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

by Cynthia Hamilton

  “When in August were you born?” she asked Vivian, who looked at her with mild surprise. She was in the middle of a particularly fascinating tale and not keen to lose her place or momentum. When Madeline continued to stare expectantly, she took her cue.

  “The 13th. That’s always been a lucky number for me,” Vivian said with a demure smile. Madeline cocked her head as she calculated the year.

  “So, August 13th, 1928…?” Madeline asked.

  “Oh don’t—that makes me feel so ancient!” Vivian said with a self-deprecating laugh.

  “I was born in 1970, and that already sounds so long ago,” Madeline said in a clumsy attempt to make Vivian feel better and further the conversation.

  “What month?” Vivian asked. The light of recognition in her eyes told Madeline she was onto the game.

  “September. September 28th,” Madeline replied. “I’ve still got a few months before I roll over the odometer again.”

  Vivian looked to Teresa. “Tell me again when your birthday is, dear.”

  “It’s in June,” Teresa said after politely wiping her mouth.

  “June what?” Vivian asked all smiles.

  “June 21st.”

  “That’s right! How could I forget!” Vivian said, sitting back, satisfied smile on her face.

  “The first day of summer,” Madeline beamed pleasantly.

  “Yes. My sister, Esmeralda, was always jealous of me for my birthday. It seemed so special when we were young,” Teresa said almost shyly.

  “It is special,” Madeline said. “But you were probably born close to the end of the century—the twentieth century, that is.”

  “1992,” Teresa confirmed.

  “Ohhh…” Madeline said dramatically. “So that means you’ve got a big birthday coming up soon…” Teresa became self-conscious as Vivian laughed warmly.

  “We’ll have to do this all over again for your benefit,” she joked. Teresa blushed and lowered her eyes, but her smile revealed how pleased she was to be among such company and joining in on the fun. Vivian shot Madeline a quick look, and the latter dabbed her lips and thanked her hostess for a lovely lunch.

  Once Madeline found a secluded spot, she sent Lauren a text: Pls search phone #s for Abigail Dawson and Joan Neuwirth. Should be local. Text me when u have results.

  Madeline stared down at her phone while she tried to think of some way to run a search for Teresa Maria Gomez now that she had a date of birth. She didn’t have a valid SSN, and even if she did, Madeline was beginning to suspect she wouldn’t have any credit history anyway.

  She sent another text to Lauren: Need u to do a criminal records search on Teresa Maria Gomez, DOB 6-21-92. Text me the results asap. She then set an alarm to go off at ten to four. Hopefully, she’d have enough time to extricate herself from Cherie’s needy clutches and intercept Teresa before she left the premises.

  As she went in search of her client, Madeline racked her brain for the best way to get the truth out of Teresa. No alarms went off when she was around the girl. To her, Teresa seemed pretty much as advertised: a sweet Latina, who may or may not be in the country legally. But was that the whole story? She didn’t think so. Still, she was having a hard time making the leap to thief, or worse. At least Madeline had a rapport with her now, which would make it easier to question her later.

  Madeline let out a weary sigh. She had checked the gym, Cherie’s rooms and the salon without finding her. She couldn’t even find Alice. She could trudge around the vast house another fifteen minutes or she could use her phone to locate one of them. She chose to save her feet.

  “Hey, do you know where Cherie is?” she asked when the assistant answered.

  “No, I just got back from lunch,” Alice replied.

  “She lets you leave for lunch?” Madeline asked, surprised.

  “Not lately, but I had to get my hair and nails done. This was my last chance.” Madeline looked at her own nails and rolled her eyes. Oh well, she thought, no one’s going to be looking at me anyway.

  “Okay, I’ll try her cell.” Madeline placed the call as she retraced her steps toward the stairs.

  “Hi. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “I’m by the pool,” Cherie hollered over the din.

  “What’s going on?” Madeline asked as she changed course and headed down the back staircase, taking the shortcut to the swimming pool.

