Her eyes were rimmed in red, and she was clutching a tissue in one hand. At her side was her husband, one hand on his wife’s elbow, the other shoving a pair of spectacles back onto the bridge of his nose.
“Phoebe,” I called.
She looked up, recognition struggling behind her eyes.
“Maddie Springer,” I supplied. “We came to see you the other day about Alexa.”
She nodded. “Yes, I remember you.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, looking past her down the hall as if the answer might materialize.
“We were making arrangements with our attorney.”
“Wait,” I said, my rusty mental wheels squeaking into action, “Goldstein is your attorney?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yes. He’s handled all the family’s affairs.”
Mental forehead smack.
“He’s helping us with the arrangements for Alexa’s funeral,” she added, her voice cracking on the last word, prompting the tissue to hit her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry,” her husband said, putting an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “But we’ve had a rough day. Do you mind?” he asked, brushing past us without waiting for an answer.
I watched them get onto the elevator, riding back down to reception number one.
“That’s quite a coincidence,” I mumbled.
“I’ll say,” Dana agreed. “The same guy who’s sleeping with Becca and is the last person to see her alive also just happens to be Alexa’s family lawyer. What are the chances?”
My thoughts exactly. “Let’s go find out.”
Chapter Seventeen
“You didn’t tell us that you knew Alexa before the parties,” I said, once we had made it past receptionist number three and into Goldstein’s inner offices.
Goldstein shook his head. “No, I didn’t. It’s called attorney-client privilege.”
“So Alexa was your client?”
He paused. “I’ve been handling her family’s affairs for some time. I mostly dealt with Phoebe, but I knew Alexa.”
“That’s what her sister told us,” I said. “So you knew both Alexa and Becca slash Willow before you even started going to Sebastian’s parties?”
He shook his head. “No, I knew Alexa. Becca I met at the parties.”
“And that’s when you started sleeping with her,” Dana jumped in.
Goldstein shot her a look. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have to answer any of your questions. And I don’t particularly want to. So if you’ll please excuse me,” he said, gesturing toward his door.
But Dana wasn’t giving up that easily. “Look, pal, you can either talk to us, or we can talk to you wife,” she told him, leaving the threat hanging in the air.
Goldstein opened his mouth to protest, his cheeks going a deep red. But he must have seen the determination in Dana’s eyes, as he shut his mouth again with a loud click. “Fine. Yes, Becca and I… spent time together. Becca was very special.”
The use of the past tense told me that unlike Alexa, he had heard of Becca’s passing. “We found her body yesterday,” I told him.
His poker face slipped seamlessly into place. Whether he was saddened or relived by the fact that she was gone was a total mystery. “I heard,” he said.
“She was killed in North Hollywood. Right where you dropped her off,” I added.
“How horrible,” came his monotone reply.
“Which means,” I prompted, “that you were the last person to see her alive.”
He paused, his eyes going from Dana to me. “Not quite,” he countered. “Her killer would have been the last person to see her alive.”
I raised an eyebrow his way. “Interesting distinction.”
“An accurate one,” he said, his meaning clear.
“Coincidental that she died right after you dropped her off.”
Goldstein sat back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. “The police have determined the time of death?”
I paused. Honestly? I had no idea what the police had determined. I was kind of avoiding the police in general and one lead homicide detective specifically. “I’m not sure,” I admitted.
“Well, you found her yesterday afternoon. That leaves a very large window of time from when I dropped her off the night before and when you found her. She could have been killed at any time.”
Crap. This guy was good. I made a mental note to call him if I ever had any legal trouble.
I also silently decided it was time to get a peek at the M.E.’s report.
“When you dropped off Becca did you see anyone else around?” Dana asked, switching gears.
He paused. “There were a few people in the area.”
“Any of them approach Becca? Anyone talk to her?”
“Not that I saw. It was dark, and I just dropped her off, then drove away.”
“You dropped her off in a shady part of town, late at night, and just took off?” I asked.
He stared me down, and for a moment I had a horrible glimpse of what it would be like to face him across the witness stand.
“She asked me to drive her home,” he said. “I drove her where she wanted to go. I didn’t know she was going to be killed. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said rising and gesturing to the open door.
Clearly that was all we were going to get from Mr. Courtroom. So, without much choice, we left.
“He seems guilty if you ask me,” Dana said as we got in the elevator.”
I nodded. “But guilty of what, is the question. Poor judgment? Adultery? Or murder?”
“All three?” Dana asked, shrugging her shoulders.
“What do you think Becca was doing in North Hollywood anyway?” I asked. “I mean, if she’s running for her life, why not have him drop her off at the bus station or the airport?”
Dana nodded. “Good point. Maybe she knew someone in the building?”
I was just about to jump on that theory when the elevator dropped us off in the lobby, and Bill Blaise stepped toward us.
“We need to talk,” he said, his voice low and urgent. I noticed that his wife was conspicuously absent this time.
“What is it?” I asked, as he ushered us to a quiet corner near a potted banana tree.
“This whole thing is very upsetting to my wife,” he said.
