Fatal Bond

by Gemma Halliday

  But she didn't get to finish as the frosted office door slammed open as if hit by a tornado. And the woman standing in the frame looked about the same.

  Caleigh stepped into the room, her eyes darting from Sam to Maya to me. The front part of her hair was windblown, her cashmere sweater was smeared with something white and chalky on one side, her pink linen skirt was rumpled, and her hands were clenched into fists. She stood there practically seething as Kendall Manchester breezed in behind her. She, on the other hand, was impeccably dressed in a brown and white paisley minidress with brown knee-high boots. The dress had a deep V-neckline and long, flared sleeves that fluttered as she moved. She looked fresh as a morning daisy in comparison to Caleigh, who almost looked like she'd slept in her clothes.

  "Ohmigod, you all, like, work here?" She wrinkled her nose. "This is, like, sad. My dad's loaded. You should totally charge him more and upgrade."

  I looked around the room. While it wasn't large, the office lobby was tastefully furnished in low, modern furniture, a potted palm by the door and a new geometric rug on the floor. I thought it looked pretty nice, myself. Granted it was no Manchester mansion, but LA rents being what they were, I thought we were doing pretty well.

  "Oh, Caleigh, can you be a love and get me a water?" Kendall pulled out her phone, scrolling through God-knew-what as she talked instead of actually looking in Caleigh's direction. If she had, she might have seen the steam starting to pour from Caleigh's ears. "I'm, like, super parched. That drive was brutal. Who knew there was so much traffic in the morning, right?"

  People who worked for a living did. "Uh, I think we have some water in the back," I told her.

  "Cool. Oh, it's Veen, right?"

  "Uh…Veen?" I was stumped.

  "Yeah, it's like designer. From Finland. I only drink fat-free, organic water."

  I blinked at her. Was this chick for real?

  Caleigh moved beside me, a slight twitch taking over her left eye. "I can't take it anymore. Help. Me," she said under her breath.

  I stifled a laugh. I wasn't sure if I'd ever seen Caleigh this upset. "So the sleepover wasn't all pillow fights and nail painting?"

  Caleigh shot me a death look.

  "Okay, okay!" I threw my hands up in surrender. "I'll find someone else to watch Kendall today."

  "Not it!" Sam said behind me.

  "Maya?" I put my hands together in a pleading motion.

  Maya sighed and looked to Kendall, still swiping away, seemingly oblivious to us. "Fine. How bad could it be?"

  Kendall looked up finally to find us all watching her. "Am I getting that water?"

  "You're a saint," I told Maya.

  She shrugged. "Remember that when it's Christmas bonus time," she said, heading into the back to find some "fat-free organic" water.

  I took a step toward Kendall, looking at her screen. "No social media," I warned. "No one can know where you are or that you're not locked up somewhere." My voice faltered on those last words, thinking of poor Apple, who was locked up somewhere.

  She pouted. "Then what am I supposed to do all day?"

  "I don't know. Read a magazine?" I gestured to the small stack on the end table we kept for waiting clients. People. Time. Vogue.

  Kendall gaped at me. "Seriously? What is this, a dentist office?"

  "They're this month's issues."

  "Yeah, but that stuff happened, like, days ago." She rolled her eyes. "This is so drag."

  "You'll survive," I told her. Probably. Unless Maya snapped.

  I turned to Caleigh, who looked like she needed a handful of aspirin and a stiff drink. Maybe not in that order. "Sam and I are going to chat with Kent Perkins. Think you can keep an eye on Delphine for us today?"

  Caleigh nodded.

  "Uh, what about the Hampshires?" Maya asked, coming back into the room with a paper cup full of what I was certain was not designer water.

  Right. Our paying clients.

  But Caleigh waved my concerns off. "It's fine. I can multitask. Delphine's probably working this morning, so I'll check in with her receptionist to keep tabs, then track down Harold Hampshire. Cool?"

  "As a cucumber," I told her. Then I turned to Sam. "Ready for that Bloody Mary?"

