Domino Page 7

  Clarissa leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes. She had told the complete truth, every detail of it. Now she felt empty and drained, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. Her shoulder throbbed painfully and her side ached if she moved. Her head pounded and her eyes burned with fatigue. It was an effort to stay awake. It would be wonderful to just sleep, to shut out the past hours and wake up to her life before the murder. Clarissa let herself sink into the plush white marshmallow-like cushions and welcomed the billowing gray fog of drowsiness that filled her. Let them come for her. At least now, someone else knew what had happened at the house. She was not alone.

  Virginia filled the china tea pot with chamomile tea while water heated in a pan on the stove. Her hands worked automatically, her mind worked with lightning speed. Virginia held power in her hand. Fragile, volatile, very dangerous power. She had something that Morgan Wolfe wanted desperately. She had his one and only witness complete with financing. This mistake of Morgan's would cost him dearly, possibly ruin him. His hands were finally stained with blood. Virginia could save him or destroy him.

  Hate wrestled with love, a love that would never be fulfilled. Her reward for bailing him out of this would be the same aching, starving love, ending only when Morgan had no more use for her. Nothing would change. Ruin would break the chains. Morgan's destruction would release her from the torment. It would do what her weak emotional strength could not. It would set her free. The jewelry Clarissa wore would bring enough capital to finance her escape.

  Her hand shook slightly as she poured the hot water into the teapot and a few drops splattered on her wrist. The pain was a grim reminder of who she was dealing with. She had to be extremely careful. There was no margin for error. The slightest miscalculation would cost her her own life.

  She brought the tray into the living room and shook Clarissa gently awake.

  "Drink this," Virginia offered the teacup to Clarissa. "It'll calm you. You've had a bad scare. Look, I know Morgan. Don't think I don't know what kind of man he is or that his ways are not always on the right side of things. He gets what he wants and he gets it his way. Always. I have never known him to fail. He's powerful, Clarissa, and his ways are not always legal or ethical. Nevertheless, he succeeds. For some reason you've managed to escape his web. I have known some of his associates that have tried to get out from under Morgan. They ran for a couple of days or even a couple of months. Morgan always got what he wanted from them. All of them."

  "Are they all dead?"

  "Of course not," Virginia replied. "He doesn't go around murdering all of his business associates. Not even the ones who steal from him. I’m sure some wished he would have .Some of them, well, let’s just say that can’t function like they used to. He puts a fear in them they don't ever forget. Then he gets exactly what he wants from them. Don't ask me how. I'm not privileged to know the details. I have seen them before and after. When he's sucked them dry of everything."

  "He killed Avery Roth, too" Clarissa argued, "and made it look like a robbery attempt. I heard Byron accuse Morgan of the murder."

  "Then they had something on Morgan," Virginia leaned back in the overstuffed chair and sipped her tea thoughtfully. "Whatever they found out got them killed. I wonder what they had. Morgan is extremely careful."

  "I don't have a chance, do I?"

  Virginia put her cup down on the coffee table and stared at Clarissa. "I can help you. You have to do everything I say. I haven't worked for Morgan for a decade without learning something of the man. The chance is slim and extremely dangerous. I can't promise that Morgan won't find you or guarantee any protection if he does. I can't guarantee you anything. You must give me your complete trust. Will you do that?"

  "I have a brother in the Middle East," said Clarissa. "He's works for an American oil company there. I need to contact him. He'll sent me a plane ticket. I just need to stay here a couple of days until he can wire the ticket or some money. Will you let me stay?"

  "That would be too dangerous for both of us. You have to trust me, Clarissa, if you want to stay alive. Promise me you will do what I say or I can't help you at all."

  "Marco is out there looking for me," Clarissa's hands shook and she set the teacup down. "I really don't have much of a choice."

  "Fine. I have to make a phone call."

  Clarissa's look of panic stopped Virginia. "Not to Morgan."

  Clarissa dug in her purse for Andrew's number and handed his business card to Virginia. "My brother is Andrew Hayden at that number. Tell him where I am and what's happened. Please."

