“I promise.”
“Good girl. I hate to cut this visit so short, but they’re waiting for me out there.”
“I understand. Thank you. Carly and I really appreciate your help.”
“Put your mind at rest and let me handle things. That’s what friends are for.”
Sara sighed. She wondered as she rode down in the elevator why she didn’t feel any better than she had when she entered the courthouse.
Her dark glasses in place to ward off the bright December sunshine, Sara settled herself in the Jeep, but not before she surreptitiously removed her father’s gun from under the seat. She started to feel better almost immediately. No one knew the gun wasn’t loaded. Hating the feel of cold steel in her hand, Sara shoved it into the bottom of her black bag.
Ever alert, Sara carefully scanned her surroundings. Everything appeared normal, but she still had the feeling strange eyes were watching her. Was this the lull before the storm? As the Jeep moved along in the steady stream of traffic, Sara shifted her nervousness into a neutral zone as she listened to the ominous voice of the weather forecaster. Snow in the higher elevations. Rain down below. There was no sun in the forecast for the next three days. Sara lifted her polarized sunglasses to perch them on top of her head. She lowered them immediately when the sun bounced off her windshield, temporarily blinding her. It was a rare day when the weatherman hit it right.
A mile down the road, Sara found another rarity, a parking place directly in front of a drugstore that said it was open twenty-four hours a day. Inside she purchased three boxes of mutlicolored lights and six peppermint candy canes for the Christmas tree.
Waiting for a break in traffic, Sara did a mental check on her list of things to do. She’d be home by noon. All she had to do now was find a casual outfit, pick up a bottle of wine, and grab some lunch before she headed home to decorate the tree and relax in a hot bubble bath.
In a small boutique, Sara settled for the first outfit she tried on, a colorful swirling skirt with a soft as silk off-white blouse. Her electric blue jacket would match the skirt perfectly. Casual but elegant. She spent more time choosing the wine than she had choosing her new outfit. At the last second she opted for fast food, going through the drive-through at Taco Bell. She munched on her wrapped sandwich as she made her way home. It was ten minutes to twelve when she entered the house. The first thing she did, after locking the door and turning on the alarm system, was to throw the gun clip and an extra one into the bottom of her bag. She stared at the Taser gun for a full two minutes before she tossed it into the already overloaded bag.
The tenseness in her shoulders seemed worse somehow. She continued to stare at the black bag, aware that something didn’t feel right. Her eyes narrowing, she studied the contents before she withdrew the gun clip she’d had in her pocket. She picked up the heavy gun and jammed the clip inside. Things felt better. Almost.
Sara hooked the strands of lights together. Hundreds of tiny lights winked at her. Tears pricked at her eyelids. Some Christmas. I miss you, Dallas. This was supposed to be our first Christmas together. Damn, now her eyes were going to be red and puffy. She straightened her shoulders, blew her nose lustily, and continued to decorate the tree. Just as she hung the last ornament and stood back to view her handiwork, the phone rang. Her voice was harsh and crumbly-sounding when she said, “Hello.” When there was no response she repeated her greeting twice. Her shoulders shaking, she slammed the phone back into the cradle. Someone checking on her? The phone rang three more times in the next half hour with the same results. Suddenly she felt violated, exposed, vulnerable.
The phone still in her hand, she dialed Dallas’s number from memory. When there was no answer, Sara left a message for Adam on the answering machine. “Pick me up at 210 Coriander Street. It’s a complex of town houses a half mile down the road from my house. It’s 2:30. I’m leaving now because strange things have been happening here.”
Sara raced upstairs to pack a small bag. Her new purchases in hand, she made two trips to the garage. She felt like crying again when she turned off the tree lights. Was life ever going to be the same? The joy and anticipation she’d felt earlier over her date with Adam was gone. What she felt now was fear, anxiety, and a total sense of loss.
When she drove away from the house, she knew she wouldn’t return. And if she did, it would be to pack her things. She wasn’t sure, but she rather thought Carly felt the same way.
