by Gina LaManna
I gave a polite laugh. “Miss Lizabeth, it’s not in my nature to let mysteries lie. Plus it might help us with our job. If we knew a motivation, or someone in particular we should watch out for at the event…well, it can’t hurt our efforts to keep you and Poopsie safe.”
Miss Lizabeth’s hesitation was enough to tell me she might have a few ideas that she was reluctant to share.
“It doesn’t cost you anything extra,” I said. “I just want to try and get a better understanding of the situation. You’ve taken care of us so well, it’s the least we can do. We’ve got some time to kill, anyway. What’s the worst that’ll happen? I don’t figure it out. And even then, you still have another team on the job.”
“I suppose there’s nothing like a woman’s intuition,” she said with a sigh. “Especially when Poopsie’s life is involved.”
“It sure doesn’t hurt,” I agreed. “What do you say?”
“There are two people that I can think of,” Lizabeth said. “Amanda Stork and Janie Silvers.”
Janie Silvers? That sounded like one of my mom’s friends from TANGO. “What gives you the impression these two ladies might have it out for you?”
“Amanda Stork has a Maltipoo, name is Mr. Edgar. It was down to Mr. Edgar and Poopsie for the final contestants in the fashion show that won Poopsie the role in the Bond movie,” she said. “Amanda’s harbored a grudge against me ever since. We board our dogs at the same hotel for their spa days, and she is nasty.”
I wondered if nasty was enough motivation to send not-so-veiled threats to a powerful woman in Hollywood, one with more money than half the town put together. “And the other?”
“Janie Silvers,” Miss Lizabeth said. “I donated money to her small indie film a few months ago on Kickstarter. She’s been positively hounding me for more ever since. I gave her a few bucks the first time just to be nice, not because I believe in the film. She’s called the house a few times, and hasn’t been polite with me or my staff when they’ve declined a larger contribution.”
“So she has your phone number,” I said, thinking the latter seemed like a much more promising suspect than the disgruntled owner of a dog finishing second place. “And sounds a bit nutty.”
“I didn’t want to say anything because in Hollywood, rumors spread faster than poison ivy,” Miss Lizabeth said. “Please keep it to yourself. I’m only telling you because you said it’d help you keep Poopsie safe. You won’t say anything to them, or the public, or God forbid, the press?”
“Of course not,” I said. “Do you know where I could find them this afternoon? I have a few hours to kill before we meet to try the dress on, and I’d like to get a feel for what they’re up to.”
“Janie Silvers has salsa class this afternoon, I know that because it’s part of her film. Some sort of documentary, I think. As for Amanda Stork, her stomach’s tight as a drum. You can probably find her at the expensive gym on Sunset,” Miss Lizabeth said. “Observation only though, yes?”
“And maybe a question or two,” I said. “But very nonchalantly, I promise. They won’t suspect a thing.”
“If you must…but be discreet, please.”
“You have my word,” I said. “Thank you for the information, we’re only doing this to keep you and Poopsie safe.”
“Lacey, one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it.”
I gave a light laugh. “It’s my pleasure. Just doing my job.”
“I’ll see you this evening. And just remember…discreet.”
** **
“Is that Amanda freaking Stork?” Meg stepped a foot into the gym, its ambiance ritzier than my apartment. Lavender scented towels, soaps, and “essences” filtered through the air, glass bottles of water were stocked on every corner, each advertised to have a light, refreshing fizz.
A coffee shop serving gourmet espressos sat next to a juice bar that promised to clean out your insides and hair follicles with one sip of beet juice. I gagged just thinking about chugging a bottle of dirt, which is what beets tasted like to me. I veered closer to the coffee shop, though I doubted they served cookies and marshmallows in their thimble-sized espresso cups.
“Hi there,” Meg leaned against the counter without waiting for any of us to catch up. “I’m new to the city, looking to tighten up a little bit of this womanliness, if you know what I mean.” Meg grabbed a bit of extra skin on her rear end and wiggled it around as a demonstration for the front desk attendant.
