CoverBoys & Curses (4 page)

Chapter Eleven

Easy
Money

GABRIELLA
HUNG UP the phone after ordering Sterling Falls a set of August Horn bed
linens. A lavish gift for the lavish Visconti referral. She knew the gesture
reflected the slight insiders’ joke that Gabri lived vicariously through
Sterling’s stories of sexual indiscretions.

Carly
Posh bolted past Gabri’s receptionist and burst into the private office. Gabri
didn’t know Carly very well. She did remember the property she had sold her in
Bel Air, rumored to be haunted. Haunted house legends meant big sales in L.A.
and Gabri knew she could sell it again with a couple of fast phone calls. Oh
yes, Gabri remembered, the woman had an interior design business, Posh
Possessions. That was her name, she thought. Etiquette equals sales.

“Ms.
Posh, what brings you by?” Gabri asked, ignoring the brazen interruption in hopes
it would pay off. She was not to be disappointed.

“I’ve
found a house I want to buy. I need you to handle the paperwork for me,” Carly
said.

Gabri
felt her toes tingle. This little piggy wasn’t having roast beef. It squirmed
with delight for a juicy and rare filet mignon. Still, she was surprised. She’d
attended a Fourth of July party at Carly’s home that summer. The designer had
just furnished it with custom-made pieces and antiques from all over the world.

“I can
sell your home, given some time and working my connections,” Gabri fudged, not
wanting her job to sound too easy. “When do you want to close on the new
house?”

“We can
close next week. It doesn’t really matter. And I’m keeping the Bel Air house.”

“Oh, I
see. Buying a second home? Maybe Big Bear?”

“Nothing
like that. I’ve found a place near the Hollywood Hills.”

“But
you’re staying in Bel Air?”

“Using
it as more of a rental. It’s taken care of.”

Gabri
gasped, but before she could say anything Carly said, “I think you’ll find all
the information you need here.” She tossed a thick manila folder onto Gabri’s
mahogany desk. “I just need you to look the title work over. Stuff like that.”

“Who’s
the listing agent?”

“It’s
between me and the seller. I just thought it prudent of me to involve you.
Right? I’ll pay you, of course.”

And
Gabri agreed. For a fee. She reached her chubby hand over her desk and shook
hands with Carly.

I’m
going to owe Sterling Falls more than bed linens, Gabri thought, if her rich
friends keep buying all this real estate.

Gabri
decided it was time to host one of her legendary dinner parties for Sterling
and her circle of affluent friends. She penciled in some names on a legal pad.

The list
amused her. Sterling proved to be something of a
Jekyll and Hyde
. A daddy’s girl, for sure, and daddy thought she
was a virgin.

“In
truth angelic Sterling is a virgin, nine hundred times removed,” Gabri said
aloud to herself while wondering who might be her newest escort.

Lauren
Visconti had big bucks. More than she figured her for. Old money, Gabri
thought.

Then
there was Carly Posh to add to the guest list. Odd name. Choppy sounding.
 
But who cares? Sterling Falls’ referrals, and
Gabri’s ability to keep them loyal were making Gabriella Criscione a very rich
woman.

Chapter Twelve

It’s
Just a Glass of Wine

TWO
WEEKS PASSED. It was a stroke of luck that the fifth floor of the office
building I bought sat empty. The executive offices of
CoverBoy
were available for me to lease until the close of escrow.

Likewise,
Sukie Fields managed to move her photography studio and lab into the basement.
The existing tenants didn’t seem to mind at all as they watched the endless
stream of gorgeous male models riding the elevators up and down between our two
departments.

Sukie entered
into contracts with seven young male models. My own computer geek, Geoff Hayes,
would make the debut cover, but only after setting up our online presence.
“Geek above gorgeous,” I told him.

I
stepped inside Sukie’s photo lab to see her lift off the last of the 8x10
glossies.

