In Between (4 page)

As she spoke, Ben stopped eating. He drank some juice and watched Darla with narrowed eyes and a deepening flush on his cheeks.

“I happened to remember that Rebecca has an uncle who is a lawyer in Denver. I suggested that she might want him to vet the contract for her, explain its many clauses in terms she can understand. She was very grateful. It really hadn't occurred to her to do that. I assured her that there's no hurry about it, since you don't have a new picture lined up yet. Heaven only knows how much poor Sam had time to write, or if you can retrieve it. You might have to get a new writer, a new script, a new book or something. These things do take so much time, don't they, darling.”

She stood. “Now I think I'll get into a swimsuit and take a turn in the pool. That was a hot drive up here.”

“You'll regret this,” Ben said in a harsh voice. “I'll see to it that you regret it.”

“Darling, you know I'm thinking only of your future great works. Be back in a few minutes.”

Sam stood aside as Darla swept past him.

“Go,” Lori said. “You saw one of the most beautiful boy bodies. Now feast your eyes on the most beautiful girl body. I'd say look but don't touch, but it's hardly necessary. I'll keep the pig in sight a while longer.”

Sam didn't hesitate. He trailed after Darla and, to his surprise, she did not go up the grand staircase, but turned instead to the stairs to the lower level of the mansion. She glanced around, then went straight to the gym, to the cabinet, and to the towels hiding a gun. She picked up a towel and the revolver, and, using the towel to conceal the gun, she walked out and up the two flights of stairs to her room. She opened a drawer in a bureau and buried the gun in lacy under garments. That done, she sat on the bed and placed a call. “It's me,” she said. “I got it. It's safe. Good job, darling. I'll call you later.”

When Sam rejoined Lori on the terrace, before telling her what he had seen, he said, “If I could sweat, I'd be in melt-down mode right now.”

They watched Darla slip off a shirt and dive into the pool. Her bikini couldn't have had more than a dime's worth of material. She swam two laps, climbed out and went into the bath house, taking a tote bag with her. When she emerged, she had changed into gauzy pants and a halter.

“If I had her body, that's how I'd dress,” Lori said.

Sam couldn't stop an involuntary glance at her shapeless jacket and clunky shoes.

Sy Wannamaker and Harrison Coolson arrived minutes later.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ben demanded when Coolson approached his table.

“I want to see the new play,” Coolson said. “Janice is making noise about going to Italy, and I want to see how far along a new work is before I make up my mind about a trip.”

Ben scowled. “Let's see what he's got,” he said, motioning to Sy Wannamaker. “Open it up.”

Wannamaker put the laptop on a table and they all stood around as he opened it, to be greeted by a Welcome message and a request for a password.

“I have a guy coming at about three,” Wannamaker said. “He said he'll need a desk with space for his computer and this one, and he'll need to be left alone while he works on it. It can take hours. I thought maybe your office.”

“Forget that,” Ben said. “Keep it tied up for hours? No way. Margie's office. What else?”

“He wants everything we have on Sam, bio, family information, everything. I called publicity to have the stuff scanned and emailed here. Margie's computer. She can print it out when it comes.”

“The guy is probably pretty good,” Lori said. “That's what I would have asked for.”

“It's one thirty,” Sam said. “Let's hope they put it somewhere soon, before the guy gets here.”

“Harrison, are you and Janice really going to Italy? That's so sweet,” Darla said.

“Depends. Janice thinks I'm working too hard, need a rest, and we do have that villa available. I agree that a rest would be good.”

Abruptly Ben snapped the computer closed, picked it up, and started to walk away. “I'll tell Margie to clear her desk and beat it as soon as she prints out the stuff on Sam. Help yourselves to drinks.”

Lori and Sam consulted with thumbs and nods. He followed Ben and she eyed the rest of the crab salad, in a bowl nestled in another bowl of ice.

