Thugs and Kisses (20 page)

Joan shook her head while she pored over the documents. “What upsets me, Odelia, is that it’s definitely an inside job.”

“Or at least someone in Woobie managed to get the originals to someone else just long enough for them to be copied. The copies weren’t done here, Joan. We don’t have a color copier. And to get this fine quality duplication on signatures and letterhead, you would have to first make a high-resolution color copy, otherwise the signatures would have looked like a copy of a copy instead of a copy of an original.”

I thought about Greg and his company, Ocean Breeze Graphics. I had learned a lot from Greg and Boomer, his assistant.

“The thing is, it could have been even more high-tech than that. It’s so easy now to replicate documents.” Looking out the nearby window, I watched a lone fluffy cloud while I thought about how and why this might have happened. “This seems like a lot of trouble over two candy companies fighting about a non-compete issue, doesn’t it?”

Joan knitted her brows. “You know what I think?”

Giving her my whole attention, I leaned forward.

“I don’t think it’s about the lawsuit, Odelia. I think this is about making Woobie look bad—about making the firm look incompetent and damaging its reputation.”

Quiet, sweet Joan had hit the nail directly on its head. Considering what Carl had told me and the documents in front of me, I’d bet my Christmas bonus Joan was right. Well, okay, maybe not my whole bonus, but certainly the taxes on it.

I begged off lunch with Kelsey and Joan and opted for a salad at my desk. In spite of Carl giving me the green light on Missing Link, I really didn’t know where to go next. Steele had vanished into thin air. There were no witnesses or tracks, and certainly no bread crumbs dropped from the pockets of an Armani suit. I hadn’t heard from Willie since Saturday, and without new information, I was at a dead end.

Goldberg-Rawlings—was there a connection between Steele’s disappearance and the fact that one of his best friends worked for the firm our client was thinking about hiring in our place? I could be grasping for straws, but at this point I had nothing else to grab. Would Steele have said something to Tim while searching for advice? I could see Steele asking a trusted friend about the document situation without disclosing the client’s name, but Steele is a cagey and cautious attorney. If he knew that Goldberg-Rawlings was our competition for Silhouette’s legal business, he would never have mentioned the problem with the altered documents, not even hypothetically.

But did Steele even know about the possibility of Silhouette transferring its business to Goldberg-Rawlings?

I knew Carl had a lunch appointment, so I waited until close to two thirty before calling him. Ani picked up his line.

“Ani, it’s Odelia. Is Carl around?”

“Not right now.”

“It’s very important that I speak to him for just a second. Could you call me as soon as he’s back in the office?”

“If it’s urgent, try him on his cell. He’s on his way back to the office right now. I just spoke to him.”

I immediately punched in the number Ani gave me. Carl picked up on the first ring. I could hear traffic noise in the background.

“Carl, it’s Odelia. I have one quick question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Did Steele know about Silhouette considering Goldberg-
Rawlings?”

Carl paused. I could almost see him thinking the question over and prayed he didn’t look to the ceiling or close his eyes as he did in the office when lost in thought.

“No, I’m pretty sure he didn’t. I just found out myself on Friday.”

After hanging up, I leaned my elbows on my desk and rested my chin on my clasped hands. I just couldn’t seem to wrap my brain around all the facts and corral them into making sense. Going around in mental circles was tiring and confusing, like a dog chasing its own tail. I needed caffeine. No, what I needed was a pumpkin spice latte, but with a cold I knew I shouldn’t be indulging in milk products. Oh, but what the hell.

Starbucks was a short walk from our office building. By cutting through our parking garage, I could make better time. I had skipped my usual morning walk because I felt lousy, but now it felt good to be on the move, even if only for a block and with a slightly runny nose.

I was on my way back when I spied Tim Weber walking quickly on the far side of the parking garage. Hmm, might be just the person I needed to see. I started to call his name when he stopped and looked about. He continued walking, constantly keeping watch over one shoulder or another. Instinctively, I ducked behind a parked car and watched. Someone in another parked car lightly tapped a horn. Tim gave a subtle wave in the direction of the horn and started toward it. Clutching my latte, I dashed between two SUVs parked a little closer.

