The Fox's Choice Read online

  The Fox’s Choice

  M. A. Simonetti

  Copyright © 2020 M.A. Simonetti

  All rights reserved.

  “Friends are the family you choose.” - Scott

  The Malibu Mystery Series

  by

  M. A. Simonetti

  The Most Guilty

  The Third Side

  The Fox’s Watch

  For Jan.

  Lucy chose Ethel.

  Mary chose Rhoda.

  Alana chose Jorjana.

  I choose you.

  Contents

  The Malibu Mystery Series

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  My ten a.m. appointment was my closest friend, the person I consider my next of kin, number one on my speed dial.

  She was being a pain in the ass.

  “I do so want the elephants for my party,” Jorjana York insisted for the millionth time. “Surely a business in Los Angeles will provide them.”

  “Trucking the elephants up your driveway is the problem,” I said.

  “Can they not walk?” Jorjana asked. “Elephants in Jakarta were a common mode of transportation when I was a girl.”

  “It’s a really steep trek up, Jorjana. Hollywood elephants are used to being driven everywhere.”

  Jorjana looked out the window and sighed.

  My name is Alana Fox. I’ve lived in Malibu for my entire adult life and Jorjana has been my closest friend since I arrived. Between the two of us, we know how to plan a party. We know everyone worth knowing in town and a few more outside of it. A widowed father in the diplomatic corps raised Jorjana, so her sphere of influence spreads around the globe. The guest list for Jorjana’s sixtieth included diplomats from just about everywhere.

  After nearly thirty years in Malibu I know who is who and who is not. I was recently listed as one of the top fifty influencers in Southern California and I have a dozen copies of the LA Magazine article to prove it. After divorcing I needed a way to keep myself busy. So I created a tidy little business helping clients build a stellar social circle. If you think that sounds frivolous, you’ve haven’t tried to make new friends after the age of forty.

  Suffice it to say, Jorjana and I have thrown a few parties together over the past three decades. But this shindig was taxing all my patience.

  I followed Jorjana’s gaze out the window. We sat in the West Drawing Room of her home- a palatial estate perched on a bluff overlooking downtown Malibu. The view from the Drawing Room looked out over the Main Pool and then over an expanse of grass. The grassy area had enough room to place a tent big enough to entertain the four hundred guests invited to the party. The grassy area also sported a breathtaking view of downtown Malibu and the Pacific Ocean. Therein lay the problem with the elephants. The steep drive up to that breathtaking view included a series of hairpin turns. The company that rented out wild animals had expressed grave doubts as to whether their vehicles could get the elephants up the hill.

  “Maybe they could chopper Dumbo in, darling.”

  This came from David Currie, my second best friend, number two on my speed dial and my co-chair on planning Jorjana’s party. David was dressed in his version of casual business wear- lime green cotton shirt and hot pink plaid shorts. White patent leather loafers completed the ensemble.

  “Oh! Is that possible?” Jorjana was delighted.

  I shot the look to David that his comment deserved and changed the subject.

  “I’ll keep looking into it. We have a couple of weeks left, anyway. Let’s go down the list and check off what we still need to do.”

  Jorjana pulled two sheets of paper out of her Smythson agenda and handed one to David and one to me.

  “I have approved the final guest list for the dinner at Richard Lafferty’s,” Jorjana said.

  The list had one hundred names, most of them diplomats that would arrive with a security detail. The dinner at Richard’s was the pre-party party to be held the night before the actual birthday party. Not to be confused with the after-party party which would be held at the Getty Museum the following day. The smaller Getty Villa near Malibu- not the fancy-shmancy place on the hill overlooking the 405 in LA.

  The guests received invites to two of the three events scheduled from Friday to Sunday. Jorjana would never admit it but the group invited to Richard’s house was the A list. The A list was my responsibility and I had to figure out how to squeeze all those diplomats into Richard’s home which was a good size but no York Estate.

  David was assigned the B list for the Getty, whose catering department handled every detail right down to the brand of salt put on the buffet. Lucky him.

  “The list must be delivered to Richard this very day,” Jorjana said. “Do either of you have the time or shall I ask Perry to make the delivery?”

  Perry was Jorjana’s social secretary, a guy with the patience of Job- he worked for a woman who did not believe in email.

  “I can do it,” I said. “I need to swing by Richard’s place anyway. I left a pair of shoes there after his party on Saturday.”

  Silence the landed like a thud in the room. It was followed by a look between David and Jorjana that rubbed me the wrong way.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Well, darling, have you asked yourself why your shoes are at Richard’s and not at home in your closet?”

  “I took them off to dance and forgot to put them back on. It’s no big deal. I’ll get them today.”

  Another look passed between them. Now I was pissed.

  “What’s the matter with you two?”

  “What caused you to forget your shoes?” Jorjana asked.

