Chapter 18
On our way home from the memorial, I caught Sheri up with what I’d learned.
“It’s odd,” I said. “Nina blames Diaz, but not directly. She’s convinced it was either Donatella or Mimi who killed Carmen, for the oldest reason in the book.”
“Money,” Sheri said. “They’re each after Diaz for everything he’s got. Always a great motivator.”
“Maybe. But until I have a coroner’s report, we can’t be certain Carmen’s death was a murder. What if it wasn’t?”
“What?” Sheri looked over at me in disbelief, her hands in the air. “Then explain to me why Eric’s been working undercover. He was shadowing Carmen everywhere she went. Why would the FBI be involved if there wasn’t something sinister going on? Either he was protecting her or they thought she was in on it. After all, you did tell me even Carmen didn’t know who he really was.”
“That’s just it. I don’t know. I keep coming back to that very thought. I mean, Carmen’s death could have been anything. But if her death is connected to the jewelry heists, and if Mimi or Donatella murdered her—why? I could see wanting Carmen out of the way, but stealing the jewels? It doesn’t make any sense. Half the jewels stolen were ones Carmen was carrying for Diaz. They’d be ripping off a fortune from the very man they hoped to marry.”
“You’re assuming the robberies and Carmen’s death are connected, Carol. It could be a coincidence. Like you said, maybe Carmen’s death was an accident, and she had a reaction to something or a heart attack. Things like that do happen.”
“Maybe. But when I was in the barn with Nina, Mr. Paley, the security guard from Westin’s, was there too. I would have sworn Paley wasn’t involved, but after seeing him in the barn, I’m not so sure.”
“Did you ever consider maybe Paley just likes horses?
“I don’t know, Sheri, something just doesn’t feel right.” I was thinking aloud. Paley had been helpful after the robbery. He was the one who called 911 and had secured the store until help arrived. “I wouldn’t have figured him to be involved. But after seeing him with Donatella this afternoon—the way she was standing next to him and the two of them whispering, all quiet-like—it’s just a hunch, but there was definitely something going on between them.”
“I’m not surprised. Seeing any man with that little vixen would certainly pique my interest.”
I kept playing the scene from the barn over in my head. Donatella and Paley had appeared unusually friendly. My mind was working overtime.
“What if Paley’s involved? Maybe he was the inside contact and helped the Wigged Bandit get in and out of the store. Churchill did say Paley had gone outside for a smoke when the bomb went off. If you ask me, that’s a bit convenient. Plus, he hasn’t returned any of my calls, and he didn’t want to see me at the polo match in Santa Barbara even after Carmen’s assistant went searching for him and told him I wanted to talk. Maybe he’s not so innocent and was worried Carmen knew something. Maybe she was supposed to die in the explosion instead of Ms. Pero, and when she didn’t, Paley sent Donatella to do the job.”
“And just how would he do that?”
“Donatella’s an actress. There isn’t an actor working in LA who hasn’t at one time or another waited tables. Maybe she passed herself off as one of the waitstaff, poisoned Carmen’s drink, and got out of there before anyone knew what happened.”
“Okay, forgetting Paley for the moment, how is it nobody noticed her?”
“I don’t know. The room was dark, crowded. People don’t look at who serves them. At a party like that, they just accept what’s given to them and keep talking. Maybe she wore a disguise or—”
“Or maybe she disguised herself, snuck in as a guest, and managed to get close enough to the group to switch out the drinks when the server arrived. Trust me, I’ve been to enough of those parties to know, people are too plastered to know who they’re talking to or standing next to. It would have been easy enough to do.”
I considered what Sheri had said. She was right, the room was dark and either scenario was a possibility. But so was Mimi. She was with her sister when she died, and according to her, she’d ordered the drinks.
“I still don’t think we can rule Mimi out. She just as easily could have slipped something in Carmen’s drink. She certainly wanted her sister’s husband, and after seeing her this afternoon with Diaz and wearing Carmen’s necklace, I’d say she’s well on her way to securing that relationship.”
