“Toots, do you think I can bring Coco with us? I would hate to leave her at the bungalow. She gets so lonely.”
“Abby, Ida isn’t feeling up to a tour just now. But Mavis wants to know if it’s all right if she brings Coco along.”
“Absolutely. Chester is in my office as we speak. This will give the two of them a chance to get acquainted.”
“Then we’ll be there as soon as we drop Ida off at the hotel. I’m so excited, Abby, you know how much I love your tabloid!”
“Yes, I do. I’ll see you in about an hour, then,” Abby said. “Ask your driver if he knows where we’re located.”
“Of course, hold on.” More muffled sounds. “Yes, he says everyone in LA knows where The Informer is. I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay, Mom. Bye.”
Toots put the phone back inside her purse.
Abby hit the END button on the phone.
Since she now had time to kill before her guests arrived, Abby decided to go back online. She did a few searches, hoping something new would appear on the sale of the paper. When nothing new came up, she used her cell phone to call Rag for the hundredth time. This definitely wasn’t normal. While Rag was a bona fide jerk, it wasn’t like him not to let anyone know he wasn’t coming into the office. Even on the days when he was suffering from a hangover and his weekend jaunts to Vegas, he always called with some kind of cockamamie excuse. For the umpteenth time, she got his voice mail and left another message that was unlike any message she’d ever left before: “This is Abby. Look, dammit, if you’re going to skip out, you need to let one of us know. I hope to hell you didn’t spend the payroll yesterday because this is the week we’re supposed to get paid. Call me as soon as you get this message.” Abby tossed the phone on top of her desk. Maybe she should take a ride to Rag’s apartment, just to make sure he was alive. It was entirely possible that he could have fallen, especially given the fact that he drank so much.
Abby looked at the clock on the wall. She had enough time to race over to his apartment and get back before her mother and the others arrived. A morbid thought hit her. She called her mother a second time and told her what she was going to do.
“Mom, sorry to bug you. I just realized I have an errand that I can’t put off. Can you wait a couple of hours before coming by?”
“No problem, Abby. Actually, it works out just fine, and we’ll have enough time to freshen up. We’ll see you in a little while.”
Abby grabbed her briefcase, wondering what she’d ever done to deserve such a wonderful parent. Though she’d grown up with more stepfathers than the norm, her mother had never neglected her in any way. If anything, when it came to her needs, she usually told whomever she was married to at the time that Abby was more important than he was. She meant it, too. Her mother often swore she jinxed the men she married, even going so far as telling the third or fourth that all her previous husbands had died, and if he wanted to bow out gracefully, do it before the wedding because there was no way Teresa Amelia Loudenberry was going to be humiliated by being left at the altar.
Abby grabbed Chester’s leash. “Let’s go for a ride.”
Hearing the magic words, Chester bolted for the door and stood waiting. Chester walked out the door and down the dark hallway, stopping when he reached the exit stairs to the door. Abby swore he was smarter than most of the men she’d dated. Actually, she was sure of it. Those idiots didn’t bother to stop and wait for her at the door. “You’re a good guy, Chester. Maybe you’ll meet the girl of your dreams today. Something tells me in your case, size won’t matter.”
The shepherd cocked his head to the side to look at his mistress. Abby knew he understood every word she said. On the ground floor, Abby stopped to buy a bottle of water from the soda machine.
Abby’s yellow MINI Cooper looked like a ray of sunshine after she had been inside the dark office. The main reason she bought the car in the first place was because it reminded her of a big golden sun. Her thoughts took her back to the office as she wondered if the new owners, if she ever learned who they were, would spring for a remodeling job. A few windows and some fresh paint would make all the difference in the world to the grimy interior.
“Inside, Chester.” She unlocked the passenger door, strapped Chester into his seat belt, then scurried around to the driver’s side.
Traffic was terrible on Santa Monica Boulevard, nothing new there. She watched the tourists while waiting at a traffic light. They were young, old, large, small, and of every nationality in the world. Some carried book bags filled to the brim, others had huge cameras strapped around their necks, and without fail she spotted several older gentlemen wearing the proverbial flowered shirt. She smiled. It was just like in the movies. Sometimes.
