Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay (4 page)

FOUR

Mike wheeled out of his office, heading for Madeline’s.

“She’s not here,” Lauren said, her eyes not leaving her
computer screen.

“Where’d she go?”

“I don’t know.” Lauren flipped open the file in front of her and kept working. Mike stared at her, willing her to look up and help him out. “You could try her cell phone,” Lauren suggested, grabbing another file from the stack, giving him a casual glance in the process.

Mike whipped out his phone and walked back to his side of the office and kicked the door closed as he speed-dialed his partner. The call went straight to voicemail.

“Damn!” He reopened the door with such fury, he had no trouble catching Lauren’s attention this time.

“Try texting her.” Mike did as she suggested. The two of them stared at each other while they waited for a response.

“What’s going on?” Lauren
finally asked.

“Nothing.”

“Oh. Right. It sure feels like nothing,” she said, miffed, returning to her work. Mike fought to control
his tongue.

“One of the men who abducted Madeline was just found dead at
Lake Cachuma.”

“What? How can that be? I thought they all got life imprisonment. Except for that head dude, Usher-whatever. Is that who
it was?”

“Usherwood. No, it wasn’t him. It was Rick Yeoman, who apparently just cut a deal with the Feds. He was released last week and Usherwood or one of his associates executed him.” Lauren’s mouth
dropped open.

“Oh…no…” Her eyes widened as her mind skipped to the implications. “I bet Madeline is none too happy.”

Mike barked out a hard laugh. “I don’t suppose anyone is. But I’m worried about her. I think the only way she could cope with what happened was to believe they’d never get to her again. Thanks to the FBI, she’s got to face the possibility that Usherwood will now be gunning for her.”

Lauren slumped against the back of her chair. “No wonder she took off out of here. God, this couldn’t have come at a worse time. Can she get some kind of protection?”

“The police aren’t offering any, and the Feds haven’t yet. Nobody even knows if Usherwood is back in the country or if he put a hit on Yeoman. Either way, it’s got
her unnerved.”

“Is there anything I
can do?”

“Find your boss for me. ASAP.”

Madeline regarded the dresses she had grabbed as an excuse to occupy a dressing room. A weak chortle escaped her as the irony of taking refuge in her favorite hideout hit home. This was where she fled to when Steven unleashed his vile plan to blackmail her into a divorce, though she was hardly in the same financial bracket now as she was back then. But it just so happened that Saks was located in the building next to where her late private investigator, Burt Latham, had his office, the same office where she had built her event
coordinating business.

It seemed a strange coincidence that in the very week she and Mike launched their own P.I. firm, the events that pushed them into this line of work came back to haunt them. Madeline exhaled heavily and slumped back against the chair. She knew holing up in a dressing room wasn’t going to keep her safe, but it at least gave her a place to sit and think without Mike pressuring her.

What does he want me to do? Go into hiding? Lock myself in a fortress until Usherwood can be found?
What could she do? She needed time to digest the killing of Yeoman and the possibility of Usherwood skulking in
the shadows.

Her first instinct—besides fleeing to Saks—was to confide in Master Coffee, her karate instructor. Teri Coffee McDuffie couldn’t single-handedly stave off all the bad guys in the world, but Teri could reassure her of her own power. Madeline would never match Usherwood or his kind with firearms, but she could handle herself well enough, at least to the point of evading or disarming an assailant.
She hoped.

But Usherwood was many years ahead of Madeline when it came to combat, or avoidance of it. If there was any comfort to be found, it was that she had Mike as an ally. Whoever killed Yeoman was probably a lone wolf. At least she was part of a team. A team still wet behind the ears. A team that was no match for a mercenary.

“How are you doing in there?” Patti called out. “I found another dress I think would be fabulous on you.”

“Hang on a sec,” Madeline said, stripping out of her own clothes to keep to the charade. She opened the door just wide enough to show some skin and appraise the dress. “Very cute. I’ll
try it!”

“Let me know if you need another size of anything,”
Patti said.

“So far, so good,” Madeline said cheerfully as she closed the door. She hung the dress on the rack with the others and continued
her brooding.

She needed a time-out, needed to freeze-frame all the insanity of her business long enough to order her thoughts so she could put a plan in place. If only this had happened a couple weeks later, when Hollywood Babylon and the hundred-thousand dollar wedding were behind her. She’d have another week and a half before those two events were scrapbook material and she could concentrate on her P.I. business and keeping
herself safe.

To assuage her guilt for being idle, Madeline took a dress off the hanger and slipped it over her head. She really did need something to wear Friday night. But as she regarded herself in the mirror, images flashed across her mind’s eye, images of the black Suburban careening around the corner, Lionel Usherwood at the wheel.

