Murder by Numbers (3 page)

“Good luck,” Michael said. “We're behind you.”

“Yeah,” Michelle sounded a little annoyed that the ex-husband had spoken first.

Liza hung up the phone and rubbed her hands on her thighs. They weren't exactly sweaty, but they probably would be by the time she got to Jenny.

The phone rang again.

“Hello?” She wondered who was calling.

Had Michelle done something unprecedented—like forgetting to bring up a point on a phone conference? Had Buck Foreman already dug up some dirt on Oliver Chissel and Mirage Productions? Was Michael calling back to offer something a little more than backup? Things had gotten warmer between them lately—

“Liza, it's Kevin Shepard.”

Hearing from the other man in her life right after speaking to—and thinking about—Michael left Liza momentarily speechless.

“I'm calling because I need a favor for someone.” Kevin sounded a little embarrassed. “Ray Massini.”

“As in Mayor Massini?” Liza said. What could the mayor of Maiden's Bay want from her?

“That's right,” Kevin replied. “Ray is an old army buddy, and he could really use someone with Hollywood savvy. When I look over my acquaintances, that's pretty much you.”

“And what does he need me for?” Liza wanted to know.

“Ray's got a movie bigwig coming to town,” Kevin told her. “His name is Oliver Chissel, and his plane is going to be landing soon.”

Liza couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. “Oliver Chissel is coming to Maiden's Bay? What for?”

“That's what Ray would like to know,” Kevin said. “He'd been dealing with a—what did he call him?—a line producer and the director, that Hamblyn guy. Then there was this new guy, Peter Hake, and Hamblyn was in the hospital, replaced by Lloyd Olbrich. Now all of a sudden, Chissel is aboard a corporate jet due to land in Manzanita about an hour from now. Could you get to City Hall and talk to Ray before that happens?”

“I'll get down there as soon as I can,” Liza promised. “After I make a couple of calls to L.A.”

I expect Chissel is coming up here to talk to the troops rather than to Ray Massini
, she thought.

Kevin hung up and Liza hit the speed-dial number for Markson Associates. Ysabel put her right through to Michelle, who listened in silence as Liza detailed the latest.

“I hadn't heard that Chissel was going out of town,” she muttered darkly. “Does he think he's going to mess with one of my clients? And you say that Peter Hake is up there?”

“You know him?” Liza asked.

“If Mirage Productions had an honest organization chart, which it doesn't, Hake would be vice president in charge of dirty tricks. He's Chissel's enforcer and facilitator. On his old scamming businesses as well as his new career in films. He makes Tony Soprano's crew look like choirboys. Do you know how long he's been up in Maiden's Bay? I wouldn't put it past him to arrange the accident that took Terence Hamblyn out of the picture.”

“You're kidding!” When she didn't hear an answer, Liza added, “Aren't you?”

“I don't know. Maybe not. Liza, you know that The Business is all about ego.” When Michelle referred to “The Business,” she meant the film business. “It's all about getting your way. Most big shots out here use money to throw their weight around. In the old days, they used to do more. When money didn't work, the old studios had fixers. They didn't care which side of the law they were playing on. They simply did what they had to do to get their way. Fixers were people like Peter Hake. I'm surprised you haven't heard of him. He's been making quite a name for himself. Oh wait…he's a new name for you because he came into Mirage while you were busy soul searching up in Oregon. If you'd kept your nose to the grindstone, you'd be up on all the gossip.”

“Sorry,” Liza said, not really meaning it. But it paid to throw in the odd symbolic grovel for her boss.

“Hake's worked as Chissel's ‘special assistant' for the past few months, but he's been into nastier stuff than most Hollywood arm-twisters. Hake is nothing more than a thug with a three-hundred-dollar haircut—a
stupid
three-hundred-dollar haircut,” Michelle added angrily. “He was Chissel's thug long before Ollie got stuck with Mirage.”

“But Chissel is running the show now,” Liza said.

“The question may be for how long,” Michelle replied. “One of the things Buck is looking into is Chissel's financials.”

