“I knew we liked him,” Trixie whispered.
Chapter 23
I had one bite of bagel before Callie appeared at the door.
“The guys said you wanted to see—Hector!” She’d been moving fast. She practically skidded to a stop when she took in Hector lounging against the edge of my desk.
“How nice to see you again, Callie. I hope you’re recovered from last night’s events?”
Even with everything going on, Callie went on auto-flirt, straightening her spine and lifting a hand to run through her luxurious hair. She then said something to him in Spanish, the only word of which I caught was “hola.”
Hector grinned and responded, also in Spanish.
I really did need to make it a point to learn more Spanish.
“What are you doing back in San Francisco?” She switched to English.
“I heard a few things,” he said. “First, mi querida,” he said. “I didn’t get a chance last night to give you my condolences on your loss.”
She looked confused for a moment, then, “Oh, right. Warren. Thanks.”
It seemed her period of heavy mourning had ended.
Hector nodded his head toward me. “I heard a few things about her as well.”
“That I have terrible taste in husbands?” I said lightly.
He looked at me. “That your husband has proven himself entirely unworthy of you.”
Trixie made a sound that was somewhere between an “ah” and a sigh.
“Oh,” Callie said softly. “That’s so good.”
I was glad she spoke, because I couldn’t have. Something about the way Hector looked at me. “Eat your bagel,” he said gently.
I wasn’t the least bit hungry.
“Sooo…Nora?” Callie said. “The guys said you were looking for me?”
I glanced at her. Oh, right. Callie. And Ingrid. Right.
“Have you seen the agenda?” I asked her.
“I mean, sure, but what about it?” She’d pulled out her phone and was looking at something.
“The fact that Ingrid will be speaking on the mortgage panel this afternoon.”
She looked up from her phone. “Ingrid Ingrid?”
“Ingrid Ingrid.”
Hector looked confused. “Who’s Ingrid Ingrid?”
Trixie smothered a laugh. Not that anyone else would have heard her.
“She’s the skank Warren was seeing on the side,” Callie told him. “I mean, unless I’m the skank he was seeing on the side. It’s all super confusing.” She looked at me. “I should, like, talk to her. Shouldn’t I? I think I should. I should, right?”
“It’s your decision.” I glanced at the clock above the blackboard. “But don’t take too long to decide, she should be here soon.” Yikes. She might be here already. “And you shouldn’t talk to her alone.” I said. “Let’s not forget she may have murdered Warren.” I bit my tongue before I finished that sentence with “in a fit of jealous rage.” I stood. “Do you want me to go with you?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine. The filming comes first. I’ll wait until after everything’s over to find her.”
“Okay, let me know when you need me.” I shot Trixie a quick glance. “We’re good, then?”
Trixie nodded, curls bouncing. “I’ll find Mr. McMillan, Nora. I’ll tell you every word he says.”
“We’re good,” Callie said at the same time.
“Okay, kids,” I said, channeling my inner Judy Garland. “Let’s go put on a show.”
“Hang on,” I said to Hector on the way to the balcony stairs. I popped my head into the projection booth where I found Marty explaining the intricacies of some ancient-looking piece of machinery to a seemingly enraptured Sam.
“You two okay?” I asked.
“Go away,” Marty told me. “Samantha is asking extremely intelligent questions. I don’t know why you made such a fuss about her being here.”
Sam, her face turned away from Marty, winked at me.
I went on my way, marveling at her.
From the balcony landing we could see that people had started drifting in. Most everyone stopped and stared as soon as they were through the lobby doors. This didn’t surprise me. The usual response from newcomers was to look up at the chandelier and around at the vast expanse of ornate lobby and say something along the lines of “Wow.” These were seasoned professionals, used to assessing a space as soon as they walked in, but they behaved just like everybody else. There were a lot of “Wows” and “Whoas” and not a few low whistles. All of which gave me a warm, proprietary glow.
And then it gave me a cold chill. These were, after all, realtors. And some of them worked for McMillan. They were probably seeing condo potential when they looked at my beautiful carved ceilings. Which made me want to kick every single one of them back out onto the sidewalk.
“Where’s McMillan?” Hector asked. “And which one’s Ingrid?”
I pulled myself together, scanning the crowd. “I don’t see him yet,” I said. “And Ingrid could be any one of the tall blondes.” Which was an issue. Looking down on the crowd I could only conclude that half of the women in real estate were blonde. At least in this neighborhood.
“I’ll check the registration table to see if she’s picked up her nametag yet,” I said. Then I saw June sweep in through the door. “No I won’t,” I corrected myself. “You do that while I go make June happy. You’re looking for Ingrid Barnes.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I heard a note of mockery in his voice. I didn’t have time to answer it.
“June!” I greeted the realtor warmly at the bottom of the stairs. She kissed me on each cheek, something she’d never done before.
“Nora, the place looks great. I was so worried when Cora told me about the bakery last night. But it looks like the fire was contained.”
“It was,” I said, not wanting to get into the part Hector and I had played in containing it. “We’re absolutely fine over here. Can I get you some coffee?”
