“We’re not law enforcement, but we can bring them into play if necessary,” Cassady promised calmly.
“We’re just trying to find someone, that’s all,” I told her.
“Yeah, I bet,” she said and closed the door. I started to get frustrated, but then I heard the safety chain drop off and the door opened again before I could get too worked up. Ms. Cervantes gestured for us to come in.
It was more studio than apartment. There were canvases on easels, leaning against what little thrift shop furniture there was, and stacked against the dull lemon walls. The piece she was working on was on an easel in the middle of the room and appeared to be a naked woman wringing the neck of a swan. It was powerful and unsettling and we all stared at it in appreciation for a moment.
“I call it ‘Leda’s Revenge,’” the painter shrugged. “I just got out of school, I got a ways to go.”
“And the phone sex?” Tricia asked politely.
“Helps pay the rent. Occasionally inspires me. Different strokes, pardon the pun.” She put her paintbrush behind her ear and I could see from the multi-hued streaks on her temple that she did it often.
If we were about to uncover a major conspiracy as Tricia suspected, we were being lulled into a false sense of comfort and being lulled well. On the other hand, there was a chance she was as nervous about us as we were about her. She took the plunge first. “So tell me why I’m going to regret ever getting involved with Nachtmusik.”
“Well, Ms. Cervantes—”
“Alicia.”
“Alicia, we need to contact the corporate officers of Nachtmusik and that’s proving to be a little difficult,” I explained.
She snorted. “Yeah, I bet. Corporate officers. They wish.”
“What’s your connection to Nachtmusik?” Cassady asked.
Alicia fidgeted with her paintbrush, readjusting its position behind her ear. “You aren’t IRS either?”
Trying to mask her offense, Tricia smoothed her Dolce & Gabbana skirt. “Do we look like civil servants?”
“I wanna be careful,” Alicia explained.
“And we appreciate we may be putting you in a difficult position. But a friend of ours who was doing business with Nachtmusik has run into some pretty serious problems,” I tiptoed, “and we’re just trying figure out what might have happened.”
“These aren’t heavy hitters, trust me,” Alicia said. She seemed sincerely distressed by the notion that the company was involved in anything shady or sinister. Then a thought occurred to her. “Wait. Did they borrow money from your friend and not pay it back? That I’d believe. But they’ll pay the minute they can. I swear to you.”
In championing the underdog, which Gretchen had so proudly proclaimed Teddy was wont to do, had Teddy gotten in over his head—borrowing money from the wrong people or kiting or skimming? And had he been about to take Yvonne down with him, which is what homicidally provoked her?
“What exactly is your connection to Nachtmusik?” Cassady asked again.
“A phone line.” Alicia pointed to a telephone and answering machine unit on a small formica table jammed into the far corner of the room. “I’m more or less their receptionist.”
“Why do you take their phone calls?” I asked.
“Because even if they were a real company, they don’t have enough money to rent an office. They call it ‘startup mode,’ but it’s more ‘ain’t-got-squat mode,’ far as I can tell.”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
“My cousin Will and some friends of his. They’ve got Big Plans, don’t we all.” She did a spare-me eye roll.
Cassady said, “So you answer their phone for them and then what?”
Alicia shrugged. “Not much. It hardly ever rings. Except this one magazine’s been calling, all frantic about an ad they supposedly placed.” The three of us refrained from looking at each other, but we all looked at the floor at the same time instead, which probably looked even more suspicious in the long run.
“What’ve you been telling the magazine?” I asked when I looked back up.
“That Mr. Cervantes—that would be my cousin, the dreamer—will get back to them as soon as possible. And then I call Will and tell him to take care of it, because these people are driving me nuts.”
Well, at least Gretchen was doing her job and hounding them. If Mr. Cervantes wanted to hide from her, there was only so much she could do.
I took a chance. “Do you know a Teddy Reynolds by any chance?”
She shook her head. “I don’t deal with anyone but Will.”
“What do you get out of this?” Tricia asked.
