For The Love Of Laurel Page 3

  It sounded easy. Tail him and get pictures. The best part was that Gloria would pay big bucks, which gave Laurel a kind of smug satisfaction. She didn’t need the case or the money. Given who the client was, normally she wouldn’t take the case. Gloria Grant Gunderson was probably getting what she deserved. But what the heck? Maybe it would keep her mind off her father and she would give the money to charity.

  “Okay, I’ll see what I can find out. My assistant has a contract for you to sign. I ask for a thousand up front.”

  Gloria gave a wave as if she were swatting at a fly. “Not a problem. But how long do you think it will take? The divorce hearing is only a month away.”

  “I should be able to come up with evidence of adultery by then.” She didn’t bother to add “if there is any.” She assumed there was or Gloria wouldn’t be here.

  The day was typical San Diego-beautiful, and Laurel decided to spend the afternoon at the beach. She told herself, and Sue, it was a perfect place to plan her strategy on catching Gloria’s husband, Dr. Miles Gunderson, prominent plastic surgeon, in flagrante delicto.

  She went home to change into denim cutoffs and a white halter top. She searched for her huaraches and found them under her bed. She wiped some sand, courtesy of her last trip to the beach, from the soles into a wastebasket, and then grabbed her purse and digital voice recorder. With an “I’ll be back before dinner” to Mari, she headed for her car.

  As she snapped her seatbelt on and started the car, she noticed Dylan washing the Caddy. She waved, and he nodded back. In suds up to his elbows, he wasn’t likely to follow her around today. Oh, that’s right. He didn’t follow her around. He said so himself.

  She pulled up beside him. “I’d like you to trade in that monstrosity for something more reasonable, and I’d like you to remove the tracking thingy from my car.”

  “Okay. I’ll do it tomorrow.” He went back to his task, giving her the brush-off.

  What a guy. At least he didn’t argue with her.

  The beach at Del Mar was crowded. Laurel found a spot that was reasonably unpopulated and spread her towel on the sand. She reached into her purse for her sunglasses and sunscreen, making mental notes to set up an appointment with the good doctor, watch his house at night, and follow him if he leaves. There. She didn’t have to feel guilty now that she had a plan. Gloria wanted this done as soon as possible, so she had no business on the beach, but what was the point of living in the best climate in the world if she couldn’t play hooky now and again?

  She found her glasses and as she grabbed them, Mike Branson’s card fell out of her purse and onto her lap. She picked it up and looked at it for the first time. It had his name, phone, and fax numbers, and that was all.

  What was it he had said to her? “If you want to talk, give me a call.” She couldn’t imagine why she would want to talk to a reporter, especially one who hosted a tabloid TV show, but she did remember he had given her an envelope along with the card. She put her sunglasses on and rooted around in her purse until she found the envelope. It was white and legal-sized with her name scrawled across the front. She turned it over and opened it.

  Inside was a thrice-folded newspaper article. The paper was brown and brittle along the edges. She opened it carefully. The top edge had been cut off with scissors so she couldn’t tell what newspaper it was or how old. There was a grainy picture of three people above the article. Puzzled, she read:

  ARSON SUSPECTED IN FAMILY TRAGEDY

  Early this morning, the residence of Robert and Regina Markham was burned to the ground in what investigators are calling arson. “The fire was so hot, nothing remained but a few charred bones in the Markham’s bedroom and their baby’s crib, causing us to believe an accelerant was used,” explained fire Chief Ron Dunne.

  Robert Markham was a senior accountant at Chaber Pharmaceuticals. His wife, Regina, was a housewife and mother to the couple’s ten-month-old daughter, Delilah. None of their friends or acquaintances can imagine who would want the family dead. They were highly respected in the community. According to neighbors, they attended church regularly and were active volunteers in several charitable organizations.

  The article referred the reader to an inside page, but it wasn’t included in the envelope. Laurel looked at the picture again, but it was too blurry to get any details. All she could see was a man, woman, and baby. She put everything back in her purse. Who was Mike Branson and why would he give her the article? She could always call him but doubted she would ever be that curious.

  Chapter 3

  “Dr. Gunderson will see you now,” a cute twenty-something receptionist said. Laurel followed her down a narrow hallway. She stopped at a partially open door and pushed it open, standing aside so Laurel could enter. “Please have a seat.” She indicated a brown leather chair beside an oak desk. “He’ll be right in,” she said as she left the room, closing the door behind her.

  File cabinets sat against one wall. She wondered what secrets they contained. Who might she know whose boob jobs and face lifts were but a few feet away? A framed certificate on one wall assured Dr. Gunderson’s patients he was eminently qualified to cut them up. She leaned forward and could just see his computer monitor was on, but from the side, she couldn’t tell what it showed.

  Dr. Gunderson walked in swiftly and sat down behind his desk. Laurel tried to keep the astonishment off her face. His hair was totally white, and the wrinkles in his face told her he had never consulted a doctor in his own line of work. He had to be about her father’s age.

  So Gloria was a trophy wife.

  It figured. What didn’t figure was why Gloria thought he was unfaithful. He didn’t look like he would attract women. Still, if he was loaded, some women would put up with a lot.