This time when she left the house, she didn’t bother setting the alarm. What was the point? There was also no point in looking back. She drove faster than usual in her hurry to get to Nellie’s town house. When there was no parking space to be found, Sara parked in front of the manager’s office to see what could be done. “If you’re a friend of Nellie’s, then I don’t see any reason why I can’t let you use the indoor garage. Here’s the remote garage-door opener. Just bring it back after you park your car. Will Nellie be gone long?”
“Possibly a week or so. I appreciate this. Thank you, Mr. Owens.”
“Anything for Nellie. She treats everyone in the complex and won’t take a dime for her help. It’s my pleasure, Dr. Killian.”
The town house was spacious, two full bedrooms, each with its own bath, a formal dining room with a vaulted ceiling, and a step-down living room. The eat-in kitchen was colorful and homey, with green plants, shiny copper, and checkered curtains. The furniture in the living room was old, comfortable, and well-worn. Baskets of cat and dog toys and a scratching post took up one full corner. A small artificial Christmas tree with presents underneath stood in the room’s other corner. Sara turned on the tree lights as she peered at the name tags on the gifts piled under the tree. There was one for her and one for Carly and one for the Hawk. A long skinny box that had to be a fishing pole had the name Steven on it. Other small packages said Cosmo and Mandy. Nellie’s cat and dog.
Back in the kitchen, Sara fixed herself a cup of tea. She was going to sit down and relax and pretend she didn’t have a worry in the world. Then and only then was she going to take the bubble bath she had promised herself.
While she waited for the water to boil, Sara thought about her grand plans for the evening and the clean sheets she’d put on her new bed earlier in the day and the expensive bottle of wine she’d bought. Just in case. “Nobody gets it all,” she muttered as she carried her tea back to the living room. A soap opera where the heroines were in constant peril was something she could deal with. Hell, maybe she could learn something.
“Please, God, make this all go away. Let me get my boring, sane life back. I promise to do whatever You want, be whatever You want. Just make this all go away.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sandi Sims pawed through the mail that always arrived at the same time the LA Times arrived—late. Usually it was a good way to start the day—coffee, the mail, and the paper—if you were someone who started her day at two in the afternoon like she did. Today, though, she scowled when she saw the crackly white business letter whose return address said it was from Lord Enterprises. The catalogues, the resident mail, the utility bill, and the newspaper were tossed on the kitchen counter. It was only two o’clock in the afternoon and already she knew it was going to be a bad day. In many respects it could turn out to be the worst day of her life.
Stirring the sugar at the bottom of the cup, her eyes narrowed to slits, Sandi ripped at the crackly white envelope. Two green business checks dropped to the table. The letter was short, cold, and to the point. Adam Lord was retiring the Canyon River Band, effective immediately. A check for six months’ severance pay and a check for a six-month premium for health insurance were enclosed. A reminder that a term life-insurance policy was paid in full until January 1 of the following year completed what Sandy referred to as a kiss-off.
Sandi reached across the kitchen table for her cigarettes and the portable phone. Smoke billowing upward, she dialed a number she had called a dozen times a day since Dallas Lord’s death; Dallas’s voice mail
. It pleased her to tap into Dallas’s voice mail. It was her way of staying on top of things. Adam received such interesting financial messages. So far, though, she hadn’t learned a thing that would give her the edge where Sara Killian and the song were concerned. She punched in the code, pressed the appropriate buttons, and listened. She toyed with the two checks that totaled $25,000 as she listened to Adam Lord’s messages. She scribbled notes on the back of the Lord Enterprises envelope.
Nothing was going right. By now she should have the song in her possession waiting for the highest bid to come through. She should be set for life. Instead she had a kiss-off letter and a measly twenty-five thousand dollars. If things didn’t take a turn very soon, she would have to go back to pedaling her ass at two hundred bucks a night. Or—and she didn’t even want to think about the or—she could downsize, move to one of those cramped garden apartments, sell the pricey sports car and the condos, and get one of those tacky Hondas half the residents of LA drove. If she was forced to go on the prowl again, she’d need a complete new wardrobe. The twenty-five grand would be gone in the blink of an eye. She didn’t allow herself to think about the hundred thousand dollars she had conned out of Dallas. That was her emergency nest egg, never to be touched. She shuddered when she envisioned herself driving into a Burger King drive-through trying to hide behind dark glasses in the tacky Honda. Not in this or any other lifetime!
