by Sparkle Abby
In spite of our rocky week, April Mae had asked me to be present again. I justified it that it fell under keeping her safe and keeping an eye on her.
Unlike Tonya Miles, Franklin knew exactly what he was after. He politely engaged in a little small talk, then pointed out which of the paintings he wanted and wrapped it in the paper he’d brought along.
Unlike the piece Tonya Miles had selected, I didn’t recognize the artist. The painting was a soft pastoral scene with a rustic barn in the background and a group of goats in the foreground. It was an unexpected choice as far as I was concerned, but he picked it without hesitation.
April Mae offered him something to drink, but he declined. I attempted to engage him in conversation, which I hoped would zip right to a possible secret life discussion.
“Tonya Miles was here yesterday to pick up her bequest. She chose a small Pollack I hadn’t even realized Kitty owned and a pair of Stuart Weitzman pumps probably worth nearly as much as the painting.”
“Sounds like Tonya.” Franklin stood near the door clearly ready to be on his way.
“She doesn’t seem like Kitty’s type.” An unlikely friendship if I ever saw one.
“Oh, Tonya provided Kitty entrée into all the best parties.”
“And what did Kitty provide Tonya?”
Franklin actually chuckled at my observation. “Well,” he said. “I always believed Kitty had something on Tonya. The only explanation I could come up with. Tonya Miles doesn’t give favors easily.”
“I can imagine.” I thought of the woman and her attitude yesterday. “I don’t get the shoes and a painting. There must be a story to go with that bequest.”
“Whatever it was, Tonya may be the only one who knows. Otherwise, Kitty took her reasons to her grave.”
“Kitty’s will and its details seem to have been a surprise to the beneficiaries,” I noted.
“Yeah, all three of us.”
“Five, if you count the cats,” April Mae added.
“Listen,” Franklin sighed and set his painting on the floor. “Let me make this easy for you. If you’re wondering whether I’m upset at not being left more of Kitty’s estate, I’m not.”
“You sure can’t be happy about being cut-off like a red-headed stepchild.” April Mae finally found her voice. Accent and all.
“I’m not exactly ‘cut-off’ as you put it, dear.”
“How so?” I asked.
“When Kitty made me a partner three years ago, we bought survivors insurance for the business. That way, if either one of us died, the other had insurance to cover the loss. We saw our partnership as very even. So we covered each other.”
“Oh.” Then it seemed like it wasn’t a case of him thinking he was to get a big inheritance, but he had still profited from Kitty’s death.
“Satisfied?” His face was red all the way to the top of his bald head. He picked the painting back up.
“Yes.” April Mae and I both bobbed our heads.
“I cared for Kitty as a person. As a friend.” His voiced tightened with emotion. “Which is more than I can say for some of her other so-called friends. Maybe Ms-Botoxed-Bouffant-Big-Shot didn’t want whatever Kitty knew about her to get out. Appearances are all Tonya Miles cares about.” His voice broke on the words. Franklin took his art and left.
Wow. I wondered at the show of emotion.
I also wondered how he’d managed to use all those “B” words to describe Tonya Miles without giving in to the obvious one.
After Franklin’s outburst, I couldn’t help but think we’d let Tonya Miles off the hook too easily. No doubt the killer instinct lived in her, but nasty words seemed to be her weapon of choice. I couldn’t see her firing a gun; she might chip a nail. Still, April Mae and I had both been so taken aback by her sheer insolence, we’d not really asked the questions we’d intended.
We were no closer to knowing what secret life Franklin Chesney was hiding. It was clear we needed to talk to Tonya Miles again, and finding out where she lived was as easy as putting her name in Google.
The woman showed up on every celebrity stalker site there was. Maybe the economy was in a slump, but you sure couldn’t tell it by the money being spent on Hollywood parties.
Pool parties, yacht parties, beach parties. The diamonds sparkled, the champagne flowed, and the paparazzi snapped pictures.
We finally tore ourselves from the computer where we’d been sucked into looking at cute pictures of celebrities’ pets. (Did you know Justin Bieber had a pet snake named Johnson, and George Clooney, a potbellied pig, Max?)
Back on task, it wasn’t long before we had Tonya’s address and a plan.
Chapter Twenty
We drove to Tonya Miles’ estate in Bel Aire without any problem.
With any luck we’d leave with clearer information on Franklin or at least a direction to research. And just maybe, we’d get the goods on Tonya.
But things did not go according to plan.
I know. I know. When do they ever?
No sooner had we arrived than the silver Bentley pulled out from the estate and onto Bellagio. We had to decide quickly whether to follow the car or stick with our original plan.
Seeing the fortified entrance between us and the Miles estate, we did a U-turn and followed the Bentley. If Tonya was on a shopping spree and headed for Beverly Hills, it would be easier to accost her on Rodeo Drive than get past that big gate.
The Bentley rolled onto Sunset Boulevard toward downtown. Darn. Looked like we weren’t going shopping after all.
As the driver headed deeper into the fashion district, we almost lost them a couple of times.
