by J. A. Jance
"Yes," Helga answered. "That's right."
"And that some of her friends weren't exactly nice people?" Ali pressed.
"Bit of an understatement," Helga replied. "Have you ever heard of The Body Shop in Century City?"
"Car repairs?" Ali asked.
"Not exactly," Helga said with a snort. "Although it's located in a building that once held an auto dealership, it's got nothing at all to do with cars. It's a twenty-four-hour upscale fitness club where network bigwigs and wannabe bigwigs can mix and mingle, see and be seen. It's also one of the hot, in-crowd places at the moment. Supposedly the gym comes complete with one-on-one personal trainers, an organic juice bar, and with personal chefs available upon request. More than that, though, it also operates as a convenient pickup joint. That's where April first met Paul, by the way. She worked there as a receptionist."
Makes sense, Ali thought. For an undereducated and beautiful young woman like April Gaddis, who was also ambitious and determinedly upwardly mobile, The Body Shop sounded like the perfect manhunt launching pad.
"The Body Shop's biggest appeal is that it's both respectable and edgy," Helga continued. "As you already know, some of Hollywood's best-known heavy hitters are afflicted with complicated substance-abuse issues. For these relatively respectable guys, it's a lot more convenient if they can meet up with their drug supplier at some fashionable watering hole rather than having to buy their next hit from a street dealer at some dingy intersection in L.A."
"What about Tracy McLaughlin?" Ali asked.
"The Sumo Sudoku guy?" Helga asked. "The one in the kilt?"
"That's the one," Ali said. "Did he work there, too?"
"He may have," Helga said. "I don't know for sure, but I'll tell you this. I liked looking at the guy. He might be a bit young for me, but I wouldn't mind taking him home for a day or two to check out whatever it is he keeps under that kilt."
Ali was glad that Dave wasn't hearing Helga's part of the conversation.
"Why all this sudden interest in Tracy McLaughlin?" Helga asked. "What's going on?"
"My mother's missing," Ali said. "This morning she witnessed what looked to her like a bit of hanky-panky going on between April and Tracy. Early this afternoon one of the hotel security cameras recorded a confrontation between McLaughlin and my mom, but by the time I got back to the hotel to talk to her about it, she was gonenot just from our room, but from the hotel, too. The parking attendant told us he saw her peel out of the hotel garage sometime after one. I've tried calling her. No answer, and she hasn't called me back, either."
"Have you reported her missing?"
"Yes," Ali said. "Not that it did much good. No one at LAPD is particularly interested."
"So what can I do to help?" Helga asked.
"When you were doing your investigation of Paul, did Tracy McLaughlin's name come up?"
"I remember looking into the Sumo Sudoku thing because S and S Enterprises was one of your husband's newer business ventures. That name could have been mentioned, but I don't remember it in particular. I'd have to check with one of my investigatorsand I probably won't be able to talk to him until tomorrow. Is there anything I can do in the meantimeanything I can do tonight?"
"I don't know," Ali said. "I can't really think straight right now."
"If you come up with something you need," Helga said, "don't hesitate to call. Have you told Victor?"
"Not yet," Ali said.
"I'll call him," Helga said. "He'll want to know what's going on."
Ali put down the phone. Dave had finished a series of calls and was once again hunkered over her computer.
"Google S and S Enterprises here in L.A.," Ali told him. "See what you get."
"S and S Enterprises holds all rights to Worldwide Sumo Sudoku," Dave said a few minutes later. "S and S was incorporated back in April with Paul Grayson named as executive director and CEO."
That announcement hit Ali hard. She had left Robert Lane early in March. No doubt negotiations for S and S Enterprises had been well under way long before Ali's departure, but she had known nothing about it. Sumo Sudoku had never been mentioned. In the scheme of Paul's betrayals, this one seemed relatively small, but it was a betrayal nonetheless.
"Who else is on the board of directors?" Ali asked.
"Guy by the name of Jake Maxwell," Dave replied.
