Leann Sweeney - Shoot from the Lip

“Don’t you understand? I can help your client find the answers she needs about her past and her family. Venture has the resources to do what you probably cannot.”

Now, that really pissed me off, but I managed a smile. “You think I can’t do the job?”

“Did I-”

“If I’m so worthless as a detective,” I said, “how come you followed me today?”

The tips of his ears burned red. “That’s the reason I came. I didn’t realize Houston sprawled twenty miles in every direction. You know these streets and are obviously following a lead that has to do with this Rhoda person. If you share the information with me, maybe we could get answers for Emma sooner rather than later.”

“Let me guess. What you learned today is not quite fitting together for you.” I had to smile. I was betting he’d also gone to see Pedro. But from what little I knew of the cantina owner, he probably hadn’t told Kravitz or his buddies anything. Yup. Kravitz had no idea why Rhoda was important and didn’t want to talk to her until he did. I held her piece of the puzzle.

He said, “I’m willing to share what Mr. Bosworth told me if you agree to work with us on solving this mystery.”

“I already got that offer from Reality Check and passed. I’m getting to the bottom of this and I don’t need your help.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Your client is legally committed to our production. What we learn needs to be complete. We want to tell the story from her perspective, but we can’t do that without the facts. You can have a hand in making sure we get it right.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way. “Before I cooperate with you, you need to tell me what Bosworth said.”

Kravitz sipped his wine and then stared straight into my eyes. “Then you’ll tell me why Rhoda is important?”

“Yes. But I’m not promising anything else.”

Kravitz considered my terms for a second. “I can accept that-but only if you agree not to talk to the press. If they get in the middle of this, I’ll have one giant headache.”

“They’re already in the middle,” I said.

“Yes, but they aren’t camped outside your house like they are outside Emma’s hotel. You’re almost anonymous, unlike the rest of us.”

“Ah. Now I get it. A sensational story makes for a crowded work environment. I have no plans to tell the press anything.” I drank my wine, noting how much better it tasted all of a sudden.

“The name you want is Rhoda Murray,” he said. “Bosworth says she owns Murray Motorcycles now. We don’t want to question the woman until we know why she’s important. Seems all Bosworth heard from you is that you’re investigating a cold case. Which cold case are we talking about, Abby? The baby or the mother?”

“See, there you go, asking for more information before a minute has passed,” I said.

“Why are you being so stubborn? We both want the same thing. The truth.”

“Oh, I am stubborn, but my daddy used to say that the way to deal with a stubborn person is like you’d deal with a mule. You don’t try to whip him into the corral. You leave the gate open a crack and he’ll go in all by himself.”

Kravitz smiled. “That’s why I’m here, I guess. To crack the gate and hope you’ll come in.”

“Problem is, I can’t have you or your investigators thwarting my every move like what happened today. I want to talk to this woman alone.”

“You won’t allow one of my detectives to go with you?” he asked.

“You can’t ask me to tag-team with someone I don’t know. I’m pretty good at getting information out of people, but I’d feel awfully uncomfortable with another investigator there. Rhoda Murray might not like it much, either.”

“Can you record the interview, then?” he asked.

“Not without the woman’s permission,” I said.

Kravitz took a deep breath, clasped his hands between his knees and leaned forward in the chair. “But you’ll share what you learn?”

I didn’t answer right away. But the truth was, we were on the same page. Finally I said, “We can’t be tripping over each other on this, Paul. You let me do this my way and you’ll get what you need.”

“I like to be in control, you know,” he said with a smile. “This is killing me.”

“I prefer hanging on to the key to the gate myself.”

“Looks like I’m not taking it away from you, either.”

“You got that right.” I smiled.

Kravitz stood and offered his hand. We shook and he said, “I’m glad we came to an agreement, and I hope you’ll soon realize that I do what’s right. We’ll continue to work with the police, follow any leads we turn up on our own, but Rhoda Murray is all yours.”

“Good.” I wanted to believe this guy, but he probably knew how to say all the right things.

“I have an early flight tomorrow-yes, you’ll be happy to know I am leaving town,” Paul said. “Could you stay in touch with me should anything break on this story?” He pulled a small leather holder from his jacket pocket, scribbled a number on the card he removed and handed it to me. “That’s my personal cell number on the back. Very few people have it.”

Wow. What a privilege, I thought as I took the card. “Rhoda Murray may be a dead end,” I said.

Kravitz said, “I’m aware of that. Time for me to get out of here now.”

But before he could take a step toward the front door, voices came from the kitchen. Kate. I assumed the male voice belonged to Clinton Roark-unless the girl had gone as crazy as a goat at mating time and hooked up with someone else.

Kate came into the living room, Roark behind her. “Abby, whose car is-Oh, hi.” She smiled at Kravitz. “I’m Kate Rose, and this is my friend Clint Roark.”

As the men shook hands, Roark spoke before Paul could. “Aren’t you Paul Kravitz from that program… what’s it called?”

“Crime Time.” Kravitz’s TV smile appeared.

Roark pointed at Kravitz. “Yes, that’s it. Nice to meet you. Love your show.”

“Thank you.” He turned to Kate. “It’s Dr. Rose, correct?”

Kate nodded, and I could tell her radar had gone up.

“Paul was just leaving.” I tried to clue Kate with my tone, reassure her about Kravitz, since I’d complained about all the Venture people to her more than once.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m taking a plane at six in the morning. I bid you all a pleasant evening.”

I led him out, then picked up the empty wineglasses on my way back to the kitchen, where I found Kate and Clint. She was showing him her refrigerated omega-3-6- 9 oil and the container holding the flax flakes she sprinkles on her cereal. How romantic.

“What was he doing here?” Kate asked. Webster sat at her feet holding his leash, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Making deals. That’s the Hollywood way. Anyway, I’m glad to report he gave me a piece of information I needed. Now, you guys go on exploring the amazing world of fatty acids while I take the dog out.”

Webster and I took a walk up the block and back. The night would be cold-we’d gone from eighty degrees to fifty in the last four days-and Webster seemed wound up by the sudden change. Me? I would have enjoyed the humidity-free night better if I weren’t bothered by Clinton Roark.

Kate had that glow women get when they’ve found a new guy, and for some reason I didn’t like it. I was used to seeing her with Terry, and even Roark’s dimpled, warm smile couldn’t compensate for the loss I felt-a loss I seemed to be experiencing more than Kate. I would miss Terry’s presence-he’d been a good friend-but she seemed to have erased him like a mistake she’d written on a paper. That seemed wrong.

I made sure to come in through the front door to avoid the two of them, and released Webster, who bounded toward the kitchen and the smell of what I thought was broccoli cooking. I went upstairs, did the whole triple-step face-cleansing thing and climbed into bed with the cat. Diva was surprised by this-it was early-but she settled in next to me. Then I called Jeff.