I stared at the computer screen for another minute longer then closed it and set it on the nightstand. I tried to shut down the niggling worry that Felix was blowing me off. Could it be he didn't want to see me anymore? I realized that we hadn't actually said a word to each other all day at work. Granted, we'd both been busy. But it still felt odd.
Was this what it was like breaking up with someone you worked with? Would he be awkward and silent around me at work? Then blow me off in private? Oh God, would I need to find a new job? I'd barely gotten the one at the Informer. Would Felix even give me a reference? How did that work with ex-girlfriends?
I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath. I counted to ten.
Get a grip, girl. Felix was not breaking it off with me. I was being melodramatic. Probably.
I switched off the bedside lamp, snuggled my cat, and closed my eyes, trying not to think about it.
* * *
The next morning I was moving at a surprisingly decent pace through traffic on the 5, when I decided to take a quick detour to check out Bobby's apartment in Culver City before hitting the office. While I was sure the police had been all over it already, I figured it was at least worth a stop. They'd been looking for evidence of a crime, not necessarily the makings of a great story. Granted, solving the crime would make for the best story, but I was in take what you can get mode.
Culver City sat just west of the city of Los Angeles, nestled conveniently between the two main arteries of the region, the 405 and the 10 freeways. While the landscape wasn't much to write home about—mostly filled with tall concrete and glass buildings—it was prime real estate for studios, mega-agencies, and network headquarters. Bobby's condo was just off Jefferson, near the park—one of the rare units in town with a view of something green.
I found an empty spot at the curb a couple of blocks up from his building, parked, and adjusted my pencil skirt as I got out. The building looked roughly the same as all of the other ones on the block. Stucco exterior, balconies on the upper floors, underground parking for the residents, and a small lobby in front with mailboxes and an elevator. I took it up to the third floor, where Bobby's address was, but as soon as I approached his unit, I knew something was off.
Yellow crime scene tape fluttered along the sides of the door, which was partly ajar. I bit my lip, looking over both shoulders.
Reporter Me said, Awesome! We can get inside. Just push the door open and let's look around!
Coward Me said, Are you freakin' nuts!? What if whoever broke in is still in there?
I did an "eeny, meeny, miny, moe," and in the end, Reporter Me won out. I'd just do a quick little look around. And I'd leave the door open so I could make a fast escape if needed. And I pulled out a pair of latex gloves and slipped them on—no sense in leaving any fingerprints behind in case the police weren't done here. Then I grabbed my phone and let my finger hover over the icon for the Informer's number in case anything went wrong.
I took a deep breath and pushed my way in, my eyes sweeping the place from my spot in the doorway. It looked like your average bachelor pad. A leather couch sat in front of a big screen TV, a small kitchen—looking largely unused—sat to the left, and a hallway led to the right, presumably to bedrooms. A balcony sat off the living room, offering a view of the park and a gas station the next block over. Nothing looked terrifically out of place, but then again, I had no idea what this place had looked like when Bobby had inhabited it.
I took a hesitant step forward, listening for any signs of life. "Hello?" I called out.
The only answer I got was silence.
I let out a little sigh of relief and took a few more steps in, leaving the front door partially open behind me. "Anyone here?" I asked as I moved through the living room toward the hallway. Four doors opened up off the hall. I peeked my head in the first one and found a guest bedroom. Queen bed, chest of drawers, and a chair by the window. Nothing that looked personal. I moved on.
The second doorway led to a guest bath, and the third to what looked like a home office with a desk and a couple of bookcases flanking the high window.
If Bobby had any personal notes or correspondence on the shows he'd been working on, I had a hunch this was where he'd keep it. I quickly moved around the desk. No computer, I noticed. Bummer. But if there had been one here, presumably the police would have taken it with them. They had left a cordless phone, but no lights blinked indicating messages. Not surprising. If Bobby was like most people, anything interesting or personal would be on his cell anyway—which was again likely in the custody of the police.
