Cordelia stood in the parking lot behind the Linden Building, hands on her hips, glaring at the luggage in the back of her Hummer. “How the hell are we going to get all this upstairs?”
Jane and Joanna looked at each other and burst out laughing. In unison they responded, “Cordelia Thorn does not haul.”
“That’s right, children. You know me well.”
“Well, let’s see what we can do,” said Jane, pulling out a couple of the smaller pieces. Right about now she could have used two or three of her beefiest busboys.
As they were dithering about who would carry what, Milan Mestrovik popped his head out of the security door. “Need some help, ladies?”
Under her breath, Cordelia muttered, “Drat. He must have been watching for us from one of his back windows.”
“Who is he?” asked Joanna, her face turned away.
“A pest,” said Cordelia. Turning to Milan with a bright, cheery smile, she said, “We can handle it, thanks.”
“No, no, I wouldn’t hear of it,” he said, rushing down the back steps. He wove his way through the parked cars and made straight for Joanna with his hand outstretched. “I’m glad your flight made it here safely. Milan Mestrovik. I live across the hall from Cordelia.”
“Nice to meet you,” said Joanna, allowing her hand to be pumped aggressively.
“I’m your biggest fan,” said Milan, shading his eyes from the afternoon sun with his free hand.
“That’s … nice to hear,” said Joanna.
“You probably get that all the time, but in my case, it’s true.”
Everyone smiled awkwardly.
“We met once before,” continued Milan, apparently oblivious to everything but his single-minded desire to talk to Joanna.
“We did? I’m sorry, I meet so many people—”
“That’s okay. It was in L.A. At a political benefit.”
“Right,” said Joanna. “Right.”
Still holding on to her hand, Milan said, “I first saw you in Cry of the Nightingale. You were stunning. But my favorite movie of yours is All the Kings of the Earth. You were beyond breathtaking in that one. You should have won the Academy Award.”
“Thanks. I thought so, too.”
Jane had the distinct impression that the man was pulsating—vibrating like a tuning fork. In his double-breasted business suit, he looked like an Eastern European opera impresario. Barrel-chested. Dark bushy eyebrows. Heavy Slavic features. Dark goatee. Flamboyantly styled longish black hair that puffed over his ears like wings.
“You’re very kind to offer to help us with the luggage,” said Joanna.
“I’ll take care of it all,” said Milan, finally releasing her hand. “Just head on upstairs. Don’t give it another thought.”
Fifteen minutes later, true to his word—and thanks to the dolly he’d borrowed from Athena’s Garden—Joanna was all moved in.
“I’d offer you something to drink but—” She smiled wistfully. She spread her arms to what she assumed was an empty kitchen. “Some water?”
“Another time,” said Milan, staring hard at her. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. “I’m single,” he blurted out, “not that that means anything, I suppose. I’m sure you have someone special waiting for you back in Idaho—or Hollywood. But if you’d allow me—”
He took one of her small hands in his big, meaty ones. “You are … so lovely.”
Joanna blushed. Laughing, she said, “I’ll call you when I’m having a bad day.”
“You do that. Promise?”
“Yes,” she said. “I promise.”
“I know you like wine. I read that in an interview you did with Redbook. Music to my ears.” He kissed his fingers. “Actually, I’m a wine wholesaler. I don’t mean to blow my own horn, but I’m an expert of some renown. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to send up a case of my finest, including some rare cognacs.”
“I don’t know what to say,” said Joanna.
“Just say yes,” said Milan, beaming at her.
“Well, sure. I’d love it.”
“Done. Expect the delivery this evening. Now, I know flying is tiring. I’ll leave you to rest. But I expect a full report on the wines—what you like, what you don’t like.”
“Of course.”
He kissed her hand. “And please,” he said, looking up at her with his puppy-dog eyes. “You’re always welcome to come upstairs to my loft.”
“Thanks.”
With one last rapturous look, he swept from the room.
Cordelia took a deep, cleansing breath and sank down on the couch. “I’m sorry about that, Jo.”
“No,” she said. “He’s charming. A little starstruck, but charming.”
“Everybody in the building can’t wait to meet you.”
