The Ransom Read online

  §

  Brad and Ashley’s house was in the Sunset Hills neighborhood a couple of miles north of Sunset Boulevard, which realtors called “Beverly Hills adjacent.” The house, modern in design, was square and boxy. It was of pale-gray stucco with a single dark beam running across the front, marking the division between the first floor and second. The windows appeared dark in the glare of the midday sun.

  Nicole got out of her car and approached the house. The front door was the façade’s only distinctive touch. Made of cherry wood and perhaps ten feet tall, it featured a polished brass doorknob set in a curved bar of brushed copper. The hills above Sunset Boulevard may not have been Beverly Hills, but the area was pretty swanky. A house of this size was probably worth eight to ten million dollars.

  That morning Nicole had called Antonia Gomez, Brad and Ashley’s housekeeper. Antonia had agreed to meet with Nicole at 1:00 p.m. at the house where the couple had been living.

  “Mr. Rexton’s father asked me to stay on until the house is sold,” Antonia had explained on the phone. She sounded young and had the hint of an accent. “Someone has to walk the dog, and he said it was better if the house was occupied. You know, to discourage burglars. It’s good for me, since I was living here before—” She paused a beat before adding, “what happened.”

  The idea of staying alone in a house where a man was murdered and a woman kidnapped gave Nicole pause. She kept the thought to herself and agreed to drop by.

  The doorbell triggered a loud onslaught of barking. A young woman opened the door, holding the collar of a large, white poodle. Antonia was tall, slender, and appeared to be in her mid-twenties. She wore her shiny, dark hair in a ponytail and had a welcoming smile. “Don’t worry about the dog. She’s very friendly. Sit, Champ.” The dog obediently sat, still wiggling and wagging her tail. “Come in, come in,” Antonia said. “Let Champ smell your hand and give her a pat; then she’ll calm down.”

  Nicole did as she was told. Antonia released the dog, which came over to sniff the hem of Nicole’s skirt. At Antonia’s command, the dog sat again.

  “Champ’s very well trained,” Nicole said.

  “She should be. She’s only a year old, but they had the trainer every week from the start so she wouldn’t jump on Ashley and mess up her clothes. The dog’s real name is Champagne, by the way. Silly, huh?”

  Antonia led Nicole and Champ inside through a sky-lit entry hall. The living room, dining area, and kitchen were combined into a single room with a high ceiling. A wall of windows in back looked out over a swimming pool and, beyond that, the city. The walls and furnishings were in pale neutrals: whites, beiges and grays, accented by dark-brown furniture. A marble-topped table that could seat twenty occupied the dining area.

  Nicole noted the abstract paintings Robert Rexton had mentioned. As she walked farther into the room, she caught sight of a huge bloodstain on the white carpet near the fireplace. This had to be where Brad had died.

  Following Nicole’s gaze, Antonia said, “No way that stain’s coming out. Mr. Rexton is having a new carpet installed before they put the house on the market. Have a seat.” She gestured toward an off-white sofa, one of three clustered in front of the big view window. “Would you like some coffee? Water?”

  “No, thanks. I’d like to get started. First off, were you here when the break-in occurred?”

  Antonia shook her head. “It happened on my day off, so I was at my mom’s. The arrangement was for me to live here five days a week while I was working. That gave me Sunday and Monday off.”

  “And you found the body.”

  Antonia nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “It was a terrible shock. All that blood. And poor Brad. He was such a good guy.”

  “Where was the dog?”

  “They locked her in the laundry room at night. They didn’t quite trust her with the rugs. I’m sure she was barking her head off, but the neighbors are a ways off, and nobody heard anything. The break-in happened Saturday night, so the poor dog was locked up almost two full days. She left quite a mess in there.”

