Carolyn Haines - Wishbones

I watched her face. Cece wasn’t the kind who worried, but a furrow between her eyebrows told me she was concerned.

“Once I opened the front door, the dogs were gone. Both of them. Like they were on fire. I yelled for Tinkie and Graf, and when Graf caught sight of them vanishing into the gardens, he ran after them.”

“So everyone was chasing Sweetie and Chablis instead of looking for me?”

She nodded. “Initially. But Sweetie was acting so bizarre, we knew something was bad wrong. And we knew it had to involve you. That’s when I got really frightened.”

“What did Graf say about the dogs being locked up?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t get a chance to tell him. Or Tinkie either, but I’m going to call the police.” She put her hands on her hips. “Someone set you up. This was premeditated and well planned. If we’d been ten minutes later…”

“I know it’s dangerous.” I took a deep breath. “But if this gets out, someone will leak it to the media, and it’ll be in every tabloid. This one thing-that the dogs were deliberately confined-is something only you, me, and the person who did it know about.”

Her head moved incrementally up and down. “I see what you’re doing, but Graf can’t protect you if he doesn’t have the facts. Federico’s daughter seems criminally deranged.”

She was right about that, but it didn’t change what I wanted her to do. “Just humor me.”

“Until something else happens. Then I’m spilling the beans. Dahling, you can’t be damaged before you rise to stardom. Without you, I’ll never get a press pass to the Oscars.”

We were giggling when there was a tap on Cece’s door. She opened it to find an excited Federico. He shifted from one foot to the other. “I finally tracked down one of Estelle’s friends here in Petaluma. Estelle left this morning for Los Angeles. She couldn’t have been involved.”

That information momentarily took me aback. I was pretty certain the woman I’d chased through the gardens and along the beach was Estelle.

“I’m concerned about her,” Federico said. “I’ve tried calling her place in Malibu, but there’s no answer.”

“Estelle has a house in Malibu?” This was news to me. “Where?”

“Not too far from Lettohatchie Canyon, where you and Graf were staying.” Federico seemed oblivious to the conclusion I’d drawn in a nanosecond.

“You never mentioned that Estelle lives in Malibu.”

He looked at his shoes. So he had jumped to the same place, and he was ashamed of himself.

“Suzy Dutton is dead, Federico. Joey was injured here on the set. I was almost drowned. Serious things are happening, and your daughter is linked to all of it.”

“She’s disturbed, Sarah Booth, but she isn’t dangerous. Besides, she couldn’t have harmed you. She’s not even in this country.”

Federico wanted so badly to believe that his daughter wasn’t someone who would murder. I understood that, but it didn’t make it true. So far, I could say that Estelle could easily have been in the vicinity of Suzy Dutton’s “fall” from a cliff. She could also have damaged the balcony where Joey fell, and she could have messed with the camera. It was possible she’d been in the house and pushed Jovan down the stairs. I’d seen her-or someone who looked a lot like her-before I was nearly drowned. And I knew for certain that Estelle had the means to slip in and out of the house undetected-and someone had locked up the dogs. The evidence was stacking up against her.

“Are you sure she left Costa Rica?” Cece asked.

“Regena says so. They share an apartment in Petaluma, so she would know.”

“And who is this roommate?” Cece followed through.

“Regena Lombardi. She’s a dancer.”

I made a mental note of the name. Once I was through filming in the morning, I intended to pay Regena a call.

“Thanks for telling me, Federico.”

He remained in the doorway. “Estelle has given me many problems, but she is my flesh and blood. She’s an unhappy young woman, but I can’t believe she would harm anyone.”

I had a goose egg on my head that was all the evidence I needed that someone had meant to harm me. But I wasn’t going to argue with Federico. Not now. Not in front of Cece, who was already worried enough.

“Tomorrow I’ll see what I can find out. Let’s give it a rest until then.”

“Until the morning.” He kissed both of my cheeks. “And have a safe trip home, Ms. Falcon. It’s been a pleasure having you here.”

“Thank you, Mr. Marquez. It’s going to be a bang-up movie.”

He left and I looked at Cece, who rolled her eyes. “Daddy doesn’t want to believe his little darling is a murderer.”

“When you get to the airport, can you check to see if Estelle actually boarded a plane today?”

“Sure. I don’t think Costa Rica has the security issues we have in the States. Should be a piece of cake.”

“Thank you, Cece. You’re a good friend.”

“Sarah Booth, you’re going to be a huge star. I’m only doing this so you’ll owe me.”

I gave her a big hug and hurried to my room. Graf was waiting for me. Even though someone had tried to kill me, I was still a lucky woman.

To my bitter disappointment, the next morning when Robert Redford arrived, I was working. I caught a glimpse of him and Millie walking in the gardens. By the time I was due a break, Robert was gone and Millie and Cece were packed. Federico had assigned one of the security guards to drive them to be sure nothing happened on the way.

I kissed and hugged and held back the tears that would wash away all of Sally’s artful work. When the car pulled out of the driveway, Sweetie sat at my feet and howled mournfully. “We’ll see them soon,” I promised her. I was ready for a trip back to Zinnia. I was homesick.

When I finished my scenes, I picked up the keys to one of the rental cars and drove into Petaluma. It wasn’t far, and I could have walked, but I wasn’t certain where Estelle and Regena’s apartment might be, and I didn’t have time to walk if it was a distance away.

I checked a local phone book and found a listing for Regena Lombardi. There was none for Estelle. I rang the number and was surprised when a young woman answered. My Spanish was nonexistent, so I prayed Regena spoke English.

And she did-very well in fact. In less than thirty seconds she’d agreed to meet with me.

The apartment complex was lovely, sort of a 1950s Hollywood set where aspiring starlets might rent. Regena’s apartment was 2B, and I knocked on the mahogany door, wondering how this interview was going to go.

The young woman who answered the door was petite, with hair colored a plum shade and a nose ring. She wore a leotard and leg warmers and was barefoot.

“I’m Sarah Booth Delaney,” I said, trying hard to read her face, but she gave nothing away.

“I’m due to dance rehearsals in twenty minutes. It’s a big opportunity for me.”

“I’ll be brief.” I slipped inside before she could block me at the door. “Are you sure Estelle has gone to Los Angeles?” I asked as I took in the decor. Low-rent college kid furnishings were mixed with some expensive furniture and art.

“She said she was going, and yesterday morning she was gone.”

“Did she take her things?”

Regena shrugged. “Estelle has things here, in Malibu, and in Europe. She doesn’t have to carry things. They’re there waiting for her when she arrives.” There was no bitterness in Regena’s tone.

“What kind of person is Estelle?”

She sank into a beanbag chair-an artifact from the seventies, I suspected. “She’s very kind. She helps people when she can.”

“And she hates her father.”

She looked away, a telling gesture. “Federico was never there for her. After she turned ten, she was shipped off to boarding schools. Whenever she wanted to come home, he told her no. She wasn’t even allowed to visit her mother when she was dying. How would that make you feel?”