The CEO Came DOA

by Heather Haven

  “You’re welcome, Santa. And backatcha.”

  Despite the weather, the streets were bustling with cars and sidewalks were filled with merry-making people. Christmas was just four days away. Standing under Oceania’s awning and oiling my now naked hands, I wished I felt more in tune with the season. But them’s the breaks, kid. Ho, ho, ho.

  I turned around and looked at the three huge wreaths wearing plum and lime green ornaments hanging in the plate glass windows of the restaurant. Somewhat cheered, I opened the door and pushed my way through revelers to the maître d’ podium, and waited in a short line.

  Happy hour at The Oceania is a good deal. I’ve taken advantage of it myself a couple of times when in the City. Dozens of men and women at the bar and surrounding small tables were doing the mating call, while drinking specialties of the house and eating yummy appetizers. I remembered the last time Gurn and I ate, drank, and laughed at one of the tables. I felt a pang of longing, as I followed the man’s directions to Sharise’s table.

  The singer was waiting for me at a table for two in the corner of the room, next to a Christmas tree, also decorated in the plum and lime theme. Facing me, she gave a wave as I approached. I didn’t think she knew what I looked like, but that’s the internet for you. There’s nobody who isn’t on it if you know where to look for them. Except for June Mitchell. Interesting, that.

  As I maneuvered the last few feet of the room, I took the opportunity to appraise the woman. She was amazingly beautiful and very young looking. I did a quick recap and remembered she gave birth to Skye when she was barely seventeen. That made her thirty-one, three years younger than me, although she didn’t look a day older than twenty-four or twenty-five. I was aging by the minute.

  Sharise’s pale blonde hair, usually seen in sausage curls, was straight and shiny, hanging mid-way to her waist. Framed by long, dark lashes, turquoise colored eyes shot out at you, unusual and captivating, even from a distance. A high forehead and sculptured cheekbones completed the flawless look. Then she smiled and the wow factor went up by a hundred percent. Stunning white teeth – oh, please be capped – gleamed from between smiling, rose colored lips.

  Okay, I had to face it. Here was a woman and a half compacted into one. It was like watching the winner of the Miss Universe pageant, only up close and personal.

  “Hello, Lee.” Within those two words warmth, friendship, and sincerity exuded. Swept up by it all, I was surprised she didn’t continue with, ‘And if I could do one thing during my reign, it would be to bring peace and goodwill to all. And to become a brain surgeon’.

  “Hello, Sharise.” I smiled back at her, radiating I hoped, at least two-watts of personality compared to her stadium lighting. I shorted out.

  My nose twitched as the scent of her signature perfume wafted from across the table toward me. Even in the relatively open space of the restaurant, my eyes started to water. The scent, like her, was over the top. It came to me then that I hadn’t smelled the perfume on anyone else in many months.

  Long fingers ending with rose-colored nails gestured for me to sit across from her. I removed my coat, handed it off a waiter who showed up out of nowhere, and sat down. Before I could say anything she gave me an appreciative stare.

  “My goodness, Lee, no one told me how beautiful you are in person. Online photos don’t do you justice. If I didn’t know you were a private detective, I would have said you were a model.” She continued to gush. “And those eyes! Are they really lavender? Or are you wearing contacts?”

  “No, they’re mine.” I have to admit, I stuttered under the excessive brown-nosing. “I don’t wear contacts.”

  “Well, I’m jealous.” She leaned forward, almost conspiratorially. “You see, I do wear them. My natural eye color is really just plain old blue, but don’t tell anyone.”

  “If the subject ever comes up, I promise to be mum.”

  I tried to smile winningly. She smiled at me as if I was her new BFF.

  On the table before me was a small picture of a brunette. Anxious to get back to familiar territory, I picked it up and scrutinized it.

  “I take it this is a picture of June Mitchell. She doesn’t look much like you.”

  “With a stand-in it’s more the total package. She and I are the same height and body structure. When she wears my wigs and costumes, we look enough alike for lighting calls and blocking, a very time consuming thing. I prefer to be writing or practicing the piano in my dressing room.”

