| |
Two-Toned Wingtips
Vivian pulled into the parking lot on the other side of Griffith Park, and Preston pointed to the white convertible sports car in the shade. The blonde wearing the flashy shirt with palm trees and pineapples was standing beside it. He wandered over after they parked the car.
“What the heck happened back there?” Nick asked.
Preston showed him the note. “He knew what we were up to and turned the tables on us. Sometime during the past couple of days, he killed the actress from the movie and dumped her body on the hiking path. Maybe the male actor, too. Nick, meet Vivian Steele.”
He reached over to shake her hand. “Nick Campbell. Sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances. Are you okay?”
Vivian nodded. “Yes, thanks for your help. He must have seen us at the boutique last night, Preston, or he saw your car behind the Post Office and knew I wasn’t coming here alone. That’s the only way he would have had time to leave that poor woman’s body here. She must have written the note he slipped under my door yesterday, but it seems strange for him to force her to write it days before he needed it.”
“We have to find those coins and lure him out into the open,” Nick said. “Without them, there’s no telling what he’ll do next.”
Preston looked at Vivian. “You said the coins might be in a box that you gave to your stepdaughter. Where does George’s ex-wife live?”
“On Magnolia Boulevard in Encino. That’s the only place I can think of where George might have put them. Preston, I’m pretty sure the woman on the path was wearing my jacket. The police are going to wonder why, especially since it’s not an article of clothing that I sell in the boutique.”
“They’ll have to find you first before they can ask you any questions. We’ll go to my parents’ estate and put your car in one of the garages. You aren’t going back to your apartment, not until we catch this guy. You can stay at the estate until then.”
Vivian’s blood started churning. She straightened her back and stared at Preston. “Hang on a minute. You might be able to order everyone else around, but I make my own decisions. I am not going to hide away like some helpless damsel in distress.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Well, that’s how it sounded.”
Preston reached up and loosened his tie. “You’re being unreasonable again, Vivian. You don’t seem to realize how serious the situation is and the danger you’re in.”
She narrowed her steel-gray eyes. “You don’t realize what I’m capable of.”
Preston stood firm. “Then why don’t you tell me?”
“Whoa, settle down, you two,” Nick chuckled as he stepped in between them. “Why don’t you both take a step back and a deep breath? I’m sure we can come up with a simple solution that will satisfy everyone.”
Preston kept his eyes planted on Vivian. “Like what?”
“I have a spare bedroom,” Nick quipped, and they turned their glares on him. “It was just a suggestion.”
Nick’s humor eased Vivian’s expression. “I’m willing to compromise a bit. It’s a good idea to tuck my car away somewhere for now. I don’t feel like dealing with the police, but I’m going to take an active part in this. I’m not sitting by the poolside waiting for the two of you to figure it all out on your own.”
Preston sighed. “I didn’t expect you to, Vivian. After we get your car in the garage, we’ll drive to Encino to talk to George’s ex-wife and stop at that shoe store in Malibu. I just don’t think you should go back to your apartment until this is over.”
“You forget that I have a business to run, and what if our mystery man leaves me another note, but I’m not there to receive it?”
“I think he’ll figure out another way to contact you. At the estate, he won’t be able to slip a note under the door, not with the security there.”
“If I spend the night, I’ll need some clothes and personal items, and someone needs to fetch Bella from next door.”
“Who’s Bella?” Nick asked.
“My Boston Terrier.”
“You can take care of all that later, can’t you, Nick?” Preston grinned. “You like dogs, and Bella is tiny compared to Boris. Vivian will make you a list of things that she needs.”
Nick frowned. “Wait a minute...”
“Right now, why don’t you find out how the police knew there was trouble at the observatory and get ahold of Freddie,” Preston instructed. “I want to know where that security guard was this morning. Let’s go, Vivian. I’ll follow you to the estate.” They both got into their cars. “We’ll meet you back at my parents’ place at three o’clock, Nick!” Preston waved to him and followed Vivian out of the lot, leaving Nick standing there alone.
As a precaution, Vivian took the side roads to Santa Monica, which she was familiar with since Arthur didn’t live far from the Stone Estate. And thinking of him, she wished she could talk to him right now. This whole thing was getting way out of hand, and with his experience, he would undoubtedly come up with some better ideas, but she didn’t want Preston to know about him. Their main purpose for coming to California was to put the past behind them and, knowing Preston, he wouldn’t stop digging into Arthur’s background until he found something.
Vivian stopped in front of the estate and waited for Preston to open the garage door. She pulled her car inside, grabbed her purse and carry bag, and followed Preston to his Jaguar. “I like Nick.”
He opened the passenger door for her. “Most people do.”
