"That's about all I could find. The story seemed to die out. The articles were vague. The dead girl's name is Rebecca Woodson. She drowned after being at a party with Sterling; the article names him as her boyfriend. It also said that the two of them had been arguing and that this young gal left the party, while Sterling stayed and hung out there with his friends. There were conflicting reports. I guess that some partygoers said Sterling followed Rebecca out. Some said they saw him leave with a buddy."
"Wonder if that was Zach or Tommy? It only said a friend, or did it say friends?"
"I'll give you the articles when we get back, but I'm pretty sure it said a friend. Then I found an article from a few weeks after this girl's death; she drowned by falling off a nearby pier. Her family didn't buy it when Sterling was cleared of any wrongdoing, and they filed a civil suit. I can't find anything about it after that."
"Great. This is getting more twisted by the minute, Cam. As if having enemies in the desert wasn't enough for Sterling, the man had people in his hometown who might also have reasons to want him dead. I don't know what you think, but if the Woodsons think this guy killed their daughter, it seems reasonable to me that someone in her family might have wanted him dead."
"Sounds like a possibility."
"Here's our street," Michaela said. She parked the car in front of a decent-looking apartment complex with nice landscaping. "What number is her apartment?"
"Twenty-three."
"You ready?"
"No."
"Oh, what could happen? It's an apartment building, for crying out loud. There are people all over the place."
Camden gave her that funny look again. "Sure, what could happen, she asks. We're only going to talk to a psycho bitch capable of killing somebody. I don't know, what could happen?"
TWENTY
THEY STOOD OUTSIDE ERIN'S APARTMENT.
"Dammit, we're here, knock," Camden finally said.
"I know. I'm rethinking this."
Camden grabbed her arm. "Good, let's go."
Before she could pull her away, Michaela knocked. A few seconds later Erin opened it. "Oh. It's you. I take it that you brought my makeup brushes?"
"Actually, no, we didn't."
"You didn't? Okay, then you're writing me a check or handing me some cash for them?"
"Not exactly," Michaela replied.
"Not exactly? What does that mean? Why are you here then?"
Camden started to open her purse. "You know what? I do have some cash here and I know how important good brushes are, especially to a makeup artist—"
Michaela put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Okay, before any money is exchanged here, I've got some questions for you."
"Questions for me? I don't know what you might need to ask me and I don't care. Red here wants to pay me for my brushes and that's what matters right now."
"No. What matters to me is that you spent time in jail and you had a beef the other day with Sterling Taber. And I'm sure that you know I've been arrested for his murder—a murder that I didn't commit."
"That's what they all say. My time in jail is none of your business, but if it makes you feel any better, I do understand your problems. I spent that time in jail for something that I didn't do. I sat there for nine freaking months until finally my lawyer, who I paid out the yin-yang, found a couple of chicks who really saw what went down in that bathroom. Maybe you'll get lucky and someone will come forward for you, too."
"I'm not counting on luck right now."
Erin postured herself in the doorway. She wasn't a big woman—not tall, anyway. But she was tough. The kind of girl in junior high who Michaela would have steered clear of. Right now, she wasn't even sure where she found her courage, but she was hell-bent on getting the truth.
"I think we should go," Camden said. "I can mail you the check. We'll get out of your hair."
"That's a good idea, Red."
"No. No it's not!" Michaela looked from her friend to Erin. "I know Sterling was a jerk to you, but I'm wondering if you knew him before Sunday."
"I told you, I saw him around. At clubs."
Michaela noticed the woman tightening her fists. Maybe it was a good time to leave. "At clubs. Right. Okay."
"That's it. Now, I'm going to be nice because you two paid me well the other day and you seem to be having a rough time." She nodded at Michaela. "Forget the check. I'll write it off, but also, don't bother me again." She slammed the door in their faces.
"That was a real party," Camden said. "Now can we please go?"
"Yeah, we can go. But she's lying to us."
"What do you mean?"
