Deadline (9 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Deadline
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“Looking for a locked-up star are we?” the cop asked while she put her watch back on.
“No, I was hoping to visit that crooked cop they arrested last week. You remember, the one who pulled women over for speeding, then raped them?” Abby saw the cop's face redden. “A friend of yours?” she couldn't help adding.
He pushed her briefcase to the end of the belt, ignoring her last remark.
Serves him right,
she thought as she gathered the rest of her things. She traveled down several long hallways before locating her source's office.
When her source spied her lingering in the doorway, Abby was motioned to follow. Down another long hallway they went until they stopped in front of the supply closet. Abby grinned. If circumstances were different, she might've made a joke about such a clandestine meeting place, but they weren't, and she didn't.
She entered the dimly lit closet, closing the door behind her. “You have something new?”
“Yes, they've just issued a BOLO for Mr. Clay's Toyota Camry. It went out about an hour ago.”
Damn.
Abby knew that was coming. “Thanks. I'll return the favor.” Her source took payment in advance copies of
The Informer.
If only the powers that be accepted that kind of payment. With luck, she would find Chris before the police did. And when she did, he was going to have hell to pay.
And then some.
Chapter 9
T
oots studied her surroundings as she waited with her friends to be seated on the patio at the Polo Lounge. Giant urns with bright pink azaleas, white wrought-iron tables decorated with forest green cushions and color-coordinated tablecloths were scattered all across the brickwork. A giant old Brazilian pepper tree grew in the center of the patio. Not much had changed since her last visit.
Miguel, their favorite waiter, spied them waiting and insisted they follow him. Their “special” table was empty. In a thick Spanish accent, he said, “Before that pissy hostess seats someone else, you come with me.”
The hostess, a petite girl barely five feet tall with long red hair, rolled her eyes at Miguel, and muttered, “He thinks he owns the place.”
Miguel raised his fist high in the air as soon as the hostess looked away. They all laughed.
Once they were seated, Sophie flushed with excitement, her eyes sparkling like brilliant diamonds whenever she looked at Goebel. Toots was sure it was a love match in the making even though Sophie wouldn't admit to it.
“So this is the famous Polo Lounge. I've been to LA many times, but I've never made it here. How's the food? Not that I'm going to be ordering anything fattening,” Goebel assured everyone as he smacked his now-flat stomach. “That diet Mavis put me on was the best thing that ever happened to me. Well, except for”—he winked at Sophie—“this brunette bombshell.”
Ida looked really pissed off. She was used to being the center of attention, especially where a man was concerned. With her new “do,” Ida had received quite a bit of attention as they walked to their table. It just wasn't the type of attention she was used to. Toots had offered to take her back to the salon first thing in the morning and insist they give her something more age appropriate, but Ida had declined. Personally, Toots thought Ida kind of liked looking different, liked the attention she received. Her hair color matched that of the azaleas in the giant urns.
“I've never thought of Sophie as a bombshell,” Ida said smartly. Since picking up Goebel from the airport, she hadn't muttered more than a dozen words.
“Thank God,” Sophie said. “I would hate to think I'd played a role in any of your fantasies.”
Goebel chuckled. “I don't think Ida's that kind of girl,” he said in her defense.
“Well, you don't know her like I do, now, do you?” Sophie retorted playfully.
“Please, let's not fuss in front of Goebel,” Mavis begged. “He isn't here to listen to us squabble about one another.”
“She's right,” Toots said. “We need to find Chris. That's why Goebel's here.”
After they placed their orders, Goebel took out a small black notepad and pen, preparing to take notes. “Why don't we start with what we know.”
Toots shook her head. “Unfortunately, there isn't much to tell you. As you already know, Chris is an entertainment attorney here in LA, has been for a number of years. He's very casual about his practice. He doesn't even have an office. He works out of his condo.”
“Okay, stop there. Are you telling me Chris no longer has an office in that building over on Whitley, just off Franklin? When did he move out of there? And why? Seems odd for an entertainment lawyer in LA, the capital of appearances that are not only everything but the only thing, to work out of his condo.” Goebel looked to Toots for an answer.
