Chapter 14
This time, the towering bodyguard had to knock on the door of Jaki’s suite and ask if I was expected. But Mira let me in and steered me toward the bar near the door. Jaki, Hector, and Perry sat around the big table by the window, deep in a serious confab. I got the idea that we needed to leave them alone for a while to hash things out.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” Mira asked. “Last time, you said you like chamomile tea.”
I guessed that a good personal assistant needed to remember such things. “I’ll take coffee this time, thanks. With milk and sweetener.”
“Stevia okay?”
Figured that the Bradburne—or at least Jaki—would have a choice of sugar-free options on hand. “Perfect.”
Mira made herself a cup, too, and I complimented her on her oh-so-chic haircut. We speculated for a minute on whether I could pull off something similar, skirting the issue of what it would cost in a top-notch salon.
“Being self-employed, I generally groom my own fur,” I told her with a laugh.
She shrugged her thin shoulders. “You could splurge once. Since you’ve got the skills, you might be able to figure out how the stylist cut it and maintain it yourself after that.”
I remembered that Mira had been the source of a lot of inside info for Becky and Chris, and decided to take advantage of this opportunity. “So, how did you come to be Jaki’s assistant?”
“I just kind of fell into it, in high school when she first started getting a lot of gigs. I was one year ahead of her and thought of going into theater myself. But not as a performer—I was more interested in costumes, props, the behind-the-scenes stuff. Of course, even those jobs are hard to get, and they pay peanuts.”
I nodded. I’d heard that live theater, even on Broadway, wasn’t exactly a gold mine for anyone in terms of employment.
“So I started helping Jaki with her costumes and makeup, just for fun, and running errands she was too busy to do,” Mira explained. “We always got along well, and the arrangement just worked for both of us. When she went to LA, she asked me to come along as a paid assistant.” The lady in black slid onto the bar stool next to mine and leaned confidentially closer. “Frankly, almost everyone else around her—even Hector, sometimes—deals with her as Jaki Natal the performer. They want to make sure that she gets to the next gig on time, that she’s physically ready to go onstage, that kind of stuff.”
“More of a business relationship,” I said.
“Exactly. But she also needs a friend who’s more on her level. Somebody to be supportive when she doesn’t feel so well, or needs to gripe and let her hair down. She counts on me for that.” Mira dropped her gaze to her half-empty mug of coffee. “Might sound silly, but she counted on Gordie for that, too. He was almost like . . . What do they call it? Her emotional support animal.”
“Yes, I got that feeling,” I said.
“Heck, I miss the little guy, too. I took care of him as much as she did. I don’t mean that as a criticism. Jaki liked taking care of him, but she was just so busy that I usually ended up feeding him at least once a day, cleaning his pan, keeping track of his carrier, and brushing him if he was going somewhere that he’d be photographed.” Mira’s face and tone saddened again. “I still feel awful that I let her down on Friday. I should have kept track of where that guy went with the carrier, maybe even chased after him.”
“And maybe he would have dealt with you the same way he did with the security guard!” I pointed out. “It might be lucky that you didn’t get in his way.”
Mira frowned, as if she hadn’t considered that before. With a glance toward the table where the other three still quietly wrangled, she told me, “It’s just that I understand why this is driving Jaki so crazy. Gordie was—is—a really sweet, lovable cat. I just hope this guy hasn’t done anything to hurt him.”
I broached what I supposed might be a sensitive subject. “Last time, when Hector suggested she take something to calm her down, Jaki said she didn’t want to ‘go down that road again.’ Has she had a problem in the past?” When Mira stiffened defensively, I assured her, “I’m not sniffing around for gossip—I’ll keep it confidential. I’m just trying to figure out if anyone has a hold like that over her.”
“It was nothing. When all this fame first hit, she was getting offers from everywhere and going crazy trying to accept them all. Trying to please everybody. She got stressed, so of course somebody offered her some pills to keep her energy up for a concert, then another pill to help her sleep.... She got kind of dependent on that routine for a while. But Jaki’s got a good head on her shoulders. She saw what was happening, so she spent a couple of weeks at a clinic and got back on track.” Mira’s tone grew emphatic. “It was all prescription medicine, no street drugs, and she took it for just a little while. So, no, there isn’t anybody who’d ‘have a hold on her’ from those days.”
Now I felt a little embarrassed for asking. “I just wondered, because it sounds, from some of the notes she’s gotten, like this person thinks she’s under a lot of pressure and wants to rescue her.”
