Authors: Joseph Wambaugh
She thought five minutes was enough. She rang the bell and Raleigh came to the door again.
"Did you find your dog? he asked.
"No, the brat," she said. "I know he's hiding here. He does this when he doesn't want to be found."
"If you'll leave your phone number, I'll call you if I find him," Raleigh said.
"Do you have something I can write on?"
"Come in," Raleigh said, and she entered the foyer while he went to fetch a notepad and pen.
Megan walked into the great room and marveled. She'd never been in a house like this, and the thing that impressed her most was the art. There were paintings everywhere. The corridor along th
e f
oyer was lined with paintings, all of them with lights attached to the top of the frames.
And then she saw The Woman by the Water and drew in her breath. And next to it was Flowers on the Hillside. They were identical to the paintings that she and Jonas had in their apartment! What did it mean?
Raleigh returned with a notepad, and she scribbled a fictitious number.
"I majored in art in community college," she said. "And I'm very interested in art. Do you know a lot about the paintings here?"
Raleigh thought she was a very pretty girl in a waiflike way. She looked so touchingly anemic and vulnerable, and she didn't do that Valspeak where they made every damn sentence sound like a question. He said, "I know a bit."
She strolled along the wall of paintings and said, "This one?" pointing at a small British watercolor that Raleigh knew nothing about, and he said, "I think that's by a German Impressionist. Can't recall his name. An interesting piece."
"Wow!" Megan said, and pointed at an oil painting of red-coated hunters riding to hounds. "This must be British, right? It looks like the scenes you see on public television."
"Yes, I believe it is British," Raleigh said, feeling a sensation in his loins that he had not felt for ages. He couldn't think of the last time he'd slept with a woman. And this tulip of a girl with alabaster skin was flirting with him. He was almost sure of it.
"This is interesting," Megan said, pointing to the replica of The Woman by the Water. It had looked identical to the one in their apartment until she got very close. Then it was somehow different, but she couldn't say exactly how. She wondered if this was the original and hers was a copy. Or was it the other way around? And why would Sammy Brueger want a copy anyway?
Megan was thoroughly confused when she said, "My mom ha
s a
lways said that Mr. Sammy Brueger is a big art collector, but I had no idea."
Raleigh said, "Sammy Brueger is dead. His brother, Marty, lives here. He's the one who had a stroke."
"Oh," Megan said. "I've always heard her mention the name Sammy Brueger. I never met any of the family. How many Bruegers are there?"
"Mr. Sammy's widow, Leona, lives here. Your mother's probably met her."
"I guess," Megan said. Then, "Would you mind if I had a glass of water? I'm pretty hot from roaming around the property looking for Cuddles."
"Sure," Raleigh said. "Come into the kitchen with me. It's a gourmet setup. You might be interested."
Megan followed Raleigh, who took more than one glance at Megan's calves and thought, The girl has natural curves, but she's so thin. She looks so childlike in that candy-striped dress. And then the peril he was facing with Nigel Wickland entered his mind and he lost some of the nostalgic itch in his loins. He hadn't realized how lonely he'd become.
"Would you like a soft drink?" he asked. "Or maybe you're old enough for a cocktail?"
"I'll have a white wine if you'll join me," Megan said.
He saw that look in her violet eyes again. Her smile was playful and provocative, and now he was sure of it. She was flirting with him! "I'd be pleased to join you," he said. "I have a lovely Chardon-nay in the wine cellar that I've been saving. Why don't you have a seat in the great room?"
Raleigh went to the wine cellar, which wasn't a cellar but a very large closet lined in redwood and located just off the butler's pantry. He found a good California Chardonnay that still had the sticker label of $180. He put it in a silver bucket, surrounded it wit
h t
iny cubes from the ice maker, folded a white linen napkin over the bucket, and brought it along with two crystal wineglasses to the great room.
He placed the bucket on the table between two side-by-side overstuffed chairs, poured the wine into the glasses, and, handing one to her, said, "Mademoiselle."
"Merci," she said, and there it was again. That look.
Raleigh raised his glass and said, "Here's to Cuddles for bringing a new friend to this lonely house."
Megan giggled and said, "To Cuddles."
"I hope it's not too tannic," Raleigh said. "It didn't get a chance to breathe."
"It's great, Mr. Dibble," Megan said, smiling at him over the rim of her glass.
"Raleigh. Call me Raleigh," he said.
"Okay, Raleigh," she said, taking another sip and licking her lower lip.
She was so young! He felt a shiver in his stomach that went clear to his toes. "I'm an excellent chef," he said. "You should let me prepare a meal for you sometime. And your parents, of course."
"That would be nice," she said. Then Megan added, "You said it's a lonely house. Who lives here with you besides Mrs. Brueger and Mr. Marty?"
"That's all. But Mrs. Brueger's getting married soon, and the house will be put up for sale. I'll miss it."
"That's too bad," Megan said. "What will happen to all the beautiful art?"
"It'll go into storage," Raleigh said. "And eventually it'll be moved to their vineyard in Napa. She thinks she wants to live there and make fine wine. That was a common fantasy in pre-recession days. She may change her mind. I can tell you, it's not easy to produce a fine wine."
"This one's sure good," Megan said.
"It's amusing," Raleigh said.
"Oh, that reminds me," Megan said. "A few nights ago ... I don't remember when it was ... my mom was out walking with Cuddles just after dark, and she said an art truck sped out of your driveway like mad and flew down the hill."
"An ... art truck?" Raleigh said.
"She said it had an art gallery name on it or something like that. I didn't get the whole story."
"Nope," Raleigh said, taking more than a sip this time to quell the starburst of fear. "Not here. She's mistaken."
