Without a Doubt Read online

  “Unfortunately, yes. Looks like an older woman, an assistant maybe, got hit with a piece of shredded glass from one of the display cases. Took a piece in the neck and bled out before paramedics could get to her.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Nope. Manager’s okay. Little shook up. His name’s Churchill. Stick around, you can ask him yourself. He’ll be coming out in a minute.”

  “And the bomb, anything you can tell me about it?”

  “Bomb Squad boys say it was a flash bomb, type of thing designed to create more of a diversion than do physical damage. Big sound, lots of smoke. Wasn’t supposed to kill anybody.”

  I took notes quickly, my hands shaking as I scribbled onto my notepad. In the background, through my headset, I could hear Tyler talking to Kari, setting up my report. “Carol. Tell us what you know.”

  “I’m here on Rodeo Drive in front of Henry Westin’s, where just moments ago a blast shook the street of this quiet shopping area, sending shoppers scrambling for cover. Police have confirmed one fatality.”

  “Do we have an ID?” Kari asked.

  “Not yet. But police are telling me a woman inside the store appears to have been hit by a piece of flying glass. It’s believed she bled out before the paramedics could arrive on the scene.”

  I watched as two EMTs emerged from within the building with an older gray-haired gentleman. This had to be the manager, Mr. Churchill. He looked to be somewhere in his seventies, his hair and clothes rumpled, a bit unsteady on his feet.

  “Excuse me,” I hollered across the yellow tape. “Mr. Churchill, can you talk to us?”

  The old man stopped maybe twenty feet from me, and, noting the mic in my hand, patted the arm of one of the EMTs assisting him and walked towards me. From the dull expression on his pale creased face, it was evident he was still in shock.

  “Sir, can you tell us what happened?”

  Churchill reached for the mic, his thin hands trembling. I put my hand on top of his to steady them and nodded for him to go on. I detected a slight English accent as he spoke.

  “All I can tell you, miss, is we’d just opened. Carmen Montague had come in early. She had a necklace she wanted to drop for repair and had just left when—Boom! There was an explosion. The building rocked. Everything went white, the store filled with smoke, and I was knocked off my feet.”

  “Was anyone else in the building with you? Any customers?”

  “No.” Churchill shook his head. He looked muddled, disoriented. “Only my assistant…I…I believe she’s been badly hurt.” He put his hand on his head and looked back over his shoulder as the EMTs rolled an empty stretcher from inside the building back toward the ambulance. I knew this wasn’t a good sign. The body wouldn’t be released until the crime scene had been completely investigated. He looked back at me, apparently confused. Why was the stretcher empty? I could see it hadn’t hit him yet. His assistant was dead. “I’m sorry. Did you ask if anyone else was in the store?

  “I don’t believe so. Perhaps there was someone waiting. I’m not sure. You’d have to ask our security guard, Mr. Paley. He’s speaking with the officers now.” He pointed with a crooked index finger, his hand still shaking, in the direction of the patrol cars. An older beefy-looking guard was talking with two Beverly Hills cops.

  I was about to ask Churchill if he had any idea what might have been stolen when he clutched his chest. He looked as though he were about to faint, his face even whiter than his collared shirt. I reached for his shoulder to steady him and told Kari to hold.

  “Mr. Churchill, are you all right?”

  “I…I don’t think so.” He looked as though he were about to collapse. “I need to sit down.”

  I shielded my mic to my shoulder and yelled to the EMTs, “I need help here.”

  The two EMTs who looked as though they were about to leave came running. I heard one say, as Churchill collapsed back into their arms, that he had refused to go to the hospital to be checked out, insisting he was okay. He wanted to stay to supervise the cleanup.

  Within seconds, despite his objections, Churchill, looking deathly white, was put on a stretcher. An oxygen mask was placed on his face and he was hurriedly rushed back towards the ambulance.

  With one hand to my ear to shield out the sound of the helicopters hovering overhead and the warbling sound of the ambulance sirens in the background, I pressed the earphone to my head and continued my report.

