Madeline Carter - 01 - Mad Money (32 page)

As he was finishing taking my statement,
donut man rejoined us.

“Did you remember to ask what kind of car
she drives?” he said, as though I wasn’t standing right there.

“I drive a Chevrolet Malibu.”

“What color?”

“Silver,” I pointed where I thought the road
was though, as I’ve proven, my sense of direction isn’t always
impeccable. “You probably saw it, you would have driven right past
it to get it in here. Why?”

Donut man hesitated for a second as though
debating whether this was something he should mention or not. Then
he shrugged, obviously having decided it didn’t matter. “One of our
guys, heading to the office, reported they saw a sports car in this
area this afternoon. Would have been around one or two: right
around the time you said this all happened. He said he wouldn’t
have even noticed, but it was a pretty special car. And a little
different for up here.”

I didn’t have to ask, so I volunteered.
“Don’t tell me: it was a chartreuse Porsche Boxster.”

“Naw, but close. It was a Porsche all right.
But it was green. Snot green.”

Chapter Nineteen

Emily was amazed to see me standing on her
doorstep. As much by my disheveled state as by the actuality of me
being there. Dropping in unannounced is
so
not an LA thing:
there’s just too much distance between places to make it really
practical. Yet here I was.

“You look like shit,” she said cheerfully as
she invited me in. “I can’t even believe it. I should take a
picture: cool, collected Madeline Carter looking like she’s just
gotten back from safari... and the lions won.”

“Would you believe I was in the neighborhood
and just thought I’d drop by?”

“Somehow, I would. But where the hell have
you two been?” she asked, including Tycho in the conversation. His
staying in the car at this point had seemed entirely out of the
question. He needed a break as much as I did.

“In the San Bernardino National Forest,” I
answered blithely. “And look, I completely want to fill you in, but
can I just be the guest from hell for half an hour and grab a
shower? I gotta tell you: I feel a
lot
worse than I
look.”

“Not possible, doll. You look like hell.
But, yeah: shower away. My bathrobe is on the back of the door. Use
it if you want and we can
burn
your clothes. You and
supermutt eaten in the last four or five days?”

“I had some truly awful pizza a few hours
ago. Tycho got none. If you’re offering, we’re eating.”

Emily had a steam shower. A lot of images
from that day — and even that week — are blurry, but that shower
stands out in sharp and perfect relief: a lovely little island in
an impossible storm. When I rejoined Emily in the living room,
wrapped in her fluffy white bathrobe, I felt nearly human
again.

Like mine, Em’s apartment is not large. Both
of us have sacrificed space in order to have view. However, where
my vantage over Las Flores is a distant sort of overview, Emily’s
relationship with the Pacific is more intimate. Emily’s place is at
beach level and, even at night when you can’t see much of anything,
you can hear the view.

While I was in the shower, Emily’s living
room had become an oasis. She’d gotten some incense burning and
classical music was being beamed to us from the stereo. Somebody’s
Requiem for Something. Soothing.

I settled into a comfy, deep green armchair,
almost large enough to be a loveseat. Emily sat on the sofa with
the coffee table between us laden with four kinds of cheeses
nestled happily on a plate surrounded by two kinds of grapes. On
another plate, Emily had placed slices of apple, mango and avocado.
A third held vegetarian paté and good European crackers. Plus there
was tea and two highball glasses with about a half inch of amber
liquid in each.

“Scotch,” she said, noticing my interest.
“Single malt. Ballvenie. You looked like you could use it. I gave
Tycho some cat food while you were in the shower. Not much. Just
enough to take the edge off. Now sit. Enjoy. And tell me what the
hell is going on. And I mean now. Around mouthfuls. You have to pay
for this kind of service, you know.”

So, once again, I unburdened myself to my
new friend. And, once again, she sat and listened, stopping me only
occasionally with a clarifying question. A lot, I realized, had
happened in a couple of days.

“You should have taken me,” she said
reproachfully when I was done.

“I should have. You’re right. But weren’t
you on set?” I hoped she had been. It frankly hadn’t occurred to me
to involve her still further than she already was.