I nodded. “I can understand why.”
“She’s feeling guilty for not having done enough for Alexa, even though I’ve told her we did all we could.”
“I’m so sorry. I can only imagine,” I said, honestly meaning it.
“The more questions the police ask, the worse it is for her,” he continued. “What we need is to put this whole thing behind us and move on with our lives.”
“Okay.” I nodded again, not 100% sure where he was going with this.
“Once the funeral is over, I plan to take my wife on an extended vacation. Get her out of town, away from all this.” He paused. “I’d really appreciate it if you could leave our family alone until then.”
I raised an eyebrow his way. “Well, we came here to speak with Goldstein, not you and your wife.”
He paused. “Goldstein. What does he have to do with this?”
I shifted, not entirely sure how much I should share.
“We think he may have been close to Becca. Alexa’s friend.”
His eyebrows furrowed together again. “The one they just found?”
I nodded. “He was the last person to see her alive.”
“And you think he may have had something to do with her death?” he asked, leaning in close. “And Alexa’s?”
“We’re really not sure,” I hedged. “We’re just gathering information at this point.”
He took this all in, his eyes unreadable. “I see. Well, like I said, I’d really appreciate it if you would keep my wife out of it all. I…” he paused, genuine emotion showing behind his eyes. “I just don’t want to see her hurt anymore.”
“I understand,” I said.
“Thank
you,” he said. He pursed his lips together, then nodded at both Dana and I before turning away.
But as I watched him walk across the lobby then push through the glass front doors of the building, I couldn’t help but wonder just how much of that speech had been about protecting his wife and how much had been about discerning what we’d just pulled from Goldstein.
* * *
“I’m starving,” I said as we got back into Dana’s Mustang. “Any chance we could go grab a burger?”
Dana bit her lip. “Actually, I think we should be getting home.”
“Please, just a quick one?” I pleaded. “I’ll get it to go?”
“Let’s eat at your place,” Dana protested, getting on the 101.
I felt my forehead wrinkling. “Why?”
“Weeell… I just have some stuff to do this afternoon.”
“Stuff?”
“Uh huh.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“You know.” She shrugged. “Stuff.”
“O-kay,” I responded. “Fine. Let’s go to my place. But hurry. I kinda have to pee.”
* * *
Once we pulled up to my house, Dana parked in the drive and followed me up the pathway to the front door. I stuck my key in, turned the knob, pushed through the front doors… and was immediately assaulted by dozens of pink and blue balloons.
“Surprise!” about fifteen different people yelled, jumping out from my kitchen. Among them I spotted my mom, Mrs. Rosenblatt, my cousin, Molly, and Marco and his Norwegian bodybuilder, Gunnar.
I blinked. Oh lord. I didn’t know what this was, but it couldn’t be good.
Marco jumped forward, grabbing me in a big bear hug. “Did you know? Did we surprise you? Your mom said for sure you’d know, but I said, ‘No way, she’ll be totally surprised.’”
“I’m totally surprised,” I promised him. “What is this?”
“Your baby shower,” Mom said, coming in for a hug of her own.
I blinked, my eyes going around the room. “Wow, that’s really… wow,” I said, taking in the decorations. My living room had been entirely transformed into a sea of pink and blue streamers. Cardboard baby bottles, pacifiers and carriages had been plastered on every square inch of wall space. And in the center of the room stood a six foot tall, plastic stork.
I turned to find Dana grinning behind me.
“Did you know about this?” I asked.
She nodded, pure white teeth smiling from ear to ear.
“And you didn’t warn me?”
She shrugged. “It was surprise.”
“I’m totally interviewing for a new best friend,” I mumbled to her as Marco grabbed my right hand, Mom grabbed my left, and together they dragged me to a chair set under the stork.
“Presents,” Mom instructed my cousin, Molly. “She’s in shock. She needs a present!”
A second later a package wrapped in yellow paper was thrust into my lap, fifteen eager eyes turned my way, as Mom instructed, “Open it.”
“This one’s from me,” Molly said. Molly had four kids, short brown hair cut into a Tipper Gore bob, and a mini-van with at least a box and a half of Cheerios shoved down the seats. Molly was all my greatest fears about motherhood wrapped into one loafer-wearing package.
I carefully pulled the paper back, lifted the lid of the cardboard box beneath, and pulled out a cone-shaped thing covered in little blue teddy bears.
I held it up, raising an eyebrow at Molly.
“It’s a Peepee Teepee!” she proudly exclaimed.
“A what?”
“You put it on a baby boy’s wee-wee so that he doesn’t shoot you in the eye with pee-pee while you’re changing his diaper,” she explained.
I looked down at the cone. “Does that actually happen?”
Molly laughed. “All the time.”
Another great reason to cross my fingers for a girl.
“Mine next,” Mom said, thrusting a package at me covered in little green boats.
I pulled at the tissue, digging around inside the bag, and came out with what looked like a tiny, blue straightjacket.
“What’s this?” I asked, that familiar bubble of panic settling in as I realized I didn’t know what any of this stuff was.
