Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay

by Cynthia Hamilton

  Madeline blanched at the thought. She was beginning to regret agreeing to help Vivian. Cherie was paying her handsomely to make sure this event came off without a hitch, and here she was dividing her time looking for a possible jewel thief. She coughed to hide her discomfort.

  “In light of their monetary value, maybe this would be better handled by the police,” she suggested. Vivian drew back in horror.

  “Good lord, no—not at this stage. I may have to at some point, but I’d prefer you looking into the matter first. If my dear Teresa is the thief, then perhaps we can get the jewels back—trace them, if she doesn’t still have them. I definitely don’t want the authorities in on this yet.”

  Madeline thought this over for a moment. “What do you know about her home life? Does she live with family or friends?”

  Vivian looked up at the clouds overhead. “She talks about her sister, Esmeralda. She does housecleaning, I believe.” Madeline waited expectantly for more enlightenment, but Vivian smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid that’s all I know of her life here. She sometimes talks about her life back in Mexico.”

  “Do remember where in Mexico she’s from?” Madeline asked. Vivian shook her head.

  “It’s a place I’ve never heard of before. Small and very poor, from what I gather.”

  Vivian’s companion was walking briskly toward them, a broad smile on her face and the promise of warmth in her hands. Madeline reached into her handbag and withdrew her business card.

  “I’ll be back around four. If you think of anything between now and then, give me a call.”

  “Thank you, dear. I will.” Madeline stood as Teresa approached, taking a moment to get a read on the girl. She was open, polite and eager to please. Nothing about her seemed furtive or untrustworthy. Still, you never really knew about someone until you did a little digging.

  “Oh, Madeline dear—since you have your camera with you, would you mind taking a picture of us, pre-carnival?” Madeline bent her head to hide her smile as she took her phone from her bag. Nothing wrong with Vivian’s wits, in spite of her advanced age.

  “All right, big smiles… Perfect.” Madeline and Vivian exchanged knowing glances before Madeline continued on with her inspection of the party preparations, a task she was growing less interested in by the minute.

  THREE

  Madeline made her way to the pavilion head down, lost in thought. She felt a pang of guilt for dismissing Mike’s first case out of hand, now that she knew the thrill of having a case of her own. It took every bit of self-control to keep from bolting back to the office to get her investigation under way, though she had almost nothing to work with yet. Plus, she had to wait until four o’clock before she could search Vivian’s suite of rooms to make sure the items were really missing before she could officially get started.

  As strong as the allure was to use her brainpower on something more meaningful than an ego-wallowing spectacle, Madeline knew she couldn’t afford to abandon the event coordinating business. Odious as it was to watch exorbitant sums of money being spent on three days of self-glorification, what she was getting paid was too much to walk away from. And if the fete was a success, it would lead to other lucrative jobs. Problem was, she’d lost her taste for extravagance.

  Yet, as she rounded the lotus pond filled with brightly colored koi and saw the changes to the pavilion since her last visit, goose bumps ran up her arms. She stopped in her tracks as she regarded the 30x40-foot, glass-roofed structure.

  “Wow,” she said under her breath. In the twenty-three hours since her last inspection, the dupioni silk drapes had been hung and tied back at the corners with contrasting silk ropes. The alternating panels of crimson and burnt orange framed the glazed concrete floor, casting a fiery glow on the surface. Two zebra-striped sofas stood sentry beside the twelve round tables, and eight chairs of alternating turquoise and moss-green velvet flanked each table. Jacquard tablecloths incorporating all four colors covered table skirts that matched the drapes.

  It was a wild explosion of color tempered by the stark neutrals. The effect was much better than Madeline had feared. It was one of those things that shouldn’t have worked, but somehow did. She supposed that’s what you got when you hired a Hollywood set designer: a dose of whimsy on an epic scale.

