Murder Under the Italian Moon Page 8

  What were we waiting for?

  "Bonnie, Lella has an interesting story to tell you about Kyle and the Ferrari. It may change the whole picture, for the better."

  I heard tension in Larry's voice and it surprised me. Why would he be tense? This was about my son, not his. And I felt something else too: a connection between Larry and Bonnie, some kind of unspoken sense of personal awareness, a subtle familiarity that opposite sexes usually acquire while sharing the same sheets. Were they lovers? Past or present? I couldn't tell.

  Bonnie glanced at my little black dress. "We need to get you something else to wear for court." I felt heat rush to my face and I lowered my eyes. Yesterday's clothes.

  She left the office and came back in less than a minute. She handed me a simple gray sweater. "This will tone you down a bit. It belongs to my secretary She is petite, like you. It should fit."

  I had to roll up the sleeves once I put the sweater on, but I welcomed the more appropriate look and was thankful for it. Larry watched the whole scene without interfering. Bonnie turned to him.

  "Larry, you should leave. It's better if we go without you. I'm taking Mrs. York with me. I'll call you when it's over."

  He walked over and kissed me. He kissed me on the lips, right there in front of Bonnie, and the gesture shocked me. I stood, feeling awkward. A mannequin in the wrong window.

  He must have mistaken my unease because he reassured me, "You'll be fine, Lella. Bonnie will take care of you and Kyle. Don't be scared, okay?"

  In that instant I told myself that perhaps Larry did care a little about me, and somehow the pain eating away at my heart became a bit more bearable.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Twenty-five minutes. That was how long I'd been sitting in the busy courtroom. I begged Bonnie to let me see Kyle, but she insisted it wasn't possible. She convinced me to sit and wait, for Kyle's own good.

  All types of people came and went: lawyers, their clients, anxious family members trying to lend support. Bonnie warned me I might have to wait. She told me where to sit, then disappeared somewhere to talk to Kyle. I was glad I wore that borrowed sweater. I felt too easily noticed in my fitted black dress. More time went by. Where was my son? The tension brought on by the wait had me feeling sick. I tried to control my nervous fidgeting. I needed to see Kyle. Assure myself he was all right, at least physically. All the things I read in the papers about Orange County prisons flashed through my mind. Prisoners getting stabbed, punched, killed. Please, God, Kyle is a good kid. I'm the sinner.

  To control my despair I shifted my attention to the surroundings. The female judge had a perfect bob and a French manicure on her nails. Before rendering a verdict, she tented her hands and rested her chin on them. I became so fascinated by the process I hadn't noticed that Bonnie had come back and sat next to me.

  "How are you holding up?"

  I shook my head, swallowing my tears. "Did you see Kyle?"

  "He's in show business." Bonnie sighed—she wasn't happy or even excited to have such a clean-cut client. No, her sigh and facial expression conveyed: Crap, why me? Another Hollywood idiot who got caught.

  "Is this bad? That he's in the movies?" What difference did it make? Kyle was an actor, booking a few commercials and even a semi-regular part on a soap opera. Would his on-screen persona alter the judge's feelings toward him? She probably didn't know anything about his background.

  "The whole California judiciary system is still under scrutiny for the questionable outcomes of the Simpson, Blake and Jackson trials."

  "Mio dio, Bonnie, my son is accused of stealing a car, not murder. I explained to you about the car swap." Bonnie gave me a look.

  "What exactly did Larry tell you Kyle was accused of?"

  I shrugged, trying not to look too defensive. "Larry didn't tell me anything. He just said this was all a misunderstanding."

  Bonnie rolled her eyes. "A misunderstanding? That's rich. Add kidnapping to the car theft and we are getting closer."

  I didn't understand her impatience. She had to know I wasn't used to appearing in court. Kidnapping? Nonsense.

  "Who are they saying Kyle kidnapped? That's insane." None of my remarks seemed to ruffle her. Maybe she was getting her clients mixed up.

  "Lella, now you need to pay attention. Kyle is up next. It's good that he sees a familiar face. He needs to know we are here for him. You won't be able to speak to him. Are you listening? This is extremely important. I don't want you to disrupt court proceedings; it would go against what we are trying to accomplish—"

  "What are we trying to accomplish?" I felt so lost.

