Paranormal Talent Agency Omnibus

by Heather Silvio

  “Let’s head back to my office.”

  I nodded again and followed her back through the door, hearing it automatically lock behind us. We walked down a narrow hallway, into and through a wide cubicle-filled noisy main floor, and back to a corner office. Floor-to-ceiling windows separated the office from the cubicle area. I was impressed by the soundproofing when utter silence remained after she closed her door.

  Liz indicated a chair opposite her utilitarian desk. “Please, have a seat.” She waited a nanosecond after my butt hit the chair before talking. “So, you’re the producer of Chad Johnson’s movie?” I nodded and she continued. “What can I do for you?” There was an odd glint to her eyes, flashed so briefly I wondered if I imagined it, and then she was back to her folksy open newscaster persona. I tilted my head for a moment, considering, before letting it go and focusing on my reason for approaching her.

  “I caught your story this morning on Chad,” I started, my voice catching on his name. I cleared my throat. “I also am aware of the LA murder and was curious what else you knew, that maybe you held back in the broadcast.”

  Liz frowned. “No, unfortunately, I don’t know any more information,” she acknowledged. “I was hoping you might, and that’s why you wanted to see me.”

  I heard the disappointment in her voice. “Right,” I responded, mainly as a delay tactic, while I thought about where to go with my questioning.

  Liz’s brown eyes sparkled. “Although…”

  I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes at her theatrics. “Yes…,” I played along.

  “I do have a source in LA,” she said with a small coy smile.

  “That’s awesome,” I reacted with more enthusiasm than warranted, because I sensed that was what she wanted.

  “But…”

  Oh, good grief. This woman would drive me batty if she kept this up. “Liz, do you or do you not have access to additional information?” I asked this sternly and it had the desired effect.

  Liz dropped the act. “Yeah, I do. She’s a detective in LA. She says she’ll give me copies of what she has on the first murder.”

  “That’s great. There must be something that will help us figure out what happened to Chad.”

  “It’s not that easy,” she warned. “She’ll only give it to me in person.”

  “Hmm,” I muttered. “Go to LA?”

  “Yep.”

  It was a likely four-hour drive there and back, and that was if traffic cooperated getting in and out of Vegas. Not to mention the nightmare that was LA traffic. Or we could fly, but then we’d have the hassle at the airport, plus needing to rent a car. My brain screamed at me about needing more sleep, but if it could help solve Chad’s murder, it’d be worth it.

  “Oh, and I need to be back in time for tomorrow morning’s broadcast,” Liz added with a wicked smile.

  I couldn’t help it but I laughed. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  She sobered briefly. “I wish it was under different circumstances. But, yeah. This is what I went into journalism to do.”

  “You didn’t do it to cover the latest It Girl’s movie?”

  Liz rolled her eyes then shrugged. “Nah, but that’s kind of fun too,” she admitted.

  I calculated in my head. “We have about sixteen hours to drive to LA, meet with your source, possibly do any follow up, and drive back.”

  “Sounds about right.” She smiled the first genuine smile I’d seen that morning. “What do you say?”

  “Road trip.” I mirrored her smile.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Liz and I left straight from the studio, although I insisted on a quick stop first. “I need an energy boost,” I explained.

  Since Liz knew I was up late last night at the crime scene, she understood. She maneuvered her white Audi R8 Coupe (clearly being a media personality in Vegas paid better than I thought!) out of the station’s parking lot and eased into traffic. We headed for the 215, watching for a Starbucks. Liz shot across three lanes of traffic when she spotted one and pulled into the drive thru. Thankfully, there were only two cars in front of us. It was amazing how often the line stretched into the street.

  “What do you want?” Liz asked this as we pulled forward to order.

  “Espresso macchiato, with an extra shot of espresso.”

  I heard the smile in her voice when she placed my order, getting a small house brew for herself. “I don’t do fancy drinks,” she tossed over her shoulder at me.

