Without a Doubt

by Nancy Cole Silverman

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “You and this bandit friend of yours.”

  “He’s not my friend.”

  “Well, he’s certainly an admirer. He’s given you two very expensive pieces of jewelry and you can’t seem to hang on to either of them. The FBI’s got them both.”

  “That’s not the point, Sheri. This creep, whoever he is, could very well be a murderer, and he’s fixated on me. He’s been calling the station and Eric’s convinced there’s going to be another robbery.”

  The waiter came by and filled our glasses and I waited for him to leave, then leaned forward and whispered, “And, after sitting in on Bunny’s show this afternoon, I think I know where it’s going to be.”

  Sheri tipped her glass to mine. “Where?”

  Chapter 25

  It was Sheri’s idea we check out Annabelle’s auction at the Beverly Wilshire. She convinced me since I had sent Eric packing with the chocolates, I owed her. And the only possible way I could make it up to her was for us to go check out the Huguette Clark estate jewels ourselves. We weren’t alone. By the time we arrived, the hotel was packed with curious onlookers.

  Sheri was more familiar with the Beverly Wilshire than I was. On a reporter’s salary, I couldn’t exactly afford to hang out there. I simply knew it as the hotel where Pretty Woman had been filmed.

  This wasn’t the first time the hotel had handled a big auction. After Princess Diana died, Sotheby’s auctioned off a copy of the Heart of the Ocean, the necklace featured in the movie Titanic. The Coeur de la Mer was valued at two point five million, the proceeds of which went to Princess Di’s memorial fund. I was certain the Santa Barbara trustees for Bellosguardo would be happy with an amount half that size. The estate taxes alone had to be costing a fortune.

  We entered the Grand Ballroom, where Annabelle’s had set up their public display. The room was bathed in a soft gold light. A huge Italian chandelier hung in the center of the room, adding to the sophistication and ambiance of the evening’s affair. The crowd was equally as dressy.

  At the last minute, I had thought to change from my business-casual attire into something a little more suited to an evening out. But despite my efforts to pull together a look, I still looked like I’d been shopping the Macy’s sale rack. Sheri, on the other hand, always looked like she had just stepped out of a Gucci showroom. There was something about being born with a silver spoon in your mouth that couldn’t be taught. She belonged there, while I felt like an imposter.

  The room, a two-tiered split-level area with seating and tables for several thousand people, faced a large stage and was frequently used for award shows. The upper area of the theater, where ordinarily tables were set for dignitaries, had been cleared and cordoned off with red velvet ropes. It now served as a temporary showcase for the auction. From three feet behind a protected perimeter, the public was allowed to shuffle single-file past items from Miss Clark’s jewelry collection. Bulletproof glass cases displaying rings, necklaces, pendants, and earrings the likes of which I’d never seen, with stones bigger than those from my son’s marble collection, were set between larger pieces from her home, including brass statues and artwork. It felt like this was the Tower of London and we were viewing the Crown Jewels. Surveillance cameras were everywhere.

  Sheri tapped me on the shoulder as we passed one of the display cases. “Next time your mystery man calls, tell him you want that.” She pointed to a large diamond ring mounted on a pedestal behind the glass. I stepped closer to the glass, and without disturbing the velvet rope, squinted at the large stone. “I’m serious,” she said.

  Beneath it, a card read: “20 carat colorless diamond ring. Found in its original Cartier box. Estimated value: $2.5 million.” It was the largest diamond I’d ever seen, a brilliant square-cut stone reflecting a rainbow of colors against the glass.

  “If I didn’t know better,” I said, “I’d say that ring looks exactly like the one Carmen sent Eric to get from her hotel room the night she died.”

  Sheri leaned over my shoulder and stared at the ring. “Do you think it is?”

  I laughed. “No. Absolutely not. But if I were going to skim off the top of my husband’s deliveries, believe me, that’s the ring I’d take.”

