“Why did people continue to work here?” Valentine asked, baffled.

  Celine shrugged.

  “Lots of reasons,” she said. “For one, I’ve heard that it’s not much better at other labels. And he often bad-mouthed the girls who did leave, which made it hard for them to get work elsewhere. Plus, for people who love working with music artists, this is the place to be. You get up close and personal with them and lots of people who started here have parlayed it into great jobs elsewhere. And the company pays better than industry average. Put all of it together and, for a lot of us, it just didn’t seem worth the hassle to bail. Better to tough it out until we got an offer somewhere else. Real courageous, I know.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Jessie said. “It’s hard to be a trailblazer for justice when the trail is littered with landmines. We know that his wife was aware of his indiscretions. But do you think she knew about his other behavior?”

  “Do I think she knew her husband was sexual harassment personified?” Celine said. “Probably not. But she knew about the lawsuit against him, the one everyone knows he settled. And it’s hard to imagine he only did this stuff in the office. She had to have an idea of what was going on.”

  “Okay, Celine,” Jessie said, watching the woman shift uncomfortably from foot to foot and deciding to let her off the hook, “I think we have all we need for now. Why don’t we head back out?”

  Celine nodded in relief and led them to the office of Marie Nelson, a forty-something woman with tired eyes, who was wearing heavy makeup. She didn’t look enthused to have visitors, especially from the LAPD.

  “We’re following up on Eddie’s death,” Jessie explained vaguely, not mentioning the potential of foul play.

  “What’s going to happen to the company now?” Valentine asked bluntly, launching straight in.

  Marie didn’t seem stunned by the question, which suggested that she’d been wondering the same thing.

  “Who knows?’ she said, her scratchy voice making Jessie feel itchy. “Technically, it shouldn’t be a death knell. We have twenty-seven acts under contract and a deep catalogue to call on. But only five of those acts are consistent money-generators and two of them can renegotiate within the next year. Plus, we have multiple album-to-album deals with some artists. They can walk at any time. And with Eddie gone, a lot of them might. He knew how to massage the talent. Joe was the heavy, the one who got into the nitty-gritty of contracts. No one’s going to stick around because of their relationship with him. I think this place can stay in the black for a couple of years and limp along for another half dozen after that. But as a buzzy, talent-magnet label, we probably died right around the time Eddie did.”

  Jessie appreciated her frank answer. No wonder she was in charge of business affairs. She hoped the woman would be as forthcoming with the next question.

  “Joe had to be painfully aware that he was perceived as just a money man,” she said. “How do you think that affected his friendship with Eddie?”

  She was pursuing the line of questioning that she and Valentine had agreed upon in the car on the way over. They both knew it might lead to some raised eyebrows, but they needed to determine the dynamic between the two men from someone outside their social circle.

  Marie stared at her, her fatigued eyes weighed down by her sudden, exponential increase in responsibility. For a moment, Jessie thought she might just refuse to respond out of pure exhaustion. But when she did, she was as direct as before.

  “I wouldn’t call them friends,” she replied raspily. “Maybe they were when Eddie first brought Joe on. But by the end it was more a marriage of convenience. I think Eddie still had affection for Joe, but he was bombed out of his mind half the time so I don’t think he noticed that the feeling wasn’t reciprocal. Joe seemed to feel that he was the lesser among equals: that no one, especially not Eddie, appreciated what he did. Joe once told me that Eddie should retire from active involvement at the label and just stay on in a figurehead capacity, to attract talent with his name. He thought he could run the place better on his own. I think that was his ultimate plan.”

  Though her face didn’t show it, alarm bells were going off in Jessie’s head. Marie Nelson had just described a perfect motive for murder. But before she could diplomatically pursue the topic, Valentine beat her to the punch.

  “How badly do you think he wanted to put that plan into action?” the detective asked, failing miserably to mask her curiosity.

  Marie’s eyebrows rose nearly to her scalp line.

  “Are you sure you’re investigating an overdose?” she asked.