It was ten minutes past three when Sandi emerged from her bedroom dressed for the day in a canary yellow spandex dress with matching spike-heeled sandals. The Chanel bag with the tools of her trade—condoms, cell phone, a state-of-the-art mini-tool kit she’d extracted from a lowlife on the race-car circuit, magnet, and assorted miscellany—were at the bottom of the silk-lined bag. A small pouch of expensive cosmetics, her checkbook, keys, cigarettes, and gold lighter were transferred from her everyday Gucci shoulder bag.
At the last second she flipped over the newspaper to scan the headlines; she always wanted to know what the prominent people in LA were up to. A small article on page four caught her eye. Carlisle Killian, the sister of cardiologist Sara Killian, was injured in an accident that totaled Dr. Killian’s Jaguar. Foul play is suspected.
“Right car, wrong sister,” Sandi seethed. It was just her miserable luck that the wrong damn sister had the accident. As an afterthought she tapped into Dallas’s voice mail a second time. She listened intently, scribbling furiously. The doctor was on the move! A smile stretched across her face when she broke the connection. She was back in business.
Sandi was locking the door when the phone rang. She reentered the apartment to pick up the phone on the fourth ring, a smile in her voice. She grimaced when she heard the voice on the other end. “I was just going out the door, love. Dinner? A surprise! I love surprises. Give me a little, teensy-weensy clue. You’re right. It wouldn’t be a surprise. The restaurant of my choice? Are we celebrating big or little? Big! I hate to ask this, lover, but what is in it for me? A life in the lap of luxury until I’m old and gray? In that case, I’m free all evening. A new outfit from the skin out! Are you serious? Of course I’m interested. Should I just have the store call you or send the bill directly? Do I have a limit? The sky! Goodness, it must be big! I know you’re partial to red teddies with lots of strings and lace. I can come by around six for cocktails, or I can meet you at the restaurant. We haven’t had an all-nighter for months. Are you sure you’re up to it? Seven o’clock at the restaurant. I can’t wait.”
Sandi sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. Living the rest of her life in the lap of luxury. No more scrambling, no more hustling. A man Ronald Iverson’s age couldn’t live forever, no matter how often he played tennis and ate fat-free food.
In the bedroom, Sandi peeled off the spandex dress. The spike-heeled shoes flew across the room. Five minutes later she was dressed in bib overalls, Nikes, and a dark blue windbreaker. A Dodgers baseball cap covered her long blond hair. Her designer sunglasses were replaced with aviator glasses, the kind all the young studs in LA wore to make themselves look important.
Outside in the parking area, Sandi’s gaze swept the line of cars parked under the long slate roof. She knew which cars had the keys in them, which cars had the keys under the mat, and which owners were sleeping. More than once she had helped herself to a vehicle with no one the wiser. She was always careful to replace the gas and adjust the odometer. Today the pickings were exceptionally good. She had her choice of a hunter green BMW, a white Audi, or a slate gray Range Rover. Two of the owners had rolled in a little after six, which meant they would sleep till around seven before they were ready to party again. The owner of the Range Rover was in Arizona on location. If she chose the Audi or the BMW, she had a little over four hours to use the vehicle. If, on the other hand, she chose the Rover, she could drive it for weeks with no one the wiser. She opted for the Range Rover because she’d borrowed it before and liked the way it handled. Just yesterday she’d borrowed a dark blue Taurus to follow Sara Killian. She looked around the parking lot, but the Taurus was gone.
Sandi tossed a brown canvas Gap bag onto the backseat. The Chanel bag would have clashed with her outfit. She adjusted the seat, helped herself to one of the owner’s cigarettes before she backed out of the parking space. She knew for a fact Jim Laker had had the car serviced before he left, and there was a full tank of gas. An outdoor adventurer, Laker had a ton of camping equipment in the back, all of it stacked neatly. He went off for weeks to cleanse his body and live off the land. In her opinion, Jim Laker was a nutcase, but he had a healthy trust fund, something she found hard to ignore.