  With my eyes still on the ring, I stepped back and bumped into someone behind me. I was about to turn around and apologize when I felt a sure set of hands on my shoulders, steadying me. A voice I knew too well whispered in my ear.

  “We can’t keep meeting like this.” There was no mistaking the voice. My body responded viscerally. My pulse quickened and I felt a warm flutter in my stomach. Eric.

  I turned around and looked into his eyes. Any other time, I would have kissed him hello and folded myself into his arms. But instead, realizing he was working, I said, “I’m not here because of you, honest. Sheri and I wanted to see the exhibit.”

  Eric winked, a sign barely visible to anyone passing by, then teased, “You sure you weren’t shopping?” His body posture was still like that of a soldier at attention, his eyes scanning the crowd. “Lots of nice things here.”

  I looked back over my shoulder. I wondered how many other agents were in the room and how many scanning devices were running facial recognition programs at that very moment.

  “And you,” I teased back, “are you shopping for someone special?” I meant the Wigged Bandit. With the number of agents I suspected were in the room, they must have thought the Bandit was here shopping too.

  “Maybe,” Eric said. Then placing his hand back on my shoulder, he squeezed it. Giving me a subtle grin that could have meant anything, he turned and walked away. Maybe?

  Sheri suggested we get dessert at The Blvd Lounge across the courtyard at the hotel’s five-star dining facility. As we made our way through the lobby toward the exit, Sheri nudged me. Ahead of us was the auto court, a cobblestoned parking entrance that divided the hotel and the Grand Ballroom from the restaurant. It was filled with arriving cars and red-vested valets who bobbed between vehicles and drivers, exchanging keys for receipts while helping passengers to the curb.

  “Do you see that?” She pointed in the direction of one of the valets. He was holding open the passenger door of a large black SUV Hummer. A small woman, whose petite frame was hidden by the car’s oversized door, climbed out.

  All I could see from beneath the bulk of the gas-guzzling truck were her shoes and legs. But the driver, standing on the curb with his black hair slicked back and wearing a cape, I recognized. It was Diaz, handsome as ever. And getting out of the truck, with a great deal of difficulty as she shimmied her short skirt over her plump legs, was Mimi. I grabbed Sheri’s hand to avoid saying anything. Was this a lovers’ escape? Or were they here, like so many others, to view the glitz and glamor of Huguette Clark’s personal collection?

  I was about to cross the parking arcade to find out when Sheri pulled me back. They weren’t alone. Standing a few feet away from Diaz, just outside the entrance to the hotel’s restaurant, was Donatella, and with her was Paley. Was this her date, or perhaps her beard, a cover to throw off any suspicion of impropriety?

  I needed to talk to them. I couldn’t believe my luck. Here they were, the four people I thought knew something about Carmen’s murder and very likely the robberies, standing just a hundred feet away from me.

  I was about to step into the street and ask for a few minutes of their time when Bunny pulled up in front of the restaurant, threw her keys to the valet, and came running up to Mimi like a long-lost friend.

  I couldn’t believe it. I stood there and watched as the five of them disappeared into the hotel. “What’s that all about?”

  Sheri looked at me. “I don’t know, Carol, but I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. That woman’s up to something, and I’ve got a hunch you should watch your back.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But right now, I’ve got something more
I need to do.” I stepped across the street, Sheri just a few feet behind me.

  “Carol, what are you doing?”

  “I’m going to find out what’s going on. That’s what I’m doing.” Sheri stood with me at the entrance to the restaurant. A small crowd between us, Diaz and his entourage blocked any view of either Sheri or me as they waited to check their coats.

  Sheri put her hand on my shoulder. “What are you thinking?”

  “I need to know why Bunny’s here, but even more than that I want to talk to Donatella, and there’s no way she’s going to talk to me in front of Diaz or any of his friends.”

  “Maybe I can help. None of these people know me. Watch this.”

