Hell on Wheels

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “I know it’s a long shot, but I wanted to rule out a long-held grudge.”

  “Good idea,” said Greg. “But since Tanaka wasn’t the driver, he wasn’t directly responsible for what happened. I doubt it has any bearing on what’s happening now.”

  “That’s what I thought after reading the report. Still, if we run out of leads, we can try this. Meanwhile, I think I should start with questioning some of Miranda’s friends and coworkers. I’d like to see if they knew anything about Miranda and Peter Tanaka. I’ll try to get in touch with someone this afternoon.”

  “Great,” said Greg. “Things are quieting down here at the shop, so maybe I’ll check in with some of the other players and see what they know. I also want to contact the coach of the Vipers. Even though the team is based in Ventura, I understand the coach lives down here.”

  “Really?” I was surprised, still picturing the small, wiry man pointing at Rocky while he shouted asesino over and over. Ventura was about eighty or so miles from here.

  “That’s not unusual. Players have to live within one hundred and fifty miles of the teams they play on. It might be the same for the coaches. The Vipers are sponsored by a health care company based in Ventura.”

  “So why don’t we reach out to our prospective leads and circle back later?” I suggested. “Once we know which direction we’re heading, we can decide if we’re going together or separately.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Greg agreed. “Are you going to Steele’s tonight?”

  “No. He wanted me to, but I got him to agree to my sending the work to him by messenger.”

  Greg laughed, then gave me a kiss goodbye with a promise to call me back in a few hours.

  Twelve

  After talking to Greg, I ran to the ladies’ room. On my way back to my office I heard someone call my name. I stopped in the hallway, not sure where it was coming from. I stood still and held my breath, listening for it again like it was an elusive bird call or a comment from God.

  “Odelia,” I heard again, followed by “in here.”

  I turned toward the voice. It was coming from an empty office, one furnished with the bare-bones necessities of a desk, desk chair, visitor’s chair, and a computer. It was the office we reserved for visiting attorneys from the head office. I peeked inside to find Simon Tobin, one of the founding partners of Templin and Tobin, sitting at the desk, staring in my direction. He waved me inside.

  In a way, it was God.

  “Do you have a bit of time for me, Odelia?” he asked.

  “You pay me to have time for you, Mr. Tobin.”

  My remark caused him to grant me a wry half smile. “Good answer, and please call me Simon.”

  I stepped inside. With the grand gesture of a gentleman from a Jane Austen novel, he stood up and indicated the chair opposite him. When I sat down, he walked to the door and gently closed it before returning to his seat. Steele would have kept working and snapped at me to catch the door on my way in.

  I’d met Simon Tobin in person only once before, and that was during my orientation to the firm, which took place at the large home office in Los Angeles the first week I started working for T&T. The staff in LA seemed to like and respect him a great deal. Since then, I’d seen him numerous times during business department meetings, which were conducted by video between the two offices, but had had no direct contact since he had a paralegal at his disposal in LA.

  “I didn’t know you were coming to Newport Beach, Simon,” I said as I willed myself not to fidget in my seat. “Since Mike Steele’s out, maybe you’d be more comfortable in his office.”

  Simon waved off the idea with the flip of an elegant hand. “No need,” he told me. “I’m only here for today and tomorrow, and I have appointments outside the office most of tomorrow.”

  Simon Tobin reminded me—and everyone else who met him—of Tim Gunn of Project Runway fame, right down to being impeccably tailored, silver haired, and gay.

  “But speaking of Mike,” Simon continued, “how is he doing? Have you seen him?”

  “Yes, I have. My husband and I visited him on Monday, and I was there last night going over some work with him.” I left out the part that during his convalescence Steele was working for me researching poison and murder, leaving Simon to assume anything he wanted from my words.

  “Do you think he’ll be back in the office next week?”

  “Why don’t you call and ask him that yourself?” Then, lest Simon think I was being cheeky, I tacked on, “I think Steele would be a more accurate gauge of his own recovery.”