“You’re right,” she said nodding. “I was on
set. Still, you sound like you had a
lot
more fun than I
did.”

“Fun?”

“Sarcasm,” she said, holding up one hand as
though to ward me off. “Sorry. Kidding. So you seriously think you
saw Ernie get whacked?”

“Whacked?”

“You know: shot, killed, murdered.”

“I know what it means. It just sounded sort
of odd coming out of your head. Sounds like movie talk,” I smiled,
thinking that, all things considered, Emily was entitled to movie
talk. “But, yeah. I think it was Ernie. And I think he... got...
whacked.”

“But the wife thought he cooked the whole
scheme up?”

“Yeah,” I’d forgotten that until now. Emily
was right. What I’d seen put things in a whole different light.
“Looks like she was wrong.” And then, what about her car? And it
had
to have been her car. How many chartreuse Porsches could
be running around that neck of the woods? My money said not a lot.
“Or maybe partly wrong? I don’t know anymore. And here I still am,
stumbling into all of this stuff. What the hell do I think I’m
doing? Playing detective? And then I get
lost
. What if Ernie
is
dead. And what if he died because I didn’t get there soon
enough?”

“Don’t beat yourself up about that. I mean,
there might be things in here you can beat yourself up over...”

“Thanks.”

“But that’s not one of them. What happened
would have happened if you were there or not. From what you’ve
said, it didn’t happen
because
you were there, but in spite
of it. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

I did. But still. “If I’d been a little
quicker...”

“C’mon, Madeline. You know that’s just
goofy. A man with a gun. And you. There’s
nothing
you could
have done without endangering yourself.” Which I thought was fairly
perceptive of Emily, not that that’s surprising. But I hadn’t even
mentioned feeling somewhat guilty that I hadn’t rushed into the
fray and somehow pulled ol’ Ernie out. Maybe I hadn’t even really
admitted it to myself. Yet, there it was, just as Emily had laid it
out. And she was right, of course. But still.

I told Emily I wanted to check in with Tyler
and talk to him about what Anne Rand had told me, plus clear my own
telephone messages. I’d been gone all day and hadn’t given a single
thought to the market. And no withdrawal.

Tyler had news of his own and didn’t wait
for mine. “We got another note, Madeline. This afternoon.”

“That’s wonderful, Tyler,” then I hesitated.
“Is that wonderful?”

“I hope so. They’re asking for money this
time.”

“How much?”

“That’s the weird part: ten grand.”

Ten thousand dollars was a surprisingly
small amount. The barbecue last week had probably cost him more
than that.

“What do they want you to do?”

“Just take the cash down to the mailbox at
the bottom of the hill tomorrow night at eleven. Tape it on, like
they’ve been doing. And there’ll be a letter taped to the box
telling me where I can go and pick her up.”

“That’s not good.”

“That’s what I thought. Because it’s not
like an exchange or anything. So they might take the money and not
give me Jennifer. But, like you said, it’s not much money. I have
to take the chance.”

I hang up the phone without telling him any
of my news: about Anne Rand or about maybe finding boyfriend
person. With the latter, I was afraid that he might go down to the
surf shop himself, do some yelling and blow any chance I had of
contacting the kid. And the stuff with Rand seemed too complex for
the moment, involving as it did the necessity for explaining why a
PI had been watching me at the house.

I got off the phone feeling positive,
though. To me it looked more and more like Jennifer was pulling the
strings on this one. With trying to extort ten thousand dollars
from her father, maybe she was getting close to resolving it. The
two of them could worry about the discipline problems that
obviously entailed. I didn’t put the situation out of my mind but,
at the moment, it didn’t look like there was a lot I could do.

My voicemail let me know I had four
messages.

Mechanical voice: Six-thirty. Pee,
Emmmm.

Hiya, sweetie. I wanted to let you know I
was sorry about the other day.

Mom. I hadn’t called her back.

You’ve told me often enough how you feel
about things. And I understand it. Really, I do. Even if it didn’t
seem like it. But listen, kitten, part of it is just a mom’s pride,
believe that. I know you’re the best stockbroker in the world — and
I tell everyone that, too. And it doesn’t seem right that the best
stockbroker in the world can’t broker her mom’s stocks, if you get
what I’m saying.

