"Hey, Juan, do you know Bob Pratt?"
He stood up. "Who?"
"The vet. I know that Mr. Bowen uses him at times, and that they're friends. I'm sure you heard about the murder at the races."
"Sure, yeah." He nodded emphatically. "I heard 'bout that. No good, you know. My brother tol' me, and he say it was real bad. Mr. Bowen pretty upset 'bout it."
"Me too. The lady who was killed was a good friend of mine."
"Oh no. I'm real sorry."
"And, her brother is Bob Pratt. He's been missing for several days now."
Juan clucked his tongue. "That's too bad."
"So, you don't know him? Never met him?"
He shook his head again. "I don't think so. I only work here on and off, you know. I haven't been here for about three months, maybe. My brother got my job back though. Mr. Bowen is a good man. He's helping me out. I don't want to mess up, you know? But the vet, no. I wouldn't know if I did see him because a lot of people come here and look at horses. I just fix stuff."
"Right. Thanks. Hey, is there any water down here? I'd like something to drink."
"You know, I gotta fix that, too. The faucet in the tack room got all messed up. You can maybe go in the office where Josh and Enrique are. There's a refrigerator there."
"No, I don't want to bother them if they're on the phone."
"You can take the golf cart up to the house. Mr. Bowen, he has a fountain in the garden."
"That's okay. I can just get a drink out of the hose. I was only looking to quench my thirst a bit. No biggie."
"Might as well go up to the gardens and see it anyway. It's gonna take me some time to find the problem here. And it's real pretty up there. Take a cruise around the place. It's nice. And the water is much better than from the hose." He laughed.
"Okay. Thanks." She really didn't have time to kill, but she also had no choice. She climbed into the golf cart and cruised around the ranch. Either Juan Perez was lying or he really had no clue who Bob Pratt was, and the men he'd been with at the place in Malibu were two different people than she'd guessed at for a second. Another thought struck her: What if it had been Francisco, Audrey's ranch hand? He'd met a horrible, untimely demise as well. Michaela could not believe that his murder was not somehow connected to Audrey's, and she was also pretty sure that Bob's disappearance was what tied everything together. She realized that both thoughts were kind of out there. After all, there were quite a few Hispanics living in Los Angeles. What type of business would Bob Pratt have had with Juan or Enrique or Francisco? Just because they were all Latino didn't mean anything. She realized that she was grasping at straws here.
As she jetted around on the cart, she took in the opulence of the place. She passed the practice track, the stables, and palm tree–lined pasture, which had a beautiful pond in the center of it where ducks lazed through the water. The facility was magnificent and seeing it all made Michaela sad, knowing that Audrey would have enjoyed living here. She would have appreciated the ranch and she would have been happy with Hugh. "Oh, Audrey," she whispered as tears stung her eyes.
She approached the garden, complete with the English hedge maze that Juan had mentioned. Unsure exactly where the water fountain was located, she got out of the cart and took a walk through the garden. Various rosebushes gave off their soft floral scent as hummingbirds dipped in and out of water feeders. A large fountain, with a statue of an angel atop a horse, sat in the middle of the garden. The artwork was gorgeous. She finally found the fountain off to the side of a path that led into the hedge maze. She took a long drink. She decided it might be fun to take a walk through the maze. Apparently there was time to spare. Why not?
Michaela started in through the maze, taking in the sounds and smells. It really was like an English garden. As she wound herself farther into the maze though, some anxiety came over her when she'd heard something—a rustling in the maze. Probably birds. No need to get spooked. She glanced around. She wanted out of there. Her nerves buzzed with the idea that if someone were inside the hedge watching her, she certainly wouldn't be heard if she screamed. She backed away. She had to get out of there. Her brow started to perspire as she tried to wind her way back through the route she'd come in. A few minutes later she was at the entrance of the maze. Thank God. Then she heard the rustling noise again. She inched toward one of the Spanish moss trees that lined the gardens. There it was again—only now, she also heard a voice. A woman's voice. She stayed close to the shadows and tried to make out where it was coming from and who was talking. She caught a glimpse of blond hair as a person walked through the hedge and then out of the maze. Bridgette. Had she spotted Michaela? She'd been walking the maze at the same time? She must have been on the other end, because she didn't seem concerned, or to be looking for anyone herself. It was obvious to Michaela that Bridgette did not know that she was there.