"He worked with Paul at the network," Ali explained. "I always thought of him more as a rival than a friend, but there are lots of shifting loyalties in television, and things change. Jake showed up at court last week when the divorce was supposed to be final. He came there to back Paul up. He was also the official host of Paul's bachelor party from the night before."
Dave was still studying the computer screen. "This is interesting," he said. "S and S leases all the RVs that the various teams use. In other words, all the Sumo Sudoku guys are ultimately employees of S and S, but they're hoping to create team rivalries that will attract media attention."
"Sort of like professional wrestling?" Ali suggested.
Dave nodded. "Just about that real. According to this, the company was incorporated with the stated intention of obtaining coverage for the sport on one or the other of the sports-oriented cable channels. No doubt that's why they scheduled the filming around Paul's weddingto garner additional media attention."
"And that's why they went forward with the shoot anyway, even though Paul was dead," Ali added. "That's how the business works. The show must go on no matter what."
"I'll say," Dave agreed.
"So let's go see him," Ali said.
"Go see who?"
"Jake," Ali said. "Jake Maxwell. The person we really need to see is Tracy, but we don't have any idea where to find him, so Jake is our next best choice."
"I've got a call in for Tracy's vehicle records," Dave said. "I'm waiting for someone to get back to me."
"Fine," Ali replied. "But in the meantime, since Jake is clearly part of all this, maybe he can point us in the right direction."
"Where do we find him?"
Ali picked up her purse. "He and his wife, Roseanne, live out in Westlake Village."
"Where's that?" Dave asked.
"Not that far. Out on 101."
"Do we need to call first?" Dave asked.
"I think we'll just show up," Ali returned. "And we're probably better off if I drive."
"Amen to that," Dave said. "You drive. I'll handle the phones."
They left the hotel a few minutes later and headed for the 405 with Ali behind the wheel of her Cayenne.
"Have you had anything to eat since breakfast?" Dave asked as they went.
Thinking about her mother, Ali shook her head. "I'm not hungry," she said.
"Too bad," Dave said. "Edie would want you to eat, and we're eating. Pull up at the next Burger King you see."
Ali did as she was told, and much as she didn't want to admit it, eating a Whopper did help. Back in the car, Sunday evening traffic turned what should have been a forty-minute drive into an hour and ten, most of which Ali drove in silence.
"What's going on?" Dave asked finally. "Worried about your mom?"
"That," Ali said, "and trying to get over being pissed off."
"What about?"
"This whole S and S Enterprises thing," she returned. "Obviously it was going on long before I left home last March. That kind of stuff doesn't happen in a day or even a month, but I didn't know a thing about it even though Jack and Roseanne Maxwell did."
"So?"
"Once I was in Sedona, Roseanne sent me a sugar-coated e-mail in which she pretended like she and I were the very best of friends and she thought Paul was a cad, while at the same time Jake and Paul were starting a business together. I'll never forget her cutesy little message. She kept harping on how awful it was that I was reduced to living in a trailer and having to wait tables for a living. She even offered me a place to stayin their newly remodeled casita."
"I take it you turned her down."
; "Do you think?" Ali asked with a curt nod. "But now it grates on me that I have to go see this woman and make nice with her when what I'd really like to do is smack her upside the head."
"We're doing this for your mother," Dave reminded her. "Stay cool."
Ali had no difficulty driving them to Jake and Roseanne's sprawling, ranch-style house built on a grassy hillside outside Thousand Oaks. At the bottom end of the long, paved driveway, an ornamental iron gate blocked the way. Ali pressed a button and a disembodied voice spoke to them through an intercom attached to the gatepost. Half a minute later, the gate swung open.
Jake Maxwell himself stepped through the tall front door and came out into the circular parking area to meet them.
"Ali," he gushed, taking her hand in both of his. "What an unexpected pleasure. How good to see you, although I can't imagine what you're going through right now."
And you don't know the half of it, Ali thought.
When Dave emerged from the far side of the car, Jake frowned slightly. "And who's this?" he added.
"Dave Holman is a friend of mine," Ali replied without any further explanation. "We have some questions for you."
