Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay (13 page)

Mike crossed to the bed and sat down next to her. They exchanged glances that almost brought tears to both their eyes. Madeline lowered her gaze and Mike slipped his arm around her and held her tight to his side. After a moment of quiet reflection, Madeline gave him a peck on the cheek and got to
her feet.

“Good luck with Cherie,” Mike said. There was so much worry on his face, Madeline could barely look
at him.

“Thanks. And good luck tracking down our
mysterious Latina.”

SIXTEEN

By the time Madeline pulled through the gates at the Alexander estate, the long U-shaped drive was already clogged with vehicles. This had to mean the service entrance parking had already filled up. She parked as close to the house as she could get and rounded up her paraphernalia, mentally bracing herself for the day ahead, a day that would blur into three without skipping a beat.

As she walked up the front steps, she was passed by a man dressed in a black suit and tie. He nodded perfunctorily before descending the steps and weaving his way to a black Town Car, double parked. He opened the driver’s side door and got in. It looked to Madeline like a special delivery of some sort. She hoped it was
from Ross.

Helen held the door open for Madeline and closed it behind her. The housekeeper’s normally cheery attitude toward her had been replaced with distrust and annoyance.

“How’s everything going?” Madeline asked as pleasantly as she could in the face of such a cold reception. Helen snorted and folded her arms across
her chest.

“Considering I was awakened by furious screeching and breaking glass at ten to six, I guess things are going about par for the course.” Madeline’s contrived smile wilted as she conjured up images of Cherie throwing a shrew-
like tantrum.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, though it wasn’t really her place to do the apologizing. “Is there anything I can do
to help?”

“See if you can turn that bleached-blond hussy into something approximating a lady,” Helen said before turning on her heels and marching down the hallway toward the business end of the house. She did an abrupt about-face and retraced
her steps.

“What have you found out about that girl?” she barked, all pretense of
civility gone.

“Teresa?” Helen’s expression was all the confirmation she needed. “Unfortunately, nothing at this point.” Helen raised her eyebrows, a contemptuous smile punctuating her disdain for Madeline’s apparent ineptitude.

“Do you even know her real name? Or where she lives?”

Before Madeline could answer, Helen grunted condescendingly and
walked away.

“Oh, fabulous,” Madeline said, her
stomach churning.

As she mounted the staircase, she could hear sounds of excited laughter, which seemed incongruent to the scene Helen had described. As she approached Cherie’s bedroom, she paused to get a sense of what was
going on.

“Can you believe it?” Cherie squealed. “Oh…it’s so stunning, don’t
you think?”

“It’s…
so you!”
Alice
agreed enthusiastically.

“Madeline was right—she predicted this would happen,”
Cherie said.

“She predicted Matt Connolly would send you a couturier dress?” Alice asked, clearly stunned by
the notion.

“Not in so many words, but she said that Ross’s absence would cause my friends to rally around me and shower me with love and amazing gifts.” Madeline took this as her entrance cue.

“Did I hear someone say ‘amazing gifts?’” Both women swiveled around to greet her, enormous smiles on their faces. Without warning, Cherie flew at her, nearly crushing her with a grateful hug. The impact and the sheer surprise of it almost knocked her off her feet. It was not the kind of reception she had
been expecting.

After the affectionate attack, Cherie stood back so Madeline could take a gander at her gift, turning slowly so Madeline could take in all its sparkling opulence.

“Wow,” she said,
duly impressed.

“It’s from the fall collection, but I think because it’s short it’s okay to wear now, don’t
you think?”

“Oh, sure,” Madeline concurred, awestruck by the amount of embellishments. The design of the dress was rather simple, but the mosaic of crystals covering it made it look like a true work of art. “It must weigh a ton,” she said, lifting the hem to get an idea of the heft of
the creation.

“It does, but that’s okay. It’s like the weight of a crown,” Cherie said languidly. By the way she was admiring herself, Madeline couldn’t be sure she was joking or if she fancied herself as royalty. “But this screws up everything!” Cherie exclaimed, eyes suddenly wide
with concern.

“What are you talking about?” Madeline asked, bracing herself for
the surreal.

“Don’t you see? Now I have to figure out when to wear it!” She scurried to her dressing table to retrieve her costume-changing itinerary, replete with photos.

As she observed Cherie once again struggling to attain perfection, Madeline was hit with a strange sense of déjà vu: she saw herself as she was three years earlier—the same age as Cherie was now—with the same desire to maintain and improve her social standing, serving on several nonprofit boards to that end. Then, wham—her whole world eroded in a matter of hours.

