"You know, you didn't seem to hate his money when we were talking about your mother yesterday," I said carefully.
His eyes shot to mine. "That's different. She was entitled to it."
"And you weren't?"
"Look, you have to understand. My mother put up with a lot. She was there from the beginning with Dog. Heck, if it weren't for her, he wouldn't even have had a career. She deserves a piece of that empire she helped build. A lot more than the string of wives who came afterward, all with their hands out."
I nodded, having a hard time not agreeing with him. "Is it true she really didn't want his money? Or did he refuse her?"
He paused, and I could see him reading my meaning into that question now that his father was gone. "I don't know what went on between them, but I do know she deserved better."
"How did your mother react when she discovered that he'd cut you out of his will?"
John's mouth twitched. "She wasn't happy."
"But they still remained friends?" I was having a harder and harder time believing that. From what I could see, all Dog had done was treat his first wife like dirt—first cheating on her, then withholding alimony, and finally cutting their only son off from his inheritance.
John must have guessed my thoughts. "My mother doesn't have a mean bone in her body. She gave that man so many chances. She could gloss over almost anything he'd ever done."
I finished my croissant, wishing I'd gotten another one, and wiped my mouth with a napkin. "John, do you know what size of an estate your dad left behind?"
John sipped his coffee. "Large. Exact dollar amount? I don't know. Somewhere in the 20 million range."
I choked on my mocha. "Wow. I didn't realize his music was that popular."
"It wasn't," he said pointedly. "But that cooking show gave his career a whole new life. He had a new suburban audience who had never previously heard of or been interested in Doggy Z—now buying his music along with Aunty Mae's products. Did you know there's even a set of Doggy Z cookware?" John shook his head in disbelief.
If Mrs. Rosenblatt found out about that, she'd be ordering it from Amazon with overnight delivery. "Sounds like he was doing well."
John nodded. "He was."
"Do you have any idea who does inherit it?"
He shrugged. "I would imagine his exes get something. Fairly standard in an alimony contract."
"And your mother?" I asked.
His eyes narrowed. "I don't know. But you heard her yourself. She didn't care about his money."
Sure. Who would care about a measly 20 million?
"Anyone else his will might have benefited?" I pressed.
But John just shrugged again. "I don't know. I'm sure it will be read soon, but it doesn't really concern me now, does it?" John didn't sound bitter—only matter of fact.
Which made him a better person than I was. If I was out 20 million, I'd be at least a little bitter.
"What about his other ex-wives…did you know any of them well?" I asked.
"No, I never got a chance to get to know any of them," he said, his voice holding that familiar note of disdain.
"I did see that they were relatively short marriages," I said.
He nodded, averting his eyes. "Yes, well, I tried not to pay much attention to the women going through my father's revolving bedroom door." I could tell the subject was making him distinctly uncomfortable. "Anyway, I don't want to take up any more of your time," he said, rising from the table. "Thank you for meeting with me. And…and for confirming what I feared about my father's death."
I smiled, wishing that confirmation were more comfort. "I'm sorry. I'm sure the police will find whoever did this soon."
He shot me a look that said he didn't have as much confidence as I did. "Have a nice day, Maddie. Thank you, again."
I watched him leave the shop and get into his car across the street. I polished off the last of my mocha and threw my garbage away as I contemplated what John had told me.
With 20 million dollars now in play, that put a different light on Dog's death. Revenge was a great motive for murder, but money was an even better one. I wondered just how big of a piece of Dog's estate was "standard" for alimony contracts? Maybe one of Dog's ex-wives hadn't wanted to wait for her monthly payments but wanted it all at once in the form of a tidy inheritance? Then again, maybe it had been a wife who wasn't getting any alimony at all…but knew she was in Dog's will? If Laura and Dog had been as close as she led us to believe, it stood to reason he'd name her as a beneficiary. Especially if he'd written his only son out. Had she decided her ex-husband was worth more to her dead than alive?