Sheri glanced over at me. “Then if I were Donatella, I’d be looking over my shoulder, worried Mimi might be coming after me next.”
Later that night as I was getting ready for bed, the house phone rang. It was almost eleven thirty, and I was surprised to hear Eric’s voice. I hadn’t expected him to call, particularly after today’s memorial service. Since Carmen’s death, the magic between us was beginning to feel strained. I was starting to fear our relationship would become a casualty of the investigation.
“Sorry to call so late, Carol. We need to see you tomorrow.”
“We?” I sat down on the edge of the bed, cradling the earpiece beneath my chin. The tone of his voice wasn’t what I would have preferred at this late hour. I felt my throat growing tight.
“The FBI. We’d like you to come down tomorrow and look through some pictures. See if you recognize anyone.”
“Really?” I looked up at the ceiling, fighting back the tears behind my eyes. I hated the formality in his voice. I tried to cover the disappointment in my voice. “This isn’t a social call then? You didn’t just call to wish me good night?”
“Carol, I—”
“I get it. You can’t talk.” I wondered if the call was being monitored. I was getting tired of this. I sat up straight and played with the phone cord. By now I was certain our little romantic rendezvous back in Carmen’s hotel room had resulted in some form of disciplinary action that made Eric have to be careful. What else could it be? I knew he would never tell me if he had gotten in trouble, and whatever hot water he might be in, he would keep it to himself. My eyes darted across the room at a picture of Eric and me aboard The Sea Mistress. Happier times. “But does that mean you can’t listen?”
He laughed softly, and I felt as though someone had just plunged a knife into my heart. I closed my eyes and wished I could have felt Eric’s warm breath against my ear. I missed him more than I wanted to admit to myself.
“I’m listening,” he said. “What is it you want to say?”
Dammit. I was doing exactly what Tyler said. Giving the FBI information and getting nothing in return. But this was Eric. What did Tyler know about love?
“Well, here’s what I’ve worked out so far. Some of it you no doubt know, but hear me out.”
“Go on.”
I told him my theory about the FBI watching Carmen and her courier activities and recounted the details of my conversation with Nina, that she thought either Donatella or Mimi might have killed Carmen, and waited for him to respond. When he said nothing, I filled in the silence. “What do you think?”
“You know I can’t comment.”
“Damn. I hate the strong, silent type. You know that, right?”
“Carol—”
“Okay. Then consider this. Nina told me Carmen would visit her at the bank regularly. Actually, she said Carmen made regular visits to her bank deposit box. Nina thinks Carmen might have been stealing from Diaz and hiding whatever it was she took from him in her safe deposit box.”
Eric’s voice deepened. “How often did she say she’d visit?”
“Monthly. She said Carmen never missed a visit. She’d come to the bank, wave hello, and then go directly her safe deposit box. She spent more time visiting with whatever it was she was keeping in that box than she ever did with her sister. I’m thinking she found a place to hide the jewels she was skimming from Diaz.”
“It�
��d be easy enough to check out.”
“And if I’m right and Carmen was skimming off the top, that gives Diaz motive. Maybe he even persuaded Donatella to do it because he couldn’t or thought he might be caught if he did. He might have even promised Donatella he’d marry her if she did. Goodness knows, the girl wants that.”
Eric was quiet. There was another long awkward silence. I knew he was weighing the information I’d given him against what the FBI already had on file. I stood up, paced the room, and picked up the photo of Eric and me.
“Eric?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Our offices on Wilshire. One o’clock work for you?”
Chapter 19
The next morning, I found a box of chocolate truffles on my desk. Edelweiss Chocolates had been thrilled with the response from KCHC listeners for our Holiday Chocolatiers’ Contest and had sent over a large box as a thank you. A note attached from Tyler asked me to put together a short report congratulating them as our winner and announcing our combined monetary gift to St. Mark’s.
