Authors: Michael Craft
Desert Spring (20 page)
“It was unconscionable,” agreed Glenn.
“Hold on a minute.” I could expect the prissy attitude from Lance, but not from Glenn, who was, first and foremost, a consummate businessman. I asked, “Did Lance have a contract with Spencer?”
“Well, no ⦔
Lance said, “It had been a gentleman's agreement.”
From what I'd heard, this gentleman's agreement struck me as little more than cocktail chat.
“Yes,” Lance conceded, “I wrote the score âon spec,' so to speak, but given our mutual stature, it would have seemed almost
boorish
to sully our agreement with ironclad clauses and such.”
boorish
to sully our agreement with ironclad clauses and such.”
To my way of thinking, there had been no agreement at all.
“It's not the
money,
” Lance insisted, “or the loss of valuable creative time. I'm not driven by such considerations. However, the affront to my talents and the smirch on my reputation are insufferable. Far worse”âLance turned to Glennâ“rejecting the score belittles Desert Arts College and everything our founder has struggled to establish here.”
money,
” Lance insisted, “or the loss of valuable creative time. I'm not driven by such considerations. However, the affront to my talents and the smirch on my reputation are insufferable. Far worse”âLance turned to Glennâ“rejecting the score belittles Desert Arts College and everything our founder has struggled to establish here.”
I doubted if anyone even knew about the rejected score; this was the first
I'd
heard of it. So how could the misunderstanding possibly be construed as an insult to the school?
I'd
heard of it. So how could the misunderstanding possibly be construed as an insult to the school?
But Glenn was more than eager to buy into Lance's indignation. “I
never
liked him,” he said through a disgusted shudder. “As far as I'm concerned, Wallace got what he deserved.”
never
liked him,” he said through a disgusted shudder. “As far as I'm concerned, Wallace got what he deserved.”
“Stop that.” I was getting angry.
“Even after
I
âD. Glenn Yeatsâphoned Wallace
personally
to ask him to reconsider, he flat-out refused. Now, I ask youâis that
the sort of treatment a man in my position deserves? Don't I deserve greater respect than that?”
I
âD. Glenn Yeatsâphoned Wallace
personally
to ask him to reconsider, he flat-out refused. Now, I ask youâis that
the sort of treatment a man in my position deserves? Don't I deserve greater respect than that?”
Oh, Lord. We'd previously battled over the semantics of
respect.
In Glenn's lexicon, it was synonymous with
ass kissing
.
respect.
In Glenn's lexicon, it was synonymous with
ass kissing
.
Glenn's rant continued, “
I'd
read the script; Lance showed it to me.
I'd
heard the music; Lance played it for me. Why, the score was fine, just fine.”
I'd
read the script; Lance showed it to me.
I'd
heard the music; Lance played it for me. Why, the score was fine, just fine.”
“It was
perfect,
” added Lance, tossing both arms.
perfect,
” added Lance, tossing both arms.
“Perfect,”
echoed Glenn, rising from behind his desk.
echoed Glenn, rising from behind his desk.
There was no point in arguing the aesthetic merits of music I'd never heard, so I calmly voiced a practical and evident observation: “These artistic disagreements are history now. Spencer is gone. There's nothing to be done about it.”
“But there
is,
” said Glenn, wide-eyed, swooping around from his desk to sit next to me on the sofa.
is,
” said Glenn, wide-eyed, swooping around from his desk to sit next to me on the sofa.
Uh-oh. “Glenn, dear, whatever are you talking about?”
“Gabe Arlington, the director.”
“Don't you see, Claire?” asked Lance, leaning forward from his sofa. I'd have sworn the tight neck of his sweater stretched a foot. “With Wallace out of the way, we've got a second shot with Arlington.” His eyes flashed, intense and catlike.
“I don't know ⦠,” I said warily. “You probably shouldn't tr yâ”
“Claire,” said Glenn, leaning close, “
you
could approach him. You and Arlington seemed to hit it off at your place on Saturday. And you have ready access to him through Tanner.” With a happy laugh, he asked, “Why not?”
you
could approach him. You and Arlington seemed to hit it off at your place on Saturday. And you have ready access to him through Tanner.” With a happy laugh, he asked, “Why not?”