It gave her a sick feeling to recall how quickly she was stripped of everything she’d held dear. It also gave her a chill to recognize that Cherie could be headed for a similar upheaval of her cherished lifestyle. Madeline found herself pitying Cherie; there was no amount of praise or riches that could take the place of a
loving relationship.

How many times had she seen the unmistakable look of longing mixed with apprehension in Cherie’s gaze? Too many to not realize the barrenness of Cherie’s life with Ross. Madeline also could spot Cherie’s futile efforts to fill the void with material goods. It hadn’t worked for her, not in the long run, and it probably wouldn’t work for the Alexanders
much longer.

Without a word, Madeline turned and left the room, trying to refocus on her responsibilities after the unsettling premonition. She was halfway down the hall when Cherie called out
to her.

“Wait! You can’t leave yet—you’ve got to help me figure this out,” she said, sounding both panicky
and imperious.

“Call Cassandra. She’s got a better handle on your wardrobe lineup. I’ve got to get down there and crack the whip, make sure everything is falling into place.”

Madeline walked toward the stairs, head down, doing her best to avert her mind from the impending catastrophe. She wasn’t sure what form the disaster would take, only that it would be ugly. And dramatic. She sighed and wondered if she could survive on her P.I.
earnings alone.

This last thought made her change direction and proceed cautiously towards Vivian’s wing. She knocked with her ear close to the door. She could hear nothing. She glanced around before knocking a little louder. Still no response. She tried the handle, but the door was locked.
Not a bad idea after the theft,
Madeline thought as she retraced her steps to the
main staircase.

Halfway down, she encountered the first two of the four videographers hired to cover every aspect of the party, from the behind scenes preparations through the over-the-top, nonstop celebration. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember
their names.

“If you hurry, you might catch Cherie wearing a gift from the hottest man in Hollywood,” she said once she realized one of the camcorders was on and pointed straight at her. She gave the camera her brightest smile, then held her hand up to block the lens as she continued on down the stairs. As soon as she hit the foyer, the florist and her minions started streaming through the
front door.

“I couldn’t get near the service entrance,” Jessica explained, pausing to shift the huge floral arrangement to rest against her other shoulder. Madeline caught a glimpse of the vans double-parked out front. She glanced toward the kitchen and saw Helen heading their way.

“I’ll take care of her,” she said. “How long do you think it’ll take to unload everything?”

“I can probably have both vans emptied in fifteen minutes, then I can send them back for the rest. I don’t have any idea how long it will take to place everything,” Jessica said as Helen came to a halt in front
of them.

“The service entrance is still backed up. They’re going to have to bring all the flowers through here,” Madeline informed the housekeeper.

“Fine. But I suggest you make it snappy. What we don’t need is a surprise visit from the fire department,” Helen said coldly before moving on.

It was clear to Madeline that Helen was not going to prostrate herself trying to run the show. She would let Cherie take the responsibility for whatever transpired over the endless weekend. With another pang of anxiety, it dawned on her that Cherie would ultimately place all the accountability at
her feet.

“Bonjour, Madeline,” Philippe sang out as he led his staff in, smiling ear to ear. She had never known Philippe to lose his cool, no matter what the circumstances. She returned his greeting and immediately felt her jitters calm down. With any luck, Philippe would have the entire household humming along in good-natured synchronicity and Madeline could steer this ship away from the rocks.

But as Philippe’s crew disappeared into the kitchen, Madeline’s nerves revved up again. The food would be fabulous, the floral arrangements breathtaking, the venue hip and trick enough, even by show business standards. Those were the things she could count on to turn out well.

Her stomach knotted as she reviewed the wild cards in the pack: an unhinged client teetering on the brink of divorce, the missing jewels, an illegal alien who may or may not have taken the loot, and the movie-making elite with their
inevitable demands.

SEVENTEEN

Madeline brushed the loose strands of hair from her face and stood up. She and two of Philippe’s staff had just gone over what china should be used with which meals and which courses. The various patterns—all especially created for the occasion—had to be removed from the packing crates, counted and washed. Both dishwashers were humming quietly and would be for the rest of the day.

Madeline checked the time, alarmed that this chore—which really should’ve been handled by Helen and her staff—had taken over an hour of her precious time. It was almost 11:30 and she hadn’t had a chance to track down Vivian yet.

She left the kitchen through the side door and walked around the grounds, ostensibly checking the placement of the floral arrangements. She had just about run out of places to look for her elderly client when her phone rang. It was Mike. She hoped he had some
good news.

“Any luck?” she asked, skipping
the pleasantries.

