Smoke and Mirrors - Hollywood Knights One (5 page)

“Okay.”

“And I love you like a sister.”

“Just spit it out!”

I sighed and changed lanes.  “Okay.”  I
tried to think of a decent way to word what was on my mind but
ended up settling for, “If you don’t want to spend nine months
wondering who the dad is, you might want to
be really careful.”

Elizabeth was quiet for a long time.  When it
was safe, I chanced a glance her direction.  She looked
pensive. 

“Duly noted.”  There was another long span of
silence, and then she said, “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry if I freaked you out.”

“It’s okay,” she said, but she turned up the radio
loud enough that conversation was no longer an option.

A couple of songs later, she started singing along,
and I figured she was okay again.  I didn’t want to rush her,
though, just in case.  Besides, there is nothing at all wrong
with spending some time just driving and singing along with the
radio.

Once we got out of Jacksonville, I found a service
station and pulled in to fuel up.  I was pulling the gas cap
off when Elizabeth popped out of the car, purse in hand, and asked
if I wanted anything.  I handed her some money, which she
didn’t want to take, and gave her a list.

“Bottle of water.  RC if they have it, Pepsi if
they don’t.  Munchos.  Butter rum Lifesavers.  And
whatever gum they have that isn’t grape, watermelon, or mint.”

Elizabeth grinned.  “You’re worse than I am,”
she said before turning and all but skipping into the store.

I had finished filling up and was flipping through
stations when she returned with a bag stuffed with stuff.

“Did you buy out the store?”

“Almost.  They still have cigarettes, Sno-balls,
and condoms.”

I laughed and helped her find places to stash my
loot.

“Fruit Stripe?  That’s your idea of gum?”

“Yup.  When I was in high school, a couple of
friends and I split a whole big pack of it.  A third of a pack
of Fruit Stripe, all at once.  That’s a lot of sugar.”

“Good Lord.”  I shook my head.  “And let me
guess...that’s as crazy as you got in high school.”

“Pretty much.”

“That explains so much,” I said.

We argued about radio stations for a minute or three,
and then we settled on a classic rock channel we could both live
with.  That done, I finally brought us back around to the
question of the day.

“So if not I-10, how’re we getting to L.A.?”

Elizabeth gave me a mischievous grin.  “That
depends.  How soon do you need to get back?”

“We’re not going by way of Canada.”

She laughed.  “What about Memphis?”

I winced.  “Graceland?”

“Gibson.”

“Like the guitar?”

She nodded.  “Factory tours.”

“Cool.  How far out of the way is it?”

“Um...like...150 miles,” she said, looking away.

“Doable, then.  Good.  And we can avoid
Tallahassee.  I’ve had the worst luck with that place.”

Chapter Ten

The soda and munchies, good conversation, and even
better music sustained me for a while, but after a couple of hours,
my lack of sleep started to make itself known. We made a pit stop,
taking advantage of the opportunity to fill up the tank again, and
I handed the keys to Elizabeth. She spent a good few minutes
adjusting everything from the seat to the mirrors to the a/c to the
radio, and then we were off again.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up as we pulled
into a truck stop.

“Where are we?”

“Euphala, Alabama.”

“And I still have no idea where we are.”

Elizabeth flashed me a smile. “Not Memphis.”

I grinned back as I stretched and rubbed my eyes. “I
gathered.”

We fueled up the car and then found a fast food
restaurant so we could fuel ourselves up as well. We were both wide
awake, and each of us insisted on driving, so we settled it the
only way we could: ancient and honorable combat, also known as
rock-paper-scissors. Elizabeth won, best two out of three, so she
settled behind the wheel with a canary-eating smirk and I played
navigator.

A few hours later, we stopped for the night in
Tupelo, Mississippi. I’d tried to convince Elizabeth that staying
in Birmingham was a good plan, but she had wanted to press on, and
I’d let her. By the time we reached Tupelo, though, we were both
ready for a shower and a nap.

We headed out early-ish the next morning and got into
Memphis shortly after noon. We grabbed lunch and then it was onward
to a day of playing tourist. We toured the Gibson factory, where I
learned more than I’d ever wanted to know about Gibson and where we
got to observe the guitar-making process. It was fascinating in a
way I never would have imagined, and Elizabeth’s infectious
excitement only made it that much better.