“I’m dying to ask how the two of you know each other, but you probably wouldn’t tell me.”
Preston smirked. “Not unless you’re willing to share some information about yourself.”
“I thought so.” She slid into the seat. “I have no idea how Ruth is going to react when I show up on her doorstep. I’m not her favorite person, and frankly, knowing what I do about George now, I don’t blame her. If Becca was home, it would be a lot easier.”
“Do you want to check out the shoe store first?”
“If you don’t mind. That’ll give me some time to gather my nerve.”
“Vivian, from what I’ve seen, you’ve got more nerve than most men I know.”
She laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
It was a twenty-minute drive to Malibu along the Santa Monica Bay shoreline. Vivan gazed at the beautiful crystal water for a while. Then she leaned her head back and cleared her mind of every thought so she could just enjoy the breeze and the peace and calmness around them.
Preston stopped at the curb in front of the small shoe store. “How do you want to handle this?”
She glanced over at the window display. “Do you mind if I take the lead?”
“Be my guest.”
The bell on the door jingled when they entered, and a young man emerged from the back room to greet them. “Good morning. How can I help you?”
Vivian smiled as she approached him. “I have a rather odd question for you. We were at an outdoor charity event the other day, and I saw a gentleman drop a ring of keys in the grass. He disappeared into the crowd before I could return them. I remembered he was wearing the most exquisite pair of two-toned wingtip shoes, so I made a rough sketch of them, hoping it might help us find him. We just came from Harold’s Shoe Store in Beverly Hills, and the owner was sure the shoes were one of your custom designs.”
“Sure, let me see your drawing.”
She handed it to him. “The poor gentleman must be distraught. There were several keys on the ring. If you could find out his name, we would love to return them to him and ease his mind.”
“We keep a record of every sale,” the young man told her. “I’ve got to say, this is a great drawing. Do you mind waiting here for a few minutes? My uncle is in the back room. He owns the store and designs all our custom-made shoes.”
Vivian waited until he left and kept her voice low. “The only snag in what I told him is if they want to return the keys to the man themselves instead of giving us his name.”
“In that case, let me step in,” Preston said. “I thought your story was great.”
A middle-aged man wearing a pair of wire-rim spectacles came out of the back room. “Good day to you both! I recognize the wingtip shoes from your drawing. I sold them months ago, but I can’t remember the customer’s name. Let me look in our files.” He set the sketch on the counter and pulled out a small metal box filled with index cards.
Vivian and Preston exchanged a glance while they waited.
“Here it is.” He pulled a card out. “Yes, it was last fall on October fourteenth. The gentleman was leaving on vacation for Paris the following week and needed a dressy pair of shoes to take with him. His name is...George Ramsey. He lives on West Boulevard in the city.” He handed the card to Vivian. “Did you want us to contact him for you?”
Preston placed a sympathetic hand on Vivian’s back, took the card from her, and gave it back to the older man. “No, we’ll take care of it. Thank you for your help. Have a good day.” He and Vivian walked to the front door, but the owner called out to them.
“One more thing! If you can’t get in touch with Mister Ramsey, he came into the store with a friend of his. They both bought shoes that day. I wrote his information at the bottom of the card. His name is David Sampson, and he lives at three fifty-four Venice Boulevard in Arlington Heights.”
Preston thanked him again. They walked outside, got into the car, and sat there quietly.
“David knew George was running away with Tilly,” Vivian said as she stared straight ahead. “It sounds like he planned on taking the same trip to France, which means George told him that he stole the coins. David might even have them.”
“I was thinking the same thing, although if he had the coins, why didn’t he take the trip to France without George?”
“Maybe he decided to use the money on something else.”
“We need to get a look at his financial records. Let’s put our visit with Ruth on hold.”
“Thank goodness,” Vivian sighed. “I couldn’t handle seeing her right now. I’d rather talk to Becca first. Maybe we won’t have to go to Ruth’s at all.”
“There’s a little café across the street. Why don’t we get a cup of coffee and figure out where to go from here? I’m also going to give Barney a call and see what he can find out about David Sampson.”
Vivian agreed, and they walked across the street. “Outside of where he lives, I know David works for Seymour Realty on Vine Street, and he and George have been friends since college. He was also at Perino’s with another woman other than his wife on Tuesday night when Carole and I went there.”
Preston snickered. “Don’t tell me he’s the guy who had a drink thrown in his face? I saw the whole thing when I arrived at the restaurant.”
“Yes, that was David. I may or may not have instigated that argument.”
Preston opened the café door for her. “Sounds like he had it coming to him.”
“I’m sure you’ve had a few drinks thrown at you.”
“Too many to count,” he laughed.
