Sex, Lies & Serious Money

by Stuart Woods

  Laurence hung up and dismissed the incident from his mind. After all, he could afford the loss.

  18

  LAURENCE AND THERESA took the elevator down to the garage. “I’ve something to show you,” he said, taking her hand and walking her around a corner. “You like it?”

  Theresa put a hand on the Porsche and walked around it.

  “The dealer delivered it this afternoon.”

  “It’s gorgeous,” she said.

  Oliver was waiting beside the Bentley.

  “Theresa, something popped into my mind after the police left. Your brother, Butch, was in the apartment that day when you put away my clothes.”

  “That’s right, he was.”

  “Would he have had access to a key to the place?”

  Theresa thought about it. “No, someone from the front desk walked us upstairs and let us in. Neither of us had a key. The door locked itself when we left. I hope you don’t suspect Butch of anything.”

  “Oh, no, I was just trying to think of who else might have a key.”

  “And my key was in my purse the whole time we were in England.”

  “That’s right.”

  Oliver drove them to a restaurant farther uptown, Caravaggio, where Stone and the Bacchettis awaited them, at Laurence’s invitation. He introduced them to Theresa.

  “I hear you’ve had a problem,” Stone said.

  “Yes, someone got into my apartment and stole some checks from my checkbook. They got three hundred thousand while we were in England.”

  “I didn’t know you were in England.”

  “Yes, my stepfather had a heart attack and bypass surgery. I went to be with my mother while he recovers, and he’s doing well. We had planned just to fly around the country, but we went across the Atlantic.”

  “Did the airplane do well?”

  “It did very well indeed.”

  “How about you?”

  “My mentor pilot said that he could be of no further use, so I’m on my own now.”

  “Laurence,” Dino said, “did you have any further ideas about how someone could have gotten a key to your place?”

  “The only thing I can figure is that some member of the hotel staff used a pass key.”

  “My people ran a check on everybody who might have had access,” Dino said. “Nobody with a criminal record, and most of them are longtime employees.”

  “Well, I’m just going to have to let it go,” Laurence said. “Let’s order.”

  They did so.

  “Are you going to do any more flying soon?” Stone asked.

  “I thought, if Theresa can take some more time off, I’d run down to Palm Beach and make sure the house is in order. It’s being painted in my absence.”

  “I had a month of vacation time built up,” Theresa said, “but we’ve used ten days of it. How about I take another week?”

  “We can get a lot of miles under our belt in a week,” Laurence said. “Stone has kindly offered us his house at the Arrington, in Los Angeles. We could start there, then maybe pop up to Napa and stock up on wines.”

  “Sounds good,” Theresa said.

  —

  THEY LANDED at Palm Beach International and took a cab to Laurence’s father’s house. When they turned into the driveway, they found a police car parked there.

  Laurence opened the door and put their bags in the hallway; he could hear voices. Hilda, the housekeeper, came out of the study. “Oh, Mr. Laurence, I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Why the police, Hilda?”

  “Someone’s been in the house. I found your father’s desk ransacked.”

  Laurence went into the study and found two detectives waiting. “Was anything taken?”

  “I don’t think so,” Hilda said.

  “It appears they were looking for something,” a cop offered.

  “They were looking for me,” Laurence said. “A policeman friend warned me this might happen.”

  “Why were they looking for you?”

  “I came into some money, and it made the papers.”

  “Ah,” the detective said, “you’re the Powerball guy.”

  “Powerball?” Theresa asked.

  “I’ll explain later.”

  “What could they have found here?” a cop asked.

  “Perhaps my address in England, but that’s about it.”

  “You think the press is hunting you down?”

  “That’s what I think.” He turned to Hilda. “Are the painters done?”

  “Yes, yesterday, and they did a beautiful job, cleaned up after themselves, too. And by the way, I want to thank you for giving me your father’s car. I just love it.”

  “I think that’s what he would have wanted,” he said.

  Laurence thanked the cops for coming, and he and Hilda took their bags upstairs.

  “Powerball?” Theresa said, when she had gone.

  “That’s where the money came from,” he replied. “I hadn’t gotten around to telling you.”

  “No reason why you should have,” she said.

  “Dino warned me this might happen. I think we should go on to L.A. tomorrow. I don’t want to be seen here.”

  “That’s fine with me.”

  —

  THEY LEFT the house early in the morning for the airport and took off half an hour later. They made Santa Fe, where they stopped for fuel, then continued to Los Angeles, landing at Santa Monica Airport, where Stone had sent an Arrington Bentley for them. Soon they were ensconced in a guest room in the handsome house.

  Shortly afterward, Laurence’s cell phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Laurence, it’s Mom. Something very odd is going on here.”

  “What is it?”

  “We’ve had two newspaper reporters on the property today, and the phone has not stopped ringing.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “We’re baffled. They’re saying you won some sort of lottery?”