“On which front?” Mike asked, earning an irritated snort from
his partner.

“The Teresa front,” she said, keeping her voice low as she scanned her immediate surroundings. “Have you found out where she
lives yet?”

“No, and that’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Madeline plunged the phone down to her side, giving herself a few seconds to regain her composure. It had taken all her self-control to keep from hanging up on him. Mike was mid-sentence when she replaced the phone to her ear. “You’ll have to start over—I didn’t hear what you said.”

Now Mike was peeved. He could read Madeline’s behaviors like a roadmap. “Hey, I’m the partner, remember—not the
dumping ground.”

“Mike, I don’t have time for this,” Madeline said plaintively. “Just tell me what’s on
your mind…”

“A lot, actually. But I’ll start with our mystery girl. After going back to the spot where we lost her and driving around to get the lay of the land, I realized that me going door to door with her photo is the fastest way to put Teresa on alert and spook anyone brave enough to speak to a tall Anglo dude.” Mike gave Madeline a moment to digest this argument. “You see what I’m saying?” Madeline let out a long sigh. She did get his point. “I’m thinking we save that tactic until we’ve run out of chances to follow her directly to the right spot. Don’t
you agree?”

“Yes, I do see the wisdom in that,” Madeline
grudgingly admitted.

“So, I’ve figured out the bus routes she’d need to take to get home. When she leaves at four o’clock today, I’ll be in position to follow the number fourteen bus when she boards. Then I’ll just creep along the route and be waiting to tail her once she gets off. What do
you think?”

“That’s a good idea, but unfortunately it won’t work. Teresa will be leaving here early today so she can come back this evening to accompany her employer to
the party.”

“Oh. Well, when is
she leaving?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been able to track either of them down yet. I’ll call you when I find out,” Madeline said, resuming her perusal of
the grounds.

“Hold on, I’ve got something else to
tell you.”

“Make it quick,” she said, finding herself at the amphitheater.

“I think I’ve found Oaks.”

It took a couple beats for the name to register. “Where?”

“I did some more research and called several VA hospitals. I finally got lucky. A Justin Oaks with the same birthdate and serial number turned up at the VA hospital in Los Angeles on January 15, and again on March 31st.” Madeline lowered herself onto one of the cushioned stone benches as she processed
this information.

“Were you able to get
an address?”

“It wasn’t easy, but I did.” Madeline smiled in spite of herself. She knew Mike could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. “Now we just need to find out if it’
s valid.”

“Okay. Good. So, how should we go
about that?”

“I’ve already made contact with a P.I. in Simi Valley. His name is Bob Leonard. He’s going to physically check it out. If the residence exists and Oaks is actually living there, then we can decide what we want to
do next.”

“I guess one option would be to give the information to the Feds,”
Madeline suggested.

“We could, but chances are they already know all this,” Mike said. “And either Oaks didn’t lead them to Usherwood or they don’t consider it an important line of inquiry. They certainly don’t feel inclined to share what they do know with us, so I think whatever we find out, we just keep to ourselves for the
time being.”

“I’m with you on that. So, if your guy can locate Oaks, what then?” Madeline asked, digging into her handbag for a protein bar. Her stomach felt so hollow, it seemed as though the sides were touching. She was also dehydrated, which was partly responsible for the throbbing headache in the back of her skull. She managed to get the wrapper open without using her teeth and began devouring the bar while she listened to Mike outline
his strategy.

“I say we have him followed for a few days. Simi Valley isn’t that far a drive to Santa Barbara. Oaks could be putting Usherwood up, or he could be the one who whacked Yeoman and put the gris-gris on
your place.”

“Any idea what he was being treated for?”

“No. The last woman I spoke to at the VA hospital balked at disclosing that information.”

Madeline was losing interest in this Oaks character rapidly; she had far too much on her mind as it was. She finished her bar and stood up, shouldering her heavy bag as she left
the amphitheater.

“From what your Florida connection told you, Oaks had a substance abuse problem. If that’s true, it strikes me as unlikely that he’d be reliable enough to trust with a hit and a B&E. I believe Usherwood’s directly involved. Go ahead and have Oaks tailed, just in case we get lucky. It’s a small price to pay to have that base covered, if there is one to cover,”
she said.

“Will do,” Mike said. “I’ll wait to hear from you
about Teresa.”

Madeline ended the call and put up her radar. Vivian and her companion had to be somewhere on the property. She listened to the various sounds, both distant and near, and set her sights on the house.

With all the chaos going on, Vivian would either be back in her rooms or somewhere relatively quiet, like the library. Since it was located on the ground floor, she decided to check there first. But as soon as she reentered the house, she was waylaid by the arrival of the photographers. All four of them were loaded down with equipment like pack mules and eager to receive their marching orders.

