Sweetie's Diamonds (36 page)

By four o'clock he was ready to track down Diane and finish putting the puzzle pieces together.
 
He considered looking up the actor known as Pete Rod, AKA Eric Gilliam, since the guy was Angel Babe's brother.
 
However he thought that perhaps the best course of action would be to visit the Erotica Selecta administrative offices.
 
Perhaps he could get an audience with Aaron Valentine himself.
 

The company's office was located in a four-story building on Highland Avenue, between Sunset and Hollywood Boulevards.
 
It was strictly a paperwork facility, as any kind of production activity would be done on the sly at various locations around the city.
 
A young and attractive receptionist that might have been cast as a live-action representation of Betty Boop sat at a circular desk and greeted him when he entered.
 
Belgrad noted that access to the rest of the suite was behind her, through a glass door.
 

“May I help you?” she asked in a voice that matched her looks.
 
Belgrad was amused.

“Perhaps.
 
Is Mister Valentine in?”
 
He flashed a New York private investigator license at her.
 
He figured she wouldn't know that it was useless in the state of California.
 
For that matter, it was just as unusable in New York since he wasn't really a PI.
 
It was just something he used for intimidation.

“Uhm, I don't think so,” she replied, her eyes widening when she saw the ID.
 
To her it was probably the same thing as a police badge.
 
“I'll have to ring his office and see.
 
He rarely comes here, though.”
 
She picked up the phone and inquired about the boss' presence.
 
She said, “Uh huh,” a few times and hung up.
 

“No, Mister Valentine isn't in,” she said with a pout.
 
The she brightened and said, “Mister Alfredo is here, would you like to see him?”

“Mister Alfredo?” Belgrad asked.

“Rudy Alfredo.
 
He's the vice president.”

Before he could answer, the phone on her desk rang.
 
“Excuse me,” she said as she answered it.
 
The girl said a few more “Uh huhs” and then hung up.
 
“I'm sorry, I have to do something that will only take a second.
 
I'll be
right
back.”
 
She stood up, revealing an extremely short black skirt, long white legs, and heels.
 
The girl went through the glass door and disappeared, leaving Belgrad standing in front of the desk.
 

As was his proclivity, he scanned the various items on the desk for anything interesting.
 
A stack of cards caught his eye and he casually picked one up.
 
It was an invitation to a party at Valentine's home in Woodland Hills.
 
That night.
 

Belgrad pocketed the invitation and waited for the receptionist to return.
 
She reappeared not ten seconds later, carrying a stack of FedEx packages.
 

“Sorry,” she said.
 
“I had to get these ready ‘cause the FedEx guy is downstairs.”
 

“Quite all right,” Belgrad replied.
 

“So did you want to see Mister Alfredo?”

“No, that's okay.
 
I'll come back another time.
 
By the way, what's your name?”
 

“Betty!” she beamed.
 
Belgrad nodded, smiled, and left the office.
 
“Have a nice day!” the girl called sweetly.

D
arren Marshall drove his rented Mazda 626 into Garden City on Highway 158 and laughed at the sparseness of the town.
 
It appeared to be about a mile long and the highway itself became the main street passing through.
 
The town reminded him of the locale in
The Last Picture Show
only it was smaller.
 
Garden City was built on a flat, rugged plain with very little that could be called a garden.
 
Mesquite grew in abundance and the dust blew between the ramshackle buildings as if it were an old Western ghost town.
 
There was no one in sight.

Marshall pulled into a gas station and stopped.
 
A skinny old man wearing overalls came lumbering out and smiled, revealing an incomplete set of teeth.
 

“What can I do fer ya, mister?” the man asked.

“This is Garden City?” Marshall asked after he rolled down the window.

“Yes sir, this is Garden City.”

“Where is everybody?”

“Whatcha mean?”
 
The man was puzzled by the question.

“There's no one around,” Marshall said.
 

“Sure they are.
 
Everyone's at work.
 
It ain't rush hour yet.”

Marshall couldn't imagine what rush hour would be like in a town of this size.
 
“I see,” he said.
 
“Listen, is there a place in town to look up public records?
 
A library or something?”

The old man nodded.
 
“Yes sir, the public library is near the high school.”
 
He pointed down the road.
 
“Take a left at that intersection there, by the drug store.
 
A few blocks down you'll see the high school on the right.
 
The library is ‘cross the street on the left.”

“Thanks,” Marshall said.
 
He rolled up the window and drove away.
 

Apparently Garden City also consisted of little patches of civilization that spread out from the main highway but the town still seemed like Nowheresville to Marshall.
 