  I laughed. “Your loss.” In a few minutes, I sipped at my beverage of the gods. Appropriately caffeinated, we hit the road.

  We drove the 215 to the 15 and followed the signs to Los Angeles. We were both pleasantly surprised that the traffic was light. Soon we left Sin City behind, heading toward the City of Angels. There was a joke in there somewhere, but I was still too tired to find it.

  Our ride was uneventful as we passed through Primm, Barstow, and Victorville on our four-hour drive. Well, four-and-a-half hours. We did have to make a bathroom stop. Signs for San Bernardino informed us we were close, so Liz sent a quick text message to her contact, requesting an exact site for meeting.

  “That seems a bit cloak-and-dagger,” I commented. “Not to give us the meeting location ahead of time.”

  “She’s a cop. They’re paranoid by nature. Plus, she’s violating her department’s rules,” she reminded me with a side glance.

  I lifted my hands in a mea culpa. “That’s true.”

  Liz watched for the exit off the 210 for Highland Park, our apparent meeting place. We exited Figueroa and within another ten minutes found ourselves near the neighborhood.

  “Where are we meeting your contact?”

  Liz laughed as she turned onto York. “Starbucks.”

  Hmm. Maybe I’d have a second coffee. I pointed to the building across from a 99cent store.

  Easing the car into a space, we exited and stretched after the long drive. Liz opened the door to the squat building and a wiry Latina seated just inside lifted her chin at Liz in greeting. I followed her over to the table and we sat across from the officer.

  “I’m Selina,” she introduced herself, and I didn’t miss that she only offered her first name.

  “Mia.”

  “Do you have the files?” Liz drummed her fingers on the table in anticipation.

  Selina placed her hand flat on the table and slid it toward us. When she removed her hand, a small thumb drive remained there. Liz quickly disappeared it into her pocket. “Be careful.”

  “Of course,” Liz replied dismissively.

  Selina’s eyes darkened. “Seriously. Roger Miller was suffocated in a manner we can’t identify. If what you’re saying in Vegas is true, his killer has struck again.”

  “Thank you for the warning,” I said, cutting my eyes at Liz. She really could be more appreciative and less cavalier. “And I know it’s probably in the files. But, any suspects?” Selina shook her head. “Anything that stood out as unusual?”

  “Other than the locked room?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Yeah, other than that.”

  “There was one thing,” she began, her eyes clouding over. “It didn’t seem connected.”

  Liz and I waited for her to continue.

  “Mr. Miller had a generally clean record with one notable exception.”

  My goodness, this was like pulling teeth.

  Liz was a good deal less patient. “C’mon Selina, spit it out. We’ve got to get back to Vegas.” They stared at each other for a beat and I wondered what their relationship really was. And then Selina dropped the bombshell.

  “A year prior to his death, Roger Miller was investigated for the disappearance and possible murder of his girlfriend.”

  I sat back in the plastic chair in shock. Maybe Roger was a killer and his murder was revenge? “Wait, you said it didn’t seem connected,” I challenged.

  “Yep. We investigated that angle and nothi
ng really seemed to come of it.” Selina unexpectedly chuckled at the matching expectant looks on our faces.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you what we learned. 9-1-1 received a call from a motorist who had pulled off to the side of the road. The couple saw a damaged guardrail and the wife thought she saw light reflecting off of something metallic over the side in the bushes. The husband went down the side and found the wrecked car. Roger Miller was alone in the vehicle, unconscious and bleeding from several scrapes, but nothing that looked severe.

  “We later learned at the hospital it was a combination of alcohol and head trauma that knocked him out. The passenger door was closed. There was no evidence that anybody else was or had been recently in the vehicle. Miller did not respond to the husband’s attempts to rouse him, though it was confirmed he was breathing.

