Something About Money

by Carolyn Scott

  He nodded as he typed. His focus was entirely on the monitor again. It was like I'd already left.

  I turned to go, but he called my name. For some reason, my heart was in my throat. I wanted to hear him call me Sweetheart, or flirt with me. That's how our day usually ended.

  "Is there anything you need to tell me?" he asked, his gaze locking with mine.

  Oh-kay. Where was he going with that? It sounded like he knew something, but wanted to hear it from me. Was he referring to our relationship or work? Did he know about my car getting smashed? Or did he know that I wasn't ready to commit?

  And everyone says women are complicated.

  "No," I said with a smile. "Nothing. Why?"

  He shrugged and once more turned his attention to the monitor. "No reason. See you tomorrow."

  I headed out of the office to the bus stop. I felt a little numb as I waited for my bus. It was the first time in ages he hadn't asked me back to his place, or invited himself to mine. I wasn't sure how I felt not spending the night with him. I wasn't sure how I felt about anything anymore.

  First thing in the morning I called Will to tell him I was heading out to speak to Cindy Belfour. I got his voicemail.

  With the van still at the office, I had to catch the bus to the Carleton Hotel. It was hell. Rush hour meant the bus was filled with suits heading to work. I got elbowed in the left breast, both my feet were stood on, and my face got shoved into more armpits than I care to think about. It's surprising how many businessmen don't shower in the mornings and try to cover the fact by wearing enough cologne to strip away the ozone layer. I couldn't wait to get off at the stop outside the Carleton and breathe fresh air again. It was lucky that I arrived early, because I caught Cindy on her way out.

  "Can't talk now," she said after Linc let me in to their suite. He was dressed in a hotel bathrobe that he hadn't tied up. He wore shorts underneath, and nothing else. His chest was hairless. Why was I not surprised?

  "You need to talk to me," I said. "I have some questions to ask."

  She paused with her coffee cup to her lips and burst out laughing. "You're ballsy. I like that. But I don't have to talk to you." She pushed past me, bumping my arm.

  I caught her elbow. Riding the bus had put me in a bad mood, and I wasn't going to let one more person shove me around. "It's about your business with Max Warshenski."

  She lifted her chin. "What about it?"

  I let her go. "I'll have a coffee, thanks, Linc," I said.

  "What am I, your personal slave?" he muttered.

  "Just get her the goddamned coffee," Cindy snapped.

  He did her bidding without further complaint. He didn't even click his tongue or huff out a breath.

  "What is it you want?" she asked me when he was out of earshot.

  "How long have you and Max known each other?"

  "Fifteen years or so."

  "Does your relationship extend beyond that of dealer and addict?"

  She looked at me like I was a troll. "I'm not an addict. I just do the occasional line at parties, or when I need something to pick me up. For fuck's sake, an addict is someone who can't get through life without a hit. That's not me."

  Yeah, right. She was an overdose waiting to happen. "Whatever."

  "I don't know who gave you the idea he's a dealer."

  "You did."

  She paled. "I was mistaken."

  "How can you be mistaken about something like that?"

  "I was doped up at the time. I didn't know what I was saying, and any judge will agree." She stepped closer and spoke without moving her mouth. "Look. Max and I met at a party years ago. He and I have done business together since then, that's all. I hardly know him. As far as I can see, he's a freak. I wouldn't trust him if I were you."

  "Thanks for the advice."

  She stepped back. "Now, can I go?"

  "Where did you meet him? In L.A.?"

  "Yes, why?"

  "How did you meet?"

  "I told you. At a party. Everyone in L.A. meets at parties. You should know that. If you don't mind, I have to go."

  "One other thing. When did you arrive in Renford?"

  She rolled her eyes and huffed out a breath. "I came as soon as I heard about Frank's death. I arrived the day after, I think."

  "That was fast. You were able to drop everything at the last minute for your ex-husband?"

  "I didn't do it for him, I did it to protect my inheritance. Play Group needs a leader."

  "I thought they already had one in Angel."

