaking his head. “You’re probably going to find this out eventually, anyway. She called me about six months ago.”

  “Why?” Wade and I asked him at the same time.”

  “I think she just wanted to talk. She was having some problems with her son.”

  I took over again. “What kind of problems?”

  “She thought he might be autistic. She wanted to know if I knew of anyone in the city who worked with kids with special needs. I told her I would check and get back to her.”

  “And did you find someone?”

  She shook his head. “To be honest, I got busy with work and forgot. I never got back to her.” He smiled. “Besides, I think the real reason she called is she wanted to hook up again.”

  “Did she tell you that?”

  The smile was still there. “No, but I could tell she was interested in rekindling things.”

  Larsen’s arrogance was annoying, but what he’d said only confirmed that we needed to go back to Jack Winslow and find out what was really going on between him and his wife.

  “Can you think of anyone from Faith’s past, maybe during her college days, who might have wanted to harm her?” I asked.

  He scoffed. “I have no idea. Maybe that asshole she married finally got tired of her.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You mean you don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Jack was my best friend. Faith cheated on me with him. He’s the reason Faith and I broke up and got into a fight.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  “Let’s stop by Jack’s Place for lunch when we get back to Napa,” I told Wade as we left San Francisco. “It’s time we had another chat with Mr. Winslow.”