Cool Cache

by Patricia Smiley

  “I wish him well,” I said.

  Riley’s shoulders relaxed. “So you’ll work with me?”

  I handed her a packet that included my schedule of fees, a resume, and several client recommendations. “Why don’t you look this over? If you want to proceed after that, we’ll have a strategy meeting, at which time I’ll ask you to provide any financial statements you have.”

  Riley glanced at the cover of the packet but didn’t open it.

  “I’m giving a party for some clients tomorrow night,” she said. “There’ll be a lot of people there. Why don’t you come? I can give you all of the paperwork then.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” I said. “I’ll check my calendar and let you know.”

  “I think it’s important for you to see how I work the crowd. You know, how I break the ice, match people up. That sort of thing.”

  “Why don’t you look at the material I gave you first? Make sure you can afford my services. If you want to proceed, we’ll sign a contract and you’ll give me a retainer.”

  “I’ve decided. You’re hired.”

  “Okay.” I stretched out the word until it became one long, skeptical sentence.

  “Look,” she said. “I don’t know when you’ll have another chance like this. These events are a lot of work. It could be months before I set up another one. Then it might be too late.”

  “Too late for what?”

  She seemed to be struggling with the answer to my question. “Too late for Luv Bugs.”

  She had a point. If it was a business-related function, it might be a good idea to check out her clientele and her matchmaking skills. I’d stay just long enough to size up the operation. I made a pretense of checking my calendar, but of course, I knew the following Saturday night and all of the subsequent Saturday nights in the foreseeable future were wide open.

  “You’re in luck,” I said. “Looks like I’m free.”

  “The party’s at my sister’s house.” She handed me a piece of paper. “Here’s the address. Come by at around seven.”

  “Your brother won’t be at this party. Right?”

  She frowned. “Why should he be? He’s not single anymore.”

  Nothing like rubbing salt into the wound.

  As soon as Riley left, Eugene bustled into my office with a wide-eyed look on his face. “She’s Joe Deegan’s sister?”

  I shot him a wary glance. “You were eavesdropping again.”

  “No, I just happened to be standing by the door when she told you. Do you think it’s some kind of setup?”

  “It’s hard to say, but I don’t think so.”

  “Are you really going to work for her?”

  I slid all of the dating research I’d printed from the computer into a file folder. “Yup, as long as her check clears at the bank.”

  He shook his head in dismay. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “I’m going to one of her singles’ parties on Saturday.” I paused for a moment, remembering that he already knew since he’d been listening to our conversation. “How about coming with me?”

  “Your offer is oh-so-tempting,” he said dryly, “but Saturday’s my day to volunteer at the old folks’ home.”

  Eugene went back to his desk, and I started making a list of possible market niches for Luv Bugs. There were probably tons of busy executives who couldn’t find love, especially since some companies had rules against coworker relationships, and others even encouraged workers to sign “love contracts” to protect them against legal fallout when in-house romances turned bad.

  It was hard to come up with any good dating ideas. I hadn’t had a successful relationship since my day-care days, when I’d shared my Binkie pacifier with a kid named Marvin Sidwell. My mother told me he and I had a groovy kind of love, until Marvin’s mother got laid off from work and became a stay-at-home mom.

  After a few more frustrating attempts to download dating statistics, I asked myself why I was sitting at the computer when I had access to a woman whose serial-dating exploits belonged in Guinness World Records: my friend and former coworker Venus Corday. I telephoned her at work and asked if we could meet.

  “I’m booked all through the weekend,” she said. “What about next Monday?”

  “This can’t wait. I need to brainstorm dating strategies.”

  “Are you back in the game?” Her tone sounded hopeful.

  “Nope. It’s for a client.”

  I heard what sounded like a pen tapping impatiently on a hard surface. “It’s been months, Tucker. What are you waiting for?”

  “I’ve been busy with work.”

  “That’s a crock and you know it. You’re stalling.”

  “Look, I just haven’t met anybody that interests me. Okay? So when can we get together?”

