CELEBRITY STATUS (The Kate Huntington mystery series #4) (17 page)

            Rob hustled Liz through the front door Mac was holding open. Maria, on cue, sang out from the kitchen, “Dey out back.” Rob moved through the laundry room to the back door, then waited for his wife to catch up before he swung it open with a flourish. Liz stepped out into the backyard.

            The paparazzi could hear the shouts of “Surprise!” from the front sidewalk. Most of them left, convinced the Canfields and Franklins were indeed just good friends. The three who remained–one, a tall, thin fellow with a bit of gray in his dark hair, and the others, a female reporter and her photographer–didn’t really care.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

            Sunday morning, nobody in the Canfield residence went to church or Sunday school, not even Maria. Kate e-mailed Elaine to say they would be back the following week.
God willing
, she wrote,
the ground will have opened up and swallowed all the paparazzi by then.

            At one o’clock, the rector e-mailed back simply
LOL
.

            Kate and Skip decided to go to the Franklins rather than just call. Kate called Liz’s cell, knowing Rob would pick up on her tension and demand to know what was going on. “Hey Liz,” she said, in a breezy voice. “We were going to go for a Sunday drive. Mind if we drop by?”

            Liz was no dummy. She knew something was up, especially since Rob had been acting strange all morning. But she just said, “Sure. Come on over.”

            Kate got off the phone and nodded to her husband. “Road trip,” he yelled. The kids came running.

            This was Maria’s day off, but she opted not to stay home by herself with some of the paparazzi still lurking in the neighborhood.

            At the Franklins, Maria and Samantha herded the children into the family room, while the adults gathered around the kitchen table. Liz passed out mugs of coffee and put a plate of homemade cookies in the middle of the table.

            “Maybe we’re overreacting,” Kate said, “but we got a strange letter in yesterday’s mail.”

            “So did I,” Rob said before she could go on.

            “Shit,” Skip said, then shot Liz an apologetic look.

            “Yeah,” Rob agreed with the sentiment. “Sweetheart, yada, yada, meet me at the Hilton, four o’clock, Monday.” He’d shown Liz the letter while the Canfields were
en route
.

            “Where is it?” Skip asked.

            “I’ve been hanging around you too long,” Rob said, as he handed the letter and envelope to him in a large baggie. “My first thought was fingerprints.”

            Skip held the letter up in front of his face, partly to hide his embarrassment from the others. He’d been temporarily shaken enough the day before that he hadn’t thought about prints until after he and Kate had handled the letter. “No prints on ours,” he said.
Except mine and Kate’s.
“The wording’s essentially the same on both. I’m going to have Rose and Dolph strategically located in the Hilton’s lobby tomorrow at four. See who shows up.”

            “The
sweetheart
was just a lucky guess then,” Kate said. “Whoever sent the letters doesn’t know that I don’t call Rob that.” She often called him
dear
, but
sweetheart
was reserved for Skip.

            “Who the hell is doing this? Sorry, Liz.”

            “Curse all you want to, Skip. It helps me vent vicariously,” Liz said.

            Rob chuckled and took a cookie to nibble on. No one else had much appetite, even for Liz’s gourmet treats.

            After a long pause, Kate said, “I hate this! And I hate that we’ve dragged you two into this mess.”

            “I am so sorry I brought this down on us,” Skip added fervently.

            “Stop it, damn it! Both of you,” Liz said.

            They all looked at her, startled. Liz almost never cussed. “It’s nobody’s fault. Nobody asked for this,” she added, in a no-nonsense voice. “And somehow, someway, we’re gonna figure out who’s doing it and make them leave us alone.”

* * *

            Monday they all had a relatively uneventful morning. That is if one ignored the fact that Mac and Ben were once again shielding the kids and Kate from the paparazzi.

            Cherise was not happy about Ben being pulled from duty at the farm. She had figured out that his replacement, Mark, was the second string quarterback. He did his job well, but his social skills were lacking. His conversation consisted of, “Yes, ma’am,” “No, ma’am,” and grunts.

