For Better or Worsted (14 page)

CHAPTER 18

B
Y THE TIME I GOT UP THE NEXT MORNING, T
HURSDAY
was already off to work. It was one of the days when I worked the afternoon and evening because I had an author event. I took care of the animals and looked forward to sitting down at the table for a leisurely cup of coffee. Samuel’s door was shut, which probably meant he was in there asleep, so I left him alone. We both did our best not to infringe on each other’s lives.

I made the coffee, thinking about what I’d overheard Thursday say to Barry the night before. Were Mason and I made for each other? I quickly switched to thinking about the shirt I’d found in Mason’s backyard the day of the wedding, wondering how I could figure out who’d dropped it. It was more comfortable to think about clues than relationships. I’d just sat down and was about to have my first sip of the dark brew when the phone rang. With all the gizmos on phones now, there was no secret to who was calling, so I knew it was Mason before I even clicked Talk.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” he said in an upbeat voice. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.” He gave it a moment to sink in before continuing. “I was thinking we could discuss it over dinner tonight.”

I explained my work schedule, and he sounded a little disappointed. “Why can’t we talk about it right now?” I asked. It had sounded like Thursday might think Mason and I were made for each other, but she wasn’t going to tell either one of us directly. Still, I wondered what she might do to stir the pot.

“I could do that. I was working from home this morning. We could get breakfast or I could come over there.”

I made another attempt to keep it to a phone conversation, but he held firm to the plan of us meeting in person to discuss it. Breakfast was my favorite meal to have out, so I agreed.

“Where are we going?” I said after Mason had picked me up and had gotten on the 101 heading west. I was expecting Le Grande Fromage or some local place.

“You’ll see,” was all he would say. Barry’s choice of restaurants had been a surprise since he usually went for less atmosphere and more convenience. However, grand gestures were common with Mason. I made sure he wasn’t planning something like driving somewhere up the coast, because I really couldn’t be late for work.

Even though he’d said nothing, I knew he knew about last night and was trying to counter it. Not that there was that much to last night. Barry had seemed surprised by the kiss, obviously not in a bad way, but at the same time, he hadn’t tried to prolong it or turn it into anything more. He seemed to be accepting the new phase of our relationship, I thought with a sense of relief. Mason, on the other hand, was always pushing at the restraints. I bet if I kissed him the way I had kissed Barry, he wouldn’t have sauntered off with just a wave good-night.

Mason got off at Topanga Canyon and headed up the windy road that led through the long canyon all the way to the beach. I said a trip to the ocean sounded appealing, but he chuckled and said that wasn’t his plan. While we drove, I also tried to get him to discuss what he wanted to talk about, but he refused, instead urging me to enjoy the scenery.

His silence was only making me more tense, and I did my best to concentrate on the passing view. We’d gone from the busy Valley floor to a rustic wilderness in a few minutes. The houses on either side of the twisting road were mostly a little offbeat. I could barely see the creek that ran below the road on one side. The water was only a trickle now, which made the quirky bridges some of the homeowners had built seem like overkill. But when the winter rains came, the creek could become a dangerous torrent. We passed some small businesses and went through the actual town of Topanga, which looked like a throwback to the ’60s with its hippie feel.

Still Mason refused to tell me where we were going or to talk about the information. “Enjoy the adventure,” he said with a sly smile. “It’s always an adventure with me.”

Eventually, I caught Mason’s vibe and began to enjoy the feeling that I was running away from everything for a little while. No worries about crochet lessons, the bookstore, or the book signing. It was like playing hooky from school, though I really wasn’t.

Mason turned off the main road and drove on a bridge over the creek. There were a few more twists and turns, and he pulled up to a valet stand in front of a rustic-looking restaurant with a poetic name.

It was early and the place was empty. Mason spoke to the host and we were led to a table outside. When I say outside, I don’t mean some wooden deck patio. I mean a table on a rocky ledge with dirt as the floor. Below, the lazy creek made its way through rocks and plants, and the whole area was shaded by big, old trees.

