Helena Goes to Hollywood: A Helena Morris Mystery

by CC Dragon

  Helena Goes to Hollywood

  By CC Dragon

  A Helena Morris Mystery

  Dedication

  For all the women out there who don’t fit the Hollywood standard.

  Being unique and happy is better than applause!

  Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Helena Goes to Hollywood

  Helena Morris Mystery Book 1

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Helena Goes to Hollywood Copyright© 2015 CC Dragon

  Editor: Mary Yakovets

  Cover Design: Coverkicks.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  My newest self-defense class waited in the main gym but the blaring television in the break room caught my attention. I poked my head to see what the staff found so interesting. My sister’s soap opera played on the screen.

  “You have nothing better to do?” I rolled my eyes at them.

  “It’s slow right now. This is addictive!” one of the male instructors shrugged.

  “I guess it’s better than reality TV.” If my sister weren’t crying hysterically in the scene, I might’ve been tempted to watch a bit more. “I’ve got a class.”

  I continued on to training room one and got my first look at my new students. A few resembled a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. All of five foot seven and a size ten, brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing simple workout clothes, I wasn’t really an intimidating image. But looks could be deceiving. I had plenty to teach them.

  “Welcome to Women’s Self Defense. I’m Helena and I’ll be your main instructor. Some of you are here just in case. Vegas is a big city and you never know what’ll happen. But some of you have already had to defend yourself in an attack and maybe it didn’t go so well. Maybe you were mugged...or worse...”

  A few of the women’s eyes dropped as they fidgeted. Body language said so much but that was a lesson for another day.

  “Anyone want to share?” I eyed the women who were tense at the idea of an attack.

  One woman tentatively raised her hand. About my age, I pegged her at forty but there was fear in her eyes.

  “Go ahead,” I nodded, encouragingly.

  “I was coming home late from work. A man was by the garage but I didn’t see him. I got inside and he followed me. As soon as I opened the door and turned the alarm off, he grabbed me. I just—”

  “Froze?” I supplied.

  She nodded, the motion quick and jerky as if she were still afraid. Her voice shook as she continued. “He started to drag me inside. I managed to hit the panic button on my alarm panel and a neighbor came over to see what was going on.” Her sentence was punctuated with a shiver.

  “I’m glad it had a happy ending.” I gave her a smile of reassurance then continued. “Freezing is very common. Most of us think if we’re in that situation we’ll scream and fight. We’ll scratch and bite. We’ll do anything to get free.” I walked through the rows of women standing around waiting to learn to kick butt.

  “Isn’t that the fight or flight response we all have?” one woman asked.

  “That’s the thing. The psychologists want us to believe it’s instinctive, that when something happens our inner cavewoman will come out to fight the saber tooth tiger. Some people do react that way. I don’t know about you, but the closest I ever got to a tiger was Siegfried and Roy’s old show.”

  Their smiles told me my message got through.

  “Anyone can freeze when the unexpected happens. It’s normal. You’re not ready for it. That’s shock and our bodies shut down as a defense. Most of us don’t fight with our fists and no argument is going to save you from this type of attack. So you’re here to learn how to fight. Make no mistake, that’s the only way to get away. You have to be willing to hurt someone else to save yourself. In this class you’ll learn how to override those instincts to freeze up or be nice so you can defend yourself.”

  “What about flight?” a petite blonde asked.

  “If your attacker isn’t fleeing, then you probably won’t get the chance. If some guy comes up and snatches your purse, let him go. He doesn’t want you. He wants money. Cancel your credit cards, get a new license, file a police report and be glad that’s all he wanted. This class is about defending yourself, your life. So, to be clear, there’s no or in our class. Your only response is to fight. Now if a guy snatches my purse he’ll end up with a broken arm and bruised balls.”

  They smiled and soaked in the advice I’d given hundreds of times. I admired these women for taking their lives into their own hands. It wouldn’t be easy to break that mental block. The physical techniques were never as hard as changing their mindset. Nice girls don’t hit or kick. Society told women to be sweet but that didn’t always work.

  “I’ve been studying martial arts since college. I have multiple black belts. The techniques I’ll teach you will work with a home intruder or an abusive husband. The rules are the same—your life is the only thing that matters.”

  I saw a few eyes widen with a question.

  “Okay, one exception. If you have children, they can be your priority. But if you’re not alive, who protects them? Now, if your children are having any bully issues, we have classes geared for children as well. That’s a different situation. So let’s focus on our own safety and get started with some basic moves and techniques.”

  As I walked to the front Max stuck his head into the room. “Hel, you need to see this.”

  “What?” I glared at him.

  I had a rule about interruptions. Granted, it was a small martial arts studio but I hated to keep my students waiting. Watching my sister’s soap opera was not an emergency.

  “Your cell is going nonstop and your sister is all over E!” Max shrugged.

