Peril in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries Book 11)

by Gemma Halliday

  "Maddie," Dana said, as I gave a shave-and-a-hair cut knock on her door and pushed in. "You have to hear this. Ellie was just telling me—oh, hello." She paused, taking in the three surprise guests trailing after me.

  "Dana, dahling, how are you?" Marco descended on her with air kisses. "This must be so trying for you! How are you holding up?"

  "Honey, we're here. We won't let them take you away in handcuffs!" Mom added, giving her a quick hug.

  "I'm gonna get to the bottom of this. Just as soon as I can find a place to conduct a proper séance." Mrs. Rosenblatt looked around the trailer, scrunching her nose up as she assessed the space.

  Dana blinked, looking from me to the trio.

  I shrugged. "Marco said he called you from the airport." Then I gave her a pointed look. "Thanks for the heads-up, by the way."

  "Sorry, it's been a busy morning," she mumbled.

  "Forgiven." I paused, watching Mrs. R test out the sofa cushions. "But now what do we do with them?"

  "We?" Dana shook her head. "Oh no, I've got a big scene to film today. I have to save the villagers from a dragon."

  "A uni-goat," Mom corrected.

  "A what?"

  "Never mind," I told her. She'd find out soon enough. I turned to the makeup artist, who'd been eyeing mom's powered blue cat eyes since we'd invaded her territory. "What were you saying about Ellie that I had to hear?" I asked.

  "Oh, right." Dana shook her head, tearing her attention away from Mrs. R, who had closed her eyes and assumed some sort of meditation position on the sofa. No doubt trying to channel the late Jasper Frost. "Uh, Ellie was just telling me about J.R. Ravensberg."

  "The author?" Marco asked, eyeing Ellie's makeup kit.

  "That's right," Ellie agreed, pulling the kit a little closer to herself.

  "Ellie's dating David Heller, who works in legal for Paddington Productions," Dana told me.

  "We met on the set of Paddington's last film, Two Guys and Baby Spies?"

  "I must have missed that one," I mumbled.

  Ellie frowned. "Yeah. Most people did."

  "Anyway," Dana went on, "Ellie was telling me that David told her all about J.R.'s beef with Frost."

  "About changing the characters from the books?" I asked.

  But Ellie shook her head. "That was what he was ranting about when he was here on the set," she said. "But David said J.R. and Frost's issues go a lot further than that."

  "I'm listening," I told her, sitting in a chair beside Dana.

  "Well, David said J.R. showed up at Paddington's offices about a month ago with a lawyer, trying to stop the production."

  "Because Frost was killing his literary legacy?" I asked, quoting the author.

  "Not quite. Because J.R. wasn't getting any money out of it," Ellie said.

  I raised an eyebrow Dana's way. That was a very different story than the shotgun happy author had told us.

  "Wait, how can that be?" Marco cut in. "The whole film is based on his books, isn't it? Wouldn't they have to pay him for the rights?"

  Ellie shook her head. "According to David, Ravensberg had already signed them away. Years ago. To Donchester Publishing, the ones who first put out the Lord of the Throne books. J.R. was just starting out then, and apparently his first contract was heavily weighted in favor of the publisher. It pretty much gave Donchester the sole rights to do whatever they wanted with the books. Which, at the time wasn't a lot because they hardly sold anything back then. After a few years, Donchester folded, and another company came along and scooped up all their outstanding contracts for a fraction of what the properties were worth."

  "Including rights to the Lord of the Throne books," I surmised. "But J.R.'s last book sold thousands of copies. It hit all the bestseller lists."

  Ellie nodded. "Oh, he's totally gained a following recently. And all his later books are contracted with his new publisher, a big New York firm. But the film rights to all the characters and the worlds lie with the first book in the series."

  "The Throne Awaits," I said. I had the book in hardcover on my keeper shelf at home.

  Ellie nodded. "David said from what he could tell looking at contracts, the rights had changed hands a few times over the years, but Frost acquired them from some place called Neptune Media as part of a bulk sale of several properties. David said the entire deal was for less than five figures."

  "Which means Ravensberg's portion must have been tiny."

