Viper's Nest Page 2

Ritchie was fiddling around with his iPhone. ‘I knew I recognised your name!’ he exclaimed suddenly. ‘I was trying to remember where I’d heard it before. You’re that English friend of the twins. They told me you were coming to LA for a trip. And I’ve seen you on Facebook, on their pages too. Look, here you are.’

  Cate stared at him blankly and then down at the tiny screen to see herself tagged in a grainy picture with smiling identical twins.

  ‘You know,’ he continued, almost jigging up and down with excitement, ‘the twins? Amber and Jade. Curly dark hair, always talk at the same time. Didn’t you hook up with them somewhere in Australia this winter?’

  This time Cate’s mouth did drop open. The Californian twins, wacky, funny and friendly, had been working at a turtle sanctuary with Cate and they had indeed stayed in touch through email and Facebook since then. In fact, a few days before she left London, Cate had messaged Amber to tell her that she was on her way and asking if the three of them could meet up.

  ‘I’ve known the twins for years.’ Ritchie laughed as he put his phone back in his pocket. ‘Same school in West Hollywood and now we’re at UCLA together. They’re on an archaeological dig somewhere in Mexico but they’re due back in town pretty soon. They said they were hoping to see you before you flew home. Just wait till I tell them I’ve seen you. Small world, huh?’

  Cate grinned back at him. ‘Amazing!’

  He paused. ‘Hey, do you want me to stay with you, keep you company, till your mom arrives? I’m in no hurry.’

  Cate was sorely tempted to take Ritchie up on his offer, but then pride – and exhaustion – got the better of her. ‘No, it’s fine,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’ll just get something to eat, and wait for my mum. I’m pretty used to travelling on my own, I’ve been doing it for years, so you really don’t have to worry about me. But hey, thanks, Ritchie. Maybe another time.’

  ‘OK,’ said Ritchie. ‘But take my phone number and when you get to your mom’s, if you’re at a loose end, give me a call. I can show you around, take you to a few parties maybe? I’m only up in West Hollywood. I’d be happy to help out if needed.’

  Cate had already decided she was going to wait for her mother in the Encounter Restaurant. She’d been struck by its space-age look every time she passed through LA airport and had always wanted to see inside.

  It was odd to think that Ritchie knew the twins. The summer before, Cate had been offered a dream job on a yacht moored in the south of France. This job had dragged her into a hotbed of criminal activity and she was drawn into working as an investigator for IMIA – the International Maritime Investigation Agency – a shadowy group of investigators who never appeared on government lists, seemed answerable only to themselves and who were called in as a last resort to solve complex crimes all over the world. At the Australian turtle sanctuary, Cate found herself working for IMIA again – unbeknownst to her colleagues there, including the twins. IMIA considered her the perfect undercover agent because, as a sixteen-year-old girl, she could go places where men would almost certainly raise suspicions.

  Cate had just finished her seafood salad when her phone rang.

  ‘Mum,’ she said eagerly, ‘are you nearly here?’

  ‘Sorry, darling.’ The signal was poor, her mother’s voice crackly and sharp. ‘Burt’s just got a call from a supplier. He’s been offered some stock at a rock-bottom price and it’s just too good an opportunity to miss, so we’ve got to make a detour. We’ll be with you tomorrow now, not today.’

  Speechless, Cate sat back in her chair, a toxic mix of hurt and anger beginning to churn in her stomach. Why oh why was nothing ever straightforward with her mother?

  ‘Look, darling . . .’ Her mother was using her placatory tone. ‘. . . Book yourself into a hotel at the airport and we’ll be with you as soon as we can. I know your father always makes sure you have plenty of money in your account for emergencies when you’re travelling, so you can pay by debit card and I’ll reimburse you.’

  Cate finally found her voice. ‘Mum, I’m only in LA for fourteen days. I don’t want to spend one of them in a smelly old airport hotel while I wait for you to get back from wherever you are.’ She could hear her voice rising. ‘I’ve come all this way to be with you. Can’t you just leave Burt and get back to me now?’