I couldn’t see who he was meeting, so I started tiptoeing between cars, moving from one hiding place to the next as quietly as I could to get a closer look, all the while hoping no one else would see me and report me as a suspicious character.

Poking my head over the hood of a red Ford Focus, I saw the top of Tim’s head several cars over just before it disappeared. Then I heard a car door shut. Whoever he was meeting, he had gotten in the car with them. I listened but heard no engine running or one start up, making me think they must be having their meeting in the parked car. Abandoning the Focus in favor of a larger Oldsmobile sedan, I managed to move a bit closer, trying not to let the heels of my pumps make too much noise on the concrete.

Worried that they might drive off before I could get a look at who Tim was with, I put down the latte, squatted, and moved another two vehicles over, all the while praying they were too preoccupied with their discussion to notice a two-hundred-plus- pound woman duck walking—in a skirt, no less. To add to my difficulty, my nose started running in earnest. I dug into my suit jacket pocket but only produced the change and receipt from my latte, not a single scrap of tissue. Disgusted, but under pressing circumstances, I wiped my nose with the back of my hand and sniffled lightly. I was now hunkered down sideways between an SUV and a minivan just a couple of cars away from my prey, thankful to find two large vehicles in such close proximity. I could hear two voices—Tim’s and a woman’s. They sounded like they were arguing.

“You think I’m overreacting?” It was Tim’s voice.

“Yes, overreacting.” The woman’s voice was angry. He shushed her. She lowered her voice and said something else I couldn’t hear.

Tim responded, but he also had lowered his voice. I was straining to hear but didn’t dare get any closer. Every now and then I heard Tim say a word or two, but that was all. But when I heard Tim say “Mike,” I stopped breathing. The woman said something else and whatever it was, it agitated Tim Weber. He pushed the door open and got out of the car.

“No!” Tim said, raising his voice. “I told you he’s not to be harmed. We’ll just stick with the original plan, and that’s final.”

The woman said something else. I strained to hear, trying to recognize the voice, but I came up empty.

Just before Tim shut the door, I heard him say, “We’ll talk about it Wednesday when I’m back in town. We’ll meet here, same time, if that’s okay with you. Until then, let’s relax and not do anything stupid.” Again, the woman said something I couldn’t hear.

As the Honda drove off, I stayed hidden, giving Tim time to walk back to the building. I watched him through the windows of the SUV, gradually starting to stand as he walked away. I was partway erect when I turned my head and smacked the side of my face on the large side mirror. Immediately, I dropped down and clamped a hand over my mouth in case I let out a yelp. Just what I needed, another black eye, especially when the other was finally healed. Oh well, at least this time there wasn’t a photographer standing by to memorialize my humiliation.

It was then that a bit of important information floated to the top of my swampy brain. Marvin Dodd had said that over dinner, Steele had shown him the photo of me in the scuffle at the grocery store. No—what Marvin Dodd had said was that Steele had shown it to
us
. Steele generally hung out with Marvin Dodd, Walter Yamada, and Tim Weber. Mr. Yamada told me he had been out of town. Tim Weber said he hadn’t seen Steele in a while. But Marvin Dodd had definitely used the word
us
when talking about Thursday-night tennis and dinner at Steele’s place.

When I got back to my office, I was shaking. To make matters worse, I had left my latte in the parking garage. I placed a call to Marvin Dodd. He came on the line almost immediately.

“Has Mike turned up yet, Odelia?”

“No, sorry, not a sign of him, though his car was located at LAX. Looks like he left town.”

“Strange, very strange.”

“Mr. Dodd, I’d like to ask you one very quick question.”

“Of course, go right ahead.”

I cleared my throat. “That Thursday night, the one right before Steele disappeared, you had dinner at his place, correct?”

“That’s right. He and I played tennis, then he whipped up some dinner. Did you know that Mike’s a great cook? Better than my wife any day of the week.”

