It was risky, depending on a love spat to turn into actual evidence and to make it all the way to a courtroom trial. But it was worth a try. Scorned lovers had a way of harboring grudges for a very long time.
Chapter 20
Zeb’s Bar was teeming with people when Gracie and Mary walked in that afternoon. On the way over, they’d discussed the possibility that Abby might not come in. With no idea of her routine, and no home address for her, they had decided it was worth the cost of a couple of drinks to hang out awhile and take their chances. All the cocktail waitresses were rushing about, looking a little stressed, and there wasn’t an empty seat in the house.
Gracie pointed out a couple at the bar who were nuzzling each other and practically panting. “They’ll be leaving soon,” she told Mary. “Let’s be ready to get their seats.”
They ordered two glasses of merlot, tipped the bartender well, and stood by. It was easy enough to keep an eye on the room while making chit-chat. Scanning the tables, even those in the shadowy corners, neither spotted any sign of Abby Singer. True to Gracie’s prediction, the smooching couple shoved their glasses back and vacated their seats, never taking their eyes off each other.
Mary surreptitiously wiped each of the wooden seats with a napkin. “Sorry—habit from the gym.”
“Ew.” Gracie laughed.
Two other women were eyeing the empty barstools. Not bothering with an apologetic smile, Mary and Gracie took the seats.
“Now—will our quarry appear?”
“Well, at least we can keep these drinks going awhile,” Mary said. “Here’s to a successful round of evidence gathering.” They clinked glasses.
“We did have a good call with the rest of the gang, right? Amber will surely come up with his bank info. She’s always been a whiz at—” Gracie’s eyes went toward the door. “Oops, there she is. Casually look over her direction and catch her attention. If she acts like she wants to join you, I’ll make a deal over leaving and she can have my seat.”
“You’re leaving me to do all the talking? What if I can’t think what to ask?”
“You did fine the other day, but I won’t leave the bar. We’ll see where the questions go and if it looks like she’s open to talking to both of us, I’ll come back.”
The plan worked. As Abby approached Mary, it was obvious she’d been crying. She had reapplied makeup, but the telltale puffiness and reddened eyelids were still apparent. Mary decided not to ask—just let the conversation go where it would.
Abby sent a small, grateful smile toward Gracie—with no sign of recognition—and took the offered barstool. She ordered a top-shelf scotch and plunked down a credit card, telling the bartender to start a tab.
“We’ll see how long this works,” she muttered in Mary’s direction. “I have had the shopping spree of my life this afternoon.”
“Wow, good for you,” Mary said. “Yesterday, you didn’t seem too happy but, hey, new shoes always brighten a girl’s day, right?”
Abby’s eyes glittered. “Especially when the rat is getting the bill.”
“Uh-oh. The guy you told me about?”
“Yeah. It’s over. I walked out after proposing to him and getting a blank look in return.”
“Ooh—not good. He’s the producer you told me about?” Mary took a slow sip of her wine, giving Abby time to answer.
“Yeah … I suppose my one big regret—well, there are a few—but the big one is that I won’t get the chance to stay at this fabulous villa he’s picked out as a location for the next film.” Abby swallowed her scotch in one gulp and ordered another. “Yeah, I know—I should have used his credit card on food and to pay ahead on my rent, since I’m also out of a job.”
“But shoes and drinks are more fun.”
“No shit. Have another one,” Abby said, tilting her head toward Mary’s near-empty glass. “I’m buying. No—Rob The Rat Williams is buying.” She started to laugh hysterically.
Mary caught Gracie’s eye across the room and sent a help-me look.
“Rob Williams … I’d forgotten you mentioned his name yesterday. No wonder it sounded familiar. The woman who was sitting here a minute ago? She was telling me that her mother got caught up in something with him. It sounds like the guy really gets around.”
Abby’s eyes hardened and the laugh was gone. “I can’t even tell you. Yeah, he gets around.”
