Drop Dead Beautiful

  “I’ll tell him.”

  “That’s fine.”

  Satisfied, Bobby poured himself another cup of coffee. “Max back yet?” he asked. “Be nice to see her before we take off.”

  “She’ll be back today,” Lucky said, not prepared to share her daughter’s bad behavior with everyone.

  “Thought she was coming back for Gino’s party,” Bobby said.

  “So did I. But you know Max …”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “What time are you leaving?”

  “Around two. Thought I’d hang out with Gino before he heads off to Palm Springs. He told me he’s taken up golf.”

  “Gino? Golf?” Lennie said, strolling into the room and heading straight for the coffee. “Now, that I’d like to see.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Lucky said. “The thought of Gino on a golf course with a bunch of old-fart buddies hitting a ball around is not the Gino I know and love.”

  “Ha!” Bobby said. “You’d like him to be all Brando-like, sitting in a room handing out favors to the neighborhood peasants!”

  “You have a brilliant imagination, Bobby,” Lucky said coolly.

  “Didn’t Gino used to—”

  “Okay,” Lucky said as Gino Junior came in with two of his friends. “That’s enough.”

  “But Mom—”

  “Enough, I said. And you,” she added, talking to Gino Junior, “leave the people dismantling the tent alone, they’ve got a job to do.”

  “We were only goofing around, Mom.”

  “Then don’t. Okay?”

  Since when had she become the mother figure? The disciplinarian?

  Well … having kids did that to a person.

  She couldn’t wait to get back to Vegas and her hotel. Right now that’s where she belonged.

  They were opening in two weeks and she had to be there, wanted to be there.

  As soon as she tracked down Max she’d be on her way.

  Chapter 52

  After making himself a cup of tea, Henry returned to his rollaway bed, where he attempted to go back to sleep and summon up the magnificent and magical dream he’d experienced earlier.

  Ah … Maria. All over him. So young and innocent.

  Maria, his dream girl.

  The title he’d bestowed on her excited him, making him more anxious than ever to see her.

  Once more he got out of bed, wondering if it was too early to wake her. Today he would fix her a proper breakfast, eggs and bacon with toast and strawberry jam.

  Yes, he decided, she would like that, unless she didn’t eat bacon. Perhaps she was a vegetarian. He needed to know more about her. He needed to know everything about her.

  He wondered what his mother would have to say on the day he brought Maria home. He rehearsed the scene in his head, imagining the look of surprise on Penelope’s face.

  “Good morning, Mother.”

  “Good morning, dear.”

  “I would like you to meet Maria, the girl I’m going to marry.”

  “She’s very pretty, dear. And she looks smart too. Are you sure she’s not too pretty and smart for you?”

  Dammit! That was not the way the scene was supposed to go. Penelope Whitfield-Simmons even controlled his daydreams with her caustic remarks.

  Ever since he could remember, his mother had put him down, belittled him, treated him with no respect. She’d never told him he was clever or handsome or any of the things a son wants to hear from his mother. She’d never hugged him or kissed him. It simply wasn’t fair.

  He steamed about his mother for a moment or two, then realized she wasn’t there to annoy him with her nasty spiteful remarks. He was on his own, free to do whatever he wished.

  And he wished to see Maria.

  He got out of bed, dressed, and carefully began to prepare his loved one her breakfast.

  “You got your car keys?” Ace asked.

  “What do you think?” Max snapped back. She knew she shouldn’t be taking her bad mood out on Ace, since he’d basically saved her, but she couldn’t help herself.

  They were sitting in the back of a battered Chevrolet Impala driven by an elderly man with his redheaded thirteen-year-old grandson in the passenger seat beside him.

  Fortunately, the old man couldn’t see that well, so at the behest of his grandson, who’d spotted Max in her torn jeans and tight tank top standing by the side of the road, he’d stopped for them and was giving them a ride into town.

  Max slumped against the seat in the back. She was exhausted, everything hurt, and she was scared of going home. She was certain that if Lucky ever found out the truth, she’d ground her forever. She’d missed Gino’s big party, and in Lucky’s eyes there would be no excuse for that, especially as she’d faithfully promised to be there. Her life was about to turn into pure crap.

  “It’s okay if you don’t have keys,” Ace said. “I can hotwire it.”

  The thirteen-year-old swiveled his head, staring at Max’s boobs, his teenage lust bursting out all over. “You know how to hot-wire a car?” he asked, still staring at Max’s chest. “Awesome!”

  “He knows,” Max answered, indicating Ace. “He robs banks, hot-wires cars, he’s a regular man of all trades.”

  “Awesome!” the boy repeated.

