Crown Jewel (25 page)

“Make it quick, Gracie. We're going to have to head out for the airport soon.”

“Gotcha.”

“Are you making
more
coffee?” Roxy asked, when Ricky entered the kitchen and went straight to the coffeepot. “Who's going to drink it? We have to leave soon.”

“Gracie. That girl drinks more coffee than I do. How did you do?”

“I got all of them on a three o'clock flight. By the time they wait in all the lines, check in, buy a few things, have a drink, it will be time to board.” Her voice turned shy when she said, “Ricky, do you think this dress is okay to travel in?”

“Absolutely. It's as pretty as you are. I scared you, didn't I?”

“A little. I go to the movies, and I read books and newspapers, but the movies and books are fiction. We're talking about…”

“The second highest office in the land. Think about the lengths you'd go to protect Reba. I know that I am capable of killing for my sons. That knowledge scares the goddamn hell out of me. We're the normal ones. People like us don't throw babies in Dumpsters and close the lid so they'll suffocate. People who do things like that wouldn't think twice about harming or scaring an old lady. When Mrs. Farquar gets to the resort, our people and the locals will take care of her. From that point on, we let it play out.” Ricky looked up at the clock.

The screen door banged. “Are you making coffee
again?”
Gracie didn't bother waiting for a reply. “Here's what I got. I didn't have time to print stuff out. I can do that later and fax it to you at the Crown Jewel. It'll be there before you. Can you read my writing?”

Ricky peered over her shoulder. He nodded.

“Good. There were three of them, four counting the VP. The VP met all of them in college. He roomed all four years with a guy named Buck Grisham. His real name is Thaddeus. They were thick as the proverbial thieves. Real hell-raisers. Name it and they did it. Buck is a nuclear engineer with NASA. They are still best friends to this day. Leon Franks is a lawyer, are you ready for this, in the Justice Department. Neil Carpenter owns a twenty-four-man accounting firm right here in L.A. Excellent reputation. We're talking really big bucks here. Once a year they all get together and party hearty. I got all this from the alumni newsletter. Every year they hold it in a different place. This year, in September, it's going to be held in Washington, D.C.”

“Good going, Gracie. Listen, I need you to do something else for me. I want you to call Max and tell him Mrs. Farquar and a party of four will be arriving this evening. Roxy will fill you in on their ETA. Tell him to have hotel security guard them twenty-four/seven. You can give him all the details. Tell him no interviews and no comments to
anyone
. Tell him to hire more security if he needs to. Then I want you to call Tyler and tell him we're on our way, and he should head for Antigua to help his brother.” He ripped the yellow sheet of paper from the legal pad. “I'm going to copy this. Roxy, fill her in on the times and what we accomplished this morning. I'll be right back. Damn, there's the car service.”

Roxy talked as she pressed the code to the electronic gates. She was breathless when Ricky galloped into the kitchen.

“Drink the coffee, Gracie, and clean the pot. Pull out the plug. We have a ninety-minute layover in St. Louis. I'll call you from there.” Ricky stopped long enough to hug her and whisper in her ear. “If I had a daughter, I'd want her to be just like you.”

“I had one dad, but if I could have two, I'd pick you, too,” Gracie said, her face pink with pleasure. “Hey, the pups are up and toddling around.”

Ricky laughed all the way to the foyer where he grabbed his and Roxy's bags.

 

Gracie poured herself a cup of coffee and dutifully rinsed the pot. Now she could get down to business. First things first. She dialed the number of the resort in Antigua, announced herself, and asked for Max Lam, saying it was urgent. She all but swooned when she heard Max's voice.

“Max, this is Gracie. Your father asked me to call and give you a message. He and Roxy just left for the airport. Listen carefully, okay? Things are happening here that really aren't too good. This is what your dad wants you to do….”

“Okay, I can handle that. I don't know where I'm going to find more security, though, with Carnival coming up. All the agencies are booked. Don't worry, I'll figure out something.”

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. I have to call Tyler to tell him to head in your direction. I'll do that as soon as I hang up. Listen, I can send Wally if you need him. I know a couple of bouncers who work at clubs in town. You'll have to pay their expenses, but I guess you know that.”