  Madeline took several photos for Lauren to add to the story boards. A black lacquered podium had been erected on the far side where the DJ would later set up after the tables had been cleared away and the chairs moved to the perimeter of the pavilion to make room for dancing.

  Madeline let out a satisfied huff and checked several items off her list. With any luck, she could get the swag bags sorted and get back to her office before lunchtime. She wished she could begin working on the Story case, but that would have to wait. Unless she found the mislaid jewels, she couldn’t do anything toward solving the mystery until she got Teresa’s Social Security number from Helen, which she feared would be no small hurdle.

  As Madeline walked down the hallway of her building, she noticed the door to Current Affairs was open. She heard Mike and another male voice, familiar but not immediately recognizable. She slowed her pace as she tried to piece together the possibilities. If it were Mike’s new client, they would be on the P.I. side of the suite.

  As she crossed the threshold, she caught a glimpse of Mike. His expression was not entirely readable, but she definitely picked up on the alarm and anger emanating her way. When she turned to face the visitor, Madeline instantly knew there was trouble.

  “Here she is,” Mike said, arms folded, eyes hard. Madeline ignored the rebuke in her partner’s voice and turned her attention to Detective Slovitch.

  “Let’s go next door,” she said, not wanting Lauren to be privy to whatever urgent matter had brought about a visit from SBPD.

  “I suppose this isn’t about a licensing issue,” Madeline said, being flip without meaning to.

  “A body was discovered early this morning at Lake Cachuma. It’s since been identified as that of Rick Yeoman.” The blood drained from Madeline’s face. She wobbled and caught her balance on the edge of the desk.

  “Why didn’t you tell me he was being released?” Mike blurted out. He couldn’t help the aggrieved tone in his voice. If Detective Slovitch hadn’t been present, he wouldn’t have held back. But Mike’s sense of betrayal paled compared to what Rick Yeoman’s death meant to Madeline.

  “Do we know how he died?” she asked.

  “Gunshot wound to the head, execution style. Entry wound at the back of the head. He was found caught up in some tree roots by the maintenance crew.” Madeline sank into one of the chairs in front of Mike’s desk.

  “Any idea who did it?” Mike asked. Detective Slovitch glanced at Madeline before answering.

  “Yeoman secured his release by ratting out his former boss.”

  “Ridley?” Mike asked, his voice rising two octaves.

  “No. His other boss, Usherwood. Yeoman and the others in Ridley’s security detail all served under Usherwood, first in the armed forces and later when they got into private contracting.”

  “Is that a euphemism for the mercenary business?”

  “Yeah. Let’s just say that Usherwood’s boys had been party to acts that would send most people to prison for life, or worse, had they been caught. Yeoman’s three years in Folsom were enough to make him trade Usherwood’s hide for a ticket out of there. Four days of freedom were all his squealing got him.” Detective Slovitch let this image sink in.

  “So now it looks like we’ve got someone with a score to settle running loose in Santa Barbara County. At this point, we don’t know if it’s Usherwood or one of his homicidal pals. The FBI is handling the investigation, since it was their stoolpigeon who got whacked. Personally, I think that was part of the plan all along—use Yeoman as bait to catch Usherwood. Yeoman was definitely expendable, but they didn’t get Usherwood. No
t a good outcome.”

  Both Mike and Slovitch regarded Madeline. It took her a moment to realize they were waiting for her reaction. But she couldn’t react. She felt numb. She knew this was bad news for her personally, yet she felt incapable of putting her thoughts in order. She felt as powerless as she had that day three years ago when Steven’s goon squad abducted her, Yeoman with a knife to her ribs, Usherwood at the helm.

  Thanks to her martial arts training, her body would know how to respond if she was ever physically threatened again. At least she’d have a chance to flee. But psychologically, she realized she was still no match for murdering thugs who got paid to terrorize and kill, and sometimes did it for the sake of revenge.

  “What’s the FBI’s response to all this?” Mike asked. Slovitch grunted.

