“But her daughter wasn’t a public figure,” Cassie said. “Maggie Lynch was just a young woman who had the misfortune of not only being raped but having the event broadcast on the national news. She couldn’t take it.”
Glenn’s tone was serious. “Cut it out, Cassie. As your attorney and as your friend, I’m telling you, stop feeling sorry for yourself, and stop blaming yourself. If we can’t settle this thing and we end up in court, you are going to be called on to testify. You better get your head on straight. You reported the news. Nothing more.”
Cassie didn’t respond.
“Okay.” Glenn filled the void patiently. “It might have been better if you hadn’t said her name. Reporting the name of a rape victim can be actionable. But we can argue that even if you hadn’t mentioned Maggie Lynch by name, people would have figured out who you meant. Pamela Lynch has only one daughter. If that daughter was the reason the FBI director named someone to the Fugitives List, the public has a right to know that.”
To hear Glenn tell it, it made sense. Cassie listened as the attorney continued. “The company has to stick with you, Cassie. First of all, one of their executives, namely Range, forced the story on the air. Second, this could set a bad precedent for all media firms, scaring them off stories and leaving them much more vulnerable to lawsuits. There are some First Amendment issues here, and KEY needs to fight this case and win.”
“Okay,” she answered, mollified for the time being. “You’ll keep me posted on what’s happening?”
“Promise. Where are you, anyway?”
“In Sarasota, Florida, waiting for a hurricane.”
“Swell. Well, hang in there, Cassie, and stop worrying. We have things under control up here.”
As she placed the receiver back into the cradle, there was a knock on the door. Cassie got up and grabbed her purse, taking out a few singles for the waiter with her room service tray. Heading straight for the red wine, she filled her glass and took a generous swallow, followed by another. Pointing the remote at the television, she raised the volume and watched the story of the little kid who had found a human hand on the beach that morning.
THE TURKEY sandwich lay untouched on its plate, but the wine had all been swallowed when the phone rang. “Cassie, it’s me. Leroy.”
“Hi.” What did he want now?
“I just heard that the Boys Next Door are playing on the grounds of the old Ringling estate tonight. I called and, no surprise, they want all the publicity they can get. It’s never enough for these guys. Let’s go.”
“Come on, Leroy.” Cassie was exasperated. “You know damn well we won’t be airing that on KEY. It’s just another concert. There’s no news in that, no matter how big the band is.”
“Yeah, I know that and you know that. But they don’t know that. It’ll be fun. We’ll go through the motions of shooting something, and then we can eat, drink, and be merry. And, if it will make you happy, I’ll pitch it to KEY to America.”
“I didn’t know you were a fan of the Boys Next Door,” she said. “I thought boy bands appealed to my thirteen-year-old daughter and her friends, not to grown men.” Could she try any harder to alienate Leroy?
He ignored the slight. “Get ready. We’ll meet down in the lobby in fifteen minutes.”
CHAPTER 23
A welcome breeze blew in from the bay, cooling the guests gathered on the mottled marble terrace at Cà d’Zan. There was some major league wealth assembled here tonight, thought Cassie, observing the designer gowns and heavy jewelry. She fingered the platinum wedding band, channeled with diamonds, that she still wore on her left ring finger. She supposed she should stop wearing it, but tonight she was glad that she hadn’t taken it off yet. Dressed in black pants and a T-shirt, she was self-conscious, but she had come to Sarasota to cover a hurricane, not a society party.
A thirty-something man approached the KEY crew. His white linen shirt was opened almost to his belt buckle. Heavy gold chains were spread across his chest hair. Suddenly, Cassie felt better about her own attire.
Leroy shook hands with Sarge Tucker and made the rest of the introductions. “This is our correspondent, Cassie Sheridan, and our cameraman, Felix Rodriguez.”
“Nice to meet you. Glad you came,” said the band promoter, pumping Cassie’s hand enthusiastically. “The boys are ready for a great show.”
“So, how is it that the band is playing here?” asked Cassie.