Laura Delmoore had said she hadn't been at the game show taping…but what if she'd been there just long enough to slip a little something into her ex's drink? What if her story about a sudden migraine and change of plans had all been manufactured? She'd had a ticket to the taping, so she'd have had no problem getting onto the lot and into the studio where Jeopardy! was filmed.
Which was a really great theory.
But none of my business. At least that's what the little voice in the back of my head told me as I pictured the vein in Ramirez's neck pulsing. My husband was more than capable of doing his job. My job, on the other hand, was waiting back at home for me on my drawing board.
I kept that thought firmly in place as I slipped into my minivan and pulled away from the curb.
But I only got two blocks away from The Beanery before my phone rang, Dana's face coming up on the screen.
"Hey," I said, swiping it on to connect with my car speakers.
"Hey, yourself," she answered. "Where are you?"
"West Hollywood. Just leaving The Beanery. Why?"
"Guess who just called me?"
"Ricky?"
"No, it's like one in the morning in Australia. Besides, he's got a weird stomach thing going on. He thinks it's from all that vegemite he's been eating."
"Eww."
"Yeah, anyway, I just got a call from Rupert Blick. Or, from his secretary anyway."
"I'm guessing he got our message?"
"He did, and he said we could do lunch to talk over my concerns."
"Today?" I asked, making a left at the light.
"Uh-huh. Twelve thirty at Legends on Melrose. Can you meet me there?"
I glanced down at my jeans and white sleeveless tunic. "I don't know if I'm dressed to 'do lunch' with a network executive." I glanced at my dash clock. It was just past noon. "But if I drive fast, I can change and meet you there in forty minutes?"
"Perfect. See you then," she said before hanging up.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Luckily, the traffic gods were on my side, and I made it in thirty-five, arriving just ten minutes late. Which, in LA, was considered early-to-on-time. I'd swapped the jeans out for a loose circle skirt and a pale pink top with fluttery sleeves. I'd added a pair of white leather heels with thin, rhinestone-studded ankle straps that looked almost like jewelry themselves. A pair of simple silver earrings and throwing my hair up into a high ponytail capped off the outfit, taking it from casual lunch to power lunch, Hollywood style.
I was just pulling into the pay lot on the corner when my phone rang and Mom's face came up on the display.
"Hi, Mom," I answered, swiping it on.
"Did you see it?" she asked, her voice taking on a high, shrill quality.
"It?" I asked, finding a spot two rows down.
"The Informer! That low-down rotten tabloid."
Oh. That it. "I did," I told her, shutting off my engine.
"'Skeletons in his closet,'" she quoted. "I thought that reporter promised to leave Fernando out of it!"
"She did promise," I told her.
"Well she didn't!"
"She's a liar," I pointed out. Which should not have come as a shock to me. "Look, I'm sorry, Mom. I tried to steer her away." I paused as I got out of my car and locked it. "Has Ralph seen it?"
She sighed on the other end. "Seen it, yelled at it, practical
ly gave himself an anxiety attack over it."
I cringed. "At least she didn't totally out him, right?"
Mom sighed. "No, she did not. She just made sure everyone will be looking at him like they're wondering what skeletons she meant."
"It's a tabloid. No one takes those seriously," I said, trying to soothe her.
"I hope you're right. Ralph has the finals on Friday. He does not need this type of stress."
"I know," I said, approaching the restaurant. "Look, I have to go, but give him a kiss from me, okay?" I told her before hanging up.
I spotted Dana just outside the door, and she hurried over to me, looking cool and sophisticated in a sky blue minidress and nude sandals.
"Perfect timing," she said, linking her arm through mine. "Ready to interrogate our number one suspect?" She gave me a wink.
I gave her an eye roll in response. "Don't forget, he's the guy who signs your checks."
She scrunched her nose up at me. "Maddie, it's the twenty-first century. Nobody still uses checks."
I would have protested that the expression still stood, but we were already inside. Dana gave her name to the maître d', who informed us that Mr. Blick was already there and led us to a table near the back. The restaurant was charming and elegant with an open floor plan. Crystal chandeliers above our head lit the way and reflected off the bamboo flooring. Several patrons were sitting outside on a veranda that overlooked a lush green garden.
