Odd; a sharp letter opener was stuck right down the center of the papers. Why would Robert would do that? Maybe it was to keep the stack from blowing away as people walked in and out.
She put her helmet in the bin. Before leaving, she noticed that the paper on top on the stack was an invoice to Sterling. He owed quite a bit in board and training. In fact, it looked as if he were several months past due. But it wasn't the numbers that astounded her so much; it was the fact that across the statement someone had written SCREW YOU!
"Hey Michaela, what's up?"
Michaela spun around as Robert walked in. "Uh, I was just returning my helmet. You going to the fashion show? I know Paige was really excited about it."
Robert waved a hand as he sat on the sofa. "Nah. I think I've had my fill of charity for a while. Fashion shows are not my thing."
Michaela nodded, not sure what to say, still processing the scrawled message on Sterling's invoice.
"What about you? Don't you have to get over there?"
"I sure do." She checked her watch. "Definitely." She reached for the doorknob and turned to tell Robert good-bye.
"Hey, before you go, can I ask you something?" the older man said.
Uh-oh. Had he seen her peering at his paperwork? Before she could reply, her cell phone rang. She glanced at Robert.
"No problem. Answer it," he told her.
Saved by the bell. She flipped open the phone; Camden was in hysterics. "Where are you? I need you now. We've got a huge problem!"
Michaela started to ask her what it was, but Camden hung up. "I'm sorry," she said. "I've got to go. There seems to be a problem at the store."
"Go. It's no big thing."
She walked out of the trailer. Another problem; great.
FOUR
CAMDEN'S FACE WAS FLUSHED THE COLOR OF magenta; her arms flailed in obvious frustration as Michaela entered the back room of the tack shop. A handful of models clustered around, all eyes on a petite, dark-haired, gothic-looking young woman, her lips painted a purplish black. Michaela had an odd thought: dark fairy from beyond, or a woman trying hard to resurrect 1985.
Camden grabbed Michaela by the arm and pulled her aside. "That's Erin Hornersberg."
"Okay."
"She's our makeup artist and she's the best, but she is refusing to do the models' makeup. She's packing up her stuff. Do something!"
This was the crisis? Oh boy. "Camden, hold on. First of all, I am not a mediator to every little problem that springs up."
"Yes, but you have a way with people. Now go over there and convince her to stay."
Michaela sighed. "What, is she claiming that we didn't pay her enough, too?"
"No. It's about Sterling."
"Sterling?"
Camden nodded. "She won't say what, but within two minutes of him sitting down, she started screaming for him to get the you-know-what off her chair and the hell out of here. When he refused, she told me to forget it. She's saying that she's not about to do anyone's makeup for the show."
It was only makeup. Couldn't the models do their own? "Just ask Sterling to leave. I need a few minutes to shower and set my things in the office." She held up her mallet and purse. With so many people milling around she hadn't wanted to leave the polo mallet in her truck, and definitely not her purse. Although she had no intention to play the sport any longer, the mallet had been a gift from Ed Mitchell, and she wanted it as a keepsake.
"Are you kidding? You don't have time. You have to talk to her now! Sterling was voted the most eligible bachelor from Indio to Palm Springs and probably all the way to L.A. Most of the women here today came to see him. I can't do that."
"Right. Do you know what he might have said or done?"
Camden shrugged. "I don't have a clue. I wanted to put on the best show from here to flipping Timbuktu, and dammit, it's all falling apart."
Michaela turned back to see Erin locking up her makeup box. She walked over to the woman, still holding her mallet and purse, both starting to weigh on her. How was it that purses got so heavy? It needed a good dumping-out, and the mallet wasn't exactly light to begin with.
"Hi, I'm Michaela Bancroft, part owner of the store, and I'm sorry to hear there's a problem. Can we talk about it?"
"Nothing to talk about. He's an ass. I want him out of here." She pointed at Sterling, who stood drinking a Coke, seeming not to care at all about the drama swirling around him.
