by Jo Leigh
“He probably took a picture he shouldn’t have. Honestly, Detective, I wouldn’t know. The lives of the paparazzi are of little consequence to me.”
Bax was about to pepper him with yet another question, despite the fact that the naked guy was turning out to be pretty imperturbable, but then Oscar took hold of Larry’s left arm and Bax couldn’t watch as the man turned over.
Once the guy was facedown, Bax moved in a little, not willing to accidentally see anything that would burn his retinas. He looked at Larry, who had already gone to work on Weinberg’s back. The therapist had a look of such disgust on his face that Bax got a chill.
He’d seen that look before, and it was usually immediately followed by someone getting shot. Larry was not happy.
Why in hell didn’t Weinberg have a sheet on him? For that matter, why wasn’t this massage being done in his suite? According to the brochure, most everything could be done in the guest rooms.
After an unfortunate glimpse of Weinberg’s large white ass, Bax turned, ready to end this now. On a credenza, along with bottles and towels, there were three items of interest. A water bottle, a locker key on a bungee cord and a small tape recorder. No, wait. It was a camera. Bax recognized the small device as one he’d seen in the Vice department’s bag of tricks. Even from halfway across the room, Bax could see that the recorder was on. The red button glowed in the dark.
He turned back. “I’ll let you finish your business here, Mr. Weinberg. We’ll speak again.”
“I look forward to it, Detective.”
As Bax walked toward the door, he looked one last time at Larry. The disgust was gone. In its place, raw fear.
8
IT WAS ALMOST FIVE, and Mia, despite expecting every phone call to be Piper telling her she was fired, kept checking the elevator, waiting for Bax. It was possible, of course, that he’d left the hotel, but he wouldn’t do that, would he? Leave without saying anything?
Of course he would. She wasn’t his priority. She wasn’t even in the top ten. The man was investigating a murder, not obsessing about her. At least not the way she was obsessing about him.
Her private phone rang. “Mia.”
“It’s me. I found out about Mexico.”
“Carlane, that’s great.”
“One of the first films Weinberg produced was shot in Mexico. It was Bobbi Tamony’s first picture, too. Danny Austen was in it, and it was directed by Peter Eccles.”
“The whole gang, huh?”
“And, guess what?”
“What?”
“Gerry Geiger was the photographer. He wasn’t a pap back then. He worked for Weinberg Films taking publicity stills.”
“No.”
“Yep. Something happened to shut down shooting for awhile, but I couldn’t find out what.”
“Really.”
“It could have been anything. Weather, permits. It was shot on a shoestring, so who knows. Anyway, the movie did well for the company, and Weinberg was off and running. He used the same team in three other pictures. Eccles, Bobbi and Danny.”
“How cozy.”
“I’ll say. And for what it’s worth, the Mexico shoot was the last one Geiger did as an employee. He went freelance after that.”
“Okay. Great. I appreciate it so much.”
“You can repay me by taking me to lunch with Danny Austen.”
Mia winced. “I’ll see what I can do.”
As soon as she hung up, she printed out her daily log. It was the last thing she had to do before Ellen, the second-shift concierge, took over.
The afternoon had been brutal, one call after another, and while most everything had been taken care of, there were still two items for follow-up. One was a pair of tickets to a sold-out show, the other the limo service for Ms. Tamony, who was going out again tonight, but she hadn’t known what time.
Mia waited the few seconds for the printout, then put the page in the book. That was it, she was done. She could go now, get changed, make it to the subway in plenty of time to catch the train. But she didn’t leave, not even when Ellen took her place behind the desk.
Mia thought about what Carlane had told her, wondering how Mexico fit into the picture, if it did at all. Then she thought about Weinberg’s digital picture collection, and she felt sick to her stomach all over again.
Of course, that made her think about Bax. She knew she had to tell him that she’d been snooping, and she also knew he wasn’t going to be thrilled about that, but she hoped the data she’d gathered would make up for it.
Mia lingered for a few more minutes, looking from the front entrance to the elevator, and then it hit her. She was behaving like a child. A lovesick child. How often had she been scornful of other women for their foolishness around men. She’d been completely intolerant of their constant preoccupation. No man, she’d been certain, would ever turn her into one of those desperate, pathetic creatures.
And here she was.
Breaking and entering. Snooping. Prying. All because she wanted to impress him.
She couldn’t kid herself about it any longer. She wanted to solve this murder so that they could be together, yes, but also because she thought he’d like her more if she cracked the case.
Brilliant.
The awful thing was, she barely knew this man. It didn’t feel that way. In fact, she could hardly believe they hadn’t been close for years, but the truth was they were practically strangers. Even if there was a possibility of something happening between them, her behavior was completely ridiculous.
She’d read enough to know that the human body will go to great lengths to compel the species to replicate. It was biological and therefore unavoidable. And she’d heard of love at first sight, which she’d always enjoyed as a fictional premise, but never thought would happen to her. Even so, the degree of idiocy one exhibits in this particular situation was entirely dependent on character. On willpower, damn it.
