Murder by Numbers (14 page)

“Omigod, Jenny!” Liza flew down to the girl, bringing her to a sitting position, gently removing the tape as Jenny raised her head, her eyes streaming with tears.

Jenny coughed as the tape came free of her lips. “He—he said I wasn't getting the scenes right.”

“Olbrich?” Liza asked.

Jenny nodded. “He sent everybody to lunch and sat beside me. Told me I—I was only remembering what happened out here. That I had to
feel
it, and he would help me do that. Then he jammed that tape over my mouth, and…and he left!” The girl shuddered heavily within her bonds, on the edge of hysteria.

Liza turned to Michael. “Have you got a knife? We've got to get her out of these ropes.”

“You know me, always prepared.” He dug in his pocket and produced a tiny Swiss Army knife.

Michael sawed through the rope with it. It took a little while, but as soon as she was free, Jenny rose to her feet, shivering. “It feels even colder than when I was out here before,” she said, teeth chattering.

Michael slipped out of his jacket and wrapped it over her shoulders.

“Let's get back to everybody else,” Liza said grimly.

Interested onlookers had now trailed about halfway to the ruins. Lloyd Olbrich was in the lead. Whether he was trying to get there first or trying to wave everyone else back, Liza couldn't quite make out.

But she didn't mince words when she got to the director. “This was your idea of a practical joke? Leaving this poor girl tied up in the cold and wet while you have lunch? It's not enough that this is the place where she almost got killed. She also nearly got pneumonia out here—and the weather's a hell of a lot more raw now!”

Now Guy Morton pushed his way forward. “You left her tied up?”

“A—an acting exercise,” the director tried to bluff.

“With a gag over her mouth so she couldn't call for help,” Michael added.

“You sadistic son of a bitch! I'm going to kill you!” Morton might be an older man, but he was still pretty fit—and he definitely had a good right jab. His fist shot out, and Olbrich toppled back on the sand, blood spurting from his nose.

“Stop him!” Olbrich screamed. “He means it!”

“Yeah, I'm a real method actor.” Morton came after the director, his arm going back again.

A couple of teamsters from the film crew grabbed hold of the enraged actor while others helped Olbrich scramble to his feet. “I—I'll have you up on charges!” the director's voice went up as he gobbled like a castrated turkey.

Liza thrust her face forward till she was nose to bleeding nose. “You've got problems of your own, Olbrich. Everybody knows about the little tricks you play on your actors. But this is pushing things way beyond the line. Once the news gets out—and when Michelle Markson gets done with you—you'll be lucky to find a job directing commercials for local car dealerships.

Olbrich recoiled from her, his face slack. Behind her, Liza heard Morton call out, “Hey, where's the kid?”

She turned to see Michael glancing around in confusion. “She was right here—”

His voice was cut off by the sudden roar of a car engine.

Michael flapped his hands at hip level. “The car keys—they were in my jacket!”

They all turned to see Michael's rental car throw up a rooster tail of sand as it swerved around and took off like a bat out of hell.

“Come on!” Michael yelled. “We've got to stop her!”

Lloyd Olbrich wrenched himself free of the people holding him, suddenly the boss again. “Let her go! The hell with her—she's breaking her contract.” He rounded on his subordinates, pointing at Guy Morton. “Get that maniac back in his trailer. And anybody who helps these two gets fired!”

“I think any reasonable judge would say that trying to keep us in this isolated area would constitute unlawful imprisonment,” Michael said coolly. “And since you're already guilty on one count of that—”

Liza didn't know whether Olbrich knew if Michael was a writer or a lawyer. Right now she was more interested in running through her phone's memory, calling up Sheriff Clements's cell number. He'd given it to her on a courtesy card when they first met, and Liza had installed it as something potentially useful.

Always good to have a direct line
, she thought.

Soon enough, a police cruiser arrived, Curt Walters at the wheel.

Even Olbrich wasn't stupid enough to mess with the local law. Liza and Michael got into the rear of the patrol car as the crew members slowly dismantled their equipment.

“What's the sheriff doing about Jenny?” Liza anxiously asked Curt. “I tried to explain over the phone, but I don't know if he understood—”

Images of some public relations nightmare like the pursuit of O. J. Simpson's white Bronco kept running through her mind.

“He understood that the girl took a car that didn't belong to her and that she's mighty upset,” Curt replied. “The sheriff is trying to reach out on the quiet to some of the neighboring counties, seeing if we can get a line on where she's going without spooking her.”

“It's a 2006 silver Toyota Camry, license plate—” Michael rattled off the string of numbers and letters from a piece of paper in his hand. “I kept the rental agreement in my wallet—which, thankfully, was
not
in my jacket.”

