“Yeah, no worries here.”
I could hear Izzy clicking away on her cell phone. “You’re Googling me, aren’t you?” I asked.
“Hey, I thought I was the psychic?”
I rolled my eyes at Izzy’s reply, praying that Marissa’s stunt hadn’t already hit the air waves. “Okay, well, I’ll leave you to that. I don’t think I want to know what you find. I’ll check back in later. Cool?”
“Oh my goodness.” I had a feeling Izzy had just struck Internet gold. “Ziva—a”
“I know, like I said, a disaster.”
“You poor girl. I’ll talk to you soon.”
2
The parking lot was packed when we pulled back in. In fact, I was sure more cars were here now than before. Had a red carpet been rolled out? I vaguely remembered the women getting their hair and makeup done for some gala event tonight, but I hadn’t cared to hear the details. Guess maybe I should’ve paid attention?
I recognized Entertainment Now reporter Cee Cee Thomas standing in front of a camera, lights shining behind her. A backdrop with a repeated pattern of the company’s logo and an oversized heart in the middle took up part of the walk way. Photographers were at the ready, snapping pics as guests made their entrances.
Tess Hill stepped out of a black limo, looking much more put together than she had earlier this afternoon. It’s amazing how a few hours could sober up a person. She posed in front of the backdrop like a pro—hand on her hip, head cocked slightly. She wore her blond hair long, her red dress tight, and her cleavage high. Subtle wasn’t in her vocabulary. I looked down at my wardrobe. Maybe I could pass as the wait staff?
Tess walked the carpet solo, but just behind her was Sterling Gomez walking hand-in-hand with a beautiful blonde. I assumed she was his wife. If Tess Hill was the queen of DSC, then he was the king. The two had been co-hosts of the network’s most prominent programming for years, decades really. My nana had been a huge fan. Heck, I’d even consider myself a fan. He had a certain charisma that made him attractive to women of all ages. Why couldn’t he have been the one to interview me? I almost sighed at what could’ve been.
“What do you want to do?” Finn asked, snapping me out of it.
“I think I should be able to sneak back in. The building’s obviously open. It shouldn’t take me long.”
“Okay, I’ll just circle around and keep an eye out for you.”
“Sounds good. I’ll just be a minute,” I said as I shut the truck door. Famous last words.
The bubbly receptionist who had greeted me this afternoon was long gone. Standing in her place was the same company logo and heart backdrop. The impressive piece blocked her desk and sectioned off the rest of the space. The red carpet extended in front of it and up the stairs, where the upper lobby’s lights sparkled and the champagne flowed. People mingled in the space, with their glittery dresses and black ties. I spotted Claire, or more specifically, her dress. The mint-green cocktail dress, with its sweetheart neckline and bubble skirt, was beautiful. Paired with her fiery hair color and fair skin, her wardrobe choice was perfect. I had a sudden, overwhelming urge to go shopping. Maybe tomorrow.
Lights flashed and all the glitz and glam distracted me for a few moments until I remembered why I was there. I snuck behind the backdrop and headed toward the side offices. Not a soul was in sight. I weaved my way down the darkened hallway, trying to make it back to the green room where I had spent most of my time earlier. This time, the doors were locked.
“Well, crud.” I surveyed my options. If I recalled, the first floor of the building was basically a rectangle with the reception up front, offices down one side, and the studio down the other with the dressing rooms along the back. I could backtrack through the front lobby, cut through the studio, and make my way to the back rooms, and hopefully my phone. I crossed my fingers that the set would be accessible. As I walked back through the lobby, I almost smacked into Skip the Producer. It appeared we were both in a hurry. Skip had exchanged his lab coat for a lavender suit jacket. It was the most bizarre color choice for a black-tie event, but he made it work. He took a few steps backwards when he recognized me.
I held up my hands to show my innocence. “It’s fine. I’m sorry about earlier.”
He relaxed ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, too. I promise, that will never happen again.”
