Chapter Eleven

Tuesday, 12:30 p.m.

“You shouldn’t have to stay much longer.” Reba sank onto a lounge chair at the edge of the Four Seasons pool. “Everyone is camped outside the girlfriend’s house. A gated compound in Bel Air is a better backdrop since her family comes and goes.”

The thought of the Bimbo facing the determined media while I remained anonymous made me smile. I rubbed another layer of suntan lotion over my shoulders. Under a big hat, hidden by sunglasses, I could pass for a tourist relaxing by the pool.

“Thanks for coming by.”

Reba tossed up her hands in a dramatic wave. “I took the afternoon off and told Alan he’s paying for us to go to lunch. How are you doing?”

“Evan, Adrienne, and Oliver are handling everything. I got my car back, but after I had to drive like a maniac to escape the media, I’m keeping the rental for now.”

“How did things go with the cops? They won’t say shit, except they don’t have suspects.”

I made a face. “I’m glad Oliver’s on my side. Southern charm wrapped around a pit bull.”

“That was quite a news conference he held at the police station.” She adopted a soft southern drawl. “‘My client’s only interest is to help police find the killer.’ He’ll make them toe the line.”

I believed her. After I’d told him about Torres’ comment, he promised to send a letter to Hank demanding a formal apology.

“I’ve given up watching TV or getting on the Internet. Everyone makes me sound like a jealous, jilted bitch. Relax. This is like vacation.”

She signaled a poolside waiter and ordered a mimosa before removing her bright blue mules and putting up her feet. “I could handle hanging out a few days in a swanky hotel.”

“I thought about going to Delia’s since I have her keys, but I won’t do that until I ask permission. Her snooty neighbors probably wouldn’t like having media camped out. I wish I could reach her. I get no answer on her cell and she hasn’t answered my texts or email.”

“Can’t you call her hotel?”

I made a face. “Dummy here forgot to get the name. I think they’re taking a cruise along the Amazon after a couple of days in Rio. This is fine. I’ve got a suite and room service.”

“Suite?” Her face jerked toward me. “Isn’t that pricey? I know Alan agreed to pay your rental car and hotel room, but…”

“It’s only a couple of days.”

The waiter returned with the mimosa, and she lifted her glass. “Here’s to Alan’s checkbook.”

I had no illusions about Alan. The station was getting something from me too. I provided personal pictures of Rick and a video taken inside the wine shop when it opened. That gave TV8 an exclusive until everyone pirated it. Alan would probably expect me to give them an interview eventually. Sometimes I hated my profession.

Reba’s cell rang and she turned to me as she read the caller ID. “It’s Brad. I told him I was coming to see you. Want to talk to him?”

I reached for the phone. I’d forgotten to call him back.

“How are you, Kimberly?” His voice rang with concern. “I’ve been worried about you.”

“I’m doing okay.”

“I’m here if you need me.” He sent flowers the previous afternoon with a card offering to buy dinner. After my terrible morning, I opted for room service.

“I could use an alibi,” I joked.

Brad didn’t laugh. “If people hadn’t seen me dancing that night, I might lie. You should have joined us.”

“Given how things turned out, I wish I had. But it’ll be okay. Oliver keeps his clients out of jail. I’ve heard the threat of tangling with him can keep the DA from going to court.”

“I have friends in the DA’s office, if you want me to ask around.”

Warmth spread through my insides, much like the sun that glided over my shoulders. I turned away, lowering my voice so that Reba couldn’t hear me. “Brad, you’re being very kind.”

“Just trying to help. Call me if you get bored, since I don’t have your new number.”

I gave it to him and hung up.

“Something going on between you and anchor stud?” Reba asked as I handed back her phone.

“Anchor stud?” I couldn’t restrain a laugh. “No, but tell me about him.”

Reba clapped her hands together like an eager teenager. “You are interested.”

“He’s been nice.” Maybe I didn’t need a man around, but I liked having one available.

“You’re blushing.”

