Payback (3 page)

“Yeah, unless your bathroom is in the backyard.”

She shook her head and blushed. “I’m sorry; it’s just that I haven’t had a chance to clean in a week or so.”

“So, is that a no?”

She shook her head
vehemently. “Of course you can come in…I just don’t want you to think I’m a slob.”

He chuckled. “I have a maid simply because I am a slob.”

They exited his Escalade and walked up the drive in the last rays of the warm June day. Opening the old screen door, she stuck her key in the lock of the arched mahogany door with the stained glass panel and unlocked it.  Inside, Caden gave the rooms a quick once-over and was impressed.  Sure, there was some mess—strewn newspapers, a tablet on the couch, an afghan and pillows out of place; in the kitchen there were a few dirty dishes from the morning, but for the most part, the house was well kept. The furniture had obviously been chosen by Marie and not a Hollywood designer. The sofa, chairs, and other furniture were overstuffed, slightly flowery and comfortable, definitely not the furniture you would find in the houses of his upper-class friends and colleagues. Rather than be put off by her middle-class taste, it endeared her to him.  There was no pretense, no desire to show off; this was her house, her furniture, her taste, and it had been translated into a delightful, comfortable home.

“It’s very nice,” he said. 

She snorted with disbelief. “Come on, you don’t have to be nice. I’ve seen photos of your house when they did that spread in GQ. Your home is so beautiful.”

“I paid a guy almost a hundred thousand dollars to update the décor in my home because I don’t know Hepplewhite from Queen Anne.”

“Liar. Most guys don’t even know that Hepplewhite is a style of furniture.”

He shrugged. “My mother may have passed on a few kernels of knowledge
, but believe me, I haven’t got a clue how to put it all together.”

“Over there,” she said
, as she pointed down a hall.

He looked in the dire
ction of where she was pointing. “Over there?”

“The bathroom. Second door on the right.”

“Oh! Yes, right.” He walked down the hall on the well-polished cherry floors. “Nice floors.”

“They’re the original floors from the fifties when the house was built.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, where he checked out his hair in the mirror. After a quick pee, he washed his hands and then joined her in the kitchen where she was heating a kettle. 

“I don’t drink coffee, but can I make you tea?” she suggested.

“Anything stronger?”

She thought a second and then looked in the refrigerator. “I have a bottle of Mudslides and a wine cooler…a mango wine cooler.”

Neither sounded good, so he passed. “I’ll take a bottle of water.”

Opening up the refrigerator door, she leaned in to grab him a bottle of water.  He tilted his head to get a better look of her ass as she did.  Looking behind to ask if he wanted flavored water, she caught him staring at her butt.

“See something you like?”

A wide smile crossed against his long
, Irish face; his blue eyes flashing wickedly in the fluorescent light. “I have to admit, I like the view.”

Rather than blush or smile, she turned on him.  “Don’t! Don’t tease me.”

“Tease you?”

Marie stomped her foot and crossed her arms over her chest. “I know that I don’t measure up to the women you…you…”
but the words wouldn’t come.

Caden exploded with laughter. “I what?  Women I see? Date? Fuck?”

Her mouth dropped open. “You don’t have to be vulgar! I just don’t like being toyed with when I know you could crook your finger and a dozen starlets would be in your bed.”

“A dozen?  I was thinking more along the line of a hundred or a thousand.  Do you really think that’s what I do?  I just look at a woman and her panties fall off?”

“That’s not what I mean.  I just mean that I know I’m not up to your standards!”

Looking crushed, almost angry, Caden’s voice came out low, full of restrained
emotion, “You don’t know me. I may date and sleep with beautiful women, but you don’t see me marrying them, do you?  There’s a difference between being attracted to someone because they’re beautiful and just wanting to get laid; it’s another thing to be attracted to the whole package and want to truly get to know someone.” He shook his head and sighed. “I can see that the ‘getting to know someone before passing judgment’ doesn’t interest you, so I’ll be on my way.” He quickly left the house and climbed into his SUV, taking off down the road as if he was being shot out of a cannon.