  “I’m having some photos taken,” Cherie said.

  “Oh…”

  “Cassandra suggested it. After you left, I still had reservations about what outfits to wear when. She came up with the idea of taking snaps so we could look at them side by side. That way we can number them and it will take all the thinking out of the changing process.”

  Good thing, Madeline thought unkindly. She shook her head at the amount of time, energy and sheer decadence that was going into what she’d committed herself to. As she approached the tall hedge surrounding the pool area, Madeline could tell there was a lot more going on than Cherie implied. Her guess was confirmed as she opened the gate and found a dozen bodies in various states of repose, in the pool and on the chaises longues. A nightclub beat wafted from the speakers, just loud enough to be heard over the chatter.

  Everyone looked at the newcomer with bored detachment as it registered that Madeline was “not one of them.” The fact she wasn’t stripped down to hanky-size bits of fabric like the others made her feel as conspicuous as if she were stark naked.

  Cassandra, the third fashion consultant Cherie now kept on retainer for the upcoming bash, was bobbing around the birthday girl, catching each angle as Cherie twisted and turned like a cover model. Madeline found the whole scene revolting. After a couple more poses, Cherie called for a break.

  “Okay, we’re down to two more outfits,” Cassandra said. Cherie topped her glass of champagne and motioned Madeline closer with a jerk of her head. Cherie filled a fresh glass and thrust it toward her.

  “No, thanks—too early for me,” Madeline said, earning a pouty look from her client. The pique passed as Cherie took a generous drink from the glass. There was a strange vibe emanating from Cherie that Madeline found hard to decipher. It was almost as if Cherie was defying Madeline to censor her. Madeline chose to ignore it.

  “I’m going to make the rounds of the property, then make a few phone calls before I leave. If you need me for anything, call. I need to be out of here by 3:30,” she said, consulting her watch for emphasis. She was hoping the half-hour buffer she’d given herself would be enough to keep her on track for giving Teresa a lift home.

  “Cool,” was all Cherie had to say on the subject. Her attention had been usurped by the photos taken thus far. As Madeline took her leave unnoticed, she overheard Cherie announcing a new brilliant idea.

  “Wouldn’t it be awesome if we took the best shot of each outfit and had them printed out—like postcards? You know, they could be like souvenirs. And we could have some little caption on the back, you know, like who the designer was…I wonder if we can get that done in time…”

  Madeline sped up her pace and turned off her phone. There was no way in hell she was going to involve herself in that asinine project, regardless of what they were paying her. She’d hide out in the coat closet until Teresa left for the day, if that’s what it took to stay off Cherie’s radar.

  She made a tour of the grounds at a fast clip, checking off each area and detail of concern on her notepad. There were only two minor changes that had to be made, and once those were taken care of, she felt as confident as she could—considering the circumstances—that the festivities would go off without a hitch. With her due diligence behind her, she sat on the stone wall bordering the upper terrace and made a few phone calls. Since she was the mother hen of this event, she had to make sure all her little chicks were lined up and ready to perform their duties.

  As she
had worked with most of the suppliers before, her calls to them were merely a courtesy check. But she had never orchestrated the rental of fifteen limousines—some to be stationed at the Edgecliff Hotel, some at the Riviera Hotel, and the others at the Santa Barbara Guest Ranch, to ferry the ninety-odd guests to the estate and back—and the logistics made her nervous.

  After going over the particulars one last time with the man in charge of directing his four location managers, Madeline felt somewhat relieved. There was bound to be a screw up; with that many temperamental, egotistical film industry bigwigs, someone was bound to hold up the dispatch, which would throw off the planned events, which in turn could put Philippe’s soufflés in jeopardy.

  Madeline closed her eyes tightly to dispel this aggravating scenario. C’est la vie, she thought dismissively, getting to her feet. The fete would come off or it wouldn’t; either way, the world wasn’t going to end. Her career might take a hit, but luckily she had new career in the offing, one that held a lot more appeal for her at the moment.

