It was even dustier in the kitchen. The cabinets were up, and the marble countertops installed, but work still hadn’t begun on the backsplash, which would have made her angry before she saw the herringbone pattern at the McCaigs’。 Now she had the opportunity to make a design change without causing a problem or added expense.
The drywall was in place, but Eve could see that the corner pieces had angled screws that popped out a bit. That prompted her to take a closer look. She also noticed a slight tear where the edges of two adjoining pieces didn’t quite fit and a few instances where the screws were in too deep, puncturing the paper. The holes cut for electrical outlets and switches were rough and not quite square. Clearly, her contractor was better at washing away blood than installing drywall.
Eve made a punch list on her phone of changes and fixes she wanted her contractor to make, took a few pictures, and stepped out, zipping up the plastic behind her. Despite the problems, she was pleased with how the kitchen was shaping up, mainly because it was totally different than it was before the death that had happened there. Her hope was if the kitchen didn’t look the same, she wouldn’t relive the horrible incident every time she made herself a cup of coffee. It would be like living in a new place. Then again, she thought she’d cleaned the smell of dog poop out of her car, too.
There was another sheet of zippered plastic in front of the stairs. She unzipped the opening and went up to her bedroom to get her cycling wear and helmet. There was dust everywhere upstairs, making Eve wonder why the workers bothered with the plastic at all. She got her stuff, came back down, zipped up the house behind her, and left with her dusty bike, which she loaded into the back of her Subaru.
She went back across the Las Virgenes overpass to the Taco Bell, picked up some Cheesy Gorditas at the drive-through for dinner, then got back on the freeway to her hotel on the east side of town.
But when she pulled into the parking lot of the Hilton, she saw a golden Bentley parked near the lobby and almost turned around to avoid the man she knew was waiting inside for her.
That would be cowardly, and she liked to think of herself as someone who bravely confronted every conflict that she faced, so she parked and went inside.
Linwood Taggert sat on a couch in the lobby. Her agent was in his fifties, wearing a perfectly tailored Italian suit and a handmade shirt with his initials monogrammed on the cuffs. His tan rivaled George Hamilton’s and his straight white teeth were so bright, she was sure he could stand on a cliff during a storm as a beacon to guide ships at sea. He was one of the most powerful men in Hollywood, so it amused her to see him sitting on a cloth couch in a hotel for families and businesspeople traveling on a tight budget.
“You’ve been ignoring my calls,” he said.
Eve sat down in a chair across from him and set her Taco Bell bag on the coffee table. “You’re not a man who sits and waits for anyone. How did you know when I’d be here?”
“I called the station and they said you were gone for the day. Since your entire life is the job, I knew you’d be back here soon.”
“I could have gone shopping or to the movies, hung out with friends, or spent the night with a boyfriend.”
“A normal person could have. You? No. Your life is the job. So I was willing to give it an hour on my way home.” He lived in Hidden Hills, a gated community of 568 homes across the freeway that was so rich and exclusive, they got themselves granted cityhood. The LASD was the law there, too. “I saw the news the other night and I love your new look. You should stick with it.”
“That’s what you wanted to tell me? Now you know why I ignored your calls.” She started to get up, but Linwood dropped a thick manila envelope on the table.
“Actually, I came to give you this.”
She sat down again and looked at the envelope. “What is it?”
“The first-draft pilot script for Ronin.”
“Already?” It had only been a week since she’d spent a few hours being interviewed by Simone Harper, the Emmy Award–winning writer and producer who’d optioned the rights to her story.
“Simone was so inspired by you that she had to get your story out of her system. It was demanding to be told,” Linwood said. “That raw energy comes out in the scenes. I think the script is terrific. She really captures your character.”
“You don’t know my character. This is the third conversation we’ve ever had. Why did she show the script to you before me?”
“She wanted to make sure it was ready for prime time,” he said. “And it is.”