by Cassie Page
Tuesday didn’t recognize any of the names on the list, anyway. She wasn’t connected to the world of finance, cutting edge biotech innovations or venture capitalists. In Tuesday’s world, if you weren’t a rock star or movie mogul, you weren’t anybody.
They took the Mercedes for the dress up occasion and Tuesday pulled into the country club valet parking lane, making their way to the ballroom just as the caterers were setting up the champagne and caviar bar. Olivia asked an officious server where she could find Sabrina. “You mean the bitch with the frozen hair who thinks she’s Empress of Darling Valley?”
“That would be our Sabrina,” said Olivia.
The guy pointed to an archway near the bandstand. “Down that hallway. You’ll come to an office at the end. She’s in there still swearing over seating charts. At this hour.” He shook his head in disgust and returned to stacking flutes next to the champagne fountain.
Sabrina said, “Tuesday, see if you can grab yourself a glass of champs. I’ll hand this off to Sabrina and join you. We’ll only stay a few minutes.”
Halfway down the long corridor she heard voices coming from the office at the end of the hall. Male and female. The man’s voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Oh, yes. It was Elgin Fastner, the banker. Olivia was tempted to back away and return to the ballroom, but realized that having Sabrina there would smooth over any awkwardness from their chat this afternoon. He certainly wouldn’t reprimand her again in front of Sabrina for her tasteless request. Would he?
Closer to the office, she could make out two figures behind the open door. She was about to call Hello when she heard Sabrina say, “Elgin! Take your hands off me. How many ways are there to say no? Why don’t you find someone in your own zip code, like in Marin City.”
What came next was just a muffled low exchange and then footsteps stomping toward the door. Olivia slipped into a musty closet and tried to melt into the woodwork while she suppressed a sneeze. Footsteps continued past the closet and in the distance she heard Elgin say hello, and a female gush back that she was so happy to see him, then the click of heels down towards Olivia. They continued on into Sabrina’s office and she heard two women chatter about details of the auction. Olivia thought it safe to slink out of the closet and present herself to Sabrina, her opinion of Elgin changed from a numbers nerd to a garden-variety sleaze ball, hitting on every woman with whom he had veto power over business loans.
Olivia peeked her head around the door, spotting Sabrina leaning over a chart of some kind discussing names with the woman. Olivia knocked lightly. Sabrina looked up, clearly surprised at the interruption. It was obvious to Olivia that Sabrina did not realize she had overheard her conversation with Elgin.
Rushed, Sabrina said, “A moment please, Olivia,” and turned her attention back to the volunteer. The hand done calligraphy on her nametag was a nice touch, Olivia thought, expensive but showing the patrons that their money was going to a class act. No Hello my name is . . . for Sabrina.
Sabrina dismissed the woman, then gestured for Olivia to come to her desk. And hurry. “Finally you’re here. Is that the bowl? Give me a minute and we’ll find a place for it on the display table in the ballroom.” Then she turned her attention to the chart again.
Olivia held the bowl to her bosom like it was a fragile newborn. Though no one would know or care that she had made a substitution in place of the stolen one, she would feel an ache each time she saw the empty spot on the book case, long time home of the bowl. She had a special fondness for Imari. Not because she thought it was particularly beautiful. She admired the craftsmanship of the gaudy blue and red pieces threaded with gold, but she preferred Meissen. The bowl she was about to give away had belonged to her grandmother, from whom her grandfather insisted Olivia inherited her good taste. Though she was prickly in her relationships, Nan had insisted from the beginning that Olivia had talent and subsidized her education when student loans and grants dried up.
Sabrina tossed her Mont Blanc onto the chart in disgust. “These people who don’t respect RSVP dates. They’ve had six weeks to decide if they are coming and then they accept two hours before the event. If they weren’t paying for a premium table, I’d tell them where to go.”
Olivia thought, I bet you just would, but nodded with a commiserating smile. Sabrina led her back down the hall and out into the ballroom to the linen-draped table with the pieces for the silent auction. Olivia handed the bowl to her and said a silent, “I’m so sorry, Nan,” when she set it down.
