Blind Faith (29 page)
"He'll find out. Entertainers form a very close-knit community, no matter where they are--
Grinning, Kelly stretched toward him like a cat. "Did anyone ever tell you that you have a wicked, wicked mind?"
"All the time."
Grabbing her by the waist, he lifted her and sat her on his lap so she straddled him. "It's part of my charm."
Thirty-Four.
Nick didn't visit his parents' grave often. Occasionally, spurred by guilt or need, he'd buy a bouquet of red carnations and drive to the
The
Mcbrides
' grave was in section P, but as Nick approached, flowers in hand, he stopped. His parents already had a visitor. Joe
Massino
.
The former detective had one knee on the ground. Assorted flowers wrapped in clear cellophane lay on the earth against the headstone.
The older man's head snapped around. His eyes were red, as though he had been crying. "Hey, kid." He stood up, grunting a little as he did.
Walking slowly.
Nick closed the distance between them.
"You all right?"
"Sure." Joe took a white handkerchief from his pants pocket and blew his nose. "I miss the old son of a gun, that's all."
"I didn't know you came here."
"I haven't since the funeral and I was in the area, so ..."
Nick didn't believe him. The man had guilt written all over his face.
"Look, Nick, about the other day--" Joe put his handkerchief back in his pocket. "I'm sorry it turned out the way it did. I never meant to get you in trouble. You got to believe that."
Nick
lay
the carnations beside Joe's flowers. "Is there something you'd like to tell me, Joe?"
"I told you all I know."
"Then why do I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that you're holding out on me?"
Joe waved an impatient hand and started to walk away. "Don't start with that again."
Before he could take another step.
Nick grabbed Joe's arm. "Wouldn't you do the same, Joe? If something didn't look kosher to you, wouldn't you keep digging until you got to the truth?"
"Take your hands off me."
As Joe tried to free himself from Nick's grip.
Nick increased the pressure. "Do you remember what I said the other day about the pieces not fitting? Guess what? They're beginning to fit, Joe, one by one."
"Good for you. Now let me go."
"The bitch of it is," Nick continued, "that the more the pieces fall into place the less I like what they add up to."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, I think you do. That's why you're here. You feel guilty for letting my father down. What were you hoping to get from visiting his grave, Joe?
Guidance?
Absolution?
What?" Joe gave another jerk. It was as useless as the first. "You're pushing your luck, kid."
"Someone tried to kill Kelly
Robolo
last night." Nick watched the startled look on the older man's face. "You know anyone who would want to do that?"
"First my father is killed,
then
Jonathan Bowman disappears. Now they're after Kelly. When is it all going to end?"
"I'm sorry about your friend. Nick." Joe shook his head. "But I had nothing to do with the attempt on her life. Now let me go or I'll be forced to deck you."
Even though he said that last sentence in a joking tone. Nick knew that if push came to shove, Joe would do what he had to do. Or try to. "Your loyalty to your boss is commendable." Nick let go of his friend's arm.
"But he doesn't deserve it."
Joe shrugged. "We all have our faults, kid."
"He had me suspended. Did you know that? He couldn't lick me fair and square so he pulled strings and called the
Joe already knew. "I'm sorry. Nick. Really I am."
Nick decided to take advantage of Joe's genuine regret to ask one last question. "What kind of car does Webber drive? I'm not talking about the limo."
Why?"
"Just curious."
Nick was silent for a moment. A Mercedes looked a lot like a Lexus, especially from the back. Could Kelly have made a mistake in identifying the car? Taking into consideration her frame of mind that night, and the snowstorm? "What color is it?"
Joe's eyes narrowed but he answered the question.
"Black."
Nick took a deep breath and gazed into the distance, past the row of graves.
Joe
lay
a hand on Nick's shoulder and squeezed it. "Let it go, kid.
Please." Then, with one last glance at Patrick's grave, he walked away, his hands jammed into his overcoat pockets.
When he had disappeared.
Nick turned back toward his parents' headstone and lowered himself on one knee. "I'm going to find out who put you here. Dad," he murmured, "
if
it's the last thing I do."
Thirty-Five.
It had taken Kelly the rest of the day but she had finally found an appropriate wardrobe for her role as co producer of Trumbull Productions. Explaining to the young salesgirl with the purple fingernails that the two micron-
uni
skirts in neon colors were for her was a little embarrassing, but in this business, feeling occasionally stupid was part of the job.
In another department, she had found a little blond wig in a short pixie style that made her look like the sixties' super model Twiggy.
Alan Braden, Nick's PI.
friend
and willing accomplice, hadn't been idle either. He had spent the last few hours tracking
Nick had taken it from there, calling each establishment and explaining to the owner, in a perfect British accent, who he was and what he was looking for. With the exception of one, who had flatly refused, all had been willing to set up auditions for their respective stars.
Nick and Kelly left first thing on Monday morning and arrived in
Noche
on
The owner, a man with the improbable name of Marco Polo, greeted them in person, wrapping his arm around Kelly's shoulders and escorting them to a front-row table. Doing her best to ignore Marco's glances at her legs and occasional winks, Kelly hitched her chair a little closer to Nick's and sat down to watch the show.
