Chapter Five
“Huh?” Perry looked from Nick to Horace, then back to Nick. “Wait. What?”
He’d read about people’s faces looking like thunderclouds, but this was the first time he’d actually witnessed it. He could practically see lightning bolts glinting in Nick’s eyes.
“What does that mean?” Nick said with ominous restraint.
Horace’s smile was a little unsettling. “Last night I phoned my lawyer, he drew up a new will, and I signed it first thing this morning.”
“Why would you do that?” Nick asked. It was Perry’s question too.
Maybe Nick’s displeasure was finally starting to register because Horace seemed a little flustered. “I-I realized yesterday that Perry is a man of extraordinary tal—”
Nick broke in. “I repeat. Why would you do that?”
“After Perry explained his situation last night—”
This was more and more confusing. Never mind the fact that Horace was living like a refugee from the Hollywood Horror Museum. Nick was liable to think…what? That Perry had been complaining about money—or, more exactly, the fact that they didn’t have any? He hadn’t. Wouldn’t. Besides, compared to his previous precarious financial situation, they were living like kings. Well, princes. Princes on a fixed income. It didn’t matter. He’d be happy to live in a cardboard box so long as it was with Nick.
“You think someone in this house might have a motive to kill you, and knowing that, you changed your will in favor of Perry?”
Perry put his hand on Nick’s arm, feeling the rigidity of tendons, the bulge of muscles. Nick was mad enough to punch something. Or someone. “It’s okay—”
“No, it’s not okay.”
Horace was stammering, “Well, yes. If anyone here imagined they had a reason to want me out of the way, that reason is gone. I signed it away at 9:15 this morning.”
“And turned Perry into a potential target.”
Okay. Now he got it. Now he understood the underlying cause of Nick’s tension. Nick had a tendency to be a little…overprotective. Sometimes. But really, wasn’t the most likely explanation of Horace’s troubles a crazed fan who couldn’t tell the difference between reality and special effects?
Although… If the unpleasant Nevins were hoping to inherit whatever remained of Horace’s fortune, this decision of Horace’s would not go over well.
“No, no,” Horace was saying quickly. “There would be no reason. The will is signed. It’s over and done. Now my estate goes to whoever Perry designates.”
“What are you—? Are you—? You’re not dead,” Nick snapped. “Perry wouldn’t inherit until you’re out of the way. If something happens to Perry before you die, it means you’d either have to choose another heir or the estate goes to your next of kin.”
Accurate and absolute. Like a well-aimed bullet. That was Nick.
Horace looked genuinely confused, so maybe Sissy and Jonah were right about his not being mentally all there. “Anyway, it’s just a precaution,” he protested. “No one is after me for my money!”
“Then why change your will? What are they after you for?”
“Nick—”
He might as well be talking to himself. Nick continued to ignore him, staring at poor, red-faced and trembling Horace as though drawing a bead on him.
Horace grabbed at the rags of his dignity. “I think you should leave,” he announced in a huffy voice.
“I think you’re right.”
Perry opened his mouth, and Nick added, “And Perry is coming with me.”
“No,” Horace cried. He turned to Perry. “You promised to help.”
“Nick, he needs help. That’s why we’re here.”
Nick’s blue gaze was bleak. “That was before we heard the whole story.”
Yeah, but they hadn’t heard the whole story. That much was obvious. What was also obvious was Horace’s fear. That was real. Maybe the most real thing about Horace.
Perry squeezed Nick’s arm. “Come on, Nick. We can’t just leave it like this.” Nick opened his mouth, but Perry hurried on. “Mr. Daly could have been seriously injured yesterday.”
Better him than you. Nick didn’t say it, but it was right there in his eyes.
It warmed Perry—no one had ever cared about him the way Nick did. Well, his mom and dad, of course, but that was different. At the same time, this was Perry’s decision too, right?
Perry answered Nick’s silent protest. “Anyway, it’s just two nights. And what could happen with you here to protect me?”
He was joking—at least partly joking. Nick scowled. Horace said, “Yes, it’s only for two nights. Just until Halloween is over. After that everything will go back to normal. I’m sure it will.”
He sounded more hopeful than sure.
Reading their expressions, Horace rushed on. “I-I apologize for losing my temper. My nerves aren’t good. Of course, you’re welcome to stay as well, Mr. Reno.”
