Abby brightened a little, downed the rest of her drink and ordered another. “It’s okay. Yeah … and he’s doing good. We’re still a couple, I suppose.”
“Oh, gosh, that sounds a little lukewarm.”
Over Abby’s shoulder, Mary saw Gracie approach the bar and order a glass of wine. She left it where the bartender set it and pulled out her phone. She was merrily texting away with her thumbs, and Mary flicked her attention back to Abby.
“It’s getting that way,” Abby muttered, taking a hefty slug of her new drink.
“Are we talking the job or the boyfriend?” Mary leaned in closer, speaking confidentially.
“Mostly Rob. I—shit. I think he’s cheating on me. We just got back from this trip to Newport, and I really, really did think he planned to propose. I mean, it was this romantic place with a huge mansion and fantastic gardens where we did our presentation together. Any spot there would have been a perfect setting. And, we stayed at such a cute little guesthouse hotel nearby—so New England, with gingerbread trim and all. That would have been a perfect spot for a proposal. But, no … We finished the presentation that night, and he hustled me off to the airport in an Uber car, not even taking me himself. Said I needed to be back at the office in the morning, but then it really wasn’t even anything that important.” She downed another hefty gulp.
“God, Abby, that sounds rotten.” Mary gently touched her arm.
“But then he gets in the next day and he’s all lovey-dovey again. The office was mostly business as usual, but he sneaks me off to the art director’s room, which has no one in it right now, and he wants to jump me right there on the desk. What’s with that?”
“Woo—were there a lot of other people around? I mean, that had to be kind of weird.”
“Well, it’s not a big office. The two of us and a couple of admin assistants. When we’re in mid-production, I guess it gets more crazed. I’ve only been there two years, but Rob talks about back in the day, having screenwriters, storyboard artists, and a full crew working all hours, and how nuts it can be with location shoots and deadlines.”
“So, nothing currently in production, I guess?”
“There’s always something on the horizon, but nothing’s going on right now.”
Mary caught Gracie’s glance for a fraction of a second. Abby’s statement didn’t sound at all like what had been presented to the investors, including both Janice and Pen.
Abby’s glass was empty and she looked at it, considering another. Decided against it. “Look, it’s been fun catching up, but I need to get going.”
“Yeah, hey, good luck with the …” She pointed to her ring finger.
“Thanks.” Abby slid off the stool and walked a little unsteadily toward the door, fumbling in her purse.
Gracie edged onto the empty seat and picked up her wine glass. “Hmm—interesting.”
“We learned a few good facts. Such as, there won’t be a lot of people around the office, and it doesn’t sound as if there’s any overtime happening at all. But our other intel is a little off. Amber said he was leaving town yesterday and wouldn’t be back for awhile. Abby says he was there this morning. I wish I’d thought to ask if he was leaving again soon—maybe they both are. Or … I don’t know … maybe he’s skipping out for some time with someone else.”
“When it comes to a showdown, Rob’s own actions might be the best way to get Abby on our side,” Gracie said.
“Were you here for the part where she talked about expecting a proposal and not getting it?”
“Oh yeah, got the whole thing right here.” She held up her phone.
“I thought you were texting someone back home.”
“Ha—taking notes, and adding a few impressions of my own.” Gracie sipped her wine while Mary pulled over a basket of some kind of crackers that looked like straw and tasted like dust.
“So, what’s our next step?” she asked, after working to chew one of the flavorless tidbits.
“Since I’m not super eager to have face time with my mother, let’s go break into Rob Williams’s offices.” Gracie drained her wine and stood.
Chapter 12
Gracie brought up the address for Intrepid Dog Pictures on her phone’s map. “It’s about four blocks away. Maybe we should take the car.”
Mary flexed her leg muscles and gave her a look.
“Well, in case we find something we want to take with us. We’d look pretty funny walking down the street with our arms full of file folders.”
Another look.
