Night of the Pentagram Read online

  Mrs. Valdez was tidying the table in the drawing room where Dakota had been working with her astrology charts. Elizabeth held the book out to her.

  “This was in my room.”

  Mrs. Valdez’s eyes moved from the book to Elizabeth’s face, revealing no expression.

  “I found it inside my suitcase. Do you know how it got there?”

  Mrs. Valdez face remained rigid. “I do not understand.”

  “This isn’t my book. I wouldn’t own such a thing. Yet when I went to unpack my suitcases, I found it lying on top of my things.”

  “Perhaps you forgot that you brought it with you.”

  “Mrs. Valdez, you don’t understand. This isn’t my book. Someone put this book inside my suitcase between the time the taxi driver left my luggage on the doorstep and when I opened it upstairs in my room. Only one person could have done it.”

  “Do you wish to make an accusation?”

  Mrs. Valdez’s eyes never left Elizabeth’s face. The penetrating gaze slowly disarmed Elizabeth. She felt herself fighting a losing battle, and at this point it seemed easier to retreat than to carry on in unfamiliar territory. “Perhaps it was left by someone who stayed in the room before me.” Elizabeth dropped the book on the table.

  Mrs. Valdez picked up the book and without a word marched to the bookcases in the corner of the room and with one swift movement the book disappeared between other books on the shelf. Elizabeth was distracted by movement in the foyer – Bryce appeared in the doorway – and when she looked again, she saw only Mrs. Valdez’s back as the housekeeper retreated from the room.

  Bryce greeted her with a puzzled look on his face. “What was that all about?”

  “Nothing. Let’s go.” Elizabeth pushed past him into the hall where she struggled to open the massive front door. With a bewildered smile Bryce opened the door for her and without a word of thanks she stormed outside. She took a few steps onto the driveway, her back to Bryce.

  “If I knew you any better I’d say someone just set your nerves on edge,” Bryce said. “But since I don’t know you at all I guess I’m jumping to conclusions.”

  Despite the overcast sky it was brighter outside on the driveway than it was inside the house. Elizabeth breathed in the cool smell of salt water and allowed the cry of gulls and the distant crash of waves against the shore to wash over her.

  “There are some sick people in the world,” she said.

  Bryce came to stand by her side. “Mind telling me what’s going on?”

  They strolled down the center of the circular drive as she told him about finding the book in her suitcase and Mrs. Valdez’s stone faced resistance to her insinuation that her grandson must have placed it there. “Who else could it have been?”

  “Like you said, anyone could have gotten into your suitcase before you got to your room.”

  “Why would someone do something like that? It’s crazy.”

  “I don’t think we’re supposed to use that word around here.”

  “Well, if the shoe fits.”

  Bryce paused to light a cigarette. He offered one to Elizabeth; she declined.

  “Don’t take it so personally. Maybe it’s someone’s practical joke that they like to play on the new kid in town.”

  “Of course it’s personal. Someone intended for me to find that book.”

  “What makes you so certain?”

  “You know how my husband was killed. You know that the police described his murder as having ritualistic overtones.”

  “I don’t like where this is going.”

  “The people who killed my husband painted a pentagram on the wall in his blood. You know what that is, don’t you? It’s a star in a circle, only the star is upside down – a symbol of Satan. That book had a pentagram on the cover, just like the one the killers left behind.”

  “Elizabeth, you’re letting yourself get worked up over nothing.”

  “Am I? My husband wasn’t the only one killed by this lunatic. Two other men were also murdered, all within the space of a few weeks. Each time the killers left behind the same bloody calling card. The press even started calling him The Pentagram Killer. Someone is either playing a very sick joke or trying to frighten me – and you know what? It’s working! Why would someone do that? I just want to scream.”

  “You seem far more angry than frightened. I think that’s healthy.” Bryce looked at her with a half-crazed smile on his face and Elizabeth managed to smile with him.

  “I guess I sound pretty crazy right now. What was that about a cigarette?”

  Bryce shook a cigarette loose from the pack and lit it for her, cupping his hand around hers at the end of the cigarette so that the flame of his lighter would remain strong in the wind blowing across the top of the mesa. Elizabeth took a long drag on the cigarette and watched as the exhaled smoke disappeared on the wind.

  “You’re right. I am angry, and why shouldn’t I be? Ever since Sven’s death I’ve been a tightly wound ball of nerves. The police hounded me for weeks, as if I had something to do with my husband’s death. I know this is an awful thing to say, but thank God those other men were killed. At least the cops finally realized I had nothing to do with my husband’s death. I just want the nightmare to be over so I can return to a normal life. I came here to relax and recover, and I resent the fact that other people can’t respect that.”

  “I understand,” Bryce said.

