Barking with the Stars Page 19

  “Well, let me know if you need me for anything.” I wasn’t going to keep trying when clearly she was not interested in my suggestions or my help.

  I headed back outside to see how it was going with the therapy dogs. Jonathan and the others had just come back out from walking the stage. They were grouped with Rufus talking and I didn’t want to interrupt. I walked to the edge of the fenced area and checked my messages.

  I’d had my phone on silent because of the rehearsal and noticed that I had a message. I listened.

  It was Sam. He was back in town and wanted to have dinner tonight. I called back and left a message that I was tied up with the rehearsal. Things seemed to be going smoothly thanks mostly to Rufus and his organizing. Once we’d done the run-through, I would dash home to give Dogbert a break and then I’d be back at the hotel most of the evening.

  I wasn’t avoiding Sam. Really, I wasn’t. But right now, my focus was on getting through today and tomorrow. Through this event. One thing at a time.

  One thing at a time.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ONCE HOME I took Dogbert for a quick walk, grabbed some lunch, and checked my email. I felt pretty good about the dogs and the setup. I still wasn’t sure what I thought of Drake Owen, but it was nice of him to step in, and I’m sure Sunny was thankful.

  My email contained a couple of responses from clients who’d been out of town when I sent my message about Geoffrey and his misrepresentation. Once this fundraiser was over, I had a number of things to take care of. One was Geoffrey. The other was Mel and the brooch.

  I wondered what Betty and Mr. Swanson had been discussing at the Koffee Klatch. It sure-as-shooting had not been campers and RVs. And for that matter, the campers people used for the kind of trip Mel and Betty had gone on weren’t your average camping experience. Maybe I could get some intel about Mr. Swanson by following that line of thought.

  I hit the search for “glamping rentals” and couldn’t believe what popped up. Geeze Louise, some of those things were bigger than my house. I checked out some of the sites. “Easy rental, no fees.” One boasted extras like decking with carpet, Wi-Fi, and an outdoor shower with underfloor heating and mood lighting. How much do you suppose it costs to rent something like that? The bigger ones looked like a tour bus for a rock star.

  I dialed one of the numbers to a dealer up the road a bit toward Newport Beach. The man who answered seemed very eager to hook me up with an all-inclusive glamping experience.

  “There was a recent glamping event nearby where you could bring your pet. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Sure. That was the ‘Glamping Under the Stars’ and it was organized by the Laguna Beach Animal Rescue League.”

  I slapped my forehead. “Well, I am an idiot.”

  “Pardon me?” The man was probably in agreement. I thanked him and assured him if I was ever in the market for an RV with a heated outdoor shower with mood lighting, I would be in touch.

  I had forgotten it was the Laguna Beach ARL who’d organized the thing. Maybe Geoffrey was right. Maybe I was losing it. The records of who had attended would be in the files at the ARL—a place I volunteered on a regular basis. I’d been making this way too hard.

  I immediately dialed Don Furry, my favorite volunteer at the ARL, and asked if he could get me the list of Glamping Under the Stars attendees. Don promised to get back to me soon.

  While I waited, I began the preparation for today’s dress rehearsal. I had my notebook, my list, and a baggie of pupcakes and doggie treats. I grabbed a handful of dog toys. Finally, I threw in a brush and a lipstick for myself. My mama would be proud.

  In a short time, Don called me back with exactly the info I’d been looking for. The Swansons lived in a house in the older part of Laguna not far from downtown. They’d been right under my nose the whole time.

  “Have you ever had any dealings with them, Don?” I asked.

  “Not much,” he said. “They attend most of the fundraisers. Seem nice enough.”

  Nice wasn’t the word I associated with Mr. Swanson.

  “Anything you can think of that you remember about them?”

  “Well, you’re going to think I’m nuts.” Don laughed. “But I think the mister has a major gambling problem.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “They were dropping off a donation of some supplies, and I noticed a whole console in his Range Rover full of California Lotto tickets. Not a few. More like hundreds.” Don painted the picture. “Then I saw him throwing them away in the ARL trash. I’m guessing he didn’t want the missus to know.”