  “The husband noted a piece of the guardrail had flipped up and pierced the windshield into the front passenger seat. First responders arrived and transported Miller to the hospital. When he awoke, he kept asking for his girlfriend, Juni. He insisted she was in the car with him. If,” she stressed the word, “someone had been in that seat, he or she would have been impaled and would not have walked away from the accident.”

  My eyes widened slightly before I recovered. Vampire? That could explain a passenger who was there and then not there following an impaling. I made a mental note to check with my one and only vampire friend, Evie, when we returned to Vegas. She was an actress I met through the Paranormal Talent Agency, of course. I focused on Selina’s voice.

  “Here’s where it gets weird.”

  “You mean it wasn’t weird yet?” Liz asked with a chuckle and Selina smiled.

  “Weirder,” she amended. “Here’s where it gets weirder. The easiest way to show that the girlfriend, Juni, wasn’t in the car would be to find her, happy and whole. Right?”

  We nodded and she continued.

  “This kid, Miller, didn’t have a last name for her, said he’d only known her a couple of months, and only had a partial picture. She had no other friends he knew of, nor where she worked, or even where she lived. We blasted what little we had over the local news and social media. We asked the public if they knew who this woman was. Nothing. No missing report was ever filed in LA that matched her picture. We entered her information into the national database and never got legitimate hits. It’s like this girl popped into existence and then popped right back out.” Frustration tinged every word of her statement.

  Definitely vampire. The more Selina spoke, the more convinced I was.

  “We charged Roger Miller with driving while intoxicated and reckless driving for his likely speed and no evidence of braking before the crash. But,” she shrugged, “without a body, or any evidence this young lady even existed, there wasn’t much else to do. He got court-ordered drug therapy and six-months’ probation.”

  Liz and I sat quietly for a moment, processing all the information.

  Selina looked at her watch. “If you don’t have any other questions…” She waited half a second for Liz and me to shake our heads no and then she stood. “I’ve got to get back to work. I hope it helps,” she said sincerely. “Don’t be shy in sharing any of your information either.”

  We agreed to do so and remained seated as Selina left.

  “What do you think?” I finally asked Liz.

  “I think we need to review those files and then look into Roger Miller before we leave Los Angeles.”

  Her excitement was infectious and I smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that!”

  After grabbing more coffees, we spent the next fifteen minutes staring at my laptop screen. Selina was nothing if not thorough. She provided us with copies of Roger Miller’s autopsy report, the Facebook Live video of his murder, and scores of interviews with folks identified as his friends, family, or people of interest (although unfortunately, as Selina had stated, not as potential suspects). We reviewed the paperwork before watching the video. When we saw the side profile picture of Juni, we paused to take in the twenty-something raven-haired beauty. Oh, and vampires could have their picture taken, so this neither confirmed nor eliminated my hunch that she was a vampire.

  “Witness protection program,” I joked.

  “Right? Who doesn’t have a single social media account or even just a basic online footprint in this day and age?” Liz agreed.

  “It is odd.”

  I brought up the Facebook Live video and made sure my sound was way down – didn’t want to frighten anybody around us. The video was almost eerily identical to Chad’s and I felt a lump in my throat at the fear both of these men had before being violently killed. We had to find something that would help solve these murders and prevent others.

  Liz and I sat in silence for a few moments following the conclusion of the video. “Next step?” Liz asked.

  “Let’s talk to Roger Miller’s mother before we head back to Vegas. Maybe her son told her something more or different than what he told the police following Juni’s disappearance.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Thirty minutes later we pulled behind a blue Honda Accord in the driveway of a modest Spanish Colonial home. I noted the well-kept lawn and bright flowers as we walked up the concrete path to the red front door. We did not call ahead, so I was hoping the car meant his mother was home. I glanced at my watch and cringed when I saw it was already 8 p.m. Liz knocked as I glanced up and down the street. Minimal traffic, no pedestrians. Definitely a suburban area. The door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman with bloodshot eyes holding a tissue.

  “May I help you?”