Mason’s eyes were dancing as I looked around the place. He must have known where Barry and I had gone, and he’d found a way to outdo it. Then I knew. The box from the café had its name on it and was in the refrigerator. Thursday must have seen it and told Mason.

I was still surprised that she was trying to put something together between me and her father. I thought it was always the dream of kids, no matter how old, that their divorced parents get back together. But then maybe that dream didn’t factor in Jaimee.

The menu said lunch, but Mason got them to make us omelets, sweet potato patties, fruit and toast made of the homemade whole-grain bread they baked on-site. Coffee was served in a French press pot.

“Well?” I said expectantly, when we’d gotten our food and started in on it. I looked across at Mason and expected his cheerful expression, but instead he appeared dead serious and I felt my heart rate quicken.

“I need your help,” he said. “You know how Jackson Kingsley has said repeatedly that he thinks Jonah was stabbed to get back at me.” There was a long pause before Mason continued. “I blew it off and just took it for what it was, a grieving father looking for someone else to blame. You don’t know, but Detective Heather, er . . . Gilmore raked me over the coals about the revenge motive, too. I insisted it was ridiculous . . .” He let his voice trail off.

“But I began to wonder if it could be true. I went through the past few years of cases to see if there was anyone who might be holding a grudge against me or blaming me for something.”

I was going to say something reassuring, but Mason wanted to keep on going. “There’s someone I got off for a DUI hit-and-run. The car jumped the curb and just some daffodils and marigolds died.” To make sure I understood, he explained more fully that the tires had crushed the flowerbed in front of a home.

“But that’s nothing,” I said. “Who would come after you for that?”

“There’s another chapter to the story,” Mason said. “Two weeks later, the same person got into another accident and this time it wasn’t flowers that died.” Mason’s whole expression seemed to sag. “The family of the victim knew my client had been in a previous accident and had kept his license and gotten off. You see where they could blame me?”

I had lost interest in the food by then. “You were just doing your job,” I said, reaching across to touch his arm.

“That’s what I try to think. My job is to defend my clients. But I have to tell you, I wish I had never taken that case.”

“You said there’s something you want me to do,” I said.

“I need to know if some member of the victim’s family was one of the servers at the reception. I can’t get through to the caterer. She isn’t happy with my family and claims the murder and all the discussion about the way she had the servers dress has hurt her business. Actually, she said it killed her business.” He looked toward me.

“We all know you have rather unconventional ways of doing things. Could you try to get a list of who worked at the reception?”

Of course, I agreed. Then Mason went out of his way to lighten the mood, and we went back to eating our brunch. On the way back through the picturesque canyon, I looked over at him. “It was a lovely place, but wasn’t that a long way to go for an omelet?”

Mason smiled. Maybe that was the point. He drove in silence for a few moments, and it was obvious he had something else on his mind. “Was this better than last night?”

“I’m taking the Fifth on that,” I said with a laugh. I knew no matter what I said, it would probably come out wrong.

CHAPTER 19

“
THANKS FOR MEETING ME,” I SAID TO DINAH. WE
were parked next to each other in the parking lot behind the bookstore. I had called her when Mason dropped me off at my house, and I explained what Mason wanted. She offered to be my Watson right away. Since I had some time until I had to get to work, and Dinah had a break in classes, we decided to move on it immediately.

“What’s the plan?” she said, rubbing her hands together in enthusiasm. “I hope there isn’t sneaking around involved, because I’m not dressed for it.” That was the truth. Dinah was wearing a burnt orange cotton pantsuit with a white shirt. A long scarf in a lighter shade of the orange trailed in the wind behind her. She was definitely jazzed by the idea we were teaming up to investigate. “I’m so glad to be in the middle of things again. I feel like I’ve been out of the loop.”

“No sneaking around, so your outfit is fine,” I said, gesturing for her to get into my car. “I decided to go directly to the caterer. I even made an appointment to see her.” I started the engine and we took off out of the parking lot.

“Wait a second, if Mason can’t get the list from her, how can you?”

“I haven’t exactly worked that part out yet.”

