The Good House Page 36

  She didn’t have Onyx to spend her money on either. She was taking this ride by herself now.

  And just when things were going so right! She’d finally done it. Everyone said so. She was about to erupt like a newborn sun. The future she’d been striving for since she was Dorothy inThe Wizard of Oz under Cornelia Dozier at the Eighth Street Children’s Theater was happening while she witnessed it, prophecy in the making. This was supposed to be the happiest time of her life.

  So why was it so awful? More awful all the time?

  She’d accepted how Mama June and Daddy hadn’t lived to see it. Their absence lanced each triumph, but she could live with that. And she’d accepted the way her old friends and new men shunned her, as if they couldn’t quite find her in all the light shining on her. Angela’s friend Myles Fisher was the first new man she’d met in a year who’d treated her like she could be his friend, his sister, or his partner. He hadn’t been afraid of her, mad at her, or awed by her. Hallelujah.

  That was rare. More than rare. But with Onyx, her growing isolation had been all right.

  Now, the all rightness was gone. Onyx had been her daily witness and companion, her baby, her comfort. Onyx had loved her with a fervor, thinking she was his mama since Mama June gave him to her as a puppy on her college graduation day. Onyx had been there from the start, forcing her to think about someone besides herself. Now, with each new blessing, she seemed to lose one more thing to make room.

  We ain’t meant to know the ways of God,Mama June had always tried to comfort her when no other words fit. The Lord giveth, but with a catch. She accepted that, too, but it hurt.

  The doorbell outside her suite rang gently. Naomi didn’t move, her eyes still hidden behind the towel. Fuck. Maybe she should go to the spa today so no one could find her.

  “Naomi?” a voice said, all exuberance. It sounded like Vince.

  With a sigh, bringing herself to her feet, Naomi walked to the door and had almost touched the knob when she stopped before her fingers reached it. She had to be careful about opening her door now. Bennett reminded her there were crazies everywhere. She’d just read a story in one of the tabloids about an actress whose crazy fan regularly masturbated in her rosebushes.

  “Who is it?” Naomi said, to be sure. Through the peephole, she saw a man’s earlobe. He was looking away from the door.

  “It’s Vinny, sweetheart. Sorry to bug you, but I have a surprise.”

  That voice was Vince’s, all right, with his Brooklyn accent and cigarette-toughened larynx. Naomi had always thought it was silly for a man as big as Vincent D’Angelo to use a child’s nickname. She opened the door, although the tightness she’d felt in her temples was spreading to her neck. It was just a feeling, but it was more than that. It was intuition. The bad kind.

  Vince grinned, an ocean of teeth. “How’s the most beautiful woman in Vancouver?”

  Naomi glanced down at her robe and shorts. She’d forgotten she was barely dressed. “When I see her, I’ll ask. What is it, Vince? I’m not feeling well.”

  Vince’s face went deadpan. “I know, and I’m sorry about the whole thing, beginning to end. Your agent called me before, I know you had a problem, and I disappointed you. After this thing with Jake, you’re probably ready to tear me a new one. Am I right?”

  Naomi didn’t say anything, because she didn’t have the energy for polite lies today. Onyx might still be alive if Vince had given her the time to search for him. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference, but she would never know. This gig felt more trifling all the time, a string of bad luck.

  While Naomi glared at him, Vince’s grin glowed back on. “I’m so psyched to be able to do this, Naomi. Please remember this a year from now, when I’m begging you to work with me again and you’re not only still mad at me, you’reway out of my budget. Deal?”

  “What, Vince? I’m really not…”

  “Your brother’s here,” Vince said, beaming. “He brought you something you’ll want.”

  “Bennett’s here?” Naomi said. Without realizing it, she’d grabbed Vince’s arms, ready to kiss his stubbled cheek if he said yes. Bennett hadn’t told her he was coming to Vancouver! Bennett never had time to come visit her shoots anymore, and she had almost stopped missing him.