“Cora will,” she said. Which is the first time I noticed the slender middle-aged woman who stood a half pace behind June, checking her watch.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” I said to her. “Nora Paige. I manage the Palace. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Cora’s one of my assistants,” June said before Cora could speak. “I’m not sure you’ve officially met before.”
“Hi.” The woman seemed a little worn around the edges, but then anyone would look dowdy when standing next to June’s polished elegance. I was sure I did. She took June’s coat as she slipped it off, first taking her purse, then handing it back to her when the coat was removed. Their movements had the look of often-performed choreography.
Cora’s eyes went to her watch again. “We’re running a bit behind.” She shifted June’s coat in her arms. “Is there someplace I can put June’s things?”
Albert appeared at my elbow. “Let me take you to the coat rack,” he nodded in the direction of the rolling racks we’d placed on the far side of the lobby. “And then let’s get you some breakfast.”
She gave him an appreciative smile. “I just need coffee for June,” she said as he led her away, checking her wristwatch again. “We’ll barely have time for a run-through.”
“She seems efficient,” I said to June.
“Quite honestly, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll keep her on.” She rolled her eyes. “Personal issues. You know the way it is.” I didn’t, but I didn’t get a chance to respond before she smoothed her hair, saying, “Now, let’s get started.”
“Do you want to mingle?” I asked her. “Or shall I show you the podium and get you miked?”
“Let’s get to business,” she said.
I made an “after you” gesture in the direction of the auditorium doors and followed her through what was turn
ing into a lively crowd in the lobby. Coffee was being drunk, pastries were being eaten, networks were being…networked. We were pulling it off. I caught Hector’s eye as we passed the registration table and he gave me a slight shake of the head. Ingrid hadn’t checked in yet.
Onstage in the auditorium, Callie’s sound ninja hooked June up with a battery pack that clipped to the waistband of her very expensive skirt and a microphone that clipped to the collar of her incredibly chic jacket. Standing at the podium while another ninja tweaked the position of the spotlight, June looked utterly professional and completely at home.
“All good?” I called up to the balcony. I couldn’t see anyone, with the lights trained on the stage, but I knew Callie was up there.
“All good,” I heard back.
June looked around the stage. “I have to say, Nora, I’m so glad…” Then her smile tightened. She recovered quickly, but something had been there, just for a second, as she’d glanced over my shoulder.
I turned around.
An imposing gray-haired executive type was striding purposefully across the stage. He reeked of money and self-assurance and he was followed closely by an entourage of three guys and the ghost of a bubbly usherette.
McMillan.
“Stan,” June said, giving him the same double-kiss treatment she’d given me. It must be her professional-at-a-professional-event greeting.
“June, you’re looking younger than springtime,” he said. “And who do we have here?”
I didn’t immediately realize he was addressing me because I was busy trying to control the jolt of pure rage that surged through me at the sight of him while also doing my best to ignore Trixie waving and pointing at the realtor, as if I might otherwise have missed the fact that she was Mata Hari on the case.
“Nora, I’d like you to meet Stan McMillan,” June said. “Nora runs the Palace and Stan runs just about everything else in the city,” she laughed, sounding a little forced.
I didn’t join the laugh but smiled in what I hoped was a pleasant and not at all hostile way. “So nice to meet you.” I shook his hand, resisting the urge to wipe it off immediately after. This is the man who was after my theater. “If you’re ready, we can get you miked.”
“I’m all yours,” he said easily.
“You’re all hers,” I told him as the sound ninja sprang up the steps to the stage, equipment in hand.
McMillan opened his (tailored, very correct) suit jacket and no incriminating evidence of his guilt in all sorts of nefarious activities fell out of his pockets. Not that I’d expected it to be that easy. But it would have been nice.
Now that I was face to face with him, I realized I had no idea how to proceed. “What were you doing in the early hours of Saturday the Fifth?” seemed a little heavy-handed, and “How dare you think you can go behind my back to buy the Palace?” would let him know that I knew, which might not be the smartest play.
“Have you two worked together for long?” I finally asked both June and McMillan, cursing myself for not having scripted something.
“Oh, years,” June said, at the same time McMillan answered, “We don’t really work together.”
“It’s more in the nature of a friendly rivalry, isn’t it, Junie?” he smiled with anything but friendliness in his eyes.
I’d been thinking of him as a snake. I was wrong. This guy was a shark. And a patronizing one at that. I was willing to bet June didn’t like being called “Junie.”
She was spared from answering by the arrival of Cora with her coffee. “Here you are,” she handed a cardboard cup with a lid to her boss. “Hello, Mr. McMillan.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “Dora, isn’t it?”
She blinked. “Cora.” She looked at her large, old-fashioned watch. “I think we’re a little bit behind schedule.”
“Thank you, Cora,” June said, in a way that made me think that stating the obvious was not the best way for Cora to keep her job.
Cora might have also gotten that vibe. She pulled her sleeve down and turned to me. “Nora, this man was looking for you.”
