Coming Soon / Hidden Gems: Coming Soon

“What are you doing here?”

“Driving you home.”

“You don’t know where I live.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I’m in Connecticut.”

He looked a little startled, but then his unflappable face came back. “Then we’d better get going.”

“I’m kidding,” she said. “You don’t have to take me home. The subway’s right over there,” she said, pointing to her right.

“My car’s right over there,” he said, pointing to his left.

“I live in Brooklyn Heights.”

“Great,” he said, standing with a distinctive knee pop. “It’s right on my way.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why do I doubt that?”

“Because you’re a suspicious woman. Come on. Let’s do this.”

She followed him to a somewhat new Ford Taurus that she would have immediately pegged as an unmarked police car. He held the door for her, and she wasn’t surprised to find the inside was impeccably clean.

Watching him as he came around, she wondered if he was just being nice, or if he had more on his mind than simply seeing her home.

He didn’t seem the kind of guy that would want more. Especially now that they’d established their working relationship. But then, maybe he didn’t see a problem with that. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit the idea had its merits.

How long had it been since she’d been this interested in a guy? It felt like forever, but it was actually about eight months. Jean-Jacques had been nice enough. Certainly his European charm had seduced her and his accent had made her giddy. But in the end, they were both too caught up in their work worlds to have anything meaningful.

“Brooklyn Heights,” Bax said as he settled in the car. He started it up and they drove slowly through the pack of photographers lying in wait. He said something low that she didn’t quite catch.

“What was that?”

“A subliminal message.”

She laughed. “You think it worked?”

“Nope. They’re still there.”

For a while, she just sat back and watched him drive. It was still rush hour, so traffic slogged. She didn’t mind. She liked the way he maneuvered the car, not shy, but not in a death match, either. It would take them a while to get to the Brooklyn Bridge and across. For once, she was glad she didn’t live closer to Midtown.

“Where do you live?” she asked, as they made the last turn before the bridge.

“Park Slope.”

“Oh.”

“I told you.”

“I’m not right on your way.”

“Close enough.”

“You live alone?”

He looked at her as if the question surprised him. “Yeah.”

“Not me. I have two roommates. Luckily, I don’t see them too often. One has a boyfriend and the other works nights. It’s not bad.”

“Roommates. I don’t think I could do that again.”

“You had a bad experience?”

“I’m not easy to live with.”

“Good to know.”

He looked at her again.

She could hardly believe she’d said that out loud. My word, wasn’t she the brave one. Which reminded her. “I heard something.”

“When?”

“In the locker room.”

“Okay. I assume it was about the murder.”

She told him everything she could about her conversation with Lorraine. He seemed quite dubious about the Geiger-Danny Austen connection. Not at all about Geiger’s wife.

“How reliable is this source of yours?”

“She’s not one to make stuff up, but she did say it was all second hand info. I think the rumor mill at Hush is on overdrive, but you might want to check into those room charges.”

He nodded as they inched their way across the bridge. “I’m not shocked about Sheila Geiger. I got the impression she wasn’t all that upset that her husband was dead, although damn, she put on a good show.”

“I wonder…”

“What?”

“What her rationalization is.”

“For what?”

“Her life. Her husband. No one does something they know is wrong. People rationalize the most horrible things. The paparazzi, they all believe they’re not doing anything wrong. They say the celebrities want their pictures taken. The public wants to buy those pictures. I guess I can’t argue with that.”

“Only?”

“It feels so wrong to me. I’ve seen them at their worst, like a pack of wolves. There’s no mercy, no quarter given. Everyone and everything is fair game.”

“What do you think is behind her suing the hotel?” he asked.

“She’s thinking about her bank account. With hubby gone and unable to take those money-making pictures, a gal has to do what a gal has to do.”

“And a job is out of the question.”

“I think in her mind, yes,” she said. “It is.”

He sighed. “Boulder sounds better every day.”

“I’ve never been to Colorado. I hear it’s just gorgeous.”

“Yep. Green everywhere you look. Great skiing. The English department is top notch. It’s quiet. A man can think. See the stars.”

“Big change.”

“Welcome change.”

