by Jo Leigh
So was this an instance when going to Mia was justified? Or was he making excuses to be near her?
The answer was both. She was an excellent source, and so far the information she’d given him was all worthy of being checked out. He also wanted to see her.
He wasn’t the type to feel lonely. Not when there was a book to be read. But last night? His apartment had felt empty, and he’d picked up three different books, none of which had held his attention.
He closed the office door behind him and went to the lobby.
SHE KNEW BAX WAS THERE even before she looked up. Something in the air had shifted, or maybe it was a new kind of personal radar attuned to his scent, his molecules.
His smile made her blush and she finished up her call as quickly as she could.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” he said.
“What for?”
“I wanted to meet you out there, but—”
“It’s okay. I appreciate the thought.”
He touched the edge of her cuff briefly, then pulled back. “I’ve got some pictures, some tabloid shots I’d like you to look at when you have a break.”
“I can come now.”
“No, you’re working. And I have some paps to talk to as soon as I finish with Bobbi Tamony. Has Weinberg come back?”
She shook her head. “He should be back sometime this evening. We’re getting his suite ready for him.”
“Okay. I just…”
“What?”
“Nothing. If I’m not in the office, give me a call. You have my cell number, right?”
“Yep. And you have mine.”
“That I do. I should call you just to hear that ring of yours.”
“It’s distinctive.”
“It’s Wagner.”
“And what’s wrong with Wagner?”
“Not a thing.” He slapped the top of the desk lightly. “See you later, huh?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
As she watched him walk away she tried to get her heartbeat to slow. He looked good. Jeans again, which she liked much, much better than the brown pants. A white button-down shirt. A black jacket, nothing heavy, maybe linen or cotton. It was a good combination. Especially with his rebellious hair and his dark eyes.
Man, she had it bad.
He’d mentioned tabloids. She should run to the gift shop, but no, the front desk was busy. As long as she had a minute, though, she could call her expert. Carlane would have all the latest rags already, and if there was anything about the murder, her friend would know.
She wondered if she should tell Carlane about what she’d seen in Danny’s trailer. No, that was private information. Very private.
Mia was still amazed she hadn’t gotten fired. But then, Piper wasn’t in-house, so maybe Danny was waiting to express his outrage personally. It was quite possible this would be her very last day at Hush. That would break her heart. But she’d deal. She’d have to.
In the meantime, maybe there was one more thing she could do to help Bax before she was kicked out on her keister.
“YOU SAW THE PICTURE, I assume?”
Bax walked over to Bobbi, who was sitting in a chair that had her name on it. They were on the Madison Avenue sidewalk and the camera was set up in the little coffee shop where he and Mia had first had dinner.
There were several occupied chairs around them, but Danny Austen’s was empty. As was Peter Eccles’s. Bax pulled Austen’s chair closer to Bobbi and sat down. “Want to tell me about it?”
“If I tell you it was cold medicine, will you believe me?”
“No.”
“Will it matter?”
“Only if that picture is what got Geiger killed.”
She shifted on her chair, crossing one famously long, slender leg over the other. Her outfit today seemed pretty casual. A denim skirt, sandals, a little sleeveless T. He wondered if the clothes were hers or if she was in costume.
“I don’t know who took that picture, Detective.”
“They let a bunch of paps into those nightclubs, do they?”
“For all I know, the bartender had a camera in his cell phone.”
“Right.”
“You think I want the world to see me like that?”
“You’re on the cover.”
“You’re a cynical man, Milligan.”
“I’m a peach. It’s the job that makes me cynical.”
Bobbi smiled. “You know what? I believe you. I wish I could be of more help. I don’t remember much from that night.”
“What night would that be?”
“Four nights ago? Five? It’s hard to recall.”
“I’ll bet. You remember a woman standing behind you? Tall redhead? Name of Nan Collins?”
She shook her head. “If she was there, I didn’t notice.”
“Was Danny partying with you that night?”
“Danny? We don’t tend to hang out after work. You know how that is.”
He could see he wasn’t going to get anything useful from her. He’d do better waiting to talk to Mia. Maybe that pet concierge was available. Or maybe he should get on the horn with the tabloids, not that they’d tell him anything without being compelled by the courts.
“Detective?”
He got up, looked around for Austen or the director. Neither one was on the street. But shit, were there ever crowds. Tons of people held back by the barricades. Lots of off-duty cops getting some sweet moonlighting money. “Yeah?”
“I do remember someone who was partying with me that night.”
“Oh?”
“Our dear director. And I don’t think he was having a very good time.”
Bax nodded. It was probably a misdirection, probably nothing. But because she’d said it, he’d do his damnedest to get to the truth. Which was funny, considering. “Have a good day, Ms. Tamony.”
“You, too, Bax.”
YOLANDA WAS GETTING Oscar Weinberg’s suite ready, which wasn’t a simple thing to do. Mia had no business interrupting. No business being there at all. But did that stop her?
“Yolanda?”
“Hello Miss Mia.”
“How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. Just getting this room ready.”