“Sarasota’s my hometown,” answered Sarge. “They only have one more concert on this tour, scheduled for Tampa tomorrow night. We were able to fit this stop in because it’s so close and because I asked them to do it for me. These guys have hearts of gold. So, anyway, make yourselves at home and let me know if there’s anything I can do for you while you’re here tonight.”
“As a matter of fact, there is something I’d like to ask you for, if it’s not too much trouble,” said Cassie, thinking the night shouldn’t be a total loss. “My daughter, Hannah, is a big Boys Next Door fan. Any chance I can get an autographed picture of the band for her?”
“Sure thing,” Sarge answered. “I’ll be sure to get you one by the end of the evening.”
ETTA WAS glad she had volunteered to staff the reception desk. She wanted to be busy and keep her mind off the upcoming surgery. After she had checked off the arriving guests, she planned to excuse herself, drive home, and get to bed early. With a little luck, if the surgery went well, this might be the last time that driving after dark would be worrisome for her. Dr. Lewis said that after the operation the night lights of the highway shouldn’t bother her anymore.
Think of the devil. Dr. Lewis stood before her, looking quite dashing in his tuxedo. Etta craned her neck to look for his escort. She didn’t see one. “Good evening, Dr. Lewis.”
By the blank expression on his face, Etta realized that the doctor didn’t place her. She was a bit hurt but quickly rationalized. He had hundreds of patients. How could he remember all of them? Just as long as he recognized her tomorrow morning in the operating room. “Etta Chambers, Dr. Lewis. You’re doing my cataracts tomorrow.”
“Oh, yes, of course, Etta. Good to see you.” He didn’t bother trying to make any more small talk. Once his name was marked off the guest list, he turned and left.
Etta was tempted to stay and keep an eye on how much the doctor drank. She didn’t want a surgeon with a hangover slicing into her eyes in the morning.
“YOU CLEAN up nice, fella. You didn’t have to get all dressed up just to drive us up here.”
“No problem, Webb.”
“I don’t know how long we’ll be here, Jerry. You don’t mind sticking around, do you, buddy?”
I don’t have much choice, do I? thought the marina owner as he helped his passengers off the boat. Instead he answered, “No, Webb, I don’t mind. I’ll be waiting here for you whenever you all are ready to leave.”
“And, Jerry, I found baby powder all over the floor of the head. You’re not letting anyone else use my boat, are you, big fella?”
“No, of course not, Webb. If it got around that I let people use my customers’ boats, I wouldn’t have much of a marina.” Jerry offered the first thing that came into his head. “Maybe something just fell out of the cabinet.”
Webb was not mollified. “My kids have been out of diapers for quite a while now. I don’t keep powder in the cabinet. And don’t forget, Jerry,” he said, turning away. “I decide who to loan my boat to.”
Jerry watched the backs of Webb and Lou-Anne and the other couple, introduced to him as Gloria and Van, as they ascended the steps from the dock to the terrace at the back of the recently refurbished Cà d’Zan. Jerry already knew Van; the guy had recently contracted to dock his boat at the marina. The woman, Gloria, sure was stacked.
The lights inside the Mediterrean Gothic-style mansion shone through the pastel-colored leaded glass windows, bathing the bedecked party guests in a flattering glow. It was quite a scene, Jerry thought, like something out of a movie.
/> Jerry saw Webb stop to talk to a guy lugging a big camera and watched as Webb pointed to Gloria. The man hoisted the camera to his shoulder and pointed it in the direction of the shiny gold dress.
Jerry climbed back onboard the boat and opened the cooler he had stashed in the hold. Pulling out a Budweiser, he flipped the top and settled back to wait until he could go up there and get some of the good stuff. Why should he be the only one not drinking champagne?
GLORIA REVELED in making her entrance up the grand marble steps. She was so glad Merilee was out of the picture tonight. Now Gloria could be the belle of the ball. She felt like Cinderella in her shimmering golden gown, and she could tell she was making an impression by the heads, both male and female, that turned in her direction.
“You’re knockin ’em dead, sweetheart,” Van whispered in her ear. “You’re absolutely glowing.” Her escort squeezed her arm too hard.