“I'll keep it in mind, Gracie. I'm glad Tyler's coming over. He's enough to scare anyone. What about you? You're the one making all the calls and stirring this all to a boil. What if they go after you?”

She was wondering the same thing but didn't say so. “I'm a journalist. I can't be forced to divulge my sources. This isn't some third world country. I can take care of myself. Are you worrying about me, Max?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm worrying. This whole thing is playing out like one of my father's movies. I'm…I'm looking forward to seeing you, Gracie.”

“That's the nicest thing you ever said to me, Max. I'm actually looking forward to seeing you, too. Guess what? Your dad is getting me a first-class ticket for all the work I did for him. It's fair. Listen, if I marry you, can I stop working and live in the lap of luxury the way you do?” The silence on the other end of the phone caused a frown to build on Gracie's face.

“Yeah. I plan to keep you barefoot and pregnant.” Gracie slammed down the phone so hard it bounced off the counter. Instead of picking it up, she stuck her head under the cold water faucet. When she came up for air, she muttered, “Wiseass!”

Gracie paced Ricky's kitchen, his words ringing in her ears. She could feel her insides start to crumble. She'd been hard as nails for so long. It was almost a relief to let her guard down and just be Gracie Lick. Who was Gracie Lick? Did she even know?

She was an overachiever. Brash and ballsy. An in-your-face reporter. Petite in stature, she used her mouth to get what she needed. Sometimes it worked; sometimes it didn't. When it didn't, she fell back to regroup and plan strategy. Most times, strategy worked.

Gracie Lick, family matriarch. She knew how to cook hamburger and weenies a hundred different ways to stretch the family budget. She knew how to shop at thrift stores for her little family. She was protective of all those she held dear. She knew how to be humble and grateful at the same time. Someday, she was going to make some man a wonderful wife. But first she was going to finish school and maybe think about going for her master's. Education was important, and if she had to scrub floors or wait tables, she would do it to make sure her sister got a college education.

More than anything she wanted a real family, her own children, babies to nurture and love. She wanted a husband who loved her above all else, one who would bring her soup when she was sick, even if it was the canned kind that he just heated up. A husband who would take time out of his own busy day to call and say hello and ask how her day was going. A husband who would hold her hand when they took a walk after dinner. A husband who would clean up after their dog and not make a big deal over it.

Would Max Lam make a good husband? She thought so. They were like oil and water, and that was her fault. Well, mostly her fault. Maybe he felt as insecure in relationships as she did. Or maybe she felt inferior, and he felt superior. Or, maybe he thought of her as superior, and he felt inferior.

Gracie realized she was still pacing. She always paced when she was agitated. She sat down and looked around. She was there for a reason. She had a job to do. Why was she thinking about Max Lam?
Because I'm wondering how I measure up where he's concerned.
She looked down at her cutoff shorts and Keds sneakers. She wasn't a fashion model, that was for sure.

Sighing, Gracie sat back down and focused on the task at hand. How best to do this? Her brow furrowed in thought. Should she go straight for the jugular or beat around the bush? The jugular, she decided. She scribbled frantically, little squiggles that only she could decipher. She read what she'd written over and over until the words slid from her lips without sounding rehearsed.

Whom to call first? The VP's best friend or the lesser friends. Who would be the easiest to reach? The rocket jockey at NASA might be twiddling his thumbs. Hell, why mess around. Why not make the first call to the VP himself? Why not indeed.

There was no way the VP's press secretary or his personal secretary, if she managed to get that far, would take her call. That meant she would have to state her case to some faceless person, which would mean one more person besides the original four would know what was going on. Too bad.

Gracie picked up the phone, homed in on the telephone number she wanted from the yellow paper, and dialed. Her breathing quickened when she was passed from one operator to another and finally was talking to the vice president's private secretary.

“This is Grace Lick, ma'am. I'm a freelance reporter with the
Los Angeles Times.”
It was true, her article would be in Sunday's edition. “I'm writing an article on a movie that Ricky Lam, the movie star, is going to produce. It will be going into production the first of next year. Just recently I did an article on Mr. Lam that will appear in this Sunday's edition of the
L.A. Times
. While doing my research, I came across some rather odd events that date back to the time the vice president was in college at UCLA. I was wondering if you could have the vice president call me to discuss those findings. I can, of course, talk to all his college friends, but I would like his own personal version. If he's too busy, I understand. It just makes it so much easier for us reporters when we can actually speak to the person in question. I'd like to leave my phone number for the vice president. No, ma'am, that's all I care to say at the moment. Thank you for your time, ma'am.” Gracie rattled off her phone number and quickly hung up the phone.

