He mulled that over for a moment, likely weighing the cost of upsetting a client like Manchester versus the disruption of having a few PIs in his kitchen. Finally he called over his shoulder. "Carlos? Can you come over here for a moment?"
One of the two caterers working on the canapés moved to join our group. Carlos was a tall, slim guy with long dark hair pulled into a bun under a hairnet. He wiped his hands on his apron before greeting us with a handshake. "Hey."
"Hi. I'm Jamie Bond," I told him. "I'm looking into an incident that occurred at the Manchester house on Saturday. We're talking to everyone who was there, on the off chance they saw something useful."
He gave me a blank look like he couldn't imagine what might be useful. Granted, I'd given him little to go on.
"You were present at his home on Saturday night, correct?"
Carlos nodded. "Me and Pete."
"Pete?" I asked.
"Peter Rivera," Finley supplied. He gestured to a photo on the wall of several caterers in white aprons smiling at the camera for a company photo, pointing out the man in question as a stocky guy in dark jeans and a black T-shirt beneath his apron. His biceps bulged, and there was a large tattoo of a five-pointed crown on his forearm.
"Is Pete here?" I asked.
Finley shook his head. "He called in sick."
I shot Sam a glance. Red flag alert. "How long has Peter Rivera worked for you?" I asked slowly.
"A few months. Why?" Finley asked, looking nervous again.
"No reason," I mumbled noncommittally.
"Did either of you happen to see this woman at Manchester's party?" Caleigh jumped in, pulling up the photo of Apple on her phone.
Carlos glanced at it before shaking his head. Finley gave it a good long stare before answering. "Sorry. There were a lot of girls there. Mr. Manchester, er, likes to entertain."
"How about her?" Caleigh asked, swiping through to one of Candy.
Finley shook his head.
Carlos just shrugged. "Maybe. I wasn't really paying attention. We were focused on the job."
"How about this—did you happen to meet Mr. Manchester's daughter while you were there?" Sam asked.
Finley gave me the same blank look. "He has a daughter?"
Either the guy was doing a crack job at playing dumb, or he really didn't know anything about either missing woman.
"Did you see Mr. Manchester paying any special attention to any woman there?" I asked, feeling like we'd hit a dead end here.
But to my surprise, Carlos nodded emphatically this time. "Oh yeah. Manchester had a very heated argument with one woman that evening."
All eyes went to Carlos.
"But it wasn't the woman in the picture I showed you?" Caleigh clarified.
"Nah. This one was older." He paused. "And wearing more clothes."
"Did you hear what the argument was about?" I asked.
"Not all of it. They were facing off for a while, but then it got really heated, like I said. The woman got loud, and that's when I heard her say he'd cheated her out of a lot of money."
"Did she say how much?"
He nodded again. "Five million dollars."
Now he had my attention. That was the same amount the kidnappers had asked Manchester for. Coincidence?
"Any idea who this other woman was?" I asked.
He grinned. "Actually, yeah. She's hard to miss."
I raised an eyebrow his way. "Do tell?"
"I recognized her from the tabloids. She's a movie producer. Delphine King," Carlos said.
The name did ring a bell. I shot a look to Sam, and she nodded slightly, indicating the woman had been on the list of party attendees Manchester had given us.
"Thanks very much," I told him. When Carlos returned to his appetizers, I turned to Finley. "I'd like to get Peter Rivera's contact info, please."
Finley frowned. "I'm not sure I can give that out. It's private information."
I glanced up at the photo of Pete again. "You in the habit of hiring former felons, Mr. Finley?" I asked.
"W-what?" He crossed his arms over his chest in a protective gesture.
"Your employee over there. He's got a prison tattoo. Latin Kings, if I'm not mistaken?"
I felt Sam tense beside me.
"I-I believe in giving people a second chance," Finley protested.
Which was very PC of him, but I wasn't sure if it was very smart, given the current circumstances.