Gracie had edged to the bar and ordered another glass of wine, giving Mary her opening.
“Abby, this is Gracie. She’s the one I was telling you about. Gracie, Abby’s just got screwed over by Rob Williams.”
Gracie set her phone on the bar and put a sympathetic hand on Abby’s shoulder. “Girl, I feel your pain.”
Abby eyed Gracie up and down, and Gracie jumped in to correct the misconception. “Oh, heavens no, not sex. Money. And it’s my mom he convinced to invest with him. She hasn’t got a dime of her money back yet.”
“Well, invite her down. I’m buying drinks on his credit card. In fact, let’s have good old Rob buy drinks for the whole house. Bartender!”
“Um, Abby … you might want to be sure you don’t hit his credit limit. He’ll start getting alerts from the bank.”
“Oh yeah.” Abby waved off the bartender. She was slumping against the polished bar at this point.
“So, what was your deal?” Gracie asked. “Did you invest with him too?”
“Yeah. Money, yes, but mainly two years of my life. Helped him put together these huge gala parties, got up in front of his audiences telling everyone what a wonderful guy he is, slept with him. Oh, yeah, even after I figured out he was shagging anyone else he wanted.” She downed the third scotch and her words began to slide into a liquid puddle. “How dumb was I?”
“There must have been perks—like hanging out with movie stars and watching the filming, traveling to great places and staying in fantastic hotels.”
Abby made a slashing motion with her hand, which almost sent her empty glass flying. Mary caught it just in time. “None of that. Never an actor, never a movie set. I know for a fact that he hasn’t produced a movie in several years. You know, his Oscar nomination goes way back.”
The ladies didn’t admit they already knew that little tidbit, or the fact the nomination was for sound effects in an otherwise unremarkable film.
“So, just to be clear … He gets people to invest in movies that are never made?”
Abby nodded hugely.
“Then where does the money go?”
An exaggerated shrug. “No idea.”
“You were his top assistant, like, second in command, and he never told you?”
“Nope.”
Gracie and Mary glanced at each other over the top of Abby’s head. Their witness was quickly reaching the point where she would need to be put into a cab, and they needed some kind of commitment from her.
“Abby,” Gracie said, taking the girl’s hand and making eye contact. “My mother is out her entire life savings. We’re thinking of hiring a lawyer, maybe involving the police. Would you be willing to tell them what you just told us?”
A slow smile crept over Abby’s face. “Oh, absotively. You bet.”
Chapter 21
The massive tires hit the runway hard and the reverse thrusters engaged, sending everyone sliding toward the fronts of their seats. Sky Harbor had plenty of runway but it never felt that way as pilots always wanted to get to the closest taxiway, then the terminal, and make a quick turnaround. Timing was everything in the airline business—at least that’s how it seemed to Rob Williams.
Well, timing was everything to him, as well, and being out of the office for a few days right now was a great way to avoid any possible second-thoughts confrontation that could happen if Abby came back into the office. He doubted she would—she’d carried a box of personal items out with her yesterday.
He texted his ride that he’d just landed and should be at the south curb in ten minutes. He dragged his computer case from the space in fr
ont of his feet, stashed the few papers he’d taken out to read during the flight, and stood to get his carry-on bag. He’d booked himself at the Royale—mainly because it was tops on the Scottsdale venue list Abby had compiled for him, and secondly because she’d convinced them how important he was. Somehow, it always worked and he got the royal treatment wherever he went.
Abby. What on earth had possessed her to do what she’d done yesterday? Propose marriage? Didn’t the girl realize he never intended to be tied down? Hadn’t he made it abundantly clear?
He pulled his bag from the overhead bin, chafing at the delay as people ahead of him poked along. Outside the aircraft door, he edged past some doddering old snowbird couple and took off down the jetway at a brisk pace. Stretching his legs felt good. Getting out of sight of the old lady, who looked way too much like his mother, felt better. He felt his eyelids sting and he blinked them fast.
