Too Little, Too Late

by Marta Tandori

  “It certainly does,” she agreed blandly.

  “If I were to buy the property, I would want to include the painting in the purchase,” he warned her.

  “Of course,” she told him, managing to smother a smile. Her mother had told her about the painting.

  “How many bedrooms?” he asked.

  “Eight plus the master suite,” she recited by heart. “All the bedrooms have, of course, attaching bathrooms.” Eve couldn’t help but ask, “Do you have a large family, Mr. Johnson?”

  His demeanor suddenly became distant, as if trying to assess whether her question had an underlying meaning to it. “No, I don’t,” he replied curtly.

  Eve became aware of his discomfiture and immediately tried to make light of the situation. “Sorry. My natural sense of curiosity gets the best of me at times.”

  He smiled and the tension was broken. “Quite all right, my dear. It’s just me and my wife. In fact, I wouldn’t be purchasing the estate for our personal use. Reinhart Studios always has a need for extra accommodations for important guests.” He looked around in appreciation. “This estate fits the bill on every level.”

  “It sounds to me like you’ve already made up your mind,” she told him.

  His smile was enigmatic. “Sometimes, it’s better to act impulsively than never to have acted at all. Wouldn’t you say so, my dear?”

  CHAPTER 30

  Sins Ultra Lounge, the Beverly Highlander’s two-year-old nightclub, boasted chic décor and a lighting extravaganza bar none. It also boasted the most beautiful crowd – and staff – in Beverly Hills. The media always hyped Sins as the place to be seen, where the movers and shakers could connect and where instant fame was attainable by association, so to speak. Donald Trump always stopped by when he was in town, Kanye West was a regular, and everyone from Tiger Woods to Bruce Willis had graced Sins’ entrance at one time or another. It was a major head trip to think that her stepmother, Brooke, had the power to orchestrate those connections or deny access by virtue of a quick shake of her elegantly-coiffed head.

  After all the hype Sins had received in the media, Karen had always imagined it to be more impressive than it was right now. Without the lighting or the beautiful people, it looked almost like the NoHo club she and Ashley had snuck into earlier in the year.

  Karen nervously followed the security guy through the darkened club to an office at the back. She wasn’t sure how Brooke was going to react when she saw her. Since her father had married her, the sum total of her relationship with Brooke had been a few quick greetings and an awkward conversation over dinner one night.

  The security guard knocked on a closed door at the back of the club. After a minute or so, it was opened by Brooke herself, who stared at Karen in surprise.

  “Hi, Karen.” She looked over Karen’s shoulder. “Where’s your dad?”

  “He’s not here. I came alone,” replied Karen, a bundle of nerves. Glancing inside Brooke’s office, Karen saw stacks of papers and folders and another woman, who was making notes in a steno pad. It was obvious they had been working. “I can come back if you’re busy.”

  “That’s okay,” Brooke replied. “Andrea and I were just finishing up.”

  Taking that as her cue to leave, the woman called Andrea quickly gathered her papers together and left.

  “Would you like a juice or soda or something to eat?” Brooke asked politely.

  “No, thanks.”

  “What brings you here to see me?” Brooke asked, eyeing Karen.

  Karen’s carefully rehearsed speech was immediately forgotten. “I’m not going to bullshit you by saying how happy I am about you marrying my dad because I’m not,” Karen told her bluntly.

  “Okay,” said Brooke, swallowing hard. “I appreciate your honesty.” An uncomfortable silence ensued before Brooke finally asked, “So why are you here?”

  “I’m here because I need a favor.”

  “What kind of favor?” Brooke asked warily.

  Karen took a deep breath, deciding to take the bull by the horns. “The kind that would mean you giving me three tickets to Jericho’s Last Stand.”

  “Who are the tickets for?”

  “For some people I know,” she hedged.

  Brooke gave her a pointed look that made Karen squirm in her seat. “Sorry, Karen. I can’t give you the tickets.”

  “Why not?” asked Karen in frustration.

