Chapter 10
TEN
The colors of the exotic orchids are a blur as I rush through the atrium wondering what I’ve gotten myself into.
I almost collide with Allison who comes toward me through a line of palm trees.
I stop and let out my breath. My heart is pounding in my chest and after speaking with Lucas, I’m not sure I want to be here anymore.
“Oh, there you are, Alani. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.
” Allison smiles at me and then frowns. “You’re as pale as a ghost, what’s happened?
” She glances past me and in the direction of where I last saw Lucas.
“Lucas hasn’t been telling stories again, has he?
If you decide to add him to your book I suggest you just skirt around the edges of his life.
I’m sure Isabelle will give you instructions of how much she wants in the book about her children and her husband.
She has never had them on display. Lucas of course is very well known because of the band.
He is a celebrity in his own right but he went down the wrong path when he married that girl and then decided to give over his life to recreational drugs.
” She walks slowly beside me. “He’s never been the same since.
He came out of rehab and has remained clean but Isabelle refuses to forgive him for the bad press.
He writes incredible songs and they make a fortune, so he’s tolerated around here. ”
Tolerated? Considering she is Isabelle’s personal assistant, I’m surprised she dares to offer such a damning opinion of a member of the family that employs her.
“He seems fine to me. I knew him in high school and I don’t figure he’s changed at all.
It was all about his music then and it seems to me that it consumes his entire life at the moment. ”
“Yeah, it does.” Allison smiles at me. “The reason I came looking for you is because Isabelle isn’t quite ready yet and asked me if I could give you a tour of the house.
I understand that Linc offered to show you the recording studio, but Isabelle believes it will be better if I took you around.
” She gives me a knowing look. “She’s super jealous, you know.
If you want my advice I would keep as far away from Linc as possible. ”
I laugh. “Oh, I will, he’s old enough to be my father and it happens that my type doesn’t lean toward long hair and scruffy.” I follow her inside the house. “Where are you taking me?”
“All the exciting stuff is downstairs.” Allison walks along the hallway and opens a door that leads to a sweeping stairway.
The first room we come to is the recording studio.
It is larger than anticipated. One area with soundproofed walls is set up with the band’s musical instruments, microphones and all the paraphernalia they require to make music.
Attached to that room is a booth surrounded by glass.
A console with mixing boards glows with LED lights.
My attention is immediately grabbed by the display of vintage guitars and a wall of autographed memorabilia.
I want to linger and soak up the atmosphere.
Although the room is clean, the smell of sweat lingers, like in a gym.
I can feel this is a place where secrets whisper in the music.
Legends are born here. The hairs on my arms stand on end as the electricity hanging in the air washes over me as if the room refuses to let go of the last note.
I look at Allison. “This place is amazing. It has so much atmosphere it’s giving me goosebumps. ”
“Yeah, I know—they make magic in here. Wait until you see the next room.” Allison leads me into the hallway and we enter a home theater. “This is where they go to relax.”
I’m mesmerized by the indulgence in this room.
I run my hand across the back of a line of tiered leather recliners set before a screen the size of a billboard.
As I walk inside the door, I notice a popcorn machine beside a glass-fronted refrigerator stacked with every type of refreshment.
I turn to look at her. “This place looks like fun.”
“There’s more.” She heads back along the passageway and takes another staircase deeper into the bowels of the house. At the bottom she throws open a door to display a bowling alley.
I stare at the polished lanes and pins set up and waiting for the next ball to strike.
I can almost hear the balls rolling down the lanes and the crash as the pins fall.
I walk inside and take in the jukebox in one corner and a full-length bar along the back wall.
To one side are bowling shoes lined up in sizes on shelves.
Beneath are balls, all in a line, glistening under the lights. “Oh wow.”
“If we head upstairs now, I’ll show you the spa wing.” Allison heads back along the hallway and up the stairs. “The spa wing is where Isabelle spends most of her time.”
I follow her back through the house and out into the garden and along another pathway until we come to a large exterior building.