  “We’re just following every angle,” Valentine answered far too quickly, realizing her mistake.

  Jessie decided that, now that the cat was partly out of the bag, she may as well go all the way.

  “Should we be investigating his death as something other than an overdose?” she wondered.

  Marie pondered the question.

  “Hard to say,” she finally said. “With Eddie dead, Joe is the logical successor to the throne. But according to their contract, Patricia Morse still retains half-ownership of the label. I assume she’d let Joe buy her out. But if not, it could get messy. From where I sit, Eddie being dead isn’t a clear win or loss for Baldwin.”

  Jessie looked over at Valentine to see if she had any other questions. She shook her head.

  “Thanks, Marie,” Jessie said. “I can honestly tell you what I say to a lot of people but very rarely really mean: you’ve been very helpful.”

  They left her office and started back down the hall.

  “So I assume there’s only one place we should be headed right now,” Valentine said leadingly.

  “Yep,” Jessie agreed. “It’s time to talk to the man of the hour. Let’s go see how Joe Baldwin is holding up.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Susannah Valentine pretended not to be impressed.

  It had been easier back at the record company, where the gaudiness of the building overwhelmed any charm it might otherwise have. But this place was different.

  As they got out of Jessie’s car and approached the Baldwin home in Marina del Rey, it was hard to keep her jaw from dropping. The entire neighborhood was impressive. Each home was essentially a waterfront mansion whose backyard opened onto the marina. To add to the majesty, it was almost 5 p.m. and the sun was just beginning to crawl toward the western horizon, casting pink and orange streaks across the sky.

  The Baldwin place had a casual beach house look, if that beach house had six bedrooms, five baths, and cost over twelve million dollars. As they got to the front door, they could hear loud music playing in the back. Susannah recognized it immediately as one of the yacht rock songs her mom loved to listen to while undergoing chemotherapy. It was “Steal Away” by Robbie Dupree.

  “I guess they’re not afraid of seeming like a cliché,” Jessie said.

  Susannah wanted to laugh but held it in. Instead she knocked loudly on the door. When that got no response, she rang the bell. While she waited, Jessie walked around to the side of the house and peered toward the back at something in the distance. A moment later she motioned for Susannah to join her.

  “There’s a path between their house and the one next door that leads to the dock,” she said, pointing. “I don’t think that it’s part of their property, so there’s no reason we can’t walk back and see what’s what. Okay with you?”

  Susannah nodded that it was. If Jessie Hunt thought she was the one who would balk at taking bold action when it came to an investigation, she was woefully mistaken. Taking the lead, she started down the path with the profiler right behind her. As they got farther along the song changed. “This Is It” by Kenny Loggins started up.

  Eventually they got to the back and the house gave way to a large, brick-enclosed patio with a gazebo in the center. Just beyond that, lying on two lounge chairs, were Joe and Vivien Baldwin. Several heat lamps protected them from the late afternoon chill. They were sipping champagne and nibbling at a tray filled with cheese and crackers.

  Susannah couldn’t help but notice that they didn’t seem especially broken up over Eddie’s loss. In fact, to her eyes, they appeared to be celebrating. Joe in particular looked to be having a rollicking good time, loudly belting out the lyrics. Vivien was positively subdued by comparison, merely tapping her toes and humming along.

  “Should we say hi?” she asked Jessie.

  “Sure,” the profiler replied, “Though I hate to break up the party. Maybe we wait until the song is over. If they happen to say something incriminating in the meantime, so be it.”

  Susannah liked the idea. Unfortunately, the singing never gave way to conversation and when the song came to an end, they decided to make their presence known. Susannah offered an arm flourish indicating that she didn’t mind if Jessie took the lead.

  “Hey folks,” the profiler called out. “Hope you’re recovering well from your traumatic morning.”

  Both Baldwins turned around, shocked looks on their faces.

  “What the hell are you doing on my property?” Joe Baldwin demanded, his face turning red.

