Hooking for Trouble Page 8

  Jaimee’s reason for continuing to stay at the house was pretty ridiculous. She was on a reality show called The Housewives of Mulholland Drive, even though she wasn’t really a housewife and she wasn’t living on Mulholland Drive anymore. She was convinced that the key to her staying on the show was the drama involved with living with her ex.

  I wasn’t happy with her being there, but I also respected that Mason felt a sense of responsibility toward her. And I accepted that Jamiee still knew how to push his buttons.

  Neither of them made any pretense of being glad to see me. What they did was simply pretend I wasn’t there.

  “We’ll talk later,” Mason said to Brooklyn. “And thanks for taking good care of Spike,” he said to his ex, while steering me toward the long hall off to the side that ended in the master suite. “I can’t wait to get out of these clothes.”

  I cringed, realizing how that sounded. I didn’t want to look back and see their expressions.

  Mason went on ahead into the large suite of rooms, with Spike at his heels. “I’ll just get changed and we can go.”

  I hung in the doorway to wait. The large bedroom had a masculine feel to it—maybe it was the color choices of a lot of browns and earth tones. A sliding glass door led to a small private patio.

  He rejoined me a few minutes later, slipping a leather jacket on over his Hawaiian shirt and jeans.

  “Sorry, boy,” he said to Spike when we got to the front door. “I’ll be home later.” Mason glanced at me hopefully. “Or maybe not.”

  It was a relief to get back in the SUV. “And now you can tell me your story,” Mason said, starting up the engine. When I suggested waiting until we got to the restaurant, he said there would be plenty of time until we got there.

  I knew he was right when he said he had a place at the beach in mind. He headed for the 101, and soon we’d blended into the traffic heading west.

  “I’m not sure how to begin,” I said, glancing out the window at the expanse of lights in the western San Fernando Valley. “Okay, here goes.” I began by reminding him about the huge house going up in the yard behind mine. I explained how the back of my yard really stretched along the side of that yard. Since it might be connected, I told him about the argument I’d observed and how it had seemed that one of them was about to go over the side of the second-floor balcony.

  Mason made appropriate noises to show he was listening. I took a deep breath and mentioned the first call to Barry. I could tell Mason wasn’t happy about it, and was even less happy when I mentioned Barry’s visit.

  “It was strictly business,” I said. “He just came to report on what he found out.” I gave Mason the short version—basically who lived in the house and that they claimed to be practicing some dramatic dance number. “But I didn’t hear any music,” I said.

  Mason got off at Topanga Canyon Boulevard and drove under the freeway overpass. The street was wide and flat as it passed Ventura Boulevard and headed toward the mountains. “And now comes the confusing part,” I said.

  The road had narrowed and gotten curvy as we began our ascent up the mountains. In a matter of minutes, we’d left the view of the Valley lights behind us. In the daylight, the long canyon seemed mysterious, but at night it had an eeriness to it. Maybe it was because it was supposed to be a Native American burial ground. The rustic houses here were spaced far apart and lost in the foliage, so that barely any lights were visible.

  I began telling Mason about changing the lightbulbs and he interrupted, telling me I was crazy to have been doing it in the dark. He got more upset when he heard that I’d left the lights on and taken the chance of getting a shock.

  “That’s beside the point,” I protested. “I was just setting the scene so you would understand how the new bulb shone all the way into that yard and illuminated something on the ground.” I hesitated. “Someone on the ground.”

  “So you’re going to tell me that Cheyenne Chambers went over the balcony this time,” Mason said. We passed through the town of Topanga. The restaurants and shops on either side of the twisting road had a hippie, sixties sort of vibe.

  “It wasn’t Cheyenne Chambers or her husband,” I said. “I’ve seen them since and they are both alive and well. I don’t know who it was.” I realized I was getting ahead of myself and told him about the call to Barry. This time Mason laughed.

  “I wish I could have heard that one,” he said.

  “Right. It took some time and a lot of convincing to get him to go there again.”

  “I suppose he came over to your place again, too.” The unhappy sound was back in Mason’s voice.

  “Forget Barry coming over to my place. It has nothing to do with anything. The point is that when he came over, he said there was no person on the ground. He said it was just a cushion from a chaise longue.”

  Mason was going to say something, but I stopped him. “There’s more to the story.” I quickly added how I’d gone into the yard and found the traces of blood underneath the chaise cushion. “I’m sure I saw someone on the ground. They weren’t moving. I mean really not moving. So there’s no way they could have just gotten up and left, if that’s what you’re going to say.”

  “I wasn’t going to say that,” he protested. “But if you saw a body and Greenberg saw a cushion, what happened to the body?” Mason asked. “And who is it?”

  Everything had gotten out of order by then and I had to backtrack and explain that Barry had talked to the nanny and that Cheyenne and her husband were at a taping of the show she was a judge on. Barry had assured me that he’d looked around the place and that the kids were asleep and that no one else was there. He’d checked the yard, and that was when the nanny said the kids had thrown the cushion off the balcony and she’d forgotten to pick it up.

