Ashes of Yesterday

Chapter 15

"Where are we going, Monrova?" Phalen asked.

The sounds of mechanized power rumbled under the hood of the Rolls Royce roadster as the car leaned into the sharp curve of the winding road. The wind ruffled through their hair as they sped to their destination.

"To the murder house."

"The what!" Phalen said. "Slow down. You're driving like a demon!"

Phalen gritted his teeth. The car veered around the corner and off the shoulder of the road, kicking up a cloud of dust and gravel. Monrova jerked the wheel.

"How in the hell did we just keep from crashing," Phalen murmured.

His knuckles were white as he held onto the passenger door. If she'd just slow down, he kept saying over to himself. Maybe he could jump out. Maybe he'd break his neck. He had a sick, sinking feeling he was about to meet his Maker.

All these frantic thoughts passed through his brain in seconds.

"And so I am," Monrova said, failing to slow down at all. "But, here we are! And, might I add, all in one piece. I got us here a lot quicker than all you slow-poke, liver-lily Sunday drivers might who are always obeying the speed limits! Pah! Rules are made to be broken! Where is the fun in living a cautious, steady life? I would die of boredom! It pays to have a lead foot sometimes!"

"Not if you don't live to get there, it doesn't," he said.

"Careful, love," she said. "That white streak down your back is getting wider!"

He wanted to bristle at that last comment. But, he couldn't. He looked over at the beautiful siren. Her smile could light up the Northern sky.

But there was a fire in her eyes that hinted of something else.

Danger?

Madness?

Desire?

She parked the car at the end of a cul-de-sac.

"Come on," she said.

"Where are we going?" Phalen asked.

"Your head is not made of concrete," she said. "I've already told you."

They walked down the street. The lawns were expansive. Carpets of green and lush growth. Palms and shrubbery. Walls and fountains. It was a posh neighborhood. Monrova's steps were quick. He had to speed up his own pace to keep up with her. He hoped she did not notice.

"Pick it up, slow Moe," she called over her shoulders. "At the rate you're going, we won't get there before tomorrow!"

They rounded the corner and turned left. On top of the hill was an enormous white Spanish Revival mansion. White stucco walls with rectangular windows greeted them. The red-tiled roof glowed warmly in the hot California sun. Everywhere he looked, he saw arches and curves.

The entryway was a rounded, three-stepped stone affair that broke the low wall surrounding the mansion. There was an arcade with a series of arches supported by columns that provided shade. It looked cool and inviting. A large fountain stood in the center of the courtyard. The water splashed happily, ignorant that tragedy had knocked on this estate's front door.

"Reed Kimball's," said Monrova.

"Nice place," said Phalen. "Thanks for the sightseeing trip, Monrova. But what made you think I'd want to see the house where Reed Kimball was murdered? Wait a minute! What are you doing? Where do you think you're going? Monrova! Monrova!"

The actress was walking up the hill toward the mansion's front door. She turned her head back and smiled at Phalen.

"I'm going in," said Monrova.

"Going in? But you can't do that! Are you crazy? There's a cop standing guard at the door," said Phalen.

"So."

"So! So, how do you propose to get passed him? And more importantly, why would you want to?"

"Don't have such a small mind, little man. It doesn't become you," she said. "Where is your sense of adventure? What is the fun of always doing exactly what you're supposed to do? And there's no joy in being nice and predictable? Nice girls end up in the chairs sitting along the wall. Wallflowers! They're never asked to dance because they are just too goodie-two-shoes! Besides, you don't understand! I've got to get in there. I have to!"

"But where's the fire?" Phalen asked.

"I have to hurry! There isn't much time! Today's my only day off for I don't know how long," Monrova said. "I don't know when I'll get another chance. The director let me have today off because he said there were some mechanical breakdowns on the set. They've called in extra workmen, I suppose. The backdrops are enormous. They're too heavy and want to fall over or something. They have to rebuild some of the sets from scratch. I don't understand it all. It was a complicated explanation. I really didn't pay that much attention. I'm only one of the simpletons in front of the camera. And as soon as we wrap this one up, I'm in another one. They're calling it 'Lonesome Lovesick LuLu,' of all things. Do I look like a Lulu to you? Who comes up with these titles! I haven't had a break in over a year! I work at that studio like a slave!"

"I'd imagine making one picture after the next wears you down," Phalen said. "But the money's great."

"It's ridiculous. No time to enjoy what I'm making. It's so unfair," said Monrova. "For sets, I get a break. Otherwise, the studio works me into the ground. But why am I standing here? Stop asking questions; you're wasting my precious time! I need to go and work some magic. Stand back, Sonny, and prepare to be amazed."

"But don't magicians escape out of rooms with locked doors? You're trying to get into one."

"Minor detail," Monrova said. "Just stand back in watch. Who knows? I'm so good I might put Houdini out of business some day. I saw his act once, by the way. God, he's good looking. The muscles on that man make me swoon. In a loin cloth, he looks like heaven. Now, move aside. That flatfoot ain't gonna know what hit him after I'm finished."

Monrova sauntered up to the middle-aged cop who stood guarding the door. His gruff 'don't-mess-with-me' look dissolved as she whispered something into his ear. He stepped aside, and she slipped in by the front door like an eel under a rock in a stream.

She stayed inside for perhaps fifteen minutes. Phalen stood outside, chomping at the bit, watching for other cops to arrive and arrest all three of them. But no one came. The flatfoot ignored Phalen, preferring to stare at the bright blue sky overhead. Finally, the door opened, and Monrova exited. She kissed the man on the cheek and practically skipped down the walk.

"Come on, Demon Clutterbuck," she said to Phalen.

Phalen, too shocked to say anything, turned and followed the starlet.

"I can't believe what you just did, Monrova," said Phalen. "And you made me an accessory."

"Is it against the law to retrieve what is only yours?" Monrova said. "I touched nothing else in there. Only what is mine," she said, pointing to her purse. "Anyway, thanks for your help. I could never have done it without you."

"What are you talking about?" asked Phalen.

"I told that old blue shirt that you were my brother. My honor would be forever stained."

"Stop!" Phalen said. "I don't want to hear any more."

"Oh, Clutterbuck! Don't get your undies in an uproar."

"I should have walked away the minute you uttered Reed Kimball's name. Are you crazy, Monrova?"

"More than a little, I fear," she said. "But don't worry. Mr. Flatfoot will never give us up."

"How can you be sure?" he said.

"Oh," she said, "I have my ways of knowing, Clutterbuck. I have my ways."

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" said Phalen. "Stop calling me that! Can we just get out of here before we're carried off in the paddy wagon?"

"Such a prude, all of sudden," she said. "And I had you pegged as so much more fun. I'm rarely wrong, but perhaps, this is one time I should just cut my losses and do as you say."

They hopped into the roadster and sped off in a cloud of dust toward the city.