“I suppose you get used to it,” said Jane, perching on the edge of one of the velvet couches. When she’d visited Joanna over the fourth way back when, nobody around Sandpoint had acted like she was a goddess. They seemed to take her presence in stride, respect her need for privacy.
Joanna sat down next to Cordelia. “All this hoopla is one reason I love my place in Idaho. It’s hard to leave.”
“Oh, come on. You love all the attention,” said Cordelia, kicking off her shoes. “Who doesn’t love being adored?”
“It’s not that simple for me,” said Joanna, her expression losing some of its usual buoyancy.
Apparently realizing she’d stumbled into sensitive territory, Cordelia slipped her arm around Joanna’s shoulders. “You okay?”
“I’m not sure how to answer that. A week ago I would have said I was fine, but—” She hesitated. “I don’t suppose either one of you might know a good private investigator.”
Jane and Cordelia exchanged glances.
“Actually, I do,” said Jane. “He’s an ex-cop. A good friend.”
“How come you need an investigator?” asked Cordelia, moving in a little closer.
Something on the floor behind Jane caught Joanna’s attention. She sat forward. “What’s that?” She pointed.
“What?” said Jane.
“That package behind your chair.”
Jane turned to look.
“Oh, that,” said Cordelia. “It came for you this morning. A gift from one of your zillions of fans.”
Joanna stood. “Jane, would you open it?”
“Me? Okay.” She picked it up and stripped off the paper. Underneath was a bouquet of pink roses. “How beautiful.”
Joanna recoiled. “Is there a card?”
“What’s wrong?” asked Jane. Her eyes strayed to Cordelia, who looked every bit as thunderstruck as Joanna.
“Please,” said Joanna. “Just read the card.”
Jane pulled it free. “It says:
‘Welcome home to Minnesota, land
of ten thousand lakes and a hundred
thousand lunatics. Hope you’re
laughing because I sure am. Can’t
wait to see you!’”
Jane turned the card over. “That’s all it says.”
“Who’s it from?” asked Cordelia. “What’s the name?”
“There isn’t one.”
Walking unsteadily over to the wall of windows facing downtown Minneapolis, Joanna said, “Get rid of them.”
“Excuse me?” said Jane.
“What didn’t you understand? The flowers! I said get rid of them! Burn them. Crush them. I want them annihilated!” She whirled around. “Call that ex-cop friend of yours, Jane. I want to talk to him. Now.”
Jane reached Nolan right away, but he couldn’t make it over to the loft for at least an hour. During that time, Joanna retreated to her bedroom. Cordelia was just this side of frantic because of Joanna’s reaction to the flowers and the note. She offered to make her something to eat. Food, in Cordelia’s universe, could solve a multitude of problems, but Joanna said she didn’t want anything. Just the PI.
While Joanna was resting, Jane and Cordelia stood in the kitchen and talked softly.
“You know Joanna better than I do,” said Jane. “I’m guessing, but I think you know something about those flowers—why they set her off. Who are they from?”
Cordelia had already taken out the slice of double-cream Brie and was in the process of cutting the baguette into chunks. Food might not make Joanna feel better, but for Cordelia, it was a cure-all. “I can’t talk about it.”
“Why?”
“Because Joanna swore me to secrecy. I think you should call David. She needs him.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Apparently they haven’t been in touch for a while.”
“What’s going on with that woman?” demanded Cordelia. “Joanna never said anything to me about it.”
Before Jane could respond, the phone rang.
“Will you get that?” asked Cordelia. Her fingers were covered with the creamy cheese.
Jane grabbed the cordless off the kitchen counter. “Hello?”
“Hiya, Babycakes! Did you miss me?”
Jane didn’t recognize the voice. “Who’s calling, please?”
“Joanna?”
“No, this is Jane Lawless. I’m a friend.”
“Oh, hell,” he said, laughing. “Sorry. This is Fred Kasimir. Joanna’s ex. Is she there yet? I know her plane was due in around three.”
“Mr. Kasimir, hi,” said Jane. She’d never spoken with him before. “Yes, that’s right, but she’s resting now. Can I take your number and have her call you back?”
“Do you know if she got the package?”