  A shadow moved beside Vince, someone outside of her vision around the corner. Then, a tall black man came into view. Vince was six-one, and this guy was taller, rising over both of them. He was not Bennett. Nothing about him was remotely like Bennett.

  “That’s not my brother,” she told Vince, and her director’s carefully tanned face went pale.

  “You’re kidding,” Vince said. “I thought—”

  That was when Onyx barked.

  It didn’t matter that Angela had told her only a few hours ago that Onyx was dead. Or that she couldn’t see the shadowed animal inside the blue carrier the tall man was carrying at his side, topped with a red bow. Naomi had raised her dog from a puppy, and she knew his call.

  “Onyx!”Naomi shrieked, and the man laughed. He knelt to the carpet and unhinged the carrier’s door. Onyx came bounding out, leaping toward her, his tail going berserk as he barked.

  “Naomi…you’re saying this isn’t your brother?” Vince said, troubled.

  “No, it’s okay. It’s Onyx!” Naomi said, whooping in waves of laughter and tears as her dog lathered her face. “Oh my God,this is really my dog! He brought me my dog.”

  Naomi’s mind felt foggy, but she recalled that she knew this man: He was Tariq Hill, Angela’s ex-husband. She’d seen him last at Corey’s funeral, and once ages ago at a party at their house in the Hills. She wondered how she hadn’t recognized him before. He was wearing a black nylon shirt and black slacks, the same way he’d been dressed at his son’s funeral.

  “So all is forgiven?” Vince said. “Everything’s okay here?”

  “I love you, Vince,” Naomi said, and he smiled, relief filling his eyes. Vince gave Tariq a hearty handshake, thanking him. Then, Vince walked away, jaunty and at ease, not once considering the possibility that he might be the last human being to see Naomi Price alive.

  Onyx’s eyes were bright, and he looked well fed, even pudgy. His coat smelled bathed. Someone might have even clipped his nails, Naomi noticed. Onyx looked good, and he was beside himself with energy, scrambling over her as she sat on her hotel room floor. He’d missed her, too.

  Every time she touched Onyx, Naomi felt as if she were slipping into a world of wishes.

  “I’m sorry about that mix-up with your brother,” Tariq apologized, sitting on the couch. “I lied to the concierge because he was hassling me about the dog, and I figured that was the only way he’d call up to your room. That Vinny guy overheard me and went nuts. He wanted to escort me so he could see the look on your face, and I didn’t want to ruin his fun.”

  “A-Angela told me this morning—”

  “Yeah, that’s on us, Naomi. We’d already decided to surprise you, and she knew I’d be here in a couple hours. We hoped you’d forgive us once you got Onyx back.”

  It was the most awful prank Naomi could think of. The idea of it staggered her.

  “I’m going to kill that woman. She just doesn’tknow,” Naomi said, although she couldn’t hold on to her anger with Onyx in her arms. She pressed her cheek against his downy fur, delighting in his fresh smell. After two full minutes of hugging and stroking her dog, Naomi began to gather herself again, and her mind overflowed with questions. She offered Tariq a Heineken from her minibar, so excited and confused that her hands were shaking.

  “Who had him?” she said. In her joy, she’d forgotten to ask.

  “A kid in Sacajawea found him and hid the collar and tag from his parents, until his father saw a poster in town. I happened to be there when they called Angie, and it’s a quick drive.”

  It sounded absurdly simple, and it was the biggest bunch of horseshit Naomi had ever heard. Why would Angela invite her ex-husband to take part in a playful prank? What could hav
e happened in three days that would put them on such good terms?

  Tariq offered nothing else, sitting on the couch with his long legs crossed before him, sipping his beer. Gazing at him, Naomi suddenly didn’t want to be in the same room with him.There is nothing worse on this earth than a liar, Angela had said when they’d driven into Sacajawea and seen Tariq’s van, sounding like someone who’d taken the scenic tour of Hell.