  I heard paper rustling. She was probably checking her appointment book. Venus was one of the few people on the planet who still organized her life with pen and paper.

  “I’m having lunch with a client tomorrow at the Getty Center,” she said, “but I can meet you for coffee. How about ten thirty?”

  “I don’t have a ticket.”

  “You don’t need one anymore. Just park in the garage and take the tram to the plaza. I’ll meet you at the café.”

  At around six, I packed up and got ready to leave. Eugene was still at his desk.

  “Aren’t you going home?” I said.

  He looked up from his computer screen. “Nerine is flying into LAX at nine. It’s too far to drive back to my apartment. I’m going to stay here and work until her broomstick is safely parked on the tarmac.”

  “Your mother is coming for a visit and you didn’t tell me?”

  “I knew you’d worry. I’m fine with it, Tucker. Really. I can handle her on my own.”

  I’d never met Eugene’s mother before, but from what he’d told me over the years, she was controlling and hypercritical. I studied his face, searching for signs of panic. He seemed calm, at least on the surface, but I didn’t want to tempt fate. He’d had his share of anxiety problems in the past. Therapy had helped. I just worried Nerine’s visit would trigger a relapse, especially with everything that had happened at Nectar in the past two days.

  “I’m surprised your dad is letting her out of his sight.”

  Eugene took a plastic bag from his desk drawer. Inside was a dusting glove he’d knitted after his therapist suggested it might relieve his anxiety.

  “The colonel doesn’t know it yet, but she’s leaving him. I think she’s saving it as a surprise.”

  I sat down because I had to be sure he was okay. “How long is she staying?”

  He lifted his penholder and swept the glove over the surface of the desk. I noticed the popcorn stitch was starting to look flat from too many washings.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Not long, I hope.”

  “If she’s leaving the colonel, it seems like she’d want to stay with your sister. You know, for a little female bonding time.”

  “Marilyn is living in an undisclosed safe house in Seattle. She’s been there ever since my parents sent her away to college and then left her to rust. Last time I heard, she was working in the dusty stacks of some library.”

  “Sounds like it’s been a while since you’ve heard from her.”

  Eugene brushed over the laurel wreaths and Corinthian columns of his in-basket. “I get a Christmas letter from her every year, sent from a post office box. It starts with Dear Friends and Family. Hope this letter finds you well. I salute her ingenuity for getting out of the house, but I wish she’d have left a note, warning me of what to expect.”

  “Your childhood sounds pretty awful.”

  He wiped off his computer screen and put the glove back inside the plastic bag. “Did I tell you I was a mistake? My father called me Oops until I was fourteen, when he finally stopped talking to me altogether. Just because I didn’t make the football team. He didn’t seem to notice I was small enough to be the ball.”


  “Why didn’t you tell your mom not to come?”

  His lips pressed together in a hard line as he returned the bag to the desk drawer. “I’d never hear the end of it. She’d accuse me of being a bad son, which wouldn’t exactly surprise me. Nothing I ever do is right. I’ll try my best to impress her while she’s here, but if I don’t do something spectacular in the next couple days, things could turn ugly.”

  “Do you want me to stop by your place and feed Fergie and Liza?”

  “Thanks, but my neighbor offered to cat-sit until I get home.”

  I studied his expression, still looking for signs of panic. “In case of emergency, you know my number.”

  “In case of emergency, Eugene Barstok will step into the nearest telephone booth and come out as Bix Waverly, investigative reporter for the New York Times.”

  I imagined him as the caped office crusader. Faster than a speeding modem. More powerful than a million gigabytes. Able to leap tall stacks of case files in a single bound. At least we could joke about the situation.

  Eugene’s psyche would probably survive the weekend with his mother, so I turned my thoughts to my meeting with Venus. I knew she’d give me a new direction for Luv Bugs, but I also hoped she’d have some thoughts about the relationship between Helen’s problems and a long, iridescent green feather.

