Murder

by Jackie Collins

  chapter 18

  “HOW WAS IT?” COLE asked the moment Madison walked in.

  “What are you doing here?” she said, surprised to see him. “I thought you had a hot date.”

  “Got canceled,” he answered.

  “That must’ve pleased Natalie,” she said, shrugging off her jacket.

  “You could say she’s thrilled. There’s no way she approves of me seein’ Mr. Mogul.” He indicated his dinner laid out on the coffee table. Pizza, a carton of French fries and a large-size Diet Coke. “Hey—wanna piece of pizza?”

  “What happened to your health foods?”

  He grinned, patting his finely muscled stomach. “Sometimes you gotta give it up.”

  She settled on the couch. “What was his reason for canceling?” she asked, stealing a French fry.

  Cole made a “how would I know” gesture. “Dun-no. Don’t care,” he said vaguely.

  She could see he was hurt. “I’m sure it was a good one.”

  “Who knows,” he said, picking up another piece of pizza. “Oh, by the way, some dude called Victor wants you to call him.”

  “My editor,” she said, reaching for the phone and waking Victor up in New York—which seemed to be becoming a habit. “What’s going on, Victor?” she asked.

  “You have your interview with Freddie Leon,” he said, sounding pleased with himself. “Tomorrow, eleven o’clock, his office. Be there!”

  “I’m impressed,” she said, delighted that he’d finally delivered on his promise. “How did you arrange it?”

  “Let’s just say my connection came through.”

  “How long will he give me?”

  “Use your charm, Madison. I’m sure you’ll get as long as you want.”

  “Thanks, Victor—I love it when you deliver.”

  “Good news?” Cole asked when she hung up the phone.

  “Excellent,” Madison said. “I’ve got my interview with the elusive Mr. Leon.”

  “So, c’mon,” Cole said. “Tell me all about your date.”

  “Actually, it was very nice,” she said, curling her legs under her. “Jake’s a terrific guy. He’s also completely enamored with someone else, but that doesn’t make him a bad guy. We had a great time, talked about everything. Then I gave him advice on his love life. How’s that?”

  “Doesn’t sound too romantic to me.”

  “It’s not supposed to,” she said. “Can we switch channels and watch the news? I’d like to see if there’s any new developments in the Salli T. Turner murder.”

  “They identified the blonde those two surfers pulled out of the ocean today.”

  “They did? Who is she?”

  “Some girl from Idaho.”

  “Really?”

  “What they’re saying is she was drowned in a swimming pool, then dumped in the ocean. How about that?”

  “God, there’s some sickos out there,” Madison said, shivering. “Anything new on Salli?”

  “The same old crap. One moment she’s the Virgin Mary, the next she’s the biggest slut who ever walked, depending on what channel you’re watching.”

  Madison really wanted to get into bed and watch TV there, but she had a strong suspicion Cole felt like having company. “Is Natalie back?” she asked.

  “If I know my sister, she will not be comin’ home tonight,” Cole said with a big grin. “I took a look at Luther when he came to pick her up. Boy, he’s a big one.”

  “Yeah—just the way Natalie likes ’em.”

  They both giggled. “Hey, Maddie,” Cole said. “It’s cool you had a good time.”

  “Jake’s an interesting man,” she said. “However, I can promise you this—I am not in the frame of mind to get involved with anybody right now. And since he’s already involved, no problem.”

  “Not into one-nighters, huh?” Cole said teasingly.

  “No,” she answered firmly. “And you shouldn’t be either—too dangerous.”

  “I often wonder what it must’ve been like in the sixties—when sex wasn’t gonna get you zapped. When you could do anything and not have to pay with your life.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It must have been pretty nice then. That’s when my mom and dad got together.”

  “You talk about your dad a lot. You’re real tight with him, huh?”

  “I certainly am. He’s a wonderful man.”

  “And your mom?”

  “She’s great, too, but I’ve always been closer to Michael. He taught me how to get out in the world and go after what I wanted. He taught me to be fair, and, most of all, he taught me to follow my dreams.”

  “Michael sounds like quite a guy.”

  “He is.”

  • • •

  Luther was a romantic. He took Natalie to a small restaurant in Santa Monica overlooking the ocean. It happened to be located in the hotel he was staying at—Shutters on the Beach. Of course, he omitted to tell her this vital piece of information as he plied her with red wine and compliments.

  “Y’know, baby,” he crooned in a low-down, smoky voice. “I feel like you an’ I—well—like we was an accident waitin’ to happen.”

  Natalie leaned across the table. It wasn’t exactly how she would’ve put it, but he had a point. And she was quite ready to jump into bed with him and start what she was sure would be a more-than-satisfying sexual relationship. Even though Luther lived in Chicago, he could visit on a regular basis, and that would make seeing him all the more exciting.

  He reached for her hand, pressing his strong fingers up against hers. She felt the heat and smiled to herself. Oh, baby, this was going to be finger-licking good!

  And then her cell phone went off. “Damn!” she exclaimed, scrambling in her purse to answer the stupid thing. It was Garth, her station manager.