“I would imagine so. All that death. All those rationalizations.”

He reached over with his right hand and touched her left. He didn’t hold it or squeeze it. He just touched her. Then he was gone.

“Where to?”

She realized they were approaching the Brooklyn side of the bridge. They hadn’t talked all that much, but there had been pauses. Long ones. Now she was almost home.

“It’s a right on Henry Street, a left on Remsen.”

The traffic didn’t ease up until they were almost at her building. Should she ask him up? Would he assume?

Of course there was no parking space for miles around her old brick building. There never was. It didn’t seem to faze Bax. At her address he simply double parked, reached under the seat and got the bubble light that transformed the car from unmarked to quite distinct. And legal.

“I’ll walk you up.”

She didn’t wait for him to open her door. There was a tiny thrill, however, in walking away from the car, Bax’s hand on the small of her back. By the time they got inside, she was squarely fifty-fifty on the question of asking him to stay. Well, maybe sixty-forty.

They rode up to the fourth floor along with one of her many, many neighbors. Not one she knew by name. Just a woman who kept giving Bax sidelong glances.

Finally, they were at her front door. He didn’t seem to be anxious to leave as she dug out her keys. Once the door was unlocked, she didn’t know what to do.

He made it simple.

“What time do you get to the hotel in the morning?”

“A quarter to eight, if the trains are on time.”

“I’ll meet you at the subway,” he said. “You lock up as soon as you’re inside.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He bowed just a little, just with his head. When he looked at her again, Mia’s throat tightened as she held her breath. His eyes had darkened and even though she could tell he had meant to walk away, he just looked at her.

It was as if the rest of the universe darkened and slipped away, leaving the two of them, straddling a line that probably shouldn’t be crossed. Bax swallowed and her gaze moved to his Adam’s apple, then back up to the stubble on his jaw, the slight parting of his lips. There was something unreal about him like this. A man that rugged shouldn’t look so hungry. Or maybe it was the other way around.

He leaned closer to her. Not by much. Not enough.

Her own lips parted, willing him to cross the threshold and kiss her, darn it.

But he stopped. Suddenly. As if he’d been slapped into his role as cop, as protector. He swallowed once more as he stepped back. “Lock up now,” he said, although with a much gruffer voice.

Mia watched him turn away, then she closed the door and locked it. But she didn’t move for a long while.

What to make of Baxter Milligan? She hadn’t a clue.

5

WHAT THE MOVIE PEOPLE called a trailer and he called a motor home was in the underground garage at Hush. It was a Winnebago-type deal times ten. Plush carpets, flat-panel TV, leather couches, marble counters. It was a hell of a lot nicer than Bax’s apartment and it made him wonder yet again about the public’s take on heroes. All Danny Austen did was dress up and pretend, and for that he got millions, adoration, trailers, women. It didn’t help that Bax had a headache and that he’d had to come to Austen instead of Austen coming to him.

He leaned back in the incredibly comfortable captain’s chair, waiting while Austen changed. Anxious to get the interview over with, Bax fiddled with his notebook, his pen, and kept thinking not about Danny Austen or Gerry Geiger but Mia Traverse.

As promised, he’d met her at the subway exit and made sure she got into the hotel safely. She’d had to go to her locker and change. He’d stood there like a damn fool long after the elevator had taken her away.

If she’d only known how virtuous he’d been last night. Okay, virtuous and tired. But man, he’d thought about her all the way home. And first thing this morning.

The universe had a wicked sense of humor.

He had to stop. This was the job. She was his informant. There was no way he could mix that with anything personal. Not just because it might taint her as a witness but because it would be completely inappropriate.

Not that such things hadn’t happened. He knew one cop, a good detective by the name of Wilson, who’d been assigned to protect a witness. She’d been married at the time, and so had he, but three months after the trial they both filed for divorce. He’d gone to the wedding.

No one ever asked Wilson if they’d started screwing around while he was on the clock. No one had to ask. Wilson was still in the department, only now he was a desk jockey. Probably because his new wife didn’t want him protecting anyone else.

It didn’t matter that Bax was leaving. He wanted his career to end as it had begun. With self-respect. With a sense of pride. He just wished he didn’t find her so damned attractive.