Olivia made her apologies. “You know I have a guest, Sabrina. I can’t stay too long. I’ve promised my friend Tuesday one of Hugo’s famous dinners.”
Sabrina blew her off. “Just chat up a few people during the cocktail hour to get them interested in your piece. Then consider the handcuffs off.” Within a nanosecond, she was heading back to her office.
Olivia called to her. “Oh, by the way. If it doesn’t sell, when can I pick it up?”
Sabrina turned and replied, her voice dripping with ice, “If it doesn’t sell? Everything sells at my auctions.” Olivia felt the temperature in the room drop at least twenty degrees as Sabrina continued to her office. Olivia regretted giving her grandmother’s bowl away. Sabrina wouldn’t have noticed if she’d given her an old motel ash tray.
Gradually the room filled with partygoers and the wait staff faded into the crowd. A few jewels glittered, but this was an after work party and the guests strutted in Italian business suits and designer daywear. The bling was on their feet. Women in Christian Louboutain, Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo, the men in handcrafted English leather laceups. Olivia nodded to a few familiar faces and introduced Tuesday to the few who stopped to chat. A server came by and offered a tray of caviar toast. Tuesday refused, but Olivia took one to take her mind off what might be happening at home. She all but heard stealthy footsteps creeping through the showroom, her valuables clinking into someone’s pockets. She mentally kicked herself again for passing on the high tech alarm system Elgin had suggested she include in the original loan. Olivia heard a friendly voice. “Olivia? Why am I not surprised to see you here?”
Olivia turned into the face of Carrie wearing too much makeup and juggling a tray of champagne flutes.
“Carrie! Thank you, I will.” Olivia took a glass and gestured for Tuesday to help herself.
Tuesday replaced her glass and said brightly, “Ready for Mr. Right?”
Carrie whispered, “I been walking on air since you told me that stuff. And until he shows up, I’m here serving up your poison. We were told to keep the booze coming so’s it will open up the checkbooks.”
Olivia laughed. “Well I’m a donor so you don’t have to waste the good stuff on me.”
“You a donor!” Carrie laughed.
Olivia pointed to the Imari bowl that now sat next to a pair of wedding champagne flutes, the stems tied with white satin ribbon.
“That’s mine. Next to the Baccarat.” She recognized the pattern. “Let’s see which cheapskate donated them. You can get those at Bloomingdales for a hundred dollars.”
Carrie shot a you’re kidding me scowl at her. “A hundred bux for a set of glasses?”
Olivia returned a hapless grin. “Each, my dear. A hundred bux each.”
Tuesday giggled and finished off her champagne and replaced her empty glass with a full one before Carrie said bye and offered her wares to a couple behind Olivia.
“What’s the matter with you, Ollie. You passed up a golden opportunity.”
Olivia wiped the corners of her mouth with her cocktail napkin, mainly for something to do while she smiled inanely at the incoming partygoers who looked at her like she carried the plague. “What do you mean?”
“Carrie. She’s a gold mine of information and you natter on about cheapo wine glasses?”
Olivia tipped her glass to Jesse the fishmonger who squeezed his way to the oyster bar. “Got to see how Sabrina’s displaying the wares,” he said, his excuse for not stopping to c
hat. Olivia mouthed, “Yours?” to a set of Japanese carving knives and Jesse nodded and mouthed back, “Diamonds,” and Olivia noticed the little studs in the handles. To no one she said, “This place is too over the top even for me.”
Tuesday nudged Olivia and in a stage whisper complained, “And you let Mr. Gorgeous 2013 go by without snagging him for a little tête-à-tête?”
“Tuesday. I told you this afternoon, Jesse’s young enough to be my little brother.”
“Um, girlfriend. You’re not the only one at this party that could use an infusion of testosterone.”
“But Tues, you’re only going to be here a few days.”
“Like, my point exactly? And who’s going to entertain me while you’re locked up in the pokey?”
Olivia shook her head in a vehement no. “You’ll move on and I’ll have to face my neighbors with their heads spinning from a slam bam with my friend Tuesday. This isn’t LA where you can disappear into the crowd if your sleep over doesn’t turn out to be love everlasting.”