  "To have Kyle released, of course. What do you think we're trying to do?" While talking, her eyes kept scanning the room, like a general inspecting the battlefield before combat.

  "Damn! The jig is up. Lella, don't turn around to look."

  "Look for what, for whom?" No food all day and with the adrenaline pumping at full speed, I felt loopy.

  "TMZ is in the building." Bonnie drummed her fingers on her briefcase then noted my blank look. "TMZ reports all kind of news regarding show business. They are fast and accurate. I bet they're the first press here. I recognize one of their minions. Don't look. I don't want them to know who you are. Paparazzi." She mumbled, shaking her head, and surveyed the people around us again.

  Bonnie said, "Okay, we're up next. Remember what I told you. Smile and that's it. Don't leave your seat." She took two steps toward one of the tables used by lawyers. At the same time, from a side door, men in uniform escorted Kyle in.

  My reaction was to run and hug him and tell him everything would be all right, but I remembered Bonnie's warning. I sat, my eyes transfixed on the orange-clad child of mine shuffling toward Bonnie's table. At first I thought he had a limp. Then I realized his stilted walk was due to the shackles locked to his ankles. The pieces of my broken heart weighed on my chest, and I lost the fight against my tears.

  Kyle noticed me right away. He nodded his head in a sign of recognition and attempted a smile, but he was too tense to do more than bare his teeth at me. I knew that, like me, he had no idea what this was all about. I was left swallowing my tears while staring at Bonnie and Kyle's backs. The lawyer for the prosecution was a tall man with very dark hair and an air of extreme confidence, though not necessarily genuine. He spoke in a loud voice, enunciating every word. Quite a contrast with Bonnie's soft voice and non-confrontational attitude.

  I heard the word come out of the man's mouth: "Kidnapping."

  No. It hit me so hard I could hardly make out what Bonnie replied. "No risk," she was saying.

  I noticed Kyle's shoulders slump. My son never slouches. My son is proud of who he is and what he does. I stood, ready to shout. The judge gave me a curious glance. Bonnie turned around to glare at me, and I dropped back into to my seat. By the time I was able to breathe halfway normally, the judge's hands were tented and I knew my son wouldn't be driving home with me. No bail.

  Bonnie whispered something to Kyle, patting him on the arm. He turned to look at me and made a small gesture with his hand, sort of a goodbye wave. The guards took an arm each and he started the shuffle back toward the same door he had come from.

  I sat motionless. A frozen, useless old woman who couldn't even help her only child. I didn't want to move, only wanted to close my eyes. I wanted to feel the touch of a friendly hand, a friendly voice telling me everything would be fine. Instead I heard Bonnie's voice, angry and nearly shouting; she was arguing with the tall lawyer with the dark hair and loud voice. I cursed Bonnie for letting this happen to my son and I cursed Larry for lying to me about Bonnie being "the best in the business." But I mostly cursed at myself for bringing Ruby into Kyle's life.

  "Let's go." Bonnie grabbed my arm and practically lifted me from the chair. "We're going out through a different exit. I don't want to fight the media."

  I had a hard time keeping up with her and couldn't ask any questions. We were practically running through a narrow, windowless corri
dor. And then we were in the parking garage. Inside her car, she told me to stay down. I could tell cameras flashed as we exited the building and hit the road.

  "You can sit up now." Her cell phone went off, startling me.

  "Yeah. No. She's in the car with me. Crap, Larry, you could have told me the kid's in show biz. Yeah, freaking paparazzi. It doesn't matter. By now they've figured out she's the mother. Look, this is a lot worse than… They don't have much, but enough to deny bail, for now. I need to gather some information. I'm going to need you to make some calls. It's a gimmick. They want him there while they collect evidence, build their case against him. I'm on my way back to the office. No, don't come there. Better if we keep you out of the picture." Finally she hung up.

  "I'm going home." Deep-seated anger replaced my sense of worthless.

  "Not a good idea." Bonnie's voice was soft and pleasant again.

