The Devil You Know (13 page)

Chapter Eleven

On
Wednesday afternoon, Marie left St. Lucy’s determined to see the woman on Ivar
Street. Although she still did not know what to think about the prospect of
incubi running loose in Hollywood, she did know that she would not feel at ease
until she had at least tried to contact the woman Colin had told her about.
During her day at work, she had taken advantage of Father Joe’s occasional
absence to make a few furtive phone calls. One had been to Doctor Danforth, who
had confirmed that Elise had been sent north to Camarillo. Another had been to
Elise’s mother in Nebraska; Marie had stopped by Elise’s house early in the
morning, letting herself in and feeling a bit like a burglar as she had looked
for an address book among Elise’s things. It had been a hard call to make, and
the older woman’s anguished voice still echoed in Marie’s mind, spurring her as
she turned her car’s wheels into the curb across from the little Tudor style
apartment building.

She
had taken a small notepad with her from the office, and pulled it from her
purse now as she walked across the street. It was a two-story building with not
many units, and Marie began by looking again at the mailboxes, quickly writing
the initials and last names of the tenants in the notepad. The closest
apartment door belonged to an “F. Turnbull,” and Marie approached this one
first, knocking lightly after listening at the door for a moment. She could
hear nothing on the other side of the door and so moved on to the next.

This
one belonged to “J & H Bradstreet,” so she skipped it, reasoning that a
married couple must live there and that the wife was not likely to be prey for
an incubus. She did knock, though, at the next door, the home of “B Thomas.” Her
heart began to race once she realized there was a radio on inside the
apartment. Then she heard footsteps approaching, and the door clicked open.

“B
Thomas” was a woman in her sixties, and Marie immediately flashed a smile at
her. She looked kindly, rather grandmotherly in her housecoat and stocking
feet. “Can I help you?” she asked, returning Marie’s smile.

“I
hope so. My name is Joan Durrell. I’m a locations scout for Paramount
Pictures.”

“Oh
my,” the woman said.

Marie
had worked out one line of inquiry for any resident who might be the woman
Colin had mentioned and another for people who might be of help in determining
who the woman might be. She was glad her first encounter was with someone
elderly, as it would have shaken her confidence to come face to face with
someone younger, savvier, or more skeptical.

“We
just love your building, Mrs....” She looked at her notepad. “Mrs. Thomas, is
it?”

“Yes,”
the woman said, her smile broadening more.

“And
we’ve been hoping to use it as a backdrop for our next Cary Grant picture.”

“Goodness!”

“It
is exciting, isn’t it?” Marie said. “Now, we’re trying to determine who in the
building might be willing to put in a few days’ work as an extra. Just someone
to be in the background, maybe to walk in and out of the building while Mr.
Grant does his scene on the sidewalk out front.”

“Oh,
I’d love to. My cousin was in the background of a Laurel and Hardy once.”

“That’s
wonderful,” Marie said. She made a show of putting a checkmark in the notepad.
“Now, we’re also just trying to get a sense of other types of people who might
be available in the building, but I think I’m still a bit early for some folks
to be home. The producer would like a little boy, maybe with a dog. Anyone like
that here?”

Mrs.
Thomas thought about it for a moment and then shook her head, clearly not
liking the fact that she had to disappoint.

“All
right,” Marie said, running her pencil down the page before her. “And a…young
woman. Attractive? Someone who might catch Mr. Grant’s attention in the scene?”

“Oh,
well,” said Mrs. Thomas, smiling a bit shyly now. “There are a few, I suppose.
And I don’t know everyone here all that well, you know. But, I’d say Laura’s
the one you’re after. She wants to be an actress, you know.” Sticking her head
out of her apartment, she pointed toward a door farther along the hallway,
saying, “She’s just two doors down.”

Marie
glanced at the notebook. “That’s Laura Tremaine?”

“That’s
her.”