“Saves us a call to the rental agency,” Curt said, relaying the information.

Liza wasn't sure what answer she'd get, but she had to try. “How is the sheriff taking this?”

Curt shrugged. “He's not delighted to have the girl blow town in the middle of a murder investigation. But he wants to talk to you, which means he's also willing to listen.”

The spartan little interrogation room was becoming far too familiar for Liza's comfort. But Sheriff Clements didn't ask questions. He just let Liza and Michael tell their stories.

After he'd absorbed the high points, Clements leaned back in his chair. “Wouldn't know if you'd heard this,” he said, “but I have a teenage daughter over in Killamook. Anybody tried a stunt like that with her, he'd be eating through a straw, and I wouldn't care if it meant me getting busted back to grunt cop somewhere.”

He rubbed the back of his neck as if he were trying to get some stiff muscles to loosen up. “Too bad Jenny's not around to make a complaint. I wouldn't mind giving this Olbrich guy a little time in the tank.”

“I'm more worried about Jenny,” Liza said. “Do you think you'll be able to find her?”

“It's kind of iffy, going on the cops' grapevine,” Clements admitted. “But I don't know if it will do that girl much good to go all official and put out a BOLO on her. Better, I think, to check into places she might go—maybe even waiting till she cools off and contacts you.”

Liza sighed. “Unfortunately, it's not just her business, but a lot of other people's.”

She'd have to get in touch with Michelle ASAP to start spinning this development. No doubt Lloyd Olbrich was already busy trying to cover his ass.

Leaving the set in the middle of filming was the Hollywood version of a soldier going AWOL in wartime. Studio brass could ignore a lot of things—talent could sleep with other people's wives, teenage daughters, even sheep. Stars could shoot up or snort down all kinds of insidious chemicals. They could even espouse all sorts of outré lifestyles and political beliefs. But the one mortal sin, the unforgivable misstep, was to cost the studio money.

Olbrich was already feeling the heat, having to stop work for a murder investigation and sabotage. Losing a truck and two cameras probably took him from the frying pan right into the fire. If he could lay some of the blame for his problems at Jenny's door, he'd definitely do it.

On the other hand, a well-known director playing sadistic mind games on a young actress…The celebrity gossip vampires would think that was the most delicious blood they'd tasted in a dozen news cycles.

She and Michelle could play that angle like a Stradivarius violin, spreading the music all over Hollywood.

Liza was already going over who and what to tell as she and Michael left City Hall.

“Did the people in that garage give you an ETA on a new windshield?” Michael asked.

“It's going to be a couple days before I see wheels again,” she replied. “I'm not so sure about your situation. I'm hoping Jenny will cool off and show up ASAP.”

“Me, too. Thank God it's a short enough walk from here to get home.”

Liza smiled. “Another difference between Maiden's Bay and L.A.”

They walked in companionable silence up to Hackleberry Avenue. As Liza's house—and Mrs. Halvorsen's place—came into sight, Michael cleared his throat. “I just wanted to say, I'm sorry if I upset you this morning. I mean, coming up after I'd seen you obviously fighting with Kevin.”

With all the stuff that had hit her since—including a rock—Liza had almost forgotten her uncomfortable moments with Kevin. Now she wished she could forget them again.

“Michael,” she said, “that's something I don't want to talk about right now. Can you let it go at that?”

“Sure,” Michael replied. “I just hate to see you look unhappy, that's all.”

They parted company, and Liza went into her house. Rusty barked a greeting, and Liza's stomach just about barked back in reply.

A look in the refrigerator left Liza shaking her head. “Damn it, I've
got
to get to a store!”

First things first, though. She put through a call to L.A., to Markson Associates. Luckily, Ysabel Fuentes hadn't quit yet this week and put Liza directly through to Michelle. For the next hour-plus, Liza was lost in the world of top-level publicity as more and more associates joined in an ever-growing conference call. The crisis management team threw around some ideas. Michelle called Buck Foreman. She even brought Alvin Hunzinger into the loop to deal with a possible auto theft charge. Though, since Michael didn't plan to press charges, it wasn't an immediate worry.

By the time Liza got off the phone, she felt as if her brain as well as her stomach had been sucked completely empty.

Liza stretched and looked down at her dog lolling on the floor. “Wanna go for a walk and get some food?”

That sentence contained two of Rusty's favorite words. He barked in agreement and all but levitated to the front door.

After clipping a leash to Rusty's collar, Liza opened the door and stepped out. She got about five steps before a voice came from next door. “Hey, Liza! Wait a minute, will ya?”