I randomly pulled out drawers, finding the usual mix of items like pens, rubber bands, stamps, and sticky notepads. Nothing terribly interesting. The first bookcase held mostly nonfiction and a lot of tell-alls. The second was devoted to file folders, notebooks, and what looked like shooting scripts. I pulled one out. Love: Myth or Just Hormones. I grinned, feeling a bit of sad nostalgia that there would never be any more clever revelations from Bobby Baxter. As much as he'd seemed a diva and a jerk in person, I really had been a fan of the show. I set the script back on the shelf.
And that was when I heard it.
A dull thud from the end of the hallway.
I froze, my hand midway from the bookcase, ears straining to hear more. I was not alone in the condo. Damn, why hadn't I listened to Cowardly Me?
I tiptoed to the doorway and gingerly peeked out. The last door off the hallway led to the master bedroom. And someone was in there. I took a deep breath, counted to three, and then took one tentative step into the hallway. If I made a quick sprint of it, I could maybe get to the front door and out of here before whoever had broken in saw me. Maybe. If they didn't have good reflexes. Or a gun.
That last thought shot a new round of adrenaline through me. I took one more step…
"Freeze!"
I screamed as a figure appeared in the master bedroom doorway, brandishing some sort of weapon high above his head.
Or, her head, I noticed as I paused in my banshee screech just long enough to register what I was looking at.
"Tina!" I shouted, taking in the purple hair, the poison green boots, and the retro Strawberry Shortcake T-shirt over trendy black jeans.
She blinked at me, her breath coming fast. "Allie! God, what are you doing here?" she asked. She lowered the weapon to her side. Which I now noticed was not a gun but a hair dryer.
I grinned. "I think the better question is, what are you doing here? Need a little styling before work?" I gestured to the hairdryer.
She frowned and tossed it onto the bed behind her. "It was the closest thing I could grab when I heard you. Cripes, you scared me. I thought you were an intruder."
"Ditto," I admitted. "You the one who broke the crime scene seal?" I asked as I took a step forward, joining her in the master bedroom.
She shrugged. "The crime scene tape had already been cut, and the door was open when I got here."
"Open?"
She shrugged. "Unlocked."
Close enough.
"Well, you scared me half to death," I told her, looking around. Bobby's bedroom was sadly as void of personal effects as the guest room had been. A king-sized bed took up the majority of the room, flanked by two nightstands, and an entryway on the left opened to a master bath. "So, find anything interesting?" I asked.
Tina smirked. "Right. Like I'd share it with you."
That was what I figured. "Tell you what—how about you show me yours, and I'll show you mine?" I offered. Which seemed like a safe enough trade considering I really didn't have much.
She narrowed her eyes at me, seemingly considering this. "I dunno. How do I know that you've got anything useful?"
Dang she was clever. "How do I know you do?" I countered.
She sucked in her cheeks and pursed her lips in thought. "Okay," she said finally. "You first. What's in the office?" she asked, gesturing to the room I'd just exited.
"Scripts, books, a landline."
She
nodded. "And?"
"And that's it," I told her truthfully.
She rolled her eyes. "Well, that's not anything!"
"Hey, I didn't say I had anything. I just said I'd share."
Her eyes narrowed again. "Fine. Bobby's got a toilet, a sink, and a shower. Now I've shared."
My turn to roll my eyes. "Okay, this is pointless. The condo is a bust. But surely you've uncovered something about Bobby worth sharing?"
She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head in the negative. "You. First."
I blew out a breath. "Okay, fine. Look, I know Bobby was working on three stories when he died. It's possible one of them might have been connected to his death." Which was true. Anything was possible at this point.
"What were they about?" Tina asked, her stance softening.
"The first was about dental hygiene, the second about laser hair removal, and the last one focused on a recycling plant called Sunshine Sanitation."
Tina nodded, obviously making mental notes. "Any idea which one might have involved something worth killing over?"
I shook my head. "Not yet."