  She snorted. "That little bitch couldn't lead a thirsty dog to water." I thought she was going to walk off on me, but she huffed out another breath. "You were an actress, right? You know what Hollywood is like. Acting jobs are rarer than blue diamonds. Angel did her fair share of auditions, just like you and everyone in that town. But she wasn't very good."

  "Did she audition for a part in one of your TV shows?"

  She nodded. "Several. She had the right look to make it in one of my kids' shows, plus she could dance and sing. But it was her acting that let her down. It was after seeing her audition for a sitcom I was making that I thought up the idea for Play Group. I told Frank and the rest was history. She was the first member we signed up. But if you've ever seen her on stage, you'll know we didn't hire her for her acting. Same goes with the others. They can all sing and dance, but they can't act. It's okay because it's not necessary for what they do. Most of their moves are choreographed."

  "So you made her what she is today. You already told me that." I'd heard it all before. Producers and directors mouthing off about how a big name actor would be nothing without them. I was tired of it. Credit where credit was due. Angel was good at what she did. The kids knew it and loved her, and that's all that mattered.

  "Looks like I need to spell it out to you," Cindy said in that clipped, no-nonsense way. "What I'm trying to tell you is that you should know when Angel is lying. She's just not that good at it. It's not her eyes, it's her hands. All actors are aware of the camera and other actors on set, but bad ones don't know what to do with their hands. They make the mistake of over-using them."

  She was right. You could tell a rookie by watching their hands. Most used them too much, thinking it's what acting was all about. The best, most accomplished stars knew that great acting was all about the subtle movements of the face. That's why botox babes weren't so highly sought after for the meaty roles.

  But I disagreed with Cindy about Angel being an amateur. She may have been once, but she'd had a lot of years of practice since. "You think Angel's been lying to me?" I asked.

  "I don't know what she's been saying to you. All I do know is, she's not what she seems. None of them are."

  "You mean Taylor isn't gay?"

  Linc snorted with laughter, proving he'd been listening after all.

  Cindy rolled her eyes. "I mean Jenny may not be as stupid as she makes out."

  "No, she really is. I've known her a long time."

  She hefted her bag on her shoulder and cocked her head to the side. "Then maybe she's the best actress of them all."

  "What do you know of Frank's business interests? Did you know he defrauded some of his clients?"

  She held up her hands. "Nothing to do with me."

  I sighed. Of course she'd say that.

  "I have to go." She marched toward the door but just stood there and arched a brow at me. "Off you go."

  "What about my coffee?" I indicated Linc as he stood nearby. He'd been about to hand me the cup, but stopped as Cindy walked past him.

  "There's a coffee shop on the corner."

  "But Linc went to all that trouble." The truth was, I wanted to speak to him alone.

  "Look, Cat," Cindy said, exasperated. "I don't want you in my room when I'm not here. I don't want you touching my stuff." She shot a pointed glance at Linc.

  He blushed bright red and looked down at the coffee cup. The robe slipped a little, revealing one slender shoulder. Cindy fixed it for
him and patted his cheek.

  I should have told her he wasn't my type, but I couldn't find the words. Hearing her call Linc her "stuff" had kind of messed with my head. I mean, how arrogant could she be? And how sick? Besides, why would I be interested in that kid when I had Will?

  I followed her out and we caught the elevator together. By the time we reached street level, I'd found my voice. I'd also realized that I could ask her one of the questions I'd wanted to ask her assistant.

  "Cindy, how old is Linc?"

  "Eighteen." The doors slid open and she strode ahead of me through the foyer. I had to trot to keep up. "We've only been together since his birthday. He's old enough."

  She was so defensive that I wondered if it were true.

  I slowed down and let her draw ahead. If Linc was only eighteen, he was too young to be the blond guy in the photo with Taylor. If it had been taken two years ago, he would have been a minor and I was pretty sure sex with a minor was an offence under California law, particularly considering Taylor was maybe six or seven years older than him. He wasn't stupid enough to get himself in serious trouble.

