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“You owe me one,” Alex informed him when Jason climbed into Alex’s Nissan Leaf at a quarter after seven.
“I’m not arguing that which you.” Jason fastened his seat belt.
Alex threw him a quick, reluctant smile. “Nice. Joe Versus the Volcano. You do occasionally take time off for a movie. It’s not which, though. Mr. Waturi says with. Repeatedly.”
G-Force held Jason silent as Alex shifted into hyperdrive and they shot out of the UCLA faculty parking lot onto Wyton Drive.
“Anyway,” Alex continued as they turned right on Woodruff, “BB phoned this afternoon to warn me you were FBI.”
Jason threw him a quick look. “Why would he want to warn you in particular?”
“Oh, he wanted to warn everyone. He started with me because Pop told him that you and I were cozy.”
“Hell.” Pop was a one-man Emergency Communication System.
“This is where you owe me. I talked BB into holding off telling anyone else. I convinced him that your only concern is whether someone murdered Georgie—which should be all of our concern. I swore to him that you were not after anyone’s film collection. That you were not concerned with piracy or copyright violation. That you would not jeopardize his position at the archive. I gave him my word, so if you’re lying to me—”
“I give you my word that I’m not lying to you. I’m not after anyone’s film collection. I’m not concerned with piracy or copyright violation.” He added, “I can’t say that would always be the case, but my investigation is strictly focused on what happened to Georgie Ono.”
Alex nodded, his attention on the road ahead. “I also persuaded BB not to come tonight.” He spared a look for Jason. “When he drinks, he talks. And he’s still angry. So it’s better for both of us if he doesn’t show up.”
“Thanks. I mean it. I appreciate it.”
Alex nodded grimly.
The drive to Eli Humphrey’s Beverly Hills mansion took slightly less than ten minutes. The sunlight was just starting to fade as the house came into view.
Humphrey lived in a French-style château surrounded by velvety lawns and manicured shrubs. Jason was familiar with the neighborhood. In fact, it was less than a mile away from Stately West Manor, where he’d lived his entire life until heading off to college—literally less than three miles from home.
That move, though initially viewed by his overinvolved family as surely only symbolic, had been the real deal. He had never again lived under his parents’ roof. Not because he didn’t love them (he dearly loved them), but because he was determined to forge his own path in the world.
Which he’d done—taking into account all the advantages that naturally came with being born into the wealth and privilege of a political dynasty. None of that interested him, but he didn’t pretend it hadn’t made a difference.
“Nice house,” he commented as Alex zipped up the curving driveway and skillfully maneuvered his electric compact between a Miata and a Mercedes.
“Meh. It’s okay,” Alex said. “If you don’t mind travertine floors, hand-painted frescos, and a small home theater.”
Jason sighed sadly. “Sometimes you just have to make do.”
Alex grinned, then said, “I’ll introduce you, but anything beyond that is above my pay grade.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not expecting to have to shoot our way out of here tonight. I just want to meet the infamous Mr. Humphrey for myself.”
Alex rolled his eyes. “You really are barking up the wrong tree there. Eli is the quintessential fusty old collector.”
That could be true. But once upon a time Eli Humphrey had also been an indie film distributor, which meant he had connections and resources highly useful to someone in the business of pirating films.
“We’ve all got our little secrets.”
“You sure do.”
“Is there a Mrs. Humphrey?”
“No. But I don’t think Eli is gay.” A moment later, he said, “He’s got a room devoted to his collection of vintage Schaubach Kunst Porcelain. Not my thing, but those figurines go for a pretty penny.”
Jason arched his brows. “And you don’t think he’s gay?”
Alex made a face but declined to answer.
Jason said thoughtfully, “I’m no expert on porcelain, but that Wallendorf Schaubach Kunst stuff rings a bell. Naked kids frolicking with baby goats. Is that right?”
“Those would be cherubs, and they’re not what interests Eli, if that’s what you’re implying. He’s strictly into scantily clad blonde ladies. Scantily clad grown-up blonde ladies.”
Jason smiled. “Point taken.”
“I hope so.” Alex opened his door, and they got out.
The balmy summer evening smelled of smog and citrus and, very distantly, the wild fires up north. Yellow roses and small coral myrtle flowers were in bloom as they walked past the stone urns topped with greenery and into a small portico. A maid answered the door and led them across yards of pecan hardwood floors and travertine tile through French doors back outside to a wide courtyard covered in rustic brown and yellow pavers and surrounded by bronze wrought-iron railings. Weathered bronze standing lanterns threw aureoles of golden light across the bricks. In the background, a tall waterfall splashed soothingly into a saltwater swimming pool as another uniformed maid circulated a tray of drinks among the four or five men chatting with each other.
Right off the bat, Jason recognized Steve Dugan. Dugan was Peter West’s financial advisor and regular tennis partner. Seeing him here was an unpleasant surprise, but given Dugan had to be reintroduced to Jason every year at the Wests’ annual Christmas party, Jason was reasonably confident this old family friend wouldn’t recognize him out of context.
The maid paused before them with the cocktail tray. Every cocktail was of a different color and in a different type of glass.
Jason glanced at Alex, who said, “You pick what looks good. You’ll probably never get the same drink twice.”
That was different, but kind of fun. Jason picked a rocks glass filled with pale gold fizziness and a slice of lime. He took a sip of what turned out to be lime, ginger beer, and rum. A Dark and Stormy. Kind of apropos?
Alex selected something tall and blue. “Let me in introduce you to everyone.” He nodded in the direction of a reedy, kindly-looking man with thinning white hair and wire-rimmed spectacles. “That’s Eli.”
As though feeling their gaze, Eli Humphrey turned their way. His vague features rearranged themselves into beaming welcome. “Alex! You made it.”
As Alex and Jason walked over to say hello, Humphrey made some aside to the man with him, and the man laughed and nodded.
There was something vaguely familiar about Humphrey’s companion. He was medium height, stocky, deeply tanned, and had close-cropped platinum hair. Jason couldn’t quite place him. Maybe it was the dark sunglasses. Or was his hair different?
“I wouldn’t miss it.” Alex smiled at the man with Humphrey. “Hello again.”
“And who might you be?” Humphrey turned his mild blue gaze on Jason.
Humphrey’s companion was sizing Jason up with a faint, knowing smile.
Jason smiled back. He knew that smile. He knew this guy. But who the hell was he?
