Thugs and Kisses (10 page)

After Dev left, I returned to my office and made a list of Steele’s friends, or at least the ones I knew about. The list wasn’t that long. One was another lawyer named Timothy Weber. Tim worked for Goldberg-Rawlings, one of those international super-sized law firms. His office was in Los Angeles, but they also had an Orange County office that was housed just a couple of floors above our firm. When Tim’s in town, he and Steele usually get together. They had met fresh out of law school at the first law firm they had both worked for. Other names on the list included Marvin Dodd, a financial analyst Steele plays tennis with frequently, and Walter Yamada, his CPA and golf companion.

Steele, of course, knew lots of other people, but these were his three key friends—his
amigos
—that I knew about. With Steele’s computer password, I was able to find their private phone numbers on Steele’s contacts list.

My plan was to call each of these people and see what they knew about Steele’s plans. I also planned to drive to Santa Barbara and meet with Karen Meek, not only to question her, but to satisfy my raging curiosity.

My first call was to Karen Meek. She immediately asked if we had heard anything from Steele and seemed quite concerned when I reported we had not. She said she’d be happy to speak with me tomorrow at her office. We set the appointment for eleven thirty. Next, I called Marvin and Walter, but both were out of their respective offices. It was almost five o’clock, so I wasn’t that surprised.
I left voice mails for each, explaining who I was and why I was calling.

From going through Steele’s voice mails, I remembered a couple of messages from Tim Weber telling Steele he was going to be in Orange County this week. I was pleased to find out when I called his cell that he was still in the area. As soon as he heard why I was calling, he asked me to come up to his office. I told him I’d be there in a jiffy.

Once you get past the designer lobbies, most law firms look the same, especially the larger ones housed in high-rise office buildings. Generally, the only distinction between them is what their reception area, or public area, looks like. Past that point, they become almost identical, with the attorneys on the outside with the window views and the staff in cubicles along the inside of the hallways. Out of view of the hallways, at the core of the floor plan, are the copy centers, kitchens, and file rooms. Most clients are seen in conference rooms just off the reception area and seldom see the inner workings of the firm they employ.

I felt right at home in the hallways of Tim Weber’s firm. Except for the artwork, color of paint on the walls, and light fixtures, it could have been Woobie. Many of the staff were packing up for the day, but the same sense of purpose, the same clicking of fingers flying across keyboards, the same ringing of phones greeted me as I was escorted to his office by a pleasant-looking young man I recalled seeing from time to time in the elevators. Even the office Tim was using looked like the visiting attorney offices at Woobie—a simple desk, credenza, empty bookcase, computer, one swivel desk chair, and one visitor’s chair. Since this wasn’t his home office, there wasn’t a single personal item in sight, except for his briefcase and suit jacket.

Tim thanked the young man who brought me to him and directed me to the visitor’s chair. “I’m sorry about the office, but all the conference rooms are in use right now.” Tim grinned. “Hey, caught that photo of you in the paper. Nice to see your black eye’s gone. ”

I gave him a tight smile and murmured thanks. Sheesh! Did everyone on the planet see that photo?

Tim Weber was almost as tall and well-built as Steele, and almost as handsome, except that he was very fair and his light hair was starting to recede. So much so, I bet he’d be bald by the time he was fifty. He also seemed less rigid than Steele and far less self-focused. We had met on several occasions during the past couple of years, and I always found him pleasant. Tim was married to an heiress, old money from the East, and their names and photos often popped up in society columns reporting on charity events. He greeted me with proper politeness before cutting to the chase.

“So, Odelia, what’s going on with Mike? Does anyone know where he is?”

“
No one
seems to know where he is. I was hoping you could shed some light on it.”

Tim shook his head. “Wish I could. I knew something was up when he didn’t answer my calls to his cell or his office. I called to let him know I was going to be in Orange County a few days, try to set up at least a dinner, maybe some tennis, while I was in town. It’s been awhile since we’ve seen each other.”

I gave Tim Weber a rundown of what we knew so far—the trip to Santa Barbara, the no-show at the inn, the preoccupation with a trial, the no response to calls and e-mails.

“It’s simply like he’s vanished,” I said with a shrug of my shoulders.

“Very odd.” Tim looked thoughtful. “Maybe I should go by his place.”

“I already have, just today.” When Tim gave me an odd look, I explained. “Steele gave me an emergency key to hold. The firm also filed a missing person report this afternoon, and I’ve left voice mails for both Walter Yamada and Marvin Dodd.”