After the tour, we drove around a bit, getting a good
look at Beall Street. We found a place to park near the river and
wandered around on foot a little, too. I even obliged Elizabeth
with a drive-by of Graceland.

“So not what I expected,” Elizabeth said.

I had to agree. The lush, rolling, green hills of the
lawn and the ornate, music-inspired fence and gates weren’t
anything I’d expected to see, but they at least fit with what I
knew of Graceland. I’d thought we would to be able to see the
house, but it was out of view beyond the rolling hills. And the
surrounding neighborhood…well, Elizabeth summed that up best when
she said, “I had no idea that Graceland was ‘In the Ghetto’.”

Once we got back to a more inviting area of the city,
we stopped for a quick bite of dinner and to discuss our game
plan.

“I’m really not in any hurry to get back to L.A.,” I
said. “I’m sure you want to get back, though.”

“Eventually.”

I smiled and shoved a fry in my mouth. “So where to
next, then?” I asked, fiddling with a map on my phone.
“Chicago?”

Elizabeth’s eyes lit up. “Really? That would be
awesome. Can we go see Sue?”

Once again, Elizabeth had managed to surprise me.
Either that, or I had misunderstood her completely. “At the Field
Museum?” I asked, just to be sure.

“Yes! You knew what I meant!”

We were in the middle of plotting a route to Chicago
when my phone rang. It was a Los Angeles area number but not one I
recognized.

“Jenny Marshall,” I said.

“Ms. Marshall, my name is Paul Reynolds. I got your
name from Pat Sommers. She said you could help me.”

“Just a moment, Mr. Reynolds,” I said. Then I held
the phone against my chest and told Elizabeth, “I’ll be right
back.”

I took the cell phone outside and asked Mr. Reynolds
what I could help him with.

“Pat says you’re an investigator. A good one. And I
have a…situation,” he said. “I’m not entirely comfortable going
into detail over the phone. Is there a time we could meet?”

“I’m not in town at the moment,” I told him. “I won’t
be back for a few days. And I don’t have an office yet, but we can
find somewhere to meet when I get back into town.”

We talked for another minute, and I promised Mr.
Reynolds that I would call him as soon as I got back to L.A. We
hung up, and I headed back into the restaurant to break the news to
Elizabeth that there wouldn’t be any more side trips.

Elizabeth let out a small, disappointed sigh and then
gave me a smile. “We’ll just have to come back and visit Sue
later.”

“Done deal,” I promised.

Chapter Eleven

While we finished up our meal, Elizabeth did some
quick calculations and found the shortest route home.

“No matter what, we’re looking at three days on the
road,” she said. “Even trading off driving, we still need to sleep.
Right?”

“Hell yeah. I don’t do well without a bed. I get
cranky.”

“And we definitely don’t need that.”

I threw a fry at my smartass friend. She looked
appalled.

“So we staying here tonight or pushing on?” I
asked.

“I’m in favor of pushing on. Little Rock isn’t too
far away —a couple of hours. We can stop there and still have time
for a decent night’s sleep.”

“Little Rock it is, then,” I said, gathering our
trash onto the tray. I was kind of tired after our day of playing
tourist, but I didn’t think a couple of hours on the road would
hurt me any, and getting a little closer to L.A. seemed like a
solid plan.

By the time we reached Little Rock and found a hotel,
I was wishing we had stayed in Memphis. “Kind of tired” had become
“dog-ass tired” somewhere on I-40, and I was desperate for a bed. I
could tell Elizabeth felt pretty much the same.

Even exhausted as we were, we both had a hard time
going to sleep. Then we were rudely awakened in the middle of the
night by loud-ass neighbors. Then again in the early morning by the
shouts of exuberant children. We ended up checking out and getting
on the road earlier than we had planned because sleep just wasn’t
an option any longer.

Elizabeth offered to drive, and since she seemed more
coherent than I felt, I let her. We scored some breakfast burritos
and coffee and headed out of Little Rock. Once breakfast was gone,
I stared out the window, thinking. As some point my thinking turned
to dozing, a fact that I didn’t realize until the car stopped
moving, waking me up.