  Part of me wanted to back away from this clearly grieving woman – what were we thinking? – but Liz had already extended her hand. “Mrs. Miller?”

  “Yes?”

  “Roger Miller’s mother?”

  Her eyes clouded over and a single tear tracked down her cheek. She appeared resigned. “Are you with the press?”

  I jumped in before Liz could answer in the affirmative. “Ma’am, we are so sorry for your loss. We heard about Roger’s murder…” Mrs. Miller visibly paled at the word. “…while investigating the murder of my friend, Chad Johnson. You may have seen something about it on the news?”

  Mrs. Miller thought for a moment. “I haven’t seen or heard anything. But, then I’ve barely gotten out of bed,” she directed this towards me, almost defiantly.

  “I don’t blame you,” I simply said and the dam broke. Mrs. Miller audibly cried as she indicated we should follow her into the home.

  Dark with all the blinds drawn and few lights turned on, I could tell even in the gloom that hers was a cared for home. My heart broke for the loss this mother had experienced.

  “Please sit down,” she directed us to a sectional couch in a pale blue abstract design. Liz and I sat on the edge of the sofa while Mrs. Miller moved to the loveseat facing us. Her hands lay limply in her lap.

  “Mrs. Miller,” I started, and she stopped me.

  “Please call me Jacki,” she said by rote.

  I hesitated. Liz wisely remained quiet, to see how this played out. “Jacki, my friend and I are trying to gather information related to your son’s death that might help us understand what happened to our friend, Chad, and prevent anyone else from being hurt. But, if this is too painful, we can leave.”

  Jacki raised her face and looked at us through watery eyes. “It’s okay. Not talking about it won’t bring him back. If I can help some other mother not go through this, then I will.” She took a long, shuddering breath. “Ask your questions.”

  I brought Jacki through our understanding of the events that transpired on the night of the car accident and she confirmed that Roger told her the same story he provided the police, and that she had no reason to doubt what he said.

  “Even though he’d been drinking?” I asked gently and Jacki looked away briefly before responding.

  “Roger had only recently turned 21. He was still sowing his wild oats w
hen it came to alcohol. He had made a couple of bad choices, but never anything like that. He’d never blacked out or hurt anyone.”

  Not that you know of, I thought to myself before refocusing on Jacki.

  “I had no reason to doubt that he genuinely believed Juni had been in the car with him,” she concluded.

  “How do you explain the lack of evidence of anybody in the passenger seat?” Liz asked this.

  “I don’t.”

  That stumped us and for a moment nobody said anything. “We spoke to the police about Juni,” I restarted the conversation. “It seems nobody really knew her well.”

  “I only met her once,” Jacki stated. “Juni and Roger had only been dating a couple of months, but he was smitten with her.” A genuine smile ghosted across her face then faded. “She never gave my son her last name.”

  “You didn’t think that was odd?” Liz asked, doubt tinging her voice.

  “At first, but Roger explained Juni said she had escaped an abusive relationship. She told him she didn’t want to endanger him.”

  “Is that why there’s only the one picture of her?” This made more sense to me now; although, not if she was a vampire. Hmm. Jacki was still explaining.

  “She was worried about being found, so she didn’t want any pictures. I snapped that one. She was very unhappy with me and asked me to delete the picture. I lied and told her I did.” Jacki’s face reddened at the remembrance of the deception. “I just wanted one picture,” she finished defensively.

  “I think it’s okay,” I assured her and she smiled gratefully before her mouth turned downward.

  “After the accident, Roger spent weeks searching the area near the crash, first with the actual search parties and then on his own. He confided to me that he was having nightmares of her alone and scared in the woods.”

  My heart broke again for that grieving young man, trying to process the strange loss of his love.

  “Once he finished his probation, he finally seemed ready to rejoin the world. I was so happy to have my son back,” she said wistfully. “Then to have him taken again, forever.” Her voice choked on the last word and she stared at her wringing fingers in her lap.