  THIRTEEN

  Madeline checked the messages that had come in while she was on her phone as she walked in the general direction of the entrance. There was only one text message from Lauren: there were no criminal records found for Teresa Maria Gomez, DOB of 6-21-92. That put her back exactly where she had started—nowhere.

  She checked the time: 3:35. She still hadn’t figured out the best strategy for getting information out of Teresa. She had bits and pieces of possible conversation starters in her head, but at this point her directive from Vivian was to not come out and ask if she had taken the jewels. So, that left her with pumping the girl for clues to her past, in hopes of getting at least one detail that would yield some solid information.

  Having worried that subject as much as she could, she put it aside and another conundrum immediately took its place: Lionel Usherwood, or more specifically, how best to avoid death by his hands. This reminded her of her promise to call Mike before she left Hollywood-by-the-Sea. Once she drove through those gates, she knew she wouldn’t have the same sense of security she felt on the estate. But she also knew that might be nothing more than an illusion, fostered in part by the “Neverland” qualities the place had taken on.

  Now that her most pressing duties as event coordinator and private investigator had been handled, there was nothing to keep more disturbing thoughts from taking over. The name Lionel Usherwood flashed in her mind like a faulty neon sign, her sense of impending doom rising by the second. For the first time all day, she was grateful to have this job—or more correctly, both jobs—to preoccupy her thoughts while wandering without fear in this fantasy fortress.

  For whatever good it would do, her security man had beefed up the surveillance at her house while she was at work. She had received a text from him saying he had added motion-detecting sensors that would record any movement on her property. Brian had set it up so that she’d receive alerts on her cell phone when anything was picked up. Every movement would create a photo that could be scanned and saved on her phone. Oh, the marvel of the digital age, she thought with a keen pang of gratitude.

  In addition to the motion detectors, Brian also installed glass-breaking sensors that would trigger an alert to local law enforcement. Madeline appreciated that Brian was giving her the latest technology on the market, but she remained skeptical about the glass-breaking gizmos. Even if Lionel Usherwood would be brazen enough to break one of her windows, she’d be dead by the time the cops got there.

  She glanced at her watch. She still had another fifteen minutes to wait for Teresa to appear. Rather than hanging around the house—where she could easily be waylaid by Cherie, or Alice, or Helen—Madeline got in her car. She felt safer there until she realized she hadn’t inspected the vehicle prior to getting in. Her justified paranoia propelled her out of the car.

  As nonchalantly as she could manage, she walked around the perimeter of her SUV as she casually peered in the windows. Nothing looked out of place and there was no sign of the boogie man.

  As she opened her car door, another unsettling thought occurred to her. She had been so distracted by business matters, she had overlooked basic safety measures, like checking for GPS trackers and the other nefarious devices that were Usherwood’s stock in trade. What could be simpler than having her car blown to smithereens while she was driving down the road?

  I need Mike, she thought, grabbing her phone. He could meet her just outside the property with his equipment and give her car the once-over. That would make him happy, and it would at least keep her imagination from running away with her.

  “Hey,” he answered on the first ring, “are you about to leave Cherie’s?”

  “In a few minutes.”

  “Good. I’ll be right over,” Mike said.

  “Wait! I need you to bring the sweeps. I know I’m being silly, but I’d feel better if I knew for sure Usherwood hasn’t tampered with my car.” Mike was silent for a moment. Madeline could almost hear what was going through his mind.

  “I can’t believe we didn’t think of this sooner,” he moaned. “We’re professionals, for God’s sake!”

  “Are you at the office?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “Okay, but I’m going to shanghai Vivian’s companion by offering her a ride home.”

  “Why are you doing that?”

  “So I can find out where she lives,” Madeline replied coldly.

  “Is that really a priority right now?”

