The Big Fix (31 page)

Conrad pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his head. “When do you want him there?”

*   *   *

After the Conrads left, Laura filled us in on her interlude with Elizabeth.

“That woman is completely under her husband’s thumb, and utterly terrified about something. No doubt that would be the possibility of her dalliance with her son-in-law coming to light.”

“Will she be a help?” Mark asked.

“Oh, definitely. She’ll jump on anything she thinks will save her from scandal.”

“Great,” I said. “Um, not to sound dense here, but what’s up with the package?”

Mark smiled at Thomas. “If I’m not mistaken, your Machiavellian brother is hoping Jackson will think Angelica mailed the elusive flash drives to herself to keep Jackson from finding them. And possibly the stock certificates, if he’s even noticed those are missing.”

Thomas took a small bow. “With a little luck, Jackson will think he has the chance to clean up all his loose ends, and will jump on it.”

“And we’ll be there to get him tomorrow?” I said, slipping that “we” in as casually as I could. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it, but no way were they leaving me out of this part of the operation.

Conrad was supposed to set up the dinner for the next evening at his Malibu home. He’d call Nigel with the details once he had Jackson nailed down to a time. If Jackson even called him back. I was still holding my breath on that one.

Mark looked at me and nodded. “Yeah, Howdy. We’ll be there to get him.”

He hadn’t even looked at Thomas for permission to include me. I thought that was progress.

After we made our good-byes to Nigel, promising to keep him updated on breaking developments, I realized I didn’t have a ride, so naturally I asked Thomas. When I told him where Billy and I had been staying, he looked somewhat pained. It was pretty far from his hotel, and he was no doubt anxious to salvage some remnant of his honeymoon with Laura.

“I’ll drop her, Tom. It’s on my way,” Mark said.

Yikes.
Things had seemed almost normal with him while we were talking to the Conrads, when we’d had Thomas, Laura, and Nigel as a buffer between us, but alone with him? Wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

“Thanks, Mark.” Laura winked at him. “I owe you.”

“And I won’t let you forget it either,” Mark said, humor in his eyes.

Laura gave me a quick hug. “See ya later, sugar,” she said, adding, in a whisper, “Don’t look so nervous. He’s not going to eat you.”

Huh,
I thought.
Shows how much you know.

“Hop in, Howdy,” Mark said once they were gone.

He was still acting like the old Mark, the pre-sleeping-with-me Mark, so maybe this would be okay. I mean, I was willing to pretend it never happened if that was the way he wanted it. I can be big that way.

“Is that a Rolls?” I asked, temporarily distracted. “You can rent those?”

He nodded. “A Wraith. And you can rent anything in Hollywood.”

I whistled. “Nice. Maybe a tad excessive, but nice.”

“I like to blend with my surroundings,” he said, and opened the passenger-side door for me.

“You know, I’ve never driven a Rolls before…” I said.

He smiled—again, almost as if nothing had happened between us. “Sorry. I’m the only driver allowed by the rental agreement.”

I slid into the passenger seat with a regretful sigh and a shrug, suppressing the thought that Billy wouldn’t have let that stop him.

“Oh, well. I’ve never ridden in one either. I guess that’s the next best thing.”

The ultrasoft, ivory leather seat hugged me in luxury. It wouldn’t do to get too used to this. Might make one decide to do anything for money, and that would conflict with my inner altruism.

We chatted about the car for most of the drive to my hotel—the paint job (black sides, silver-white hood and top), the bold grill, the classic Rolls hood ornament. Not that I knew all that much about cars—or even cared, other than recognizing a seriously cool ride when I see one—but I figured it was a safe topic of conversation. Mark seemed to agree.

When he parked at the hotel instead of letting me off I began to feel a little uneasy.

“You don’t have to walk me to the door,” I said. “It’s a safe hotel.”

“Yeah. Reasonable, too. That’s why I’m staying here. I’d rather put money into cars.”

Uh-oh. “When you said it was on your way…”

“Can’t get any more ‘on the way’ than this,” he said, keeping it friendly. Casual.

I twisted in my seat to face him. “Mark…” Oh, hell, what did I even want to say?

He met my eyes with the softer version of his. “Howdy, now isn’t the time to discuss anything other than how we’re going to get Jackson Gunn, and we’ve already done that. Let’s just go to our separate rooms and get some rest before tomorrow.”