“Damn,
these are good,” I said as I helped her hang the drippy papers. They were the
usual shoots. Hunks in jeans, studs in tuxedos, and lots of almost nudes. Sukie
had a way with the camera. Every
ab
glistened, every
curve on the thighs fell rich with texture. And then there were the eyes. In
truth, Sukie captured far more depth to the eyes than the models exhibited in
real life.

“By the
way,” Sukie said, “I grabbed the mail at the PO Box and accidentally opened
something personal of yours.” She grinned. “You’ll like it.”

We both
knew nothing was too personal in my life that Sukie couldn’t see it. I
succumbed to my own curiosity when I saw the feeble, shaky looking handwriting
on the small pale blue envelope. I could barely make out the words in the short
note.

Thank
you for returning my wallet. I was beaten up pretty bad by those boys.

Broke
my hip. The receipt
ain’t
mine.

Don’t
want anything that don’t belong to me. The money is your reward.

I looked
back inside the envelope and pulled out a receipt and the cash. The receipt was
actually a claim check from the Tom Bradley International Bag Service at LAX. I
slipped the ticket into my purse, along with all the cash. My reward was three
worn one-dollar bills.

I
scoured the junk mail. Opened up a few bills. How did they find me so quickly?
Another envelope caught my eyes. White. Typed with my old address and
forwarded. No return address.

One
piece of paper. Three little words. Sometimes that’s all it takes. The typed
message read:

                       
It wasn’t suicide.

A
LATE LUNCH AT
Catrozzi’s
was already a single
hedonistic ritual that engulfed my soul. I sat there, unaccompanied, after
ordering the chef’s daily special.

The
chardonnay smelled of a buttery liquid with a good hint of oak, just the way I
liked it. The wine clung to the crystal glass, dribbling down the sides with
the thickened leggy brush strokes of a Van Gogh. It reminded me of Pasquale’s,
in Chicago, where my family took me for my twenty-first birthday. We had my
graduation party in a back banquet room. We held a small wake for my mother in
that same room. I flashed my new engagement ring to my father at the bar.

Catrozzi’s
head waiter brought me the
delicate abalone and disappeared before I could thank him. Or was the movement
even him? I had the distinct feeling someone was watching me. I’d taken my
table. A big table with six chairs. Maybe a large party was waiting for it as I
sat there alone? Maybe someone was casting pitiful looks my way? Poor
little-rich-girl looks.

I
glanced around. The narrow room bustled with power business lunches, a few
young mothers enjoying an hour or so away from dirty diapers and drools, and
flirtatious conversations. Another loner like me, a man of about sixty-five—maybe
seventy, sat sipping an iced tea and reading a newspaper.

The
waiter patiently allowed me my slow degustation, then reappeared with a second
glass of wine.

“From
the gentleman over there,” he nodded in the direction of the old man. “It’s
from another vineyard, but he insisted you would like it.”

The
chair sat empty with the newspaper catching a wimpy occasional draft from the
air-conditioning.

The
waiter followed my gaze. “Strange. He was just there. Let me tell you, he chose
a special wine for you. An excellent chardonnay from a small winery. We mostly
just serve the California wines here.”

The
small talk was a nice diversion. “Is it French?” The shimmering golden fluid
had a strong bouquet of buttery oak.

“You’d
never guess. It comes from Southern Arizona.”

I had
another plane to catch. I would be returning to Tucson. Carly and Sterling were
coming with me.

Chapter Fourteen

An
Empty Memory

FRIDAY
MORNING I GRABBED my bags to pack for the short weekend trip to Tucson. The
final chore was to switch out purses from a tiny black leather Chanel to a
large Hobo. Exchanging contents, the airport claim check fell out from the
smaller purse.

Tom
Bradley Terminal. The receipt the old man with the stolen wallet had mistakenly
returned to me.

I would
check it out on my return.

I didn’t
give Carly or Sterling a choice. Neither of them held down jobs where they
couldn’t take a quick weekend excursion to Tucson.