Michaela leaned in closer to her. "I agree with you. I think he's a pompous piece of you-know-what. Look, can you just come outside with me? We'll see if we can work something out."
Erin shook her head. "Nothing to work out. I want him out of here. It's simple."
"Okay, look, what if I make sure he's not anywhere near you and you won't have to do his makeup or even see him?"
Erin eyeballed her. "And you'll make it worth my while? You know, it's a pain in the ass to have to take all my stuff out and now I had to put it back, and then I'll have to take it back out again, and—"
Michaela held up a hand. "I'll see what I can do." Great. Erin and Pepe Sorvino must have gone to some sort of lecture on how to screw a client prior to an event. If her instincts were right, she'd be paying out more money than they'd planned to the makeup artist. But she was still curious about what Sterling had done to get under the woman's skin.
"I could use a smoke."
"I'm sure you could."
And right about now, she could use one of those shoulder massages Jude Davis was famous for. She wished he wasn't away for the week on a Caribbean cruise with his daughter, Katie. Michaela and the detective had been dating for a few months. It wasn't anything serious, not yet anyway, but she realized that she missed him. His calm demeanor in stressful situations like this would have been exactly what the doctor ordered. Needless to say, there wasn't much more she could do than play diplomat. Tonight though, when this thing was over—one long hot bath, oh yes.
She followed Erin to the door. Camden looked at her wide-eyed and tapped her wrist several times, indicating that the clock was ticking. "I'm doing what I can," Michaela muttered. Never again would she agree to something of this magnitude—for charity or not. She'd rather get smacked by a polo mallet than deal with this.
Erin pulled out a pack of Marlboros from the black apron holding a variety of makeup brushes in the front pockets. She lit one and took a deep drag. Michaela knew time was of the essence, but she also understood she was likely dealing with someone who, when push came to shove, could shove back pretty hard.
Michaela tried to subtly wave away the toxic plume. "So, Sterling was being an ass to you." She presented it more as a statement rather than a question, and decided to keep going along those lines. "He's a real jerk. You should see that guy up on a horse playing polo. He whoops and hollers when he scores, as if he's made the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl."
"Yeah, I bet, like his shit don't stink." Erin snorted.
"Exactly. He gets under my skin. Who would have ever voted him most eligible bachelor?"
"Eligible? Isn't he hooking up with that Juliet chick? The one whose folks own the club?"
"It looks like they're dating to me. But you know, I haven't seen them hanging out this past week at the field. They're usually all over each other. So, I don't really know. I'm not interested in his love life." She had to wonder though, if Juliet and Sterling were together, then how did Juliet feel about her boyfriend being considered an "eligible bachelor"? Juliet Mitchell was Ed's daughter. Michaela knew Juliet from the field because she also rode. She seemed like a nice girl. But it was a wonder how she tolerated Sterling. Juliet was from a priveleged family and Michaela doubted she would tolerate playing second fiddle.
"Yeah, probably her and about a hundred other stupid chicks are dating him."
Michaela nodded as she let Erin speak. She was pretty sure she'd won the woman's trust.
Erin continued: "I've seen him around, you know. At clubs. He works a room. Got all the girls after him. He t
hinks he does, anyway."
Michaela hoped this was going somewhere. "I'm sure he does. You've seen him out and around then?"
"Uh-huh. And he's seen me. He made a point of letting me know it, in there." She pointed to the tack shop.
"I take it he said something rude to you?"
Erin nodded. "About me and my girlfriend."
"Girlfriend?" Michaela tried not to allow shock to creep into her voice. Did Erin mean girlfriend or girlfriend? Either way, it didn't really matter. She didn't know why, if Erin had a girlfriend, this would surprise her, but in a way it did. She would have pictured this woman having a tattooed, biker-type boyfriend. So much for stereotypes.
"Yes. Sheila. She's my girl." She arched her brows. "I'm gay."
"Oh."
"Don't tell me you're one of those redneck homophobes, too."
"No. Not at all. I just didn't expect that."
"Why not?"
