The Michaela Bancroft Mysteries 1-3 (45 page)

So, who was the good Mrs. Bowen off to meet? And
what was this business about losing everything? And who was she calling
lover
?
Furthermore, what had they done that Bridgette seemed to want covered up? Did
it involve Audrey? Michaela jumped back in the cart after waiting a few minutes
to be sure Bridgette didn't spot her. She knew what Shutters was: a luxury
hotel down in Santa Monica, about thirty minutes away if the traffic was
working with her.

She found Juan. "I need to take my truck and
run some errands while you're working on the trailer. When do you think it'll
be ready?"

He laughed and held up a handful of shredded
wires. "Something tells me you got a rat problem at your place. Not so
good. They chewed through a bunch of the wires. I think it's gonna take me a
while. Why don't you call the ranch around four? I'll see what I can do."

She nodded and started her truck. She didn't have
time to wait around Los Angeles all day hoping her trailer would be fixed, but
it appeared she didn't have a choice. And since she didn't, she made her way
down the Pacific Coast Highway to see if she could find out exactly who
Bridgette had been speaking to on the phone in the garden.

MICHAELA FELT LIKE SHE COULDN'T BREATHE AS she
headed down the 101 toward Santa Monica. A ton of thoughts rushed through her
mind, and her anxiety levels soared—Audrey, Francisco, Hugh, Olivia, Kathleen,
Bridgette—all of them blurred in her mind.

She reached the luxury hotel shortly after
Bridgette pulled in, noticing that the valet was parking the woman's Mercedes.
Michaela parked her own truck, not wanting to be seen. She counted on the fact
that Bridgette Bowen would not exactly be looking for her. What was Michaela's
goal here anyway? How had she become some real-life Jessica Fletcher? She
didn't have time to ponder that thought, as she noticed Frederick Callahan
climbing out of a white Rolls-Royce. Now, wasn't that interesting? He was an
easy one to spot, with that bad toupee. Her mind churned. She pondered what to
do as she watched Callahan go through the front doors of the hotel. What in the
heck was she doing? Jeez—spying, that's what! As the thought crossed her mind,
an eerie feeling swept over her: The kind that says you, too, are being
watched. She glanced to her left and caught a very tall man with a large
build—almost like a football player—dark hair, and olive skin, eyeing her with
deep-set brown eyes. His eyes turned away when she made contact with him. He
glanced back as he headed for the front of the hotel. He smiled slightly, then
picked up his pace. That was odd.

Okay, if she was going to play this out like one
of her old favorite TV detectives, she knew she'd have to go in.

The valet greeted her as she breezed past him; she
asked him where the restaurant was. The conversation Bridgette had had with
Callahan—assuming it was Callahan she'd been speaking with—was about having
lunch. Interesting that they also chose a high-end hotel to have lunch in.
Michaela guessed that there was more than just lunch plans on the agenda. The
valet told Michaela that there were two restaurants inside, one a more upscale
place, the other an al fresco café out near the bike path. She first looked
inside the formal restaurant, spotting only an older couple and a younger man.
The al fresco café held quite a few people, and she spotted Callahan and
Bridgette in a corner, tucked in tightly near a large potted plant. So, it
was
Callahan that she'd been talking to! Mmm, she would love to be a fly on a leaf
of that potted plant.

"May I help you?" the maitre d' asked.
She didn't answer right away, and he persisted. "You are here for
lunch?"

"Damn!" She clapped her hand over her
mouth. The maitre d's eyes widened. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I…" She held
up her hand. "I'll be right back." Surely the man thought she was
crazy, and as she started to flip around she spotted the same tall, intense guy
she'd seen out in the parking lot. He was seated at the opposite end of the
café, but in sight of Bridgette and Callahan, and he was watching them. Yep, he
definitely was studying them. He held a pen, an expensive ballpoint, which he
clicked off and on. Now, her mind reeled. This spy thing was getting to her.
Was that guy using one of those pen cameras to take photos of Callahan and
Bridgette? Oh, boy! Could it be? Was there even such a thing as a pen camera?
Michaela shook her head and hurried into the lobby, where she quickly called
Hudson, hoping he had not already left his office. She was supposed to meet him
for lunch in only half an hour. She quickly explained to him that her problems
with the trailer were worse than she expected. She didn't go into any details
but said that she'd have to postpone the lunch. He sounded disappointed.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "You can't make it?"