“Wonderful,”
Marie said. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to get in touch with her. Anyone else?”

The
old woman thought about it for a moment and then shook her head. Whispering,
she said, “Mildred across the way’s a bit, you know, heavy set. And Helen’s
husband is awfully jealous of her. I hear them fight something awful sometimes,
the walls are so thin.” She shook her head sadly. “Folks upstairs I don’t know
so well. And some of the other single girls, well…” Again she looked at Marie
with some doubt. “They tend to be a bit unsavory if you know what I mean.”

Marie
raised a knowing eyebrow, thinking about what Colin had said about the incubi
not preferring prostitutes. There may be other women upstairs to investigate,
but for now it looked like Laura Tremaine was her best bet. “Well, I’ll
certainly contact Miss Tremaine. Thank you for your help,” she said. As she
half turned to step away from the door, she paused to add, “I hate to ask you,
Mrs. Thomas, but…you haven’t seen Mr. Grant around the building have you?”

“Cary
Grant?” Her eyes widened.

“Yes.
You see, he’s not supposed to come around until we have all the permits in
order, but sometimes the stars like to do a little preparation on their own. I
wouldn’t want him to get into any trouble with the producers. You haven’t…?”

“Oh,
Lord, no,” Mrs. Thomas said with a nervous laugh. “No one like him in these
parts.”

Marie
nodded. “Well, listen, if you do see him before we start shooting, it might be
best if you act as though you don’t notice him. He might be a bit nervous about
being caught, if you know what I mean.”

“I
won’t say a word.”

“It
might also be a good idea if you don’t mention my visit to anyone until I’ve
come back and talked with Miss Tremaine. Sometimes people get a bit excited,
and the whole neighborhood starts talking. I’d hate for us to have to find a
different location to shoot the scene.”

Beaming
at having been made a confidante, Mrs. Thomas said, “I’d hate for that, too.
You can count on me. Mum’s the word.”

Marie
shook the old woman’s hand and said goodbye, going through the motion of making
notes as she walked away until she heard the click of Mrs. Thomas’ door. She
realized that she was holding her breath as she moved down the hallway and let
it out in a big sigh. Then, taking another deep breath, she knocked on Laura
Tremaine’s door. Her heart pounded as she waited and listened for a response.
There was nothing, and she knocked again just to be sure.

Nodding
contemplatively, she told herself she’d be back and then hurriedly left the
building, not wanting to draw any more attention to herself. Satisfied and
pleased that her deception of Mrs. Thomas had worked so well, she walked
quickly across the street and lit a cigarette as she went. She took a moment to
look at the building once more. Then she got in her car and drove to Jasper’s
store.

* * * * * * * *

“If
it’s not too personal, would you mind telling me about your faith in God,
Marie?” Jasper asked. He had consented to pull a second chair into the converted
garage so the two could sit and study his collection together without Marie
feeling like a student staring up at her professor. They sat face to face, each
with their legs crossed and a book on their laps.

In
the kitchen, Tom was working on dinner again, the smell of roast beef and
potatoes getting stronger and stronger. The hungrier she got, the more Marie
found herself thinking of the meal to come and the chance to talk with Tom some
more, to hear his laughter, and to study the sad eyes that sometimes
accompanied his smiles. Now Jasper’s question pulled her back to the task at
hand.

“Well,”
she said, closing her book, but marking the page with her thumb, “I suppose
it’s about like anyone else’s. I don’t spend a lot of time wondering about it.
Before I worked for Father Joe, I didn’t go to Mass nearly as much, but I guess
you could say I still believed about the same as I do now.”

“So
working in the church hasn’t made you more devout, hasn’t strengthened your
faith significantly?”

She
shrugged. “It’s made me more aware of it, I suppose. Or more aware of the fact
that I don’t maybe measure up the way some of the other parishioners do. I
think if Father Joe knew half the things I thought, he’d think twice about
keeping me on.”