Mira made a face. “People believe all kinds of trash they read or hear in the media. Like, a year ago, Jaki caught a cold that turned into really bad laryngitis, and she had to cancel a few concerts. Some blogger started a rumor that she’d overdosed and was going into rehab. Not a word of truth in it, and Rose put out denials to the press. But once something like that gets in the wind, some folks still want to believe the worst.”
Hoping to change the subject, I noticed that a credenza against the wall had been heaped with fruit baskets and other gifts, some professionally decorated and others with a homemade appearance. “What’s all this? Courtesy of the hotel?”
The assistant rolled her eyes. “The biggest basket is, but the rest are from fans. Some of the messages are nice and thoughtful, but others . . . Well, I think that’s why everybody wanted to talk with you again this morning.”
At that point, the secretive discussion around the oval table broke up. Hector acknowledged me with a grouchy nod and got himself a cup of coffee; Perry just waved and retreated to his favorite side chair to make a phone call.
Only Jaki looked pleased to see me. She crossed the room, wearing a fitted red sweater and slim black pants, and looking more alert and pulled-together than the day before. “Really sorry, Cassie, to be taking so much of your time.”
“Not at all. I know you’re dealing with a crisis.” Tilting my head toward the pile of gifts, I added, “Mira was just telling me that most of this stuff is from fans. Do they know that Gordie is missing?”
“No, no. Rose and Perry put out the word that I wasn’t feeling well, so I got all of these packages sent to the suite. Flowers, candy, cough drops, vitamin C, echinacea . . .” She shook her head, with a crooked half-smile. “No one actually said what was supposed to be wrong with me. Guess I should be glad people didn’t send Pepto-Bismol . . . or Midol!”
I smiled, too. “But I gather not all of the gifts were thoughtful.”
“No, unfortunately.” Her sweet face turning grim, Jaki opened a folded cloth table napkin to reveal one small, white gift box, the kind you’d use for a short necklace or a bracelet. The lid sat loosely on top, and next to it rested what looked like a blue-and-green plaid ribbon with a small bow. Closer up, though, I realized it was a pet collar accented with a miniature bow tie; wisps of silvery fur still clung to the inside.
“I called Detective Bonelli, and she told me not to handle this any more than I did already,” Jaki said. With shaking fingers, as if defusing a small bomb, she used one of the hotel’s ballpoint pens to nudge the lid of the box aside.
A heart-shaped silver tag rested on a square of white cotton wool. It was engraved with the name GORDIE and what looked like a California phone number.
“This is the note that came with it.” She pointed to a folded piece of postcard stock that lay next to the box; still using the pen, she flattened it so I could read the electronically printed message: Your cat really misses you, Jaki. You can have him back tonight if you’ll meet with me privately after your show. I’ll text you the time and place. Meanwhile, Gordie sends you his heart.
The message raised hairs on the back of my neck, and the pet being held hostage wasn’t even mine.
“I can’t tell you how I felt when I read that,” Jaki said, her voice thick. “I was shaking so bad, I thought I was going to throw up. It felt as if . . . as if he could just as easily have sent me . . . a piece of Gordie.” Tears coursed down her face again.
I put an arm around her slim shoulders, feeling protective as a big sister. The note definitely carried a veiled threat. This slimeball was clever, all right. And forget the business about his wanting to be “friends” with Jaki. No one with a decent motive would stoop to terrifying her like this.
Hector wandered up and tried to reassure his daughter. “Honey, the cops already arrested this guy.”
I started to have my doubts. “When was the box delivered?”
“About an hour ago.” Perry joined us, tucking his phone into his jacket pocket. “But he could have arranged the delivery just before they nailed him.”
“Bonelli is sending someone for the box—they’re going to try to get fingerprints from it, anyway.” With the ballpoint, Jaki nudged the lid back into place. Her gaze lingering for a moment on the little plaid collar with the bow tie before she folded the napkin over everything again. “I can’t leave here, though, without Gordie. This monster will kill him, I know he will.”
“Well, you sure as hell can’t meet with him alone, and take the chance that he might kill you,” her father declared.
The suite’s phone rang. Perry picked up the handset, then passed it on to Hector. “It’s Detective Bonelli.”
The stocky man settled on the wide arm of the ivory sofa, as if poised for action, to take the call. He mainly listened, and I couldn’t deduce much from his brief responses, but below his mustache his frown grew deeper and deeper. When the call ended, he stood up with a jerk, crossed the room, and slapped the handset back into its base.