At first I thought the destination was Santee Alley, a well-known spot for designer knock-offs. But the car went past the popular Fashion District and into a warehouse area. Not many Bentleys here.
When the car glided to a stop, the driver got out and opened the rear passenger door.
A small woman wearing a baggy denim housedress and clunky plastic shoes stepped to the curb. Her head was covered by a huge ugly scarf, and spongy pink hair curlers poked out the front and sides. The scarf was so big it dwarfed her.
Shoot. We’d followed Tonya’s housekeeper or some other member of her staff who she must have sent on an errand. Or maybe she’d loaned the car and driver to a valued staff member.
Though the kindness angle didn’t seem to fit what I knew of Tonya Miles so far. In fact, from what we’d seen, Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge had nothing on her.
“That’s not her,” April Mae said. “What do we do?”
“If it’s someone who works for her, maybe we can glean some info from them,” I suggested.
“We’ve come this far. I’m game.”
We parked the car down the block.
The housekeeper shuffled into one of the alleys. There was a white older model van parked against the building.
Suddenly this didn’t seem like such an adventure. I hoped we hadn’t wandered into a drug deal.
As I looked closer, I could see it wasn’t a drug deal we’d wandered into, but a faux fashion extravaganza. The back of the van was open and filled to the roof with designer purses: Louis Vuitton, Prada, Chanel, Coach, even Hermes.
“Whatcha lookin’ for, girls?” One of the guys, a muscular gent in shorts and work boots, who didn’t exactly fit my idea of a fashion consultant, had come up behind us.
“Not sure yet. What’ve you got?” I answered evenly.
“Play along.” I whispered under my breath to April Mae.
“Cool.” She grinned. “We’re undercover again.”
We closed in on Tonya’s housekeeper, just as she reached for a very authentic-looking Chanel knock-off. Her arm slipped out from the shawl, and she picked up the distinctive black quilted bag.
As she did, I noticed her fingernails. A special French-manicure with little flecks of gold. I’d bet my Miss Texas crown, those flecks were “real twenty-four-karat gold.”
Holy Prada, Batman!
This wasn’t some Miles family house staff on an errand. This was Ms. High and Mighty Tonya Miles herself. I latched onto her skinny wrist before she could get away.
“We need to talk.”
She turned and looked me in the face. “Let go of me, or you’ll be sorry.”
“I’m already sorry. So, this is what Kitty had on you. Did you kill her because she was going to out you?”
“Hardly.” She bit out the words like she was chewing nails. “We had a mutually beneficial relationship. She kept me in designer clothes with her cast-offs. I kept her on the A-list for the best parties. Now, without her as my supplier, I’m reduced to this.”
Geez Louise, woman, would you like some cheese with that whine?
Suddenly our theory that Kitty had been blackmailing Tonya didn’t seem so plausible.
“Get away from me before someone recognizes me.” She reached up with her free hand and pulled the ugly scarf closer around her face. “I’m telling you, Franklin is the only one who stood to gain from Kitty’s death. You check on what you don’t know about him. I guarantee it’s something bigger than handbag knock-offs.”
I dropped her wrist. If she was bluffing, she was one heck of a bluffer.
April Mae had only at that moment realized I wasn’t man-handling Tonya’s housekeeper but Tonya herself and began to sputter.
“She’s, she’s—” April Mae pointed at the disguised socialite.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” I grabbed April’s arm, and we raced back to the Mercedes.
Our foray into stalking had been a dud. Surprising, but still a dud.
I wondered how the heck we were going to explain this one to Malone. I was about to find out, because no sooner were we back in town, than the detective called. I let it go to voicemail, not ready to explain how following someone who may (or may not) be a suspect does not qualify as meddling in his investigation.
Malone asked me to coffee the next morning to discuss the case.
Yes, you heard that right.
I couldn’t believe it either when I listened to the message he’d left, asking me to meet him at the Koffee Klatch at eight.
I waited in line for Verdi to finish up with the customer in front of me. As usual, she handled the early morning crush with aplomb.
“Any luck on a new job?” I asked as I handed over my payment.
“I’ve had a couple of interviews, but so far no luck.”
“You can feel free to put me down as a reference if you think it might help.” I fished one of my cards from my bag and handed it to her. I felt for the girl. She’d been holding down two jobs for who knows how long, and I guessed probably didn’t have a lot of money put away for a safety net.
“Thanks, Caro.” She took the card. “I really appreciate it.”
I moved so the person behind me could step up to the register.
“Coffee black.” It was Malone. None of those frou-frou drinks for him.
I hadn’t heard him approach, but like you’ve probably noticed, he’s mostly the strong and silent type. That’s why the invitation to talk about Kitty’s murder was so unexpected. Granted, I was supposed to be keeping an eye on April Mae, but I’d been reporting in by phone.
I found an empty table outside in the shade. It was early enough that most of the tables were free and clean. I’d picked a Caroline Rose long denim blouse and black skinny pants. Not that I’d dressed up for Malone, or for that matter not that he’d notice if I had.
The detective soon followed and slouched into the chair opposite mine.
“So, Caro, saving the world one coffee barista at time?” He lifted his cup and took a sip.