"No." She could. She knew she could. But
something was going on inside that café and she wanted the skinny on it, if
there was any way to get it. Then on impulse she said, "You know, it does
look as though I'll be here for the afternoon. How about an early dinner?"

"That would be great. Let's do five. Duke's
still?"

"Perfect." And, it was, because if the
trailer was fixed, then she'd have time to load Geyser and get down to Duke's.
The horse wouldn't mind waiting for an hour. She'd be sure to give him some
extra feed, and she'd pay the parking attendant a bonus to keep an eye on him.

After hanging up, she sat in the lobby for a few
moments, not sure what to do. She was kind of hungry. She went back to the
maitre d' and asked for an inside table. She wanted to position herself to see
both Bridgette and Callahan, but she could only see his face and her back. She
ordered a bowl of soup and tried to be inconspicuous. She could not see the
weird guy, who sat to her left and behind her on the patio. Callahan's facial
expressions at first showed concern, maybe even anger, but then they mellowed
as he picked up his phone. Who was he calling? She also noticed after he hung
up that he moved from his chair to the other side and sat next to Bridgette,
where he put an arm around her. The around-the-arm thing could just mean he was
comforting her about something. No, that didn't fit. There was something going
on between these two. That much was obvious.

They finished their meal. She waited a couple of
minutes after they paid their bill and left before following suit. She didn't
want to lose them, but if Bridgette spotted and recognized her, what was she
going to tell them—that this was where all the horse trainers went to lunch
when in town?

Outside the restaurant, she spotted the couple
going up in an elevator. So, they
had
gotten a room. Sneaky snakes. Poor
Hugh! After losing Audrey, his problems with his daughter…now a cheating wife?
She wasn't sure what to do. Some of her questions had been answered. Maybe it
was time to quit the spying act. She started to walk out of the hotel when she
spotted Steve Benz walking in. Now what the hell was
he
doing here?
Coincidence? Before he could see her, she ducked behind the large floral
arrangement in the lobby and opened her purse, pretending to be looking for
something.
Please don't see me
. Would he remember her anyway? She heard
Benz say, "Hey." Oh no, had he seen her? She glanced up. No. He stood
near the elevators, on his cell. "It's me, Cal, what room you two
in?"

Cal? This was getting shadier by the minute. Was
Benz going to pay a visit to Callahan and Bridgette? Michaela didn't know what
else to think, but she decided it best to go and wait in her truck. What if
someone else who might recognize her showed up for this little get-together?

Almost to her truck, she heard footsteps at her
heels. Oh no. She spun around and stood face-to-face with the weird guy. That
dark look he'd had when he'd eyed her earlier? Well, it was much darker now.

"HEY!" MICHAELA YELLED AS THE GUY GRABBED
HER arm. "What the hell are you doing? Let go!" She pulled free of
the strong man's hold.

"I could ask you the same thing. Would you
mind lowering your voice?"

"What? You're lucky I don't scream." She
noticed the valet watching and was relieved. Who was this nutcase?

He quickly pulled a card from his wallet and
handed it to her. "Dennis Smith? Private investigator?" she read.

"Exactly. What I want to know is why you're
so interested in Bridgette Bowen and Frederick Callahan."

She shrugged. "I'm not."

He rolled his eyes. "Lady, I am a trained
investigator."

"And why do
you
want to know? You
investigating one of them?" He didn't respond. She clapped a hand over her
mouth and then pointed at him. "Holy…You
are
investigating one of
them." A warm ocean breeze blew across the parking lot. "Wait a
minute, wait a minute…Hudson! Did he hire you? Hudson Drake?" That made
sense to her because of the conversation she'd had with him at Hugh's ranch the
other day. Smith said nothing, just eyed her. She pulled herself up tall.
"Listen, I don't know you, and you haven't told me jack about why you noticed
me supposedly watching those two, but I'm not saying another word until you
start talking, too." She crossed her arms as he took a step back. Then she
gasped as her focus turned to the front of the hotel.