Sterling
had called it a
‘Big Chill’
thing,
sans any sexy male companions and long after any funeral. I had a different
itinerary in mind. We wouldn’t be lounging around the pool immersing ourselves
in idle chat about the good old days.

Carly
loved a bargain. She was in charge of lodging. We took potluck in finding a good
hotel in Tucson, in late August, and she managed to snag a five-star suite at
half the price of their winter rates.

While Carly
wore a grin gained from her success at haggling over the cost of the room, it
quickly faded when she, Sterling, and I folded our exhausted bodies against the
silky Stroheim and
Romann
fabric of the suite’s
living room loveseats.

“It
doesn’t feel right, does it?” Carly asked.

“Christ,”
Sterling said, “maybe because last time we were here it was to say goodbye to
Payton.”

“No,
it’s not that,” Carly said. She was fondling a bottle of cold water, pursing
her lips to it without sipping, and then rolling it against her forehead. “You
don’t think she did it, do you, Lauren?”

“Payton
did a lot of dumb-ass things, but not this. She wouldn’t take her own life.”

Sterling
looked up from the room service menu. “Yeah. The cat, Teddy. She wouldn’t leave
her cat. Not ever.”

THE
NEXT DAY CARLY and I returned from a continental breakfast and jarred Sterling
awake. As she finished applying makeup with the use of the car visor mirror, we
approached the Pima County Sheriff’s Office at ten o’clock.

The
detective greeted us with a quick glance at his watch. The prepared speech was
succinct. “Our department did a thorough investigation, just like we do with
any suicide. Any death of a young person requires an autopsy. The coroner
confirmed our findings. I’m sorry. The case is closed.”

“Did
Payton have a will?” Carly asked.

He
looked at her with an almost humorous sneer. “That’s the family’s business.
Again, it’s not unusual for a young person not to have a suicide note, or a will.”

Sterling
considered the facts that weren’t sitting well with her. “But her cat. She had
her cat groomed right before she died. Her mother found it with a fresh bow
around her neck.”

I could
see the grimace erupting from the otherwise reposed face of the detective. He
answered, “Ma’am, maybe she wanted to make sure the cat had a good home. Made
it presentable, you know? It’s nothing else, I assure you.”

“But she
didn’t sign her email to me,” I said.

“Ma’am.
I get that it troubles you. But give me some credit. I know a thing or two about
these things. Your friend was about to commit suicide. She wasn’t thinking
about email etiquette. You need to
get
that.”

His
voice and a second glance at his watch signaled the end to our brief meeting.

“THE
ONLY THING I KNOW is that we need to get inside Payton’s house,” I said, as we
made the turn on Speedway heading west of town.

“Indulge
me. Tell me why, again?” Sterling hiked up her skirt and placed her bare feet
on the dashboard above the passenger seat.

“I don’t
know why, but I called both her parents. Her dad never returned my calls, but
her mom said someone would meet us with a key.”

Carly
crouched forward from the backseat. “Someone?”

“A
friend, I guess. You have to remember their son disappeared a couple of years
ago. This must be too much for her, losing her last child. She said she walked
through Payton’s house once, right after they removed her body. She took the
cat and a few framed photographs and said she doesn’t plan on ever returning,”
Sterling said.

I slowed
the car down, looking for the turn. Carly and Sterling sat in silence. A
funereal aftermath seemed to consume the air in the rented SUV.

“Her mom
told us to take anything that may be special to us. She said she didn’t know
what that may be but—”

“All
very sad,” Carly said. “I feel sick we don’t know her mom better, after all
these years.”

I’d only
been to Payton’s house a few times, but I was still in awe as we entered
Saguaro National Park, greeted by dense towering cacti standing like regal
guards. My old idea of a forest populated by pine trees was challenged every
time I saw the majesty of these armed and god-like living structures.

“This
looks familiar,” I said as we neared a pocket of homes that were somehow
allowed to be built, years ago, in the middle of the national park.