  Getting up, Brooke went to the door and opened it. “I don’t like being played for a fool. You’d better go.”

  Karen stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m a part of your father’s life, whether you like it or not,” Brooke told her, “and I want us to get along. But not on a bribe.”

  “Who said anything about a bribe?”

  “Well, isn’t that what this is about?” Brooke argued heatedly. “I give you the tickets so you and your friends can go and you’ll promise to get along with me?”

  “Hell no!” Karen forced herself to remain calm. “The tickets are for a friend, I admit it. But it’s not like you think.”

  “Oh?” Brooke closed her office door again before crossing her arms over her ample chest. “Then I guess you’d better fill me in.”

  “I think one of my friends screwed me by taking something from the accident scene where that woman was killed.” Karen looked away, unable to meet her eyes. “My other friend found out what she did and is going to help me set things straight if I give her two tickets to Jericho’s Last Stand. That’s why I’ve got to have those tickets.”

  “It sounds to me like you need to make some new friends.”

  That immediately got Karen’s back up. “I asked for tickets, not advice.”

  “Sorry, I still can’t help you,” Brooke remarked. “Your friend is under age.”

  “She has fake ID!” Karen admitted, before realizing the brevity of what she just said. “No one would ever find out. Come on, Brooke. This is really important!”

  Brooke looked at Karen doubtfully but Karen met her gaze without flinching. Making up her mind, Brooke went over to the safe and took out three tickets before handing them to Karen. “Don’t make me regret this.”

  “I promise I won’t.” Karen managed to give her a grudging smile. “Thanks.” Now that she had what she came for, Karen was anxious to leave and made for the door.

  “Karen?”

  With her hand on the knob, Karen turned. “What?”

  “You said your friend wanted two tickets,” Brooke remarked. “Who’s the third ticket for?”

  “For me,” Karen replied. “I’ve got to get something out of this deal, don’t I?”

  ***

  I’m sorry, Mom. I’ve let you down. Liz looked at the bag containing all of her mother’s worldly possessions which the police had delivered earlier. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to open the bag yet. The police investigation into her mother’s death had all but died after a series of dead ends. Liz had hoped that when the car used in her mother’s hit and run had been located, it would turn up something. Even that small shred of hope had dwindled and died when forensics was unable to find a single hair follicle or print on the vehicle that would help them find the driver of the car.

  At first, the police had been hopeful that the driver would be found, given the relatively high profile nature of the case. After all, Karen Devane’s lineage was pure Hollywood, from her father, the Beverly Hills doctor with the roster of A-list patients, to the ex-child star mother and finally, to her grandmother, famous in her own right. Her impressive pedigree all but guaranteed the paparazzi crush which had been relentless over the course of the past few months.

  Now, with little to go on and the case growing cold, the police were changing their theory. Because of the high profile nature of the case, they concluded that the driver was probably in hiding. They were also convinced that whoever had killed her mother had been meticulously scrupulous, given the lack of forensic evidence found in the car. Unfortunat
ely, without the driver of the car and no new leads, there wasn’t much to sustain the investigation. All that remained of her mother were her ashes in the urn on Liz’s sideboard, the sum total of her personal effects contained in the bag at her feet and the few precious photographs Liz had taken of Maria while they had been together.

  Defeat lay heavily on her shoulders. Liz couldn’t shake the feeling that she had let her mother down, even in death. Otis had followed up the lead with Paco Ramierez, the owner of the vehicle, but that had also turned out to be another dead end. At least he’d made a contribution to the investigation which is more than what she had contributed. And then came the phone call yesterday from Kate, offering Liz a job as their office assistant.

  She suspected that Kate’s motives for offering her the job had hinged on guilt. Liz knew she should turn down the offer, even throw it back in Kate Stanton’s face, but the reality was her money wouldn’t last forever, as her slowly diminishing savings account had confirmed. With no other palatable prospects in sight, Liz had accepted Kate’s offer. This meant she wouldn’t have much time for detective work - not that having had the time had produced any positive results.

