Gold Diggers

by Tracie Howard

  “Did you see Paulette’s car when you pulled up?”

  “I didn’t pay attention, but I don’t think so.”

  “What did you see outside the house?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary, though this was my first time there, so I wouldn’t know what was ordinary. Brandon has a lot of staff around, and the grounds are enormous. Why?”

  Detective Harris had the impression that Lauren was the only witness so far who was telling him the whole truth. “It seems that Miss Dolliver’s car was tampered with while it was parked on the estate grounds. Did someone park your car?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know where it was parked?”

  “No, once I handed the keys over, that was the last I saw of it until I left.”

  He’d interviewed Brandon’s staff, who confirmed this account. Apparently they’d parked Paulette’s and Gillian’s cars around the back of the house near the garage where Brandon’s cars were also kept, with the doors unlocked and keys in the ignitions. This was the perfect place and opportunity for someone to sneak in unseen and tamper with it.

  “Does your husband have friends, family, or contacts in L.A.?”

  “Yes, a few distant relatives.”

  “When was the last time he was there, to your knowledge?”

  “Last month he had a meeting with a potential client.” She remembered, because she was thrilled that he’d be out of town for a few days, giving her precious time to spend with Gideon.

  “What if I told you that your husband hasn’t had a business meeting in L.A. in over four months?” He’d had a very successful interview with Max’s secretary that morning, who, like Neuman’s wife, seemed anxious to slip the knife deeper into his back.

  “Detective Harris, at this point very little would surprise me.”

  “Even the thought of your husband as a murderer?” He raised his brow, awaiting her answer. This Max guy was proving to be a scurrilous son of a bitch, so in that regard he and Paulette seemed to have been perfectly matched.

  Lauren didn’t bat an eye. “Yes, even the thought of my soon-to-be ex-husband as a murderer,” she answered.

  “Mrs. Neuman, if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep this document. It could be very important to the investigation.”

  “You’re welcome to it,” she said. She’d already made copies, and she didn’t give a damn what happened to Max, as long as he got what he deserved.

  She glanced over at her mother, who looked like someone had driven a stake right through her heart. Her head was hung low and her face was drained of color. It wasn’t clear whether her head was hung in shame, remorse, or embarrassment, though Lauren would have bet her money on the latter.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Over the course of two weeks, Reese had spent countless hours on her back in the hospital, alone with her thoughts. After the shock of her disfiguring injuries was dulled by the inevitable passing of time, she’d discovered a reservoir of feelings she’d never known existed. Perhaps they had been there all along, buried deeply beneath her polished surface, but she’d deftly avoided them, too busy being fabulous to tune into her own emotions.

  In quiet moments, she felt an unfamiliar sense of gratitude for all that she did have, rather than remorse for that which she didn’t. Before the accident she was always too busy scheming to get more, to enjoy what she’d already attained, like a rabid hamster on an ever-accelerating treadmill that was going nowhere very fast. She also came to understand the meaning of friendship; before it was a vague concept she’d never truly appreciated. To her, friends were simply people with whom she could exchange favors, rather than people who were there for one another, without regard to reciprocity.

  Though she and Gillian had never been truly close before now, Reese was profoundly grateful for her friend’s unwavering support during this crisis. She understood also that the almighty dollar could not buy the kind of emotional comfort that Gillian’s caring presence provided; nor could it say the right things at the right time, or anticipate her needs and fears. At best money was a means, not an end. With the exception of the time Gillian was away for Paulette’s funeral, she’d been to the hospital to visit Reese just about every day, bringing with her everything from silk pajamas to juicy novels and gourmet foods. She’d even hired a private nurse to accompany them back to Paulette’s to gather her things, then on to Brandon’s on the day of her discharge, and the same woman was scheduled to accompany them to New York and remain for at least a month. As much as Gillian didn’t care to be in New York these days, she’d also insisted on staying a week to help get Reese settled, and since the filming was complete it was perfect timing.

  During her recovery, Reese also came to know the meaning of true love, which was another concept that had been foreign to her. When she closed her eyes, she could clearly see her son’s beautiful smiling face, and hear his sweet voice saying, “I love you, Mommy.” He’d called her every day since his visit, always managing to cheer her up. She realized that the intense feeling that warmed her soul and lightened her heart was love. It hurt when she thought about how she’d dismissed him in the past, denying him—and herself—the power of that love. She prayed to God that she could make it up to him in the future.

  Immediately following the accident, she repeatedly questioned, “Why me? Why must I suffer?” She now knew the answer: This tragic event was God’s way of allowing her to see the beauty in His world, rather than only the beauty in herself. Sure, it still hurt to look in the mirror, but the cuts and bruises were healing, just as the self-inflicted wounds to her heart and soul would.

  When she and Gillian boarded the flight from L.A. to New York, Reese was still covered in bandages. With a cast on one arm and a crutch under the other, she was unrecognizable as the glamorous It Girl often shown on Page Six.

