Shrieking brakes jerked a car to a stop at a red light in front of him, pulling Nick’s thoughts back to the present; and to his meeting with Sutton Arnold. As he hustled amongst hundreds of strangers, dodging honking taxis, bikes whizzing by, and delivery trucks spewing out cough-inducing smoke, he couldn’t help thinking whatever had driven Sutton from the warmth and sunshine of his home to this bleak, freezing city, it had to be severe. Surprisingly, Peter’s son had actually taken his call when he’d phoned the ad firm where he worked and invited him to dinner at a restaurant near the Times Square Marriott where Nick was staying.
Reading the number on an approaching street sign, Nick saw he still had one more block before he reached 48th Street. Three blocks hadn’t seemed like much on the phone, but if he’d known how cold it was, he’d have called immediately for a cab.
Willing away the chill, he went back to thinking about his upcoming conversation with Sutton. Getting information from an interview subject had to be done with finesse. Usually, they didn’t want to tell you the things you really wanted to know. His job was to pluck that information out anyway, most often by getting the subject to relax and freely associate their thoughts until nuggets of gossip appeared after sifting through all the meaningless bullshit they did want to talk about. Sometimes, however, getting to the truth required putting the subject on edge, taking a hard tack, like blasting into a rich vein of metal in a mine, until the subject gave up their secrets under the attacking force of his questions. Nick wondered which type of subject Sutton would be.
At last, he made it to his destination and he stepped inside, shaking off the cold. The hostess, a dark-haired woman with matching eyes, looked up from her stand near the door and smiled.
“May I help you, Sir?”
He nodded. “I’m meeting someone.” He spotted Sutton, his red hair giving him away at a corner booth. Nick stepped away from the hostess and headed toward the booth. “He’s right there. Thank you.”
Sutton looked up when Nick approached and stood to greet him. “Mr. Beck, it’s good to see you again. How have you been?”
“Please, call me Nick.” He took Sutton’s offered hand, giving it a firm shake. “It’s good to see you, too.”
As he slid in to the booth, Nick studied Peter’s son, now a grown man. He was tall and thin, like his mother. His mannerisms held none of the superficially friendly bearings of his father. Rather, Sutton was reserved and polite. Seemed sincere even.
He slid a menu in Nick’s direction before opening his own. “The prime rib is great here, if you’re still into eating red meat.”
“I am. Thanks for the tip.”
Sutton grinned. “I’m sure that’s not the only tip you’re looking for from me.”
The kid was direct, Nick thought. He liked that about him. In a perfect world, directness was the game he liked to play best. “It’s not,” he said. “I’m hoping you can give me some inside information on your father.”
Sutton visibly cringed at the mention of his father, but said nothing. Instead, he turned to the waitress who had just shown up at their table, pen and paper in hand. “I’ll have the prime rib, medium rare, with a baked potato. And another Coke, please.”
She quickly jotted down the order and looked next at Nick.
“Prime rib sounds good. I’ll have the same, only done rare. And could you please substitute a Glenlivet on the rocks for the Coke?”
“Sure.”
She wrote down the second order and hurried off, leaving Nick the chance to zero in on his subject. “I understand your relationship with your father went bad shortly before you left for New York. Mind telling me why?”
Sutton shook his head. “Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on why you want to know.”
His answer surprised Nick. Why did the kid want to protect a father he clearly despised? He narrowed his gaze on Sutton. “Looking to protect the family name?”
“I don’t care about the family name.” Sutton leaned forward and returned Nick’s stare. “You can write any piece of trash about my father in your paper you want. I really don’t mind. And you can quote me on that.”
“I will.”
“But,” the tone in Sutton’s voice turned hard now. “There are other people involved in my feud with my father who don’t deserve to be hurt by having certain information from the past plastered all over the news for the whole world to see.”
Who was he protecting? Nick nodded toward Sutton. “You, for example?”
“No. Not me.”
“Your mother then? Your sister?”
Sutton sat back, folding his arms across his chest, closing off the conversation. “You still haven’t told me why you want to know.”
“Fair enough.” Nick paused while the waitress set down his drink and took a swallow, letting the liquid glide down his throat and pool warmly into his stomach. “I’m less interested in digging up a headline than in simply finding out what kind of a man your father really is.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I think he had something to do with Janelle’s murder.” There. He’d said it. Brought it out into the open.
Surprisingly, Sutton never even blinked.
“Why do you think that?”
“I think she found out something Peter and his friends didn’t want known. Something more than just the blackmail scheme Rod Skinner and Patrice McKenzie were involved in.”
A smirk curled around the corner of Sutton’s mouth. “That’s easy enough to imagine.”
Was it? All this time, Nick imagined Peter’s involvement with Rod was his only involvement with Janelle’s death, but maybe he had it backwards. Maybe Rod’s involvement with Peter was his only connection to the murder. What seemed obvious now was that Pearl should have been more closely questioned. “Sutton, what do you know about your father? Is he capable of having killed my wife?”
