Heaven's Fire (29 page)

She had just popped open the door to reach for her
"
Welcome to Ensenada!
"
towel when she heard a noise. Wrapping the towel around herself, "Ensenada" side in, she stepped out peeked around the corner. The locker room was still empty--nary an ax murderer or soccer mom to be found.

She was towel-drying her hair when she heard it again. Psst! She instinctively started for the door, but stopped when she realized she was dressed in a towel and a pretty tacky towel at that. While Jake wouldn't hesitate to run out into the lobby if she were truly in danger, was she? Or was she having a Croc-induced episode of paranoia?

Psst! The noise had come from the wheel-chair accessible shower two stalls down, she was sure of it. The stall didn't have a door, just a shower curtain so users could roll right in. That shower curtain was drawn now, but she hadn't seen anyone pass by and the water wasn't running.

Psst!

Oh, shoot. This was stupid. She marched over to the accessible shower curtain, and yanked it aside.

Nothing. Nobody.

Neither.

Just what in the heck--

Psst!

Startled, Jake looked up to the source of the noise. A small white box with a glowing orange light was mounted near the ceiling.

No Tony Perkins. No knife. No blood--in black & white--circling the shower drain. Just a little white box.

And Jake had been in more danger in the shower trying to shave her own legs than she was from either the box
or
the Croc. Still, having come this far, metaphorically, she wanted to know what the stupid white box was, and why it was
"
psst
"
-ing at her.

Not quite able to make out the printing, she pulled over a stool and climbed up to look. "FreshAir--," she read.

Psst!

*****

She should really learn to read with her mouth closed, Jake thought as she dressed. On the bright side, her breath was now "freesia-fresh."

What an idiot, getting all worked up because of a little noise. At least she'd confronted the air freshener, instead of running screaming and naked into the lobby for help. But then, the twelve-year-old at the desk wouldn't have been much help anyway. Probably would have asked her name and handed over her membership card so she could leave.

Nuts, Jake thought, she really had to get a grip. She slipped on her shoes and went to the full-length mirror to make sure everything was on straight, properly buttoned and fully zipped. Instead of her usual sweats or jeans, she was wearing her go-to-funeral clothes. A white sleeveless turtleneck, navy skirt, and heels. And a piece of toilet paper on her knee, where she'd cut herself shaving.

Doug walked right past her when she was waiting for her card at the membership desk in the lobby.

"Doug!"

He stopped. "Jake? Is that you?"

She moved aside to let the blonde guy from yesterday retrieve his card. "Jenson," he told the kid at the desk, and then gave Jake the once-over while he waited.

Maybe she should get dressed up more often.

"C'mon," she said to Doug, as she discreetly swiped at the toilet paper. "You've seen me dressed up before."

"I've never even seen you
dressed
before, much less dressed up." He nodded toward the blonde guy, who was walking out the door. "And neither has he, from the way he's looking at you."

"Who is he?" Jake asked, smiling. Okay, so she was flattered.

Doug gave her an odd look. "You're kidding, right?"

Jake felt the smile drain away. "What do you mean?"

"You don't recognize him?"

"Should I?" Jake looked out the front window at the man, who was getting into a blue SUV.

"That's the guy who swims with us. The one who stares at you."

Jake had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. "But this guy is blonde. The Croc has dark hair." This guy did look familiar, though, she had to admit.

Doug laughed. "You ever notice hair is darker when it's wet?"

"Good point." Jake was still staring after the SUV as it drove out of the parking lot. "But this one's hair isn't starting to thin on top."

Doug took two hands and flattened down his hair on both sides. "We're all thinning on top when our hair is slicked down."

"Some more than others," Jake said, forcing herself to smile. "Pretty soon you're going to need a filler there, Doug."

"I prefer to go
au natur
el
," he said. "Besides, I'd have to superglue it when I swam, so nobody'd think a squirrel got loose in the pool." He smacked her on the back and continued into the locker room before she could ask him about his doctor‘s appointment.

Jake walked to her car, thinking hard. It bothered her that she hadn't recognized the Croc on dry land.

But what bothered her even more, was that she had seen the same man leaving the Y yesterday morning, fully dressed, as she came in. And half an hour later, he--the Croc, as it turned out--had been swimming next to her.

Now
that
was weird.

*****

Bryan Williams'
office was located in a two-story building on the west side of the city. Although the building held other businesses, Festivities took up half the first and second floors, with a private circular staircase connecting the two.

Everyone in the place was young and female, and everything about the place said "chic" and "artsy." The receptionist, who was chic, artsy and wearing a very short skirt, said she’d let
"
Bryan
"
know Simon was there.

As Simon looked around, Williams descended the circular stairs with Lillian White, his assistant. From Simon's vantage point he could see right up Lillian's skirt. Which was also chic, artsy and short. She was wearing those high platform shoes, and seemed to be trying hard not to look at her feet as she negotiated the steps like a little girl playing Cinderella at the ball.

"Simon," Williams said as he hit the last step. "What can I do for you?"

Simon explained he had some questions about the Firenze's contract for Lake Days. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"Certainly." Williams led the way into a conference room with a wide mahogany table. "If you don't mind, I'll have Lillian join us."

"May I get you something to drink, Mr. Aamot?" she asked.

"No, I'm fine." Simon took the seat across the table from Williams and set his notebook on the table. Lillian sat next to Simon and tugged on her skirt.

Simon opened the notebook and took out the Firenze contract, straightening it before he slid it across the wide table to Williams. "Is this the contract for the Lake Days Fireworks?"