Nick snorted. Probably at the idea that Horace was doing him a favor by extending the invitation to him. Perry grinned—inviting him to share the joke—and after a moment, Nick said grudgingly, “All right. We’ll stay the weekend.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Horace cried. He meant it too, but the stagey way he said everything always made him sound like he was delivering lines in a play.
Nick continued grimly, “On condition that you keep the news about changing your will to yourself.”
Something sly and secretive seemed to flit through Horace’s pale gaze. Then it was gone. He smiled broadly.
“Of course! My dear boy! Of course. It shall all be exactly as you say.”
Ding. Ding. Ding.
“I have an announcement to make!” Horace stood at the head of the mile-long, slightly battered dining table, chiming his dessert spoon against his wineglass.
“Of course you do, darling,” Wynne Winthrop said. She was the black-haired woman in jodhpurs Perry and Nick had spoken to that morning on their way to Angel’s Rest. According to Horace, Wynne was a long-time friend and frequent costar. Maybe props and set decorations weren’t the only things Horace collected from his days in the movies.
It was Saturday night, about eight hours after Perry and Nick’s arrival at the hotel, and Perry was increasingly sure he had made a huge mistake coercing Nick into spending one of his rare weekends at Angel’s Rest.
For someone who believed his life was in danger, Horace had been strangely disinterested in talking to Nick about who or what might wish him harm. Even Perry, who was not suspicious by nature, couldn’t help but believe Horace knew a lot more than he was letting on. He also couldn’t help wondering if what Horace secretly wanted was really just…company. Because they’d spent the entire day listening to him relive his career in the movie industry. Maybe Horace was frightened, but he was even more lonely.
So that was the first thing. The second thing was Perry was not feeling great. The dust and general decay of the building were bothering him more than he’d expected—or was willing to admit to Nick. If there were not mold spores floating around with all the pollen and dander, it would be a miracle. After months of rarely having to resort to using his inhaler, it was demoralizing to feel so wheezy and breathless again.
Anyway, now they were seated with the rest of the building’s tenants in the once grand formal dining hall. Ami Savitri had prepared dinner for the entire household, which, according to Horace, was a weekly event. Ami got reduced rent for her efforts, and the residents who chose to partake of the meal paid her a nominal fee. It seemed to Perry that this was another way for Horace to guarantee he had company at least once a week, although it was unclear whether Horace actually liked his tenants or not.
The good news was the food looked good and smelled better. The pungent aroma of garlic, basil, oregano, and rosemary warmed the air as lasagna, spaghetti bolognese, pasta primavera, green salad, and long loaves of buttery garlic bread were placed on the long table. Plenty of food for people who tucked in like it was their first and only meal of the week. Maybe it was. It seemed pretty clear that no one at Angel’s Rest was living high on the hog, including Horace.
Judging by the anticipation on everyone’s faces as they began to pass the casserole dishes and bowls around the table, it was going to be a very good dinner. Or would have been. Perry was afraid Horace’s announcement was about to ruin—at the very least—Nick’s appetite.
Nick already looked—once again—like a volcano about to blow.
“Goddamn it,” he said softly. “I knew it.”
Perry was not completely surprised either, assuming what they feared was coming actually transpired. Hearing Horace reminiscence about his drug-fueled days in the movie industry had not inspired a lot of confidence in their host’s promises. Not that Horace wasn’t sober and aware of what he was doing. He’d filled his wineglass with mineral water, so that alarming glitter in his eyes was not due to artificial stimulants.
Cousin Sissy, watching Cousin Jonah serve her a slab of lasagna, said, “Maybe you could save your announcement for after we enjoy this meal we’ve paid for in peace.”
Enzo glared across the table at her, but Sissy’s attention remained elsewhere. She pointed at the platter of spaghetti traveling their way. Jonah waggled the serving spoon he’d taken from the lasagna dish in readiness.
“What are we toasting to?” Gilda, the purple-haired psychic, inquired, raising her wineglass.
Horace frowned. “We’re not toasting. This is not cause for celebration.”
“No? Oh.” Gilda smiled vaguely. “In that case.” She tossed back her wine in a single gulp.
The wind had picked up that afternoon—California’s weather was predictably unpredictable—and a draft whispered through the cracked casements of the Palladian windows and tickled the back of Perry’s neck. He shivered. Nick threw him a quick, concerned look. Perry grimaced.