Ben strode down the corridor, stopped at Margie's door and told her to watch email for the information he was expecting, to print it all. “I'll sign those letters and you can take them down to the mailbox on your way out. Leave as soon as you do the printout.” He turned and entered his own office and closed the door. He placed the laptop on his desk, opened the drawer and pressed the button to raise the pyramid picture. Sam was at his shoulder as he keyed in the numbers on the keypad and opened the safe. He looked at several bulging manila envelopes, picked up one of them and removed a snapshot, then closed the safe and, at his desk once more, restored the pyramid picture. He signed several letters on his desk, got up and walked out. Still dressed in the short robe, he headed for the staircase. Sam returned to the office, found paper in a drawer and jotted down the numbers. He put the piece of paper under a sofa cushion, then debated if he should stay with Ben or go to Lori. He decided to let Ben get dressed without an audience and put himself back on the terrace. Lori was eating crab salad, using the serving spoon. The others were in the party room sitting on stools at the bar.

“What exactly did he say about the mail?” Lori asked when he told her what he had seen and heard.

“She's to take it down to the mailbox when she leaves.”

“That's new. Arthur used to meet the mailman at the door. Now it seems as if the mailman isn't allowed in, and that means a mailbox must be down near the gate, or at the guard house. We should find out where it is. That could be a way to get stuff out of here.”

“What difference does it make?”

“Tell you later,” she said. “What's he up to now?” She nodded toward the door.

Ben had entered, dressed in slacks and a sport shirt. He went to the stool next to Coolson and sat down, then draped his arm around the other man's shoulders and showed him the snapshot he had taken from the safe. Lori and Sam went to stand next to them.

“Now, Harrison, I really don't think a trip to Italy at this time of year would be restful. Do you?” He put the snapshot in his pocket, patted his partner on the shoulder, and asked, “Who's playing bartender? Why don't I have a vodka sour yet?” Sy Wannamaker hurried to get behind the bar and start mixing the drink. Coolson slumped on his stool.

“How much stuff is in that safe?” Lori asked angrily.

“Half a dozen manila envelopes, maybe eight. Some video cassettes, some audio tapes, maybe six or seven. A box, like a cash box or jewelry box. He didn't open it.”

“I will,” she said. “Let's go. As soon as Margie is gone, we can get the stuff out of the safe, and I can start to work on the computer.”

Arthur was lounging against the open door to Margie's office and she was putting a paper clip on printouts, laughing at something he had said. “I'll pick up the mail and then I guess I'm out of here,” she said.

She crossed the hall to Ben's office and picked up the mail, folded it and put it in prepared envelopes. The two of them walked down the corridor with his hand on her bottom.

“Let's get that stuff now,” Sam said.

“Something I want to do first,” Lori said as Sam headed toward the sofa where he had stashed the code for the keypad. She looked around, then picked up a pillow from the sofa and walked to the end of the room where a camera was positioned, monitoring everything. She examined the pillow and pulled at the fringe, making a loop. Standing on a chair, she hung the pillow over the camera. “Now,” she said. “Let them wonder who hit the safe.”

Sam retrieved the keypad note as Lori went to the desk and pushed the button to raise the picture. He tapped the numbers in. Lori joined him with the key ring and opened the safe.

“Put everything in here,” she said, placing a wastebasket by him. “Everything except the box.” She reached past him to open the box, made a face, and closed it again. Just money. With the videos, the manila envelopes, and the audio tapes in the wastebasket, Sam closed the safe, and she pushed the button to restore the picture.

“One more thing,” she said, hurrying to the other office with the waste basket.

Sam watched her open a cabinet and pull out large padded envelopes. She quickly transferred the things they had taken from the safe to envelopes, took them to a postage scale, weighed them, punched in numbers, then stamped the envelopes.

“No addresses,” he said.

“Zip code is enough for now.” She finished and put the filled envelopes in the waste basket. “We have to stash that someplace where we can get it again later. Maybe the screening room. No one's likely to go in there today. You do that and I'll tackle the computer. Yell if they start to come. I'll need a little time to back out and close it down.”

Cautiously he looked down the wide corridor, then hurried to the screening room, where he left the wastebasket. Back in Ben's office, he found Lori already working with his laptop.

He began to flit back and forth. He watched Arthur go to his security monitors, looked in on the cook who was preparing a roast, glanced around generally, made certain that the four he had left in the party room were still there, still at the bar.