I could think of several reasons, not the least of which was my complete lack of interest in Glenn and Lance's petty crusade. They were out of their element, attempting to influence artistic decisions in a medium they knew nothing about. For that matter, I myself knew zilch about filmmaking, and I wasn't about to embarrass
myself by exposing my ignorance to Gabe Arlington while displaying the gall to meddle in his production.
myself by exposing my ignorance to Gabe Arlington while displaying the gall to meddle in his production.
I knew, however, that Glenn was beyond reasoning at the moment; he would be deaf to my protests.
So I told him vaguely, “I'll see what I can do.”
The profuse, giddy thanks lavished on me by both Glenn and Lance was embarrassingâas well as unwarrantedâso I extricated myself from their grateful hugs, offered a round of farewells, and escaped to the outer office.
True to Glenn's word, Tide awaited me with a contract for my summer services, offering a pen. There was no point in reading it; coming from Glenn, the terms of the agreement had surely been subjected to microscopic scrutiny by a roomful of lawyers, and there was never any question of Glenn's generosity to me. So I signed, told Tide good-bye, and left the presidential suite.
Walking the circular hall toward my own modest office, I began to mentally reconstruct the list of guests who had attended Saturday's party. Among them, of course, were Glenn Yeats and Lance Caldwell.
I now understood why they had both been in such ill humor that night.
What's more, I now was aware that they had both read Spencer's script.
Reconstructing my guest list took longer than I'd planned. During the final production weeks of
Traders,
I'd had a lot on my mind, and the mess in my office had gotten out of hand. So I now had to dig through the piles on my desk, as well as my files, to find the names of everyone I'd invited to Saturday's party. I put my own name at the top, as host, then listed the two guests of honor, Spencer Wallace and Tanner Griffin. Moving on to the other attendees, I first listed Lance Caldwell and Glenn Yeats. The names went on and on. My earlier estimate had been correctâabout fifty guests. I knew, however, that the list was incomplete; there had been a number of people at the party whom I hadn't recognized.
Traders,
I'd had a lot on my mind, and the mess in my office had gotten out of hand. So I now had to dig through the piles on my desk, as well as my files, to find the names of everyone I'd invited to Saturday's party. I put my own name at the top, as host, then listed the two guests of honor, Spencer Wallace and Tanner Griffin. Moving on to the other attendees, I first listed Lance Caldwell and Glenn Yeats. The names went on and on. My earlier estimate had been correctâabout fifty guests. I knew, however, that the list was incomplete; there had been a number of people at the party whom I hadn't recognized.
Leaving my office, I needed to rush to make it back to my house by three o'clock, the hour at which Grant Knoll and his brother, Larry, had planned to meet there for some “little business matter.” While driving through the flat, straight back roads of Rancho Mirage, I wondered what possible bit of business could bring the gay real-estate broker and the murder-minded detective together on a Monday afternoon. Their lives seemed to revolve in two distinct orbits.
When I turned onto my street, I saw that Grant was already waiting for me, parked at the curb in his hefty white Mercedes. What's more, he had a passenger with him, a woman. As I pulled into my driveway and drove into the garage, they got out of the
car, and I recognized the woman as Brandi Bjerregaard, Grant's fellow broker and developer from Los Angeles.
car, and I recognized the woman as Brandi Bjerregaard, Grant's fellow broker and developer from Los Angeles.
“Sorry I'm late,” I told them, greeting them in front of the house.
“No problem,” said Grant. “Larr y isn't here yet, and we're in no hurr y.” Tucked under the arm of my friend's nubby-silk sport coat was a zippered leather-bound folder.
Brandi said, “Thank you again, Claire, for including me at Saturday's party. What a bash.” She breathed her languid laugh, looking pretty but boredâor disconnectedâlike an urban fish out of water.
“Any friend of Grant's is a friend of mine.” I wasn't concentrating on my insipid phraseology; I was thinking about Brandi's odd behavior on Saturday evening. She, like so many others present, had turned peevish upon the moment of encountering Spencer Wallace.
The afternoon was getting hot. I suggested, “Let's go indoors. I'll get us something to drink.” And I took them into the house.