“Dinner,” Alicia admitted. “Will buys me dinner once in a while. Besides, he may be a nut, but he’s my cousin. I’d want him to help me out if I had a lunatic scheme.”
“What’s his lunatic scheme?” I asked. “Is he trying to break into advertising?”
Alicia shook her head. “He worked for an agency when he first came to town, but said it didn’t feed his soul. He says this is an interim step to something big, but he also enjoys being mysterious. And in case it turns out to be less than legal, I’d rather not know a lot of details.”
“You have any reason to believe it’s less than legal?” Cassady’s lawyer antennae sprang up.
“Secrecy’s a lot of hard work, so why put yourself through it if you don’t have to,” Alicia posited.
Tricia pointed to Alicia’s headset. “Some people just find it more exciting.”
“As I said, different strokes,” Alicia shrugged.
“How can we get in touch with Will?” I asked.
“I’ll call him for you,” she offered a little too quickly.
“Like I don’t have enough men dodging my phone calls. You can’t warn him off, I really need to talk to him, Alicia. It’s very important.”
Alicia looked us over carefully, weighing our sincerity as we had been weighing hers. After careful consideration, she shook her head. “I can’t. I gotta have his back, you know?”
I wasn’t sure what to do next, but Tricia was. “Would you like Jasmine Yamada to see your work?”
“Don’t jerk me around, girl,” Alicia breathed. Alicia obviously knew that Jasmine Yamada ran Galleria Mundial on West 57th and could make her career with a couple of phone calls.
“If you tell us how to reach Will, I’ll get you a meeting with Jasmine next week.”
“Who are you guys?” Alicia wanted to believe us, but she didn’t dare.
“We look out for our friends, that’s all. Want to be our friend?” I asked.
She was weakening, but she wasn’t quite there. “I can’t put you on his doorstep.”
Tricia whipped out her cell phone, hit the speaker button and the speed dial, and held up the phone so we could all hear the conversation. The phone only rang once before a crisp voice answered, “Galleria Mundial.”
“Tiffany? It’s Tricia Vincent.”
“Hey, Tricia! How are you?” the voice on the phone enthused. Alicia looked impressed.
“I’m great, how are you?”
“Wonderful. You looking for Jasmine?” Now Alicia looked really impressed.
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“She’s in Milan until next Wednesday, but she’ll be calling in.”
“I can talk to her when she gets back. I think I may have a new artist she needs to meet,” Tricia explained, looking into Alicia’s eyes.
“Oh, she’ll be so excited. She says one of these days she’s going to convince you to come work with us.”
“We’d have too much fun and wouldn’t get anything done.”
“True! I’ll have her call you next week.”
“Thanks, Tiffany.” Tricia snapped the phone closed. Even Cassady and I were starting to look impressed at this point.
Alicia was stunned. She pulled her eyes away from Tricia and started writing a phone number down for us.
“Of course,” I felt compelled to clarify, “if we don’t hook up with Wi
ll, you don’t hook up with Jasmine. So calling him and telling him we’re on our way would be a bad idea.”
I could tell it had crossed her mind and I could also tell that in a quick weighing of options, a showing at Galleria Mundial won out over a long and happy friendship with Cousin Will. Altruism is rarer than humility in this town.
Alicia gave me Will’s phone number and Tricia took down her non-900 number and promised to call her as soon as we had talked to Will. We thanked Alicia and beat a hasty retreat, lest she have second thoughts.
In a cab driven by a large Jamaican woman who must have spilled a gallon of patchouli in the front seat and mopped it up with pizza slices, we headed south again. I watched Tricia slide Alicia’s number into her wallet. “I gotta tell you—you’re a little too good at this.”
“You also gotta say thank you,” Cassady prompted.
“Absolutely. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I leaned back over to Cassady. “But this whole operator side of her—you’re not surprised?”
“It’s a big part of what I do all day, Molly. Just like you get people to tell you their problems, I get people to tell me what kind of deal will make them happy.”