  Oh, that explained so much. If he was in trouble with gambling debts, he might think the way out was to tap two Texas girls with money, by auctioning off a piece of jewelry they both wanted. And if he’d heard stories of some of the trickeries we’d resorted to, maybe it wouldn’t seem out of line.

  Everybody has their own story, don’t they? I mean Mel and I were at each other’s throats over a family brooch. And Mr. Swanson had a gambling problem. It must have seemed like he’d hit the jackpot when he’d come up with the piece of jewelry.

  It was obvious I needed to handle this a little more carefully. I’d see that we got our family brooch back, but I also now knew that Mr. Swanson needed help himself.

  I hung up from talking to Don Furry and noted I had a message from Sam. He said he would just plan to join me for dinner at the hotel.

  Back in my car and driving toward the Ocean Mark P, I worried if dinner with Sam was a good idea. I was glad he wanted to see me, but I was also a little concerned that meant he wanted to talk. I knew we shouldn’t put it off. We needed to clear the air sooner rather than later. But this was not the time. I’d been tempted to beg off with busyness until after the fundraiser, but in the end, I’d agreed to dinner.

  I pulled into the hotel and handed my car off to the valet. My first stop was backstage to see what I could do to help Rufus. Several hours later, we had programs unpacked, instructions laid out, and we had checked that the path from dressing rooms to stage was clearly marked.

  The hotel staff had been through with a quick cleanup and Rufus had verified water or other refreshments had been ordered for the dressing rooms. There had been a crowd of volunteers earlier helping out, but when the celebrities left, so did they.

  Rufus thanked me for hanging in with him. “Sometimes it helps to have a second set of eyes on things.”

  “No problem.” I was happy to make myself useful. “I hope you can take a breath now. We’re in the home stretch.”

  Leaving Rufus, I headed to the hotel restaurant and let the maître d’ seat me. I could tell when Sam arrived by the cessation of sound in the restaurant. I was used to the entrance Sam inadvertently made when he crossed a room. The room went quiet and every female in the place from seventeen to seventy drooled like a puppy at chow time. One of the things I loved most about him was that he was completely unaware of having that effect.

  He was casually dressed in dark pants and a white shirt, and though I’d started out the day thinking I looked okay, I suddenly realized I now looked like I’d been dragged through a knothole backwards. A quick freshening up would have been wise. I could hear Mama Kat’s voice in my head telling me she raised me better.

  Sam leaned over and kissed me before he sat down. The waiter appeared immediately with menus and water. Sam also ordered wine, glancing up at me to see if I concurred with his choice. I nodded, but I hadn’t really been listening; I was too preoccupied with the things I needed to put on my list for tomorrow.

  “You look tired, cara misu.” He reached across the table. “How are things going?”

  “Well, the headliner is dead, our backup star is stuck in Singapore, the hotel is threatening to eject the crazy fans, and half of our auction items are missing. Other than that, things are goin
g great.”

  Sam winced. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around for you.”

  “Well, there’s that too.” I ran my fingers through my hair and came across a random wad of pink glitter, probably from Shar’s dressing room.

  “Let’s get you something to eat.” Sam looked around for our waiter.

  “Oh no.” I could not believe it.

  “What?” he asked.

  I nodded toward the entrance.

  As if this day hadn’t been wacky enough. The maître d’ was seating Mandy Barton and my ex-husband. Thank goodness nowhere near us. But at a table on the open-air patio, so right in my line of sight, and too close for comfort.

  Geoffrey looked over and waved.

  Asshat.

  Mandy looked a little sick. I suppose it didn’t look good being caught going to dinner with the man you’d just claimed you weren’t dating. I feared I’d been right and the Geoffrey Carlisle charisma had sucked her in.

  Leave her alone, Geoffrey. I don’t know what you’re up to but I’ll bet it’s not good.