            At lunchtime, Skip had his gym bag in hand, when a woman appeared in his office doorway, blocking his exit. It took him a second to recognize her. Her blonde hair was up in a tight bun, a big hat and enormous sunglasses completing her disguise. Said disguise would have been more effective if she hadn’t been wearing a snug sundress that was bound to attract the attention of every male she encountered.

            “Come on in, Cherise. What brings you here?” He prayed that Mark had brought her in the back door of the building and that no one had seen her entering the offices of Canfield and Hernandez.

            “I’m going crazy, cooped up at the farm. I thought I’d take you to lunch.”

            “Cherise, we can’t be seen in public,” he pointed out patiently. “I can order sandwiches, if you like.”

            “I guess, but I don’t understand why we can’t go out. I’m
in cognito
.”

            “Well, you may be able to disguise your appearance but I’m a little big to hide behind a hat and sunglasses. One look at me, and the paparazzi will figure out who you are as well.”

            “Sandwiches it is then.” She smiled up at him.

            Skip turned back to his desk to call the deli down the street.

            “You don’t have a girl to do that for you?” Cherise asked.

            Skip marveled at this woman’s lack of political correctness. “We hire clerical help as needed. Most of the time, it’s not needed.”
Except when celebrity clients bring the paparazzi down on us,
he thought.

            After ordering a turkey and Swiss for himself and a veggie wrap for Cherise, he led her down the hall to the conference room. He waited until she had taken a seat, then went around the table and sat across from her.

            They made small talk until Mark stuck his head in the door to tell his boss their food had arrived. Cherise protested that it was her treat when Skip handed Mark the money to pay the delivery boy.

            Skip smiled to soften his words. “Don’t worry, it’ll be on my next expense report.” He had no intentions of pretending this was a social lunch.

            “So, besides the desire for an excursion, what brings you to our humble offices, Cherise?” Skip asked as he unwrapped his sandwich.

            “Well, since the mountain wouldn’t come to me.” She gave him a coy look. “I figured I’d have to come to the mountain. I wanted to negotiate the terms for you to become my permanent security chief.”

            Skip chose his words carefully. “My partner and I may be able to continue to provide security services for you, once the stalker situation is completely resolved. Lansing refused to confess to all of the notes and other incidents, by the way. He’s only admitted to sending the bracelet, and his fingerprints weren’t on the outside of the knife case. He’s out on bail but
our
lawyer has obtained a restraining order against him. If he comes within a hundred feet of you or the farm, he’ll be arrested again, and the judge is likely to rescind bail at that point.”

            Rather than pleased, Cherise looked annoyed. “Well, thank you for that update. But I’m not talking about retaining your agency, Skip. I want to hire you directly, as my security chief.”

            “Again, I appreciate the offer but I like being self-employed. Rose and I have a thriving enterprise going here.”

            “But what if this bad publicity undermines that? The agency may not continue to thrive then,” Cherise pointed out.

            Skip shook his head as he took a bite of his sandwich. After swallowing, he said, “Nobody’s pulled their business yet. As a matter of fact, we got three new clients last week.” Apparently there was some truth to the concept that even bad publicity could be good. “Our clients don’t give a rat’s ass about what’s in the tabloids,” he continued. “They just care whether or not we can get the job done.”

            “But what if some clients weren’t happy with the job you did?” Cherise said, her tone a bit too innocent. “The agency might start to lose business then.”

            Skip had been about to take another bite of his sandwich. He put it down instead. “That sounded a little bit like a threat, Cherise, and you ought to know by now I don’t take threats lightly.”

            “Oh, no, no, that’s not what I meant at all,” she backpedaled. “I’m just making the point that self-employment is not very secure, where as I can offer long-term job security.”

            “Until I piss you off and you fire me.” Cherise started to protest but Skip held up his hand. “Like you just did your agent and publicist, because you didn’t like that they were trying to control your life. So why are you trying to control me, Cherise?”

