Hollywood Quest_A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  “What did you have in mind?” I asked, deciding there would be no harm in a friendly lunch.

  “Ojai. We could meet there, have lunch, and do some sightseeing.”

  I now remembered that he’d previously mentioned having lunch in the idyllic foothill community about an hour and a half from Hollywood. “Ojai sounds lovely. When would you like to meet?”

  “I was thinking maybe this coming Saturday. We could have lunch at the inn there, then see the town.”

  I told him that I’d check on my schedule and get back to him, because I had another call. It was from Leo.

  “We left a black and white at the Brattons’ house,” Leo said. “The mother, Laura, just showed. She said she’d spent the day with a friend and had her phone off.”

  “How did she react?”

  “She went into the kitchen, got a knife, and tried to slit her wrists. She’s in the hospital.”

  FOUR

  After receiving Leo’s call, I thought about stopping by the hospital on my way home, but decided against it. I wasn’t assigned to the case and knew it was unlikely Laura Bratton would be in any condition to talk anyway. I still planned to talk to Acting Chief Miles in the morning and ask her for permission to work the case, but knew that was probably a long shot.

  When I got home, I went next door to pick up Bernie from my best friends Natalie Bump and Mo Simpson. We live in Hollywood at the Starwood Mobile Home Park because the rent is cheap. The park is considered an historical landmark, thanks to the vintage homes built in the middle of the last century. As far as my friends and I were concerned, the residents of the park could also be considered vintage, since most of them were in their eighties and regarded us as outsiders. Natalie had sunbathed in a skimpy bikini when we first moved in, causing an uproar and resulting in an attempt to get us evicted from the park. We’d managed to avoid eviction, thanks to a minor miracle pulled off by our attorney.

  My friend Natalie is in her twenties. She’s British, blonde, and gorgeous. Her looks, and a vocabulary that leaves little doubt about her opinion of things, causes heads to turn wherever she goes. Mo is her opposite in some ways. She’s in her thirties, African-American, and doesn’t hesitate to throw her weight around, giving her about two hundred pounds of swagger and attitude.

  My friends are part-time private investigators, working under the name The Sweet Sistahs. They also have recurring parts in a cable TV sitcom called Hollywood Girlz. While my life has its exciting moments because of my job, my friends are like life on steroids, with more drama and twists and turns than a high speed chase down Hollywood Boulevard.

  Mo, who suffers from a wig addiction, greeted me at the door wearing a pile of curly green hair. “I heard you and that burned out former partner of yours caught the Bratton case.”

  I came inside while Bernie did a whine and tail wag. “How do you know about that?”

  “The murder is all over the telly,” Natalie said, also coming over. “We heard the family was posed, wearin’ some kinda crazy masks.”

  I had no idea how they knew the details about the case, but they always seemed to have inside information. “I can’t comment. Besides, I won’t be working the case since I’m now in the Cold Case Unit.”

  “They can’t just pull you off a murder that you uncovered,” Mo said. “You gotta find justice for them people.”

  “And that poor little girl who was wanderin’ around in the back yard,” Natalie added. “Is it true her sister was murdered three years ago and she was also found in the yard when that happened?”

  “You know as much as I do,” I said, still trying to be noncommittal.

  “Take a load off,” Natalie said, pulling me down on the sofa. “I just whipped me up a batch of crème shooters. Let me load me pistol.”

  Mo slumped down on the sofa across from me and removed her wig. “Baby sis has outdone herself this time. Her shooters melt in your mouth.”

  “I don’t need...”

  I was cut off in mid-sentence when Natalie walked up behind me, stuffed a shooter in my mouth, and said, “Don’t gulp it right down. Savor it for a few. After the first one, they start to go down real easy.”

  The first one didn’t go down easy. In fact, I nearly spit it across the room, deciding it was about eighty proof.

  “It’s got a bit of rum, laced with coconut and whatnot,” Natalie said, studying me. She held up another shooter like she was also going to cram it in my mouth. “Ready for a chaser?”

  It took me a moment to recover. “I’m good,” I said, my voice raspy from the alcohol. “I think I need to do a little more savoring.”

  She finally relented, giving the shooter to Mo, then changing the subject. “We heard that a woman has been named your new police chief. What’s she like?”

  “Her name is Sherry Miles,” I said, still in recovery mode from my shooter. “She’s tough, but, from what little contact I’ve had with her in the past, she tries to be fair.”

  “I heard on the streets that Dunbar’s ‘bout to go down for the count,” Mo said. “That reporter—I forget her name—called him a rapist in a uniform.”

  “Cynthia McFadden. And I can’t say that I disagree with what she said.”

  “Maybe the new chief will let you work the Bratton case,” Natalie said, apparently reading my mind.

  “I plan to talk to her, but we’ll see. I’m sure she’s under a lot of pressure with her new assignment.”

  We went on, talking about Miles being the first female police chief in LAPD history, before Natalie offered up another crème shooter. I decided the first one was taking the edge off my stressful day and agreed to another, but didn’t let her cram it in my mouth.

  “Me and baby sis got a favor to ask you,” Mo said, as I savored my shooter.