With a shake of his head he banished thoughts of Mia and focused once again on Danny Austen’s world. On the table next to him there was a script for this movie, a couple of other scripts and a boatload of tabloid magazines, most of them with Austen on the cover.

Bax wondered if any of the cover shots had been taken by Gerry Geiger. Danny Austen was connected to Bobbi Tamony on two covers, but several other stars on other magazines. Was any of it true? Or were these just convenient lies to hide another side of the famous heartthrob? The last thing Bax wanted to do was give those rags a moment of attention, but they might play a key role in this investigation. That horrible fact made his head hurt worse.

“You want a drink?”

Bax looked up to find Danny standing in front of the refrigerator. Danny got himself one of those high-energy drinks with loads of sugar and caffeine.

“You have any coffee?”

Danny offered a smile so brilliant it made Bax wince. He had to give it to the guy—he looked every inch the movie star. He was tall and it appeared that he was religious about his workouts. Still, there was something slightly off about him. The hair, the eyes, the teeth, they were all perfect. Had the perfection come first, or was it a natural progression of becoming a star? Not that it mattered. Perfection at any time wasn’t natural. People were flawed. If Austen’s blemishes weren’t on the outside, they were surely on the inside.

“Hold on.” Danny picked up a walkie-talkie and pressed the button. “Riva?”

A voice came back, a woman, very clear. “I’m here.”

“Can you bring me some coffee?” Danny turned to Bax. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Yes,” he said.

“A whole service,’ kay?”

“Right there,” she said.

Danny put the walkie-talkie down, then sat across from Bax in a matching chair. “So, hell of a thing, Gerry getting killed, huh?”

“Yeah,” Bax said. “A hell of a thing.”

Austen widened his eyes. “You have any suspects?”

“Lots. Let’s try and make you not one of them, shall we?”

The guy winked at him. “I like your attitude. How can I help?”

Bax wondered whether the wink was a facial tic, or just something movie stars thought made them seem more accessible. Personally, he preferred to think it was a tic. “Want to tell me what you were doing the night of the murder?”

“Nothing special. I was released at ten, then I went to my suite and took a shower.”

“Released?”

“Yeah, I was finished shooting for the day. They try to release me before we go into overtime.”

“You get overtime?”

“Sure. I’m SAG.”

“Screen Actors Guild.”

“And our hours are monitored. Not only do they have to watch our daily work times, but weekly as well. It’s pretty expensive to go over with some of us. Well, me and Bobbi. The last thing Oscar wants is for us to go even a penny over budget.”

“You’ve worked with him several times over the last six years, haven’t you?”

Danny nodded. “He’s done a lot for my career. I owe him. Which doesn’t change the fact that he’s notorious when it comes to the budget. Especially now.”

“Why now?”

“Check the grosses over the last three years. The Reformer? Black Sunset? They both hemorrhaged money. He’s got a lot riding on this picture.”

“So after you showered…”

“I stayed—”

His recitation was interrupted by a knock on the trailer door. A second later, a young woman entered, carrying a tray with a carafe of coffee and all the accoutrements, including some donuts and muffins.

She was pretty, but then most of the people working on the movie were. Even those who would never be in front of the camera.

She set the tray on the table, then turned with a big smile to Austen. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

He touched her in a way that made it perfectly clear her offer extended way beyond coffee. “No, thanks, Darlin’. We’re all set.”

With a coy glance and a slight blush, Riva left the building.

Bax wondered what it would be like to have any woman, any time. Exhausting would be his best guess. He poured himself a cup of coffee, the smell alone making his head feel better. Before he drank, however, he pulled Austen back on track. “You stayed…?”

“In. My room.”

Bax settled back in his chair. “You stayed in your room all night?”

“All night.”

“Alone?”

Austen laughed. “No, not alone. I was with Riva.”

“The woman who was just here.”

“Yep.”

Bax sipped his coffee. He had no doubt Austen had been with Riva, but on that particular night? Something told him no. “Did you order room service?”

“As a matter of fact, we did.”

“Great. What did you have?”

The actor smiled brightly again. “Nothing special. Dinner.”