  "If he saw it at all," Ellie said. "With all the times these have changed hands, it's a legal mess who owes whom for what. A lot of authors who worked with Donchester were owed back royalties when they folded, and they've never seen a dime. Donchester might have owed J.R., but that liability didn't transfer with the rights. As far as Frost's contract with Neptune Media, Frost owns those rights free and clear."

  "And now Lord of the Throne is about to be the summer's big blockbuster," Marco said.

  "And Ravensberg is getting bupkis," Mrs. R jumped in, having come out of her meditative state to listen in.

  "Which is why Ravensberg showed up at Paddington with his lawyer," Dana said, nodding to Ellie to continue.

  "Right. David said J.R. demanded a cut. Points on the back end, at least."

  "I'm assuming Frost didn't give it to him?" Mom asked.

  Ellie shook her head. "Why would he? Frost owned the rights, and J.R. had no claim."

  "What did Ravensberg's lawyer say?" I asked.

  "David said he told them he'd bring a motion to stop production, but David thought it was just for show. J.R. really had no case. Just a lot of anger."

  "I'll bet," I mused. I could well imagine how I'd feel if someone else was about to make a killing off my life's work. Ravensberg had more than his pride and integrity on the line. He had money, and lots of it. Money he was apparently never going to see.

  Enough money to commit murder?

  "Hey, you do makeup on those Bobbits?" Mrs. Rosenblatt cut in, nodding toward Ellie.

  "Yeah. I work on everyone."

  "I hear they got tempers. That true?"

  Ellie laughed. "No, they're fine to work with." She paused. "Well, most of time. Charlie's kinda on a short fuse since his girlfriend broke up with him."

  "Was she a Bobbit too?" Mom asked.

  "No. Elf."

  "No wonder. Bobbits and Elves don't mix." Mrs. R shook her head. "Everyone knows that."

  Oh boy.

  "Oh, gee, would you look at the time." I glanced down at my wrist, wishing I had a watch there. "I've got to run."

  "Where are you going?" Mom asked.

  Anywhere but here.

  "I, uh, have something I need to talk to Ramirez about." Which was the truth. After Dana and I had risked life and limb to get that sample of Ravensberg's chain mail, I had to find some way to explain away its existence and have Ramirez compare it to the silver C left at the crime scene. Especially in light of this new revelations about Ravensberg's possible motives to want Frost dead. Motive, opportunity, and certainly means. It all added up. I just had to concoct a plausible story as to how the sample got into my possession and we could possibly have evidence to go with it.

  "Well, I think I'll stay here," Mrs. Rosenblatt said. "Someone should keep an eye on those Bobbits. I don't like the looks of them. They've got sneaky written all over them."

  "Honey, you know they're actors, right?" Marco said, shaking his head at her.

  "I know." Mrs. R didn't look convinced.

  "I'll stay, too," Mom decided. "Someone needs to be here to support our Dana."

  Dana gave me a helpless look, like support was the last thing she needed. At least of Mom and Mrs. R's variety.

  I shrugged and mouthed sorry. "I'll be back to check on you later," I promised her.

  "I'll drive you," Marco said.

  I would have protested, but he was my ride back to town. So, reluctantly I agreed, eyeing Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt, wondering if it was wise to leave them on set without a chaperone.

  "You'll both
behave, right?" I asked.

  "I think that's out of line," Mom said with an injured expression. "We always behave ourselves. We're mature women, Maddie."

  "Just leave the director alone," I warned them, thinking of Tarrin's first impression. "You don't want to get kicked off set."

  Mom put her hand to her chest. "She wouldn't dare."

  I didn't know what she would dare do, but I made a mental note not to be away too long.

  "Go. You two have fun," Mrs. R instructed, waving her hands at us as we left the trailer, her underarms jiggling like Jell-O with the aftershocks.

  Fun had nothing to do with it. But the sooner we cleared up this whole thing, the sooner I could get us all back to LA, where someone as eccentric as Mrs. Rosenblatt fit right in.

  "Mind if we can stop at Starbucks?" Marco asked when we got into his rental car. "I could do with a latte."

  "There are no Starbucks in Moose Haven."

  "No Starbucks?" Marco stared at me in mock horror. "Next thing you'll tell me these people drink nothing but decaf."