  Another half smile as Simon’s steely blue eyes studied me from behind expensive, trendy frames. “I called him last night and he told me he’d be back on Monday, but frankly he didn’t sound all that well.”

  I nodded, understanding what he meant. “Steele got hit in the face pretty hard and his mouth is swollen, but each day he sounds a little bit better—at least he did when I spoke to him a couple of hours ago. And when I saw him yesterday he was moving around a lot more than when we saw him on Monday.”

  Simon still didn’t look convinced. “I don’t want him to rush back if he’s seriously injured, but at the same time Jolene looks…well, she looks about to take her leave. If they are both going to be out at the same time, I need to make sure the business department is properly covered in this office.”

  “I understand, but we’re not terribly busy right now, and so far Steele has been able to handle everything from home. He’s told me he plans on being back Monday, and I have no reason to think otherwise.” I paused, then added, “Why don’t you drop by and see for yourself? He lives just down in Laguna Beach, and I’m sure he’d welcome the visit.”

  Liar, liar, pants on fire! rang in my head in a chorus of schoolyard chants. It wasn’t just a lie, it was a whopper of a lie. The last thing Steele wanted was a name partner of T&T on his doorstep. I’m sure if he’d heard me utter those words to Simon Tobin, he would have strangled me on the spot. But there it was—a bluff, played in the hope it would put Simon off from any more concerns about Steele.

  “No,” Simon answered after a few seconds of consideration, “but I think I will give him another call later.”

  “Okay.” Inside, I was huffing and puffing with relief. “We have a messenger taking things to him at the end of the day, so if you have anything you want to get to Steele, just leave it with Jill, his secretary. She sits just outside his office.”

  “Thank you, Odelia.”

  I got up to leave, but Simon motioned for me to remain. I settled back in the chair and waited. Whatever else was on Simon’s mind, he was having trouble spitting it out. Maybe his fancy silk tie was choking him? I didn’t look directly at him but studied the said tie, trying to place the designer and failing, only recognizing that it was very expensive. Steele preferred to dress in Armani, and my husband was a Gap guy. For a fleeting moment, I worried that I was being fired, but the idea came and went as fast as a silverfish slithering along a bathroom baseboard. Maybe Simon wanted to ask more about Steele but was concerned about saying too much, knowing Steele and I were close.

  Finally, Simon cleared his throat. “I understand, Odelia, that sometimes you get involved in some rather…well…unorthodox events.”

  Uh-oh. Maybe I was getting fired.

  I leaned forward a couple of inches. “Um, can you be more specific, Simon?”

  “Investigations, Odelia. From time to time, don’t you and your husband get embroiled in some dangerous undertakings?”

  I leaned back. “Not willingly, I can assure you.” After pausing no longer than half a heartbeat, I went on the defense. “Mike Steele told me the partners of T&T knew that before you hired me.”

  Simon gave me another crooked half smile. “That we did, though not all of us were pleased with your extracurricular activities. To be honest with you, I was one of those with concerns.”

  The silverfish was back, this time pausing long enough to take a good look around. Big boss or n
ot, I fixed Simon with my best laser stare. “Are you taking advantage of Steele being out of the office to fire me?”

  Surprised by my direct question, Simon held up both of his hands, palms outward, as if I might hit him. “Oh no, Odelia. On the contrary, we’re quite pleased with your work and how smoothly you keep Mike on track.” A meaningful pause; a lowering of the hands. “As you know, he can be a bit of a loose cannon from time to time.”

  “Yes, but a lucrative cannon for the firm, correct?” I grew so bold as to give him a nod and a wink.

  “A very lucrative one,” he agreed, nodding back. “But this isn’t about Mike or about your position.” He glanced at the door to make sure it was shut tight before beginning. “This is personal.”

  “Personal?” I leaned forward again, my big boobs almost resting on the desk. “Me personal? Or you personal?”

  “Personal with regards to me.” Simon straightened his already ramrod posture. “Specifically with regards to my mother.”