  Her mother tutted sympathetically. ‘Calm down, darling. I know it’s a shame, but it’s only for a few hours really.’ Her voice sharpened. ‘Darling, I have to go now. Call me when you know where you’re staying and we’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Cate slammed her phone on to the table and stared back out of the window. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to burst into tears or kick her suitcases out of sheer frustration. Instead she picked up a beer mat and crumpled it viciously into a tiny, unrecognisable ball.

  ‘Something wrong?’

  Cate started. She hadn’t noticed the petite Asian woman who was sitting just to the left of her. How long had she been there? she wondered.

  ‘Oh nothing,’ Cate muttered awkwardly. ‘Just that my lift is going to be late. About twenty-four hours late.’

  ‘I heard you talking about needing a hotel.’

  The woman was dressed casually in slim jeans and a beige top, but there was something about her businesslike attitude that Cate warmed to. Cate usually hated telling other people her problems, but right now she needed to talk.

  ‘My mum was meant to pick me up but she has got delayed until the morning. So I’ll have to spend the night in some vile airport hotel. I’ve been in grey old London for months and I’m desperate for a bit of surf and sun. I want to see the beach and the people and visit a cool coffee shop.’ She stopped, aware that she was bordering on ranting. ‘Well . . . you know what I mean.’

  The woman looked thoughtful. ‘As it happens,’ she said slowly, ‘I know somewhere that pretty much fits the bill. Have you ever been to Santa Monica?’

  Cate nodded. She had always loved the vibrancy of that part of LA – the street artists, the surfers, the beautiful people chilling out.

  ‘There’s a great hotel there, right on the sand, just south of Venice Beach. The Erin. I often go there for coffee and I know people who’ve stayed. It’s got a rooftop pool and apparently the bedrooms are incredibly cool. Much better than the airport hotels.’

  ‘Sound amazing,’ said Cate. ‘Just perfect, but a bit above my budget, I expect.’

  The woman rummaged in her neat black handbag. Cate noted the distinctive Chanel logo on the clasp. ‘I’m sure I’ve got their card in here.’ She pulled out a business card and waved it at Cate. ‘Tell you what, why don’t I call them for you? They know me there and I might be able to get you a good rate.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Cate, cheering up. ‘That’s really kind. Are you sure you don’t mind?’

  The woman smiled and picked up her phone. ‘You go and order us both another drink and I’ll make that call.’

  CHAPTER 2

  Sitting in the back of a cab as it crawled slowly down Santa Monica Boulevard towards the ocean, Cate could hardly contain her excitement. The huge Hispanic cabbie who had chatted about his seven children all the way from the airport along the snarled-up three-lane Lincoln Boulevard, had mercifully fallen silent, leaving Cate free to enjoy her first glimpses of the Pacific Ocean.

  She could see it now, glinting beyond the low-lying brightly painted buildings that stood between the highway and the wide beach.

  Cate edged forward in her seat, desperate to get to the hotel, change out of her jeans and T-shirt and hit the beach.

  The cab indicated and turned left along Ocean Avenue, slowing almost to a halt as the driver looked out for the Erin Hotel. Cate wound down the window and sniffed the air, smiling with pleasure as she felt the sea breeze on her face.

  No two buildings were the same: some were domed, some had chalet-style roofs, others were simply square concrete boxes painted in a variety of burned reds, bright blues and vibrant oranges. There were endless bars and restaurants, shops sellin
g artwork, photographs, tattoos and books, and tiny cafés spilling out on to the hot concrete pavement. Where the sand met the sidewalk, Cate could see a wave of people running and power-walking along a wide tarmac path which edged the golden beach and stretched away out of sight behind the buildings.

  ‘Ocean Front Walk,’ said the cabbie helpfully, spotting her enraptured face in his mirror. ‘The place where all the beautiful people come to be seen. The best place for people-watching in the whole of this crazy city.’

  Cate grinned back at him before sending her mother a quick text to tell her that she was staying at the Erin Hotel by Santa Monica Pier. Hopefully it would save her mum a wasted journey out to the airport.

  As the cabbie pulled to a halt, three girls in short skirts and vest tops swished past them, their rollerblades grinding on the pavement, long bare legs swaying.

  ‘It’s been a warm few weeks for April,’ said the cabbie, watching the girls admiringly as he pulled the cases from the boot of his car. ‘The forecast is good too. Have a great vacation now.’