“I have a hard time seeing him do that.” With his size, handsome but heavy features, and perpetual sunglasses, Buck Foreman's appearance spelled C-O-P with a capital “intimidating.” If you wanted brains and muscle, Buck was your guy. But, in Liza's mind, anyway, forensic accounting didn't look like it would be one of his specialties.

“When Buck investigates someone, he
investigates
,” Michelle replied. “That includes bringing in any necessary professionals.”

“But you didn't hear anything about Chissel coming up here—or why,” Liza pressed on.

“No,” Michelle said in a “heads will roll” tone of voice. Her Hollywood intelligence system could probably rival the KGB's in its prime. Certainly, she used it as ruthlessly. “You can bet he's not heading out to bestow good news on the crew, though.” She paused for a moment, and Liza heard the tickety-tack sound of computer keys in the background. She could just visualize Michelle leaning over the keyboard, calling up her calendar with one hand.

“Ysabel can cancel tomorrow's meetings—I'm going up there.”

“Me, too,” Michael's voice chimed in. “It'll be just like the good old days.”

That's what I'm afraid of
, Liza thought.

“Sure—the more the merrier,” Liza said. They all said their good-byes and Liza hung up.

No sense running into hostile territory without proper war paint
, she thought, and went to change for the big meeting. Oregon was probably ground zero for business casual. Even CEOs around here showed up for board meetings in khakis and polo shirts. But Liza's current baggy sweats and a baseball cap would definitely be pushing it.

 

An hour later, in a more sedate outfit of blazer and slacks, her makeup carefully applied, Liza stood in the mayor's office. Maiden's Bay's seat of power was a cramped, nondescript space in the rear of City Hall. The little coastal town was too small for a full-time mayor. Even the town clerk and the sheriff's deputies had busier—and larger—offices.

A large, elaborately carved wooden desk, at least a century old, took up most of the space in the room. It contrasted strangely with the rest of the décor, especially the mid-fifties furnishings dating from the building's last renovation. The desk was set at an angle because that was the only way it fit in the room. Despite its small size, the rest of the office looked pretty much like generic business space taken over by small-town politics.

Photos of former mayors with the political movers and shakers of years gone by covered the walls. Then there was an “I Love Me” section that featured photos of Ray. Liza spotted one shot of a younger Ray Massini in desert camou-flage and sergeant's stripes off to one side.

Ray had already graduated by the time Liza and Kevin reached high school, but his image had been one they knew from framed squad pictures of several successful football teams featured prominently in the field house. After serving several hitches in the army, Ray had come through Operation Desert Storm as an honest-to-Pete war hero. He'd returned to Maiden's Bay to put his G.I. benefits to good use. And he had, ending up with a successful insurance agency and a string of community good works. He'd run for the mayoralty of Maiden's Bay a few years back and won it easily.

Liza had seen Ray around town since she'd returned to Oregon. He had a strikingly handsome face, with the sharp, regular features of someone on an ancient Roman coin—except that he wore his graying hair cut short and brushed straight back.

He looked the part of a successful former noncommissioned officer.

Liza figured the Hollywood types would want him screen-tested the instant they laid eyes on him.

Right now, he rested one buttock on the corner of the old desk in a conscious attempt to look relaxed. Liza could just imagine Sergeant Massini engaging in the same sort of watchful waiting before leading his company out to attack.

In this case, the troops he was leading weren't evident. And the enemy he was facing at the moment came down to Liza. Massini looked as if he'd far rather deal with bullets from the Republican Guard than face time with some big film bozo from La-la Land.

Or maybe she was one of his troops. Hard to say.

Liza didn't know how much support she could offer him. She'd tried to warn the mayor that truthfulness was not something to expect from Hollywood—aka the Land of Make-believe. It was commonly said that the easiest way to tell if a bigwig in The Business was lying was to see if he was breathing.

“What am I facing here?” Ray asked.

Liza wondered how much of the truth to give him.

Whatever Chissel was coming up here about, he was looking for some sort of edge for his company and for
Counterfeit
. “Treat him like a large, important insurance client,” Liza advised the mayor, “coming in with a dodgy claim. Or a tame tiger. He's flashy. But if things don't make him happy, he might just try to take a chunk out of you. Probably from your dead and bleeding carcass.”

“Gee, thanks,” Ray said, though not like he meant it.