  “We need you here immediately,” Garth said tersely. “We got a lead on the Malibu blonde. Turns out she might be part of a high-priced call girl ring. I want you to come in right now and put together a story on her.”

  “Now?” Natalie objected. “I’m in the middle of a date.”

  “You can get laid anytime,” Garth said rudely. “This is important.”

  “How important?”

  “You’re always whining that you want to get into real news. If you do a good job, this could be the start of a whole other direction for you.”

  “News anchor?” she questioned breathlessly.

  “Don’t get carried away.”

  “I’ll be there,” she said, clicking off her phone. Suddenly Luther’s luster dimmed. He was big and sexy, but he was, after all, only a guy. “Uh … Luther,” she said.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “I know you’re a real understanding guy, so if I told you I had to go to work . . . could we pick this up where we left off—say tomorrow night?”

  “But baby—”

  “I know, I know,” she said softly. “It’s a real bummer, an’ I’ll miss you like crazy—”

  He shook his head like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening to him. He was a man definitely not used to a woman putting work before him.

  “Go with me on this, Luther,” she murmured sweetly. “And I promise, tomorrow we’ll make it a night to remember.”

  Before he could object, she was on her feet and out the door.

  chapter 19

  ANGELA MUSCONNI, THE hot nineteen-year-old movie star with a bad drug habit, was in bed with her current boyfriend, Kevin Page, another hot young movie star, with no bad drug habit, when the phone rang.

  They’d been in bed all day as they’d partied all night and not gotten to sleep until five in the morning.

  Angie stretched out a long naked arm, wearily groping for the receiver. “Yes,” she mumbled. “Who’s wakin’ me up?”

  “Angelina,” said a voice, echoing from her past.

  “Who’s this?” she asked suspiciously, although a familiar gnawing in the pit of her stomach told her exactly who it was.

  “You know I’m
the only one who calls you Angelina.”

  “Eddie?” she questioned sharply. “Is that you?”

  “Yep, it’s the man himself.”

  “Wadda you want?”

  “I want you to bail me outta jail.”

  “What are you talking about?” she said, struggling to sit up.

  “I’m in deep shit, Angie. Can’t reach my lawyer, an’ I dunno who else to call who’d have the money to bail me. I gotta get outta here now. The cops told me Salli’s bin murdered, an’ they got their eye on me.”

  “I haven’t spoken to you in three freakin’ years,” she said accusingly, finally becoming fully alert. “Ever since you ran out on me and married Salli.”

  “I know, babe, but if old friendships mean any-thin’, you gotta come and get me. I can’t take it here.”

  “Jeez!” Angie said, completely amazed that he had the nerve to call her. “Is that why they’ve arrested you? Did you do it, you bastard?”

  “No fuckin’ way,” he said indignantly. “I’m here ’cause of some crap about unpaid parking tickets.”

  “You were always threatening us, Eddie,” she said, remembering the past. “Me and her.”

  Kevin rolled over in his sleep. “Whoissit?”

  “Nobody.”

  “You gonna come?” Eddie demanded.

  “Why should I?”

  “Oh Christ! I need you, Angelina.”

  Angie was torn; on one hand she was outraged that after all this time Eddie had called her, and on the other her natural curiosity was fast getting the better of her. “Maybe,” she said grudgingly.

  “What does ’maybe’ mean?” Eddie blustered. “You comin’ or not?”

  “I’ll see,” she said, putting the phone down and breaking the connection. She stared at Kevin, who didn’t stir. Carefully she edged her way out of bed.

  Kevin grabbed her bare leg, startling her. “Where you goin’,” he mumbled.

  “I gotta go out,” she said briskly. “Emergency.”

  “Bring food,” he said, as he rolled over and promptly went back to sleep.

  She ran to the bathroom and pulled on a pair of tight jeans and a midriff-baring sweater. She knew Kevin always kept a stack of bills stashed beneath his pile of T-shirts, so she went to his dresser drawer and helped herself to a bundle.

  Why am I doing this? she asked herself. Sure, I loved Eddie once, but the asshole dumped on me big time. Now he’s probably hacked up Salli, and I’m the one springing him from jail What’s wrong with me?

  But Angie always had gotten off on excitement, and this was the most exciting thing to have happened to her in a long time. Being a movie star was way too safe and predictable. Living on the edge—that’s the way she liked it.

  And there was nobody better than Eddie Stoner for taking you on a trip to the wild side, and then right to the very edge.

  chapter 20

  FROM HER CHIC, UPSWEPT, dark blond hair, to the tips of her finely manicured, blood red, inch-long nails, Darlene La Porte was one of the best-groomed women in Beverly Hills. It took a lot of money to look like Darlene—plenty of big bucks, considering she kept a team of professionals always on call to attend to her grooming needs. She had a hairdresser who came to her house every morning. Then there was her manicurist, dietitian, makeup artist, clothes stylist, yoga instructor and personal trainer. They were all on Darlene’s payroll. She was no movie star, but she took better care of herself than most of them did.

