Too Big To Miss (17 page)

    According to both Peter Olsen and Greg, Sophie was so in love with Hollowell that she was addicted to him. If she could give up her son for the scumbag, she'd do just about anything to keep him.
    But one big piece wasn't fitting. She had Hollowell's son. Why didn't she use him for leverage?
    "Sophie was in love with you," I said, looking at him squarely. "She probably would've done anything to please you. And you took advantage of that."
    He grinned and leaned back again in his chair. "Maybe at first I did, but you can't tell me that later on she didn't enjoy it."
    He was obviously trying to shift the initial responsibility away from himself. It was okay to use and manipulate someone, as long as they eventually got used to it and maybe even accepted it. My jaw ached from clenching my teeth to produce a fake and faint smile.
    "So once she stopped working for you, she started the web site?"
    He smiled again, but this time is was a slick, oily smile. "More like she fell into it. You see, some of these guys enjoyed being filmed with Sophie and she accommodated them, for a price. That was her own business. Later, when computer cameras became so hot, she'd put the photos on disk. When these adults sites began getting big, I suggested she try that." He took a long drink of wine, almost draining his glass.
    "Let's face it, she wasn't getting any younger. And even though Sophie was still very beautiful, these wealthy and powerful men wanted younger women. Middle-aged they could get at home. The jump to an adult website was a natural, a new twist on an old favorite, so to speak. Many of these guys paid handsomely to be seen live on the Internet screwing her brains out. They'd pick a time, tell their friends, then broadcast the sex. From what I saw of those sessions, identities were well concealed."
    I took my own big gulp of wine. "Was Sophie still on retainer to your company when she died?" I asked after I swallowed.
    "No. I haven't paid her anything in over a year, maybe more." He gave his annoying chuckle. "Those photos you saw weren't me. They were of her special friends. Her paying customers." He waived the waiter over. "Odelia, you look like you need a good strong cup of coffee."
    I nodded numbly. Hollowell told the waiter to bring two coffees and the dessert menu.
    "Will you excuse me, Odelia?" he said, pushing his chair back. He left the table and headed in the direction of the men's room.
    Elbows on the table, I lowered my head, resting my cheeks in the V of my open palms.
    Sophie—a high-priced corporate call girl. It seemed unbelievable and utterly fantastic. She was bright. She was educated. She could have gone anywhere, been anything. Why this? Was it just the money? Was she that in love with this cold-hearted bastard?
    The more my overloaded brain rummaged through what Hollowell just told me, the more I wondered what other kind of hold he could have had over Sophie. But from the newspaper articles recovered from the baby shoes, it seemed more likely Sophie might have had something on him.
    And what about Robbie? Hollowell didn't give the slightest indication he knew that Robbie Olsen was his son. He just grazed over any mention of him. Was it possible Sophie successfully hid Robbie's parentage from his own father?
    "Talk to me, Sophie," I muttered into the air.
    "You feeling okay, ma'am?" It was our waiter, hovering by my elbow.
    "Yes, I am. Thank you."
    I straightened up as he placed two cups on the table and poured fresh coffee into them from a silver pot. He left behind cream and sugar, also in silver containers, and two dessert menus.
    I wanted to leave. It was just nine-thirty, but I didn't know how much more I could stand hearing. Music drifted in from the bar area. It was a pleasant tune, a popular ballad. I could hear someone singing, telling me it was a live band. The melodious voice ran over me like warm milk. I gave into it, letting my brain relax for the moment. This detective stuff was hard work.
    Hollowell returned to our table, settling himself in his chair as if nothing unusual had been said. He seemed smug. His physical beauty existed no more in my eyes. Replacing it was an ugliness no genetics or plastic surgery could cure.
    When the song was over, I felt revived and recharged. I called upon my so-called moxie to keep going. Hollowell could be lying, covering for his own despicable deeds. And even if he wasn't, it didn't take away the fact Sophie was a good-hearted woman who loved people and helped many, including yours truly. She was still my friend, and she needed me.
    I wasn't through with Mr. John Hollowell just yet.
    "Tell me something, John," I said, leaning forward on my elbows, my hands clasped in front of me. "Why didn't you ever marry Sophie?"
    For the first time, I saw Hollowell falter and thought I saw fleeting and genuine pain cross his face. Just as quickly, he collected himself.