Williams pulled it toward him and looked it over. "I believe so, though the contracting for this show was done directly between the vendor and the sponsor.

"Lillian?" He sailed the paper across toward his assistant, who made a good grab to keep it from going over the side. She glanced through it. "Yes," she said, looking to Williams as she answered. "This looks like the Lake Days contract between Refresh Yourself and Firenze Fireworks."

"Your office didn't draw it up?" Simon asked.

Another glance toward Williams before Lillian answered. "No."

Seemed like a lot of hesitation for such a short answer. "Is that unusual?"

Lillian opened her mouth, then looked at Williams again.

"Lillian, why don't you get me a cup of coffee," Williams said. "Are you sure you don't want anything?" he asked Simon.

Simon declined and Lillian stood up, still pulling on her skirt. Simon didn't get why women wore things that were so much work.

He watched her leave before he turned to Williams. "Okay, so
you
answer the question."

Williams shrugged. "It is unusual, which is why Lillian was twitching like a cat on a hot tin roof. She knows I didn't like the arrangement, but probably didn't want to tell you that.

"You see, Simon," Williams straightened his tie and leaned forward, trying to project "earnest," while maintaining "chic" and "artsy."
"
Short
"
he already had in the bag. "A company like mine normally takes a percentage of the sponsorship dollars it generates. A direct deal like the one between Refresh Yourself and Firenze cuts us out."

"So why did you do it this way?" Simon asked.

"Pasquale Firenze insisted on it. 'The customer gets what they pay for,' Firenze kept saying."

If Pasquale had Alzheimer’s, it apparently wasn’t affecting his sense of fair play.

Williams was smiling wryly. "He said it in front of the Refresh Yourself people. Refresh Yourself was already concerned about an ambush attempt by CoolSplash, and Firenze made it rather difficult for me to refuse."

Cut-throat business, this sponsorship stuff, Simon thought. Williams better watch it, or he'll wake up one morning with a giant beaver head in his bed. Still, much as Simon hated to admit it, Williams seemed to be leveling with him. "So how are you being compensated? Is Refresh Yourself paying you separately?"

"No, no, no," Williams said, waving his hands. "Let me explain how event sponsorship works. We're actually hired by the event. In this case, that would be the city of Liberty, which puts on the celebration. Our job is to bring in sponsors to pick up the cost of the event. In exchange, those sponsors get positive exposure from being associated with a quality event. Our job is to make sure they get that exposure, so they'll want to do it again."

It matched up with what Jake had told Simon. "So in lieu of your normal percentage of the fireworks contract, Refresh Yourself isn't about to pay you for taking their money, correct?"

Williams nodded, pleased. The "in lieu of" thing must have impressed him. "Absolutely correct, but we do have to be paid for our services, as I told the mayor. I have overhead." He gestured toward the outer office, where the receptionist was now climbing the circular staircase. Simon wondered whether Williams had them on rotation.

"And very nice overhead, indeed," Simon agreed dryly. "So what did you work out?"

"We're taking a percentage of the sales on the Lake Days grounds--vending, T-shirts, and so on." Williams shrugged. "Essentially, the city is passing their cut from the vendors on to us. Frankly, it's better than nothing, but just barely."

"So why are you involved with Lake Days at all?" Simon asked. "Out of the goodness of your heart?"

Williams laughed outright at that. "I have no heart, ask anyone. Ask our friend Jake."

Simon didn't respond, and Williams cleared his throat, seeming to sense he‘d made a misstep. "No, I agreed to stay on, because it would have damaged my relationship with both Refresh Yourself and the city to pull out. I'm looking at it as prospecting."

"Prospecting?"

"Looking toward prospective business. The mayor controls both Lake Days and tomorrow's Fourth of July celebration."

"And what about tomorrow's fireworks?" Simon said. "Is there the same arrangement between Firenze and Refresh Yourself? Are you being cut out again?"

"No, thank the Lord," said Williams. "Refresh Yourself has a title sponsorship agreement with the city--through us--that covers the entire celebration. Firenze is being paid by the city out of that sponsorship money,
after
we take our percentage."

"Seems straight forward enough," Simon said, though he still wasn‘t quite clear on the concept. "But back to Lake Days. Any idea why the contract indicates that Refresh Yourself made a down payment of thirty-seven thousand five, but Firenze financial records indicate they only received twenty-two five?"

Williams sat back, looking stunned. Or, maybe, feigning looking stunned. "No. As I said, we weren't involved in that transaction."

"Even after the fact?"

"What do you mean?"

Williams was getting defensive, which pleased Simon to no end. "I've heard that kick-backs aren't all that unusual in your business."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Williams was sitting so straight that the term
"
a stick up his butt
"
came to mind. Pretty soon he'd be tut-tutting.

"Of course you do," Simon said. "Kick-backs, in lieu of payment?" Williams didn't look as impressed this time.

Simon pressed on. "You know, where you suggest that a customer hire a particular company, and that company...rebates you? I understand that you approached Pasquale Firenze, and he refused."

As Williams opened his mouth to object--strenuously, no doubt--Lillian White re-entered the room with his coffee.

"I'm not sure who your source is," Williams said, as Lillian set it down, "but I assure you I did no such thing."

"Just this time? Or ever?" Simon said, smiling pleasantly.

Williams turned three shades of red. Magenta, Aztec Rouge and Vermilion, by Simon‘s reckoning.