Her hands became so clammy, as another flash of memory blinded her, she couldn’t draw the zipper up. She dropped her arms and was transported back to the moment when she realized Usherwood had spotted her. She gasped at the recollection of running through oncoming traffic, Rick Yeoman and Lance Rombach bearing down on her from both sides, the overpowering smell
of chloroform…

Madeline heard the soft rustling of footsteps on the carpet. She shifted away from the door, arms reflexively moving into a position of defense or attack. She steadied her breathing to slow the pounding of
her heart.

“Madeline, are you in there?” Madeline went limp as she recognized Lauren’s whisper. She opened the door a crack. Catching her boss in the middle of undressing made her
assistant blush.

“Oops, sorry—” Lauren said. “Umm…Mike had me track you down.”

“Is something wrong?”
Madeline demanded.

“No…um…no.” Lauren shook her head, but the way she regarded Madeline gave her away. “He got worried when you didn’t answer your phone.” Madeline let out a strained sigh and motioned her into the
dressing room.

“That’s cute. Are you thinking of wearing it to the Oscars?”

“I wish you’d stop calling it that,” Madeline said, turning her back toward Lauren so she could zip the dress
for her.

“That’s beautiful, and you can wear it again.”

Madeline nodded absentmindedly. “Tell Mike not to worry. The good thing about the next ten days is that I’ll scarcely have a moment alone.” Madeline motioned for Lauren to undo the zipper. She shimmied out of that dress and into the
next one.

“Oh, that one looks great on you, too,” Lauren said, easily caught up in the joy of clothes shopping, even if it wasn’t for herself. “I think you should get
that one.”

“Instead of the first one?” Madeline held it up next to her for comparison.

“Get both,” Lauren said pragmatically. “You’ve got three days at the Alexanders’ and the
Campbell wedding…”

“Which reminds me,” Madeline said, as she slipped into her own dress. “I need to be at the Riviera Hotel in fifteen minutes.” She dug her credit card out of her purse and thrust it at Lauren. “Take care of this for me. And pick out something for yourself. You’ll be on duty with me, in case this thing starts unraveling at
the seams.”

“Thanks,” Lauren said, her expression both surprised
and dreamy.

“But don’t make an event out of it. I need you back at the office in case the Campbells have any questions I can’t answer.” Like a shot, Madeline was gone leaving Lauren alone in Wonderland with someone else’s
credit card.

Madeline stood next to the pond at the Rivera Hotel, her eyes transfixed, but blind to the soundless passing of the multi-colored fish. Instead of the submerged foliage and flashes of orange, red and white, she saw the body of Burt Latham as she imagined it looked when it washed up on Hendry’s Beach three
years earlier.

She closed her eyes to dispel the vision. When she opened them again, the sodden corpse of Rick Yeoman undulated below the surface as a koi swam past. This time Madeline couldn’t tear herself away from the sight of one of her captors, slain by one of his own. She visualized the exit wound through his forehead and had to wonder if she’d meet the
same fate.

She gasped at the thought and pulled herself away from the rectangular pond, just as her clients walked up the brick pathway. She quickly shook off her morbid musings and shifted into event planner mode. She would let her sense of duty keep her mind off stone-cold killers who lusted for revenge as a substitute for leading a
meaningful life.

Besides, she couldn’t afford any missteps on this wedding or the Alexander party; if everything didn’t come off seamlessly, her reputation and self-esteem would suffer. She exuded confidence and control as she greeted the Campbells and flipped open
her iPad.

Madeline dropped the bed skirt and got up off her knees. After searching every probable and improbable spot in Vivian’s bedroom, sitting room and bathroom—including all her drawers and every pocket and nook in her closets—Madeline was convinced the jewels were not there. She didn’t dare try to examine the contents of the safe, so she’d just have to take Vivian’s word that she had double checked it.

“It was worth a try,” Vivian
said glumly.

“I was really hoping they were still here,” Madeline said, as she sat down on the bed next to her new client. Her gaze wandered around the bedroom as her mind turned over possible scenarios, all of
them unpleasant.

“Something has been nagging at me,” she thought out loud, as she turned to
face Vivian.

“What
is it?”

“What you said about heirs appropriating their inheritance in advance.” Madeline chose her next words carefully. “Do you think it’s possible Cherie could have taken your jewelry?” Vivian recoiled at the suggestion. “Maybe out of a sense of entitlement…or maybe out
of spite?”

“No,” Vivian said, shaking her head. “I don’t think she’s really focused on my old stuff. It’s not really her style, as you know. It’s Ross who keeps tabs on that kind of thing. That sounds awful, but it has as much to do with the sentimental value as their intrinsic worth, as those articles are connected to both of his parents. Plus, he has two daughters—my granddaughters—to
think of.”

“I see. Well, I just had to ask,” Madeline said. It was a huge relief to not have to put Cherie at the top of the list of
potential suspects.