When she hired this bunch, she had been under the impression they handled events like this on a regular basis. Rarely did she have to give professional photographers blow-by-blow instructions, except at weddings. But after a couple minutes of discourse, she gathered they were feeling the pressure of such a prestigious gig and didn’t want to risk getting the assignment wrong.

Madeline choked down her impatience and walked them through the areas of the house where they would be permitted to take photos: the entrance hall, the massive living room, and the kitchen would likely see most of the action worth memorializing.

As the videographers were intent on following the star of the show, she didn’t bother taking the still photographers upstairs. She gave them a brisk tour of the grounds while indoctrinating them with Cherie’s vision of what moments she wanted captured on film. Madeline gave them a rundown of the schedule of events and the best vantage points to take it
all in.

After she felt moderately confident they would be able to do the job properly, she reminded them the contract they had signed strictly forbids any photo taken on the premises to be leaked to the media.

“The full wrath of the entertainment legal machine will be set loose on you,” she said solemnly, looking each of them directly in the eye to make sure she’d put the kibosh on any ideas of making a fat score with snapshots taken at a Hollywood wildlife sanctuary. She then took the studio owner aside and told him to get the job done well and there’d be more work in the future. By the way his head bobbed in an incessant nod, Madeline felt she could dispense with
the threats.

Once she had finished that chore, she took a moment to review all the various components of the soiree to make sure she had everything else buttoned down. With that done, she placed a call to Lauren while she resumed her search
for Vivian.

“Check off china, videographers, flowers, photographers and Philippe,” Madeline rattled off as she started up the back staircase. “Everything is in order on those fronts. Tell me what you’ve got covered on your end.”

“I’ve double confirmed the rooms at all three hotels, and triple checked the livery service,” Lauren informed her. “Sharon from the booking agency called and we confirmed all the acts and the timing, so that’s completely under control. Looks like we’ve got it all nailed down. I think this shindig is going to be a huge success.” She paused for a second and added, “You can start
breathing again…”

Madeline laughed weakly. Her cohorts knew her
so well.

“Okay, I’ll try to remember
to breathe.”

“Too bad you can’t squeeze in a karate class—that always gets rid of the stress,” Lauren said.

Madeline sighed wistfully; thinking of escaping to the peaceful presence of Master Coffee filled her with all sorts of emotions. Teri could help her on so many levels right now, but that kind of solace would have to wait. She’d just have to rely on the skills and attitudes she had absorbed over the last three years. If she could keep focused on those tenets, she’d be able to get through anything. Hopefully.

As a challenge to this theory, the specter of Lionel Usherwood rose up in her mind. But before it could shake her equilibrium, it was promptly banished by the sounds of pre-party cavorting escalating to almost delirious levels.

Madeline told Lauren she’d check in with her later and passed Vivian’s suite of rooms to take a gander at the wild goings-on in Cherie’s quarters. As she reached the main staircase, she intersected with two of Philippe’s staff carrying a large copper tub between them, glistening with moisture and filled with bottles of Roederer Cristal and champagne flutes.

The waiters smiled broadly, assuming the event coordinator would be pleased that the client was having such a fine time.

“Got a call for more refreshments,” one of them said to Madeline as
they passed.

“Please ask Philippe to send along some heavy hors d’oeuvres so that the honoree doesn’t pass out before the guests arrive,” she said, trailing behind them to see exactly how bad the damage was
so far.

A semi-drunken roar went up as the waiters entered Cherie’s sitting room-slash-closet, where the party had obviously gotten off to an early start. Cherie’s entourage consisted of her hairstylist, makeup artist, costume designer, three girlfriends Madeline knew from her own days in the highlife, two of the videographers and the D.J.

As Madeline walked into the room, Cherie rushed her, showering her with admiration and more of the unaccustomed affection she’d received earlier. Madeline put on her happy face while taking a reading on her client’s
mental condition.

“Slow down, girlfriend,” Madeline whispered as she stared into Cherie’s glassy eyes. “You don’t want to have to watch the video to find out how your birthday party turned out.” Cherie gasped as if offended, but even that response proved she was already too tipsy to care about anything.

“I’ll make sure Philippe sends up some wildly delicious morsels. Be a good girl and eat some of them. Okay?”

I guess I should’ve hired a nanny,
Madeline thought as she extricated herself from the merrymakers, several of whom were trying to foist champagne on her. She spotted a bottle of mineral water and gratefully snagged it on the
way out.