  “Kari, as you can hear from the sounds of the sirens and helicopter above, this is still a very fluid situation. Earlier this morning this could have been a scene from a Hallmark card, the streets decorated for the holiday and bustling with shoppers. But right now it looks like a scene from a sci-fi movie. Westin’s manager, Mr. Churchill, has just collapsed and been rushed to an ambulance, and there is no word yet on the cause of the explosion. However, if there is any good news concerning this attack, it’s that the police do not believe this disturbance is terrorist-related. Instead, what I’m learning from police is that this was a flash bomb. A device designed to create a diversion for what investigators believe may have been an attempted robbery, possibly related to a recent rash of jewelry store robberies in the area. This is Carol Childs reporting for KCHC, live from Beverly Hills.”

  After wrapping up my report, in the absence of anything more pressing, I headed back to my Jeep. I had parked less than a block away, beneath Two Rodeo Drive, LA’s answer to the Spanish Steps, a European-style shopping center complete with a cobblestone walkway, hanging flower baskets, and, best of all, two hours of free parking. I’d nearly reached the auto entrance when I came upon an old woman, hunched over and struggling to carry two handfuls of shopping bags. I felt compelled to stop.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She looked severely shaken up.

  “I’m…I’m fine, thank you.” She sounded winded, and stopped and placed her hands over her heart as she caught her breath. She explained that she was on her way back to her car when the blast went off. She had huddled with her bags in front of the steps leading up to Two Rodeo Drive until all the hubbub had passed.

  I could appreciate her concern, and when I realized we were parked in the same lot, I offered to carry her bags for her.

  “So kind of you,” she said. “People today are much too busy to stop and help an old lady. No such thing as a Good Samaritan these days.”

  I took her bags and helped her through the parking lot. When I turned, I noticed she had removed a small brooch from the lapel of her jacket. With gloved hands, she gently pressed it into mine.

  “As a thank you,” she said, “for rescuing me.”

  I glanced at the pin. It was a stunning work of art, a Phoenix rising from fire, with emeralds, rubies, and diamonds. I couldn’t be sure if it were the real thing or some Beverly Hills knock-off, but either way, I couldn’t possibly accept it. Listeners are always trying to give us things, but it’s against policy. I attempted to hand it back.

  “Really, you don’t need to—”

  “Please, you’ll make an old lady happy.” She stepped back, both hands up, refusing to take it back. “It’s the least I can do.”

  Before I had a chance to argue about it, the valet pulled up with my embarrassingly dirty red Jeep. “Ma’am.”

  With the door wide open, the valet waved at me impatiently. I had overstayed my two-hour free parking limit and he expected to be paid. With the brooch in my hand, I scoured around in the bottom of my bag for change while explaining I was a reporter. I hoped upon hearing who I was, he might grant me a special dispensation for my role in covering the explosion, or perhaps even think kindly enough to extend my two-hour free parking privileges. But I was getting nowhere.

  Finally finding a ten-dollar bill in the bottom of my bag, I handed it to him, expecting change. Instead, he snatched it from me and gave me the key to my car like he was handing off a
dirty diaper. Next time, he suggested, I should consider the public lot down the street. By the time I got in the car and looked to see if the old lady was still there, she had vanished.

  Chapter 3

  When I got to the office, there was a message from Eric on my office voicemail.

  “Carol, we need to talk. Call me when you get this.”

  Eric sounded stressed, like he was searching for the right words and having trouble finding them. The problem was, I wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

  My logical side knew better than to let my imagination run wild. FBI Special Agent Eric Langdon was a stand-up guy, thoughtful, considerate, and, because we’d both had enough life behind us to know better, a free agent. Albeit, romantically exclusive. And, up until this morning, at least as far as I knew, neither of us had even considered seeing anyone else. But still, Eric had clearly seen me as he exited Henry Westin’s with Carmen on his arm. I couldn’t imagine how he planned to explain that. How could he possibly have failed to tell me he had plans to be with Carmen Montague this morning? Just three hours earlier we had woken up together.