  I took a closer look at him. His face was blotchy and he looked pretty wound up. And a little slapped together for his usual date night attire. Was he drunk? The man never went out in public unless he was perfectly put together. Tonight, it appeared his clothes were a bit askew. I thought about that for a moment. Oh! I guess maybe pre-dinner activities must have been pretty physical.

  Ass. Hat.

  He seated Mandy with a flourish, grinned at the nearby patrons, and then skipped around the table to seat himself. You heard that right. Skipped.

  Before sitting down, he plucked a champagne flute off the table and flourished it as if he were a magician on stage. He turned a full circle with a big exaggerated smile at the room and then at Mandy.

  What the heck?

  The two fan club presidents, Cindy and Yuki, were at a nearby table. I hadn’t noticed them when I came in. Cindy spoke to Mandy, but then frowned at something Geoff said. Suddenly Geoffrey did an odd pirouette and clutched his chest.

  His face drained of color.

  He collapsed on the floor.

  Most people at nearby tables froze. A few stood.

  I also stood. Shocked. Unable to breathe.

  Sam was on his feet in a flash and hurried to where Geoffrey lay. He knelt beside him, then looked up and made eye contact with me.

  “Caro, call 911.”

  I had my phone out and was already dialing.

  An older man hurried into the room. “I’m a doctor,” he said. “Let me take a look.”

  Sam asked people to move back, and the man started CPR. A hotel staffer rushed up with a defibrillator, but the paramedics were there in minutes, surrounded Geoffrey, and began their work. Perhaps there’d been sirens, but, if so, I hadn’t heard them.

  Sam came back to the table and took me into his arms. I looked up and searched his face. He shook his head slightly. His dark eyes answered my unasked question.

  SAM SAT WITH ME for more than an hour in the hotel lobby. They had transported Geoffrey to the hospital, but he had been nonresponsive.

  Good grief. I had no idea how to feel. I couldn’t stand the man, but I hadn’t wanted him dead. I was numb.

  I sat thinking about the past few months and how awful it had been when Geoffrey showed up in my life again. And then my mind would rewind to the Geoffrey I’d married, or rather the man I’d thought he was. In retrospect, I’d been so young and dumb and innocent. I’d wanted so much to get away from all of my mother’s expectations. He’d seemed smart and sophisticated and everything all the Texas boys I’d dated before him hadn’t been.

  A sound brought me back to the present. I looked around and then focused my gaze on Sam who sat next to me on the wicker bench. Slowly more sounds came through. The whooshing sound of the fountain, snippets of conversation, groups of people coming and going. I noted all the activity, but couldn’t rally myself to move.

  Tania came by and slipped a bottled water in my hand. I took a drink and let the cool liquid run down my throat.

  Sam had taken care of communicating with the paramedics and ultimately the hospital. He’d also arranged for Mandy to be taken home. And then he’d waited. Steady as a rock.

  “Ready to go home?” he asked.

  I nodded. I rose and walked to the front. A group of Purple Posers was returning from the tribute site. I wondered vaguely if Marsha was among them.

  He handed his ticket to the valet, though I was pretty sure the guy hadn’t forgotten which car was Sam’s.

  “I can drive.” I was exhausted, I was numb, but I was okay to drive.

  “Indulge me.”

  I didn’t argue. When the Ferrari arrived, Sam held the door and helped me in. The short drive to my place was quiet.

  Chapter Eighteen

  THE DAY AFTER a traumatic event can sometimes have a surreal feel. You wonder, “Did that really happen?”

  The day after Geoffrey’s death was beyond surreal. I’ll admit that I woke up thinking maybe I’d dreamed the whole thing. Then I looked to the chair where I’d dropped my clothes from the day before, and it came back in a rush.

  Geoffrey. Dead.

  Wow, I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

  I moved Dogbert, two cats, and the pillows they’d been using, and climbed out of bed. I started coffee and sat down at my kitchen table.