“What time?”

“I didn’t look at the clock, Detective.”

“But you didn’t leave the room until morning.”

“My call was at seven. But then we had the force, so—”

“Force?”

“Majeure. Because of the murder. We were shut down through no fault of the production company. They call it that, you know, for insurance purposes.”

“I see. So you didn’t know about Gerry Geiger’s death until seven that morning.”

“That’s right.”

“When was the last time you spoke to Geiger?”

Again, the smile. “That day. He tried to get some pictures. Just like he always did.”

“What kind of pictures?”

“Nothing special. Coming out of the hotel. That kind of thing.”

“You didn’t know him, aside from him trying to take your picture?”

“That’s right. He was just a pap. Just like all the others.” Bax put his cup down. He really wanted more coffee, but he needed to get to Riva before Austen had a chance to talk to her. “All right then. I think we’re done. For now.”

“Sure you don’t want a donut?”

“I’m sure.”

Austen leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. The smile came back, only this one wasn’t meant to dazzle, at least not in the same way. “You know, I can help you with that headache.”

“Pardon me?”

“Your headache. I studied some massage back in the day. Honest. I can help.”

Maybe it was what Mia had told him about Austen and Geiger being involved, but Bax had the distinct impression that Danny’s offer was for more than headache relief. He stood up, made sure his notebook was tucked safely in his pocket. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

Danny leaned back slowly, keeping his eye contact steady. “Anything I can do to be of assistance, Detective. I’m in suite 1510.”

“I’ll let you know.” Bax got to the door and out into the garage, ninety-percent certain he’d been hit on. And ninety-percent certain Danny Austen had lied to him about the night of Geiger’s murder.

MIA SMILED AT THE WOMAN standing at her station. She hadn’t seen her before, but something told her that this woman wasn’t a guest. There was an air of agitation about her, as if she’d just come from an accident or bad news.

It was in the way her long blondish hair rested on her shoulders, unkempt and slightly greasy. In the smudges of old makeup around her eyes, the paleness of her cheeks. Her blouse was silk, expensive, but her pants had seen better days.

“How can I help you?” Mia asked.

“I’m here for lunch with Piper Devon,” she said. “But I’m early.”

It was Sheila Geiger. No wonder she looked so distraught. “Would you like some tea to pass the time while I notify Ms. Devon?”

Mrs. Geiger looked at her sharply, as if she’d expected an argument. “If it comes with a shot of bourbon.”

Mia turned to Allan at the front desk. “Could you take my calls for a bit, please?”

Allan nodded, and Mia came around her desk, slipping her earpiece into her pocket. “Let’s get you comfortable,” she said, leading Mrs. Geiger toward the bar. They weren’t open yet, but she knew Dahlia, the day bartender, was inside. While Mia looked for her, she made a quick call to Piper’s office, letting her assistant know the situation.

A few minutes later, tea was being brewed and Mia sat across from the widow. “I’m so very sorry for your loss,” she said.

“You know who I am?”

Mia smiled. “I was aware of the lunch engagement.”

“So you know that someone from this hotel killed my husband.”

“It must be devastating. How long were you married?”

“Eight years.”

“That’s a long time. Do you have children?”

Sheila shook her head. Some of the fire was gone from her eyes, but Mia knew she was treading close to the edge. “We meant to.”

“It’s so very sad. I hope you have someone to be with you. To help.”

“My sister lives in Queens.”

“That’s good. Ah, here comes your tea.”

Dahlia brought a pot of hot water and a box with an assortment of herbal teas along with two cups.

“Where’s the bourbon?”

“Coming right up,” Mia said, giving a nod to the bartender.

It was early yet, just past eleven in the morning. Mia was quite sure the bourbon was a bad idea, but she didn’t want to agitate Mrs. Geiger further.

“They all thought he was such a bastard. Well he wasn’t. He had a right to earn a living, just like anyone else. Those people, always complaining about the paparazzi, but they’d be pretty goddamn pissed if there was nobody wanting their pictures.

