The Michaela Bancroft Mysteries 1-3

by Michele Scott

  "Olivia," Audrey implored, "that's not the way you greet a guest."

  "Sorry." Olivia rolled her eyes. "Good afternoon, Ms. Bancroft."

  Maybe it wasn't sadness Michaela detected in her tone, but surliness. It had to be the fact that she was malnourished that made her come off as irritable. "Please, call me Michaela. I feel so old when someone calls me Ms. Bancroft. Plus, I feel like I've known you forever. Audrey talks about you all the time. She's very proud of you."

  "At least someone is." Olivia turned back to face the mirror. She glanced back through it at Michaela.

  "I'm looking forward to hearing you sing."

  "Whatever."

  "Olivia!" Audrey said. She led Michaela a few steps away and lowered her voice. "I apologize for her. She's not herself these days. I don't know what has gotten into her."

  Michaela waved a hand. "No biggie. She's a kid. They have moods. Trust me, I'm not taking it personally."

  "Hey, sweet thing." A young man who Michaela thought she recognized breezed into the room past Audrey and Michaela, and strode on over to Olivia. He held a large bouquet of red roses. "I wanted to give these to you personally. They are from me and Marshall, and we want to thank you for opening for me today. I know you'll be awesome," he said, a southern twang icing his words. Audrey stepped between Olivia and the man, her arms crossed. "Hey, mama, what you doing? I am trying to talk to the little sweet thing there and why are you getting in my way? Do you know who I am?"

  "Steve Benz," Audrey answered, her lips pursed.

  Michaela knew she'd seen him before, maybe in some ad or on TV. She wasn't sure. He looked like someone who should be on TV, with his long brown hair, sculpted face, and pretty hazel eyes. They were pretty. Hell, he was pretty. That much she was sure of. But his personality sucked. What a pompous jerk.

  "That's right. That is who I am." He tried to step around Audrey.

  "I'm Miss Bowen's manager, and I'll accept those for her. Thank you. She is not interested in speaking with your manager, Marshall Friedman, or you, for that matter. If you cannot leave respectfully, I will call security."

  Benz laughed. "Security. You are funny, Audrey Pratt." He shook a finger at her. "Ah, you didn't think that I knew who you were. I do and so does Marshall, and let me just say that your days are numbered running this young lady's career. Like sayonara, mama. Marshall will have her under contract in a week. You'll see."

  "Steve, I think you should go," Olivia quietly said.

  "No problem, sweet thing. Knock 'em dead. See you soon." He winked at her. Then he turned his attention to Michaela and eyed her up and down. "Hmm, hey sugar, aren't you fine. Wanna ride in my limo later?"

  Michaela was speechless for about three seconds. She shook her head, her eyes forming into slits as she eyed him back. "You're kidding me."

  "Oh, sugar, I would never kid about a thing like that. We can go for a long ride around town. Maybe wind up in some swanky Beverly Hills bar, then who knows. You'd like that, wouldn't you? I can tell by the way you're looking at me."

  Michaela cleared her throat. "You know, Steve, as appealing as that sounds, I actually think I'd rather have dinner with a horse." Okay, she knew it was probably one of the lamest comebacks in history, but at that moment she was at a loss for words; the man was so repulsive.

  "You're into that, huh? I'm sure we could arrange it."

  "Get the hell out of here!" Audrey yelled.

  He set the roses down. "You'll be sorry you talked to me like that. And you"—he pointed at Olivia—"will want to jump on board. Trust me. Money is good, the gigs are good. We'll talk later. Don't forget your roses, sweet thing. Bye, sugar." He looked at Michaela, who scowled.

  She couldn't help but feel the need to shower after meeting Steve Benz.

  Audrey turned to Olivia. "Have you been talking with that guy or Marshall Friedman?"

  Olivia shook her head.

  "Olivia," Audrey implored.

  "My mom did. Once. They've been trying to get ahold of me."

  Michaela watched Audrey's face turn a shade of red. Anger didn't cross her friend's features often, but right now she was sufficiently pissed off. "Olivia, those assholes will ruin you. I plan to speak to your mother."

  Yep, Audrey was mad.