The
voice of the Garmin need not have announced that we had arrived at our
destination. Payton’s home was the most quaint and charming on the short dirt
road. The rows of dead potted plants made it the saddest, too.

The
driver’s window of the car parked in the driveway seamlessly rolled down. The
man asked us our names, then handed Carly the key and started to drive away. He
stopped and backed the car up, jumped out and opened the back seat door.

“I
almost forgot,” he shook his head. “Mrs.
Doukas
wanted you to have this. She’s allergic.”

The man
handed me an animal carrier. Inside, Teddy sat huddled in the far corner.

“Just
great,” I said, as the man screeched all four wheels out of there, leaving
behind a blanket of dust. I turned to Sterling.

“Don’t
look at me. I don’t do animals except under the covers, and Carly is a dog
person.”

Carly
unlocked the door and shuffled inside. I preferred to stand for a moment on the
small flagstone patio. Taking it all in. Shoring up my spirit. I couldn’t help
but smile as I looked at the colorful Mexican Talavera pots that lined the
entry, in spite of the small fact that all the plants and flowers and vines
were scorched and dead.

When I
stepped inside Carly sat at the kitchen bar, her eyes swollen with wannabe
tears she held on to with all her strength. She mumbled, “I don’t know why
we’re here.”

“I
shouldn’t have asked you to come along,” I said.

“No, I’m
glad. But why?” she urged me. “We have to believe the sheriff’s department has
already looked around.”

“But
they didn’t know her like we do. Maybe we won’t find anything, but I have to
believe maybe we’ll
feel
something
here.”

Carly
cocked her head in disbelief. A last minute lift of her chin told me of her willingness
to help.

“Let’s
look around,” I said, placing the animal carrier near the door. Maybe there’s
something they missed. It wasn’t a big investigation, Carly. Cut and dried, for
them. I think we need to look for signs. Maybe signs that can affirm she did
commit suicide and at least we’ll know why. Let’s look for anything financial that
might tell us she was in over her head. Look for stock market records or
certificates. Maybe something from the Paris Bourse.”

“Paris?”
Sterling asked.

I
explained the wild goose-chase to see if by chance Payton had certificates
through the Parisian CAC-40.

“That
girl barely got by financially. Can’t imagine why she’d look to overseas market
indexes.”

“Just a
thought, while we’re here. Or maybe she was having an affair that went sour and
we didn’t know about it. I’ll check the medicine cabinet. Maybe she was
sick—really sick, and didn’t want anyone to know.”

Sterling
was already riffling through Payton’s jewelry. Payton’s mother had clearly
instructed us to take anything we wanted. It was Sterling’s nature and her
business, and I found nothing wrong with it.

“She
still had a few good pieces,” Sterling sighed, “in spite of her brother.”

“He took
her for a lot of money,” Carly said.

“He
borrowed a lot of money before he went missing,” I said.

“But she
still loved him. She loved everything about him. When he disappeared I thought
we were going to lose Payton, then and there.”

I walked
into the study. Although scoured clean, I could see every drop of blood Payton
might have lost. I smelled the distinct smell of blood—copper.
 
I could almost hear the gunshot.

“Wait a
minute. Her computer is gone,” I said, disappointment and frustration lacing my
throat.”

“Oh. Her
mom has that,” Sterling called from the other room. “She thought maybe she
could learn how to use it.”

We
scoured Payton’s house for almost two hours. Nothing affirmed a suicide.
Nothing screamed otherwise. Sterling made a list of the few items of jewelry
with any value. She thought she could contact Payton’s mother and offer to sell
the pieces for her. The only object we walked away with, and yes, I took it,
was a large inlaid mother-of-pearl box holding Payton’s sadness. The box was
stuffed with small objects and papers that evidenced Payton’s relentless search
to find her missing brother, Mike.

Oh, and
the cat. Teddy was going home with me.