F is for Fred

by Rebecca Cantrell

  “Do you honestly think she looked triumphant when she came in to ask us to pay the blackmailer?” Sofia asked. “Honestly?”

  “I don’t know. She’s so Botoxed up I couldn’t tell.”

  “She wasn’t happy.” Sofia ticked off reasons. “Her shoulders were high, her stride was shorter and faster than usual, and her hands were almost jerking when she moved.”

  Brendan whistled. “Now that’s fine detective work.”

  Aidan snorted. “You remember all that?”

  “Don’t you?” She grinned at him.

  He looked a little panicked. Of course he didn’t.

  She took pity on him. He’d had a hard day. “I spent hours watching her walk and sit and move when I did research for my character in Maroon. Her face is different now, but her body language hasn’t changed one bit.”

  “So what’s your takeaway from her body language?” Brendan asked.

  “Whatever she thought was on that video—it scared the crap out of her.”

  21

  Aidan blew out an exasperated breath. “Really?”

  “I agree with Sofia,” Brendan said. “I didn’t get as clear a read on her body language, but when she talked in my office, I could tell she was ill at ease.”

  Aidan held up his hands in defeat. “OK.”

  Brendan pointed at the slot that held the memory card and snapped his fingers.

  “Can’t I make a copy?” Aidan asked. “Give it to my friend to see if that dark section might have stuff edited out?”

  “No copies. That was part of our deal with the client.” Brendan was a stickler for keeping his word.

  “But you said you wanted to look at it and—”

  “And I did and I verified that it contains no footage of anyone breaking the law or of a child being endangered.” He held out his hand palm up. “We shouldn’t be in possession of it anymore.”

  “But what if we haven’t seen the full footage?” Aidan asked.

  “We’ve seen all that we can. We’re not responsible for things that may have been deleted.” Brendan tapped his palm with his finger.

  Aidan ejected the memory card and gave it to him.

  “I’ll deliver this to Mrs. Solov,” Brendan said. “You guys knock off early and close up. We can meet at Marmalade Café tomorrow morning for case review.”

  He left before Sofia could even say goodbye so she half waved at the door.

  “See what I mean?” Aidan said. The door had barely closed behind Brendan. “Leaving early? His mind isn’t in the game anymore.”

  She drank the last sip of her cold coffee. “It’s only ten minutes before six and he’s going to see a client.”

  “Mark my words, he’s getting ready to retire.”

  Mark my words? That sounded like another Priscilla-ism.

  “What do you think Mrs. Solov expected to find on that footage?” She wasn’t interested in talking about Brendan’s retirement.

  He leaned back in his chair. “Dr. Solov and a hot naked chick on the grass?”

  “That’s what she said she wanted to see. What she was paying us to get.”

  “So?”

  “She thought that footage would have something entirely different. Maybe something that would cost her money, not just serve as grounds for a divorce.”

  “OK, so a hot naked minor on the grass?”

  “Minors aren’t supposed to be hot.” She pointed out. “But could it be something else?”

  “It might have been a Botox party. That would explain the long faces. But that’s not necessarily illegal with parental consent. I don’t think the doctor would lose his license over it, not in Malibu.”

  “It ought to be illegal to inject poison into kids to fight imaginary wrinkles.”

  “It has lots of medical uses too, so it’s not like it hasn’t been tested in kids.”

  “Look who’s all Botox-positive now!” She glared at him. “Are you sure you don’t have an invitation to a Botox party yourself? To keep your face pristine.”

  That shut him up for an entire minute. She finished off her last client report and emailed it to Brendan for review, then gathered up her keys and her phone.

  “Could you give me a ride to the place that’s detailing my car?” Aidan asked.

  “Are you sure you won’t be ashamed to be seen in my dusty old Tesla?”

  He looked embarrassed. At least, that was what she thought. She didn’t have a lot of practice seeing that emotion on his face. “How about I pay to get your car detailed?” he suggested.

  “What?” He really was ashamed.