Chapter 3

Marie –Whitefish

Present Day

The Palace Bar in Whitefish, Montana was everything you would imagine a bar in Montana to be.
A long, L-shaped oak bar was surrounded with vinyl-topped metal stools, wood booths with no padding on the benches, dozens of tables with ladder-back chairs, a myriad of neon lights advertising beer, a high tin ceiling, funky paneling, and a couple of pool tables. 

I entered holding a celebrity still photo of Caden. Trotting up to the first booth, I showed the photo to the woman and three guys drinking beers.  They took one suspicious look at me and then at Caden’s photo. “Hi, I’m desperately trying to find Caden Kelly.  Have you seen him?”

“You’re not from here, are ya’, darlin’?” the woman asked.  She was dressed in a red checkered shirt with white mother-of-pearl snaps, tight Lee jeans, snakeskin cowboy boots, and plenty of oversized rings on her fingers.

“No, I drove in from California
a few weeks ago.”

“Well, darlin’,” she said, her voice shifting f
rom kindness to sarcasm, “do you think just because you ask nice we’ll all just get out our GPS and point you in the direction of a guy who lives a very private life?  Honey, it doesn’t work that way.  You should get in your car and take off back to Fruitland.”

I wanted to
bitch-slap her, but I was pretty sure she’d take me down if I did. I’m scrappy, but this woman looked like she could take on the state militia and make them her bitches, so I just smiled and walked over to the bar. Leaning in, I showed my photo to the bartender. He looked me up and down and then went back to tending bar.

Frustration took over. I stood in the middle of the
room and yelled as loud as I could over the juke box, “Hello!  My name is Marie, Marie Morrigan.  I am an old friend of Caden Kelly, and I’m desperately trying to find him.  I’m not a stalker; I’m not a journalist. I’m not a star-struck fan. I just want a few words with him. I’m currently renting a room from Mildred Iverson over on Park Avenue. If you have any information. My cell phone is on a flyer pinned to the corkboard as you enter. I’d be very grateful if you’d give me any leads you might have. Thanks.” 

I moved on to other bars and to a rather bohemian coffee shop, the Whitefish Coffee Shop
, which sat on the corner near Casey’s.  In the back there were sofas and overstuffed chairs arranged in conversation groups.  In the front were numerous tables and chairs with broad views of the street through huge front windows. Inside the coffee shop was a wide entry to the clothing shop next-door. I put up flyers in the coffee shop and in the clothing store.

After spending a day in town just talking to shop owners and putting up flyers
, I waited.  My landlady, Mildred Iverson, a blue-haired, spry eighty-year-old, was preparing to spend a few weeks with her daughter in Missoula. When I arrived I had paid her for two weeks, handing over three hundred and fifty of my diminishing dollars. She gave me a large bedroom with an attached bathroom and use of the laundry and kitchen.

Mrs. Iverson and I immediately bonded once she discovered that we had friends in common. I knew a screenwriter in Hollywood named Wilford Framingham
, and it just so happened that he had been one of Mrs. Iverson’s best students when she taught at Whitefish High School. His family had also been close to Mrs. Iverson’s daughter-in-law, so I used him as a reference when I moved in. He must have given me a glowing recommendation because Mrs. Iverson informed me that if I would look after the house in her absence, she would reduce my weekly rent to $100.  In addition to keeping the place clean, I had to feed her cat and take in the mail and newspaper. But for $200, I’d have the house to my own for the next two weeks.

Every day for the
next ten days I went to the coffee shop, had breakfast, asked a few questions, and started to become part of the fabric of life in Whitefish.  At first no one would make eye contact with me, but after weeks of being considerate and friendly to everyone, I now received numerous salutations as I walked down the street or sat in the coffee shop.  On occasion, I’d end up in a conversation with the locals and was even invited over by one of the owners of the coffee shop, Ona Nixon, for dinner at her house. 

Ona Dubois Nixon was a forty
-year-old woman with two kids, a new husband, and three dogs.  She’d lived in Columbia Falls, the next town over, all her life. After her husband of twelve years left her for a woman who was actually two years older than Ona, she found solace in the man who owned the sporting goods store next to the coffee shop, Ross Nixon.

We were peeling potatoes to boil
for mashed potatoes when out of the blue she asked, “So what’s your connection with Caden Kelly?”

