by Deany Ray
“I was glad to meet them; they were fun.” To be let in on the secret felt more intimate than the kiss almost. The kiss he hadn’t meant, but he had made a choice to introduce me to his family. “They made me feel so welcome.” I paused for a moment. I knew I shouldn’t ask. “What do they do exactly?”
“In a way, I guess, you could say they’re both retired.”
A polite way to not answer.
“They still know their stuff, though,” he continued. “They still keep up with the others, and people tell them things.”
“So, is this the reason Mike Hadfield always gets the scoop before anybody else? Aunt Helen is like your secret weapon in your quest to bring down evil—or at least to get the facts into the Gazette.”
“Not so much.” He rubbed his arm. “I try to keep it separate between family and work, except when there’s a stumper like this Fitzgerald story.”
He was full of surprises, which I liked. I stopped for a light and turned to grin at him. “Mike Hadfield, mystery man.”
He almost seemed to blush. “It’s all part of my charm.” He gave me a small smile and settled farther back into the seat.
“So, how does it work exactly? I mean with the information. Like, if you’re shopping for a gun to blow someone away, wouldn’t you use a fake name or whatever before you slink off in the dark?”
He let out a hard, short laugh. “For starters, they’d probably walk instead of slink. It could happen in the light of day. But otherwise, that’s pretty much the way it goes.”
It was my turn to blush. “Well, I wouldn’t know. It’s not my kind of shopping.”
“I get what you’re saying, and you’re absolutely right. Helen isn’t going to call me up and say, ‘The killer’s name is XX, case over, murder solved.’ What I’m hoping she can get is a description of the person.”
“One we recognize.”
“That would be ideal. Which reminds me.” He picked up his phone. “Let me see if there’s any news from Jerry.”
In the silence that fell upon us, I thought some more about the man beside me. Although I saw him every day at work, he was somewhat of a mystery. He seemed to make it a point not to say a lot about his personal life or what he had done before he came to the Gazette. His silence on the subject was really kind of sexy. A man who made you wonder—I liked that a lot, although I had some questions. I wondered, for example, how he could afford an all-brick two-story house in a swanky neighborhood on a reporter’s salary.
I stole a glance at him as he looked down at his phone, a strand of hair falling into his eyes.
“And?” I asked him.
“Nothing new,” Mike said.
I laughed. “Don’t worry. The day is not over yet.”
“That’s what scares me.” Mike smiled.
I turned on some music as we neared the paper. “Think you’ll hear from Helen soon?” I asked.
“Hard to say, but she works fast. My Aunt Helen is good. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something. Hopefully tonight.”
“And I’ll report back from the set. I’ll text or call when I get home,” I said, pulling into the parking lot.
I turned off the engine, and Mike gave me a high five and a “Go, team!” He held his hand—very warm—against mine for an extra beat, or was that my imagination?
As I watched him drive away, I decided I had time to go home and change and fix myself some dinner. Mike was still on my mind as I made my way through the traffic. I shook that thought away and tried to concentrate on tonight. I badly needed new information on Fitzgerald.
Fifteen minutes later, I made my way into the apartment. I was startled for a moment by the sleek newness of the kitchen; maybe one day soon it would feel like “mine.” Then I changed into some comfy clothes and sneakers and made myself a grilled cheese. I pulled out one of my new plates, loving the way it felt heavy and expensive in my hand. I loved how the sage and navy blended into one another in a soothing pattern. My mother had good taste.
I wolfed down the sandwich standing up and was almost finished when a text came in from Kat. Cocoa has a meeting on the set, so she’s taking the van. You and I can take our cars.
I texted back a thumbs-up and a smile emoji. Now I could leave a bit later. Sheesh. I could have eaten sitting down. I rinsed the plate and moved to the couch, using the extra time to scroll through my phone, looking for new information on Fitzgerald, just like Mike has done before. Nope. Nothing.