  CHAPTER NINE

  We pulled up to the country club, down a palm tree–lined path that led to a circular drive. It reminded me of Wendell's home, except this place was much more sprawling. From what I knew of the club, the dues were high, membership was exclusive, and celebrity sightings were the norm.

  I pulled to a stop in front of the double glass doors, and a valet in black pants, vest, and white shirt hurried over. I showed him my PI ID as our means of entry, handed him my keys, tucked the ticket into my purse, and met Sam at the front doors.

  We stepped inside, and I needed a moment for my eyes to adjust to the interior dimness. It wasn't dance club dark, but even with the wrought iron chandelier above us, it wasn't as bright as a sunny fall day. We walked along the warm tiled floor, getting a view on our right of the golf course through several sets of French doors. We passed a couple of hallways leading to locker rooms and a couple of sitting rooms filled with dormant fireplaces, love seats, and several armchairs. They were all largely deserted at this time of day. Apparently everyone was either on the links or at the bar.

  I banked on the latter for Kent Perkins.

  We took another hallway through a pair of arches before spotting the large bar area. Dark woods, lots of brass and shiny chrome, and several tables, all filled with men and women in various styles of athletic attire—ranging from checked golf pants with polos to tennis skirts that looked more for show than sport. Several young men and women in starched white club uniforms flitted between tables with trays full of mimosas, Bloody Marys, and champagne.

  We approached the bar. The bartender was dressed in the same uniform as the valet. He was arranging clean shot glasses on a shelf.

  "Can I get either of you something?" he asked.

  We shook our heads. "No, thank you," I said. "I'm looking for Kent Perkins?"

  The bartender rolled his eyes and pointed to a patron with his back to us. Short silver-toned hair, light blue sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a gold and black watch on a hairy arm. He was cradling a glass of something that looked nearly empty.

  "You better hurry if you want anything coherent," the bartender told us. "That's his third this morning."

  I thanked him and did as he suggested, approaching the guy who sat alone at his table.

  "Excuse me, are you Kent Perkins?" I asked the man guzzling the last of his drink. I flashed him my ID. "I'm Jamie Bond, and this is my associate Sam Cross."

  He gave us both a healthy up and down, eyes lingering on Sam's legs in her above-the-knee pencil skirt.

  "Care to join me, ladies?" he asked, gesturing to the empty chairs. Once we'd sat down, he flashed us an unsteady grin. "Can I buy you two lovelies a drink?"

  "No, thank you. We wanted to talk to you about Wendell Manchester."

  The smile on his face died instantly. "Manchester is a lying bastard who should be six-feet under."

  Wow, tell us how you really feel, Kent.

  I leaned toward him. "He really screwed you over, huh?"

  Kent stared at my cleavage. "Yeah, he did."

  I put on my most sympathetic face. "Tell us about it."

  Sam motioned to one of the uniformed servers to bring Kent another drink.

  Kent looked confused for a moment but didn't object. I'd bet that two ex-models weren't buying him drinks often. "He was screwing my wife," he told us matter-of-factly.

  I nodded, even though I already knew this. I didn't want to rush him, but I wanted to hear something I didn't know, like how much he hated Wendell and how he'd sworn vengeance. That he planned to take something from Wendell as precious as Kent's wife had been to him, all while he rubbed his hands together gleefully and let out an evil cackle. Or something like that.

  The server placed another Bloody Mary in fr
ont of Kent and removed the now empty glass.

  Kent lifted his new drink and stared at the liquid. "Yeah, the bastard was a great friend, huh?"

  "I'm so sorry. I'm sure it must have been heartbreaking."

  "It was bank breaking!" He sipped. "Ex took me to the cleaners. I should have known better, really."

  "Oh? How so?" I asked.

  He took a bite out of his celery and then set the rest of the stalk down. "She was beautiful." He paused. "Like you ladies."

  I wasn't sure if that was a clumsy attempt at flirting or an honest sentiment. "Go on."

  "But, God, was she smart. That was my mistake, you know? Going for a girl smart like that. You can't trust the smart ones." He went silent and stared at his hands beside his glass. I wasn't sure if he was reliving a beautiful memory or if he'd fallen asleep upright. His eyes were still open.