  We left the lights of Topanga behind and began the darkest part of the route. The road snaked around sharp curves as it went down. The mountains here were jagged and empty. Civilization seemed a million miles away.

  “I see why you waited to tell me all this. It wouldn’t lend itself to being told quickly with interruptions. Let me see if I have this straight. You’re sure you saw a body, but you don’t know where it is or who it is.” He glanced over at me. “This may sound cold, but why is it your concern?”

  “Because I know what I saw, and somebody is going to get away with murder.”

  “Then this isn’t just about proving that you’re right to show Barry?”

  “Maybe there’s a little of that, too,” I admitted, feeling embarrassed that I was so petty.

  “Hmm, proving a detective wrong,” Mason said with a chuckle. “As a lawyer, I can certainly get behind that.”

  Mason pulled the SUV up to a stoplight as we reached the Pacific Coast Highway. Ahead, the dark water stretched to the horizon and blended with the dark sky.

  “I can’t believe you missed the obvious. It seems to me that the nanny has to know something, since she was there when the body disappeared. I would think the first thing to do is talk to her.”

  “There’s a little problem with that.” I told him about her family emergency as we headed up the coast and he pulled into the parking lot of King’s. It was our go-to place at the beach. I realized I had to go back and explain that Cheyenne and her sister were in a crochet class we were offering, but Cheyenne didn’t know I was the neighbor who kept sending the cops over. I was just telling him about the musical event they were going to do at the bookstore as we were seated at a table next to a window overlooking the water. “You have no idea how much this means to Mrs. Shedd and Mr. Royal. If Cheyenne finds out I’m the crazy neighbor and cancels, I’ll never hear the end of it.” The server left us menus, and it only took us a moment to decide to just have appetizers and to choose our selection.

  “My, but that sounds like a tangled web. I am astounded all that happened in the short time I was gone,” Mason said. “Ar
e you sure it wasn’t the nanny on the ground?”

  “No. It couldn’t have been her. That’s who Barry talked to.” The food arrived, and I picked up the platter of stuffed mushrooms. The smell of butter and garlic reminded me how hungry I was. After sliding several onto my plate, I handed the platter to Mason.

  “I still say the place I would start with is getting in touch with her.” He traded the plate of caprese salad for the mushrooms. There were bruschetta and roasted vegetables, and a selection of olives, too. For a few minutes we just ate. As I polished off the last mushroom, I went right back to where we’d left off.

  “But how do I do that?”

  Mason chuckled. “I love your persistence. I’m sure we can figure out a way to get in touch with her.” He waved the server over, and we ordered a sampler tray of desserts.

  “I’m sorry. All we’ve been talking about is my stuff. What about your trip?”

  Mason took a sip of his wine. “I’d much rather talk about your stuff, as you call it, than my client. He couldn’t get through the wrap party without getting in trouble. He trashed a hotel room and left it to me to figure out a way to get them off the hook.” Mason stopped talking as the server cleared the table. As soon as he walked away, Mason reached over and squeezed my hand. “It is so good to be back here with you talking about a now-you-see-it, now-you-don’t body. When I think of the dull conversations I used to have on dates.” He gave my hand another squeeze before letting it go. “If you’re going to talk to the nanny, it would be good to know her name.”

  “I think I heard someone call her Jennifer Clarkson.” I looked out the window at the ocean. I could see the waves breaking nearby, thanks to a spotlight from the restaurant. There was nothing between us and the waves but a pile of rocks. I’d been coming to King’s for years and remembered a storm that had sent the water literally pouring through the restaurant. The rocks had been added after that to break the power of the surf.

  “It was just like that,” I said, pointing to the pool of light on the most distant rocks where a seagull was roosting. “You can certainly tell the difference between the bird and a rock, right?”

  “You don’t have to convince me, Sunshine. I believe you.”

  “I guess I don’t completely believe myself.” I took another look at the light on the rocks. “But of course, I did find the blood.” I was speaking more to myself than to him. Cushions didn’t bleed—victims did.

  The tray of desserts came, and we put it between us and began to nibble on the assortment of cheesecake, flourless chocolate cake and fruit tarts.

  Mason started to talk about Cheyenne. Since he dealt mostly with celebrity clients, she was part of his world. “She’s definitely the leader of the group,” he said.

  I nodded, thinking back to the album cover and how she was actually standing a step in front of the other two. “She’s a hustler, too,” Mason said. “She hosted that talk show for a while, she’s been on a number of reality shows and now she’s a judge on that show tune competition.”

  “I suppose she’s trying to keep her name in front of the public,” I said.

  Mason pushed the last piece of cheesecake toward me. “That’s part of it, but maybe a bigger part is the money. Since her husband is her manager, he only makes money if she does. He manages the group, too, but they can’t be making much right now. Like I said, she’s a hustler.”

  “But they just bought that big house,” I said.

  “Right. And now they have to pay for it.” He put down his fork and let out a satisfied sigh before continuing. “Ilona does some acting. She seems to be practically a regular in the movies on the Sweet Romance cable channel. It’s not big money by show business standards, but compared to the income of your average person, it is a nice piece of change. Not that she has to worry. Her husband is the darling of country music at the moment.”