Sutton looked him over carefully, as if trying to decide whether to trust him. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders, as if deciding what the hell. “I think my father had something to do with my mother’s disappearance.”
Yes, but there had to be more to it than that. “That makes two of us. If you told me what else you know about your father, I could have something more to take to the police.”
“I’ve already telephoned the Coral Gables Police Department, and they said my father has an airtight alibi for the day mother disappeared.”
“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved.”
“No. It doesn’t. It does mean I can’t prove it though.”
The kid was holding something back. His hands were closed and his gaze had shifted. Nick pressed on. “Why do you think Peter had something to do with your mother’s disappearance? Does it have something to do with why you left town?”
The kid shook his head. “No. She would never tell anyone about that, but she used to fight with him all the time. About his affairs. That sort of thing. Used to ask him why he never reported any of those little flings in his paper. And then my dad would threaten her. Tell her to shut up, or he’d shut her up permanently.”
So there was a mean side to the nice guy image Peter showed the world. Hardly a revelation considering the man had kept their petty feud alive for more than a decade. Still, he hadn’t dug out Sutton’s real secrets. Only what the kid felt comfortable telling him. He needed to keep probing. “It’s time we stopped tap dancing around the real issue here, Sutton. Why did you come to New York? What really happened to cause you to disown your father?”
Sutton looked down at the table, and then back up at Nick. “If I tell you this, it’s for your ears only. I don’t want to see it printed in your paper. Ever.”
“Alright. It’s off the record. You have my word.” And his word, he would keep. Now he hoped he hadn’t just taken a pass on the headline of the century.
On the other side of the booth, Sutton sucked in a deep breath. “I had a girlfriend when I was seventeen,” he began. “I’m not going to tell you her name, so
don’t ask.”
“Okay.”
“And I really, really loved her. We talked about going to the prom together, going to college. Even getting married someday.”
Nick saw the faraway look in Sutton’s eyes; painful memories parading through his thoughts. An emotional tie connected them in that instant, of having loved and lost. “What happened?”
“She came over to my house one day while I was still at basketball practice. My dad was the only one there.” Sutton paused, closing his eyes.
A sick feeling pitted itself in Nick’s gut. He knew what was coming next, and it made him want to punch Peter’s lights out. “And?”
“And when I came home she and my dad were on the couch having sex.”
Thoughts of betrayal swirled through Nick’s mind. Thoughts of Janelle and Rod. Contradictory forces pulled at him, urging him to both drop the matter and press for more details. Instead he waited, letting a moment of quiet envelope them and hang in the air, until Sutton felt obligated to fill the void.
“She didn’t do it because she wanted to,” Sutton continued. The tone in his voice had become defensive. “My dad got her drunk. She could hardly remember what happened the next day.”
“I see.”
“It’s true.”
“I believe you.”
“She would never have willing had sex with my dad. She hadn’t even had sex with me yet. She was still a virgin.”
Nick felt sympathy for the kid. “This girlfriend of yours,” he said. “Is there any chance I could speak with her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s dead.”
The word hit home. Struck at his heart like a sucker punch. “Dead?”
“Yes. Dead. She died in a car accident two months later. So you see her family has already suffered enough. They don’t need to see her name in the papers rehashing the dirt of the past.”
That certainly explained things. “I’m very sorry, Sutton. Unfortunately, I know exactly how you feel.”
Sutton stared down at the tabletop, never raising his gaze. “I know you do. That’s the only reason I agreed to talk to you.”
Their food came then, and they ate in silence.
Chapter 46
To say her day had been hectic was an understatement. Jamie spent two hours camped out in front of the doorway of Café Coffee, hoping to snap a photo or two of Mindy LePage and her newest fling, Earl Grayson, only to have the lovebirds give her the slip out the back door. After that, she’d bribed a waiter, who’d said he’d overheard them saying they were going back to the Four Seasons for some ‘bonding time.’
The doorman at the hotel had given her a hard time about bringing her camera equipment inside. No doubt, having been paid off by the camera shy duo. Briefly, she’d considered ditching the D90 for something less noticeable, but knew the CoolPix, which could be easily concealed inside her purse, would never get her the quality of photograph Nick would find useful for his paper. As she’d stood out on the hot sidewalk, pondering her next move, the tall office building next door had given her an idea. Lugging her entire bag of equipment up to the roof, she’d been lucky enough, after an hour of patiently waiting, to catch Mindy and Earl lounging on the balcony of their top floor suite. As an added bonus, Mindy was topless. Jamie couldn’t wait to see the look on Nick’s face when she brought him his prize.
After that, she’d grabbed a burger from a drive through and headed over to the studio where Earl Grayson’s latest Storm Jackson action flick was filming, sweet-talking one of the security guards into letting her poke around the set for a few minutes. This time carrying the Nikon CoolPix concealed in her purse and pretending to be a filmmaker scouting locations.
