Three doors were open and one closed. Kate knocked on the closed door.
“Enter if you must,” a gloomy voice called out.
She peeked inside. “Am I disturbing you?”
Ollie hurried to sit up on a large, canopied bed fit for a king. “No, no, come in, come in. I thought you were that detective again. Please—sit!” He extended an arm toward a brocade chair near the bed.
The room’s disorder was less of a shock than it would have been a few days ago. The space looked like it had been grandly decorated once, with lush fabrics and heavy furniture, but was now crowded with Ollie’s hoarded treasures—including a weather-beaten wooden woman over the fireplace—the figurehead from Captain Powell’s ship, Kate guessed.
“Dreadful business about Lemmy.” Ollie shoved pillows behind his back. “Just dreadful.”
“Yes.” Several paths led through the mess, and Kate followed one to the chair near the bed.
“Hugo says it must have been a thief after my valuables, and Lemmy came home and surprised him.”
“Maybe.” She sat cautiously on the shredded upholstery.
“I hope you found something to eat downstairs.”
As if she should step over Lemmy’s body to reach the refrigerator. “I’m not hungry, thank you.”
“Hugo brought me some bread and jam before the police arrived.” Ollie waved a hand at some dirty dishes on an ornate nightstand. “He’s an excellent cook, by the way. I’ll tell him to make his chicken pie for you tomorrow. You’ll be quite impressed. Flakey crust and everything.”
She needed to tell him she was leaving.
“Ah, Kate,” he sighed, leaning back against the pillows. “I so wanted to impress you, and instead, I fled the studio like a scared rabbit and wept like a child. What must you think of me?”
“I think … I think you were very brave to leave the house with so little notice.” She hesitated, realizing this was her chance to ask. “Ollie, when we came home and you were sitting on the stairs … when you said we didn’t know what you’d done … what were you talking about?”
His face crumpled and his head dropped. “I’d give anything to undo it.”
Panic spiked inside her. She shouldn’t have asked. She didn’t want to hear his confession and have to turn her own grandfather over to the police for murder. Lemmy had been a despicable human who’d threatened to take away Ollie’s house—his sanctuary. “I understand why you—”
“He’ll probably be dead by morning.” Ollie lifted his head, his eyes brimming with tears.
Kate stared. “But … he’s already dead.”
Ollie released a breath. “You’re probably right. Such a stupid thing to do, but I was so angry when I got home—angry at myself—and I thought, poor Budgie, he shouldn’t be trapped in this house with me. So I just…” He stretched an arm toward the far side of the room. “… set him free.”
Kate turned her head and saw a fancy birdcage on a stand near the window, its door open. It took her a moment to understand, then she laughed in relief. “You’re talking about a bird?”
“Budgie. Best little friend I ever had. Kept me company for nine years, and I released him to the wolves. He won’t survive out there.”
Kate forced the smile from her face, but the fact that she’d actually suspected her grandfather of murder suddenly seemed ridiculous. If setting a pet bird free made him this upset, he hadn’t stabbed Lemmy. “I’m sure Budgie will be fine.” She changed the subject. “Aurelio got the lead part today.”
Ollie’s expression lifted. “Yes, and well deserved! That boy has enormous talent. And you! Hugo tells me they offered you a job too—big Hollywood producer!”
She laughed. “More of a coffee fetcher, I think. I’m only seventeen.”
“Oh, age doesn’t matter in this business. Look at Irving Thalberg. He was only twenty when he took over at Universal Studios. The Boy Wonder, we used to call him. That’ll be you, Kate.”
She needed to tell him she wasn’t taking the job.
“You know,” Ollie mused, studying her, “I think you look like Gracie.”
“Gracie—your wife?” Kate didn’t know anything about her Banks grandmother. Her mother had never talked about her, and Aunt Lorna was from the Hildebrand side of the family.
“Oh, we weren’t married, just foolish kids in the same vaudeville troupe. She was an older woman by two years.” He laughed. “Not a bad life for a sixteen-year-old boy—a different town every week and a pretty dancer to keep me company.” He leaned forward to see around Kate. “There’s a photo back there somewhere.”