  My only thought was it had to be work-related. I tried to dismiss the nagging thought of Eric with Carmen. I couldn’t imagine a scenario where Eric was actually carrying on with a Hollywood socialite, and certainly not someone like Carmen Montague. But then there was that cashmere sports coat that looked so impossibly dashing on him, and Carmen with her long lashes and those milky white breasts of hers. They always seemed to enter a room five minutes ahead of her. And why were they at Henry Westin’s? What were they doing? Shopping for rings? This entire scene was like a nightmare, the result of too many chocolate liqueurs and stress. I picked up the phone. I was determined to resolve my issues when Tyler buzzed me on the office line.

  “Carol. I need to see you. Right away.”

  I took my finger off the speed dial, promised myself I’d call Eric back, and headed down the hallway to Tyler’s office.

  Tyler’s first words, before I’d even cleared the door, were, “You bring the candy?”

  I reached into my purse and took out a bag of assorted chocolates and caramels and placed them in front of him.

  “Please tell me that’s not why you insisted I see you.”

  He looked at the bag.

  “You get the liqueurs?”

  “Yes.”

  “The champagne gummy bears?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “The chocolate bacon bar?”

  “From Vosges Haut-Chocolat, with real bacon. Yeah, it’s there.”

  He sighed, raised his eyebrows as though relief had just arrived in the form of a chocolate bar. Opening the bag, he put his head down close to the desk and took a big whiff.

  “You okay?”

  “No,” he said. I could barely make out his muffled answer.

  Closing his eyes, he leaned back in his chair, folded his skinny arms across his chest, and smiled. Smug, like he was happy I couldn’t read his mind. I was at a loss.

  “You called?” I prompted him. “You wanted to talk about the bombing? Or has that somehow slipped your mind?”

  “Not at all.” He shook his head and started rifling through the stack of sweets on the desk. “But as you’re aware, with the directive from our new management, our focus at KCHC is now on softer news. Not robbery, murder, and mayhem, as you seem to have found yourself in the middle of this morning.”

  “Middle of?” I watched as Tyler unwrapped one of the chocolate-covered pretzels and stuffed it in his mouth. “If I recall, just an hour ago you were yelling at me to get the story.”

  “I did. And between the two of us—you weren’t half bad. Pretty good reporting, in fact.” He spoke with his mouth full. “But unfortunately, I have been instructed, or perhaps I should say ‘gently reminded,’ that we need to leave the heavy news to the others in the marketplace.”

  “And what was I supposed to do? Pretend it didn’t happen?”

  Tyler ignored my protest and shook his head. I knew he wasn’t any happier about this new directive than I was. Drowning himself in chocolate was only going to be a temporary fix.

  “Seems Bunny Morganstern, the wife of our new president, is a former radio babe herself. And this new faster, friendlier, chick-lite format is none other than her idea.” Tyler stared at me like I was the enemy. Guilty by association. At that moment, I thought he hated all women. “And right after she heard your report on the air, she called to say she’d like for us to…try a little harder. It seems while she liked your chocolatiers tour this morning and understands that you were, as you say, ‘in the neighborhood’ when the bombing went down, she didn’t appreciate the gory details.”

  “What gory details?”

  Tyler held his hand up, his meaning clear. Don’t interrupt.

  “She reminded me that when our listeners turn to KCHC, they want a safe, friendly place, entertainment, and feel-good stories. The fact you reported that the woman inside the jewelry store bled out upset her. So I was reminded that our mission is to package happy news. Things our listeners—and Bunny—would enjoy hearing about. The hard stuff she expects for us to leave to the heavy-hitters in town, the real news stations.”

  I considered telling him I had seen Eric coming out of Henry Westin’s moments before the explosion. I was certain if he knew the FBI was involved, he’d think twice before telling me to table the story. I was about to say something when I heard Kari Rhodes, her shrill voice like that of a screeching eagle, entering the office from behind me.

