Barking with the Stars Page 15

  “No, she is gone.” Greta was a woman of few words.

  Shoot, I had hoped to catch her.

  “Do you think she’ll be back soon?” I knew Mandy was probably dealing with all kinds of details and press questions, but she’d been scarce the last couple of days.

  “No idea.” She opened the door wider. “Come.”

  Off she went and I had no option but to follow. I didn’t want to intrude if Sheron, the “hair lady,” was eating breakfast.

  “There.” Greta pointed to a small breakfast nook where Sheron was seated. She had juice, toast, and what appeared to be orange marmalade on a pretty, flowered china plate. A matching teapot sat on the table, and Lavender slept at her feet. It looked like a picture from a glossy Elegant Living magazine.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t intend to interrupt your breakfast.” I hesitated in the doorway. “I stopped by to give this to Mandy.” I held up the envelope.

  “I can see that she gets it.” She took the envelope from me and placed it off to the side. “She left early this morning. No time for breakfast that one.”

  “I’m sure she has a lot of things to deal with.”

  “Yes, always busy. I don’t know what on earth Handy Mandy will do without someone’s life to run.” Sheron smiled, taking away the sting of her comment. “I’m not being unkind. Mandy is good at her job, but that type of job doesn’t leave much room for a life of your own.”

  “It will be an adjustment,” I agreed.

  “Would you like coffee or tea? It’s a nice English breakfast tea,” Sheron offered, and indicated the chair across from her.

  “I’d love one.”

  She poured steaming liquid into another of the pretty flowered cups. I could see they were purple irises now that I was closer.

  “There’s honey and sugar on the tray.” She pointed to some containers.

  “It must be hard for you.” I tasted the tea. It was full-bodied but brisk, and I didn’t see the need for any sweetener. “And for Lavender.” I reached down and scratched the top of the dog’s head. “Have you noticed any problems?”

  “You mean like separation anxiety?” The hair lady was pretty savvy about dogs. She took a sip of tea. “And did you mean me or the dog?”

  “I meant Lavender.” I met her gaze. “But how are you doing?”

  “I’m doing okay.” She set the cup down carefully. “It’s crazy, the house is so quiet. Don’t get me wrong, Pandora could be demanding. She had an ego. I guess you have to think you’re all that in order to get up on a stage in front of thousands. I don’t miss the drama, but I do miss her.”

  I waited for her to go on.

  “Lavender is used to the sporadic schedules and the coming and going that life on the road presented. She’s a pretty adaptable girl, aren’t you?”

  The dog looked up at her like she understood and then rested her chin on Sheron’s foot with a satisfied doggie sigh.

  “Has the new therapist been to check in on her?” I continued sipping the tea enjoying the flavor.

  “Oh, yes.” Sheron looked up from petting Lavender. “And then I fired him.”

  I almost choked on my tea. “You did?”

  “I most certainly did.” Her blue eyes narrowed. “I like to think I’m a pretty good judge of people and that guy was a waste of time. If he’s a pet therapist then I’m a brain surgeon. I don’t think he even likes animals.”

  Something must have shown on my face.

  “I’m sorry if he’s a friend of yours, but I was not impressed.”

  “No, I wouldn’t say Geoffrey is a friend of mine.”

  “But you know him?” She looked me in the eye.

  “Ex-husband,” I explained.

  “Oh.” She paused. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not as sorry as I am,” I answered before I could stop myself. “Don’t worry about it. You’re right, he really doesn’t have that much interest in the animals.”

  “Besides I understand he’s a suspect.” She poured me another cup of tea without asking. “Until the police figure out who killed Pandora and why, we need to be careful about who we allow around here.”

  Though Sheron was matter-of-fact in her delivery, I had the sense the opinion might be one she’d already delivered perhaps to Greta or even Mandy.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to eat?” She held out a plate.

  “No, thank you.” Maybe it was fortunate that Mandy had been out. I might learn just as much if not more from Sheron. “I met Drake Owen yesterday.”

  “He stopped by here to talk with Mandy.” She refilled her own cup.

  “He seems nice.” I kept my tone neutral.

  “I’ve been around this business for probably longer than you’ve been alive.” Sheron pushed back her platinum-blond hair, tucking a strand behind her ear.

  “I’m sure that’s not true.” I truly didn’t think so, but if that were the case I’d have to get the name of her plastic surgeon or whatever fountain-of-youth elixir the woman was using.

  “Well, a long time anyway.” She sipped her tea. “It’s incredibly hard if not impossible for two stars to fit their egos inside a marriage.”

  “I can see that would be a challenge.” I nodded.

  “That’s no comment or criticism on either of them, you understand. It’s simply that it takes one heck of a lot of grounding to walk on stage to thousands of screaming fans and not begin to think that you were somewhere above the rest of us mortals.”

  I hadn’t considered the dynamics of that kind of fame.

  “Most begin to believe that they’re some kind of special.”

  “So, I guess there were problems?” I asked.

  “I’m just the hair lady, but I see and hear a lot. I’m not sure that engagement was ever going to turn into a marriage.” She set her cup carefully on the saucer. “Not that they didn’t love each other. Who am I to say. But . . . well, love isn’t easy.”