  “Who is your sister?” one woman asked.

  “Excuse me for one minute.” I walked out without answering the question.

  Within seconds I felt the students following me.

  Why did celebrity and gossip get more enthusiasm than self-defe
nse? I entered the employee break room with Max and the class behind me. It didn’t take long for the story to replay.

  “Sonia Flynn is moving on up to primetime and leaving her hubby in soapland. The couple’s divorce has been confirmed and while it’s not yet final, papers have been filed. The popular soap super couple split six months ago and has avoided the public in recent weeks. Sonia can’t avoid publicizing her new show set to debut this fall! Meanwhile Danny Flynn has been seen getting cozy with another costar.”

  “You didn’t tell me they broke up,” Max said.

  I shrugged. “It’s family stuff.”

  I grabbed my cell and scrolled to see who had called. Part of me knew I should keep the phone on me but during a workout or class, it wasn’t practical.

  “She’s so pretty. I love Sonia Flynn. I can’t believe you’re her sister!” The petite blonde meant well as she gushed.

  That sort of backhanded remark was normal in my world. I didn’t look like Sonia. We were as opposite as sisters could be. But I had no desire to trade places.

  “I can’t believe she’s leaving the soap and they’re getting divorced,” someone from the back commented.

  I hit the screen again and found five missed calls from my sister but no voicemail. Only one text message from Sonia: I think I have a stalker.

  I pocketed the phone. “Max, you need to take my class. I have to go.”

  “What’s wrong?” the young black belt asked.

  “I just need to check on my sister. I’ll be back in a week, maybe two.” Sonia never asked for help. For small stuff she’d whine until someone did something, but if it was a big deal she downplayed it. With anyone else I would have been overreacting but I knew better when it came to Sonia.

  “You’re going to Hollywood? How fun to be an insider!” another woman grinned like I’d won a trip.

  “You’re in good hands. Good luck, ladies!” I grabbed my stuff and headed out.

  I was no insider and Hollywood wasn’t fun. It was hell and I stood out like an angel with a shiny halo.

  Hollywood called to people in search of fame and fortune. My sister had both. As far as I was concerned, she could keep it. Now she’d attracted trouble. That I couldn’t ignore. I just hoped it turned out to be nothing but hollow threats.

  I steered my car off the freeway after four hours of driving too fast in my Mustang convertible. It was a treat I’d bought right after my divorce when I moved to Vegas. I had no buyer’s remorse for any of those decisions, especially the divorce.

  As I pulled into Sonia’s driveway I had to admit that the mansions didn’t impress me anymore. Here normal rules did not apply. I grabbed my hastily packed suitcase and retrieved the one essential item. With an FBI agent for an ex-husband, I’d learned to use a gun for protection. I preferred hand-to-hand but since I had no clue what type of stalker my sister had, I slid the Glock into the holster at the small of my back.

  Also thanks to the ex, I’d lived in a lot of places so I’d learned to adapt without all the stress. However, this was the one place I didn’t belong. Most stars had egos bigger than a Kardashian ass. Sonia was no exception. I climbed the stairs to my sister’s Brentwood mansion and rang the doorbell.

  No one else would put up with her or protect her like I would. That’s family. Until I knew the details, I’d take no chances but if this was a stunt I’d be in Vegas for my evening class. Sonia was ten years younger and while we’d had a normal Midwestern upbringing, she’d gone Hollywood in a big bad ugly way. Sometimes she needed attention and I wasn’t really the type to provide it for less than legitimate reasons.

  The door opened and a tall muscular black man I didn’t recognize stood there wearing a peach shirt and tight white jeans. He stared me down critically and I returned the stare with equal distrust.

  I fought the impulse to grab my gun.

  I expected one of the rotating Latina housekeepers Sonia employed, not this. I quickly assessed him from the peach nail polish to the lip gloss. Tall and broad shouldered, he had muscle but the man’s posture signaled he wasn’t looking for a fight.

  “You must be Sonia’s sister. Drab is right. She said you had no more fashion sense than to hide your gun. I have the same problem but mine is bigger.” He propped a fist on his hip. “We’re having a little pity party. Room for one more.”

  “I’m Helena Morris. How is she doing?” I extended a hand in greeting, completely ignoring his less than stellar judgment on sense of style. This man was not much protection for Sonia but at least she wasn’t totally alone.

  Instead of shaking my hand the tall dark mystery man pulled me into a bear hug. “A mess. About time you got here.”

  “I got on the road as soon as I got her text. She needs to be less blasé about these things.” I eased back. Yeah, I wasn’t really the hugging strangers type. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Jordan, the wardrobe master of the fabulous new show Fed Files.” He gave a dramatic bow. “Come in.”

  Oh boy...this was going to be a blast.