  The server dropped off the check, and Mason fished for his wallet. “Funny, I don’t really know much about the other sister.” He seemed to be searching for her name.

  “Her name is Lauren,” I said. I described how she’d come to the crochet class and never told us who she was. “All she said about herself was that she was divorced with two kids and she’d learned to crochet when she did a lot of waiting around. She really seemed to want to appear to be just an ordinary person. It was only when Cheyenne joined the class that we found out who she was.”

  “I think I know why,” Mason said. “People tend to think celebrities are all rich. Lauren isn’t hosting talk shows or acting as a judge like Cheyenne, and doesn’t have an acting career and a superstar husband like Ilona. You said she was divorced, so she doesn’t even have a husband supporting her. She’s probably struggling and deals with it by keeping a low profile.” Mason signed the receipt, and we got up to leave.

  “Shall I tell Spike I’ll see him in the morning?” he said, taking my hand as we walked to the car.

  CHAPTER 9

  “You have a new Hooker,” Mrs. Shedd said, intercepting me as I crossed the bookstore on my way back from my break. It was late afternoon and I had really needed the jolt of a red eye. It had been a late night with Mason, and I’d been at the bookstore since it opened.

  “Huh?” I said, looking up. Mrs. Shedd gestured back toward the yarn department and repeated what she’d said.

  Lauren was sitting at the table with her head bent over her work. “She brought her kids to story time and then asked me if it was okay if she hung out at the table. She said you told her about the happy hour gatherings.”

  I nodded in acknowledgment, and Mrs. Shedd continued. “Who would have thought that the crochet group would have led to so much excitement? They came to crochet and now they’re going to perform here. Do you suppose the third sister might pick up the hook?”

  “Ilona?” I said. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up. Both Lauren and Cheyenne were already crocheters when they signed up for the class. Ilona made a point that she didn’t do any handicrafts the time she came in. And that she had no interest in learning them, either.”

  Mrs. Shedd let out a disappointed sigh. “Too bad. It would be so nice to get a picture of all of them together in the yarn department. Joshua is very excited about having them as customers of the bookstore. Just last night, he was going on about their upcoming event and how he’d like to make it just the first of many musical events. I have never seen him as enthused about any event we’ve ever done here before.”

  I held back a smile. She was always making it sound like she and Mr. Royal went their separate ways when they left the bookstore, but we were all pretty sure they were living together, or at the very least spending a lot of time together.

  After what she said, I certainly didn’t want to do anything that might mess up the event, but I still wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on at Cheyenne’s house. And there was still some time before the Hookers’ get-together time. “Hi,” I said when I got to the table. Lauren looked up from her crocheting. I could see she was making a child-size jacket in blue yarn. Her hook moved with the ease of someone who crocheted a lot.

  “I hope it’s all right that I came a little early. My girls are at story time and this is a little me time.” She glanced toward the children’s department. I heard the sound of laughter and imagined that Adele was in the middle of her usual show. This was the after-school version, aimed at older children. They seemed to enjoy Adele’s theatrics even more than the younger kids who came in the morning.

  I was about to ask what she was going to do with her girls when story time ended and the group got together, but before I could say anything, she stood up and waved toward a young woman who had just walked into the store.

  “Your nanny?” I asked.

  She let out a sarcastic snort. “I wish. No, she’s just the babysitter.”

  “Sorry,” I said, thinking of what Mason had said about her. He was probably right tha
t she was not on the same financial level as her sisters. The woman came back to the table, and Lauren pointed out the children’s department. I heard Adele voice call out, “The end,” and then there was the sound of kids clapping and yelling out their approval. A moment later, a flood of seven- and eight-year-olds came into the main part of the bookstore, looking for the adults who’d brought them. Lauren’s babysitter caught her two daughters before they got to the back table.

  “Well, at least you don’t have to worry that she’ll run off,” I said, trying to make it sound like a positive.

  “You mean like Cheyenne’s nanny,” she said, getting back to her crocheting.

  “Right. That is who I was thinking of.” Inside I felt like jumping up and down. Lauren was following along as I’d hoped. Now to see what I could find out.

  “It must have been a shock to have her leave so suddenly. Did she work for your sister for a long time?”

  “It depends what you mean by a long time. I think she was with them for about a year.”

  “I suppose being a nanny wasn’t her life’s goal,” I said, hoping she would keep talking and not wonder why I was so interested in nannies.

  “Probably not,” she said in a disinterested voice. I plowed on, thinking that at any moment she would probably cut off the conversation.

  “Then you didn’t know her very well?” Lauren continued to work on a sleeve, and I wondered if she was going to answer.

  “I left my girls with her when the group did some gigs. She seemed nice enough. I think she was from the South somewhere. Cheyenne was generous about letting my girls stay there. Ilona is another story, but then nannies seem to move through her place like it’s a revolving door.”

  “How come?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. I knew I might be pushing the nosiness button too far.

  She gave me a strange look. “If you’re so interested, why don’t you just ask my sister?” There was an awkward moment, and she seemed to be expecting some kind of explanation. I was actually relieved when Adele rushed up to the table in the midst of some sort of upset.