Michaela watched, intrigued, as Bridgette headed toward the rosebushes, cell phone to her ear, and then sat down on the bench. Michaela kept out of sight, and she could now hear the woman quite a bit better.
"I have to see you." She smelled one of the roses. "No. Look, I know it's not a good idea, but please. I need you right now. If Hugh knew what was going on…What we did. Oh God, I could lose everything. Everything. Dammit." She paused. "No! I need to see you now. This is a big deal. It's a huge deal. What we've done, well…if anyone knew. Please, lover. Please. We can just have lunch. That's all I'm asking. Okay. I'll meet you at the restaurant then. Shutters. Half an hour. Thank you, love." She turned off her cell.
Michaela moved even closer to the tree. Bridgette glanced in her direction. Oh no. Don't see me. Don't see me. Bridgette stood up and started walking toward the house. Oh God, what about the cart? Michaela had parked it off to the side, but if she saw it, she'd wonder who had driven it up here. She might look around. Michaela watched as she veered off to the other side of the garden. She finally dared to breathe, knowing that Bridgette hadn't discovered her.
So, who was the good Mrs. Bowen off to meet? And what was this business about losing everything? And who was she calling lover? Furthermore, what had they done that Bridgette seemed to want covered up? Did it involve Audrey? Michaela jumped back in the cart after waiting a few minutes to be sure Bridgette didn't spot her. She knew what Shutters was: a luxury hotel down in Santa Monica, about thirty minutes away if the traffic was working with her.
She found Juan. "I need to take my truck and run some errands while you're working on the trailer. When do you think it'll be ready?"
He laughed and held up a handful of shredded wires. "Something tells me you got a rat problem at your place. Not so good. They chewed through a bunch of the wires. I think it's gonna take me a while. Why don't you call the ranch around four? I'll see what I can do."
She nodded and started her truck. She didn't have time to wait around Los Angeles all day hoping her trailer would be fixed, but it appeared she didn't have a choice. And since she didn't, she made her way down the Pacific Coast Highway to see if she could find out exactly who Bridgette had been speaking to on the phone in the garden.
TWENTY-THREE
MICHAELA FELT LIKE SHE COULDN'T BREATHE AS she headed down the 101 toward Santa Monica. A ton of thoughts rushed through her mind, and her anxiety levels soared—Audrey, Francisco, Hugh, Olivia, Kathleen, Bridgette—all of them blurred in her mind.
She reached the luxury hotel shortly after Bridgette pulled in, noticing that the valet was parking the woman's Mercedes. Michaela parked her own truck, not wanting to be seen. She counted on the fact that Bridgette Bowen would not exactly be looking for her. What was Michaela's goal here anyway? How had she become some real-life Jessica Fletcher? She didn't have time to ponder that thought, as she noticed Frederick Callahan climbing out of a white Rolls-Royce. Now, wasn't that interesting? He was an easy one to spot, with that bad toupee. Her mind churned. She pondered what to do as she watched Callahan go through the front doors of the hotel. What in the heck was she doing? Jee
z—spying, that's what! As the thought crossed her mind, an eerie feeling swept over her: The kind that says you, too, are being watched. She glanced to her left and caught a very tall man with a large build—almost like a football player—dark hair, and olive skin, eyeing her with deep-set brown eyes. His eyes turned away when she made contact with him. He glanced back as he headed for the front of the hotel. He smiled slightly, then picked up his pace. That was odd.
Okay, if she was going to play this out like one of her old favorite TV detectives, she knew she'd have to go in.