Horace, ignoring the antics of those in the cheaper seats, continued in a lofty tone. “Since no one here chooses to believe that my life is in danger—despite my having a witness to yesterday’s attack—I’ve made the decision to hire private detectives.”
That finally got Sissy’s attention. She and Jonah looked at each other. Ami and Ned looked at each other. Gilda reached for the wine decanter.
Enzo said, “Private detectives? Without even telling me?” He sounded wounded.
“Good for you, darling,” Wynne said. There was a hint of mischief in her sparkling black eyes as she glanced at the Nevins. They seemed frozen in place. Jonah still held the serving spoon, noodles dangling, and Sissy stared at him like someone practicing mind control.
Horace ignored them all, pointing at Perry and Nick. “You’ve already met Nick Reno and Perry Foster. What you don’t know is that they’ve agreed to stay at Angel’s Rest until the mystery of who wants me dead is solved.”
Perry threw Nick a quick I-promise-you-I-did-not look. Nick opened his mouth and closed it.
Ned said, “So that’s why you have a gun.”
“A gun!” Sissy and Jonah looked at each other in alarm.
Ami’s expression was troubled. She said to Horace, “But if you really are in danger, shouldn’t you call the police?”
“He’s not in danger,” Ned muttered. “He’s playacting.”
Cousin Sissy didn’t wait for Horace’s reply. “I never heard of anything so ridiculous,” she exclaimed. “Not in all my born days. Who’s going to pay these gentlemen’s fees?”
“Not you,” Horace retorted, “so you don’t need to worry about it.”
“I do need to worry about it because you have no money, Horace. As you’re constantly telling us. These men are going to expect to be paid, and then what will happen? You can’t expect me and Jonah to finance something so ridiculous as this.”
“No, I can’t—and I don’t. It’ll be a cold day in hell when I expect any support from you two.”
“Well, I like that!” Jonah belatedly jumped into the fray. “After everything Sissy and I’ve done for you.”
They exchanged another look of silent—albeit outraged—communication.
Enzo demanded, “What have you done but mooch off him?”
“If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black!”
Perry didn’t like the funny little smile on Horace’s face as he watched Enzo and the Nevins sparring. Was this all a ruse for Horace’s entertainment? Not yesterday’s attack, obviously. That had been real enough. But was Horace deliberately milking—dramatizing?—the events of the day before?
Maybe it wasn’t even conscious on his part, given the things his unpleasant cousin had hinted at that morning.
“Wait a second, wait a second.” Enzo broke off bickering with the Nevins and fastened a dark and beady eye on Perry. “That’s quite a coincidence that you just happen to be waiting around for Horace to get assaulted by hooligans, and then you turn out to be a private dick.”
“I’m not a PI,” Perry answered. “Nick is. I work part-time in a library.”
Nick said not a word. He might have been watching a play. A play he had been forced to attend.
“It’s true,” Horace cut in. “The boy is an artist. A true talent. One day you will all know his name!”
Ugh. So embarrassing. Leave it to Horace to make painting sound like some grandiose endeavor.
“We know his name now,” Enzo retorted. “You already told us. Perry Foster. And it’s the same difference if he’s the dick or his boyfriend is.”
Being a fan of vintage pulp novels, Perry knew that “dick” was just another word for PI, but somehow it sounded like something very different coming out of Enzo’s mouth.
“I thought I was the paranoid one.” Horace had that weird smile again, like he found all of this funny.
Enzo replied bleakly, “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.” He looked pointedly at Sissy and Jonah.
“How does this have anything to do with us?” Sissy demanded in answer to that look. “We’ve already said we’re against the idea. The notion that Horace would hire private detectives is…is…”
“Ridiculous,” Jonah supplied.
“Ludicrous,” Sissy said.
“No!” Gilda cried.
That shut everyone up. They all turned to study Gilda, who had pushed back in her chair and was gazing ceilingward with a dreamy expression.
“There is danger here. Danger for Horace. Danger for all of us.”
“That’s right,” Ned said. “It’s living out in the old swimming pool and eating our leftovers.”
Wynne laughed.
Enzo cried, “That’s not true. I buy all Wally’s food myself.”
Gilda frowned and stopped looking for the stars amongst the ceiling beams. “This is nothing to scoff at. My visions are real. I’ve warned Horace. He’s surrounded by enemies.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Sissy said to Horace. “Enzo is right about one thing. You know nothing about this boy and his friend. He’s a trespasser. That’s all you know.”