I opened the box to see someone had already helped themselves to a number of truffles. I took one for myself then walked the box back to the newsroom.
“I see you got my note.” Tyler glanced up at me as I entered.
With the sweet taste of a chocolate raspberry liqueur still in my mouth, I smiled and sat down. I was about to share with him some of my thoughts concerning Carmen’s murder when he said he needed me in the studio that afternoon.
“Kari’s not expected back ’til next Monday, and until then I could use you as a temporary host. Margo Thompson will be here from St. Mark’s to collect the check from our chocolatiers’ drive, and I can’t have her sitting in the studio by herself with only a phone patch in to Kari. So I’m going to need you. Plus, Bunny’s here.”
“Bunny?” I asked.
Tyler popped one of the chocolates into his mouth, and with his mouth full, said, “The Chocolatiers’ Tour was her idea. She suggested St. Mark’s and she expected to be on hand when Kari presented the check to Margo. So now you get to handle it. She’ll be joining you in the studio.”
“Where is she?” I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see Bunny lurking, sifting through Tyler’s in-basket, double-checking the newswire for soft news. I didn’t see her anywhere.
“She’ll be around. Right now she’s out wandering the halls, making herself indispensable.”
I could tell by the snide way Tyler had said it, he wished Bunny’s husband might feel the same way about having his wife at home. Instead, our new owner was making a habit of dropping his wife off at the station while he disappeared, returning each afternoon tanned and relaxed, looking like he’d been chasing a few of Santa Monica’s beach bunnies.
“How much longer are they in town?” I asked.
“Only through the holidays.”
I cleared my throat, registering my disdain, and stood up. Tyler stared, his eyes focused on the door behind me. I knew from the look in his eye that Bunny had entered the room. I grabbed the box of chocolates off Tyler’s desk and swung around to greet her.
“Would you like one? I understand we’re going to be working together today. We might as well start off on a sweet note.”
Bunny looked longingly at the chocolates. Her hand hovered over the box, her fingers twitching anxiously. “Yes, I think I will. I’m still having nightmares after Carmen’s death. I really don’t know how you do it, Carol. Aren’t you glad we’re not focused on such things here?”
I glanced over at Tyler. Bunny’s eyes were still on the box of chocolates, debating which of the sinful treats she wanted. He circled his finger around his ear and mouthed, “She’s nuts.”
I didn’t think Bunny was nuts. She was maybe only ten years older than me, but generationally she was in a different world. I knew she’d been at the top of her game in radio when she met her husband. I imagined at the time Mr. Morganstern had been a real catch, a hot, handsome, successful entrepreneur with a little flash and a lot of money. He probably persuaded her to trade it all in for a Mrs. title and a trophy-wife status, which included ownership of not only the radio station where she had worked but a growing group of stations, worth ten times more than anything she possibly could have imagined. In her mind, Bunny Morganstern had traded up.
Unfortunately, as I watched Bunny down the chocolates like Xanax, I could tell things hadn’t worked out quite as nicely as she’d hoped. While her husband may have been a mover and shaker in the boardroom, I got the feeling that, where Bunny was concerned, Howard Morganstern wasn’t such a mover and shaker at home anymore. Perhaps this explained Bunny’s sudden interest in KCHC’s new softer, friendlier chick-lite format. She needed something of her own.
My first clue that today’s show wasn’t going to go as planned came when I walked into the studio an hour later. Bunny was seated behind the console with an empty stool next to her and an even emptier box of chocolates in front of her. Matt announced that Kari wouldn’t be with us today, not even by phone patch. Her fever had spiked, and the doctor had insisted she stay in bed, close the curtains, and rest. No excitement. My second clue came in the form of a traffic report immediately preceding the show. The 405 was backed up. A police pursuit had shut down the northbound freeway and commuters were being rerouted off at Santa Monica. Somewhere in that sea of cars was Kari’s guest, Margo Thompson. She called in to say she was doing the best she could to cut through traffic, but it didn’t look good. Matt suggested we patch her in via her cell phone. I was on my own. Or more accurately, I was alone in the studio with Bunny.