Setting my keys, wallet, and guest list on the pass-through bar, I offered, “I could open a bottle of wine.”
“Sure, doll, that sounds great.” Grant had set his leather portfolio on the boomerang-shaped coffee table and drifted to the patio doors with Brandi.
She asked him, “And that's where it happened?”
“Yup,” he answered, almost bragging, “the scene of the crime.”
Having stepped into the kitchen, I called to Brandi, “Too bad you had to leave the party so early. You missed Grant's heroics.”
“That
would
have been worth seeing.” She lolled her head back again and emitted her barely audible laugh. A smart little purse dangled on a gold chain from her elbow.
would
have been worth seeing.” She lolled her head back again and emitted her barely audible laugh. A smart little purse dangled on a gold chain from her elbow.
Entering the living room with a bottle of chardonnay and a
corkscrew, I asked Grant, “Palatable?” He was a wine snob second to none.
corkscrew, I asked Grant, “Palatable?” He was a wine snob second to none.
“Very.” He raised an approving brow. “Let me open it for you.”
Handing him the bottle and the opener, I said, “I'll get the glasses.”
“
I'll
help,” Brandi insisted. “You relax, Claire.” She stepped into the kitchen.
I'll
help,” Brandi insisted. “You relax, Claire.” She stepped into the kitchen.
Grant and I sat on the cushioned bench. He got to work, squeaking the cork from the neck of the bottle, telling me, “I've got the most
delicious
dirt.”
delicious
dirt.”
“Really? Is that the purpose of this visit?”
He frowned. “Actually, no. That's
too
dreary to discuss. Besides, you'll hear it soon enough, once Larry arrives.” He popped the cork out of the bottle, then sniffed it.
too
dreary to discuss. Besides, you'll hear it soon enough, once Larry arrives.” He popped the cork out of the bottle, then sniffed it.
Very well, I thought, the dreary part could wait. “So what's the dirt?”
“Well,”
he began, setting the bottle on the coffee table, “you'll neverâ”
he began, setting the bottle on the coffee table, “you'll neverâ”
“Claire?” called Brandi from the kitchen. “I can't seem to find the wineglasses. Which cupboard?”
“Sorry, Brandi. I should have mentionedâthey're underneath, next to the dishwasher.” No doubt about it, my kitchen was still in greater disarray than my office. I reasoned that because everything in the kitchen was behind closed doors, it didn't warrant fretting over.
“Well,”
Grant began again, “you'll never believe what
I've
just learned about the widow Wallace.” He paused enticingly.
Grant began again, “you'll never believe what
I've
just learned about the widow Wallace.” He paused enticingly.
From his tone of voice, and from his promise of dirt, I had a hunch where his story was headed. Playing dumb, I said, “Poor woman. I know she and Spencer didn't have the happiest marriage, but it must be awful for her now, finding herself suddenly alone.”
Grant was fairly bursting to tell his news; he looked as if he might wet his pants. “You
bet
it was an unhappy marriage,” he said, fidgeting with the wine cork, “but there was more to the problem than Spencer's wandering eye.”
bet
it was an unhappy marriage,” he said, fidgeting with the wine cork, “but there was more to the problem than Spencer's wandering eye.”
“Hey,” said Brandi, entering from the kitchen with four wineglasses, two in each hand, “this is
my
stor y.” She set the glasses on the table near the bottle, then settled in one of the three-legged chairs. Removing the purse from her arm, she set it on the floor.
my
stor y.” She set the glasses on the table near the bottle, then settled in one of the three-legged chairs. Removing the purse from her arm, she set it on the floor.
Grant began pouring a few fingers of wine for the three of us, telling Brandi, “I acknowledge, sweetest, that you are indeed the source, but you gave me this information on an insider basis, broker to broker. Telling it to Claire, however, constitutes gossip, and I don't think it would be terribly professional of you to spread gossip regarding your own clients.” Setting down the bottle, he begged, “Let
me
do it.”
me
do it.”
Brandi leaned to ask me, “Has he always been so persuasive?”
“Yes, he has.” I picked up a glass.
“There, now, all settled,” Grant told Brandi. He handed her a glass and picked up one for himself, saying, “Cheers, gang.”
We touched glasses, then tasted the wine.