  I studied the picture again. “She does sort of have your smile. Not as much voltage, but similar. May I keep this?”

  Without waiting for an answer, I slipped it into the pocket of my skirt. Resting my hands in my lap, I pretended I was the proper lady I hope someday to be.

  “Of course,” Sharise said after the fact. “I printed it out for you. I took the liberty of ordering us champagne cocktails. They make a good one here.”

  She raised a hand and the waiter came to the table with two champagne flutes filled with pink, bubbling liquid. He must have been standing nearby waiting for her signal. A tall, angular man of middle age, he looked at Sharise adoringly. He set one of the festive glasses in front of me, never taking his eyes off her. He placed Sharise’s before her as if it were the Silver Chalice.

  “Thank you, Mason. We’ll order in a minute.”

  She gave him a dazzling smile. I thought he was going to faint. He nodded and left as Sharise turned to me, lifted her glass in a toast, never missing a beat.

  “Merry Christmas.”

  I lifted my glass, returning the toast. “The same to you.” I took a sip and felt an instant buzz. “Wow, I need to be careful. I should have some food in my stomach.”

  “We’ll order in a minute.” She, too, took a sip then paused, smiling at me. “So what is it you want to know about David and me?”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  She set down her glass, turning her mind to deep thinking. “I’m not sure. Maybe five or six years. I can’t even remember the last time I saw him in person.”

  “And yet he kept scrupulous notes on where you were all the time, even to your current tour in Europe.” I watched her carefully.

  “His was a different type of personality.” She shrugged. “His mind went in that direction. He had the ability to keep tabs on people and so he did.”

  “That didn’t bother you?”

  “Of course it did.” Her answer was sharp, taking on an indignant tone, which she backed off of immediately. “I was used to him getting into my personal space. I didn’t like it, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.”

  She paused, twirling the fluted drink on the table. She picked it up and took a healthy slug then looked at me.

  “You know, he raped me. Not just once, but many times.”

  I was a little taken aback by the abruptness of the statement. “David Collier raped you?”

  “My father worked for Laser One, David’s first big financial success. I was sixteen. It was this time of year, a Christmas party. I went with my parents. David saw me. He was forty-one. My father fawned over him; his big, important boss. And I was hardly more than a kid. It was the first time I ever had any alcohol other than a little wine.”

  She took a longer drink. “Anyway, to make a long story short, David took me home and I woke up the next morning in his bed. He admitted to me years later he’d given me Rohypnol. You know what that is?”

  “A date rape drug.”

  She looked at me. “And it wasn’t the only time. You need to do some catching up,” she said, gesturing to my barely touched cocktail. “Drink up.”

  I obeyed.

  Sharise raised her hand again and Mason showed up out of nowhere.

  “I’ll order you another one.”

  “I really shouldn’t. I have a long drive back to Palo Alto.”

  “Don’t be silly. Champagne cocktails are nothing more than sugar and Angostura bitters.”

  “All right. But I should ha
ve some food.”

  “Mason, bring us two more of these and some caviar. You know the one I like, Royal Osetra. And your seafood bisque.” She looked at me. “Have you had their bisque?” I shook my head. “You’ll love it.”

  Mason said nothing but nodded obsequiously before leaving. Sharise turned back to me, her smile fading.

  “My father was promoted the next day. My mother bought herself a new BMW, the one she’d always wanted. Now don’t get me wrong, I was flattered at first. David took me to Paris the following weekend and bought me an entire wardrobe. He wined and dined me. I got to ride around in his chauffeur driven limousine. But after about a month, I wanted to be with kids my own age, you know? Meanwhile, I got pregnant. When I told my parents, suddenly I was getting married to a man the same age as my father. I never even finished high school.”

  Sharise took a healthy slug of the drink. After what she’d told me, so did I. She went on, her voice quiet but razor-sharp.

  “Even at sixteen I knew the man was obsessed with me. He had to know where I went, what I did, every minute of every day. I couldn’t have any friends or social life. Being an inventor, he used things to track my movements, even when I was as big as a house with Skye. I thought I’d kill myself.”