  “They’re not commenting at this time. Which means they’ve royally screwed up and haven’t found a good way to spin it yet.”

  “But they still have Yeoman’s testimony,” Madeline said, her voice low and hoarse. She sat hunched over, elbows on her thighs, her eyes staring at the floor. Mike looked to John Slovitch, hoping he could give her some sort of comfort. The detective pursed his lips and studied his shoes.

  “If they catch Usherwood, he’ll never get out of prison,” Madeline said, alternately glancing at her partner and the detective for confirmation. There was a desperation in her eyes that made both men shift uneasily. “The FBI’s not talking because they’re too busy hunting Usherwood down.” Madeline’s eyes flashed back and forth, reading their doubtful looks.

  “What are you saying, Detective Slovitch—that since the FBI lost their shot at catching him before he got to Yeoman, they’re just going to write it off?” Madeline asked, springing out of the chair to face both men squarely. “I don’t think so. I think they’ll be all over this case now that they’ve botched it and flushed Usherwood or one of his hired guns out into the open. He’s obviously too much for local law enforcement, but the Feds have the manpower and the resources. They’ll find him,” Madeline said confidently as she swept out of Mike’s office.

  Mike started to go after her, but Slovitch stopped him.

  “I’d like to believe that just as much as she does. But the point remains the Feds, with all the surveillance they had on Yeoman, still didn’t see Usherwood coming. They’ve had every port of entry under their microscope since Yeoman was released last week, and there’s been no sign of him anywhere.”

  “Then Usherwood orchestrated this from afar,” Mike speculated.

  “That would be my guess. And whoever did it, they are just as slick as the maestro.”

  Mike’s face clouded over with anger. He had a strong urge to punch a hole in the wall, or at least break his hand trying.

  “What is she supposed to do, play decoy, see if any attempts are made on her life? Jesus, what kind of bullshit is this?”

  “Take it easy, Delaney. Until we get some word from the Bureau, we don’t have anything to go on.”

  Mike shook his head disgustedly, his jaw clenched, as though he were using every 12-step mantra to keep from unleashing on the detective. “Are you saying you’re not even going to be investigating this?” John Slovitch held up his hand to steady the pugilistic P.I. “Yeoman was found in Santa Barbara County,” he needlessly reminded the detective.

  “Which is why it falls into the Sheriff’s jurisdiction.” Mike laughed condescendingly.

  “Oh, I’m sure Madeline will feel so much safer knowing that.”

  “What do you want me to say? That I’ll check out a couple of sniffer dogs from K-9 and track Usherwood over hill and dale? I do what my Lieutenant tells me. This I did out of concern for your girlfriend.”

  “Madeline’s not my girlfriend.”

  It was John’s turn to snigger. “Whatever. Look, you’re both licensed investigators now—use the resources at your disposal. Dig into Usherwood’s past, find his other known associates. Embarrass the FBI and find him yourselves. If Usherwood isn’t in the country, then you need to figure out who would do his killing for him.”

  Mike watched the detective leave. “Thank you,” he said, but it was too late. He heard Slovitch’s footfalls as they passed down the corridor.

  “Son of a bitch!” Mike swore, spinning around, fighting a powerful urge to upend his desk. For a split second, he missed the good old days, when giving vent to his feelings felt as good as knocking back a bottle of tequila.

  He took a deep breath, executed a karate combination and cleared the anger from his mind. Slovitch was right: Madeline was in an advantageous position, more so than the average victim of violent attacks. She had three years of investigative training to her credit and was close to achieving a black belt in karate. She could think and act on her feet, and she had a very organized, analytical mind. And he’d be with her every step of the way. Together they could present a solid defense.

  Mike sighed. Who was he kidding? Sending the two of them out to find Usherwood would be like sending a Girl Scout troop out to apprehend a band of Hell’s Angels.

  FOUR

  Mike wheeled out of his office, heading for Madeline’s.

  “She’s not here,” Lauren said, her eyes not leaving her computer screen.

