Too Little, Too Late (27 page)

“I guess the old broad was going to leave it in the mailbox but then you guys interrupted her. Laurie found it in the pocket of her pants when she searched her.”

Karen closed her eyes for a minute, trying to process what she’d just heard. So the woman’s daughter had been right all along. “That’s just great! Laurie had something of the woman’s all the time.

“Not on her, she didn’t,” Spic told her. “Laurie hid it just outside the gate, under the trash cans while you were chasing the old broad. That’s why the cops didn’t find it.”

“Meanwhile, my family thinks I’m lying to save my own skin.” Suddenly, Karen jumped up, knowing what she had to do. Her mother would be pissed she was taking matters into her own hands but she’d get over it once Karen had the necklace.

“Where are you going?” asked Spic, following her.

“Where do you think I’m going?” Karen asked sarcastically. “To get back the necklace.”

“No!”

Karen stopped dead in her tracks. “What do you mean by “no”?”

“I mean that if you just show up and demand the necklace from Laurie, she’s going to freak out and not give it to you.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Karen admitted. She looked at Spic in desperation. “What am I going to do? I’ve
got
to get that necklace back.”

Spic looked at Karen strangely. “What’s the big deal about some stupid necklace?”

“That necklace may be the answer as to why someone wanted to kill that woman.” She made up her mind. “Okay. Scrap Plan A. I think I’m just going to let the cops deal with Laurie.”

“You can’t!” Spic looked at Karen. “If Laurie thinks she’s cornered, she may even get rid of it and then you’ll never see the necklace again.”

“What am I going to do then?” Karen wailed. “I’ve got to get my hands on that necklace!”

“I know how to get it back,” Spic told her. “Let’s call it Plan B.”

***

The morning had gone well enough. Kate had spent it with her crew of volunteers sorting through the countless boxes of donations for the auction. It was amazing how many costumes, gowns and memorabilia had been amassed. It all had to be sorted, laundered, catalogued and housed before the auction and while today’s efforts put them well under way, there was still a lot of work that had to be done. The problems all started when Kate had come into the office in the afternoon. One of the buyers for a prime piece of property in Malibu wanted to back out, there was a problem with the escrow papers on a Brentwood listing, the photocopier was on the blitz and Beth, who had the Midas touch in dealing with problems such as these, was out sick.

As Kate dealt with each problem, she found herself thinking about the young woman, Liz Farrell. She wasn’t all that much older than Karen and while Liz had certainly put up a tough front, especially when they’d first arrived at her apartment, that toughness had eventually fallen away, revealing a vulnerable young woman with expressive, pain-filled eyes.

The exact nature of Liz’s relationship with her mother was also an enigma, as far as Kate was concerned. She had professed a deep love for her, which appeared to be genuine, and yet her mother had been living on the streets, despite her mental incapacity, or maybe because of it. Liz appeared to have the means to look after her mother, if her apartment was anything to go by, yet the want ads she’d seen on Liz’s coffee table had bothered her. Had she lost her job recently or had the circumstances surrounding her mother’s death somehow resulted in Liz becoming jobless?

Kate wasn’t one to over-analyze a situation but maybe it had been guilt or just the realization that their office could use an extra body that had prompted her to offer Liz a job as their office assistant a few minutes ago. While Eve hadn’t been crazy about the idea when Kate had first raised it, it hadn’t taken much coaxing on her part to make Eve come around. Liz, on the other hand, had been caught off guard by Kate’s offer and had requested a few days to think about it. Kate sighed. It was ironic how life had a way of working out sometimes.

***

Eve Stanton drove through the gates of the Swanson Estate. She had another showing scheduled in fifteen minutes and hoped it went much better than her last one had with Calvin Davidson. Eve had just pulled up in front of the house when a limousine braked quietly behind her. She got out of the car, smoothing her skirt over her thighs before walking over to greet the male occupant alighting from the limousine.

Irving Johnson was impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit that could have rivaled that of any corporate shark on Wall Street. He possessed an air of control and exuded confidence in every movement he made, befitting the owner of Reinhart Studios.