Jane felt suddenly wary. “Package?” Just because this man identified himself as Fred Kasimir didn’t mean it was actually him.
“The screenplay,” he said impatiently. “I put it in the mail four days ago.”
“I don’t know. She hasn’t checked her mail yet.”
“Well, tell her to get on the stick! A project like this doesn’t come along every day.”
“Do you want to leave a number?”
“She’s got my cell, but I have to turn it off. I’m just about to board a plane. Tell her I’ll be in touch.”
“I’ll do that,” said Jane. “Bye.”
“Freddy Kasimir, huh?” said Cordelia, licking her fingers.
“That’s what he said. He sent Joanna a screenplay.”
“Really? Fascinating.” She handed Jane a piece of the baguette with a thick smear of Brie on top.
“What if it wasn’t Freddy Kasimir? I mean, it could have been anybody.”
Cordelia stopped midchew. “Boy,” she said, swallowing quickly, “it doesn’t take your paranoia long to move into high gear.”
Shortly after six, Joanna drifted into the kitchen. She’d changed into white jeans and a light blue silk shirt. She didn’t look like she’d rested at all.
“Do we have any scotch?” she asked.
“Actually, we do,” said Cordelia.
“Good woman,” she said, lowering herself onto a ladder-backed kitchen chair.
This time, Cordelia didn’t ask about food, she simply set a plate of olives, cheese, and smoked salmon in the center of the table.
Jane decided not to mention the call from her ex right now, just in case it turned out to be bogus.
A few minutes before six-thirty, the buzzer sounded.
“That’s got to be Nolan,” said Jane, rising and moving over to the phone attached to the kitchen wall. “Yes?” she said.
“Jane? It’s me. I’m downstairs.”
She buzzed him in.
When he reached the loft’s front door, she hugged him briefly, then stepped back so he could enter. Nolan was wearing a brown polo shirt, dress pants, and, as usual, mirrored sunglasses. The color of the shirt almost matched the color of his skin. Jane was always struck by how much his presence still screamed “cop.” He’d worked homicide with the MPD for sixteen years before retiring.
Joanna came out of the kitchen to shake his hand. “Thanks for coming.”
They all sat down around the dining room table.
Nolan removed a small notebook from his back pocket, then folded his hands on top of the table. “What can I do for you, Ms. Kasimir?”
Joanna rubbed the back of her neck. “How much do you know about the legal problems I had back in 1989?”
“Nothing at all.”
She gave a resigned nod. “That’s good—it’s the way it should be. What happened to me was pre-O.J., so in that respect, I suppose I got lucky. After the Simpson trial, celebrity trials became everybody’s favorite pastime.” She swirled the ice in her glass. “The fact is, I was stalked by a man for a number of months. After he attacked me in a motel room in Beverly Hills, he was arrested. It’s a long story and I won’t bore you with the details. The case went to court early in 1990. The man’s name was Gordon Luberman.
“We were about a week into the trial when his lawyer came to mine with an offer. Gordon said he’d plead guilty to one count of felony assault and two counts of sexual battery, and he’d serve the sentences consecutively and also submit to anger management therapy if I’d consent to two things. First, he wanted the carrying a concealed weapon charge dropped. Second, he wanted the details of the case sealed. If I agreed, he’d said he’d plead guilty and serve the full eight years. I was desperate to get the trial over. I had no assurance that I’d win. Back then, there was no stalking law in California. Gordon had never committed a crime before—at least, not one that he was ever charged with. The ADA in charge of my case said there was a less than fifty-fifty chance we’d get a conviction, but with a jury you never knew for sure until the verdict came down. He said that he’d continue to try the case if that’s what I wanted, but that this was a good deal and I should think about taking it. I just wanted Gordon gone, Mr. Nolan, so I agreed.”
“I assume,” said Nolan, flipping the notebook to a clean page, “that he’s out by now.”
“He was released in 1998. I hired a man to do surveillance on him for a couple of years. The last I heard he’d moved back to Winneconne, Wisconsin, was living with his mother, and leading a basically normal life. Before I left my home in Idaho to come here, I called directory assistance for Winneconne, then asked for ‘Luberman. ’ He’s not there anymore, Mr. Nolan.” She took several sips of scotch to fortify herself. “That means he could be anywhere.”
