Dreams of Jeannie and Other Stories Part 12

"That's what I said. You aren't the guy."

"Can you describe him?" Faith interjected.

"Who are you?"

"Faith Ca.s.sidy, Michael's friend."

"Which Michael? This one or the guy who gave us the b.u.m check?"

"This one. We're trying to find the person who forged Michael's name on the check."

The short man appraised the two of them.

"Got ID?" he asked.

Michael pulled out his wallet and displayed his driver's license.

"The other guy was shorter than you are. Almost bald. Fringe of white hair. Wire-rimmed gla.s.ses. Nervous. That's why I remember him. I wasn't surprised when I called the bank and they wouldn't okay the check. Or when the telephone number he gave was a service."

"Oh, h.e.l.l," Michael whispered.

"You know who it is?" Faith asked.

"Thank you for your time," Michael said.

"No problem."

Faith smiled at the little man, then hurried after Michael.

"Who is it?" she asked again as they started back down the stairs.

"I can't be positive, of course, but the description sounds like Barbara's husband." Michael didn't pause or look back at her.

"Then we have to go see Barbara."

"No. You said Max Strother Commodities would be the end of it. And I want to think before I go any further."

"You have to talk to Barbara-you've known her too long to file a complaint without talking to her-and it seems to me that I ought to be along. Third party."

Michael was moving so quickly that Faith stopped talking. She needed the breath to keep up with him.

A thin young man in a torn t-s.h.i.+rt and jeans was eyeing the Honda when they got to the street. Michael glared fiercely. The young man shrugged and moved away.

"How can I go in and accuse Barbara of stealing from a client?" Michael asked once they were settled, the Club removed from the steering wheel, the engine going.

"You don't accuse her of stealing. You ask her how she's been doing. We approach this as an intervention. We're both licensed therapists, we ought to know how to do this."

"I hope you're right."

Michael took Hollywood Boulevard to Fairfax, then dropped down to Melrose. He parked in front of an art gallery two blocks west.

"Barbara's office is upstairs," he said, as he hit the security buzzer three times in succession. An answering buzz allowed them to open the heavy wood door.

The steps were Spanish tile, the railing wrought iron. The s.p.a.cious landing had a large fern in front of a window. Another buzzer let them through a second heavy wood door.

"Be right out-I'm on the phone," a voice called.

What should have been a receptionist's office held a mahogany desk cluttered with mail and photographs and a leather couch with more of the same. A signed Frank Romero poster was on the wall.

"Michael darling, what can I do for you?" Barbara swept into the room, a heavy woman in a purple caftan and fringed scarf. "I wish you had called first-I don't have more than a moment."

She presented her cheek to be kissed, and Michael smacked the air next to it.

"Barbara dear, I'm so sorry. This is my friend Faith."

"Oh yes, Fay." Barbara held out her hand. "Michael told me you used to be an actress. So wise of you to change careers-there are so few parts for women your age, and fading ingenues get them all."

Faith smiled. She would have corrected the name, but it didn't feel like the best way to start an intervention.

"I'm just here to listen while you and Michael talk," she said.

"That's fine, I'm sure."

Barbara cleared s.p.a.ce for the two of them on the low couch. She perched on the edge of the desk. Faith and Michael looked at each other, then up at Barbara.

"How are you doing?" Michael asked.

"I'm fine, dear, and I don't have time to chat. What is it? Nothing wrong with Elizabeth, is there?"

"Well-not exactly. Almost. Someone tried to steal the bonus from the cat food contract."

"Oh, no. I'm so sorry. Tell me what happened."

Barbara's face wrinkled with concern. Michael and Faith again looked at each other, then up at Barbara.

"Have you ever heard of Max Strother Commodities?" Faith asked, forgetting that she had promised to listen.

"No. Why?"

Michael grabbed Faith's shoulder to keep her from answering.

"Someone forged my signature on a check for twenty-five thousand dollars and tried to open a trading account there. The description sounded a lot like Howard."

"Oh, G.o.d. Oh, G.o.d." The concern on Barbara's face turned to pain. "Oh, G.o.d, don't tell me he did that."

"You knew he had problems?" Faith brushed Michael's hand off.

"Of course I knew. I'm married to him. But I didn't know he'd try to steal from a cat to pay for them." Barbara looked from one to the other. "Howard is a compulsive gambler. He needs help. Would the two of you come with me to talk to him? You're both licensed therapists, you know how to handle this kind of thing."

"We'll do whatever we can to help," Faith cooed.

"Come over for dinner. Seven o'clock. And please, no police."

"You have my word," Michael said, arising from the couch so that he could look Barbara in the eye. "As long as Howard agrees to join a twelve-step program. If he won't go, I file a complaint."

