by Toni Leland
Quaid squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t ready to talk about the new job and the upheaval in his own life, but he was running out of time to get the details in order. He had planned to spend the next weekend packing and getting his house listed for sale.
“Gosh, Jenna, I’m out of town right now and just getting ready for an appointment. Can I call you back later this afternoon?”
Her voice faltered. “Sure, but you know you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
“No, no...I’m just...listen, I’ll call you, okay?”
She murmured goodbye and Quaid threw his head back against the headrest. “Crap. Why does everything have to be so complicated?”
A few minutes later, he stood at the front entrance to the theater, examining the playbill for that night’s performance. He rapped loudly on the door and waited. Nothing happened. He knocked again, or rather, pounded. Nothing. He glanced down the street. Kovak had said there was a horse pasture somewhere close. It would be the one he’d just seen on the news. He started down the sidewalk, rounding the corner just in time to see a horse trailer pull into the back parking area of the theater building. He hurried through the gate and waited while the driver backed the trailer into a slot between two others.
A short, dark skinned man stepped out of the truck and frowned. “You’re not supposed to be in here. Private property.”
“I have an appointment to meet one of the actors for an interview. No one answers the front door.”
The man hesitated, then nodded. “Come, I will take you.”
Quaid followed him, hoping no one official would get in the way. Inside the back entrance, the man gestured down a long walkway.
“All actors are down there.”
Quaid nodded his thanks and strode along the dim passageway. A door at the end was marked dressing rooms. He pushed through, hoping he didn’t catch anyone in his or her birthday suit. The door opened into a large central room filled with racks of glittering costumes. A thin man stepped from behind one of the racks.
“May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Sophia Barevsky.”
The man looked him up and down, then gestured toward one of the doors. “Good luck with that.”
Quaid swallowed. What the hell did that mean?
He knocked twice, then heard a husky voice, thick with accent. “Is open.”
He stepped into a small room filled with the scent of heavy perfume. His eyes locked on the face in the mirror and his pulse skipped. Holy cow.
Sophia Barevsky swung her voluptuous body around on the stool, uncrossing long bare legs, then let out a long breath.
“Oooh, and to vaht do I owe thees pleasure?”
Quaid’s mouth went dry. “Uh, Miss Barevsky, I’m Garrett Quaid. I’m looking into some problems at Natalie Danseur’s barn. Do you have a minute?”
Barevsky’s dark eyebrows shot up. “For her – no. For you – oh, yes.” She rose and walked toward him. “You are private investigator?”
“Well, sort of. Actually, an insurance thing.”
The woman clearly didn’t understand the concept of personal space. She stood so close that her breasts almost touched Quaid’s jacket. He had great difficulty not stepping back. And not looking down into her magnificent cleavage. Her scent swirled around him and her full red lips glistened where she’d just licked them.
She smiled slyly. “Natalie is playing games with insurance company? Not surprising. How can I help you? With the case, of course.”
“Do you happen to know why Natalie left this company?”
Sophia stepped back and tossed her head. “She could not stand the competition. Wanted all the spotlight for herself.”
Quaid noted that her accent had diminished somewhat. Interesting.
“Didn’t that cause problems for the production?”
“What this has to do with insurance?”
Quaid pursed his lips. “Just trying to get some background information on her.”
“You want to know real story of her, talk to Mr. Mark. He give you ear full.” She stepped close again, the accent returning to her speech. “Now, you sure I not interest you in anything else?”
“Uh, no, thank you, you’ve been most helpful.”
She gave him a lecherous smile, then turned and sashayed back to her dressing table, her dark eyes watching him in the mirror as he backed toward the door.
Outside in the main room, he exhaled sharply and the costume man grinned.
“That good, huh?”
Quaid rolled his eyes and headed for the exit, pulling out his phone. A minute later, a voice answered and Quaid asked for the owner.
“I’m sorry, he’s not in until tonight before the performance. I’ll transfer you to his voice mail.”
Quaid hung up quickly. No point in giving anyone a heads-up. Besides, Barevsky would probably share their meeting with the owner as soon as she could.
As he walked through the parking lot, he thought about the acrobat’s parting remark. The real story – what did that mean? That the professional jealousy wasn’t the real reason? Quaid stopped in mid-stride. What had happened that no one wanted to talk about? And how did it figure into Natalie’s sick horses?
Back in his truck, he realized that he was missing a key piece, so it was time to go back to the beginning. He should talk to the other owner, Susan Knight.
Climbing out of the truck, Quaid headed back into the building. A scrawny girl in dirty barn clothes came down the aisle pushing a wheelbarrow full of manure.
“Excuse me, could you direct me to Susan Knight’s office?”
The stall cleaner shook her head. “She ain’t here no more.”
“Oh? I thought she was an owner.”
“Like I said, she ain’t here ’n’ I don’t know nothin’ about it.”
She pushed the wheelbarrow past Quaid, brushing his pant leg and dislodging several horse apples onto his shoes in the process.
He frowned and followed her out the back door, then headed across the parking lot. Something stank here and it wasn’t just manure.