I opened the show, explaining that Kari was still home, under the weather, and that our special guest, Margo Thompson, was stuck in traffic. “But, good news, I have Bunny Morganstern with us this morning. She’s…” I stumbled for a moment. How could I best describe Bunny? The wife of our CEO? A former radio exec? Nothing seemed to fit, and then it came to me. “The creator of KCHC’s new fresher, friendlier chick-lite format.”
Bunny seemed awed; she smiled and put her hand over her heart, as though to say she was flattered at the recognition.
I continued, adding it was Bunny who’d introduced KCHC to St. Mark’s. That she had suggested the Beverly Hills Chocolatiers’ Tour as a holiday promotion, and how appropriate it was that she was here with us today to present the check to Margo Thompson.
Matt patched Margo in, and suddenly, through the magic of radio, the three of us sounded like we were all together in a small cafe, having coffee and chatting. I recapped KCHC’s Beverly Hills Chocolatiers’ Tour, making sure to mention all of the participating merchants and crediting Sheri for her discriminating taste. Matt pulled up a digital recording of my report and we laughed over portions of Sheri’s almost slap-happy descriptions of the chocolate liqueurs. Some of them sounded like a sommelier describing a fine wine. I thanked our listeners for their generous support and was about to suggest Bunny present—or at least announce—the amount of the check the station had ready to give to St. Mark’s when Matt interrupted.
“Excuse me, Carol, we have a caller on line one. I think you’re going to want to take this. It sounds important.”
I furrowed my brow. I wasn’t expecting calls during this part of the show. “Who?” I mouthed. Matt shrugged and held up a white eraser card with a large dollar sign drawn on it. I took the call.
“Good morning. Welcome to the Kari Rhodes Show. This is Carol, how may I help you?”
“Actually, I think I’m the one who can help you.” The caller paused and I put my hands on my headset, straining to identify the voice. Usually I was pretty good, particularly if it was a regular caller. “I’d like to make a donation.”
My eyes snapped back to Matt. He was giving me a big thumbs-up.
“That’s very generous of you,” I said. I looked over at Bunny. This was highly irregular. The promotion had ended and the station had already cut the
check. Bunny signaled with her hand as though she was writing a check and smiled. We could always use more.
“I’d like to double the amount of the donation your station is willing to make,” the caller said. “Up to fifty thousand dollars.”
Through my headset, I heard Margo gasp. “Fifty thousand?”
Bunny and I exchanged a look. Was this for real? The station’s goal had only been twenty thousand. This was more than twice that.
Bunny grabbed the mic in front of her. “That’s extremely kind of you. You realize, of course, that would be almost thirty thousand dollars?”
“That won’t be a problem. It’s a worthy cause. And I can assure you, I’m more than good for it.”
I placed my hand on Bunny’s shoulder. Before she could go on about how wonderful the gift was, I needed more information.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t get your name. Can you tell us who you are?”
“Oh, now, that would take all the fun out it, wouldn’t it? I’d much prefer to remain anonymous.”
Anonymous? I grabbed a blank piece of paper, scrawled out the words “Caller ID,” and held it up so Matt could see. He responded with a shake of his head. The number was blocked.
“Well, if you won’t give us your name, perhaps you might tell us a little about yourself.” I tried to sound friendly and casual, but I had a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that I knew this caller. The tone sounded vaguely familiar, the voice slightly raspy and quick. “I’m sure Ms. Thompson would like to know something—”
“I’m a fan.” The voice came back quickly, cutting me off before I could finish. “And I enjoy helping others. Like you did, Ms. Childs, the day of the explosion in Beverly Hills.”
“Tomi?”
“And I like chocolate,” the voice interrupted again. “Almost as much as your friend Sheri does.”
Without a Doubt Page 11