  “It was late, I was tired…”

  “Perhaps darling, you had four too many glasses of Chardonnay,” David suggested in a voice that I did not like. Not one little bit.

  “So now you’re counting how many drinks I have? What’s next, counting the calories I eat at dinner?”

  Jorjana reached over and took my hand in hers. She gave it a squeeze that I knew was meant to reassure me.

  “David and I both feel that you overindulged on Saturday. When I left you were leading a conga line around the pool. It was…unseemly.”

  “I was having fun,” I protested. “If I’d had too much to drink, Richard never would have let me drive home. I was fine. Are we done here?”

  They let it go but I knew it wasn’t the end of the discussion.
>
  Jorjana and David are my family by default. My parents are dead and I was an only child. Since my divorce I list Jorjana as my next of kin. But Jorjana is confined to a wheelchair so I list David as my emergency contact. The three of us spend every Holiday and most weekends together. Jorjana’s husband, Franklin puts up with our shenanigans on the rare occasions when he is in town.

  Truth be told, the number of hangovers I’d had in recent months was more than usual. Enough hangovers for me to realize that cutting back on my cocktails and Chardonnay was probably a good idea. So there was no need for my two best friends to get in my face about my drinking habits. I would settle into a dry spell right after Jorjana’s party. While I appreciated their concern, I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of thinking I would actually listen. I tucked my plan away in the back of my mind and concentrated on finishing up the meeting.

  We divided up the work for the final preparations and agreed to meet again in two days.

  “Let’s do lunch, darlings!” David said. “Geoffery’s? Noon-ish?”

  “Sounds great,” I said.

  Geoffery’s restaurant sits on a bluff overlooking the Pacific and serves a killer Ahi Tuna Tartare. And has a lovely wine list.

  “Alana, you do remember the cocktail party scheduled for tonight, do you not?” Jorjana asked.

  “Yes, at five o’clock for Jeanne-from-New-York. It’s on my calendar and I will be here.”

  I refrained from asking if she expected me to sip on a Diet Coke all evening.

  “Please do come early and help me choose my frock. Four o’clock?”

  “Four o’clock it is. Now I have to go and drop this off at Richard’s and get some work done. See you later!”

  I gave them each a kiss and went to fetch my car.

  The York Estate sits on a parcel of land slightly smaller than Central Park. The Main House is twenty thousand square feet or so with two swimming pools, four tennis courts and a separate garage that houses twenty cars. The ground floor of the Main House was designed for entertaining and boasts two reception rooms, a dining room that seats one hundred and a catering kitchen with its own zip code.

  Suffice it to say the property is big. Jorjana and Franklin employ dozens to keep the place running. , including a herd of valets. One of them delivered my car just as I exited the house.

  “Here she is, Mrs. Fox!” The kid hopped out and held the door open for me. “This is my favorite of all your cars!”

  “Thanks,” I said, as I climbed into the driver’s seat. “This is fun to drive.”

  “I like the new color, too.”

  I nodded my agreement, released the brake and left.

  The car that drew the valet’s admiration is a 1952 Porsche convertible. It is one of twelve vintage cars that I finagled from my ex-husband in our divorce. It was a fair exchange. He got the house that I designed and I got his precious cars. Neither one of us was happy so the attorneys considered it a fair division of assets.

  I’d painted the Porsche hot pink when my ex and his new wife, Little Miss Tight Buns, were expecting their first child. For some reason I thought the kid was going to be a girl. I readily admit that I did this just to spite my ex-husband. Turned out the joke was on me because he and Little Miss had a boy first and then four more kids, two of each kind. I grew weary of paying for a paint job every time Little Miss dropped a baby so I had all the cars repainted to their original colors.

  Along the way I also reached a truce of sorts with my ex and Little Miss. Very grown up of me in my opinion.

  The Porsche made the drive down the hill with ease but then it is a nifty sports car and built to handle hairpin turns. I did understand how hard it would be to get elephants trucked up to the house. The UPS driver doesn’t even drive up the hill- someone from the York staff always meets him in a golf cart at the front gate. But elephants were what Jorjana wanted and I would do whatever I could to deliver. At the moment, however, I had no idea how. I put the matter out of my mind and made my way down Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) to Richard Lafferty’s home.

  Richard Lafferty is a big time defense attorney. Big as in $750 an hour for his friends and family rate. I know this because I have called on Richard from time to time. Often enough that he is number 3 on my speed dial. He is also a great friend of Jorjana thus his involvement in her birthday celebrations.

  It would be tough to deliver elephants to Richard’s house, too, I thought as the Porsche took another series of turns like a champ. I punched in the access code to Richard’s gate, parked outside the front door and bounced up the steps, guest list in hand.