  “I’m not entirely certain this path is yours, Mr. Baldwin,” she said. “But that’s neither here nor there. We stopped by your office to chat there. But they told us you were home, grieving, so we thought we’d do a wellness check. It looks like you’ve rebounded nicely.”

  Baldwin seemed about to object. Just then, as if to reinforce Jessie’s point, Leo Sayer’s “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing” began to play. He scowled, though his usually outspoken wife appeared slightly chastened by the inconsistency between the recent tragedy and their current response to it.

  “What do you want?” Baldwin demanded.

  Susannah didn’t like the man’s belligerence and, deciding it was time to change the dynamic a little, took over.

  “We’re terribly sorry to interrupt your…what would you call this—a memorial service?” she said bitingly. “But we were hoping to put the finishing touches on our investigation. You don’t mind if we ask a few final questions, do you?”

  Baldwin stood up. He was wearing sweatpants and a USC sweatshirt. He continued to glare at them, showing no sign that he understood how inappropriate his behavior seemed.

  “Not if you don’t mind me suing you for harassment. I already made one call that got us out of that hangar. What do you think will happen to you if I make another call?”

  Susannah was about to respond but Jessie beat her to the punch.

  “I think that your sugar daddy’s going to get tired of taking your calls if you bother him too much,” she said calmly over Leo’s falsetto. “And I think he’ll resent you putting him in an awkward position when he finds out that the guy he’s been doing favors for was partying the afternoon away just hours after his friend and business partner died tragically. It’s almost enough to make two law enforcement officials like ourselves wonder if we should do a deeper dive, just to make sure Eddie’s death was really an overdose. What do you think, Detective Valentine?”

  “I think that makes a lot of sense, Ms. Hunt,” she replied, happily playing along. “After all, based on what we learned at your office, Mr. Baldwin, it sounds like you were angling to push Eddie out of the company. How convenient that he up and dies on a private jet, just feet away from you?”

  Baldwin was momentarily stunned. Susannah stole a glance at Jessie to see how she had reacted to the question but the profiler’s face was noncommittal. When Baldwin recovered, his voice was as hard as ever but Susannah saw apprehension in his eyes.

  “What exactly are you alleging?” he wanted to know.

  “We’re not alleging anything, Mr. Baldwin,” she told him. “We’re just asking questions, following leads, you know, police stuff. But I’m sure your good buddy, Chief Deputy DA Henry Hart would be interested to hear what we learn, don’t you?”

  “What do you want?’ he asked, his shoulders sagging a little. For the first time since their arrival, he seemed to be relenting a little.

  “What we’d like,” Jessie said, “is to get a better sense of where things stood between you and Eddie. Convince us why we shouldn’t be suspicious of you, in light of the sudden shift in control at the record company.”

  Baldwin looked at the two of them and then over at his wife, who had yet to speak and hadn’t even gotten up from her lounge chair. In fact, throughout the previous exchange, she’d sat quietly, sipping her drink. Susannah thought she looked tipsy.

  Baldwin pulled out his phone and turned off the music right as Leo’s voice started to make some nearby seagulls fly away. He sat back down on his lounge chair and motioned for them to come over. They approached the brick enclosure but didn’t come onto the patio.

  “It’s not as simple as you make it sound,” he said, slumping back in the chair. “Yes, technically Eddie’s death leaves me in control of the company. But what do I control exactly? A label known for its artist relationships, and the person most associated with cultivating those relationships was Eddie. Now that he’s gone, it’s only a matter of time before there’s a talent exodus.”

  “You can’t hold on to them?” Jessie asked.

  “Some, sure,” he allowed. “We have a bunch of artists under contract. But our biggest breadwinners have out clauses. And it’s going to be hard to replace them if they leave. Who’s going to sign with us if the man with the magic aura is gone? We’ll have to entice them with big dollar offers, which kind of defeats the purpose of signing them. We’re trying to make money, not lose it.”

  “So what happens then?” Susannah asked.

