7 Triple Shot Read online

  ‘Not at all.’ Ward Chitown stood up. ‘Sheriff Pavlik, correct?’

  ‘Yes.’ The two men shook hands, if not as prospective best friends.

  ‘And I assume you know Maggy Thorsen?’ Chitown had a safe bet there, given that I’d just fondled the sheriff’s outerwear.

  ‘Of course,’ Pavlik said, nodding to me.

  ‘Sheriff.’

  Now Pavlik extended his hand to Deirdre. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Jake Pavlik.’

  ‘Deirdre Doty. I’m Ward’s show producer.’ She motioned to the table next to us. ‘I don’t think they’re using that chair if you’d like to join us?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Both Deirdre and I inch-humped our chairs sideways so Pavlik could pull his between us.

  I asked, ‘Sheriff, are you here on business or pleasure?’

  ‘I could ask you the same,’ Pavlik said, surveying me. ‘But I’m afraid for me it’s business this time.’

  ‘Sheriff Pavlik responded to our call upon finding the unfortunate young lady’s body yesterday,’ Chitown said to Doty. ‘And I must say, I’ve been very impressed. In Chicago, someone of your eminence would almost never be amongst the first responders.’

  Before replying, Pavlik eyed Chitown evenly. ‘We’ve had two other women – both also in real estate – found dead in my jurisdiction recently. Let’s just say I take it a bit personally.’

  Ward Chitown seemed a ‘bit’ stunned.

  But Deirdre Doty said, ‘That’s so admirable –’ gazing into my beau’s blue-gray eyes – ‘I’ve heard about the realty agents who were killed. We had no idea that Brigid was the third, until Maggy here just told us.’

  Pavlik cut a look toward me that didn’t feel like a thank you.

  Well, if I was a cat caught straying, I decided to drop the dead mouse in front of Pavlik by way of peace offering. ‘Deirdre met Brigid here Monday night.’

  ‘So I’ve been told.’ Our sheriff didn’t look placated. You can’t please everyone, even with a trophy-quality deceased rodent.

  Given Doty’s – to me, obvious – flirtation with the local law, Chitown seemed to be reappraising the relationship between Pavlik and me. ‘Yes, I’m sure you’ve heard of the show we plan to film Saturday night. Deirdre, you did clear that with the sheriff’s office?’

  ‘Of course,’ Doty said. ‘I notified both Mr Pavlik’s department as well as the Brookhills’ municipal police. Sheriff, I believe I even spoke with your –’ a hand laid on Pavlik’s forearm – ‘community liaison?’

  I eyed the leather being ever so subtly squeezed and idly wondered how heavy a meat cleaver I’d need to sever Doty’s dallying hand at its wrist. ‘According to the bartender, the two of them spoke at the bar from about 11:25 until just before midnight.’

  But Pavlik ignored me. ‘Mel told me about your request and everything is in order. I appreciate your going through the proper channels. A lot of event organizers don’t seem to know what those are.’

  Doty flushed with pleasure. ‘Why, thank you, sheriff.’

  ‘Jake, please.’

  Jake. I’d been bedding the man for more than a year, and I still called him ‘Pavlik’. And Deirdre Doty’d better get her hand off his leather jacket, or I was going to find a suitable standin for that cleaver.

  Chitown had gone from watching the interplay between Pavlik and me, to that between his own producer and the sheriff. ‘Deirdre has been with me on a number of shoots. She’s very good at what she does.’

  The flush got deeper. ‘It’s simply a matter of knowing where to find information. In the case of Brookhills, I started with the historical society and Elaine Riordan was able to direct me to the proper authorities.’ A quick scan of the room. ‘In fact, I’m not sure where Elaine is. She said she’d meet us here tonight.’

  ‘Did Elaine also “direct” you to Brigid at Kingston Realty?’ I asked.

  ‘In fact she did,’ Doty said. ‘Elaine is a real estate broker, in addition to heading up the historical society, so she was able to track down which agent had the listing.’

  Chitown’s eyebrows tried to knit themselves a caterpillar. ‘I thought you’d already done that. Online.’

  ‘I did. The problem these days is that when you Google an address, you’ll get hits from a lot of different real estate offices, but most won’t be the listing agent. I originally contacted the Atherton Agency but because they weren’t the listers, they would have had to contact what turned out to be Kingston Realty for access. Once she found out I wasn’t looking to buy, she lost interest.’