    "Like I said, Odelia, I don't make the rules, I just live by them. It's no secret fat girls from poor country families are not exactly executive wife material."

Chapter Twenty-Two

BRINGING THE CELL phone proved to be a good decision. So was parking with the valet. I silently gave thanks for Greg's good sense.
    After coffee and dessert, Hollowell and I adjourned to the bar where we danced and sipped brandy. Well, he sipped brandy, while I had a ginger ale. I wasn't used to this much drinking in one night; a before-dinner cocktail and wine during dinner had been my limit. It was also best to keep my head clear in his presence.
    We danced and chatted superficially until eleven, when he said he had to head home to get ready for his trip to San Diego in the morning. He invited me to go once again, and once again I declined coyly.
    Between dinner and saying goodnight, I tried my best to loosen more information from him. It was the only reason I tolerated his presence. But he had given up all he was going to for the night, and deflected my subtle and not-so-subtle queries deftly. Even letting his hands wander around my hips and butt during slow dances didn't let down his guard.
    In front of the valet, I had allowed him to give me a chaste kiss. Without witnesses, I'm sure I would have been prying his mouth and hands off of me like leeches. He chuckled yet again as I climbed into my car, saying he hoped I'd be friendlier the next time we met. It made me wonder if he was looking for another Acquisitions Consultant.
    Driving away from the restaurant, I dialed Greg on my cellular. Might as well get it over with and give him some relief. I was glad I had the phone. Talking to someone I liked and cared about would cleanse me. And I needed that right now. He picked it up on the first ring. His voice was alert, sounding like he'd been sitting by the phone waiting since our last conversation.
    "Hi," I said cheerfully. "Just checking in, safe and sound."
    "You're not home?" he asked.
    "No, and not going there. I'm heading for Sophie's. I learned a few things from Hollowell that I want to check out on her computer. Give me your password so I can access the web site."
    "You can do that from your own place," he said. I detected frustration in his voice.
    "The site, yes, but not the hard drive," I explained. "I need to check out both."
    What I planned to do was closely inspect the pictures posted in the members area again, the ones with the man or men. Then I intended to search the hard drive files for stored captured photos of these sessions, hoping somehow to discover clues to identities.
    Greg sighed. I could picture him shaking his head.
    "It's late, Odelia. Why don't you wait until tomorrow? I'll meet you there and help you."
    "Because I'm wide awake and curious now."
    I turned the car onto Pacific Coast Highway and headed toward Sophie's. The drive was only ten to fifteen minutes.
    "Greg, did you know Sophie was a paid escort for Hollowell's company?"
    The silence on the other end of the phone wasn't lost on me.
    "Greg?"
    "Yes," he said in a small voice. "I knew."
    I couldn't believe my ears. My question had been meant to shock him with some new and startling information. I didn't expect to be answered in the affirmative.
    "You knew? Why didn't you tell me?" If we'd been having this conversation in person, I would have been tempted to throw something at him.
    "Because it was behind her," he said, "and part of her past. She got out of it about the time she started Reality Check." He paused. "And because I didn't want your image of her tarnished any more than it already has been with the web site."
    I took a deep breath, then said in a very tight voice, "How dare you decide what I can and cannot handle; what I judge and not judge. I'm not a child, Greg Stevens. I don't need you to protect me from bogeymen."
    Silence, then another sigh. "I'm sorry, Odelia. You're right. You're not a child."
    "And did it ever occur to you that maybe one of these men might've had something to do with her death?"
    "Yes, that did occur to me, Odelia, but after thinking it over, I decided it was unlikely."
    "You decided it was unlikely. I thought we were in this together. When do I get to mull things over and make such decisions? After all, it was my ass Hollowell was groping tonight, not yours."
    "Again, you're right and I'm sorry. I truly am, Odelia."
    His apology, no matter how genuine, irritated me. Wasn't it just like a man to say I'm sorry and think it would all magically be healed, like kissing a boo-boo. Sheesh.
    Grumbling unintelligible words into the phone, I turned onto Sophie's street. Parked in front of her house was a truck with the security company's name on the side. I pulled into the driveway. There must have been a false alarm or malfunction for them to be out here at this time of night.
    "Greg, a truck's parked in front of Sophie's. It's from the security company."
    "That's odd. You think Iris Somers called them?"
    "Don't know. There aren't any lights on in the house and everything appears quiet."
    "Odelia, this doesn't feel right."