"Pete is no trouble," he protested again.
I nodded. "I'm sure he's not. But I'd like to talk to him all the same."
"I don't know…"
"I wonder what your clients would think of a member of the Latin Kings having full access to their homes full of expensive, tempting items."
"Former member," Finley protested.
"Right. I'm sure that will make a difference." I hit him with a steely look, not backing down from my threat.
He licked his lips again, glanced up at the photo of Rivera, then finally nodded at rapid speed looking like he was pecking at the air. "I'll get you his info."
* * *
As soon as we got back to the car, I checked my phone. The ping I'd received earlier had been a text from Aiden.
Hoping to cash in that rain check soon.
A whole host of emotions ran through me, ranging from guilt to lust and everything in between. I wondered how long my conscience would allow me to keep from Aiden the real reason for my trip to New Zealand. Instead of dwelling on the questions, I just shot him off a quick and noncommittal me too.
Then I dialed the number for Peter Rivera. Straight to voicemail. Either he was avoiding calls, or he was really sick in bed with the ringer off.
"You think the Latin King had something to do with the kidnapping?" Caleigh asked as I hung up.
I shrugged. "It's a coincidence he's not at work today."
"Or, he really is reformed," Sam said, playing devils' advocate, "and we're guilty of profiling."
I shot her a look. "Innocent people don't get gang tattoos. You don't want to be known as a gang member—don't advertise it on your skin."
She grinned. "Point taken. But I still like Miss You Cheated Me out of Five Million Dollars."
"Me too," I agreed. "Let's go visit Delphine King."
* * *
Delphine King's office was located in Santa Monica in a five-story building just off Wilshire. The lobby was long and cold with slate-colored flooring and fake cinder block walls.
A young man sat behind the long reception desk and gave us a curt smile. "May I help you?"
"I'm Jamie Bond from the Bond Agency, and these are my associates." I let the receptionist draw his own conclusions about what our "agency" and my "associates" did for a living, hoping he mistook us for film industry types and not the nosey PI types we actually were. "We're here to speak with Delphine King."
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No, we don't," I admitted. "And I realize Ms. King is very busy, but if you could please just let her know we're here? Tell her it's in reference to Wendell Manchester."
Surprisingly, the man nodded and picked up the phone.
I glanced over my shoulder to the girls and raised a brow. Apparently our client's name carried some clout. Either that or someone was hoping to get that five million dollars out of us.
He hung up the phone and said, "Her assistant will be out in a moment."
I sat down on the white leather sofa opposite the reception desk, and the promised sixty seconds later a door opened and the assistant appeared. She was a tall, slender woman who towered over us, three ex-models, and had an accent that sounded German or Dutch. "This way, please."
We walked down a quiet hall lined with framed movie posters. From the little background info Maya'd had time to dig up on our drive over, I knew Delphine had started her career doing small indie stuff and had just recently been accepted to the big boys' club, where she'd gotten some major studio distribution for her last couple of films. The first one
had done well, exceeding studio expectations, but the last one had produced lackluster results. Meaning she had better put out a hit next, or her career would go the way of the silent film.
As our heels clicked in sync on the shiny black flooring, I wondered just how Manchester might have cheated her out of money and how desperate to make a blockbuster she was to get it all back? Desperate enough to resort to kidnapping for ransom?
The assistant stopped at an opaque glass door at the end of the hall, knocked once, and pushed it open. We stepped into another long room, an office that was all white and glass except for a thick black rug that ran the length of it.
Delphine King had a short dark bob and was dressed in a pinstriped dress with an oversized collar. She talked into her headset as she motioned for us to take a seat.
There were a couple of chairs across from the glass and metal desk and a low, ultra modern white sofa along the exterior wall, which was covered in ceiling-to-floor windows. Sam and Caleigh sat there while I took one of the chairs.
At the other end of the room was a gas fireplace with a couple of chairs before it, a large TV mounted on the wall, and another door that was ajar just enough for me to see the edge of a sink inside.
