All Things Considered Read online

  “Don’t even think about it,” she snapped and punched the electric window control. She tapped Enrique’s shoulder. “Ready or not.”

  Would Enrique forget their plan and floor the gas pedal and run over all of them if she asked him to?

  He pushed open his driver’s door. At the same time, Ryn slammed back her door exactly as they’d discussed. The two open doors created a chamber around the entrance into the crematorium. She and Beau could now exit with some protection from the pack. One of them caught onto the ploy immediately. In seconds, the rest were howling—wolves baying at shadows on the moon.

  “Maybe we should come back another time,” Beau whispered.

  Nothing wrong with that logic.

  “We may have to do that.” Ryn pulled the black veil over her face, ducked her head, and stepped onto the fake cobblestones.

  Enrique said, “I am estaying in these locacíon.”

  Ahh, yes. The getaway car.

  “Good evening, Miss Davis. I’m Margaret Parker.” A silver-haired, middle-aged woman dressed in a gray coatdress extended her hand and took Ryn by the elbow.

  Ryn studied their feet. It was as if Margaret had magically lifted them both onto an automated walkway like those at airports. Ryn had no sensation of her own feet touching the ground.

  Soft, New Age music—which Stone loathed—filled with simulations of singing birds and flowing creeks—played discreetly in the background.

  Brown eyes velvety with sympathy, Margaret Parker apologized. “I’m sorry Maryellen Roberts isn’t available tonight. I know she helped you the last time.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Ryn saw something move. She turned her head. Lavender stood there, smiling the gentle sweet smile of the eternal flower child. “You can get through this, Ryn.”

  The rustle of papers broke the spell. The shadows deepened. Margaret carefully slid a box of tissues across the polished tabletop. Ryn blinked, check the corner again, and said she was ready.

  Twenty minutes later, it was all over. The papers signed. The casket selected. The urn chosen. Just as with Lavender, Ryn felt like a swimmer under water, unable—or unwilling—to come to the surface. True to his word, Beau had sat mute throughout the negotiations. Margaret loaded them onto the invisible conveyer belt and deposited them at the entrance—her professional smile in place.

  Ryn took the two steps inside her chamber of car doors and slid across the backseat so effortlessly she knew she had to be dreaming. The cloud-soft leather seat supported her aching shoulders. She sighed, grateful Enrique had turned off the interior lights. When Beau stepped on one of her toes getting settled, she ground her teeth. If she showed no reaction, he might take the hint and say nothing until they got back to the hotel to bombard her with his million and one questions.

  Or at least until we get out of the parking lot.

  “Hello, Ryn.”

  She jumped and her heart galloped. “Jesus, Amber.”

  “What’re you doin’ here, Amber?” Beau twisted in his seat across from Ryn.

  “Hello, Beau.” Swathed in black, a flowing high-necked, long-sleeved blouse, long, slim skirt and satin flats, Amber melded into the corner behind Enrique’s seat, her wraithlike body swallowed by the shadows.

  Outside, reporters shouted and waved cameras.

  “If I get out now, it will be a circus,” Amber stated the obvious.

  “And you’d hate that so much.” Ryn’s sarcasm dripped. What the hell was Enrique thinking? Letting her inside the limo?

  “I was very discreet. Ask Enrique.”

  Like a puppet on a string, he slid behind the steering wheel and met Ryn’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Le ayudo con algo?”

  A little late to be asking if you can help. “Let’s get out of here. Inmediatemente.” Curt. Impersonal. Exactly the tone a chauffeur who might soon be out of a job wanted to hear. And he was in no position to refuse Amber a ride in the limo.

  “Hay problema? Hice algo mal?” Did I do something wrong? An undernote of confusion thrummed in Enrique's questions as they pulled away from the crematorium’s private entrance.

  Don’t blame him for Amber’s brass balls. For all he knows, I asked the bitch to join us. Softening her tone, Ryn answered, “Hizo todo bien. Gracias.” You did fine. “Al hotel, por favor.”

  “Is it okay for Amber to ride back to the hotel with us?” Beau asked, voice tight with anxiety.”

  Ryn lifted her veil, patted Beau’s hand, and asked Enrique to turn on the lights. “It’s okay—as long as she doesn’t talk.”

