“Did it?”
“No.” The clipped word hinted to her disappointment.
“So you just lost track of your roommate?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “I had a lot of hopes pinned on this trip and was distracted. I wasn’t going to deal with Sierra until I got back.”
“Can we see her room?” Malcolm asked.
“Be my guest.”
She crossed the living room and opened the door to a guest room. The contrast between the living room and Sierra’s room was stark. Clothes covered Sierra’s floor either in discarded piles or in stacks piled in green plastic garbage bags. There was a pizza box on the middle of an unmade bed. Cups lined the floor by a dresser piled high with all kinds of makeup. Layers of jewelry hung from the mirror.
“As you can see, it’s hard to tell when she comes or goes. The room’s been like this since the first night she arrived.” Zoe shook her head. “She was an irritating woman, but I am sorry.”
“What else can you tell me about her?” Malcolm asked. He moved to the dresser and picked up a lipstick. He opened it and studied the bright, bright red.
“Nothing anyone else wouldn’t tell you. Ambitious. Driven. She’d have done anything to be a success.”
“Anything?”
“Just about.”
Malcolm stared at the makeup, wondering how she even picked out what she needed on any given day. Mixed among the makeup were a box of diet pills, a sleeve of condoms, and a wad of black panty hose. He glanced at a pair of high heels, black with red soles, on the floor. He picked them up and studied them. Expensive.
As he turned back toward Zoe, his gaze caught sight of a business card tucked in the bottom corner of the mirror. Dr. James Dixon.
“I guess you all know Dixon’s past,” Zoe said, catching his line of sight. “I told Sierra to stay clear of him. I read about what he did to that prostitute.”
“Do you know how the two met?”
“Through me, as a matter of fact. I invited her to a ballet fundraiser over the summer. He was there. And they hit it off.” She shook her head. “The guy always gave me the creeps, and I told her so a few times, but she didn’t seem to care.”
“Did he ever give Sierra reason to worry?” Malcolm asked.
“No. In fact, she said he was the gentlest of souls. That he made her feel completely comfortable.”
Lulu Sweet had testified that he’d been gracious and polite, and it was only when they were alone in the motel room that his mood turned violent.
On the bed among the rumpled bed covers was a script, The Taming of the Shrew. The spine had been creased, pages dog-eared, lines highlighted and annotated. “Looks like she was studying hard.”
“Sierra was totally dedicated to whatever play she was in. She never missed a mark and always showed up knowing her lines. That’s one of the reasons she got so much work in the area. Pretty helps, but it’s only a foot in the door. If you don’t deliver in this area, word gets around fast, and you don’t work.”
“You ever help her with her lines?” The script smelled faintly of perfume.
“Sure, a few times. And it was kind of amazing to see her transform from a woman I didn’t really like into a character that totally captivated me. She was a gifted actress.”
Garrison walked to the lone window in the room and stared out. “Where does the alley below lead?”
“To a small parking lot. Tenants of the building have access to it.”
“Marty Gold said Sierra received notes.”
“She mentioned that. She thought they were from her ex.”
“Which ex?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Do you know where the notes are?”
“Likely buried in here somewhere.”
He pulled a card from his jacket pocket and handed it to Zoe. “Will you call me if you hear of anything?”
She glanced at the card. “Sure. Should I clean out her room, or do you want me to wait?”
“I’d like to send my forensics guy here and have him go over the room.”
Zoe stared at the mess as if it made her skin crawl. Zoe Morgan was a woman who liked control. The disarray in this room, as well as her leg injury, had to be eating at her.
“Did it bother you to see her succeeding?”
Zoe’s lips flattened. “She broke all the rules. I followed all the rules. In the end her star rose and mine didn’t.”
“Until she was murdered.”
She shook her head. “I’ll never dance again. Period. Sierra’s death does not change that.”
“Might make it a little more palatable.”
Annoyance snapped in her eyes. “So is this what you cops do?You drop ridiculous statements like that hoping you catch a big fish?”
Malcolm leaned forward a fraction so that he breached some of her personal space. “Never know when I’ll catch a whopper.”
Chapter 8
Wednesday, October 5, 6:30 P.M.
Iris appeared in Angie’s doorway. She wore her overcoat and held her neat square pillbox purse. “We have a last-minute visitor.”
A dull headache pounded behind Angie’s left eye. “Who?”
The fine lines around Iris’s mouth deepened. “Dr. James Dixon.”
Angie set her pen down carefully on a brief she was proofing. “Say that again?”
“He’s out front, and he wants to see you.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. The last time he’d visited her it had been after his trial, and he’d suggested they go on a date. “I don’t have time for him. I’ll be here until midnight as it is.”
“He’s not going to leave without seeing you.” She tugged at the sleeve of her jacket. “My first inclination was to call the cops and have him dragged out of here. But sometimes I overreact so I thought I’d check first.”
Iris had never liked Dixon or even tried to hide her feelings toward the man.
As much as Angie didn’t care for Dixon she tried to see the situation with greater perspective. “The last thing I need is for it to get around that Angie Carlson, The Barracuda, had to call the cops to contain James Dixon.” News of a police intervention would spread throughout the department like wildfire. She’d be a laughing stock.
“You wouldn’t be calling. I would be.”
She rose. “Better not.”
Displeasure darkened her gaze. “You’ll see him then?”
“Give me a minute and then send him back.”
Iris shook her head. “I’ll stay until he leaves.”
“That won’t be necessary. If anything, Dixon is dedicated to good manners and public perception. He doesn’t want trouble any more than I do. Besides, Charlotte is here, and you have your ballet class tonight.”
Iris pulled her cell from her coat pocket. “I’ll keep my cell phone turned up.”
Angie smiled. “Won’t be necessary, but thanks.”
She smoothed her hand over her hair to flatten any strands that might have escaped her twist. She shrugged on her jacket and fastened the middle button just as Dixon appeared.
He looked so mild mannered—a proper, staid man who appeared more suited for books and libraries than plastic surgery. He nodded to older people when he passed them in the street; he opened doors for women; and he always rose when a lady stood. And according to the drug-addicted Lulu Sweet, he had nearly choked her to death as he’d rammed his body inside her and called her a whore.
“Dr. Dixon.” She remained behind her desk, not feeling the need to venture around and offer a handshake.
He grinned and seemed genuinely glad to see her. “Ms. Carlson. It’s been far too long. How long has it been?”
“Over a year.”
“Far too long.” He approached the desk and extended his hand to her.
She took his hand, allowing his smooth, long fingers to wrap around her hand and squeeze gently. In a flash, she pictured those hands wrapped around Lulu’s neck.
She tugged her hand
away. “What can I do for you, Dr. Dixon?”
Dark eyes flickered to her hands and then back to her face. “I’d like to retain your services. The police came by my office this afternoon to ask me about the death of one of my patients. Sierra Day. She was an actress, and apparently they found her body this morning.”
“As I said when we saw each other last, I will not represent you again. Our business is concluded.”
“I was hoping you might have changed your mind.” He adjusted his tie. Hearing no had never suited him.
“I have not.”
He pressed the tips of his fingers onto her desk, like a spider searching for an anchor from which to spin his web. “I never understood why you dropped me. I was proven innocent. I paid on time. I was a good client.”
And you gave me nightmares for months. “All you need to know is that I won’t represent you again.”