Turning to me, Grant continued with his story. “I've learned some
juicy
details regarding the Wallaces' rocky marriage. This information comes to me from an unimpeachable source, a colleague in the real-estate biz.” He turned briefly to give Brandi a big, obvious wink before elaborating, “My friend handles a lot of high-end properties in the Los Angeles areaâshe's
very
well connected. It happens that she was a passing acquaintance of Spencer Wallace, and she knows Rebecca quite well. In fact, my friend brokered the deal when the Wallaces bought the house in Brentwood. So she also knows the lawyer, Bryce Ballantyne, because he handled the closing. Well! Here's the dirt: Rebecca and Br yce have had
more than just a âprofessional' relationship for some time now.” Grant beamed.
juicy
details regarding the Wallaces' rocky marriage. This information comes to me from an unimpeachable source, a colleague in the real-estate biz.” He turned briefly to give Brandi a big, obvious wink before elaborating, “My friend handles a lot of high-end properties in the Los Angeles areaâshe's
very
well connected. It happens that she was a passing acquaintance of Spencer Wallace, and she knows Rebecca quite well. In fact, my friend brokered the deal when the Wallaces bought the house in Brentwood. So she also knows the lawyer, Bryce Ballantyne, because he handled the closing. Well! Here's the dirt: Rebecca and Br yce have had
more than just a âprofessional' relationship for some time now.” Grant beamed.
“Do tell.” I had deduced as much that very morning, but it was intriguing to hear Grant's gossip, which seemed to confirm the conclusion I'd already reached.
“In fact,” Grant added, “they're practically
living
together.”
living
together.”
“My, my, my,” I mused. I might have added that I'd already seen Rebecca and Br yce sharing a bathrobe, but I didn't want to spoil Grant's fun in delivering the unsavory news.
Grant set down his glass. “So Spencer wasn't
entirely
responsible for the loveless marriage with Rebeccaâor their separate lives.”
entirely
responsible for the loveless marriage with Rebeccaâor their separate lives.”
I sighed. “Ah, what tangled webs the wealthy weave.”
From the side of his mouth, Grant told Brandi, “Say
that
five times fast.”
that
five times fast.”
“You're right, Grant.” I tweaked his cheek. “That
was
delicious dirt.”
was
delicious dirt.”
“I thought milady would like it.”
“Like it? I love it.” Leaning past Grant, I said, “Thank
you,
too, Brandi. I had a hunch there was something going on between Rebecca and Bryce.”
you,
too, Brandi. I had a hunch there was something going on between Rebecca and Bryce.”
“So,” Grant asked me, “you know what this means?” When I failed to respond quickly enough, he said, “I'll give you a clue: motivation.”
“Ahhh.” I swirled my wine. “The wealthy widow had a possible motive for wanting her husband deadâthat much was clear from the get-go. But now we know that the widow had a lover, so he also had a motive.”
Brandi leaned into the conversation. “A
double
motive, if you think about it. First, the money. And second, Spencer's death has freed Rebecca to marry someone else.”
double
motive, if you think about it. First, the money. And second, Spencer's death has freed Rebecca to marry someone else.”
Grant amplified, “Namely, Brycey-boy.”
With finger to chin, I told Grant, “I like the way you think. When did you get so devious?”
“
Moi?
I'm not deviousâmerely suspicious. And I learned that from
you.
”
Moi?
I'm not deviousâmerely suspicious. And I learned that from
you.
”
“Perhaps you did.” With a pensive laugh, I rose from the bench, stepped to the patio doors, and gazed out upon the pool for a moment. Then I returned to the coffee table. “Grant, now that you've tattled on Bryce and Rebecca, are you aware that Bryce himself did some tattling yesterday?” I raised a brow.
Grant looked confused. “Bryce tattled? On Rebecca?”
“No, love. On you.”
With mock shock, Grant sat ramrod stiff. “Why, that snip! He
swore
he'd never kiss and tell.” Then, with his features twisted in thought, Grant allowed, “He's all right, I guess, but not my type. I barely know the man. Other than our
very
brief encounter here yesterday, I've never even met him.” Then, as an afterthought, Grant asked, “Just what
did
he tell you?”
swore
he'd never kiss and tell.” Then, with his features twisted in thought, Grant allowed, “He's all right, I guess, but not my type. I barely know the man. Other than our
very
brief encounter here yesterday, I've never even met him.” Then, as an afterthought, Grant asked, “Just what
did
he tell you?”
