Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
A woman answered when Alden called Blake’s house, but to his disappointment, it wasn’t Lexie Wintergarten.
He’d know the actress’s voice anywhere. Instead, he was pretty sure it was some sort of housekeeper, and when Alden explained who he was and that he and Blake were tight, she was unimpressed, said Blake was playing golf, and hung up without offering to take a message.
“He’s got to be at Vesper Lakes,” Alden said as Roz drove them south from downtown in her silver hatchback.
“Of course he’s at Vesper Lakes.”
Alden still stung from his inability to charm the housekeeper. “There’s that little municipal course up north, but that doesn’t seem like his speed.”
“He’s probably practicing for the celebrity golf tournament coming up this weekend,” Roz said. “Maybe it’s better that we talk to him with a bunch of people around.”
“You’re not worried about Blake, are you?”
Roz shot him a sidelong glance as she navigated to Highway A1A. “For one thing, he knows about airplanes. But I can’t figure out why he’d want to kill Sebastian Esquivel, unless Sebastian’s problems with the movie studio were somehow standing in the way of Blake’s big comeback.”
“At the very least, he might be able to tell us when and why Wayne was at the airport. Chuck said Wayne was hanging around with Blake there one day.”
“He was? You didn’t tell me that,” Roz said accusingly.
“I had so much other stuff to tell you!”
“True,” she acknowledged as she turned south on A1A toward the inlet bridge. “But doesn’t that make Blake even more suspicious? Maybe he and Wayne were working together to screw over Sebastian.”
“You have an evil mind.” But Alden loved it when she got going.
“I’m just good at imagining other people’s evil minds.
” As if to prove her point, she went on, “Even if Blake didn’t have it out for Sebastian, he might’ve wanted to kill Wayne.
Blake didn’t tell us he’d given Wayne money, but I’d bet anything he did, and for what?
He’s probably angry at Wayne for telling him he was going to cast him in some nonexistent movie. ”
“We can’t go in there all guns blazing at Blake. Maybe there was a movie project. We don’t know for sure. Have you talked to Duke lately? He might know if Wayne had a laptop, and that should tell us what he was really working on.”
“After he told me about the book—”
“What book?”
“The one you found in the alley. It had blood on it.”
“Ha!” Alden said. “And you accuse me of withholding information.”
Roz chortled. “It’s a lot of moving parts, OK?
Anyway, Duke confirmed Wayne was renting a furnished beach condo, short-term.
He didn’t say there was a computer, but I can’t imagine there wasn’t.
Now that we know more, I’ll ask him if he found any evidence of movie deals or money changing hands.
Oh, and the only family he has is an estranged father who lives in California and has been on a European trip for the past two weeks. Probably not the killer.”
“Did Wayne have a will? Maybe Sheryl’s the beneficiary and she’ll get all her money back.”
“Unlikely.” Roz sounded amused. “But I’ll ask.”
“Think Duke will tell you?”
“Well, he does like me,” Roz said coyly.
“Not as much as he used to.”
She guffawed. “You’re funny. But probably right.”
“He knows the score.” Alden had made no secret that Roz was his, and Duke damn well knew it. “But I suppose he likes you enough if he told you about the bomb before they released the news.”
“I told you, we’re old friends.”
“Uh-huh.”
Roz giggled. And that made him laugh. She made his heart lighter. And that was a precious thing in this crazy world.
As she drove, he sent an email to his source at Netflix, who got back to him five minutes later. “No Enolia Honeywood properties in the works,” his response said. “But they’d make great movies. Interesting thought. Thanks, Knox.”
He told Roz about it as she turned in to the scenic driveway of Vesper Lakes.
The recently expanded golf club sat on the southeast side of Comet Cove, well beyond the inlet but not quite as far south as the airport.
It had no view of the ocean, but it shouldered into the wildlife preserve that the Esquivel family had donated to the town, the same one the city was working to make accessible to the public.
