“Private meeting, I guess,” Sofia said.
Aidan glared at the door before walking back to his desk. “Isn’t the new design amazing? Priscilla says grapefruit is an energizing color. Yet calming.”
Sofia had left the peanuts in the car.
He picked something off his chair. “What’s this?”
“Earmuffs,” she said. “For your unsightly dimple.”
He scowled.
“You’ll barely notice them. They’re white.”
He looked down at the fuzzy earmuffs. “More of an eggshell.”
“You’re definitely expanding your color palette,” she said. “Honey-pot.”
“If I pay you a dollar, will you never call me that again?”
“That’s not even SAG standard rates.” SAG stood for Screen Actors Guild, their union and, since she was a member, she couldn’t accept any acting job for less than that.
He rolled his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be working?”
He wasn’t exactly working either, but she let that go. “I was thinking we ought to contact jet-ski rental places up and down the coast. They’re not legal in Malibu, so it had to have been brought in from somewhere else.”
“How do you know he didn’t own it?”
“Did you see him drive it up onto the beach?”
They spoke in unison: “Rental.”
“On it.” He set his earmuffs on his desk, looked at them for a second, like he was really considering putting them on, and started typing.
She opened her email and groaned. She hadn’t been able to do much since the Priscilla bomb had gone off in their office, and she’d been out for two weeks before that. She had a lot to get through.
Brendan’s door opened and Mrs. Solov swept out, head held as high as that of a princess walking among the rabble. She paraded across the room and out of the front door.
That, Sofia thought, was how you made an exit.
She looked at Aidan. He sat frozen with his hands poised above his keyboard.
Brendan spoke from his office doorway. “Mrs. Solov has requested that we stop following her husband for infidelity. She says it was a giant misunderstanding.”
“Can we submit expenses?” Sofia was thinking of her bill from Nobu, and the pricy caviar she’d bought for Fred. Those seemed like business expenses.
“We have a new charter,” Brendan continued, like he hadn’t heard.
Sounded like she was on the hook for her gull treats. She missed the days when Fred was happy with leftover pizza.
17
They were all in Brendan’s new office ready to hear about their new charter. It smelled great. Maybe Sofia could ask Priscilla to make the outside office smell that good. Or her trailer.
“This case has taken a turn.” Brendan rested his elbows on his new leather blotter and looked at them meaningfully.
The muscle under Aidan’s right eye twitched. That didn’t bode well.
“Because we lost control of the footage,” Brendan said, “it’s in the hands of someone who wishes our client ill.”
Sofia thought it was pretty generous of him to use the word “we” since it had been her and Aidan’s fault. She tried to keep a neutral expression. No need to look guiltier than she already was.
“Dr. Solov has been contacted by the man in possession of the memory card. He requests that they buy it back from him,” Brendan continued. “Mrs. Solov thought we could help with that transaction.”
Sofia took a second to unpack that. The Solovs were being blackmailed.
“Are we sure that the guy with the jet ski was a blackmailer?” Aidan asked.
“And not some guy shooting random seagulls and snatching memory cards out of the air, like Jackie Chan?” She hated to point out the obvious. “Likely?”
“Could happen.” Aidan was being stubborn, as usual. Priscilla would probably train that out of him eventually.
“Why not go to the police?” She figured someone should ask the obvious question. There was always a reason. Brendan had probably asked the client already.
“The client has given us cash to pay the blackmailer to make certain that the contents of that memory card don’t become public knowledge,” Brendan said. “They would rather pay than go to the police.”
“Why?” Aidan asked.
“Good question.” Brendan put his elbows on his new blotter and leaned forward. “Based on what you saw, why do you think the Solovs would like to keep it private?”
“Not infidelity,” she pointed out. “Mrs. Solov came here because she was interested in infidelity. If the blackmailer leaks the footage, she gets what she wanted from the beginning.”