“I appreciate that, but I don’t plan on coming back.”
“Understandable. I’ll let you get to it then.” I said goodbye and we both hurried off in opposite directions.
As I started sneaking toward the studio, I thought of the things we do for technology. Did I really need my phone that badly? I sighed. Yes. Yes, I did. I gave a shove to the studio’s entrance and the double doors swung inward. The sets were dark with not a single stagehand or makeup artist in sight.
Cut through, get your phone, and get out, I told myself. My plan had been brilliant. I could almost picture my cell phone sitting on the vanity counter in the green room. That is, until I tripped over a pair of Louboutin high heels and landed on my face. I rolled onto my backside and turned to look at the body wearing those beautiful shoes. I recognized Marissa in an instant. If the pool of blood surrounding her, and the gardening tool sticking out of her back were any indication, she was definitely dead.
I’d like to think that I had grown some in the last year. The fact that I didn’t feel like passing out or throwing up at finding a dead body testified to this. I calmly checked Marissa for a pulse—unsurprised by the result given her glassy eyes and horror-frozen face staring back at me—found a nearby landline, and called the police. I wondered if I should’ve notified someone official-looking. But who? The celebrities were pouring in, and I knew chaos would ensue as soon as they got word. I didn’t think the police would want me tipping off the guests and causing a scene, so I called Finn instead. I probably should’ve given him a heads-up as he nearly choked on his words after he asked me what was up and saw Marissa’s body lying there.
“Jesus, Ziva, what the hell happened? I thought you wanted to introduce me to someone famous, not hide a body.”
“I didn’t do this!” I snapped.
“Oh, um...”
“Nice. You see a dead body and think it’s my fault. You should know better by now,” I said with a laugh. Finn glanced my way as if to check my mental status. “I’m fine. Trust me. I’m okay. I just didn’t want you to freak out when you saw the cavalry pull in. Do you think we should wait with her or meet the police up front?”
Finn looked at Marissa’s body and shuddered. “Let’s meet them by the front door. You can tell the police where her body is and let them deal with crowd control.”
Finn followed me as we weaved our way back to the entrance. A police officer met us in the back hallway, his gun drawn.
“Hands up!” he shouted. Finn immediately complied.
“WHAT?! No, you’ve got this all wrong,” I started to say.
“I said ‘hands up’!” the officer repeated as he stepped closer.
“Ziva!” Finn added.
“What? This is ridiculous!” I may have even stomped my foot. “WE called YOU. Put the gun down so you can help us.”
“Ma’am, put your hands up.”
“Idiot,” I said to Finn with a shake of my head. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t smart to pull attitude, but I was dumbfounded by the turn of events. I copied Finn and put my hands in the air.
“Get on the ground, NOW!” Sweat beaded on the officer’s brow. I held my tongue as he commanded us to lie on our stomachs with our hands behind our backs.
“I told you, we called you. You need to let us go,” I said to the officer over my shoulder as he handcuffed me. He clicked the cuffs even tighter. Finn had exercised his right to remain silent, and the look he gave me at that moment suggested I do the same.
It wasn’t until I had been separated from Finn and unceremoniously dumped in the back of a police car, with cuffs digging into my skin and flashing lights circling
around me, that I realized the seriousness of the situation. A similar circus played out around the car Finn occupied. Where was Detective Roxy, my Port Haven detective friend, when I needed her?
I wasn’t left waiting for long. An older lady with spiky salt-and-pepper hair and hard-set eyes barked at the media to back off as she yanked open the squad car door and peered in at me.
“This is all just a misunderstanding,” I said to the woman, who I assumed was a detective.
“Should I consider this your confession?” she said in a matter-of-fact voice.
“What? No! Why would you think that? I just found Marissa’s body.” Gosh, what was it with people thinking I’m a murderer?
“I see. Was she a friend of yours?”
“Not hardly,” I said before filtering. “I mean, no, I just met her today.”
“I see,” the detective repeated.