A loud beep from the car behind her sent her foot to the accelerator faster than normal, causing Chester to lunge forward. “Sorry, boy. Everybody seems to be in a hurry these days.” She cast a glance in her rearview mirror. Typical Hollywood smart-ass, she thought. Black BMW convertible, designer shades, a cell phone stuck to the side of his face. She was tempted to flip the driver the bird, something she’d seen her mother do on more than one occasion, but stopped herself just in time. There was probably some law against it anyway. She made a mental note to check into it, and, if so, make sure her mother kept her finger to herself, at least while she was in town.
Rag lived in an older section of LA that always made Abby feel as though she were entering a time warp. Flat ranch-style houses similar to hers minus all the updates. Scattered tree-lined streets. Bicycles that had seen better days, Big Wheels that had spent too much time in the sun, and rusting swing sets littered several browning lawns. In one yard she spied an old Volkswagen van with big, faded orange flowers that looked as though it’d taken one too many flower-power trips. A stray dog stood on the corner as though waiting for traffic. It always broke Abby’s heart to see homeless animals. She slowed down, then on a whim turned around to see if the dog wore a collar. If not, well, she’d take it from there. She was relieved to see a bright red collar around its neck. Its owners were probably too busy to take it for a walk, so the dog decided to go on its own. The thought made her smile.
Abby turned left on Sable Street, following it to Greenlawn Drive, where it dead-ended at Rag’s apartment complex. The Timberland Apartments, vintage 1960s, were an ugly shade of green, with black shutters. A low-pitched roof with a two-foot wooden overhang, which she supposed was some kind of sixties cornice, reminded her of a box. Frankly, Abby thought they were the ugliest apartments in the city. She pulled in front of apartment B-2. Rag’s new Chrysler wasn’t in its usual parking space, which really didn’t surprise her. She hadn’t expected to find him at home waiting for company. Chester whined to get out.
“Come on, boy. Let’s take a break.” Abby opened the passenger door. “Stay close, Chester.”
With the dog trailing her, Abby walked across the small parking area to Rag’s apartment. She knocked loudly, hoping he was inside and that he was alive. She knocked again. “Shit!” Crossing the sidewalk to the side of the single-story apartment, Abby hoped no one was watching her. All she needed was the police to come and tag her as a prowler or a peeping Tom. Then again, she rather thought this was one of those mind-your-own-business kinds of apartment complexes.
Abby rapped on the glass a second time. If Rag was inside and alive, he would have made himself known by now. Worried and ticked at herself for being worried and ticked at her boss, she went back to the front of the apartment, where she proceeded to pound on the door again. “If you’re in there and not answering because you’re hung over, a hangover is going to be a blessing after I get through kicking your nuts between your ears,” she shouted, not caring if the neighbors heard her or not. She grimaced at the visual.
Finally convinced that Rag wasn’t at home, Abby turned the doorknob and was stunned to discover that the door was unlocked. As she motioned for Chester to follow her inside, she observed, “I am not getting a good feeling here, Ches
ter.”
The inside of Rag’s apartment was as ugly as the outside. Orange vinyl chairs were pushed back from a round glass table. In the center was a wine caddy with six matching glasses that had brownish-gold leaves painted on them. A two-tiered modern-looking end table was placed at one end of a zebra-patterned sofa.
Decorating 101 it wasn’t.
Abby made her way to Rag’s bedroom at the end of a short hallway. She contemplated the odds of her ever being inside Rag’s bedroom and didn’t like them.
