interrupting this poor man’s sleep.” Brecht turned to Decker. “I’m sorry about this—”
“Stop apologizing for me as if I were your child!”
“Sometimes you act like a child!”
“If you’d stop treating me like a child—”
“Miss Brecht,” Decker said, “is there something specific you wanted to talk to me about?”
Marge smiled at Pete’s style. Just lay it on the line.
Lilah bit her knuckle. “It’s about my brother.”
“Me?” Brecht gasped.
“No, King.”
“Kingston?” Brecht turned bright red. “What do you want with Kingston?”
“Freddy, you are so tiresome!”
“What does that jerk want?” Brecht whined. “I know he’s up to something with Mother—”
“What about King, Miss Brecht?” Marge interrupted.
“I’m worried about him.” Lilah bit her knuckle again. “I was supposed to meet him last night for dinner—”
“You were meeting that pompous slimeball for dinner?” Brecht held up his hands and shook them as he talked. “How could you even think about going anywhere after what happened to you? You need at least a few days of bed rest!”
“It was spontaneous, Freddy. Mother said he wanted to talk to me … after he heard about my … assault.”
“And you agreed to talk to him?”
“I was shocked, of course, I didn’t know …” Tears formed in her eyes. “Yes, I agreed. And he was very nice over the phone. Comforting … soothing. Just like when I was little. He seemed to care about me again—”
“Kingston doesn’t care about anyone but himself!”
“Just because you two don’t get along—”
“How’d he hear about your assault anyway?” Brecht asked.
“I told him,” Marge said. “After Mike Ness took you upstairs to calm you down from your fight with Dr. Merritt.”
“So how’d he find out about your horse?” Brecht asked.
Lilah said, “He didn’t even know about that, Freddy. He just wanted to visit me. Isn’t that so wonderful?”
Brecht muttered, “That ass has something on his mind—”
“Freddy, you are impossible. He loves me—”
“He wants something from you—”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Marge said, “Can we stay on a topic, people? Lilah, what about King and dinner?”
Lilah turned to her, then began to pace. “I agreed to meet him last night for dinner … first time in years—”
“I don’t believe this!” Brecht interrupted. “How could you do that!”
“Freddy, please try and understand,” Lilah said. “I know you hate him—”
“You’re the one who froths at the mouth at the mention of his name!”
“People, please!” Marge said. “I’m tired and grumpy. Get on with it.”
“I’m trying to, Detective,” Lilah snorted. “I agreed to meet Kingston if I felt up to it. And I did. I called his service and left a message that dinner was on, providing we’d meet at Monique’s because it was very close to the ranch. I told his service I’d be there at eight. Then I called up the spa and left a message for Mother. I wanted to borrow her limo and driver. I was still very weak—too shaky to drive my own car.”
She looked to Decker for sympathy. He nodded, remembering the genuine terror scored into her face as the horse charged toward the mountain.
“Go on,” Marge said.
“I never heard from him.” Lilah dropped her hand to her side. “So I called his residence. Nothing. His service hasn’t been able to get hold of him, either. I know something has happened to him. Just as sure as I knew something was going to happen to me yesterday morning! The electricity, the vibes …”
Brecht said, “Why would you want to talk to him?”
“Freddy, for God’s sake, listen to what I’m saying. He’s your brother, too. Something has happened to him!”
“You don’t know that!” Brecht said.
“Oh, God!” she screamed. “Just shut up!”
At that moment, Decker caught a glimpse of her mother in her face. “You called his house and his service. What about his office?”
“That, too. I’ve called all his private lines. He doesn’t answer! Peter, I’m scared!”
She started to come to Decker, but he backed away. Marge stood and placed her hand on Lilah’s shoulder. “Where does Dr. Merritt live, Miss Brecht?”
“Newport.”
“House or apartment?”
“A condominium actually.”
Marge said, “Is it an exclusive building?”
“Detective, it’s very chercher!”
Marge looked at Decker. He shrugged. She said, “So it has maintenance, housekeeping, a doorman, maybe even a front desk.”
“Of course!”
Of course, Marge thought icily. To Decker, she said, “Front desk would have a key to the place. I’ll call.”
Lilah gave Marge the number and they waited. Seventeen minutes later, Marge hung up the phone. “He’s not there. But they told me the quarters looked fine, nothing’s out of place.”
“How would they know?” Lilah said.
Marge ignored the question and said, “Okay, that leaves his office. I’m not about to go out to Newport—”
“Palos Verdes,” Lilah corrected.
“Whatever.” Marge draped her parka over her shoulders. “I’m not going out on a wild-goose chase—”
“It is not a wild-goose chase, I can assure you! The electrical charges are very strong.”
“Then maybe you should drive out to Palos Verdes,” Marge suggested.
“In