  Considering that most of my misguided adventures start with a dead body, I became alarmed. “I hope your mother is all right?”

  “She’s fine, at least physically. She’s in her early eighties, and, until recently, I would have said mentally she’s sharp as a tack.” Simon stood up, went to the window, and stared out of it. I remained silent, getting the vibe that he was sorting out his thoughts. “Lately, though, I’ve begun to worry about her mental faculties.” He turned to face me. “She seems all there. She’s not leaving the milk in the pantry or putting the mail down the garbage disposal. Nothing like that.”

  “Isn’t this something you should be discussing with her doctor?”

  He shook his head. “No, I believe you’re the right person for this.” He took a step back toward the desk, but instead of sitting, he placed his hands on the chair’s back, as if needing it to hold himself erect. His face was lined with worry. “Lately my mother has been talking about investing in a business with a new acquaintance of hers, and nothing I say or do will dissuade her. She’s quite determined. I think this other woman, another elderly lady, has her quite persuaded, if not brainwashed.”

  “Why don’t you hire a private investigator to look into this acquaintance and the business proposal?”

  “Do you know who my mother is?” The question wasn’t thrown at me in an arrogant manner but as a casual query.

  I dug through my limited cache of office information, then shook my head. “Mrs. Tobin?” I ventured.

  He chuckled but swallowed it halfway through. “My mother is Frances Albright, better known as Fanny Albright.”

  The name sounded familiar. I dug deeper. Of their own accord, my eyebrows shot north in surprise. “The heiress who was kidnapped in the 1940s and found five years later?”

  “Yes. It happened before she married my father.”

  “Wasn’t she supposedly taken by some big shot in the Middle East—some sheik or something?”

  “I’m surprised you would know that, seeing you weren’t even born at the time.”

  I took a deep breath. “What I remember is a story from several years ago. Fanny—I mean, Mrs. Tobin—was in the news for…um…something, and the story about her kidnapping was dredged up.” The something was allegedly shoplifting in Beverly Hills, then slapping the security guard silly when he tried to intervene, but I wasn’t about to admit to a boss that I remembered that tidbit about his mother. My late father had remembered the kidnapping with clarity, and when the story about the shoplifting came out he told me that most of the nation believed Fanny Albright to be a spoiled rich kid who staged the kidnapping just to embarrass her society mother and father. I also didn’t tell the second T in T&T about that.

  “That is my mother, although it was determined that the shoplifting incident was a misunderstanding.”

  Uh-huh. Fanny Albright must be gal pals with Winona Ryder and Lindsay Lohan.

  As if reading my thoughts, Simon quickly tacked on in a clipped tone, “Mother was under the influence of a new prescription at the time. Her doctor provided an affidavit to that fact, and she was never charged.”

  “I still don’t understand why you need me for this, Simon. A professional PI could do a much better job of it.”

  “Because PIs have also been known to sell information to the tabloids or have leaks among their staff, that’s why.” He took his seat again. “I was very impressed when I learned how you conducted yourself at your last firm, especially at the end of its existence. You know how to keep quiet and you obviously know how to snoop around. Your loyalty to your employer is legendary, especially your loyalty to Mike Steele.”

  “Legendary? That’s a bit overblown, isn’t it?” I scoffed, thinking he was watching too much TV. “I simply have the backs of those who have mine, Simon. And I believe in professional confidentiality.”

  “And that’s why I want you to handle this, Odelia. Steele’s out for a few more days. You said yourself your workload is light. Take the next few days out of the office and look into it for me. Please. I’ll tell people I’ve given you a special project in Mike’s absence. I am also aware that you usually only work part-time, so don’t worry, you’ll be paid for any time you work on this, as well as for any expenses you incur.”

  Yes, my workload at the office was light, even with covering for Steele, but my workload outside the office was anything but breezy and carefree. And it wouldn’t be the first time a law firm had assigned me to a secret project. Woobie had assigned me the task of looking for Steele when he went missing years ago and was accused of sabotaging a case. I didn’t believe for an instant he’d done anything wrong and had been worried about his safety and proving his innocence. As for the rest, I wondered if I should tell Simon I was already looking into a murder involving friends.