Luck had stayed on her side, and she snapped off half a dozen photos of the empty set before she was spotted by an assistant director, who apparently had nowhere better to be on Thanksgiving, and escorted off the set. Fortunately for her, the assistant hadn’t thought to confiscate her camera. After that, she’d headed home to download her pictures.
In only three days, she’d come up with three great stories. The greatest of which, Heather, was now tucked away in her apartment. And none of which would make up for the one thing she’d been unable to give Nick, Rod’s movie of Janelle.
With her body tired from a long day that still wasn’t over, and her mind tired from her myriad thoughts, she stepped through the front door of her apartment, only to be confronted by a ringing cell phone before she’d even had a chance to pull her keys from the door. “Hello.”
“What’s the matter, James? You sound all out of breath.”
“Hey, Danny. Just trying to get in my front door is all. Aren’t you supposed to be home having Thanksgiving dinner with your family?”
“Who says I’m not?”
“Good point.”
Heather poked her head through the doorway of her bedroom. The girl rubbed her stomach. “Good. You’re home. Can we go get dinner now? And can I bring a friend with us? He said he could meet us here.”
Jamie held up her hand. “I’ll be with you in a little bit. I have some business to discuss first.”
Heather nodded and disappeared, leaving Jamie to rummage for a pen and pad of paper from her camera bag. “Okay, Danny, shoot. What news do you have for me?”
“Just a little bombshell about who the real owner of that porn film studio is.”
“You mean it’s not Rod?”
“I wouldn’t kid about a thing like that, James.”
“Do tell. Who owns the place?”
“It’s a long paper trail. The movies are put out by Midnight Entertainment, LLC, which produces and distributes them, and leases the building they’re filmed in from PFA Realty Holdings, Inc., who just happens to be the managing member of Midnight Entertainment.”
“So who owns PFA Realty?”
“A Bahamian firm, A and S Partners, Inc., whose sole stockholder is a Cayman company called Good Times Incorporated.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“No. That’s really what it’s called. Good Times Incorporated. And guess who prepared all the incorporated papers.”
“Who?”
“Rod Skinner.”
Jamie set her pen down and thought for a moment. “I thought he was disbarred.”
“Disbarred, yes. That doesn’t mean he can’t fill out a set of incorporation documents. Don’t need a legal license to do that.”
“So Rod owns Good Times Incorporated?”
“Yeah, but only five percent. Guess who owns the other ninety-five percent?”
“Who?”
“Peter Arnold.”
“I knew it.” Jamie set down her purse and her camera bag and sank into a nearby recliner. “I just knew it. That scum-sucking sleaze-bag. Wait until Nick hears this. Have you been able to reach him yet?”
“Not yet, but I got a text from him this morning with info on his flight home. It’s due in from New York in about a half an hour.”
“Oh.” She thought of the Thanksgiving dinner they wouldn’t be sharing, and all the food she’d been too depressed to cook. And what was it Heather had said about bringing a friend with them to dinner? She’d just as soon go curl up in bed and wait for the day to be over.
“Hey, James. You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Well, you don’t sound fine all of the sudden. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just concerned about Heather in light of that news. You didn’t find out anything about her, did you?”
“Have you ever known me to not find out something?”
“Not once you put your mind to it.”
“Well, today is no exception. I’ve got all the pertinent facts for you. You got something to write with?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“Well, the dad, Harold Sorenson, is in jail in Jacksonville on a drug charge. The mom, Virginia Gustaf, lives in a trailer park in Daytona Beach. Reported her as a ru
naway almost a year ago.”
“A year? She’s been on the streets that long?” Jamie didn’t want to think about what she’d done to survive all that time.”
“Looks like it.”
“So what’s the deal with the mom? Was her home life really worse than what she’s been facing out on the streets?”
“Hard to say. Mom’s been popped a couple of times for possession and solicitation herself.”
“So there’s no point in trying to reunite her with her mother?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“The girl needs to be in rehab, James. I guarantee she’s already been slipping out, finding drugs to shoot up while you’ve been out working.”
Jamie hated to think so, but Danny was probably right. Responsibility for the girl’s future gnawed at her, with no easy answers. “I know she needs rehab. I just don’t know how to get her there. I don’t even have the legal standing to check her in someplace.”
“I know you don’t want to hear this, James, but it’s time you called the police.”
“I can’t do that, Danny. I promised her I wouldn’t call the police.”
“I know you don’t want to, but I don’t see how you really have a choice.”
Holding her head in her hands, Jamie sighed. “I know I don’t have a choice. I just wish I could think of a better way to deal with things. Have Nick call when he gets in, okay? I’ll just add this to the list of things I need to talk to him about.”
“Sure, James. I’ll tell him.”
Jamie hung up the phone, prepared to battle a migraine, and found herself staring up at the angry, reddened face of Heather Sorenson.
“You calling the cops on me?”
Jamie shook her head. “Of course not. I promised you I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but I heard what you said to your friend. You said you didn’t have a choice. You said I needed to be in rehab.”
Gossip (Desire Never Dies) Page 20