  Sharise stopped talking when Mason arrived with the caviar sitting amidst crushed ice in a blue bowl. On his heels, another waiter set down a silver platter containing a dish of tiny pancakes. He was followed by a third waiter with smaller bowls of chopped hard boiled eggs, lemon wedges, diced white onions, and crème fraîche. When you pay nearly three hundred dollars for fish eggs, I guess they deliver it with a lot of pomp and circumstance. Everything but the king’s men blowing trumpets.

  “Help yourself,” Sharise said, with the gracious gesture of a caring hostess.

  Starving, I picked up a pancake, slathered it with cream and dropped some chopped egg on it.

  “Don’t you like caviar?” Sharise looked into my face with concern.

  “Not really. It’s a little salty for me.”

  “Try this. You’ll see Osetra isn’t very salty at all. It’s quite tasty. Put some on your blini then squeeze lemon on top.”

  I did so. She watched me then followed suit. We both took large bites of the pancakes at the same time, almost eating them in one bite. Sharise smiled at me.

  “Delicious, isn’t it?”

  I nodded and took the last bite, finishing off the small pancake. So did Sharise. We both reached for another blini and began the ritual again.

  “How do you feel?” Sharise leaned in, studying my every move.

  “Feel?”

  She nodded.

  “I feel…I feel…I don’t know, okay, I guess.”

  Sharise sat back, grinning. “You know, Lee, when we finish the caviar, why don’t we skip dinner? We should go back to my house. Tiburon’s not too far from here. We can have an uninterrupted conversation. I think you would like that.”

  “Yes, if you want me to.”

  “Good.” She turned to Mason, who had been hovering nearby holding the champagne cocktails. “Thank you, Mason, but please cancel the bisque.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The waiter set the two flutes in front of each of us. Sharise opened her bag, pulled out a credit card, and handed it to him.

  “Here’s my card. Charge whatever to it. And give yourself a thirty percent tip. Merry Christmas to you and your family.”

  His face lit up. “Thank you, Madame, and Merry Christmas to you, too.” After he bowed and scraped a little more, he left the table. Sharise returned her attention to me.

  “Where’s your car, Lee?”

  “Right outside. I left it with the valet service.”

  “Finish up your drink and the food. Then we’ll go. You’ll follow me to Tiburon in your car.”

  “All right.”

  I slathered another pancake with caviar and crème fraîche and popped it into my mouth. Then my coat appeared as mysteriously as it had vanished. I slipped into it with the help of the second waiter, who also handed me my umbrella. Sharise’s jacket was being held for her, a bright red wool, with large gold buttons. On her it looked smashing. On me, I would have looked like one of Santa’s taller elves.

  The rain had become little more than a heavy mist. After handing the valet both car checks, Sharise turned to me. A smile coated her face like soft wax.

  “Now, Lee, you are to follow me home. I’ll drive slow. Did you put the address into your GPS as I instructed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me see.“ I offered her the phone and she checked it over. “Good. Then you won’t get lost, will you?”

  “No.”

  “And you are to stay on the phone with me the entire time, understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “If another call comes in, don’t answer it, understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “And don’t stop your car for any reason, understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s go, Lee Alvarez. You’re mine now.”

  Running a real business is exacting, daunting,

  repetitive work. Even in Silicon Valley.

  Ben Stein

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  2752 Mar East Street was a one-of-a-kind modern four bedroom, five bath, bay front home on Mar East in Tiburon. Massive dollar signs, please.

  The skies had cleared considerably during the forty-minute trip to Tiburon, as they often do this time of year. I got out of my car to see panoramic views of Angel Island, San Francisco, and the Golden Gate Bridge lighting up the sky. I stood for a moment, listening to water lapping at a dock on the bay side of the house.

  “Come on, Lee.” Sharise called to me from the entrance to the house. “You’ll get a better view from inside the house.”

  I stepped over the threshold, both hands in my coat pockets, and past the waiting Sharise. She held out her hand.