  Ace took a swig from the water bottle the old man had offered, then passed it to Max. She took a couple of gulps. Now that they were almost safe, her nerves were beginning to kick in. What was she going to tell Lucky? Definitely not the truth, it was too stupid and humiliating, plus Lucky would never let her forget it.

  She decided to go with the carjacked story. That was her safest bet.

  “You happen to have a phone?” Ace asked the kid.

  “I wish,” the boy said. “Grandpa thinks cell phones rot the brain.”

  “Who do you want to phone?” Max asked, shooting Ace a sideways glance. He was still a major hottie, in spite of his bedraggled appearance.

  “My brother.”

  “You’re not going to tell him, are you?”

  “Not if you don’t want me to.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “So we’re just gonna let that freak get away with it?”

  “What freak?” the boy asked.

  “Nobody you ever wanna meet,” Ace said.

  The old man, hunched over the wheel, launched into a nasty coughing fit. The boy took the water bottle back from Max and handed it to his grandfather. The car swerved on the dusty road as the old man drank.

  “How about I drive?” Ace suggested, leaning forward. “You look like you could use a break.”

  The old man acquiesced. He was tired and his arthritis was playing up, his hands bent and misshapen. “Wouldn’t mind that a bit, son,” he said, clicking his teeth. “You got a license?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ace replied politely.

  The old man pulled the car over. Ace got out. The boy slithered over the passenger seat and into the back next to Max.

  She shied away—he reminded her of Gino Junior’s friends with their horny eyes and leering stares. The old man settled into the front passenger seat while Ace got behind the wheel.

  “How long before we reach Big Bear?” Max asked.

  “ ’Bout half an hour,” the old man said, and promptly fell asleep.

  Chapter 53

  “A detective will be calling you,” Renee informed Anthony over the phone.

  “What the fuck you talkin’ ’bout?” Anthony replied, a ferocious scowl covering his face.

  “Detective Franklin from Vegas. She might even send someone to interview you if she’s not satisfied with your answers, so I suggest you try and repeat exactly what I’ve already told her.”

  “You must be fuckin’ shittin’ me?” Anthony exploded. “You gave the cops my name?”

  “I had to, you were sitting at the table with us for over two hours, everyone from the busboys to the guests in the hotel saw you. I can’t pretend you weren’t there.”

  “Why the fuc
k not?” he said, marveling at Renee’s stupidity.

  “I’ve had to pay a lot of people off, but the entire hotel— impossible.”

  “I don’t fuckin’ get it,” Anthony raged. “That’s the dumbest move you’ve ever made.”

  “No,” Renee said sharply. “My dumbest move was aiding and abetting you. I should’ve called the cops.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” he said, his voice cold. “You know what would’ve happened to you if you’d made a foolish move like that.”

  “Are you threatening me, Anthony?”

  “Of course not,” he said, backing down. “But what the fuck am I supposed to say to this detective?”

  “Tell her you’re a friend of Susie and mine, we had dinner, and that’s it.”

  “Jesus Christ!” he snarled. “Who needs this shit?”

  “I know,” Renee said. “I’m not thrilled myself. I’ve got a detective snooping around my hotel questioning people— how do you think I like that? I haven’t given her your number yet. What number should I tell her?”

  “Here’s the deal,” Anthony said, still pissed off. “I’ll call her.”

  “That won’t fly.”

  “How d’you know?”

  “Because I do.”

  “Jesus Christ, Renee! You’re a fuckin’ moron! Give her my cell, not any of my business numbers.”

  Renee controlled her own temper. Anthony was the fucking moron and she was starting to think of ways to get him out of her life permanently.

  “When will you be back here?” she asked.

  “In time for the big event. Everything still in place? No fuckups?”

  “Apart from cops crawling all over my hotel, everything’s on track.”

  “You can handle it.”

  Of course she could handle it. Who did Anthony Bonar think he was, issuing orders as if she were some lowly employee there to do his bidding? Fuck him.

  “Right now Tasmin is listed as missing,” she said.

  “An’ there’s no way they can come up with more, ain’t that so?”

  “Yes, Anthony,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Your people were thorough?”

  “Yes,” she said, knowing he was making sure she’d arranged to have Tasmin’s body buried where nobody would ever find it, that is, unless she pointed them in the right direction. “Everything’s taken care of,” she added.

  “It better be,” he said, slamming down the phone. “Son of a bitch! ” he yelled, furious that he had to deal with this shit.

  “What’s the matter, Papa?” Carolina asked, entering the room wearing a skimpy yellow bikini and flowered flip-flops.

  “Nothing, Princess, it’s business,” he said, distracted.