  Cate took the cases from him, paid him and turned towards the hotel. Pistachio-green with a pointed roof and balconies at every window, it wouldn’t have looked out of place in an Alpine resort. But there the similarity ended. Rather than snow, sand edged the building and a bright yellow lifeguard jeep was parked outside the large porch, which trailed pink, red and yellow bougainvillea and ivy.

  As Cate watched, two muscled surfers carried their brightly painted boards into the reception, pausing only to shake the sand from their beach shoes as they went in.

  Bleached wooden floorboards and limed timbers gave the reception area an unmistakable beachside vibe and, at the far end of the vast room, a small coffee lounge spilled out through large glass doors on to a wide balcony overlooking the beach.

  She sent a silent thank you to the woman who had sent her there. Just after she got Cate a massive reduction on the usual room rate, she’d gone off to the ladies and didn’t come back. She hadn’t said goodbye and Cate felt bad she hadn’t been able to thank her properly. Still, thought Cate, whoever she was, she had done her a huge favour. Talk about good luck.

  Unable to resist, Cate headed straight for the view. The balcony was a suntrap; sand blown up from the beach was scattered over orange oversized beanbags and lumped up in hot silver mounds underneath her feet. Cate bent down and slipped off her sandals and leaned against the round metal railings to gaze down at the bright blue ocean, feeling her body unwind and relax from the effects of a long, hard British winter.

  ‘Cate? Oh my God, is that you?’ The booming voice came from behind her and made her jump. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  It was Ritchie, standing beside her, as large – if not larger – than he had seemed earlier in the day.

  Cate flushed. ‘My mum isn’t coming until tomorrow now.’ She found herself looking at her feet. ‘So I booked myself in here for the night. Someone at the airport recommended it.’

  ‘I’m so glad they did! My uncle owns this place. That’s what I was doing here. Just popping in to see him. And now you. Seems like we’re destined to meet!’

  ‘Spooky,’ she agreed. Suddenly she felt a wave of tiredness wash over her. ‘It’s great to see you again, Ritchie,’ said Cate, ‘but I really need to get up to my room and chill out a bit.’

  ‘No problem. I understand. It’s been a long day for all of us.’ He paused. ‘Look, a bunch of us are having a beach party tonight. Nothing fancy, just a barbecue, some music, maybe a bit of surfing if the water isn’t too cold. Join us if you want.’

  Cate hesitated. Ritchie seemed like a nice guy, but she didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. She was still hurting badly from her split with her French boyfriend Michel. She had met Michel last summer in Antibes, and it was he who had invited her out to Australia. But after he found out that Cate had spent the entire holiday working undercover for IMIA – and had been forced to spy on him and his friends at the sanctuary – he had decided to finish their relationship.

  ‘I’m sorry, Cate,’ he had said to her. ‘I understand why you lied to me but I need honesty in my relationships. I guess I’m not sure how I can trust you any more – and I can’t be with someone I can’t trust. Not even as friends.’

  Cate had tried to reason with him of course, to explain that her life – and probably the life of everyone at the sanctuary – had depended on her silence. But his mind had been made up, his face hard, so different from the affectionate, laid-back Michel she knew and loved.

  ‘Hey, penny for them?’ Ritchie was looking concerned. ‘You seem really down. I’m asking you to a party, not a wake. No strings, just a fun few hours with nice people. It looks like you could use it.’

  Cate pulled herself together and smiled. ‘Sorry, Ritchie, you’re right. I should get out there and enjoy myself. I’m only in LA for two weeks. Where’s the party?’

  ‘Past the pier – towards Venice. Meet you in reception at eight-thirty and we’ll walk down together, if that’s OK with you?’

  ‘Thanks,’ Cate said. ‘I’m looking forward to it already.’

  As Cate pushed open the door of her hotel room, her eyes widened in amazement. Opposite her, taking up an entire wall, was a huge mural of a giant wave breaking on to a beach where a young blond surfer was standing with his board at the ready. Thick sheepskin rugs dyed and cut into the shape of surfboards and camper vans were scattered liberally across the cool marble floor, and the bed frame was definitely made from bleached driftwood. Above it, battered surfboards hung at crazy angles from the ceiling and, just in case you missed the point, the lamp stand was a bronze cast of an arching dolphin.

