Chapter 28

I couldn’t turn Zoey’s request down. Taking Chad’s jacket back to him was exactly the excuse I needed. I had been worried ever since I had last talked with Chad and seen Lacey’s ghost in the bedroom, that Lacey had some kind of score to settle with her illicit lover. Because I felt it was partly my fault Lacey had followed Chad home, I was compelled to go and try to collect her spirit and return her to the spirit world.

I waited until I was certain Zoey had gone upstairs with the masseuse to go back into the house, then entered through the French doors off the dining room. With Zoey upstairs, the downstairs was oddly quiet, but not empty. I sensed another presence in the room. I closed my eyes and felt the afternoon light reflected through the great room’s floor-to-ceiling windows and took a deep breath. When I opened my eyes, a beam of light danced from the windows directly onto the baby grand piano.

More breadcrumbs.

I crossed the room and stood in front of the piano and brushed the tips of my fingers lightly atop the keys. They were smooth and cool to the touch. I closed my eyes and allowed whatever presence was in the room to embrace me. A soft, slow, almost bittersweet melody filled my head. Without realizing what I was doing, my fingers began to tap out the first notes of “Clair de Lune.” I don’t play the piano, yet the tune came to me as though I had known it all my life. My fingers knew exactly what keys to press. I stopped and looked up from the keyboard out through the big arched window at the pool. Who are you?

With every fiber of my being, I could feel the presence about me. I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was there, just as surely as my fingers had known which keys to strike. It beckoned to me, as though it wanted to show me something.

Behind the piano, an antique dressing screen with a triptych scene from a 1930’s movie Zoey’s grandmother had appeared in, fluttered. And then...

Bang!

Behind the screen, something had fallen to the floor. I moved, quickly as I could, to the narrow space between the screen and the oak-stained shelves that lined the wall. The shelves were thick with books and memorabilia. An old-fashioned movie reel. Black and white photos of Zoey’s grandparents. A photo of Zoey’s father and mother. A rusted horse spur engraved with the name of the horse Zoey’s father had ridden in his last movie. On the floor, a photo of Zoey and Lacey. The glass had shattered, cutting a diagonal line between the two girls.

The frame couldn’t have tumbled from the shelf by itself. All of the photos had been neatly lined up against the wall, with better than two feet of space between them and the edge of the shelf. This was no accident. This was a message. The photos on the shelf were Zoey’s family. All of whom had died young or accidentally. For the first time, I wondered if perhaps I had been wrong. Was the Chamberlain Family Curse real? Had Lacey been mistaken for Zoey after all?

I backed away from the shelf. Whatever spirit had been in the room had vanished. Its presence no longer directing me. I still had to get Chad’s jacket from the guest room closet where Crystal had moved her things, and I knew I best hurry.

The room was equally as plush as the first guest room where Crystal had originally stayed. With a large king-size bed, antique armoire, walk-in closet, and private bath, it looked like a luxury suite at the Ritz Carlton.

The better part of me told me I should ignore my urge to search the room and go directly to the closet and retrieve Chad’s jacket. Time was running tight and I sensed Crystal might return at any moment. But as soon as I put one foot inside the room, I knew Crystal had hidden something there, and I needed to find it. I could sense it, like daylight on my eyelids or the smell of rain in the air before a downpour.

I had no idea what I was looking for, but I knew whatever it was, it was there. The bed had been made up, and the room looked neat and tidy. Too tidy. I searched the dresser drawers and the nightstands. Nothing out of the ordinary. I ran my hands along the bedspread, then bent down to feel beneath the mattress. It wasn’t until my foot hit something under the bed that I knew I’d found something.

Partially hidden beneath the skirt of the spread was Crystal’s day planner, a medium-sized black notebook, she was seldom without. The fact it was on the floor and not with her made me think it had accidentally fallen off the bed in her rush to make it to her doctor’s appointment. Several letters and miscellaneous papers that had been stuffed inside the notebook were scattered onto the floor. I picked them up and sorted through them. Some of it fan mail. A few autographed headshots of Zoey. A doctor’s prescription for Xanax. Nothing the star’s busy personal assistant wouldn’t be carrying around for her client. Except for a letter postmarked three months earlier. Addressed to a P.O. Box with a return address from the Department of Corrections.