    "Protecting me again, Greg?"
    Quietly I got out of my car, cell phone still in my hand, and looked up and down the street. All was still. Except for a few lit windows, the houses seemed tucked in for the night.
    "Everything seems normal," I whispered into the cell phone, holding it close to my mouth. "Maybe someone in this neighborhood works for the security company and brought the truck home."
    I started up the walk to the front door, then heard a noise. It seemed to be coming from the side of the house, between Sophie's and the home belonging to Iris Somers. I stood still and listened, hoping it was a cat or some other small animal.
    "I just heard something," I whispered again into the phone. "Hang on."
    "Odelia," I heard Greg say, "please go home. I'm sorry if this sounds overprotective, but something's wrong, I can feel it."
    "Shhhhhhhh," I said.
    I listened again and once more heard the sound. This time it sounded like a moan, a human moan. Cautiously, I walked to that side of the house, feeling my thin, spiky heels sink into the grass with each step.
    The space between the two houses was narrow, only allowing for a small strip of grass. A low white fence ran down the middle, separating the properties. The hair on my arms stood like a forest as I stepped warily away from the glow of the street lights. I heard the sound again. It seemed close, maybe only a few feet away, yet I saw nothing.
    I took another step and felt something under my foot. There was a soft crunch as my weight pressed down on it. Looking down, I saw something shiny. As bits and pieces of light caught the item, it shimmered. I bent down and picked it up. It was a clump of foil, more like a hat covered in crinkled aluminum.
    I heard the soft moan again, and moved toward it quickly. After a few steps in the near darkness, I almost tripped on a small, crumpled figure lying on Sophie's side of the fence, next to the house.
    "Iris?" I asked quietly, falling to my knees next to the inert form.
    The figure moaned.
    I leaned closer, almost nose to nose, and saw it was indeed Iris Somers. Her eyes were shut. I stroked her head, the gesture evoking another, deeper moan. When I withdrew my hand, it was wet and sticky.
    "Ahhhhhh!" I sucked in my breath along with the muted scream. The phone dropped to the ground.
    Fear coursed through me, coldly flowing through my veins like an icy stream, numbing me limb by limb.
    Out of the darkness, without making a sound, came a shadowy form. It hovered over me. I threw up my hands to protect myself and half-covered Iris with my body.
    Something struck my head, the blow causing me to fall forward on top of Iris. Pain seared my brain, bringing tears to my eyes. Somewhere in the background, I thought I heard running, followed by the sound of an engine. I lifted up my heavy head but saw nothing. It was too late.
    Moans, not much more than whimpers now, continued to come from the body under mine.
    Other sounds, faint and static, were coming from somewhere else. It broke the iciness engulfing and immobilizing me. The phone...it was on the ground near me. In the darkness, I could see the digital display with its glowing yellow-green light. I groped around in its general direction until I succeeded in picking it up.
    "Odelia. Odelia, answer me!" I heard Greg screaming on the other end.
    "Help," I said in a small voice, then collapsed, unable to speak further.
    Time passed in waves of undulating pain. I never lost consciousness, but seemed paralyzed from the neck up. Greg's voice was no longer coming from the phone grasped in my hand. I willed myself to move, giving my body orders one muscle at a time until I managed to at least get to my knees.
    Shit, my head hurt! It felt on fire on the left back side. I reached up a leaden arm and felt the aching spot. Ouch! But it didn't feel wet, the skin not seeming to be broken. I felt a little woozy, saw a few stars, but not a galaxy.
    I turned my attention to Iris. She was still and the moans had stopped. My heart rat-a-tat-tatted like a machine gun as I placed my fingertips on her neck just behind her jaw. Never having checked a body for life before, I hoped I was doing it right. I picked up nothing, but kept softly probing the area, while I used my other hand to dial for help.
    Finally! There it was, a very faint, weak pulse.
    "Hang in there, Iris. Help's coming."
    Sirens splintered the peacefulness of the neighborhood just as I punched the phone buttons for nine-one-one.
    "Thank you, dear God, thank you," I whispered into the darkness. "Come on, Iris, just a few minutes more."
    I stood up and tried to make my way to the front, to flag down the authorities. It was the police, two cruisers worth. Greg must've called them. My head felt like a granite monument.
    Leaning against the side of the house, I waved to them as they pulled up to the front curb in a bouquet of flashing lights.
    The security truck was gone.