Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Present Day
Burbank, California
Mission Day Two
“The security team was on site, twenty-four/seven,” Rene the housekeeper told Sam and Jules when they went back inside the estate, “entirely due to the threats Mr. Devonshire’s son had made.
We weren’t told much more than that—but we were to keep an eye out for him, at all times.
Not just coming and going, but while we were out and about, living our lives.
It was... unnerving. We had photos of him up in the office and in the rooms that the nursing and security team used in their downtime, but they were all at least ten years old. ”
Jules had peppered her with questions—the most important being “How frequently did Milt Junior come around, looking to get into the house?”
Never was her answer. At least not in the nine months that she’d worked there.
Sam was now behind the steering wheel of the rental car, heading down Devonshire Place’s long driveway because Jules was on the phone with Harper’s office, pushing Greg for an appointment to talk to the lawyer again.
Everything they’d learned from Rene had put even more what in the what-the-fuck.
“Yes, I’ll hold.” Jules put his phone on speaker, no doubt to share the insipid, annoying, tinkling hold music with Sam. He lowered the volume at least, thank God.
“I totally buy that a threat was made,” Sam said, using air quotes.
This was their first opportunity to debrief after finishing up their interview with Rene.
“Wig-Milt was twenty-one, fresh out of juvie, immediately steps back into his same-old bullshit, gets drunk or high or whatever, so Milt the Senior points to the door. And Wig-Milt’s all Check out my prison tatt, better watch yer back, Daddy!
before he bursts into tears and staggers away. It wasn’t any kind of real threat.”
“Childish acting out,” Jules agreed. “I suspect that, somewhere in there, Milt the Senior relents and cuts Wig-Milt a giant check to just be gone, completely out of his life. Because Wig-Milt obviously has his own pile of money, except... It had to come from somewhere. Best guess is his father.”
“Wig-Milt doesn’t seem like much of a self-starter,” Sam agreed, glancing over at him.
“But why, all these years later, does Harper pretend that Wig-Milt’s a big enough threat to keep a five-man security team at the estate, twenty-four/seven?” Jules asked.
“Is it possible that Wig-Milt came back? Please, sir, I’d like some more?” He did a pretty good English-accented orphan, if he said so himself. “Papa-Milt goes hell no, and Wig-Milt says You better or else...”
“I mean, maybe?” Jules said. “What I can’t figure out is why, if Wig-Milt was such a dire threat in the past, Harper’s now so eager for him to inherit.
Unless there was never really a threat, and the security team was just a quick and easy way for Harper to help himself to some of Devonshire’s millions. ”
“And then there’s that,” Sam said. “A little skimming off the top as he handled the estate’s expenses.”
“Unless something more pressing comes up, I’m going to dive into the accountant’s files tonight,” Jules said. “See what I find.”
“Just say the word, and I’ll help,” Sam said. “Oh, hey, mind if we stop at Ralph’s? Your husband ate my Cocoa Puffs. I had to have freaking Cheerios this morning.”
“Oh my God,” Jules said. “Those were yours? I’m sorry! That was me. I thought Robin got them. I didn’t realize...”
“Yeah.” Sam confessed, “I can’t eat that shit at home. Can’t even bring it into the house. Ash would find it, devour it, and turn into a blazing, unstoppable ball of energy until he hit the wall and tantrumed himself to an unconscious state.”
“You make having children sound so much fun,” Jules said.
Sam looked over at him again as he waited to make a left turn against the traffic. Did Jules really want to talk about...? God, he hoped so—Sam had so much to say, but he’d been sitting on it for awhile now, waiting for Jules to be ready to dig in.
It’s not just fun, Jules, it’s everything.
It’s like taking the miracle of loving Alyssa and Alyssa loving me back, and combining that mindblowing intensity into this crazy, powerful laser beam of love for Ash.
And I don’t mean to leave Haley out—but I missed a lot of her early years, which I will regret til the day I die.
But it’s still... it’s amazing. Not just when they give me a hug—it’s when they open their mouths and the craziest shit pops out, and I go into freefall because they’re both completely their own people, even Ash who’s so freaking little.
And yeah, I’m helping to teach him how to use that big brain, but ultimately he’s Ash and I cannot wait to see what he’s going to do with his life and it’s so freaking great.
Sometimes, yeah, it’s not quite as much fun, but it’s always, always the most beautiful, wonderful thing I’ve ever known—having and loving children—and yes, dear friend, you and Robin should absolutely try again.
Before Sam could say more than “It’s not just fun,” Jules cut him off.
“I know,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “Let’s not.”
“Nah, man, let’s,” Sam started.
But Ernest Harper saved Jules. Or at least the lawyer’s receptionist did.
The obnoxious music cut off as the young man came back on the line.
“I’m sorry that took so long, Mr. Cassidy.
I’m afraid Mr. Harper’s left the office.
I’ll leave a message for him and we’ll get back to you first thing in the morning. ”
“Thanks, Greg,” Jules said and hung up the phone. “Damnit.” He then very obviously changed the subject. “What’s your take on the Devonshire Place security team?”
Okay, Squidward. Let’s talk about that, instead.
Back at the estate, they’d asked Rene to show them the security office. It was little more than a closet down near the laundry room, and it too had been locked, but the key was hanging in the kitchen.
Jules hadn’t managed to get the security cameras and video monitors up and working—the system was unfamiliar, but clearly still operational.