"I think she knew Sterling. I don't know how, I don't know what the deal is, but my gut says that she's full of it, and I want to know the truth."
"And I want a margarita."
They got back into the truck, Camden wishing for tequila, lime, and salt, Michaela determined to figure out what Erin Hornersberg hadn't told them.
TWENTY-ONE
WHEN THEY GOT BACK TO THE RANCH, CAMDEN gave Michaela the articles she'd printed up. Camden sipped a margarita while Michaela had a glass of wine.
"I still can't believe that you—I mean we—did that," Camden said. "Erin seems real shady to me. You need to be careful."
"Erin is shady and I know to be careful." She set the articles back down on the kitchen table. "This is it? This is all you found?"
"Yes. But I think it could be something. Sterling being in trouble with the law might have something to do with what happened to him."
"It might."
"Are you going to his funeral service tomorrow?"
"Sterling's funeral? It's tomorrow? That was fast. Wow. How did you know?"
"It's in the paper."
"I don't know. Maybe. Hey, where's Dwayne? I meant to ask you earlier, but we got sidetracked." She wanted to change the subject. Thinking about going to Sterling's funeral at that moment made her mind swirl with anxiety.
Camden brushed her hair back behind her ears. "He needed some time to think. I told him about me and Sterling."
"You did? How did he take it?"
She shrugged. "He's a quiet man. He's philosophical and he understands that I am a changed woman. I'm not the ditz who used to go around screwing anything that looked good in tight jeans. But I think he needed some time to let it settle and then move past it. I want this to be different between me and Dwayne. I love him and I believe that we are meant for each other. I couldn't keep this from him. I know it's my past, and he gets that…but my past isn't so great."
Michaela hugged her. "You did the right thing. You're a good person, okay? I love you and he loves you. And I know Dwayne; he's not a jealous type and he's not one to dwell in the past. You're right, he will recognize why you told him the truth and the two of you will be stronger for it."
"I know. I think he went to get something to eat and go a bookstore or the movies. He likes to do that once in a while."
"Yeah. It'll be okay. Well, it's getting cool and if he left earlier, I want to be sure that he blanketed the horses. Thanks for going with me tonight. You're a good friend."
As Michaela reached the barn, she saw Dwayne's truck pull in. Camden stood in the doorway of the guesthouse. She watched as Dwayne hurried to Camden, throwing his arms around her in a tight hug. She knew that Dwayne wouldn't hold Camden's past against her, and a knot of emotion tightened in the back of her throat. That was love.
An echo of whinnies traveled down the barn row when she entered. Dwayne hadn't blanketed the horses, so she went around to each one and took care of it. Leo, her two-year-old, turned and nibbled lovingly on her back as she buckled the straps underneath his belly. She stood up and scolded him. "No, no." He looked injured and went back to the few scraps he had left from his dinner. She knew that his nibble was harmless, but being mouthy like that was a bad habit to let him get into.
Once she'd blanketed the last of her animals, she hung out in Rocky's stall for a few extra minutes. So, Sterl
ing's funeral was tomorrow. She knew it would be scandalous for her to go, considering the circumstances, but she really had to. She wanted to see the faces and reactions of everyone who knew Sterling, many of whom had been there the day he was murdered, particularly those guests she suspected might have had something to do with his death. She also wanted to see if a black Ford Explorer would be in the parking lot.
She turned off most of the lights in the barn and started back to the house as Joe's minivan barreled down her dirt road. He pulled up next to her and rolled down the window. "Go and put some black on—a sweatshirt if you got one, and some pants that you can get around in."
"What are you talking about?" Michaela asked.
"I'll explain after you get changed. Now hurry up."
"Okay." She rushed into the house, did as she was instructed, and met Joe outside.
"Where are we going?"
"First we're gonna drive through a Cotija's taco shop, because Marianne's put me on this diet and it's killing me. I'm wasting away."
"Joe, Marianne would not be happy about you having a burrito. You don't need to cheat."