The valet greeted her as she breezed past him; she asked him where the restaurant was. The conversation Bridgette had had with Callahan—assuming it was Callahan she'd been speaking with—was about having lunch. Interesting that they also chose a high-end hotel to have lunch in. Michaela guessed that there was more than just lunch plans on the agenda. The valet told Michaela that there were two restaurants inside, one a more upscale place, the other an al fresco café out near the bike path. She first looked inside the formal restaurant, spotting only an older couple and a younger man. The al fresco café held quite a few people, and she spotted Callahan and Bridgette in a corner, tucked in tightly near a large potted plant. So, it was Callahan that she'd been talking to! Mmm, she would love to be a fly on a leaf of that potted plant.
"May I help you?" the maitre d' asked. She didn't answer right away, and he persisted. "You are here for lunch?"
"Damn!" She clapped her hand over her mouth. The maitre d's eyes widened. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I…" She held up her hand. "I'll be right back." Surely the man thought she was crazy, and as she started to flip around she spotted the same tall, intense guy she'd seen out in the parking lot. He was seated at the opposite end of the café, but in sight of Bridgette and Callahan, and he was watching them. Yep, he definitely was studying them. He held a pen, an expensive ballpoint, which he clicked off and on. Now, her mind reeled. This spy thing was getting to her. Was that guy using one of those pen cameras to take photos of Callahan and Bridgette? Oh, boy! Could it be? Was there even such a thing as a pen camera? Michaela shook her head and hurried into the lobby, where she quickly called Hudson, hoping he had not already left his office. She was supposed to meet him for lunch in only half an hour. She quickly explained to him that her problems with the trailer were worse than she expected. She didn't go into any details but said that she'd have to postpone the lunch. He sounded disappointed. "Are you sure?" he asked. "You can't make it?"
"No." She could. She knew she could. But something was going on inside that café and she wanted the skinny on it, if there was any way to get it. Then on impulse she said, "You know, it does look as though I'll be here for the afternoon. How about an early dinner?"
"That would be great. Let's do five. Duke's still?"
"Perfect." And, it was, because if the trailer was fixed, then she'd have time to load Geyser and get down to Duke's. The horse wouldn't mind waiting for an hour. She'd be sure to give him some extra feed, and she'd pay the parking attendant a bonus to keep an eye on him.
After hanging up, she sat in the lobby for a few moments, not sure what to do. She was kind of hungry. She went back to the maitre d' and asked for an inside table. She wanted to position herself to see both Bridgette and Callahan, but she could only see his face and her back. She ordered a bowl of soup and tried to be inconspicuous. She could not see the weird guy, who sat to her left and behind her on the patio. Callahan's facial expressions at first showed concern, maybe even anger, but then they mellowed as he picked up his phone. Who was he calling? She also noticed after he hung up that he moved from his chair to the other side and sat next to Bridgette, where he put an arm around her. The around-the-arm thing could just mean he was comforting her about something. No, that didn't fit. There was something going on between these two. That much was obvious.
They finished their meal. She waited a couple of minutes after they paid their bill and left before following suit. She didn't want to lose them, but if Bridgette spotted and recognized her, what was she going to tell them—that this was where all the horse trainers went to lunch when in town?
Outside the restaurant, she spotted the couple going up in an elevator. So, they had gotten a room. Sneaky snakes. Poor Hugh! After losing Audrey, his problems with his daughter…now a cheating wife? She wasn't sure what to do. Some of her questions had been answered. Maybe it was time to quit the spying act. She started to walk out of the hotel when she spotted Steve Benz walking in. Now what the hell was he doing here? Coincidence? Before he could see her, she ducked behind the large floral arrangement in the lobby and opened her purse, pretending to be looking for something. Please don't see me. Would he remember her anyway? She heard Benz say, "Hey." Oh no, had he seen her? She glanced up. No. He stood near the elevators, on his cell. "It's me, Cal, what room you two in?"
Cal? This was getting shadier by the minute. Was Benz going to pay a visit to Callahan and Bridgette? Michaela didn't know what else to think, but she decided it best to go and wait in her truck. What if someone else who might recognize her showed up for this little get-together?
Almost to her truck, she heard footsteps at her heels. Oh no. She spun around and stood face-to-face with the weird guy. That dark look he'd had when he'd eyed her earlier? Well, it was much darker now.
TWENTY-FOUR
"HEY!" MICHAELA YELLED AS THE GUY GRABBED HER arm. "What the hell are you doing? Let go!" She pulled free of the strong man's hold.