He found the library, which was a tiny square building the size of a garage, and parked in one of the two available spaces in front.

The interior was a one-room affair with fewer books than Marshall owned personally.
 
A little old lady who looked as if she might be the gas station attendant's sister was the librarian.
 

“May I help you?” she asked.

“Uhm, yes, do you have any old phone books for the area?”

The lady nodded and waddled to a file cabinet.
 
She opened a drawer and asked, “How far back you wanna go?”

“Er, the sixties.
 
Maybe the fifties.”

She shook her head.
 
“Sorry, the oldest one we have is from nineteen ninety-seven.”

Marshall wanted to laugh again.
 
“Really?”

“What is it you might be looking for?” she asked.

“Well, I'm trying to track down a family that was here back then.
 
Does the name Dana Barnett mean anything to you?” he asked.

There was a flicker of recognition in the old gal's eyes.
 
“Was she one Edna Barnett's nieces?”

Marshall felt a sudden thrill of discovery.
 
“Maybe.
 
Was there more than one?”

“Yep, there were two girls.
 
Twins.”

Twins!
 

“Is anyone from that family still around?” he asked, hoping against hope.

The old lady went, “Tch tch tch, no, not really.
 
Roy Barnett died nearly thirty years ago.
 
Edna, well, she's still alive but I don't think she could help you much.
 
She's in a home on the other side of town.
 
Poor thing has dementia.”

“Their names were Roy and Edna Barnett?”

“That's right.”

“What do you know about the twins?”

“Nothing, really.
 
I just know there were a couple of girls living with them for a while,” she said.
 
“You know, their property is still there and I think Manuel still takes care of it.
 
Edna left the house to him and his family.”

“Manuel?”

“Manuel Delgado.
 
He was one of the ranchers.
 
Roy Barnett was a rancher.
 
Raised cattle.
 
The ranch is north of here about seven or eight miles.
 
If Manuel's there he might be able to help you.”

Marshall gave her a slight bow.
 
“Thank you, madam, you've been a tremendous help.”

This made the lady smile.
 
She, too, was missing several teeth.

“Y
ou sure no one is going to recognize me?” Diane asked as she pulled down the Porsche's windshield visor so she could look at herself in the vanity mirror.
 
She had applied heavy makeup with an abundance of silver and blue eyeshadow and dark mascara, and she wore a metallic silver wig with bangs that had straight strands reaching just below her jaw line on the sides and back.
 
The wig matched a costume she picked out of Gilliam's closet—he kept a variety of clothes for the fresh actresses that starred in his amateur videos.
 
Diane was dressed in a silver and white bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings combo with a sheer wrap that came down to her knees.
 
At Valentine's parties, the dress code went by the adage that less was more.
 
Most of the women wore lingerie or other revealing ensembles and the men dressed in pajamas, boxers and T-shirts or Hawaiian shirts open to expose their chests.
 

“You look great, and no, I don't think anyone will recognize you,” Gilliam said.
 
He was wearing gym shorts and an open Hawaiian shirt decorated with topless hula dancers.
 

The party officially began at nine o'clock and they aimed to arrive at ten.
 
If things went the way Valentine's other parties usually did, the soiree would last until dawn.
 
Gilliam took the Woodland Hills exit off the Ventura freeway and began the trek into the hills.
 
Already there was a line of cars and limousines snaking up the narrow road toward Paradise.
 
It took them longer than Gilliam expected but eventually they were cleared by security at the gate and were ushered toward the great lawn that served as a parking lot.

The place was already bustling with hundreds of beautiful people.
 
Apparently everyone who was anyone in the adult film industry was there, as well as quite a few legitimate celebrities from Hollywood.
 
Diane recognized several top-drawer actors and actresses, musicians, and athletes.
 
Most of the guests were young and virile but there was also a contingent of older, established luminaries from days gone by.
 
As expected, the women were dressed in audacious, revealing outfits.
 
The hostesses that walked through the party carrying trays of
hors d'oeuvres
wore nothing but body paint.

A DJ supplied loud dance music that already had an appreciative audience participating on a dance floor underneath a separate tent.
 
The swimming pool was also a popular attraction.
 
Men and women were cavorting in the water and wearing, in most cases, nothing at all.
 

“Wow,” was all that Diane was able to say.

“Amazing, isn't it?” Gilliam responded.
 
“This is nothing.
 
I imagine the size of the crowd will double by midnight.”

“I don't think there are this many gorgeous people in the entire state of Illinois,” she said.
 

“So what's our plan?”

“I don't know,” she said.
 
“We have to figure out a way to get inside the house.”