  “I guess I’m being selfish. You’ve been through an awful lot yourself, coping with the death of your fiancé. How has that been for you?”

  “It’s hard. We had just bought a house together in Santa Monica. Now I can’t stand to be in it. It’s good to keep busy. The more work I have the less time I spend thinking about my loss. My work keeps me on the go most of the time. I keep an apartment in New York and another in London, but California is where I call home. Still, it’s hard being here without Nina.”

  “I couldn’t stay in our house after Sven died. I tried. I finally had to move in with friends and put the house on the market. Do you think anyone wants to by a house where there was an unsolved homicide?”

  They came to the end of the drive. The house and grounds of La Casa del Mar were set atop a broad mesa. Around the perimeter of the property at the front of the house there was an old, knee high stone wall that lined the circular drive. On the other side of the wall the stones plummeted twenty or thirty feet down before plunging into the hillside. From there the cliff side continued to drop, wild and treacherous, disappearing into a savage tangle of brush and rocks before another precipitous drop to the beaches below. The drop was so steep that Elizabeth could not look down for long before she felt a touch of vertigo threaten her sense of balance. She sat down tentatively on the stone wall. A chipmunk skittered along the top of the wall, observed her for a moment, and then disappeared down the other side. There was an opening in the wall where the drive wound steeply down the side of the hill. Next to it a narrow stone stairway cut into the hillside leading to the beach below.

  “Well, this is it,” Bryce said, sitting down on the edge of the wall beside her. “Beautiful La Casa del Mar with its spectacular view; ocean, mountains, the valley.”

  “What are we going to do?” Elizabeth said. “Six weeks of this and I will be out of my mind.”

  “Don’t you have any hobbies you can work on while you’re here?”

  “Do I look like the sort of girl who sits around doing macramé to you? I’ve been acting or pursuing my career one way or another since I was fourteen. When I lived with Sven we were always entertaining, if we weren’t planning a dinner party, we were attending one. Our evenings were booked with charity events and movie premiers. It’s a different life. Everything revolves around work, one way or another. I’m sure you know how that is. It must be similar in your line of work. I’m not complaining. I wouldn’t trade my lifestyle for anything in the world. This is going to be quite a change of pace. Do you know the feeling when you have been on a speeding roller coas
ter and it comes to a sudden halt?”

  “Make sure you’re seat belt is buckled so you don’t hit that pretty head of yours.”

  “What about you? I mean, you have your photography, but that’s far from being considered a hobby. Do you have any outside interests?”

  “I like to cook, and I’m a damn good one if you can believe that.”

  “I can see that.”

  “I doubt Mrs. Valdez would let me anywhere near her kitchen, unless it’s to fetch my own beer. I’ve done some sailing. I like fast cars, fine wine, beautiful women. I thought I might start writing my memoirs while I’m here but I guess I don’t really have the patience for that.”

  “You ought to read Jewel’s book. She gave me a copy, autographed and everything.”

  “Jewel St. John,” Bryce laughed. “What do you think of her?”

  “She has a strong personality.”

  “That’s diplomatic of you.”

  “But it’s true. Haven’t you read about her exploits or seen her on television?”

  Bryce shook his head.

  “Her critics rip her apart. She’s rather outspoken about them as well, but whereas their comments are directed at her writing and limited to newspapers and magazines, she will come right out on Johnny Carson and talk about them something awful. Do you know she actually attacked one on live television? I’m surprised she hasn’t ended up in court.”

  “Is her writing that bad?”

  “Oh it’s not bad. Her books wouldn’t make it to the top of the best seller lists if they were bad. She’s no Truman Capote, but she seems to have her finger on the pulse of the American reading public.”

  “What’s her stuff all about?”

  “It’s fun. Perfectly wicked. She writes the most outrageous storylines about thinly veiled Hollywood personalities. If you know the lives of famous movie stars, it’s easy to guess who she is writing about. That’s half the fun. They say the first one was semi autobiographical. What do they call that sort of thing?”

  “Roman a clef.”

  “Yes, that’s it. There’s lots of sex in them, too.”

  “Everyone loves a dirty book.”

  “I wouldn’t call them dirty. They won’t be showing up in school libraries any time soon or be discussed by old ladies’ literary circles, but I’m sure there are plenty of teenagers and little old ladies reading her books in secret.”

  “I think I read a few books like that when I was twelve.”

  “There, you see? That sort of thing has redeeming social value after all.”

  “You know you’re very pretty when you smile, even if you do look like you just escaped from a prison camp. You should let me photograph you while we are here.”

  “Don’t make fun of me,” Elizabeth said but couldn’t help smiling at his flattery. “I look terrible.”

  “I’m serious. Here in this light you look like an ethereal wraith. I can already see how the finished portraits would look, and believe me, they will be stunning.”