“This man” was Hector, giving all and sundry a genial smile. “When Nora told me she’d introduce me to a realtor today I didn’t realize I’d have my pick of the industry,” he said.
Their reaction was something to behold. I watched as June and McMillan performed simultaneous, instant assessments of Hector as a potential client. Even dressed down, as he was today, there was something (that perfect haircut, the manicured nails, the yumminess of his cashmere sweater) that clearly screamed “this guy has money” to them both. They practically fell over each other to shake his hand.
“June Howard.” She got there first as McMillan was somewhat hampered by the finishing touches of the sound ninja. June shook Hector’s hand, smiling broadly. “What kind of property are you looking for? Residential? Something for you and your wife?”
I was just thinking “Wow, that’s a little obvious,” when McMillan swooped in as well.
“Stan McMillan,” he puffed up somehow as he shook Hector’s hand. You could practically see the testosterone. “I bet I know just what you want. Something modern, right? With sleek and sexy finishes, and views that will make them die for it.”
Ugh.
“How did you know?” Hector smiled. “That’s exactly what I’m looking for.”
June was about to say something else, but Stan shifted to put his body between her and Hector. “Let me have my girl set up a few viewings,” he said. “We’ll slide you into something so smooth you won’t believe you ever thought of living anywhere else.”
“Sounds good,” Hector agreed.
I managed not to vomit.
At this point the auditorium doors slammed open and the realtors of San Francisco began drifting in from the lobby. McMillan leaned in to Hector and said something I didn’t catch as June moved into place at the podium. She didn’t look at McMillan, but I saw the look Cora gave him on her boss’s behalf. It was pure unadulterated hatred.
I left the stage and Hector caught up with me as I went up the aisle to stand at the back of the auditorium. “We have a word in Colombia for a man like him,” he said.
“Snake?” I guessed. “He may not be the killer, but he’s possibly the sleaziest operator I’ve ever met. And I worked in Hollywood for a decade.” I watched as McMillan worked the room—Trixie hovering close by—while June waited for everyone to take their seats. “Did you see the way he cut June off? What did he say to you at the end?”
“Something my mother would never wish me to repeat,” he said. “About you, as it happens. I don’t know what it is about me that makes that sexist cabrón think I’m a sexist cabrón, but there you have it.” He was watching the crowd.
I stared at him. I didn’t press him about what specifically had been said. I could find out from Trixie later.
“I don’t know if he’s the killer,” Hector went on. “But I sincerely hope so, because I would very much enjoy punching him in the face.”
“I think I’d enjoy that, too,” I said. “I mean, not you punching him in the face. Me punching him in the face.”
“We’ll flip for it,” he said. “And there…” he put his hand between my shoulder blades and gently turned me a few degrees to the right. “In the pink tweed suit, is Ingrid.”
“Oh.” She was stunning. If this were Hollywood, every director I knew would be fighting over casting her in something where the camera could linger on her cheekbones. It didn’t help that I knew she was a Stanford grad who volunteered for good causes and baked cupcakes in her spare time.
“Oh,” I repeated. “Callie’s going to want to kill her.”
Chapter 24
I stayed in the auditorium until I was sure everything was going smoothly. I knew June would speak first, welcoming the crowd and then going into her prepared talk, after which McMilla
n would give the keynote. The sound equipment worked without a hitch, and June’s presentation looked great on the big screen. Or, as great as a presentation on real estate could look. We’re hardly talking about An American in Paris (1951, Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron.)
Two of Callie’s camera guys were at work, one of them on the stage to June’s left and another down front, shooting her from below. I assumed the third was in the balcony for wide shots.
Stan McMillan was seated in the front row. Trixie stood in the aisle in front of him, arms crossed, not letting him out of her sight. Nothing would get by her. Of course, even if she heard him clearly confess to coldblooded murder it would never stand up in court. (“Yes, your Honor, this ghost I just happen to know heard everything.”) But at least if he did let something slip in front of her we’d know we were on the right track.
Also on the front row, seated three people down from McMillan, was Other Girlfriend Ingrid. I reminded myself that, as much reason as I had to hate McMillan, there was still every possibility that Ingrid had killed Warren because she found out he was seeing Callie. Still, since I suspected McMillan of both Warren’s murder and of setting the fire at Lisa’s café, he was the bigger target. Plus, I hated him.
Satisfied that everything was under control for the moment, I left Hector watching things and went to the lobby, where Albert had just let in the crew from the party rental company. There was another flurry of activity as I cleared away the remains of the breakfast and the hired crew put up big round tables, eight of them on the ground floor and two up on the balcony landing, with chairs for ten at each table.
Lunch hadn’t begun yet, but I started prepping the concessions stand for the mid-afternoon break which would come later. Instead of the chips and cookies that they might have had at any old hotel or conference center, we were going to serve movie-style candy and popcorn. Because “It’s movie-time fun when you plan your event at the Palace!” Which was a terrible slogan. I’d have to come up with something better if we were going to make a habit of this sort of thing.
Murder in the Balcony Page 15