By four o'clock that afternoon, they had visited four clubs and watched
a half
-dozen performers within a twenty-mile radius. No one even remotely resembling Enrique had come to request an audition, and the hope that Magdalena's brother would find out about Trumbull Productions and come forward was getting more dismal by the hour.
Now as they sat on the Eden Roe's beachfront terrace, sipping frosty
pina
coladas and gazing at a cruise ship anchored in the distance, Kelly tried to stay optimistic, but deep down she was afraid that Nick's brilliant plan had failed. Either he had totally misjudged Enrique, or the man simply wasn't here but in some other city.
Nick, on the other hand, wasn't letting a couple of defeats destroy his hopes. "What time is that next audition?" he asked, glancing at the scheduling book at Kelly's elbow.
"Six. And it's not too far from here. If we leave now, we can walk and be there on time."
To Kelly's surprise.
Club
firstclass
supper club, with white tablecloths, soft candlelight and a five-piece band warming up as they arrived.
According to the owner, Carlos Fuentes had been the main attraction at
He was also thirty-nine years old and more likely to know Enrique, who by their estimation had to be around forty-five years of age by now.
"He packs them in every night," the owner told Nick and Kelly. "You'll see why."
On cue, the room went dark and a single blue spotlight found its way to
the
center of the stage. As the band began playing
"Hello, Dolly," a slender figure in a clinging, sequined gown and a blond wig glided forward. Kelly sat up, goose bumps crawling up her arms. The man looked enough like Carol Charming to be her twin sister.
And when he started singing in that famous, lazy, scratchy voice, Kelly understood why Carlos Fuentes was such a huge success. He was incredibly talented, much more so than the other performers they had auditioned earlier.
"He's almost as good as Enrique," Kelly whispered in Nick's ear. "Do you suppose it could be him?"
Nick shook his head. "You've seen his picture outside. He doesn't look anything like Enrique. And he's too young."
Kelly kept her eyes on the stage where Carlos had reappeared after a short costume change, this time as the incomparable Tina Turner.
Forty-five minutes later, having gone through three more costume changes and half his repertoire, Carlos joined Nick and Kelly at their table.
Both shook his hand and complimented him on a great performance.
Under the heavy stage makeup, Carlos blushed and the way he looked at Nick left no doubt as to his sexual preference. Maybe that would come in handy, Kelly thought.
"I've just added two more impersonations to my act," Carlos told them as he sat down.
"
Dion
.
They're not perfected yet." He laughed. "I haven't quite mastered Celine's French accent, but if you want, I'll be glad to give you a sneak preview."
In the tape Sergeant Harrison had sent Nick,
"That won't be necessary," Nick said. "My associate and I have already decided that you are perfect for what we have in mind."
Carlos beamed and Kelly felt a pinch of guilt for raising hopes that would never materialize. Nick, on the other hand, didn't seem the least bit remorseful. He was on a mission. In the same way he had questioned the other
performers,
he started scratching the side of his nose. "We do have a problem, however."
Carlos looked crestfallen. "I thought you said you liked my act."
"Oh, we do. Don't
we
, Megan?" he asked, using the name he had chosen for Kelly.
Falling quickly into the part, which she now had down pat, Kelly nodded enthusiastically. "You were wonderful, Carlos. Your impersonation of Barbra Streisand was amazing."
Carlos only gave her a passing glance before returning his attention to Nick. "Then what's the problem?"
"The special we have in mind will be something in the order of a television spectacular that aired last year. Divas Live, with
Carlos laughed.
"Only about a hundred times."
"Good, because that's exactly the type of production I want to put together--lavish and glitzy.
With one exception.
I want two divas instead of three."
"So you need another impersonator."
"One as good as you."
The compliment earned Nick another delighted smile.
Nick also seemed to have developed into his part well. He shook his head, looking regretful. "Frankly, Carlos, we didn't see anything to rave about" He looked at Kelly, who took the cue.
"The kind of performer we're looking for," she said, leaning forward and trying to look intense, "has to be unique, and have a reputation that precedes him. Maybe even some big-time exposure, like
Carlos, not at all stupid, looked from her to Nick. "So why don't you go to
"Too pricey.
The few performers we talked to wanted a seven-figure salary.
Too rich for our blood."
Carlos licked his lips. "How much are you willing to pay?"
"A flat five hundred thousand each plus residuals."
"Wow."
"Are you sure you don't know anyone who would fit our criteria?" Kelly pressed. She and Nick had agreed not to ask such leading questions, but time was flying by and she was getting a little desperate.
At the query, however, Carlos was thoughtful. "I know--knew--someone. I lost track of him, though."
Simultaneously, Kelly and Nick leaned forward. "Tell us about him," Nick said.
"Well, he had everything you're looking for--
He was mind-blowing."
"What's his name?"
"Teddy Luna."
Kelly shot Nick a quick glance and saw that he, too, had reacted to the Hispanic name. "Was he a close friend of yours?" Carlos blushed again.
"I wish, but he wasn't interested."