Gates of Paradise (a Blue Bloods Novel)

PART THE SECOND





THE PAST IS

ALWAYS WITH US




I learned to live half alive…

—Christina Perri, “Jar of Hearts”





TWENTY


Schuyler


ordelia Van Alen had been a connoisseur of the world’s grand hotels, and Schuyler knew she would have approved of the Casa del Mar. The hotel on the edge of the Pacific had a panoramic view of the coastline and the Santa Monica Pier. Oliver had chosen the hotel for its proximity to Los Angeles and its excellent bar. He had booked them separate rooms on the penthouse floor. They were in Schuyler’s room, having gotten into the city via a stopover in New York. The remnants of a late room-service banquet were littered around the living area—silver platters of shrimp and salad, along with empty green bottles of sparkling water.

“You only live once.” Oliver smiled and admired the view.

“Not if you’re a vampire,” Schuyler reminded him.

“Point taken,” he agreed. “Now, shall we have a dip in the pool and enjoy the scenery, or should we get right to work?”

“I’m a little too anxious for relaxation right now. If my dad is alive, I want to see him as soon as I can. Let’s get started,” she said.

“Excellent.” Oliver got out his laptop and started searching. “Let’s see…the Bendix Corp Web site doesn’t have much information on its board of directors or officers, so that’s not going to do it. Checking for Stephen Chase in LA, but there’s only about a million listings.…This is going to be tough.”

“Look up Bendix, or Ben Chase—I don’t think he always went by Stephen, at least not when he was younger.”

Oliver checked again. “Nothing for Bendix. Another million for Ben. We need to try something different.”

Schuyler peered over his shoulder at the screen. “Are there any news articles about the family? Maybe they’re not in LA proper?”

Oliver ran a search for news articles on the Chase family. “Looking to cross-reference the Bendix Corporation,” he muttered to himself. “Got something—a charity event sponsored by the Chase family. In Malibu. No names or pictures, though.”

“That’s okay,” Schuyler said. “We can look for phone numbers in Malibu—maybe there won’t be as many as in the other places. Stephen, Bendix, Ben, whatever.”

Oliver typed furiously. “No Bendix, which is too bad—that would have been the easiest. No Ben or Stephen, either—found an S. Chase, though. What do you think?”

“Worth a shot.” Schuyler got out her cell phone and dialed the number.

A deep male voice answered. “Good afternoon, Chase residence. Who may I say is speaking?” Schuyler recognized the voice of the butler, of the help.

“This is Schuyler Van Alen. Is this the number for Stephen Chase?”

A pause. Then, “This is the home of Mrs. Chase, his widow.”

“Widow?” Schuyler blurted out.

“May I ask why you’re calling?” the butler asked, sounding a little suspicious.

“I’m, uh…Stephen Chase’s daughter.”

The man coughed. “I’m afraid that’s quite impossible,” he said. “Are you certain you are calling for Stephen Ronald Chase?”

Stephen Ronald Chase. Her paternal grandfather. Her heart beat in excitement. This was her grandmother’s house. “My name is Schuyler Van Alen and I’m looking for his son, Stephen Bendix Chase. Ben is my father,” she said quietly.

There was a much longer pause.

“I will relay the message to Mrs. Chase, Miss Van Alen. Where can I say you are calling from?”

Schuyler gave him her room number at Casa del Mar and hung up the phone.

“What happened?” asked Oliver.

She told him. She could barely process the idea before the phone rang. It was the butler calling back, with the Chase home address and instructions. Schuyler thanked him profusely before hanging up.

“So apparently my grandmother wants to meet us tomorrow. She’s in Malibu, not too far.”

“Us? I think he just meant you, babe.”

“Ollie! I’d hate to go alone,” Schuyler said.

“If all goes well, you won’t be alone. You’ll be with family,” he said firmly. “I’m sure your grandmother won’t want an audience. Shall we discuss it over cocktails?”

Schuyler wondered if she should be concerned that Oliver seemed to be a little too carefree, getting to be more like Kingsley than trying to save the vampires. But then she could really use a drink herself.

The lounge at the Casa del Mar looked out over the ocean, and the bartenders were attentive mixologists, who made up special drinks for each of them. Schuyler’s was a bittersweet (appropriate, she thought) mix of orange blossoms and something she couldn’t quite put her finger on—Pimm’s? Oliver’s was some kind of martini made with absinthe.

“Warn me if you start hallucinating,” Schuyler said.