I headed to the set, making my way through light traffic until I saw the throngs of fans. Every day I thought surely they’d get weary of the jostling and the crowds, but they only seemed to grow in number. A couple of women in matching caps waved happily at me, probably assuming I was one of them. One of them held a baby and the other waved a sign: “Hot Moms Love David Rafferty.”
I waved back and smiled as I pulled up to the entrance, careful of any fans who could dart in front of me in their mania to get closer to the set.
After I waited behind a van for my turn and handed over my ID, the guard shook her head at me. Apparently, only the van from Cocoa was cleared to come in, not employees’ cars.
“So, where can I park?” I asked, trying not to make my disgust apparent. For the love of lobster tails, what good was the van without me and Kat to unload it? What a moronic rule.
The middle-aged woman instructed me to park the Jeep along any of the side streets where I could find a space. “Sorry about that,” she said. “Security for this movie has gotten extra tight, as you can well imagine.”
After a good bit of effort, I managed finally to find a space to park, not far from Kat’s MINI Cooper. Thanks to the parking mess-up, I was running late, but Kat at least was on the job.
I hurried through the fans and was out of breath when I made it to the entrance. I showed my ID again, and the guard waved me in. “You can go,” she said, which earned me some envious looks from the nutso fans.
I jogged past some trailers and the soundstage until I came at last to the van. Kat was heading to a table with one of the big dishes, and I grabbed another.
“Cocoa is in her meeting,” Kat called over her shoulder. “She said she’s really sorry we had to leave our cars outside. Cocoa didn’t know.”
We hurried to get everything set out, then paused to catch our breath before the rush of diners.
“OMG, do you know what I’ve heard on TV about Torres and Fitzgerald?” Kat asked wide-eyed.
“Let me guess. They’re gay?”
“Aww, man, you already know,” Kat said.
I stared at her. “I’m working at the Gazette. So, duh.”
Kat stuck her tongue out at me. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But nobody expected this. I thought I’d die.” She sighed. “I need my fantasies of dreamy muscle men.”
“I know what you’re saying.” I straightened up a pan of rolls. “That one was a shocker.” I raised an eyebrow at her. “I guess there goes my dream of walking down the aisle as Mrs. Vicente Torres.”
Two by two, or in small groups, people began to trickle in, and soon there was a crowd. I kept watch for any dishes in need of refilling and placed some extra napkins near the chicken wings. Susi was nearby, and I gave her a smile. “How’s the filming going?” I asked her cheerfully, hoping for some news.
She spooned up some rice and then picked up a chicken taco with a set of tongs. “It’s going fine,” she said, “although I have to stay late, which I kind of hate. We’re filming one of the big climactic action scenes with Vicente and Miranda. They’ll do it over there.” She nodded toward a spot behind the nearby building, the same building where I’d tripped into a talk with Vicente.
“Oh wow, I would so love to watch,” I glanced in that direction.
“Then why don’t you stay?” she said, biting into her taco.
“I could really do that?”
“I don’t see why not.” She shrugged. “After all, you’re here.” She gave me a wink. “I’m not going to tell. Have fun!”
/> She headed toward the drinks, and I tried to spot Vicente. Talking to Vicente was my goal for the night. Too bad he never showed. He was probably prepping for the big scene after dinner. Plus, one would probably not want to crash a car or jump onto a moving train with a stomach full of carbs. Also missing was Miranda—yay. I could give the lobster speech a rest, for tonight at least.
The dinner service was somewhat routine, or maybe Kat and I were just used to it by now. At the end of the meal, both she and I were anxious to stick around and watch them film. There was an energy about the place as crew members rushed to get the scene set up. Since so many workers seemed to be involved, I felt we would blend in—if people even cared. Plus, I was really anxious to talk to Vicente.
Kat and I worked quickly to clear all the dishes, load the van, and wipe the tables down. By the time we were through, a high beam behind the building shone a blinding light on the area being readied for the action scene. By comparison, the tables and the van seemed to be covered up in darkness.
Trying to look like we belonged, we wandered over, leaning against a smaller building as Vicente and Miranda did their thing.