As she entered the room, what she saw stunned her. The single closet door hung open, revealing a few empty wire hangers. Why did it not surprise her that her boss still used wire hangers? Abby glanced at the floor of the closet, where she saw a pair of well-worn Nikes. Opposite the closet was an armoire, its drawers pulled all the way out. She looked inside, but they were as empty as the closet. Hurrying, she stepped inside the old-fashioned green-and-white-tiled bathroom. An old claw-foot tub with a huge rust stain. A showerhead poking out from the Sheetrock, the shower curtain grimy at the bottom. A freestanding sink and a toilet with a black seat were crammed so close together, Abby had a horrible vision of Rag using the john, soaking his feet in the tub, and brushing his teeth at the same time. Quickly she opened the medicine cabinet. It was as empty as the closet and armoire.
Abby had a sneaky feeling dear old Rag had gotten himself into a very deep and smelly mess this time and, with no options, had cut and run.
Chapter 24
Richard Allen Goodwin remained a betting man even though in the past the odds rarely went in his favor. Upon his arrival in Grand Cayman, it appeared Lady Luck was making up for lost time. He’d had rotten luck for most of his fifty-two years—now forty-eight, according to his new credentials. It was high time he hit a winning streak.
His change of luck almost frightened him. There he was in Grand Cayman starting over, relishing the second chance he’d been given or, in his case, taken. What none of those assholes at the paper understood was if they wanted front-page news, they had to be willing to get out there and take a chance instead of whining about how someone always beat them to it. In this day and age, people had to be on their toes. And he’d been twirling on his tiptoes for days.
He was a multimillionaire. He could gamble all night if he wanted to. He could drink until he passed out. He could do whatever he damn well pleased.
“If they only knew,” he said out loud. Walking over to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the aqua blue water of the Caribbean, he couldn’t believe how his fortune had changed in just a matter of hours. He stared out at the beach as waves slammed against the shore. Palm trees, bent over like ballerinas, swayed as if dancing. Rain splashing against the windows sounded like pebbles being tossed against the glass.
Stuck in the middle of a fucking hurricane! He’d already heard that half of the island had lost power. He’d called the airport, pretending to schedule a flight. He’d been told by a woman with a lovely accent that all flights were canceled. A damn shame. He then checked with the concierge, asking if any of the casinos downstairs would remain open in spite of the weather. He’d been assured that they would remain open for the guests.
After a shower and shave, he dressed in khaki slacks and a light blue shirt. He looked at himself in the full-length mirror. He needed to lose thirty pounds, but with his money, he could get some lipo. He slid a comb through his thinning hair and decided he would check into hair plugs as soon as the storm was over. He pinched the excess skin beneath his chin. That had to go, too. In a couple of months, he’d be a new man. Literally.
For the rest of the evening he would enjoy himself in the casino. Yes, life was good.
Back in California, Micky observed the hot young reporter as she drove off in her bright yellow car with a dog that looked like Rin Tin Tin. He carefully made his way to the back entrance of The Informer. Pushing the door aside, he entered quietly, unsure if anyone else was inside the office.
“Hey, anyone in here?” he called out. Like they’d answer if they were there at this hour. Sometimes he was stupid.
Taking care to walk softly down the long, dark hallway that he knew led to the offices, Micky pushed a door aside. Nothing. A metal desk with a cheap office chair and an outdated computer. No wonder this piece-of-shit paper was in the hole. Look at the antiquated crap they had to use. Probably still had dial-up Internet. He stepped back out into the hallway. He opened the next door and saw more of the same. This was supposed to be a newspaper, a rag? Fuck, my home office beats this dump to hell and back. He shook his head as he peeked around into the office next door. More of the same stuff. Desk, chair, no computer. Must use pencil and paper. He laughed at his own wit.
As soon as he stepped out of the office back into the hall, he heard voices.
Son of a bitch! Maybe Rag has decided to come to work today after all. If so, he was about to get a major, major ass whipping.
Micky stepped inside the office directly across from him.
Bingo! It was the boss’s office. He turned on the lights, took a seat in the lumpy chair behind the desk. He was a patient man. Kind of. He had nothing better to do that day.
Yesiree, he was going to sit there in that damn office until Mr. Newspaper Owner himself showed up. Yep, for fifty grand, he had all the time in the world.
