Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay (3 page)

“It would be much easier, and quicker, if I had her social…” Madeline thought out loud. She turned to Vivian and studied her for a moment. “You’re afraid of putting Helen on alert about Teresa, but what if I approach Helen? I realize her loyalty lies with your son, but perhaps I can persuade her that handling this discreetly for the time being is the best course of action, for everyone.”

Vivian pursed her lips and let her gaze drift over the garden. “She’ll think I’m an old fool. She’ll regret the day I moved
in here.”

“I doubt that. But before I talk with her, maybe I should take a look around your rooms, just
in case.”

“I would so appreciate it,” Vivian said, relief written all over
her face.

“That way we don’t raise any red flags until we’re absolutely certain the jewels are missing. But I really wouldn’t feel comfortable doing it without you present. What time does Teresa leave for
the day?

“Four o’clock.”

“How
about Helen?”

Vivian rolled her eyes. “The poor woman has had no life outside this place since Cherie decided she was her generation’s Ganna Walska.”

Great,
Madeline thought,
she probably hates me
. “When do you usually sit down for dinner?”

“Well, we don’t really eat together unless Ross is here. I usually have something around 6:30. Cherie either doesn’t eat or she goes out.”

Madeline reviewed the day’s obligations in her head and looked at her watch. “Okay. I’ve got another meeting I’ve got to attend across town at one o’clock. I can probably get here around four. I’m sure I’ll find an excuse for coming back. I’ll come by your room and we can give it a thorough going over before I go speak to Helen. While we’ve got time, tell me what I should be
looking for.”

“Well, the diamond and ruby brooch came from Van Cleef & Arpels. A daisy. Diamond petals with a ruby cabochon center. Walter had it made for me after we finished filming ‘The Life of Daisy Huntington.’” Vivian’s bottom lip trembled slightly as she spoke. She cleared her throat
and continued.

“The bracelet is also diamonds and rubies, made by Cartier. And the ring is from Harry Winston, a two-carat emerald baguette surrounded with diamond baguettes. Everything set in platinum. All old treasures that I haven’t had appraised in years,” Vivian said wistfully. She looked up at Madeline, her eyes conveying her anxiety. “I’m too old to care for possessions much anymore, but I feel so foolish. Children have a way of appropriating future ownership in advance. I know Ross will be furious with me. Not that they’re really Cherie’s style, but I think it’s the principle of the thing. A sense of entitlement. You know what
I mean?”

An unsettling thought crossed Madeline’s mind and she had to wonder if she’d just landed herself in a conflict
of interest.

“Are you saying Cherie has designs on
your jewelry?”

“Oh no, nothing like that!” Vivian was quick to assure her. “But you know how it is. Heirs often have a running tally in their heads of what’s coming to them down the road. Now I feel silly. I shouldn’t have implied that she was a likely suspect.”

Madeline blanched at the thought. She was beginning to regret agreeing to help Vivian. Cherie was paying her handsomely to make sure this event came off without a hitch, and here she was dividing her time looking for a possible jewel thief. She coughed to hide her discomfort.

“In light of their monetary value, maybe this would be better handled by the police,” she suggested. Vivian drew back
in horror.

“Good lord, no—not at this stage. I may have to at some point, but I’d prefer you looking into the matter first. If my dear Teresa is the thief, then perhaps we can get the jewels back—trace them, if she doesn’t still have them. I definitely don’t want the authorities in on
this yet.”

Madeline thought this over for a moment. “What do you know about her home life? Does she live with family or friends?”

Vivian looked up at the clouds overhead. “She talks about her sister, Esmeralda. She does housecleaning, I believe.” Madeline waited expectantly for more enlightenment, but Vivian smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid that’s all I know of her life here. She sometimes talks about her life back
in Mexico.”

“Do remember where in Mexico she’s from?” Madeline asked. Vivian shook
her head.

“It’s a place I’ve never heard of before. Small and very poor, from what
I gather.”

Vivian’s companion was walking briskly toward them, a broad smile on her face and the promise of warmth in her hands. Madeline reached into her handbag and withdrew her business card.

“I’ll be back around four. If you think of anything between now and then, give me
a call.”

“Thank you, dear. I will.” Madeline stood as Teresa approached, taking a moment to get a read on the girl. She was open, polite and eager to please. Nothing about her seemed furtive or untrustworthy. Still, you never really knew about someone until you did a
little digging.

“Oh, Madeline dear—since you have your camera with you, would you mind taking a picture of us, pre-carnival?” Madeline bent her head to hide her smile as she took her phone from her bag. Nothing wrong with Vivian’s wits, in spite of her
advanced age.

“All right, big smiles… Perfect.” Madeline and Vivian exchanged knowing glances before Madeline continued on with her inspection of the party preparations, a task she was growing less interested in by the minute.