  I headed outside just as Cindy folded herself into her Lexus. The parking attendant spotted me and nodded.

  "No wheels today?" he said as he came up to me.

  "My car's at the panel beater. I have to catch the bus."

  "Man, that sucks. I wish I could give you a loaner for the day, but the owners get a bit mad at me when I do that."

  I thought he was serious for a moment, until he flashed me a grin. I laughed. "It's the thought that counts, right?"

  He rocked back on his heels and cleared his throat. He was cute in a lanky, boyish way. He was probably about the same age as Linc. The map of zits on his forehead confirmed my theory.

  "Hey, um, that guy who was with you the other night," he said, not meeting my gaze. "Is he your boyfriend?"

  I nodded. I was pretty sure Will was still my boyfriend. I certainly wasn't ready to let him go. Hell. I wasn't ready to do anything. Why couldn't things just remain the way they were?

  "Pity." He winked and sauntered off.

  His flirting didn't bolster my mood like it usually would. I simply shrugged it off, and trudged across the street to the bus stop.

  Three buses later, I arrived back at Gina's shop. It was mid-morning. I dumped my bag on her counter top and slumped into her chair. She'd been trimming the stems off some lilies, but set the pruning sheers down and gave me a sympathetic look.

  "What's wrong, Cat?"

  "Bus drivers are rude. Three different drivers, seven women with strollers needing to get on or off, and not one of them helped. I had to do it. One of the drivers almost drove off without me when I stepped down onto the sidewalk! I had to bang on the doors to get him to reopen, then he abused me for wasting his time."

  "You sound like you need a coffee."

  "I need something stronger than coffee."

  "We'll go for a drink after closing. So why were you catching the bus? Have you totaled your car?"

  "Someone else totaled it. It's at the panel beater."

  She leaned an elbow on the counter and drummed her long fingernails against her cheek. "Why didn't you get Will to pick you up? He'd go out of his way to do it, you know."

  "I know." I sighed. "I haven't told him. He'd only worry."

  Her fingers stopped drumming. "Is there something to worry about?"

  "Of course not. But you know how he is."

  She narrowed her eyes but didn't pressure me to give her an answer. That's what I liked about her. She worried just as much about me as Will, but she knew when to back off and give me space.

  "Cat," she hedged. "Is everything okay between you two?"

  "Yeah, I think so. Kind of. I guess."

  "That's not a confident answer."

  I slumped further into the chair. "He wants more than I'm willing to give."

  She thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. "Nope, you need to explain it to me."

  "He's thirty-five, Gina. That's settling-down age. I'm not ready."

  "Are you sure that's what he wants? Has he said as much?"

  "No-o, but I've got a feeling. I think he loves me."

  "The bastard!"

  I shot her a glare. She smirked back. "I'm not sure I'm ready to be in love," I said. "I've still got some life to live yet."

  "Being in love doesn't mean you stop living."

  "It brings changes. Serious, long-term changes. Problem is, I'm not sure I'll ever be ready."

  "Oh, Sweetie. You might be, one day." She gave me a hug, almost smothering me with her bosom. "You need to tell this to Will, not me."

  "But what if he thinks I want to break up? I don't. I just want some breathing space."

  "Tell him that too. It'll be fine. He'll understand." She grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the chair. "Go on. Off you go."

  I picked up my bag, kissed her cheek, and promised to speak to Will. Problem was, he wasn't in the mood for talking. The panel beater had called the office phone to give me an estimated cost, and Faith had put the call through to Will.

  "What happened to your car, Cat?" he asked after calling me into his office. He sat in his chair, arms crossed, his eyes as black as coal. He looked every inch like my bad-tempered boss of old.

  I gulped. "Um, someone hit it in a parking lot. Just a little—"

  "Don't lie to me."

  Nothing got my blood pumping more than being spoken to like I was a naughty teen. "I'm not lying. My car got hit. I wasn't even in it."

  His eyes didn't soften. If anything, they sharpened. He could smell something was wrong and he wasn't going to give up until he found out what. "Which parking lot?"

  "The Grotto's."