  “Not because of that. I feel bad that I didn’t have your back out there on the pier.”

  She was, uncharacteristically, struck dumb.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”

  A repentant Aidan. Wow. “Everybody makes mistakes.”

  “Priscilla gets a discount there anyway. It’s not too much and she told me that keeping a car really clean adds to the resale value later.”

  She looked around for a peanut. “It sure is nice of her to upgrade all our filthy cars.”

  “Isn’t it?” He beamed.

  Sarcasm. Missed.

  No reason not to get the Tesla spruced up for free, though.

  “I’ll give you a ride.”

  He was mostly quiet on the way, alternating between panic at her driving and responding to Priscilla’s text moans. All in all, she was glad when they arrived, picked up his immaculate Porsche and left her dirty Tesla to have its spa day.

  Then she had to put up with his incredibly slow driving on the way back to Nirvana Cove. She passed the time texting with Gray, who wanted to know if he could send a new deep-conditioning hair treatment over to her house. Now that she’d seen a bird’s-eye view of her head, she had to say yes. She couldn’t show up at the Oscars with hair like that. Maybe the rest of the primping was too much, but even she had to draw the line somewhere.

  After Aidan dropped her at the parking lot, she hiked over to Jeffery’s trailer. She hadn’t been there in a long time, mostly choosing to ignore him so he wouldn’t nag her about returning to work as an actress. But tonight he might be just the guy she needed to see.

  His trailer was painted rusty-red, which seemed like a bad choice for a house made out of metal, but it actually looked pretty good. He’d told her once he’d used a special kind of siding that was flame-resistant. He worried about wildfires. She wondered how flammable her siding was, then shook it off.

  A couple of neat steps led up to his front porch. Star jasmine twined around the railing. She took a deep breath. It smelled amazing. A terracotta pot next to his door overflowed with California poppies, blooms rolled up like tiny umbrellas, waiting for sunshine, not rain, to unfurl.

  It was already almost dark and blue light flickered behind his windows. He must be watching TV with the lights off.

  She rang a doorbell that tinkled like wind chimes. Frankly, the whole experience was far too whimsical, and it was creeping her out.

  Jeffery answered a second later, wearing slacks and an untucked green shirt. He must have had meetings in town today or he’d have been in his board shorts.

  “Come on in,” he said. “I was about to open a bottle of wine.”

  “I can’t stay long.”

  He was already halfway to the kitchen. “I got these great bottles from that Armenian winery up on the hill. It’s a historical wine from ancient days of wine-making.”

  “Areni noir?” she asked.

  Jeffery stopped, then turned to look at her. “I thought your mom was the wine connoisseur.”

  “Maloney Investigations had a case up there.” It had started as a neighbor suspected of stealing water and ended in murder. “Did you get the stuff aged in the clay amphorae?”

  “I did.” Jeffery pulled a bottle out of a wine refrigerator built into his counter, opened it and poured them each a glass. “Never tasted anything like it.”

  After she took her
glass, he held his up in a toast. “To old friends.”

  Was he an old friend? He’d been around in her life forever and he’d never done anything really awful. In Hollywood, that was a lot. She clinked his glass. “Old friends.”

  She took a sip. Berries, wine, a little bit of the clay in the background, just like she remembered it. “Nice.”

  “What brings my second favorite client over for a visit?” he asked. “Are you looking to make a change?”

  She took a long sip of wine.

  “I heard of this great script about a general from the Revolutionary War who was a woman but lived as a man. It needs some work, but you’d be—”

  “I’m actually here about your first favorite client.” She pointed toward the TV with her half-empty wine glass. The screen was covered with a giant picture of Fred, admiring his reflection in a window. He was such a diva.

  “I got some good footage today,” he said. “Fred could be a cameraman. A cinematographer.”

  She laughed. The wine was so good it was making Jeffery less annoying. Maybe that was why her mom always had a glass in her hand. It took the edge off. “I was wondering if you saw anything unusual.”

  “Have a seat. I can bring up the raw footage.” He went over to his computer. “I know what you want.”