  Virginia took the card into the bedroom and tossed it into the trash can. Then she dialed a number and waited for the party to answer.

  "Dusty?" said Virginia. "Virginia Essex. Look, I need a favor."

  Clarissa stared absently down at the traffic on Wilshire Boulevard seven stories below. She felt restless and uneasy, a gnawing anxiety eating away at the fragile sanctuary she so desperately needed. She did not completely trust Virginia. Her reaction to Byron Roth's murder was not what Clarissa expected. Virginia was not shocked and appalled that her employer was ruthless and evil. She seemed to already be aware of Morgan's iniquitous side. A side Clarissa should have suspected but had been so blind to it.

  Clarissa looked around at the empty living room. She could hear the low drone of Virginia's voice in the bedroom. For a moment, a feeling of panic swept her when she thought that Virginia might be talking to Morgan. The narrow window of time was open once again. The avenue of escape free and clear. She was torn between running for the front door and the problem of nowhere to run. If indeed it was Morgan that Virginia had called, that narrow margin in which to run was getting smaller and more critical with every second that passed.

  The thought of putting her trust in someone so close to Morgan was beginning to wear on Clarissa's nerves. It suddenly felt foolish to be here at all. She should have gone to a hotel. The only problem was to remember which ones Morgan did not own an interest in and could more easily find her. She couldn't remember any of their names but a smaller motel might be safe enough for the night. She had a little cash and some credit cards. But those would be no good, she chided herself. Too easily tracked.

  Clarissa reached for her purse on the sofa to check her cash supply.

  "I've made arrangements to hide you for the night," Virginia's voice stopped her. "It's a place Morgan won't think to look. At least not for a while."

  "Virginia, I think I should leave," Clarissa stammered. "I shouldn't have bothered you with this. Really. It could get you in trouble."

  "Just your being here at all will do that if he found out," said Virginia. "Besides, Marco is out there somewhere. He can track just about anything and I wouldn't put it past him to show up here. We have to move you. You'll be safer at my friend's place."

  "Alright," Clarissa stepped toward the door.

  "You can't go out dressed like that," Virginia told her. "I have something you can put on. Come with me.

  Reluctantly, Clarissa followed Virginia into the bedroom. She watched as Virginia pulled a heavy cardboard carton from the walk-in closet and hoisted it up onto the bed.

  "I was planning to donate these things to the Goodwill. They're clean but tattered. I think we can effectively disguise you with some of this."

  "Disguise?" asked Clarissa apprehensively.

  "Morgan's sphere of influence is far reaching," Virginia explained as she unpacked the old clothes from the box. "It's best if we change your appearance. Here. Try this."

  Clarissa held up a man's denim sleeveless work shirt with two fingers, holding it away from her as if it were bug infested, then threw it back at Virginia in disgust.

  "This stuff is shit, Gin," she spat.

  "This is all I can spare," Virginia replied evenly as she handed Clarissa a man's faded olive green long sleeved shirt that smelled strongly of stale body odor and cheap after-shave. "These old jeans should fit you. Don't mind the paint stains. The things have been washed."

/>   "I can't do this," Clarissa cried as she started to get off the bed. Virginia grabbed her wrist and pulled her back with a strength that surprised her.

  "You've got one shot," Virginia snapped, "at staying alive long enough to get to your brother. Without me you're dead. You do as I say. Or maybe you'd like me to call Marco Camponello. Your choice."

  Clarissa froze. The venom in Virginia's eyes was very real and very deadly. She felt the tightening of the web around her, another trap springing shut. The bedroom door was open, the front door visible beyond. Virginia's grip tightened on Clarissa's wrist.

  "You wouldn't get far," she warned. "I'm giving you a chance. Don't blow it."

  Resignation sunk like a weight to the pit of Clarissa's stomach. She accepted the old clothes and started for the bathroom to change.

  "Wait," Virginia eased herself off of the bed panther-like and held her hand out to Clarissa. "Here, take this black t-shirt, too. And take the necklace off. Your earrings and rings also. They would be a dead giveaway. They wouldn't last five minutes on you. And the watch. They'll be okay here. I have a wall safe that Morgan knows nothing about."