I placed the notebook, along with the other items I’d picked up from beneath the bed, on the dresser and took the letter from within the envelope. Inside were several Xeroxed pages—official-looking documents—all stamped and notarized, pertaining to Adam Johnson, aka AJ, prison number J876503, followed by an equally judicious looking document form that informed Zoey of AJ’s early release.

The letter Crystal claimed to have never received.

I put the letter down on the dresser and went back through the notebook. Like a bloodhound in search of a body, I could smell there was something more. I began by sorting through Crystal’s calendar. Several loose pages from the notepad slipped and fell onto the dresser. On them were notes Crystal had taken. Random numbers and some doodlings—not very good cartoon sketches of faces and flowers—things she had probably drawn while waiting for Zoey to finish a scene or an interview. Such is the life of an assistant. Always waiting. I leafed through the pages, then—

“Ahem.” From behind me, someone had entered the room. I closed my eyes, held the notebook tight to my chest, and turned expecting to see Crystal.

Wilson. I let out a deep sigh. “Don’t ever do that to me again. You know I don’t like it when you sneak up on me like that.”

“Why, are we playing detective?” Wilson walked over the dresser and picked up several of the pages I’d laid out on the top.

I snapped them back from his hand and placed them on the dresser top. “Look at this.” I pointed to a handwritten note. “It’s an exact copy of the message included with the flowers Zoey received after Lacey’s memorial.”

Sorry for your loss. Maybe we can begin again. Love, AJ.

“Is this Crystal’s handwriting?” Wilson ran his hands across the note and waited for my verification.

“It appears so, but that’s not what’s strange. It’s this here.” Beneath the note Crystal had written an exact copy of it, written in the same architectural style lettering used in the note sent to Zoey with the flowers. “Look at the lettering, it’s exactly like AJ used when he first made contact with Zoey and was later accused of stalking her and sent to jail.”

“How do you know?”

“After Detective Romero and I visited AJ I did a little online research. Borrowed your computer and looked up a couple of news stories about Zoey’s stalker. The press nicknamed him the Stencil Stalker because of the unusual style of lettering he used. There were photos of some of the notes AJ had written in the paper. It was all block-like lettering.”

“Which would have been easy to copy,” Wilson said.

“Particularly if you had the original to copy from.” I grabbed the notebook and began leafing through it, certain I’d find another clue. Something that would convince me Crystal had copied the real thing. I ran my hand over the inside back cover and found a hidden flap, nearly invisible to the eye. Inside were two small, yellowed note cards. I pulled them out and placed them on the table. “I’d say she did a pretty good job.”

Wilson looked over my shoulder. “Are these the originals?”

“I think so.”

“But how did she get them?”

“Same place she got the letter. The court would have mailed them to her. After a trial, you can petition the court to turn over any material relevant to the case. Crystal probably told the court she wanted to make sure nothing got into the hands of paparazzi or something like that. However it happened, here they are, and this is what she did with them.”

“And Zoey never would have known?”

“Not if the notes, like the letter from the DOC, were sent to Zoey’s mailbox. Crystal picks up Zoey’s mail. I doubt Zoey even knows where her P.O. Box is. She’s too busy.”

Wilson studied the notes. “The Ice Queen set AJ up. But why?”

“I don’t know. But based upon this letter, I’m convinced Crystal knew all along AJ was out of jail.”

“Which is where you’re going to be if Crystal finds you in her room.” Wilson took the letter from my hand and pulled me toward the door. “Come, we need to get going.”

“Why? Is she here?”

“Somebody is. I just heard Zoey’s new security gate opening.

I grabbed Crystal’s notebook and loose papers off the top of the dresser and stuffed them inside my bag. Then stopped. “Quick. Chad’s jacket, it’s in the closet. Zoey asked me to return it to him. Get it.”

Wilson ducked into the closet and was out with the jacket before I could decide what to do next. I looked around the room. What was I missing?

“Sorry, Old Gal, we need to get going.” Wilson grabbed me by the elbow, lifting me onto the tips of my toes, and scooted me down the hall like a suitcase on wheels.

When we got to the living room, Crystal was at the front door. “You’re still here?”

“Not for long,” I said. “I’m on my way out. Zoey asked me to return Chad’s jacket. I nearly forgot it. Talk soon.”