  Sheri stepped confidently in front of me, cut through the crowd and approached Donatella. I watched as she talked animatedly between Diaz and Bunny, touching Donatella’s face as though it were a piece of artwork. Then covering her own heart with hand, she sighed and pointed in the direction of the ladies’ room. It was an Oscar-winning performance. I bit back a smile as she ducked back between diners waiting to be seated and returned to my side. On her face was a look of confidence, like she’d just accomplished mission impossible.

  “What’d you do?” I asked.

  “I simply told her I was a talent agent and that she looked exactly like someone we were looking for. That she’d be perfect, but I was about to leave town and asked if she’d meet with my business partner for a few minutes in the ladies’ room.”

  “And she bought it?”

  “I don’t know if she did, but Diaz was all excited for her and both he and Bunny told her to go. I’m sure she’s waiting for you now. But between you and me, the girl’s no actress, Carol. There’s nobody home behind those dark eyes of hers.”

  Sheri’s ability to improvise amazed me. Growing up the daughter of a successful movie mogul, I didn’t think there was a scenario she hadn’t seen or used when it came to making up excuses to get to people.

  I found Donatella in the ladies’ room, sitting on an old-fashioned fainting couch beneath a huge gold-ensconced mirror. She was on her cell phone and glanced up at me when I entered. For a moment, I thought she might recognize me, but I reminded myself there was no reason she would. We’d never been introduced and both the day of the polo match in Santa Barbara and Carmen’s memorial she’d been busy with the horses and hadn’t mingled with the crowd.

  “My business partner thinks you have the face we’re looking for to launch our campaign for BellaCina, a new cosmetic line.” If Sheri could make things up, so could I. I mentally crossed my fingers there was no such line and that if there were Donatella didn’t know it. “We plan to introduce it in Europe this spring.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a line.” She stood up and glanced in the mirror, adjusting her hair as she spoke. Her accent was heavy. I couldn’t place it, but thought it might be from somewhere in Eastern Europe.

  “You look like you could be from Europe. I suppose that’s why she thought you looked like you’d be perfect for our model. May I ask where you’re from?”

  “Does it matter?” She turned and looked at me, clutching her cell phone in both hands against her stomach, as though it were a security blanket.

  “Not really. I just assumed you were European from your accent. Have you modeled before?”

  “Some.”

  I was getting nowhere. I told her I had seen her coming into the restaurant and asked if she with Diaz. “He’s a very attractive man,” I said. “Are you a friend?”

  “I work for him. I’m a trainer.”

  “I thought perhaps you might be a girlfriend. You look a lot like his ex-wife.”

  Donatella looked even more unsettled at that remark and glanced back over her shoulder into the mirror, pushing a loose strand of her dark hair behind her ear.

  “No,” she said.

  “Well, it must be interesting work. Polo, the sport of kings and right-handed people.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Right-handed people. To play polo you have to be right-handed or at least able to play with your right? I take it you must be ambidextrous.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She hugged herself tightly and started subtly rocking back and forth on her feet.

  “It’s just I noticed you’re wearing your watch on your right wrist. Most lefties do that. I know I do.” I smiled and raised my right arm slightly to show off my wrist. “Must make it a little tough to train players as a lefty.”

  “I thought you wanted to talk to me about modeling?” She squeezed herself tighter, the knuckles on her hands growing white as she pinched her forearms.

  “I did. I’m just making conversation. You looked nervous; don’t be. I just like to know something about our models before we introduce them to a possible client.”

  Donatella glanced down at her cell phone, her lips pressed tightly together, the look on her face like she was willing it to ring.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you weren’t expecting this and I’m probably taking up too much of your time. Perhaps if you give me your number we might talk later.”

  I noticed a look of relief wash over her face as she glanced down at her bag and reached into it. With her hand shaking, she scribbled a number on a small piece of paper and handed it to me. Then, as though someone had sounded a fire alarm, she rushed for the bathroom door. Before she got there, I asked one more question.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. Donatella, that’s a beautiful name. But I’m afraid I didn’t get your last name. What is it?”