  "I want to keep them with me," Clarissa protested. "They're mine."

  "Morgan knows each and every stone," Virginia countered. "All he has to do is report them stolen. You'd be arrested and he'd have you. Do you want to take that kind of a risk for a few stones? They aren't going to be any good to you dead."

  The clasp opened with a definite finality and Clarissa let the diamond necklace fall into her open hand. The platinum setting felt soft as she ran her finger down the length of the necklace and over the square-cut stones. For a brief moment the stones caught the bedroom light and broke it into tiny rainbows. Clarissa's dream. How shallow it seemed when weighed against life.

  She slipped the diamond from her left hand and unclasped the platinum and diamond watch. Her fist closed about them defensively when Virginia gently took them from her.

  "The earrings, too, Virginia reminded her." Why don't you run yourself a hot shower before you change? You'll feel stronger. We have a little time."

  As soon as the bathroom door was closed and Virginia heard the water running in the shower, she put the jewelry in her bureau drawer. Then she sat down on the bed and started going through Clarissa's purse. There was a hundred and fifty dollars in cash which Virginia put into the pocket of her robe, a gold comb and lipstick case that she added to the collection of jewelry, and a crystal angel with a broken wing in Clarissa's make-up bag. Virginia remembered seeing the angel before. It had not been broken then. Perhaps it had belonged to Clarissa but usually none of Morgan's women received gifts that were not purchased by Virginia.

  Virginia tossed the purse and its contents into the plastic lined trash can by the bed. There was a reluctance to toss the crystal angel in as well. It was not worth much, not like the jewelry. Yet, its very existence perplexed Virginia. She turned it over in her hand. Perhaps it had been Clarissa's before she moved in to Morgan's home. No, she had seen it on Morgan's desk. Virginia retrieved the purse from the trash, opened the make-up bag and found the broken wing. She tossed the bag back into the trash and put the angel and the wing with Clarissa's jewelry.

  "Clarissa," Virginia called through the closed bathroom door. "Hand me your dress and I'll hang it up for you."

  The bathroom door opened a crack, letting steam waif into the bedroom. Clarissa handed out the black cocktail dress, silk slip and nylons then shut the door.

  "I'll put your shoes in my closet."

  The bathroom door opened again and Clarissa tossed her black heels out into the bedroom. Virginia added them to the articles in the trash can, pulled the plastic liner from the can and tied it into a knot. Then she slipped into a pair of jeans, a black sweater, and running shoes. The water in the bathroom had stopped and Virginia tapped lightly on the door.

  "I'll be right back, Clarissa," said Virginia. I’m going down to the garage to empty some trash. I want to have a look around. I want to make sure there's none of Morgan's men watching the building. And I’m putting a pair of my old shoes here beside the door for you and a pair of socks."

  "Alright," was Clarissa's faint reply.

  Clarissa stared at her image in the full length mirror in the corner of Virginia's bedroom and a younger version of her own mother stared back. There had been an old photograph of Myra taken by Andy when he was about seventeen. They were doing some work on his old Chevy and Clarissa was sitting in a stroller next to the car. Myra was in a similar work shirt and jeans, her strawberry blonde hair pulled back, wrench in one hand, and waving to the camera with the other. It had been Clarissa's favorite picture of her mother. Myra looked so happy, so strong and full of life. There was a vibrancy and energy in Myra then that Clarissa had never known in her mother. Myra had always looked pale and drained, a countenance so fragile that she might break.

  Clarissa pulled back her hair and was shocked at how much she looked like the pale, wan Myra. There were circles under her brown eyes and shadows in the hollows of her cheeks. There was a shell-like emptiness left after the death of spirit. Myra's dream had shattered with Clarissa's father's suicide. The legacy had been passed on. The dream had died in Clarissa with Byron Roth's murder and it was buried when she let Virginia strip her of the diamonds.

  Now she stood barefoot and ragged in some man's old work shirts and baggy jeans, the olive drab long sleeve shirt hanging stretched and loose over the black sleeveless t-shirt. Clarissa stood devoid of emotion except emptiness, her face a grim cover for the black sense of ruin and loss, what Myra must have felt at her husband's death. The death of self, the loss of love, the disparaging ruin of hope.