"Once. Only once. I do a lot for you, Mick. All I want is a carne asada burrito. They can leave the cheese off. And I'll do a diet soda. But I need meat."
She frowned, but let him drive through the taco shop. While waiting for the order she said, "Okay, what is this all about?"
"The letter. The one that you heard Zach and Juliet talking about?"
"Yes."
"We are going to find it."
"Wait a minute. How do we plan on finding this letter?" She stared at him as he turned into a parking lot in front of a row of high-end townhomes. "Oh no, no. I see now. We can't. Is this where Sterling lived?"
"Follow my lead and keep your mouth shut."
"Oh no, we are not breaking into his place. I won't do it."
"You got a better idea?"
"Joe…" she implored.
"You coming or what, Mick?" Joe got out of the van and started walking.
Michaela found herself following him with the knowledge that she was about to become an everyday common criminal. But what the hell, she'd already been arrested for murder.
TWENTY-TWO
"JOE, I DON'T THINK THIS IS SUCH A GOOD IDEA," Michaela whispered as they stood outside the front door of Sterling's town house, while Joe took out a tool and jimmied the lock.
"And you think spending the rest of your days in jail is a better idea?"
"I didn't say that I wasn't going to do it, but—"
"But nothing, we're in." Joe opened the door and pulled out two small flashlights. "Here, take this one. We need to double-duty this. I'll check the front rooms. You find his bedroom, bathroom, and any other room up those stairs." He flashed his light toward a flight of stairs off to the right. "We gotta be quick, too. Not a lot of people out right now, but it's only eleven, so there may be some night owls coming and going. Lucky this place faces the way it does. No other residences looking in." Michaela took the light. Joe placed his hand around hers. "It's okay. It's gonna be okay. Right?"
"Right." She nodded. Joe had seen her hands shaking. It was not okay, but she was here, and his rationale made sense to her for now…if anything could make sense.
She took the flight of stairs and found what looked to be a guest room/office. Sterling had good taste, or else a decorator. He'd spared no expense, from little Limoges to elegant tapestries on the chairs and sofa in the office. The rooms had a traditional feel to them, all with a kind of horse/hunting theme. There were pictures of Sterling with just about everyone from the polo club; photos from his modeling and acting gigs; and one of him with Tommy and Zach, which had to have been taken last summer. The three of them were at the beach. It was the same photo that had been in the newspaper. Michaela took that one off the wall and shone the light on it. She studied it for a few seconds—three buddies, hanging out, having fun. Something about it, though. She knew there was more to the story of last summer than what Camden had uncovered. She placed the photo on the desk, hearing Joe downstairs. She ventured into Sterling's tidy bedroom. Sterling had been a neat freak, or else he had a maid—more likely, it had been the latter.
Michaela was curious about Sterling's expenditures. Here was a man who'd been used to living on twenty grand a month. Then last summer, according to Paige, he'd received the slap in the face when his allowance had been chopped in half. Then, he asked Paige for a loan and she'd taken money from her dead son's life insurance to give to him. Living "rich" meant something to Sterling. Was that why he had been dating Juliet? He didn't want to live a life less than he was used to, and Juliet's father was loaded.
She opened up the drawers on his nightstand and found a book, The Kama Sutra, as well as a list of acting jobs available in both Los Angeles and Palm Springs. He'd checked some off. There was a ticket stub from the club Sinners and Saints. From what Michaela had heard, this was the new hot spot for anyone who was anyone in the desert. But no letter.
She headed to a matching nightstand on the other side. This drawer was more interesting. In it she found a handful of videotapes. She pocketed them, knowing it was wrong. But Joe was right: What would Sterling care at this point? She walked over to his drawers, feeling creepy looking through his boxers and socks. Really creepy. But nothing was out of the ordinary. Next was his closet, and she even found herself digging into his pants pockets, where she found something interesting: an airline ticket. She looked at the date. Sterling had flown to Santa Barbara only two weeks earlier. Had he gone there for fun? Inside the folder was also his information for a rental car. Why hadn't he driven? It was only a half-day's drive. Had he gone to see his family? That had to be it. Had he gone to plead his case? And while there, had he sealed the deal on his fate? The more she dug into Sterling Taber's life, the more twisted and strange it was becoming. Regardless, she had to find out why Sterling had gone home and what had happened there.
