On the Hook

by Betty Hechtman

  “I hate to trouble you with it now. It’s late and certainly past your office hours. Maybe I should call you tomorrow.” I was doing my best to keep my voice businesslike, but I knew some of my feeling came through.

  “Remember I said you could call anytime,” he said. “We might as well discuss it now.” There was silence on his end for a moment, and then he began to talk. “I’m sorry, but I have to say this first.” He took a deep breath and then let it out. “The problem is that you’re still under my skin. I kept thinking that time would make it go away…”

  “Sorry … I guess,” I said, not sure how to react. There was more silence. Finally I spoke. “What is it you want me to do? Tell you about the incidents? Find another lawyer?”

  “What I really want is to see you,” he said. This time the silence was on my end. I wasn’t sure what to say or, for that matter, do. I certainly didn’t want to do anything rash like invite him over now.

  He picked up on my hesitance and probably regretted sounding so direct. “I didn’t mean this minute,” he said. “Maybe tomorrow—during the day. I was going to work from home. We could meet for lunch somewhere.”

  “No, that won’t work. I already promised Leo,” I said.

  “Leo, again? What’s the status of that?” Mason said.

  “I’m going to help him update his look and introduce him to exotic food.”

  Mason chuckled and suggested dinner, and we agreed to meet up after I finished at the bookstore.

  “It will be kind of late, so our options will be limited,” he said.

  I suggested a sushi restaurant with late hours and he agreed. My head was still spinning from his about-face.

  “You better tell me about the incidents now, though,” he said.

  I pictured him shaking his head with disbelief as I told him about our second trip to Timothy Clark’s.

  “Adele wanted to do it. She believes that he really set up a meeting for her, and she thought if she found the information, she could go to the meeting herself.”

  “And I’m guessing there was nothing,” Mason said.

  “Right … well, sort of. The man had a calendar filled with Post-it notes, and we didn’t get to look through them all. She wanted Peter to look into it.”

  “Let me guess,” Mason began. “He said no.”

  “I didn’t exactly ask him, but I knew no would be the answer if I did.”

  “I’m sure you weren’t there just to accompany Adele. Why did you go?” he asked.

  “Now that I know what happened to Timothy Clark, I wanted to have a look around the room he died in, and I was hoping there might me some kind of notation of who had come over that night.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  “I found a Post-it note with something for last Monday. There was no name. It just said something like ‘Make an offer that can’t be refused.’”

  “Without hearing him say the words, it’s hard to know what he meant. Was he trying to buy or sell something, or was he trying to settle something? Whatever it was, someone wasn’t happy with it. And must have been expecting to not be happy with the offer, since they had to have brought the cyanide with them.”

  I had picked up the blue-baby blanket I was working on and was crocheting as we talked. I wished I could crochet as fast as the others. Most of them had whipped up several of the blankets already, and I was just hoping to finish this one. But it wasn’t just the impending deadline that had made me grab my crochet. What Mason had said about wanting to see me had made me nervous, and crochet was always my antidote for that.

  “You said Adele didn’t get a chance to look through the calendar. Why?”

  “We kind of had to leave in a hurry. Someone called the cops and we had to get out of there unseen.” I described the position of the house on the hillside.

  “What did you do, roll down the hillside?” he said.

  “More like slid. It was muddy, which was good and bad. It made it easier to slide, but a whole lot messier.”

  Mason laughed uproariously at this. “I’m sorry for laughing, but the image of Adele with some crochet hat on coming down the hill is just too funny.” He let out his breath. “My other clients are so dull in comparison.”

  “That’s not quite the end of it,” I said before telling him about seeing Barry there and his subsequent appearance at my house.

  “You didn’t say anything, did you?” he asked quickly.

  “No, but he overheard something Peter said to me about Timothy Clark. It wasn’t really anything, but enough to keep him chipping away at me. And he said again that he has proof that I knew Timothy Clark.”

  “Do you think he’s bluffing?’ Mason asked.

  “I don’t know. If he’d just said it once, I might believe he was, but he keeps saying it. I’ve racked my brain and haven’t been able to come up with anything. I’ll keep looking.”

  I realized I hadn’t mentioned the Bobaccino with the note to Mason. I told him about it now as well as how I had tried unsuccessfully to find out who’d left it.

  “You definitely must be stepping on somebody’s toes. Maybe you should take a step back with the investigation and let me deal with Barry. We don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “I’ll be okay. I’ll just be more careful.” I fell silent after that. There was nothing else to share about Timothy Clark, and I didn’t want to go back to the personal stuff again since I was still processing what Mason had said.

  I sensed Mason wanted to say something more, but finally he said, “See you tomorrow night,” and we both hung up.

  * * *

  “I’m here for you to have your way with me,” a male voice said. It was the next afternoon and I was at the information booth, helping a customer find a travel book on Vancouver. Both of our heads shot up as Leo stuck his hand in front of me and waved. I supposed I should feel some sense of achievement. He had already brightened up from the lost-puppy look he’d had when we had begun our “lessons” and had a big smile. The customer looked from him to me as she raised her eyebrows.