  But the biggest shock was that she had seen him before. He was one of those business associates of her father’s who had come to his funeral. She remembered seeing him at the house a few times as well.

  She waited while he read the form she had filled out. “You want breast augmentation?” he said, glancing at her chest.

  She almost blushed. As if she would ever have that done, but it was as good an excuse as she could come up with on short notice. She knew there was nothing wrong with her face to warrant plastic surgery. “I’m thinking about it,” she said.

  “Hm.” She wondered what that was supposed to mean. “You’re Gerald Avidon’s daughter,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry about his passing.”

  “Thank you for coming to the funeral. How do you happen to know him?”

  “He was a patient of mine many years ago.”

  Now she was really curious. “He was? I never knew that.”

  “No reason you should.”

  She was dying to ask what he had done for her father but doubted he’d tell her. Doctor-patient privilege and all. Did it still apply now that her dad was gone? She wasn’t sure.

  “Why would my father need a plastic surgeon?” It didn’t make sense. Gerald wasn’t a vain man.

  The doctor went to a new screen. “You’re lucky I can tell you. He gave permission to release his records to you upon his death. He had a couple of scars he wanted to get rid of,” Dr. Gunderson said glibly. She thought of Dylan and wondered why he’d never had his scar taken care of.

  “I see.”

  It seemed there was a lot her father had kept from her. He’d never introduced her to the people he did business with. When she’d asked him why, he said he intended to keep his private life separate from his business life.

  “I thought maybe you were here because seeing me at the funeral reminded you of my occupation.”

  “Afraid not. It is strictly coincidence that I chose you out of the phone book. I never knew anything about my father’s business associates.”

  “Fair enough. My receptionist will give you some literature on breast augmentation you can take home. It’s not something you want to do without giving it a lot of thought and knowing the
risks involved. After you’ve had a chance to read it, give me a call and we’ll discuss it. I don’t mean to rush you, but I do have surgery in half an hour. I worked you in because of who you are.”

  He stood and held out his hand. She rose also, and gave his hand a quick shake. “Thank you for seeing me, Doctor. After I read the material, if I’m still interested, I’ll be in touch.”

  As she left the office, she glanced back at the lock on the door. She would sure like to get in his office after hours and see the file on her father. It amazed her she would even think such a thing. She knew it would be underhanded and illegal, but she didn’t believe what he’d told her. Gunderson had been to their home several times. Laurel was pretty sure her father and the doctor hadn’t been friends. So that left business. The question was, What kind of business would Gerald have had with a plastic surgeon that would bring the doctor to the house?

  She’d have to think about whether or not it was worth the risk of breaking into Gunderson’s office to see what she could find, not only about her father, but also something that might give her a clue as to who he was two-timing Gloria with. Worth the risk or not, she was already planning how to do it.

  Chapter 4

  When Laurel got home, she saw a shiny new SUV parked in front of Dylan’s apartment. It was dark blue, but she couldn’t tell the make. They all looked alike anyway. She was gratified he had done as she asked, even if she had been thinking more along the lines of a smaller, less ostentatious vehicle. At least she was the boss now and he knew it. All he had left to do was take care of the tracking device on her car.

  “It’s me, Mari,” she called as she opened the front door.

  “Hi, Laurel.” Mari sounded far away, probably upstairs.

  Laurel kicked off her shoes and grabbed the mail off the side table in the foyer where Mari always put it. Three cards, most likely sympathy, four bills, and the inevitable ads. She tossed the ads—one of which she saw was from Dr. Gunderson’s office—in a recycle can inside the foyer closet.

  She opened one of the cards as she came to the living room. She glanced in, somehow expecting to see her father pacing the thick, white carpet like he had done a thousand times before. No one was there, of course, but she shivered. The room still held so much of him, including the lingering scent of his aftershave. Would she always be able to smell it in this room? She took a deep breath and pretended he was here with her.

  She walked across the hallway into the formal dining room to close the drapes. Her father had always insisted it be done before the late afternoon sun shone on the Persian rug and caused it to fade. Turning back, she took in what was probably the most expensive room in the entire house. She saw it every day, but without her father to point out what he loved about it, the room just seemed cold and pretentious. It contained a twelve-foot-long oak table with twelve high-backed chairs upholstered in gold brocade. A matching buffet stood along one wall. Candles sitting atop a dainty white doily gave no clue to what the cupboards and drawers held.

  “Mari, can you come into the dining room?” Laurel called out.

  Mari came into the room a couple of minutes later. “What is it?”

  Laurel sighed. “I need to figure out what I’m going to do with all this stuff.” She pointed at the buffet.

  Mari opened a drawer and Laurel peered in at the silverware. “Isn’t this just the ugliest pattern you’ve ever seen?”

  “It’s difficult to polish,” Mari said.

  “I can’t imagine my mother, or any woman, picking out something this horrible.”

  She opened a cupboard filled with complete table settings for twelve of Royal Copenhagen Flora Danica fine china. Laurel found a dozen settings too much since Gerald had never had that many people over for dinner ever, never mind all at one time. There were also sugar bowls, a cake plate, serving trays, gravy boats and other items to complete a set of china—each piece costing in the thousands. Two shelves contained Waterford crystal goblets and water glasses. “This stuff is worth a small fortune. I wonder if it was his rainy day stash, or if he was just a compulsive collector.”