  ‘She? Do you mean Brigid?’ I asked. I noticed Pavlik was hanging back, letting me ask the questions. He’d done it before, taking advantage of my friendships and, yes, knowledge of the community. He should be thanking me for my ‘unrepentant, overly officious intermeddling’.

  ‘No,’ Deirdre replied. ‘I was talking about Gabriella Atherton. She wasn’t very nice when we spoke, I have to say. If I was Brigid, I’d think twice before going to work for her.

  ‘Oh.’ A hand to the mouth, again, when Deirdre realized her faux-pas. ‘I’m so sorry. For a second there, I forgot Brigid was, was . . .’

  Pavlik patted her hand. ‘It’s very common for people to speak of the recently deceased in present tense. It doesn’t mean you’re being insensitive or callous.’

  Yeah, yeah, Deirdre’s a jewel beyond measure. Could we get back to the investigation?

  ‘So,’ I said, ‘Brigid told you she intended to leave Kingston Realty in favor of Atherton Agency?’

  ‘Not in so many words,’ Doty said. ‘But she did say she couldn’t accompany me to meet Ward at the Ristorante because she was waiting for a prospective new employer.’

  ‘So she sent you off on your own?’ I asked.

  ‘With the combination for the lockbox. I’ve booked a lot of shoots in vacant properties, but I’ve never had an agent give us free reign of the property without even going with us to look at the place.’

  ‘You do have the property owner’s permission to be there, I assume?’ Pavlik asked.

  ‘Owners, plural,’ Deirdre answered. ‘But of course. Which reminds me, Sheriff—’

  ‘Jake,’ I reminded her. Hey, we were all friends here, right?

  ‘Jake,’ Deirdre amended, ducking her head shyly. ‘We’d like to get some footage of the room under the depot. Would that be permissible?’

  ‘The scene has been released, so I don’t see a problem with it.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  But on to more important matters. ‘Deirdre, you just told us Brigid was waiting for a “prospective new employer”,’ I said. ‘Did she say who?’

  ‘No.’ Doty paused for a beat. ‘But I went to the restroom before I left the club and when I came out, Gabriella Atherton and Brigid were speaking in the foyer. The Atherton woman went back into the club proper, and Brigid trailed behind her. I put two and two together.’

  ‘And you’re certain it was Gabriella Atherton?’ Honestly. The sheriff’s department should be paying me.

  ‘We’d only spoken by phone, but I recognized her from the billboards.’

  Hard to hide when your face is ten-feet high overlooking the freeway.

  ###

  Despite that, I never did manage to track down Gabriella Atherton, though I thought I caught a glimpse of Elaine Riordan finally arriving to meet Doty and Chitown.

  ‘The bartender says Brigid and Gabriella talked together for only about fifteen minutes,’ I told Pavlik as he waited in line with me for the valet to bring my car. I had his jacket draped across my shoulders against the cold night wind. ‘Maybe the interview didn’t go well.’

  ‘So badly that Atherton crushed Ms Ferndale’s skull somewhere and then moved the body to a hidey-hole under the depot’s loading platform?’

  I shrugged as a Lexus pulled up and the two women ahead of us stepped to the curb. ‘Stranger things have happened.’

  ‘True. And usually somewhere in proximity to you.�
�� He checked his watch. ‘This is taking forever. Why didn’t you just self-park?’

  ‘I was running late,’ I said, ‘for reasons you should well recall.’

  I leaned into him and Pavlik slipped an arm around my waist, pulling me even closer. ‘I certainly do,’ he said in my ear. ‘So why didn’t you tell me you were coming here? We could have ridden together.’

  I pulled back and looked at him. ‘Really?’

  A wince. ‘Uh, no, actually. I was working.’

  ‘Seems like I was doing all the work. You were sitting there letting Deirdre Doty have her way with your jacket.’

  ‘You sound jealous,’ Pavlik said as a BMW convertible pulled up and the valet hopped out. ‘If only it was of me, instead of my – what do you call it? – buttery leather?’

  ‘Folks?’ the valet said, opening the passenger door of the Beamer.

  I shook my head regretfully, as two people who’d been standing next to the building to stay warm brushed past us. ‘You know I love both you and your leather.’ I pulled the latter closer. ‘Equally.’