Kate went to a long table against the wall that was covered in framed photographs. Most were publicity headshots of other actors, with scrawled autographs, but there were a few candid shots of Ollie: lounging next to a swimming pool with two women in sunglasses, laughing on a golf course, raising champagne flutes with Gloria Swanson.
She picked up the golfing picture. The man about to swing had a slim, dark mustache—Bonnie’s father, Frank Fairchild.
“Not that one. Silver frame, back row. Keep going—that’s it. That’s Gracie.”
Kate brought the frame to the nightstand lamp and saw her grandmother for the first time—a girl with long curls in a flouncy dress, posed with one hand holding up her skirt to her knees, showing off legs in a dance pose. “She looks so young.”
“Eighteen and nobody’s fool, that girl. She taught me a thing or two.” Ollie leaned closer to see the photo. “She was none too happy when she found out she was going to have a baby. Had to leave the troupe and move back with her grandparents. I called her from the road a few times, but it was too expensive.”
The fact that her very proper mother had been illegitimate was a bit unsettling. “You didn’t want to marry Gracie?”
He gave a short laugh. “Turned me down. Wise choice. I was sixteen without a penny in my pocket. She showed up backstage a few years later, put a toddler in my arms, and walked out. Said she was going to Paris to dance. I tried finding her, years later, after I’d made a success of myself, but never could.”
Kate set the frame on the nightstand and returned to the chair. “What did you do with a toddler?”
“Oh, the women in the troupe helped out. They adored Evie. One of them said her sister would take her, but by the time we got to that part of the country, I couldn’t give her up. My days were free. There isn’t much rehearsing in vaudeville, same routine every night, and she played in the dressing room while I was on stage. Poor thing never had a decent bedtime.”
“I had no idea.” Kate had imagined her mother growing up in glamorous Hollywood, with servants and ponies, not traveling with a vaudeville troupe. “When did you come to Hollywood?”
“Let’s see … Evie was twelve, so that would have been 1913. She needed a real school, and I was itching to do movies. We rented this horrible little room in Culver City. That first year was pretty lean, let me tell you, then I started to get stunt work—driving motorcycles into barns, that sort of thing.”
“Real motorcycles? Into real barns?”
He laughed. “Oh, I loved it. You learn how to use your body doing vaudeville, how to fall and make it funny. That’s how I got my first movie role—Billy the bumbling cowboy. We used to make two pictures a week if you can believe it. Just silly nonsense. Nothing like the big productions they have these days.”
“When did you start Captain Powell?” Kate leaned back on the chair, stretching out her legs.
“First one was 1917, but nobody paid much attention. Then we did a few more, and, next thing I know, my face is on magazine covers and Chaplin is inviting me to pool parties.”
“Charlie Chaplin? You knew him?”
“Of course I knew him. I knew all of them. Fairbanks and Mary Pickford. Buster Keaton and Harry Lloyd. Hollywood wasn’t so big back then. The best parties were always at Pickfair. I met Thomas Edison there, if you can believe it. And that British writer who wrote about the London detective.”
“Sherlock Holmes? You met Arthur Conan Doyle?”
“That’s the one. He came to Hollywood.”
“But that’s amazing. Who else did you meet?”
“Oh, lots of famous writers. They all wanted their books turned into movies.”
He talked on, his voice muffled by the pillow below his cheek, telling her about a woman who’d climbed onto the roof of the house and refused to come down, waiting for Captain Powell to rescue her. “So I went up there, of course.” He told her about a director he’d hated, and a few women he’d loved, and the two peacocks that had seemed like a fun idea for the backyard until they’d screamed all night.
His voice finally slowed and slid into sleep. Kate took away the magazine he’d been reading and pulled up his blanket.
The house was eerily quiet as she descended the staircase. She found Aurelio and Reuben in the living room, slouched at opposite ends of the fan-shaped sofa, talking in low voices.
“Hey, Kate.” Aurelio looked exhausted, the lamp casting shadows across his handsome face. “The Fairchilds sent food. It’s in the icebox.”
“Are the police gone?” If so, she could go next door and call a taxi.