No thinking about Mom now. The only woman in his life he’d loved unconditionally, the only one who promised she would always be there for him. Until she wasn’t. Damn cancer. Damn her for getting it. He felt the stupid tingle in his nose, the signal it was turning red and getting ready to drip.
He detoured into the men’s room and into a stall. He parked the roller bag and snatched a few squares of tissue from the dispenser, rubbed his nose vigorously. Taking a deep breath and blowing it out, repeating it three times, helped. He squared his shoulders and walked back out to the bustling concourse. He was doing fine without getting attached to a woman.
A pair of tight jeans caught his eye just ahead. That’s right—focus on the parts you could see, touch, and enjoy. Forget about the emotional crap. Love ’em and leave ’em. There was something to that old saying. Do it before they could leave you. He focused on the jeans and ignored every gray-haired woman he passed. Down the escalator, out to the curb.
He texted his ride again, giving the door number where he’d just exited, and the limo with the discreet Royale logo glided up in front of him. The driver greeted him the way he liked to be greeted, taking his bag and stowing it quickly in the trunk while Rob slid into the roomy back seat and eyed the bar setup. He was looking forward to his meeting with the events director in the morning. Meanwhile, he would enjoy some pool time this afternoon, followed by the best dinner on the menu at the swanky hotel—all of it gratis, provided he booked his event with them.
See? he told himself, I can handle it all just fine without her.
Thirty minutes later, the limo delivered him to the elegant resort, driving slowly up a lane flanked with royal palms on both sides and a median filled with purple petunias blooming in profusion. The driver opened the car door for Rob, retrieved his bag, and a doorman in purple and gold livery ushered him inside. Inside the spacious lobby, he approached the front desk. Again, the deferential attitude, the employees who were accustomed to dealing with a wealthy clientele. Rob loved it.
“We’ll need a credit card for incidentals,” the clerk said, sotto voce.
“Of course.” He handed over his Intrepid Dog Pictures card, hoping the man across the desk noticed he was in the film business.
A moment’s delay, tapping of computer keys. “Sir, it appears … Well, we have you down for three nights, and that’s the amount we usually use as a hold on the card. It’s not accepting …” The clerk seemed as embarrassed as Rob felt.
“Oh?” Maybe charges from the caterer or the venue in Newport were still coming in. “That’s all right. Here’s another.” He handed over his personal gold card.
“I’m here to meet with Ms. Bradshaw in Events.”
“Yes, sir. And your charge amount will be adjusted at checkout, most certainly.”
This time there was no question, and he soon had his key and directions to a suite overlooking the golf course. Yes, it was going to be a pleasant three days.
* * *
Cicely Bradshaw was a bit no-nonsense for Rob’s taste, although he supposed it was part of the job. Booking large events, working with clients, and being the go-between with staff to set up meeting rooms, dinners, and wedding receptions no doubt required a variety of skills. Still, he had to admit to feeling a little intimidated while the fifty-something woman peppered him with questions.
She sat across the conference table from him, her short frame a bit dwarfed by the size of the room’s furnishings, but her severely cut gray hair, charcoal suit, and the steely rims of her glasses didn’t suggest a shred of weakness. She’d walked into the room with a folder of papers, shaken his hand with an iron grip, and proceeded with the grilling—what size room, how many attendees, what budget for the dinner, how many tables, what types of centerpieces? His assistant had indicated they would want projection equipment and a large screen—he did understand there were additional charges for those items?
He nodded a little numbly and found himself repeatedly asking what Abby had originally told them. She always handled those things; he’d authorized her to set up the details, and it had always come off beautifully. He felt another surge of irritation that she’d left him—her timing was atrocious.
“Let’s just take a look at the rooms,” he finally suggested to Ms. Bradshaw. “I can tell a lot more by looking at a real space.”