The buzzer on the intercom went off, and Massini rose to his feet.

Showtime
, Liza thought.

The office door opened, and in walked a large, soft-looking man who extended a hand. “Oliver Chissel,” he said. “And this is Peter Hake.”

“My name's Ray Massini,” the mayor responded, “and this is Liza Kelly.”

Oliver Chissel shot her a glance but said nothing. Apparently, judging by the look in his eyes, he knew who she was. Or at the very least he had met Michelle.

But he didn't look like he planned to play it light here. In fact, he looked like he planned to throw his considerable weight around. And Hake looked positively dangerous—though not in an attractive way.

In fact, neither of them were what she expected to see, which was surprising in an appearance-oriented business like Hollywood.

Liza had seen a couple of unflattering photos of Chissel in the newspaper—heavy on the double chins. In person, Chissel had a round, bland, undistinguished face. He looked more as if he should be dispensing medicine from behind the counter at Schilling's Pharmacy, or maybe selling insurance for Ray Massini, than like a wannabe movie mogul. In fact, he had the look of an old-time tent evangelist. He looked too well fed, too eager to meet them.

Yeah
, Liza thought,
that would be a very successful face for telling people where to put their money—right until he left town with it.

Chissel's well-practiced benevolent smile went well with his clean-shaven features. The only odd thing was that he wore his faded ginger hair unfashionably long for a businessman. Maybe it was an attempt to compensate for his pink, bald dome.

Well, it's better than Donald Trump's tease and comb-over
, Liza thought.
And it's probably cheaper, even at Hollywood prices.

Peter Hake had an expensive haircut as well, but Michelle was right. It did look stupid. Hake's dishwater brown hair was cut short on the back and sides but rose in gelled spikes from the crown of his head. It was like tying a ridiculous little silk tassel to the hilt of a sharp knife.

She looked at Hake's slightly pointed features, impassive as he stood a step behind and to the right of his boss.

Sharp knife—and definitely deadly
, Liza thought. She could well imagine him messing with Terence Hamblyn's car if Chissel needed that done.

The Mirage mogul got right down to business. “Mr. Mayor,” Chissel said, “we need to extend our location shooting.”

Massini frowned. “Liza told me that sometimes films run over time and budget. But she also said this didn't seem to be that kind of project. We've got a construction project we're trying to get under way in the harbor. Mr. Hamblyn and your line producer assured me that you folks would be done by now. I've got a pile driver sitting idle—that's costing the town money.”

“As you know, we've had a change of directors,” Chissel said. “And Lloyd Olbrich has suggested a new direction for the film.” He brought up a couple of his chins. “Perhaps if Terence Hamblyn hadn't gotten injured on one of your roads…”

“Mr. Hamblyn crashed on the coastal highway—a state road,” Massini said evenly, “while he was driving up from the Killamook Inn. It might not have happened if you'd lodged your people here in town instead of halfway round the bay.”

“I understand the accommodations were better at—” Chissel glanced at Hake.

“The Killamook Inn,” his assistant put in.

“But accommodations and services were all part of the pitch when your people first came to us,” Massini said. “A boost for local businesses. A luxury place like Killamook Inn, I guess we'd have to expect that the stars and big shots would stay over there. But you've got the rest of your crew in less expensive motels around Killamook, too. And you're feeding them with a catering service that trucks everything down from Portland. Except for the occasional cup of coffee and bottle of iced tea, our local merchants haven't exactly benefited from your shoot.”

Chissel shrugged. “I can't speak to that directly. But we have professional staff that evaluates local facilities and whether they can accommodate us. Apparently that wasn't the case here in Maiden's Bay.”

Liza had a momentary vision of Ma's Café trying to deal with a crowd three times the size of the normal morning rush. Not to mention trying to come up with food to please delicate Hollywood palates. Whether she liked it or not, Chissel had a point.

“A number of the townsfolk have had the opportunity to participate as background extras,” Chissel went on. “The new scenes we're adding in will mean more calls for extras, and we're already scouting additional locations. That will mean more location payments as well.” He smiled. “I'm sure your constituents will be pleased enough when their checks arrive three weeks after we wrap.”