She shrugged. "Well, it's a start."
I cleared my throat and shot her an expectant look.
Tina smiled. "Okay, fair is fair. Bobby and his wife had a prenup."
"Oh, really?" This was good news. Well, for me. Maybe not for the wife. "What did it say?"
"Standard," Tina responded. "If she is convicted of a crime, she gets nothing. If she cheats, she gets nothing. If they divorce before their tenth anniversary, she gets nothing."
I thought back to the records I'd seen. They'd only been married a few years at best. "Wow. Nice motive for murder."
"Yeah, you think?" Tina's grin was a mile wide.
"How did you find this out?" I asked.
"His lawyer."
"His lawyer told you?"
Tina turned her head away, averting her eyes. "Not exactly."
I didn't want to know. It was probably illegal. Better to stay nonculpable.
"Anyway, there's really not much here. I did find this." She turned behind her and grabbed a slim tablet from the nightstand on the right of the bed. "But there's not much on it. Some ebooks, Candy Crush, Angry Birds—the usual junk."
I grabbed it and immediately swiped it on. A screen with a bunch of apps and documents came up. Tina was right—the home screen had several books, scripts, and a few games and various apps.
"The police took his computer. I'm surprised they didn't take this," I mused out loud.
"Well, it was kinda hidden."
I raised an eyebrow her way.
"He had it tucked between a couple of magazines in the bathroom. Looks like Bobby liked to read while…you know."
Ew! I looked down at the tablet in my hands, trying to calculate how much hand sanitizer was going to be needed to shake the cooties feel from my fingers.
I was about to drop the offending object like a hot potato, when one of the programs on the main screen caught my eye. A calendar. I quickly clicked it open while Tina grabbed the hair dryer and returned it to the bathroom.
The first page it opened to was this week. I scanned the entries. Several appointments were noted—mostly with his network, agent, and writers for the show. A couple of entries later in the evenings looked like they might be personal, though he'd only noted times and locations that looked like restaurants. I swiped through to the day he'd died, mentally crossing my fingers.
Three entries for that afternoon—all the usual meetings. That evening, however, he'd noted: SB DeVitto's 9pm.
"Anything good?" Tina emerged from the bathroom, wiping her hands on a towel.
I quickly closed the program. "Not really." My sharing streak only lasted so long.
She shrugged. "I'm gonna check out the kitchen. You wanna tag along?"
I shook my head, setting the germ-infested tablet back on the nightstand. "I'm good. I'll see you back at the office," I called over my shoulder as I hightailed it out of the condo.
CHAPTER SIX
As soon as I got to the Informer, I googled "DeVitto's." Turns out it was a restaurant and bar in downtown L.A., about three blocks from where Bobby had been killed. If he'd been meeting "SB" there at 9:00 p.m., it was possible that his dinner companion had still been with him at midnight when he'd been killed. Or…even possible that his dinner companion had killed him?
I dialed Bobby's assistant, Henry, who answered on the second ring.
"Hi, it's Allie Quick again," I told him.
"Hi, Allie. What can I do for you?" he asked, his voice tired and like he really didn't want to do anything. I could only imagine how many calls he'd been fielding since his boss's death.
Out of sympathy, I got right to the point. "I was wondering if you could tell me if anyone connected to Bobby's show has the initials SB?"
There was a pause on the other end. "Honestly? I really couldn't tell you. We've got tons of people working on the crew."
Dang. "Any way I could get a roster of them all?"
"I suppose I could send over the latest credits list…" he hedged, sounding like he'd rather not.
"Thanks!" I said quickly before he could change his mind.
He sighed into the phone. "Okay. I'll email it over to you now," he promised before hanging up.
I tapped my pen on my desk as I waited, and five minutes later an email popped into my inbox from Henry. I quickly downloaded the pdf attachment and scanned the list. He was right. There were tons of people connect to the show, from crew to assistants to the research team. I printed the document out then pulled out a pink highlighter and started going through names. Twenty minutes later I had pink lines through Sandra Butler, a PA; Sanjay Bastil, on Bobby's research staff; and Sarah Baker, the harried makeup woman I'd seen on set. I had no idea why Bobby would want to meet for dinner with any of them on the night he'd died, but at least it was somewhere to start.