“Mr. Johnson,” Eve held out her hand, “how very nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Ms. Stanton.” His handshake was as no-nonsense as his demeanor. “I hope my not going through the usual channels didn’t cause you undue difficulties.”

“Not at all,” Eve replied pleasantly. “I hardly would’ve expected you to, given your studio’s relationship with Paul Wagner and his production company.”

“Yes,” he acknowledged candidly, “Reinhart’s relationship with Paul has proven to be quite profitable for both of us.”

“Have you known Paul long?” she asked.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he began walking. “Paul and I had worked together on several projects when we were both young men, just starting out in the industry,” he told her companionably.

Eve digested this piece of information in silence. “Shall we walk through the grounds first?” she suggested.

“By all means,” he concurred, letting her lead the way through the well-manicured lawns to where the impressive infinity pool sparkled in the California sun.

“Makes quite a statement, wouldn’t you say?” he asked, his razor-sharp eyes missing nothing.

“This estate leaves its owner wanting for nothing,” Eve told him, keeping conversation to a minimum.

“I never dreamed this estate would be so expansive,” he muttered to himself as his eyes darted this way and that. He pointed off to the left. “Is that an orchard?”

She nodded. “Oranges and lemons with the odd swan or two.”

“A tree or two, I expected,” he confided to her in delight, “but an entire orchard is quite remarkable really, just like all this wisteria clinging to everything.” He fingered the delicate blooms with gentle fingers.

“That’s exactly what I thought when I first saw the house!” Eve told him excitedly.

“Reminds me of the early days when the first pioneers of film came to California with nothing more than their dreams. All that was here in those days was sunshine and orange groves,” he reminisced.

“I would think those days were before your time,” Eve quipped.

“True enough, young lady,” he acquiesced, looking directly at her. “Although I must admit I’m closer to that generation than to your own.”

She found herself blushing at his blatant appraisal. “I think any generation can appreciate the beauty of this property which, even for this city, is a rarity.” She pointed to the other side of the lawn. “To the right of the pool and cabana are extensive formal gardens. We can view the gardens with the golf cart, unless you’d rather walk.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I’d prefer to see the interior for now,” he told her, wiping the sweat from his brow with a pristine handkerchief. “I have a particular weakness for Tuscan architecture.”

“Then we should go inside,” Eve suggested. “Paul’s done extensive renovations to the house yet he’s managed to maintain much of its integrity and charm.”

Eve opened the front door and waited expectantly for his reaction. She was not disappointed.

“Quite magnificent, actually,” he enthused. “That painting compliments the foyer rather beautifully, doesn’t it? It creates the illusion of the vaulted ceiling soaring up to the heavens.”

“It certainly does,” she agreed blandly.

“If I were to buy the property, I would want to include the painting in the purchase,” he warned her.

“Of course,” she told him, managing to smother a smile. Her mother had told her about the painting.

“How many bedrooms?” he asked.

“Eight plus the master suite,” she recited by heart. “All the bedrooms have, of course, attaching bathrooms.” Eve couldn’t help but ask, “Do you have a large family, Mr. Johnson?”

His demeanor suddenly became distant, as if trying to assess whether her question had an underlying meaning to it. “No, I don’t,” he replied curtly.

Eve became aware of his discomfiture and immediately tried to make light of the situation. “Sorry. My natural sense of curiosity gets the best of me at times.”

He smiled and the tension was broken. “Quite all right, my dear. It’s just me and my wife. In fact, I wouldn’t be purchasing the estate for our personal use. Reinhart Studios always has a need for extra accommodations for important guests.” He looked around in appreciation. “This estate fits the bill on every level.”

“It sounds to me like you’ve already made up your mind,” she told him.

His smile was enigmatic. “Sometimes, it’s better to act impulsively than never to have acted at all. Wouldn’t you say so, my dear?”