  “Give me your phone.”

  I complied. Drawn to an unobstructed view of the San Francisco Bay and the City skyline seen through floor to ceiling windows, I crossed into the large living room. To the left was a hallway leading to the bedrooms. To the right was a six-sided, enclosed terrarium where several medium sized trees were flourishing. Sharise’s voice caused me to turn around and face her.

  “Now I’m going to make you a nice little drink. Wouldn’t you like that?”

  “Another dose of Devil’s Breath? Lethal enough to make me take a long walk off that short pier out there?” Before she could answer, I walked over to the enclosure. “This must be where the borrachero scopolamine tree hangs out.”

  “What? Sorry?” She stuttered in her surprise. “What’s that you said?”

  “At first I thought it was in Collier’s rainforest, but it occurred to me his is overseen by a barrage of caretakers. They’d have spotted it in a hot minute. At the very least it would be on the inventory list. I’ll bet you know how to take care of your tree. Everything seems to be doing just fine in there.”

  “I thought you --”

  “You thought I was under the spell of Devil’s Breath, courtesy of June’s photo? No, no. I figured it would be chancy in a public restaurant if you dropped a dose in a drink or blew some in my face. You might be overseen. But slathering a photo with some beforehand? Now there’s the ticket. So I covered my hands with Vaseline right before I came into the restaurant. Petroleum jelly; impenetrable. And after I touched June’s photo, I used a hand sanitizer from my bag, just to be on the safe side.”

  I walked toward her, displaying my hands as I talked.

  “I was hoping you’d do something like that. That’s why I asked you for the photo. The cops are going to love what’s on it, I’m sure. What was the plan, Sharise? Bring me here to drown me in the bay? Or have me jump off the Golden Gate Bridge before they put the preventive netting up? That’s supposed to happen any day now.”

  After a brief hesitation, Sharise made a quick move to run away. I made a quicker one and withdrew t
he revolver from the pocket of my coat. Aiming it at her, I stepped closer, but still kept my distance. I didn’t want anything blown in my face.

  “Uh-uh. Stay right where you are. Don’t make any more sudden moves or I’ll be forced to shoot you. I know how Devil’s Breath works and five people are dead from it. You’re not making it six.”

  Sharise froze for a moment, probably considering her options. I took the opportunity to withdraw another phone from my pocket. The rock singer stared in disbelief.

  “The one I gave you was a throwaway. This is my real phone, linked to D. I.’s mainframe, as well as PAPD. Our entire conversation, since I walked into the restaurant, has been recorded. Before I came inside your house, I texted Frank to call the Marin Police Department.”

  I gestured with my Tomcat to one of her forest green leather chairs. “Let’s sit down and wait for the police. They should be here in about five minutes.”

  She sat down slowly, never taking her eyes off me. I sat across from her on the matching sofa, leaned forward, and pushed a tall flower arrangement on the coffee table aside. I, too, wanted an unimpeded view of my adversary. I was taking no chances. Sharise smiled suddenly and leaned forward, as well.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We were just having a little fun, you and I.”

  “Killing people isn’t fun. At least, not to most of us.”

  “And how did I kill these five people you mentioned? I was in Germany until this morning.”

  “No you weren’t. Your stand-in was. You and June switched passports. You arrived in San Francisco three days ago, disguised as June. With a brunette wig on, you look like her or close enough for jazz. All you needed was Ty’s help in making everyone believe you were still in Germany syncing the movie. But it wasn’t you. It was June wearing a blonde wig, your clothes, and imitating your mannerisms. June looked and acted enough like you to fool people who’d never met the real Sharise before.”

  Sharise scowled at me, her features turning hard and ugly. “I see I should have taken care of you first, before David. But I had just learned about your being hired that day. Unfortunately, it was all set up with David. He was so eager for me to meet him, especially as I’d returned early from Europe just to be with him.” Her tone was mocking and churlish. “I’m sure you figured out by now he and I had gotten together a few times in Switzerland at my suggestion. He thought I was softening, planning to go back to him. For a smart man David could be such an idiot.”