“Thanks, Jeff.”
“On a more important note,” Jeff said as he stood to leave. “There’s a new restaurant on Alberta. It’s Cajun. Are you interested?”
“Sounds great.”
“I’ll make a reservation for six, okay?”
“You bet.”
“See you later.”
Robin called Chesterfield and told him what Jeff had discovered.
“Thank you for your prompt response,” Chesterfield said whenRobin finished explaining the problem, “but I’d decided to forgo my patent already. I apologize for not calling sooner.”
“That’s okay. Since we can’t help you, I’ll send you a refund minus our fee for the time we put in.”
“No, no. Please keep the retainer in your trust account in case I need you for another matter.”
“What would that be?”
“Nothing right now, but I may have a legal problem that’s up your alley in the near future.”
Robin decided not to press Chesterfield and they ended the call. She was curious about his unnamed problem, and she had a sneaking suspicion that it would involve criminal law.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The trip from Portland to the coast had taken Robin and Jeff through a riot of green. An occasional gap in the foliage revealed white water coursing down rivers that ran alongside the road. Once they turned south on the coast highway, they had glimpses of the Pacific, calm and sun-drenched on this balmy late afternoon in July.
“The turnoff should be on the right in a quarter of a mile,” Robin said after consulting the GPS on her phone. Robin had typed the address listed on the beautifully engraved invitation she had received two weeks ago into the navigation app. The invitation was enclosed in a cream-colored envelope. Robin’s name and address had been written in graceful calligraphy. The invitation asked her to attend the premiere of the Chamber of Death at Chesterfield’s seaside mansion.
Jeff slowed his pickup and started looking for the entrance to Chesterfield’s estate.
“There!” Robin said, pointing to a gap in the roadside foliage. Jeff turned in and drove down an unpaved road until an iron gateforced him to stop. Jeff spoke into an intercom. Moments later, the gate swung open.
“These are some digs,” Jeff said when the mansion came into view.
Robin agreed, but she noticed that the landscaping had not been kept up, and the sprawling house looked weather-beaten. A building that was at the mercy of brutal winter storms and the constant attack of wind and salt spray would get beaten up, but she assumed that someone with the money to live here would have the damage repaired.
A valet took Jeff’s keys, and the couple walked to the front door. Robin and Jeff had been spending their weekends hiking and camping, and Robin wore a black designer dress with spaghetti straps that showed off the muscles on her tanned shoulders, arms, and legs. Jeff was wearing a tie Robin had picked out for him with a dark suit.
The front door was opened by an attractive brunette before Robin could ring the bell. “Welcome to the premiere of the Chamber of Death, Miss Lockwood and Mr. Hodges. I’m Miriam Ross, Mr. Chesterfield’s personal assistant.”
Ross gestured down a set of stairs toward a sunken living room, where several elegantly dressed men and women were congregating. A bar had been set up near a stone fireplace, and waiters holding trays of finger food and champagne were circulating.
“Please join Lord Chesterfield’s other guests. The show should start soon.”
When Jeff and Robin reached the bottom of the stairs, a waiter approached with flutes of champagne. They each took a glass. Floor-to-ceiling windows gave the guests a view of the sun high in the sky above the rim of the ocean. Robin wandered over and looked out at the cliff behind the house. Toward the south end of the mansion, stairs led down to the beach, where a speedboat bobbed at anchor at the end of a dock.
Jeff took a sip of champagne while he scanned the room. “Do you know any of these people?” he asked.
Robin turned around and surveyed the crowd. “I don’tknowany of them, but I recognize a few.”
Robin pointed her glass toward a woman she knew to be in her late forties but who looked much younger, thanks to the wonders performed by Beverly Hills plastic surgeons.
“That’s Claire Madison, Chesterfield’s wife. Her folks made a fortune in the diamond trade, and she inherited a tidy sum when they passed. Madison had a brief career on a reality TV show and as an actress in B movies. She’s one of those people who are famous for being famous. She met Chesterfield in Las Vegas. The tabloids say that she married him for the publicity and that they have an open marriage. Most of the time, she lives in LA.”
Claire was talking to a slim, tanned man dressed in a custom-made gray suit, blue silk shirt, and red and yellow striped Hermès tie and a balding man with a sallow complexion.