“I guess I’m not used to having a front-row seat.”
Cassady nodded. “I love friends who maintain the capacity to surprise me.”
“They make Molly nervous,” Tricia smiled.
“I’m dealing rather well with the number of surprising things I’ve learned about friends this week. Aren’t I?”
“Actually, you are,” Cassady admitted. “I’d be drinking much more heavily than you are at this point.”
“Are you suggesting we start drinking? Three-martini lunch, anyone?”
“Maybe that’s what you should do. Call Will and ask him to lunch.”
That was the question of the moment, how to approach Will. I didn’t want to mention the magazine, not knowing where he stood on the whole non-payment question or on any other business with the magazine, Teddy, or Yvonne.
“If he’s seat-of-the-pants, maybe the way to get him is to offer him a new pair of pants.”
“You’re going to take him shopping?” Tricia asked.
“No, just fuel his ability to shop himself,” I said. I dialed Will’s number on my cell and got an answering machine that simply said, “This is Will. Sorry I missed you.”
“Hi, Will, my name’s—” In a split-second, I realized that if I was tracking a conspiracy at my own magazine, I shouldn’t give him my real name, since that could tip anyone left on the inside of the magazine that I was closing in. I looked at Cassady and said, “Cassie.” She grimaced, but it was done. I continued spinning my tale to Will’s answering maching. “I’m a friend of your cousin Alicia and I’m hugely jammed up and hoped you might be able to help me. I’ve got this ad that has to be done and fast, but good, and I will pay you beaucoup bucks if you can save me. Call me ASAP.” I left my cell phone number and hung up.
Cassady shot Tricia another look. “Talk about front-row seats.”
“It’s not lying, it’s creativity,” I insisted.
“Careful, next thing you know, you’ll be a lawyer,” Cassady warned.
“So what do we do now, while we’re waiting for Will to call back?” Tricia asked.
“We could go thank Officer Hendryx again so Molly could run into Detective Edwards.”
“No, thank you. I don’t think daily doses of Detective Edwards are all that healthy.”
“I feel sorry for the poor guy,” Tricia offered.
“The poor guy? How does he get to suspect me of murder and come off as ‘the poor guy’?”
“You’re not thinking it through. He’s torn between desire and duty, trying to do his job but completely distracted by you. It muddies his thinking.”
“Tricia, this is me and Edwards, not The Four Feathers.”
“Why do they keep remaking that movie? It gets worse every time,” Cassady opined. “There should be a law controlling what movies can be remade and how many remakes will be allowed per century. I mean, really. Psycho. What was Gus Van Sant thinking?”
“You’re the intellectual properties lawyer. Write one,” I suggested.
Tricia squinted at us both. “Are we done discussing Detective Edwards already?”
“I am,” I said.
“Cassady?”
“Tricia, I can hear her grinding her teeth from here. I think she needs some time away from him. Absence makes the heart all hot and bothered, right?”
“Then let’s go shopping.”
Cassady nodded. “I cleared my calendar.”
I hesitated, feeling a traitor to my gender, but also wondering if I should be back in the office, picking up what intelligence I could there.
Cassady repeated. “I cleared my calendar.”
“Thank you,” I acknowledged, “I just think—”
“You don’t want to go back to the office. You can’t talk to Will there. You’ll only draw Yvonne’s ire and Gretchen will want to sit next to your desk and weep all afternoon and Peter will call to see how you’re doing and you’ll have to talk to him as well.”
“Peter,” I groaned guiltily. I still hadn’t dealt with him.
“Later,” Tricia assured me.
Cassady didn’t acknowledge either interruption. “That’s why you’re going to come with us and help me with a few loose ends for the reception and also make sure Cassady has something to wear that won’t cause cardiac arrests at the church.” Tricia looked me in the eye and dared me to argue.