Sandi was almost out of the parking area when a FedEx driver flagged her down. She stopped, her eyes wary. She crossed her fingers that the driver didn’t know Jim Laker. Obviously her disguise wasn’t the best. She waited for the driver to make his way to the Rover, an overnight letter in hand. “Sign here, Miss Sims. Nice vehicle.”
“Thanks. I like it.” She scrawled her signature as she tried to read the messy handwriting on the air bill. Frank Ryan. A squiggle of fear worked its way into her stomach. Why would Frank Ryan be writing to her? A quick glance into the rearview mirror told her she wasn’t holding up traffic. She ripped at the tab, noticing that her hand was shaking. At a dead stop, Sandi shifted into park and took her hands off the wheel. She was so nervous she needed both hands to hold the single sheet of note paper. It was a short note on lined tablet paper, sloppily written. Her stomach heaved when she read the message.
“Someone has been asking questions about you. A fax came into the office with your picture. I told them I didn’t know you. It’s a good thing you told me your real name or I would have spilled the beans. Call me. There is more.”
The brief note was signed, Frank.
Her breathing ragged, Sandi backed up the Rover, then maneuvered the truck back into its original parking space. Her heart pounding, she whipped out her cell phone to dial the number on the note. Frank himself answered the phone.
“I got your letter. What is going on?”
“There was some private dick asking questions about you a few days ago. He wanted to know everything the guys knew about you. I gotta tell you, kid, I was the only one who recognized you. You’re lookin’ good these days. Most of the old guys are gone. You know how this business is. Besides, no one wants to get tangled up in someone else’s misery. Everyone on the track is allergic to cops of any kind, especially private dicks. Are you in some kind of trouble, kid?”
“Not that I know of. I was singing with the Canyon River Band when Dallas Lord died. At the moment I’m out of a job. Dallas wrote one last song that was never recorded. His brother is trying to find it.”
“And you don’t know a thing about it right, kiddo.”
“Actually, Frank, I do know a thing or two about it. Dallas wrote the song for me when we were . . . together. Things went awry and he got himself mixed up with some doctor who took care of Billy Sweet when he died. I think she either stole it or in a weak momen
t Dallas gave it to her because he was angry with me for breaking things off. The brother, who is a real buttoned-up guy, is like a wet hornet. If I had that song, I’d be sitting pretty right now. The breaks just never seem to come my way. How are things at the track?”
“Same old same old. If that guy comes back or more faxes come in, how do you want me to handle it?”
“Don’t tell them anything, Frank. I don’t want some suit screwing up any job offers that come my way.”
“That was a terrible thing about the singer. Stay in touch, Sandi.”
“You too, Frank. Thanks for sending the letter. I guess I need to start paying attention to what is going on around me.”
“If you ever find that song and sell it, spread the wealth. I’m getting too old for all this shit.”
“Count on it. Can we keep this just between us, Frank?”
“Sure, kid. Why else do you think I called you?”
“Thanks again, Frank, and Merry Christmas.”
“Same to you, kid.”
Sandi wiped the sweat beading on her forehead with her sleeve. She counted to twenty-five before her breathing returned to normal. So Adam Lord wasn’t as dumb as she thought he was. Who else but Adam would hire a private detective to check into her background? Did he suspect she was behind Sara Killian’s break-in? She hadn’t left any clues, and she knew how to cover her tail. She slammed her clenched fist into the armrest. “I want that goddamn song!”
The sky opened up the moment Sandi steered the Rover into traffic, making it almost impossible to see. She took the first turnoff she came to, electing to find her way via side streets so she wouldn’t risk having an accident. By the time she swerved into Nellie Pulaski’s complex it was so dark and gloomy she had trouble seeing the building numbers. She drove through the parking area three times looking for the Jeep Sara Killian had been driving the day before. On her fourth go-round she realized the doctor might have gone out or stashed the Jeep somewhere else. Well, there was only one way to find out. She circled the lot again looking for an out-of-the-way space where the Rover would be safe and not noticed.
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