  “Gillian, thank you so much. I really appreciate what you’ve done for me,” Reese said after they were both buckled into their first-class seats. It felt strange to be going back to New York, very different from the way she was when she left such a short time ago. What a difference a month could make.

  “Don’t mention it, really,” Gillian said, touching Reese’s arm, with a warm smile on her face. “I just hope someone would do the same thing for me.” Like herself, she knew that Reese wasn’t close to any family who might have looked out for her under the circumstances.

  Reese immediately thought about Brandon. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.” She immediately felt embarrassed by the treacherous thoughts she’d had on the night of the accident. She distinctly remembered thinking that she should be the one to have him, not Gillian, and given the opportunity she would have gone for it, too, just as Paulette had gone for Max. “By the way, please thank Brandon for me.” She realized that it was his money that allowed Gillian to help her.

  “He’s glad to be able to do it.”

  “How are things going with you two? Any wedding bells in the future?”

  Gillian shrugged. “I’m taking it one day at a time, but things are good.” Actually, aside from the federal investigation, things were great. For the first time in her life, Gillian felt there was someone really looking out for her—someone unlike her mother, who’d made a career out of looking out only for herself.

  Now Gillian just had to help Brandon find that flash drive to clear his name, which was actually one of the other reasons she had insisted on going back to New York with Reese. So far Brandon’s people had managed to keep the money-laundering controversy out of the media, but he feared that if he didn’t resolve things before next week’s meeting with his attorneys and the FBI bureau chief, all bets were off. Once that happened, win, lose, or draw, he’d be finished: tried and convicted on the pages of the press. She figured that if Paulette had the flash drive—and by all indications she probably did—and if it wasn’t in the Los Angeles apartment, then it had to be in her New Yo
rk loft.

  “How is your settlement with Chris going?” she asked.

  “We had pretty much agreed on everything, but things have changed, so I think it’s time for us to renegotiate.” Reese had a hard, intent look on her face that superseded the pain and heartache that had become a fixture. She seemed to have aged ten years in those few weeks.

  Gillian nodded her head in understanding. Reese might be all banged up now, but she was still the same cutthroat girl Gillian had always known. Some things never change, she thought. Now that Chris was a prime suspect in Paulette’s murder, she figured that Reese was preparing to up the ante, especially if the private investigator whom she and Paulette had hired really had come up with some dirt, as the tabloids suggested.

  When they arrived at JFK, Lauren was there to meet them. The three women hugged as if they hadn’t seen one another in years, and in some ways it felt much longer. A limo, hired by Lauren, drove the three of them, plus the hired nurse, into the city. Minus Paulette, it was strangely reminiscent of the night the four of them were out on the town, swilling champagne in the back of a chauffeured limo, ready to take on the world; in fact, it was the night that they all met Max. It seemed like so long ago, yet also like only yesterday. Now Paulette was no longer among them, maybe even as a result of the handsome man whose attention they’d vied for on that fateful night. As they’d walked into the club that night, a bystander had referred to them as gold diggers, and then it had seemed very clear who among them was in fact a gold digger, and who wasn’t. But, over time, things proved to be not as black-and-white as they appeared, since all that glittered wasn’t gold, and one never knew conclusively what compromises might be made under the right set of circumstances.

  “How are you holding up?” Lauren asked Reese. She couldn’t help but stare at the scars that ran like chicken scratches across Reese’s face. In a strange way they made her seem more real, whereas before she’d always appeared doll-like, plastic, too intentionally perfect.

  “I’ve been better,” Reese said, managing a very weak smile. “What about you? Are you okay?” She’d been so focused on her own pain that she’d forgotten that not only had Lauren lost a friend and cousin, but also her husband, on top of being betrayed by both.

  “It’s been tough,” Lauren admitted. “I really miss Paulette, even though lately, of course, we hadn’t been as close.”

  Lauren wore a sad expression, one of deep regret. She was sad that they’d let decades-old events affect their relationship. It had been as much her fault that they weren’t closer as it was Paulette’s. Lauren knew the family history, and could have done a better job of healing the injuries from the past, rather than ignoring them and continuing to straddle the fence between Paulette and her mother, and essentially letting her mother dictate her course. Looking back, she also realized that they should have talked about things, rather than pretending that they didn’t exist. Their family history was like a big pink elephant squatting in the middle of the room, only in this case it turned out to be large enough to suffocate them all.

  Reese reached over and covered Lauren’s hand with her own. “You really can’t blame yourself.” She could see the pain clearly in Lauren’s eyes, and knew that, regardless of what the police reports said, she’d remember only the nasty fight they’d had before the car crash. She thought about her son, and how important it was for her to try to make good memories for him and for herself, since she never knew which one would be the last.

  “I just regret that our relationship wasn’t better.” She took a deep breath and smiled wanly.

  “I know.” Reese was coming to understand quite a bit about regrets these days. They rode in silence for the next few minutes as the driver expertly maneuvered the limo through the thick traffic on the Long Island Expressway.

  Lauren was still staring out the window, lost in her thoughts, when she quietly asked, “How long had it been going on?”