Normally I might have protested, but gossiping about a hunky guy was preferable to thinking about photographers camped outside my house. Or that stranger inside. Was Lindy trying on my clothes and shoes? I hadn’t seen any telltale signs when I picked up my jewelry at midnight, but I noticed she was my size. At least my jewelry was safe. It now rested in a Louis Vuitton train case in a hotel safe. If only I could have a man stashed in a safe somewhere! I could pull him out whenever I needed him.

“Delia says I need to get back into dating, but think about it. That first-time sex thing? At my age?” I shuddered.

Reba looked me over in my bikini. “I should look so good.”

The compliment didn’t help. Men my age preferred younger women—ask Rick. And while men might want to take me out, I didn’t kid myself about why. Dating the Queen of L.A. TV counted for something in this fame-driven city. Maybe I would hear from the would-be King who helped with my car. In the meantime…

“Do you know if Brad is seeing anyone?”

Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “He and Gwen had a thing for a while, but it’s over. Haven’t you noticed how tense they are on the air?”

This was the reason I didn’t date coworkers—gossip or on-air rivalries. “What did he see in Gwen?”

“May I ask something?” she asked instead of answering. Her tone had grown serious. “Are you really okay? I know we’ve been joking, but, well…Rick was your guy.”

“Ex-guy.” Was I okay? I didn’t know. I said my goodbye at the beach, but part of me still felt raw. I drained my mimosa. “The sun is getting hot. Let me grab a shower and we’ll do lunch in Beverly Hills and go shopping.”

“Didn’t you pick up clothes last night?”

“I need something new. Something fun.” And I wanted to make Hank’s officers work if they were following me. The more I thought about the previous day, the more convinced I was that gray car belonged to a police officer. Non-descript sedan equaled police tail. Let them report to Hank that I was shopping again. I should let Brad take me to dinner. Let them tell him that!

“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously,” she grumbled, sliding into her shoes.

“Are you kidding? I take shopping very seriously.”

****

Reba tried to look interested while I wandered from store to store. Since she seldom wore anything besides oversized sweaters and leggings, I knew this was not her idea of fun. I needed Delia. Shopping was our antidote for depression or frustration.

“This is my last stop,” I promised hours later when we entered Genie’s House of Fashion. “What about this?” I picked out a silk wrap around dress and placed it in front of me. “Great for summer and Mom approves of anything green. She’ll love this lime color.”

I pranced in front of a mirror, but a sudden shifting nearby caught my eye. I whirled, fearing a reporter, but saw no one. Had someone been watching? Sensing further movement, I whipped around in time to see the shop’s door closing. Uneasiness swept through me.

“Did you see anyone leave?” I asked, approaching Reba.

Her neck arched as she surveyed the shop. “I haven’t been paying attention.”

A sudden chilliness set off goose bumps on my bare arms. “I felt like someone was watching and took off.”

“News guys?” She scanned the row of windows that faced Rodeo Drive.

“They’d have confronted me. This was someone who didn’t want me to see him.” Discomfort blossomed inside me. Would a police officer follow me into a store?

Reba rolled her eyes. She posed with one hand on her hip. “People watch you all the time. We pay you to be watched. Are you going to try that on?”

I put the dress back. Shopping had lost its appeal.

As we stepped onto the sidewalk, I gave our surroundings extra attention. Weekday shoppers ignored us, but the uneasy sensation crawled along my skin again.

“Shit!” Reba clattered down the sidewalk toward an electronics store. She stopped outside a window filled with TV screens.

I glanced at my watch. Just after five. “Look at all these people, out and about,” I said with a laugh as I joined her. “I’ve discovered in the past couple of days there are thousands who are not concerned with news.”

“Fuck!” was her reply.

I looked at the sets. Peter Murphy stood in front of a stone wall. The other sets carried a picture of a silver-haired man above strips carrying various titles of Wine Merchant Murder.

“Hey!” I waved at the video of my would-be King as he hurried along a sidewalk. “Need an interview? I can…”

My words caught in my throat as his name flashed on the screen.

“Miles S. Brookings, Fiancée’s Father.”