cameras around the house, one at the front gate, and another by the pool. All the cameras had twenty-four-hour videotapes that would be kept on file for a month before recycling. Joanne said it was like living in the Chase- Manhattan Bank.
The police never did figure out how the culprit had broken in. They said it must have been a pro. Avery surmised that Libby had upgraded from her punk errand boys.
As exasperating as Libby had been, Brent suggested that they bury the hatchet. It was why Avery had come along today—so Libby could finally meet him, and perhaps satiate her love-hate fixation for him.
Libby and her attorney had arrived fifteen minutes late. Her lawyer was a savvy black woman named Fiona Williamson, dressed in a yellow tailored suit. Libby seemed quite dumpy and under-dressed as she waddled through the door after Fiona.
Avery stood up and nodded politely.
Libby reeled back and vehemently shook her head.
“Ms. Stoddard and I would appreciate it if Mr. Cooper remained seated throughout the proceedings,” her lawyer explained. “My client objects to his aggressive manner here—and his efforts to intimidate her.”
“What?” Avery murmured, incredulous.
Rolling his eyes, Brent motioned for him to sit down. Avery took his seat. So much for burying the hatchet.
Fiona immediately started in about how her client felt persecuted and hounded by police during her Maui vacation. She stuck to Libby’s original tale of unloading the returned gifts on some teenagers outside a thrift shop.
Brent asked why these destitute boys would ruin six hundred dollars’ worth of merchandise and deliver it to Avery’s door, rather than return the clothes and collect the refund money. Wouldn’t that have made more sense?
“Probably,” Libby replied, shrugging. That tired, bored expression didn’t change. “I mean, whatever….”
“Your client doesn’t deny leaving an irate message on Mr. Cooper’s home phone answering machine two weeks ago, does she?” Brent asked.
Libby snorted. Fiona shook her head. “Ms. Stoddard has already apologized for that unfortunate incident.”
“We believe your client—still angry at Mr. Cooper—may have destroyed some gifts he’d returned to her. We also believe she paid those teenage boys to deliver the items to his door while she was in Maui.”
“My client has already told you what she did with the merchandise in question,” Fiona Williamson shot back.
“Does your client recall the name and location of the thrift shop?”
Frowning, Libby shook her head.
“It’s important,” Brent said. “Maybe we can track down these teenagers at the same place. We believe these boys may have broken into Mr. Cooper’s home four days ago. They stole a very personal item.”
Libby whispered something to her lawyer, then giggled.
Avery glared at her. She seemed to think this was all pretty amusing. He imagined her watching the video over and over. As much as she snickered at him and Joanne having sex, Libby probably relished the voyeuristic thrill. He could see her gleefully supervising the phone calls her errand boys made.
There had been several more in the last few days. They always hung up before a trace could be completed. At first, the same menacing voice crept over the line, spewing obscenities and quoting them in their intimate moments. A second person started phoning; he sounded older than the first. He said the videotape had been duplicated, and “My, won’t the tabloids be interested.”
Trying to maintain a brave front, Joanne said over and over that she refused to let the calls upset her. Nevertheless, Joanne’s doctor had suggested that she go back on her antidepressants. But she ended up not taking them for fear it might hurt her chances of conceiving.
Seeing Libby so smug—almost enjoying this confrontation—Avery despised her. Beneath the mahogany table, he tapped his foot impatiently while his lawyer tried to tie her punk errand boys to last Thursday’s break-in. Brent seemed headed in the wrong direction. Avery had already told him the cops thought a professional burglar had pulled the job. Why was Brent going on about these teenagers?
“Can you describe these boys outside the thrift store?” he asked.
“I don’t remember.” Libby shrugged and let out a little laugh.
“Ms. Stoddard, we’re trying to track down the person or persons who stole an item from the Coopers’ home last week.”
“Listen…Libby,” Avery broke in. “I’m not interested in pressing charges or anything like that. I just want this personal item back. I’m asking for your cooperation.”
“Well, too bad you didn’t want to talk to me last month,” she sneered. “Too bad you sent back all the presents I bought you. I’ll bet you’re sorry now. Suddenly, you want to be my friend.”
Fiona gently took hold of Libby’s arm and whispered in her ear. Libby glanced down at the tabletop for a moment. “I don’t know about any stolen stuff,” she said coolly. “I can’t help you.”
Avery slapped the tabletop with his palm. “Goddamn it,” he said.
“Mr. Cooper,” the arbitrator said with a chastising look.
“Sorry,” he muttered. Avery took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He glanced across at Libby, who had a tiny smirk on her face. Avery leaned close to Brent. “God help me,” he growled. “I’d like to strangle her….”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Cooper?” Libby’s attorney asked hotly. She glowered at him. “Would you care to repeat it for the record?”
“No, that was between my attorney and myself,” Avery said.
He didn’t say another word for the rest of the hearing.
An hour after the meeting adjourned, Avery was back on the set for a love scene with Traci Haydn. It wasn’t his day.
During a break in the shooting, he retreated to his trailer and caught Joanne on her cellular. She was in the car, returning from a lunch date. Avery gave her the bad news: “The arbitration was a disaster. And we aren’t any closer to recovering that stupid video.” He sighed, and sank down on his sofa. “The only thing to come out of this is—well, now I’m pretty certain Libby’s not responsible for stealing the tape.”
“What do you mean?” Joanne asked.
“When Brent asked her about those punks and their night delivery to the house, I could tell every answer Libby gave was a lie or an evasion. But when he focused on the break-in last Thursday and a ‘stolen personal item,’ I think Libby genuinely didn’t know what he was talking about.”
“Well, if it’s not Libby, who’s behind all this?” Joanne asked.
He’d been wondering the same thing. How could Libby know about their little home movie? Who else knew about the tape? Joanne admitted that she’d told a couple of girlfriends in New York, but no one else. Avery didn’t trust most of Joanne’s Broadway buddies. It was a gossipy, narcissistic crowd. Still, he doubted Libby or one of her people could have gotten to someone in New York. But seven weeks ago, the dead mice people had worked both coasts at the same time. They’d been in Joanne’s dressing room, and they’d broken into his Vancouver hotel suite undetected. They could have first seen the videotape in his suitcase there. All those weeks went by, and nothing. How stupid of him to think that they had decided to pick on someone else.
“Are you still there?” Joanne asked.
“Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking.”
“Listen, I talked to Saul again today,” she said. “They still want me for that comedy. They’ve been holding off finding another actress, and the first read through is day after tomorrow in New York.”
Avery sighed. “Well, I won’t blame you if you need to go—”
“Honey, I told them no.”
“Really?”
Joanne laughed. “You figured since things are getting rough, I’d start packing. Didn’t you? Well, I’m sticking around, hon.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Listen, are you headed home?”
“Yes, home to all those cameras and security codes.”