Horace said slyly, “I know he appreciates what none of you do!”
“Which is what?” Sissy looked from Horace to Perry.
“He appreciates my home. He appreciates my collections. Which is why—” Horace’s gaze fell on Nick, who was watching him silently, steadily. He finished a little lamely, “He, er, appreciates the danger I’m in.”
“I’ll just bet he does!” Jonah said.
Perry felt himself go hot with anger and embarrassment. Not so much at what Jonah was implying—whatever the hell that might be—as what they would all think if and when they learned Horace had changed his will. Assuming Horace really had. Because why would he? It was a crazy thing to do.
Then again, according to Sissy and Jonah, Horace was crazy.
Perry’s heart was pounding. He had to lower his voice to keep it steady. “You couldn’t be more wrong,” he said to Jonah. “I’d never even heard of Horace until yesterday.”
“I forgive you for that,” Horace said magnanimously.
Sissy made a smothered exclamation of impatience. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to any more of this nonsense.” She rose with surprising alacrity, Jonah leaped to drag her chair out of the way, and Sissy left the table, the wind in her sails—or, more exactly, the draft in her muumuu. Jonah grabbed their plates and silverware and trotted after her.
As they vanished into the hallway, Horace said to Nick, “I find her behavior suspicious, don’t you?”
“I find your behavior suspicious,” Nick replied.
Surprisingly, everyone, including Horace, laughed. But Perry knew Nick wasn’t kidding.
Wynne said, “Was that the end of your announcement, darling? Our wonderful food is getting cold.”
“Yes,” Horace said. “That was it.” He sat back down. He seemed a little let down.
Ned Duke laughed again and said to Perry, “No good deed goes unpunished.”
Which was what Nick had said that morning when they hiked down to the main highway to retrieve their bags after the meeting with Horace.
Nick had not been happy then, and he was less happy now. Perry was going to have to figure out some way to make this—
His thoughts broke off as something slammed into the window behind him. Hard.
Wynne squealed. Nick’s hand fastened on Perry’s shoulder as though he was about to shove him under the table. Proof of how on edge everyone’s nerves were, Nick wasn’t the only one on his feet.
“A bird!” Ned exclaimed shakily. “A crow, I think. I saw it hit the window.”
“Are you sure?” Horace looked terrified, eyes raking the darkness behind the glass.
Nick was already striding down the row of towering windows, heading for the door that led onto the terrace.
Perry pushed his chair back and started after him. He was joined by Ned and Ami. Together they crowded out through the segmented glass door and onto the leaf-piled terrace, staring around themselves. The night was unexpectedly cold. Wind shook the nearly bare tree branches, sending twisted, crooked silhouettes wavering against the walls. The moon cast an ominous greenish light over the urns and white iron tables and chairs.
Through the windows they could see the others still seated at the table. It looked as though Horace and Wynne were arguing. Gilda sipped her wine and stared into space once more. Looking for answers in the stars, or watching for the next off-course bird?
Enzo gazed out the windows, though it was doubtful he could see them moving around on the terrace.
“The crows have a nest in the east tower. It must have got confused in the wind. There.” Ami pointed to a black and shapeless darker shadow a foot or so from where Nick stood.
Nick nudged the shadow with the toe of his boot. “It’s a raven, not a crow. You can tell by the neck hackles.”
“A raven.” Ned gave a nervous laugh. “Aren’t those bad luck?”
“Is it still alive?” Ami asked.
“Nope.”
Something brushed against Perry’s face. He looked up. The last of the autumn leaves swirled down from overhead. In the weird light, they looked candy-colored: grape, lime, cherry, lemon. Sort of pretty, sort of poisonous.
A scrape of sound carried from the arched doorway leading into the small courtyard where he’d found Horace yesterday afternoon. He stared across the piles of leaves and the broken furniture and saw—wait.
Was that…? His hair prickled on his scalp. Yes.
The gleam of eyes.
Perry said, “Nick—” as one of the shadows detached itself from the wall and backed slowly, cautiously down the steps.
At the same time, Ami pointed toward the doorway. “There’s someone there. Someone is in the courtyard!”
The watcher in the shadows turned, abandoning any attempt at stealth, and ran, feet crunching through the dead leaves.
“Stay here, all of you,” Nick ordered, and dived into the windswept darkness after the intruder.