She dialed the second number and asked for Neil Carpenter. The operator put her on hold. Seconds later a voice identified himself as Neil Carpenter. Gracie went into her spiel with gusto. She finished up with, “Would you care to comment, Mr. Carpenter?”

“No, Miss Lick, I wouldn't care to comment. I think you're mistaken in your facts. You might want to recheck them.”

“Well, actually, Mr. Carpenter, Laney Woodworth is the main fact. Mr. Ricky Lam is the second fact. Oh, did I forget to tell you that Laney Woodworth is Mrs. Armand Farquar. Mrs. Lorraine Farquar. Her nickname back then when you guys were notching your belts was Laney. Does that ring a bell?”

“I'm sorry I can't help you, Miss Lick. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a business to run.” A second later the connection was broken. A smile on her face, Gracie drew a line through Neil Carpenter's name. She finished the coffee in her cup and poured a second one.

Whom should she call next, Buck Grisham or Leon Franks? Maybe she should wait a few minutes to give Carpenter time to call the others. She had plenty of time. Ricky wouldn't be calling for a while. Maybe she should be more blatant with Buck Grisham. And extremely careful with Franks, the lawyer at Justice. She doodled on the pad in front of her while she sipped at the coffee, which was strong enough to grow hair on her chest.

In the end, she had to leave a message for Franks, who was out of the office. She left a detailed message saying it was imperative she speak with him on an extremely personal, confidential matter. She left her phone number and her cell phone number to be sure she didn't miss his call.

Gracie flexed her fingers as she prepared to dial the main number at NASA. She wondered if Carpenter had called Grisham to warn him.

Best friend, Buck Grisham. Best friends were known to lie for each other. The big question was, would Buck hang tough thinking the VP could beat the scandal. Being invited to the White House as the president's best friend would look damn good in the media. Or would he run for cover so as not to be tainted? She didn't know. She tapped her fingers on the tabletop. Well, she would never know if she didn't make the call.

Gracie drew a deep breath before she dialed. She listened to the automated list of options, finally opting to press zero for the operator. “I'd like to speak to Buck Grisham, please. This is Grace Lick. I write for the
Los Angeles Times
.”

He had a barking kind of voice. Or maybe it was an intimidating kind of voice. Gracie's back went ramrod straight. No one intimidated Gracie Lick. “Mr. Grisham, this is Grace Lick. I write for the
Los Angeles Times.
I'd like a minute of your time.”

“That's about all the time I can give you, so talk fast.”

“Mr. Grisham, I just did an in-depth article on Ricky Lam, the movie star. While I was doing my research I came across some things that led me to other things. I was wondering if you would care to give me a quote about your relationship with Adam Vincent Nolan in regard to that game you and your chums played back in college. The one where you all notched your belts. Wasn't it something like ten virgins, and you won the prize or something like that?”

“What
are
you talking about, Miss Slick? Are you sure you don't have me mixed up with someone else?”

“Lick. L-i-c-k. No, you're the one I want. I already called your other friends, Carpenter and Franks. I have a call in to the vice president.”

“That's all well and good, Miss Lick, but what does that have to do with me?”

Gracie smiled at the uneasiness she was hearing on the other end of the phone. “It has a lot to do with you, Mr. Grisham. Laney Woodworth told me that Adam Nolan told her if she accused him of anything, he would have his three buddies swear they had her for two dollars each. Are you denying that?”

“This is the first I'm hearing about it. Who the hell is Laney Woodworth?”

“She was a young girl in Los Angeles who worked waiting tables. Her story is Adam Nolan, your friend, notched his belt with six other waitresses before he got around to Laney Woodworth. That in itself wouldn't be worthy of newspaper coverage, but then Laney found herself pregnant by Adam Nolan. He told her if she tried to blame him, he would have the three of you say you all had her for two dollars each. The child in question was Ricky Lam's adopted brother. Now do you see why Hollywood finds it interesting enough to make a movie of the story? By the way, that little waitress I just told you about is Mrs. Armand Farquar. Lorraine Farquar. She's ready to go public. Think DNA, Mr. Grisham.”

