Sue Grafton - V is for Vengeance

At 9:00 he pushed the newspapers aside and finished his coffee. Before walking out of the kitchen, he buzzed Tomasso on the intercom. “Would you bring the car around?”

“I’m waiting at the side door. Hubert’s riding shotgun.”

“Just what I like to hear.”

As Dante passed through the sheltered portico off the library, Tomasso opened the back door of the stretch limousine and watched him slide into the backseat. Drive time to the office would be fifteen minutes even as Tomasso varied the routes. Hubert, Dante’s hulking bodyguard, shifted in the front seat and nodded a greeting. Hubert was Czechoslovakian and spoke very little English. He was good at what he did and his minimal comprehension meant he couldn’t eavesdrop when Dante and Tomasso discussed business. At six foot five, weighing the better part of three hundred pounds, Hubert had a presence that was reassuring to his employers, like owning a Rottweiler with a placid disposition and vicious territorial instincts.

Dante noticed Tomasso eyeing him in the rearview mirror. “What’s up?” he asked.

Tomasso said, “I thought you’d be windburned.”

“Hardly left the hotel. Next time I talk vacations, remind me how much I hate being away.”

“Resort was okay?”

“For two grand a night, it was so-so.”

“How about the guys we hired to look after you?”

“Not as competent as you two, but I’m alive and well.”

Tomasso was quiet for the duration of the drive. He pulled into the underground parking garage that ran beneath the Passages Shopping Plaza on the Macy’s end of the mall. Hubert emerged from the car and did a quick scan, searching the nearly empty space for potential danger before he opened the back door and Dante got out.

Tomasso lowered the window. “Hey, Boss? You might want to check with Mr. Abramson before you do anything else.”

Dante paused, leaning down to peer into the driver’s-side window. “And why is that?”

“All I know is he said you should talk to him soon as you got in. He’s not one to run off at the mouth, but his body language was on the urgent side of tense.”

“You know what it’s about?”

“Better you should hear it from him… killing the messenger being what it is. What time you want to be picked up?”

“I’ll call. You can take Pop back to the house whenever he’s ready to go. Might be a long day for me depending on what went down while I was gone.”

Tomasso seemed on the verge of saying more, but Dante didn’t like to linger in the open, so with Hubert close on his heels he crossed to the elevators and pushed the up button. The two of them took the elevator to the top floor. Once Dante left the elevator, Hubert returned to the car. Passing through the reception area, Dante noticed a slim brunette ensconced in one of the big leather chairs, leafing through a magazine.

He paused at the receptionist’s desk. “Morning, Abbie. Is Saul in?”

“No, sir. Mr. Abramson had a dental appointment. He should be back by ten.”

“Tell him I want him in my office,” he said, and then flicked a look at the visitor. “Who’s she?”

“Mrs. Vogelsang. Mr. Berman referred her.”

“Give me five minutes and then you can show her in.”

On his way down the corridor, he tapped on his father’s office door and stuck his head in. Lorenzo, fully dressed in a three-piece suit and black wingtips, was stretched out on the couch asleep, a biography of Winston Churchill open facedown across his chest. Dante eased the door shut and left him to his rest.

He sat down at his desk and put in a call to Maurice Berman, who owned a small chain of high-end jewelry stores. When Berman picked up, Dante said, “Hey, Maurice. Dante. I got a gorgeous woman waiting in reception. What’s the story?”

“Channing Vogelsang’s wife. You know the name?”

“I don’t.”

“Hotshot Hollywood attorney. They have a house in Malibu and a second home in Montebello. They split time between the two. I bought a couple of pieces from her-nice, high quality, and the price was fair. Then she shows me a ring I have problems with. I’m thinking who am I to bring bad tidings to a beautiful woman? Money she’s asking, it was out of my league anyway. I told her you were the only guy in town with the resources to take it off her hands.”

“What’s she need the money for?”

“Beats me. She’s a cool customer. Not a lot of small talk and no explanation.”

“Drugs?”

“I doubt it. Could be gambling, but she doesn’t look like the type. I handed her a check for seven on jewelry appraised at forty-two.”

“Nobody ever said you weren’t generous,” Dante said. “Tell me about the pieces you bought.”

“A pair of cabochon sapphire-and-diamond earrings, probably worth seventeen grand, and an Art Deco sapphire-and-diamond line bracelet worth twenty-five easy. The ring, I don’t like.”

“I’m willing to take a look.”

“I thought you’d see it that way. Let me know what comes of it.”

Dante hung up and buzzed Abbie, asking her to bring in Mrs. Vogelsang. He crossed to the door and watched the two approach. When Abbie showed her into the office, he held out his hand. “Mrs. Vogelsang. A pleasure. I’m Lorenzo Dante. My father’s Lorenzo Senior, so I’m Dante to most. Come in and have a seat.”

“It’s Nora,” she replied, and the two shook hands. Her fingers were cool and slim, her grip strong. Her smile was tentative, and he realized she was ill at ease.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Yes, please. I’d like milk if you have it. No sugar.”

“Make that two,” he said to Abbie.

While she went off to the break room, Dante gestured toward a leather-upholstered chair that was part of a seating arrangement in front of the three big circular windows that looked out onto State. She sat down, placing a large, expensive-looking black leather handbag on the floor next to her. She was trim, petite, in a well-cut black suit that suggested more than it revealed. A delicate scent trailed into the room after her. He settled on the couch, trying not to stare. She was so beautiful he could hardly take his eyes off her. There was an elegance about her, a reserve, he found unsettling. He manufactured small talk while they waited for the coffee, happy to have an excuse to study her at close range. Solemn, dark eyes; sweet mouth. Her gaze traveled across the room, which was awash in tones of gray. The upholstered pieces were covered in Ultrasuede in a deep charcoal shade; the rug a softer gray; the walls paneled in whitewashed walnut.

She turned a curious gaze on him. “May I ask what you do? I assumed you dealt in estate jewelry. This looks like an attorney’s office.”

“I’m a private banker of sorts. I lend money to clients who don’t qualify for loans from traditional institutions. Most prefer to keep their finances out of the public eye. I also own a number of commercial businesses. What about you?”

“My husband’s a lawyer in the industry.”

“The ‘industry’ meaning the film business. So I’ve heard. Channing Vogelsang. You live in Los Angeles?”

“Malibu. We have a second home in Montebello.”

“Nice. You belong to the Montebello Country Club?”

“Nine Palms,” she said, correcting him.

“Maybe you know the Hellers, Robert and his wife?”

“Gretchen. Yes. They’re good friends. As a matter of fact, we’re meeting for dinner at the club next Saturday. How do you know them?”

“Robert and I had business dealings in times past,” Dante said.

“It’s possible I’ll see you there.”

“At the club?”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised. You’re not the only one with friends,” he said. “At any rate, I talked to Maurice Berman this morning. He says you have a ring you’d like to sell. May I see it?”