Smith turned to see what she was looking at. He
grabbed her arm again. "Get against the truck, as if we're talking."

"We
are
talking. Well, I'm talking
anyway, and you're still a freaking stranger. A tall freaking stranger!"

"I'm not a threat. Hugh Bowen hired me. Now
do what I say," he said in a rush. "We are having a nice chat with each
other, as if we're lovers."

"I don't think so."

"Okay, friends."

Steve Benz had just emerged from the hotel and
sauntered toward his Lexus, which the valet had brought around. She watched
Smith. He took a tiny camera from his coat pocket—definitely one of those
devices that only a private investigator or someone in law enforcement would
use—and started taking covert shots of Steve Benz. "Hugh hired you?"

"Yes," he said, still snapping.

"What are you doing? Why are you following
Bridgette and Callahan?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he
replied. "You know my name, now who in the hell are you, lady?"

"Wait a minute. Does this involve Audrey's
murder?"

He stopped taking photos as Benz got in his car.
"Murder? What are you talking about?"

"My friend. She was murdered the other day,
and she was close with Hugh."

"Oh." He stuffed the camera back into
his pocket as Benz pulled out of the lot and sped away.

He studied her. "Go on…Wait." He held up
his palm. "Can I get a name?"

"Michaela Bancroft."

He shook her hand. "Sorry for earlier. It's
my business to be perceptive, and you were far more than just curious about
those two. You were definitely searching for some kind of answer."

She nodded; emotion rose in her throat, as his
question conjured up her last memory of Audrey. He raised his eyebrows.
"Well?"

She sighed. "Audrey was a good friend. She
was killed at the races the other day, and like I said, she and Hugh were
close. This morning I was up at the Bowen ranch and overheard Bridgette having
a conversation that sounded suspicious, as if she had something to hide.
Obviously, it was Callahan. She mentioned meeting at Shutters. I followed. I
wanted to know who she'd been talking to, and what it was they were trying to
hide."

"You thought they might have had something to
do with your friend's murder."

She nodded. "Hugh didn't tell you about
Audrey?"

He shook his head. "He hired me three weeks
ago to follow his wife. He suspected that she was having an affair. I haven't
spoken with him in days. I am supposed to report to him tomorrow."

Michaela didn't quite know what to make of this.
Why would Hugh care if Bridgette were cheating? He was getting ready to leave
her and marry Audrey. Unless, of course, it would make him look better to a
judge during court proceedings. That made sense. But, what it didn't do was
prove that Bridgette or Callahan had anything to do with Audrey's murder. It
only cemented the fact that they were messing around. And how did Benz fit into
this thing? Why had he shown up at the hotel? He certainly hadn't stuck around
for long. If the three of them had some weird sex thing going on, someone
must've changed their mind. "What about Benz, how do you figure he's
involved?"

Smith didn't have time to reply as the sound of
sirens drowned out their conversation. An ambulance pulled into the front
entrance of the hotel. They turned to see what was going on.

"What do you think that's all about?"

"I don't know. But here's our girl,"
Smith said.

Bridgette walked out the front door, looking dazed
and quite pale. Her demeanor certainly was different from when she'd gone into
the elevator with Callahan. Something was wrong. She handed the valet her
parking stub. Smith started in again with the photos.

"Callahan should be right behind her,"
he remarked. "Typical." He shook his head. "I've seen this kind
of thing go down way too many times. The woman leaves first and then a few
minutes later, the man follows. But man, they were quick. Guess that happens
when you're with a woman who looks like her." Smith chuckled.

Michaela didn't find his comment amusing. But
Smith was right. Callahan did exit a few minutes later, only he was on the
EMTs' stretcher. She turned to the private investigator. "You see that
very often?"

"CAN'T SAY THAT I HAVE," SMITH REPLIED.

Michaela remained fixated on the scene as she
watched the paramedics load Callahan into the ambulance. What was going on? Why
had Benz taken off so suddenly, and then Bridgette? Had they killed Callahan,
or tried to? He looked to be alive. In fact, from where she and Smith stood,
the paramedics appeared to be speaking to him before closing the back doors and
speeding off.