CELEBRITY STATUS (The Kate Huntington mystery series #4) (14 page)

            “None, I’m a friend. This is a personal call.”

            “I’m afraid I cannot put through any personal calls at this time, sir.”

            “Look, I understand why you’re screening calls, but I’m the reason those reporters are chasing after him. I really need to talk to him.”

            “I’m sorry, sir.”

            “Damn, she hung up.”

            Rose handed Skip her cell phone. “It’s Rob,” she said. “Apparently he tried to call your cell earlier. Went to voicemail.” She didn’t bother to add that it was probably vibrating in his pocket while he was ranting at the bastard who had photographed his wife and their friend.

            Skip gave his partner a chagrined look as he took the phone.

            “What the hell’s going on, Skip? Why are these assholes out in the parking lot, yelling nonsense at my window? I gather it’s something about Cherise.”

            “I take it you didn’t see the article then.”

            “I don’t usually read tabloids over breakfast. Tell me you’re not about to tell me what you’re about to tell me.”

            “Yup, they’re suggesting Kate’s having a pay-back affair with you. Got two pictures at Mac’s Place yesterday.” Skip heard a loud thud.

            “Was that your head or your fist?”

            “Neither. My coffee mug. I think I cracked it. Definitely dented the desk.”

            Is that the best you can do?” Skip gave a humorless laugh. “I’ve got a hole in my office wall.”

            “What do you want to do, my friend?” Rob asked.

            “People keep asking me that. What the hell can I do? I feel so damn helpless, Rob. This is America. Why can’t we make these guys leave us alone?”

            “Because it is America. Freedom of the press, a freedom which I sometimes feel is overrated.”

            “Should we go ahead with the lawsuit? Cherise has pointed out that such suits just drag out the drama.”

            “She’s probably right. They milk the story for all it’s worth, make a couple of million off it. Then settle with us for less than half that and print a small retraction on the bottom of page three.”

            “Shit.”

            “Let me try to scare them off, Skip. I’ll tell them I’m going after thirty million, ten for each of us. Damage to our professional reputations, interference with our ability to earn a living, emotional pain and suffering, punitive damages, the whole nine yards.”

            “We likely to get that much?”

            “Hell, no. But they may not be willing to take the risk. They’re used to going after celebrities, for whom the courts have little sympathy. The precedent is that public figures should expect such things as part of the package. When a politician or celebrity is libeled, they have to prove malicious intent, that the other party knew it was untrue and printed it anyway. That’s damn hard to prove. But we’re not public figures. I’ll tell the papers I’ll be asking for a jury trial, have twelve good men and women imagine themselves in your shoes, just doing their jobs, and suddenly lies about them are being printed in the press.”

            “Might work.”

            “I’m not suggesting we take it to trial. It would be more trauma than it’s worth. But it’s a damn good threat.”

            “Threaten away, my friend.”

            “Uh, Skip, I’m thinking we should postpone Liz’s party, until the dust settles.”

            “Damn! I’d forgotten about that. Kate will be disappointed. She’s been looking forward to it.”

            “Don’t know how we’d pull it off now, with the paparazzi chasing all of us. Don’t want it to turn into a nightmare.”

            “Hang on, I have an idea. Let me consult with my partner.” Skip looked at Rose, still sitting across the desk from him. “You okay with providing security for free for Liz’s party Saturday night?”

            Rose nodded. “We’re not giving these bastards the satisfaction of screwing that up. Put some guys around the perimeter of the property so nobody’s taking pics from the bushes. Don’t know how we’d explain all that security to Liz though. Might give the surprise away.”

            Skip conveyed Rose’s plan and her concern to Rob, then said, “Maybe we should move the party inside.”

            “The RSVP’s have already hit thirty-five. Don’t think we can cram that many people into your living room. And I’m helping to pay for the guards. As for explaining them to Liz, I’ll just point out that
Skippy
’s a little paranoid right now.” There was a chuckle in his voice.