  Of course, Otis hadn’t been too happy about it when she told him the news and tried to get Liz to change her mind. She figured he wanted her to go back to the Dream Factory fold but once she left a job, she didn’t want to go back. Besides, she’d already committed herself to the job with Kate. Of course, her working for Kate may prove to be more awkward than any of them could have imagined. What was the title of that famous old song? Que sera sera, what will be, will be. Well, those words could have been custom-made for her situation right now. What will be, will be. She’d deal with the punches as they came. That’s what Liz had been doing all her life.

  CHAPTER 31

  Snowby’s was packed as Karen made her way through the crush of loitering bodies, dodging harried waiters as they scurried about with laden trays. If Laurie was here, she’d be in a booth at the back. Laurie always liked to sit in the back of places, in case she needed to make a quick getaway. Sure enough, she could see the top of Laurie’s spiky black hair in the last booth, closest to the emergency exit. She was sitting with Spic and some other girl Karen didn’t recognize. She went and stood in front of their booth.

  Spic looked up and immediately became uncomfortable. “Hey,” she said by way of greeting.

  “Hey yourself,” Karen replied coolly.

  “Who’s she?” asked their companion dismissively.

  “Karen’s a friend,” Spic told her, glancing at Laurie nervously.

  Laurie looked up, her eyes painfully dilated. “’T’sup?”

  “I need to talk to you and Spic.”

  “We were just leaving,” said their friend with major attitude.

  “I didn’t come here to talk to you,” said Karen dismissively, “so you can leave.”

  “Who the fuck do you think you are, bitch?” asked the girl, her shackles rising at Karen’s dismissive tone.

  “I’ve got business with these two that doesn’t concern you,” Karen told her. “So get lost.”

  “A bitch is a bitch is a bitch,” chanted Laurie, half stoned.

  “What do you want, Karen?” asked Spic. “We were kind of in the middle of something.”

  “I need to talk to you two alone,” she told them, giving the other girl a pointed look. “And it won’t take long.”

  Spic turned to the other girl. “Take off, Cleo. We’ll meet you by your car in a few minutes, okay?”

  “Yeah,” chimed Laurie. “Score us a rock, bitch.” She chuckled crazily as Cleo reluctantly got up and left in a violent burst of energy.

  Karen wasted no time in sliding into her vacant seat.

  “So what’s up?” asked Spic.

  “I hate being played, Spic,” Karen told her friend coldly.

  “What do you mean?” she asked nervously.

  “You know what I mean.” Karen reached inside her purse and pulled out one of the tickets that Brooke had given to her. “After you left my place the other day, I kept thinking that Laurie never gave a shit about Sins. You’re the one who creams her panties over Jericho D, or at least you would if you ever wore any! All you had to do was fucking ask me for a ticket instead of making up some bullshit story about Laurie wanting it!”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Spic mumbled.

  “Sure you do,” Karen insisted. “I think you called it Plan B, remember?”

  “What’she talkin’ about?” Laurie demanded belligerently.

  “Nothing!” Spic told her. “Don’t worry about it, okay?” Spic’s eyes focused on the ticket in Karen’s hand. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Yes it is,” Karen told her.

  “Come on!” Spic tried reasoning with her friend. “You know you wouldn’t have gone had I asked. You hate your stepmother’s guts.”

  “You got that right,” Karen told her automatically. “Except I did go and now I have three tickets and you don’t have any.” She looked at Laurie, derision in her eyes. “Friends have each other’s backs. Friends don’t betray friends, right Laurie?”

  Laurie had faded out of their conversation again, trying to fish something out of her nose.

  “Come on, Karen, just give me the ticket!”

  “You don’t deserve it,” Karen told her coldly.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” Spic told her, “and I am your friend!”

  “I’ll think about it,” she told her dismissively, “and it may take me a while.” Enjoying her friend’s apparent angst, she rummaged around in her purse for her wallet. Finding it, Karen took out five, one hundred dollar bills and laid them on the table in front of Laurie.