Chapter 23
Kim moved around the perimeter of the reception area, studying the large display of architectural drawings as she waited for Charles Lane. His designs were beautiful, at once innovative and modern, but with a traditional element.
“Miss Kovak?”
She turned and immediately understood Natalie’s peculiar body language when she’d spoken of him. Charles Lane was tall and blond, with piercing green eyes and ruddy cheeks. Movie star good looks, and he knew it.
Kim offered her hand. “Nice to meet you. My friend, Natalie Danseur, said you did the remodeling of her theater. It’s fabulous!”
His smile was thin. The compliment obviously pleased him, but the mention of Natalie seemed to taint that pleasure.
“Thank you. It was an interesting and challenging job. Are you in the theater business?”
“No, I’m just working on an article about interesting renovations of old buildings. I’m a writer.”
There it was again, the cover story that seemed to work so well. Everyone wanted to meet a real live author.
Lane relaxed a bit. “We can talk in my office.” He gestured toward a door. “What publications do you write for?”
Oops.
“Oh, this is a spec piece. I’ll submit it to a couple of magazines when it’s finished.”
“I can give you the names of a couple of very prestigious ones.”
“That would be great.” Kim took a seat in one of the chrome chairs facing Lane’s desk. “Tell me about the ramp in Natalie’s building.”
He shook his head. “At first, I thought it didn’t make sense, that she should simply install a first class extra large freight elevator. But she was adamant.” A curious look passed over his face. “She is a determined young lady, hard to argue with.”
Kim studied him for a moment, seeing past the good looks to a mature man at least ten years older than Natal
ie. How easy it would be for him to fall for a beautiful and talented young woman.
Kim pulled out her notebook. “How long did the project take from start to finish? What obstacles did you encounter?”
He chuckled. “The biggest obstacle was Natalie herself, but mechanically, the project was simple. My only concern was that the aged mortar and brickwork wouldn’t support the weight of the structure.”
Kim watched him while he talked. He’d relaxed into his element, but she’d already seen a couple of slips into the personal realm where Natalie was concerned. Had they been lovers?
Kim grinned. “Natalie is a pistol all right. But obviously you two got along okay, got the job done.”
Wariness crept into his expression. “A project like that doesn’t happen overnight. It’s important to stay in tune with the client.”
“She’s most appreciative of how dedicated you were to her dream. I mean, after all she’d been through, the theater was going to be her salvation.”
His guard dropped and dejection appeared. “Yes, she was a tormented girl, constantly fighting her demons. But they always won.”
Kim licked her lips, almost afraid to go on. “Were you close with her?”
His shoulders drooped and he swiveled his chair to gaze through the huge window. “I came along at the wrong time. Natalie was on a personal rampage that looked as though it might destroy her.”
“Because of her injuries?”
Lane turned back and gazed at Kim for a long moment. “Because of her failed marriage. She was on the rebound and I came into the line of fire.” He stood up. “I think this conversation has drifted off topic. You have enough information on the renovation, don’t you?”
Kim’s face warmed. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to understand my friend. She’s very unhappy.”
“It’s catching, believe me.”
Five minutes later, Kim stepped out the front door onto the sidewalk and shivered. The wind had picked up, sending the plummeting temperature slicing through her light blazer. She glanced at the sky. Only an hour ago, it had been bright blue, but the wind had brought dark grey clouds from the lake. As she waited on the corner for the pedestrian light, the first large drop splattered on her hand. By the time she reached the parking garage a block away, she was cold and damp.
Closing her car door with a decisive slam, she blew out a long breath. She still needed to talk to Natalie’s husband. Though the architect had confirmed that Natalie’s marriage was in trouble, he hadn’t exactly said that she and her husband were divorced. Had Natalie used Charles Lane to make her husband jealous? Had she dumped Lane to return to said husband? Kim shook her head and started the car. She was floundering in sea of unbaked ideas that had no focus. Yet.
An unsettling thought passed through her mind. Natalie’s situation was so similar to Kim’s own, except that Natalie’s significant other had stuck with her through the hard parts. Peter, on the other hand, had wanted no part of caring for an invalid.
“Dammit! Why am I thinking about him again?”
Because Peter is the one arena in your life where you had absolutely no control. Get over it.
She programmed her GPS, then pulled out of the garage into heavy traffic, glancing quickly at the clock on the dash. Almost four o’clock. She should have called ahead. DeMarco might not even be at his office. Moving into the crush of cars headed north on Michigan Avenue, Kim pondered how, exactly, she would approach him. The “writer” tag had worked well so far, but as soon as she ventured into personal areas, it was harder to use that cover. Maybe she should just say she was working with an investigative office for insurance purposes. Yes, that would certainly work. Whether she should mention the sick horses was something else.
Thirty minutes later, Kim was still blocks away from the sports therapy clinic. She found a convenience store and pulled into the lot to call. The clinic answered on the second ring.
“May I speak to Damon DeMarco, please.”
“I’m sorry, he’s not here.”
“Oh, he’s left for the day? Will he be in tomorrow?”