“She doesn’t think it’s the right guy,” he said. “The one they’ve got, I mean. This one’s the songwriter—the one who wanted Jaki to pass his stuff on to her agent. When he heard the cat was missing, he saw a chance to make a deal with us. Even if the cat turned up in the meantime, he says, at least he’d have made a connection to help his career.”
“So he doesn’t have Gordie?” I asked.
“He swears he doesn’t, and Bonelli can’t see why he’d lie about it. He’s already blown his chance to get what he wanted, and things would go easier for him if he cooperated. She said he’s got no record besides a minor drug bust. And when he’s not playing guitar in dives, he works as a short-order cook. No technology background.”
“As far as he’s telling them,” Perry muttered.
Meanwhile, Jaki had gone back into a funk. She slumped in one of the dining chairs near the gift-laden credenza, brushing fingers over the screen of her phone.
“Any new messages?” I asked her.
“No. . . .” But something in her voice invited me to come and look over her shoulder.
The small screen displayed a selfie of Jaki kissing Gordie on his furry cheek, the cat’s eyes half-closed as if in bliss. She scrolled to another shot of herself in a roomy airplane seat, her young face bare of makeup; she peered out the window at golden sunset clouds while Gordie sprawled across her lap in sleep. His curved paws seemed to hug the top of her leg.
Scroll to another shot: Jaki arriving for a personal appearance, beautifully dressed and coiffed, with the unflappable silver tabby tucked under her arm. In the next, she watched TV in a darkened room while wearing a T-shirt with pajama bottoms in a funky, tropical print; Gordie sat upright next to her on the sofa, his hind legs stretched in front of him like a person. Finally, a short video showed the cat manically chasing a windup toy around a living room, with Jaki giggling and a male voice laughing in the background.
“Alec’s right,” she told me in a dull tone. “We got careless. We should never, ever have trusted Gordie to a stranger.”
“You and Mira were both frightened,” I reminded her, “and you were set up by someone very smart and calculating. Don’t blame yourselves.”
Perry crossed the room and also tried to console her. “Yeah, look what happened with the hotel’s IT guy. He’s an expert, but that phishing e-mail even fooled him.”
I remembered Becky’s theory of that morning, and asked Jaki, “You said some of the e-mails you’ve gotten lately were similar to notes that have been left for your family over the years. So it sounds as if this creep might live around here. Is there anybody, way back in your past, who could be behind this? Somebody you turned down for a date, or even another girl you beat out for a role?”
She sighed deeply and shook her head. “I’ve tried to think, but . . . I’ve been performing since I was about ten. I’d sure hate to think somebody from my grade school talent show could hold a grudge for that long!”
Hector also snorted. “Yeah, that’s ridiculous.”
“Boys in high school, maybe? Ones you broke up with, or never dated at all because they acted too weird?”
She scrunched her face. “Don’t all boys in high school act weird? I didn’t even date that much, because I was so busy with dancing and singing lessons and rehearsals for plays and other school shows. Then I blew off senior year to go to LA and work on the series.”
“There wasn’t anybody who stands out?” I pressed her.
“Just one dude I went out with a couple of times, who was really obnoxious—Larry Vanderveer. Super good-looking but with a huge ego, y’know? I figured we might get along because he was in a band, but he was used to girls doing anything he wanted and got pretty steamed when I told him no. After that he spread rumors around school that I was slutty, to get even.”
“I remember him.” Hector scowled. “He just came to the house once, but there was something about him I didn’t trust. Acted real polite to my face, but like it was—how do you say it?—a put-on. Jaki always told me I overprotected her, so I tried not to interfere. But I was glad when she stopped seeing him.”
“Any idea where the guy is now,” Perry asked, “or what he’s up to?”
“I did a search,” Mira said, “but I couldn’t find him online. Not around here, anyway.”
“By now, he could have moved out of the area,” Jaki guessed. “Maybe he even changed his name. After all, if you’re a rocker, Larry Vanderveer doesn’t sound very badass.” She cracked a sly smile.
Hector, though, looked as if he’d begun to take my approach seriously. “It might be somebody else, though. Some guy you hardly noticed, or some incident you don’t even remember. We should ask your mama.”
“Or your brother and sister,” I suggested. “Did they go to the same school? They might have known about someone who had a crush on you, or a beef against you, that you weren’t even aware of.”
Jaki straightened, and the spark came back into her dark eyes. “Might be worth it. Better than doing nothing!”