It is hard to argue with a well-thought-out plan. Especially because she was right. I didn’t want to go back to the office unless it was absolutely necessary. I could check on Gretchen’s progress on Nachtmusik at the end of the day, but I was pretty sure she wasn’t going to get anywhere. Higher-priced heads than hers were behind this mess. And the more distance between Yvonne and me, the better. No question there.
So I signed on. “Sounds great.”
And it was great. Spending time with Cassady and Tricia is like going to a spa for the soul. I feel better, happier, smarter after I’ve been with them. We alternated between items on Tricia’s to-do list and looking for an outfit for Cassady—and whenever possible, looking at shoes for all three of us.
We were down at Balenciaga which is like shopping on the holo-deck of the Enterprise with its shifting light and surreal mix of store and art gallery. I’m always a little intimidated there, but Cassady insisted. She was trying on this amazing pair of ankle boots with great tucks in the leather and stunning heels. I actually found myself trying to imagine those shoe jewels from the ad on Cassady’s shoes. They’d work. It was a cool idea. I hoped the company making them wasn’t involved in this whole Teddy mess.
My cell rang. I answered it quickly, automatically, not stopping to think who it might be. “Hello?”
“Cassie?”
I almost told him he had the wrong number, then I realized who it had to be. “Yes?”
“This is Will Cervantes at Nachtmusik. You called?”
Yes! “Will, thanks for getting back to me so quickly.”
Cassady stood up so fast that she almost impaled the salesman’s hand with her heel. Tricia hurried back from where she’d been eyeing a pair of slingbacks. Cassady mouthed, “I’ll take them” to the salesman, just to make him go away, and she and Tricia crowded next to me to hear the conversation.
“I’m not really sure I can help you,” he began.
“Money’s not an object.”
There was a significant pause. “What’s your timetable?”
“Sooner than later. Maybe we could meet, go over the particulars face to face. I know it’s so last century, but I hate doing business on the phone.”
“I’m a little jammed up myself,” he parried. If he was involved in Teddy’s death somehow, of course he was jammed up. But I had to convince him that it was worth taking the time to meet me.
“He
lp me out here and I can promise you a pretty steady stream of work,” I lied. I don’t like toying with people’s dreams, but I was kind of in a hurry.
“I have some commitments this afternoon,” he said. “It would have to be tomorrow.”
I didn’t want to wait, but I didn’t want to press too hard and scare him away either. “No way you can do it today?”
“No. I’ve got other deadlines.”
He had no idea how intriguing I found his choice of words. I paused so he could think I was agonizing before I answered. “Then I guess it’ll have to be tomorrow. Where and when?”
“Two thirty? We’re right off West 14th, down in the meatpacking district. Above Vinnie’s Grill.”
Somebody lucky enough to snag a miserable walkup in a rundown neighborhood that then exploded into the “new SoHo.” There might be more to this guy than Alicia had let on. “Thanks. See you then.”
I hung up quickly so he wouldn’t have time to reconsider.
“I’m going with you,” Cassady announced as she paid for the ankle boots.
“I’ll arrange to be there, too,” Tricia added.
“You can’t both keep skipping work for me. I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t argue. It gives you crow’s feet,” Tricia warned.
So I gave in and we continued with our errands, with me concentrating on not thinking about anything but shopping. It worked in five- to ten-minute stretches and I thought that was pretty good.
We had blown through the afternoon and Tricia’s to-do list and were contemplating cocktails when my cell rang again. It hadn’t rung at all since Will’s call, mainly because Tricia and Cassady were with me and didn’t need to call me, and the magazine was apparently able to limp along in my absence. I wondered if it might be Will again and I didn’t want to answer it in case he had reconsidered, but then I remembered I do have other friends and a life outside of all this weirdness and it might actually be a call about something else.
I said hello and heard nothing but static. What I thought was static, anyway. I said hello again and realized it wasn’t static, it was hoarse, ragged sobbing. “Who is this?” I glanced at the display pad on my phone, but I didn’t recognize the number. “Who is this?” I repeated, not sure if I should be worried about someone I knew or annoyed by a crank call.
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