“Nothing to do with romantic interestsâhis
or
yours.” I cleared my throat. “No, when he realized that you were Larr y's brother, he connected the names and recalled that you and Spencer Wallace had been working on a real-estate dealâa mountainside golf-course development?”
or
yours.” I cleared my throat. “No, when he realized that you were Larr y's brother, he connected the names and recalled that you and Spencer Wallace had been working on a real-estate dealâa mountainside golf-course development?”
“Oh.” Grant's shoulders slumped. “That.”
“Yes, that. The way Bryce tells it, Spencer pulled out at the wrong moment. Word spread, other investors fled, and
you
took a bath.”
you
took a bath.”
Grant took a sip of wine, swallowed, and looked at me over the rim of his glass. “That would be the gist of it, correct.”
“Actually, Claire”âBrandi leaned forward in her chair and set her wine on the table, placing both hands on her kneesâ“Grant wasn't the only one to get stung. The golf-course development was mine.
I'm
the one who put together the consortium, so
I'm
the
one who looked like an idiot in the eyes of other investors. On top of which, I lost a bundle.”
I'm
the one who put together the consortium, so
I'm
the
one who looked like an idiot in the eyes of other investors. On top of which, I lost a bundle.”
My eyes slid to Grant. “How much did
you
lose?”
you
lose?”
“Well”âhe tossed a shoulderâ“despite what Bryce told you, I wouldn't quite call it a âbath.' That has such a pejorative ring of overstatement. I'm surprised; lawyers are usually more precise. Yes, the deal fell through with Wallace, but I've chalked it off as a ⦠a mere mixup.” He sipped more wine.
I persisted, “How
much
of a mixup?”
much
of a mixup?”
He paused to calculate. “About a half. Well, a little over half.”
“Half?” I crossed my arms. “Half
what
?”
what
?”
Setting his glass on the table, he mumbled, “Half a million.”
My eyes bugged. “Good Lord, Grant. I'm impressed. I didn't know you had a half million to
lose
.”
lose
.”
He stood, telling me, “When it comes to investments in California real estate, the numbers do sound inflatedâlike Monopoly moneyâbut that's the name of the game here, and I play it quite well. The Coachella Valley is a hotbed of development; I'll recoup my losses on the next deal. Win some, lose some. I happened to
lose
on this particular venture.”
lose
on this particular venture.”
“Because of Spencer Wallace.”
Grant took a measure of solace in my statement. “That's right.
Wallace
blew the deal. He was a nervous Nellie about the risks, pulled out at the wrong time, and was inept in the way he handled it. The result was, I lost a bundle.”
Wallace
blew the deal. He was a nervous Nellie about the risks, pulled out at the wrong time, and was inept in the way he handled it. The result was, I lost a bundle.”
“So did I,” seconded Brandi. “And so did several others.”
“Hmm.” I paced toward the bar, set down my glass, and turned to ask both of them, “So how do you feel about Spencer's death?”
With a tsk, Brandi said, “Need you ask?”
I must have looked dismayed.
Grant asked me, “How would
you
feel? Look, murder is inexcusable, period. I'm sorry he was poisoned, I'm sorry he drownedâor
however
it happened. But am I sorry he's gone?” With a sharp nod, he answered, “Not one bit.”
you
feel? Look, murder is inexcusable, period. I'm sorry he was poisoned, I'm sorry he drownedâor
however
it happened. But am I sorry he's gone?” With a sharp nod, he answered, “Not one bit.”
Other books
Tenderloin (Abby Kane FBI Thriller) by Ty Hutchinson
Hang Tough by Lorelei James
Violets & Violence by Morgan Parker
The Siren Project by Renneberg, Stephen
Death of a Bad Apple by Penny Pike
Red by Alison Cherry
The Silent Sounds of Chaos by Kristina Circelli
Messenger (Guardian Trilogy Prequel 1) by Laury Falter
Sparrow Hill Road 2010 By Seanan by Seanan McGuire