Free A More Perfect Union by J. A. Jance Page A

the glass Derrick gave her and with a giggle the two of them toasted one another's health.
    "How'd you two get here?" I asked dourly.
    Merrilee grinned and toasted me as well. "A cab," she said. "I told him we're both too drunk to drive."
    "You've got that right." It's hard to catch up when you come into a party that far behind the rest of the drinkers. I picked up the phone and dialed the doorman.
    Pete Duvall is a full-time biology student at the University of Washington who works part-time as a doorman/limo driver for Belltown Terrace. It's a good job for a student. He can use the slack times to study.
    Pete recognized my voice instantly. "Hello, Mr. Beaumont. What can I do for you?"
    "What time do you get off, Pete?" I asked him.
    "Eleven o'clock," he replied.
    "How about making a limo run around ten-thirty. I've got some guests here who need to be hand-delivered."
    "Sorry, Mr. Beaumont," he apologized cheerfully. "No can do. The Bentley threw a rod coming back from the airport tonight. We don't have a replacement vehicle until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. Would you like me to call a cab?"
    I turned around and looked at Derrick and Merrilee Jackson. They were sitting in my window seat, necking up a storm. I didn't much want to turn them loose in a cab in their current condition. Seattle still has enough of a small-town mentality to be scandalized by the comings and goings of movie people, stars especially. There had already been some unfortunate gossip about Derrick Parker's public antics, for which Cassie Young held me totally responsible. I had more faith in Pete's discretion than I did in some late-night cabbie's, but there wasn't much choice.
    "You do that," I said. "Have the cab here just before you get off."
    Parker was looking at me balefully over Merrilee's shoulder when I hung up the phone. "Some friend you turned out to be," he grumbled. "We just got here and already you're trying to throw us out."
    "Look, Derrick, a few minutes ago I learned that I have to be back on the set at six tomorrow morning."
    Parker poured himself another drink and offered one to Merrilee. She tossed down two fingers of Glenlivet as though she'd been weaned on it.
    "Me, too," Parker sighed. "Isn't that a pisser! It was all scheduled to be over today. I mean, that's what the party's supposed to be for. Too bad." He dropped heavily back against the window. The drink in his hand sloshed precariously, but it didn't spill.
    I glanced at the clock. It was only ten, but I picked up the phone and dialed Pete again. "Go ahead and call that cab right now, Pete." I told him. "The party's over."
    Ignoring Derrick's noisy protest that it was his very last one, I relieved him of the remaining half-bottle of Glenlivet and then escorted the two of them downstairs. Merrilee was a happy drunk, and leaving was fine with her. Derrick turned morose.
    "Spoilsport," he grumbled. "We were just starting to have fun. Besides, those makeup people can work miracles."
    "You'll thank me tomorrow when Cassie Young doesn't string you up by your thumbs," I told him.
    As the elevator door opened into the lobby, we were greeted by the sound of a raised voice.
    "If I wanted a goddamned cab to pick my mother up at the airport, I wouldn't be living in a luxury high rise! I made that limo reservation over a week ago. The concierge assured me it would be no problem."
    Pete Duvall was doing his best to be polite. The man who was berating him was someone I had never seen before.
    "I'm sorry, Mr. Green," Pete said. "As I was trying to explain, the Bentley was out of order with a fuel-pump problem last week. We got it out of the shop day before yesterday, but tonight it threw a rod. We should be able to have a substitute here by early afternoon, a Caddy probably, but your mother's plane reservation is too early for that."
    Mr. Green bristled. "You know, when they rented me this place, they told me that the Bentley was one of the amenities. It was in all the ads, remember?