Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (78 page)

December 22.
It’s official. Norma Watson is now Norma Knoller! Sam adopted Norma. We all flew to Switzerland for the Christmas holidays. Norma was moody throughout the long flight. When we arrived at our chateau in the Alps, magical under the fresh white snow and clear blue sky, my spirits rose. It was perfect. Just the thing to bring her around.

December 26.

On Christmas Eve, Norma exploded at the dinner table, calling us horrible names, scaring the servants and young Sammy, and screaming out that I had abandoned her and she wasn’t
his
daughter. Sam was devastated. We returned to the States today.

April 12.
Little Sammy’s first birthday. We tried to have a quiet family party, but Norma’s difficult moods have the household in a constant state of tension and anxiety. Sam’s optimism is wearing thin. For the first time since she returned home last fall, he’s hinting at sending her away. He wanted so much to love Norma and win her over. This is extremely hard for me. I’m not sure what to do.

October 8
. Norma’s sessions with Dr. Saunders are going quite well. She’s begun to open up to us, little things like her presence at the table at mealtime. She’s also taking an interest in her appearance, spending hours applying her makeup and styling her hair. Norma wants to be a film makeup artist.

Today for her sixteenth birthday, we treated her to a day of beauty at Vidal Sasson’s salon. Norma has never looked lovelier. At lunch at Chasen’s, Norma even blushed when a young man at a nearby table complimented her on her stunning eyes and glowing skin. This gives me hope she may accept us again.

December 26.
Christmas this year was filled with joy and good cheer. Norma has taken to Sammy like a genuine big sister. Oh how he loves Norma, clinging to her, calling her Noma. He always runs to her first, no matter what. I might be jealous of their close relationship if I hadn’t wanted this for so long. We’re a family. I am truly blessed.

Piper quickly rifled through to the end of the journal. The pages following the December 26 entry were blank. A yellowed newspaper clipping was taped to the inside back cover. She read the brief newspaper article.

The twenty-month-old son of screen idol Sybil Squire and her husband, Samuel Knoller, died in an accidental drowning at the couple’s Hollywood Hills estate Monday afternoon. The child’s mother discovered his lifeless body in an upstairs bathtub of their twelve room home. The half sister, Norma, collapsed and was admitted to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. “It’s all my fault,” the tearful sixteen-year-old later told police. “I was running bath water. I left the room to answer the phone. I didn’t know he had gone in there. I heard my mother screaming. It’s my fault. Please, I just want to die.”

A private memorial with the immediate family will be held at an undetermined date.

Scribbled next to the clipping were the words:
The rose garden

That rainy night weeks ago, Sybil kneeling in the mud, hands covered with fresh dirt, she had been either burying journals or digging them up. Were there more journals buried in the rose garden?

Piper reread the entries. Samuel Knoller had a daughter. Their relationship suffered when he married Sybil. That was the first Piper had heard of Sybil’s stepdaughter.

Piper knew nothing about the daughter, but she was sure she knew someone who did. She rose to her feet and rushed into Belle’s office. She thumbed through the rolodex on Belle’s desk until she found the number for Jane Hill, the Vogt’s dinner guest who had been a friend of Sybil’s long ago. She left a message on Jane’s voicemail, telling her it was urgent that she speak with her as soon as possible. Then she left the same message for Jason.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Only minutes after Piper left a message for Jane Hill, Jason called. She told him about the journal and read the notation about the stepdaughter. “I’m sure there are other journals, but this was the one she wanted me to see first, the one about the stepdaughter. Samuel Knoller and his daughter had a falling out when he married Sybil. He had a son with Sybil, then he adopted Sybil’s daughter. It’s possible this stepdaughter might hold a grudge,” she said. “Stepdaughter, nurse, what do you think?”

He whistled softly.

“I think the other journals are buried in the rose garden. They could be the key to all of this.”

“Look, don’t do anything till I get there.”

Piper hurried back upstairs, grabbed up the binoculars, and resumed spying. The outdoor lamp flicked on, illuminating the Vogt’s driveway. She didn’t have long to wait. Mr. Moto came out of the house lugging a large carton. He went to the carport, opened the trunk of the Lincoln, dropped the carton inside, and closed the trunk lid. Reminiscent of a scene from Hitchcock’s Rear Window. The body in the steamer truck.

Moto backed the big car out of the carport and stopped. The nurse, wearing a chiffon scarf over her head, joined him inside the car. So much for Judith being on the east coast. By the time the Lincoln disappeared around the other side of the mansion, her palms were moist, her heart beat like a jackhammer in her chest, and her mind raced.

Mr. Moto and Judith were away from the house. But Sybil wasn’t alone. Certain now that Judith’s son stood guard over Sybil, she focused the binoculars at the back of the house, at the window where Sybil had written the message. She was surprised to see the blinds were open. Not just open, but pulled up. Light from behind, in the hallway, seeped into the room. The red letters were still there, but something else was there too. A man stood at the double window, on the far side of the message, a pair of binoculars to his face, the lens pointed at her.
Luke
. He lowered the glasses, grinned, then cupped a hand over his crotch. She dropped the binoculars and stumbled backwards.