  “Tyler! You’ll never believe who just called.” She nudged her skinny body next to mine and stared down at the candy stash on Tyler’s desk.

  “Who?” I grabbed one of the champagne gummy bears off the desk and looked knowingly at Tyler. Kari’s connections to Hollywood industry insiders never ceased to amaze me.

  “Mimi,” she said, her voice almost an octave lower.

  “Carmen’s sister?” I asked.

  “Who else?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “She heard about the bombing at Henry Westin’s and she’s worried. She’s afraid E.T.’s diamond necklace—the one she’s arranged to borrow for next week’s awards show—might have been lifted.”

  “E.T.?” My eyes shifted to Tyler. In Hollywood, big stars’ names, living or otherwise, were frequently abbreviated by those who thought their association should be on a need-to-know basis only. Tyler shook his head. He didn’t know either.

  “Do I have to spell it out for you?” Kari stared down at the pile of gummy bears on Tyler’s desk and, selecting one, nibbled at it like a bird. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Carol. E.T., Elizabeth Taylor. Who do you think?”

  “Oh. Of course. Elizabeth Taylor. Who else could it be?” I glanced back at Tyler. How could I be so out of it? “And was E.T.’s necklace stolen?” I asked.

  “That’s just it. She doesn’t know. Not yet anyway. But after she heard your report, Carol, she called over to Henry Westin’s and no one answered. Then, just a few minutes ago, she tried back and got a message saying the store was closed for the day. Evidently they’re taking inventory. You ask me, Westin’s got hit, and they don’t want anybody to know what they’ve lost or just how much. Not with awards season coming up. Believe me, the Titanic sinking didn’t ruffle as many feathers as a robbery at Westin’s this time of year would.”

  I loved the way Kari’s mind worked. As an entertainment reporter, she always went for the dirt and frequently found it. This morning I couldn’t disagree.

  I tapped my finger on the desk in front of Tyler.

  “Okay, so there it is. A star-studded diamond heist. How’s that for your softer, more feminine approach to the news? Think Bunny might like that?”

  Tyler swung his chair back to face his computer screen. He appeared to be scrolling through a list of police reports from Beverly Hills. “C
arol, you said the cops think this morning’s robbery might be related to several others in the area.”

  “Yes. That’s what Detective Lewis said.”

  “And Henry Westin, he’s the jeweler to the stars, correct? Supplies several of the pieces actors wear for these awards shows?”

  “Absolutely,” Kari said. “Every star in Hollywood knows Henry Westin. And if they were robbed and people had to go to an awards show without their jewels…Believe me, they’d rather walk naked down the red carpet than go without them. Can you imagine?”

  I resisted the urge to smile.

  “Kari has a point, Tyler. If this morning’s robbery is related to any of the others in recent weeks, the timing’s interesting. Wouldn’t hurt to do a little snooping around, see if there is something more going on. Bunny may want us to avoid hard news, but when it comes to female listeners and awards shows, diamonds are—”

  “A girl’s best friend.” Kari popped a gummy bear into her mouth and smiled like the Cheshire Cat.

  Tyler shook his head then turned his attention back to his computer screen and quickly started typing as he spoke.

  “Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do. Kari, you’re going to be talking about awards shows this week anyway. Get Mimi to call in and talk about how devastated she is over the loss of her necklace. About how celebs and stars are frequently given the opportunity to borrow heirloom jewels for the shows and that kind of thing. And Carol, you can use that for a lead-in on these robberies. See if the police think there’s a connection and build off that.” He paused and looked up at me. “That good enough for you?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. Then you can go. Both of you. But remember, Carol, Bunny’s going to be listening. Keep it—”

  “I know, I know. Chick-lite.”

  I reached for one more of the chocolate liqueurs and was about to get up and leave the office when Renee Swell, KCHC’s office manager, poked her head in the door. In her hand was a pink message slip.

  “Carol, I’m sorry to interrupt. Your son’s school called. Charlie’s been in an accident.”