“She’s at the Hilton. The Frankfurt Hilton.”
“Okay,” I said, logging onto my computer for the website and number. “This should take me about three-minutes, so it’s gratis.”
I found the number, reached for the landline phone on my desk, and dialed it. When the number answered in German, of course, I went into my routine, trying to sound young and very American.
“Hi! This is…ah… Melva, Sharise’s assistant. You know the singer? She and her band have been staying with you. I’m her assistant.”
There was a moment’s hesitation and then the clerk switched over to English. And flawless English, I might add.
“Yes, madam, I am aware of that. How may I help you?”
“Well, the scintillating Sharise has lost the keycard to her room again. Honestly. I’m calling from a nearby restaurant where we’re having a bite.” I tried to sound annoyed then giggled. “This is the second time this week she’s lost it; she can be such a dummkopf. When I return to the hotel, do you suppose you could give me another one? Sorry for the trouble.”
“It is no trouble, madam. Please remember to have proper identification with you when you come to the desk. Otherwise, we cannot help you.”
“Will do. Listen, you didn’t happen to see her within the last hour or so, did you? Maybe she got a new one, herself.”
“No, I do not see Miss Sharise since she left a few hours ago.”
“Not since early this evening? Well, thanks and see you in a few.”
I hung up, flushed with a job well done, and turned to the two sitting before me. Katie had been following my every word. Skye, on the other hand, never looked up once during my exchange, but glared at me now, leaning forward, eyes practically slits in her head.
“That doesn’t mean anything. She did it.”
Was this childish bullheadedness? Or was the kid on to something? I shrugged, momentarily giving into her obstinance.
“Then the next step is her passport usage. Homeland Security keeps excellent records of citizens coming in and out of the country. We could look into it and get back to you. It will take a lot longer, but it can be done. If for some reason, she came into the country earlier than expected, we might have something. If she didn’t…” I broke off. “What do you want to do in that case, Skye? Drop the whole thing?”
“My father did not commit suicide,” Skye said with finality.
“My advice would be to wait until the Sunnyvale Police finish their investigation. They’re very good --” I stopped talking because Skye was shaking her head at my every word and with growing intensity.
“Each minute that goes by,” she leaned in and whispered. “It feels more wrong. I don’t know why I feel that way, but I do. I can’t make it go away. It’s, like, making me crazy.”
I’d had a similar feeling of my own on the Dumbarton Bridge, only I called it a niggle. It wasn’t going away, either. No matter what word you use, it can eat you up inside. Skye continued her dialog as to her mother’s guilt.
“I know everybody thinks it can’t be Sharise, but irregardless --”
“Regardless,” corrected Katie in a soft tone.
“Regardless,” the girl echoed without missing a beat. “Even if it isn’t, I want you to find out what happened to my father. I have to know.”
For whatever reason, I now hesitated on taking the job. It seemed like a packet of trouble, and I was getting married in less than a week to a man who was on a secret mission in an unknown country.
Then Skye added the one clinching word, “Please.”
Schnook, schnook, schnook. I was hooked and knew it. I took a deep breath before I spoke my disclaimers. “First of all, this is not a job Discretionary Inquiries normally takes on. We usually deal with the theft of intellectual property or software and hardware piracy. That said, we are not cheap.”
“I don’t care what you cost. I want you,” said Skye. “Money doesn’t mean anything to me.”
Says she who is heir to billions, I thought. Aloud I said, “All the information your father had on Sharise, does that include members of her band, as well as her?”
Both Skye and Katie nodded then glanced at one another. Skye seemed to give Katie unspoken consent then looked down at white knuckled hands. Katie studied me for a moment and leaned forward.
“David compiled a running dossier on his ex-wife and everyone who works or has ever worked for her. It’s stored on the server.”
This was straight out of George Orwell’s 1984. Big Brother is watching you. I didn’t say that aloud, though; respect for the dead and all that.
“Send it to me as soon as you can. It might come in handy; you never know.”
I reached inside the top drawer of my desk, but before handing Katie a card with all my pertinent information, I hesitated, remembering William Shakespeare’s words:
“The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.”
In my experience, people who did what they wanted without much regard for anyone else often paid for it one way or another, and sometimes with their lives. D. H. Collier was adding up to that kind of person. At fourteen, I wasn’t sure Skye needed to know this side of her father, at least not so soon after his unexpected death.
I cleared my throat. “Skye, I want you to look at me.”
Reluctantly, she looked up, honey brown eyes meeting mine. It was only then I gave my PI sermon with as much sugarcoating as a Splenda girl could muster.
“When a client hires Discretionary Inquiries to look into something…or someone…upon occasion the client may not like what we find. People live complicated lives. There can be surprising aspects to those lives. Sometimes it’s better to leave well enough alone. Are you sure about this?”
Confused, the girl didn’t reply but stared at me. I said no more. When she finally absorbed the meaning of my words, she seemed shocked at the idea her father might have something to hide. I gave her the time she needed to mull her decision over. I was relieved to note Katie didn’t try to sway her one way of the other, but sat quietly by her side. Finally, Skye nodded again with certainty.