  “I’m sorry, Mom, I should have explained while I was there. The story is true, but you don’t need to confirm or deny it to anyone, just hang up if they call again, and call the police if they come onto the property.”

  “What sort of lottery?”

  “It’s called Powerball, and I won several hundred million dollars.”

  “That’s astonishing!”

  “Yes, it is. Theresa and I are traveling right now, so I’m hoping all this will blow over before we return to New York.”

  “How did they get our names and number?”

  “They broke into Dad’s house in Palm Beach, and they must have found his address book or some other paper with my English address. I was told this might happen, but I didn’t believe it.”

  “All right, we’ll follow your instructions. Give our love to Theresa.”

  “I certainly will. Goodbye, Mom.” He hung up.

  “They’re harassing your parents?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  “Are they likely to track you to New York?”

  “Perhaps. Dino warned me this might happen. At least no one knows where we are now.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  19

  THEY WERE HAVING breakfast in bed, when Laurence’s cell phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Laurence? It’s Marge.”

  “Good morning, Marge. What’s up?”

  “I’ve had a call from the hotel manager this morning. He says the front desk has been besieged by press and media people, looking for you.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Exactly. What do they want?”

  “They’ve discovered that I won Powerball, that’s all. They’ll go away when they can’t find me.”

  “The manager has refused to give them any information about you, or even to ac
knowledge that you live here.”

  “That’s exactly what he should do. Please thank him for me.”

  “Is there anything you want me to do?”

  “The telephone there is not listed in my name, so you shouldn’t be harassed. If any of them get upstairs, call hotel security.”

  “All right.”

  “Call me if anything of importance happens.”

  “I will.”

  Laurence hung up. “They’ve already traced me to New York and shown up at the Fairleigh,” he said to Theresa.

  “We’re sheltered here,” she said.

  Laurence picked up the house phone and rang the concierge.

  “Yes, Mr. Hayward?”

  “If anyone inquires if I’m staying here, please deny it.”

  “We would never divulge such a thing to anyone, sir.”

  “Good. When the New York papers arrive, will you send them all to me?”

  “A Times was sent with your breakfast, sir. The tabloids will be in this afternoon sometime. I’ll send them to you.”

  “Thank you.” He hung up and turned to Theresa. “Shall we hit Rodeo Drive this morning?”

  “All right. I’ll need an hour to get myself together.”

  Laurence ordered a car and asked the concierge to get them a table at Spago Beverly Hills for lunch. He had a thought. “Please book the table in the name of Beresford,” he said.

  “As you wish, sir.”

  “Where did you come up with that name?” Theresa asked.

  “It’s my mother’s maiden name and my middle name.”

  “Nice to have an alias, in the circumstances.”

  —

  THEY WERE DRIVEN to Beverly Hills and strolled Rodeo Drive, looking in windows and doing some light shopping. When he started into the Ralph Lauren shop she tugged at his sleeve. “I’d rather do that at home and get my discount.”

  They visited Cartier, and Laurence bought her a tank wristwatch and an extra-large one for himself. When they pulled up to Spago for lunch and got out of the Bentley, someone with a camera ran up and took their photograph.

  “Can they know?” Theresa asked.

  “Unlikely. They probably shoot everyone who gets out of a Bentley.” Inside he gave the name Beresford to the woman at the lectern.

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Hayward, right this way.” She led them to a table at the center of the garden.

  “How did you know my name?” he asked the woman as they were seated.

  “Just a moment.” She disappeared and came back with a newspaper. “See the entertainment section,” she said.

  Laurence found it, and his photograph was on the first page, with the headline “English Schoolmaster Wins Powerball Big.” Full details followed.

  “You had a beard?” Theresa asked, looking at the photograph.

  “Yes, and as you can see, a lot more hair. Dino said a shave and a haircut were a good disguise for me, and he was right. At least they don’t have a more recent photograph.”

  —

  THEY WERE IN the middle of lunch when the woman approached. “Mr. Hayward, I’m afraid that there is a knot of paparazzi at the front door. When you’re ready to leave the restaurant we can get you out the rear door. You might let your driver know.”

  “Thank you so much,” he said, and called the car. “Park somewhere near the rear of the restaurant, not at the door, but within sight of it. I’ll call back when we’re ready to leave.” He hung up. “Relax, let’s finish our lunch.”

  After he had paid the check, he called the driver. “Right now at the rear door, and have the car door open when we emerge.” He hung up. “Shall we make our escape?”

  The head waitress escorted them to a rear door and peeped outside. “Your car is there and ready,” she said.

  They ran from the door to the waiting car and dove into the rear seat, then they were off.

  “If we’re followed, try to lose them,” Laurence said to the driver.

  “If it’s the paparazzi, they’ll know the car is from the Arrington. They have all our license plate numbers. They may meet us at the hotel.”

  “Let’s drive out to Malibu, then.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  It was a beautiful day, and they enjoyed the drive out Sunset Boulevard and up the coast, then they headed back to the hotel.