Sins Ultra Lounge
, the Beverly Highlander’s two-year-old nightclub, boasted chic décor and a lighting extravaganza bar none. It also boasted the most beautiful crowd – and staff – in Beverly Hills. The media always hyped
Sins
as
the
place to be seen, where the movers and shakers could connect and where instant fame was attainable by association, so to speak. Donald Trump always stopped by when he was in town, Kanye West was a regular, and everyone from Tiger Woods to Bruce Willis had graced
Sins’
entrance at one time or another. It was a major head trip to think that her stepmother, Brooke, had the power to orchestrate those connections or deny access by virtue of a quick shake of her elegantly-coiffed head.

After all the hype
Sins
had received in the media, Karen had always imagined it to be more impressive than it was right now. Without the lighting or the beautiful people, it looked almost like the NoHo club she and Ashley had snuck into earlier in the year.

Karen nervously followed the security guy through the darkened club to an office at the back. She wasn’t sure how Brooke was going to react when she saw her. Since her father had married her, the sum total of her relationship with Brooke had been a few quick greetings and an awkward conversation over dinner one night.

The security guard knocked on a closed door at the back of the club. After a minute or so, it was opened by Brooke herself, who stared at Karen in surprise.

“Hi, Karen.” She looked over Karen’s shoulder. “Where’s your dad?”

“He’s not here. I came alone,” replied Karen, a bundle of nerves. Glancing inside Brooke’s office, Karen saw stacks of papers and folders and another woman, who was making notes in a steno pad. It was obvious they had been working. “I can come back if you’re busy.”

“That’s okay,” Brooke replied. “Andrea and I were just finishing up.”

Taking that as her cue to leave, the woman called Andrea quickly gathered her papers together and left.

“Would you like a juice or soda or something to eat?” Brooke asked politely.

“No, thanks.”

“What brings you here to see me?” Brooke asked, eyeing Karen.

Karen’s carefully rehearsed speech was immediately forgotten. “I’m not going to bullshit you by saying how happy I am about you marrying my dad because I’m not,” Karen told her bluntly.

“Okay,” said Brooke, swallowing hard. “I appreciate your honesty.” An uncomfortable silence ensued before Brooke finally asked, “So why are you here?”

“I’m here because I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” Brooke asked warily.

Karen took a deep breath, deciding to take the bull by the horns. “The kind that would mean you giving me three tickets to
Jericho’s Last Stand
.”

“Who are the tickets for?”

“For some people I know,” she hedged.

Brooke gave her a pointed look that made Karen squirm in her seat. “Sorry, Karen. I can’t give you the tickets.”

“Why not?” asked Karen in frustration.

Getting up, Brooke went to the door and opened it. “I don’t like being played for a fool. You’d better go.”

Karen stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m a part of your father’s life, whether you like it or not,” Brooke told her, “and I want us to get along. But not on a bribe.”

“Who said anything about a bribe?”

“Well, isn’t that what this is about?” Brooke argued heatedly. “I give you the tickets so you and your friends can go and you’ll promise to get along with me?”

“Hell
no
!” Karen forced herself to remain calm. “The tickets are for a friend, I admit it. But it’s not like you think.”

“Oh?” Brooke closed her office door again before crossing her arms over her ample chest. “Then I guess you’d better fill me in.”

“I think one of my friends screwed me by taking something from the accident scene where that woman was killed.” Karen looked away, unable to meet her eyes. “My other friend found out what she did and is going to help me set things straight if I give her two tickets to
Jericho’s Last Stand
. That’s why I’ve got to have those tickets.”

“It sounds to me like you need to make some new friends.”

That immediately got Karen’s back up. “I asked for tickets, not advice.”

“Sorry, I still can’t help you,” Brooke remarked. “Your friend is under age.”

“She has fake ID!” Karen admitted, before realizing the brevity of what she just said. “No one would ever find out. Come on, Brooke. This is really important!”

Brooke looked at Karen doubtfully but Karen met her gaze without flinching. Making up her mind, Brooke went over to the safe and took out three tickets before handing them to Karen. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“I promise I won’t.” Karen managed to give her a grudging smile. “Thanks.” Now that she had what she came for, Karen was anxious to leave and made for the door.

“Karen?”

With her hand on the knob, Karen turned. “What?”