“Yeah,” Aurelio said. “But one of them stayed behind on the porch to keep the reporters away, so you don’t have to worry about the killer coming back.”
“The killer isn’t coming back,” Reuben grumbled. “Somebody wanted Lemmy dead, and he’s dead, so it’s over.”
“You want to sleep upstairs in my room?” Aurelio asked her. “It’s a mess, but I can clean up fast, and tomorrow I’ll move my things out so you can have it permanent.”
“Thank you, but I’m fine down here.” She didn’t want to tell them she was leaving and risk them waking up Ollie so he could say goodbye. Better to sneak out.
“Here, take this.” Reuben stood and pulled a gun from his pocket. “You won’t need it, but it might make you feel safer.” He held the gun toward her on the palm of his hand.
Kate stared at it, shocked. “I’m not touching that thing.”
“It doesn’t bite. Not unless you cock it and pull the trigger.” Reuben waited a few seconds, then slid the gun into his pocket. “Suit yourself.”
“Where’s Hugo?” she asked, glancing at the empty wingback chair.
“On stage in that gory play of his,” Reuben said. “Left a while ago.”
The fact that he’d left without telling her stung a little. Now, she wouldn’t have a chance to tell him goodbye.
She remembered something else. “I was expecting a telegram today—not the one this morning, something later.”
“Didn’t see anything,” Reuben said. “And if it came while we were gone, the delivery boy would have left a note on the doorstep.”
Aurelio stood with a groan, stretching his back. “Bonnie says we’re leaving for the studio at 5:30. Either of you have an alarm clock I can borrow?”
Reuben said, “Take mine and buy me a new one, now that you’re rich.”
“I don’t get paid until Friday.” The two of them walked toward the foyer. “Sorry you didn’t get a part today, Reuben. Maybe next time.”
“You think I want to be in some twinkle-toes movie with a bunch of kids?” They headed up the staircase.
It was time to leave.
Kate made her way to the kitchen, glad the light had been left on. But as soon as she entered, she halted, drawing a sharp breath.
Lemmy was gone, but his blood remained, a smeared puddle with a few stray shoeprints. Aurelio must have seen it when he’d put the Fairchilds’ food in the refrigerator but left it for someone else to clean up. Hugo, no doubt.
The dog shuffled into the room and stopped, looking up at Kate with sad marble eyes. He had mottled gray fur and skinny legs. Probably a stray taken in by Hugo.
“I’m leaving,” she told the dog, saying it aloud for the first time.
The dog whined and sat on its haunches.
Kate stared at the floor—not fake Hollywood blood—and wondered how long it would take to clean up. She could do that, at least, for Ollie and Hugo.
She entered the laundry room where her luggage was stored—everything packed and ready to go—and found a mop and pail in a tall cupboard. She carried them back to the sink and filled the pail.
“I’ve never done this before,” she told the dog.
It took her a moment to figure out how the ringer on top of the pail worked, then she pulled the wet mop through and slapped it on the floor. “Here goes nothing,” she muttered, pushing it into the blood.
The raggedy strips turned red.
Kate froze, her hands tight on the mop handle. “Why am I doing this?” she asked aloud.
I am smart. I am sensible. Her daily statement to the mirror, two things she knew to be true.
She drew a breath and pushed the mop forward and back, and had the satisfaction of seeing the blood gradually disappear, absorbed by the cloth strips. She dunked the mop in the pail and pulled it through the ringer again, expelling pink water.
“No one can expect me to stay here,” she told the dog, who watched from his belly.
She emptied the dirty water and refilled the pail, then mopped with more energy, liking the clean results. It felt good to move, her mind working as hard as her arms.
“I don’t care about making movies,” she told the dog. She was good at schoolwork and tennis. Good at reminding Aunt Lorna she had a dental appointment at three o’clock.
Ollie was probably long overdue for a dental appointment.
Kate rinsed the mop and refilled the pail, and then expanded her mopping beyond the crime scene, wiping away every speck of grime on the black-and-white checkered floor.
“I am not afraid,” she said aloud. The lie she told herself every morning.
Dr. Gimble said she made lists to feel in control of the dark. He suggested baby steps—two seconds in the dark, then three, then four. She’d tried it once and never again.