I nodded in agreement, my relief safely outweighing a stubborn streak of disappointment.

Chapter 28

Well, I can cross seeing Billionaires’ Beach off my bucket list,
I thought. Not that spending time at the pricey Malibu locale was ever on it. I prefer my sun and sand less densely populated.

The houses were, for the most part, large and luxurious. But honestly—and I didn’t think this was sour grapes—they were too close together, and the beach was on the narrow side. Killer view of the ocean from the Conrads’ huge kitchen, though, which overlooked a long lap pool.

I was currently playing sous chef to Laura’s cook. (Which meant I was basically doing nothing but waiting, since Laura wasn’t dumb enough to let me actually help.) The real cook, along with the other servants, had been given the evening off to keep them out of the line of fire, should it come to that. None of us thought Jackson was going anywhere unprotected these days. He could even be legally armed—it wasn’t tough for a celebrity to get a concealed-carry permit in California.

If Jackson got uncomfortable after he arrived, and tried to run this way, he’d wind up with Laura’s foot in his face. I was actually kind of hoping that would be necessary. (Vindictive? Moi? Well … yeah. I didn’t appreciate being anyone’s alibi.)

I had to stay out of sight until later because Gunn would recognize me at once. I couldn’t adapt to be one of the servants, for instance, because the Conrads didn’t know about adaptors.

Mark was filling in for their usual butler, and would be on hand for any trouble at the front of the house. If Gunn questioned the Conrads about it, they would say the other guy had been poached by a family down the beach. Nothing unusual about that—rich people lured away their friends’ servants all the time. Good help was hard to find, and all was fair when it came to keeping your household running smoothly.

Thomas and Nigel were hidden away in Joe’s office, to be brought out later, in case Jackson needed more convincing that it was worth his while to plead guilty and hope for a relatively light sentence. Nigel was willing to take him on as a client because it would ultimately help Lily-Ann. “Of course, the notoriety doesn’t hurt business either,” he’d admitted, with his Clooney smile.

“He’s here. Get ready.” Mark’s voice sounded oddly intimate in my ear. He’d fitted us all with tiny, almost invisible earpieces and microphones, so we could communicate throughout the evening. All we had to do was speak in a quiet voice, and the sensitive wireless mics we were all wearing beneath our collars would transmit to everyone in our group.

“Standing by,” Laura said. It sounded weird to hear her both from across the kitchen island and in the receiver in my ear at the same time. She placed a few more hot and cheesy something-or-anothers on the tray next to the thick, crab-salad-stuffed cucumber slices.

Elizabeth came into the kitchen a few minutes later, looking pale and nervous. “I don’t know if I can stand to look at him. And Joseph is more agitated than I’ve ever seen him. Worse, even, than when we found out about Angelica.”

Laura glanced at me, telegraphing an alert with her expressive eyes.

I gave a tiny nod. “Mrs. Conrad, why don’t you sit here with me for a few minutes while Laura takes the hors d’oeuvres out? Maybe we can have a drink of water, or tea, or—”

“I have a new pinot grigio—would you care to try it?” She crossed the kitchen to the wine fridge and grabbed a bottle. “I keep a corkscrew in that drawer right behind you—be a dear and get it, won’t you? Oh, and the glasses are in the cupboard behind you.”

“Um, sure,” I said.

Laura left with the cheesy whatchamacallits, mouthing the words
be careful
as she left.

Never have I seen a bottle of wine opened and poured faster. She put a half-full glass in my hand, clinked hers to it, and drank. Relief settled over her face, relaxing it into its more familiar composure. Huh. So that was how she managed to stay so calm in front of the cameras.

“Cheers,” I said, and sipped a microscopic amount. I wanted to keep my wits sharp.

“Do you like it? It’s Italian, of course.” She added a token splash to my glass, and refilled hers. “Funny, but I don’t care for the California pinots—does that make me disloyal? Joseph says we should support the local wineries. I mean, since we live here. But he doesn’t even drink wine unless he’s forced, so what does he know?”

At least the color was coming back to her face.

“I think you should drink what you like,” I said, trying to appear engaged, all the while straining to listen to the voices in my ear. They were indistinct. Apparently, the mics only picked up the wearer’s voice clearly.