  “My lips are sealed.” Amber removed her wide-brimmed black hat, revealing her heart-shaped face. Her long, black Manchurian fingernails dragged an imaginary zipper across protruding black lips. The harsh parking lot fluorescents turned her snowy skin to the color of a geisha’s. Heavily mascaraed aquamarine eyes glittered. “Not a word.”

  “Starting now. I’ve got duct tape in the trunk.” Ryn opened the fridge and removed a bottle of OJ. Her throat burned from repressed tears. Too stubborn to cry in front of Beau and Margaret Parker.

  Amber leaned forward and mimed wanting a drink. Her black eyebrows came together like anorectic night crawlers.

  “I think she wants OJ,” Beau whispered.

  “I know what Amber wants, Beau.”

  How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not sleeping with Amber. Stone’s denial echoed in Ryn’s ears. Had he told her the truth? He’d changed so much since Lavender died.

  “Can I have some?” Beau asked. “Then I’ll be quiet, too.”

  “I’m sorry, Beau.” Ryn handed him her glass and poured another for herself. “If you feel like talking, I’ll try to listen.”

  Beau shook his head, and she shifted her gaze to Amber, silently daring the other woman to make a peep. Amber shrugged and sipped from her glass like a hummingbird with sugar water. Beau’s short, shallow breathing scraped Ryn’s nerves. She wanted to reassure him she wasn’t going to start an argument with Amber, but she didn’t have the energy. Her tongue had frozen to the floor of her mouth.

  The steady, slow rocking of the limo gave her the sensation of floating. She closed her eyes. She wouldn’t sleep, but she might drowse off. Danny was pressuring her to see his chronobiologist friend at Stanford. Ever the lawyer, he reminded her of several decisions she needed to make. You shouldn’t talk to Jericho or make any major decisions while you’re sleep deprived.

  “Ryn?” The gentle pats rained down on her hands like a shower of nails. “Wake up, Ryn!” Beau’s whisper exploded in her ears like a cannon.

  Face squished against the leather seat, Ryn opened her eyes. Even before she raised her head, she knew she was going to feel like hell. While she’d dozed, someone had dropped an elephant inside her skull.

  “We’re at the hotel.” Beau would not stop patting her hand.

  No we’re not. We’re in hell.

  The damn elephant was slowly sucking her brain through his trunk, leaving her with the reflexes of a drunk with a bad hangover. Her hairy tongue had blown up to the size of a Buick and drool dripped down her chin and slid on down her neck into the hollow in her throat. Give me one good reason for getting up and facing the frickin’ world.

  Chapter 8

  Enrique had phoned hotel security, and Jake Young, a burly, ex-49er fullback, stood waiting for them under the hotel canopy. He and three other clones closed rank around Ryn as if she were Queen of the Universe.

  Despite the veil and the umbrella-sized sunglasses, the flash from some fool’s camera startled her. She stumbled on Jake’s heels. Four hands grabbed both her arms, breaking her fall.

  Upright, feeling the blood rush to her face, she waved to the crowd and muttered, “Keep that stiff upper life, Queenie.”

  When Jake turned, walking backwards toward her, asking what she’s said, she shook her head, feeling stupid and petite surrounded by her four hulks. “Fodder for the sleazoids.”

  Once again, she had the sensation her feet floated ab
ove the floor as her human phalanx propelled her through the hotel lobby. Her body and mind had disconnected from her emotions since the visit to the crematorium. A few guests stopped and stared.

  Must not be in the business.

  Nobody in the entertainment world would give a second glance to such a second-rate circus.

  Another security guy as big as a small Alp stood in front of the penthouse elevator with the door open. Heels clicking, he waved her and Jake into the cave.

  “Beau?” She stepped in, the door sliding shut.

  Jake said, “He’s still in the limo. We thought it would be easier to do this in two stages.”

  “Sounds right to me.” Ryn imagined herself sinking into the steamy whirlpool tub up to her chin. Once in a while, after she’d morphed into a walking zombie, a hot tub, heaped with lavender bath oil and herbs, helped her sleep. No arguments with Stone raised the likelihood of sleeping. She shook away the thought, glad Jake didn’t need to chat and she didn’t need to think.

  Ten minutes later, dressed in the thick, white, floor-length terrycloth robe provided by the hotel, Ryn went out to the living room to tell Beau he was on his own for the rest of the night.