She glanced impatiently at a thin silver wristwatch. “Both rooms we’ve discussed are in use right now. But let me see. If the Microsoft people have gone on their lunch break, we can step in and you can get a feel for the conference room.”
“I think we’re looking more at a ballroom of some type,” he said, remembering the elegance of the great hall at The Breakers.
“This one is multi-purpose,” she said. “It converts quite well. Or we have the King’s Ballroom, which is currently being set up for a wedding reception tonight. Senator Willis’s daughter. Very elegant.”
“That sounds more my speed. Let’s take a look in there.”
She gathered her folder and pen and led the way. She was right—the ballroom was spectacular, especially done up for the wedding. Place settings of dazzling white china on gold chargers, sparkling crystal, and showy centerpieces of purple and gold flowers covered the tables. Huge sliding doors along one wall opened to a covered patio with views to the golf course and the sand-colored mountains in the distance.
“At night, the patio is beautifully lit and is available on the fourteenth, I believe. The lawns are also fairly well lit, but of course after dark you lose the view of the mountains.”
“Yes, well for our purposes, we usually keep the guests seated during the presentation, then we will require a few side rooms where we meet individually.”
He had noticed lettered rooms along the corridor leading to this one, and she confirmed that three of those were also available for the date he wanted. He supposed they would work. Another detail Abby would have known off the top of her head.
Ms. Bradshaw was making notes, sketching something on a blank room layout, as she led him back to the room beside her office, where they had started.
“I’ll prepare the quote for you,” she said. “Meal prices are based on a minimum of fifty attendees. I trust that isn’t a problem?”
He nodded.
“We usually offer choices of a meat dish, a chicken dish, and a vegetarian option …”
Again, she looked to him for approval and he shrugged. Whatever.
“You’ll go over the actual choices with our chef’s department.”
“Can’t we just say everyone gets a steak or something?”
“Of course. If you’re certain everyone eats beef. Sometimes it’s best to offer choices.”
He felt his toe starting to tap under the table. “I’ll trust your judgment.”
She didn’t say it, but clearly she was wishing he’d brought a woman along. Men weren’t supposed to be good at this stuff. But she didn’t comment, simply promised again that she would have the quote ready within two days. He thanked her and headed for the bar.
Chapter 22
“Well, so much for our
inside source in Rob Williams’s office,” Sandy told Pen.
The two had met for lunch at a favorite salad place. Amber had locked herself away with her computers, and no one liked too many questions about what little hacks she was experimenting with. Gracie and Mary were in California for another day, having delivered surprising news this morning by phone.
“At least Abby agreed to testify against him, if only we can persuade the law to go after him. It’s rather a big if at this point. We don’t know what Gracie and Mary will be told.” Pen broke croutons into tiny chunks with her fork.
“It would be ideal if we could get another insider at his office on our side. Do we know who else works there?” Sandy asked. She proceeded to nibble the pieces of chicken in her mandarin salad.
“Mary only mentioned a receptionist having a desk there. It sounded as if the place operates on minimal staff, with helpers and interns hired on the spot for their events. How about if I call on some sort of pretense and see if I can get a feel for it?” Pen’s eyes lit up at the prospect.
“Why not? We’ve already put Mary and Gracie in enough danger by going in there—I don’t think it would be smart to send them again. But over the phone I imagine you could learn something. Hey, you could say you’re researching a new book and you need to know how an important movie producer’s office works.”
“I like it. The perfect opportunity to ask any question I want.”
“Just don’t get Rob himself on the line. Novelist, asking about his operation. He might recognize your distinctive accent from when you met.”
“Don’t you worry, honey,” Pen said in a cultured Southern voice. “Ah can fake my way through one little ol’ phone call.”
Sandy laughed. “Do it. You’re great.”
Pen pushed her plate aside and picked up her phone. “Ah think ah will.” She batted her eyes and tapped in the number for Intrepid Dog Pictures.
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