Vesper Lakes Golf Club was anything but wild.
It was pretty, Alden had to admit, with its rolling emerald fairways, water hazards (the aspirational “lakes”), clumps of oaks and palm trees, and sprawling, stone-accented clubhouse.
A driving range and other practice areas had been added to the club’s original footprint.
The grounds were huge, with lots of space for audiences and media when they came, and the founders of Vesper Lakes very much wanted them to come.
They’d already had one regional tournament that drew several Florida pros, and the celebrity event this weekend should garner a lot of publicity as they cultivated their connections to the pro circuit.
The last time Alden had seen it up close, he and Roz were clawing their way back to civilization after an unwanted adventure, and the place was in shambles. Now construction was over, and it was a pristine testament to the power of money and excessive irrigation.
As Roz pulled into the parking lot, he texted the golf pro who sometimes fed him gems. When Roz turned off the car, Alden had his answer. “Blake’s at the outdoor bar.”
“How do you do that?” she asked, but she was smiling.
“I buy a lot of guys a lot of beers.”
They got out and headed toward the grand entrance.
The porte cochere could offer shade and rain protection to any number of fancy cars or golf carts idling on the pavered driveway, though the valets were wrangling only a couple of European imports.
An actor Alden recognized got into one of them.
And they saw a couple of other minor celebrities in the airy lobby, where they ran into a familiar face among the wide soft chairs and forest of potted palms.
“Hi, Hai,” Roz said to their photographer, who had his bag on his shoulder and a camera around his neck.
“Hi, hi, hi,” Hai said back. “Are you writing about the celebrity golf tournament too?”
“Uh, no. Is Tim here?” she asked.
“He just left.”
“How were the nudists?” Alden asked.
“Lightly broiled,” Hai said. “Thank God they had big signs. Got some good stuff though. I was about to go back to the office and file.”
“Hey,” Alden said, “would you mind getting a photo of Blake Burbage first? I hear he’s at the bar.”
“Already got a couple of him,” the photographer said. “I took photos of all the teams for the tournament, at least of the people who are in town.”
“Great. Don’t let us keep you.” Roz waved him away, then gave Alden a knowing look as Hai left. She was right about Blake being in the celebrity golf tournament.
“Smarty pants,” Alden acknowledged. “Sign says it’s this way.”
They passed more signs indicating locker rooms and the pro shop, then passed the restaurant and entered the bar.
It was dark inside and full of golf memorabilia, but outside, the covered patio was bright and comfortable, with its own bar and several tables.
Blake was at the bar with another guy. A comedian Alden had seen on TV.
Comet Cove was so weird.
The comedian shook hands with Blake and walked around them as they approached the bar.
Blake’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “It’s the free press.”
“Free roving, at least for now,” Alden said. “I’m surprised no one threw us out.”
Blake smiled. “Are you here to talk to the golfers? I already talked to one of your guys. He’s nice.”
“Tim is great,” Roz said. “We’re actually here about something else. Can we sit for a minute?”
Blake gestured to the barstools. Roz left the stool next to the actor empty, which Alden took as an invitation.
“Can I buy you another one?” Alden asked, gesturing to Blake’s bottle.
“Nonalcoholic beer. It’s all I drink these days. I’m good. You want something?” He looked to Roz, then back to Alden. “Or do you want to ask me something else about Wayne Vandershell?”
Alden lifted his hands, palms up. “Busted.”
A bartender wandered over with a look in his eye that suggested they should buy something or get out. So Alden ordered a Bohemia Brewing IPA.
Roz raised an eyebrow at him and ordered a club soda with lime.
“So.” Alden turned back to Blake. “We had an interesting day yesterday.”
“Crashing in Sebastian’s plane? Interesting is one way to put it.” Blake sipped his brew and eyed him with amusement.
“So you know Sebastian?” Roz asked.