"I'm so grateful." Barbara enveloped Michael in a hug. "This will all work, you'll see."

Faith held out her hand. "Seven o'clock."

She waited until they reached the sidewalk before she said anything more.

"Barbara's lying. She's in it with him."

"How do you know?"

"It was what she said about stealing from the cat. You remember your comment about Jason rationalizing? That's what Barbara did. She wasn't stealing from you, she was stealing from the cat."

Michael considered her words.

"All right. Then she has to join the twelve-step program."

"That's all?"

"And you pay the parking ticket." He plucked it from the winds.h.i.+eld and handed it to her.

"I didn't park in the red zone. But I'll pay if it'll make you feel better."

"Nothing will make me feel better. Not until we've explained to Barbara that attempting to defraud a client is going to cost her the agency franchise. To the Screen Actors Guild, Elizabeth is not just a cat-she's a dues-paying member."

"Michael? Would you rather we hadn't done this?"

"Are you kidding? It's the most effective I've felt since I hit a Little League home run when I was eleven." He kissed her on the cheek. "Now let's go back to my place and plan this intervention. But one stop on the way."

"What?"

"I need to buy a football jersey. And next time, you drive."

Here Today, Dead to Maui

A Faith Ca.s.sidy Mystery

I had such a good time writing one short story with Faith Ca.s.sidy, her friend Michael, and Michael's cat Elizabeth that when I was asked for a story about cats and vacation, Faith got the nod, even though Freddie O'Neal probably could have used a vacation at that point.

"A millionaire found me changing planes for Maui! Why is he short and ugly, Lord, when you know I like them tall?" Michael sang as he emerged from the bathroom wearing the hibiscus print s.h.i.+rt he had bought the day before.

"That's gross," Faith said. "Materialistic. Midlife Mick Jagger. And n.o.body came near you on the airplane. Or in the Hilo airport. Except for the fat woman who put the orchids around your neck."

"Because I was traveling with you and Elizabeth. Everyone was looking at her. If I'd been alone, who knows? Besides, if you're so ascetically inclined, why did you accept the offer of a first-cla.s.s airplane ticket and a week in a suite at the Lahaina Hilton?" Michael leaned against the central post marking the open French doors to the deck and stretched out his arms. "White sand! Ocean! Clean air!"

"Elizabeth's contract specified two tickets. No point in letting one go to waste when you didn't have anybody else to ask." Faith poured herself a second cup of coffee. She didn't particularly like the Kona blend, but it was all room service had to offer.

"Can't you just enjoy the vacation?" Michael turned back and sighed.

"Elizabeth has one more day of shooting. You're not on vacation until tomorrow."

"To Maui, and to Maui, and to Maui. Life creeps in its petty pace, especially when one is not quite on vacation." He knelt down in front of one of the flowered chintz armchairs so that he was level with Elizabeth. "Say Maui."

"Mrowr," she replied, blue eyes focusing intently on his dark ones.

"Maui."

"Mrowr."

"See how smart she is?"

"You didn't feed her this morning. She's actually saying she's annoyed."

Michael straightened up. "When did you become an expert on my cat?"

"I've been part of her environment since you adopted her. She thinks of me as extended family. I felt obliged to return the compliment by paying attention to her behavior. Since I've spent my life-or two careers anyway, the dead one as an actress and the live one as a therapist-studying human behavior, and the cat thinks she's human, it wasn't hard. Trust me. She's hungry."

"So am I." He picked a cheese Danish out of the basket on the coffee table. "But she's supposed to be hungry. Otherwise, she might not eat on cue."

"You'd better hurry with that. Elizabeth's call is in half an hour. Eddie will be here any minute with the car."

"They have to set up a shot on the deck of an old whaler. No way are they going to be ready on time." Michael poured himself a cup of coffee and settled into the other chintz armchair.

"Then I think you ought to feed her."

"She only has to be hungry and annoyed for the next couple of hours. She'll be fine."

Faith shrugged. "Suit yourself. But if we're going to be here for a while, could you move to another chair? That one clashes with your s.h.i.+rt."

"All the furniture clashes with my s.h.i.+rt. This is Hawaii-the s.h.i.+rt is supposed to clash. Buy a muumuu and get in the spirit."

"Hawaiian clothes are the best thing that could have happened to the tourist industry. You can't tell you've gained fifteen pounds until you're home and it's too late. If I start to gain, I'll think about the muumuu."

"How can anyone gain on a diet of fish, rice, and fruit? If you're really going to stick to that. Get a muumuu or not. Put orchids in your hair. Drink mai-tais by the pool."

"Maybe when we've finished the shoot." Faith picked a blueberry m.u.f.fin out of the basket. Blueberries counted as fruit. "I may even search for romance."

"You won't have to search far. Eddie Inouye has made it clear he's available."