She looked up to see Michael trying to stick his head out the guest room window. Despite his best efforts, he still couldn't get the uncooperative window open enough to do that. So he wound up kneeling and holding his head sideways to the opening to get his words out through the space available.

“Just give me a chance to get my shoes on, and I'll come with you.”

Shades of high school
, Liza thought. “You don't have to,” she called back.

“That's not what the sheriff said,” Michael replied.

What had the sheriff said? In the last few days, she'd seen Clements so many times. Oh. Right. Deke Jannsky.

“You don't have to bother,” Liza said. “I've got Rusty. And he'll only make you sneeze.”

Michael's allergies had banned dogs from their home in their years together. Rusty had become a family member only after Liza returned to Maiden's Bay to find a reddish dog wandering the neighborhood—a mutt she'd rescued from the local Animal Control officers.

Rusty tolerated Michael, but he really liked Kevin. Liza wished she hadn't thought of that as she hurried down the street, determined to escape before Michael could catch up with her.

This speed walking brought Liza and Rusty fairly quickly to Castelli's Market. The prices for staples might be more expensive here, but without a car, the supermarkets on the highway were just too far away to contemplate. Both she and Rusty were in no position to be picky. They had to eat. She'd buy a few basics to tide her over until she had wheels again.

There were major perks to shopping local, though.

The Castelli brothers and their mom did a whole lot of home cooking. Besides a container of milk, a small package of coffee, and a loaf of bread, Liza emerged with a stuffed veal chop, a little square of still-hot lasagna, and a container of marinated string beans. Her mouth had been watering so badly when she'd passed the “good food to go” counter, she'd been afraid she was going to drool on Mario Castelli's hand as he cut her portion.

She was still drooling when his brother had counted out her change.

The market was on the very edge of the business district. After half a block, Liza and Rusty were strolling along tree-lined streets. That was another big difference between L.A. and Maiden's Bay.

Liza was just crossing the intersection when she heard an engine crank twice and then noisily come to life behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see an elderly pickup truck with a lot of body rot groaning its way onto the street.

A little belatedly, she thought of Sheriff Clements and his warnings. What kind of car did Deke Jannsky drive? Liza cudgeled her memory, but no picture came to mind. The wreck slowly moving behind her would be right in character, though.

“Rusty, heel.” Liza wanted Rusty close—and not vulnerably out in the street—in case anything happened.

The dog gave her an “are you kidding?” look. But, seeing she was serious, Rusty gave an audible sigh and abandoned his pursuit of interesting smells to trot obediently at her heels.

Liza lengthened her stride, trying to figure what would happen next. Would the driver pull up beside her and attack? Could she expect another missile to come flying her way? Would the pickup make a sharp turn at the corner and go for a hit-and-run?

The muscles in her back grew stiff as Liza prepared herself for evasion. If Deke tried to lay his hands on her, she might give him a surprise. Since the last bit of excitement in her life, she'd gone back to practicing the moves from the self-defense classes Michelle had insisted that she take.

Here was the corner, and the pickup did turn—in the opposite direction. Instead of going right after Liza, the pickup made an asthmatic left onto Crabapple and disappeared among the greenery.

“You're getting paranoid, Kelly,” Liza told herself.

Still, she didn't slow her pace until she got home. And as she came in, she not only made sure the door latched, she turned the dead bolt—an addition to the door since a break-in months ago.

Liza frowned as Rusty amused himself by rattling his leash and dog tags. “I guess in some ways, Maiden's Bay
is
just like L.A.,” she muttered.

After reheating the veal and pasta from Castelli's, enjoying them and the beans with a glass of wine in the safety of her house, Liza should have calmed down. But as she washed the dishes and tossed the containers aside for recycling, she found herself physically satisfied but mentally restless.

Liza sat at her desk and began to go over the notes from her call with Michelle, trying to see if there were any other action items she could come up with, any other avenues she could explore. Instead, her thoughts mingled with all the unresolved questions from Oliver Chissel's murder.

While Michelle sometimes practiced stream of consciousness thinking as a creative tool, this time the stream seemed to dead-end in a stagnant swamp for Liza.

Sighing, Liza tried to switch gears to her other career. She called up several puzzles onto her computer screen and began trying to work them into shape.

She managed a fairly simple puzzle, adding it to her cushion file.

But the usual sudoku Zen didn't take her over, a fact she had to admit after she completely butchered a more ambitious puzzle. Checking her work with the Solv-a-doku program, she got the disheartening news that her creation now had 1,732 possible solutions.