The sanitarium had been in business since the turn of the century. When the last owner died, his family wanted no part of the operation. They had sold it to Gill for a song. His first step had been to double the fees charged to the families of the patients. When no one complained, he tripled the charges. It soon became apparent that wealthy people would pay any price to keep their crazy relatives locked up.
Paxton had used his Hollywood looks and style to take a different route to financial success. He had headed for Los Angeles, where he soon discovered that celebrities would pay any price to stay thin and beautiful. When the gossip magazines informed the general public that the secret to looking like a Hollywood star was Dr. Paxton’s Diet Tonic, business had boomed.
Paxton had been the smart one, Gill thought. He was not only making a lot of money, he lived in the glittering world of Hollywood. He rubbed shoulders with celebrities. He went to the best parties and spent his nights at the most exclusive nightclubs.
Rushbrook Sanitarium made money but it was situated outside the small, rural town of Rushbrook on the California coast. The remote location meant that very few people were aware of the asylum’s existence. That certainly pleased the families of the patients. But he was trapped in a hick town. If he didn’t find a way out, he was the one who would go crazy.
Three years ago he had been seriously thinking of selling the asylum and moving to San Francisco or L.A. And then Paxton had contacted him with a fascinating proposal. There was, according to Paxton, excellent money to be made marketing drugs to the Hollywood set. Gill had jumped at the opportunity.
The drug business had gone very well, indeed, but it had not freed him to leave Rushbrook. In order to prosper they had needed a laboratory, one that would not draw the attention of the FBI. The obvious place to install a fully equipped lab had been at Rushbrook. No one questioned a laboratory in a mental hospital. But it meant that, for most of the time, Gill was still trapped in his role as the director of the sanitarium, still imprisoned in the isolated, rural community.
Everything had changed the day he had learned about the drug called Daydream. He and Paxton understood immediately that the possibilities were breathtaking. Yes, there was a fortune to be made, but the drug held the promise of something even more alluring—power. Once Daydream was perfected, it could be used to control anyone, from mobsters to presidents.
Patient B’s escape had put the entire plan in jeopardy.
“We’re running out of time,” he said. “Massey is getting impatient. If we can’t recover the subject soon, the experiment will have to be terminated.”
“It’s not that easy,” Paxton said. “Patient B has had time to establish herself in the community. She’s got friends here. If she goes missing, there are people who will ask questions. That’s the last thing we want.”
“You said she is working as a waitress in a tearoom. Who would look for a missing waitress?”
“Her closest friend here in Burning Cove happens to be a lady private investigator.”
“What? How the hell did she get involved with a private detective?”
“I have no idea but that’s the situation.”
“Damn it,” Gill hissed. “You’ve got to deal with this mess. We can’t risk the subject going to the cops or the FBI with information about Daydream. They probably wouldn’t believe her but if the press gets hold of the story—”
“I’m well aware of that,” Paxton said.
“We need to get control of the situation now. Things are deteriorating, in case you haven’t noticed. First Ormsby accidentally ingests some of the drug and jumps out a window, and then the new research subject escapes. You said you would take care of everything.”
“I told you, things are more complicated than they first appeared,” Paxton said. “But I’ve got a new plan. I can’t carry it out alone, though. I need your help. You’ll have to come to Burning Cove.”
Gill glanced at the wall clock. “It’s a three-hour drive. I can be there early this evening. Make a reservation for me at a hotel.”
“I’d suggest the Burning Cove Hotel. That’s where I’m staying. But under the circumstances I don’t think it would be a good idea for us to be seen together. I’ll find a smaller, more secluded place for you to stay.”
“All right.”
Gill tossed the receiver back into the cradle. He would probably end up at a cheap auto court that wouldn’t have room service or decent plumbing.
Paxton, on the other hand, was staying at the Burning Cove, a legendary hotel that catered to the rich and famous. Not only that, he was fucking Vera Westlake, the actress the press had dubbed the most beautiful woman in Hollywood.
Somehow, Paxton always seemed to get the better end of every deal they had ever done together.
Gill glanced at his watch. Time to go home and pack. But first he had to come up with a reasonable excuse to give to his staff to explain his absence.
Once again he found himself wondering whether Ormsby’s death truly had been the result of an accident. But what other explanation could there be? Paxton had no reason to kill the chemist who concocted the drugs.
Chapter 4
Calvin Paxton tossed the phone down onto the cradle. Gill was a problem. Eventually he would have to be removed, but Patient B was a higher priority at the moment.
He crossed the villa’s living room to where the French doors stood open. He looked out at the private patio where the most beautiful woman in Hollywood was reclining on a shaded lounger.
Vera Westlake was studying a script with an earnest air. A bottle of Dr. Paxton’s Diet Tonic stood on the table beside the lounger. A glass of ice sat next to it.
Vera was not staying at the Burning Cove Hotel. She had just dropped by to spend the afternoon with him. Her studio had rented a private villa in another part of town for her. Vera’s public image was that of an aloof, untouchable star who longed for privacy. Her publicist had determined that to maintain the impression, she should not stay at one of the most famous hotels in California.
Although celebrities claimed they came to the exclusive Burning Cove Hotel to escape the demands of Hollywood, the truth was they chose the hotel precisely because of its reputation as a celebrity enclave. Their publicists made certain that they were photographed arriving and departing through the ornate front gates. On the grounds they were always highly visible poolside or in the bar. The guest villas, like the one Paxton was staying in, provided temporary sanctuary because they included private, enclosed patios. Vera was protected while she was visiting him, but when she left she would walk through the elegant Spanish-colonial-revival-style lobby. She would draw the attention of anyone who was in the vicinity. Her driver would whisk her out through the grand front gates where the photographers and reporters lurked, cameras at the ready. Vera’s publicist would make certain of it. Nothing sold the gossip magazines like photos of the most beautiful woman in Hollywood trying to evade the press.
He gave himself a moment to admire the stunning sight of Vera on the lounger. She wore a pair of green shorts with narrow cuffs that showed off her long, elegant legs. The halter top matched the shorts. A wide-brimmed sun hat protected her lovely face from the warm California sun.
Paxton smiled to himself. He had come a long way from the small farm town where he’d grown up. These days he not only partied with the stars, he was fucking the most beautiful woman in Hollywood. Her first film, Dark Road, had made her an overnight sensation. The studio had moved quickly after that hit, casting Vera as the lead in two more films. The most recent one, Lady in the Shadows, had been out for only two months, and she was scheduled to start shooting her fourth picture in a few weeks.
Not only was she making money for her studio, she was pulling in a lot of cash for him. He made sure that, as often as possible, the cameras caught her with a bottle of Dr. Paxton’s Diet Tonic in her hand.
Vera noticed him and looked up with a concerned expression. Not for the first time he marveled that her beautiful brown eyes—eyes that could reflect any emotion that a director demanded for the camera—had such a remarkably vapid quality in real life.