  “We’re just friends,” I said to the woman. “He’s been going through a tough time and I’ve been helping him.”

  “You betcha she has,” Leo interjected. “She’s instructing me in the romantic arts.” He gazed at me. “And I can’t wait for my next lesson. We’re trying something exotic today.”

  I didn’t dare look at the woman’s face and just turned to Leo and suggested he wait for me in the café. As soon as he was gone, I felt a need to explain to her, or really overexplain. “He lost his wife, and he’s clueless about everything. I don’t know why his sister-in-law asked me. Well, except when my husband died, I had to start a new chapter. By the way, the exotic thing we’re trying is Chinese food. You saw him—he has to be in his fifties and he’s never had Chinese food. Can you believe it?”

  She glanced in the direction Leo had gone. “I think you have your work cut out for you.”

  As soon as I finished with her and got my purse and jacket, I went to collect Leo. I found him looking at the wall we called the gallery. Every store and business in the LA area had one, featuring assorted photographs of celebrity customers. We had an assortment of professional headshots and candid photographs of the celebrities who had come in the store. CeeCee had managed to get a whole section up there of photographs of herself. My mother and her girl group had been caught in a moment in time as they performed their hit song. There were other local celebrities as well. Even Eduardo had a picture with Mr. Royal. Eduardo was dressed in his leather pants and billowy shirt from his cover model days. I was about to suggest we leave when Leo pointed to one of the candid shots. “Isn’t that the guy from Bradley V, P.I.? My wife loved that show. I think he was called Binkie Macpherson.”

  I looked over his shoulder. I had somehow never noticed that photo before, but now I examined it closely. It was clearly some kind of special gathering at the bookstore. I could tell it had been taken in the event area and there wa
s a crowd. Timothy was standing with Mr. Royal. I was in the background bringing in some chairs. And then it hit me. Barry must have seen the photograph. Detective that he was, he would have figured out it was an event, and he knew I arranged all the events for the bookstore. And, therefore, I had to know Timothy Clark.

  I looked at the photograph again, trying to remember the situation. It was lost in the recesses of my mind, which seemed odd. I would certainly expect to have a strong memory of an event with someone that well-known. It began to come back to me, and now it all made perfect sense.

  I’d have to talk to Joshua Royal and find out the details. But not now. I wanted to get Leo out of there before he had a chance to say anything to anyone else about his “lessons” that could be misconstrued.

  We decided to start with shopping and then hit the Chinese restaurant. I figured Leo would feel too uncomfortable if I took him to some hip men’s boutique, so I picked a large chain store. As soon as we walked in, Leo made a move to a rack of pants similar to the ones he was wearing.

  “The point is to get something different,” I said, standing in front of him and blocking the rack. “Let’s see if we can get someone to help us.” I glanced around the large store and saw a tall blondish man handing a customer a bag. I caught his eye as he looked up.

  As he got nearer, he looked familiar, and I tried to place him. He must have caught the way I was staring at him and figured out I was trying to remember where I’d seen him.

  “I was with your associate Lydia Fairchild. Brett Williamson at your service,” he said with a mock bow. “She let our workshop people meet at Shedd & Royal so we could try to make sense of what happened.” He shook his head with regret. “I still can’t believe Tim’s gone.”

  I nodded with understanding, but inside I was thinking that a golden opportunity had just fallen in my lap. While Leo was getting a new wardrobe, I could get some information.

  I played it cool and first explained why we were there. Leo did a model twirl. “Everyone seems to think I need some new clothes.”

  “In a different style,” I added. Brett stepped back and looked Leo up and down. The pleated beige pants and tucked-in long-sleeved plaid shirt made Leo practically blend in with the background.

  “First we need to determine what you want to say about your appearance.” He turned to me. “Actors know that how you dress, wear your hair, and carry yourself are all part of a role.”

  Leo seemed at a loss to explain what he wanted, so I took over and told Brett the situation.

  “I get it. He wants to look good for the ladies,” he said. “Let me see what I can do.” He took Leo in the back and offered me a place to wait. “Who has approval?” Brett asked.

  Leo pointed at me, but I shook my head. “It’s really your decision.”

  Once Leo was in a dressing room with a selection of clothes, Brett came to stand with me.

  “Ad—Lydia never said anything. What is your group going to do?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Alexandra is trying to step in for Tim, but even though she sold a script and it’s in pre-production, she doesn’t have the know-how he did, or the connections. To be honest with you, I don’t think she’s worth the money. Timothy was great at picking out the direction each of us should take. He saw Lydia as a personality more than an actor, and he thought I should aim for second lead.” Brett let out a sigh. “I lived for those Tuesday nights. When we got together and worked on scenes—well, it felt good to be recognized as an actor.”

  “He was helping me get anything I could so I would have something to put on a reel. I was ‘man standing at counter’ in an episode of L.A. Medical, and ‘man in elevator’ on an episode of Boys’ Night Out. Timothy had lots of connections, and I’m sure he was just waiting for the right time to make use of them for something big.”

  I knew that what he had called parts were really considered extra roles and didn’t take any great pull to land. He mentioned that Timothy had directed a few scenes that they had put on his DVD that could serve as a sample of his range.