“Very well, Skye. Here’s another potential problem. You’re underage, and I can’t legally take on your case without permission from a parent or guardian.”
“I’m her legal guardian,” said Katie.
“Beg pardon?” I was floored, but tried not to show it.
“I am Skye’s legal guardian,” Katie repeated. “With David’s death, Skye became my ward until her eighteenth birthday. This was set up five years ago. I have a copy of the will with me. I thought you might want to see it.”
“Yes, I would.” I gave her one of my best smiles as I stuck out my hand. “Just to keep things on the up and up.”
Katie reached into the large black satchel and pulled out an envelope containing a document of several pages enfolded in heavy, blue paper.
“May I have another lemonade?” Skye’s question was whisper soft and asked quite shyly.
“Sure. At the prices D. I. is going to charge you, it’s the least we can do.” Everyone laughed as I’d intended, and I swung my chair around to the small refrigerator behind me. When I opened the door, I said over my shoulder, “Would you like a frozen Milky Way bar?”
“Oh, yeah!”
Skye’s enthusiasm was akin to my offering her the Hope Diamond. That’s pretty much my take on Milky Ways, so I knew the kid and I were simpatico. I pulled a bar out, grabbed another bottle of lemonade, and swiveled back to my desk. I set the two in front of Skye, grabbed the thrice-folded document from Katie, and stood.
“I’ll be back in a minute after I copy this. Meanwhile feel free to look around the office or read a magazine on the table by the window,” I said, fully aware my desk drawers were locked, and not with doggie or kitty locks. You never know when curiosity will take the upper hand. “I’ve set my office up like a mini-museum, with lots of Mexican artwork you might enjoy looking at.”
“Ye
s, I see you have some sculptures by Bustamante,” Katie said. “He’s one of my personal favorites.” Score one for the lady in the yellow polo shirt.
“That’s a funny name,” I heard Skye say, as I closed the door to my office behind me.
I ran to Lila’s office praying fervently she would be there and not with a client. Patty, her secretary – not assistant, as Patty didn’t like that word – saw me running down the hall. With her bleached white teeth glowing in her mouth, she smiled and pointed to my mother’s closed door, giving me a nod. I knocked and threw the door open at the same time.
I have always been very tech-focused, which you may
almost say is the traditional CEO in Silicon Valley.
Michael Birch
Chapter Eleven
“From what you’ve said and what I’ve read of this codicil, if you wish to pursue the investigation into Mister Collier’s death, you are free to do so.”
We stood in Lila’s office, as different from mine as you can get. Stark but elegant Roche Bobois furniture in soft shades of grey sat against darker grey walls. Wine-colored accents dotted the otherwise achromatic room in the form of lamps, books, and silk throw pillows. Brushed chrome statuary posed on lacquered grey columns and seemed to come straight out of MOMA.
On one wall a large silver-framed painting called “Silver’s Woman” hung. It looked suspiciously like a younger Lila’s face surrounded by silvery leaves, petals, and white orchids.
Lila turned to me. Dresden blue eyes pierced mine. Lila had called it right, as usual. What Katie had given me was not a copy of the will itself, but an addendum or codicil to it. All signed, witnessed, and notarized. I had suspected as much before I’d thrown in on Lila’s desk, as wills are usually thicker things. But I had hoped against hope maybe it had been typed up in a five-point font or something.
My mind spun on. Rats! I still hadn’t seen Collier’s bloody will yet and I was going to have to remedy that. If I’d only known the man’s daughter was going to hire me to look into the whys and wherefores of his death, I would have read it, no matter how tight the time frame had been. At least, I should have photographed it. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. But who gets what plays a significant part in any investigation.
Reminiscent of a Greek goddess, Lila swept away from the copier/scanner to stand behind her massive but streamlined desk. Blonde hair done up in a French twist, she exuded cool confidence in a robin’s egg blue tweed suit, accented by satin cuffs, collar, and buttons. The color matched her eyes perfectly. She finished the ensemble off with the pearl earrings Dad had given her shortly before he died; she was rarely, if ever, without them. Today a pearl-encrusted broach in the shape of a swan rested on her left shoulder.
I looked down at my feet to make sure I’d worn matching shoes. I don’t always get that right. Once I came into the office wearing one black and one navy, and have yet to hear the end of it.
“However, Liana, I am surprised you wish to take this on, given you have your wedding coming up in less than a week. Kindly enlighten me as to the reason for this.”
As usual, I’d lost the thread of the conversation, caught up in my mental meanderings. “My reason for what?”
She inhaled a deep breath, sat down, and closed her eyes before replying. “The reason for your investigation into Mister Collier’s death. Try to stay with me, Liana.”
“Oh, right! Right. Well, Lila, I --“ I broke off, flustered. “Listen, could I just talk to Mom for a minute, Lila? I would feel better.”
Her eyebrows shot up with surprise, as she sat erect in her high back, pearl grey leather chair. “Of course, Liana. I am always your mother, regardless of what you call me.”
“Good, good.” I noted she hadn’t used the word irregardless. My mother does not make mistakes like that. Actually, she never makes any mistakes from what I can see; more’s the pity. She’d be easier to live with if she did.
