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Typically, on Monday nights Hugh gets here after nine and we forgo this part of domestic life. Something Italian with sausage, spices and tomatoes. Spain was, at the very least, a lie.įrom the family room I hear a pot skid on a burner in the kitchen and I smell the meal my fiancé is preparing the two of us for dinner. The pump and hiss of air being forced into the motionless man’s lungs is with me now, in my head, like the sounds of a large city or a noisy casino a day after you’ve left it. Word of mouth and a home in Carson’s name with high stucco walls to keep out paparazzi is all it took for the rumor to realize into truth.
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Up until today when I met with his daughter to appraise some property, I too believed the reports that claimed he’s been spending the last year or so retired in a whitewashed villa off the coast of Spain. His handsome face fills the screen, upstaging his daughter even now when she is the subject the reporter is speaking about. The rest of the time he’s been photographed either at dinner in a double-breasted suit or an awards event in a tux. A man who’s never been caught in anything more casual than a golfing polo and trousers out on the green. She is the daughter of Hollywood royalty, the black and white Rat Pack kind, the reclusive Carson Davis, a legendary actor, eighty-one, three or four Oscars earned and countless nominations. She could’ve just gone for a drive to clear her head and forgotten about the time.Įlise is not someone people would recognize, a losable face in the crowd, hard to spot in any convenience store surveillance tape, but that doesn’t mean she’s just anyone. How does one make it on the local news if gone for only a few short hours? She could’ve run out of gas and found her cell phone had lost its charge or signal for that matter. She is my new client, an old childhood friend, and she is missing. She’s behind the black smoke of a big rig explosion shutting down all northbound lanes of the 101 Freeway and a water main break on Sunset Boulevard. The woman with whom I’d spent most of my morning is the third story on the evening news. In the following passage, a real estate appraisal expert finds herself on a luxury yacht surrounded by badly behaved titans of industry. The following is an exclusive excerpt from Appraise Her ,by Paula Priamos.