“No, seriously. I was just on set trying to find my cell phone when I literally tripped right over her.”
“You want to back it up for me?”
I thought for a second about how far back I wanted to go and how much detail I wanted to provide.
“I was a guest on the show today. While I was here, I left my cell phone in the green room. When I came back tonight to find it, I found Marissa instead.” I wiggled my fingers and attempted to rotate my wrists. The fact that my hands were still bound behind my back intensified the pain. The detective took note of my discomfort, but didn’t offer to loosen the cuffs. Instead, she continued her line of questioning.
“And what time would that have been?”
“I don’t know, fifteen, twenty minutes ago? I called you guys as soon as I found her.”
“Why didn’t you alert anyone? Get help?”
“She was dead. I called you.”
“How did you know she was dead?”
“It was pretty obvious, what with all the blood and that gardening-tool thingy sticking out of her back. Plus, I checked for a pulse.”
“What did you say?”
“Um, I checked for a pulse? I know how you guys don’t like people messing with your vics and all, but I wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything I could do for her.”
“You know all about that, huh?”
“Er…” I snapped my mouth shut and I could see the thoughts behind the detective’s eyes. I was back to being prime suspect number one. I wondered if now was an appropriate time to drop Detective Roxy’s name? Or maybe Detective Brandle’s? My other detective buddy had since retired, but I was sure someone could get a hold of him. On second thought, did I want this woman to know this wasn’t my first ride on the murder train? Would she find out eventually? Right now, all she knew was that I was a recent guest on the show, with a missing cell phone. Sure, my segment had been a disaster, but my background check was clear, well mostly clear, and I didn’t think she’d have further reason to question me. Bottom line? I did not need to make her anymore suspicious.
“What’s this gardening tool business?” the detective asked.
“Well, they say it’s “revolutionary” but I’m pretty sure there are others on the market just like it.” The detective looked at me like I had two heads. “Anyway, I saw it sticking out of her back and knew she wouldn’t be walking away from that.”
“Could you ID it again?”
I cocked my head, trying to figure out where this was going, but the detective didn’t offer up any other info, so I answered her question, “Yeah, of course. The guy who makes them was on right before me. I saw his demo.”
“Good. Now tell me, how did you enter the studio?”
“Through the side door?”
“It was unlocked?” The detective looked incredulous.
“Yes ma’am.”
“You didn’t find that odd?”
“Why would I? For all I knew, the studio was open twenty-four hours.” Okay, so I knew the studio wasn’t open twenty-four hours, but I was more concerned with retrieving my phone at the time. I didn’t think the detective would buy that.
“Where’s this cell phone of yours?” the detective asked, as if reading my thoughts.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Don’t know. Never made it that far.” Hashtag, true story.
“Sit tight,” the woman said, motioning for me to scoot back so she could shut the car door.
“Can you please loosen these?” My fingers were starting to tingle.
“In a minute,” she said and then shut the door. I saw her walk away and have a mini pow-wow with a couple of other uniformed officers. Finn was standing just to the side, chatting up a group of EMTs as if they were best buddies. I was instantly irked at the injustice of it all. I watched the police set up a barricade, making the media stand behind it, and I wondered how in the world they’d go about interviewing all the guests inside and onsite. What a mess. I found that if I focused on the logistics nightmare of it all, my wrists didn’t feel like they were going to fall off.
When the detective returned, she released the cuffs and told me my story had checked out. “But don’t skip town on me. I might have a few more questions,” she said by way of parting.
“No problem. We’re here through the weekend, anyway.” Finn joined us and reached for my hand, but I left him hanging to massage my poor wrists. He turned his attention toward the lab techs instead. I chalked it up to morbid curiosity, but then frowning, he turned toward the detective and said, “Listen, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but Ziva wasn’t involved in this.”
“How so?”
“That woman was at least five-nine without those heels. No way Ziva could’ve stabbed her between the shoulders like that.”
“And how tall are you, Mr. Hudson?” The detective eyed Finn over the top of her spectacles.