  “If you want me to protest in the nude or burn my bra in front of the police station, count me out,” I said, remembering some of their recent antics.

  “Bra burnin’,” Natalie said, looking at Mo. “I don’t think that’s been done since Kate’s mom was a hippie. Maybe we should give it a go.”

  “Sorry, but my bra’s got a big job to do,” Mo said. “I’m not giving it up for the cause.” She looked back at me. “This is ‘bout Nana.”

  Nana was our eighty-something former landlord, who had recently inherited a small fortune after her husband Claude had dropped dead on their wedding day. A few weeks back, she’d taken up with his brother Boris, who had some ghoulish characteristics—and I’m not just talking about his looks. “I’m afraid to ask what she’s done now.”

  “She’s been in seclusion since she went into that makeover machine,” Natalie explained. “She called and said she’s ready to reveal herself, but wants our opinion ‘bout her new look before she goes public.”

  Nana had recently undergone a major makeover at a Beverly Hills plastic surgery clinic. “Do you know if she’s happy with the result?”

  Mo answered. “She wouldn’t exactly say, but she did say something ‘bout it not being exactly what she had in mind.”

  “I got me a feelin’ she looks like a crazy cat woman on amphetamines,” Natalie said. “If she looks bad, we need you there to keep us from laughin’ out loud or sayin’ something rude.”

  My friends had multiple priors for insensitive comments, more than a few directed my way. “When does she want us to come by?”

  “Night after tomorrow,” Natalie said. She looked at Mo. “Maybe we should all take a selfie with Nana and post it on Facebook. We could challenge people to try and identify her, or maybe say we think she’s an alien.”

  “Not sure that’s a good idea,” Mo said. “If she looks like a freak, it’ll get reposted and bring out all the haters on the Internet.”

  I checked the time on my phone. “I’ll do my best to be there, depending on my work schedule. I need to go, busy day tomorrow.”

  “Before you go rushing off,” Mo said, “what’s the latest on you going by your mama’s house and lookin’ for those pa
pers you hid in the wall?”

  Mo was talking about a dream or a vision I had—I wasn’t sure which—where I saw myself as a little girl on the day my adoptive father was killed. He’d given me some papers, maybe knowing that his life was in danger. I later took the papers home and hid them behind a wall in my bedroom.

  “I’m still not sure if what I saw was real,” I said.

  “Maybe you was havin’ some kind of crazy drug flashback from when you were in college,” Natalie suggested. “I know this guy who flashbacked to his previous life when he was a duck.”

  “I didn’t use drugs and I’m pretty sure I was never a duck.”

  “What you gonna do ‘bout it?” Mo said, levelling one eye on me in that way she had. “We know how you put things off, especially when it comes to your mama.”

  “I’ll probably go by Mom’s and check, but I need to work it into my schedule.”

  The truth was, Mom and I were going through another difficult spell. As I mentioned, she’d never told me that I was adopted, but had recently apologized for keeping the truth from me most of my life. A week ago I’d gone by her house and she was cold and distant again. I wasn’t sure if it was something I’d done or if she was just being Mom, since her personality was a little unpredictable.

  “Let us know if you want us to go with you,” Natalie said. “We could help you do some snoopin’ and keep your mum in line.”

  “Maybe the answer to all your questions ‘bout what happened to your daddy and the identity of your bio-dad has been right in front of you all this time,” Mo suggested.

  “Maybe,” I said. “I’ll let you know.”

  Before turning in, I decided to walk Bernie along a flowerbed for a couple minutes. I’d left something out of my discussion with my friends. There was another reason I’d been putting off going by Mom’s. I was afraid. If my adoptive dad had given me some paperwork that revealed the identity of my bio-dad, and it was Pearl, I was afraid that I’d be disappointed. As Charlie mentioned, Pearl had never been involved in my life. That fact had left me feeling hollow and empty. Rejection and loss were central themes in my life, and, if Pearl was my father, this would be one more loss, maybe the biggest one of all.

  FIVE

  I was late getting to work the next morning because traffic on the freeway to downtown Los Angeles was congested. I ended up getting off the freeway, but then spent a half hour on clogged surface streets.

  I found Charlie working on a cinnamon roll when I got to my desk. “Kemp wants to see you,” he said, without looking up.

  “What about?”

  He shrugged. “Not sure. Probably about not doing field work anymore. You know how he is about keeping our butts in our chairs.”

  I glanced over at the lieutenant’s office, but saw he wasn’t there. “If he comes by looking for me, tell him I’m here.” I started to walk away.

  “Where you going?”

  I turned back to him. “The sixth floor.”

  “Miles’ office?”

  I nodded. “It’s our secret.”

  I took the stairway to the sixth floor, not wanting to run into the brass. I was relieved when I got to the chief’s office and saw that no one was in the reception area. I went over and said hello to Delores Wright, her secretary.

  “Do you think Sher...I mean, Acting Chief Miles would have a moment to see me?” I asked.

  Delores was in her sixties, with a pleasant round face and brown hair that she always wore in a bun. “Where’s Bernie? Don’t tell me he’s been reassigned.”