  The room was crammed with the latest gadgets and Cate broke into a grin as she took in a large, bright yellow Smeg fridge, a massive blender next to a huge bowl of fruit, and an iPod docking station on the granite work surface. Below the massive LED TV screen on the wall opposite her bed, the shelves were stacked with CDs and DVDs. Then, to her utter disbelief, Cate spotted a twin mixing desk next to a sound editing desk. The whole room was unashamedly, proudly beach chic and it made Cate want to laugh out loud. She really wished that her best friend Louisa and younger brother Arthur could be here to share it with her. It was just the most amazing hotel room ever.

  Cate found the kettle and, while she waited for it to boil, unpacked a few of her clothes. She was here for at least a day and she decided to make herself feel at home. She chose a fennel tea from the variety of herbal tea bags in the small kitchen, walked to the window, pulled back the light muslin curtains and stepped out on to the balcony.

  Cate eased herself into the blue wicker chair and gazed out at the ocean, revelling in the feel of the warm breeze on her face and bare arms. It was hard to believe that just twenty-four hours earlier she had been saying goodbye to her stepmother, Monique, at Heathrow Airport in the cold, driving rain of a grey April day. As she rubbed in some suncream, she wondered if it was too early to Skype Louisa and decided that it probably was. Instead, she shut her eyes and dozed, feeling the exhaustion of the long flight melting away.

  An hour later, she was standing under the power shower, trying to decide what to do next. Half of her wanted to get into her beach stuff and go down to the ocean, lie on the sand and chill out. But Cate had been sitting down for a long time – she needed some exercise.

  Cate headed back into the room and felt around in the bottom of her suitcase for her running shoes, pulled them out and threw them on to the bed along with her lycra shorts, T-shirt and cap.

  As she pulled her thick, dark-blond hair back into a ponytail, her phone chimed with a text. It was from her mum, and was studded with a large amount of exclamation marks and smiley faces.

  Amazing you’re in Santa Monica! We have our new antiques shop there on Brendan Street. Mexicano Magic!! Will be back tomorrow evening and will pick you up from Erin. PS hope your father’s paying!!! Xxx

  Cate’s jaw dropped. Her mother had a shop? She had al
ways told Cate and Arthur how she hated to be tied down to routine, how the drudgery of a nine-to-five life would destroy her soul. This she had to see. Was it within running distance of the Erin? she wondered as she headed downstairs to the lobby.

  ‘Do you happen to know where Brendan Street is?’ Cate asked the receptionist, who had been chatting animatedly to a pair of lifeguards. She was black, with bleached-blond hair, four piercings in each ear and a very low-cut top. ‘I’d quite like to run there if it’s possible.’

  All three turned slowly to look at Cate, then the receptionist smiled. ‘I’ll find it for you, honey,’ she said, getting out a local map and beckoning to Cate. ‘Yeah, here it is.’ Her bright red fingernails pointed to a road a few kilometres south of the hotel. ‘Brendan Street. Head along the beach towards Venice and then turn inland at Rose Avenue. Take this map with you and you’ll find it, no problem.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Cate, turning to go. ‘Should take me about an hour.’

  ‘Mmm,’ said one of the lifeguards, putting down the bottle of Diet Coke he had been swigging from and looking Cate up and down ‘Do you know Santa Monica at all?’

  ‘Sort of,’ said Cate. ‘Been here a few years ago.’

  ‘Then you’ll know to stay this side of the Pacific Highway,’ one of the lifeguards called over his shoulder. ‘You do that, you’ll be safe.’

  Cate thanked him. She was well able to look after herself. When her mother had left home, her father, a UN peace negotiator, had insisted she and Arthur join him in his world of diplomatic travel. She had travelled all over the globe and had found herself in many a tricky situation before her father had insisted they settled in London once Cate had started working towards exams. She also had a brown belt in martial arts, which gave her confidence. But it always made sense to listen to good advice.

  She was just heading for the door when she spotted Ritchie. He was facing her, talking to a man, whose grey-streaked hair and the set of his broad shoulders seemed, weirdly, familiar.