Chapter 25
Unsure what to make of Rag’s sudden disappearance, Abby decided to shelve the man’s departure for the moment. More than likely he was holed up in some seedy hotel, sleeping off his latest drunk. She had more important issues at hand, like her mother and her godmothers and the promised tour of The Informer. She raced back to the office in record time.
Parking in her assigned space, before getting out of her car, Abby scanned the parking lot, searching for Rag’s Chrysler, on the off chance that he might have miraculously shown up while she was out looking for him. No such luck, she thought, before she corrected herself. Any workday without Rag on her case was a lucky day. Reaching for her briefcase in the backseat, she pulled it over the top of the seat, searching for Chester’s leash at the same time. Sure she had tucked it in there earlier, she rummaged through until she found it.
“Come on, boy, let me loop this around your neck. I don’t want anyone saying I don’t respect the leash law.” Once, Rag had seen her and Chester in the parking lot without a leash. He’d come down on her like a ton of bricks, saying it was a lawsuit waiting to happen and from now on, when the dog was on Informer property, he had better be leashed or else. It was the “or else” that had made her hate him more than ever.
“Chester! What are you growling at?” Abby looped the leash around the dog’s neck before getting out and opening the passenger door. “I know you don’t like Rag. I don’t like him either. The sad truth is, I don’t think anyone likes him.”
With her briefcase tucked under her right arm, Abby held the leash with her left hand, then used her right hand to open Chester’s door and release him from his seat belt. Dogs were like kids and needed just as much protection.
As soon as she clipped Chester’s leash to his collar, she made a mental note to call Precious Paws and arrange a spa day for Chester. Maybe she’d invite Coco, too. Chester wasn’t too hip about spa days, but he might make an exception if he had company. Especially a sweet little Chihuahua.
Walking across the parking lot with Chester jutting out in front of her as far as his leash extended, Abby jumped when she heard someone shout her name. She turned around in time to see a sleek white limousine pulling into the parking lot. Sophie hung out the back window, waving a cigarette in the air. Laughing, Abby simply shook her head.
“Chester, stay!” The huge dog immediately sat down on his hind legs.
Abby hurried over to the vehicle, anxious to take her mother and godmothers on a tour of her workplace. She glanced at her watch. She had at least another two or three hours before any of the stringers were due to report in for the day.
One by one, the women spill
ed out of the limousine. First Sophie, then Toots, and lastly Mavis, who clutched a small dog that couldn’t weigh more than three or four pounds, possessively cradled against her ample chest.
“Yip, yip!”
Mavis trundled over to where Abby stood with Chester.
“This must be Coco.” Abby held her hand out for the little dog to sniff. Coco growled, revealing tiny sharp teeth.
“She’s afraid.” Mavis glanced at the large dog sitting at attention. Chester was as still as a statue.
“Don’t worry, Mavis, Chester is harmless.”
“It’s true, Mavis. When it’s called for, Chester is a killer dog, but he’s as lovable as a kitten other times,” Toots said as she leaned in for a quick hug from her daughter. Toots ruffled her grandson/dog between the ears.
“He’s the best of the best. Don’t know how I’d manage without him. Let’s go inside. I want to show you around before anyone else shows up.” Abby reached for Chester’s leash and led him to the back door. “Just follow me,” she tossed over her shoulder.
“I can’t believe we’re really here! It’s so exciting! Do you have any new issues I haven’t seen?” Toots asked, as they entered the decrepit building through the back door.
“I think we’ve got a couple. We print seven issues every other week. That gives us every other day to assemble our stories for the press, then another day to collect new information.”
First Abby showed them her office. “It’s not much, but it’s the nicest office in this dank old building. I’m hoping when and if I ever learn who the new owners are, I can get them to spring for a remodeling job. This building used to house the Los Angeles Examiner. It’s more than a hundred years old. Sadly, not much has changed since then, other than we’re now a third-rate rag. I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing anymore.”
Abby noticed that Mavis’s pale skin was flushed. She motioned to a chair. “Take a load off, Mavis,” she said cheerfully.
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