  Chapter 10

  Saturday morning, I drove to the Getty to meet Venus. The J. Paul Getty trust is the wealthiest private art institute in the world, with an endowment of more than four billion dollars. The buildings and gardens that comprise the Getty Center sprawl across 110 acres of land on the crest of a hill in the Santa Monica Mountains, just as the 405 Freeway dips into what we Angelenos think of as the strange and alien land called the San Fernando Valley.

  The museum had recently been forced to return several looted antiquities to the Italians. There was no evidence the Italians planned to return the items to the Greeks, from whom they’d been looted back in yon years of yore. My mother always says, “What goes around comes around,” but sometimes justice takes a while to go full circle.

  The parking-garage elevator took me to the tram station. There was no line, so I boarded one of the cars and rode to the travertine marble plaza at the top of the hill, stopping for a moment to take in the view. On a clear day you could see from the Pacific Ocean to the San Gabriel Mountains, but not today. The sun had broken through the clouds on the Westside, but a gray marine layer still blanketed the inner city.

  Venus was waiting for me by the front door of the café. She was dressed for business in an imposing burnt gold suit accented with a chunky necklace made of carved wooden zebras, lions, and a giraffe or two. The outfit was a perfect complement to her caramel skin, coffee-colored eyes, and raven hair, which cascaded around her neck in loopy curls that looked as if they had spent the night rolled around orange juice cans. We did the girlfriend hug and strolled inside to a table near the window.

  Venus was a consultant who worked mostly with large manufacturing companies, but she knew plenty about other industries, and even more about dating than anybody. For the next few minutes, we sipped coffee and brainstormed niche markets that might distinguish Luv Bugs from the competition.

  It didn’t take long to come up with a list that included serious daters, casual daters, straight men and women, gays and lesbians, the well-heeled, the over-fifty crowd, and the executives. We broke down the college educated into smaller groups, like Ivy League schools versus state universities and community colleges. Then there were people with similar religions, hobbies, interests, or professions.

  “What about Catholic school survivors?” I said.

  Venus poured two packs of sugar into her cup. “How about people who are afraid of clowns?”

  “Video vigilantes.”

  “Celebrity impersonators.”

  “The possibilities are endless,” I said. “Riley will have to do background checks to make sure her clients are legit, but Charley can help with that.”

  Venus added cream and stirred the coffee. “In case a match doesn’t work out, she’ll have to offer some kind of guarantee. She also needs to come up with a list of safe-dating tips.”

  “That won’t be a problem. Her brother is a cop.”

  Venus’s cup was midway to her mouth when she set it on the saucer with a loud clunk. Her eyes were full of suspicion.

  “Who did you say this client was?”

  I bit my lip, anticipating her disapproval. “Riley Deegan.”

  Venus inhaled deeply and squared her shoulders. “You’re working with a Deegan?”

  I nodded. “Joe’s sister.”

  Venus shook her head. “Huh-uh, Tucker. Don’t do it.”

  “It’s just business.”

  “You’re still vulnerable. You don’t need a Deegan in your life right now, not even a sister.”

  “I’ve moved on.”

  “Why am I not convinced?”

  “You worry too much. Look, Riley invited me to a singles’ party she’s throwing for some clients tonight. I think it makes more sense to introduce couples online and let them arrange their own dates, but I’ll see how she works it. How about coming with me?”

  “I’d rather be locked in a monastery cell, listening to Gregorian chants.”

  “That’s it? Just no?”

  “Okay, hell no. I hate singles’ parties. It’s like being in a room full of desperate shoppers looking for a fresh turkey the day before Thanksgiving. Everybody’s sniffing around, checking the size and expiration date. Besides, I’m taking a break from men.”

  That was news to me. Venus had survived her share of failed relationships, including one with Max Huffman, the third rider on our French cycling trip. He seemed like a nice guy. Kind of a jock, but he adored her. They split shortly after we returned. She’d never told me why.

  “I thought Max was the one,” I said. “What happened?”

  She wagged her index finger in my face. “Never get serious about a man until you’ve traveled with him. After three days cooped up in a hotel room, you start to see his dark side.”

