The Michaela Bancroft Mysteries 1-3 (47 page)

Michaela eyed her back. She was just a little slip
of a thing and Michaela had no doubt she could take her if she wanted to.
"I'll let him know that you're here," the girl said.

"Thank you."

She came back a moment later and said that Mr.
Friedman would see her. She followed, and was led to a well-appointed office
where Marshall Friedman sat behind a huge desk, one devoid of papers and files
and the normal clutter of a busy man.

He stood. "Good afternoon, Ms.
Bancroft."

"Good afternoon." Her stomach became one
nauseating wave.

"Have a seat."

Michaela sat down in a plush leather chair
opposite him.

"You're from Starwood Resorts, my secretary
said. It's unusual to schedule an appointment on this short a notice. How can I
help you?" Friedman was bald with a big nose and light blue eyes.

This was the tricky part. Michaela shifted in the
chair and tried to sit as tall as she could. "I've heard quite a bit about
you."

He gave her an odd look. "Many people have.
Again, how is it that I can help you?"

Beating around the bush was going to get her
nowhere. "I was with Audrey Pratt, Olivia Bowen's manager, at the races
the other day. The day that Audrey was murdered."

He held a finger up. "Ah, yes. You mean
former manager, don't you?" He smiled slightly…or maybe it was a smirk.
"Is that what brought you to our fine city? The races? You knew Ms. Pratt,
huh?"

What a jerk. "Excuse me? The
former
manager? That seems callous, considering what happened."

He held up what looked to be a contract. "I
don't mean to be disrespectful. My apologies, if you knew the woman. However,
I've recently acquired Ms. Bowen as a client."

"That's convenient, isn't it? Audrey Pratt is
murdered and the singer you've been after to sign with you for some time now is
suddenly available."

Friedman shifted in his chair. "What are you
getting at, Ms. Bancroft? It's obvious that you didn't come here to speak about
entertainment for the Starwood Resort chain. Why are you wasting my time?"

His asinine comment about Audrey and his overall
pompous attitude pushed her buttons, pressing her to go for the jugular.
"I'm here because you represent Steve Benz, who was one of the last people
to see my friend before she died. He said something to her that I'll be sure to
mention to the police—or maybe the tabloids—since you represent such an
up-and-coming star." His face flushed. "It was something like a
threat actually, about how Audrey didn't have much longer to manage Olivia,
that she'd be signing a contract with you within the week. I'm also aware that
when the two of you were with Olivia after the show, Mr. Benz stepped out to
grab drinks. To me that feels like he had time and also motive. Maybe that
motive is directly tied to you."

"I barely knew Ms. Pratt. Steve is full of
hot air at times. Whatever he said to Ms. Pratt does not concern me. Steve is
certainly no killer, and if you are implying that I would ask him to murder a
woman because I have a business-related issue with her, or for any reason for
that matter, I'd say you are full of shit, lady. Certainly the reason I am
representing Miss Bowen now is because she is wise enough to make an
intelligent career choice—"

"I'd like to know how and why you took Olivia
Bowen from the races."

"I don't think that's any of your business.
It's time for you to leave." His face flushed once again.

She stood. "I'm sure that the police will
probably find it as interesting as I do that you now have Olivia as a client
only a few days after Audrey was murdered."

He shrugged. "Business is business. I'm sorry
about your friend, but you are delusional. Now get the hell out of my office
before I call security. And if you ever bother me again with your bizarre
accusations, I will have you arrested."

"On what grounds? I wasn't accusing you of
anything."

"Trespassing and harassment. I have a lot of
pull in this town."

"I'm shaking." Michaela walked out of
his office, baffled and if she admitted it, a bit shaken. She didn't trust
Friedman at all. She also found it awfully strange that Olivia, who had been
disgusted by the prospect of being his client the night before, would have
signed that contract.

MICHAELA HAD JUST ABOUT STOPPED SHAKING when she
got into the truck and her cell phone rang. It was Joe.

"I got some more info on your friend Bob
Pratt."

"What did you find out?"

"I worked the Betty Ford angle."

"The treatment center?"