“A baby carrier!” my mom announced, taking it from my hands and proceeding to wrap it around my middle. “Now you can have your baby strapped to you wherever you go.”
“Actually, I’m really kind of looking forward to not carrying a baby around on my belly,” I protested as she continued to strap me in.
“You’ll love this,” she said, completely ignoring me. “You can have you hands free this way.”
“Can’t I just put the baby down and have my hands free?”
Mom stopped strapping and looked at me in horror.
“I’d put her down gently,” I promised.
But she just clucked her tongue at me.
About a hundred straps later, Mom was done, and I had what looked like a kangaroo pouch strapped to my front.
Mom reached into my Santana bag, grabbed Baby-So-Lifelike, and shoved the vinyl doll into the pouch. “There! A perfect fit!”
I opened my mouth to protest, but didn’t get a chance.
“The games are ready!” Marco announced, clapping his hands together. “Everyone come out to the backyard. We have some fabu party games ready!”
Reluctantly, I followed, trying (without much luck) to wiggle out from the straightjacket’s grasp as I made my way into the backyard.
California real estate being worth what it was, yards in L.A. were generally small patches of semi-green (thanks to our perpetual droughts) grass. But Ramirez had made the best use possible of our small outdoor space, building a stone patio to one side of the lawn, which was at present filled with rows of tables clad in bright yellow tablecloths. Covered in yellow ducks. Wearing yellow baby bonnets. In the center of each one was a metal baby carriage overflowing with pink and blue flowers.
“Maddie, you sit here,” Marco said, indicating a spot at the head of one table. “We’re going to play Name That Food.”
Okay, now we were getting somewhere. Food was good. I didn’t dare hope he was bringing out burgers, but my growling stomach wasn’t in the mood to be too picky right about now.
“Everyone take a seat,” Marco instructed. “I’m handing out plates of baby food. Your mission is to taste each one, then guess as many flavors correctly as you can.”
Mom took a spot next to me, Gunnar taking the one on the other side and Molly sitting beside him as Marco set down paper plates with several little piles of colorful mush on each.
I sniffed at the plate. Okay, whoever called this “food” had a loose interpretation of the word. I gingerly stuck my finger in a pile of purple mush and tasted it on the tip of my tongue.
Huh, not so bad, actually. Plum if I had to guess. I wrote my answer down on the yellow notepad Marco had provided, then moved on to the next pile.
This one was orange. I stuck my finger in and gave it a lick.
Then immediately regretted it.
I wrote “chicken vomit” on my pad.
I hesitantly tried the next pile, a pale green one. It was a cross between cold pea soup and kindergarten paste.
I made a mental note to never feed my child this. It was tantamount to child abuse.
After completely failing at the baby food test (the answers were Prunes, Chicken and Rice, and Peas and Carrots), Marco brought out the next game.
“Baby Jeopardy!” he announced. “I’ll call out a question, and the first person to shout out the answer, in the form of a question,” he added, “wins. Everyone ready?”
I sat up straighter in my chair. I had read What to Expect When You’re Expecting at least three times, cover to cover. I’d even memorized the first two chapters of What to Expect the First Year. This one I could do.
“What,” Marco asked, reading off of a little yellow index card, “is the age at which babies first learn to crawl?�
�
“What is two!” I shouted out.
Mom turned to me. “Years?”
I bit my lip. “Um… months?” I said, though it came out more of a question.
Mom looked down at Baby-So-Lifelike with something akin to sympathy in her eyes.
“Sorry, that’s incorrect,” Marco said shaking his head. “Anyone else?”
My cousin, Molly, raised her hand. “According to the American Academy of Pediatricians, most babies hit that developmental milestone between the ages of six and ten months. So, what is six to ten months?”
“Correct!” Marco said. “Very impressive honey. One point for the woman with the fabu bob.”
Molly preened in her seat.
“No fair,” I mumbled under my breath. “I haven’t gotten to that chapter yet.”
“Next question,” Marco announced. “At what age do babies get their first tooth?”
I wisely stayed silent on this one, letting my cousin, Molly, shout out an answer again. “Most pediatricians agree that children will get their first deciduous tooth between the ages of four and seven months.”
“Correct!” Marco said. “But you didn’t phrase it in the form of a question.”
Molly’s face fell.
“Okay, next question. How long do most pediatricians recommend you breastfeed your baby?”
“What is twelve months!” Mrs. Rosenblatt shouted out this time.
“Correct!” Marco said. “One point for the lady in the fashionable muumuu!”
“Wait,” I said, leaning toward my mom. “Didn’t he
just say that babies get their first teeth at four months?”
Mom nodded.
“And then we breastfeed for another eight months?”
She nodded again.
My nipples cringed. Suddenly feeding The Bump pea-puke baby food didn’t sound like such a bad idea after all.
Chapter Eighteen
Three hours, two party games, and one cake shaped like a stork later, I was just cleaning up the last of the balloons when Ramirez walked through the front door. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the mounds of pink and blue colored tissue paper.
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