"What kind of questions?" Jake asked.
"About S and S Enterprises," Ali returned. "And about a guy named Tracy McLaughlin."
Jake glanced warily from Ali to Dave and back again. It was something that wouldn't have been apparent over a phone line. Clearly Jake had been caught off guard. Ali was glad they'd put good manners aside and hadn't called in advance to warn Jake of their impending arrival.
"What about Tracy McLaughlin?" Jake asked.
"We were wondering if you knew where we could find him," Ali said casually. "A few loose ends came up after the shoot ended yesterday. I wanted to ask him about them."
"What things?"
Before Ali could answer, the door behind Jake opened. A woman wearing a pair of tight pedal pushers tottered out onto the front porch on a pair of very high heels. She was carrying a tall goblet filled with red wine.
"Didn't know we had company," she said, coming to an uncertain stop and standing, weaving, with one hand poised on her hip. "I just told Kimball to open another bottle," she said. "Anybody want to join me for a little drinky-poo?"
Kimball (Ali had no idea if Kimball was the man's first or last name) was a professionally trained butler with a British accent and an imperious air who had been Jake Maxwell's aide-de-camp for as long as Ali could remember.
Ali stared. Whoever this smashed young woman was, she sure as hell wasn't Roseanne Maxwell. And why she felt free to order Kimball around was another issue entirely.
"Go back inside, Amber," Jake said brusquely. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
Amber pouted. "I was just trying to be hosp amp;hosp amp;" she began before finally subsiding into tongue-tied silence.
"Hospitable," Jake finished for her impatiently. "Now do as I said. Go back inside and wait."
As in "Sit!" and "Stay!" Ali thought.
Without another word, the woman staggered back into the house, slamming the door behind her. Jake looked back at Ali.
"One of Roseanne's friends," he explained unconvincingly. "She's staying here while she's waiting for her new house to close. I'm afraid she had a bit too much wine with dinner. But I'm forgetting my manners. Won't you come in?"
Amber's appearance had fueled Ali's curiosity. Based on her own unfortunate marital experience, nothing short of a loaded weapon would have kept her from accepting Jake's rather halfhearted invitation.
"Thank you so much," Ali said, and headed for the door, leaving both Dave Holman and Jake to trail along behind her.
She saw signs of change the moment she stepped inside the entryway. For years a flattering oil portrait of Roseanne Maxwell had held sway just inside their front door. That painting was no longer there. Instead, a large rectangle of slightly lighter cream paint showed where the painting had once hung. Over the massive river-rock fireplace another paintingan unframed canvas Ali recalled as featuring a modern rendition of what appeared to be sunflowerswas also missing from its place of honor. Amber was nowhere to be seen, but from some distant corner of the house came the muffled sound of a television drama.
"Don't tell me Roseanne isn't home," Ali exclaimed. "She was really kind to me last spring when everything was so awful. I wanted to thank her."
"She's in New York right now," Jake said a little too quickly. "She went with one of her friends. They're busy buying next year's clothes and taking in a couple of shows."
"Do let her know I'm sorry we missed her," Ali said. "If she returns before I leave, we'll have to have lunch."
"Of course, of course," Jake murmured. "Now, can I get you something?"
Dave shook his head. "No, thanks," he replied.
"Some ice water would be nice," Ali said.
While Jake summoned his majordomo and issued the drink order, Ali examined her surroundings. Two pieces of Dale Chihuly blown glass were missing from the ebony sideboard in the dining room. Their absence along with the missing paintings led Ali to only one conclusion. Most people don't pack their precious artwork when they go off on a weeklong shopping excursion. Roseanne's departure had to be more serious than that.
Kimball appeared, bearing a silver drinks tray complete with an ice bucket, a collection of Baccarat crystal glasses, Voss bottled water, a decanter of wine, and a bottle of Oban single-malt scotch. With a slight bow, he deposited the tray on a side table. Then, without bothering to ask, he poured Jake a rocks glass with a tall, two-finger scotch. Meantime, Jake settled himself comfortably on a nearby love seat and crossed his legs, revealing a pair of very expensive Italian loafers.