  "You think if you go and sign with Friedman and do a record with Steve Benz, which is what I'm sure they're trying to talk to you about, it will make your mother happy?" Olivia's eyes widened. "If you do that, they will ruin you. They are all about the money. The next thing you know you won't be able to live your own damn life. You have dreams that I'm trying to protect. Still trying to make happen for you."

  "That will never happen," Olivia muttered. "You know it will never happen. God, I just wish everyone would leave me alone. Everyone always wants something from me. Leave me alone!" she yelled. "Nothing good will ever happen! My dreams are shit and you know it!"

  "Olivia." Audrey stood over her. Both women were petite but Audrey's presence was strong and overpowered the girl. "Those dreams will happen for you. Give me time. I am doing everything I can."

  "I want to be left alone. That's all I want."

  "That's not true. You can't be left alone," Audrey replied. "Look what you've gotten yourself into already, and this Benz character and his manager will only make matters worse. They see dollar signs flashing in front of them and if you—if we—allow your mother to dictate what you're going to do with your life, you will be miserable. I am convinced of it."

  Olivia shook her head, her eyes welling up. Tears snaked down her face. Hmm, weren't the races supposed to be fun?

  Michaela felt like an intruder on a conversation that had likely gone rounds before. She decided to exit while Audrey and Olivia hashed this out. Before leaving, she told Audrey she needed to go to the rest room and asked her for her ticket. Audrey pulled it from her purse. "I'll see you in Kathleen's box," she said tersely.

  Michaela stepped outside the dressing room and took a deep breath. The simple earthen smells of horse, dirt, and southern California smog invaded her senses. Maybe it was time for a glass of champagne. Not a usual indulgence for her, but wow, what a scene. She'd never seen Audrey so intense or protective over someone. Maybe that was because she'd never had children of her own. Michaela knew there was a strong bond between her and Olivia. There seemed to be more to it than that, though. Oh well, it really was none of her business. If Audrey wanted to share it with her, then she would.

  She headed to the bar, feeling good that she looked fairly close to the part of wealthy racehorse owner, trainer, or something to do with racehorses, like the other ritzy patrons. She didn't necessarily enjoy the dress-up-and-toot-your-horn crowd, but she also found it worse to stand out in these groups. The more you fit in, the less chance you had of actually being noticed. No, she felt like she blended in. Thanks to Camden and her wardrobe and the fact that the two of them wore the same size. Camden had insisted she wear a pretty, flowing, Anne Taylor spaghetti-strap dress. It was a chiffon-type material with an empire waist, red on top and pale yellow on the bottom with a red flower pattern. She'd also borrowed a pair of red slingback sandals from Camden, but found them difficult to maneuver in. With the Chanel No. 5 she'd sprayed on and the reapplication of the blush-colored lipstick she wore for ventures out, Michaela couldn't help feeling like she belonged, until she saw all the diamonds and pearls in the line at the bar, not to mention the hats. Should have listened to Camden for once. She'd told her to wear a hat, even showed her a simple, lovely pale yellow hat that matched the dress perfectly. But Michaela wasn't a hat person, unless it was a helmet for riding or a cowboy hat in the show arena. She saw them as pretentious and…well, yep, pretentious. Hmm, maybe she should have worn a hat.

  "Kir Royal?"

  Michaela glanced behind her as she felt a whisper tickle her ear. "Excuse me?"

  "You look like a Kir Royal. I mean, like the kind of woman who would order one."

  The man speaking to her was beautiful. It was that simple
. He had a Robert Redfordesque thing, circa 1980, going on. He was probably in his forties. Gorgeous blue eyes that took her breath away, blond hair that dipped into his eyes which he kept brushing back. Skin that looked as if he'd just come back from some island escape. Camden would definitely approve of his physique, and especially his attire—had to be Armani or some such designer. Divine was the only word that came to mind. Again she thought of Camden, who used that adjective on many occasions to describe men she met, but never had that word crossed Michaela's mind until now. Then, she caught herself, because that was not how she thought of men. No. She was not one of those women who went for looks and no substance. But, wait a minute, how did she know this man had no substance? Anyone who looked as handsome as he did couldn't have any substance. Obviously! She found herself coyly replying, "Really? And how does a woman who would order a Kir Royal look?" Now where in the world had that come from?