“He’s no longer with the clinic. I can connect you to one of our other therapists.”
“No, that’s okay. I needed to talk to him, specifically. Do you know where I can reach him?”
“I do not.”
Kim blew out a long breath. “Okay, thanks.”
Time for Quaid to do his tracking magic again.
Quaid took a quick shower, then sat down to figure out exactly what he wanted to say to Jenna. His new job was no big hush-hush secret, but he was concerned that his previous pseudo-promises to move to Dayton might be viewed as “throwaway” comments. If the move to Columbus weren’t such a hurried endeavor, he’d be a lot happier.
“Jenna? Hey, sorry to take so long getting back to you. Let me tell you what’s going on.”
To his relief, Jenna was thrilled about his new job.
“Garrett, that’s fabulous! And you’ll be so close to us.”
“Timing is the problem, though. I’ve only just accepted the offer, and I need to get my life in order. If I could take Ricky back to my place for the weekend, that would work better for me. He can help me pack stuff.”
“He’d love that. I’ll tell the school that you’ll pick him up at two on Friday. My tour bus arrives back here on Monday around noon, then I’ll come get him. I can’t thank you enough, Garrett.”
“My pleasure. I’m just glad you are carving out a life for yourself.”
Her voice softened. “Me, too. I’m tired of being lonely.”
Chapter 24
Kim let herself into the room and flopped across the bed. After an hour in traffic gridlock, all she wanted to do was close her eyes and not move.
Quaid called, ending that idea.
“I’m back at the hotel, so whenever you get here we can meet. There’s an Italian restaurant around the corner. Sound okay?”
“I’m here, but I need a few minutes to glue my sanity back in place. The traffic was awful.”
“Okay, just come knock on my door when you’re ready. I’m in 306.”
Kim laid the phone aside. She’d close her eyes for just a few minutes, then clean up a bit.
The phone rang and she snatched it up. It was Quaid again.
“Are you sane yet? I’m gettin’ hungry.”
Kim looked at her watch. “Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry. I fell asleep. I’ll be right there.”
A minute later, she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed from sleep, her hair reminiscent of a voodoo doll. Splashing cold water over her face, she considered her day’s cache of information. Not much to report. She hoped Quaid had more. After one last attempt to corral her unruly hair, she headed down the hall.
Quaid stepped out just before Kim arrived at his door.
He grinned. “You feel any better?”
“Sort of. Part of my problem is that I met dead ends all day. I hope you had better luck.”
“This is one of those cases where all the little bits seem to mean nothing until you finally put them all into a pile and start matching them up.”
His tone belied any frustration he might be feeling. Kim glanced at him as they walked out the front door.
“You like convoluted cases, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah. The easy ones are boring. Half the fun in this business is the chase.”
A few minutes later, they settled into a booth in the back of a small neighborhood eatery and ordered beers.
Kim smiled across the table. “You go first.”
“There is definitely something going on at the horse theater downtown, but I can’t decide if it has anything to do with Natalie.”
“Like what? Were you able to talk to Knight?”
“No, he was conveniently out until tonight. I did talk to the acrobat, Sophia Barevsky.” He licked his lips. “Now there’s a piece of work.”
Kim chuckled. “I saw her performance the last time I was here
. She’s quite beautiful – you must have had an interesting interview.”
His face reddened. “That’s putting it mildly, but she did verify that Natalie was upset about sharing the spotlight.”
“You know, I just don’t buy that artistic rivalry thing. Too much at stake for too many people. And it’s petty.”
“You’re wrong. Think about the scandal at the Bolshoi Ballet in Russia last year.”
Kim leaned forward. “I didn’t hear about it. What happened?”
“Professional disagreement over artistic production. The bosses wanted to include more contemporary dance productions, but another faction wanted to stick with the classical performances that have been the trademark of the Bolshoi since its beginnings in the eighteenth century. Anyway, one night, a masked attacker threw sulfuric acid into the artistic director’s face, nearly blinding him.”
“Oh, no! What is the matter with people?”
“I don’t know, but the uglier sides of human nature are what keep me in business.”
“Doesn’t it ever get to you? I mean, always dealing with unpleasant situations?”
He gave her that lopsided grin. “Is it any different from police work?”
Kim swirled her fingertip through a puddle of moisture at the base of the beer glass. “No, it’s not.” She looked up. “So what else do we have besides Barevsky’s information?”
“She said if I wanted the real story on Natalie, I should talk to Knight. But here’s the weird thing. When I couldn’t get to him, I thought I’d talk to the wife, Susan.”
“And...?”
“She’s no longer there, according to an employee. Maybe she’s an owner in name only. I can probably find out, but I’ll do that later. What did the architect have to say?”
“He admitted to being involved with Natalie on the rebound, but I got the sense that it didn’t last long. Also, Natalie’s husband is no longer working at the clinic. I’ll have to see if I can track him down.”
Quaid toyed with his napkin, then looked up. “I’m beginning to form a different picture of Ms. Danseur. I need to talk to her face to face.”