  Pavlik snickered. ‘Thanks, Mom, but I do believe you love him –’ he lifted the sleeve of the jacket – ‘better than me.’

  ‘What you can believe is that my feelings toward you are decidedly non-maternal,’ I said, getting up on my tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. ‘So, will you really come to the after-show party?’

  ‘I told Deirdre I would. Why? Are you invited, too?’

  I punched his shoulder.’Yes, I’m coming and I’ll tell you, I’m going to dress appropriately this time.’ In other words, as inappropriately as possible.

  Pavlik looked at my outfit. ‘You look fine.’

  Fine. The way your mother says it. Not as in ‘Damn, girl, you are looking fine!’

  ‘Please,’ I said. ‘Did you see some of those dresses back there?’

  ‘Sure, but you’re ol . . .’ He tried to cover his gaffe with a sudden, theatrical cough.

  ‘I’m neither “old”, nor dead,’ I said, paraphrasing MaryAnne. ‘And I am going to be drop-dead sexy Saturday night. As you’ll see.’

  ‘You are always drop-dead sexy,’ he said, taking the opportunity to let his hand slip from my waist to my butt.

  ‘Smoothly put, sheriff,’ I said, stepping away from him and sliding off the jacket. ‘But methinks I have something to prove in two days’ time.’

  ‘Speaking of days, what do you have planned for tomorrow?’ he said, taking the coat as my red Escape rolled into view.

  In contrast to the arrival of the BMW, no one else stepped forward to claim it. In fact, I could have sworn the glitzy group took a collective half-step back.

  Nonetheless, I loved my Ford. It sure beat the hell out of the battered mini-van I’d been driving last year.

  ‘Maggy?’ said Pavlik, a concerned look in his eyes.

  ‘Uh, sorry. Zoning out for a second there. So, tomorrow? Friday I work the early shift and then I thought I’d go to the open house Sarah is having at MaryAnne Williams’. Want to come?’ I asked, as Pavlik followed me around to the driver’s side. ‘I’m told there will be wine and cheese.’

  ‘I think I’ll pass, but you have a good time.’ He tipped the valet and held the door for me. ‘And I’m glad you’ll be with Sarah. No real estate agent should be out in the world alone right now.’

  ‘We’ll use the buddy system.’ I didn’t mention Sarah’s ‘other’ partners, Messrs Smith & Wesson. ‘Did you have something else in mind for tomorrow night?’

  ‘No,’ he said, hand on my driver’s side window sill. ‘I have to work.’

  I fastened my seatbelt. ‘Then why did you ask?’

  ‘Ask what?’ Pavlik leaned down to give me a kiss goodbye.

  ‘What I had planned for tomorrow. I thought you might want to do something . . . you know, get together?’

  God, dating made me feel fourteen all over again. And I hadn’t liked it very much that first time round.

  ‘Nope.’ The smile lit up his eyes. ‘Just like to know your whereabouts, so I can alert the ground troops.’

  My SUV’s door closed firmly.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I needed to be at Uncommon Grounds by seven the next morning, and it was no mean feat just getting out of bed.

  ‘I didn’t fall asleep until nearly two,’ I moaned to Frank as I scooched out from under the quilted comforter. ‘Last time I had just four hours, Eric was still teething.’

  The sheepdog didn’t even bother to raise his head.

  Just as well. If he roused himself, I would have had to take him out, and I wasn’t sure I could muster the strength.

  Still, I thought as I shuffled into the bathroom, I really had learned a lot and helped Pavlik, though I’m sure he wouldn’t admit it.

  My only disappointment was that, after losing sight of Gabriella Atherton, I never got a chance to talk with her. I fully intended to remedy that omission, though. Today was Friday and, according to MaryAnne, Gabriella’s turn, again, to play in the Barbies’ tennis foursome.

  Making the real beauty of the situation Gabriella coming to me. I was sure Pavlik planned on having a conversation with Atherton himself today, but would he know where to find her at eight thirty (the tennis courts) or ten thirty (Uncommon Grounds)?

  Well, Maggy do. And if the sheriff had just asked her, she would have told him.

  Cranking up the shower and watching my third-person self climb in, I cringed as the water hit me. Gradually, though, it warmed and I started to feel human again. If only I could stay in the shower all day.