THREE

Madeline made her way to the pavilion head down, lost in thought. She felt a pang of guilt for dismissing Mike’s first case out of hand, now that she knew the thrill of having a case of her own. It took every bit of self-control to keep from bolting back to the office to get her investigation under way, though she had almost nothing to work with yet. Plus, she had to wait until four o’clock before she could search Vivian’s suite of rooms to make sure the items were really missing before she could officially get started.

As strong as the allure was to use her brainpower on something more meaningful than an ego-wallowing spectacle, Madeline knew she couldn’t afford to abandon the event coordinating business. Odious as it was to watch exorbitant sums of money being spent on three days of self-glorification, what she was getting paid was too much to walk away from. And if the fete was a success, it would lead to other lucrative jobs. Problem was, she’d lost her taste for extravagance.

Yet, as she rounded the lotus pond filled with brightly colored koi and saw the changes to the pavilion since her last visit, goose bumps ran up her arms. She stopped in her tracks as she regarded the 30x40-foot, glass-
roofed structure.

“Wow,” she said under her breath. In the twenty-three hours since her last inspection, the dupioni silk drapes had been hung and tied back at the corners with contrasting silk ropes. The alternating panels of crimson and burnt orange framed the glazed concrete floor, casting a fiery glow on the surface. Two zebra-striped sofas stood sentry beside the twelve round tables, and eight chairs of alternating turquoise and moss-green velvet flanked each table. Jacquard tablecloths incorporating all four colors covered table skirts that matched the drapes.

It was a wild explosion of color tempered by the stark neutrals. The effect was much better than Madeline had feared. It was one of those things that shouldn’t have worked, but somehow did. She supposed that’s what you got when you hired a Hollywood set designer: a dose of whimsy on an
epic scale.

Madeline took several photos for Lauren to add to the story boards. A black lacquered podium had been erected on the far side where the DJ would later set up after the tables had been cleared away and the chairs moved to the perimeter of the pavilion to make room
for dancing.

Madeline let out a satisfied huff and checked several items off her list. With any luck, she could get the swag bags sorted and get back to her office before lunchtime. She wished she could begin working on the Story case, but that would have to wait. Unless she found the mislaid jewels, she couldn’t do anything toward solving the mystery until she got Teresa’s Social Security number from Helen, which she feared would be no small hurdle.

As Madeline walked down the hallway of her building, she noticed the door to Current Affairs was open. She heard Mike and another male voice, familiar but not immediately recognizable. She slowed her pace as she tried to piece together the possibilities. If it were Mike’s new client, they would be on the P.I. side of
the suite.

As she crossed the threshold, she caught a glimpse of Mike. His expression was not entirely readable, but she definitely picked up on the alarm and anger emanating her way. When she turned to face the visitor, Madeline instantly knew there
was trouble.

“Here she is,” Mike said, arms folded, eyes hard. Madeline ignored the rebuke in her partner’s voice and turned her attention to
Detective Slovitch.

“Let’s go next door,” she said, not wanting Lauren to be privy to whatever urgent matter had brought about a visit from SBPD.

“I suppose this isn’t about a licensing issue,” Madeline said, being flip without meaning to.

“A body was discovered early this morning at Lake Cachuma. It’s since been identified as that of Rick Yeoman.” The blood drained from Madeline’s face. She wobbled and caught her balance on the edge of
the desk.

“Why didn’t you tell me he was being released?” Mike blurted out. He couldn’t help the aggrieved tone in his voice. If Detective Slovitch hadn’t been present, he wouldn’t have held back. But Mike’s sense of betrayal paled compared to what Rick Yeoman’s death meant
to Madeline.

“Do we know how he died?”
she asked.

“Gunshot wound to the head, execution style. Entry wound at the back of the head. He was found caught up in some tree roots by the maintenance crew.” Madeline sank into one of the chairs in front of Mike’
s desk.

“Any idea who did it?” Mike asked. Detective Slovitch glanced at Madeline
before answering.

“Yeoman secured his release by ratting out his
former boss.”

“Ridley?”
Mike asked, his voice rising
two octaves.

“No. His other boss, Usherwood. Yeoman and the others in Ridley’s security detail all served under Usherwood, first in the armed forces and later when they got into
private contracting.”

“Is that a euphemism for the
mercenary business?”

“Yeah. Let’s just say that Usherwood’s boys had been party to acts that would send most people to prison for life, or worse, had they been caught. Yeoman’s three years in Folsom were enough to make him trade Usherwood’s hide for a ticket out of there. Four days of freedom were all his squealing got him.” Detective Slovitch let this image
sink in.