  She sat on his silk ottoman. An ex-girlfriend had made it by sewing Jeffery’s out-of-fashion neckties together. Sofia couldn’t remember her name, but she was quite the upholsterer. The ottoman looked great. She even recognized a green necktie Jeffery used to wear when she’d first met him as a little girl. She ran one finger along the smooth silk. How had she run out of wine already?

  “The bottle’s on the counter,” Jeffery said, without taking his eyes off the screen.

  She stood and refilled her glass. Jeffery’s was only missing a sip. He must have had an easier day than she’d had.

  He fast-forwarded through an ordinary Fred morning, then brought it to a stop when Fred flew over the pier. Just as she’d hoped. Fred had caught the whole meeting on his bird-cam. That was two crimes in two days: whatever had been cut from the blackmail footage yesterday and her paying to get the memory card back today. How many crimes did Fred catch on film when she wasn’t around?

  She watched herself walk down the pier. She looked much more nervous than she expected. She needed to work on her poker face, her relaxed walk. She walked like an amateur.

  Where were the guys? Brendan was too far away to be in the frame, back in his listening post at the car. Aidan was watching her, his body facing her, arms tense, ready for action. She was glad to see he’d been paying attention at the beginning.

  Tiny onscreen Sofia dropped off the money and ran to the end of the pier while Fred circled overhead, much more interested in the fishermen than the drama unfolding beneath him. She had a good running stride, she was happy to notice. Maybe not Tom Cruise-worthy, but she didn’t run like Harrison Ford either.

  Fred circled Tex’s bait bucket and got a solid shot of the jet ski pulling up to the pier. A man clambered up a post and onto the planks. Then he grabbed the money. He was tall, with excellent posture, but she couldn’t make out his face.

  “Can we enhance that?” she asked. “I want to know who that guy is.”

  Sure, it was a long shot, but it was her best lead. And she’d got good wine. This visit was already worth it.

  “I can tell you now who it is. It’s . . .” Jeffery paused dramatically.

  “Really?” Sure, Jeffery always said he knew everyone, but this was stretching it.

  “Rhett Fantome.”

  “Is he related to Yvette Fantome?”

  “Her dear old dad.”

  “You sure?” That seemed too much of a coincidence for Jeffery to be wrong.

  “Of course I am!” He sounded insulted. “A friend represented him once, way before your time.”

  “For what?”

  “He worked as a child actor, mostly as an extra. A few commercials. He was hoping to make it as an adult, but he never did. He got married to a dentist. Tall. Red hair. Then he fell off the radar, had some drugs arrests. Got divorced.”

  “Why didn’t he make it?” Not that there had to be a reason. Almost no one made it in the business.

  “That smile of his.” Jeffery shuddered. “It might work these days. There’s a lot of horror. Fifteen years ago? No.”

  “So Yvette’s mom is a dentist?”

  “Yup. She might have a chance as an actress.”

  “Yvette?”

  “She’s pretty enough, a solid worker too, like you were. But she has her father’s smile.”

  “It’s not that bad.” Although, to be fair, she hadn’t seen Yvette smile.

  “Her mother’s working with a smile coach. We’ll see where that leads.”

  A smile coach for a little girl. Sofia knew her own mother wouldn’t have done that. “Maybe you ought to get a smile coach for Fred. He always looks angry.”

  “He only looks angry to you because you always feed him junk. He looks happy when he’s eating my caviar.”

  “Are you going to use that footage?”

  “Just the end of it, when you meet up with those fans at the end for pictures. You’re still a big enough name that Fred will get some hits off that.”

  She was happy to have left her acting career behind, but she felt a chill when he’d said ‘still’. And, if Brendan left the agency, it might be good to have something to fall back on. “Can I get a copy of the footage?”

  “Sure.” Jeffery fussed with his computer while she sipped her wine.

  “I emailed it to you,” he said. “You’ll get a link from DropBox.”

  He was very computer-savvy for an old guy. “Thanks.”

