Chapter 14
Kitty and Antoinette’s Airbnb, West Hollywood, Los Angeles
Eventually I wipe my cheeks, pick my phone back up and am about to head inside when I hear a shriek coming from the direction of the guesthouse. I jump up, grab my kaftan and pull it over my head as I quickly head in the direction of the scream.
The door is slightly ajar when I reach the little house, probably where Antoinette slipped in earlier.
I push it wide open and walk into a large living area that is more tastefully decorated than the main house.
The flooring is an expensive type of stone, which I wasn’t expecting.
There’s a very luxe-looking, huge corner sofa facing a wall, which is mostly taken up by a giant screen, cinema-sized.
Could it be some kind of screening room that I somehow missed in the ad?
There’s a dining area with a massive glass table, which looks set for some kind of dinner party. I’m confused.
‘Antoinette?’ I shout. ‘Are you in here?’
But it’s not Antoinette who answers me. Instead a small, white fluffy dog comes hurtling into the room, its lips pulled back to reveal a very unimpressive set of little teeth. It snarls and growls at me before breaking into a staccato yapping, which makes my soul want to crawl out of my body.
Urgh.
Why is there a fucking dog in the guesthouse?
‘You’ll need to be a bit more menacing than that if you want to scare me,’ I tell it. ‘I’ve killed people.’ The dog stops barking and tilts it head to one side, regarding me with curiosity.
‘Lana? Where are you? Oh!’ A blonde woman has followed the dog into the room.
She’s tall and looks like the dictionary definition of ‘SoCal Girl’ in denim cut-offs and a floaty boho-style top.
Her hair is shaved on one side and she looks achingly cool.
The dog starts wagging its tail like it might take off and the woman scoops it in her arms like a baby. ‘You must be Kitty?’
‘Who are you?’ I say. ‘I’m looking for my sister.’
‘I’m Agnes,’ she says with a big wide smile. She points at the dog. ‘I see you’ve already met my child, Lana Del Gay. Antoinette’s through here. Come in, she’s sampling Lauren’s – she’s my roommate - sangria so she might not be sober for much longer. I hope Lana didn’t scare you.’
Really? I’ve seen scarier clouds.
The woman – Agnes – turns and walks through a doorway. She looks back over her shoulder at me. ‘Coming?’
I follow her, not knowing what else to do.
Why are there people making sangria in the guesthouse?
We go through the door into a thin corridor.
‘She’s just through here,’ Agnes says. ‘Lana frightened her, so Lauren and I are plying her with booze to say sorry.’ At the end of the corridor is another set of double doors that lead through to a kitchen, shiny and modern and surprisingly big.
For a guesthouse, this place is huge. There’s a marble island in the middle, surrounded by bar stools, one of which my sister is sitting on.
On her right is another woman. She’s got long, sleek dark hair and looks slightly older than Agnes.
I’d put her age somewhere between Antoinette’s and mine.
But this is LA so who fucking knows. Really, she could be anywhere from twenty-two to sixty-two with an excellent surgeon.
They’re both drinking glasses of a deep red liquid.
When Antoinette looks up and sees me, she’s got it around her mouth.
She smiles and I can see it’s stained her teeth as well.
She looks like a vampire that’s just fed.
‘Kitty!’ she says. ‘I was just about to come and get you!’
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Sangria,’ says the brunette, who I assume must be Lauren, ‘it’s my special recipe. Want some?’
‘It’s good,’ Antoinette says. ‘You should!’ She clinks her glass together with Lauren’s.
‘No thanks,’ I say, then I add to my sister, ‘I thought you didn’t drink?’
‘I don’t drink much,’ she clarifies.
Lauren gives a snort of laughter and some sangria shoots out of her nose. The dog scrabbles out of Agnes’s arms and races over to lick up the splashes that make it to the floor. Is alcohol safe for dogs?
‘Lauren and Agnes are our neighbours,’ Antoinette says.
‘What do you mean “neighbours”?’
‘They live in the guesthouse! Isn’t that cool?’
No.
No, that is very much not cool.
Has Antoinette gone out of her tiny mind? Has she forgotten about the reason I found us a discreet rental? There’s nothing discreet about having two strangers living in the garden. Like unwelcome gnomes.
Lauren is holding a glass of sangria out to me. I shake my head. She’s wearing a frilly white apron and looks like something out of a Tradwife for Beginners Pinterest board.