“What do you think is going to happen, you’ll get picked up for pandering?”
“In this conservative town I wouldn’t be surprised. Behave. And what about the script guy you were telling me about.”
Tuesday turned up her nose. “He’s not a script guy. He’s in turnaround.”
Olivia took another sip of her champagne and said, “Whatever,” into the glass, and when she looked up it was into the velvety eyes of Detective Richards.
“Miss Granville, this is unexpected.”
He turned his attention to Tuesday. “And Miss, Miss”
Olivia said, “Tuesday.”
“Yes, of course. Miss uh Tuesday.”
Olivia’s surprised gaze whipsawed from his eyes to the equally beautiful orbs of the brunette beauty holding his arm. The air went out of what little bit of party ebullience Olivia had managed to resurrect for this event. Richards turned to his companion to introduce her, but a man next to him backed up without looking and when he gestured to apologize, sprayed his champagne down the front of Richards’ lapel and shirtfront. While the detective was busy brushing away the man’s cocktail napkin and offer of help, the girl introduced herself. Olivia heard Tasmania, but the last name got lost in the buzz of the growing crowd and the swish of her jet-black waves cascading down her back.
Olivia gave Tasmania a weak smile, fighting a surge of disappointment that dampened any last enthusiasm she had for the fundraiser as surely as the stranger’s champagne had soaked Richards’ shirt.
She had a sudden desire to get out of that ballroom in a hurry. If she mentioned to Richards that, once again, the police had been singularly ineffectual in tracking down her stolen Imari bowl, she wasn’t sure how she would camouflage her rage. She didn’t know what else they would talk about.
To fill in the awkward silence as the foursome smiled blankly at each other, Olivia raised her glass in a wordless toast, downed her champagne and said, “Well, Tuesday, time for us to mosey.”
She turned to Richard’s companion. “The Imari bowl is mine. See if you can bid up the price,” and both Richards and the woman gave Olivia a puzzled look.
Olivia reached past Tasmania to plant her empty glass on a passing server’s tray, motioned to Tuesday to do the same, took her friend’s arm and marched her through the crowd to the exit.
Outside, while they waited for the valet to bring Tuesday’s rented Mercedes around, they heard a commotion in the bushes on the side of the colonnaded entrance.
Angry male voices cut the air and the two women strained to look.
“You pay up or else.”
“Don’t you threaten me, you . . . “
The parking attendants rushed to break up the fight, too late to stop the first blow. The four attendants outnumbered the combatants and quickly subdued the two men. But they couldn’t stop the swearing and threats. They pushed them back from each other, further out of the lights in the entranceway, making it even harder for Olivia to see what was going on. A manager of some kind came running out and pressed the arriving guests back, trying to block their view of the fray. One of the men was ordered to leave and Olivia could see a short, stocky figure in work clothes retreating to the parking lot. He made a final assault, turning to yell, “We’re not done here.”
The other man shouted back, “Don’t you threaten me. I know what you did the other night.” By now the attendants had pushed him further back towards the bushes. He insisted he had an invitation to the party and searched through his pockets until he retrieved a square envelope.
Olivia saw the attendant read the name and, satisfied, allowed him to pass, saying, “But no more trouble, okay Mr. Gotshalk?”
Olivia whispered in Tuesday’s ear. “Gotshalk? That’s my customer’s name. Must be her son.”
The Mercedes arrived. Tuesday wound around the parking lot to the exit. Olivia shouted, “Tuesday, look!”
Tuesday stopped the car and they watched the pugilist getting in to his truck. He gunned the Toyota and backed out of his parking space, giving Olivia and Tuesday a clear view of him raising his fist to his passenger, and pounding on the steering wheel. Tuesday followed him slowly. He pulled under a street lamp and Olivia gasped. The driver was raising his fist to Cody.
