by saying, “Bunny, the police think someone killed Arthur and they want to question Deirdre.”
The words left Deirdre momentarily stunned. It was true, of course, but she hadn’t let herself think about it in such stark terms.
“Oh dear,” Bunny said. “How can we—”
“She needs to call Sy Sterling,” Joelen said.
“Of course,” Bunny said. “Come. Use the phone in my office.”
Moments later, Deirdre was sitting at the glass-topped desk in Bunny’s study. Bunny knew the number and dialed for her. Joelen watched from the door.
“Attorney’s office.” The smoker’s voice of Vera, Sy’s secretary, brought back a memory of the second-floor law office in Westwood Village. Open the door with the pebble glass inset and there Vera would be at her desk, a pencil stuck in her hair and a stash of crayons and drawing paper hidden in the supply closet. The smells of Vera’s cigarettes and Sy’s cigars mingled in the dimly lit corridor where they used to let Deirdre ride her tricycle up and down while Sy met with Arthur in his office.
Deirdre breathed a sigh of relief when Vera put her right through. “Sy? It’s Deirdre. You said to call if the police came back? Well, they did. First they called and left a message that they wanted to talk to me. Then they came to the house. When I didn’t answer, they just sat out front and waited. Then TV news vans pulled up—”
“Where are you now?” Sy said, interrupting. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just rattled. My friend Joelen came and got me. I’m at her house.”
“Joelen?” Sy seemed surprised. “Elenor Nichol’s daughter?”
“She was my best friend in high school. Dad was supposed to meet with her to talk about selling the house.” Silence on the other end of the line. “She’s a Realtor now.”
“I know,” Sy said.
“Where should I go? I can’t stay here.” Deirdre swallowed, trying to tamp down the hysteria that threatened to envelop her. “What do the police want?”
“Probably just answers to routine questions. They are investigating a suspicious death. You discovered it. But I do not like them harassing you at the house. And I really do not like newspeople showing up. Schmucks, all of them.” Sy’s outrage was comforting. “We need to get out in front of this. Go in and talk to that detective.” He must have covered the receiver because she could hear muffled voices, then, “Can you meet me in front of City Hall in about an hour? I will call you when I arrive.”
Deirdre covered the receiver on her end. “Joelen, can you drive me over to City Hall? Not now. When Sy calls back in an hour.”
“Of course,” Joelen said.
“I’ll be there,” Deirdre told Sy, feeling relieved. She wasn’t eager to talk to the police, but taking action, any action, felt infinitely better than waiting to be mugged.
“Can you find a scarf?” Sy asked. “Or sunglasses? Just in case reporters are hanging around. I don’t want anyone to recognize you on the way in.”
“Recognize me?” Deirdre asked, startled. “Why would anyone recognize me?”
“There are already news vans at your house. Who do you think they are looking for?”
“My father was just a writer, for God’s sake. Why do they even care?”
“Your father drowned. And years ago he failed to save Fox Pearson from drowning.”
“Who remembers him?”
“No one would except that he died with so much drama. In a swimming pool. And your father tried to save him. The press loves it when history tries to repeat itself.”
Chapter 16
S carf? Sunglasses? Pffft. Amateur hour.” Bunny Nichol rubbed her hands together, wiggled her fingers, and blew on the tips. “We can do better than that.” She threw open the door to her dressing room. It was half the size of the master bedroom, which itself was about the size of the entire first floor of Deirdre’s house in San Diego. Out wafted the scent of orange blossoms.
Instantly Deirdre was transported back to
The words left Deirdre momentarily stunned. It was true, of course, but she hadn’t let herself think about it in such stark terms.
“Oh dear,” Bunny said. “How can we—”
“She needs to call Sy Sterling,” Joelen said.
“Of course,” Bunny said. “Come. Use the phone in my office.”
Moments later, Deirdre was sitting at the glass-topped desk in Bunny’s study. Bunny knew the number and dialed for her. Joelen watched from the door.
“Attorney’s office.” The smoker’s voice of Vera, Sy’s secretary, brought back a memory of the second-floor law office in Westwood Village. Open the door with the pebble glass inset and there Vera would be at her desk, a pencil stuck in her hair and a stash of crayons and drawing paper hidden in the supply closet. The smells of Vera’s cigarettes and Sy’s cigars mingled in the dimly lit corridor where they used to let Deirdre ride her tricycle up and down while Sy met with Arthur in his office.
Deirdre breathed a sigh of relief when Vera put her right through. “Sy? It’s Deirdre. You said to call if the police came back? Well, they did. First they called and left a message that they wanted to talk to me. Then they came to the house. When I didn’t answer, they just sat out front and waited. Then TV news vans pulled up—”
“Where are you now?” Sy said, interrupting. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just rattled. My friend Joelen came and got me. I’m at her house.”
“Joelen?” Sy seemed surprised. “Elenor Nichol’s daughter?”
“She was my best friend in high school. Dad was supposed to meet with her to talk about selling the house.” Silence on the other end of the line. “She’s a Realtor now.”
“I know,” Sy said.
“Where should I go? I can’t stay here.” Deirdre swallowed, trying to tamp down the hysteria that threatened to envelop her. “What do the police want?”
“Probably just answers to routine questions. They are investigating a suspicious death. You discovered it. But I do not like them harassing you at the house. And I really do not like newspeople showing up. Schmucks, all of them.” Sy’s outrage was comforting. “We need to get out in front of this. Go in and talk to that detective.” He must have covered the receiver because she could hear muffled voices, then, “Can you meet me in front of City Hall in about an hour? I will call you when I arrive.”
Deirdre covered the receiver on her end. “Joelen, can you drive me over to City Hall? Not now. When Sy calls back in an hour.”
“Of course,” Joelen said.
“I’ll be there,” Deirdre told Sy, feeling relieved. She wasn’t eager to talk to the police, but taking action, any action, felt infinitely better than waiting to be mugged.
“Can you find a scarf?” Sy asked. “Or sunglasses? Just in case reporters are hanging around. I don’t want anyone to recognize you on the way in.”
“Recognize me?” Deirdre asked, startled. “Why would anyone recognize me?”
“There are already news vans at your house. Who do you think they are looking for?”
“My father was just a writer, for God’s sake. Why do they even care?”
“Your father drowned. And years ago he failed to save Fox Pearson from drowning.”
“Who remembers him?”
“No one would except that he died with so much drama. In a swimming pool. And your father tried to save him. The press loves it when history tries to repeat itself.”
Chapter 16
S carf? Sunglasses? Pffft. Amateur hour.” Bunny Nichol rubbed her hands together, wiggled her fingers, and blew on the tips. “We can do better than that.” She threw open the door to her dressing room. It was half the size of the master bedroom, which itself was about the size of the entire first floor of Deirdre’s house in San Diego. Out wafted the scent of orange blossoms.
Instantly Deirdre was transported back to
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