  “What business exactly are you in?” Carolina asked, biting into an apple.

  “Import/export, you know that,” he replied, noticing that the bikini she had on was showing too much skin. She was thirteen, for chrissakes, what moron allowed her to buy a bikini more suited for a Victoria’s Secret model?

  “Yes, Papa, but what do you import?” Carolina persisted. “One of my friends asked me the other day, and I didn’t know what to say.”

  “I import all kinda things, Princess. I buy items from China, ship ’em to America, then they get sold in the stores.”

  “Oooh,” Carolina said, taking another bite of her apple. “Can I go to one of the stores and buy stuff?”

  “There’s nothing you’d like,” he said, wondering where this sudden interest in his business was coming from. “It’s all cheap crap, not your style.”

  “Why do you sell crap?”

  “ ’Cause it makes me big bucks.”

  “I lika big bucks,” Carolina said, giggling.

  “Ain’t ya got some kinda coverup?” Anthony asked. “You’re too young to be walkin’ around with everythin’ hangin’ out.”

  “Maybe one day I’ll go into business,” Carolina mused, ignoring his criticism.

  “No import/export for you,” he said sharply. “When you’re old enough Papa’s gonna find you a nice boy to settle down with so you can give me lotsa grandkids.”

  “What if I don’t want to get married, Papa?” Carolina said, pulling a face. “Boys suck.”

  “Some of ’em do an’ some of ’em don’t. One day you’ll change your mind.”

  “Why would I do that, Papa?” she asked, her pretty face a picture of innocence.

  “Enough with the questions,” he said impatiently. “An’ go put somethin’ on over that bikini.”

  Carolina looked dismayed.

  “Sorry, Princess,” he said quickly. “Didn’t mean to get on your case. C’mon back over here an’ give your papa a big, fat hug.”

  She ran over to him. He squeezed her a little too tightly. “What you doin’ today?”

  “We’re having lunch at the beach club, then we might go water-skiing.”

  He enjoyed the fact that he had kids who got to do all the things he’d never had the opportunity of doing when he was growing up. They snow-skied, water-skied, played tennis, rode horses. He was proud that he’d been able to give them so much.

  “Where’s your mom?” he asked.

  “Dunno,” Carolina replied.

  “Go find her, tell her I wanna see her.”

  “When are we leaving here, Papa?”

  “You know I never make plans ahead. I’m a ‘feel it, do it’ kinda guy.”

  “My friends need to know ’cause they have to tell their parents.”

  “When do you wanna leave?”

  “Whenever you do.”

  “Okay, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks, Papa,” Carolina said, skipping from the room.

  His mind was still on the phone call from Renee. He couldn’t even relax in peace without being bothered by the Vegas incident.

  It was over.

  Done with.

  Why was Renee behaving like such a stupid bitch?

  “Papa wants to see you,” Carolina said, approaching Irma, who was lying out by the infinity pool soaking up the hot Acapulco sun.

  “What does he want?”

  “How should I know?” Carolina said somewhat rudely.

  Irma didn’t bother telling her daughter off. She’d relinquished all responsibility. Anthony was in charge now— Carolina was all his.

  “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

  “I’m not a message service,” Carolina said, ruder by the minute. “Tell him yourself.”

  What a lovely young lady she was turning into. Good luck, Anthony.

  Irma got up from her lounger and made her way toward the villa. When she got there she found Anthony sitting on one of the outdoor patios smoking an oversized cigar, his two dogs lying at his feet.

  “You wanted me?” she said.

  “Yeah,” he answered, blowing acrid smoke in her direction. “What’s up with you?”

  “What’s up with me?” she repeated. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I mean, what the fuck’s up with you,” he said, scowling. “You’re acting like a zombie, all zoned out like nothin’s gettin’ through to you. You on Prozac or one of those antidepressant pills?”

  “Why would I be on antidepressant pills?” she said, veering toward being sarcastic. “You’ve taken my children, left me in a foreign country with no friends. Surely I’d have no reason to be depressed?”

  “You got homes all over the fuckin’ place, money to shop your ass off, an’ now you’re complainin’—is that what I’m hearin’?”

  “You can hear what you want to,” Irma said, feeling quite bold. “I don’t care anymore.”

  “You’d better stop this shit,” Anthony raged. “I work like a maniac to keep my family happy, an’ this is the thanks I get? A miserable wife who barely fuckin’ functions.”

  “Oh, I function,” she said, wishing she could tell him how well she functioned when Luis was in her bedroom going down on her with a passion she’d never felt from her
husband.

  “Yeah, in Chanel an’ Louis Vuitton with my credit card in your hand you function like a fuckin’ machine.”