  I finally stepped out and toweled myself down. My right palm was itching again and now showed little red bumps. A rash from the trumpet creeper, perhaps, though I hated to think Kate McNamara was right in her diagnosis. Or about anything, for that matter.

  The newspaper woman hadn’t been around much since the discovery of Brigid’s body, but maybe her absence wasn’t so surprising. The Brookhills Observer was only a weekly and normally hit the streets (OK, the convenience stores) Thursdays, meaning twenty-four hours ago.

  Normally, also, that meant the deadline for submitting new stories would be Tuesday, but somehow I had a feeling Kate had made an exception, requiring her to spend yesterday in the Observer’s office working feverishly to dump articles like ‘Preparing Your Garden for Winter’ in favor of ‘Local Woman Meets Violent Death’.

  I applied Neosporin to ease the itching on my hand and edged into my closet.

  The red of my palm did remind me of something.

  I pawed through my collection of jeans. Some were boot-cut, some mom-cut, though I promised Eric I’d only wear those while working in the yard.

  To which he’d said, ‘Backyard, Mom.’

  What I didn’t own were dress denims – certainly not the thousand-dollar-a-pair kind I’d seen at Sapphire or the ‘skinny jeans’ celebs wore on the glossy pages of magazines. I needed some simple dark-wash, straight-leg jeans I could pair with a chic little top for a night out.

  But not tomorrow night.

  Tomorrow night . . . I picked through the hangers in search of . . . ahh: red sheer stretch lace over a satin underlay just transparent enough to make people think they were seeing something they weren’t. It was the perfect ‘little red dress’ and with the right slut shoes? Well, I thought the look could be dynamite.

  Hell, I knew it was dynamite. Or had been a decade ago.

  I moved the dress from the back of my closet to ‘next-up’ position and finished getting ready for work, buoyed by the fact I was going to look terrific at Sapphire.

  I might be forty-five, but Diane Lane was a year older, Demi Moore, three years older still, and they both were gorgeous.

  ‘Old’, Sheriff Jake Pavlik? I’ll give you old.

  ###

  Our morning commuter rush was on as I arrived at Uncommon Grounds, so I didn’t have a chance to talk with Tien about catering Chitown’s party until after the second train had departed.

  We
were sitting at a deuce table, two lattes and the same of Tien’s delicious pecan rolls in front of us.

  ‘I’d be happy to do it, Maggy,’ she said. ‘I’ll need help, though, so I hope my dad can get past his aversion to our Mafia past.’

  Calling it ‘our Mafia past’ might not be the way to start the process.

  ‘Do you know if anyone asked Luc for permission to shoot in the Ristorante?’ I uncoiled a section of the sticky bun and popped a buttery piece into my mouth.

  Mmmmm, heaven. I’d say just like mother used to make, but my mom was more into unsweetened granola and wheat germ. Everything tasted like dirt.

  ‘Shoot?’ Tien frowned. ‘You mean like on Saturday?’

  I nodded, given my mouth was full.

  ‘Maggy, I’m honestly not even sure who owns the place. Are you?’

  I swallowed. ‘I guess I assumed your father did.’

  ‘No. At least so far as I know. But as witnessed by the other night, I don’t know much, even about my dad’s side of our family.’

  ‘If your grandmother just walked away from the property after your grandfather’s death, I suppose it’s possible the block reverted to Brookhills for back taxes. Or maybe the space was rented by your family and never owned. Either way, I get the impression your grandmother didn’t want anything to do with it.’

  ‘Ya think?’ Tien, so exotically refined, nevertheless could lob sarcasm with the best of them.

  ‘I think. I’ll ask Sarah when I see her at MaryAnne Williams’ open house this afternoon. If she was given the listing for the Ristorante, she’d have to know the identity of the seller. Or sellers.’

  I expected another ‘Ya think?’, but Tien was chewing, so I received only a reciprocal nod of approval.

  ‘But back to tomorrow,’ I continued. ‘Elaine Riordan will be calling later to tell you a guest count and talk some menu.’

  ‘I hope she contacts me this morning. I’ll want to shop this afternoon, so I can begin cooking tomorrow – oh, wait, will she be coming in today with her tennis group?’

  We both reflexively looked up at the three giant clocks that dated from the old depot. The one set for Brookhills said five minutes past ten. In other words, nearly half-an-hour before Barbie saturation.