With newfound determination to just get on with her life, she resolved to find Bax, tell him what she’d done today, help him with his tabloid questions and then go the heck home. She’d stop at the market to pick up some dinner. Watch some TV. Go to bed. She could use the sleep.
Everything about her reaction to Bax had been wrong. So what that there was a physical spark. He wasn’t the only man nor the last man she’d ever feel this way about. The reason it felt remarkable was that it hadn’t happened to her before. Not like this. Not as if she’d been hit by a ten-ton truck.
The elevator door opened. A guest walked out.
Then Bax. And yep, there was that big old truck once more, hitting her square in the heart.
“Hey, I was hoping you hadn’t left yet.”
Mia ignored her body’s reaction. After all, biology was not destiny.
“You have plans? I was hoping I could take you to dinner.”
“Well…”
“I want to talk to you about those tabloid stories, but mostly about Oscar Weinberg. You think you could spare me a couple of hours?”
She smiled on the outside but inside she was far too aware that she was about to fold like a paper bag. “Sure. Let me go get changed. I’ll meet you at the pony wall in the garage.”
He shook his head apologetically. “Shit, I’m not quite ready. Can you give me a half hour?”
“Of course.”
He walked back into the elevator with her, his hand on the small of her back. Not that it meant anything. Just because her heart pounded and her stomach trembled didn’t mean he was touching her in that way. She was the informant. He was the cop. Period. End of story.
They parted ways in the basement, with their plans set.
If only she hadn’t argued so hard to work with him on this case. Once again, her big mouth had gotten her into trouble, only this time it was a lot more than a job that was at stake.
There was no way to pull out now. She’d crossed the line. Done things she wasn’t proud of. Seen things she shouldn’t have seen.
; She’d been so excited to solve the puzzle. Some puzzle.
Mia changed into jeans and a light sweater, putting her uniform in her tote. She had another in the locker and since tomorrow was her day off, she could get this one to the dry cleaners.
By the time she’d switched shoes, brushed her teeth and checked her makeup, she still had twenty minutes until their meeting.
With a great many misgivings, but knowing she needed to do something, she returned to the garage. Better to step up to the plate, to face Danny Austen and apologize for entering his trailer. If he wanted her gone, so be it.
She knocked on his trailer door, but she got no answer. This time, she knew enough not to just walk inside. Far too relieved, she went down the steps and toward that empty trailer Bax had taken her to. It wasn’t empty today.
Nan Collins, she of tabloid fame, was inside, sipping a drink.
“Ms. Collins?”
Nan looked at her. “Yes?”
“I don’t know if you remember me. Mia Traverse. I’m the hotel concierge.”
“Oh, right. Sure. How you doing?”
“I’m fine. I just wanted to mention I was there the other day when you were doing that scene with Danny. You were awesome.”
Nan’s whole demeanor changed. She fairly beamed. “You think so?”
Mia took the first step leading inside, but only the first one. “Seriously. I couldn’t believe how good you were. I barely noticed Danny at all, and I’m a big fan.”
Nan put down her drink. “Come on in. There’s soda in the fridge. And rum in the bar.”
“Oh, that sounds great.” Mia entered the trailer and looked around wide-eyed. “This is pretty fabulous.”
“Not nearly as nice as Danny’s but it’ll do. Make yourself at home.”
“Thanks.” Mia got a diet soda from the fridge, but passed on the rum. “I know I’ve seen you in some other pictures. That one where Bobbi played the hooker?”
“I played the high school teacher.”
“Too bad it wasn’t a bigger part.” As Mia sipped her soda, an idea flashed. A crazy one, but hey, what the heck. “Oh, and I remember that one, it was from awhile ago. It was shot in Mexico? What was that one called?”
In a heartbeat, Nan went from welcoming hostess to ice queen. “That wasn’t a very good film. I’m surprised you even saw it.”
“Oh, no I remember you in it. You were good.”
“I barely had one line.”
Mia grinned and shrugged. “You’ve been working on Weinberg films for a long time, though, huh?”
“Listen, Mia, I’m sorry. I forgot. I’ve got someone coming by in just a couple of minutes, so I’ll have to say goodbye. Thanks for stopping in, though.”
“No problem. I really enjoyed watching you work.”
“Yeah. That’s great. Thanks.”
Mia barely crossed the threshold before the door was shut in her face. “Bingo,” she whispered. Mexico meant something. Hell, it all meant something. But what?
SINCE MAXWELL’S WAS still in use by the film company, she and Bax went to Puttanesca instead. It was a nice Italian place on East 59th with brick walls and cozy tables.
She ordered a watermelon martini just after they sat, which seemed to surprise him. He ordered a glass of merlot.
“So you had questions about the tabloids?”
He sat back. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. You’re probably beat after the day you’ve had, and here I am dragging you out. We can get our drinks, maybe an appetizer. Then I’ll take you home.”
“No, no. It’s fine. I am a little tired, but it’s okay. We can have dinner.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Now how about that appetizer?”
She’d been to the restaurant often and from the way he ordered his carpaccio di manzo without a glance at the menu, so had Bax. She ended up with a pear salad to be followed by vodka ravioli. His main course was the gnocchi, which, she knew, was wonderful.