The coiffed, stick-skinny woman behind the desk tried to wrinkle her nose, but the Botox prevented any movement from the general area of her face.
“I really like the looks of that Amanda Stork chica,” Meg said. “Which class is she in? Can I join?”
“First of all, we don’t give out private information,” Ms. Skinny Buns said.
“I’m asking for a workout regimen, not her ovary type,” Meg said. “Cripes.”
“Meg,” I whispered, joining her at the counter. “It’s blood type, you mean. Ovaries don’t have a type.”
“How do you know?” Meg asked. “I think they do. My type of ovaries likes a nice, handsome man with something to grab onto.”
Clay, who had made himself busy examining each strand of grass in a potted plant, turned so red the back of his neck looked like it’d been fried for the past ten hours under a desert sun.
“Don’t worry, Clay,” Meg said, her eyes following mine. “My ovaries like you. After you sang those beautiful songs at Karaoke, they just started humming right along. Speaking of, you think we’ll see one of them Hanson boys at the movie premier? I’d love me a little personal rendition of MMMbop.”
“Well, we can always hope,” I said. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
“I’m still upset,” Meg said. She turned and began chatting with the front desk attendant as if they were best friends. “At their last concert, they dedicated some song to a girl named Joy, and they totally forgot about me. Don’t they know I’m their biggest fan? I need a word with them. Lady, do you know where I can find them?”
I smiled at the woman behind the desk. “You’ll have to excuse my friend here, it’s her first time in Hollywood, and she’s a bit star struck. Hoping for a glimpse of a boy band.”
“Sometimes they’re over at the bar on Fountain,” the woman said, her eyes faking a smile. “I’d check there.”
“What about Amanda Stork?” I asked. “She’s sort of a celebrity to us, what with her finishing second in that big dog show a few weeks ago. She totally got gypped by that Lizabeth’s dog, what’s her name?”
“Poopsie?” The receptionist’s voice dropped low as she leaned across the desk. “Isn’t that just terrible?”
“I mean, second isn’t bad,” I said. “And that Poopsie is a cute dog.”
“Yeah, but Amanda was pretty upset her Maltese missed out on the movie role.” Her eyes sparkled now, and apparently we weren’t too unimportant to gossip with; in fact, I suspected she got a strange power trip out of knowing the inside scoop. “She’s still upset, poor woman. A customer caught her crying in the locker room just yesterday. The locker room, can you imagine? It’s not exactly private.”
“I can imagine,” I murmured, thinking that a locker room here would positively breed rumors like bacteria. “Did she do anything to…I don’t know, retaliate?”
The lady, her nametag spelling Evelyn, straightened her shoulders. “What have you heard?”
I shrugged, playing the coy card. “Not much. I just figured that you seem to be on the inside with all of this, so maybe you’d have a clue. But if not, that’s understandable, too.”
Her eyes flashed. “I am on the inside,” she said. “I was an extra on CSI last season, so I’m practically an A-lister by now. Or I will be, by next year.”
“But you’re not, not yet,” I said. “So probably you wouldn’t know the inside scoop.”
“I do, too!” she hissed. “But it’s just a rumor, so don’
t say anything, got it?”
I smiled. “Of course not. I’m leaving town tomorrow, anyway. I was just curious.”
“Oh.” Her gaze fell a little. “I thought maybe you were a reporter or something. I guess if you’re just a tourist, then it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“Yep, just a boring old tourist.”
“Well, they say…” she flicked her wrist dismissively, her eyes still twinkling with the knowledge that she had the upper hand on the scoop, “they say she tried to sleep with the director to get her dog a part in the movie.”
“So you’re saying Amanda Stork’s ovaries have a thing for powerful dudes?” Meg said. “Interesting.”
I tried not to let the disappointment show on my face. As unrealistic as it’d been, I sort of hoped the phone calls had been a weak prank by a disgruntled second-place finisher. But the more Evelyn chatted, the less likely that solution seemed.
“The real kicker?” Evelyn positively glowed. “He said no. The director turned her down! But I suppose it was good business for us, because she doubled the number of times she comes to the gym per week after that rejection.”