Private bathroom, fireplace, corner office that looked out over the city. Delphine King's career might be hanging on by a thread, but if she was going down, she was doing it in style.
She said goodbye into her headset with a promise to get together for lunch soon. Then she removed her earpiece, set it on the desk, and smiled in our direction. It was a tight grin, one that suggested she either didn't want to speak to us or she was busy and we were infringing on that time. Maybe a little of both. "How can I help you?"
"I'm Jamie Bond, and these are my associates, Caleigh and Sam," I introduced myself.
She nodded and did a hurry up motion with her hands. "Yes, I know. My receptionist already told me that. She said Wendell sent you. What does the troll want now?"
Clearly the woman didn't feel the need to hide her disdain of Manchester.
"We're looking into an incident that occurred at Wendell Manchester's party Saturday night," I said.
She rolled her eyes and made some sound in the base of her throat when I mentioned his name. "You've got to be joking! What, are you lawyers? Is he trying to sue me over it or something?"
"Over what?" I asked.
"The fight we had at his party?" She looked from me to Caleigh and Sam. "That's the incident you mean, right?"
"Why don't you tell me what happened?" I said instead of answering.
She blew out a loud breath, shaking her bob back and forth. "Look, I'd had a couple cocktails, okay. I might have gotten a bit carried away, and we argued."
"What was the argument about?" I asked.
"He didn't tell you?" she asked.
I shook my head, making a mental note to ask him the next time we talked.
"Typical." She snorted her disgust again. "Wendell had promised to come on board as an executive producer and finance my next film. Well, a good chunk of it anyway."
"Five million dollars of it?" I guessed.
She nodded, that bob bouncing again. "Exactly! Only he pulled out at the last minute, leaving yours truly high and dry. I mean, I've already got the thing cast. I've got location scouts to pay and agents breathing down my neck—what am I supposed to do now?!"
"Why did he pull out?" Sam piped up.
Delphine shifted her gaze. "He didn't tell you that either?"
The three of us shook our heads.
She muttered a few choice curse words under her breath and made some insinuations about Wendell, his mother, and a goat. "Wendell demanded that I cast his precious daughter in the movie as the lead actress. Which was totally ridiculous! First off, we've already promised the studio a name actress in that part. And secondly, that spoiled nobody couldn't act her way out of a paper bag. Wendell was nuts if he thought I'd bend to his demands."
"But he pulled out his money when you didn't?" Sam added.
She nodded, narrowing her eyes in obvious anger. "And now I've had to delay production. My other backers are waffling, and the entire film may be scrapped because of Wendell."
She certainly had a grudge against Manchester. And from the way she spoke of his daughter, it didn't seem like she had a lot of love for her either.
"Did you see Kendall Manchester at the party on Saturday?"
The question took her off guard, and she blinked at me—either trying to conjure up the memory or think of a quick lie. "No, I don't recall speaking with her. But there were a lot of people there."
"What about the dancers?" Caleigh asked.
Delphine quirked a brow. "Dancers?"
Caleigh held out her phone with the photo of Apple. "This woman was working the party. Did you see her?"
Delphine squinted at the screen as if she was too vain to wear the glasses she needed. Finally recognition dawned on her face, and she sat back, nodding again. "Oh yeah. That was the little tart Wendell was hooking up with that night."
I froze, shooting a look at Caleigh. This was the first anyone had mentioned of Wendell and Apple "hooking up."
"Hooking up?" Sam clarified.
Delphine waved her hands in the air. "I assumed. I mean, God, I didn't actually see anything. Ugh!" She made that choking sound in the back of her throat again. "But he was all over her. I remember her because she's, what, half his age? Probably the same age as his bratty daughter. So gross. Typical entitled Hollywood pig. I mean, time's up, right?" She shook her head in a mock shudder.