“Okay, you’re right. We’re not out to burgle the place, just to gather information.” They set out walking.
Six downtown California blocks turned out to be a lot shorter than what they were used to in Phoenix. A couple of blocks east of the bar, three blocks south—they were there in less than ten minutes. The neighborhood was noticeably lower-rent than what they’d passed through earlier, on their way to the bar, although Mary commented that probably nothing in the entire metro area was truly affordable.
The high-rise at 300 Cranberry Avenue lacked the sleek steel and glass façade of those farther west. It had a definite ’60s look about it. The lobby doors were unlocked but no one sat at the desk. From the thin layer of dust, it appeared no security guard had manned it for some time. It was a little after six o’clock and the lobby had a hollow feel.
Gracie consulted a directory where white plastic letters stuck into a black velvet background spelled out the names and suite numbers of the tenants—two law offices, an architectural design firm, a copy shop, and a few with hyphenated names similar to the one Mary had invented for her conversation with Abby. Intrepid, Inc. occupied a suite on the second floor.
“I suppose this must be the corporate name for Intrepid Dog Pictures?” Gracie said with a shrug.
Mary pressed the elevator button. When the doors slid open, a man wearing khakis and a knit two-button shirt stepped out. His eyes were fixed on his phone and he didn’t even bother with a nod toward the women. They kept an eye on him until he pushed his way out the front door. Surely, whoever was last to leave the building at night must need to lock up. But this one didn’t.
“What’s our plan if it turns out Rob Williams is actually at the office when we arrive?” Mary asked as the elevator whirred softly on the upward trip.
Gracie’s eyes widened. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about that.”
Suite 2-G was at the far end of the hall. Mary noted a lighted exit sign and a door marked as a stairway. Good to know—just in case.
Gracie was eyeing the plain wooden door, the basic lock, and the narrow window beside it with “Intrepid, Inc.” lettered in black. A glance through the window showed a reception area, unoccupied, with a small lamp glowing softly on the credenza behind a secretarial desk. No hours were noted on the sign, but it appeared they had arrived after everyone had left for the day. Lucky. She pulled out a set of lock picks.
“Amber’s really the whiz with these,” she muttered as she fumbled the tiny torsion wrench into the lock and inserted the hook pick.
“You practiced with them at home, though, right?” Mary was keeping an eye on the hall and ears tuned to any little sound.
“I was able to get into my son’s bedroom.”
“Way simple.”
“Well, and I did manage my own front door. Just keep watching, okay?”
She continued to fiddle with the tools, feeling the tumblers move slightly then slip back into place. She began to wonder if it wouldn’t just be simpler to come back during business hours and talk their way in.
“Hurry up!” Mary hissed. “The elevator just went down to the lobby. Somebody’s coming.”
Gracie dropped the hook pick and had to start over, but this time she managed to get the pins to drop into place on the first try. The elevator dinged, one floor down, then started moving.
As she pressed the door handle down, the elevator doors slid open, not more than twenty feet away. Both women practicall
y fell into the office. Gracie grabbed the door as it swung closed, barely stopping it from slamming. Mary ducked to the side of the window and craned her neck to get an angle on the view of the narrow hallway.
“I can’t see a damn thing,” she whispered.
They held their breath for a full minute.
“I think they went the other way,” Mary said.
Gracie pressed the door to be certain it had latched, then turned the lock to secure themselves inside. “Whew!”
Eyes adjusting to the dim lighting from the night light, they surveyed the room. The receptionist’s desk was a high-end Mayline, which Gracie recognized from reading lots of decorating magazines. The guest chairs she knew, also, carried high price tags, and a Surya rug wouldn’t have come cheap. On the walls hung framed movie posters bearing titles neither of the ladies recognized; the thing the posters had in common was Robert Williams as producer.
“Looks like he really did attract some big-name talent,” Gracie said, pointing out that every film boasted at least two or three A-listers.
