stationed himself by the living room window, peeking out at the street from behind the curtain.
“There’s a limousine pulling into the driveway,” he finally reported. “That should interest the neighbors—two limos in as many days.”
He rushed over to the front door and had it open probably before Tarleton’s chauffeur had done the same job on the limo.
Fritz Tarleton looked out of place in the comfortable but slightly shabby living room.
The fact was, the price of his haircut could probably finance a replacement for the sofa. The money that went into his suit could probably renovate the whole living room—and get a start on the kitchen, too.
The man inside the expensive clothing had that George Clooney/John Forsythe look, Central Casting’s vision of the high-powered business executive.
Liza remembered that from her previous run-in with Tarleton. He acted as if his money and power could allow him to get his way against anyone. It had taken Michelle Markson and an embarrassing sex video Ritz had recorded of herself to get Fritz Tarleton to back down.
Now, however, the tourism tycoon seemed somehow . . . shrunken.
Was that a result of the financial meltdown, or was it the loss of his daughter?
Tarleton seemed to be reading her mind. “I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot when we first met,” he said. “I was so hypnotized by the idea of getting that painting that I acted like a prize jerk.”
He shook his head. “Guess I learned a little late about what’s really important. Like my little girl.”
Tarleton looked down at her, his expression admitting the irony of his words, but his eyes showing a pain that broke Liza’s heart. “She was a little girl once, you know. As for what she grew up to be—”
He broke off. “Now I’m hearing rumors that her death may not be the accident we thought at first. My sources may not be as extensive as your partner’s, but they’re good enough.” Tarleton paused. “They also tell me you’re asking some questions about Ritz.”
“It’s not—I haven’t—” Liza floundered for a minute, trying to explain what she was doing and realizing that she didn’t really have a clear idea of that herself. She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to intrude on something that’s obviously painful for you. There were just some questions about what Ritz had on her mind before the earthquake.”
Fritz Tarleton sank into a chair off to the side of the sofa, giving her a long look. “You think I’m here to tell you to stay out of this, to forget about Ritz.” He gave her a very definite headshake. “I came to offer any help I can with an investigation. I’ve already told my head of security, Jim McShane, to give you any information he can, nothing held back.”
“I’m not sure what I’m investigating,” Liza said, embarrassed. “And I certainly can’t make any promises—”
“I’m only too aware of that.” Tarleton’s regular features tightened as he spoke. “But you’ve managed to get to the bottom of some pretty odd cases—cases the police might not have solved. And I’m not trying to tell you what to do—only that there are resources available if you need them.”
Liza stewed for a few seconds more, unwilling to commit herself. She looked over at Michael, who stood behind Tarleton. He shrugged and held out empty hands, as unsure about what to say as she was.
“I don’t know what the police are looking into, and I’m not sure this really has any connection to what happened,” Liza told the tour baron. “But I’ve heard from several people that Ritz had something going, and it involved the celebrity competition on D-Kodas . Do you have any idea what that might be?”
Fritz Tarleton slowly shook his head. “I don’t know what exactly she might have been up to. But I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised, after my last conversation with her.”
Michael leaned forward. “What was that?”
Tarleton sighed. “It was the end of a
“There’s a limousine pulling into the driveway,” he finally reported. “That should interest the neighbors—two limos in as many days.”
He rushed over to the front door and had it open probably before Tarleton’s chauffeur had done the same job on the limo.
Fritz Tarleton looked out of place in the comfortable but slightly shabby living room.
The fact was, the price of his haircut could probably finance a replacement for the sofa. The money that went into his suit could probably renovate the whole living room—and get a start on the kitchen, too.
The man inside the expensive clothing had that George Clooney/John Forsythe look, Central Casting’s vision of the high-powered business executive.
Liza remembered that from her previous run-in with Tarleton. He acted as if his money and power could allow him to get his way against anyone. It had taken Michelle Markson and an embarrassing sex video Ritz had recorded of herself to get Fritz Tarleton to back down.
Now, however, the tourism tycoon seemed somehow . . . shrunken.
Was that a result of the financial meltdown, or was it the loss of his daughter?
Tarleton seemed to be reading her mind. “I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot when we first met,” he said. “I was so hypnotized by the idea of getting that painting that I acted like a prize jerk.”
He shook his head. “Guess I learned a little late about what’s really important. Like my little girl.”
Tarleton looked down at her, his expression admitting the irony of his words, but his eyes showing a pain that broke Liza’s heart. “She was a little girl once, you know. As for what she grew up to be—”
He broke off. “Now I’m hearing rumors that her death may not be the accident we thought at first. My sources may not be as extensive as your partner’s, but they’re good enough.” Tarleton paused. “They also tell me you’re asking some questions about Ritz.”
“It’s not—I haven’t—” Liza floundered for a minute, trying to explain what she was doing and realizing that she didn’t really have a clear idea of that herself. She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to intrude on something that’s obviously painful for you. There were just some questions about what Ritz had on her mind before the earthquake.”
Fritz Tarleton sank into a chair off to the side of the sofa, giving her a long look. “You think I’m here to tell you to stay out of this, to forget about Ritz.” He gave her a very definite headshake. “I came to offer any help I can with an investigation. I’ve already told my head of security, Jim McShane, to give you any information he can, nothing held back.”
“I’m not sure what I’m investigating,” Liza said, embarrassed. “And I certainly can’t make any promises—”
“I’m only too aware of that.” Tarleton’s regular features tightened as he spoke. “But you’ve managed to get to the bottom of some pretty odd cases—cases the police might not have solved. And I’m not trying to tell you what to do—only that there are resources available if you need them.”
Liza stewed for a few seconds more, unwilling to commit herself. She looked over at Michael, who stood behind Tarleton. He shrugged and held out empty hands, as unsure about what to say as she was.
“I don’t know what the police are looking into, and I’m not sure this really has any connection to what happened,” Liza told the tour baron. “But I’ve heard from several people that Ritz had something going, and it involved the celebrity competition on D-Kodas . Do you have any idea what that might be?”
Fritz Tarleton slowly shook his head. “I don’t know what exactly she might have been up to. But I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised, after my last conversation with her.”
Michael leaned forward. “What was that?”
Tarleton sighed. “It was the end of a
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