            “Very funny,” Skip said. “Just because you’re paranoid and all that.”

            “Yeah, they really are out to get you right now. Stay cool, buddy.”

            “I’ll try.”

            Skip’s attempt to keep his cool was short-lived. Within minutes he was yelling curses at the walls again. He did manage to resist the temptation to punch holes in them this time.

            Dolph had informed him that Cherise’s agent had called the Baltimore City Chief of Police, requesting they keep the arrest of Timothy Lansing hush-hush. And Cherise was now refusing to buck her agent and publicist by publicly setting the record straight.

            “Okay, they had their chance,” Skip said when he had calmed down. “Rose, go tell the clowns out front there will be a press conference at two o’clock, location to be announced. I’ll call Rob and see if he wants to do it there or does he want to lead his contingent of assholes to us. Either way, tell them this will be like the President’s press room. They raise their hands. I will answer all of their questions, but the first one who calls out will be tossed out of the building on his or her ear.”

            Rose nodded and left his office.

CHAPTER TWELVE

            Skip went home after the press conference. He was wiped out. No point in even trying to work. And he dared not touch base with Cherise. He was afraid of what he might say to her.

            She had been all sweetness and light yesterday over lunch, asking him about his youth, growing up in Texas. She had promised at least three times that she would cooperate with him to get the paparazzi off his back and away from his family. Although she seemed clueless about why he cared so much about his family. She acted like children were a species from another planet.

            And at one point she had said, “I don’t know why you’re so protective of Kate. She’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself.”

            He had decided not to attempt to explain to this shallow woman what it meant to love someone with all your heart and soul.

            Out of habit, Skip looked in his rearview mirror. Then he reminded himself there would be no more press following him around. The press conference had gone very well, even though it had taken almost two hours. Rob had opted to come to Canfield and Hernandez, and had driven there slowly so the reporters following him would not get lost.

            They had stuffed them all into the agency’s conference room. The six musclemen Rose could stir up on short notice had stationed themselves strategically along the walls.

            Rose had then introduced herself and informed them of the ground rules. Anybody broke the rules they would be escorted from the premises. The guys along the walls all crossed their meaty arms in unison.

            Skip chuckled to himself. He could’ve sworn he’d heard an audible gulp or two at that moment.

            After he had succinctly described his role as investigator and bodyguard for Ms. Martin, he told them the stalker had been identified and would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. He informed them that he was not at liberty to divulge the culprit’s name and that Ms. Martin would not be available for the foreseeable future for comment. He had then answered the same question, asked a dozen different ways, over and over again. No, he and Ms. Martin were not and had never been lovers. He was happily married as was his friend and lawyer Rob Franklin. The two families had been friends for years.

            Then Rob had made his announcement. Any paper that continued to falsely malign Mr. Canfield, himself or any member of either of their families would be facing a thirty million dollar lawsuit for libel and defamation of character. “These are not public figures you are going after, ladies and gentlemen,” Rob had concluded. “They are private citizens who value their privacy and are just doing their jobs. If your papers hesitate to take us seriously on this, you might point out that a jury of our peers is going to be much more sympathetic toward us than toward a tabloid that knowingly tells lies to make a buck.”

            Several grumbles of protest had started to rise from the crowded room. They had been silenced when the men around the perimeter had
uncrossed
their arms in unison.

            Skip grinned to himself and whistled tunelessly under his breath as he turned onto his street. Not a reporter in sight. And Kate’s Prius was parked in front of the house. She was home early as well.
Excellent!

            His jubilation was short-lived. The temperature in the house was below freezing. When his wife walked past him, trailing a chilly draft behind her, he took her by the arm. “What’s the matter, Kate?” he asked quietly so the children, who were playing on the living room floor, wouldn’t hear him.

            “We will talk later,” she said, her expression and tone carefully neutral. She tugged her arm loose from his grip.