  Richard lives alone in one of those modern monstrosities that are sleekly self-important. The front door is a mahogany contraption that weighs as much as one of Jorjana’s elephants. I rang the bell and waited for Richard’s housekeeper to appear. When the door swung open, I found myself face to face with the attorney himself.

  I had no idea what he was doing home in the middle of the day.

  Richard Lafferty is six foot five with broad shoulders perfect for sacking quarterbacks. He spent his undergraduate years doing just that and he was good enough at it that UCLA overlooked the mayhem that followed him off the field. After winning a Rose Bowl, the school promoted him to law school where he found his flair for sacking quarterbacks translated well into criminal law. If you are in legal trouble in So Cal, Richard Lafferty is the guy you want on your side.

  But the guy who opened the door looked nothing like his reputation. Richard was dressed in sweat pants and a T-shirt. He was barefoot and unshaven. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked exactly the way I felt when I woke up the morning after his party.

  “What happened to you?” I asked.

  “I got that cold that’s going around. I’m working from home today.” Richard pulled a hanky out of his sweatpants and blew his nose. It sounded like a horn from a train.

  Great, just great. The flu season had descended upon Malibu early this year and played havoc with my client’s social lives. Nearly everyone I knew had the cold or was getting over the cold. Yet another obstacle in pulling off Jorjana’s party. I was this close to driving down to Tijuana and stocking up on Mexican antibiotics to distribute around town and get everyone healthy again.

  “Well, don’t get near me, I’ve got a life to live. Jorjana sent me over to deliver the final guest list.”

  “Come on in.”

  He led the way to his living room, a space best described as uncomfortable. Sparsely furnished, concrete floors and a life-size blue ceramic Buddha parked next to a two-story tall fireplace. A glass wall opened to the back patio. Richard’s matched set of Russian wolfhounds lounged on chaises by the pool. Gardeners puttered about trimming hedges and raking up leaves.

  “Here’s the list.”

  I handed it to Richard from a full arm’s length away. He took it and lowered his lanky frame into a chair that looked more like a medical device than furniture. I sat as far away from him as I could.

  It occurred to me that I had never seen Richard dressed so casually. Our interactions have always been business when he wears bespoke suits or socially when he wears bespoke suits without a tie. His sparse beard was gray, his hair uncombed. He looked somehow vulnerable with his red eyes and runny nose. I found his discomfort endearing. I am used to Richard being the most powerful guy in the room.

  “Will anyone be on duty at the embassies around the world?” Richard smiled as he read the guest list.

  “There are one or two diplomats that Jorjana doesn’t know,” I said. “You know they all have their own security? Will you have room for everyone?”

  “Yeah, we have it under control. My assistant is working with a private security firm in LA and they will contact all these people and work out the logistics. Do I need to hire a food taster?”

  I laughed at that.

  “Couldn’t hurt. Do you have my shoes, by the way? I left them here on Saturday.”

  Richard’s smile faded and his face took on t
he same look that David and Jorjana had just sported.

  “Wait here. I’ll go get them.” He rose stiffly, pulled out the hankie and blew his nose all the way down the hall.

  I gazed out the glass doors to the pool.

  Richard’s party had been a lively affair with a steel band and an open bar. I sort of remembered dining tables set on the lawn beyond the pool. So there must have been food. I couldn’t remember what was served.

  A retaining wall separated the pool from the grassy area. I recalled that the thick wall was wide enough to skip along. I vaguely remembered the conga line. I really didn’t remember how the evening ended.

  Richard returned with a plastic bag and gave it to me. Inside were my shoes. Along with my bra and panties. And a lipstick. I looked up at him.

  “You were wasted, Alana.”

  “No, I only had a couple of drinks.”

  Richard glared at me. I knew that look.

  “Maybe one too many,” I conceded.

  “Maybe too many period.”

  “No. I drove home.”

  “My guys drove you home and put you in bed and hung around long enough to make sure you didn’t get sick.”

  No.

  Couldn’t be.

  Well, maybe.

  I had felt horrible the next day. In fact I was worried that I was getting the damn cold that everyone had. But a pot of coffee cleared my head and once I had a Bloody Mary with brunch, I felt great again.

  “You need to lay off the booze, Alana,” Richard said. “I had friends at the party who would like to work with you. I had to keep them away from you all night. It was embarrassing.”

  “Work with me?”

  “Yes. They’re starting a business with an interesting twist. I told them about you and they would like to discuss a partnership. It could be very lucrative for you.”

  “I don’t need a partnership. I am plenty busy on my own.”

  “Malibu is populated out. You’re going to run out of people to introduce to each other pretty soon.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe so, but I don’t need the money.”

  “Well, there’s that.”

  To his credit, Richard didn’t hassle me further. But I knew it wasn’t the end of it. I just knew the first three people on my speed dial were up to something. And I wasn’t going to like it.