Definitely two men talking. Must be Joe and Jackson. But I thought I’d heard a woman’s voice in the background, too. I assumed Laura could hear what they were discussing, and would find a way to relay any essential information.

Elizabeth was still yammering about the wine. “… drink red when he has to, but prefers whiskey. I say a light, crisp pinot is so much more refreshing…” She poured herself another refill.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Conrad, but hadn’t you better go back?” I said. “I mean, Jackson might think it odd if you didn’t at least say hi, right?”

The panic flared in her eyes, but not as strongly as before. She nodded and took another fortifying—not to mention extended—sip of her wine.

Laura returned as Elizabeth left. The tray was still full. Seemed no one was hungry.

“Well?” I said.

“Gunn is in place,” she said. “Seated, with a drink. But he brought company—his assistant drove him here. He said his car is in the shop. I suspect his loyal minion has been helping him hide.”

“He might not be lying about the car. He drives a Jag—I hear those things practically live in the shop. But, geez, he brought Frannie
here
? After what the Conrads saw in that vid—”

“Never mind that now,” Mark said in our ears. “I have the library door covered. Looks like we’re set.”

“We’re ready when you are,” Thomas said from Conrad’s office.

“Mrs. C is looking iffy,” Laura said. “Might want to move it along.”

“Ditto that,” I said.

“No time like the present,” Mark said.

“I don’t think he’s going to like this present…” I mumbled, picking up the small FedEx box we’d dummied up for the occasion. Everyone chuckled.

I stepped out of the kitchen, Laura behind me. Nigel and Thomas were leaving the office. Mark waited for us outside the library, where the Conrads were with Jackson and Frannie. The French doors didn’t offer a lot of cover, so we stood to the side, out of view. Peeking, I saw the Conrads sitting in stony silence. Not that I could blame them. I mean, what
can
a good host and hostess say to the man who killed their daughter, much less to his barely legal sidepiece?

Mark, good butler that he was, went in ahead of us and announced, “Mr. Conrad, the package you requested…” He handed the box to Gunn, who held it for a moment before giving in to the temptation to open it. A spring-loaded flag with the word “SURPRISE!” popped out. Frannie jumped a good foot off the couch. Guess she was a little on edge.

Gunn looked accusingly at Joe, who was every bit as startled. “What the hell?”

That was my cue. I walked in, pointed my finger at Jackson like a gun, and said, “Hi, there, Jack. Gotcha.”

He stood, shocked out of his gourd to see me.

Laura slipped around me, over to the window side of the room, so that exit was covered, too, though he’d have to be an idiot to jump through the glass onto the concrete drive below. The library was on the street side of the house.

“What’s going on?” Gunn said, keeping his voice measured.

“Jack, you ran off so fast the other night that we didn’t have time to tell you,” I said. “We made copies of the video we showed you on the laptop you stole.”

Nigel rolled in, Thomas at his side. “I hear you might be in need of a good defense attorney, Mr. Gunn. I’m here to offer my services,” Nigel said.

Gunn turned on Conrad. “You set me up, you miserable son of a bitch.”

Joe smiled, lips closed, a grim and ugly sight. “
You had my daughter killed.
All because of that piece of trash beside you. What’s the matter? Both of my daughters, and my
wife,
not enough for you? Or just not
young
enough?” Guess good ol’ Joe knew more than he’d been letting on. Elizabeth clutched her collar, like she suddenly couldn’t get enough air. “You’re lucky I’m letting the authorities handle this instead of doing it myself.”

“Is that what the two of you tried at the funeral?” Jackson said, anger building. “What’s the matter, Elizabeth, your aim a little off? Too much wine in the morning will do that, I hear. The real question is, which one of us were you aiming for?”

Elizabeth shrank into herself. She didn’t admit anything, but she didn’t deny it either.

Jackson stared at her, a nasty look on his face. “To think I felt sorry for you. What a waste of a fuck.”

Frannie was looking at Jackson like a puppy who’d just been boot-kicked in the belly, the recipient of a hard lesson about loving the wrong man.

Joe glanced at his wife, disgust and pity fighting for the upper hand on his face. He spat out his next words to Gunn like it sickened him to say it. “Overholt has agreed to defend you. This doesn’t have to ruin you. Or us.” The Conrad name was everything to him. Above all else, he was desperate to keep the scandal from hitting the press.