“Do you have some reason to think he’s targeting you again?” asked Nolan.
She pressed her lips together to stop them from trembling. “He used to send me flowers all the time—a dozen red roses. Not the big American beauties, but small tea roses. The day before I left to come here, I received a bouquet of roses. They were pink, but I know they were from him.”
“And you know this how?”
“I just feel it, okay? I can’t explain it any other way. But the sense is very strong. I received another dozen pink roses here at the loft today.
It’s his calling card, Mr. Nolan. Both notes talked about how much he loved me. They even had the same tone as the old notes. Mocking. Menacing.
“I want you to find him and follow him. If he thinks he can start up a relationship with me again—if he’s stalking me—I need to know. I need something firm—some proof—that I can take to the police. I absolutely refuse to let him define my life again. I spent months afraid to leave my house. It got so bad that, at one point, I even considered suicide. After the trial, I swore I’d never let that happen to me again. That’s why you’ve got to get on this right away. We have to stop him. He’s cunning, Mr. Nolan. And he’s dangerous.”
Jane had heard bits and pieces of this before, but most of it was new. Joanna never seemed to want to revisit that time in her life. She’d talked to Cordelia about it in much greater detail. Jane had already concluded that Luberman was the main reason Joanna had left L.A. and become a recluse, but she’d known few of the details.
Nolan made a couple of notes on his pad. “Okay, I’d be happy to look into this for you. I charge—”
“I don’t care what it costs,” said Joanna. “Just bring me something I can use to put him back behind bars.”
“I’ll do what I can. I can’t promise anything.”
“I understand that.”
“I’m sorry I don’t have a lot of time tonight, but we do need to find a couple of hours to sit down together in the next few days. You need to make notes. Write down anything and everything that’s important about Luberman, about his methods, about his personality. Oh, and I need the names of your gatekeepers—the people who handle your PR and keep records of the potential nutcases in your fan base who regularly contact you.”
“Of course. I don’t have any of that information with me, but I’ll get it.”
Joanna dug through the trunk she’d brought and found a brown manila folder held together with rubber bands. She gave it to Nolan, telling him that it was all the written documentation she had on Gordon—on the trial, and all the info from the PI she’d hired in 1998.
After saying good-bye and that he’d be in touch, Nolan motioned for Jane to walk out with him.
On the way to the elevator, Jane said, “So what do you think?”
“I think,” said Nolan, pressing the Down button and then turning to face her, “that your friend has a very serious problem. How well do you know her?”
“I’ve known her for years, but we’re not close.”
“She kept looking at Cordelia, like she needed her approval. Are they pretty tight?”
Jane nodded. “Joanna’s brother, David, and I are the same age. We went to high school together, stayed friends through college and beyond. I’m much closer to him.”
“So this is a family you care about.”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay, then I got a proposal.”
The huge old freight elevator rumbled to a stop.
Nolan pulled back the wooden gate and opened the door. “Come downstairs with me.”
“Why?”
“Aren’t you the one who’s been telling me for the last two months how she needs to take a few weeks off, get a little R and R? After the last year you put in, I think you deserve it. And if you want to change gears—and help your friend—I suggest you work with me on this.”
Jane hesitated. “What would you want me to do?”
“For starters, you could look through this file.” He handed it to her. On their way down to the first floor, Nolan said he was on another case that would probably wind up tonight, but he wouldn’t be home until well after midnight. He wanted her to go through the information, pull out the most salient points, and then he’d pick her up in the morning and they’d drive to Winneconne to begin their search. It was Luberman’s last known residence, so it was the best place to start.
Jane thought about it as she walked Nolan to his car. “I’m not sure Joanna would want me to get involved.”
“Only one way to find out. Ask her. Look, I’m going to leave the file with you. Put it in your car. If she doesn’t want you on board, call
my cell and leave a message. I’ll pick up the file in the morning. But if she does agree to it, burn the midnight oil and go over the information. I’ll want a full report.”
Jane wasn’t sure if this was smart move or a stupid one. All she knew was that he’d made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. “You got yourself a deal. I’ll talk to Joanna and let you know.”