Fear

TWENTY-ONE

Thursday morning Miles watched, from behind a heavy curtain, Blaine’s neighbors driving off to work. Then he drove DeShawn’s car to a grocery parking lot and abandoned it, unlocked and keys dangling in the ignition, and hiked the mile back to Blaine’s house.

He had slept atop the covers on Blaine’s bed, his mind cracked with exhaustion. And when he woke, he realized trying to find Nathan Ruiz was the wrong tack.

He’d sooner be able to find Celeste Brent, who had left that strange message on Allison’s recorder about keeping her secret.

Blaine the Pain apparently had taken his laptop with him to Texas. Miles found a Santa Fe phone book, scrambled through the alphabet, ran a finger down the listings. No Celeste Brent. No C. Brent.

Okay. She was a TV star. Fame was a critical currency in Santa Fe. He’d seen several celebrities who stopped by Joy’s gallery on their jaunts through town.

It gave him an idea. He dug into his bag and searched the pockets of pants he’d worn Tuesday – he still had Blaine the Pain’s cell-phone number, scribbled on a note. He picked up the phone and set it down. Blaine’s cell would likely show him calling from Blaine’s house. Using his own cell phone was a risk – the feds could trace your location if the phone was on, he’d heard. But he couldn’t use Blaine’s phone. So he took the risk.

He flipped open his cell phone and dialed.

‘Yeah?’ Blaine answered, sounding his usual grumpy self.

‘Hi, Mr. Blaine. It’s Michael Raymond at the gallery. I may have found a buyer for Emilia.’

‘Oh, man, Mike, that’s great.’ Blaine sounded happier than he ever had, and Miles’s chest twisted in guilt.

‘Well, sir, nothing’s set. I have a woman who indicated serious interest, but she didn’t leave a phone number – I guess she forgot. She’s local, and she’s famous, so I thought you might know her. Her name’s Celeste Brent.’

‘Yeah. I don’t know her, no one knows her, but I know who she is.’

‘I guess I don’t.’

‘Well, I never watched Castaway. I prefer PBS.’

‘What’s Castaway?’

‘That reality show where they dump a dozen people on a godforsaken island and they compete to be the last one standing for five million dollars.’ He snorted in disgust. ‘A popularity contest on steroids.’

Miles now recognized the show’s title. Most of his work for the Barradas had been done at night, so he didn’t follow many television programs. But her name had sounded familiar and a drop of the show’s incessant coverage must have seeped into his brain. ‘She was on this game show?’

‘Won the five million. A couple years back. Fifteen minutes of fame for running around in a lime-green bikini. A vicious, backstabbing game and she was the Queen Bee on the island. I’d be surprised to know how she saw the Emilia. She’s a total recluse. She makes a hermit look like a social butterfly.’

‘Why?’

‘Her husband was murdered and she went – how do I say it kindly? – nuts.’

‘That’s awful,’ Miles said. ‘Nuts how?’

‘Agoraphobic – is that what it’s called? She won’t leave her house, not even to go into the yard. But she must be recovering, if she’s out hunting art.’

‘She’s unlisted, and now I see why,’ Miles said, improvising. ‘Do you know anyone who’d know her address? She asked in the voice mail for me to bring the Emilia by for a private viewing.’

‘And she didn’t leave an address or a number for you? That’s weird.’

‘Sir,’ Miles said, ‘if she’s been a recluse for so long, she might not be smooth in her dealings with folks.’

‘True. Let me make a couple of calls and I’ll call you back at the gallery.’

‘Actually, call me on my cell phone.’ He gave Blaine the number. ‘I’m not at the gallery but I can run by there as soon as I know where Ms. Brent’s address is.’

‘Okay. I’ll call you back in a few. Thanks, Michael.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Miles hung up.

Nuts. Maybe post-traumatic syndrome, just like him. Two minutes later his cell rang and Miles answered.

‘I called the top realtor in Santa Fe,’ Blaine said. ‘She knows everyone of a certain net worth. Celeste Brent lives on Camino del Monte Sol.’ He gave him the street number. ‘She sold Celeste the house. She said Celeste never leaves it. I mean never ever. She has a woman who does all her shopping, runs her errands. She doesn’t have any visitors inside, unless it’s her doctors or this caretaker. Isn’t that the craziest thing you ever heard?’

‘Yeah. Crazy. I guess she found the Emilia on the Web site.’

‘Crazy money is still as good as sane money.’

‘Okay.’ He felt real regret about the necessary trick he was playing. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, Mr. Blaine.’

‘Let me know what happens. Talk to you soon.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Miles clicked off the phone and started thinking about how he might talk his way into a total recluse’s house.