  Naomi held Onyx tightly to keep him from squirming away as she rose to her feet from the floor. She could feel the restless thump of his heart beside her breast, meeting hers. “I’m going to the other room to change,” Naomi said, hoping Tariq would excuse himself.

  “Take your time. I’ll wait here, see what’s on TV.”

  Damn him, she thought, but it was her own fault. How could she ask him to leave when she’d just offered him a beer? She was being too nice again. She could hear Bennett in her ear.

  The suite’s living room was separated from the bedroom by French doors with semi-sheer white curtains, so Naomi closed the doors behind her, turning the lock. Her mind was in a spin.

  This had not been solely astrange day. She’d had many strange days lately.

  Take the time Prince sent her a note in the ladies’ room telling her he was a big fan, asking for a quick autograph on a paper towel because he was running late to someplace fabulous. And the day a man gaping at her on Sunset ran a red light and plowed into a Dumpster across the street; and when she ran to his window to see if he was all right, he’d only asked to take her picture, ignoring the blood streaming from a gash in his forehead. And being invited to the White House Correspondents’ Dinnerand the Oscars on the arm ofthe Robert Mitchell, their meetings arranged by his publicist purely for show, the year he was up for Best Actor, so observers wouldn’t know he was gay. Strange days all.

  Today had been more than strange. None of its pieces had met at the seams.

  Naomi sat at the side of her bed and picked up her hotel phone, still clinging to Onyx. She dialed Angela’s cell phone number, hoping the signal would work. Her fingers were unsteady, and she dialed wrong the first time because her eyes were on the French doors, watching for movement. She heard the living room’s television set go on loudly, then Tariq flipped through the channels.

  Silence on the line. Naomi waited, praying Angela would pick up. Only a busy signal came.“Fuck,” she said, her headache rioting. Maybe she’d dialed wrong again.

  Onyx suddenly yelped and gnashed his teeth, as if to bite her arm. Gasping, Naomi jerked her arm away, loosening her grip around him, and immediately Onyx went back to normal, wagging his tail, licking her face. Adrenaline drenched Naomi, brought by an awful trickle of a thought.

  “What’s wrong with you, baby?” Naomi said. She ran her fingers across Onyx’s coat while she dialed, and he winced away from her touch when she reached his rib cage. He was tender there, she realized. “Onyx, are you hurt? Did somebody hurt you?”

  The busy signal came again, louder and more stubborn than before. This time, Naomi hung up and dialed 502 for Suzanne’s room, on the other side of the hall, and the busy signal came without a pause. Her assistant’s cell phone number was scribbled on the pad next to her bed, so she tried that next. Naomi’s heart fluttered as she dialed. “Please pick up, Suzanne…,” she whispered.

  The phone, once again, was busy. No combination of numbers worked. This was wrong, too.

  “Local TV’s not much to speak of, is it?” Tariq called from the other room. He landed on a French-speaking channel before flipping again.

  Naomi didn’t answer him, forcing herself to sit completely still, fighting the well of panic that had risen from nowhere. The only thing to do now was to ask him to leave.

  “…has shocked friends, family, and supporters in the idyllic river town of Sacajawea, named for the Native American guide who accompanied Lewis and Clark on their historic expedition….” The television’s volume in the living room resounded suddenly, startling her. The brassy voice of a female newscaster vibrated the walls.

  Naomi stood up, still holding Onyx. The newscaster’s voice cut through all her thoughts.

  “…in a town where residents would rather be talking about the latest spaghetti feed or how the steelhead are biting, today only one question is on everyone’s minds: Why would their popular mayor, forty-one-year-old Art Brunell, take out a life insurance policy on his eight-year-old son and then allegedly drown him…right here?”

  Naomi mistrusted her hearing. She had just met a man named Art Brunell at Angie’s, the mayor of the town. Had the woman on the news saidSacajawea?