After the waiter left, she sipped her martini and waited for him to talk. Not that she wasn’t going to do some talking of her own, she just hadn’t figure out exactly how to tell him.
He’d brought a couple of tabloids with him, the two with the largest circulation. “First, I’d like to know if you can identify where these pictures were taken.” He unrolled The National Tattler, the one with Bobbi Tamony on the cover.
Mia pulled the magazine over and studied not the woman but the background. It didn’t take her long to identify the club. “That’s Osso.”
“Where is that?”
“Upper East Side. Very trendy, hard to get in. From what I can see, this is the back room. You really have to be somebody to get in there.”
“What else can you tell me?”
“That’s Nan Collins.” She pointed to the redhead standing behind Bobbi.
“You know about her?”
“She’s with the movie. I’ve seen her in Weinberg’s entourage as well as on the set. She’s done a number of films with them.”
“Really.” Bax put the other magazine out. “Is this Osso?”
Mia sipped her martini then put it down so she could focus. This picture wasn’t as clear. There was Danny Austen, and of course she recognized the starlet, but the décor… “No, that’s not. It’s…damn, what’s the name, it’s Route 9. It’s about five blocks from Osso.”
“What else?”
“Nan, again.” Mia put the tabloids side by side. “She’s wearing the same thing. This was the same night.”
“How can you be sure?”
“She has the same kink in her hair.” She turned the magazines around and pointed. “That’s not on purpose, and I noticed it in the other photo. It’s the same night.”
She looked up at Bax to find him grinning. Really grinning. She hoped he would still be smiling after she told him about her escapades. “Speaking of Nan,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Well, okay. See, remember that night when the paparazzi attacked us after dinner? One of them, I have no idea which one, said something to me about Mexico. I thought I’d heard him wrong, but then when Sheila Geiger came for that lunch with Piper, she said something about Mexico, too. That I should check on Mexico. Well, that was twice Mexico came up and, well…”
“Mia?”
“I called my friend, Carlane. She knows more about movie stuff than anyone I know. Anyway, she found out that Oscar Weinberg had made a film in Mexico six years ago.”
Bax’s eyes widened as she filled him in on the rest of what Carlane had told him.
She paused for another sip of the martini before she went on. “So, while I was waiting for you a little while ago, I just happened to walk by that empty motor home, only it was occupied. By Nan Collins.”
“And?” he asked.
“We spoke. I mentioned Mexico. She got upset. Visibly upset. Two seconds later, she kicked me out.”
“I talked to her, you know,” he said. “Nan. She acted as if she was someone important, and I just thought it was her ego, but now I’m thinking she might be.”
“Important?”
“Connected. You’ve seen her with Weinberg.”
“Several times. I thought she was sleeping with him.”
The look on Bax’s face made her laugh.
“I talked to Oscar this afternoon,” he said, and it was her turn to be surprised.
“Really?” How close had she come to being caught red-handed? “He must have come in through the garage because I didn’t know he was back.”
“He was in the spa getting a massage. Which, just so you know, is not a spectator sport.”
“Ew.”
“My thoughts exactly. Something was going on with him and the massage therapist. It was a power play, but I’m not at all sure what it meant.”
“Who was it?”
“Larry.”
Larry Kent. She’d seen a memory card with the initials LK. “Oh. He’s been with the spa
for a long time. Never heard one bad thing about him.”
“It seemed weird to me that Oscar didn’t have the massage in his suite.”
“He usually does.”
“So why not today?”
She thought about it as the waiter brought their appetizers. The salad was heaven, as usual, and man, was she starved. Being a criminal really stirred up the appetite. But she couldn’t put this off any longer. “Coincidentally,” she began, feeling her face flush, “I happened to be in Oscar Weinberg’s suite this afternoon.”
“Seems like you’ve had a busy day.”
“Yeah.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
She took a deep breath and gave it up. All of it. Halfway through her tale she knew her adventures didn’t amuse him and by the time she’d told him everything he was clearly pissed.
He leaned over the table. “Goddamn it, Mia, what the hell were you thinking?”
“I wanted to help.”
“By breaking into a guest’s room? Aside from the legal issues, of which there are many, what if you’d been caught?”
“I know. It was stupid of me.”
“Stupid?” He opened his mouth, then shut it again. After a long, painful moment, he shook his head and said, softly, “It’s my fault.”
“How is it your fault?”
“I had no business roping you into this mess.”
“No. I wanted to help. And I have been a help.”
“Yes, you have. But that’s over. No more. I appreciate what you’ve done, but Mia, this was too much. I can’t have you taking these chances.”
“Okay,” she said, “I realize I went too far today, but come on, Bax. I still have more connections than anyone at the hotel.”
“I’ll find another way.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. But you’re out, Mia. That’s final. Someone was murdered. The killer is still on the loose. I’m not going to let you get in the line of fire.”
“Now you’re just being melodramatic. I might get fired, but I won’t get killed.”
“Really? You know what I saw when I was in that massage room with Oscar? He was videotaping his session. I saw the camera myself.”
“Oh.”