"Yep, and it paid off. I got a list of people
he spent time with there at the BFC."

"How did you do that?"

"I got a cousin who has a friend whose wife works
in the cafeteria there."

"Of course. I should have known."

"I did some research on Bob and Audrey and
who they are associated with. The name Bowen ring a bell?"

"It does."

"Uh-huh. We're gonna have to have a powwow,
so I can learn what else you know about this guy, if you want me to help you
the best that I can."

"I'll be home tonight. Late. Or you can come
by tomorrow."

"I'll call you after I get the kids to bed.
Maybe I can swing by; otherwise I'll stop by your place in the morning. You
need to be thinking about everything that you know about this Pratt dude.
Everything."

"I will. Promise." She sighed. What had
she really gotten herself into?

"Deal. Check this out. What would you say if
I told you that Bob Pratt and Mrs. Bowen spent some time together in rehab and
they got pretty close there?"

"Bridgette?"

"The one and only."

A lightbulb moment happened as Michaela tied in
the idea that Bob and Bridgette were in treatment at the same time. It could
give Bridgette even more motive to want Audrey dead. Maybe she was afraid of
what Bob might share with his sister. Not only that, what if she had done
something to Bob? What if Bridgette was hiding something horrible that she'd
confessed to Bob, and once out of rehab with some time to ponder, Bridgette
knew she needed to get rid of them both? "What do you mean by close?"

"Hard to say. My cousin's friend's wife
didn't know if there was any hanky-panky going on. Those types of places really
frown on fraternization, plus Mrs. Bowen was already married."

"What was Bridgette Bowen in Betty Ford for?
Alcohol, too?" She already knew the answer to that one, but wanted to see
if Joe could confirm it.

"Nope. She had a problem with the white
powder."

"Cocaine?"

"Yes, ma'am.

Michaela didn't respond.

"Mick? You there? You okay?"

"I'm here. Just thinking, is all."

"Want me to see if I can find out anything
else about the little scenario at rehab?"

"Would you?"

"You know I will. You was right when you said
that I loved this stuff. But have you called that gal over at the autism
center?"

"No. I'm sorry. I will, though. I promise. I
think I may have some new horses coming in soon for the center." She
thought about Audrey's horses. It was likely there were a few in that group
that might work for the kids. She'd have to make a call to the Humane Society,
too.

"Get on it, Mick, or I'm gonna stop this
Colombo business for you."

"Thanks, Joey, you're the best. I'm on
it."

Michaela turned off her phone. Bridgette Bowen and
Bob Pratt? Tight? Odd combo. Looked like Michaela would be having a discussion
with Hugh's wife. Should she come right out and confront her about what she'd
seen at Shutters? And then ask her about her time in rehab with Bob? What if
the woman was a cold-blooded killer? Oh dammit. Then, there was Callahan to
consider. He'd been with Bridgette when she
found
the body. Maybe the
two of them had something to do with Audrey's murder. And what about Callahan
anyway? She wondered if he was okay and if Bridgette was responsible for him
being in the hospital.

It was after three and she wanted to know if her
trailer was ready. Juan had suggested she call after four. She was already in
Century City. Cedars-Sinai was within a couple of blocks. She'd never guessed
when she started out that day that it would become a fact-finding and
info-gathering trip. A part of her almost felt like she was being directed to
do this. Was Audrey somehow guiding her through this maze of lunacy and lunatics?
She'd always believed in angels. It somehow comforted her to think that Audrey
might be one, and that she was watching over her, helping her to find the
justice she so deserved. Maybe it was a silly notion, but it comforted her all
the same. If only she could also find out what had happened to Audrey's
brother.

Even with the hospital nearby, the afternoon Los
Angeles traffic made it difficult to maneuver through the surface streets in
her truck. She graciously received the middle-finger salute by some kid
whipping around her in a battered Honda.

She was happy that she made it to the hospital in
one piece, and although she didn't know Callahan from a hole in the wall, she
was relieved to learn that he was in good condition and able to see visitors.