“I came to check on a few things, if you don’t mind.”
Yolanda, who was an excellent maid and a very nice person, stepped away from the door. “No problem, Miss Mia. You do what you need to. Let me know if I can help.”
Mia nodded as she walked inside. Oh, man, she was stepping close to the line here. Okay, over the line. Yes, she was going to check to make sure Mr. Weinberg’s pillows were perfect, but mostly she was going to snoop.
Yolanda had disappeared into the master bedroom, so Mia had the living room to herself. First thing she did was go to the to the big closet. There were clothes in there, and two suitcases. With her heart racing, Mia checked both cases. Empty. She felt for pockets on the jackets and came up with nothing there, either.
Okay, second bedroom. As she hurried, the theme music from Mission Impossible played in her head even as she told herself this was not a game. If she was caught here, she could lose her job. On the other hand, she was probably already on the cut list, so what the hell.
The second bedroom looked pristine and had already been turned down. Mia had no idea if Weinberg ever used the second bed, but it was ready if he wanted to.
The closet in there was empty and Mia was just about to shut the door when she realized that there was a mirror on the side wall. She’d been in every suite in the hotel, but she couldn’t remember seeing a mirror like this one.
She stepped inside the closet. The mirror had a wooden frame, very polished. It was maybe two feet long and four feet wide. The more she thought about it, the more sure she became that this mirror wasn’t standard.
She looked out to make sure she was alone, then peered at the side of the mirror. It was at least two inches in depth, which made her think that perhaps it wasn’t for looki
ng in so much as it was for hiding things.
With held breath, she pulled on the left side, then the right. Nothing budged. She let her fingers trail around the entire frame. She felt a break in the upper right corner. Tugging did nothing, so instead, she pushed. Something gave, although it didn’t open.
The push gave her hope, though. She had a friend in Toronto who built secret-compartment boxes, and with her love of puzzles, Mia had found them endlessly fascinating. The important part of puzzle boxes was that at least two mechanisms had to be manipulated concurrently to release a catch.
Mia stood on tiptoe to study the break in the frame. She tugged, pushed and lifted in every way she could think of when the frame popped open.
Her sigh was loud in the little closet and she’d already stayed too long, so she swung the mirror out, expecting jewelry or drugs or both.
What she got were memory cards. The kind that went inside digital cameras. Lots and lots of memory cards.
She picked one up and saw that it was 256K. She turned the little electronic gizmo over and whoa, there it was. Initials written in a very small hand. BT.
She put that card back and picked up another, this one from a different stack. The initials on this one, PE.
In the next few minutes, she found many initials she couldn’t decipher. And many she could.
DA for Danny Austen.
GG for Gerry Geiger.
SG as in Sheila Geiger?
PD which might or might not be Piper Devon.
Mia’s already racing pulse went zooming out of control. She wasn’t exactly sure what she’d found, but she knew, just knew, it was something important. She couldn’t even conceive of how many pictures were stored here. Thousands upon thousands.
Did one of these cards hold the key to Geiger’s murder? Was the killer none other than Oscar Weinberg?
She thought about taking the card with GG on the back, but she just couldn’t. There was no way she could justify stealing so blatantly. God forbid Weinberg kept an inventory and discovered the theft. Where would his finger point? Right at Yolanda, that’s where.
No, she and Bax would have to come up with another way to get these memory cards into evidence.
“Miss Mia?”
Mia jumped what felt like ten feet, then slammed the mirror closed. Thankfully, Yolanda was still in the other room. “Yes, Yolanda?”
“I finished the bedroom. You want to come check?”
“Thanks. I’ll be right there.”
THE PET FACILITIES WERE on the 20th floor, adjacent to the elaborate and expansive spa. Bax had to admit he was curious about the pet concierge. Dog walking? Puppy sitting? He’d never been to a hotel that had pet facilities, unless you count lawns. Of course, it had been years since he’d had a dog. That was one of his first priorities when he got to Boulder. He’d grown up with pets and he missed that. The companionship, the exercise. He’d be able to hike to his heart’s content in Boulder, a trusty mutt beside him.
He pushed the door open and walked into a world that was as outside his own reality as a movie set.
PetQuarters had a front desk, just like downstairs, barring his view to the pets, and a very attractive young woman wearing a modified Hush uniform holding one of Bobbi Tamony’s yappy dogs. He knew it was Bobbi’s because of the way his hackles rose hearing that bark.
“May I help you?”
“I’m looking for Mercy.”
The young woman sighed. “Aren’t we all.”
Bax laughed, but cut it short as the woman’s expression told him she meant that quite literally. He coughed, hoping to let the moment slide.
“Mercy should have been back ten minutes ago. And Eddy had to leave for class, and then Ms. Tamony came to deliver her dogs, and well, I’m kind of on my own, but if I can be of any assistance?”
“No, it’s fine. You have your hands full. I’ll come back later.”
“Would you like Mercy to give you a call? I can take your number.”