Tim hesitated and rubbed his chin with a hand. “Hmm, I was going to offer to do that for you, but it sounds like you already have all the bases covered.”

“Tell me something, Tim.” He looked at me with interest. “When I spoke to Karen Meek, she said something about wanting Steele’s mind on family business while he was up there. I knew he’d been married before, but I didn’t think he had any children.”

“He doesn’t, at least none that he knows of.” He gave a slight smirk before continuing. “Karen wasn’t referring to family as in children, she was referring to Family with a capital
F
. Karen Meek is a family law attorney and does a lot of pro bono work for children and their parents. She’s the head of a nonprofit company called Family Bond, and Mike is on the board.”

“So Steele and his ex-wife are friendly?”

He nodded. “Very. They were finalizing their divorce when I met Mike. Karen’s a very neat woman, probably better than he deserved, considering how he treats the ladies. I believe they met early in law school but after graduation had very different ideas about the practice of law. She’s a granola do-gooder type, and he’s a hardcore capitalist.”

Tim leaned back in his chair and thought a minute, then looked at me. “Funny thing: I don’t think Mike’s been in love since. Once in a while he brings Karen along on long weekends with my wife and me. Last winter we all went skiing in Vail.” I remembered the photo in Steele’s condo. “Roxanne and I—Roxanne’s my wife—we always thought they might get back together if they could find some common ground, but it’s plain now that’s not going to happen.”

Tim walked me to the front door of his firm and told me to please keep him in the loop on anything regarding Steele. By now, almost all the staff had gone for the night, and just a few attorneys lingered, still hard at work—just like at Woobie.

I was almost to my car when my cell phone rang. It was Walter Yamada returning my call.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you, Odelia, but you said it was about Mike Steele and an emergency.”

“No problem, Mr. Yamada, I’m glad you called.” I quickly gave him a sketch of what was going on.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I won’t be much help. I just returned from Chicago—was gone about ten days on a combination business and family trip. I haven’t spoken to Mike in almost two weeks.”

I remembered something I should have asked Tim Weber. “Mr. Yamada, you’ve known Mike Steele a long time, haven’t you?”

“Yes, at least ten or twelve years.”

“I know his mother has passed away, and he has an ex-wife, but what about other family members—father, brothers, sisters—where can I reach them?”

“I’m afraid when Mike’s mother died, that was the last of the family. His father died in a car accident just before I met him, and his brother died tragically from a drug overdose a year later. I don’t believe he had any other siblings.”

“Thanks, anyway, Mr. Yamada. But if you hear from Steele, please let me or the firm know immediately.”

“You bet I will, and vice versa, okay? This isn’t like him at all.”

Everyone was in agreement—this disappearing act wasn’t something Steele would do under normal circumstances. I suddenly had an image of him sprawled dead in a ditch on the side of the road between Santa Barbara and Ojai, maybe thrown from his car when it spun out of control on a turn he took too fast. Driving fast and recklessly would be like Steele. I know, I’ve ridden with him in that land rocket he calls a car. But I also reminded myself that the Ojai police, as a favor to Dev, had search the main road to the inn and the area around it. Still, he could be anywhere, and maybe not dead. People have been known to survive crashes and crawl with broken limbs back to the road for help. Why not Steele?

I searched my recent calls on my cell phone. When I found what I was looking for, I hit dial. Soon Sally Kipman was on the other line.

“I’m heading to Santa Barbara tomorrow morning to meet with Mike Steele’s ex-wife, want to come?” Before she could answer,
I added, “I’m also going to comb the highway between Santa Barbara and Ojai for his body.”

“His body?”

“Well, for signs of a possible car accident. You know, broken shrubs and tire tracks, stuff like that.”

“What about Donny’s murder?”

“Bring what you have so far, and we’ll discuss that, too. Remember, we agreed to team up on both, and I’m on the move beginning
now
.”

As soon as Sally saw my ancient Toyota Camry, she insisted we take her Jeep Grand Cherokee. Sure, why not? I love my car—it runs well, looks fine, and is paid off—but any chance I get not to drive, I take it.

It’s about a two-hour drive to Santa Barbara from where I live, so we had agreed to leave my place no later than eight thirty to allow for unexpected traffic problems. If we arrived early, we could grab a cup of coffee somewhere.

We were on the 405 Freeway heading north, approaching the section of road where the Getty Center perches on a bluff overlooking the freeway, when my cell phone rang. It was Marvin Dodd.

“Thanks for calling back, Mr. Dodd.”

“What’s this about Mike Steele missing?”

“Seems that way. No one has seen him in several days. He went out of town for a few days, was due back in the office on Wednesday, but never showed.”