  "I don't know. Sophisticated, educated, intelligent, good taste but not materialistic. A good woman. A beautiful woman."

  Michaela couldn't help but laugh. "How often does that line work for you?"

  He smiled. "Often."

  "I'm sure."

  "Hudson Drake." He shook her hand with a nice, strong handshake.

  "Michaela Bancroft."

  "Do you have a horse running?"

  She laughed again. "No. I actually train reining horses. I'm here with a friend of mine."

  "A gentleman, I take it."

  The man was interested in her. Michaela felt heat throughout her body. She was just like Camden. Put a pretty face in front of her and it was as if the brain cells suddenly all died and she went all gaga. Memories of her ex-husband, Brad, ran through her mind. Another pretty boy—bad news. "No," she said, surprising herself. Why couldn't she lie, even to a stranger? He smelled good though. Maybe that was why? Oh boy, the brain cells had definitely exited the brain. His smell. Mmm. Like cedar and vanilla, maybe some musk thrown in. "An old friend. We're in Kathleen Bowen's box."

  "Really? I'm good friends with her ex, Hugh."

  "Huh," was all Michaela could utter. It was her turn to order a drink.

  Hudson Drake stepped in front of her. "Kir Royal and a dirty martini, strong."

  "Thank you," Michaela said as the bartender handed them their drinks and Hudson paid. "You didn't have to do that."

  "I wanted to."

  "So, you know Hugh?"

  He nodded. "And Kathleen and their daughter, Olivia. The entire crew."

  "How do you know them?"

  He took a sip from his drink. "I'm the CEO at Eq Tech. Hugh is one of our major investors; we've been friends for some time."

  "My friend, actually the woman I came here with, her brother works for you."

  "Who is that?"

  "Bob Pratt."

  Something in Hudson's eyes darkened.

  "What? Did I say something wrong?"

  He didn't answer her right away, taking a sip from his drink and looking as if he were trying to carefully select his words. "It's…about Bob. I probably need to speak with your friend."

  "What? Why?"

  "I didn't know when or how long I should wait before I called her. I keep thinking that…" He took another sip. Worry wrinkled his forehead. "Really, I should speak with her."

  Hudson Drake had her concerned now. "I've known Audrey for a long time. And, you are scaring me. I don't like your tone or what I'm reading from you. Can't you please tell me what's going on?"

  He brought the drink to his lips again, taking a gulp. What in the hell was going on? After a few seconds he nodded. "Okay. Maybe I should tell you, and see what you think. I might be jumping the gun talking to his sister. At least that's what I want to believe. Bob hasn't shown up for work since Tuesday."

  SIX

  "THREE DAYS?" MICHAELA SAID. "YOU HAVEN'T SEEN Bob in three days?"

  He nodded. "Yeah. Today being Saturday means it's been four days, but it is the weekend, so it's not as if he'd be at work anyway. I've called his house, his cell phone, even stopped by his place last night. No one there."

  "Have you called the police?"

  He sighed. "No. I…listen, how much do you know about Bob's past?"

  "Enough to know that you might be thinking he fell off the wagon and is out on a bender, and you're trying to maintain status quo before rushing to the worst possible conclusion," Michaela replied.

  He smiled. "I knew I liked you. That's exactly what I'm thinking. I like Bob. He's a good man, and sometimes things happen. He mentioned that a woman he was seeing was really sick—I think he said that she had cancer—and she didn't want to see him any longer. When he didn't show up on Wednesday, I thought that maybe he wasn't feeling well. I was in and out of meetings all day. Maybe I missed his call. I don't know. Then, on Thursday, I started to grow concerned. But I didn't want to alert his family—his sister—right away because what if all it turned out to be was that he was holed up somewhere with some booze? Once he came out of it, he'd realize what he'd done. He's a smart guy. He knows I won't can him over this. I am all about second chances, and trust me, Bob is a good enough vet and scientist that I don't want to lose him. I've gone back and forth on calling his sister. I didn't want to upset her or cause problems."

  "I hear you…but he needs to be found. I think you're probably right. I know he's fought this battle off and on for some time, but still, he needs help."

  "You think I should tell his sister, then?" Hudson asked.