For the record, my beau was an even six feet. It was my turn to eye him as if to say, Shut up! We made our exit before either one of us could stick our feet in our mouth’s again.
On the other side of the barricade, the media descended on us. We dashed back to Finn’s truck, keeping our heads down and refusing to answer any of the questions they shouted to us. If this was what it was like to be famous, count me out.
3
“I’ll meet you back here around noon, babe.” Finn left me with a kiss on the cheek and an ice pack for my wrists before heading out the next morning. Just like back home, he was abandoning me before sunup, to go fishing. He’d met another charter captain online who’d offered to take him out. I think I mumbled something like, “Whatever,” or at least that’s what I heard in my head before rolling over and going back to sleep. Even though I begrudged his leaving, that had been the plan all along. It didn’t seem right for Finn to have to cancel his fun just because I’d found another dead body. I could’ve warned him about meeting people off the internet, but who were we kidding? That was my luck.
A couple of hours later, I sat up and rubbed the crusts from my eyes. I formulated a plan as I showered and dressed. The first order of business was finding a chai latte. I was sure the hotel’s barista could whip one up, but I knew it’d be nowhere as good as those from Sweet Thangs back home. Then, I planned to stop back by DSC headquarters for a chance at picking up my phone again. With a few strokes of a makeup brush and a little eyeliner, I was in my car and headed toward the one place I’d hoped to never have to visit again in my life.
I had no idea what to expect as I stepped back through the studio doors. I wasn’t even sure if I’d be able to get in, but I was surprised to find business was back to normal, sort of. The bubbly receptionist was holding court at the front desk, while coworkers sipped coffee and scarfed down donuts—a gift from management, no doubt. The food was one of the perks of working at a TV station, and it was delicious! Maybe if all went well I’d snag one on my way out. I swirled the remnants of my latte in hand. It had done the job, but left me wanting so much more. What could I say? I was a hard woman to please.
I hadn’t planned on sneaking around, but since everyone was all engr
ossed in the latest gossip, it was easy to side-step them and creep back toward the offices. This morning, they were unlocked and mostly deserted. The fact that it was Saturday morning and most of the workers were eating donuts out front explained a lot. I made it down the hallway and around the corner to the dressing rooms without anyone seeing me. However, when I twisted the knob to the green room’s door, it wouldn’t budge.
“Locked? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I tried a few other doors before one popped open. The gold-plated name tag on front read “Sterling Gomez.” I peeked my head inside the room and saw that it was empty, except for Sterling’s personal items and a rack of pressed suits hanging in the corner. I hadn’t seen a need to go in until I spotted the side door. My heart rate picked up as I remembered seeing one like it in the green room. In fact, Tess had walked through a similar side door the day before when she made her infamous entrance. If my memory was accurate, it meant that the dressing rooms were connected.
With one last look around, I walked inside and softly shut the door behind me. I didn’t waste any time crossing the room and entering Marissa’s dressing room. Thankfully, hers was also empty, except she had even more clothes set about and enough flowers placed around the room to compete with a florist, or a funeral parlor. Flowers and I don’t mix, and I hadn’t taken an antihistamine that morning. I held my breath and pinched my nose as I ran across her dressing room to the adjoining door. As I yanked it open, I was happy to find the main green room. This was basically a catch-all area, which had doubled as the network’s metaphorical water cooler during my visit the day before. Everyone seemed to pass through, chat for a minute, have their makeup touched up, or stop and meet a noteworthy guest.
I didn’t even need to turn on the light to spot my phone, along with my hoodie, nestled on the back of the couch. I almost had my fingertips on it when the other side door popped open. I don’t know why I hid. Probably because I was in a dark room, creeping around where I didn’t belong, but it was a smart move. Two men entered and spoke in hushed tones. A brash, British voice rang out first. “I told you I wouldn’t tolerate this.” I recognized him as the huffy man Marissa had told off the day before. I didn’t dare peek out from behind the couch to confirm.
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