“Maybe it was illegal infidelity.” Aidan swallowed. “Maybe Dr. Solov and one or more of the underage girls were having . . . inappropriate contact.”
She sure hoped not, but it wasn’t an unreasonable guess. “A party full of underage girls and vodka aren’t the best-case scenario for him.”
“Vodka?” Brendan asked.
“I attached photos to my report. There was a giant bottle of vodka at one end of the table.” She thought for a second. “I don’t remember seeing it after the cops arrived. Someone must have stashed it.”
Another bad sign. Something to hide.
“We’ll take a look at the footage before we give it back to the client,” Brendan said. “We can’t condone child abuse or molestation. If there’s something like that there, we’ll talk to the police.”
“Not just that. What about serving alcohol to minors at a private party?” She felt like an old maiden aunt, but she hated to think of Yvette boozing it up with Dr. Solov.
All in all, Mrs. Solov probably would have been happier if Fred had eaten that memory card.
“Is that a judgment call?” Aidan asked.
“We’ll make our assessments when we get the footage back.” Brendan used his firm voice. He was having to pull it out a lot, these days.
“Maybe it’s something harmless,” Aidan said.
“Like what?” Sofia asked. People didn’t give cash to blackmailers for harmless actions.
“He’s a plastic surgeon.” Aidan touched his ear dimple. “Maybe it was about plastic-surgery procedures. Like a Botox party.”
“A Botox party?” Sofia’s voice rose on the last word more than she liked.
Brendan looked puzzled.
“Priscilla uses it and she looks amazing.” Aidan sounded defensive. “Really amazing.”
“She doesn’t need it. And neither do those girls. Some of them were fourteen years old.” Sofia was outraged.
“It’s preventive,” Aidan said.
Brendan’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding.”
“It’s not preventive—it’s crazy!” She couldn’t even go there.
Aidan pointed to her forehead. “See how you’re frowning? That creates a double L between your eyes. In ten years, those lines will be wrinkles.”
She slapped her forehead with her palm. “Fourteen! That’s about halfway between me and Violet. Kids. Injecting. Poison. Into. Their. Faces.”
Brendan looked ill. That was how she felt.
Aidan kept touching his ear dimple.
She was starting to dislike Priscilla. “And I’m not sure it’s legal to inject Botox into kids. Even with parental permission.”
“It’s a legal gray area,” Aidan said, like he’d actually researched it.
Brendan had the last word. “Let’s get the footage and see.”
Sofia knew the argument was over, and so did Aidan. “Who does the hand-off and wears the wire?” she asked.
“Me,” Aidan said. “I have the most experience with that kind of stuff.”
Brendan cleared his throat.
“You do, obviously, Dad.” Aidan was backpedaling so fast he’d fallen off his metaphorical bicycle. “But that’s why you should be monitoring and calling for backup if we need it.”
“The blackmailer has requested Sofia,” Brendan said.
She w
asn’t sure if she ought to be flattered. She decided not.
“By name?” Aidan asked skeptically.
“Actually,” Brendan smiled, “he requested the Half Pint Detective.”
“That was just a role I played.” She wasn’t sure why she was bothering to point that out. Both of them had been on set with her for years.
“Are you comfortable going in?” Aidan asked.
She’d done it before, on screen and off, so she raised an eyebrow and didn’t bother answering.
“Good,” said Brendan. “Let’s get started.”
18
Sofia drove the Tesla too fast, trying to freak out Aidan so he’d stop talking about Priscilla. She was tired of peanuts.
“I mean it,” he said, as if she’d argued or grimaced or done anything at all to express interest. “I think Priscilla would make a good mother.”
She slammed on the brakes to avoid ending up under a semi-truck. “Really?”
Aidan flinched, but recovered from his moment of panic far more quickly than usual. Sadly. “Why not?”
“What if your kids have ear dimples?”
“It’s a minor surgery.”
She groaned. She couldn’t help it. “What if your kids need preventive Botox before preschool?”