I was just googling the makeup artist when Felix stuck his head out of his office.
"Allie. I need to see you. Now." Not exactly the words of endearment every girl longs to hear from her paramour. But, I did enjoy being employed, so I went into Felix's office.
"What's up, Boss?"
If he caught my sarcasm, he didn't let on.
"Have a seat."
I took a seat in one of the old vinyl-covered chairs in front of his desk and crossed my legs.
His eyes lingered on my bare thighs below my skirt a moment longer than was considered appropriate before he met my gaze. Good. At least he still noticed me.
He cleared his throat. "Where are you on the Bobby Baxter story?"
"I talked to the wife yesterday, but she didn't give me anything useful. I plan to look into another couple of avenues today." What those avenues were, I wasn't sure, but I wasn't about to tell him that.
He nodded. "Tina's working a lead as well." He paused. "But you already know that."
"Of course I do. She guns for all of my stories," I said.
Felix shot me a look. "Don't start. I'm not playing referee to you two again."
"Who, me?" I blinked innocently at him.
His look didn't soften much, but the corner of his mouth hitched up ever so slightly.
"What's her angle?" I asked, wondering if the prenup info meant she was going with a "the wife did it" line.
Felix shook his head. "She didn't say. She's playing it pretty close to the vest until she has something substantial."
Of course she was. Oh well, it was worth a try.
"Speaking of angles…what's yours?" he asked.
"I, uh…don't think I should share until I have something substantial either," I lied. The truth was I had no idea what my angle was. So far I had floss-happy dentists, bright-and-flashy trash men, and a wife who loved pedicures and hated tabloids. Not a smoking gun among the bunch.
"Well, you better come up with something fast. And better than Tina's, if you want me to run with it."
"I'll get th
e story," I assured him.
"Good." He stood, signaling the interrogation was over.
I stood to leave as well, but I turned around at the door to face him. "Will I see you later?" I hated how desperate that sounded the second it left my lips.
Felix paused then nodded. "Maybe. If I can get finished up here early enough, maybe we can get a drink?"
"That'd be nice." I smiled genuinely at him and practically skipped back to my desk. Whatever misgivings I'd had last night, I shoved to the back of my mind. Felix wasn't breaking it off with me. He was just busy. And he wanted to get a drink after work. Drinks were good. Maybe not staying-over good, but it was a step in the right direction. Who knew—if I got enough drinks into him…
My phone buzzed, shaking me out of that thought. I grabbed it and checked the display. It was Shane, the skateboard kid.
"Allie Quick."
"Hey, Allie, it's me, Shane. I was, um, just wondering if you, um, still need me to keep an eye on that lady?"
"Has she come back?" I asked.
"No, I was just curious."
I thought about it for a moment. "It wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on her. If you don't mind."
"It's no trouble. Will you be, uh, be coming back around sometime?"
I could practically hear his blush through the phone. Cute. The kid had a crush on me.
"Maybe. I need to talk to her, but she isn't too keen on speaking to me right now."
"So you want to surprise her," he said with understanding.
"I guess so," I said. I hadn't really thought about my next move with Mrs. Baxter yet. But it didn't hurt to have a pair of eyes watching the house. You never knew what might turn up.
"I'm on it!" Shane assured me with enthusiasm usually saved for finding a rare Pokemon.
"Thanks," I said and ended the call.
With Shane's eyes on the Baxter house and the wife taking a hiatus at the hotel and spa, my investigation into Bobby's death was left dangling in the breeze. I tapped my pen against my lip. I looked over at Tina's cubicle. She was on the phone, animatedly talking to someone. Great. Her sources seemed chatty. I felt my story slowly slipping away.
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