  Unable to stay put, I paced. My big back window looks out at a million-dollar view. That’s why I’d bought the house. The blue sky, the endless ocean. That and it was far away from Texas and Geoffrey. I’d needed to start over and I’d chosen Laguna Beach to make my own way.

  One of the last jumbled thoughts I’d had before I finally fell asleep was that I needed to charge my cell phone. I hadn’t had enough energy to get up and take care of it, plus I was pinned in by critters. I should probably find it and plug it in.

  I went back to the kitchen. It was plugged in. Either I’d done it on auto-pilot or Sam had done it for me. I was betting on Sam.

  I picked it up and checked for messages.

  Diana, Sam, Malone, Melinda, Verdi, and a few others I’d also need to call back. The one from Melinda was short and simple.

  “Caro, honey, I’m thinking of you.”

  That one almost broke me.

  I poured another cup of coffee, wrapped my robe tighter, and picked up my phone to start the process. Before I could hit redial on the first call, my phone rang.

  It was Malone.

  “Caro, I want to share something before the press gets a hold of it.”

  “Okay.”

  “This morning we received an anonymous tip about Geoffrey Carlisle’s involvement in Purple’s murder. We searched his apartment about an hour ago and found the murder weapon.”

  “What? Wait. What?” I put my coffee cup down, my hand shaking. “What was it?”

  “A gold statue of Purple,” he answered. “It looks like an award. You know, like an Oscar only this is a likeness of her.”

  “I saw that statue when Betty and I were in her suite.” I got up and began pacing again.

  “We knew it was something heavy. And we knew it was odd-shaped, but we’ve been careful not to put any of that information out to the public.”

  “What happens now?”

  “We won’t release anything about this until we’ve had an opportunity to finish our investigation.”

  “He didn’t do it,” I blurted out.

  “Caro, no one wants to think that someone they know is capable of murder.” Malone used his let’s-be-calm voice.

  “No,” I insisted. “I’m absolutely sure. Geoffrey did not kill Purple.”

  My doorbell rang, and I spotted my car in the driveway. Sam, bless his heart, was delivering on his
promise of getting it home for me.

  “You are still going to follow up on Lew Simpson and Trevor Lang, though, right?”

  “We will complete the investigation.”

  That wasn’t an affirmative, but probably the best I would get.

  “Thank you for the call.” I really did appreciate the heads-up. An unexpected thoughtfulness from Mr. Hard-Line Cop.

  “You bet.”

  I had to find a way to convince Malone that Geoffrey was not the killer, but right now I could see why it seemed pretty clear he was. And, I needed to do it before the opportunity was lost and the investigation closed.

  I opened the door and Sam came through.

  He wore jeans, a black V-neck t-shirt, and sandals. Even with his dark hair mussed, he didn’t look disheveled. In fact, he looked like a magazine ad. I wore my ratty, turquoise “The best things in life are furry” robe, yesterday’s makeup, and hair that would scare small children. I looked like a train wreck.

  I guess, if a guy was worth keeping, you had to see what he was made of when things got real.

  He got a cup from the cupboard and helped himself to some coffee.

  Dogbert came barreling from the other room when he heard Sam’s voice, and Sam knelt to rub the needy pooch’s belly.

  Some women judge a man by the way he opens a door for her, remembers her birthday, or treats her family. Me? I judge a guy by the way he treats my dog.

  “That was Detective Malone on the phone.” I flopped down on the couch.

  Sam looked up from his play with Dogbert. “And?”

  “They found the murder weapon in Geoffrey’s apartment.”

  Sam was silent. He didn’t seem surprised.

  “He called you first, didn’t he?”

  He nodded, his dark eyes searching my face.

  Suddenly another thought occurred to me. “You’ve talked to him this whole time you’ve been gone?”

  He looked guilty. “I was worried about you. A murder. A bunch of crazy fans.” He stood, picked up his coffee cup, and slid onto one of the breakfast stools at the counter. “We kept missing each other. I needed to know you were safe.”