Perry let out a sigh and slapped his knees. “Well, if the killer cat thief is still at large, I guess I’d better cancel tonight’s show, too. We’ll have to refund a lot of three-hundred-dollar tickets, but at least we’ll save on all of that extra security.”
“No,” Jaki told him. “Don’t.”
Her father swung toward her in alarm. “We’ve got to, for your safety.”
“As long as you have all that security, I’m going to go on. I came here to support a cause, and those ticket sales are going to help homeless animals.”
“You want to be a martyr to the cause?” Hector scoffed. “Out of the question!”
“This guy wants to meet me after the show. If I agree to that, he has no reason to harm me while I’m performing.”
She’s got a point there, I thought, but I didn’t intend to interfere. This was between Jaki and her father.
“When he texts me, we’ll set it up,” Jaki went on. “Then we’ll tell Detective Bonelli. See if she can lay a trap. I’ll lure this . . . person into the open, make him or her tell me where Gordie is, and then the cops can nab him.”
“He’s bound to be expecting that,” Perry protested. “He’ll have a Plan B in place, for sure.”
“Then we can have a Plan C and a Plan D.” Jaki turned to me. “Do you think Detective Bonelli can keep me safe?”
“I do—she’s really sharp. And if she doesn’t honestly feel she can, she’ll tell you that, too.”
I could see Hector relenting. “Might be worth a try. After all, until we catch this guy, nobody in the family will really feel safe. I’ll give the detective a call.”
That sounded like my cue to leave, because I knew Bonelli would not appreciate my becoming any more involved in the case than I was already. Amid thanks from Jaki and Perry, I started for the door of the suite.
Hector offered, “I’ll walk you out, Ms. McGlone.”
This surprised me a little, and I half-wondered if he wanted a chance to tell me to stop interfering in their affairs. But his demeanor was gentler than that.
In the foyer of the suite, he took me aside. “You’re probably wondering, at this point, why I don’t just insist that my daughter leave here now, for her own safety.”
“I can tell you’d prefer that,” I said. “I’m sure Jaki knows, too. I guess you realize she’s a grown woman, and it’s her career and her choice to make.” I did not add that Jaki was the one making the millions and probably paying all of their salaries. That gave them reason to respect her decisions, but also to protect her from danger.
“All of those things are true,” Hector agreed, “but still, I’m her father as well as her manager. If I absolutely forbade her to go onstage this weekend, she’d have to honor my wishes. After all, she needs the rest of us to make the concert happen.”
I could see the truth of this. If Hector dismissed the musicians and Perry put out the word that the show would not take place, Jaki couldn’t exactly perform a cappella to an empty theater.
“The trouble is,” he continued, “I know how much that cat means to her. I’m sure Jaki gets lonely on the road for company besides her cousin and her papa. It’s not a natural life for a beautiful young girl. It’s hard for her to even make true friends, much less to meet a good, steady man. Too many people are dazzled by her fame or want to use her in some way, you know? But she trusts me, she trusts Mira . . . and she trusts that damned cat.”
I nodded. “She showed me videos of her and Gordie hanging out together in the plane and the hotel room.”
“That’s how it is. To me, that animal was just a reminder of no-good Alec, who ran around on her, but Jaki loves Gordie. If I force her to leave here now and that bastardo does kill her cat, my daughter will never forgive me. So it has to be her decision.”
“And if she chooses to leave, and that happens, she’ll never forgive herself.”
Hector bowed his head, understanding. “So please, do whatever you can to find him?”
It was nothing I hadn’t committed myself to already. “I promise, Mr. Natal.”
I stepped out into the hall again and wished the bodyguard a good evening.
Speaking of parents, it had been a while since I’d heard from my mom. I needed to make sure she and Harry still were okay down at the cat show.
* * *
“Looli got Best of Breed—that means she’s in the running for Best in Show!” my mother gushed. She didn’t gush often and had never even come close to gushing about a cat before. I could only take this as more evidence that she was, as the old song went, wild about Harry. That still felt weird to me, but I guessed if she could let me make my own decisions about my love life, I could return the favor.
At least he didn’t have a passion for NASCAR races. Or even worse, hunting.
“Cassie, could you take a picture of us with her ribbons?” Harry requested. “We were going to ask our pal Steve again, but he doesn’t seem to be around.”
It took me a second to remember that Steve was the young staffer they’d been talking to the day before. “Sure, glad to oblige.”