“Why?” Meg appeared confused. “I Googled her picture. I think the problem is she’s too skinny. Her face looks angry all the time, and I think if she ate a hamburger, you’d be able to see the outline of it on her stomach.”
“It’s not about her looks,” Evelyn agreed. “She’s got the largest stick up her…helllo!”
I glanced with confusion at Evelyn, who had transformed into a polite, lovely host. Then I realized the source of her happiness – Mack. She stared at him, looking straight through me with a dreamy look in her eye.
“Oh, hey Mack,” I said, turning to face him. I gestured to the front desk lady. “This is Evelyn.”
“You know him?” she whispered to me. “How?”
I rolled my eyes. “We’re friends.”
“So you’re not dating?” Evelyn looked between us. Then, her voice dripping with false sweetness, she corrected herself. “What am I saying, of course you’re not dating.”
“Watch it,” Meg growled. “These two handsome people could be dating, but I’ll have you know Lacey has the biggest stud waiting for her at home. I don’t like your tone, missy.”
“I’m Evelyn.” The receptionist pushed past me, extending her hand to Mack, blinking up at his amused blue eyes. “Pleased to meet you.”
“And you, ma’am,” he drawled. “Pleasure is mine. Lacey, any luck?”
I already suspected that Amanda Stork wasn’t our girl, but there was one more way to find out. Raising onto my tiptoes, I whispered into Mack’s ear. “What time of the day were the phone threats made?”
He didn’t respond, but his eyes widened with understanding. Giving a brief nod, he approached the counter, saying I’ll take care of this with his body language.
“Evelyn, darlin’,” he said, really laying on the accent. “I have a favor to ask of you.”
Evelyn practically salivated as she nodded.
“Amanda Stork, what class is she in?” He glanced around. “I’m looking for a new workout routine before my next film.”
“Cardio barre,” she said, reaching a hand out and laying it on Mack’s wrist. “The class with Nadia as the instructor. Nadia works miracles, they say.”
“Excellent. And when do those run?” Mack asked.
She rattled off a list of dates and times.
“And may I see a sign-in list for the past two weeks?” he asked, his eyes pure and innocent as he used a soft, almost sensual tone.
Evelyn’s eyes flashed with uncertainty. “May I ask why?”
“I’m trying to keep a low profile.” To accent his point, he glanced surreptitiously around the room. “And I need to see if there’s a reporter, or another celeb, or a…shall we say, a specific overzealous fan of mine in the class.”
“This fan won’t leave him alone,” I said. “Calls him at all hours of the day.”
“I understand,” Evelyn whispered. “We wouldn’t want your workout to be disrupted, Mr.…”
“Mack,” he finished. “Call me Mack.”
She blushed. “I shouldn’t be showing you this, so take a quick look. Now, before my boss comes back from break.”
Mack accepted the log-in sheet she slid his way, and quickly thumbed through the pages. “Wonderful,” he said. “All looks good. I’ll be back tomorrow to sign up.”
“Do you want me to call you?” Evelyn called, as he turned away. “A personal reminder, maybe? Or we could get a smoothie together? Or a wheat grass shot?”
“What’s wrong with vodka? Or wine?” Meg whispered. “I don’t understand this city.”
“Me neither,” I said as we watched Mack gently let the girl down with the well-used Some other time card.
“Clay, leave some grass for the rest of the gym,” I said, as Clay continued to bore holes in the potted plant with his eyes. “Time to go.”
Once we’d all regrouped out front, I turned to Mack. “I see why you’ve made it in Hollywood. Excellent work in there, you’re a natural.”
Mack shrugged. “That wasn’t acting, that was just good ol’ Southern manners. Works better than you’d expect.”
“Dang, where can I get me some of them?” Meg asked. Turning to me, she crossed her arms. “Let’s take the next case in Alabama, Lace. Then we can come back talking all polite and syrupy sweet. I want to get me some Southern manners. And cooking. That was a nice breakfast this morning.”
“We’ve been in the North for too long,” I said. “Probably too hard to make the change.”