I watched her, my mind going over what she'd just said. The caterer had said he'd seen Delphine and Manchester arguing. But he hadn't noticed Apple with them, then. Which begged the question…
"When exactly did you see Wendell Manchester and the dancer together?"
She blinked at me as if trying to figure out the significance of the question. "When he took her up to his room."
"To dance for his friends?" That had been the last Candy had seen of Apple too.
Only Delphine shook her head in the negative. "No, they were alone."
"Wait—Wendell Manchester took Apple into his bedroom alone?" I shot a look toward Caleigh and Sam. Our client had lied to us.
Delphine nodded now, that bob getting a workout, flying every which way. "That's right. I mean, it didn't take a genius to figure he wasn't there to show off his collection of expensive cuff links, right?"
Manchester had been alone with Apple. In his bedroom. He'd known full well who she was all along.
"When was this? What time?" I asked.
"Right before I left. I don't know, maybe around three in the morning?"
Which meant he was likely the last person seen with her.
Alone.
* * *
We made a quick pit stop at the office to order lunch. Then I left Sam and Caleigh there as I ate a turkey sandwich in the car on the way to Manchester's place in Bel Air, only slightly ignoring the suggested speed limits.
"It's Jamie Bond," I demanded rather than asked of the security speaker at the gate. "Let me in."
"Bond?" came a sleepy male reply. "Do you have my daughter?"
"Open. The. Gate." After learning he'd lied to me, I was in no mood to play any guessing games with Manchester. This time I was going to get answers about Apple. Even if I had to shake them out of him.
He complied, the iron metal gate creaking open ahead of me. I pulled up the circular drive and jumped out of my roadster just as Wendell appeared at the front door. He was wearing pajama pants and a long blue robe, looking like he'd just rolled out of bed despite the fact it was well into the afternoon. He blinked at me as if he was trying to focus, pre-coffee. "Have you found Kendall?" he asked.
"No, but I've found out I'm working for a liar." Which was a bit of stretch. Technically, he hadn't paid me, and I was only halfway working for him.
He blinked, his pallor going a shade paler than normal as he stepped back into the foye
r. "W-w-what do you mean?"
I followed him inside, forcing him to walk backwards, and slammed the door shut behind me. "You lied about not knowing Apple. You were with her that night. Alone."
He blinked again in rapid succession, and his mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. "I-I-I don't know what you mean."
"I mean you probably know Apple a lot more intimately than I do." I took two more steps toward him.
He did a nervous chuckle and laid his hands out in front of him. "Well, I mean, she was a very pretty girl."
"Was?" I jumped on his use of past tense.
"Is! I mean is! I mean, I'm sure she's fine."
"What happened to Apple?" I demanded, taking another step forward until I had him cornered against the staircase.
"I-I don't—"
But he never got to finish the thought as the front door banged open.
We both looked up to find a young woman in a pair of high heels, skinny jeans, and a black off-the-shoulder Oscar de la Renta silk top walking in. Her highlighted honey brown hair was held back in a messy chic ponytail, and she pulled a pair of vintage sunglasses off her eyes, focusing them on us.
"Dad? What's going on?" she asked.
I blinked at the girl. Dad?
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Oh my God, Kendall!" Wendell leapt forward, pushing me out of the way as he crushed the young woman to him in a hug.
"Dad!" She wiggled like a toddler in his grasp.
I stared at the scene, my brain trying to register what my eyes were telling me. It was the same girl from the photos all over the house—brunette, about five-five, dressed in the best labels money could buy. It was Kendall Manchester.
"How did you get away? Who took you? Where have you been?" Wendell was firing off questions at her like ammo from a gun as she pushed back from his embrace.
"Ohmigod, what are you talking about? Have you been, like, day drinking or something?" She paused and turned her gaze on me, giving me a once-over before wrinkling her nose in an expression that clearly said I hadn't passed muster. "Who's this?"
"That's Jamie. I hired her," Wendell said. "Are you hurt?"
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