Hex on the Ex (16 page)

I liked his style.

O
n my way out of Oliver Paul’s office, I bumped into a mountain of a man in a turquoise warm-up suit. He backed up to open the hall door for me and I squeezed past with a polite grin, eyeing the outline of a gun stuck in the waistband under his jacket. Bet he had a secret phone number from Ollie, too.

I dialed my parents from the lobby.

“I’m glad you called,” Mom said. “Did you hear from Jarret today? He’s not answering my calls.”

“His phone is probably off. Is Dad home?”

“Your father is at the store picking up a can of creamed corn for me. I’m making my cornbread for dinner with salad and turkey chili. There’s enough food for an army. Would you like to come over?”

Army? Perfect. “Can I bring Nick, Dave, and Robin? I need to talk to everyone about something important.”

“Of course, but—”

“What time do you want us there?”

“Seven.” Mom hesitated. I could almost hear her brain whirring. “Elizabeth, what is going on? Did you and Nick get engaged? Is that what you’re coming over to tell us?”

“No, Mom. We’re not engaged. I—”

“You’re pregnant. I knew it. I told your father you were putting on weight.”

Weight? I touched my belly. That did it. I’ll be hitting the gym every day for the rest of forever.

“I’m not pregnant,” I said, crossing through the parking lot. “I’ll explain everything at dinner. I can’t talk now. I have to round up Dave and Nick.”

Using the hem of my dress like a glove, I opened the scalding car door handle. I put the car windows down and cranked up the AC, then phoned Nick.

“I need you. Can you pick me up at my place at six-thirty for dinner with Robin and Dave at my parents’ house?”

“Sure. I thought your dad’s party was Saturday,” Nick said.

“It is. I’m calling a summit tonight. Carla Pratt came up with a ridiculous theory of jealousy and revenge to accuse me of murdering Laycee. I have to prove she’s wrong.”

“I’m in,” Nick said.

I turned out of the bank lot onto Victory then made a right to Van Nuys Boulevard. While I crept along Auto Row in rush-hour traffic, I made my second call.

“Sam Collins’ office. This is Robin.”

“I need your help.”

“You got it. What do you want me to do?”

“Find Dave and be at my mom’s house at seven for
dinner. Nick and I will meet you there.” I let out a frustrated sigh. “I just left a meeting with a lawyer.”

“Well, I’m glad you took my advice,” Robin said.

“A little too late. I’ll fill you in on the details tonight when we’re all together.”

N
ick and I pulled into the driveway of my parents’ Encino ranch home at exactly seven
P.M.
He turned off the ignition and said to me, “I wonder what Viv’s reaction will be when she hears Jarret threw suspicion on you by telling the cops you hated Laycee.”

“Me, too. I didn’t want to tell Mom on the phone and give her time to consult her tarot cards. She’ll find some way to rationalize his idiotic thinking. Possession, maybe?”

“I’m with her if I can do the exorcism. I’d like to spin Jarret’s head around.”

“I wouldn’t go in too cocky if I were you. Right now, Mom’s convinced we’re here to announce you got me pregnant.” As I got out of the car, Nick sat frozen behind the wheel, staring through the windshield. I leaned in and said, “Are you coming?”

“Are you pregnant?”

I shook my head. “Accused of murder. Disappointed?”

“I need a drink.”

Dave and Robin drove up in his white Ford Explorer and parked behind us. Dave hustled out of the car in a rumpled sport coat to open the passenger door. Robin exited as fresh as a spring bouquet in a silk rainbow sherbet sundress and heels.

As Nick and Dave walked to the front door, she slowed
her pace and said, “Dave’s suspicious. I wouldn’t tell him the reason you wanted us here. Better get this over with fast.”

D
ecades ago, after my parents sent Dave and I off to college, Mom celebrated her independence from dirty uniforms, empty pop cans, and greasy pizza boxes by redecorating. She transformed the Gordon ranch house into a beige extravaganza, from the carpet to the walls to the bricks on the fireplace. Beige chairs and sofa in the living room, beige tiles and appliances in the kitchen. Dad joked that they were living in a carton of vanilla ice cream.

Give Mom a reason to entertain and the beige becomes her canvas. Dave, Robin, Nick, and I were greeted by bright splashes of summer. Bright yellow daisies in red vases dotted every table in the living room. Dozens of sunflowers in a tin bucket adorned the center of a dining room table set with a festive rust-colored tablecloth, six green plates, brown napkins, and a tall pitcher of lemonade.

Dave and Nick hung a left and joined Dad to watch
SportsCenter
on the flat screen in the living room. Robin and I headed to the kitchen, where we found Mom in a white linen tunic and tangerine capris, stirring a large pot of turkey chili. She tucked a strand of her white hair behind her ear and glanced knowingly at my stomach. I made a face and silently vowed to avoid the cornbread at dinner.

“Everything is ready, girls. Liz, take the salad out of the refrigerator. Robin, bring the cornbread. Call the men in and let’s eat.”

We took our seats around the dining room table. Mom, Dad, and Dave stared at me, then at Nick, then back to me.

I spread a napkin across my lap and said, “I was at Jarret’s house yesterday morning before he found Laycee Huber’s body.”

They listened in hushed silence, a Gordon family first, as I told my story over the salad. Robin huffed with sympathetic indignation while passing the cornbread. I glanced at Mom, waiting for her to interrupt in Jarret’s defense. She ate slowly without saying a word. Dad and Dave exchanged glances over Carla’s trumped-up allegation then each took second helpings of chili. When I finished my tale, Nick circled his hand on my back.

“What did your lawyer say?” Dad said.

“Oliver thinks Jarret and his lawyer are using me to create reasonable doubt.”

“Damn lawyers pull that crap all the time,” Dave said between bites. “Carla leaned hard on Jarret so they turned suspicion on Liz. Makes sense.”