In the two years since she had come to LA, she hadn't really given Chris's lack of a downtown office any serious thought. It certainly wasn't for any financial reason. He had a very successful practice that earned him a nice piece of change, but compared to the sizable fortune his father had left him, what he earned really was just that, a piece of change.
“I'm clueless. Now that I think of it, I remember he did have that office you spoke of. Maybe he decided it's just more convenient to work out of his place. Most of his clients are Hollywood's up and coming. He takes them out to the popular nightspots. Most of his clients know about the situation going in and seem to be happy with the arrangement. Of course, I'm really guessing, which is to say I do not actually know the answer. It's certainly not because he can't afford the usual trappings of a successful law practice. Not only does he have a substantial income, but is quite well-off apart from that. For all I know, he may have a completely different answer. I've never had a reason to give it much thought.”
Miguel appeared with their entrees, stopping further discussion. For the next few minutes all that could be heard was the clink of silverware clattering against their dishes. When they'd finished, Miguel appeared with a pot of coffee, the sugar bowl, and lots of half-and-half.
“Thank you,” Toots said, as he filled their cups.
When they were alone again, Goebel resumed his questioning. “Does he make it a habit of getting involved with his clients? Romantically?”
Sophie, Ida, and Mavis eyed Toots like she had a horn growing out of her head. “Don't look at me that way! Goebel, I can't be one hundred percent sure about Chris's involvement with past or present clients. What I can tell you is he's a man of integrity. He's not what Hollywood would call a ... man whore.” Toots paused, turning to Ida. “Is that what they call them?”
Ida shot daggers at Toots. “I wouldn't know. Ask Sophie.”
Without making a big production of it, Sophie wiggled her middle finger at Ida.
Ida smirked before taking a sip of her coffee. “Someday that finger is going to fall off. And then you'll wish you hadn't used it so much.”
They all laughed. Even Ida. Things were looking up in that department.
“I think the word is
gigolo
, ladies. But anyway, what you're saying is that you don't think Chris makes a habit of getting involved with his clients.”
“I don't know. That's what you're here to find out,” Toots said.
Miguel brought their tab to the table, Goebel reached for it, and Toots let him. It'd been a long time since a man had picked up her tab.
“Thanks,” she said after the waiter left. “Once you're checked into your room, do you want to come to the beach house?” They hadn't made any plans other than a late lunch at the Polo Lounge.
“If you ladies wouldn't mind, I would like to take a quick shower first. That east-to-west flight is quite long.” Goebel stood and they all headed toward the exit.
Sophie piped up, “We'll go smoke while you're doing your thing, then we can head for the beach house. Is that okay with the rest of you?”
“Since when did you start to care?” Ida asked.
“Oh for crying out loud, get off your pity-party trip. We're going to smoke. If there's something else you'd rather do while we're waiting, please, don't let me stop you,” Sophie said.
Ida seemed to instantly perk up. “Well now that you mention it, there is something I would like to do.”
Toots reached for Ida's arm, then pulled her close, and whispered in her ear. “Don't you dare follow Goebel to his room.”
Ida turned as pale as a ghost. “Why ... I can't believe you would even say such a thing!”
“Girls, please,” Mavis interjected.
“I know that's what you're thinking. He's off-limits, Ida,” Toots said, all traces of her earlier humor gone.
They waited for Miguel to return Goebel's AmEx gold card.
“Like Jerry was off-limits?” Ida shot back.
“I can't believe you have the nerve to bring him up. It's been more years than I care to remember. If memory serves me correctly, he came after me, not the other way around. And you'd already moved on to someone else. I can't recall his name.” Toots huffed.
During their exchange, Sophie hadn't uttered a word, until she said, “I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. Now here comes Goebel. Ida, keep your frigging hands off, okay? I promise that's the only time I'm going to say this. Do you understand?”
“I can't believe you think I would stoop so low,” Ida said. “It's not like I have a hard time attracting men.”
Sophie smacked her forehead. “How could I forget? Once a slut, always a slut.”
