Follow the Money by Fingers Murphy

Author:Fingers Murphy [Murphy, Fingers]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Thriller, Mystery
Amazon: B0051BO40U
Goodreads: 11411131
Publisher: Fingers Murphy
Published: 2011-05-16T07:00:00+00:00

19

I did not want to take Liz to the end of the summer party. But Liz knew all about it — every firm had one — and I felt guilty about Morgan, so there I was, driving my new convertible BMW 335 up the driveway of the Sunset Grand Hotel thinking about how funny my own life was.

Less than three months before I’d been completely broke and worried about the cost of new dress shirts. Now I was on the fast track. I’d taken the ten grand the firm gave me and trotted on down to the BMW dealership to buy a car like it was a perfectly normal thing to do.

The hotel grounds were immaculately manicured, palatial, and the long driveway curved up the hill through tall palms that stood crisp against the fading evening light. But it was lost on Liz who could only exclaim over and over, “I cannot believe this car!”

I was almost embarrassed by her enthusiasm. “It’s just a car,” I said, glancing at her, smiling and shaking my own head in disbelief.

“I’m not saying I’m impressed and I’m not saying I approve of such a waste of money. But my God, this is sweet!” She leaned her head back against the firm leather seat and looked up into the darkening sky. “I can see how riding around in something like this could almost make you forget about selling your soul.”

“Fuck you.”

“I just might, but not because of the car.” She laughed as she leaned over and tried to nibble my ear. I shrugged my shoulder and squirmed away from her.

“The valet! Are you crazy?”

“Maybe.” She giggled, as the valet opened her door and she stepped out onto the grounds of the grand old Hollywood landmark that sat above Sunset Boulevard, tucked into the hills. I watched her slink out of the car in her small blue dress. Liz didn’t dress up often, but when she did, she turned heads. My nerves were taking over. I hoped that somehow Morgan would not be there and my eyes scanned the crowds, straining to confirm that hope.

The ballroom was not large, but it was elegant in a way that most things in Los Angeles are incapable of being. Built in the 1920s in what was then a quiet village at the outer edge of the city, it had the feeling of a grand old theatre. Which made sense, because most of its functions served the then burgeoning movie industry. The ceiling was a maze of art deco ridges and crowns and swirls. The walls were more of the same, combined with rich tapestries. The floor was an intricate series of inlayed woods, the massive pattern of which could only be appreciated from the aerial view of one of the four seat balconies that sat high up in the middle of each wall.

I studied the room for Morgan when we walked in and, not seeing her, breathed a little easier. There would be a cocktail hour prior to dinner.

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