  “Where’d she go?”

  “I don’t know.” Lauren flipped open the file in front of her and kept working. Mike stared at her, willing her to look up and help him out. “You could try her cell phone,” Lauren suggested, grabbing another file from the stack, giving him a casual glance in the process.

  Mike whipped out his phone and walked back to his side of the office and kicked the door closed as he speed-dialed his partner. The call went straight to voicemail.

  “Damn!” He reopened the door with such fury, he had no trouble catching Lauren’s attention this time.

  “Try texting her.” Mike did as she suggested. The two of them stared at each other while they waited for a response.

  “What’s going on?” Lauren finally asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh. Right. It sure feels like nothing,” she said, miffed, returning to her work. Mike fought to control his tongue.

  “One of the men who abducted Madeline was just found dead at Lake Cachuma.”

  “What? How can that be? I thought they all got life imprisonment. Except for that head dude, Usher-whatever. Is that who it was?”

  “Usherwood. No, it wasn’t him. It was Rick Yeoman, who apparently just cut a deal with the Feds. He was released last week and Usherwood or one of his associates executed him.” Lauren’s mouth dropped open.

  “Oh…no…” Her eyes widened as her mind skipped to the implications. “I bet Madeline is none too happy.”

  Mike barked out a hard laugh. “I don’t suppose anyone is. But I’m worried about her. I think the only way she could cope with what happened was to believe they’d never get to her again. Thanks to the FBI, she’s got to face the possibility that Usherwood will now be gunning for her.”

  Lauren slumped against the back of her chair. “No wonder she took off out of here. God, this couldn’t have come at a worse time. Can she get some kind of protection?”

  “The police aren’t offering any, and the Feds haven’t yet. Nobody even knows if Usherwood is back in the country or if he put a hit on Yeoman. Either way, it’s got her unnerved.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Find your boss for me. ASAP.”

  Madeline regarded the dresses she had grabbed as an excuse to occupy a dressing room. A weak chortle escaped her as the irony of taking refuge in her favorite hideout hit home. This was where she fled to when Steven unleashed his vile plan to blackmail her into a divorce, though she was hardly in the same financial bracket now as she was back then. But it just so happened that Saks was located in the building next to where her late private investigator, Burt Latham, had his office, the same offi
ce where she had built her event coordinating business.

  It seemed a strange coincidence that in the very week she and Mike launched their own P.I. firm, the events that pushed them into this line of work came back to haunt them. Madeline exhaled heavily and slumped back against the chair. She knew holing up in a dressing room wasn’t going to keep her safe, but it at least gave her a place to sit and think without Mike pressuring her.

  What does he want me to do? Go into hiding? Lock myself in a fortress until Usherwood can be found? What could she do? She needed time to digest the killing of Yeoman and the possibility of Usherwood skulking in the shadows.

  Her first instinct—besides fleeing to Saks—was to confide in Master Coffee, her karate instructor. Teri Coffee McDuffie couldn’t single-handedly stave off all the bad guys in the world, but Teri could reassure her of her own power. Madeline would never match Usherwood or his kind with firearms, but she could handle herself well enough, at least to the point of evading or disarming an assailant. She hoped.

  But Usherwood was many years ahead of Madeline when it came to combat, or avoidance of it. If there was any comfort to be found, it was that she had Mike as an ally. Whoever killed Yeoman was probably a lone wolf. At least she was part of a team. A team still wet behind the ears. A team that was no match for a mercenary.

  “How are you doing in there?” Patti called out. “I found another dress I think would be fabulous on you.”

  “Hang on a sec,” Madeline said, stripping out of her own clothes to keep to the charade. She opened the door just wide enough to show some skin and appraise the dress. “Very cute. I’ll try it!”

  “Let me know if you need another size of anything,” Patti said.

  “So far, so good,” Madeline said cheerfully as she closed the door. She hung the dress on the rack with the others and continued her brooding.