  Mari took out a plate and ran her hand over it. “I like the pattern.”

  “Would you like to have the set of china?”

  Mari was so startled, she nearly dropped the plate. Quickly, she put it back in the cupboard. “What would I do with it? Maybe you’ll want to start having parties here.”

  “I’d rather you had it. Think about it,” she said.

  Mari promised she would and left the dining room. Laurel hoped she hadn’t made her uncomfortable.

  Laurel herself preferred the everyday dishes. When she was allowed to have a friend over, even though most of them were wealthy, they would either gush over her father’s possessions or make fun of them. She heard the words garish and ugly enough from her honest friends, she began to see her father’s things in the same light. When he wasn’t home, she toned down her wardrobe and everything else. It was the only way she could rebel against him successfully.

  She followed Mari, and went into the kitchen. She got a wineglass from her drugstore collection. She bet the wine didn’t taste any better in Waterford than it did in her cheapo glass. After filling her glass, she sat in the breakfast nook and picked up the cordless phone. She punched in ‘4’ and listened to it ring.

  “Kraft,” said a deep voice on the other end. Laurel’s heart beat faster.

  “Dylan, it’s Laurel. Could you come over for dinner? I have something I need to discuss with you.” There was a silence on the line. “Uh, no quiche, I promise,” she said.

  “In that case, how can I say no? What time?”

  She looked at her watch. It was already five-thirty. “Seven?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  After Laurel hung up, she sat sipping her wine. Dylan’s voice was still in her head. I must really be losing it. She’d never given him a thought in all the years she’d known him. Now it seemed she was thinking of him in ways her father wouldn’t have liked and that weren’t particularly comfortable to her—the hired help, for heaven’s sake. But just because he worked for her didn’t mean he wasn’t great looking, kind and . . . or did he work for her, she wondered, remembering Gerald’s letter.

  “Oh, go away,” she commanded her thoughts. She went to find Mari and tell her there would be an extra person for dinner.

  At seven on the dot, the doorbell rang. Mari answered it.

  “Dylan! You’ve never bothered to ring before.”

  “I’ve never been invited to dinner by the mistress of the house before,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “I decided on T-bone steaks. I know you like them.”

  “My mouth is watering already.” He went into the living room, stopping briefly to pick up a flyer off the floor. In the living room, his glance went to the pictures of Laurel on the mantel.

  Mari followed his gaze. “She has always been pretty.”

  Dylan shrugged. “I guess so.”

  “She should be right down.” Mari left him standing in the middle of the living room, alone among pictures of Laurel. He looked down at the flyer he’d picked up. It was from Dr. Miles Gunderson’s office. What on earth is this doing here? He had a momentary touch of panic. Before he could think about it any further, Laurel walked into the room. Her dark green dress clung to her curves and complemented her auburn hair and green eyes. He gulped.

  “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Scotch,” he managed to croak, forcing himself to look away.

  “Okay. I don’t do mixed drinks, so if you want ice, help yourself. Then, come into the breakfast nook if you don’t mind.” She slipped out of the room.

  He smiled. She thought she was so worldly, yet she didn’t even know Scotch rocks would hardly be considered a mixed drink. He poured himself a generous portion of Macallan 30 and shot back more than a sip. He savored the slight aromatic orange scent and the incredible smoothness when he swallowed. He had Gerald to thank for introd
ucing him to the best. Ice indeed. No self-respecting person would have Macallan any way but neat.

  When Dylan made his way into the kitchen nook, he found Laurel at the table, finishing a glass of Perrier. He sat opposite her, put his glass on the table, and held out the brochure. She took it, and her face reddened.

  “Where’d you get this?” she said.

  “It was on the floor in the foyer.”

  “Oh. I must have missed the recycle can. It came in the mail,” she said. She crushed the brochure between her hands and tossed it toward the trashcan on the other side of the nook. It landed inside the can.

  “Two points,” she and Dylan said at the same time. They looked at each other and laughed.

  Mari brought in plates and flatware from the buffet.

  “Why are you using these?” Laurel said. “It seems kind of incongruous in the nook.”

  Mari shrugged. “A dinner date should be special.”

  “But this isn’t—”

  Dylan interrupted her. “It’s perfect, Mari. A fitting tribute to Gerald.”

  Mari agreed and went back into the kitchen. She reappeared with a platter that held two perfectly cooked steaks. She put the platter on the table and retraced her steps. She came back with a bowl of coleslaw and four ears of corn.

  “Smells wonderful,” Laurel said.

  “You two enjoy.”

  “We will, definitely,” Dylan said, helping himself to a steak.

  They ate without speaking. Dylan didn’t have anything to say to Laurel, and if she had something to say to him, she was being coy. Finally, when they were both full, they looked at each other wondering what was next.

  “More scotch?” Laurel said.

  Dylan shook his head. “I’ve had plenty.”

  “Well, I’m having a glass of wine. Would you like some?”

  “Sure, why not? What are you drinking?”