"That's funny," Megan said. "She said the truck came from the Brueger driveway. It scared her because it almost ran over Cuddles."
"No, I've been here every night since Mr. Brueger has been in the hospital. There was no one here in a truck or a car."
"She must've been wrong," Megan said. "She gets a little rattle-brained these days. But speaking of art, what would some of these paintings be worth?"
She looked so innocent, so like the child she really was, that Raleigh longed to impress her. He said, "Valerie, you might not believe it, but there are paintings in this house that're worth half a million dollars."
"Really?" she said. "For one painting?"
"For one painting," he said.
"Wow!" she said, and it made him chuckle with pleasure. Her eyes popped wide like the little purple umbrellas he used to put in mai tais when he was catering parties. Then she said, "I like so many of them. I'd love to have an inexpensive copy of a few of them. I forget what you call copies of paintings."
"Lithographs?"
"Yes, lithographs. Are there any places where I can buy a lithograph of some of these?"
"No, I've been told that each painting you see is an original and there's not another like it on the planet."
"Wow!" she said again.
He loved hearing her say that. "If there was an inexpensive lithograph available for some of these pieces, I'd buy them myself," Raleigh said. Then he looked over the edge of his glass at those violet eyes and said, "I'd present one to you as a gift if I could."
"You're very sweet, Raleigh," Megan said, finishing the wine.
"More, Valerie?" he asked quickly.
"I think I'd better take another look around for Cuddles and then walk home," she said.
Raleigh was about to offer her a few calendar dates to choose from for the home-cooked dinner, when the house phone rang. He hurried to the kitchen phone for privacy, and when he picked up, he heard the now-familiar voice of Rudy Ressler.
"Raleigh," the voice said. "It's Rudy Ressler."
"Yes, Mr. Ressler," Raleigh said. "I've been waiting for your call."
"We're in New York," he said. "It's been hell getting flights on short notice. Unless plans change, we'll be arriving at LAX late tonight, and we are totally drained. You can pick us up and drop me at my house. Then be prepared to do a light supper for Mrs. Brueger before she hits the hay. She'll sleep for twelve hours, at least."
Raleigh felt cold again and his limbs went weak. He had to ask Rudy Ressler to repeat the airline and the flight number. Meanwhile, Megan Burke was standing in the corridor, running her fingers over the poster-board replica of The Woman by the Water.
Raleigh hung up the kitchen phone and returned to Megan, now in the foyer by the door. She smiled and said, "Thanks for a wonderful time, Raleigh."
"Yes, it was lovely, Valerie," he said, looking agitated now. "I hope you find your little dog."
"I will," she said. "I'm just going to call him a few more times. He'll come home when he's tired. He always does. Will you open the gate for me?"
"Certainly," Raleigh said.
"One thing, Raleigh," she said. "Could I maybe call you sometime? I really enjoyed talking to you. Maybe we could go somewhere and have another glass of wine. I know a good little bistro."
Stunned, he said, "Yes, of course. Call my cell." And he ran to get the notepad and wrote down his number for her.
She kissed him on the cheek and said, "You're a doll."
That kiss from this delightful young woman would have mad
e h
im happier than he'd been in months, except for the dread he fel
t o
ver Leona Brueger's homecoming.
He opened the door and watched her striding up the driveway, calling, "Cuddles! Here, Cuddles!"
Raleigh pressed the button on the wall panel inside the door, and the gate swung open. When she was out, he dialed Nigel Wickland. After the third ring came the voice that he had come to hate.
"Yes?" Nigel said.
"They'll probably be home tonight."
"Tonight?"
"Yes, tonight," Raleigh said. "Has that goddamn thief called you yet?"
"Not a word since the first time," Nigel said. "This is somewhat worrisome."
"This is disastrous," Raleigh said.
"Don't lose your head."
"Stop saying shit like that!" Raleigh said. "I have a right to lose my head. For listening to you and your crazy scheme in the first place."
"If you hadn't left the keys in the van ..."
"Okay, let's not go over all that again. Now what?"
"Now we sweat it out, Raleigh. The ball is in the court of my mentally challenged tormentor. Now, either we stay out of prison and make a million dollars or--"
"Don't tell me about the or again."
"All right, dear boy," Nigel said. "As long as you are clear that despite your obvious aversion to gays, we two are in bed together for the foreseeable future."
Megan was so excited and her mind was working so furiously, she feared she'd have an accident on the dangerous winding road as the VW descended from the Hollywood Hills toward the roaring traffic below. She only hoped that Jonas had recovered enough to understand the significance of her amazing discovery. Their scheme had changed completely. Before she arrived in east Hollywood, she had decided on a whole new game plan, and Jonas Claymore was no longer the quarterback.
He was standing in the shower when she got to the apartment. She dropped her purse on the kitchen table and entered the bathroom, but Jonas didn't even see her. He was still coming down from the euphoria and never saw her hand reach inside the shower curtain and turn off the hot water. A blast of cold water made him squeal.
"What the fuck you doing?" he said, shutting off the water. "Here, dry off," she said, handing him a towel that was reasonably clean.
"Where you been?"
"Out," she said.
"Yeah, I figgered that. But where?"
"I was trying to score some ox at Pablo's, but there was nobody there that I knew or even recognized."
"What were you gonna use for money?"
"I was going to try to talk somebody out of a quarter."
"Goddamnit, girl," Jonas said. "How many times I gotta tell you that nobody. in Hollywood sells ox on the fucking installment plan. This ain't Bend fucking Oregon. Christ, Megan, is your brain totally wacked, or what?"
"I'm just not as smart as you," Megan said, going to the kitchen for some milk and cereal. Anything to settle her stomach.