“If you don’t know where he is, why do you want to know?” I said, the frustration in my voice boiling like the pot of potatoes.
The scowl she returned reminded me that she was on my side and I shouldn’t bite the hand that would soon be feeding me. “Caden and I were in love, but I was young and stupid.”

“We’ve all been young and stupid.”

“Okay, I was young, stupid, and naïve.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

I shook my head as I quartered more potatoes.  “It’s a long and very tragic story.”

“Well, after the dishes are done, maybe you can tell me.”

I didn’t really feel like reliving the greatest mistake of my life, but maybe if I did, Ona would take pity on me and tell me where Caden lived.  After a terrific meal, with the best corn bread stuffing I’d ever had, Ona instructed her kids to put away the food and load the dishwasher. I poured us each a glass of wine and waited for her in the living room. After the chores were done, her family scrambled downstairs to their finished basement to watch football games.

As Ona settled down on the sofa near me
, she raised a questioning eyebrow, but her eyes gave the impression that she already knew where my story was going. “Okay, tell me how a twenty-five-year-old screws up her entire life.”

It took
an hour, but in the end she shook her head.  “Boy, did you fuck up.”

“I know.”

“Wow.” She kept shaking her head in disbelief. “You claim you want Caden to by your book and star in your movie, but why are you really here?”

I winced.
That was the one question I didn’t want to answer; at least not answer truthfully.  “There’s no ulterior motive.  I’ve written a book, and once I get the money to back it, I’ll write the screenplay. I wrote the book with Caden in mind.”

“Bullshit. You’re still in love with Caden and you’re hoping this wins him back.”

“Honestly, I think it’s too late for that.”

Ona nodded. “I’d have to agree.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because Caden once mentioned that he preferred to keep his women at an arm’s length.
He said that he had issues with trust. Now I know why.”

I straightened up with excitement.
“When?  Where?”

“
When
was only a few months ago, and
where
is none of your business. I like you a lot, Marie, but if Caden wanted to hook up with you, he’d have done it by now.”

“Ona, please. Please. I need to let him know that I am so very sorry for what happened. I want him to know that a day doesn’t go by that I don’t know how much I screwed it all up.
I’m trying to make it up to him by writing this book for him. By letting him have a chance to star in the movie. It’s perfect for him.”

“
You did screw it up. I doubt you’ll get him to give you the time of day. Why not just go back to Los Angeles and get someone else to play the lead?”

“Because I don’t have any backing
, and right now the people in power are afraid to touch me.  Caden still has lots of investments in the industry and carries a big stick.  No one wants to back me if it means that Caden Kelly might be pissed off.  If he doesn’t buy the book then I can still get a backer if I get Caden to star in the project. Without him, it will probably take years for me to get someone to take on the project.”

“Well then, it will just have to take years.”

I shook my head. “I don’t have years. I’m out of money. As of this morning, I have $91.92 in my account and a quarter tank of gasoline. I don’t even have enough money to pay for my rent next week or enough to get home. I’ve got to find a job.”

“You should try the ski resort or one of the hotels. They’re the only ones
who might be hiring, although they probably have hired all their seasonal staff.”

The
next Saturday I was standing in line at the coffee shop waiting my turn to order at the counter. A middle-aged man dressed in black Lee Jeans and a cotton, red flannel western shirt was ordering a double latte and some food to go with it.  Doug Grindle and Shelly Pearce, the manager and barista for the coffee shop, both greeted him.

“Max! How’s the feed business?  You guys staying busy?” Shelly asked.

“We’re doing okay, not as well as last year, but we had a good day yesterday,” Max responded.  He had that wizened look of a cowboy that had grown up hard in Montana. The pointed boots on his feet were a solid leather that had been well worn and scuffed. Even the Stetson on his head had the appropriate sweat stain and obligatory crease that made it dip just right over his forehead. “Mr. Hollywood showed up and bought three loads of grain. I wondered if he needed that much, but Jeff says the guy knows what he’s doing.  I delivered one of the loads yesterday, and the place looks damn good. For a celebrity, he works real hard. Of course, each time he comes into the lot he causes a stir.  All the women come out of the woodwork just to drool over him.  I don’t see why they think he’s so good lookin’.”