Oh great, now she was making waves with the makeup artist. "I don't know. But it doesn't bother me. Look, I don't know what Sterling said to you. I can only imagine it was something nasty. But right now, we're running short on time. I promise that you won't have to deal with him again. The jerk can do his own makeup as far as I'm concerned."
Erin tossed down her cigarette, stubbing it out with her boot heel. "Double my pay."
"Double?"
Erin nodded. "I'm the best and, right now, the only one you have here. You're in a freaking bind, lady, and you know how life can be unfair sometimes. I think your friend Camden in there might have a nervous breakdown if I walk."
She had one thing right: Michaela was in a bind. She still felt the models could apply goop to their own faces, but she thought about Camden and how much this meant to her. "Fine. I'll double your pay."
"Give it to me now."
Michaela sighed. "Tell you what. I'll go back in and ask Sterling to dress elsewhere. You can get started on the next model and I'll write you a check."
"Fine. Here's my card. My last name can be hard to spell." She took a card out of her apron. "Oh sorry, there's an address on the back, but I don't need it anymore. Anyway, that's my last card."
"No problem." Michaela took the card and marched back in to confront Camden. "You need to get Sterling Taber out of here now."
"No! What? Why? I already told you that he's the star of the show."
"Here's the deal, sis. Your star said some disrespectful things to the makeup girl and she's ready to walk. I've convinced her to stay as long as she doesn't have to deal with him, along with some extra cash on top of it."
"Why, that little bitch," Camden replied.
"That little bitch is extremely offended by Mr. Taber. And, as you mentioned, she is the best and you seem to think we need her."
Camden looked mortified. "What am I supposed to do?"
"I don't know. You and Sterling seemed to be buddy-buddy. I think you can figure it out."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing, really. I just noticed during the course of putting this thing together over the last few months that you got along well with him."
"Everyone gets along with him. He's a great guy."
"Whatever you say." From what she had seen, not everyone got along well with Sterling at all.
"Michaela, are you implying something? I'm engaged, for goodness' sakes. I would never cheat on Dwayne."
"I know that. You better not anyway. Why even say something like that?"
Camden's face softened. "I don't know why I'd say something like that. Of course you know that I would never cheat on Dwayne."
"Didn't cross my mind. For one thing, Sterling is just a kid, what twenty-five or something?"
"Twenty-six."
"Right. Get him out of here. I've done what I can to make this go smoothly. It's time for you to use your finesse."
Camden shrugged. "Okay, I'll get him out of here. Now, can you tell Erin to get in here and get the other models finished?"
Michaela watched as Camden approached Sterling, who was talking to Tommy Liggett. After a few minutes, Camden had succeeded in luring Sterling out of the area and Erin came back in to finish her work.
Michaela needed to grab a quick shower and wash the perfume à la equine off her. There wasn't much time, but it was necessary.
On her way to check on the silent auction items, she spotted Robert Nightingale and his wife, glass of wine in hand, engaged in conversation with Ed Mitchell. Robert must have changed his mind about coming to the event. Interesting. She'd be sure to avoid him. She didn't want to answer any questions about what she'd spotted on his desk. Facts were, it really was none of her business. Though she did wonder if it had been Sterling who'd written the unpleasantry across the invoice, or maybe Robert had written it in anger because the bill hadn't been paid.
She wound her way through the crowd and entered the back room of the tack shop. The storage area was a mess with discarded clothing, purses, and backpacks scattered all about, the remains of the flurry to dress the models and get them ready to strut their stuff up on the catwalk.
Michaela headed to the private office area that she shared with Camden and set her purse and mallet down. She'd already hung up the outfit she wanted to change into when she'd gotten there this morning—a teal-colored sheath dress, simple and casual but also classy. She brought it with her to the bathroom off to the side of the office and kitchen, and took a quick shower. Getting out, she thought she heard a door shut. There was no door to the kitchen, only swinging panels. The only doors were either the back one or the office. Must've been Camden grabbing something.