  “He’s at home. We’re waiting on a decision from the department about him continuing to work with me. As you know, our former chief wasn’t fond of dogs.”

  Delores lowered her voice. “He wasn’t fond of a lot of things, unless it was an attractive woman.” She smiled. “Let me ring Chief Miles, but she’ll want to know what this is about.”

  “You can just say it’s about my assignment and Bernie.”

  “Give me a moment.”

  I wandered off, glancing at the photographs of past police chiefs on the wall. I noticed that Reginald Dunbar’s photo wasn’t there. I made a mental note to call Cynthia McFadden and ask the reporter to dinner as Delores called me back over.

  “Chief Miles has a few minutes to see you.” She lowered her voice. “I hope she lets Bernie come back to work. He’s great for morale.”

  “Thanks, Delores. I’ll let you know.”

  I knew from past visits that the chief’s office overlooked the courtyard where officers who had fallen in the line of duty had their badges enshrined on a memorial wall, including my adoptive father’s badge. It was also the place where Noah Fraser had nearly ended my life. I tried to push that memory aside as I greeted Sherry Miles and took a seat across from her.

  “I’m glad you stopped by,” Miles said, after some chit-chat about her plans to redecorate her office. “I was planning on having you come up, anyway.”

  Our new chief was in her late forties, with black hair that was cut short. She was stocky, but in a way some heavyset women have that make them look solid and powerful. Miles was a survivor who had walked the political blue line, working her way up from the streets to one of the most powerful and difficult jobs in the nation.

  “I wanted to ask you about my canine partner, and also talk about my assignment,” I said.

  “Let’s clear the first one up right now. Bernie’s back on duty and assigned as your partner. You can bring him to work as soon as you can make the arrangements.”

  A smile lit up my face. “Really?”

  “Really.” She lowered her voice. “In my opinion, it made no sense to suspend him in the first place. You’ve both done some outstanding work, and he’s an asset to the department, regardless of his assignment.”

  “Thank you.” I took a breath. “You don’t know how grateful I am.”

  There was a pause in the conversation as Delores came in with coffee. After serving up the steaming brew, she looked at me. “Well?”

  My smile was still there. “Bernie’s back on duty.”

  She smiled, met her boss’s eyes, then left the office.

  Before I could bring up my assignment, Miles said, “I heard about your work yesterday on that cold case. Do you have any suspects in the murder of the family?”

  “Not yet. There were hidden cameras and listening devices throughout the home. The mother attempted suicide last night when she learned what happened. I’m sure the investigators will go by the hospital today to talk to her, and hopefully get something to go on.”

  “I hope you come up with something solid.”

  I held on her eyes. “Do you mean I’m cleared to work the case?”

  “I’m going to assign both you and Detective Winkler to Hollywood Station on a temporary basis. You deserve to work the case, since you were proactive in relooking at it.”

  “I appreciate that.” I took a moment, then asked her about my past assignment. “Section One—is there any possibility it will be reinstated? We were very successful in solving some difficult cases, despite...”

  When I didn’t go on, she said, “Despite interference from this office.”

  I smiled weakly. “Chief Dunbar had some issues with the unit and, I guess, with me.”

  “Our former chief had lots of issues with lots of people. The future of Section One is still up in the air. Once I meet with my command staff and get my feet wet in my new job, we’ll take another look at it.”

  “That’s all I can ask.”

  I started to leave, when she asked me to stay a moment longer. “There’s something else I need to discuss with you, and hopefully clear the air. Your adoptive father’s case...” She took a breath, “...a few months back, I went along with the decision of my colleagues to leave it closed. That was a mistake.”

  “I’m just glad it’s been reopened.” I considered mentioning the possibility that my father might have given me some papers before he died, but thought better of it, deciding to
wait until I went by Mom’s.

  “It’s pretty clear, based on what’s been uncovered, that Harlan Ryland and Collin Russell were behind his murder, along with Ryan Cooper. We’re going to continue to leave it open, and make sure no others were involved. The case will remain with detectives Horton and Braden.”

  “What about Jean Winslow? It’s my belief that my father and Winslow both learned about Ryland and Russell embezzling from Wallace Studios, and it cost them their lives.”

  “This is confidential, for now, but I’m also going to authorize the department to reopen the investigation into her death. I just want to be sure we’ve got something solid before the press gets wind of things.” Miles took a moment, then asked me about Ryland’s granddaughter, Harlee. “It’s my understanding she made a veiled threat toward you.”

  “It was actually pretty direct. As you know, she’s inherited her father’s financial empire and is now the head of the Tauists. I think she’s an extremely dangerous woman.”

  “Do you think she could have been involved in Collin Russell’s murder?”

  I nodded. “With Russell out of the way and her grandfather’s recent death, it’s given her control of everything. It’s also closed the door to anyone talking about what her grandfather and Russell might have done over the years.”

  “Maybe not.” She met my eyes and smiled. I had the impression there was something left unsaid, but wasn’t sure what. I was about to ask her about it, when she stood. “I want to thank you for coming by. I’m glad we were able to talk and put some things in the past.”

  We walked to the door, where we stopped, and she looked at me. “Have you ever thought about promoting up the ranks one of these days?”