He did snag one of the many video tapes—an old school VHS cassette—from a dusty shelf that had clearly been untouched for many years.
He’d taken it, no doubt, as a sample, because something about that leaked video footage was still bugging him.
But his main focus was questioning Rene while they had her.
Harper still hadn’t provided them with security head Clayton Spencer’s phone number—note to self, google Spencer tonight—so their goal was to get as much info out of the woman as they could.
Despite security being out of her “purview.” She’d been on site with the team for quite a few months, and she had both eyes and a working brain, so. ..
Was the security always five men? No, sometimes more. They came and went.
Where were they positioned when they were on duty?
Were their posts both in and outside of the house?
What were the rules that she and other staff, the nurses, were required to follow?
I never really knew who was on or off duty, because there were no set posts that I could see.
They mostly stayed in their rooms, or in a shared living space that used to be the family’s rec room.
They ate a lot of take-out, watched a lot of TV.
And as for the rules... There were really only four main rules, all of which, if broken, were grounds for immediate dismissal, and possibly a lawsuit. Rules, Rene had told them with a heavy sigh, that made hiring the nursing staff even more of a challenge.
1) The restrictions of the NDA were paramount. No discussion of Mr. D on social media, or with family and friends. No photographs of Mr. D or the estate, ever.
That was pretty typical of Hollywood. It was even more understandable since, after a massive stroke, the old man surely did not look or act his best.
2) Milton Devonshire Junior was not to be allowed into the house, under any circumstances. Should anyone claiming to be Mr. Devonshire’s family contact them either on or off the property, in person or via phone or email, they were to notify both Mr. Spencer and Mr. Harper immediately.
It was after informing them of this rule, that Rene confessed that she had, in fact, reached out to Milt the Junior, via email.
She’d done hospice work before, and she recognized when a person’s life was on the verge of being over.
So she reached out to let Mr. D’s son know.
She figured she’d get fired, but since the job was ending anyway. ..
Which was, in part, why she’d also broken rule number three.
3) In the event of a medical emergency, immediately notify Mr. Spencer who will contact private first responders.
Apparently there was a private and pricy ambulance service to which Mr. Devonshire subscribed, that would bring help to the grounds more swiftly.
It seemed strange that Rene and the nursing staff weren’t simply given that alternative number for 9-1-1, but her suggestion to do so had been rejected.
Rene reminded them that she’d broken this rule—full on snapped it in two—on the night Devonshire died, retelling the story that had made Sam scratch his head in bleary confusion when they’d first gone into the library.
She’d been on site—the night nurse had been a no-show so she’d stayed and set an alarm so as to check on Mr. D regularly throughout the night.
At three AM, she’d discovered that he’d passed, but was unable to locate the security head.
So she’d called 9-1-1, figuring that the speed of the boutique ambulance service was no longer needed, but unwilling to simply leave the body alone in the library and go back to sleep.
By the time the security head returned to the estate, emergency services were already on site.
Mr. Harper was upset, but that wasn’t anything new. He was upset pretty much 24/7.
The last and final rule?
4) Everyone who entered the property had to show their face at the video camera at the gate, and likewise confirm their departure upon leaving the property.
The nurses were required to show badges that Rene had made, and she’d had to clear any other impending visitors—delivery or repair people—with the team in advance.
But once on the property, they all moved about at will. Including going into and out of the house. Using the garden for their lunch or coffee breaks, with that door right off the library kept unlocked.
“What security team?” Sam now answered Jules’s question.
“If Rene’s observations are accurate, the only security they provided was minimal—keeping tabs on whoever came and went through the front gate?
” He told Jules what they both already knew, but sometimes it was good to say it aloud.
“If there was a real threat, and I had a team of five or more, I’d position my two best people outside to wander the perimeter—one in front and one in back.
I’d put another outside in the garden by the library doors.
One in the interior hall outside of that library door, and my fifth guard would be in the room with the target.
Anyone extra would’ve been assigned to the other entrances into the house, or shit, maybe on the roof.
I have no idea what this team was doing—some kind of firefighter method?
Everyone chill until there’s an incident?
Good luck with that. Target’s dead by the time they get into the room. ”
Jules was nodding. “Which means the threat probably wasn’t much of a threat.”
“Or they weren’t really security,” Sam said as he approached the grocery store and searched for an open parking spot on the street nearby. “They sound more like AirBnB guests, watching TV and eating take-out.”
Jules hmmed at that.
And there it was—a car pulling out to leave an open spot on the street, just before the intersection where the store sat on the far corner. Sam swooped into the right lane and snagged it. “Jackpot.”
The Ralph’s was at the intersection of two major roads—two lanes on each side and one in the middle for left turns—with another lane for on-street parking in both directions.
It was a busy part of the Valley, more so at this time of day.
But the crosswalk wasn’t that far up ahead.
And Sam hated SoCal parking lots with a passion.
The time it took everyone to get in and out of the miniscule spaces, terrified that they’d ding their sports cars if they moved too fast..
. It was excruciating to suffer through that interminable bullshit.
Jules’s cell phone rang as Sam put the rental car in park. “Ooh, Harper’s office is calling me back,” he said.
“Why don’t I run in,” Sam suggested, “while you take that call. Cereal, OJ, bread and...?”
“Coffee,” Jules said.