“I was the one who got the calls. Gerry was out working, so they’d call me. You know how all the photographers find out where the movie stars are gonna be? They call ahead, that’s how. They call my house and leave messages. They’re gonna be at Grand Union, at Hush, at all those bars all over the city. Then they spit on my husband for doing their dirty work.”

“I had no idea,” Mia said, sipping her Earl Grey.

Mrs. Geiger poured a very generous shot of bourbon into her cup. She didn’t even look at the tea. “Those bastards. You ask that goddamn Danny Austen. He called my Gerry. Don’t let him tell you different. He’s got some secrets, that one. Just ask him about Mexico. Then he gets upset when Gerry finds out he goes both ways, you know? Damn bastard.”

Danny Austen was bi. Mia had doubted it when Lorraine had suggested…but this confirmed the rumor, didn’t it? Or was the tail wagging the dog? Maybe Danny wasn’t bi at all. Maybe Gerry Geiger wanted to start something. Maybe that’s what had gotten him killed. And there was that Mexico thing. Interesting.

She looked sharply at Mrs. Geiger, afraid she’d given something away. The woman was upset, distraught. And drunk. The bourbon Dahlia had brought wasn’t her first. Probably wouldn’t be her last. “Did Danny and your husband have an argument? I mean, just before…”

“Argument is putting it lightly. I told that cop that it was Danny who killed him. He didn’t believe me, but that’s because Danny Austen is a movie star.’ Cause he has all that money. But money won’t get him off of a murder charge. Not if I have anything to say about it.” Sheila leaned in, and Mia had to stop herself from turning away from the alcohol on the woman’s breath. “He’s a killer. He thinks I don’t know. But I’ve got pictures.”

“From that night?”

Sheila took a drink, then leaned in once more. Only she stopped as the bar door opened. One of Piper’s assistants, not Lorraine this time, but Viv, was there as an escort to the meeting.

Mrs. Geiger didn’t give Mia a second thought. Grabbing her teacup of bourbon, she left the bar, cursing up a storm.

Mia went back to her station, wishing like crazy she could just go find Bax. Sheila Geiger had the camera! That must mean she was tied to the murder somehow, right? How else would she have gotten the pictures? No, Sheila hadn’t said they were from that night, so she’d better be careful what she told Bax. It was tempting to believe all she’d heard. Easy. Kind of how tempting it was to believe the tabloids.

She knew better. She would report what she’d heard but in a calm, clear way that didn’t reflect her own opinions. It’s what Piper would do.

Privately, however, she could think about what she’d heard. If Mrs. Geiger had the pictures from that night, what would that mean? That she’d killed him? Why would she want her husband dead, though? Sheila didn’t work. Geiger was her meal ticket.

No, it made a lot more sense that this was about Austen’s sex life. There were so many women madly in love with him, with his image, there’s no way his career would stay intact if it was known he slept with men.

And what the heck was up with Mexico? A secret tryst? An affair gone bad?

She got her personal cell and hit Carlane’s speed dial number. Her friend answered on the first ring.

“Have you heard any gossip about Danny Austen being bi?”

Carlane didn’t miss a beat. “What? Who did you see?”

“No one. It might be completely untrue. Have you heard anything?”

“God, no. He’s supposed to be the playboy of the western world.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“That’s it? You’re not even gonna tell me what you know?”

“I don’t know anything. It was a rumor, nothing more. And the person saying it was drunk, so it’s probably nothing.”

“Damn, girl. My heart’s racing. He can’t be gay. It would just break my heart. I told you. All the good ones are married or gay. There’s nothing left for us hetero gals.”

“Don’t panic. Seriously. Oh, wait, one more thing. Did Weinberg ever make a film in Mexico? With Bobbi or Danny or both?”

“Something about that rings a bell. Let me get back to you.”

“I appreciate it, sweetie.”

“Got a call. Talk to you later.”

Mia hung up her phone and slipped it into her pocket. Sheila Geiger had been drunk and devastated. No reason to believe her, not even about the pictures. Although Mia would still tell Bax about their conversation.

She got a little shiver thinking about him. Was it not the most courtly gesture ever to meet her at the subway? He’d looked really good this morning, too. He’d worn dark jeans, an incredible soft, dark-green shirt and a leather jacket to die for.