Chapter 26
MAINES’S MANICURED FINGERS rolled to form fists, and her words came out hot. “There is absolutely no benefit to me. What are you, crazy? What possible benefit could there be to me in that situation? Look, I hitched my wagon to Thom and Jen six years ago when I had a lot of other compelling offers.
“It’s been the best experience of my life,” she went on. “Demanding and maniacal at times. But magical more often than not. And fulfilling. And lucrative. In no way whatsoever would I jeopardize that. No way. Ever.”
I believed her. “Had to ask.”
“Any more questions?” she asked coldly.
“As a matter of fact.”
“What if I don’t wish to answer? I mean, it’s not like you’re cops.”
Mo-bot said, “We both have the same goal, Cynthia, to find the Harlows and find them alive, right? I mean, the more people working the better, no matter who’s paying the bill, Harlow-Quinn Productions or Uncle Sam.”
Maines remained stiff but nodded. “What do you want to know?”
“Give me thumbnails on Sanders, Bronson, and Terry Graves and their relationships with the Harlows.”
Maines thought about that.
“Dave’s a typical attorney-agent, all business, with almost all his business coming from the Harlows,” she said. “Camilla’s a bitch but very good at what she does. She and Jen are friends. They enjoy plotting.”
“Graves?”
“I like Terry,” Maines said. “He’s also very good at what he does, which allows Jen and Thom to do what they do best: be creative.”
“No beefs between any of them and the Harlows?” I asked.
She shrugged. “No more than the normal give-and-take. Their wagons are hitched to the Harlows too. Why would they upset the golden cart?”
“Tell us about life with the Harlows leading up to their arrival back in the States,” Mo-bot said.
Over the course of the next twenty minutes, Maines went on to describe the Harlows’ whirlwind existence in the last year and what it took for her to help steer their personal and professional lives. She worked for them but considered Thom and Jennifer friends, people she admired and trusted. The time spent in Vietnam had been exhausting but exhilarating. And she’d been stunned at the breadth and depth of the saga the Harlows were depicting in Saigon Falls.
“It was like every day you knew something brilliant was being created,” she said. “I felt like it was an honor to work on such a project.”
“Sanders said the Harlows were about out of money when they got home,” I said. “Personal assets were going to have to be sold.”
That seemed to puzzle Maines. “Is that true? If it is, that’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
“Sanders said he told the Harlows about the situation shortly after they arrived back in the United States.”
“Well, there you go,” Maines said. “I left as soon as I got off the plane. My boyfriend was there at the jetport waiting, and I was in no mood to stick around.”
“So you didn’t accompany them to the ranch?”
“I did not,” she said. “I was done once I got off the plane, and everyone knew it. Things had been intense for so long, I needed to breathe. I still do.”
“Did Thom talk about a mysterious new investor in the film?” I asked.
She half laughed. “ ‘There are always mysterious new investors on the horizon.’ That’s one of Thom’s lines.”
“What about their sex life?” Mo-bot asked.
The assistant reddened. “I … I’m their personal assistant, but I’m not privy to their life behind closed doors.”
I said, “There were lots of sex toys in their closets.”
Maines reddened again, looked at her lap. “Look, that’s way outside my pay grade. All I know is that Thom and Jennifer were devoted to each other and to their children, and that they led an exemplary life. And I’ve had just about enough of this. I’m going to the FBI, get them involved.”
“I think it’s a good idea, but I don’t know what standing you’ll have,” I said as she got to her feet. “Legally, I mean. You’re not family.”
She hesitated, glanced at the door. “So what should I do?”
“Let me make the call first,” I said. “I’ll tell the FBI what we know, try to work with them from here on out. You can call afterwards, back me up with your concerns.”
Maines nodded, put a card on my desk, took mine. Then she thumped a finger on the edge of the desk, said, “Remember that movie All the President’s Men, about Watergate? That guy kept saying ‘Follow the money.’ It’s always about the money, isn’t it?”
“Point taken,” I said. “Definitely point taken.”