  “Could you not post that footage tomorrow either? The part where we do the money exchange?” she asked. “Or maybe not post it at all?”

  “It doesn’t make you look bad,” he said.

  “That isn’t the point.”

  “If you don’t want me to post it, I won’t.”

  She wanted to make him pinky swear or something, but decided not to.

  “I have some crackers,” Jeffery said. “And caviar. We could have a Fred snack.”

  She headed into his kitchen. After watching Fred eat caviar all day, she was having a craving.

  22

  Since she didn’t have a car, Aidan had picked her up. He even complimented her hair. She’d done a deep condition, so it did look better. But for Aidan to notice, he had to be feeling pretty guilty.

  They ran by the car detailer before work, and her Tesla looked gorgeous. It sparkled in the sunshine, red paint as glossy as the day she’d bought it. The interior smelled so good she hadn’t even rolled down a window on the way to the office, just breathed in that new-car leathery smell. Priscilla was right about the importance of keeping your car clean.

  But maybe she’d savored it too much, because she was five minutes late when she pulled into the Marmalade Café parking lot. Aidan’s yellow Porsche and Brendan’s black Crown Vic were already there. She hurried to the front door.

  Taylor caught her before she was even two steps inside. “I’ll take you to their table.”

  Not exactly necessary, since she could see them from where she was standing, but maybe it was a new protocol.

  “I didn’t know that you and Gray Cole …” Taylor’s eyes were wide.

  “Gray’s a great guy.” Which was very true. Her hair still smelled of almond oil from the treatment he’d sent over.

  “I know, but . . . wow.”

  Sofia stifled a smile. She didn’t want Taylor to think she was laughing at her. Luckily, they’d already arrived at the table.

  “Peach iced tea,” Sofia said. “Avocado toast.”

  “Could you be any more hipster?” Aidan asked.

  “I’ve been thinking about getting an ironic tattoo.” She sat between him and Brendan. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Good morning,” Brendan said. “Let’s s
tart right up.”

  “No old business?” Aidan asked. It bugged him that Brendan was so formal during their weekly case-review meeting. Sofia thought it was adorable.

  “First,” Brendan said, “we need to keep expenses low. The Solov affair is our main case right now, and since we haven’t exactly covered ourselves in glory on that one, I don’t feel comfortable billing her for expenses.”

  So much for trying to get reimbursement for the disaster at Nobu and Fred’s caviar.

  “I’ve been thinking we could branch out,” Aidan said. “Pursue diverse revenue streams.”

  “Not honey-trap work,” Sofia shot back.

  “Not just that.” He took a sip from his glass, presumably water from a local tap and not from a Swiss glacier. “Maybe do some close-protection work, too.”

  “Body guarding?” Better than dressing up like a hooker and trying to seduce wayward husbands. But not by much.

  “With your industry contacts, Priscilla thinks you could be an asset at landing those kinds of cases.”

  Why didn’t she like the sound of that? Because it was Priscilla’s idea? Because it involved hustling her industry friends into hiring her? Or because bodyguards didn’t get the best of treatment in the industry?

  “Let’s stick to our strengths, for now,” Brendan said. “I talked to Mrs. Solov. She was grateful to get the footage back, but she terminated our services.”

  That didn’t sound like a strength.

  Taylor arrived with Sofia’s avocado toast, bacon and eggs for Brendan, and what looked like steamed vegetables and quinoa for Aidan. If Brendan hadn’t said they’d been fired, she’d have given Aidan grief about his vegan breakfast.

  “Fred filmed us doing the hand-off at the pier,” she said, hoping to cheer up Brendan.

  He leaned forward, eyes bright. “What’s on it?”

  “I cut out the film of the hand-off and emailed it to both of you. It shows the guy arriving with the jet ski and picking up the money. My ex-agent, Jeffery Weiner, identified the man as Rhett Fantome.”

  “Yvette’s father?” Brendan asked.

  “Yes.” She started on her toast. Marmalade always picked the best avocados, creamy and perfectly ripe.