  "I'm going home," I repeated, my eyes on the road. "I need to fix this."

  She patted my leg, and I asked myself if she picked up the habit from Larry. "I'm not going to try to talk you out of it, Lella. I understand how you feel, but there may be reporters waiting for you at your house. You're not used to this kind of situation, and it can get ugly."

  "No, you don't understand how I feel. Don't patronize me. What kind of law is this? My son didn't do a thing to Ruby. She's hiding. I don't know why, but I intend to find out. As for the media, I'll take my chances. I'll need a taxi."

  Bonnie parked in the back parking lot of her office. Everything was the same as it was this morning with Larry. Everything but me. She convinced me to keep the sweater, saying I could return it later. Bonnie was kind enough to arrange for her assistant to drive me home. It would be a long ride, and I was thankful. Then she handed me a cell phone. "Here. I want you to have this. It's disposable. Only Larry and I have the number, so make sure you answer when it rings. We have work to do. Let's get that kid of yours out of jail."

  "Bonnie." I looked straight into her eyes. "Aside from the nonsense of the kidnapping, exactly what is Kyle accused of doing to Ruby?"

  "He got picked up last night for driving a stolen car. Ruby's Ferrari. The charges as of now are car theft and, yes, kidnapping. Being accused of kidnapping Ruby Russell is the excuse to keep him in jail until they'll come up with something else. Think about it, what happens after a person gets kidnapped?" She didn't wait for an answer.

  I wept quietly in the car. It was awkward being driven home by a stranger and not being able to stop crying. I asked the young lady to let me off way before the gate. I figured if the media was waiting, they'd be looking for me to arrive by car. They would be either by the gate or outside the garage watching my door. I let myself in through a pedestrian side gate used mostly by landscapers and other service people, walked past the complex's pool and hopped over the low fence surrounding the neighbor's yard.

  I entered my place from the back door and no one saw me. My drapes were drawn from the night before. Flash heard me and rushed over to welcome me. I rubbed her back and went straight upstairs to my closet. I found my winter coat, the one I had packed instead of wearing for the trip back from Florence. My hands shook so badly I had trouble getting into the pockets. Dio mio, found it. My fingers felt the paper. I pulled it out and unfolded it on the bed. The cell phone chimed in the depth of my handbag. I ignored it.

  I ran my fingers over the chart, Ruby's chart, and I sobbed. There weren't enough tears in the universe to wash away my guilt. How could I spend the night with a man I hardly knew while this man's buddies dragged my son to prison? Dio mio!

  My sense of reality faded in and out, caught in a twist of memories. Why, Ruby? Why? Was this misguided revenge? Against Kyle, or was she using my son to get to me? What was it that I didn't see? Maybe this had nothing to do with her brain injury. Perhaps she didn't change, just stopped pretending.

  I thought about those months after Nick's death—the emptiness left in my heart.

  I'd packed up the house, sold it, sent Nick's things to storage. Then I'd gone back to Italy, unable to bear being here alone. When I'd finally come back, I had no place of my own.

  Then, too, Kyle had picked me up at LAX.

  Kyle and I both avoided the subject of Nick and Ruby, keeping the conversation superficial and chatty. "You can stay at my place, Mom. I'll be in San Francisco the next few weeks." Kyle's career had taken off, and he worked on location most of the time. This time the location happened to be San Francisco, a one-hour flight from Los Angeles.

  I'd done just that. After Kyle left for San Francisco, I spent the next week lying in bed, not even getting dressed. I mainly wore pajamas or sweatpants. I ate the food I found in his fridge. Didn't turn on the lights or the television. I felt inconsequential and sort of embraced the feeling. I supposed it was a natural reaction after being married for such a long time and doing everything as a couple.

  Kyle's telephone rang constantly, and I listened to the messages that the callers, mostly female, left. The information ranged from sweet and simple to outrageous to vulgar.

  Ruby called on the fourth day of my self-imposed solitude. I didn't pick up. Even when I heard Ruby say: "Kyle, this is Ruby. I heard Lella's back. How is she? Can I have her phone number? She must have changed the other one I had. Call me. Thanks."