When Allison opens the door a wave of humid sandalwood fragrance hits me.
She indicates toward an infrared sauna. The next room is a massage room and the smell of exotic oils leaks out into the hallway.
Inside I count four massage tables and a counter filled with expensive oils and lotions.
We head outside into the hallway and it opens up into a plunge pool surrounded by flowers and mood lighting.
The extravagance takes my breath away. I bend to smell the flowers and then straighten as Allison turns to head back outside.
Lucas’ words keep running through my head.
Isabelle wanted me to do the tour to see the luxury she has around her.
She flaunts her wealth and position. Is this the illusion that Lucas was trying to warn me about?
I hurry to catch up with Allison just as her phone rings.
She walks away from me and takes the call.
My gaze moves over the tropical garden and I notice there is not one weed or anything that shouldn’t be there.
Every single plant looks its best as if any that don’t comply with the standard that Isabelle sets are removed and replaced—I’m wondering if that’s what happened to Jenny.
Was she removed and replaced? And will I suffer the same fate?
“Isabelle is ready for you now.” Allison’s false smile concerns me. “She will speak to you in her dressing room.”
I quickly check the battery life on my phone, glad that I had charged it this morning.
I intend to record everything that Isabelle says.
I have a digital recorder I usually use.
It’s easier to store the large amounts of data I need when writing memoirs, but it’s in my luggage and I have no idea where my bags are at the moment.
“Will you be able to show me my room before we go and see Isabelle? I need to grab a few things before I interview her.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty much on the way.” Allison leads the way to the upper floors. “Your room is down there. It’s a corner room but a good size with lots of light. It’s usually for Mia’s friends to stay over but it hasn’t been used for a time. Mia prefers to go out. She rarely brings anyone home.”
Interested, I look at her. “Is she a party girl? I don’t recall reading anything about her in the newspapers. When I researched the family, I didn’t find too much about her at all in any of the magazines or in the media.”
“I’m sure Mia will be able to tell you about herself.” Allison shrugs. “She doesn’t like publicity and finds all the trappings of wealth boring. I figure she’d rather live in a commune somewhere.”
I head along the plush carpet to my bedroom and fling open the door.
The room is light and airy as I requested.
A TV hangs on the wall at the foot of the bed.
A large desk is positioned under the window and there’s plenty of room inside.
I’m surprised to see my belongings spread out across the room.
I go to the closet to find my clothes hanging neatly on the hangers.
My purse is on the bedside table and the digital recorder and my laptop sit on the desk along with my notebooks.
One of them lies open as if someone was disturbed while reading my research.
No wonder Isabelle needed so much time; she’s rifled through my belongings.
I feel suddenly exposed, as if my privacy has been invaded.
I cast a look back at Allison. “Someone has unpacked my things. Is that something that usually happens in this house?”
“Not unless it’s specifically requested by a guest.” Allison frowns as she walks into the room. “Hmm, Isabelle must have ordered it but I know nothing about it.”
Unsettled, I pick up my digital recorder, a notebook and pen and follow Allison along the hallway.
We take another flight of stairs and she leads me to an open door and waves me inside before turning to leave.
I peer into the room and the world tips sideways a little.
Isabelle is dressed as if she just stepped from the Mayflower.
As I’ve been researching her, I recognize the historical character from the very first movie she ever made.
“Come in, come in. Take a seat.” Isabelle waves me to a chair in front of her. “Let the interrogation begin.”
The accent is English and her eyes flash at me in a challenge. If getting into character unlocks a few memories, so be it. I gather my cloak of professionalism around me and give her a nonchalant smile. “I hope it will be more like a conversation between friends.”
“I’m afraid we’ll never be friends, Alani.” She walks behind me, turns the lock on the door and drops the key into her ample breast before sitting opposite. “There now, no one can overhear us.”
A shiver runs down my spine. Who locks people in a room? I try and control my racing heart by taking a few slow deep breaths and look at the satisfied smile crossing her lips. She has me right where she wants me. This woman is eccentric but is she dangerous?