“But
you do believe,” Jasper pressed.

Marie
nodded. “I do.”

“Maybe
with some room for doubt?”

“Maybe.”

Jasper
smiled at her. “Fair enough,” he said and got up from his chair.

Watching
him turn and walk around a row of shelves and out of sight, Marie said, “Why
the sudden interest?”

“You’re
serious about stopping these things?” Jasper called.

“Yes.
Of course.”

“Have
you thought of how you’re going to do it?”

“I’m
just trying to find out what we’re dealing with first. Find their weaknesses,
if they have any.”

She
could hear squeaky hinges in a back corner of the room as Jasper said, “Their
weaknesses are important, I’ll agree. But your strengths are just as important.
More so, I would bet.”

“Are
you saying my faith should be stronger?”

“Wouldn’t
hurt,” Jasper said as he came back around the row of shelves. Marie could see
he held something in his hand, and she raised an eyebrow when he held it out,
dangling a small wooden cross on a leather thong.

“What’s
this?” she asked.

“Here.
Just put it on.”

She
slipped the loop of leather over her head and pulled her hair through it, then
adjusted the little wooden cross so it hung just below the collar of her
blouse. “Okay,” she said. “Now what?”

Jasper
sat down again, shaking a finger at her and smiling slyly. “Not just a little
cross there. No, no. That one’s special.” When Marie responded only with a
raised eyebrow, he continued. “Right after the war, I acquired a box of books
that had been salvaged from an Italian monastery destroyed by one side or the
other. There were a few artifacts among the books. That cross was one of them.”

“Should
the monks have it back?” she asked coyly.

“Hmm.
By all rights, yes. But I’ve no idea where they’ve scattered to. I suppose I
should send it all to the Vatican. But, at the same time, wouldn’t you say they
already have enough rare books and relics?”

“Relics?”

Now
his eyes lit up even more. “A holy relic. Indeed. That little cross there has
inside it a bone fragment from your St. Lucy.”

“You’re
kidding,” she said, pulling the cross back out from her collar and holding it
out as far as the thong would stretch so she could examine it again.

“Not
at all.”

“You
believe it?”

He
shrugged. “They say there are enough pieces of the true cross scattered among
the churches of Europe to make an oak tree.” He chuckled. “So there’s room for
skepticism. But relics…well, there’s some documentation to support their
authenticity. This one, I haven’t seen any proof of, but everything else that
came from the monastery was, well, rather remarkable. And there are quite a few
legitimate relics of Lucy in Italy and elsewhere—including her head,
apparently. So it wouldn’t surprise me if it’s authentic.”

“My
God.”

“Indeed.
Do you know about St. Lucy?”

“Not
really,” Marie said with a shake of her head.

“An
early Christian during Roman rule. She was promised in marriage to a
non-believer. When she refused him, he exposed her as a Christian, and she was
martyred. According to some stories, they tried to burn her, but the flames
wouldn’t touch her, so the Romans gouged out her eyes.”

Marie
winced.

“Shall
I stop?” When she shook her head, Jasper continued. “Other stories have her
eyes gouged out when they tried to arrest her. I’ve also read that she took her
own eyes to make herself less attractive to the pagan suitor. In most cases,
though, she’s said to have still been able to see even without her eyes.”

Amazed
at the story, Marie could only nod.

“Makes
old
Weird Tales
seem tame by
comparison, doesn’t it?”

“I’ll
say.” She rubbed the cross gently, turning it over. It was about two inches
long, and she could clearly see seams in the wood where it looked like little
pieces had been joined together. She could easily see how there could be
something as small as a bone fragment concealed inside. After a few seconds,
she slipped the cross under her collar. “I’ll take care of it,” she said.

“I’m
sure you will.” He nodded at her in a kindly, thoughtful way. “Keep it with
you. Let it…work on you a bit. It won’t do to have you going up against these
monsters with shaky faith.”