  “How long have you worked here?” Nicole said

  “Almost a year,” Antonia said. “Brad and Ashley were the best employers I ever had. I feel awful about what happened. Ashley was in charge of the house, and she was great. The last place I worked, the woman hovered over me, telling me what to do and how to do it. But I shouldn’t badmouth her—Mrs. Reina. She was kidnapped, too, about a month before Ashley, and nobody knows what happened to her. Such a crazy coincidence! They were friends, and the same thing happened—” Antonia looked away and was quiet for a long moment before going on. “I mean Mrs. Reina and Ashley used to be friends. That was before Ashley hired me away from her. Then Ashley and Mrs. Reina had an awful fight, and they haven’t spoken since.”

  “Did you tell the police that Ashley and Victoria Reina had been friends and that you used to work for Victoria?” Nicole said.

  Antonia took a moment to consider this, then shook her head. “They asked so many questions it made me dizzy. But nobody asked about Mrs. Reina, and I didn’t think of it. When Ashley offered me this job, I didn’t hesitate. Mrs. Reina was a difficult person, and Ashley was so nice. She didn’t care how I worked, or even how long, as long as the house was clean and the food was good. She was very appreciative.” Antonia held out her arm to display a dainty gold watch. “She gave me this.”

  “Where’s your room? Is it near theirs?”

  “No. It’s in back, on the other side of the house. I have a separate entrance.”

  “How were things between the Rextons? Were they close? Did they argue much?”

  “At first, they were so lovey-dovey it could be embarrassing if I accidentally walked in on them. I’m talking about in this part of the house. I never went into their bedroom except when I was sure it was empty. But as time went on, things cooled off. Ashley was out a lot, shopping, lunching with her friends, and stuff. In the last couple of months, they weren’t communicating much. I thought something might be wrong. But I never heard them argue. Not once.”

  “How much time did Brad spend at the house?”

  “He was here most every day.”

  “He didn’t go in to work?”

  “Not much. Maybe once every few weeks. But his friends would drop by, and they’d swim and drink beer. Most days he’d lie by the pool or sit in that big chair and read.” She gestured to a large mahogany-colored leather chair with an ottoman. “He’d usually fall asleep after a couple of pages. Since I’ve been working here, he never did finish the book he was reading at the start. It was about Muhammad Ali.”

  “Did they have many visitors?”

  “They had a few dinner parties when I started. After that, they seemed to lose interest in entertaining.”

  “What about Ashley? Did she have people over?”

  “Her decorator, Magda Stillman, was a regular. Ashley wanted to redo the kitchen, and they were working on that. They’d sit at the table and look through home decorating magazines.”

  “Did her relatives visit?”

  “No. I think her parents were dead. She never talked about family.”

  “Any other visitors?”

  “Oh, yeah, how could I forget? Her trainer, Chip, came every morning, Monday through Friday, at ten o’clock on the dot. Sometimes her women friends came in the afternoon and sat by the pool. I’d bring them drinks, usually white wine. Once in a while, Ashley would ask me to make a pitcher of margaritas or sangria. They liked that.”

  “What did they talk about?”

  Antonia shrugged. “Boring stuff—clothes, diets, makeup, exercise, and household help—they were always hiring each other’s gardeners, handymen, and pool cleaners. More than anything, they complained about their husbands. Once in a while one would lower her voice and talk about a man she was seeing on the side. I’m good at eavesdropping. But with these women, it wasn’t worth the effort.”

  “Did Ashley complain about Brad or talk about other
men?”

  “Not when I was around. The women did tease her about how hot her personal trainer was. She just laughed and told them how great he was. Some of them did hire him.”

  “About the trainer—where did he and Ashley work out?”

  “They used the pool house.”

  “Can you show me?”

  Antonia got up, fetched keys from a drawer in the kitchen, and led the way. She unlatched the sliding glass doors. They stepped into the afternoon heat and walked to the edge of the redwood deck where a flight of stairs led down to the pool. They turned left and headed for the pool house. It was actually a wing of the main house with a separate entrance. Antonia unlocked the door and Nicole followed her into a sizeable room. Weights were lined up along one wall, along with a stair-stepper machine and an elliptical trainer. A small kitchen was equipped with a microwave, cappuccino maker, and mini-refrigerator. A bathroom and shower were visible through an open door at the back. Against another wall was a neatly made bed.