Mom slapped her palm on the table. “Makes sense? Makes sense to accuse my daughter—your sister—of murder? To save Jarret Cooper? Not on my life. How dare that lowlife, miserable excuse of a man let someone use my daughter as his scapegoat.”

Dad blinked in astonishment. Nick suspended his fork midair. Robin sat still. Dave shot me a who-is-this-woman look. I wanted to jump up and hug Mom for taking my side.

“Who is this lawyer of yours?” she said. “How did you find him?”

“His name is Oliver Paul,” I said. “Kitty recommended him. She thinks he’s incredible.”

“He better be incredible. What is he going to do? Walter, how can we stop this? What—”

“Viv, calm down,” Dad said. “Easy, easy.”

“No. I will not take it easy. Absolutely not. We have to fix this. I want to know what Oliver Paul’s plan is and I want to know now,” Mom said.

“He’s hiring a private investigator named Hank McCormick,” I said. “I—”

“Private investigator? Another stranger?” She shook her head. “No. There are two men, excuse me,
three
men at this table who can investigate a murder case better than all of the police, all of the private detectives, and all the lowlife, finger-pointing lawyers in this city. Walter? David? Nick? Find out who killed Laycee Huber. If the evidence points to Jarret Cooper—fine. He can sit and rot in jail for the rest of his miserable life for all I care. Imagine, letting my daughter be accused of murder.”

I clapped, proud and impressed. Dad, Nick, and Robin joined me.

Dave leaned back, crossing his arms. “I can’t be involved. Internal aff—”

“We’re
all
going to help Liz.” Dad turned to me. “When did Laycee get to town?”

“I’m not sure. She was staying at the Sportsmen’s Lodge,” I said. “I first saw her at the gym Tuesday morning with Kyle Stanger and Billy Miles, the producer of
Atlanta Wife Life.
She went to the game with them that night.”

“Nozzle, the bartender at Sportsmen’s Lodge, is an old buddy of mine,” Dad said. “Noz can find out the day and time she checked in, and tell me if she spent time at the bar with anyone. I need a photo of her.”

“I think I saw one in the paper this morning. Give me a sec.” Robin reached for her purse and brought out her
iPhone. She thumbed the keypad, scrolled, and then clicked some buttons until the phone clicked. “What’s your e-mail address, Walter? I’ll send you the screen shot.”

Dad gave her the address then left the table, returning with his cell phone. He opened Robin’s e-mail. “You kids with your technology. How did you do this?”

“It’s simple.” Robin demonstrated.

“Great trick,” Dad said. “I’ll show Laycee’s photo to the bartender. Who else did she plan to see in L.A., Liz?”

“Billy Miles, Kyle Stanger, and Jarret are the only people I know for certain,” I said.

“A coordinator in the
Atlanta Wife Life
production office is a friend of mine. I’ll call her for the inside skinny on Billy Miles,” Robin said.

“If Billy is at the gym in the morning, I’ll get his version of what happened between Kyle and Laycee at the stadium party,” I said. “Kyle is the only other person who knew Laycee was with Jarret.”

Dad pointed across the table. “Dave, run a check on Kyle Stanger. Find out if he has a record.”

“Kyle is up to something at the gym,” I said. “He takes short, closed-door office meetings with a stream of people who don’t belong to Game On and I’m fairly certain they aren’t vendors. I interrupted a meeting yesterday. He muttered out an excuse about membership.”

“Do you see who he met with?” Dave said.

“A kid, late teens, early twenties with overdeveloped muscles like a bodybuilder.” I said.

Dave sat back, folding his arms. “Kyle may be buying or selling steroids. There’s a motive there if Laycee knew and threatened to tell Jarret.”

Banned by Major League Baseball since the early 1990s, steroids were a hot topic in sports. Jarret, a purist when it came to his body and athleticism, adamantly opposed the hormone replacement therapy some athletes and bodybuilders took to build muscle mass.

“A steroid scandal at Game On could cost Jarret his career and his endorsements,” Nick said.

“Why would Kyle kill Laycee at Jarret’s house? And leave a symbol on her body?” I said.

“I can’t comment on the symbol,” Dave said. “But let’s say Jarret knew or conspired with Kyle in selling the drugs—a felony. They would end up in jail if Laycee exposed them. Her knowledge may have gotten her killed by one or both of them.”

Dad and Nick nodded agreement.

“Speculation doesn’t help clear Liz,” Mom said. “What do we do about it?”

“Build a scenario for reasonable doubt, Viv,” Dad said.

“I’ll snoop around a little more at the gym,” I said.

“Watch yourself,” Dave said. “If Kyle is dealing, he might be pushing anything—steroids, coke, Ecstasy, or worse.”

Mom got paper and a pen from the kitchen, and made notes. “Liz, wasn’t Laycee married? What about the husband?”

“Forrest was home in Atlanta,” I said. “He thought Laycee was visiting me in L.A.”

“What makes you think he stayed in Atlanta?” Dad said. “What if he followed her to L.A. and caught Laycee at Jarret’s house?”

“How would Forrest know where to find them? Jarret and
Laycee left a sports bar and went to the house. Yesterday morning, Forrest called me, looking for her. I’m sure he was in Atlanta. I saw the area code on my—damn.” I buried my face.

“Exactly,” Dave said. “His cell number would register Georgia if he called you from the moon. Stalking his wife from Dodger Stadium to a bar to a tryst at her lover’s house is nothing to a jealous husband. I’ve seen worse. I’ll check the airlines. Dad, ask the hotel bartender if he saw the husband and when.”

I gave Dad a quick description of Forrest.

“I have a question,” Robin said, raising her hand. “What are we looking for?”

Dave and I answered in unison, “Lies.”