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Jovanic’s voice perked up. “
You
have her calendar?”

“Don’t worry, detective, I have it legally. After I left Ivan at the penthouse yesterday morning, he messengered me her personal papers. The calendar was in one of them.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” His tone was dry.

“He’s got an office in Beverly Hills.”

“Why, you’re a regular detective, Ms. Rose. I’ll put the good doctor at the top of my list of people to interview. Uh...” He hesitated. “Maybe you’d like to go along for the ride?”

“To see Bostwick?”

“Uh huh. Maybe you can spot some of his handwriting; tell me his secrets.”

“Is that kosher?”

“No, but if you don’t tell, I won’t.”

She couldn’t stop grinning as she hung up the phone.

Grainger & Grainger occupied the entire twenty-fourth floor of a concrete-and-glass tower bordering the upscale Westfield Shopping Center in Century City. Ten million square feet of office space in the miniature city, populated by hundreds of professional practices. Claudia privately dubbed it
Lawyerland
.

Directly to her left as she stepped out of the elevator, double doors opened onto a plush reception area and an extravaganza of black marble that made up the front desk. Glass walls offered a sweeping view of Westwood and Beverly Hills.
Definitely not the low-rent district
.

The receptionist, who was speaking on the phone, raised a slender manicured forefinger, signaling her to wait. Pretty, early twenties, golden tan in a Donna Karan suit, far too self-possessed for her age. While she waited, Claudia amused herself by watching the young woman write on a pink telephone message pad. Half-inch acrylic nails required that she hold the pen between her second and third fingers in order to write.
Large, circular handwriting. Image-conscious Valley Girl: center of her own universe.
Finally, Valley Girl glanced up. “May I help you?” Claudia pushed her business card across the ledge. “I have an appointment with Lillian Grainger.”

Reading the card, the receptionist dropped her blasé attitude. “You’re a handwriting expert? How cool is that!”

Claudia smiled. “Pretty cool, I guess.”

“I should let you see my handwriting,” the receptionist said with mounting enthusiasm, unaware that she had already revealed plenty as she took messages.

“I’ve already seen it. You’re the type of person who lives in the moment, you don’t spend a lot of time thinking about yesterday or planning ahead for tomorrow, and you love to be in the middle of whatever’s going on.”

The receptionist’s eyes grew round. “Wow! That’s so true! How did you know?”

Claudia just smiled again and seated herself on a tobacco-colored leather chair while the young woman called Lillian Grainger’s office and announced her. She glanced around at walls papered with framed photographs of the Graingers hobnobbing with famous clients at functions they had organized. A banquet with an American Medical Association banner. A political victory party with a candidate whom she immediately recognized: Senator Bryce Heidt. Oscar parties figured prominently.

And so did variations on a lily theme. A framed print of Monet’s Water Lilies; calla lilies woven into the carpet border; lily of the valley on the lipstick-stained mug someone had left on the coffee table.
A conceit on Lillian Grainger’s name?

As Claudia waited, a succession of fresh-faced young men and women traipsed through the foyer.
Stepford kids,
she thought, admiring the immaculately groomed in conservative suits or dresses. She checked her watch. Nearly ten-fifteen. She stared pointedly at the receptionist, who ignored her.

Five more minutes and I’m gone.

Four minutes and thirty seconds later, Claudia was gathering her purse and briefcase when a striking woman came along a corridor behind the reception desk and approached her.

Late thirties like herself. Older than anyone Claudia had seen in the office thus far. She was dressed in a narrow black pinstriped suit whose crisp tailoring suggested custom-made. Dark, silver-threaded hair; serious brown eyes ringed with dark shadows. Personal problems, or work-related? Something was definitely making this lady unhappy. “Ms. Rose.” The woman extended her hand with a smile that seemed strained. “I’m Yolande Palomino, Mrs. Grainger’s executive assistant. We spoke on the phone.”

“Nice to meet you in person.”

“Thanks for waiting,” Yolande Palomino replied quickly. “Would you follow me, please?” She turned back the way she’d come and walked slightly ahead of Claudia, making conversation all but impossible.