  I grinned. "It's not quite that bad."

  I picked up my cell and dialed Ramirez's number as Marco pulled away from the set. Unfortunately, five rings in, it went to voicemail. Apparently he was still otherwise engaged, looking into the shots fired last night. At me.

  I left a brief message, asking him to call back when he could.

  "So, where can a boy get a latte in this town?" Marco asked as we passed by lines of trees, unbroken by any whiff of a strip mall.

  "Well, I guess we could go to the Tipsy Moose," I said, checking the time on my phone. Just past noon. Hungry Moose should be closing and the tavern taking its place as the Mecca of town.

  "Sounds good to me. Maybe I can get a beignet, too."

  "Beignet? You did see the moose head over the door?"

  He waved me off with one hand. "All Canadians are, like, half French or something. I'm sure they serve them here."

  There were so many things wrong with that statement that I didn't even begin to correct him. Instead, I let him have his delusions as we drove the two wooded miles back to town.

  As soon as we pulled down the main street, I noticed the increase in vehicular and foot traffic. Several more news vans lined Moose Tracks Boulevard, along with several late model sedans and a smattering of SUVs. A cameraman was filming a woman with a microphone at the corner, using the moose head at the tavern as backdrop to whatever she was saying. A group of people in suits chatted in front of the Big Moose Hotel, and I could even see a line at the register inside the Moose Mart—an unheard of phenomenon thus far.

  "Wow. This place really picks up after noon," Marco noted.

  "Apparently it does today," I mumbled as he found a spot to park at the curb two doors down. "It looks like every news station in the country has sent a team to Moose Haven."

  Marco locked the rental car before we walked down the street to the Tipsy Moose. Even though it had scarcely opened, it was packed, every table filled. We lurked until we were able to claim two stools at the bar. After a few false starts, I managed to get Brock's attention.

  "Sorry about the wait." He slapped napkins down in front of us. "It's crazy in here today. Hate to say it, but the death of that movie guy has been great for business. I may even be able to take a few days off when the salmon start biting this year." He grinned. "So, what'll you have?"

  "Just a Coke, please," I said.

  "A half-calf, non-fat latte and a beignet," Marco said.

  Brock didn't move. "A what, now?"

  "A latte and a beignet," Marco said.

  Brock gave him a blank look.

  "It's a pastry."

  "We don't have pastry," Brock said. "We have doughnuts."

  Marco shrugged. "When in Rome. Okay, I'll have a doughnut, then."

  Brock pointed. "Over there, in that vending machine. Slot 14 for powdered, 15 for plain." He moved off down the bar.

  Marco's accusing glare skewered me. "Seriously?"

  "What can I tell you?" I said. "We're not in Kansas anymore."

  "Or France," Marco mumbled.

  "Isn't that the truth," a female voice said behind me.

  I spun around to find a blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman wearing what could only be described as a hot pink power suit. Her ears were adorned with sparkly pink earrings, and her cute little mouth was drawn up in a hot pink bow as she smiled at us.

  "Hello, Maddie," she said. "Fancy meeting you here."

  Allie Quick. She was a reporter at the L.A. Informer, one of the most popular tabloids in Los Angeles, which would have been bad enough on its own. To compound her sins, she was currently dating Felix Dunn, the editor-in-chief of that tabloid and an indelible part of my own romantic past. My relationship with Felix had been the stuff of rom-coms without the happy ending, starting with stalking (his, of me), to punching (him, by me), to kissing (and we weren't going to talk about who instigated that one). In the end, a relationship between Felix and me had fizzled before it even really got started, mainly due to the very sizzling relationship between Ramirez and me. While Felix had moved on too, to the Reporter Barbie currently standing in front of me, these days I tried to give both him and his tabloid a wide berth. Which usually worked, considering I was hardly tabloid worthy and LA was a big place.

  Sadly, Moose Haven was not.

  "Allie." I forced a stiff smile. "I'm surprised to see you here."

  "Where else would I be?" She glanced down pointedly at Marco's stool, as if expecting him to surrender it to her. Marco crossed one sleek leather boot over the other, not moving. "Jasper Frost's murder is right up there with the Black Dahlia, although I have a feeling this one will be solved. Famed Hollywood director, killed on the set of his latest movie. It's delicious. A real whodunnit." She inched closer to me. "Got any ideas?"