“What?”
“The girl at the counter with the burgundy hair.”
“Oh, poor kid, she’s lost her other job. You don’t have any openings at the police department, do you? She’s a phenomenal multi-tasker.”
“No, no openings for multi-taskers right now.”
“Well, if you hear of anything . . .”
“I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“Thanks.” I tasted my hazelnut latte; it was delicious. Verdi had made the drinks, and hers were always better.
Since I had Malone’s attention, I took the opportunity to ask him who at the PD would be a person to talk to if I thought someone was in an abusive relationship. I was determined to help Diana’s next door neighbor if I could.
He gave me the name of their domestic abuse counselor and said he’d let her know I’d be calling.
Malone placed his coffee on the table and leaned forward. “Tell me what you’ve found out about Franklin Chesney, Kitty’s partner.”
Ah, so that’s what this was about. The police were zeroing in on someone, and that someone must be Franklin.
I brain-dumped everything we’d learned.
Malone didn’t take notes, but then he never did. He was attentive, I’ll give him that, but memory can be faulty, and I wished he’d write down a few of the details.
“Will you be talking to Franklin again soon?”
“April Mae and I have to go back to his office to find out about how Kitty handled the cats as clients, since they’re painting again.”
Malone’s reaction was similar to what Walt’s had been. I gathered he wasn’t going to be in the market for a Tobey and Minou painting to hang in his office.
“Let me know if Franklin Chesney lets slip anything about this ‘secret life’ Tonya Miles believes he has.” Malone took a last sip of his coffee and stood to leave.
“You got it. I’d better be going too.” I also got to my feet. “We have a temp working reception at the office, and you never know what the day is going to bring. This latest one, well, let me put it this way, she is not a multi-tasker.”
As I said the words, I realized the answer, to both Verdi’s problem and mine, had been right in front of me all along.
Isn’t that the way it often is—sometimes you’re too close to see the solution?
We said good-bye, and Malone disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared.
I headed back into the Koffee Klatch to discuss the idea with Verdi. Then I was off to talk to my office mates about a burgundy-haired multi-tasker who was about to make all of our lives so much easier.
Chapter Twenty-One
The next day, April Mae and I were back to the offices of Bardot and Chesney. I’d insisted on driving partly because I couldn’t get past the idea of the possibility the Cadillac, as much as April Mae loved it, probably had a former life as a mob car. The other part of the equation was that it was one thing for April Mae to tool around Laguna Beach, but LA driving was a whole other story. I mean, she had to sit on pillows to drive the darn thing.
We’d made an appointment to see Franklin, and I was glad he’d been able to work us in.
This time there were a couple of people in the waiting room. One was a young woman with a striking resemblance to a young Elizabeth Taylor. The dark wavy hair, the violet eyes, and the curves. An older woman was with her. One could only assume maybe her mother or a relative of some sort.
We let Cherise know we’d arrived, albeit a little early. I’d overestimated the drive time as traffic had been, for once, under control. Still I was glad I had; you never knew when the 405 would suddenly become a parking lot. Paralyzed over an accident or construction.
“Ms. Ciccone, Mr. Chesney will see you now.”
The young woman startled a bit and then stood. She’d been lost in admiring her reflection in the mirrored tiles across the room.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t just
Clive. Perhaps a bit of narcissistic personality disorder was a requirement in the star business. I’d seen my share of it in the pageant circuit. Not every contestant, but there had been a ton of big egos. Maybe in Hollywood you needed a super-sized ego to survive. Still, I’d met some genuinely nice people like Diana Knight and Kitty Bardot.
Violet-Eyes was in Franklin’s office no more than fifteen to twenty minutes when she came back out with some papers in hand.
She thanked Cherise, and then she and the older woman left.
“He’s ready for you now.” Cherise must have received some sort of signal from Franklin.
When we stepped into his office, I was again struck by how harried he seemed. If he had any hair on his head, I had the sense he’d have been pulling it out. And, since Kitty’s death, the man appeared to have aged ten years at least.
“Beautiful girl,” I noted.
“What?” Franklin looked up from the papers he perused.
“The girl who just left. She’s quite beautiful,” I repeated. “Is she talented, as well?”
“She will be when Kimberly and Saul are done with her.”
“Acting coaches?”
“Voice coaches. The girl is a natural as far as the acting goes, but her accent is atrocious.” He looked at April by my side and suddenly realized what he’d said. “Nothing against accents.” He attempted a recovery.
“No insult taken at all, sweetie.” He couldn’t know it, but April Mae really wasn’t insulted.
“What can I do for you ladies?”
“April Mae wanted to talk to you about Tobey and Minou.”
“What about them?”
“Kitty had represented the cats herself as their publicist, and now that they’re painting again, I wondered if you’d want to represent them.” If he could resist that hopeful voice, he was one hard-hearted guy.
“I hadn’t realized they were painting again.”
“They are,” she giggled. “I’ve been workin’ with them every day lately. We’re taking their newest pictures to Philippe Arman on Friday. They done real great work, and he’s arranging a show.”