  The bed caught Nicole’s eye, and she noticed Antonia looking at it, too. “I’m going to put this as tactfully as I can,” Nicole said. “Did you have to make up this bed very often?”

  Antonia hesitated, as if reluctant to answer. Finally, she said, “Often enough.”

  “I understand you want to protect Ashley’s reputation, but would you mind telling me how often?”

  Antonia met Nicole’s eyes. “Once or twice a week.”

  “How long did these training sessions last?”

  “Two hours, sometimes more. Ashley really did work at keeping fit.”

  “Did Brad mind when she was in here with Chip?”

  “Not that I could see. I don’t think he was the jealous type. Actually, he seemed to like Chip. Called him ‘buddy’ and would offer him a beer as he was leaving. Chip would always refuse, explaining that he didn’t drink.”

  “What’s Chip like?” Nicole said.

  “I didn’t like him,” Antonia said. “He couldn’t walk past me without patting my butt or groping me. I tried to keep my distance. And there was something shifty about him. He was always talking about how he and a couple of friends were planning an exclusive gym and spa. They were looking for investors. I think he was angling to get money from Brad or maybe Ashley. I told the police about him. I said, ‘If I were you, I’d take a good look at Ashley’s trainer.’”

  Nicole got up and handed Antonia her card. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”

  On the way back to work, Nicole considered what Antonia had told her about the women sharing—sometimes stealing—each other’s household help, yard maintenance workers, and Chip, the personal trainer. Any of these people might be considered suspects. Even Antonia, nice as she seemed, could have enlisted others to help out with a get-rich-quick scheme like kidnapping wealthy women. Nicole wondered if the police were aware of this. She herself couldn’t tell them; as a private investigator, her research and interviews were confidential, available only to the person who hired the firm to investigate, in this case Robert Rexton.

  §

  As soon as Nicole got back to her office, she thumbed through Ashley’s phone book until she found Chip. He was under “L” for Chip Levin. She put in a call, but only got his voicemail, and left a message.

  She went back to the beginning of the book and flipped through, noticing quite a few entries with area codes in other parts of the country. No one was listed under A except for Antonia. The first name under B was a Dirk Baker, whom she reached on her first try. She explained who she was and that Ashley’s father-in-law had hired her to find Ashley’s next-of-kin.

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that.” His voice was hushed and sounded as if he was trying to avoid being overheard. “I read about what happened in the paper. It has nothing to do with me. I hadn’t seen her in months, and it was just a couple of times.”

  “Look, I’m not with the police,” Nicole said. “Mr. Rexton’s father just wants to find out if she had family somewhere. How did you know her?”

  There was a click, and he was gone. From that brief conversation, Nicole was pretty sure she knew what kind of relationship Dirk Baker had with Ashley. That, and the apparent trysts with the trainer, made it look as if Ashley got around. She made more calls from the list, getting a third of the way through the book without reaching a single person. A number of calls had gone to voicemail while others rang until she hung up. A good half-dozen were no longer in service.

  She was between calls when her phone rang. It was Chip.

  After she explained what she wanted, he said. “Yeah. I heard, and I’m completely bummed. They were great to work for—the best. Ashley herself was a kind and generous woman, and she had a great bod. I’m a training professional, and she deserved a lot of credit because she really worked at it, dude, and it showed.”

  Being called “dude” as well the remark about Ashley’s “bod” made Nicole pause before going on. “I understand you spent a lot of time with Ashley. Would you be willing to meet and answer some questions about her?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Anything to help. I’m pretty busy during the day, but how about we meet after work? I’m free tonight. Maybe we could have dinner, you know, on your employer’s dime.”

  “I have plans for the evening,” she said. “But we could meet for a drink. My office is in mid-Wilshire near the County Museum. Where are you?”

  “I’m in Sunset Hills right now. Just name a place. I can be there by, say, six o’clock.”