Blake nodded. “I know him slightly from hanging out at the airport. I was surprised when Wayne introduced him to me as his development partner for the movie studio.”
“Who initiated your airport meetup?” Alden asked.
Blake looked taken aback by the question. Then he thought for a minute while Alden took a refreshing sip of his newly arrived beer.
“I think Wayne suggested that visit,” Blake said.
“Yeah, he did. Said he was doing research on small airplanes. One of his associates was writing about a pilot in a script, and he wanted to make sure she got the facts right. A character wanted to harm the pilot by messing with his plane. Something like that. I think Wayne just wanted a free plane ride.”
Alden tried not to sound too eager. “Did he say who was writing about sabotaging a plane?”
“No.” Blake’s eyes widened. “Sebastian’s plane wasn’t—”
“We’ll find out when the NTSB does.” Alden didn’t want him to know how much they knew.
“How much did you tell Wayne about sabotaging a plane?” Roz asked.
Blake chuckled. “I told him to use Google. I’m not trying to bring my plane down. I’m trying to keep it in the air. Fortunately, the airport has a great mechanic who’s usually there—Chuck Teague.”
“I know Chuck,” Alden said.
Blake gestured with his bottle. “I told Wayne that Chuck might be a good guy to ask, too.”
Chuck would know how to tamper with a plane. Of course he would.
“And you gave Wayne a ride?” Roz was asking.
“Sure, why not? The guy was going to produce my big comeback script, remember?” Blake’s voice was full of irony.
“How much did he ask you to invest?” Alden said. Sometimes it made sense to ask the direct question rather than dance around it.
Blake clunked his bottle down on the bar. “So we’re talking about money now?”
“It’s relevant,” Alden said. “He got one of his stable of writers to give him a significant amount of money, and we think he had no plans to use it to help her get her movie made. We’re wondering how many people he might have tapped for funds.”
Blake blew out a breath. “Oh, he tapped me, and I paid. But I’m not happy to hear he had no intention of carrying through.” He seemed genuinely disturbed.
“How much?” Roz asked in a soft voice that would’ve had Alden confessing everything.
Blake picked at the label on his bottle. “Not that much to start with, though I said I’d give him more.”
Roz just sat there looking at him, lips pursed around the straw in her tall glass, sipping. Waiting.
Blake tipped his head from side to side. “In the ballpark of a quarter million.”
Not that much? Alden wanted to scream. Why did he get into journalism again? Oh, right. Because he wanted to change the world and leave the family fortune behind. Even if he had a chunk of it set aside for rainy days.
“Any chance you’ll get your investment back now that Wayne is gone?” Roz asked Blake.
Blake shrugged, but the set of his jaw suggested he wasn’t as nonchalant as he wanted to appear. “My lawyer is looking into it. We had a contract.”
“Well, I hope you get it back.” Alden took another sip of his glass of beer and set it on the bar, half full.
They had a long day ahead of them, and they had to get going.
He plucked cash out of his now-dry wallet—cash was old-fashioned, but when he was fishing for gossip, it was useful—and laid it on the bar to pay for the drinks.
“I’d like to check in with you again if we find out more. Would that be OK?”
“I’d like to know more,” Blake said evenly. “Have a good day.”
“Thank you.” Roz slipped off her stool and shook Blake’s hand.
Alden did likewise, and they headed out of the bar and into the parking lot.
“Holy crap,” she said once they got into her car.
“No kidding,” Alden replied. “One of Wayne’s stable of writers was allegedly working on a script about sabotaging a plane? Who?”
“A ‘she,’ according to what Blake told us.”
“They were all ‘shes,’” Alden said.
“He made deals with men, too, but they weren’t writers.” Roz started up the car. “We still don’t know how many scribes he had on the hook. But we do know about Sheryl. Enolia. And then there’s the one who’s married to the pilot whose plane went down.”
Alden buckled up, in more ways than one. “I guess it’s time to talk to Nicole Esquivel.”