“So now it looks like we’ve got someone with a score to settle running loose in Santa Barbara County. At this point, we don’t know if it’s Usherwood or one of his homicidal pals. The FBI is handling the investigation, since it was their stoolpigeon who got whacked. Personally, I think that was part of the plan all along—use Yeoman as bait to catch Usherwood. Yeoman was definitely expendable, but they didn’t get Usherwood. Not a good outcome.”

Both Mike and Slovitch regarded Madeline. It took her a moment to realize they were waiting for her reaction. But she couldn’t react. She felt numb. She knew this was bad news for her personally, yet she felt incapable of putting her thoughts in order. She felt as powerless as she had that day three years ago when Steven’s goon squad abducted her, Yeoman with a knife to her ribs, Usherwood at the helm.

Thanks to her martial arts training, her body would know how to respond if she was ever physically threatened again. At least she’d have a chance to flee. But psychologically, she realized she was still no match for murdering thugs who got paid to terrorize and kill, and sometimes did it for the sake of revenge.

“What’s the FBI’s response to all this?” Mike asked.
Slovitch grunted.

“They’re not commenting at this time. Which means they’ve royally screwed up and haven’t found a good way to spin
it yet.”

“But they still have Yeoman’s testimony,” Madeline said, her voice low and hoarse. She sat hunched over, elbows on her thighs, her eyes staring at the floor. Mike looked to John Slovitch, hoping he could give her some sort of comfort. The detective pursed his lips and studied
his shoes.

“If they catch Usherwood, he’ll never get out of prison,” Madeline said, alternately glancing at her partner and the detective for confirmation. There was a desperation in her eyes that made both men shift uneasily. “The FBI’s not talking because they’re too busy hunting Usherwood down.” Madeline’s eyes flashed back and forth, reading their
doubtful looks.

“What are you saying, Detective Slovitch—that since the FBI lost their shot at catching him before he got to Yeoman, they’re just going to write it off?” Madeline asked, springing out of the chair to face both men squarely. “I don’t think so. I think they’ll be all over this case now that they’ve botched it and flushed Usherwood or one of his hired guns out into the open. He’s obviously too much for local law enforcement, but the Feds have the manpower and the resources. They’ll find him,” Madeline said confidently as she swept out of Mike’s office.

Mike started to go after her, but Slovitch
stopped him.

“I’d like to believe that just as much as she does. But the point remains the Feds, with all the surveillance they had on Yeoman, still didn’t see Usherwood coming. They’ve had every port of entry under their microscope since Yeoman was released last week, and there’s been no sign of
him anywhere.”

“Then Usherwood orchestrated this from afar,”
Mike speculated.

“That would be my guess. And whoever did it, they are just as slick as the maestro.”

Mike’s face clouded over with anger. He had a strong urge to punch a hole in the wall, or at least break his
hand trying.

“What is she supposed to do, play decoy, see if any attempts are made on her life? Jesus, what kind of bullshit
is this?”

“Take it easy, Delaney. Until we get some word from the Bureau, we don’t have anything to go on.”

Mike shook his head disgustedly, his jaw clenched, as though he were using every 12-step mantra to keep from unleashing on the detective. “Are you saying you’re not even going to be investigating this?” John Slovitch held up his hand to steady the pugilistic P.I. “Yeoman was found in Santa Barbara County,” he needlessly reminded
the detective.

“Which is why it falls into the Sheriff’s jurisdiction.” Mike laughed condescendingly.

“Oh, I’m sure Madeline will feel so much safer
knowing that.”

“What do you want me to say? That I’ll check out a couple of sniffer dogs from K-9 and track Usherwood over hill and dale? I do what my Lieutenant tells me. This I did out of concern for
your girlfriend.”

“Madeline’s not my girlfriend.”

It was John’s turn to snigger. “Whatever. Look, you’re both licensed investigators now—use the resources at your disposal. Dig into Usherwood’s past, find his other known associates. Embarrass the FBI and find him yourselves. If Usherwood isn’t in the country, then you need to figure out who would do his killing
for him.”

Mike watched the detective leave. “Thank you,” he said, but it was too late. He heard Slovitch’s footfalls as they passed down the corridor.

“Son of a bitch!” Mike swore, spinning around, fighting a powerful urge to upend his desk. For a split second, he missed the good old days, when giving vent to his feelings felt as good as knocking back a bottle of tequila.

He took a deep breath, executed a karate combination and cleared the anger from his mind. Slovitch was right: Madeline was in an advantageous position, more so than the average victim of violent attacks. She had three years of investigative training to her credit and was close to achieving a black belt in karate. She could think and act on her feet, and she had a very organized, analytical mind. And he’d be with her every step of the way. Together they could present a
solid defense.

Mike sighed. Who was he kidding? Sending the two of them out to find Usherwood would be like sending a Girl Scout troop out to apprehend a band of Hell’
s Angels.