  “I’m guessing that even with our recent influx of resources, we’ll have to sell off chunks of the back catalogue in a few years, just to stay afloat. But that’s just a short-term fix and I’m not even sure it’s worth it. It’d be like bailing water on the Titanic. You want a reason not to consider me a suspect?”

  “Sure, if you have one,” Susannah shot back.

  “How about the fact that Eddie’s death likely put an end to the company I poured my heart into for most of the last decade? To continue the Titanic metaphor, we’ve hit the iceberg. It’s just a matter of time before we sink. And when we do, the stink of the company’s collapse will stick to me, because I’ll be the name at the top of the executive list. You think I want that?”

  “I guess three billion dollars doesn’t go as far as it used to,” Jessie noted drolly.

  “You’d be surprised,” Baldwin replied.

  “And that doesn’t even account for Patricia,” Vivien Baldwin slurred, speaking for the first time. Susannah’s suspicions had been right. The woman was drunk.

  “What do you mean?” Susannah asked.

  Vivien took another big sip before answering.

  “Just that she’ll probably have something to say in how this all plays out. Now that Eddie’s dead, she does own a big share of the company outright.”

  “You think she’ll want to have input in how the label is run?” Jessie asked. Susannah saw her take note of Vivien’s inebriated state without commenting on it.

  “I doubt it,” Vivien said. “She never showed much interest in the details of the label. But she could complicate things for Joe if she wanted to—refuse to let him buy her out unless he sweetened the offer. I wouldn’t blame her.”

  “Why not?” Susannah asked. “Isn’t that taking money out of your pocket?”

  “We’ll be fine whatever happens,” Vivien said with a dismissive wave. “I didn’t want to admit it back in the hangar but Lucy Ward was right. In one moment, Patricia became a single mother to two teenage kids, with no regular source of income. Even though they’re swimming in money, she’s still going to want as much financial security as possible going forward. She might push hard.”

  “Is that something you would oppose?” Jessie asked, turning her attention back to Joe.

  “Ultimately, probably not,” he answered. “I know you were being sarcastic earlier but Eddie and I really were good friends. Sometimes we got a little competitive—okay maybe a lot competitive. But I’ve known the guy for close to a decade. We built that place together with sweat and endless hours of work. We were tight. But I could see how it might not look like that from the outside.”

  “If you were so close, then how do you explain the celebration we just saw?” Jessie asked pointedly.

  He shook his head vehemently.

  “We weren’t celebrating,” he said. “We’re drowning our sorrows the way Eddie would have wanted—with good champagne and cheesy music.”

  “What about you,” Susannah asked Vivien. “Do you have a lot of sorrows to drown too? Were you and Eddie close?”

  Vivien finished off her current glass and poured another before replying.

  “Not as close as he and Joe were, but I liked him, sure,” she said. “The truth is that we were mostly friendly because he was my husband’s business partner. It would have been weird not to make an effort. Same with Patricia—we didn’t have a lot in common but we were pleasant to each other. Sometimes we got extra congenial, but that was usually when chemicals were involved. They tended to make everyone get along.”

  “How well did people get along?” Jessie asked.

  Vivien frowned.

  “It’s not like we were having orgies or anything,” she replied tartly. “We just let our guard down a little.”

  “I wouldn’t have minded an occasional orgy,” Joe said.

  “Don’t be gross,” Vivien clapped back.

  “Sorry, babe. I guess the champagne is having the intended effect,” he said before turning to Susannah and Jessie. “Anyway, if you’re really concerned about improprieties, maybe you should look into the $10,000 in company funds that went missing just after we left the island.”

  “What are you talking about?” Susannah pressed.

  “Yeah,” he said huffily, “when I went by the office earlier, one of the accountants showed me a check signed by him made out to ‘cash.’ He pulled the funds out this morning, from a bank in Richmond, near where we disembarked after returning from the island. I’m assuming he intended to replace it once he got back, but obviously he never got the chance. If you’re looking for something fishy, maybe check into that.”

 

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