Low-walled cubicles flanked the quiet corridor.
Human fish bowls.
People spoke on the phone or worked at computer monitors positioned so that a visitor could easily view the display over the occupant’s shoulder. No secret downloading of porn or lunchtime games of Doom in
this
office. More Monet water lilies floated silently across monitors not in use.

Yolande Palomino led Claudia to an office made private by polished-cherry wood doors nearly tall enough to touch the high ceiling. Lillian Grainger’s personal space.

A bouquet of golden tiger lilies straight from the cover of
Town and Country
graced a table outside the door. Claudia bent to sniff. “Gorgeous!”

“Mr. Grainger has them delivered fresh first thing Monday mornings.” Yolande knocked on the door and waited to be invited inside. Lillian’s pleasant alto called out and the assistant stepped aside for Claudia to precede her.

A baby grand stood at one end of Lillian’s office and a formal seating area at the other. More breathtaking vistas of the city through floor-to-ceiling windows.

The CEO of Grainger and Grainger wore a boxy jacket and straight skirt in a fine wool that matched the burnished gold of the tiger lilies and de-emphasized her short stature. She came forward, hands outstretched in welcome. “Claudia, thank you so much for coming.” Her voice was warm molasses. “Hold my calls, Yolande. Ms. Rose and I don’t want to be disturbed.” Then, turning back to Claudia, “Come on over here and let’s sit down.”

She led the way to a chintz-covered love seat and patted the cushion beside her. A silver tea service had been set out on a tray beside a 19th century Satsuma vase on a claw-footed mahogany table. They might have been at tea in a Charleston antebellum drawing room.

“Would you like some coffee, Claudia? Tea? How about a cold drink?”

“Tea would be great, thanks.” Claudia sat down, marveling at the lushness of Lillian’s office. The celebrity catering business had been good to the Graingers.

“I have to apologize for keeping you waiting,” Lillian said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial murmur as she poured the tea. “Just before our appointment time, I got a very special call. It was...” She paused dramatically, looking at Claudia in a meaningful way. “the
President.
I couldn’t very well put
him
off, could I?”

“The President?”

“Well, I don’t like name droppers, but yes, I’m talking about
the
President. Of the United States. He wants me to co-chair his new commission on women’s issues. He’s going to ask Senator Bryce Heidt to be the co-chair. Have you met him? He’s already one of our clients, so it would be a terrific fit.”

Senator Heidt, according to the spreadsheet, one of Lindsey’s S&M clients, on a committee for women’s issues? She wondered what Lillian would say if she knew that her proposed co-chairman figured on a kinky sex list.

“That’s quite an honor,” she said, biting her tongue.

Lillian reached over with a warm smile and squeezed her hand. “You never know, Claudia, there could be a place on that committee for someone with your kind of talents, if the good Lord wills it. Now, please tell me, what’s all this about poor Ivan Novak? They said on the news that you were there when he was attacked. I couldn’t believe it! I mean, we were all in that apartment just a couple of days ago, weren’t we?”

Not for the first time, Claudia shuddered when she remembered what she had seen that night. “I arrived during the attack,” she said. “From what I understand, the prognosis isn’t very good.”

Lillian gave a troubled sigh and shook her head. “Well, we’re all praying for his recovery.”

Does she mean the entire company is in on the prayers? Is group prayer part of the Grainger Company morning ritual?

“I’m going to the hospital after I leave here,” Claudia said. “If he’s conscious, I’ll tell him you were asking about him.”

“Thank you, dear. So tell me, have they caught the monster who did this to him?”

“Not yet, but I’m sure they will soon.”

Lillian shook her head again, with a bemused what-is-the-world-coming-to expression.

Sensing an opening to ask the question that was on her mind, Claudia took a moment to cross one knee over the other and smooth her skirt. “I don’t suppose you might have any idea why someone would want to hurt Ivan?”

The other woman’s head jerked up in surprise. “Why, no! I thought it was a botched robbery.”

“No.” Claudia hesitated, not sure how much she should reveal. “Ivan didn’t believe that Lindsey killed herself. I’ve been asking myself whether that might have something to do with this attack on him.”

“But if he didn’t believe it was suicide, what did he think?” An expression of shock and horror crossed Lillian’s face and her hand flew to the gold cross that dangled at her throat. “Oh my good Lord, you aren’t saying what I think you’re saying?”