  There, on her tuffet, sat Amber the Spider.

  Surprise, surprise.

  Next to her, Beau was digging into a white bowl. Ice cream? Or curds and whey? The nursery rhyme flashed in Ryn's head in a fast-frame gestalt. I think I've fallen off Humpty-Dumpty’s wall and cracked my skull. Stone dead. Lavender dead. And she was thinking about nursery rhymes. She couldn’t recall hearing two bullets in her bedroom three days ago, but she could repeat nursery rhymes from over forty years ago, word for word.

  Face flushed, Beau quickly set his dish on the coffee table and stood like a soldier at attention. Ready to explain why he’d dared make a decision without consulting his superior officer?

  “Amber invited me out to supper …”

  “I thought it might give you some time to yourself.” Amber’s two-foot-wide lips curved up. In the dim light, Ryn couldn’t tell if the smile ever made it to those hard, semi-transparent, aquamarine eyes. Amber gushed, “Since you’re obviously exhausted.”

  Not too exhausted to know you’re up to something.

  “But I’ll stay here if you need me.” Beau shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  Spider Woman bestowed her black widow grin on Beau, turned, smoothed her long, black skirt, and winked at Ryn.

  “Where are your earrings?” Ryn blurted, enjoying Amber’s eyes widening in surprise.

  Beau picked up his dish and scraped the bottom. Ryn flinched, but Amber tugged at her earlobe—Miss Casual. Miss Relaxed.

  “I thought they were inappropriate for the crematorium.” Amber fingered the lemon-sized diamond nose stud which threw off enough sparks to start a fire whenever she turned her head. “Under the circumstances.” The socially correct Miz Watt swiveled her head toward the table lamp.

  Ryn swallowed her laugh as memories flooded back. Stone railing at Amber about the gazillion gold and diamond earrings she always wore in both ears. He’d expected Ryn to explain why anyone would mutilate herself just to get his attention.

  “I never did understand how Stone got so hung up on my earrings. Saying they made me look like a cokehead hurt, you know?” Amber The Wronged. The Misunderstood. The Rejected. Asking Ryn’s understanding with a deep sigh. “I’ll never forget when he swore he’d fire me if I had my nose or tongue pierced.” Her lower lip went out in a little-girl pout, and she blinked a couple of times.

  Life’s hard, all right. Ryn clamped her mouth shut. She didn’t have the energy …

  Amber shook her head, letting the topic drop, conveniently forgetting her threats hurled at Stone to pierce her boobs no matter what he said. That argument had lasted for days—until Ryn finally convinced Stone to stop taking Amber’s bait. For once, he listened. He even wrote a song, Play It Your Way.

  Amber leaped off the couch. “Here Ah am, blithering on and on. Tiring you out. Is it okay if Beau goes with me to supper?”

  Ryn spoke to Beau. “You don’t have to babysit me. After a bath, I’m going to bed.”

  “Oookay.” Beau stood. “I’ll be as quiet as a mouse when I come back. Early.” He excused himself to go to the bathroom.

  “Go ahead and take your bath if you want,” Amber said, as if Ryn was accustomed to taking her orders. “Beau shouldn’t be more than a minute or two, max.”

  A chill raised the hairs at the back of Ryn’s neck, and she shivered. Amber’s honeyed courtesy felt like the sticky substance spiders emitted to trap flies. She sank down into the loveseat.

  “Well, Ah’m glad you got off your feet.” Amber lowered her hips onto the edge of the sofa, leaning forward as if to touch Ryn’s face. “You look ready to drop.”

  A muscle around Ryn’s unhealed cheek jumped, and she instantly turned her knees to one side in case Amber made a move. God, I’m whacked. Skin crawling, hair standing on end. All because she didn’t recognize this polite, mannerly stranger. When had Amber ever been worried about Ryn’s well-being? A memory—quick as a butterfly—flitted at the edge of consciousness. Ryn tried to catch the moment, but Beau charged into the room and the gossamer wings disappeared.

  “I'll go down and see how many reporters are still hangin’ in the lobby,” he announced.

  And then what? Ryn opened her mouth to veto the idea.

  “If there’s still a bunch around, I won’t go with Amber. ’Cuz they’d probably just follow us wherever we went.”

  “We can do it another time,” Amber chimed in, Miss Conviviality now, smiling her spider smile at Beau.