  Laurie’s rheumy eyes focused on the bills hungrily. “’Tsat for?”

  “Give me the necklace you stole off the dead woman and you get the cash.” Karen’s voice was businesslike. “It’s as simple as that.”

  “I don’t got it on me,” Laurie whined, scratching her arm absentmindedly.

  “Then you don’t got no cash.” Karen picked up the bills, one at a time, and began putting them back in her wallet.

  “Hey!” Laurie grabbed Karen’s arm, trying to stop her. “I didn’t say I couldn’t get it for ya.”

  “Where is it?” asked Karen, trying not to show her excitement.

  “Close by,” she told her. “We can go get it now.” She stood up on chronically wobbly legs, grabbing the table for support.

  Karen looked at Spic for confirmation, but Spic just shrugged her shoulders. “You’d better not be screwing with me,” she warned Laurie before following her out of the restaurant and across the parking lot. “Where are we going?”

  “You want your fuckin’ necklace, don’tcha?”

  Karen tried to keep her impatience in check as she followed Laurie all the way to Hollywood High. The field was deserted, as was the parking lot. School had ended hours ago.

  “What are we doing here?” asked Karen.

  “It’s over there,” Laurie told her, pointing to the bleachers at the far end of the field.

  “Where?”

  Instead of answering her, Laurie dropped to her knees under the far end of the bleachers. Taking out a Swiss army knife from her back pocket, she selected a blade and began digging at the mound of earth by the base of one of the bleachers. Not getting very far, she impatiently dug her fingers into the earth and moments later, exposed a pink plastic bag. Triumphantly, she pulled it out of the earth and handed it to Karen.

  With trembling fingers, Karen opened the bag and looked inside. It was a necklace! Shaking the contents of the bag into the palm of her hand, she examined it. The necklace was made of coins and looked old. She glanced at Laurie. “Is this it?”

  Laurie nodded, scratching at one of the scabs on her face. “So how’s about forkin’ over the dough?”

  Wordlessly, Karen took the money out of her wallet and handed it to her.

  Laurie snatched it away from her, sh
oving the bills in her pocket. “You’re acting like you’re pissed or somethin’.”

  Karen looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. If Laurie was too stoned to figure it out, then she wasn’t going to waste her breath telling her. She turned and walked away, the necklace clutched in her hand. When she got to the car, she tried dialing her mother’s cell phone number with fingers that weren’t quite steady. She got her voicemail.

  “Shit!”

  Karen threw her cell phone in her purse with disgust. She had to show this necklace to the cops but didn’t want to go at it alone. She quickly put her Beemer into reverse and headed for her grandmother’s house.

  ***

  “More champagne?” Paul asked, emptying the remainder of the bottle into her glass.

  Eve grimaced slightly, feeling the effects of the bubbly on her empty stomach. “No more, otherwise I’ll never be able to drive home.”

  “We’re supposed to be celebrating the sale of my house,” he reminded her. “Besides, I can have Darryl drive you wherever you need to go.”

  “I appreciate that, Paul, but I think I’m fine.” She frowned as she looked at her cell phone. “Somehow I feel guilty not phoning Mom and telling her the good news. She should be here celebrating with us.”

  “I’m sorry for putting you into that predicament.” Paul put his glass down and went and stood by the window. “It’s just that your mother’s not very happy with me these days.”

  “Are you two still at odds with each other?”

  He nodded. “Maybe I was wrong to push her about the publicity junket but I honestly thought it would do her good to focus on something else other than the hit-and-run.”

  “You know Mom,” said Eve quietly. “She’s fiercely loyal to those she loves.” She saw Paul’s shoulders slump and chided herself on her insensitive choice of words. It was obvious that Paul was in love with her mother; obvious to everyone except Kate. She quickly changed the subject. “I had no idea Irving Johnson owned Reinhart. When I think of Reinhart Studios, I always think of Charlie Mecca.”