Chapter Eighteen: Dinner at Hugos
At Hugo’s, the server cleared the ratatouille and goat cheese tart crumbs from the table and signaled to her assistant to serve the halibut while she refilled Olivia and Tuesday’s wine glasses with another two fingers of Pinot Grigio. Olivia assured the woman that the start to their meal was all they had hoped for and, yes, they couldn’t wait for the halibut in cream and champagne but, they would try to leave room for the queen of desserts, Grand Marnier Soufflé.
Tuesday remarked that judging by the menu, it must be retro night at Hugo’s, but otherwise, the scene outside the country club had subdued the two friends. They’d said little after they got onto the road and left Cody and his contentious friend behind. Now, half an hour later, the wine began to work its magic, relaxing them and opening them up.
Olivia said, “I have more questions than there are answers in the universe. Why didn’t Mrs. Gotshalk’s son take off his Ermengildo Zegna sports coat before pounding the other guy into the boxwood topiary?”
Tuesday said, “My list has,” she pretended to read a piece of paper, “who is Mrs. Gotshalk? Why was the poundee giving Cody what all in his 4x4? And if I’m allowed one more, how can that dreamy detective afford to pony up $2,500 a plate for himself and his plus one?”
She looked at Olivia’s face. “Gotcha. You winced when I mentioned the girlfriend. Don’t tell me he’s just an annoying gumshoe.”
Distractedly, Olivia drew a circle in the condensation on her wine glass. “You didn’t see anything of the kind on my face. This has been a dreadful day. I’m just tired, that’s all.”
Then it was Tuesday’s turn to jaw drop. Olivia said, “What?” and turned in the direction of Tuesday’s wide-eyed gawp. She quickly whipped her head around.
“Don’t stare, Tues. Don’t let him know we’ve seen him.”
Tuesday said, “So maybe he was there to check on security, but if I paid cash money for those tickets I’d sure want my rubber chicken. What does Detective McDreamy want with dinner here?”
Olivia tasted her halibut, scraped some of the cream sauce away, then squeezed a few more drops of lemon over it. “He probably doesn’t want to conduct his affairs in front of all of Darling Valley. There’s a little more privacy in that dark corner over there, since this is a slow night at Hugo’s.”
“Yeah, or maybe he’s running a protection racket in DV and Hugo lets him order in his pricy restaurant without worrying about paying a tab. Or maybe . . . “
“Stop Tuesday, I don’t care what he’s doing here, why he’s here and who he’s with. Let’s eat, go home and get some sleep.
Tuesday adjusted her sequined shift to show a little more of her muffin tops. “Well, okay. All
I have to say is, did you see the mouth on that girlfriend? Those lips would rival an Orangutan in the zoo. I didn’t know there was that much Botox outside of Hollywood. New topic, what do you think young Master Gotshalk meant when he said he knew what that guy was doing the other night. Too sinister for me. I mean the whole scene was creepy, but what else could he mean but some involvement with Blackman’s death. I don’t think anybody on the planet is talking about anything else.”
Olivia nodded. “Yeah, I’m thinking the same thing. And there’s something else that happened tonight that I haven’t had a chance to tell you about.”
She recounted the scene between Sabrina and Elgin Fastner. “I just can’t get over it, Tues. He’s pimping himself for bank loans. After giving me that speech about the moral compass of the banking industry wouldn’t allow him to help me out with info about Sabrina when I’ve got a life and death situation on my hands.”
Tuesday fiddled with her fork. “What I don’t understand, Olivia, is why you’ve been telling me since you moved up here that Darling Valley is the next best thing to Nirvana? So far I haven’t met anyone who isn’t under suspicion for murder, unfriendly to the point of rudeness or convinced you are the devil’s spawn. What, exactly, is so great about this place? And this is okay halibut, but compared to Spago’s in LA? Are you kidding me? Surely you didn’t have to come all this way to avoid running into Brooks.”
Olivia threw down her fork, paying no attention to the clattering that registered at least three tables away when it bounced off her water glass. “I’ve asked you, Tues. Brooks is off limits. I don’t want to discuss him. You keep asking me about him, telling me what he’s up to and I’ve told you I’m not interested and he can fly to the moon on Pegasus for all I care. Subject closed.”