  “Yes, it certainly is,” Madeline said, wishing she hadn’t woken the sleeping giant.

  “All right, I’m heading to my car right now…”

  “Teresa’s shift ends at four. I imagine I’ll be coming out the north gate two minutes later. The timing could be perfect. You can follow me and after I drop Teresa off, we can check both our vehicles.”

  “Roger that,” Mike said. Madeline rubbed the back of her neck. It wasn’t the first time she questioned her judgment regarding their multi-faceted relationship. But she knew there was no one on this earth who supported her more than Mike did. And probably vice-versa.

  “Okay, Magnum P.I.—I’ll be looking for you,” she said, ending the call. She looked up just in time to see Teresa emerging from the far side of the house, heading for the exit gate. She tapped on Mike’s number and started her car.

  “She’s just walking down the drive,” Madeline said, putting the car in gear. “I’ll stall until she gets close to the gate. Instead of taking Hot Springs, go down Coast Village Road and take Middle Road up. That’s probably the safest bet for catching me at Sycamore Canyon.”

  “Got it,” Mike said, all business now.

  Madeline let her foot off the brake and idled down the drive. Teresa looked back over her shoulder as the crunching of the crushed granite got closer. When she saw it was Madeline driving, she turned and waved. Madeline coasted to a stop, drawing out every second. Teresa remained stationary while the window lowered.

  “Hi!” Madeline said. “Heading home?”

  “Yes,” Teresa said.

  “Hop in—I’ll drop you off,” Madeline offered cheerfully.

  “Oh, no—that’s okay. I take the bus,” Teresa said, backing up. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “What part of town do you live in?” Madeline asked, shifting the car into park. This simple action told Teresa Madeline wouldn’t be so easy to evade. The girl’s eyes went skyward as if her address were written in the clouds.

  “Do you know where is San Andres Street?”

  “Oh sure, that’s just a few blocks from my office. That’s not out of my way at all. Hop in. I’ll get you home in a jiffy,” Madeline said, unlocking the doors.

  Teresa walked in front of the vehicle, clearly uneasy about the situation she now found herself in but trying to hide it. Madeline couldn’t help but wonder why she was so r
eluctant to ride in a comfortable automobile instead of jostling along on the city bus. Either she was ashamed by the part of town she lived in or she didn’t like to impose on people above her station in life.

  Or maybe she has other reasons for keeping a low profile, Madeline thought, flashing Teresa a friendly smile as the girl opened the door and got in. Madeline put the car in drive but waited while Teresa negotiated the seatbelt before lifting her foot off the brake.

  “Are you ready for tomorrow night?” Madeline asked, giving Teresa a big, conspiratorial grin that she hoped the girl would find contagious. Madeline saw the corners of Teresa’s lips turn up, her clue that she had used the right ice-breaker.

  “I bet you’re a little bit excited about seeing all those movie stars.” This guess had Teresa smiling ear to ear. “It’s going to be a night we’ll never forget,” Madeline said, laughing as she waved goodbye to the pair of guards at the exit, another crew she had never seen before. But she was glad to see the reinforcements, and not only because of the paparazzi that would be hovering like gnats. The more eyes scrutinizing the entrance and exit, the better—for her sake, as well.

  For a split second she almost regretted refusing Cherie’s offer of camping out in one of the guest suites for the weekend. The weakness passed quickly and she felt as though a huge burden slipped off her shoulders as she turned left onto Sycamore Canyon Road.

  By the time Madeline exited the freeway at Carrillo Street, she had Teresa laughing with abandon. Gone was the trepidation Madeline had first sensed in the girl. Now she had her giggling with previews of the following evening’s madcap celebration.

  In a remarkable show of consideration, Cherie had included Teresa at the table with Vivian and four of her friends from the old Hollywood days. As Madeline was intimately aware of who was sitting with whom, she also knew the other couple at the table would not be thrilled to be secluded from the real movers and shakers in attendance.