  Michaela shrugged. "Audrey needs to know. It's that simple. I think I should tell her, though. She doesn't know you, and it might be better coming from me."

  "I agree. Whatever she'd like me to do; I can call the police or a private investigator if we need one. However she thinks it should be handled. I was thinking maybe I could visit some of the bars he used to go to, but I'm not sure what they would be."

  "She might know."

  "Thank you. You've been a godsend. I can't tell you how stressed I've been over this. Bob was supposed to vet here today and I'd hoped he would show up, but so far he hasn't. Maybe he'll come through. Come to his senses."

  "I hope so." Michaela dreaded having to tell Audrey this news, but she really didn't have a choice. She needed to know what was going on, and together they could find out where Bob was and what had happened. She tried to keep thoughts of the worst at bay. She'd dealt with addictions in her own family with her dad, who had a gambling problem. She knew the strain it put on a family, and she knew how all-consuming it could be for the addict. So consuming, in fact, that it could cause someone to fall off the face of the world and not return for some time. She even doubted that the police would get too involved if they were aware of Bob's past and his struggles with alcohol and pills. Still, a nagging sensation in her gut made her wonder if there was something more to Bob's disappearance. She knew from Audrey how wonderful he'd been doing, how much he enjoyed his new job. But Audrey had mentioned to her this morning that she'd been concerned about Bob's behavior recently. Poor Audrey. On top of her issues with Olivia and the rest of the Bowen family, the woman didn't need any more stress.

  Hudson reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a couple of business cards, handing them to her. "Those are my numbers. Maybe one of you could give me a call?"

  "Sure."

  "Well, I've got a box full of people, I better get back."

  "Okay. It was nice to meet you, and thanks for the drink."

  "I couldn't pass up an opportunity to meet a Kir Royal girl."

  She laughed.

  "Hey, would you like to join me in my box?" Hudson asked.

  Her stomach sank again. "I can't. I'm with Audrey and as I said, we were invited to sit in Kathleen Bowen's box."

  "I understand." He paused for a minute. "You know, I have this benefit to go to next weekend. I hate those things, but would you like to go with me? That would sure make it less unbearable. It's a good cause. Some of the same people here today will be there. We're raising money for handicap
ped riders."

  "I don't live here. I'm from Indio." Now, why hadn't she simply responded with a No, thank you? Them dead brain cells again. She did like the sound of what the benefit was for, especially since she was working with Gen and thinking about running her own therapeutic riding program.

  "That's not a problem." He pulled a handful of keys from his jacket pocket and took one off the ring. "This is to an apartment I own in Century City. Actually, the company owns it. We let associates or reps coming in for the weekend that kind of thing, stay there. Why don't you come and stay for the weekend, go to the benefit? You can do your own thing: shop, relax, whatever you want."

  Michaela looked at the key, stunned. "I don't shop much. I don't know you. I like you fine. You seem nice and…" He certainly was handsome. "But, I can't do that."

  "Why not?"

  "I just can't." Okay, once again, a simple No, thank you, would have sufficed.

  He frowned. "Are you seeing someone?"

  A vision of Jude came to mind. "Sort of."

  "In my book a sort of is not a yes or no. All I'm asking is for you to come to the benefit with me. Not a date. Join me, stay in the company apartment. We'll have fun and that'll be that. It's for a good cause."

  She looked down at the key in her hand. She couldn't do that, could she? What about Jude? It was a good cause…and Jude and her weren't dating, not yet, not technically. "Okay. I'll go."

  "Good." He wrote down the address on the back of his card. "Why don't you call me this week and I'll give you directions?" He winked at her and walked away.

  Talk about blurred boundaries. Now why had she gone and done that? Here she'd had thoughts of staying far away from men, after what she'd been through with Brad. But she'd allowed Jude to get close to her, and now she was accepting a date from a stranger. And, not just a date, but to stay in his apartment? Well, his company's apartment. What had she just done? One thing was for certain: Camden would be proud. Yes, indeed, she'd for sure get the "You go, girl," from her pal. Maybe there was something to this blurred boundary thing. Certainty was comfortable. But at that moment she felt a sense of excitement that she hadn't experienced in quite some time. Yes, maybe it was time to blur the lines.