  Sam cleared her throat.

  Kent jolted in his seat, seemingly coming back to us. "We met at a law firm, you know?"

  "I didn't," I said, hoping to get this conversation back around to Manchester soon.

  "Yeah. Carol was my first wife's assistant." He chuckled. "Man was Ex Number One mad when she caught the two of us doing it on her desk."

  I blinked at him. "Wait—you cheated on your first wife with your second wife, and then she cheated on you with your best friend?"

  "Former best friend," he corrected.

  Sam stifled a smirk.

  "And if it wasn't for that creep," Kent went on, "I'd still be married to Carol. And she'd still be dependent on me and not living it up in my house with my cars and some young himbo."

  Wow, karma had definitely found this guy.

  "Clearly you're no friend of Manchester."

  "Clearly!" He emphasized by raising his glass in the air.

  "So, what were you doing at his party on Saturday night?"

  "What?" That derailed him.

  "You were at Wendell Manchester's on Saturday night? He said he had to have security throw you out."

  He narrowed his eyes. "Is that what this is about? Is he squawking about that restraining order again?"

  I glanced to Sam. "We are looking into certain matters for Mr. Manchester."

  "Well, you can tell him where to shove that order! A man defends himself one time with a golf club, and look where it gets him…" he mumbled to himself.

  "Why did you go to his place that night?" Sam pressed.

  "Why? I'll tell you why! My lawyer called me and said Carol found out about my offshore account in Singapore. How, you ask?"

  I didn't, but I was curious.

  "Wendell Freaking Manchester. Some kind of pillow talk he used to get her into the sack, right? Spilling all my financial secrets. Any idea what that little move is gonna cost me?"

  I shook my head.

  "Nearly five million dollars," he spat out.

  I glanced at Sam. Her arched eyebrows perfectly mirrored my thoughts. Five million seemed like a popular sum amongst Wendell's circle.

  "Did you see Kendall that night?" I asked.

  He paused. "Kendall?"

  "Manchester's daughter."

  He nodded recognition. "Right, right. Maybe for a few minutes, yeah."

  "When was this?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "Right before security threw me out. She was by the pool."

  "Any chance she was wearing a black jumpsuit?" I fished, wondering just which "Kendall" he'd seen.

  He frowned. "A what?"

  "Off the shoulder a bit. Ruffles, cropped pants," Sam described, pointing to her own body parts as she spoke.

  "Oh, uh, yeah. I mean, yeah, actually, she was." He paused, his alcohol-soaked brain slowly putting pieces together. "Why? What's Kendall got to do with anything?"

  I bit my lip, unsure how much to share. However, if Kent was our kidnapper, he already knew. "She was abducted."

  "What?" Kent looked from Sam to me, genuinely shocked. Or at least playing shocked pretty well for being three sheets to the wind.

  "She's being held for ransom," I added.

  He blinked, did more staring. Then he finally burst into laughter. "Oh, God help whoever took that brat."

  His sympathy was overwhelming. Then again, after a night with Kendall, I was pretty sure Caleigh shared that sentiment.

  "What time did security throw you out?" I asked Kent as he got his laughter under control.

  "Whoa, you don't think I had anything to do with this, do you?"

  Neither Sam nor I answered that one.

  "Look, I got no love for Manchester, but I've got morals."

  I raised an eyebrow at him. I would imagine his first wife would beg to differ.

  "I didn't take any spoiled kid." He held up a hand. "Scout's honor."

  I doubted he'd ever been a Scout or ever had any honor. And while I had a hard time picturing the sauced older guy shoving Apple in the back of a van, it was possible this drunken buffoon thing was all an act. Either way, as Kent signaled for another drink, I had a feeling we'd gotten everything out of him that we were going to. Or that he'd want to share.

  We thanked him for his time and headed back to the parking lot.

  The valet was just bringing the car back around when my cell rang. It was Wendell. Perfect timing.

  "Bond," I answered.

  "It's me. Wendell," he told me unnecessarily.

  "What is it?" I asked. He sounded agitated.

  "I just got a call from the kidnappers."

  Chills slithered down the back of my neck and nestled at the base of my spine. "I'm on my way."