  “Is there another entrance besides the main one?” Laurence asked the driver.

  “Yes, sir, there’s a more discreet one that we use for heads of state and the like, who are staying in one of the two presidential cottages, which are next door to Mr. Barrington’s house. I’ll phone ahead for access.”

  “Good man.”

  They made it onto the property, apparently undetected, and were driven to the house. The New York tabloids were waiting for them.

  LIMEY POWERBALL WINNER LANDS IN BIG APPLE, LIVES LARGE.

  “My God, they’ve got photographs of the apartment from the Times piece,” Laurence said.

  The butler greeted them. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hayward, Ms. Crane. Security called and warned of paparazzi near the hotel.” He handed them two small devices with wristbands attached. “It might be a good idea to wear these, should you leave the house. They will summon Security instantly.”

  “Thank you,” Laurence said, and they both put them on. He looked at Theresa. “I was thinking of a skinny-dip in the pool,” he said, “but now, not so much.”

  “Let’s curl up in bed and watch a movie,” she suggested.

  “I need to make a call first.” He pressed the button for the concierge.

  “Yes, Mr. Hayward?”

  “What time does the sun come up in the morning?”

  “One moment. Five forty-six AM,” he replied.

  “I’d like a car to depart at five-thirty,” he said.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Two other things—see if you can get us a nice suite at . . . just a moment.” He found a copy of Sunset magazine and looked up an ad he had seen. “At Auberge du Soleil,” he said.

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “And please call Atlantic Aviation at Santa Monica Airport and have my airplane fueled and ready for departure at five-thirty AM.”

  “I’ll confirm shortly,” the man said. “How many nights?”

  “Ah, three. And please arrange hangar space and a luxury rental car at Napa Airport.” He hung up.

  Ten minutes later, the concierge confirmed all his bookings.

  Shortly before dawn the following morning, their car left the hotel and headed for the airport.

  20

  STONE BARRINGTON put down the newspaper and called Laurence’s cell phone.

  “Hello, Stone, how are you?”

  “Very well, thanks, but I’m concerned about you.”

  “We’re just fine. We saw the New York papers yesterday, and we flew up to Napa this morning. We’re at Auberge du Soleil, in Rutherford.”

  “Very nice place. Are you being bothered?”

  “Not while they don’t know where we are. I checked in under my middle name, Beresford. I don’t know how they could trace us here, we’re out in the country.”

  “Just be ready for it.”

  “Everything Dino had predicted has happened,” he said, “right up to their breaking into my father’s house in Palm Beach. We walked in to find the police there.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. How long are you staying in Rutherford?”

  “Maybe three nights. I want to buy some wine while we’re here.”

  “And what’s your itinerary after that?”

  “Wherever the wind blows us.”

  “All right, keep in touch.”

  Laurence hung up. “Stone is concerned about us.”

  “Sooner or later we’ll be right in the middle of it,” There
sa said.

  “Maybe they’ll be tired of us by the time we get back.”

  “I had a thought,” she said. “An old girlfriend of mine from college lives in Santa Fe. She’s always asking me to visit. Have you ever been there?”

  “No, I haven’t seen a lot of the West. Sure, let’s go there from here.”

  “I’ll give her a call.”

  —

  THEY SPENT the next two days touring the vineyards, and Laurence bought a dozen cases of wine for his cooler in New York. After the third night, they flew to Santa Fe, rented a car, and found Theresa’s friend’s house. “Her name is Becky Gardner. Her husband is Ted. He’s a writer.”

  The house was off Tano Road, on the north side of the town, and it was roomy, comfortable, and had wonderful views of the Jemez Mountains. The Gardners were cordial, and their room was delightful.

  “I’ve invited some people over for dinner tonight,” Becky said. “I hope that’s all right.”

  “Of course,” Laurence said.

  —

  ONE OF THE DINNER GUESTS had brought a copy of People magazine and handed it to Laurence. “I don’t know if you’ve seen this yet.”

  The magazine fell open to a spread of pictures, of himself and the New York apartment. “No, I haven’t seen this, but I’ve been expecting something like it.” He handed the magazine to Theresa. “Now I’m a national item, I guess.” The others passed it around.

  “You look better without the beard,” a woman said.

  “And harder to recognize,” her husband pointed out.

  “What’s it like to become rich overnight?” someone asked.

  “Extremely weird,” Laurence replied. “I managed to avoid the media, until they broke into my father’s house in Palm Beach and found my address in England, and from there, they traced me to New York, and so on. I don’t suppose they’ve followed me to Santa Fe yet. We’ll try to be gone before they do,” he said to his hostess.

  “Don’t worry about it. Stay as long as you can. We’re off the beaten track out here.”

  —

  BACK IN NEW YORK, Butch Crane and Curly were reading People. “I guess I didn’t really understand who my sis had gotten involved with,” Butch said.