Dr. Gimble didn’t know the deeper reason behind her need to make lists and keep a tight rein on herself. She’d never told him.
Her darkest secret.
No more mistakes.
Living in this house wasn’t a baby step, it was a leap off a bridge. Actors and gangsters, her grandfather wearing ridiculous costumes, everyone expecting Kate to drop out of school to work at a movie studio, people murdered feet from where she slept.
“It’s absurd,” she told the dog, moving a chair so she could mop under the table. When she got closer to the dog, it shifted out of the way—and she thought of a task for tomorrow’s list: Learn the dog’s name.
And that’s when she knew she was staying.
A metallic clatter pulled Kate from sleep, the noise gone as soon as she knew it was there. She lay still, trying to decide if she’d dreamed it—
And heard a shuffling step in the laundry room, someone stumbling into her trunks, not turning on the light over the washer.
She sat up with a jerk, her heart filling her throat, her hand grabbing the butcher knife she’d put on the nightstand. Her mind screamed—Run!—but as she started to move, the silhouette of a man filled the doorway, blocking her escape.
“You all right?” Hugo’s voice whispered.
Kate’s heart tumbled out of her throat, allowing her to gasp a breath. “Hugo. You scared me to death.”
“Oh, wow—I’m sorry.” He took a worried step into the room, then seemed to think better of it and stepped back. “I saw you sitting up and wanted to make sure you were all right.”
She released a lungful of air, lifting the butcher knife. “You almost got this in your chest.” She set it on the nightstand.
He gave a ghost of a smile. “Glad to see you can protect yourself. But you don’t need to worry. Whoever did this was after Lemmy, and he got him, so he won’t be back.”
Almost exactly how Reuben had said it. “You’re so sure?”
“Lemmy was the kind of guy who had enemies.” Hugo paused, then said in a quieter voice, “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here when I got home.”
“I almost wasn’t.” Kate pulled up her knees under the quilt and wrapped her arms around them. “I didn’t hear you leave the house.”
“I snuck out the back before the police got here, so they wouldn’t make me late for work. I can talk to them tomorrow.”
Which made sense. “Did you have a good … performance?” She wasn’t sure how to word it.
“Not really.” Hugo leaned against the door frame. He was across the room yet seemed close, somehow. Maybe it was their hushed voices. “It was pretty awful, actually, pretending to stab people after seeing Lemmy like that.”
“Oh, right,” she said softly. She hadn’t thought of that. “Couldn’t you just … explain and take the night off?”
“It’s a job, Kate. I need the money.”
She understood that better today than she would have a week ago. “I wish you’d gotten a part in Bonnie’s movie.” She paused. “Actually … I can’t really picture you dancing in an ice cream parlor. In a strange way, I think I prefer you in a back-alley horror show.”
The corner of his lips lifted. “In a strange way, I’m flattered.”
A thrum of attraction ran through her.
“I’m glad you didn’t leave, Kate.”
“Me too,” she murmured.
“Ollie needs you.”
“Oh.” That’s what he meant.
“I’ve been trying to get him out of the house for two years, and you managed it in one day.” Hugo’s voice dropped, the rasp coming out. “The house feels different with you in it, as if…”
She waited, her heartbeat filling her.
“As if we’ve been lost at sea, drifting, knowing what we want but not how to get there. And then you showed up and got us into a big audition, and Ollie left the house, and Aurelio got a lead role. And it’s like there’s a captain at the helm, finally, steering us in the right direction, and we might actually get somewhere.”
Kate tightened her arms around her knees, a little frightened by the analogy. She had enough trouble keeping her own life on course, making lists and trying to manage her fears. What she craved was dry land and safety. Friends who behaved as expected and boys she understood at a glance. Not a boy with a dangerous voice luring her into unsafe waters.
She said, “You better go now. I have to be up early.”
“Right. Sorry.” He took a step backward. “Good night, Kate.”
“Good night.” She listened as he crossed the kitchen and left through the back door.
Only then, with the spell broken, did she wonder what Hugo had been doing in the laundry room in the middle of the night.