Yes, Cinderella was a good comparison, she thought. Gloria had been feeling like a scullery maid since Merilee had become Webb’s little pet. Merilee had been getting all the attention. Gloria had grown sick and tired of being second banana.
She smiled and laughed and sipped champagne from a fluted glass, aware that Brian Mueller was training his camera on her. Gloria wanted to shine in the video Brian was taking of her, knowing that these would be the opening shots for Velvet Nights in Venice, the movie that would get her career back on track. Gloria nuzzled Van’s neck for the camera’s benefit.
“Nice touch, baby,” said Van.
“My pleasure.” She smiled up at him.
She supposed Van Jensen had been a friend. He was rooting for Gloria, and he told her so, often. Though Merilee and Van had steamy chemistry on the set, they’d never seemed to get along when they put their clothes back on. Van didn’t seem at all upset that Merilee was missing.
Gloria valued loyalty. She took Van’s hand and decided that when they shot the hot scenes that were to be the meat of Velvet Nights in Venice, she wouldn’t just go through the motions. She was going to show Van her appreciation and make sure he had an especially good time.
HE REALLY was Superman, Brian congratulated himself, serving two masters at the same time. Brian shot his pictures at every possible opportunity while letting Tony think he was shooting only for the Suncoast News piece.
“Hey, did you see who’s over there?” Tony was ogling. “That’s Cassie Sheridan from KEY News.”
Brian made no comment.
“I’m going to introduce myself.”
Good, thought Brian, now I can get some more stuff for Webb.
WHILE FELIX, at Leroy’s instruction, was perfunctorily shooting some video, Cassie helped herself to the passing trays of shrimp, skewered chicken, and quiche. As she reached for another piece of shrimp, a man beside her commented on her ring. “That’s a beauty.”
“Why, thank you.”
“I should know, I’m a jeweler. Leslie Sebastien,” said the man, extending his hand.
Cassie switched her glass to her left hand and shook his right one. “Cassie Sheridan.”
“You look somehow familiar,” he said, staring at her.
“I’m with KEY News.”
He nodded and smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
Cassie anticipated the conversation progressing, but before either of them could go any further, a hand tapped Leslie Sebastien on his shoulder. “Excuse me, will you?” he asked and turned away.
Cassie shrugged and went to get another glass of wine.
THOUGH SHE hadn’t been thrilled when Webb told her he was bringing Gloria and Van along tonight, once her husband had reassured her that it would all look aboveboard, Lou-Anne Morelle hadn’t protested too much. If she wanted to keep the lifestyle to which she had so happily become accustomed, she had to make a concession or two. And, after all, it was Gloria, not Merilee, that Webb had said would star in his next movie, and Lou-Anne was grateful for that. She hadn’t liked Merilee from the first time she met the raven-haired beauty at Webb’s office. But Webb was crazy about her. Too crazy.
Lou-Anne made it a point to talk to as many people as she could on the terrace. That was her job as a fundraiser committee member. She knew, or at least recognized, most of the guests. It was the same crowd that attended all the other Sarasota social and charity events through the year. But what was with the woman standing by the bar wearing the black pants and T-shirt? For just an instant, Lou-Anne wrinkled her nose in distaste. The woman was surely pretty enough, but how gauche of her to come to this event dressed that way.
THE SMALL courtyard at the side of the house was a good place to talk. The two took a seat beneath the elevated bronze statues of the fabled Romulus and Remus.
“I’m sure it was the ring you bought,” the jeweler insisted. “It was one of a kind. If there was any doubt, my hallmark stamped inside nailed it.”
“What about the guy who brought it in?”
“I didn’t recognize him,” said Sebastien, “and he wouldn’t leave his name. But I can tell you one thing. He hadn’t been in the store before. This guy is no regular to St. Armands Circle.”
“What did he look like?”
“Older guy, big, white mustache. Could be distinguished if he had the right clothes. Leathery skin, but not from sailing around on some yacht or golfing the fairways. This man works with his hands.”
“Did you buy the ring from him?”
“No. I said it was getting late and I had somewhere to be. I thought I would talk to you first. I told him to come back tomorrow. I can have the police waiting for him then.” Sebastien looked at his companion.