“She’s not like that.” He didn’t sound so sure of it, and stared sulkily out of the window while Sofia maneuvered through traffic.
She hoped he’d at least think about it. She was trying to give Priscilla a chance, but it wasn’t easy. She glanced in her rearview mirror. Brendan’s Crown Vic was a few cars behind. He’d kept pace even when she’d executed her craziest moves. Of course, he’d helped teach her stunt-driving. She wondered who had taught Aidan to drive. A half-blind maiden aunt, probably.
“Does Brendan seem tired to you?” Aidan spoke up again.
“Like the time we followed him to the kidney clinic?” Tailing Brendan hadn’t been one of their finest moments, and it had turned out that the son of a friend of his needed the kidney, not him. She still felt guilty about invading his privacy like that. Friends don’t tail friends.
“He was looking tired before that. It’s why we jumped to the wrong conclusion.”
“He doesn’t look tired.” She hoped not. “He looks great! He’s no spring chicken, that’s all.”
“Exactly my point. Priscilla thinks it might be time for him to retire so I can take over and run things the right way.”
She tightened her fingers on the steering wheel so hard the leather creaked. “Brendan runs things just fine!”
He plowed ahead. “Priscilla says you could do more honey-trap work. If you do something with your hair.”
“My hair? What’s wrong with it?”
He gestured toward his head, but she only caught it out of the corner of her eye as she turned into a parking lot by the pier. Just as well. But maybe she should let Gray’s friend give her some haircut advice. If even Aidan noticed, it must be bad.
She found a parking space and pulled in.
“There’s good money in honey-traps,” he said.
“Maybe you should go back to your dancing career and do your own honey-traps! Your hair is perfect for that already.” She turned off the engine and glared at him. “I didn’t become a detective to get married men to make passes at me. That isn’t helping people. That’s destroying marriages.”
He held up his hands in a placating way, like she was a fussy two-year-old who didn’t want to eat her vegetables. “It’s for the greater good.”
She wasn’t placated. “Maybe you should wait awhile before making all your life decisions based on the advice of someone you’ve known for two weeks.”
“Sometimes that’s enough.”
She wanted to slap that dreamy expression right off his face. She opened her mouth to argue, but before she got a word out, Aidan said, “I’m thinking of proposing to Priscilla.”
She snapped her jaw closed so fast her teeth clicked together. “Proposing?”
Brendan tapped on her window, and she levitated a good inch off her seat. She pushed open her door and stepped out. Aidan stayed in the car, probably daydreaming about his upcoming nuptials. The bride, she was sure, would wear white.
Brendan gave her an enquiring look.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Would you like a peanut?”
Brendan ate one.
She took a calming breath and felt her face settle into a friendly mask. A quick roll of the shoulders and she was ready to go onstage.
“You OK?” Brendan asked.
She didn’t even know where to start. Aidan married. Brendan forced to retire. Honey-trap work. She took another breath. Calming breaths weren’t working as well as they usually did.
“This is perfect.” Aidan had gotten out and stood with his elbows on the Tesla’s roof.
“Perfect?” Her voice sounded a little angry, but much calmer than she felt.
“It’s a public place, long sightlines. You’ll be very safe.” Aidan pointed to the pier.
“Yup.” She shouldn’t be so out of sorts. Priscilla sounded like the perfect woman for him. And why should she care whom Aidan married?
Brendan studied the two of them. “I’ll head back to my car. You stay here with Aidan and talk. I’ll turn on the wire.”
The wire was actually her cell phone, carried in the breast pocket of her shirt. She’d tried to dress a little like Cassie that morning, and it was already paying off. She fumbled with her phone, setting it up.
“Why are you mad about this?” Aidan asked quietly, before she got the recording app turned on. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”
“You caught me by surprise. Plus the honey-trap thing.”