  Rolling my suitcase along, I walked into the mega mansion. Sonia’s new TV show had taken over her world but it was the soap that had paid for her rise to a decent status by Hollywood estimations. Sonia worked hard at her acting career but she had tunnel vision. Her status and work ruled her life.

  And—whoa—she looked like hell.

  The normally perky blue-eyed blonde looked hollow. Sonia lay limp on the white sofa hugging her loyal toy poodle Fluffy in a death grip. Not that I was anything to fawn over but Sonia always looked photo shoot ready. Now I was worried.

  I leaned to Jordan. “Is that really her? I haven’t seen her without makeup since she was twelve.”

  He nodded. “She cleans up good for the cameras but she’s lucky to get work at her age. Thirty in Hollywood can be iffy.”

  “I’m forty. Do I get the senior discount?”

  Humor was how I coped with Tinseltown up close. The last eight years living in Vegas had been convenient. It was drivable so I could do short trips and avoid an overdose of crazy.

  Jordan shook his bald head. “No discounts unless you’re willing to have it taped for a reality show. But you might want to sign up for fashion rehab first.”

  “Sure, that’s my goal in life.” My jeans and T-shirt were already offending the Hollywood crowd. I almost let a smile slip but I focused on the reason for my trip.

  “Hi, Sonia,” I said softly, in that voice you use on animals and small children.

  She looked up as if surprised.

  “Hel,” she cried and clambered off the couch to pull me into a tight hug.

  "It’s okay," I replied, still in that same soothing voice and eased her back to the massive couch. Her faithful dog licked her face in agreement with me.

  "What are you doing here?” Sonia took a deep breath and smiled big.

  Just like my sister to recover in seconds.

  "You texted me that you have a stalker. Your personal life is all over E! And then you didn’t answer your phone when I called from the road. You think I’m going to do nothing? Be glad I didn't send the police." I walked around the living room; nothing seemed out of place. No sign of intruders. Two empty vodka bottles on the wet bar. "What happened?"

  “Nothing really. I’d been drinking when I texted you." She cuddled her crazy dog.

  “Cut the crap, Sonia,” I said.

  “It’s nothing. I got spooked. At first it was a few odd letters from angry fans of the soap. More kept coming. They’re mad I’m leaving the show and won’t watch Fed Files. They hate me.” She sniffed.

  "Did you turn the letters over to the show's security?" It wasn't the first time fans got rabid or obsessed with my sister.

  She didn’t need me to hold her hands over bad fan mail. Sonia knew that drill. My ex had walked her through it twice. This was the kind of situation that made me miss Todd. He had more patience for Sonia’s antics.

  "Nothing happens. Plus I’m at the new show now so
who should I give them? The old show or the new show? I need to freshen up my drink. Do you want something? Come on, Hel, I have everything. Jordan is drinking martinis, but just name your poison." She got up and played hostess as if I wasn’t about to strangle her.

  With a frown I glanced around the room. Where was the housekeeper? Sonia never lifted a finger. The Twilight Zone theme played in my head.

  "Sure, just a diet whatever." I wasn’t much of a drinker.

  Jordan sat on the couch and shrugged at Sonia’s behavior. “So you two are clearly not twins.”

  You think?

  I flopped down in an arm chair. “Genes can be creative. Sonia takes after our mom. Me, not so much.” That was a bit of an understatement.

  The biggest difference was I wore a size ten while my sister barely filled out a four. In most of America I measured about average, but in Hollywood I ranked as plus size and very ordinary in the looks department. Not that I had a complex. I just knew the score.

  “Sonia needs something. Hopefully you can shake her into action. She’s just been hiding out,” Jordan said softly.

  “I’m not going anywhere until she’s absolutely safe.”

  My schedule had always been flexible around my ex’s job. While I’d enjoyed my routine over the last eight years, I could handle a detour better than most. My sister came first. Now the question was where to start when she didn’t feel like sharing?

  Sonia handed me a glass and then returned to her indent on the couch with a tall drink. Her dog begged as if he knew what was in the glass.

  I took a sip of my drink and set the glass on the table. "Thanks. So you're sure it's not Danny?"

  I hated to suspect her husband, but I couldn’t ignore the Danny factor either. Their divorce was high school drama on a Hollywood scale. Danny wasn’t big on brains or talents but he loved Sonia and I’d never doubted that. My brother-in-law could have gone from clingy to obsessed in seconds.

  “That boy is a sorry ass case.” Jordan patted Sonia’s arm, his nails shimmering in peach glitter commiseration.

  “He cheated. I can‘t live with that.” Sonia folded her arms and huffed out her breath.

  Jordan finished his drink and let Fluffy lap the glass. The dog’s collar was studded with diamonds and I wasn’t about to ask if they were real. I wouldn’t put it past Sonia. My sister spent her money oddly but splitting it up with her ex would make it harder.