  * * *

  The drive to his estate was a blur as I weaved in and out of traffic.

  The housekeeper let us in, both at the gate and the front door. She was a cliché in every way—a robust woman with a severe gray bun and a stern scowl on her face. She wore a full white apron and a white blouse and black pants beneath. Her black loafers had been polished to a high shine. Either Wendell was militant about the staff's uniforms, or she took her job very seriously. My bet, after seeing his home two days after a party, was on the latter.

  Wendell was pacing behind the sofa, and Stephanie sat on the edge of one of the chairs, looking poised for action.

  When he saw Sam and me, Wendell stopped pacing. "Thank God you're here."

  "What did they say?" The words tumbled out of my mouth, tripping over one another.

  "They had instructions for transferring the money to their account."

  "Did you talk to Ap—" I paused, remembering our ruse in front of Stephanie and the housekeeper, who I had no doubt was listening in intently from the other room. "To your daughter?"

  Wendell shook his head. "I tried to get them to put her on, but they accused me of stalling."

  "What time exactly did the call come in?"

  "Right before I called you. I hung up with them, dialed your number."

  "What did the voice sound like?" Sam asked.

  "Same as before. Distorted."

  "Could you tell if it was a man or a woman?"

  Wendell shook his head. "Male? Maybe? But I'm not sure."

  "What did they tell you to do?" I asked.

  "They said I have twenty-four hours to comply or my daughter is dead."

  I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. The kidnappers still believed they had Kendall. While it wasn't a guarantee that Apple was okay, it boded well.

  I glanced at my phone. It was just past eleven.

  "They gave an account number and instructions to wire the money," Stephanie added.

  "We could trace the account number," Sam offered.

  I shrugged. "We can try, but my bet is it's probably anonymous or woven through enough nameless corporate accounts that it'll take much longer than twenty-four hours to find an owner." I paused. "Let me see your phone. The app we installed," I said to Wendell.

  He handed it over, and I gave it to Sam. While she wasn't quite on par with Caleigh's technical know-how, her skills beat mine.

 
Sam did her thing, and a red circle pulsated on an aerial view of a map. "It narrowed down the location to a caller in Riverside."

  "Nothing more definite?"

  She shook her head. "Sorry, he didn't keep them on the line long enough."

  I looked up at Wendell.

  He put his hands up in a surrender motion. "Hey, I tried!"

  "They probably assumed you'd be using something to trace the call," Sam said.

  "So, what now?" Wendell asked.

  Great question. I looked from him to Stephanie, not honestly knowing the answer to it.

  "Maybe we should get the money ready?" Stephanie offered. "Just in case?"

  But Wendell shook his head. "No, no, no. There's no way I'm going to pay five million dollars for some—"

  "For some criminal," I quickly finished for him with a pointed look.

  He glanced from me to Stephanie, realization slow to dawn in his eyes that he'd almost let the cat out of the bag. I knew his feelings on paying ransom for a woman he "barely knew," but I hoped it wouldn't come to that.

  "Let me see what we can dig up in the next few hours. I'll keep you posted," I assured them both.

  Stephanie nodded. Wendell looked pale and moved to pour himself a drink.

  Sam sent some info from Wendell's phone to hers, with the approximate radius the kidnapper's call had come from, and we left.

  "Any idea what's in Riverside?" Sam asked. She paused. "Besides Apple."

  I shook my head. "I can't think of a connection to any of our suspects."

  "You know," Sam said, as we ran down the front steps, "the fact that we were with Kent when the call came in means he didn't make it."

  "True," I said. "But it's possible Kent is the brains and someone else is the muscle. Like possibly our missing caterer."

  "No line on his whereabouts yet?"

  I shook my head. I'd called Tasty Catering that morning on the way to work, on the surface seemingly to book them for Elaine's party. Though, I'd also casually asked if Pete Rivera was available. Still out sick, according to the receptionist.

  "Well, by that token, it's possible Delphine is the brains," Sam added.

  "Or Wendell himself," I said, not ruling anyone out. We had plenty of theories. What we were short on was evidence.