            “Fine,” he said, a touch of anger creeping into his voice. “I’m taking a nap.” He marched toward the bedroom. He’d spent the whole damn day getting the paparazzi off their backs, and this was the thanks he got.

            But he couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned on top of the comforter until the king-sized bed looked like a giant rat’s nest. Then he got up and paced the floor. He didn’t dare go back out into the living room, for fear they would fight in front of the kids. Something they had sworn they would never do.

            Finally he smelled dinner cooking. He ventured out of the bedroom, yawning and pretending he had indeed napped. The children were already seated at the kitchen table. As he sat down in his place, Maria brought the last of the food to the table and Edie said the blessing.

            The adults said very little except in response to the children’s chatter. Both Skip and Kate picked at their food. When the meal was finally over, Maria, sensing something was wrong, started clearing the table, a chore Kate and Skip usually did together as they chatted about their day and the children played in the living room.

            Not sure what else to do, Skip said to his daughter, “Come on, Pumkin. Let’s draw horses while Mommy gives Billy his bath.” Edie dutifully followed her father into the living room, the expression on her little face worried.

            Thirty minutes later, Skip and Kate exchanged children in silence. Skip gave in to Billy’s demands for a second story. He didn’t have the energy to resist, and he wasn’t in any hurry to go back downstairs.

            Finally he got the boy settled and headed toward his daughter’s room. Kate came out of Edie’s door. “I did her story,” she whispered, her mouth a tight thin line. “Just kiss her goodnight and come downstairs.”

            Skip did as he was told, planting a light kiss on the little girl’s warm smooth forehead. She looked up at him sleepily. “Goodnight, Daddy,” she mumbled.

            “Night, Pumkin,” Skip whispered. Then he squared his shoulders and went downstairs.

            Kate was in the kitchen, a steaming cup of tea in front of her. She was stirring it vigorously but making no attempt to drink it.

            He sat down across from her. “What is it, Kate? What’s wrong?”

            She looked at him in silence for a beat, then said, “My one o’clock appointment was with Cherise.”

            “Aw, shit!”

            “Yeah, aw, shit. Thank you so much for letting me hear about what was on the front page of that filthy rag this morning from her,” Kate hissed. “Apparently Dolph had a lovely little chat with her about the story, but you couldn’t be bothered to call me.”

            “I didn’t call you because–”

            She cut him off. “I could just barely get through the session. She’s either so self-centered she didn’t even notice I was upset, or she was politely ignoring the fact that I was trying not to burst into tears. I have no clue what she said or what I said back. I couldn’t concentrate–”

            “But that’s why I didn’t call you–”

            Ignoring his attempt to interrupt, Kate talked over him. “I thought I’d pulled myself together enough to deal with my next client, but apparently I didn’t look all that together. When I went out to the waiting room, she asked, in the kindest voice, if I was taking care of myself, what with all the stress from the divorce. The
divorce
. Skip, my clients think I’m getting a
divorce!
” Her voice went up an octave on that final word.

            “Sh, sh,” Skip said, making a keep-your-voice-down gesture with his hands. “Take a deep breath, Kate, so we can talk about this calmly.”

            She threw her hands into the air. “Calmly? I may never be able to talk calmly again. I don’t even remember what calm feels like anymore.” She caught herself as her voice started going up in both pitch and volume.

            Kate clamped her mouth shut and got up to leave the room. Skip jumped up. “Kate, don’t walk...” But she was already gone. “Don’t walk away from me, please,” he whispered, his eyes stinging. They fought sometimes, although not often, but they had never walked away from each other before.

            He followed her into the living room. But before he could tell her he had fixed it, she was hissing at him again. “Damn it. I can’t have this, Skip. This crap has invaded every part of our lives, and now it’s interfering with my ability to do my job.”

            He tried to tell her about the press conference but she interrupted again. He decided he would just have to wait for her to run out of steam. He stopped trying to talk, which seemed to make her more furious.