‘Agnes’s parents own the place,’ she says in a broad Texan accent. ‘I was just explaining to Antoinette about how WeHo has these weird-ass rules for short lets. Pretty much they gotta keep permanent tenants living here so … yeah. Here we are.’
Roommates were really not part of the plan.
Now I’m going to have to find us another place to stay.
Another place with a temperature-controlled cellar.
‘Lauren and Agnes are actors!’ Antoinette says.
Agnes has joined my sister and Lauren at the island. ‘Well, we’re trying to be,’ she says. ‘We both study at LAAA.’
‘I don’t know what that means,’ I say.
‘It stands for the Los Angeles Academy of Arts.’
‘Right,’ I say. ‘So you live here? Like all the time?’
‘Mmhmm,’ Lauren is nodding, ‘but don’t worry, we’ve got our own entrance and everything. You’ll barely notice we’re here.’
I look at her knocking back sangria and it’s not even five o’clock. I somehow doubt we’ll barely notice them.
‘Don’t guests usually mind when they find out there’s two girls living in the garden?’
Agnes leans over the island and pours herself a glass. ‘Honestly, no. The house doesn’t get that many bookings. We try to put people off.’ She gives Lauren a conspiratory wink and they both laugh. ‘Didn’t you read the reviews?’
Lauren has her phone in her hand and is scrolling through it. ‘I’ll read some out to you,’ she says. ‘Here we go. “Appalling standards in this villa. None of the toilets work. Had to manually ‘flush’ them with rubber gloves and a bucket.”’
Agnes giggles.
‘Here’s another,’ Lauren says. ‘“The worst rental experience of my life! Shady neighbourhood, dirty sheets, could probably recognise the people who stayed here before us by smell. One star and I would honestly mark it lower if I could.”’
‘Read them my favourite,’ says Agnes.
‘Her favourite is a one-word review. And that word is “Haunted?” with a question mark.’
‘I can see why you don’t get many bookings,’ Antoinette says. ‘But aren’t your parents suspicious?’
Agnes shakes her head. ‘Nah, they’re too busy being Orange County rich.
They forget they even have this place unless one of their friends asks to stay here and reminds them about it.
It’s going to be so fun being neighbours.
’ Agnes claps her hands together. ‘You can only imagine the kind of people we get staying here. The sort of people who aren’t put off by those reviews. ’ She gives a little shudder.
‘Come over for dinner later?’ Lauren says. ‘I’m going to cook a chicken.’
‘That’s okay. And anyway, I’m vegan,’ I say at the same time Antoinette says, ‘Oh my God, yes please, that would be amazing!’
Lauren and Agnes both beam at us.
‘We’ll see you at about eight then? I’ll make some more sangria.’
Antoinette smiles at them both like they’re long-term friends before standing up and sliding her arm into mine. Like we haven’t got the mutilated body of her impulse kill stashed in suitcases in the cellar.
‘This could be so much fun, Kits,’ she says to me as we get back inside the main house.
I can’t even dignify this with an answer.
We’re not here to make friends with the locals.
Friends are witnesses. ‘They seem really nice and can help us. They know the area much better than we do and it’s not like we’ve had any luck so far, is it? Can we stay?’
That’s true enough.
Although I’m still sceptical about two girls helping us when they have a fondness for deception and day drinking.
‘We’ll see,’ I say and realise I sound like my mother. Well, maybe not my mother but definitely some generic mother figure.
Antoinette rushes over to me and squeezes me. ‘You’re the best, Kits.’ She gives me a look I can’t read and then adds, ‘Don’t you think Agnes is cute?’
‘I mean yeah, she seems nice …’ I start to say and then I understand what the look means. ‘Oh. Like cute cute?’
Antoinette blushes. ‘Yeah.’
‘Do you even know if she’s into girls?’
‘Kitty,’ Antoinette says. ‘She’s got a dog called Lana Del Gay and an undercut. Of course she’s into girls.’
‘Oh. Okay,’ I say and she squeals again.
‘This is going to be great. Wait. What’s that smell?’ She wrinkles her nose and her eyes land on my Chloé sliders.
Oh no. No, no, no.
I slip one off and inspect the bottom.
Yep.
Dog shit.
Perfect.
Just perfect.