As much as I appreciated that absolute lie you just told in there, you do know that that was totally unnecessary,” Freddie protested as they walked slowly down the dimly lit hallway. “Why wouldn’t you graciously take the credit you deserve? All of it! You cracked the blackmail case. And without you, that man lying unconscious in the hospital would take the fall for a crime he didn’t commit.”
“Frederick Van, what good could it possibly do for me to get a reputation as a private eye? Maybe another week of gossip, a spread in Photoplay? Honestly, Freddie, I only want the public to know me as the characters I play. I have nothing to gain, but you stand to profit tremendously by taking the credit.”
“Is that so?” he asked coyly.
“You know full well that’s so! Waters is a lush, yet Hearst has been supporting his investigation business for years. Waters must have done something, sometime to gain Hearst’s endless gratitude. What do you think he could do for you, the one who actually solved the crime?” Lulu stopped and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “But now you have to get ready to present the evidence about Emerson’s guilt to Mr. Hearst. And I have to get ready for that unfortunate competition tonight.”
“After all, the show must go on.” Freddie sighed, giving her a peck on the nose.
As Lulu walked dreamily through the grounds of the Ranch she thought that while she might not stand any real chance of winning the competition, she had accomplished everything that really mattered. She and Freddie were reconciled and stronger than ever. She’d not only found the blackmailer but also brought about a family reconciliation. And most important, she had solved two murders. Within a few hours the murderer would be under arrest and the girls of the world would be much safer.
She felt free and light for the first time in days. All of her burdens and worries had been lifted, and life was sweet again. Maybe I do have a chance after all, she thought. The other girls were pulling out all of the stops and doing lavish numbers in glittery outfits that would showcase all of their assets. Her poetry reading was distinctly tame by comparison. But at least it was different. Quiet, substantive, and authentic. That might count for something.
For almost the first time since coming to the Ranch, Lulu considered taking her performance that night seriously. Tonight she could stand before the highest glitterati of the entertainment business and present herself as the serious actress she longed to be and had worked so hard to become.
So far her practice had been mostly simple, purist recitation. She needed to add true emotion to her performance. She needed guidance, but she had no access to her acting coach, Vasily. This was a terribly inconvenient moment for her to be coachless. Then it occurred to her. She might not have Vasily, but she did have access to another artist who was uniquely skilled in unearthing deep emotional resonance. Paul Raleigh might be able to offer her some insight.
She couldn’t find him in any of the obvious places, and when she asked the grooms at the stable, they said he’d abandoned his ride once Patricia was called away. Maybe he’s in his room, she thought, and with hardly a qualm about propriety, she made her way there and knocked.
There was no answer. She hesitated only a moment, then went inside, flipping on a tall marble lamp on a table just inside the door. She knew Paul wouldn’t mind if she waited there for him. Then, after pacing around for a few minutes, she sat at his desk, fiddling with his paperweight and looking idly over the pages scattered on the surface.
Naturally enough, she mused about finding the lurid, disturbing writing that had seemed to incriminate Paul. How frightened she’d been . . . until he’d explained. Of course a writer had to take what chance they could to explore even the most terrible facets of human nature. She didn’t envy him. She supposed some people must have sick fantasies exactly like that, but of course Paul was just a kind man who was willing to suffer for his art. He had no bad thoughts or intentions toward anyone. He probably wrote scenarios about bridge parties, golf games, lovers’ quarrels—everything, just to hone his skills.
So it was with an easy mind that she started to read the typed pages scattered on Paul’s desk.
A moment later, Lulu’s mouth went dry and her heart began to race. Her mind recoiled with disgust as she read page after page of sick fantasies. These weren’t explorations of the human psyche that tormented Paul’s delicate artist’s soul. They were his personal fantasies of gruesome murders.
What kind of twisted mind could write these things?
Her heart was thudding wildly in her chest. How had she been so easily deluded by the innocent, gentle-seeming Paul? As she read the pages, she realized that these must be his blueprints, which he’d later acted out in real life.
Lulu tore through the pages. The words filled her with revulsion.
I drugged her so she wouldn’t cry out, although it dulled the keen edge of my pleasure that I could not hear her scream as the tiger tore into her. She was conscious, though, which was almost enough. Her sluggish body fought as well as it could, but she was alive as the great ravening beast ripped her viscera from that tender belly and ate it before her dying eyes. . . .
And there was more, and more. . . . Lulu skimmed through, sickened and terrified.
Then she saw her own name.
When I saw her pawing through my trash like a spy, I wanted to wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze the life out of her, killing her the same way that other blond tart died, her face turning slowly blue . . .
He wanted to kill me, the way he’d killed Juliette, she thought as she fumbled through more pages of grotesque confessions.
She was a child still, but almost with a woman’s body, a young Diana, racing her steed across the flower-strewn field. How alive she was . . . until I looped the rope around her neck and pulled her from her horse.
Patricia had been about to go riding with Paul. If they hadn’t called her away, would this have been her grisly fate?
The door creaked behind her.
“Hello, Lulu,” Paul said in his soft, slow voice. “I imagine you remember Bluebeard’s wife. Don’t you know what happens to girls who snoop?”