Rupert stood when we approached, and to my surprise, he was not alone. Sitting to his right chatting amicably in a tight purple dress that matched her hair was none other than Tina Bender.
Dana stopped dead in her tracks, and I almost plowed right into her.
Seeming not to notice, Rupert smiled and extended his hand. "So nice to see you, Ms. Dashel. Your agent has been saying such lovely things about you."
"My agent?" Dana asked.
Blick's eyes went to Tina. "Yes, Shirley Partridge."
Tina gave us a big grin and waved.
Oh brother.
"Please have a seat," Rupert said, clearly oblivious to the deception swirling around him.
Tina crossed one combat boot clad leg over the other. "So nice you could join us, Dana. And I see you've brought along your—" She stopped, a deliberate attempt to bring attention to me.
"Publicist," I said quickly. Hey, if she could play games, so could I. "Maddie," I continued, shaking Blick's outstretched hand. "It's very nice to meet you."
Rupert gestured for Dana to sit next to him, and I was the lucky one who found herself seated at Tina's right. I sincerely hoped I didn't kill her before the main course arrived, because then Ramirez would have another case to investigate. Unfortunately, I was in no position to call her out to Rupert, because she could do the same to us.
"It was great luck that Ms. Partridge happened to stop by to see me this morning," Blick went on as we all sat. "Your agent is positively charming, Dana. I told her that I was planning to invite you to lunch today, and it just so happened that she was free as well."
"How fortunate." Dana narrowed her eyes.
Tina stuffed another bite of breadstick into her mouth and talked around it. "Funny, that's just what I said."
The server arrived with a bottle of white wine. He poured some into a glass for Rupert, who took a small sip and then nodded his approval. The waiter then proceeded to pour glasses for all of us.
"I've taken the liberty of ordering for everyone," Rupert said and addressed the waiter. "Avocado salad, leek soup, and seared scallops. Does that sound all right?"
"Perfect." I took a sip of my wine. It was crisp, light, and delicious. If it weren't for the company, I might have enjoyed the meal immensely.
Blick turned to Dana. "So, as I was telling your agent, here, I got a message about your issue on the set of Charlotte's Angels."
"Yes," Dana said slowly. "My issue."
"Don't worry," Tina jumped in. "I already told him all about it."
Uh-oh.
"You did?" Dana said uncertainly, eyes bouncing from Blick to Tina.
"Aw, what are agents for, hon?" Tina downed her glass of wine and promptly poured another.
"Of course, we will take care of it as soon as possible," Blick assured Dana. "We certainly don't want to compromise any of our talent. And, uh, we don't want this to get out publicly either. The tabloids can blow these sorts of things out of proportion."
Dana frowned, eyes going to Tina again. "Yes, they certainly can."
If Tina noted the dig, she ignored it, swirling wine in her glass.
Our salads arrived, and Rupert dug into his as if he hadn't eaten in a week. "So, Ms. Dashel, can you describe the man to me?"
"The man?" Dana looked at him blankly.
"Your stalker." Rupert chewed. "Tina was telling me all about him. I'm unclear how he's getting onto the set."
Dana looked puzzled and exchanged a sideways glance with me. "He's—kind of nondescript," she said.
"Has he said anything to you?" Rupert asked. "Made any inappropriate advances?"
"Uh…kind of?" Dana said.
Tina just grinned, looking like she loved having the upper hand.
"What about his name?" Rupert asked. "Has he identified himself at all?"
Dana glanced across the table at Tina. "Felix," she blurted out.
I snorted wine.
Tina looked like she'd swallowed a bug.
"Felix?" Blick said, nodding.
"Yes, Felix Dunn. He's, uh, slim. Kinda always looks like he just rolled out of bed. Wrinkled clothes, messy hair. British accent."
Blick nodded. "Mm-hmm. Okay, good. I'll be sure to give that name and description to our security office."
"They should be sure not to let him on the lot," Dana finished. Her turn to send a triumphant grin Tina's way.