  “But I’m so thin. I wouldn’t want pictures like that to be seen for the rest of my life.”

  “Why not? You won’t be young and thin forever. By the time your film is released they’ll be publicity stills all over the place, and those will be seen for the rest of your life. Besides, when you’ve reached dowdy middle age you will look back on this period with a different viewpoint than you have now. You’ll never be as beautiful as you are at this moment. That’s what photography, and film…the movies, is all about, capturing this perfect moment for all posterity. Just ask Bette Davis. I think she’d agree with me.”

  “I’ll think about it. I promise.” Elizabeth dropped her cigarette into the sprout of weeds at the base of the wall and ground it out with her heel.

  “That’s all I can ask for. Meanwhile, here we are, watching the world go by from the top of a cliff in beautiful Malibu. Wondering when we will finally meet the mysterious Dr. Abernathy. Tell me what you know about him.”

  “I hardly know anything about him. My agent, Gavin Danvers, recommended him. He says he has sent a number of his clients here. Other than that I’ve never heard the name. Of course I don’t exactly keep my ear to the ground of the psychiatric community. He seems to be one of Hollywood’s best kept secrets. Who would have thought that this old house by the sea would turn out to be the headquarters for a psychiatric boy wonder? But I have to admit I’m a bit anxious about meeting him.”

  “So am I. From what the other guests have indicated I’m not sure if I should expect the Nutty Professor or Count Dracula. I bet he’ll turn out to be a bit of both.”

  “I hope not. I don’t think I can handle six weeks of living with either character. So who referred you to Dr. Abernathy?”

  “A friend, an older woman in the business, a model turned actress. She and I have been close friends with for years. She knew I was struggling with depression after Nina’s death. She spoke highly of Dr. Abernathy. She was a patient of his when he was based in Europe. He seems to have worked wonders. You would never guess this woman once had the sort of problems she did. She’s the epitome of good mental health, still as beautiful as she was when she was your age. You’d know the name if I said it.”

  “This European connection sounds sinister to me. It makes me think of a mental asylum in a creepy old chateau or schloss tucked away in the mountains, some place with bats flying around the towers.”

  Bryce laughed. “You don’t have a very favorable picture of mental hospitals, do you?”

  Elizabeth frowned. “They give me the creeps. Don’t you think it’s odd that Dr. Abernathy doesn’t have any assistants? I haven’t seen anyone other than Mrs. Valdez and the other guests. No other doctors, not even a nurse.”

  “We’ve only been here an hour.”

  “We registered with Mrs. Valdez. Shouldn’t we have checked in with a medical assistant or nurse? That struck me as odd. I have no idea what I signed myself in for. I should have taken more time and read over all those clauses. Just looking at it gave me a headache.”

  “It’s a little late now. I guess you’ll have plenty of time to think about that while you’re on the operating table waiting for your lobotomy.”

  “That’s not funny,” Elizabeth snapped.

  “You’re pretty touchy, aren’t you?” said Bryce, getting up from the stone wall. “You’ll need to learn not to take me too seriously.” He turned around, squinting into the overcast sky. As he did so, he propped his foot on the edge of the wall. A portion of the wall crumbled beneath his foot, bits of rock and stone falling noisily down the face of the wall on the other side until they landed in the brush along the base of the wall twenty some feet below.

  “You ought to take care around that wall,” said a voice behind them. “It is rather old and needs repair.”

  Elizabeth turned and looked up at the face of the man standing before them. She let out a startled gasp.

  It was her husband. Sven Lindstrom!

  Chapter Four

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I am Clark Abernathy.”

  “There’s no need to apologize,” Elizabeth said. “You took me by surprise, that’s all. You remind me of someone who I wouldn’t have expected to see here.”

  He was the same height as Sven and white haired as well, but where Sven’s hair was thick and full around his ears, this man wore his in a conservative crew cut. Sven kept a year round tan, whereas this man was pale and could use a few hours by the pool. He wore a conservative dark suit and narrow dark tie. On his face were black and silver Shuron Ronsir glasses.

  Elizabeth accepted his hand for a brief but cordial shake. “You must be Elizabeth York, and you must be Mr. Avondale.”

  After Dr. Abernathy shook Bryce’s hand Elizabeth noticed that he took a handkerchief from his pocket and made a show of polishing his glasses, but used the movement to masque that he discreetly wiped his hand.

  “We were just talking about you. After all the buildup we were beginning t
o wonder if you were a real person.”

  Dr. Abernathy opened his mouth and showed them his teeth. “Yes, well, as you can see I am most definitely flesh and blood. I apologize that I was not available to greet you in person when you arrived. I was in therapy. Did you have any trouble finding the clinic?”

  “None at all,” said Bryce.

  Elizabeth chose not to remind him about his erratic driving. Instead, she said, “I took a taxi.”