She walked into Callahan's hospital room; he
looked half asleep, but sat up when he saw her. "Well, hello. And, who may
I ask is calling?" he sputtered. "Do I know you? Wait." He
snapped a finger. "Miss April 2003? Great photo shoot, wasn't it, love.
You were divine. Roses draped over you. Ah, what a dream. I am right, aren't I?
I still have my memory intact."

She tried not to laugh as his toupee was askew and
to the side of his head. "Keep dreaming. I am hardly Miss any month, nor
do I intend to be."

"You break an old man's heart."

"Looks like someone else already took care of
that."

He shook a finger at her. "She's funny, too.
I should have had an affair with you. What are you, a reporter? I thought my
assistant was keeping you fiends away."

"There was no one outside your room."

"I knew I should have fired that moron long
ago. Doesn't do a damn bit of good to have an assistant if they can't even keep
the vultures at bay. But you're so lovely, I may talk to you. Maybe when I get
out of this place we can have dinner together or something."

"I'm not your type. Trust me."

"Oh, baby, you're all my type."

Michaela moved the newspaper that had been left on
the chair next to Callahan's bed. She handed him water from his tray.

"Why are you being so nice? I already told
you that you could be in my magazine. Give up the tabloid reporter gig and make
some real money. Come pose for
Pleasures
. I can make you a star."

Michaela sighed and took a seat. "Listen, I'd
love to tell you that I'm here as a reporter, but I'm not, and I'm not here to
land my ass in your magazine. I feel terrible about what's happened to you
though, and I want you to know that." Maybe a little sympathy would go a
long way with him.

"Gee thanks, sweet cheeks, I think." He
laughed. "Can I ask you, if you're not with the paper and you aren't a
nurse, then what are you doing here? And, how did you find out I was here? News
couldn't have spread that fast."

Another sticky situation. Hell with it. If she
could get through the Marshall Friedman thing earlier, she could handle a sick
old man lying in a hospital bed. "Don't ask how. But I saw you at lunch
today with Bridgette Bowen. I saw you go up in an elevator with her at the
hotel. I also saw Steve Benz come and go, and then I watched as the paramedics
wheeled you out shortly after Bridgette Bowen took off, which wasn't too long
after Benz made his getaway."

"Not with the tabloids, huh? Because I could
sell you the story for a ton of money. You do seem to know all the
players."

"I don't want money. I don't plan to take
your story and sell it or anything. I want answers. I was a good friend of
Audrey Pratt. Does that help make my reasons for being here any clearer?"

"Audrey?"

Michaela nodded. "I think there is a lot more
to what happened to her than that her brother may have killed her after
drinking too much over some sibling issue, and made his way out of town. I knew
Bob Pratt and he and Audrey might have had issues like most siblings, but they
loved each other. And I don't know what to think after what I saw today. I had
to wonder if Benz and Bridgette hadn't poisoned you."

He laughed, then placed a hand on his chest.
"Oh dear, no. It was nothing like that. Bridgette didn't try to kill me
and neither did Steve. I was being a foolish old man, doing things I have no
right to be doing at my age. Then I felt a burning in my chest. Thought I was
having a damn heart attack. Turns out I shouldn't have eaten the Mexican shrimp
dish I had for lunch. Just some acid reflux is all. At the time I didn't know
what the hell it was. Bridge called the emergency crew and I told her to get
out of there before her presence raised any questions."

Smith had been right about that observation. He'd
mentioned that might have been the case. Callahan obviously had a soft spot for
Bridgette. "And Benz. Why did he pay you a visit?"

He clucked his tongue. "You are an
inquisitive one. I think we should let it all die down."

Michaela shook her head. "I wish I could. But
my friend is dead on a cold slab at the morgue waiting to be buried properly,
her brother is missing, and there are a lot of people around her who I simply
find crazy. Sorry to say, but you're one of them."

He smiled. "I like you. You've got spunk. Are
you sure we can't just do some test photos? Being a
Pleasures
girl can
do a lot for you."

"Mr. Callahan—"

"Frederick, please."

"Fine. Frederick, I don't want to go to the
police with what I saw, because I seriously doubt that you are a killer. I do
wonder if you know who killed Audrey, though."