I looked around to find us sitting on the shoulder.
Elizabeth had her phone in her hand and tears in her eyes.

“What?” I asked, sitting up, fully alert. “What’s
wrong?”

“We’re going the wrong way.” Elizabeth dropped her
phone in the console cupholder and leaned her head back against the
seat.

“Like…back toward Memphis?”

“No. Toward Texas.”

I sighed and stretched. “That’s west, at least.”

“It’s way out of the way. God, I’m an idiot.”

“It’s not a big deal,” I told her. “You’re tired.
Shit happens.” I waited for a moment and then added, “You okay, or
do I need to drive?”

Elizabeth rubbed her eyes. “I’m okay. Just give me a
minute.”

True to her word, we were back on the road a minute
or two later, speeding along the interstate toward Dallas.

And so it went for the next couple of days: road
food, cheap lodgings, not enough sleep, interstate highways, radio,
and getting to know my sister-in-law a little better. Mostly, we
drove. On and on and on. It gets kind of dull after a while,
honestly. We managed to break it up a little with an obligatory
photo op in Winslow, Arizona, and a great deal of gawking in the
Painted Desert, but we were both thrilled to cross the state line
into California. I’m not sure which of us was happier when we
finally made it back to the L.A. sprawl.

“Remind me that I never want to do that again,” I
said as I gave Elizabeth an awkward car hug.

“I will,” she promised.

She grabbed her bags and disappeared into her
apartment, and then I went home to Seth’s mansion. I contemplated
calling Paul, my prospective client, but I decided he could wait a
little longer. He hadn’t exhibited any urgency when we’d talked
before, so surely a few hours wouldn’t make much difference to him.
To me, though, it would mean the world. I had a hot date with
Seth’s garden tub and my bed, and it couldn’t wait a minute
longer.

Chapter Twelve

The next afternoon, after a night of very good sleep,
I was ready to meet with Paul. I still didn’t have an office, and I
couldn’t bring Paul to Seth’s house, so we opted to meet at a
coffee shop not too far away. He told me how to recognize him, but
I didn’t return the favor.

I got to the coffee shop a little late. I did it
intentionally so that I could get a look at my prospective client,
who was already sitting at a table outside the café, sipping
something from a cardboard cup.

Paul was medium. Medium height, medium weight, medium
brown hair. He had a handsome face and a confident air. His clothes
told me he had money to burn. He didn’t seem nervous, and he didn’t
keep glancing at his watch; I’d told him I’d show up, so he trusted
me to be there.

I crossed the street and went into the coffee shop,
ordered a cinnamon mocha, and stepped outside to meet Paul. He
didn’t even look surprised when I dropped down into a chair across
the bistro table from him.

“Jenny Marshall,” I said.

“Paul Reynolds.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Reynolds?”

Paul reached into the inside pocket of his suit
jacket and pulled out a photograph, a snapshot of him and a lovely
young woman with bright eyes and wavy, honey-blond hair.

“This is Sarah. A few weeks ago, she broke up with
me, said she was moving home to Peoria. I was confused, because I
thought everything was great between us. I thought we were moving
toward something lasting.”

I nodded but said nothing.

“A couple of days before I called you, it came to my
attention that Sarah wasn’t the only thing missing from my
life.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table.
“She took some things when she left?” I guessed.

“Four thousand dollars and my grandmother’s wedding
ring.”

I almost spit my coffee at the man.

Paul’s clothes had told me he had money, but they
hadn’t screamed that he was filthy rich. How could anyone not
notice four thousand dollars going missing?

An image of Seth’s extravagant house popped into my
mind then, and I knew exactly how someone could lose that sort of
money and not know it.

“That’s a hefty sum,” I said. “What did the police
say?”

“I don’t want to involve them. I don’t want Sarah to
get into any trouble. I just want my grandmother’s ring back…and to
make sure Sarah’s okay.”

I heaved a ginormous mental sigh. The girl walked
away with four large of his hard-earned, and he was worried about
her. What a schmuck. But then, schmucks had contributed greatly to
my bottom line.

We discussed my fees, which he didn’t bat an eye at,
and my retainer, which he promised to have in my bank account by
the end of the day. Then I pulled the digital recorder out of my
pocket, set it to record, and placed it on the table between us
while I asked some basic questions.