  I looked away, giving it thought. No. I needed to keep my mouth shut about Rocky and Miranda, but if no one expected me to be at the office for the next few days, then I could easily look into that mess without people wondering where I was. Of course, I’d also have to look into the problem with Simon’s mother, but how difficult could that be? Simon said Fanny’s new BFF was another old lady. I may be in my fifties, but I was pretty sure I could handle an old lady—unless, of course, that old lady was my own mother, in which case all bets were off.

  I turned back toward him, reading his face, looking for clues to another worry. I sat up straight and plowed forward with what was on my mind. “What would happen if I didn’t take the assignment?”

  He seemed surprised by the question, but I couldn’t tell if the surprise was from my boldness or from the idea that I might say no to a bigwig partner. After a few seconds, he said, “Nothing, Odelia. I promise you that. If you decide not to help me, I will be disappointed, but in no way will it affect your position or future at Templin and Tobin.”

  We locked eyes. I’d been set up by powerful partners before, specifically at Woobie. Steele might be an ass, but he would never set me up or hang me out to dry. He wielded loyalty I could count on, no matter what else he did that was annoying. Legendary loyalty. I smiled at the thought.

  “Does that smile mean you’ll do it?”

  I started, then realized Simon had misread my facial expression. I took a deep breath and made up my mind. “Give me any information you have and I’ll look into it. I can’t promise the results you want, but I can probably dig up something about this person.”

  “I really appreciate this, Odelia.” From his jacket pocket he retrieved a Mont Blanc pen and started jotting on a nearby legal pad. “Here is the name of the woman who befriended my mother and the name of her company. I know that tomorrow they are having lunch at Bouchon in Beverly Hills. I tried to get Mother to come to Newport Beach with me just to get her away from this person for a day or two, but she wouldn’t budge. She’s very headstrong.”

  “I know the type. My mother’s the same way and the same age.”

  He ripped the sheet of paper off the pad and handed it to me. The woman in qu
estion was named Eudora Fox. Her company’s name was Little Foxes.

  “I don’t know if the company is a corporation or an LLC,” Simon told me. “I checked Westlaw, but it doesn’t appear to be set up anywhere yet.”

  “Did you check the Delaware website?” I asked. “Entities formed in Delaware don’t always show up on Westlaw.”

  “No, I didn’t. I only checked Westlaw.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll check.” I folded the piece of paper. “Do you have a photo of your mother?” I asked. “Or better yet, a photo of her with this person?”

  He gave my request some thought before his face broke with satisfaction. “You know, I do. Just last weekend Mother invited my partner and me to brunch. Eudora was there.” He pulled out his smartphone and started going through the photos. “Here’s one. It was taken on the patio after we’d eaten.”

  He handed me his phone. Displayed was a photo of Simon in immaculate but casual clothing. Behind him was a sparkling swimming pool. He was seated between two older women. He had his arm snug around the one to his right, and I guessed her to be Fanny Albright Tobin. She must have been quite stunning in her youth because even in her eighties she was beautiful. To Simon’s left was a woman who looked to be younger than Fanny, maybe in her late sixties or early seventies; it was difficult to tell. She was just as beautifully groomed as Fanny and decked out in pearls even with her resort wear, but she was not quite as attractive. With a flick of my fingers, I enlarged the photo for a closer look. Something about Eudora Fox nagged at me, but I couldn’t get a handle on it. I had been spending so much time at my mother’s retirement community, maybe all old ladies were beginning to look alike.

  I handed the phone back to Simon. “Could you email that photo to me, along with your mother’s address?” Knowing better than to touch a man’s Mont Blanc, I plucked a stray cheap pen from a nearby pencil cup and jotted my personal email on the legal pad. “Send it here, not to my office account.”