Eighteen

“This is a little awkward,” Taylor Baines admitted with a charming smile after releasing my clean hand. I sat in a caramel-colored leather chair that commanded a view of Boston harbor through a huge picture window. The ocean looked smooth as glass, green as a 7-Up bottle.

He was a small, dapper man, late forties by the crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes, older by the silver hair. Impeccably dressed in a navy suit with a fine gray stripe, the proper amount of white shirt-cuff peeped out of his sleeves. His gold wristwatch was thin as a dime.

He sat behind a desk that was twice as big as my dining room table.

He asked if I’d take coffee. I said yes, cream and sugar, please. He small-talked until a woman appeared with a tray and two china cups. Saucers and silver spoons too. He neatly segued into business as soon as the door swung shut behind her.

“I represent MGA/America, which currently has an interest in Miss Dee Willis. You are a, uh, friend of hers.”

It wasn’t a question so I didn’t answer it.

Taylor Baines stirred his coffee and waited for me to explain my relationship with Dee. One corner of his mouth tilted up when I said nothing.

“You are also a private investigator licensed by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts,” he said.

I nodded.

“Miss Willis has taken a rather unfortunate tone with the police, concerning an accident which occurred at her hotel last night, involving a member of her entourage.”

I made a noncommittal noise.

“I am told that she has been both too forthcoming and too closemouthed in her interactions with the police department, and that she runs the risk of getting herself and her tour, which is financed entirely by our client, into some, er, difficulty.”

“May I ask what she allegedly told the police?”

My use of “allegedly” drew another faint tilt of the attorney’s mouth. “Miss Willis has said that she knows the death was not suicide, but that she can tell them no more than that. She knows because she knows, in other words.”

“Maybe they won’t take her too seriously,” I offered. “When I was a cop, we had psychics who called long-distance to discuss the reappearance of Elvis.”

“Yes, but Miss Willis also maintains that she found the, uh, body in the company of a group of her fellow musicians, and that she has no idea why the body was in her room.”

I said nothing.

“The police say they have received differing accounts of the body’s discovery. I understand Miss Willis telephoned you from the scene.”

I said nothing again.

“MGA/America is most anxious that her tour continue unimpeded.”

“If Dee isn’t being held for questioning, is there any reason why it shouldn’t?”

Mr. Baines stole a quick glance at his watch. “She is, at the moment, resting at her hotel. The hotel switchboard will say she is unavailable.”

He was certainly right about that. I finished my coffee, which was very good, and set the delicate cup and saucer on the corner of his desk. “Why am I here?”

“Ah,” he said. “I am to assure you that MGA/America will be happy to cover your usual fee for whatever, uh, service you are supplying to their artist.”

“And in return for the money, what do they want?”

“First of all, they would like you to continue working for Miss Willis.”

“Who says I’m working for Ms. Willis?” I said. “We are old friends.”

“The best kind,” he said.

“Yes,” I agreed. “The best kind.”

He said, “I did tell the client I felt this sort of thing would be a waste of time.”

“No problem,” I said evenly. “It might have been a problem if I were working for Ms. Willis, but I’m not.”

“Ah,” he said. “That makes things somewhat easier. You would then be free to accept another job?”

“I might.”

“Miss Willis approached someone at MGA/America early this morning concerning the loan of a considerable amount of money.”

“May I ask how much?”

“Three hundred thousand dollars. As an advance against royalties on a recording contract. Up until this morning, contract negotiations were proceeding at a somewhat leisurely pace. Miss Willis seems to wish to speed the process along. And my clients, before signing any documents, particularly large checks, would feel more secure if someone like you were present to keep an eye on Miss Willis, to speak to her perhaps, to urge her to use more tact in her conversations with the police.”

“I would hardly be able to keep her from telling them the truth,” I said.

“No,” he agreed, with the faintest hint of a smile. “But we feel, that is, my clients feel, that Miss Willis should have a discreet friend to rely on at this upsetting time.”

“You can’t hire a friend,” I said. “But if I were to wish to speak with someone at MGA/America concerning Ms. Willis, who would that someone be?”

“You can always reach me at one of these numbers,” he said smoothly, removing a thin leather case from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. We traded business cards. I got the better of the deal; his—thick, cream-colored, engraved—probably cost three times as much as mine.

“I admire your view,” I said.

“If you should happen to come across anything that would convince the police that Miss Willis was elsewhere at the time of Miss Hunter’s death, MGA/America would appreciate knowing it. Will a retainer of five hundred be sufficient?”

I nodded. “Has Dee been charged with anything?”

“No.”

“Are you anticipating she will be?”

“There remains that possibility.”

Behind his head to the right, I could see a tugboat escorting a freighter out to sea. I couldn’t make out the name on the bow, but I thought it might be in the Cyrillic alphabet. If I had an office with a view like that, I don’t think I’d get a lick of work done.