Even though I’m not a broker anymore.

Oh, I know you say you’re not a broker
anymore dear, but no matter what, I know how these things work. I
mean, a doctor can quit being a doctor, but he can still save
lives, if you know what I mean and I’ll bet you do.

Anyway, despite all of this rambling...

And my mom can
ramble
.

... I just wanted to tell you that I do
understand and I do love you and I know everything will turn out
for the very best.

Oh mom, if you could see the day I’ve
had.

Seattle is lovely, though it’s been a bit
wet.

This was a newsflash?

I was at Nordstrom today and bought this
really lovely, sky blue jacket with very careful faux fur trim. I
bought it for me, but it made me think of you.

As ridiculous as that sounds, there was
something very warm and homelike about this statement. For a second
it made me smile. And it made me miss my mom. Isn’t it just goofy
how the oddest things can do that?

Well, it’s dinnertime and I’d hoped to catch
you, but I think your not being home this time of night is maybe a
good thing. I hope you tell me about him. Call soon!

Mothers. The slightest fluctuation of my
estrogen levels and mom is on the alert. If I’m out after nine pm
she starts phrasing my wedding invitations and planning my
trousseau
and
a layette. Dinnertime away and she’s at least
hopeful. And while none of that is strictly true, it’s probably not
far off, either.

Mechanical voice: Six-forty-five. Pee,
Emmmm.

Hey Madeline. Your voice on the machine
sounds really good. Sounds just like you.

Steve. I’d never heard his voice on the
phone before, but I liked the sound of it. Somehow deep and
vulnerable all at once. Yummy.

It’s possible that you’re going to think
this call is incredibly pathetic. I’ve decided to risk it. I’ve
been home from work exactly half an hour and I keep thinking about
you, so I thought I’d call. Well, you’re not there but maybe when
you
do
get there, you can call me.

A hesitation. Then:

I thought it was nice you came by the office
today. Sweet. Thanks. Bye.

Not pathetic. No. Charming, that was the
word. He was charming. So why was it I kept, in one way or another,
avoiding him? Strange. I’d have to think about it.

Mechanical voice: Seven-oh-five. Pee,
Emmmm.

Hello Madeline, this is Alex Montoya. Dinner
last night was lovely. I enjoyed your company very much.

I shot Emily a glance. “It’s raining
men.”

Did her ears perk up? “What?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

I had hoped we might dine again tomorrow
evening. Saturday. Please call me at your convenience.

His accent was perfectly charming.
He
was perfectly charming.

I called Steve. He answered on the first
ring.

“Yello.”

“Hi Steve. It’s Madeline. From Langton
today...”

“I
know
who you are.” I could hear
the smile in his voice.

My voice smiled back. “I’m glad.”

“What are you doing right this second?”

“I’m at my friend Emily’s house in
Huntington Beach. I had a sweaty day, so I just grabbed a shower
and we’ve been sitting here having snacks and blabbing and drinking
good scotch so, of course, that made me think of calling you.”

“You’re seriously in Huntington Beach?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because I’m only a couple of beaches away.
I live in Laguna.” Which made sense. I’d completely forgotten that,
like Brea, Huntington Beach is in Orange County.

He seemed to expect some kind of response to
this, so I said: “Oh, cool.”

“Yeah, very. So what are you guys up to
tonight?”

“Well, actually, I’m pretty tired. I ended
up having an exceedingly busy day,” talk about understatement. “And
I guess we thought we’d just blab for a while longer and I’d crash
here.”

“Now don’t even
think
about putting
me off again, Madeline. It’s not happening, you hear?” He was
cheery, but firm. “Look we’ll do something low-key. Is Emily the
girl who was with you the other night?”

Emily is 38. “She’s the one.”

“Cool. My roommate is home tonight, too. We
were just wondering what to do with ourselves and now we’ll have
plans. The four of us can go out to dinner.”

I looked at the clock in the living room.
“Steve, it’s
nine-thirty
. Everything will be closed.”