Harry handed me his cell phone, then he and Mom sat on metal folding chairs pulled close together and held the good-natured Sphynx between them. This time I was impressed that my mother actually laid a fond hand against the cat’s hairless rib cage. I’d heard that, with enough motivation, people could be desensitized against a phobia. If Mom could overcome hers, I supposed I could try to get over my aversion to Harry.
It wasn’t so much that I disliked Harry, I just had a really hard time imagining him in place of my father. Dad, a periodontist who painted watercolors on the side and loved jazz, had been a warm, relaxed kind of guy. He’d died of a heart attack at fifty, not due to stress but mostly because of a congenital problem. Since I was an only child, we’d been very close, and I’d considered him the fun parent, with my mother the practical taskmaster.
I’d gotten over the shock of losing Dad so young and past the deepest stage of mourning him, but he still occupied a room in my heart that no one else could fill. For three years, my mother had seemed to feel the same and showed no interest in finding another man. It had been coincidence—an effort to solve a problem for me—that resulted in her meeting and hitting it off with Harry. That was fine. I certainly didn’t expect her to sit home alone with no social life. But the idea of their relationship becoming serious gave me the twitches. Like a naïve eight-year-old, I preferred to go on thinking of Harry as just my mother’s “friend.”
As I took a second shot of them with the cat for good measure, I saw Steve enter the benching area through a side door. I’d noticed a few other official-looking types roaming the floor today, too. Nice at least to know the hotel had made good on its promise to beef up staffing and security.
Giving Harry back his phone, I asked both of them quietly, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything suspicious while you’ve been down here.”
Mom leaned toward me and also dropped her voice. “Just one thing that I wanted to tell you about. There’s been a man wandering about, ever since the first day, who doesn’t seem to have any real business here. He just looks out of place, y’know?”
“In what way?” I asked.
“He’s maybe in his forties,” said Harry. “Tall, with a shaved head but beard stubble and glasses. Yesterday he was wearing some kind of cat-themed sweatshirt. Today he’s got on a sweater and jeans, and he’s carrying one of the show tote bags that you get for free when you buy a ticket.”
Give him credit—Harry had a good eye for detail when it came to people as well as buildings. “None of that sounds too strange, though.”
“It’s more his behavior that’s odd,” Mom explained. “He doesn’t seem to have a cat in the show, and he never sits to watch the judging for very long. He just walks slowly down all the rows of cages as if he’s looking for a particular cat or type of cat. And even though he looks a little frumpy—can you say that about a man?—he’s got a strong build and an athletic way of moving.”
If her description made sinewy Harry jealous, he didn’t show it. My mother shared my love of mystery novels, and even though she didn’t consume them at the rate that I did, it seemed to be having an effect on her imagination.
I interpreted. “In other words, he doesn’t seem the type to spend his evenings reading poetry with a calico purring on his lap?”
Harry nodded. “Exactly. Sometimes he just stands back against the far wall and takes pictures with his phone. As if he’s trying to get the lay of the whole room.”
“And he stops and talks to people at random,” said Mom. “Not to us, but I heard him asking a lady down the row, who has Maine Coons, about how far she traveled to the show and whether she breeds her own cats.”
“Maybe he’s just doing research because he’s interested in the hobby,” I suggested.
“Well, that’s what I supposed, too,” Harry told me. “But it was just odd enough that Barbara thought we should mention it to you.”
Funny to hear him refer to my mother by her first name, when talking to me. But I was hypersensitive to all of these little nuances, I supposed.
“By the way, Cassie, have you heard anything more about the concert tonight?” Mom asked. “Will there be one? Is that girl Jaki feeling any better?”
Right, she and Harry would have heard the official explanation, that Jaki was ailing. “Last I heard, she’s doing better and wants to go on. Her father and Perry tried to talk her out of it, but . . .”
I cut myself off, because across the ballroom I spotted a figure who exactly fit their description. Over six feet, wearing dark-rimmed glasses, a button-down shirt with a gray cable-knit cardigan, well-worn jeans, running shoes. But the low-key outfit felt out of sync with his cue-ball head, granite jaw, five o’clock shadow, broad shoulders, and slow, almost prowling stride.
Whether he might be the high-tech wiz who’d hacked the hotel computer, I couldn’t say. And Jaki’s stalker? That someone his age, and with such hard-edged good looks, would be obsessed with a twenty-three-year-old pop singer seemed unlikely.
But he sure did look like he could kill a security guard with one quick punch to the throat.