  “How about the Blue Cellar on La Brea. It’s about a half mile east of the museum. You need the address?”

  “I know the place. See you at six-o’clock. Psyched about meeting you.”

  Remembering what Antonia had told her about Chip, Nicole didn’t share his enthusiasm, but she knew how to handle men like him.

  She got to the Blue Cellar a few minutes early to make sure she wouldn’t have to share a booth with Chip. Instead, she commandeered seats at the bar and sat down to wait.

  She knew who he was the moment he walked in. Tall, blond, and deeply tanned, he was dressed in a tight white t-shirt that showed off his impressive muscles. He was wearing tan chinos and boat shoes with no socks.

  “I’ve just ordered white wine,” she said. “What would you like?”

  “Just water, thanks. But make it bottled, okay? None of that swill from the tap.”

  “What can you tell me about Ashley’s past?” Nicole said. “Did she ever talk about where she came from, who her parents were, if she had any siblings?”

  “We didn’t get personal like that. It was just about what exercises she should be doing and how many reps. I did coach her on nutrition, like avoiding alcohol, but I got the feeling she wasn’t interested.”

  “Did she ever talk about her friends, people she knew?”

  “Uh-uh. See, I was just her physical trainer. I worked for her—you know, like the gardener. She wouldn’t talk to me about stuff like that.”

  “What about her husband? Did she ever talk about him?”

  “Not much. That Brad—hell of a nice guy. I still can’t believe what happened. Do you know if they’ve found Ashley?”

  “I don’t think so.” Nicole asked a few more questions but got the same “I-wouldn’t-know-about-that” response from Chip. She studied his face. He had to be lying. He saw Ashley just about every day, spent several hours with her, and the two of them were probably having sex. He had to know more.

  He rested his elbow on the bar and shifted toward her. “Let’s talk about Nicole Graves,” he said. “I’ve been reading about you and that money you inherited. If you’re looking for a good investment tip—”

  “Look,” she said, cutting him off. “I’m here to find out if Ashley had any family. Isn’t there anything you can tell me?”

  He shrugged. “Why don’t we get out of here? Maybe I’ll remember something later.”

  She put down her glass and picked up the check, which the bartender had le
ft on the counter. “Unless there’s something you can tell me about Ashley, we’re done.”

  But he was no longer listening. The bar was starting to fill up. Several attractive, well dressed women had just settled into a nearby booth, and he was watching them. They were in their late thirties or early forties, at least fifteen years Chip’s senior.

  He glanced at her and gave another shrug. “Whatever. I thought maybe you called because you wanted to hook up.”

  Nicole didn’t bother to hide her irritation. “I found your number in Ashley’s phone book.” She stopped talking when Chip got up and walked past her toward the women in the booth.

  Nicole paid the bartender and left.

  On the way home, she remembered the fortune sitting in her checking account. She didn’t understand why the money upset her so much, but it did. A feeling of dread settled in her stomach whenever she thought about it. But want it or not, the money was hers. Eventually, she’d have to deal with it.

  She dragged herself through the evening, feeling exhausted but too stressed out to imagine she’d sleep if she went to bed early. She tried to read, but her mind kept shifting back to the previous year and the way she’d come into Blair’s unwanted bequest. At other moments, she wondered how XHN had learned of her recent windfall—down to the exact amount—before she found out about it.

  At last she went to bed and tossed fitfully, sleeping on and off until her eyes popped open and she was wide awake. The clock said 3:10 a.m., and she was sure she’d heard a noise. She hopped out of bed and went into the living room. Sure enough, someone was in the hall just outside her door, doing something to the door that made a rattling sound. She could also heard the low sound of voices. That meant there was more than one person out there, and they were trying to break in.

  Nicole reached into her purse on the entry hall table and pulled out her gun. The ad for her condo had billed it as in a “security building,” but she’d noticed there were two hefty deadbolts on the front door, as well as a sturdy chain lock, which suggested that whoever lived here before hadn’t considered the building that secure.