  "Fuck," he muttered. "What were you doing there?"

  "Gathering information."

  "Without me?"

  "It would seem so."

  "I told you to take me with you. Max Warshenski is dangerous."

  "Actually, he saved my life. He scared the driver off. Remind me to drop him a card later to thank him. Or should I send flowers?"

  The flat of his palm slammed down on the desk. "This isn't a joke! Jesus, Cat. You could have been killed or seriously hurt."

  "I am aware of that."

  "Are you? Because you're not acting like it."

  "Just because I choose to joke to take my mind off what happened, doesn't mean I don't take it seriously."

  "Glad you can take your mind off it that easily. I can't."

  Damn it, he was getting kind of sweet again, even with his anger straining against the leash.

  "Do you think I want to sit here worrying about you?" he snapped. "I don't. I have better things to do. I would have thought you'd be more careful after what happened with Carl."

  So much for sweet. I leaned on his desk, both palms flat. "I'm sorry if me doing my job is messing with your calm, organized life, Will. But I'm trying to find out who killed Frank Karvea, and that involves going to unsavory places and talking to psychos."

  He rose slowly and pressed his hands on the desk too. He leaned forward. Our faces were only inches apart. Ordinarily, we'd dissolve the tension with a kiss, but not this time.

  Instead, he sat back down with a deep sigh. "Cat," he said heavily. "I want to pull you off the case."

  "You can't! It's my—"

  "But I won't." He looked up at me and I swallowed the rest of my retort. Most of the deep grooves around his eyes were my fault. I'd put them there. "Sweetheart, you need to be more careful. Take me with you when you go to The Grotto or speak with Max."

  I sat too. "Will, that is the problem. You never chaperoned Carl."

  "Carl was a big guy. Turns out he was just as scary as the bad guys too. You… Well, look at you. You're cute and small."

  "Don't call me cute. I hate it."

  He closed his eyes. "Sorry," he said and opened them again. "I'm trying to say the right things here."

  "I know. But it's not a matte
r of saying the right things, it's thinking them too. I want you to respect me."

  "Sweetheart, you need to walk before you can run. You haven't been doing this long. Let me guide you at least. It's what any good boss should do for his new employee."

  I didn't tell him he was too busy. He already knew that, yet he was trying. I should kiss him for it, and thank him, but I held back. It just didn't seem like the right moment.

  He stood and came round to my side of the desk. He perched on the edge and gave me a crooked smile. "Cat, I worry about you because I love you. I can't switch it off when we walk through the office. If we're going to work together, we have to think of ways to protect our relationship from our day-to-day issues. Okay?"

  I hardly heard him. Everything after the word 'love' was like white noise buzzing in my head.

  "Cat? Are you listening to me?"

  "Um, yeah." Crap. My head ached. My gut churned. I wasn't ready to hear that he loved me, and I certainly wasn't ready to say it back. "I'll be more careful," I mumbled.

  His face appeared before mine. Concern sketched a deep line between his eyebrows. "You don't look so good." He cupped the sides of my face.

  I shoved my chair back and stood, severing the connection. "I'm just, uh, going to get myself some water. I'm fine. Just hot. That's all. I promise I'll be more careful with Max, okay? Don't worry about me."

  I backed up to the door, and he followed every step of the way. I couldn't look at him. I didn't want to see the confusion and worry in his eyes. So I turned and almost ran to my office. Faith half-rose out of her chair as I passed. Her gaze slid to mine then past me, to Will. I shut my office door, sat in my chair and slumped over my desk.

  Fuck. I was a total bitch. Throw coward in there too.

  But I couldn't face Will yet and tell him what I felt. I didn't even know what I felt for him, for us. Thankfully, he didn't come in and ask.

  I tried to concentrate on work, doing some internet searches and writing up a report on the Karvea case. It helped keep my mind off Will, as well as coalesce my half-formed theories. I'd hardly written anything when Faith knocked and entered. She set a coffee cup on my desk and gave me a tentative smile.

  "You look like you need this," she said.