Moving through a set of double doors, they walked into a foyer that branched off with a narrow hallway to the right, and a solid door to the left. A gold plaque with Robert S. Williams, Reliant Fox Productions, engraved on it announced that this was the executive office.
“Mmm?” Mary ran her finger over the unfamiliar production company name. “I wonder what that’s about.”
Gracie leaned close and whispered. “Let’s make sure we’re alone.”
She gently twisted the knob on Williams’s door. It was locked. Nodding the other direction, they tiptoed down the carpeted hallway. Four doors branched off it, one being a bathroom. The first office on the right was clearly Abby Singer’s. Good furnishings, a brass nameplate facing the door. The desk was another Mayline, the chair a quality ergonomic model. A laptop computer sat in the center of the desk, closed now. A color laser printer stood on a separate stand, with reams of thick paper in a cream color. Beside the blank paper sat a stack of invitations and matching envelopes.
“Invites to the investor meeting,” Gracie said, recognizing the style and content. “It’s the one Pen and Amber just attended.” She picked up one of the invitations and stuffed it into her purse. “They must produce these right here, from her laptop.”
Mary had remained near the door, listening, edgy.
“Okay, on to the other rooms.”
The next door down the hall must have been the one Abby referred to as the art director’s office. It contained a drafting table, rolls of glossy paper, and a computer with a huge screen. Production for the posters they’d seen out front?
The remaining room seemed to be used only for storage. Three desks and an assortment of file cabinets were jammed into the space. None appeared to be in use; the file cabinet drawers were blocked by other pieces of furniture. If there was good stuff to be had, it must be either in Rob’s or Abby’s offices.
“You take hers,” Gracie suggested. “I’ll have to get past the lock on his.”
“Okay, but make it quick. We already know someone else is in the building. I don’t want to get caught in here.”
Nothing like a no-pressure lock job, Gracie thought as she fiddled again with the picks. This lock was of better quality than the one on the outer door, and it resisted her efforts until she was about to scream. She heard footsteps behind her as the last of the tumblers fell into place.
“If there’s really important stuff in Abby’s office, it’s on her computer,” Mary said. “I wish I knew half of what Amber does about hacking.”
“We don’t use that word,” Gracie said, groaning as she straightened her knees. “We just think of it as Amber’s talent for data sharing.”
“Yeah, well, whatever. I’m not taking a rap for robbery by taking the computer with me.”
Together, they walked into Rob Williams’s office. The boss had clearly kept the best of the furnishings for his own space. Mahogany desk and credenza, cushy executive chair, an astounding Isfahan rug, and LeRoy Neiman prints. Unlike Abby’s office, this one was immaculate—empty desktop polished to a high shine, no papers, printer, stapler, or any other signs of actual work being done. The desk held a phone, a leather blotter, and a Montblanc pen set that must have set him back five hundred dollars. The credenza was topped with framed photos of Rob standing next to various celebrities.
Gracie stopped staring and headed for the drawers. The quality lock on the office door obviously gave Rob confidence that his files would be safe. Except there were no files. She pulled open every drawer in the room. There were crystal glasses and top-shelf scotch in the credenza, a leather portfolio, assorted pens, and a shoebox-sized wooden box of business cards from other people.
“He must keep everything on his mobile or on a computer he takes home with him,” she said.
“They say it’s becoming a paperless society. Could be this guy is proof—”
Both heads snapped toward the door.
“What was that noise?” Gracie whispered.
“Someone’s turning the doorknob at the hall. Shit! Did we lock it after ourselves?”
Not half a breath passed until the rattling sound stopped. Mary stepped to Rob’s partially open door and risked a peek at the oblique angle out to the reception area. She drew back quickly and eased the door space to a mere crack.
“Some guy in a khaki uniform staring in. I think it’s a security guard. Or it could be the night janitor.”
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit …” Gracie poised to dive into the knee space under the desk.