“Hmm, not like him at all.”

As with Tim Weber and Walter Yamada, I gave Marvin Dodd a quick rundown of events.

“Well, we played tennis last Thursday night at his place, and he grilled up some salmon after. I haven’t seen him since.”

Thursday was just two days before his trip and four days before he disappeared. “Did he say anything to you about his trip to Santa Barbara or Ojai?”

“Nothing you don’t already know. He was going to see Karen about some business, then spend a couple of days at the inn.” He chuckled.

“Something funny, Mr. Dodd?”

“It’s just … well, over dinner he showed us that picture of you in the
Register
—too funny.”

I stuck my tongue out at the phone, sorry he couldn’t see me do it. But Sally did see it.

“What was that about?” she asked once I ended the call. “Wasn’t he cooperative?”

I rolled my eyes and told her, making her laugh.

“Seems your boss was proud of you.”

I stuck my tongue out at her, but even as I did, something nagged at me, something that Marvin Dodd said about the incident in the grocery store. I mean, the whole idea that Steele was parading that photo around was annoying enough, but something that Mr. Dodd said gnawed at me like a hungry termite.

After smiling at my childish behavior, Sally reached up and retrieved something tucked under the visor, which she handed to me. It was several sheets of folded white paper—maps printed from the Internet, more specifically, Mapquest.

“There are two ways to get to Ojai from Santa Barbara,” she explained, nodding in the direction of the paper in my hands. “I printed out both of them.” I unfolded the sheets in my hand and looked at them while she explained. “One route retraces back down 101, then swings north again on 33. It’s not the most direct route, but it’s the fastest.”

The colorful map in my hand showed a path that looked like a big
V
. As she said, the road went south, back toward Los Angeles, before connecting with 33 in a sharp northward path to Ojai.

“The second way is shorter in mileage but longer in time. That route is along 150 by Lake Casitas. I’ve taken 150 before. It’s a beautiful drive but curves a lot.” She looked over at me. “Which do you think your boss, this Steele guy, would have taken?”

“Good question.” I studied the maps in my hands. Steele loves to drive, and I could picture him relishing the twisty scenic route, especially in his sports car. “Depends on how much of a rush he was in at the time.”

I refolded the maps and tucked them into my trusty tote bag. Maybe Karen Meek could shed some light on Steele’s mood and timetable when he left her.

Changing the subject, I asked Sally, “Have you had time to find out anything about Donny?”

She smiled and looked at me, her eyes hidden by stylish Ray-Bans. “You’re not the only one who’s been busy since Wednesday night.”

I smiled back, put on my own sunglasses, and settled in for her report. We had about another hour on the road, might as well get some work done.

“I called Cindy, Donny’s wife,” Sally began. “I told her in spite of everything, I was very sorry for her loss; after all, Donny was Lucas’s father. I asked about funeral arrangements—which, by the way, are on Tuesday.”

“That’s Halloween, isn’t it?”

Sally nodded. “Seems fitting, doesn’t it?”

“No time like Halloween to be in a cemetery.” I paused. “You going?”

She nodded again. “Yes, we all are—me, Jill, and Lucas and his wife and baby. Whether I like it or not, Donny was family.” She focused on her driving, deftly maneuvering around a slow-moving car in the fast lane. “When I asked Cindy why she wasn’t at the reunion, she said Donny didn’t want her there. Claims he told her she’d cramp his style.”

“His style? Being an ass and getting killed is a style these days?”

“That’s what she said.” Sally looked at me. “Honestly, she didn’t seem too upset that Donny was gone. In fact, she actually came out and told me she was glad he was gone.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Apparently Cindy felt comfortable enough with me to spill her guts. Guess she considers us sisters in some sort of I Hate Donny club now.”

“Hmm.” An association for women Donny Oliver had screwed and screwed over—could be fun.

“According to Cindy, she was planning on leaving Donny right after Christmas. Said she’d had enough, that there was no reason to stick around when he obviously didn’t want her.”

“Very interesting.”

“Yes, but here’s the kicker. She said whoever killed Donny did her a favor, because Donny told her recently that if she ever left him, he’d destroy her.”

“Maybe she did herself a favor.”

“It’s a distinct possibility.”

Turning straight ahead, I looked out the window and watched the traffic, thinking about what Sally just told me. We both were quiet for several miles until I turned back to her.

“Sally, what do you say to paying Mrs. Oliver a little visit sometime this weekend?”

She turned, and a slow grin formed on her face. “I’m sure Jill would love to bake a bundt cake for the widow.”