She dressed and headed back to the office to find her hairbrush and some lip gloss. Placing the key in the lock, she discovered that the door was already open. Hadn't she locked it when she showered? She didn't want anyone going in there, especially with her things around. Maybe in her haste she'd forgotten.
Michaela opened the door. It took a second to sink in that what she was looking at wasn't just a pile of discarded clothes…oh, she was looking at a pile of clothes, all right, but not just clothes—clothes with someone in them. Blue jeans, white T-shirt with red sprayed across it. Red. No. Blood! Everywhere. Michaela looked down again. A polo mallet. Next to the clothes. Her polo mallet. Oh no. Next to a body. Sterling Taber's body. And the back of his head all bashed in.
FIVE
MICHAELA KNEW THAT STERLING WAS DEAD AND all she wanted to do was get the hell out of there, but her conscience made her check just to be sure. She bent down next to his body. He was not breathing. His eyes were rolled back, showing the whites. She scrambled backward, ran out of the office and into the bathroom, where she threw up several times.
She faced the bathroom mirror, blinked her eyes repeatedly. Was this really happening? Then it hit her: What if whoever did this was still around? What if they were hiding in her office or just outside the bathroom door? She had to find Camden. No, she had to call the police. No, she had to find Camden. Hell. Security guards. Yes. They'd hired a couple to man the tent outside. Start there. No. The police. Shit! She stepped out of the bathroom hesitantly, then ran to the front of the store. They'd locked the doors when they'd started serving lunch, except the back door for the waitstaff going in and out of the kitchen. Dammit, why didn't she just go out the back door? Her mind raced with confusion. She turned and headed to the back of the store again, everything she passed a blur of colors.
"Michaela?"
Mario Sorvino was walking through the back door as she reached it. He looked at her oddly. "Is everything okay? You look a little pale."
"We have to call the police. St-Sterling Taber has been…murdered in my office."
"What? No." He shook his head.
She nodded.
"Stay here," he said. He headed toward her office.
Michaela suddenly realized that she wasn't too comfortable staying put. Mario Sorvino hadn't exactly proven to her that he was a good guy with his earlier remarks. No way. She was out of there.
<
br /> Once out through the back door, she stopped the closest guest walking by. "Do you have a cell phone? I need to use it. It's an emergency."
The woman, dumbfounded, handed her a phone and Michaela dialed 911. "There's been a murder," she said, her voice shaking. The operator took down the details and told her that help would be on the way. She then went to find Camden, who was marching models onto the stage.
"Michaela! Have you seen Sterling? Jeez, I hope that little stunt the makeup girl pulled didn't chase him away. It's not good. See all those women out there? They are here to see him," she wailed.
In a sort of fast-forward daze, Michaela was aware that Camden had pulled back the drapes inside the tent where the show was going on and pointed to the crowd, but she couldn't see anything. It was all a blur. Oh God, she thought she might be sick again.
Camden turned to Juliet, who had just tripped over one of the acoustic cords, and said, "Hurry up, get out there. You need to be up there." Then she asked, "Have you seen Sterling?"
Juliet shook her head. "No, I haven't. I don't know if I can do this. I've never modeled before! There's a ton of people out there. I didn't know I'd get so nervous!"
Zach Holden was just coming off the stage. He looked at Juliet and asked her if she was okay. She nodded. "I'm fine."
Camden reached across a table for a large tequila bottle. She handed it to the girl. "Take a swig of this and get your ass out there. You'll do great."
Juliet shook her head. "No thanks. I'm good."
"Great. Never figured that one for nerves. I mean, hell, she comes from what, one of the wealthiest families around. She must have done this kind of stuff before. And I thought for sure that she and Sterling were doing a little…you know…in the back room, because I couldn't find her for a few minutes either. I've noticed those two flirting quite a bit."
Michaela listened to this as if she were outside of her body, as if time had stood still, and she wondered if this was what being in shock felt like. Then suddenly, as if someone slapped her, she blurted, "Sterling is dead!"
The Michaela Bancroft Mysteries 1-3 Page 47