“No, I didn’t.” Another hidden talent I knew nothing about. “So it was just the two of you for tennis and dinner, right?”

“Yes and no. Mike and I played tennis, but Tim Weber came by for dinner.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Sure am. Tim dropped by after a meeting at his office.” He paused. “Why? Is there a problem?”

“No, just wanted to make sure I had my facts straight. We’re going over every detail of Steele’s last days before he disappeared.”

“Good idea. Please keep me posted.”

Dollars to donuts whatever happened to Steele, his good buddy Tim Weber knew all about it. I thought about calling Dev, but after my last attempt to tell him anything, I was hesitant to bring up the subjects of Donny Oliver and Mike Steele in any capacity. Besides, there was absolutely no evidence that Tim was talking about Mike Steele. I mean, I was pretty sure he was, but even if the police decided to listen to me and question Tim, I knew he would somehow explain the conversation away, like any good scumbag attorney would. Then all eyes would turn to me—the crazy woman who eavesdrops while squished between cars.

Besides, now I had an added worry. If I did go to the police, would whoever was in the car with Tim decide not to listen to his orders and hurt Steele in some way? I never did get a look at the woman in the car or the license plate. All I saw was a dark-colored, late-model Honda driving away.

I temporarily solved the issue by blowing my nose and going home.

Halloween—a night for pint-sized ghosts and goblins. Generally, I love Halloween. Greg and I would dress up and hand out candy to the little kids who came to his door. Most were from the neighborhood, and they all knew Greg and Wainwright. Even Wainwright would get into the act by allowing us to stick something on his head in a makeshift costume.

This Halloween, I was home alone. Greg did call and ask if I wanted to come over, but I declined. My cold had flared up overnight, and I had called in sick. Most of the day, I fretted over Steele and whether or not I should tell Dev. But when Dev called in the early afternoon to see how I was doing, I clammed up, even after he apologized for speaking so harshly to me before. He offered to come over and keep me company, but I turned that down, too.

I called my dad to see how he was doing, and he invited me over. I was already on pins and needles, and the last thing I needed was an evening with my nutso stepfamily, although Halloween did seem like an appropriate holiday to spend with them. Again, I used my cold as a good excuse, just as I used it as an excuse to not attend Donny’s funeral earlier today.

The last call I made was to Sally. She’d called the day before while I was making my Starbucks run, and I didn’t return the call until tonight. We chatted briefly about Tom Bledsoe’s call to me, but both of us were empty-headed on where to go from here with Donny’s murder.

Everything in my life seemed to be at a stalemate.

Starting at about six thirty, small batches of kids and their parents rang my doorbell. Each time, I would put on a smile and dispense sugar and chocolate to happy ghouls and fairy princesses. After eight, the trick-or-treaters were sparse. It was just before nine when I decided to turn off my front light. Just as I reached the switch, my doorbell rang. I grabbed the candy bowl and opened the door.

“Trick or treat,” squeaked a miniature pirate. Next to him stood a grownup in his own snazzy pirate costume.

“Nice costumes, guys,” I said, holding out the bowl to the child. “And you’re my last trick-or-treaters of the night, so take a big handful.”

The little boy stuck his small fist into the bowl and lifted out an amazing amount of candy. The adult followed, but as he leaned forward to grab the candy he whispered to me, “Hello, little mama, long time no see.”

I started to drop the bowl, but Willie caught it.

“So, is this your new bodyguard?” I asked Willie once I recovered from my shock and ushered him and his little companion inside.

“Absolutely. I believe in training them young.”

He turned to the boy, who was about five. “Henry, somewhere around here is a kitty cat. But if I were you, I’d use my hook hand to play with him. He’s not too friendly.”

“I need to go potty,” Henry whined.

I looked at Willie, who was making himself comfortable on my sofa, then at Henry, who looked pained. With a sigh, I steered the little guy down the hall to the guest bathroom. I left Henry to do his thing and returned to the living room. I don’t know much about little boys, but I do know that good aim in one is considered a virtue.