  Naomi snatched up her bedroom remote. She opened the television cabinet facing her bed and found her TV. She flipped anxiously, and three tries took her to the matching voice on CNN, where she saw an inlet before the image changed to a female broadcaster standing in front of the courthouse she and Angela had jogged past with Onyx a few days ago. Next, Naomi saw an eerily recent photograph of the man who had come to tell her how sorry he was about her missing dog, telling her Angela’s grand-mother’s house was so beloved that everyone called it the Good House. A dry wind seemed to gust through Naomi’s mouth and throat.

  They were saying this man killed hisson?

  There’s trouble and then there’strouble, Bennett liked to say, reminding her not to make too much of some things. Keep life in perspective. Don’t sweat the small stuff, and all that jazz. Cool as a cucumber, baby. That was Bennett. There’s trouble and there’strouble .

  Staring at her television set, Naomi knew she was in the second kind of trouble. A day this strange was strange for a reason. A day this strange was toying with her. This was the big kind of trouble, even by Bennett’s definition.

  “Phone trouble?” Tariq’s bottomless voice said beside her.

  Naomi hollered, a strangled sound. The French doors were propped wide open, and Tariq was four feet behind her. Seeing him, she nearly fell against the bed. He looked like he had strolled into the room without effort. Onyx barked angrily at Tariq, wriggling in Naomi’s arms, but she held him with all her might.

  “Don’t hurt him,” she said. Naomi had no doubt now why Onyx’s ribs were sore.

  Tariq whipped a black handgun from behind his back, holding it at hip level in a stance that looked casual even in its threat. The muzzle staring at her chest looked like a black pinhole in the thick barrel. When she was able to look away from the pinhole, back at Tariq’s face, she was surprised by his cheery expression.

  “What do you want?” Naomi said. She’d managed to sound indignant.

  “I owe you an explanation,” Tariq said gently. “Promise me you’ll keep quiet?”

  He was being nice about this, whatever it was. Naomi nodded, her teeth clicking together. Maybe he only wanted to unburden his heart. He’d tell her how Angela had always misunderstood him, how much it had hurt him when his son died, how awful he felt at the funeral when Angela cussed him out in front of God. She would promise not to tell anyone about the gun and send him away. Sometimes deranged people just wanted someone to listen. She could listen.

  “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know,” Tariq said. “Everyone’s been telling you your luck’s changed because of hard work and your pretty face, and I won’t take that away from you. But you’ve had help—help from Angie, help from her grandmother. They’ve been pushing things along, wheedling. People in power dream about you and see your face everywhere for two days solid. Did you know that? Ask Vincent. Ask Stan Loweson at FilmQuest. That’s what happened to them. That’s what people mean when the say the fates are smiling on you. It’s all good, right?”

  Naomi’s head nodded fervently, as if she understood, although she was barely listening, getting madder at herself. This man was the kind of psychopath she’d read about in tabloids. Why hadn’t she prepared for this? She’d laughed at Bennett when he’d ask her if she was getting a bodyguard.Just don’t let him get mad, she thought.Just let him keep talking, Jesus, and help me find a way ou
t of this. In her peripheral vision, she looked for places to hide, a towel or a bedsheet she could throw on Tariq to give her a minute to…

  “But you’ve been used, Naomi. Marie used you to send Angie back to Sacajawea, back to the place. Marie dragged you in, and now you’re involved. But you didn’t know Marie was talking to you, did you? You couldn’t hear her voice. Well, she was talking to you, baby. You did exactly what she wanted you to do—a little puppet, Naomi. Marie said jump, you said, ‘I’m jumping!’ ”

  Tariq sounded like he was getting agitated, and Naomi stared at the glaring pinhole again. If Tariq’s finger slipped on the trigger, if he twitched, he was going to kill her. He waspointing that gun at her. Sweet Lord, what was wrong with this man?

  Suddenly, Naomi felt obligated to listen again. She wanted to cry, but she was afraid to.