“Wait-wait.” Mary signaled with her outstretched palm. “He’s moving on.”
She tiptoed, although the carpet masked footsteps well, toward the reception area. The uniformed man was whistling some kind of tune; she could hear it when she put her ear to the outer door. Then voices.
“You gonna be much longer?” the guard said to someone a few doors down. Mary couldn’t hear the response, but the next from the guard was, “Okay, then, I’m ready to lock up.”
She dashed back to Gracie. “We’re about to get locked in for the night. Hurry up!”
Gracie grabbed the business cards from the wooden box and jammed them into her purse, shut the drawer, and remembered to twist the locking mechanism on the inner office before she rushed to join Mary at the door to the hall.
She reached for the handle, but Mary put out a hand to restrain her. “That other person is still in the building. I just heard the guard talking to him.”
Gracie’s eyes grew a bit frantic.
“Hold on.” Mary eased the door open and peered down the hall. A door snicked firmly closed, a man sighed, the elevator dinged. “He’s left. We gotta go—now!”
“How?”
“C’mon—the stairs.”
They backed out of the Intrepid, Inc. office, keeping an eye on the elevator and hall. Luckily, the exit door to the stairway was unlocked. As quietly as possible, they descended to the ground floor and peeked into the lobby. The guard stood at the street door, keys in hand, waiting for the man who was taking his time strolling from the elevator.
“Keep smiling and keep going, no matter what,” Mary said.
Hiking her purse strap onto her shoulder, Gracie turned to Mary and made a comment about the weather. They walked purposefully toward the guard at the door.
“Hey, where—?”
“Good night,” Mary said. “Have a good one.”
Chapter 13
Abby’s silver Mercedes convertible was sitting in his driveway when Rob got home. Why had he bought her the toy? It seemed to make her cling to him more frantically. All he’d wanted was a piece of that great body; the car purchase came after one of their particularly lucrative investment meetings, at a moment he’d been feeling generous. No idea what had come over him that day.
He pulled in beside the Benz and summoned up a dazzler of a smile.
“I couldn’t wait,” she said, stepping around the front of her car,
her fingers undoing the top button of her blouse. Desperation hung over her, almost as heavy as the perfume she’d liberally doused herself with.
He grabbed his computer case from the passenger seat and ushered her toward the front door. No point in letting the neighbors watch the dramatics. He unlocked the door and pocketed his key. Never again would he make the mistake he’d made once with a girlfriend who’d swiped the house key off his nightstand and had a copy made for herself. Abby wasn’t likely to break in and smash all the photos of him with anyone other than herself, but you never knew.
“Want a drink?” he asked.
“Maybe just a mineral water—I had a couple at Zeb’s already. I was hoping you’d drop by there and we might go grab some dinner.”
“Sorry. I had other things.” He poured Dewar’s into a glass for himself and handed Abby her mineral water in its plastic bottle. “In fact, I can’t really make an evening of it. Brought home too much work.” And the flight attendant from Delta would be waiting at Ciro’s in an hour’s time. But he needed to tread lightly with Abby—she was still a vital part of the investor scheme.
He set his computer on the dining table and shed his jacket. “Look, I really just want to get a quick shower and settle back with the paperwork I brought home.”
“If it’s about setting up the next gala, I’d be glad to stay and help.”
“No, it’s not really any one specific project—just a bunch of little details that are hanging over me. Really.”
“I’d be glad to stay long enough to help with the shower …” Her smile curved seductively.
“Abby, no.” He reached out and took her shoulders, keeping her at arm’s length. “Babe, it’s not that I’m not interested. I just need a little down time. Look—stay long enough to finish your drink, but seriously, tonight you can’t stay.”
“Down time?” Her brows pulled together in the middle. “As opposed to all the time you’ve been spending keeping it up recently? I saw that blonde intern giving you the eye in Newport, you know.”
Movie Mogul Mama Page 6