I sat on the sofa and turned toward Willie. “I’d say what a nice surprise, but that would be an understatement. Where’s Enrique?”

“Enrique’s busy, but he sends his love.” Willie studied me. “Boy, you have a nasty cold.”

I grabbed a tissue from a box on the coffee table and wiped my nose. “And you have an uncanny knack for showing up unexpectedly.”

“I could have called, but the desire to see your smiling face was overwhelming.”

“And what if I’d had company?”

“I would have improvised.” He grinned. “I’m good at that.”

“And what if it had not been Halloween?”

“Then I would have been the pizza delivery guy.” He took off his hat to expose the familiar pale forehead and balding pate. “One way or another, we would have had this conversation in person.”

“It’s that important?”

Willie reached out and placed a hand on my arm. “Odelia, this is very important, and you need to listen to every word I have to say.”

Now he had my full attention, at least until Henry wandered in and sat down with us. Willie stopped and chuckled. “Hmm, I didn’t think about what I’d do with Henry once I got inside, but I’d rather he not hear this. His mother would skin me alive if he started babbling in an inappropriate manner.”

I turned to the boy. “Henry, you like videos?” The boy nodded. “I have a small TV in the kitchen with a video player. Would you like to watch something, maybe
E.T.
? There’s also cookies and milk in the deal for you.” The child nodded again, this time with more enthusiasm.

After I settled Henry at the kitchen table with his snack and started the video, I returned to Willie. In each hand, I carried a cold bottle of Samuel Adams for us.

“Is this about Steele?” I asked, handing him the beer.

“Yes and no, little mama.” He pushed aside the beard and took a big swig of his beer. “Good grog, wench. Arghhh!”

I stared at him with furrowed brows, but my attempt at a menacing look was diluted by the sniffles. Willie only laughed.

“Like I said, yes and no.” He reached into his pocket and produced a flash drive, which he handed to me. “There are some interesting photos on here concerning both matters.”

I turned the small, black rectangle over several times in my hand and stared at it, as if merely looking at it would produce the pictures.

“Starting with your old pal Donny Oliver, there’s a photo of him and a woman who is not his wife coming out of a motel on a couple of occasions. The husband of the woman commissioned the photos.”

“You mean he was having her tailed?”

He shook his head. “Nope. And here’s where it gets interesting. For whatever reason, seems the guy’s client paid to have Oliver followed and photographed. The guy who took the pics said when his client saw them he almost had a heart attack.”

“Who’s the woman?”

“Guy wouldn’t say.” Willie chuckled. “He had no ethics at all about selling me the photos of Oliver, but said he couldn’t reveal his client’s name because it would breach his client’s confidentiality.”

“That’s asinine.”

“Well, so is making your living snapping photos of cheating couples.”

“But why didn’t he turn these over to the police? This woman or her husband could be Donny’s killer.”

“Money, little mama, it’s all about the money.” He took another draw from his beer. “Confidentiality, or lack of it, aside, this guy was going to try to blackmail his client, but once I put the word out that I was looking for anything to do with Oliver or his murder, the guy shopped them to me. He figured I’d pay more money for them. He was right.”

“How much did you pay for these? I’ll pay you back, of course.”

Willie threw back his head and laughed. “God, I love talking to you. It’s like
Leave It to Beaver
but live and in color.”

I twitched my nose in annoyance. “Well, I don’t expect you to foot the bill since I asked for a favor.”

“Trust me, little mama, you can’t afford these photos. Besides, it’s my pleasure. Call it an early Christmas gift.”

Again, I fiddled with the flash drive as I spoke. “You said there were other photos.”

“Yes. I had people tailing the key people of both candy companies since Saturday. They took photos, asked questions, and in general found out everything they could.” He took another swallow of beer. “Sweet Kiss seems on the up-and-up, and so does your client, Silhouette. The only thing we found interesting is the company the CEO of Silhouette is keeping these days. On Sunday, Ben Walker, the CEO of Silhouette, had brunch in La Jolla with a couple of people, a man and a woman, both attorneys. My associate took photos and traced the plates on their cars. The woman is Frances Elizabeth Evans, an attorney at your law firm, I believe.”