"So what's all this about Tracy McLaughlin?" he asked.
He was trying so hard to be nonchalant and casual that an imp got into Ali Reynolds. She decided to go for the gold.
"I suppose you've heard about Paul's will?" she asked.
"Yes," Jake said with a thoughtful nod. "I heard that you got left holding the bag. It's got to be really tough, dealing with a complicated mess like that. And then, with everything else, to have April's mother fall down the stairs amp;"
"It's been tough, all right," Ali agreed. "And it's likely to get even tougher. Dave and I have reason to believe that the child April is carrying might not be Paul's after all. Since you and Paul were so close, I was wondering if you'd have any insight into that?"
Jake's face registered astonishment. "If it's not Paul's, whose baby is it?"
"She," Ali corrected. "The baby is a she. But that's what we're trying to determinethe identity of the baby's father. It's also why we're looking for Tracy McLaughlin."
Jake allowed himself a generous slug of neat Oban. "You're thinking Tracy might be the baby's father?" he asked.
"It's possible," Ali said. "So what can you tell us about him?"
Jake peered into his glass, studying the contents. "I suppose you know that he had a bit of a rough start."
"As in being sent to prison for grand theft auto," Ali returned. "Yes, we're aware of that."
"After he got out, he came out to California, where he eventually developed this Sumo Sudoku idea. And it was a great ideahe got a trademark on it and everything. Unfortunately, at the same time, Tracy was also developing a bit of a gambling problem. Finally, he was in so deep that Paul and I bought him out. We gave him enough of an advance to pay off his debts. After he's earned that back, he'll get royalties."
"Which is how the guy who invented the whole thing ends up doing grunt labor," Ali said. "That's why he wears a kilt, lugs rocks around, and drives a leased RV."
"Something like that," Jake said.
"So is Tracy mad about thatabout losing control of his brainchild to someone else?" Dave asked.
"I don't think so," Jake answered. "He wanted his debts paid off a lot more than he wanted to run things."
"What if Sumo Sudoku happens to get picked up by one of the sports networks?" Ali asked. "What happens then? Would Tracy make
money?"
"We'd all make money."
"Which is why," Ali said, "even with Paul dead, April was determined to go forward with the shoot."
Jake sipped his scotch. "I suppose," he said. "But I still don't see what makes you think the baby might be Tracy's. I mean, I've never seen any evidence of them hanging out together."
"How did Tracy get hooked up with you and Paul to begin with?" Ali asked.
"Touche," Jake said after a pause. "Now that you mention it, I guess April was the one who introduced us."
Somehow Ali didn't find that the least bit surprising.
"Do you have any idea where Tracy McLaughlin lives?" Dave asked. "We'd like to talk to him if at all possible, the sooner the better."
"No idea," Jake answered. "None at all. He lives a pretty marginal lifestyle, if you know what I mean."
"So he's still gambling?" Dave asked.
"I suppose."
"And he's still broke?"
"Most likely."
"But he would need a place to park that huge rig of his. And since your name is on the lease of that very valuable piece of equipment, I would imagine you'd know where that secret parking place might be."
"Sorry," Jake said. "I have no idea."
It was a simple answer, but as soon as Ali heard it, she knew it was a lie.
"Does he have another vehicle?" Ali asked. "Something a little smaller and easier to park?"
"Probably," Jake answered, "but I'm not sure what."
"So you just turn these guys loose with your leased RVs and don't pay any attention to where they go or what they do with them?"
"Their contracts dictate that they have to be out in public doing events for a set number of hours per week, mostly up and down the West Coast. Some of the contests we set uplike the shoot at the house yesterday. Some of the others are just pickup gameson the beach, in parks, wherever. But with the advertising on the RVs, our guys are doing their job wherever they are, even when they're just driving up and down the Five. After all, name familiarity is the name of the game."
"So you're still moving forward with this Sumo Sudoku thing?" Ali asked.
"Of course," Jake replied with absolute confidence. "There's no reason not to."