“This is preposterous! You're talking about the vice president of the United States. Are you some kind of shakedown artist? It isn't going to work, Miss Slick.”

“Lick. L-i-c-k. I guess you
can
go up against Hollywood
and
Lorraine Farquar if you want to. I commend your loyalty. Our bottom line here is, by your best recollection you don't remember anything, there was never a notch-your-belt game, and you never heard of Laney Woodworth. I can quote you on that, can't I?”

“No, you cannot quote me on anything!”

“Does that mean you're going to hang up on me? When I'm on a story and people hang up on me, my nose starts to twitch. That tells me I caught you off guard, and you need time to come up with a story you hope will pass muster.”

She'd hit a nerve, she could tell.

“I don't know anything about a pregnancy or a child. I'm being paged. I'm not hanging up on you, but I really have to cut this off.”

“Will you take my call if I call you again?” Gracie asked.

“Not without a lawyer present. Good-bye, Miss Lick.”

Gracie scribbled furiously so she could accurately report to Ricky when he called from St. Louis. She was more than satisfied with the calls she'd made. The switchboard at the Naval Observatory was going to be mighty busy.

Gracie spent the next two hours collecting phone numbers and calling every gossip columnist in Hollywood. Her old boss was at the top of the list. When she was finished, she'd netted herself four hundred dollars for hot tips.

Tomorrow morning and all week long the buzz would be that Ricky Lam was coming out of retirement to star in and produce a film having to do with his brother's life and a scandal in the White House.

Sometimes, like now, when she'd done something she was proud of, she longed to have a pat on the back or a kind word. To that end, she picked up the phone again, dialed the resort in Antigua, and asked to be put through to Max. When she heard his voice she relaxed. “Hi. I just wanted to tell you what I accomplished this afternoon. You know, just in case, that kind of thing.” She rattled off from her notes, stopping only to take a deep breath.

“Oh, God, Gracie, I don't know what to say. What if…”

Gracie was so pleased with the concern in Max's voice, she literally purred. “Hey, it's out there now, and there's no stopping it. If anyone tries, it will just make it worse. You mention scandal in the White House, and red flags go up all over the place. I can sit back now and wait for them to come to me. Every tabloid reporter worth his salt is on it as we speak. Trust me. By tomorrow morning all the Woodward and Bernstein wannabes will be on it.”

“Gracie, come here now! You said Ricky was going to get you a ticket. You can come now.”

“Yes, but I told him to have the airline mail the ticket. It won't get here for a few days. Don't go spooking me. I can get paranoid on my own. I'm okay. I have those two dogs now, and they are devoted. Wally's better than a cop. No one is going to come after me. They don't even know where I am, for heaven's sake.”

“Will you come as soon as you get the ticket?”

“You know what, Max, I think I will. Not because I'm afraid or anything like that. I want to see you. Probably three days, and I'll be landing on your doorstep. I'll call you again when I know something, okay?”

“Okay, Gracie. Thanks for calling.”

All of a sudden she felt jittery. It had to be all that damn coffee she'd been drinking. She rinsed the pot twice.

It was time to do something for Gracie Lick. She was going online to order new clothes to take to Antigua. She had $400 coming to her for her hot tips, so she could afford to have whatever she bought sent by overnight mail. The $400 plus the $500 she'd saved on rent would be more than enough to get some decent island wear.

Gracie picked up her laptop, set it on the table, and plugged it in.

An hour later she knew she had an impressive ten-day wardrobe. She had sexy underwear, colorful sandals, shorts in every color of the rainbow, with matching halter tops and tees. Four linen dresses, one long white one with a slit up the side, three short ones in mint green, tulip pink, and daffodil yellow. All had matching straw hats. Her most extravagant expenditure was a clingy, sexy, champagne-colored silk dress with matching strappy shoes that looked positively sinful. The last thing she did was click on Barnes & Noble, where she ordered two books, overnight express, by her favorite author, Stella Cameron, to read on the plane.