Part 9 (2/2)
Both vanished.
”n.o.body withholds information from me.” Parson stared at me over Heath's shoulder. His rage had turned his face a violent red and spittle had formed at the corners of his mouth.
”Hey man.” Heath held up his hands, palms toward Parson, his voice low and reasonable. ”She has no reason not tell you what she knows. She's here to help you. She's the only one who cared enough about Jenny to make sure she was all right.”
Parson's body trembled, then he collapsed back onto the sofa. Heath held his ground for a few more moments, turned, and moved toward me. I let out my breath as he kicked the pieces of the vase away from my feet. He went back to his place against the wall. I sat down.
With his long fingers, Parson wiped at the saliva on his lips. ”Heath is right.” His voice was measured. ”You were the only one who tried to help her, and I appreciate that. But that doesn't mean you might not want to protect someone.”
I made sure my voice was firm when I spoke. I didn't want to show this man any vulnerability. ”I don't know who killed your daughter. You must have enemies. Maybe they wanted to get back at you through her. Your portholes are draped ... are you afraid someone might shoot you?”
”I find mourning in the brilliant sunlight unbearable,” Parson said.
I swallowed hard. I had felt the same when Colin died.
”n.o.body I know, least of all my enemies, would dare to hurt Jenny. And if anyone is in danger, I would say it was you, Ms. Poole.”
”Why me?”
”Jenny's body was meant to be pressed into a landfill, never to be seen again. But you found it. If I were her killer I'd be worried about what you knew or didn't know, what you saw or didn't see. You might suddenly remember some little thing I'd forgotten, some insignificant detail that could lead back to me.” He smiled grimly. ”No, I'd have to take you out.”
Furious, I rose up out of the chair. ”I'm tired of being threatened by you and your thugs. Let me go now or I'll tell the police you held me here against my will.”
”In my world the police have little power.” Parson stroked his goatee. The bony pasha was back. ”You remind me a lot of your mother.”
Christ, my mother again.
”'No bulls.h.i.+t allowed,' that's what Nora would always say when we were in bed together.”
Was there anybody she hadn't had s.e.x with? ”I really don't want to hear about your affair with my mother.”
”It was a long time ago. I thought since you were carrying her ashes, you must still love her.”
”Mr. Parson, I'm ready to leave. And you don't want to keep the cops waiting.”
He looked at me thoughtfully. ”Your husband, Colin, was a wonderful writer. I'm sorry he died.”
My mouth went dry. ”So am I.”
”I have fond memories of talking to him about the creative mind.”
”You knew him?”
”You were newly married at the time. That would be, what? Eight, ten years ago? If I remember correctly you were on location finis.h.i.+ng shooting your last movie. Too bad. You were becoming as good as your mother when you decided to quit. Colin and I had interesting discussions. He told me the creative mind could plot and deceive and dazzle just as brilliantly as the criminal mind, except that the criminal mind had no conscience. I disagreed with him on that point. I told him it was writers who had no conscience.” A thin dry laugh escaped his lips.
”How would my husband know you?” I didn't bother to keep the contempt from my voice.
”I used to throw parties on this boat. Hollywood loves to rub shoulders with those of us who have, how shall I put it ... a darker kind of star power.” Parson contemplated me. ”It might be best for you and the memory of the ones you've loved to think of any names you've forgotten to give me.”
”What are you trying to say?”
”Oh, and if asked by the police or anyone else, I want you to say you were willingly picked up by my limo driver as recorded by the media. You came here of your own volition to help a grieving father learn more about his daughter's death.” He flashed me his skeletal grin. ”If you think about it, the paparazzi were far more dangerous to you than I've been.”
”What could be so damaging to my husband? He's dead, for G.o.d's sake.” My voice broke.
”The last thing I want is for you to be hurt by the actions of one who has died.”
”Do you ever speak without it sounding like a threat?”
He waved a hand at Heath. ”Drive her back to Malibu.”
”Your chauffeur isn't taking me?” I said.
”Gerald is driving me to Montecito for my appointment with the detectives. Come and visit sometime. It's high on a hill with sweeping views of the Channel Islands and the Pacific. Hollywood people are moving into the area in droves. Colin thought you'd love it there.” He stood, his thin body drooped. ”I'm very tired. It's been a trying day.” He walked softly in his velvet slippers to the door that Luis had used and left the salon.
”Son of a b.i.t.c.h.”
”Yes, he is,” Heath said.
”I was referring to you.” I swept past him and out onto the deck.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
”What's your problem?” Heath called after me.
I was hurrying ahead on the boardwalk, weaving through the tourists and the locals. Gerald had returned my purse. I was searching through it when I stopped and whirled around. Heath came to a sudden halt.
”I'll tell you what my problem is. I don't like the way you treat women. You've done nothing but maul me ...”
”Only because you wouldn't listen to what I was saying.”
”Women don't listen to me so I have to beat them up?”
His head snapped back. He adjusted his sungla.s.ses. ”Whoa, how'd we get to me beating up women? And what about you trying to drop a plate of food on my head?”
”What were you doing using an a.s.sumed name at Bella Casa?”
His smile slid sideways, and his head c.o.c.ked. ”Maybe seeing you naked in the swimming pool made me forget my real name.”
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