“Yes, Fran is working on the Silhouette case. Was the man Carl Yates?”

“The man was an attorney for another law firm—Goldberg something.”

“Tim Weber of Goldberg-Rawlings?” My voice was getting nasally, so I took time out to blow my nose.

Willie nodded. “Yes, that’s the guy.”

I leaned back into the sofa cushions to think about what I’d just learned.

So Fran was the insider trying to throw Woobie under the bus. Although I don’t like Fran, I really never thought she’d stoop so low that she would alter documents. I had always thought of her like another Mike Steele, obnoxious but ethical.

“But if Fran is behind the document tampering, that’s something that could get her disbarred—both of them disbarred, if it can be proved they did it in cahoots. Why would they risk their careers like that?”

Willie reached over and thumped me on my forehead several times with an index finger. “Money, money, money—how many times do I have to say that to you?” Changing from a finger to his palm, he felt my forehead. “You have a slight fever, little mama.”

Annoyed, I shook off his hand. My health was not the issue.

“It can’t just be about money. Attorneys make good money, and who would pay them, especially her, to fool with documents? Silhouette wouldn’t have any reason to do that.” I gave it some thought before continuing. Willie was patient and let me think it through. “One of our partners told me that Silhouette is talking about dumping us and hiring Goldberg-Rawlings, Tim Weber’s firm.”

Willie gave it quick thought. “The mess with the case could be to make your firm look bad so that the decision would be easier. Weber and Walker could have been talking about that.”

“And Fran is somehow tied in, making sure Woobie gets the axe?”

“Is she a partner?”

I shook my head. “No, a senior associate, but she’s up for partnership. The decision should come down before the end of the year. That’s what’s so strange. By tanking Woobie, she’s tanking her own future.”

“Unless she thinks her future isn’t with your firm.”

“But to risk disbarment?” I shook my head. “And Walker could just fire us. He doesn’t need to damage his company’s own lawsuit to get rid of Woobie.” I paused. “You found no link between Sweet Kiss and Fran Evans and/or Tim Weber?”

“None, but we’ve only just started looking into it. Maybe they’re playing both sides of the fence.”

“And what about Steele?” I gave Willie a quick rundown of what I saw and overhead in the parking lot.

“Excuse me, little mama, but I’m going to think on that while I use your facilities.”

I pointed him in the right direction and got up to check on Henry. The poor little guy was sound asleep with his head on my kitchen table. Chocolate cookie crumbs surrounded his mouth and the milk was gone. I wondered about his mother and her relationship with Willie. About a year and a half ago Willie had invited me to go with him; to travel the world and live in luxury on his scam money. My relationship with Greg was up in the air then, but I still declined. And here we are again, Greg and I up in the air once more.

“Cute for a rug rat, isn’t he,” Willie whispered in my ear, his breath warm and close and smelling of beer.

“Is he yours?”

Willie looked into my eyes. “He’s not some love child I reclaimed after my wife died, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I started to move Henry, but Willie stopped me. “Leave him be. One thing I’ve learned being around Henry is that he can sleep anywhere.”

We adjourned to the living room and resettled on the sofa. We both sipped our beers in thoughtful reflection.

“About your boss,” Willie said, breaking the silence. “My guess is these two sharks were setting him up to take the fall for the document tampering. With him out of the way, it would be easy to do. Also, I had all that personal information run on your boss and nothing came up.”

“Nothing?”

“Just one charge for the Ojai Valley Inn for one night, but if he was a no-show at the hotel, that would be normal. As far as anything else, absolutely nothing—no checks have cleared, no credit cards used, no activity at all regarding his finances since the day you told me he left town, except for that one charge.”

It was my turn to look into Willie’s eyes. “You haven’t told me the bad stuff yet, have you?”

“Good stuff, bad stuff, it’s all the same.”