“Whatever, sugar,” Meg said, crossing her arms and turning to face Mack. “How was that? How did I do?”
Mack looked over Meg’s shoulder as he gave a shrug. “Nice. That was nice.”
“Nice, yes!” she cheered. “Maybe you have a spot for me in your next movie?”
“I don’t have a glamorous job,” Mack said. “I do stunt work, which means you never see my face. I do all the dirty work, and other people put their names on it.”
“Why do you do it?” I asked.
“Not all of us like the spotlight,” Mack said, though his voice contained an element of mystery that gave me the feeling he wasn’t divulging the entire truth. “But the gig pays well, and it allows me the freedom to focus on other…things.”
“Like this?” Meg asked.
“Yes,” Mack said. “Like this.”
I filed away more of my questions for later, forcing myself to stop wondering what made the guy in front of us tick, and brought us back to the more pressing questions. “So, what did you find on that registration list?”
“Amanda Stork’s name was on that paper during both of the times the threatening calls came in,” Mack said. “It’s possible she could’ve slipped out and made the call, but there’s two issues with that. First, she’d need voice-altering software, and in a place as gossipy and crowded as that gym, it’s unlikely she’d be able to get away with something so obvious.”
“What’s the second thing?” I asked.
“No reception,” Clay cut in, turning to face us. “Right?”
Mack nodded. “Spot on.”
“I tried to read Reddit while you guys talked about…” he made a strangled noise in his throat, “lady things. But I don’t think phones can make calls from within a ten-mile radius of that torture chamber.”
“Good work, team,” I said, digesting the information. “Let’s not be disappointed. We have one more lead, and my gut tells me it’s far more likely to be Janie Silvers making the calls than Amanda Stork anyway.”
“Where are we going now?” Clay looked mortified. “Not another gym?”
“Not exactly.” I tried to muster some enthusiasm, but I couldn’t quite do it. “Grab your dancing shoes, because we’re hitting a salsa studio.”
CHAPTER 16
“Five, six, seven, eight, and move those tushies!” Fernando, a Hispanic man with the height of a small tree
and the skinniness of a pencil, strolled around the room, clapping hands and whistling at all of us who weren’t hopping, stepping, and mamboing with the best of them.
“What are you, a frog, Miss Luzzi? Stop jumping and glide. Glide, baby, glide.” Fernando took a few steps to the right and gave Mack’s rear end a firm squeeze. “Now you, mi amigo, you have dancer’s ankles.”
“I need a smoke break,” Mack said. He turned on his heel and disappeared from the room. I didn’t blame him for leaving, since he wasn’t paid to be here, but I also couldn’t hide my snort of laughter as he shot me a death stare on the way out.
But I reached out and clasped his arm, whispering in low tones, “Not yet, buddy. You’re not leaving until you pair up with her for a dance. Janie, remember?”
“What about me?” Meg did a kick so high I worried she’d rip her pants. “What do you think of my ankles, Fernando? Are they dancer’s ankles?”
“You’re supposed to be light on your feet. What are you all, a pack of elephants? How am I supposed to work with this?” Fernando glared around the room. “Partner up.”
Meg whisked Clay’s hands in hers fast as lightning. “Got mine,” she called, as if she had hooked a fish. “My partner’s named Clay.”
Fernando ignored Meg’s commentary, glancing around the rest of the room. I tried my best to scoot off to the side of the classroom and stay unnoticed, giving Mack the freedom to partner up with Janie Silvers. We’d secured last minute slots in the dance class, thanks to some fast thinking and Southern talking, and had been rewarded by an up close and personal salsa lesson with Miss Silvers.
Her name, much like her chest region, was probably fake – a stage name, for an “up and coming” actress, who probably wouldn’t make it further than her Kickstarter campaign. Bottle blonde hair and blood red lips completed the look, her curvy figure clad in spandex pants, spandex tank top, and…were those spandex shoes? Nothing about Janie said loose, except the way she was looking at Mack.
But another man beat Mack to the punch, asking Janie first.