"Oh, trust me, we're tightening security at all the gates," Blick assured her. "Between you and me, two women talked their way onto the lot yesterday, claiming to be from People magazine." He shook his head in disbelief. "Turns out the names they gave our guard were phony. People has never heard of them."
"Any idea who they really were?" I asked, trying to sound as innocent as possible.
Luckily, Blick shook his head. "No. Apparently they just came and went. But they could have been any sort of criminals."
Tina avoided eye contact with me. "You never know these days," she said and poured herself some more wine.
"I don't suppose the guard got a good look at them?" I asked, trying to keep the concern out of my voice.
Blick shook his head. "Not really. Young, female. He said one of them mentioned interviewing Brad Pitt, but that was all he really remembered." He picked up the breadbasket and discovered it was empty. He snapped his fingers at the waiter, who immediately hurried over to refill it. "Anyway, we'll be triple checking any credentials at the gates from now on."
"I imagine you have to be careful after what happened to Doggy Z," Tina said, clearly pushing for an opening.
Blick paused with his wineglass halfway to his mouth. "I see you read about that theory in the tabloids this morning too."
Read about. Wrote. They were similar.
"I'm sure everyone did," Tina said. "It's a very popular magazine."
Blick shook his head. "It's rubbish."
"So you don't think Dog's death was homicide?" Dana asked.
"Of course not," he said, shooting that down. "Unfortunate accident."
"So, you think Dog accidentally added antifreeze to his own energy drink?" I asked slowly.
Blick frowned, stabbing a cucumber with vigor. "Is that how they're saying he was poisoned?"
I licked my lips, glancing at Tina. "It's one theory I've heard."
Blick shook his head. "Well, it's a tragedy. That's what it is. A terrible tragedy."
"Did you know Dog well?" Dana asked, her expression sympathetic.
"He'd been at the network for a couple of years," Blick said, not really answering the question at
all.
"And he worked closely with your wife, didn't he?" I asked. "Aunty Mae?"
His fork stabbed so hard at a crouton that it nearly flew across the table. "They worked together. I don't know about closely."
"I've seen the show," Tina said. "They hated each other. It was charming."
"Yes, well, tension is good for ratings." Blick shoved the crouton into his mouth and chewed with gusto.
"Speaking of tension, there was some between you and Dog on the Jeopardy! set, wasn't there?" I asked.
He swallowed quickly. "Who told you that?"
"Oh, you know. Publicists talk," I said vaguely. "But you did argue with him, didn't you?"
He cleared his throat. "Dog was not taking the appearance as seriously as I had hoped he would. At the time, I suspected he was high."
As had I. Only he'd not been so much high as poisoned.
"Quite frankly," Blick went on, "he was making a mockery of the whole thing. After I'd specifically arranged for him to be on the show."
"You're the one who secured Dog a spot on Jeopardy!?" Tina asked.
He nodded. "I thought it would be good publicity for the cooking show." He shook his head ruefully. "I never dreamed it would turn out this way."
Our entrées arrived, and we all fell silent until the waiter had departed. As soon as he left, Blick resumed eating with the same gusto he'd displayed for his salad. I, too, dug into my meal. The scallops were delicious and melted in my mouth.
"I'm curious, Blick," Tina said, swallowing a bite. "If you wanted publicity for In the Kitchen with Aunty Mae and the Dog, why not put your wife on Jeopardy!?"
He barked out a laugh. "Well, if you've seen the cooking show, you know that woman is as dumb as a post. It would have been cruel to embarrass her that way."
A true romantic. I hid my disdain with another heavenly bite of my free meal.
"Did Mae feel the same way? That Dog was the best choice?" Tina asked, eyes gleaming with the glee of a juicy gossip story. Celebrity marriages gone awry were right up her alley.
"Hmm?" Blick looked up from his meal.
"How did your wife feel about Dog representing the show on Jeopardy!?" Tina repeated.
Blick shrugged. "I'm sure she was fine with it."
Jeopardy in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries Book 12) Page 12