  No, it sure isn’t. Whether you’re a big star or a pet therapist.

  We sat without speaking for a few minutes. Sheron was a great observer and a great listener. If she hadn’t been a stylist, she would have made a great therapist. I wondered what else she’d observed.

  “There was a guy here the last time I stopped by. He seemed to be having a disagreement with Mandy.” Again, I strove for a neutral tone though I was pretty sure she was on to me and my questions. “His name is Trevor, and I was told he used to be in a band with Purple.”

  I sensed a change in her posture immediately. If she were a dog, I’d say the mention of Trevor got her hackles up.

  She waited a couple of beats before answering. “There were some things Trevor needed to straighten out with Pan. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen before she died.”

  “Things?” I asked.

  “Business things. An artistic disagreement of sorts.” She waved her hand and shifted in her seat. Lavender looked up at Sheron as if wondering why her convenient headrest had moved. “I don’t really know the details but no doubt Mandy and Drake will make sure it’s sorted out in a fair way.”

  “I saw Trevor downtown and tried to talk to him, but he didn’t seem to want to talk to me.”

  “Like I said.” Sheron picked up her teacup and then put it back down. “Mandy will figure it out.”

  “But you don’t think she’s in danger from him?”

  “Mandy?” she scoffed. “No, I think Mandy can hold her own.”

  Sheron was clearly done discussing Trevor so I didn’t press further. I asked a few questions about Lavender and what plans Sheron had made about going forward. She seemed to have a good strategy for getting things settled with Lavender and then making arrangements to travel with the dog to her own home in northern California.

 
I asked Sheron to let Mandy know I had stopped by. She confirmed that she’d make sure Mandy got the envelope I’d left.

  As I navigated the traffic on PCH and drove back toward the downtown area, I glanced at the time. It was coming up on noon. I wondered about the note that had asked me to call at noon yesterday. I pulled onto Ocean Avenue and parked along the street across from the little bungalow that housed the Laguna Beach Historical Society.

  Pulling out my phone, I checked the outgoing call history. There it was. Though Malone had the note, the phone number was in my recent calls from where I’d tried it yesterday. I pushed the call-back button.

  One ring, two rings. Suddenly the caller picked up.

  “Hello?” The voice was a whisper.

  “I’m sorry. This is Caro Lamont and you left me a note to call you at noon yesterday. There was no answer then or last night when I tried, so I tried again today.” I blame it on my upbringing that I found myself apologizing to someone I didn’t even know.

  “Check the missing Purple memorabilia that’s showing up for sale.”

  “What—” I began.

  There was dead silence on the other end.

  The caller had hung up. I tried to think about the voice. Had I heard it before? Was there anything familiar about it? The problem was the whisper had been so soft I wasn’t even sure whether it was a male or female. I considered the timbre. Definitely higher. Either a female or a guy with a higher voice.

  I picked up my cell again and dialed Detective Malone. I didn’t exactly have him on speed dial but I did have his number programmed into my phone. I know. My mama would be appalled.

  “Malone.” He answered on the first ring.

  “Hey.” I took a deep breath. “I called that number again and this time a person answered.”

  I spotted Mr. Swanson walking along the sidewalk. He carried a Whole Foods bag and was headed in the opposite direction my car was facing.

  “You what?” Malone asked.

  “Hold on.” I got out of the car so I could see where Swanson went.

  Oh, for crying in a bucket. I seemed to be cursed with always encountering Swanson when I was trying to deal with something else.

  “Caro?” Malone raised his voice slightly in the same way I do when I want to get Dogbert’s attention.

  “Just a minute.” The short man wasn’t moving that fast. I should be able to catch up with him. He got in an older dark-blue Range Rover, started it, and immediately pulled away. I stopped on the sidewalk to note the license number.

  “SWNM4019,” I said.

  “What?” Malone was losing patience.

  “Nothing.” I needed to focus. “I called that number and a person answered this time.”

  “Of course, you did.” I could only imagine the expression on his face. “What did this person say?”

  “They said the missing items are showing up for sale.” I hurried back to my car so I could write down the license plate number before I forgot it.

  “Did the person say where?” Malone had his you’re-trying-my-patience voice engaged.

  “No.” I pulled out my notebook and jotted down the plate number. “The call lasted twenty seconds at the most and the voice was just a whisper.”

  “Okay, we’ll check it out.” He paused. “Where are you?”

  “I’m parked by Whole Foods,” I answered. Not a fib, really. I was near the store. I knew he was actually trying to discover why I had been so distracted, but I was not going to bring Malone into the problem with the brooch unless I had exhausted all other options. The trouble was I didn’t know what those options were.

  “All right, thanks for the info.” Malone signed off before I could ask if he’d let me know what he found out.

  I tucked the notebook back in my bag, not sure what I would do with the license number. Would it be unethical for me to ask Sally or Lorraine at the police station to look it up? They knew all about Melinda and me and the family brooch. Heck, it had once been police evidence for a short time. They would probably do it as a favor, but I didn’t want to ask them to do something that might be over the line as far as using police resources. I decided not to go that route.