“This is just unreal,” Kat said underneath her breath.
We watched, openmouthed, as Vicente leaped off a building with Miranda, all in leather, right behind.
“Unbelievable,” I whispered.
Kat let out a breath. “Who knew? The witch has got some moves.”
We were away from the fray but close enough to see the rope at Vicente’s back as he turned around to do the scene again—and again and again.
“Sheesh, that has to be exhausting.” I let out a breath as if I myself had made the jump. But Vicente was a pro, with as much energy for take one thousand as he had for take one. His devotion to the gym suddenly made sense.
Susi slid in beside us with her coffee. “What do you think?” she asked.
“I could watch Vicente Torres all night long,” Kat said. “Of course now, what is the point?” She gave Susi a wry smile.
I rolled my eyes. “Because if Vicente wasn’t gay, he and Kat would be an item, starting with this moment, when she catches Vicente’s eye as he makes a flying leap.”
“You never know,” Kat said sheepishly, her voice trailing off.
“I know! No one suspected that about Torres or Fitzgerald,” Susi confided. She took a sip of coffee. “There were no rumors, nothing. But then again, any actor would work hard to keep that under wraps. If you look like Vicente, you’re paid to fuel fantasies for a million women who like to think maybe they could . . .”
We both looked at Kat, who had barely taken her eyes off Vicente since the filming had begun. Kat had completely checked out of the conversation.
“How did Vicente seem today since the news is out?” I asked.
Susi shrugged. “He stayed mostly in his trailer. Avoiding questions, I guess.” Her eyes were now focused on the set. “I need to adjust Miranda’s jacket,” she told us, taking off. Then she turned back to wink. “Enjoy!”
Take after take continued. Time and time again, the two stars would land and keep on running as if the two-story drop barely broke their stride. A tiredness overtook me—and I was standing still—and I looked down at my phone to check the time. “Kat, can you believe we’ve been standing here two hours?”
“For a scene that won’t be five minutes even on the movie screen,” she said.
It had been interesting to note how many small adjustments were made to a single scene: the angle of a leap, the expression on an actor’s face, a tweak to some prop in the background. Today had been an education.
Kat yawned beside me.
“Did your puppy friends wear you out today?” I teased.
“No buildings were leaped over, but their energy was off the charts. It was definitely not a nice slow stroll; I can tell you that.”
Vicente was in a huddle with Miranda and another man Susi had pointed out as the director. “Surely one of those takes was good,” I said. I wanted to go home now but not before I tried to talk to Vicente.
We finally heard the popular “It’s a wrap” announcement, and I stood up straighter, keeping my eye on Vicente. Some of the crew exited the set while others began to take down the equipment.
“I’d say it’s not going to be long now,” Kat told me with a smile.
“You go on and get some rest,” I said. “I’m going to try to catch Vicente. I’m hoping he’ll talk and give me something we can use.”
“Yeah, he’d probably open up some more if it was just the two of you. Just text me any updates.”
“What about the van?” I asked.
“Cocoa is driving it back. She said we were free to go home after we packed up.”
I looked up to see Vicente head into the building with the director and Miranda. Damn. So much for catching him outside. I needed him alone. Well, he had to come out sometime, so I leaned back against the wall and waited. In case that looked suspicious, I fished my phone out of my back pocket and pretended I was on a call.
About twenty minutes later, I was alone in the pitch-black night. I was shocked at how fast the crew had taken down the set and left. Oh man. The quiet and the dark unnerved me just a bit. So much so that when my phone buzzed, I jumped.
Seeing Mike’s name on the ID, I answered fast, anxious to hear his voice and not feel so alone. The fact it was almost midnight only added to the spooky surroundings.
“You okay?” he asked, a new gentleness in his voice. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Oh no. I’m still here on the set, hoping I can maybe get a word in with Vicente. They just wrapped a scene. I loved it. Vicente and Miranda leaped off this two-story building about a zillion times and they just kept on running—and they let us watch.”