I took a seat across from her, and leaned in with what I hoped was a look of sincerity. “Mom, you have done a terrific job on my wedding, an amazing job, an unbelievable job, an --”
“Yes, dear. Now what is you point?”
“Mom, Gurn is off to God knows where in the service of our country; my job at Read-Out is over because, as I told you, D. H. Collier was the culprit and he’s dead; there is hammering and sawing and I don’t know what all going on at the apartment --”
“Liana,” my mother interrupted, her voice tight and threatening. “Get to the point, please.
“Okay. I’ve got four long days until my wedding with nothing to do but wait, Mom. Lila. Mom. Whoever.” I paused. “I don’t know why what I call you is throwing me today, but it is. I’m sorry about that, too --”
“Liana!”
“Okay, the point, the point; the point is the kid needs me. I feel for her. She’s just lost her father. I know what that’s like. She needs some closure.”
“Your father died of a brain aneurism. He didn’t take his own life.”
“I know, Mom, but the end result is the same; your father is dead.”
“I see.”
“Also… also…”
“Also what, dear?” Her voice held a soothing quality similar to one a farmer might use to try to get his prize heifer back in the barn, with no idea why she spooked. Moooooo.
“This sounds terrible, but if I can prove he didn’t take his life, it will help Skye somehow, I just know it.”
“Even if you prove that someone murdered him?”
“Even then.”
“You are determined?”
“I am.”
“Very well. As far as I can see, the first round of people arriving for the wedding will be in three-day’s time. You should try to have it wrapped up by then.”
“Mira arrives. Right.” Mira was my best friend and also my matron of honor flying in from San Miguel de Allende. I hadn’t seen her for nearly six months and couldn’t wait. “But just in case I don’t….ah….wrap everything up, can you pick her up at the airport?”
My mother chaffed. “Each guest’s arrival and departure time has been given to the limousine service, which we hired for that specific purpose. I gave you a copy of the schedule days ago, I might add. It contains the minutest of details.”
“Did you? Sorry. I forgot.”
“Everything is in place for the wedding, as it should be at this stage, down to the last detail. Nothing has escaped my attention.”
“How about the toothpicks with little hearts on top?”
She gave me one of her withering looks before speaking. “I have decided to use the ones decorated with a bride and groom. More appropriate.”
“Wow! Those two must be really small, being atop a toothpick and all.”
“I see you are making fun of me.”
“No, Mom, never. Well, yes, I’m teasing you a little, but I’m very grateful. So is Gurn. It will be a wonderful wedding. One I could never pull off, myself. Really, Mom. I couldn’t do it. Thank you, Mom. I love you, Mom.” I paused again, letting my words sink in. “Really truly, Mom. You’re the best,” I threw in for good measure.
“There is no need to be maudlin.” But a slight smile played upon her lips.
I studied my mother as objectively as possible. She was so loving this. I was right not to try to take the wedding away from her. Besides, soon she would have a new grandchild and leave me the hell alone.
Whoops! Did I say that out loud? No, no, I was just thinking it. I used my inside voice. I’m good.
I relaxed a little and reflected. Yes, here sat the woman who was the Rolls Royce to my Chevy, the conservative to my liberal, the haute couture to my thrift shop, but fate had still seen to throw us together. Chalk it up to one of life’s ironies.
Whoops! Did I just get philosophical on me? Go away, inside voice. Time for a martini.
“Speaking of Gurn,” she said, unaware of my thought processes, as usual.
“Were we?”
“Please pay attention, Liana. To repe
at, Gurn’s parents arrive the day before the wedding in time for the rehearsal dinner. I trust Gurn will have returned by then.”
“That’s what the man says, Mom.” I stood. “I’d better get back to my office.” I turned and headed for the door.
“Liana, be sure to have them both sign the standard agreement before they leave.”
“Will do.”
“And Liana.”
I turned back, stopped by something in her voice. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I don’t often say this, but you are a wonderful daughter. Soon you will be a wonderful wife. Do what you can for Skye Collier, but don’t let your job interfere with what’s important in your life.”
“Okay,” I stuttered, and walked back to my office wondering what that was all about. It was so mommy-ish, I decided to block it right out of my mind.
The more angels we have in Silicon Valley, the better.
We are funding innovation. We are funding the next
Facebook, Google, and Twitter.
Ron Conway
Chapter Twelve
I opened the door to my office to find Katie admiring the Frida Kahlo self-portrait, a painting of which I am proud to own. I may never be able to retire due to what it cost me, but such is life. Katie turned and faced me when she heard the door open. I looked around the otherwise empty office.
“Where’s Skye?”
“She was falling asleep in the chair, so I called Marty to come in and escort her to the car. He’s the chauffeur. She’s in the backseat sleeping.”
My Latina guilt came forward; it’s a genetic thing. “Sorry I took so long. But I do need Skye to sign the form hiring Discretionary Inquiries. I’m afraid we’ll have to wake her.”
“If that’s the one on your desk, we both read and signed it already.”
I picked up the document and looked at it, smiling at the other woman. “Thanks. And here’s your codicil back.”
She took it from my extended hand. I continued with the business at hand.
The CEO Came DOA Page 9