Michaela trekked downstairs with her new goodies. Joe stood at the bottom of the stairs. He waved an envelope at her. "Here it is. I read it and you should see what it says."
"Really? You found it?"
He nodded. "Right here in the 'to be filed' stack." He laughed.
"No kidding. What does it say?"
Before he could reply, a rustling noise came from outside the front door. "What was that?" Michaela whispered.
"I don't know." He grabbed her arm as they heard what sounded like a key being slid into the lock. "Come on."
They ran upstairs and into Sterling's bedroom. "Oh God, what if it's the police?" Michaela asked.
"I don't know. Let me think."
They heard the door shut, and then voices—a man and a woman's. Michaela strained to listen. Was it Peters and his sidekick, Singer?
Joe walked to the balcony off Sterling's bedroom. As quietly as he could he slid the door open.
"What was that?" the woman downstairs said.
"I don't know. Stay here and I'll check it out," the man replied.
They heard someone climbing the stairs. Joe motioned for Michaela to follow him onto the balcony. The area overlooked the community pool from two stories up. A palm tree swayed silently in the slight breeze, about two feet away from the balcony. "Hit it, Mick."
"What?"
"No time for questions. Jump onto the tree and shinny your ass on down."
"No way." The man on the stairs was almost to the top, Michaela figured.
"Do it, now."
Michaela knew Joe was right; they had no choice. Luckily for her she was athletic, so she took the chance and made the jump, then shinnied down the tree. She felt the pain in her hands and on her right knee. She leaped off the tree about five feet from the ground and looked up to see Joe attempting the jump. She closed her eyes. He might have been one savvy guy, but athleticism was not one of his attributes. Somehow, he made it.
They tore out of the parking lot in the minivan. "Shouldn't have had that burrito," he said. By the time t
hey cleared the parking lot, they could not help but laugh. They roared for several minutes. For Michaela, part of the laughter was caused by the reality that she'd made it out of there without getting caught—well, basically—and the release of her pent-up stress.
"Oh my gosh, you should have seen yourself coming down off that tree," she said, tears streaming down her face. "I didn't know that you could move that fast, Joe."
"I didn't either. Yeah, that was classic."
"That wasn't Peters. Was it?" Michaela asked, already sure she knew the answer.
"Nope. I'd bet you it was Zach and Juliet."
"I'd bet you're right."
Joe reached into his back pocket and pulled out an envelope. She took the crumpled paper and turned on the overhead light in the minivan. "Do you mind? Will the light bother you?"
"Nah. I'm cool. Read it."
She read over the words that Juliet had written:
I know what you did. My father knows what you did, because I told him and for your sake, I would get out of town. You are disgusting and horrible and I will never trust you again. My father is out for blood. You've messed with the wrong family.
JM
"Whoa," Michaela finally uttered. "No wonder the two of them wanted the letter. Maybe they didn't murder Sterling, but what if they are protecting Juliet's dad?"
"Yep. It's a good theory, and we can't leave out Pepe Sorvino and his daughter."
"What do you think this all means? It's obvious Juliet wrote it. These are her initials, she and Zach were talking about it out at the barn, and those two are awfully friendly with each other these days. And all this stuff about her and her father knowing what he did…Wait a minute, I just had a thought about what Juliet might've told her father."
"What's that?"
Michaela quickly told Joe about the newspaper articles that Camden had found concerning Sterling Taber and Rebecca Woodson. "Follow me. The letter that Juliet wrote to Sterling may have to do with this girl."
The Michaela Bancroft Mysteries 1-3 Page 54