“Have you called the police already?”
“No. I wanted to see how you wanted to handle this. I didn’t know if you wanted the police to be involved since you bought the ring for her.”
“Let me think about it, will you, Leslie? I’ll let you know before we leave tonight.”
IT WAS not the usual frenzied screaming that greeted the Boys Next Door as they ran out and took their places on the specially erected platform on the front lawn of Cà d’Zan, but the guests did applaud heartily.
“Hello, Sarasota,” called Sarge Tucker into his microphone. “The Boys Next Door are honored to be here tonight to support the various wonderful charities in this, my beloved, hometown. Thank you, ladies and gents.”
There was more enthusiastic applause as Sarge continued. “We have a special treat tonight. The boys are going to play, for the very first time before an audience, their new single—a song that is destined for the top of the charts. So, everybody, without further ado, I present to you the Boys Next Door and ‘Nobody Knows.’ ”
The group bounded up to the stage, music blasting from the amplifiers placed strategically around the mansion grounds, as Sarge Tucker, gold chains flapping, jogged off the stage. “Nobody Knows” seemed to Cassie to be similar to the other Boys Next Door songs she had heard repeatedly blaring from Hannah’s boom box. They had annoyed her then. Now she would give anything to be upstairs in the Alexandria house again, trying to block out the loud music.
“Don’t look so enthused,” shouted a voice in her ear. It was Sarge Tucker, smiling and holding out a glossy eight-by-ten. “For your daughter,” he offered. “I hope that’s how Hannah spells her name.”
“Oh, yes, she’ll be so thrilled. Thank you.” She arranged a pleasant expression on her face and took the autographed picture from him, feeling somewhat guilty. Cassie doubted he would be so friendly if he realized that the video they had taken tonight wouldn’t air on KEY News.
The promoter held out his business card. “Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.”
Cassie politely tucked the card into her purse.
SHE WAS going to call a taxi. Let Leroy and Felix stay as long as they cared to. She wanted to get out of here, go back to the hotel and go to bed. Too bad her heart wasn’t into socializing. There were some very handsome men at this party, she thought as she stared at a particularly good-lookin
g man, dashing in his tuxedo. As if he felt her eyes on him, he turned and lifted his champagne glass in a gentle salute.
Embarrassed, Cassie walked back to the bar on the terrace. Pulling her cell phone from her purse, she called information and scribbled the cab company’s number on a cocktail napkin. Her next call told her that it would be twenty minutes before a car could pick her up. She asked the bartender for another glass of Merlot while she waited.
As she sipped the wine by herself, she couldn’t help but listen to the loud conversation of the threesome that stood beside her.
“My God, that was Merilee’s song,” said the woman in the gold lamé gown. “I know that was it. If she was here, she’d be steaming.”
“What do you mean, that was Merilee’s song?” asked the swarthy tuxedo standing next to the gold lamé.
“She wrote that song, Van. I know. Merilee played ‘Nobody Knows’ for me months ago. Haven’t you noticed how she’s always working on her music between takes?”
The swarthy one shrugged. “I never paid much attention.”
The woman turned to the other man. “Can’t you do something about it, Webb? It’s not fair. Merilee wrote that song, and now the Boys Next Door are going to make a fortune on it.”
“Merilee’s a big girl, Gloria. If there’s a battle to be fought, she can fight it on her own. She doesn’t need me or you or anyone else to do it for her. I don’t want to get involved. Web of Desire doesn’t need that kind of publicity.”
The woman pushed back her teased hair. “Well, Merilee can’t fight if she’s not around to do the fighting. Don’t get me wrong, Webb, I’m glad that I’m getting the chance to star in Velvet Nights since Merilee is AWOL, but while she’s missing, I think, as a businessman, you should find out what she’s entitled to for writing that song.”
As if sensing a silent partner in their conversation, the man called Webb looked in Cassie’s direction. She felt her face grow warm as she was caught eavesdropping. She took the last sip of her wine, picked up her purse from the bar, and walked away.
Nobody Knows Page 8