  I had a little bit of time before my meeting at the hotel with Rufus. I’d decided to see what I could find out from Lew Simpson. Maybe he and I could have a chat. I called the hotel and asked to be connected with his room.

  He’d been reluctant to meet with me until I’d name-dropped that I knew Danny Mahalovich. Seemed Lew was quite The Search for Signs fan. Or TSFS as I’d recently found out true aficionados called it. I hadn’t made any promises about asking Danny for any favors, but had hinted that as a committee member he might be around over the next couple of days.

  I couldn’t use the information about our new headliner yet. No official announcement had been made. Besides that, the news wasn’t mine to share. But I’m betting that might have put Lew over the top.

  We arranged a time and planned to meet in the hotel bar. I had the sense that most of the fans in attendance didn’t venture far from the venue. That was good for the hotel because they spent their food and drink dollars on site, but from Tania’s reports it seemed that the hotel was more than a little fed up with the idiosyncrasies of the Purple Posers and the other fans.

  Lew was already there when I arrived. I asked the bartender for an iced tea. It was a little early in the day for a cocktail for me.

  “Hello, Lew. I’m Caro Lamont.” I started to hold out my hand in introduction, but then hesitated. I could tell from the way he had his hands tucked away that there might be an issue with contact. Maybe haphephobia, which is a fear of being touched, or maybe just an intense germaphobe. Or the syndrome is actually called mysophobia. I spotted a hand sanitizer in a pocket on his backpack. Hmmm, could be either. Or both.

  He waved in my direction and re-tucked his hands. “I’ve seen you around. I didn’t know you were part of the committee though.”

  “So you’re a Purple fan, huh?”

  “Yeah, but not crazy like those Purple Poser folks.” He relaxed a little. “They’re over the top.”

  “I understand you’re kind of a big collector.”

  “I am.” He nodded. “I’m not like the extreme collector like you see on TV. I mean my house isn’t packed with stuff.”

  That’s not what Cindy and Yuki had said.

  “You collect not just Purple memorabilia, but other stars?”

  “Sort of.” He perked up a bit. “Why? Is there something you’re interested in?”

  “I was just curious.” I noticed his leg bouncing had increased. “I guess the Purple memorabilia has gone up in price.”

  “That always happens when a star dies,” he explained. “You can’t believe the prices on Prince items. Marilyn Monroe, even after all these years, off the charts.”

  “I guess our missing auction items have a pretty high market value now, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He ran a hand over his bald head. “Except I’m sure the cops have alerted most of the re-sale places. No legit seller would want to be caught handling stolen stuff.”

  “You’re probably right. I’m sure the police have covered those bases.” I couldn’t imagine they hadn’t, but I would check with Malone to be sure. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your most valuable Purple item?”

  “I have a guitar that she used on her first solo album.” He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. “Here, I’ve got a picture of it.”

  He flipped through the pictures and pulled a photo out of the sleeve. Where most people carried pictures of their kids or family members, Lew carried photos of his collectibles.

  I took the picture from him. It was the purple guitar I’d seen him with. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like it might be signed. “Autographed?” I ask
ed.

  “It is.” His leg bouncing increased with his excitement. “She signed it for me at her Planet Hollywood concert in Las Vegas. I got backstage passes and I have a picture of me with her when she signed it.”

  “That makes it even more special.” I smiled at his enthusiasm.

  “It does. The provenance on this kind of stuff is really important.”

  Okay, so the excitement wasn’t about meeting Purple and having her sign a keepsake. It was about the increased value of the item. I was beginning to understand the distinction that Cindy and Yuki had made in explaining to me the difference between collectors and fans. And, of course, what they considered true fans.

  “Provenance, huh? That seems like such fancy word for talking about something like a guitar.” I paused. “Or a bobblehead, or statue, or CD.” I tried to think of other things I’d seen in Purple’s suite, hoping a long leash and his ardent interest would yield some clues as to why certain items had been taken and others left behind.

  “Yeah.” He laughed. “It is kinda a fancy word, I guess. But also a word we use in programming. You know, like the execution history of a computer process.”

  I didn’t know, but the reference raised a question. Was the collecting of star memorabilia Lew’s only support or was it a sideline?

  “I assume you’re still planning to stick around for the Warriors for the Paws event.” I wondered if the auction had been his sole interest. “Or do you have a job you have to get back to?”

  “I’m sticking around mostly because of the investigation.” He picked an imaginary piece of lint off his jeans. “I had given Mandy Barton, Purple’s assistant, an album for Purple to sign. It’s an actual vinyl record. They only made a few. The vinyl is actually purple and very rare.” He finally took a breath.

  “Did she sign it?”

  “I don’t know.” He was really agitated now. “I gave it to Mandy. I assumed she gave it to Purple, but I don’t know whether she signed it before . . . you know. And now, it was probably either stolen with the other missing things or tied up as evidence.”

  “Wow, that must be frustrating.”

  “No kidding.” He’d gotten louder and his face was pink with emotion. “I left my information with the police, but I haven’t heard anything. I’m here for the next few days but then I’ve got to go back to work.”