            “I’m not, Skip. I’m just... I’m trying to offer you job security and more money and you call that control?” she said, sounding offended, but Skip figured it was part of her act. “I will pay you four times what you currently make, Skip. I want you for my security chief. You’re the only person I trust to keep me safe.”

            “Don’t bother to keep upping the salary, Cherise. I’m married to a moderately wealthy woman so I have the luxury of saying there isn’t enough money in the world to entice me to give up my independence.”

            “Oh, well that explains her attraction.”

            Skip’s jaw tightened and his eyes went cold. “Did I just hear you malign my wife, Cherise?”

            “I’m sorry, Skip, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Kate’s very nice and she’s a reasonably attractive woman. But I had been kind of wondering why you were with her, since she’s really not in your league.”

            “And what league would that be, Cherise? The gorgeous but shallow league?” His voice was deceptively calm.

            “Let’s change the subject, Skip. I don’t know how we got off on that path anyway.”

            “Excellent idea. Let’s get back to the subject of why I’m not interested in your job offer.” His voice was calm, but there was an edge of steel under the surface. “Being self-employed gives me the option of setting limits on what I will do for and what I will tolerate
from
my clients. So here’s a limit, Cherise. Don’t ever say anything about my wife again, even if you mean it to be the nicest compliment imaginable. That topic of conversation is completely off limits or Canfield and Hernandez will no longer be interested in retaining you as a client.”

            After a beat, Cherise stood up. “I’ve lost my appetite,” she said haughtily.

            “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Hope you’re not comin’ down with something,” Skip replied as he rose to his feet. “Have a nice day, Cherise.”

            Chin in the air, she pivoted and walked out of the room in a huff. He followed her out and watched as she walked down the hall, swishing her attractive little butt at him. No doubt to remind him of what he was missing by not traveling in his appropriate league.

            Skip didn’t know whether to laugh at her or find something to throw at her head. He opted for going into his office and retrieving his gym bag. He now needed a workout for multiple reasons.

* * *

            By three-thirty, Dolph and Rose had strategically placed themselves on either end of the Hilton’s lobby. They were looking for anyone who was hanging around, like they were. Someone who seemed to be waiting for others to show up.

            By four thirty, all the traffic through the lobby had kept moving. People arrived, checked in, got on the elevator. People came off the elevator, and headed for the doors, a few stopping briefly at the desk for some reason. But nobody appeared more than once.

            At five, Rose strolled past the chair where Dolph was reading one of the free newspapers provided by the hotel for its patrons. She tripped over his outstretched feet.

            “Oh, sorry, mister.”

            “No problem, ma’am.”

            Rose kept going.

            Dolph got the message. Rose was tired of waiting. He stood up and stretched, dropped the paper on the table next to his chair, and strolled nonchalantly over to the front desk. “You got a reservation for Robert Franklin?” he asked the young African-American desk clerk.

            She clicked keys on her computer. “Sure do, sir.” She flashed him a bright smile. “How would you like to pay for that, Mr. Franklin?”

            “I’m not Franklin,” Dolph said, showing her his private investigator’s license.

            “Oh, dear.” Her expression became worried. “I’m not supposed to give out information regarding our guests.”

            “You aren’t. You’re giving out information regarding a reservation. Does your computer tell you who made the reservation?”

            “No, sir. But I would assume it was Mr. Franklin.”

            “Yes, that would be the assumption, of course. Was it guaranteed with a credit card, by any chance?”

            She glanced at her screen, then caught herself before she spoke. “I can’t tell you that, sir.”

            “Okay, let me ask you this. If no one shows up to check in under that reservation by a certain hour, will it automatically be cancelled?”

            She hesitated a moment. Dolph considered slipping her some money but decided that would probably offend her. She seemed quite earnest.

            “Yes, sir. The computer will automatically delete the reservation at six o’clock.”