Goebel joined them. “Are you sure you gals don't want to come to my room? It'll only take me a few minutes to clean up.”
Toots spoke up before anyone else had a chance. “We'll wait out front. Just meet us there whenever you're ready. Sometimes we chain-smoke.”
He nodded, then grabbed Sophie and gave her a quick hug. “Don't be giving the eagle eye to any of those hot young studs I saw working the valet parking, okay?”
Sophie grinned. “Never.”
Goebel scurried off to his room.
Outside in the hotel garden was an area with four benches and three giant ashtrays reserved for smokers. “I miss this place,” Mavis said, taking a seat on the bench opposite Sophie and Toots. Ida remained standing.
“Yeah, me too. Maybe we can have another spa day sometime in the near future. I might consider getting a bikini wax,” Sophie said between puffs of smoke.
They all laughed, except for Ida.
Toots smoked, preferring to remain quiet. The chatter was getting to be too much for her. Even she had her limits as far as keeping her worries undercover. She was beyond being concerned about Chris, having reached the stage of downright panic on the way to the screaming meemies. Crossing her fingers that Goebel could find him before he became even more involved, Toots couldn't wait for Goebel to get started.
Fifteen minutes later, a freshly showered Goebel met them in front of the hotel. Sophie's eyes lit up like a vault of jewels. “I was getting ready to come looking for you.”
He looked at his watch. “Twelve minutes, Sophie. That tickles me if you want to know the truth.”
“Why does that tickle you?” she asked.
Goebel placed his hand on her lower back, guiding her toward the exit. “Look, sweetheart, twelve minutes isn't a long time to get all snazzed up. At least I don't think it is.”
“It isn't. Leland used to take at least an hour just to shower,” Toots said. “I often wondered what took him so long.”
While they waited for a young man from valet parking to bring Toots's car to the covered portico, Sophie commented, “Surely, after eight husbands, you're not that stupid.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” Toots questioned.
Mavis giggled, and Ida actually laughed.
Sophie being Sophie said, “Do you really want me to tell you?” She looked at Goebel, who was wearing a smile the size of the moon. “In front of Goebel?” she added, a wicked grin on her face.
Stains of scarlet dotted Toots's cheeks. “I can see where you're headed. Right to the gutter. Why am I not surprised?” She shook her head. When she saw her newly purchased black Cadillac Escalade, she breathed a sigh of relief. No one but Sophie would think of such a thing at such an inopportune time.
The valet attendant hopped out of the SUV and opened the rear passenger doors for Toots, Mavis, and Ida. Sophie drove, and Goebel rode shotgun. Toots was glad she'd purchased the oversized vehicle. They needed the extra seating. Goebel took a handful of cash from his pocket and handed it to the attendant. Toots saw this and liked him even more. He wasn't cheap. Sophie had scored big-time. Toots was happy for her even though there was no way in hell Sophie would admit to anything more than friendship.
Give her time,
Toots thought.
Give her time.
Once they exited the Beverly Hills Hotel, Sophie pointed the Escalade northwest, then made a left onto Santa Monica Boulevard. A few turns later, they were on the Pacific Coast Highway, headed for Malibu. With rolling hills on one side and miles of beach on the other, the scenic drive still had the power to evoke jaw-dropping stares.
“This sure as hell ain't New York,” Goebel commented. “If I lived here, you'd have to drag me away from the beach. Hell, I might have to think about gettin' a place of my own.”
Sophie took her eyes off the road for a second to stare at him. He winked at her. “Besides, I'm getting too old for those harsh New York winters,” he added.
Mavis piped up, “I don't miss Maine's cold weather either.”
Sophie was silent, content to drive. For the next half hour, they chatted about the pros and cons of West Coast versus East Coast living until Sophie made the turn that led to the beach house.
Goebel whistled. “Nice digs, Toots.”
“You wouldn't have thought so if you'd seen the place before we remodeled. I think we've referred to it as ‘hooker haven.' ”
“Ida's bathroom looked like a reject from Graceland,” Sophie said as she parked in front of the beach house. “The pop star who'd lived here apparently had a thing for Elvis Presley.”

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