“Oh. Glad you had fun.” I heard him chuckle. “And good luck with getting Vicente to talk. I kind of wondered where you were since I didn’t hear from you tonight. It’s getting really late, and I know you have a tendency to . . . shall we say, ‘find some trouble’? Something told me I should call.”
“That’s very chivalrous of you.” I smiled.
Mike laughed. “Yeah, well, you know me. Always there for a damsel in distress.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, you ruined it now. I can take care of myself.”
“I know you do.” He paused. “Listen, I heard back from Aunt Helen.”
My energy came surging back. “Really? Oh wow, that was fast. Do we know who bought the . . . it?” I kept my voice low, not knowing who was still around.
“Not exactly. But we do know a gun fitting our description was purchased off the streets three days before the murder. The buyer was a woman. In her forties or maybe her fifties. She had on a cap, so we have no idea about her hair. Also a jacket and a hood.”
“Well, that could describe half the women I know, but it’s a start for sure.”
“Helen told me something else. I don’t know what to make of it, but it could mean something. The woman had a smell.”
“A smell?”
“One of the sellers said she smelled like vinegar. One said she smelled like bacon.”
I was so exhausted I almost laughed out loud. “Our killer smells like bacon? Okay, what the hell?”
“As I’ve said many times since the story broke, you can’t make this stuff up. Aunt Helen swore to me these guys weren’t drunk or high. It was a truthful observation. Make of it what you will.”
“Hmm, okay, thanks for the info. I guess all of it is good. Maybe we can brainstorm tomorrow at the office what we can do with it. Right now, I need to figure out what’s up with Vicente and get myself out of here. Do you want me to call you tonight and report or are you going to bed?”
“No, I want to know what happens, and to know you got home safe.”
I hung up and looked around. It was pitch black and no one around. So I decided to head into the building. What was taking them so long? They had to be still inside, right? I opened the heavy door, and
the hallway was just as pitch dark. Great. The creep factor leveled up. Still, I couldn’t be alone. The trio, after all, had come in but not out. It was simple math.
I felt to my left and found a switch, lighting up the hallway. Then the thought occurred to me they could have left by another exit. Duh. This felt super unsafe, but I wanted to check out some rooms since I was here. Stepping carefully over cables, I made my way down the silent hall, but all the rooms seemed empty.
Slightly terrified, but determined too, I cautiously turned on the light in one of the rooms. This room had a second door, I noticed. I stepped inside to check it out.
That’s when I heard footsteps behind me. My heart leaped into my throat as I whirled around.
Cocoa was watching me.
“Jesus, Cocoa, you scared me to death.” I let out a breath. “What are you still doing here?”
“We have to talk,” she said. Something about her seemed really . . . off.
“O-kay . . .”
Slowly and without a word, Cocoa turned and shut the door.
My heart almost stopped when I saw the leopard on the back of my boss’s hoodie. I felt my blood begin to freeze.
Puzzle pieces started coming together. The hoodie with the lion or the tiger Ferguson talked about. The vinegar and the bacon. Working in the kitchen as she did, my boss could smell like bacon, and she could smell like vinegar. Weirdly, all the evidence was pointing straight at Cocoa. If so, here we were, just me and the killer, shut up in a room alone, in the dark of night.
Chapter Eighteen
I was too shocked to move. My mind must be scrambled! No way could Cocoa be a crazed, demented killer.
Even before I started delivering for her, I’d marveled at her calmness in the midst of the culinary storm of a busy dinner hour: pots almost boiling over, sauces being mixed, and complicated orders being slapped onto a line of plates and rushed to customers.
Plus, what would have been her motive? Had she even known Victoria beyond deliveries of dinner to the set?
I dared to look at her again, and she was watching me in silence, an almost malicious grin planted on her face. It was like some demon had slipped into the body of this kindhearted woman I could have sworn I knew. Her normally neat wavy hair fell into her eyes and sprung wildly from her head in all directions.