It was then that Doug saw me and immediately put a nervous finger to his lips to get Max to shut up. The conversation came to an abrupt end
, and Shelly asked me what I wanted to eat. I gave my order, but then I followed Max out the door.

“Max!”  I yelled
, as he sauntered towards his truck with his extra-strong, Columbian double latte in a thermal cup.

He turned and looked at me, eyes widening when he realized that I was the one yelling. “Sorry
, lady, but I can’t talk. If I talk, I could get fired.”

“You don’t even know what I want to talk about.”

“I suspect it’s about one of our clients, and that’s off limits.”

I caught up to him as he fiddled with the lock to get into his 1988 Ford
F150 that looked like a few cows had taken their frustrations out on it. “Look, Caden is a friend of mine. I just want to talk to him.”

“I don’t care if he’s your brother; I can’t tell you anything about him or I could lose my job.” The guy was now in his seat and starting his truck.

“Please!  Could you just tell him that I’m looking for him?”

“Sorry
, lady, but I can’t.” The cowboy pulled out of the parking spot and into the road without looking, causing a young woman to slam on her brakes to keep from hitting him.  He sped off without so much as a gesture of contrition.

But now I knew that
his place was in the area, that Caden lived somewhere nearby. I had my first solid lead—Caden owned a cattle ranch that bought feed nearby. As soon as I got back to the house, I started calling every feed lot in a fifty-mile radius and asked for Max, the driver who delivered a load to Caden Kelly yesterday. I struck pay dirt on my third call.

I heard the rustling of paper and then a response, “Yeah, I see that Max delivered the load yesterday,” the male voice said.

“Yeah, well, I think the address is wrong on the invoice because we haven’t received the paperwork yet.”

“He should have given it to you yesterday when he unloaded the goods,” the guy said suspiciously. 

I looked on Google Maps and made something up. “The document I have here has a load of grain for 4576 Othorp Lake Road, Eureka.”

“Nah, I’m showing 398 Loon Lake Ranch Way in Trego.”

“Well, that’s the right address.  Maybe he just gave us the wrong invoice.  I’ll let Mr. Kelly know.  Thanks.”

“No problem,” he responded and hung up.

My heart was beating so fast that I had to sit down. I felt like it was going to implode.  I pulled out my laptop and found the map application. The property was about forty miles north of Whitefish.  Although Mrs. Iverson had let me stay without paying, I couldn’t take advantage of her anymore. I needed to find Caden, convince him to read my book and star in the movie so that I could get backing, and I needed to do it fast. 

I no longer had a working cell phone with a
GPS…they had cut me off for nonpayment.  So I pulled up the directions on my laptop and took off for Trego.  My Porsche was now seven years old, and besides needing its seventy-five-thousand mile checkup, a tune-up, and oil change, I was fairly certain that the tread on the tires wouldn’t pass the muster if I was pulled over by a cop. But I didn’t have the two thousand dollars needed to replace the four premium racing tires that it required.

Snow had spit some white on the town and highways over the last week
, but now it was snowing in earnest and had been for the last eight hours.  As I drove up to Trego, I practiced what I was going to say to the man with whom I had once shared my life. After turning off 93 North, I made another turn and started to climb into the forests.  The roads had been cleared but were quickly filling back up with snow. My car fishtailed every time I turned a corner, so I slowed down, creeping up the road at thirty miles an hour. When I saw Loon Lake Ranch Way, I took a deep breath and made the turn into an area populated with tall pines. I kept looking for mailboxes and finally found the one that made my heart stop. It was innocuous, a plain, white mailbox sitting on a cedar post bearing only the numbers 398.  I turned left onto Loon Lake Ranch Way and was immediately impressed with the wide, gravel road leading up the moderate grade of a hill.  Ice and snow had formed on the road, making it difficult to navigate.  I was concerned because on the left side of the road there was a slope that led down into a ravine, and on the right the road was lined with tall trees.  My tires were spinning every hundred feet or so. Luckily, the snow had slowed to light flurries and I was hoping it would stop.  I wasn’t sure my car would make it up the grade, but after turning a bend, I saw a log home with several outbuildings. The building closest to the house was a large barn, and next to it sat a towering silo. I pulled in next to the log cabin which was lit up on the main floor.