Borderline (The Arcadia Project, #1)(19)

Berenbaum had his own little bungalow on a shady back corner of the lot, a cozy stucco outbuilding with a dozen parking spaces out front. Teo pulled right in like he owned the place, and despite the pass we’d been given, I couldn’t help feeling like an intruder. Even tourists were given a warmer welcome here than extras; the sight and smell of the place brought back sense-memories of debasement and exhaustion.

As we got out of the car, I winced at the loud, grinding creak of the passenger-side door and glanced around for Berenbaum’s trademark red Valiant. Of course it wasn’t there; you don’t drive an icon to work every day. Teo as usual was not slowing down for me, so I hurried to catch up, making heavy use of my cane.

Just inside the door of the bungalow was a cozy reception area with barely enough room for the sexy assistant’s desk and a few soft chairs. As if I weren’t dazzled enough, the walls were hung with illustrious photographs from Berenbaum’s career. In the oldest of them he had shaggy dark hair and bell-bottoms, but by the time we got to his first Oscar acceptance his hair was already zebra-striped white. Most of the photos showed him as I had always known him: a craggy, snow-capped man with intense dark eyes.

And then there he was, standing in the doorway behind the reception desk. He had to be pushing seventy by now, but aside from a comfortable sag in the middle and some deep crevices around his mouth and eyes, he looked ready to live another half century.

“Teo,” he said warmly.

He reached out to shake the kid’s hand while I forgot how to stand up. I used my cane to steady my wobble and put out my own hand just in time for it to receive the same quick, decisive shake.

“Another new partner?” Berenbaum said with a wry smile as he gestured for us to precede him into his office.

“Just mixing things up,” Teo said.

Berenbaum’s office was roomy, congenial, and strikingly absent the kind of self-congratulation that was so prevalent in the reception area. The walls, shelves, and floor were graced with the work of local artists; the only nod to his career at all was a set of framed posters from the Cotton trilogy, each covered in signatures. Even those were nearly obscured by a pair of potted ficus trees. I noticed two pictures of the red Valiant and three pictures of his copper-haired wife, each placed to be visible from his L-shaped work space.

He gestured to a dark leather couch and perched lightly on the edge of his desk.

“I didn’t get your name,” he said to me, his eye contact almost unnervingly steady. If he’d checked out my prosthetic legs, he’d been clever enough to do it while I was ogling his office.

“Oh. Yes, thank you,” I said.

Only when Teo looked at me as though I’d grown a nipple on my forehead did I realize what I’d said. Or rather, hadn’t said.

“That’s Millie,” Teo cut in. “She’s in training. She doesn’t talk much.” The look he gave me suggested that I had damned well better not.

“So what can I do for the Arcadia Project?” said Berenbaum, the corners of his eyes crinkling a bit.

“We’re trying to track down Rivenholt,” said Teo.

Berenbaum waited for more, then glanced at me to see if I’d be any help. I just shook my head slightly.

“You’re looking for him here?” Berenbaum asked, scratching his chin with a benignly puzzled look. “Black Powder wrapped almost two weeks ago. He’d be settled in back at home by now.”

“He never returned to Arcadia,” said Teo flatly.

Berenbaum’s hand dropped to his lap. “What? Are you sure?”

“There are only three Gates inside the Southern California perimeter,” said Teo. “They’re all watched by people and double--watched by magic. If he had crossed over, Caryl would know.”

Berenbaum pushed off from the edge of the desk, moving behind it. “That’s just crazy. Let me try his hotel.”

“We were there this morning. Apparently he extended his stay for a month, but also packed up everything and left. It looks like he hasn’t been there in days.”

Berenbaum stood very straight, looking at Teo with a face so blank I suspected he was starting to panic. “Teo,” he said carefully, “what does that mean?”

“If we knew, sir, we wouldn’t be bothering you in the middle of your workday. Do you know if he was in any kind of trouble? Did he do or say anything to make you think he might be trying to hide, or get away from someone?”

Berenbaum let out a frustrated puff of breath, raking a hand through his hair. “No, everything was just the same as—Wait.” He stopped then, giving Teo a penetrating look. Then, just as suddenly, the iconic man seemed to wilt, covering his eyes with his hand. “I’m an idiot.”

“What’s wrong?” I said despite myself.

Berenbaum didn’t look up. “This is my fault,” he said.





10


My heart went out to the old man, but Teo seemed unmoved. “How is Rivenholt’s disappearance your fault?” he asked.

Berenbaum straightened slowly, meeting Teo’s eyes. “At the wrap party, he was acting a little off. I was all caught up in my own stuff and didn’t really register what he was saying.”

“Which was?”

“He kept going on about how we should just get out of L.A., take Linda and go somewhere, just the three of us—-forget about everything and have fun together like we did when we were young. I figured he was just being fey, you know? Forgetting I had all this work to do in post. So I was kind of short with him.”