  "You're not interested in my ideas," I told her. "You smell blood in the water like the rest of the sharks."

  She shrugged. "You've got to admit, the evidence against Dana Dashel is pretty convincing."

  "There is no evidence against Dana," I said. "It's all circumstantial."

  "That's not what I read on Twitter," she said.

  "Twitter is hardly an eyewitness."

  "It's not what I'll be printing in the Informer either."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Well, the Informer doesn't exactly have a shelf full of Pulitzers, does it?"

  "Oh, snap," Marco said, actually snapping in the air with his manicured fingers.

  If Allie was insulted, she didn't show it, keeping her sunny smile firmly on her face. Then again, this was probably the usual reception the tabloid reporter got anywhere she went.

  Brock delivered my Coke and a cup of black coffee to Marco. Marco took one sip and almost gagged.

  "Okay," Allie said mildly. "I get it. You don't want to diss your friend. Let's not talk about Dana."

  "Finally, we're on the same page," I said, sipping my Coke.

  "Let's talk about Alia Altor."

  I paused. "What about her?"

  Allie shrugged. "You tell me. I imagine you've been on the set with Dana. How did Frost seem around Alia?"

  I'd been wondering the same thing. I'd only seen them interact once, and while it hadn't been what I'd call friendly, I'd gotten the hint they had a past. One which had, apparently, included Alia privately convincing Frost to fire his first choice for the Dragon Queen and give her the part instead.

  "Why do you ask?" I said carefully.

  Allie grinned. "Powerful director. Hot young actress. You do the math."

  I had. Only all I had were guesses about how it added up.

  I shook my head. "You'd have to ask Alia about that."

  Allie frowned. "Yeah. I tried."

  "Let me guess," Marco jumped in. "You got a whole lot of 'no comment.'"

  "Story of my life." But she shrugged and smiled. "Well, if I can't wear her down, I'll just run with the Mom angle."

  "Mom angle?" I asked, choking on my soda as I pic
tured my mother's face. What had she done now?

  "Yeah. Alia's mom," Allie clarified.

  "Oh." Internal sigh of relief. "She's not here in Moose Haven, too, is she?" Had the entire population of LA moved in on the small town?

  But Alia shook her head. "No. But she did know Frost back in the day."

  "Oh really?" I asked.

  Allie nodded. "Yeah. And she knew him well, if you know what I mean." She winked.

  Marco gasped.

  I rolled my eyes.

  "She was an actress too," Allie went on. "B-level, but she was in one of his early films."

  "Where did you get this info?" I asked. The Informer was, after all, a tabloid and not necessarily known for fact-checking. In fact, they'd once spliced my head onto Pamela Anderson's body in an exposé about how I was carrying Sasquatch's love child. (Which, I believe, fully justified that earlier mentioned punching of the editor-in-chief.)

  "You know I never reveal my sources." She wagged a finger at me.

  Hmmm. Why did I get the impression her sources started with a T and ended with a witter?

  "All I know," she went on, "is it makes for a very timely headline that Frost was possibly victimizing his second generation of actresses." Allie gave me a big, sunny smile. "Might not be Pulitzer worthy, but it's guaranteed to go viral."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Fifteen minutes later, Marco and I were back in my hotel room at the Big Moose, powering up my laptop. On the way over, I'd quickly filled him in on all I knew about Alia, as well as what I knew about Frost's reputation with the ladies—including Tarrin's assertion he'd had a run-in with an actress on his last set and his propositioning Dana and subsequent anger when she'd turned him down cold. Marco had been appropriately appalled (about Dana) and intrigued (about Alia), especially the parts where it appeared she'd been selling me half-truths ever since I'd been in town.

  I sat on my bedspread and plugged Alia Altor into Google's search bar, clicking on the first link that came up.

  While it was possible Allie Quick was all headline and no substance, I'd had the same thought she had—that something more than a director-actress relationship had been at play between Alia and Frost. And if Alia's mother had been in the same position, that certainly added a complication to the mix.