  "What now?" Clarissa whispered, but the image in the mirror had no answers. "It's gone, mama. I'm sorry, it's gone."

  The phone on the nightstand jarred her. It rang four times, then the answering machine clicked and Morgan Wolfe's voice sent a renewed stab of terror through Clarissa.

  "Virginia," he started, "Clarissa got hold of some kind of drugs at the party tonight. I'm not sure just what she took, but she's pretty out of it. She stormed out of here angry and I'm concerned about her driving when she's been using. If she contacts you, you are to find out where she is and call me right away. Her doctor is standing by."

  "You lying son of a bitch, Morgan Wolfe!" Clarissa screamed at the phone. "You damn..."

  "Clarissa?" Virginia's silky voice cut through her rage and stopped it cold. "What's wrong? Who are you talking to?"

  Clarissa pointed to the answering machine that was just rewinding after the call from Morgan. Virginia played back the message.

  "I don't use drugs. He's lying. Damn him, he's lying."

  "Calm down, now," Virginia said as she handed Clarissa the pair of worn brown loafers. We have to get you out of here now. Morgan would have called my cell first. When I didn’t pick up, he would know something was up. That’ why. He called the line in my bedroom. Put those socks and shoes on. My friend will be here any minute."

  Clarissa hesitated, her anger still hot.

  "I don't think I can go through with this, Gin," she said as she backed away from the offered shoes. "I just need to call my brother, that's all. I need to get out of the country. Morgan'll find me, Gin. No matter where I hide or what I look like. I can't do this. I've got to call Andrew. Please, just let me use your phone."

  The slap cracked across her face and Clarissa reeled backward from the force of it. Virginia grabbed her wrist, jerking her forward, and thrust the shoes in her face.

  "You're way beyond making your own decisions," Virginia said firmly. "Put the damn shoes on. We've got to get out of here. If Morgan even suspects that you might show up here, he'll send Marco to check it out. When I wasn't here to answer that call just now is a guarantee that Marco is on his way."

  "I'm sorry, Gin. I'm just scared."

  "That makes two of us." Virginia pulled open the top bureau drawer and handed Clarissa a black print scarf. "Try to
get most of your hair under that."

  "So where is this place?"

  "Downtown. My friend assures me it will be quite safe for a little while. There are other people around which makes it a bit more secure. I'll get in touch with your brother as soon as I know it's safe. I'll bring you the plane ticket and your things. It's best that you don't call me here. If you need me, have my friend make the call for you. Understand?"

  "Why are you doing this?"

  Virginia was silent for a long moment. "Make no mistake, Clarissa. I don't like you. I owe you nothing, you owe me nothing. Why I'm doing this is my business. You just enjoy this brief reprieve from Marco.

  "Virginia....."

  "We have to go."

  CHAPTER 5

  It was past midnight. The french doors to Morgan's den were wide open and a light breeze stirred the draperies. The one desk lamp was lit, casting deformed shadows on the walls. The leather chair sighed and creaked luxuriously as Morgan leaned back. He studied Marco's face across the desk with an intensity that made the other inwardly flinch. Marco's features were a distortion of bruised flesh, dried blood, and massive swelling. Every blink of his eyes was a reminder of the tortuous beating. He held in check his anger and loathing of his employer for the unjust punishment for letting Clarissa slip away. When Morgan finally spoke, Marco visibly sagged with relief.

  "What happened?" Morgan's voice was low and icy.

  "I tracked the Jaguar west," Marco explained haltingly at first, dealing with the pain from his swollen jaw, split lip and missing teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut to clear the fog from his head, gained his confidence, and went on. "She didn't go to the hairdresser's place or Sylvia Cheswick's party. She started heading north on the freeway toward the interstate. Dalton suggested the warehouse in Sun Valley so I began to head her in that direction. We were a block away. She knew I was behind her and she was starting to panic. It was going perfect as planned. Then there was the train. I thought I had her trapped."