Telling myself this was in pursuit of finishing Mary Beth’s mission, I accepted.
Dinah listened to my end of the conversation and was grinning when I clicked off. “Good move. No downtime. Get right back on the horse.”
She was trying to make me feel good, but it had the opposite effect. I got a queasy feeling in my stomach.
“Doesn’t that make me seem pretty shallow and man hungry? It’s just dinner, and it’s really about information,” I said. “Though I do like him.”
“Molly, you’re not twenty anymore. Time is moving on and you need to, too. When the issue with Barry was that he wanted to get serious, I didn’t understand your problem. But this is different. You’re objecting to Barry’s lifestyle, which isn’t going to change, and the fact that he didn’t mention a whole other wife and daughter. Just because he has no contact with them doesn’t mean they don’t exist.” She gave me a solidarity arm squeeze.
“I LIKE PLAYING DETECTIVE,” MASON SAID THAT night as we were led to our table. “Particularly since I have a staff to actually get the information.” He had found a place nestled in Laurel Canyon I’d never been to. The walls were a brick red, and the candles flickering on each table softly illuminated the dining room.
“Roseanne and Hal have been married for twenty years and have two daughters in college. One is nineteen and one seventeen. I’m sure Mary Beth worked it out so they would get the job managing the dance studio,” Mason explained once we were seated.
He stopped for a moment, caught the waiter’s eye and ordered a bottle of merlot, then continued. “All I’ve been able to find out so far is what the Lance Wells estate owns. The house in Catalina, the one in Tarzana, all of the dance studios and a portfolio of investments all belong to it. It’s just a guess, but I would imagine with Lance Jr. and Mary Beth both gone, the estate will go to Mary Beth’s sister and Matt Wells.”
He tasted the wine when it was delivered, nodded with approval, and the waiter poured us each a glass.
“So Lance and Mary Beth had no children?” I said before taking a sip of mine.
“No, and Lance was an only child so he had no siblings. Lance Sr. had a whole slew of wives. When he died he was married to his nurse,” Mason said. The waiter had returned and Mason ordered for us. The restaurant featured a tasting menu, which meant you ordered a lot of different items and got small plates of each.
“What about the nurse? Would she be an heir to the estate?” I asked once the waiter left.
Mason didn’t think so. He imagined she’d been awarded a lump sum when the elder Lance died; she would have gotten her share long ago. Then he went back to talking about Lance Jr. and how surly he’d been when he was sober.
“If he was so unpleasant, why did Mary Beth stay with him?” I asked.
Mason raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You really don’t know?”
I shrugged, and he tilted his head and blinked. “I didn’t realize you were such a romantic. She stayed with him because she liked the money and position. I don’t know for a fact, but I bet she signed a prenuptial agreement, and with no kids as a chip, she wouldn’t have gotten much. Her sister and husband would have lost their gig. Mary Beth would have had to give up the big Tarzana house, the one in Catalina and all that went with being Mrs. Lance Wells Jr. And she would have gone back to being a nobody. My people checked. She grew up in Van Nuys and was working for a caterer before she married Lance Jr. I think her goal was to get on the other side of the tray.”
“Oh, yuck,” I said. “I can’t imagine marrying someone for a reason like that.”
Mason’s face and voice softened. “That’s what is so wonderful about you—and rare around here.” Then his tone changed back to business. “Mary Beth was young and beautiful and ambitious. I’ve seen lots of women like her. They’re bold and go after what they want, planting themselves and ignoring rejection while treating the guy like he’s a god.”
“You sound like you know about it from personal experience,” I said.
“Let’s say, I saw through it,” Mason said as our dinner began to arrive. It took two waiters to handle all the tiny plates.
Hearing all these details was changing my perception of Mary Beth and Lance Jr.; I could see them now as three-dimensional people instead of just names. I picked up my fork and prepared to eat the tiny mound of Caesar salad. I almost laughed at the artful presentation: baby romaine lettuce mixed with dressing and neatly arranged between two large croutons, a shaving of Parmesan cheese set like a tent over the top.
“The house on Catalina was probably a refuge for her. And maybe a rendevous spot,” Mason suggested.
I put down my wineglass. “I don’t know about that. The caretaker seemed to know everything, but he didn’t mention anything about that.”
Mason seemed unconcerned. “Maybe he was being discreet, or maybe she was, or maybe she just went to be alone.”
I told him about the fireplace motif and the book about Lance Sr. and his fascination with magic. “I’m thinking there is some kind of secret panel in the fireplace and that Mary Beth hid some important clue there.”
Mason turned serious. “Don’t even think about it, Molly. As your lawyer, I am advising you to stay away from Catalina. You saw how small it is. Do you think there’s any way you can avoid being seen by that deputy?”
What could I say? He was right. I changed the subject as the main course arrived. We each got four plates, each one with a tablespoon of food and a lot of fancy garnish.
“Did you find out anything about Matt Wells?”
Mason’s expression darkened. “Is this about the murder or are you interested in the guy?” It was my turn to look surprised.
“It’s about the murder—only.”
Mason ran down the information quickly. Apparently, Mason had gotten a staff member to call the dance studio claiming to be writing an article for Dance Journal. She found out Matt was divorced and had had a few small parts in some musical movies and plays but had never really broken through. When Lance Sr. died, he stepped in as the artistic director of the studios. In the old days they sent around movies of the dance methods. Later they sent videos and now it’s DVDs. It was the artistic director’s job to make up the DVDs and travel around to the studios. To ensure the quality of the instruction he was also the spokesman for the commercials.
“Pretty good job of getting you information, huh?” Mason said as he poured the last of the wine in my glass. I nodded and he appeared pleased with himself. “I shouldn’t jinx my good luck, but what happened? How long have I been trying to get you to go out with me, and now two dinners in a couple of nights. Did you finally have enough of being abandoned all of the time?”
“How’d you know?” I said, looking at the wineglass stem.
Mason had his usual easy smile. “I told you, I’ve dealt with a few homicide detectives. I know how they work.”
I broke down and told him the rest. “How can you trust somebody who would do that?”
Mason gave my shoulder a comforting squeeze. “For perfectly selfish reasons I’m glad it happened. I can’t believe he didn’t tell you.”
Mason’s cell phone went off just as dessert arrived. The waiter was very serious as he set down a small plate of fingernail-size chocolates, and a big plate with a shot glass in the middle. The glass held a tiny hot fudge sundae next to which were two doll-size sugar cookies. I automatically stiffened at the sound of the phone and prepared for Mason to have to leave. Instead, without what appeared to be a second thought, he shut it off. As we tried not to laugh at our dessert, Mason asked if Camille was still in the crochet group. He seemed surprised when I said yes.