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He stepped from the top rung of the ladder and on to the roof. It was a disaster. Moisture had rotted the wood beneath the slate, and he’d have to re-sheath as well as shingle. The house was one hundred percent Victorian in design, complete with peaks and turrets, and framing that went every which way but straight. Sitting at an angle that aligned his body with the steep pitch, Eric eyed more of the roof. Green moss and chalky lichen gathered in the seams, and chimneys listed like a Jenga tower. He smiled. Working with his hands would be a gratifying reminder of the job that had given him his first taste of self-esteem.
He climbed down to inspect the rest of the house, but he already knew it was in no better shape. Pipes leaked, the plaster was a web of cracks, floorboards creaked, and the foundation was crumbling.You’ll be in Cromline for a while, pal. It wasn’t an unhappy circumstance. He’d be near Jenna even if she wasn’t speaking to him.
****
Bree swept through the doorway of her Sutton Place apartment while a lobby attendant, carrying her travel bags, followed. Bree had sets of posh luggage in every designer flavor. Once in her apartment, she folded onto one of four sofas in the airy living room. The flight from L.A. and the limousine drive from LaGuardia through midtown traffic had been a drain. She called to her maid and demanded a drink. “Martini. And make sure you chill the glass.”
She picked up her phone to make some calls. The first would be to her New York masseuse. His hands were like steel, and he knew the exact spots to touch to ease her anger-born tension. Other than treating herself to life’s finery, there was nothing Bree enjoyed more than giving her husband’s hard earned money to another man.
She often traveled East and was a fixture at both Spring and Fall Fashion Week, The Met Gala, and the opening of every new Broadway show that proved difficult to get tickets for. A position in the Hollywood hierarchy was always boosted by an appearance at exclusive spots in Manhattan, though for the love of God, Bree could never understand why. She hated New York.
A prickle of irritation worked its way into anger. Without Eric at her side, any events she attended wouldn’t include a red-carpet visit. She paced the apartment looking for signs of him, but their building’s doorman already told her he hadn’t been there lately. Their pilot hadn’t deposited him in any of the nearby private airports, and his manager hadn’t heard from him.
Still, Bree suspected Eric was nearby. Her investigator had a possible lead on Angel living in a town north of the city. If Bree knew anything at all about her husband, it was that he still carried the torch for the former teen queen. He was also intent upon giving her the money from Jewel.
She scrolled the contacts in her phone. In it she had the numbers of photographers she occasionally tipped off so she and Eric would be spotted coming and going from L.A. hotspots. Most found them without her intel anyway, but Bree left nothing to chance. It was PR gold to be seen.
“Which one?” She stopped tapping her finger against the screen and smiled. The choice was obvious—Larry Belka, a sneaky little shit who’d jumpstarted his career by harassing Angel. Bree hit his contact number, and after two rings the loud hack of choking sounded in her ear. “Belka photography.”
The scratch of a match ignited, and she could hear him dragging on a cigarette. “This is Bree Laine.”
“Well I’ll be damned. It’s been a while. To what do I owe the honor?”
“I’d like to hire you.”
A draw of smoke and wheezing laugh stalled the conversation. Larry eventually cleared his throat and spoke. “I have a pretty tight schedule, lots of photo shoots on my calendar. But I guess I could squeeze in some freelance work.”
“Don’t play hard to get, Larry. Your photo shoots are taken with a telephoto lens from behind a bush. I don’t want to use you for your critical eye. I want to hire you because you’ll go anywhere and do anything to get a shot.”
A tide of liquid audibly bubbled in his chest, and Larry laughed again. “And I always do.”
Bree shuddered as the oily whistle of his lungs traveled through the line. “You also have a knack for getting pictures of people at their worst.”
“Not you and your hubby. I sold nothing but beefcake shots of Laine to the tabloids. I made him look great, real handsome.”
“He is handsome, you ass.” Bree shifted her eyes to her dresser and to an early headshot of Eric she’d framed. Of the thousands of movie star images she’d seen through the years, none had ever glowed so brilliant as his.
“I read that you two split up. You plan on setting him up? You want me to catch him in the act with some broad?”
Gritting her teeth, Bree seethed. “No, Larry, I absolutely do not want pictures of Eric and another woman. What I want Larry, are pictures of his ex. You remember her, don’t you? Angel, your one-time favorite subject.”
Even with the obstacle of cell phone static and the gummy burbling of Belka’s vocal cords, the shift in his tone was immediate and direct. “She’s been in the wind for a long time. Any idea how I’m supposed to find her?”
“I’m working on it. I’m also working on finding her baby daddy.”
“Chambers?” Larry almost sang the name. “You planning a little family reunion?”
“Just make sure you can be ready to travel at a moment’s notice. I’ll be in touch.” Bree ended the call.
Chapter Fourteen
A waiter in starchy apron and bow tie approached Jenna’s table to tell her that her lunch tab had been taken care of. From the bar, Ash Baldwin raised his glass, smiled, and nodded.
“Very handsome,” Randi whispered, tipping her head close to Jenna’s.
There was no disputing the eye-catching appeal of the fine features and square boned symmetry of his face. Still, Jenna shrugged. “He is, but I wish he hadn’t picked up our check. I don’t want him thinking there’s more going on between us than there is.”
Though smiling, Randi’s eyes were the same narrow slits all mothers use to wordlessly scold their children. Jenna returned the silent glower and stood. “You know why. Things are just too complicated right now to start something new.”