  The payoff was worth it. She looked thirty. She was actually forty-one.

  A youthful appearance was extremely important to Darlene. She needed to interact and relate to the young girls who worked for her. Every month there was a new batch of pretty girls who arrived in Hollywood hoping to become actresses or models. When their dreams faded—which invariably happened fast—Darlene was there to lead them on to another path. She offered them glamour and excitement and big money. She offered them movie stars and moguls and intimacy with all the men they’d have no chance of getting anywhere near in real life. Once they were thoroughly initiated, she then had them service the rest of her client list—those men with unspoken demands and demented perversions. Men such as Mister X.

  Darlene had no idea who Mister X was. She only knew that he grossly overpaid, and that was enough to keep her perfectly happy. The only interaction she’d ever had with him was over the phone. Last night he had called to book a repeat performance with Kristin. When he phoned back an hour later, she had to tell him that she had been unable to reach Kristin. He’d sounded angry. She had asked him if he wanted another girl. He said no. Then five minutes later he called back again and said yes—but only if she had someone fresh and new. Darlene immediately thought of Hildie, a pretty blonde from the Midwest who’d only been a working girl for two months. She and Mister X had arranged a meeting place, and Darlene had called to tell Hildie. “This guy’s a tiny bit weird,” she’d warned her, thinking of Kristin’s complaints. “But he’s not dangerous, and here’s the good news—he pays really big!”

  “Sounds like fun!” Hildie had said with all the confidence of youth.

  Now Darlene sat in front of her television staring at a picture of Hildie on the news, taken at her high school prom. Hildie at sixteen with braces on her teeth and brown frizzy hair. Hardly the same girl Darlene had sent out on a date with death. The Hildie that she knew was blond and sleek. Hollywood and four years of experience had given her a totally new image.

  Now she was dead.

  Drowned.

  Not in the ocean where she was found. In a swimming pool.

  And Darlene remembered another of her girls who’d ended up fished out of the ocean. A year ago. Kimberly. By the time Kimberly’s body was discovered, there was not much left to identify.

  Three weeks prior to her body washing up on the beach, Kimberly also had gone on a date with Mister X.

  Darlene had chosen not to connect the two events. Kimberly had been a wild party girl—into coke and heroin. Darlene imagined that she’d died under unfortunate circumstances—maybe partying with friends after her appointment with Mister X. Darlene had not called the police.

  Now Hildie.

  And Darlene knew that if she went to the police this time the publicity would be so overwhelming that in no time she would become public property like Heidi Fleiss. After that, her lucrative call girl business would be over.

  There was only one way to deal with such a terrible event. Never send any of her girls out with Mister X again.

  Yes, she decided, even though it meant giving up a healthy amount of commission, that’s exactly what she would do.

  Conscience assuaged, she began switching channels until she found an old Ava Gardner movie.

  Ah … she thought. Whatever happened to Hollywood glamour?

  Darlene settled comfortably into her couch, and within minutes was totally engrossed in the movie.

  chapter 21

  SINCE MISTER X HAD NOT stipulated that she wear any particular outfit or color, Kristin chose to go with scarlet. She felt bold and bad and vengeful—while deep inside she felt hurt and abandoned and useless.

  Jake didn’t want her.

  Even Max Steele had rejected her.

  And Cherie lay in the nursing home—never showing any improvement—simply lying there, wasting away—waiting for her to pull the plug.

  Once in a while Kristin did a little cocaine to take away the pain. Tonight she indulged, snorting the insidious white powder, all the while hating herself for doing so. And yet she knew it would make her feel better, set her up for her date with Mister X. After all, he deserved the best, didn’t he? Because her mystery man was the only one who seemed to care about her.

  Two sharp, final snorts and she was done.

  Every time she did cocaine she vowed it would be the last. Yet, when her supply ran out, she’d always call Darlene and set up another delivery.

  She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Kristin. Call girl supreme. Worthless whore
.

  The scarlet dress looked sensational on her. Her blond hair swirled around her fresh gorgeous face.

  She took a deep breath, grabbed her purse and left her apartment.

  Mister X… here I come… .

  And I promise—you will not be disappointed.

  Don’t miss the other installments in the sexy, thrilling, four-part L.A. Connections miniseries, a behind-the-curtains peek into the exclusive mansions of Hollywood, where the city’s most powerful players willingly risk it all for love, lust, and murder, from New York Times bestselling author Jackie Collins!

  Power

  * * *

  Obsession

  * * *

  Revenge

  * * *

  ORDER YOUR COPIES TODAY!

  Also available from Pocket Star and Jackie Collins

  Power

  Obsession

  Revenge

  We hope you enjoyed reading this Simon & Schuster ebook.

  * * *

  Get a FREE ebook when you join our mailing list. Plus, get updates on new releases, deals, recommended reads, and more from Simon & Schuster. Click below to sign up and see terms and conditions.

  CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

  Already a subscriber? Provide your email again so we can register this ebook and send you more of what you like to read. You will continue to receive exclusive offers in your inbox.

  Pocket Star Books

  An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.