  Listening to her voice after all that time had brought a sense of fury into my consciousness. From the police report and from Kyle, I'd learned Nick was driving Ruby's car with Ruby in the passenger seat. It was unclear where they were going. Or what they were doing together. I chose the cowardly way out and never asked. What you don't know can't hurt, I told myself back then. I still did that sometimes.

  I screamed at the answering machine, at the walls and at the unfairness of the whole wide world.

  She called again the next day and the next…

  I seemed to live only for her calls.

  On the eighth day Ruby called in the morning. She sounded increasingly annoyed, as if trying to guess whether Kyle was out of town or ignoring her messages.

  I sat in the dark, hugging a pillow and feeling sorry for myself and, as I often did, wishing Ruby had died instead of Nick.

  Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again. Ruby. She repeated word for word what she'd said in her very first message. Goose bumps bristled on my skin, and I felt the urge to open the window wide and let the sunshine in. I got dressed and went shopping. Anything to get away from Ruby's calls. I didn't buy a thing.

  That night she phoned very late. Her annoyance was replaced with fear. "Kyle, something's happened to Lella. You've got to come down here immediately. I stopped by her house to say hello, and a strange woman opened the door. She wouldn't let me in. I'm worried about your mother. Should I call the police? No. I tell you what. I'll get myself back there, sit in my neighbors' car and watch the house until you get here."

  Click.

  Cold sweat covered my forehead and the back of my neck. She was crazy. I'd sold my house months ago. I became so distraught I couldn't think…I had to talk to somebody.

  Anybody but Ruby. I put on the dress I wore on the flight home, grabbed my still unpacked luggage and left Kyle's apartment.

  I checked into the Holiday Inn then called my son in San Francisco.

  He didn't sound surprised.

  He said he understood my anger and my blaming Ruby for the accident. If Nick hadn't been driving her car, if he hadn't been traveling with her in the first place, the accident might have never happened. He figured it was time to tell me what was wrong with Ruby.

  She couldn't drive yet and was often confused. After she appeared to have an epileptic seizure, a neurologist solved the mystery. The impact to her skull had cut off certain pathways to her brain. She experienced temporary memory loss. It sometimes lasted hours—other times, days.

  Ruby could read but couldn't write because she couldn't organize her thoughts logically. She had to quit her job at the Register. She went into therapy, knowing it would be a long t
ime before she could have a normal life again. She was depressed about Nick's death and about my cutting her out of my life.

  Kyle told me she was still living in the same place in Laguna Beach. Alone. All her friends had drifted away from her. She spoke to Kyle occasionally. Sometimes she forgot about the accident and asked about Nick and me. When she remembered, she cried.

  I didn't sleep at all that night. I felt guilty about the way I had ignored Ruby. Was my guilt valid? I didn't know. I had to find out. The next morning, I rented a car and drove to Laguna Beach, to Ruby's home.

  The spring rain fell constant and cold. To a visitor in a beach town, rain is a plus, as far as parking goes.

  From the street where I parked, I could only see the old wooden fence and part of the roof.

  Ruby's place used to be the garage of the white mansion down the hill. Even after the transformation to beach cottage it didn't have much square footage, but the view made you forget about "limited living space."

  Ruby had always been a passionate gardener. She loved roses. The bushes looked like they hadn't been pruned in months, and the petals from the wilted flowers covered the brick path leading to the main entrance. I reached for the bell then remembered it had never worked. When I touched the door, it swung open. Music came from the back room, the one with the grand view.

  My plastic raincoat made crinkly noises when I walked into the dark hallway. There was a musty smell, the smell of old beach houses on rainy days.

  A melancholic solo from Miles Davis' trumpet welcomed me into the room.

  She stood by the window, her back to the door.

  I took a big breath. "Ruby."

  Because of her neck brace, Ruby had to turn her entire body around in order to see me. She looked thinner than I remembered. Her hair was dull, with a few strands of gray visible near her scalp. Yet her eyes seemed as voracious as ever, her hunger insatiate. She opened her mouth but didn't say anything. She came over and gripped me in a hug so tight I could hardly breathe. She began to weep, saying my name over and over. "Lella, it's you. It's really you…"