"I could ask you the same thing. Would you mind lowering your voice?"
"What? You're lucky I don't scream." She noticed the valet watching and was relieved. Who was this nutcase?
He quickly pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to her. "Dennis Smith? Private investigator?" she read.
"Exactly. What I want to know is why you're so interested in Bridgette Bowen and Frederick Callahan."
She shrugged. "I'm not."
He rolled his eyes. "Lady, I am a trained investigator."
"And why do you want to know? You investigating one of them?" He didn't respond. She clapped a hand over her mouth and then pointed at him. "Holy…You are investigating one of them." A warm ocean breeze blew across the parking lot. "Wait a minute, wait a minute…Hudson! Did he hire you? Hudson Drake?" That made sense to her because of the conversation she'd had with him at Hugh's ranch the other day. Smith said nothing, just eyed her. She pulled herself up tall. "Listen, I don't know you, and you haven't told me jack about why you noticed me supposedly watching those two, but I'm not saying another word until you start talking, too." She crossed her arms as he took a step back. Then she gasped as her focus turned to the front of the hotel.
Smith turned to see what she was looking at. He grabbed her arm again. "Get against the truck, as if we're talking."
"We are talking. Well, I'm talking anyway, and you're still a freaking stranger. A tall freaking stranger!"
"I'm not a threat. Hugh Bowen hired me. Now do what I say," he said in a rush. "We are having a nice chat with each other, as if we're lovers."
"I don't think so."
"Okay, friends."
Steve Benz had just emerged from the hotel and sauntered toward his Lexus, which the valet had brought around. She watched Smith. He took a tiny camera from his coat pocket—definitely one of those devices that only a private investigator or someone in law enforcement would use—and started taking covert shots of Steve Benz. "Hugh hired you?"
"Yes," he said, still snapping.
"What are you doing? Why are you following Bridgette and Callahan?"
"I could ask you the same thing," he replied. "You know my name, now who in the hell are you, lady?"
"Wait a minute. Does this involve Audrey's murder?"
He stopped taking photos as Benz got in his car. "Murder? What are you talking about?"
"My friend. She was murdered the other day, and she was close with Hugh."
"Oh." He stuffed the camera back into his pocket as Benz pulled out of the lot a
nd sped away.
He studied her. "Go on…Wait." He held up his palm. "Can I get a name?"
"Michaela Bancroft."
He shook her hand. "Sorry for earlier. It's my business to be perceptive, and you were far more than just curious about those two. You were definitely searching for some kind of answer."
She nodded; emotion rose in her throat, as his question conjured up her last memory of Audrey. He raised his eyebrows. "Well?"
She sighed. "Audrey was a good friend. She was killed at the races the other day, and like I said, she and Hugh were close. This morning I was up at the Bowen ranch and overheard Bridgette having a conversation that sounded suspicious, as if she had something to hide. Obviously, it was Callahan. She mentioned meeting at Shutters. I followed. I wanted to know who she'd been talking to, and what it was they were trying to hide."
"You thought they might have had something to do with your friend's murder."
She nodded. "Hugh didn't tell you about Audrey?"
He shook his head. "He hired me three weeks ago to follow his wife. He suspected that she was having an affair. I haven't spoken with him in days. I am supposed to report to him tomorrow."
Michaela didn't quite know what to make of this. Why would Hugh care if Bridgette were cheating? He was getting ready to leave her and marry Audrey. Unless, of course, it would make him look better to a judge during court proceedings. That made sense. But, what it didn't do was prove that Bridgette or Callahan had anything to do with Audrey's murder. It only cemented the fact that they were messing around. And how did Benz fit into this thing? Why had he shown up at the hotel? He certainly hadn't stuck around for long. If the three of them had some weird sex thing going on, someone must've changed their mind. "What about Benz, how do you figure he's involved?"
Smith didn't have time to reply as the sound of sirens drowned out their conversation. An ambulance pulled into the front entrance of the hotel. They turned to see what was going on.
The Michaela Bancroft Mysteries 1-3 Page 34