It was only a short drive to our destination, and I told Dinah about the dueling meals I’d had with Barry and then Mason. “Men are too much. They’ll try to one-up each other on anything—even romantic restaurants,” Dinah said with a merry chuckle. But when I told her what I’d overheard Thursday say to Barry, she almost choked on her breath. We both agreed that Thursday’s reaction was surprising.

Just before I parked, I had an idea about how to approach the caterer. “It’s obvious. I’m planning a party and that’s her specialty.”

“You’re going to talk to her about Lyla’s birthday party?” Dinah said.

“I might leave out a few details. Just go along with whatever I say or do.”

Laurie Jean’s Party People was located in a storefront on Ventura. We had to ring a bell to get in. Laurie Jean greeted us and took us into a small room in the front. It had comfortable armchairs and a table in the middle.

“Have a seat, ladies,” the caterer said. I checked out the rest of the place as I was choosing a seat. I noted a small office on the other side of the entrance, and the whole back seemed to be given over to a kitchen and food storage.

She waited until Dinah and I sat, then she took a seat across from us. I noticed she had a pad and pen and started to scribble some notes. She had long, blond hair and a smile that was a little too bright to be real. It looked like the kind of smile that was going to give her a headache if she didn’t let it fade soon.

“What sort of event are you planning?” she said. When I said it was a birthday party, her smile deflated a little, but she assured me they could do birthday parties. Her next question was how many guests I expected.

Dinah played the silent partner and just nodded along with the conversation. I did the politician thing and didn’t answer her questions, but took the conversation where I wanted it to go. “I’d really like to use those servers who worked that wedding you put on a couple of weeks ago. They all looked the same, which I think is very professional.” I stopped as if I was considering something. “In fact, I want those exact servers.”

Laurie Jean did a double take. “You’re putting on a birthday party for two hundred people?” she said. I noticed her manner changed, and she suddenly became more interested. Dinah was trying hard not to laugh. She knew we’d have maybe fifteen people at Lyla’s party.

Laurie Jean immediately turned the subject away from the servers to the menu. I tried to gloss over the menu, saying I was more concerned with the look of the party and brought the subject back to the servers.

“How many servers were there at that wedding?” I said.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” she said. “That’s why you hire a caterer. It’s much more important that you choose the type of party and the food. Once we take care of the paperwork, we can set up a tasting.”

Dinah threw me a worried look as Laurie Jean produced a bunch of forms and mentioned the word
deposit
. This wasn’t working. I had hoped to be able to get what I wanted by talking, but it was time for plan B.

“I wonder if I could use your restroom?” I said. I threw Dinah a nod, hoping she realized I needed her to stall. Laurie Jean graciously gestured toward the hall and said there was a restroom just before the kitchen.

I walked into the hall slowly, checking to see that I was out of sight. I heard Dinah begin talking to Laurie Jean. My friend always came through, and I knew one way or another she’d keep the conversation going.

I went across the hall to the small office, hoping to get a quick look around. Whatever records she had were probably in there. The first thing I noticed was the absence of a computer. I glanced over the desk, and there didn’t seem to be anything there resembling what I was looking for. A credenza sat against the wall and I noticed a row of plastic bins. When I looked closer, I saw that each had a label, presumably for some event. I also noticed that just about all of them had a line through them and the word
Canceled
written above. Wow, it really did look like her business had been killed. The one on the end said
Fields/Kingsley
. I noticed a handful of papers in it. I listened for a moment and the drone of conversation was still coming from across the hall. I’d just have a quick look through the bin.

I’d already figured I would take a picture of the list with my phone and hope that Mason could read it. I began to thumb through the sheets. I was encouraged when they seemed to be checklists of supplies and such. I got a little too interested in examining the sheets as I went through them. I had no idea about all the stuff she’d had to bring. It made me think of Lyla’s party and stuff I hadn’t thought about, like a first aid kit. I was almost to the bottom of the bin. My phone screen had gone dark, and I got it back on and made sure it was set to camera. Just as I went back to the bin, I heard a rustle and then a voice.

“What are you doing?” Laurie Jean yelled.