  “Maj is asleep on my bed,” he called over his shoulder and entered the elevator.

  “He loves that cat,” Amber stated, fake amazement dripping. “Almost as much as he loves you. I don’t know what he’d do if anything ever happened to you or The Fanged Beast.”

  Ryn’s jaw cracked, and her range of vision narrowed to Amber sitting on the sofa, examining one of her nails. Under the thick terry robe, it felt as if every sweat cell in Ryn’s body had switched on. Amber had no right to use Stone’s name for Maj. What was she doing here? Why had she shown up at the crematorium?

  “Beau was asking me about his finances.” Amber slipped down onto the couch. Getting comfy. “Whether he’d have enough money for the rest of his life? How the royalties will be figured on the last release with Stone dead?”

  Amber didn’t stumble on dead, Ryn noticed, fighting a shiver.

  “He wanted me to tell him what will happen to The Stoned Gang now. Said he didn’t want to bother you.”

  The last part Ryn believed; the rest smacked of pure bullshit. Amber’s bullshit. “You must have a few questions of your own.”

  “Not really,” Amber drawled, twisting her signature chartreuse braid, smoothing the fuzzy, flyaway hairs. “I’ve made some damned good investments. And I’ve written half a dozen songs that are sure hits.”

  Ryn tapped a knuckle on her top teeth. No such thing as a sure hit in this business. Amber should know that reality.

  “Stone and I were talking Friday night at your place about The Gang recording a release exclusively of my songs.” Amber’s voice thrummed with dreaminess.

  Ryn shrugged. “I haven’t decided what to do about The Gang yet. Danny and I have talked—”

  “You ever consider talking with Rip and Repeat about what to do with The Gang?” Amber bit off each word, clipping each syllable, pruning reality until—like a gardener with a weed whacker—she stripped away all illusion of good will.

  “You, of course, were my first—my only—consideration, Amber.”

  As if slapped in the face with a wet fish, Amber gave a little tug on her braid and sat up straighter. “I’ll remember that when I send you cookies in prison.”

  Ryn felt the flush start at the base of her neck and spread to the roots of her hair. “God knows dreams die hard, Amber, but yours won’t come true of me rotti
ng in prison. Sleeping with Stone didn’t bring the world to your doorstep, and his death won’t make you a star, either.”

  Two ugly raspberry spots stained Amber’s bloodless cheeks.

  Ryn sucked in a deep breath. Would the color red always conjure up that last image of Stone in bed?

  “And God knows, Ryn, some people deny the truth till their dying breath.”

  Adrenaline surged through Ryn’s veins, and for a second she couldn’t breathe. She resisted the impulse to clap her hands over her ears. She didn’t want to hear more of Amber’s venom.

  Amber twisted on the sofa, preening, arching her smooth neck, throwing her head back to show off her nose stud. “Contrary to what you want to believe, Stone didn't forget all about me once you came on the scene.”

  Don’t fall down that hole.

  Ryn’s fingers twitched with the impulse to wring Amber’s neck. A memory of Stone clutching her hand at Lavender’s memorial service reassured her Amber was lying.

  “God knows,” Ryn paused, adrenaline waking up every cell in her tense body, “some people deny the truth their entire lives.”

  Amber lifted her head and chin, puffing up as if about to pounce on Ryn like an enraged spider. “Speak for yourself, bitch,” she hissed.

  A wave of victory pounded in Ryn, and she smiled. To hell with the meek inheriting the earth. Flight was way overrated. Fighting—and winning—was so much more fun.

  Chapter 9

  “Hey, Lady!” The twentysomething blond jerk with biceps bigger than his IQ threw Ryn a look of pure disgust.

  At 9:07 a.m., a week after Ryn found Stone’s body, Bozo stood behind her in the Los Altos Safeway Express Lane (Cash Only). He’d caught her staring at headlines in The Inquiring Enquirer.

  STONE WALL’S KILLER ELUDES LA COPS.

  “You paying, praying, or just spaced out?” Bozo drawled, nodding toward her grocery cart.

  “Sorry.” Ryn figured the guy must have forgotten he was in Los Altos—the other LA—an upscale San Francisco suburb five hundred miles north of LaLa Land and next door to Dr. Colin C. Comfrey, biochronologist and lifelong friend of Danny Leopold.