Had he seen the message? It really didn’t matter because she had gotten to the journal first. If there were more of them, they had to be buried in the garden. Sybil’s message in the back of her journal “The rose garden” couldn’t be clearer. Piper had to get the rest of them. He wouldn’t expect her to go over there. The reasoning side of her brain told her to wait for Jason. The impulsive side said she had a better chance of succeeding now, with the other two gone.

Changing into a pair of Belle’s black jeans and a dark hooded windbreaker of Mick’s, she silenced her cell phone and dropped it into a side pocket along with a penlight she found in the desk drawer. She had forgotten the can of pepper spray in the guesthouse. Dousing all the lights in the house, she exited through the front door. The warm, dry, Santa Ana wind blew her hair into her face. She stopped to secure it inside the hood. With that break in her momentum, she almost chickened out until she thought about Sybil struggling to write those words on the windowpane. She continued. From the Vogt’s tool shed in the rear yard, she grabbed a garden spade and hefted it. It could double as a weapon if necessary.

With a quick deep breath, she made a dash for the farthest corner of the ivy wall and slipped through the gap at the junction of the two walls. Staying close to the wall, she worked her way around the pool house. The rose garden was on the far side of the property, far from the ivy-covered wall where she had retrieved the journal. When had Sybil approached that wall and slipped her journal beneath the ivy leaves? Leaves crunched under her sport shoes. Olive and pepper trees flanked the garden to the rear and along the wall. She ran crouched down, making herself as small as possible. Even in the darkness, with the cover of trees and bushes, she felt exposed, vulnerable.

Before she had made it halfway around the shallow end of the pool, car lights washed over the ivy wall. She spun around, ran to the pool house, and ducked behind a pillar. She held her breath, waiting for the car to enter the carport, where she’d be out of their line of vision. The car slowed.
Don’t stop there.
It stopped. Dropping to the ground, she crawled to the door of the pool house and slipped inside just as the Lincoln’s engine died.

The room was pitch-black and smelled of mold and chlorine. Outside, two car doors slammed. A single pair of footsteps crossed the bricks to the house. She heard the sunroom door open and close. Only one set of footsteps. Where was the other one? With a trembling hand, she reached into the pocket of her jacket and found the penlight. She ran the beam over the walls. Across the room, farthest from the house, was a window. She prayed it wasn’t painted shut.

The sunroom door opened and closed again. Voices. A man and a woman. Footsteps crossed the bricks again and came within several feet of where she stood on the other side of the door. The knob turned. She quickly shifted to the side of the door just as it opened. Through the crack between the hinges, someone stood on the threshold. The overhead light blinked on, nearly blinding her. She pressed herself against the wall and held her breath.

The female voice called out from across the yard. “Jack, over here! Come look at this!”

Mr. Moto stepped inside, his back toward Piper. He held a rolled up Persian carpet in both arms.

She continued to hold her breath, feeling a crushing tightness in her chest. She slid her hand into her pocket. Her cell phone was gone.

“Jack!”

“Wait a sec, I want to—”

She could see the vein in his neck pulsating. He dropped the carpet on the floor.

“Now!”

Moto stepped back and the room went dark. The door closed and the footsteps retreated rapidly.

Piper sank against the door. Her fingers grasping the garden spade and penlight ached from the pressure. She worked her way through the cluttered pool house, lifted the sash on the window and climbed out, dropping the garden spade inside. Just as she lowered the window, the door flew open, banging against the wall where only moments ago she had stood. The light came on, throwing shadows across the ivy wall. She heard an angry voice call out, “Check the whole damn place.”

She ran the length of the wall, through the gap, and past the Vogt’s tool shed. On the Vogt’s front porch, her breath ragged and hoarse, she fumbled with the key in the lock.

A hand gripped her shoulder. “A little night reconnaissance?”

Piper spun around and collapsed against the door.

Jason took the key from her.

She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and hug him, so thankful was she that he wasn’t Luke.

He opened the door. “Inside.”

In the dark entry hall, her hand shook as she entered the security code. “I know, it was dumb of me, but I had to look for it. Judith and Moto left the house. It was the perfect—”

“No,” he snapped. “There’s no perfect time for you to go off half-cocked. Dammit, Piper, next time you wait for me.”

Her only concern was for Sybil. But he was right—it was risky and stupid, and she almost got caught. Although she sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him that.

The phone rang. She and Jason looked at each other. She patted her empty pocket. Stepping into the living room, she picked up the house phone receiver and said a tentative hello.

“Piper?”

“Jane? Jane, I’m so glad you called back.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The evening traffic on Sunset Boulevard heading west was light. Rush hour traffic had passed, and 9 p.m. was still too early for the party crowd to be out. They drove by the Beverly Hills Hotel and made a right up Benedict Canyon past Chevy Chase Drive up the hill. Jane wore a Chinese-style, red satin lounge outfit. Considered seductive attire if not for the various stains speckled across the bodice. She frowned when she saw Piper was not alone.

Without asking, Jane poured them what she was drinking—brandy. After showing them into the den, where candles flickered and glowed around the room, she sank down on the sofa, scattering a number of small dogs and cats. The pets clamored over her, licking and nuzzling before settling down at her side and on her lap to sleep. Jason and Piper shared the loveseat, the only seat not occupied by an animal.