“No, but thanks.” He was curious about the parts of the puppy hotel he couldn’t see, but he’d explore it later. For now, he’d go see if Mia had some time for him. She’d been too busy a few minutes ago. He’d been tempted to just watch her as she did her thing, but he’d nixed that plan.
He waited around in the reception area, hoping Mercy would show up. Thinking about his interview with Henry Toth.
According to Toth, who he’d have mistaken for a panhandler if it hadn’t been for his very expensive cameras, Geiger had some very tight connections with both Bobbi and Danny Austen. That he knew for a fact that Geiger was tipped off by someone working for Weinberg. And that Gerry Geiger had just bought himself a hell of a nice duplex in Little Italy.
Toth also suggested that Geiger was more than a little fed up with his wife’s drinking.
The sad thing? That bunch of schoolyard gossip was the most he’d gotten from any of the paparazzi so far. They were a tight-lipped bunch of bottom-feeders.
It didn’t appear that Mercy the pet concierge was coming back anytime soon. As Bax rounded the corner toward the elevator he spotted a man in the spa window. He was hefty, balding, wearing a robe.
Bax went into the spa’s reception area, but the man was gone. There were two ladies looking at some cosmetics, one man who Bax had seen on some TV show, and the women behind the desk.
The woman closest to him, a little older than her compatriot, smiled at him. “May I help you?”
He pulled out his wallet and flashed his badge. “I need to know if Oscar Weinberg is inside the facility.”
“Yes, sir, he is.”
“Great. Which room?”
“He’s in the middle of a procedure at the moment.”
“I don’t mind.”
She looked at her coworker, then back at him. “Can you give me a minute, please? I honestly don’t know how to handle this situation and I’d like to ask someone.”
“Is this the only exit?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take your time.”
While she called whoever she called, Bax picked up one of the brochures from the counter. The services were vast and expensive, and some were downright odd. Hot stones? Oxygen facials? What he knew about spas could fit on the end of his pen, but he was once again, as he was so often lately, impressed by what the rich would buy. He was sure they would defend the spa services as crucial to their health and happiness. Hell, maybe they were right.
“Officer?”
He put the brochure down. “That’s Detective.”
“Sorry. Detective. I can take you to see Mr. Weinberg now.”
“Great.”
She led him inside the spa proper, down a long hallway. It smelled good, like trees, and the lighting was low. Music played softly in the background. New-age stuff, of course, but it hit all the right marks for a spa.
After a few turns, she stopped in front of a closed door. A gentle knock was followed almost immediately by the door opening a crack.
“I’ve got a client.”
The woman nodded. “The detective needs to speak to Mr. Weinberg.”
“He’s still got half an hour to go.”
Bax moved closer to the door. “I’ll be busy in a half an hour.”
“I checked with Piper’s office,” the woman whispered. “We have to let him in.”
The massage therapist was tall and wiry, not bulging with muscles as Bax would have thought. He looked strong though, strong and pissed. The one thing that did match Bax’s preconceived notions was the uniform. All-white T-shirt, slacks and shoes. Clean. Antiseptic.
After a meaningful shrug, the therapist stepped back.
Bax thanked the nice woman and went inside the even darker room.
Turns out it wasn’t dark enough.
Oscar Weinberg lay naked on the massage table. Face up. With no sheet covering any part of his large body.
Bax almost turned around and walked out, but his personal discomfort couldn’t possibly be worse than Weinb
erg’s, so why not go for it?
“What the hell is going on, Larry?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Weinberg. I was told to let him in.”
Weinberg looked Bax over. “Who the fuck are you?”
Bax took out his badge, making sure Oscar saw his holster as he did so. “Detective Milligan.”
“This can’t wait?”
“I figured I better catch you when I could. With that private jet and all.”
“Did I say I wanted you to stop the massage?”
That was to Larry, of course, who hopped to it.
Bax had no idea what Larry was in fact massaging as he was focusing one hundred percent on Weinberg’s face. “When did you get back to the hotel?”
“About an hour ago.”
“And the first thing you wanted was a massage?”
“Is that what you came here to talk about?”
Score one for the naked guy. “Tell me about your relationship with Geiger.”
“There was no relationship. We used Geiger on occasion to take pictures. We paid him. All above board, nothing special.”
“Was he on the clock the night of his death?”
“No. He was not.”
“You’re sure about that?” Bax didn’t wait for a response. “When was the last time you did hire him?”
“I’ll have to find out, Detective. It’s not something I keep at the forefront. Especially with Geiger. The man was an ass. Rude, greedy. He was one of the worst.”
“Then why use him?”
“He got the job done. He was useful.”
“What was Geiger doing in Peter Eccles’s suite?”
Weinberg rolled his eyes as if the question was too difficult to bear. “You’d have to ask Peter.”
“According to some reliable sources you’ve got a lot riding on this picture. The last four movies you produced haven’t done very well.”
“Reliable sources? Please, Detective. You should know by now that you can’t always believe what you read in the papers.”
“I imagine it’s costing a lot. Austen and Tamony don’t come cheap.”
“We won’t be selling off our company jet anytime soon.”
“Why do you think someone wanted Geiger dead?”