  “Pero,” she said. The door closed and I knew as she disappeared behind it Donatella was neither a horse trainer nor an actress. With a name like Pero, I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence. It had to mean something that both Donatella and Churchill’s assistant had the same last name. Cousins maybe? It was just a hunch, certainly not concrete evidence, but I felt like I had just gotten a thin thread, painstakingly woven into an intricate pattern of deceit, and if I started to pull at it, it might unravel a lot of the mystery surrounding Diaz and his team.

  Chapter 26

  The next morning, I tried to call Donatella from my cell phone as I drove into work. I was certain the girl wasn’t interested in pursuing a modeling career, but I thought I might try my luck to see if I could get her to reveal anything else about her past. The number went immediately to a prerecorded announcement. “The number you have dialed is no longer in service…” I glanced at the number Donatella had given me and redialed. I hadn’t misdialed the number, it was bogus. No surprise there.

  What did surprise me was the condition of my desk when I walked into my small office. It looked as though it had been rifled through. My first thought was that Tyler had come looking for more chocolates. The top drawer was ajar and my candy stash definitely violated. But it was the pencils and papers that appeared to have been rearranged and the phone’s receiver laying upside down in its cradle that caught my attention. The message light on the phone was blinking and somebody had obviously accessed my computer files. Several Word docs I’d closed and saved were open. It could have been anyone from the newsroom. Tyler insisted the staff all use the station’s call letters as our passcode, just in case there was an emergency and he needed to retrieve any messages. Expectation of privacy was nonexistent. I picked the phone up and listened to my voicemail. A call had come in just after midnight.

  “Sorry to have missed you last night at the hotel, Carol. Did you see anything you liked?” There was a muffled chuckle, as though the receiver was shoved too close to the caller’s lips. I could almost feel his ragged breath coming through the phone, assaulting my ear. “I thought Miss Clark’s ring was exceptionally lovely. Didn’t you? How nice that might look on your long fingers. Have you ever thought of wearing one again? On your left hand? Oh, I hope I’m not getting too personal, but you looked so cozy with your handsome agent friend,
like you wanted to snuggle up next to him.” He laughed again. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Or that I wouldn’t know who he was? I know everything, Carol. Maybe one day we’ll talk, but for now, I called to say goodbye. Business has been good and it’s time to go. Perhaps I’ll consider a return visit, same time next year. Until then, my pretty. Ciao.”

  I saved the call to voicemail. I needed to let Eric know that not only was I being watched, but so was he, and he’d been made. As for the implication concerning the ring—an engagement ring—was he kidding? I certainly wasn’t considering marriage. What a silly thought. I dismissed it and headed down the hall to the studio. I planned to call Eric during the station break, but right now it was almost nine forty-five. Tyler insisted all on-air talent be on deck at least fifteen minutes before show time.

  I entered my small news booth and noticed the studio was empty. Matt sat in the control room on the opposite side of the studio behind another glass window. He was reading the newspaper. Bunny was running late. We glanced at each other across the empty studio. Matt shrugged and I pulled up a list of chick-lite news stories to read and waited. Twelve minutes later, three minutes to show time, Bunny walked in.

  She was dressed in camouflage fatigues, a t-shirt, and carrying a black backpack. It was a complete transformation from the woman I’d seen last night standing in front of the Beverly Wilshire Hotel in a gold lamé cocktail dress. I watched as Bunny dropped the backpack on the floor and took her seat at the console.

  Glancing over at me as though I was an afterthought, she opened the mic between our two studios. “Carol, I’m not going to need you to assist today. I’ll be doing the show solo. It’s come to my attention that we’re really not doing the best job we can with our coverage of Carmen’s death and the recent robberies. And going forward I’d prefer to work alone. I’ve got some things I’d like to do. I’m sure you understand.”