“Hey.” He stood so close she could smell his cologne. Amazing Priscilla hadn’t changed it already. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Damn right.” She had the app open, but her finger hovered over the record button.
“You’re too important to the agency to let go.”
“Does Priscilla agree with that?” She didn’t like the thought of justifying her job to Priscilla. Or Aidan.
“I think that.” He kept his voice low.
She looked up into his familiar blue eyes, not sure what to say.
“Besides,” he said, “with that hair you’d be no good at it, and clearly getting a haircut is non-negotiable.”
She smiled. “Damn right it is.”
She tapped the button. “Recording now.”
“Testing, one, two, three,” Aidan said.
Over in the Crown Vic, Brendan gave them a thumbs-up.
Sofia walked over to Brendan’s car. “Is the sound quality good enough?”
“A little wind noise, but not too bad,” Brendan said. “Try to keep the microphone facing away from the wind during the meet.”
“And be careful,” Aidan said. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”
Whatever that meant.
Brendan’s phone rang. Blocked number. And the blackmailer was calling early.
“It’s show time,” she said.
19
Sofia leaned toward Brendan’s window, trying to overhear the phone call. He hit the speakerphone button. “Hello?”
“Have Half Pint Detective walk out to the pier. Alone.” The voice sounded altered, but maybe Aidan could clean it up electronically. “She should be carrying the envelope of money in her right hand.”
That was oddly specific. She flexed her right hand, wondering about the request.
“Will do.” Brendan peered up at her, silently asking if she was ready.
A butterfly fluttered in her stomach, but it was just stage fright. She’d dealt with that a thousand times.
It was a bright sunny day at the beach. Families, dogs, and tourists milled about everywhere. It seemed like the least sinister place on earth.
The caller hung up.
“Can we figure out the blocked number?” she asked.
“Aidan has some stuff set up and we’ll check it. It’s probably a burner, but we might get lucky. You never want to underestimate the stupidity of your general criminal.” Brendan was in cop mode, his face expressionless and his eyes roving over the parking lot.
She pulled her hair back into a ponytail. That should keep it from getting in the way if things got weird. And, with this case, everything was weird. A quick glance overhead for Fred. No gulls at all. Weird.
A quick thumbs-up for Brendan and she walked across the parking lot. Her phone bounced in her pocket, pulling her shirt in a weird way. But fashion wasn’t her biggest concern right now. Sound quality was. As instructed, she angled her body slightly so the phone’s microphone wasn’t pointing into the wind.
Aidan had peeled off when Brendan’s phone rang. He was supposed to station himself at the near end of the pier to film the encounter and she wanted to give him plenty of time to get into place. It shouldn’t take him long, but maybe he’d have to text Priscilla a couple of times to make sure he was doing it right.
One foot in front of the other. Nobody looked familiar in the parking lot or on the pier, but she wasn’t close enough to be sure. Cars. Trucks. Surfers. Dogs. When she got to the near end of the pier she recognized Aidan. He was in place. Camera on a tripod and pointing down the wooden pier toward the café at the far end. One hand hung by his side. He brought his thumb and finger together in a circle so that only she could see it. The OK gesture.
Everything was ready to go. Time for her to play her role. She rolled her shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped onto the pier. Last time she’d been here she’d been happy and relaxed, enjoying the sunshine and looking for Fred. This time, she was decidedly tense. She did another shoulder roll to keep her shoulders from inching up to her ears.
As Brendan had taught her, she did a quick sweep of the pier. Tourists. Fishermen. Old guy pushing a walker with tennis balls on the bottom. Little kid holding a bag of what might be popcorn. A mother and child over by the fishermen. Nothing out of place. Then, also as Brendan had taught her, she did a slower sweep, searching every part of the scene in front of her. One fisherman had a bite. That Colonel Blake guy from her last visit. Tom. Tom Childers. The other fisherman was a white-haired woman, familiar in a giant hat and overalls. Tex?
F is for Fred Page 9