  “We were on our bikes all day. The only time you were in a hotel room was at night. That couldn’t have been all bad. I’ve seen Max in a pair of Spandex shorts.”

  Venus checked her watch and pulled a leopard cosmetic bag from her purse. “Sex wasn’t the problem. The man was a virtuoso.”

  “Then what happened?”

  Venus looked around to make sure nobody was within earshot. “He stole shower caps . . . from the hotel rooms.”

  “How do you know?”

  She unzipped the bag and took out several items, including a mirror, lipstick, and liner. “I was sort of looking through his backpack the day before we flew home. It was full of them.”

  “Okay, stealing things from hotel rooms is bad, but it’s not uncommon. Maybe he didn’t like to get his hair wet when he showered.”

  “That’s another problem.”

  “He didn’t shower?”

  “Oh, he showered all right. Every morning and every night and he stayed in there with a scrub brush until all the hot water was gone along with the top layer of his skin. No wonder he was so white.”

  “Seems like a shame to dump a nice guy like Max just because he likes to exfoliate under running water.”

  Venus was applying lipstick and talking at the same time, so her words seemed distorted. “Listen, Tucker. For once take my advice. Don’t go to that party tonight. You’ll just open a big can of worms.”

  “Deegan won’t be there.”

  “Doesn’t matter. His sister will be, and that’s bad news for you.”

  “He’s engaged, Venus.”

  She looked at me over the top of the mirror. “Excuse me?”

  “Deegan’s engaged. So you don’t have anything to worry about.”

  She put away the cosmetics bag and studied my expression. “You okay with that, girl?”

  “Perfectly okay.”

  The depth of my
bond with Venus was mostly unspoken, but I knew she’d go the distance for me and she knew I’d do the same for her. She squeezed my arm in a gesture of support, and changed the subject.

  I told her about Lupe’s death and Helen’s problems. I braced for a lecture about not getting involved. To my surprise, she seemed more worried than annoyed. Maybe the swearing-off-men thing had mellowed her.

  “If you ask me, it was Helen’s ex who killed Lupe. Sounds like the guy has issues.”

  “I found a quetzal feather near the body,” I said. “It’s a rare bird from Central America. You ever heard of it?”

  “The only birds I know about come on dinner plates. What’s the big deal with this feather, anyway?”

  “It’s a gang symbol. The police think Lupe’s son left it there as some sort of statement. I’m not so sure. From what Eugene found out, quetzals don’t live outside Central America. The L.A. zoo doesn’t even have any. Where would gangbangers get feathers?”

  “You need to ask one of those bird experts.”

  “I probably will. Or maybe somebody who knows about Central America.”

  Venus paused. “I have a client you could talk to. He’s a doctor on the Board of a nonprofit called Air Health. His name is Jordan Rich. He flies to Guatemala all the time to work at a free clinic there. He knows a lot about the culture, and he’s a nice guy. I’m sure he’ll help if he can.”

  “Thanks, but I can find out about Guatemala on the Internet.”

  “That’s not the same as talking to somebody who’s been there.”

  Dr. Rich was probably a dead end, but it couldn’t hurt to talk to him.

  “Okay, maybe I’ll call him.”

  Venus checked her address book and jotted down Rich’s telephone number on one of her business cards. I put the card in my purse and headed for my car.

  The wind was pushing the clouds east, creating a swath of blue sky over the desert. Riley Deegan’s party wasn’t for several hours, so I called Charley on my cell to see if he’d learned anything at the courthouse. All I got was his voice mail.

  When I arrived home, I took Muldoon for a long walk on the beach. At around four o’clock, I felt restless, so I dialed Jordan Rich’s number. As it turned out, Venus had already alerted him that I might be in touch. He said he would be happy to talk to me about Guatemala. In fact, he had tickets for a musical at the Ahmanson Theatre on Tuesday evening. A fund-raiser. Would I join him? He suggested we meet at the Pinot Grill before curtain time to have dinner and talk.