The third time he looked in on them at the bar, he saw Ben walking toward the restroom. The three at the bar drew closer together and he moved in to hear what they were saying.

Darla was speaking in near whisper. “Sy, since Ben's your client, would you be the one to open his safe if he had an accident or something? Would the police demand that it be opened? Check out the contents?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Curious about what happens in such a case,” she said. When he compressed his lips and remained silent, she leaned closer to him. “Sy, I know he's blackmailing some people. He admitted it. So, tell me, what would happen to that material if he had an accident?”

Coolson had gone tense with her words, and he looked at Sy with a pleading expression. “That's a good question,” he said. “What's the answer?”

After another pause—evidently a struggle was taking place in Sy Wannamaker's mind—he said, “It would depend. A suspicious accident might be cause for the police to look, if they knew there was a safe to examine. A clear accident, probably not. I'm executor of his estate; when he passes, I'll open it.”

“What's on your mind?” Coolson asked then, turning to Darla. He put his hand on her arm. She winced and jerked away. “What are you thinking?” he demanded.

“What if Ben brought out a gun to show us and he accidentally shot himself,” she said in the same near whisper she had used before. “Three of us, his best friends, his attorney, witnesses to a gruesome accident. Ben was frightened by the attempted murder and he bought a gun for self protection, then, thinking it was unloaded, he accidentally shot himself. It happens all the time.”

Coolson's expression didn't change, but Wannamaker looked even more frightened than when Ben was present.

“Who knows about the safe?” Coolson asked him.

“Arthur, Darla. I do, of course. You. I don't know who else.”

“Arthur's not a problem,” Coolson said. “So, we'd get the stuff from the safe. And destroy everything. Right?” His gaze was fastened on Darla.

After a moment, she shrugged and murmured, “Of course.”

They drew apart when the door to the restroom opened and Ben strode into the party room. Sam flitted back to the office.

“They're going to shoot Ben,” he said.

“Good. I need a few more minutes.”

It was closing in on three o'clock. He went to the end of the corridor where he could see the front door and keep an eye on the party room. Minutes later, to his dismay, Arthur came up from the lower level and went to open the door. The man he admitted was tall and thin, dressed in a button-down shirt, tie, and a black suit. He was carrying a briefcase.

“The nerd's here,” Sam called to Lori and he followed the newcomer to the party room where Ben and the others came forward to meet him.

“Walter Portman,” the man said, holding out his hand to Ben, who ignored it.

“Come on,” Ben said, leading the way to the corridor and his office where the laptop was on the desk, closed. He told Portman what he was after, and that no, he would not work in this office. He picked up the laptop and the group left to enter the secretary's office.

“Sam,” Lori said, “what did you just say?”

“The nerd is here.”

“Before that.”

“I told you they're planning to shoot Ben.”

“We can't let them do that. Are they all crazy? Come on, let's move that gun. Darla's room.” She vanished, and he followed.

“Make up your mind,” he said in Darla's room. “It's in that drawer.” He pointed and watched her hurry to the drawer and find the gun. She picked it up gingerly. “You wanted him dead. And anyway, how could we stop them?”

“We'll hide the gun,” she said.

“They'll drown him or push him down the stairs or something.”

Lori was looking around the room. “They'll search for it,” she muttered. She went to a drape and pulled it open, revealing a glass door to a small balcony. She opened the door and stepped out. This was on the side of the house, overlooking a garden, bushes, trees, all manicured to the last blade of grass, the last fading blossom. “It will have to do,” she said and she threw the gun.

“Jesus,” Sam said. “You're driving me insane. What are you up to, why ditch the gun there? The yardmen will pick it up. Then what?”

“We'll pick it up first and heave it over the wall into the woods. Sam, if they kill him before we get the blackmail stuff out of here, the police will be all over this place. An attempted murder followed by a fatal accident? Those three are crazy. But if they can't find the gun, it will slow them down until they come up with an different scheme. Maybe they'll back off altogether. That will give us a little time. We have to wait until the coast is clear and put those envelopes in the mailbox.”