  “I suppose he tried to help you all get work,” I said. “Your workshop mate Deana came into the bookstore the other day and mentioned that she’d gotten a part in an equity waiver play. She seemed to think that Timothy would have been so pleased.” The words were barely out of my mouth when he made a face.

  “So, you talked to Miss Deana. Did she really think that cozying up to him was going to get her anything?” He stopped and considered what he’d said before shaking his head slowly. “But then, it probably did. If there was a choice of who to push for something, he probably went with her.”

  I nodded noncommittally, hoping he’d keep talking.

  “We all sort of put Tim on a pedestal. He’d actually lived our dream. It meant so much that he was helping us get there. I heard he planned to add more workshops so he could help more actors.”

  I asked him about the nuts and bolts on the costs of the workshops.

  “Well, there was the basic monthly fee. We all paid cash or checks at the beginning of the month. Then there was a laundry list of extras that were optional.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Private lessons, putting your promotional pack together. That included getting headshots made and the reel that I talked about. To keep the costs down, he had made a mini studio at his house.” I thought he must be finished, but the list went on. “There was a fee for setting up an audition, another if you wanted him to accompany you, a fee if he set up a meeting with an agent, casting director, or producer which included the charge for him coming along—I think that’s it.”

  A question continued to nag at me. “Do you think Timothy ever led any of his students on? Maybe gave them hope to keep them coming?”

  His expression dipped. “You mean Lydia? I’d like to think that he told her all that stuff about hosting a show because it seemed to mean so much to her.”

  “So then, you don’t think he actually had set up a meeting for her?”

  “Let me put it this way,” he said. “Whenever Tim set anything up for me, he made sure I paid him as soon as it was arranged.” He glanced toward the row of dressing rooms. “I better check on Leo.”

  I was glad to stay in the front while Brett gave Leo his opinion on the clothes. Brett came back to the front and got me. “I suggested that a haircut might add to his new look, but he wants to talk to you.”

  When I got to the back of the store, Leo stuck his head out of the dressing room. “Do you think I should get a haircut? I’ve always cut it myself.”

  I had to fight putting my head in my hands. He cut his own hair. No wonder it looked so chopped off. “Absolutely. Go with a professional,” I said.

  Brett offered to set something up in a hair salon a couple of doors down. With Brett’s continued assistance, Leo picked out a suit and several outfits. Before he left for the haircut, Brett asked Leo if they could take some pictures of him before and then after he got the haircut and was wearing one of the new outfits.

  “I’d like to show them to the manager and pitch the idea of doing makeovers,” Brett said.

  He might have been an actor at heart, but he knew his job there was paying his bills. Leo seemed to be enjoying the fuss made over him and agreed to let Brett take some before photos of him and was okay with Brett walking him to a hair stylist in the same mall. The plan was for me to get a cup of coffee and come back to the store for the big reveal in a little bit.

  I got a text when they were ready to show off the new Leo. It figured that since Brett was an actor, he was into drama. He had me come to the back of the store for the unveiling.

  I had expected a slightly fixed-up version of the Leo I’d walked in with. In other words, a slightly more stylish but still bland-looking guy. When Brett pulled aside the curtain in the dressing room and Leo stepped out, I actually gasped. The high-end jeans fit Leo’s slim frame perfectly, and the inky black sweater brought out the color in his face. Gone was the dull, side-parte
d hair, replaced by tousled tresses shiny with gel. His old sneakers had been replaced by boots, and the look had been finished off with a black leather jacket.

  Leo got a look at himself in the mirror, and I saw him do a double take. “Wow, I look like a real bad boy,” he said, taking a tough stance while Brett used his phone to get more shots.

  “I drew the line at coloring my hair,” he confided to me as we left the store.

  * * *

  I’d chosen a local Chinese restaurant for Leo’s first taste of food from the Orient. It had been in Tarzana forever. It was short on decor—there were no good-luck cats, pots of fake cherry blossoms, or dragons on the wall—but the food was good. I think Leo was a little disappointed that it looked so ordinary with the wood booth against the wall and the Formica tables in the middle. We took a booth by the window that looked out onto the parking lot.

  After briefly consulting our menus, Leo shut his and looked at me. “Why don’t you order for both of us?”

  He was still getting used to his new look and I saw him actually shrink back when he caught a view of himself reflected in the window, as if he were looking at someone else. I explained to the waiter that it was Leo’s first time trying Chinese food and asked for suggestions. A few moments later, he returned with soup for both of us.

  Leo was about to try the hot-and-sour soup when he nudged me across the table. “Isn’t that your friend from the other night?”

  Barry had just walked into the restaurant with two similarly dressed men and one woman. I didn’t have to look twice to know who she was. I always said if there was a detective Barbie doll, she would look like Detective Heather. I was the only one who called her that, and even then only in my head. “Is she his girlfriend?” Leo asked. “She’s really hot.”

  “No,” I said, just a little too quickly. “They just work together.”

  They did have some history together, but I was pretty sure it was just that, history. I sunk down in the booth, but it was too late.