“That Lindsey was murdered?”

“Oh, my Lord in heaven,” Lillian said in a faint voice. The cross was getting a workout. “I can’t pretend I knew either of them that well. Mostly Ivan when we organized events for their clients. Of course I saw Lindsey from time to time, too, but we never developed any kind of a personal relationship.”

Claudia felt the keen sting of disappointment. Her attempt at playing detective hadn’t taken her very far. She’d learned nothing new from Lillian, relative to Lindsey’s death. Her hopes of having some new information for Detective Jovanic faded. She’d do better sticking to the handwriting business.

“You know,” Lillian said thoughtfully, “I always got this feeling from Lindsey that she had kind of a wild side to her. I invited her to church with Marty and me several times, but she always declined.”

Lindsey in church?
The mind reeled. Suppressing a chuckle, Claudia turned the conversation to the subject of the job applicant whose handwriting Lillian wanted her to analyze.

Jovanic was waiting for her at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in front of North Tower parking. His jacket and slacks looked slightly rumpled, as if he’d slept in them.
If he slept at all,
Claudia thought, waving as she drove past him and turned into the lot. The five o’clock shadow that darkened his jaw suggested he hadn’t.

She found a vacant spot to park on the first level and hurried outside. The hot weather had finally broken, leaving behind one of those perfect California fall days where the temperature invites sleeveless, and only the merest hint of brown haze clothes the distant foothills.

Jovanic was talking on his cell phone as Claudia exited the garage. When he saw her he snapped it shut, dropped it into his pocket, and fell into step beside her.

“You look great,” he said, making her glad she’d worn the grey silk suit. The mid-thigh split in the skirt was high enough to be provocative, but low enough to be professional.

Opening the lobby door, he stood aside for her to enter. “I just got some information you’ll be interested in. Remember those flowers that were delivered to Lindsey’s apartment the other night?”

“The lilies in the foyer?”

“Yeah. That’s how the suspect got inside. Flower delivery. Hid his face behind the flowers. The guard couldn’t give any kind of description.”

Claudia made a rude sound. “That guard wouldn’t have noticed his
grandmother
if she was green with yellow stripes. He didn’t even look at my ID, didn’t make me sign in. He was too busy scarfing down a Big Mac.
Anyone
could have gone up to Lindsey’s apartment.”

“He’ll be at the head of the unemployment line tomorrow.”

“He must feel like crap, knowing Ivan was attacked because of his laziness.”

Jovanic gave her a doubting look, as if he were so jaundiced by what he had seen of human nature that he couldn’t believe the guard might care about the consequences of his neglect. “The flowers got the suspect into the apartment. We don’t know how he controlled the victim and got him into the kitchen. Mr. Novak was assaulted with a blunt object, which the suspect took with him.”

“The guy ransacked some of the moving boxes,” Claudia said. “I wonder if Ivan tried stalling for time. He knew I was on my way.”

“We don’t know how it actually went down.”

“But it wasn’t an ordinary B&E, was it?”

Jovanic regarded her with mild amusement. “And just what do you consider “ordinary” breaking and entering?”

“Well, you know... they bust the lock, go inside and see what’s there. It’s more of an opportunistic thing. In this case, there was the flower delivery pretext, no forced entry, and the guy was really brutal. It’s pretty clear
this
burglar was there with a specific purpose in mind. Ivan doesn’t live there, he was just packing up Lindsey’s stuff. But the way he was attacked seemed personal.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Jovanic said, then caught her knowing look and capitulated. “Okay, let’s say you’re right and it
wasn’t
your run-of-the-mill B&E. What was he was looking for?”

“The tapes Ivan was going to give me?” Jovanic took the opportunity to make a slight dig. “Maybe the flash drive you snagged?”

“Well, if that was it,” she cracked back at him, “you ought to be glad I went in because now you’ve got it instead of him. I wonder if he got the tapes. I only saw him from behind, so I don’t know if he was carrying anything.”

Entering the North Tower, they headed for the Neuro Intensive Care department. Friday afternoon the hallways were bustling with volunteers pushing lunch carts. Jovanic walked with long strides, a man with places to go. Claudia kept up without difficulty.