  Reese knew precisely what she meant. “At least six months that I knew of, but I’m sure it was much longer.” She turned to face Lauren, putting her hand on her forearm. “I really don’t think that Paulette did it so much to hurt you, as to try to make herself feel better. Does that make any sense?” Reese knew that she and Paulette were a lot alike, and what they were both really looking for all that time was much more elusive than gold, or Mr. Right; they were both in search of self-love. It was something that, regrettably, Paulette never found, but that Reese, at least, was beginning to realize existed.

  Lauren nodded her head. “It does. And I don’t blame her as much as I blame Max for taking advantage of her.”

  “It seems that he’ll get what’s coming to him,” Gillian said. She been following all of the press, both legitimate and scandalous, surrounding the case. As much as she hated to admit it, her mother was right. In a twisted way all of the publicity about the celebrity murder case had actually helped her and the film. It was sure to increase the box-office receipts, especially after some of the more salacious journalists began to draw a line between the movie’s title and the victims.

  “He may already have. I just got word before your plane landed that he was brought in for questioning an hour ago.” Detective Harris had called Lauren personally to let her know.

  “Really?” Gillian and Reese said in unison.

  “Yeah, and it doesn’t look good for him. At the very least he’ll go down for fraud.” Whether or not he arranged to kill Paulette, Lauren really couldn’t say, but it was very clear that between the affair, the pregnancy, and the forgery, he had some very powerful motives.

  “It serves him right,” Gillian said.

  “If he did it,” Reese interjected. “Don’t forget, Chris had just as much of a motive.”

  “But Chris always seemed so…” Lauren searched for the word. “Innocent.”

  “One thing I’ve learned is that looks are not always what they appear,” Reese said. She turned to look out the window as the car entered the Midtown Tunnel. Minutes later they emerged, back in the city where their journey together had begun.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Walking into the loft she’d shared with Paulette was like stepping back in time for Reese, a warped, unsettling convergence of the past and present. Things were almost exactly the way she’d left them weeks ago, when she’d rushed to the airport, headed to L.A., except for the telltale signs that the police had searched the apartment at the start of the investigation. Paulette’s half-empty coffee cup still sat on the dining room table, the liquid turning to brown, petrified sludge; dirty dishes were still scattered about the sink.

  The three women, with the nurse behind them, paused in the doorway, absorbing the fact that Paulette would never again walk through these doors. They all felt like trespassers who were about to desecrate sacred ground. “I’ll straighten things up out in here, while Ann gets you set up in your room,” Gillian said to Reese, breaking the spell of awkward energy that hung in the air. She dropped her bag, took off her coat, and began clearing the dishes.

  While Gillian tackled the kitchen, Lauren wandered around the apartment lost in a daze, picking up photos and mementos as if they might provide a clue as to what exactly had gone wrong between her and Paulette. Lauren had never even been here to the new loft, which was a glaring testament to just how distant their relationship had become. She eventually ended up in Paulette’s bedroom, where she was stopped dead in her tracks by a framed photograph of Max that Paulette had lovingly perched on her bedside table. It was tangible proof of their illicit affair. Slowly Lauren picked up the picture and carefully studied the face that stared out at her. It was now the face of a total stranger. The picture had been taken at some public event by a professional photographer, so it wasn’t even an intimate shot taken during his and Paulette’s private time. Max would have been too selfish to give her that kind of intimacy. Instead it was a stock picture, one that anyone could have gotten from a PR kit—s
ad, really. Without words, its existence spoke clearly of the fact that Max was simply using Paulette, and surely had no intention of ever having a real relationship with her, contrary to what Paulette seemed to want so desperately.

  These thoughts forced Lauren to really consider the possibility that the reality of losing his marriage—for whatever it was worth—coupled with the humiliation of a pregnancy by his wife’s cousin, and the devastating revelation of his criminal forgery, were enough to drive Max to murder. She looked closely at his face, his eyes, and the set of his chin, as though his features might provide some answers, but the only thing she saw there was arrogance, no substance and no soul.

  A while later, after settling Gillian and Reese in, Lauren left to go back to her hotel, but she decided to stop by her old apartment instead. She’d had the foresight to park her car at the garage near Paulette’s and meet the limo driver there before heading to the airport, since the four of them and the luggage would never have fit in her Jaguar. She was glad now that she had, since Max’s detour into police custody gave her the perfect opportunity to drive by and pick up a few things she’d left in her haste to move out—including her passport.

  Gideon had invited her to come with him to Senegal at the end of the week. Without thought she’d first said no, immediately feeling incapable of picking up and going almost halfway around the world to a place that didn’t have even a Ritz-Carlton, but fortunately she’d listened to him and at least gotten her shots, just in case. She decided to call him with the good news.

  “Hey, baby,” she cooed into the phone. She’d never cooed before meeting Gideon; in fact, there were many things that she’d never done before meeting Gideon, things that were now second nature, and quite addictive.

  “Hey, gorgeous.” She loved it when he called her that. Not because she believed it to be true, but because he said it as if he truly did. “How are you?”