A is for Actress (Malibu Mystery Book 1)

by Rebecca Cantrell

  Sofia smiled politely. What was it with guys in public places who couldn’t take a hint? “A friend.”

  “I just got divorced.” Brunt eyed Sofia over the top of his glass as he took a sip.

  “No kidding.” She couldn’t imagine what would drive any woman to leave such a charming specimen.

  If Brunt had picked up on her sarcastic tone, he wasn’t letting on. “Straight up. Always room at the top,” he said with a wink.

  Sofia’s mouth opened. She struggled with what to say to that. She had nothing. She took a slug of wine.

  “You were in that kids show? Tiny Detective?”

  “Half Pint Detective,” she corrected him.

  “Isn’t that what I said?”

  “Listen, it’s been nice talking to you, but I…” said Sofia as he reached over and grabbed the napkin she’d been writing on.

  He peered at it. “What’s this all about?”

  Over his shoulder, Sofia spotted a middle-aged man entering the bar. She didn’t need to look at the photo Aidan had put on her iPhone to know it was Nigel. He took a stool at the opposite end of the bar.

  Brunt meanwhile looked up from the napkin. “Vagina? Why are you writing things like that down, eh? Desperate for it?” He had moved past over-friendly bonhomie into creepy, leering territory. It hadn’t taken long.

  Sofia snatched the napkin, picked up her glass of wine, and scooted past Brunt as fast as she could. “That’s my friend. It’s been nice talking to you.”

  Brunt kept talking behind her. “That guy?” he said, obviously stunned that any woman could resist his Aussie, movie star charms.

  Sofia took a seat next to Nigel. He didn’t even glance at her. He was busy fidgeting with his phone. She leaned over to him.

  “Excuse me?” she said.

  He finally looked up. He was actually fairly good looking for a guy his age. If he had been playing away from home, she imagined it wouldn’t have been that difficult for him to find partners.

  “Yes?” His accent was like something out of Downton Abbey.

  “I don’t mean to bother you, but that guy down there was hassling me,” said Sofia.

  Nigel looked past her to Brunt. With her back to him, Sofia didn’t see Brunt’s reaction, but she definitely heard it.

  “What are you looking at, mate?” Brunt shouted from the other end of the bar.

  Nigel looked back to his cell phone. “Right.”

  Sofia smiled sweetly. “Would you mind pretending that you’re meeting me? I think he might leave me alone if he thinks I’m with someone.” She reached over and touched the sleeve of his jacket. “I’d really appreciate it.”

  Most men couldn’t resist the chance to play the knight in shining armor with a young woman. She was hoping Nigel would be no exception.

  He swallowed. “Is that Bruce Brunt?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Jesus.” Nigel’s pasty face went paler. “He seems even more obnoxious in real life. Not to mention bigger. I’ve heard he’s a bit of a brawler. Doesn’t like producers much, either. Dangled one off a balcony in Singapore once.”

  “It’s all talk. Probably,” said Sofia. “Hey, are you a producer? You look kind of familiar.”

  She was already cringing inside. Even as an actress, she couldn’t imagine how women did this kind of thing for a living. Yuck. It was bad enough pretending to hit on some guy at a bar for surveillance.

  Nigel looked back to his cell phone and then back at her. “Sorry, what were you asking me?”

  “Just if you could pretend we’re together.” She shot him another sweet smile that set her teeth on edge. This was just another role, she reminded herself. Slutty Businesswoman Looking for a Good Time. She could do that.

  “Oh, yes, of course,” said Nigel, most of his attention on his cell phone.

  “Tell you what, seeing as you’re doing me a favor, can I get you a drink?” she asked Nigel. She wondered if she was coming on too strong. So far he hadn’t shown any interest in her whatsoever. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing. Her job was merely to gather evidence that Maloney Investigations would filter back to his wife. Maybe he was a straight arrow.

  Nigel finally smiled. “Sure. What’s that you’re drinking?”

  She held up her glass. “This is a 2012 La Fiera Pinot Grigio.”

  “You know your wine,” said Nigel.

  “I just asked for a Pinot and then read the label as the bartender was pouring it.” She adjusted her position so that her skirt rode up a little.

  He looked at the wineglass.

  She reached out her hand. “I’m Sofia.” Her first name was usually enough to bring at least a glimmer of recognition.

  Nigel looked blank as he shook her hand. “Nigel.”

  “Sofia Salgado,” she said, hoping that would do the trick.

  “Oh, yes,” said Nigel. “You were just filmed having a wee outside a rehab clinic down the road.”

  Sofia died a little inside. Nine years of TV and three years of movies and now she had become ‘the girl who got caught peeing in public.’ That had to say something about the nature of modern celebrity. She wasn’t sure what it said, but she was sure it was pretty depressing.

  “So, Nigel,” she said, hoping to move the conversation along. “Would you like to invite me to join you for dinner? If you’re not busy.”

  Nigel’s cell chimed with the noise of an incoming text. He snatched the phone up from the bar. “Sofia, I’m awfully sorry, but I have to dash.”

  “Now?”

  Nigel had already stood up. His drink arrived, and he pushed it over the bar to her. “I know I must seem terribly rude, and I’m sorry to leave you to Bruce Brunt’s tender mercies, but I really do have to leave.”

  With that, he was gone. She glanced over her shoulder to see Brunt leering at her. “Hey, love, you fancy going back to my place and seeing my didgeridoo now?”

  Sofia tried to think of something she’d like to see less and came up blank. She slapped a twenty down on the bar and headed for the door. Outside, in the early evening sunshine, she handed her ticket to the parking attendant. She was just in time to see Nigel pull out onto PCH in a brand new Mercedes SLK and head south toward Pacific Palisades. Whatever he had on his mind, at least she could reassure his wife that it wasn’t chasing younger women.

  Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for her booty call, Jose. As Nigel disappeared into the distance, Sofia saw Jose get out of his beat-up Ford pickup with a girl who looked barely out of high school. She had long, bleached-blond hair, gravity-defying boobs, and was dressed in cut-off denim Daisy Dukes. Jose at least had the decency to look mildly embarrassed when he saw Sofia.

  As Jose escorted his date to the entrance, Sofia heard her say, “So you, like, own this place? Like no way. That’s like, amazing?” Each sentence was delivered, Valley girl style, like a question.

  Sofia walked straight past them and got into her car, tipping the valet as Jose disappeared inside with his date. Without looking back, she pulled the red Tesla Roadster out onto PCH.

  She stamped down on the accelerator and drove fast. She was the worst kind of mad. Mad for no reason. She and Jose were strictly friends with benefits. They had agreed early on that they were free to see other people. It wasn’t as if she would have had a serious relationship with Jose if he’d offered. She would have laughed at the idea. She wasn’t ready for a serious relationship with anybody.

  So, why was she so mad?

  Her cell pinged with an incoming text. She reached over and tapped the screen. It was from Brendan.

  Brendan’s texts weren’t noted for being long. This one was no different. It simply read “Great job, Sofia!”

  For the first time in a few days, Sofia actually managed a smile. Maybe she had a shot at this private detective gig after all. Her cell pinged again.

  This text read “Footage all good AND you didn’t pee yourself. BTW, who’s the blonde with your boyfriend? She’s kinda cute.
Nighthawk.”

  Sofia flipped her cell the bird. The red Roadster punched its way through the warm Malibu evening, heading north and back home to Nirvana Cove.

  8

  Sweat pouring down her face, Sofia slammed three quick left jabs into the heavy bag. She moved round, keeping her guard up, and imagined Aidan Maloney’s stupid Irish potato head as she pivoted round to hit the bag with a solid right. The bag moved a fraction of an inch. She moved back, conjuring a vision of Aidan spilling back on his heels, his hands up to defend himself.

  She shifted her feet, moving round before stepping in and launching a fresh flurry of blows. Keeping her head down, she got close and pummeled him with body shots. With every punch, the tension of the last few days fell away. She stopped, reached down, and grabbed her towel—a tricky operation when wearing boxing gloves—and dabbed sweat from her face.

  Jack’s Gym in Venice had been a haven for her for the past four years. Jack’s Gym was owned not by Jack, long since retired, but by Luis Cordabre, a former Hispanic prize fighter turned boxing trainer. Sofia had met Luis when he’d been hired to train her for a small studio movie about a young woman, abandoned by her boxer father, who steps into the ring to try to win back his love. It had been a pretty good script with a hot, young British director, but the financing had fallen through a week before the start of principal photography, and the project was condemned to Hollywood purgatory, also known as ‘turnaround.’

  Luis ruled the four-thousand-square-foot gym with an iron glove. But he was also a devoted family man with three sons and a daughter as well as being one of the kindest, most generous people Sofia had ever met. There was a calm about him that seemed to fill the gym, which was why it had become a kind of refuge for Sofia over the past few years. Anyone who stepped out of line, or disrespected Luis or anyone else who used the place, was unceremoniously banished. Depending upon how bad the person messed up, and how well he knew them, he might only be allowed one strike. Second chances were rare.

  The door into the gym opened, and Luis walked in. He was deep in conversation with a young fighter he’d been training the past few months. Luis had told Sofia the kid had huge raw talent, but he was worried he might lack the discipline to turn what he had into a successful career. She felt just the opposite—she could bring discipline to this detective career, but she didn’t know if she had any talent for it.

  The kid broke off to go warm up with the jump rope. Luis headed over to Sofia. He greeted her in his usual manner by giving her a hug. Hugs were the other side of Luis. Everyone got hugged like a long-lost brother. Luis took a step back and looked at her. “How you holding up, little sister?”

  “Good,” she said. “I’m good.”

  “If you want, I can find those paparazzi who took those pictures and lay down some pain on them.”

  What may have been mere bravado from many people came off as completely sincere from Luis. That was why she had to decline, politely. Laying down some pain could mean anything from giving someone a scare to them ending up face-down in a downtown alleyway.

  “I appreciate the offer, but they were only doing their job. I’m sure all the fuss will die down in a few more days.”

  Luis nodded. “That’s a shame. I was looking forward to putting some manner on those pendejos.” He put an arm on her shoulder. “Did I ever tell you about the time I pissed my pants during a fight?”

  “No. But it’s really okay. I’m fine.” What was it with people wanting to share their stories of public urination? First it had been Brendan telling her about his partner, Charlie, and now it was Luis. Didn’t anyone use toilets anymore?

  Luis tightened his grip on her shoulder. “So it’s the third round. I have the first two rounds in the bag. The guy is really starting to wobble. I can see that glazed look in his eyes. Then, from nowhere, he hits me with this uppercut. I can feel this wet sensation. I’m thinking maybe he’s busted my nose, but I look down. I can’t see any blood. It’s then it hits me. I’ve pissed my shorts.”

  “What happened next?” Sofia was caught up in the story in spite of herself.

  “Had to finish him off and get out of there. Landed a big right hand. He went down, and I ran for the dressing room.”

  Sofia wasn’t sure what the proper response to Luis’s story was. She settled for “I guess these things happen.”

  Her cell rang, saving her from any more stories about bodily functions gone horribly wrong. It was Brendan. She took off her gloves and answered it.

  “Hey, Brendan, what’s up?” she said.

  “Where are you?” Brendan sounded annoyed.

  “Working out at Jack’s in Venice.”

  “I need you back in the office. Soon as you can.”

  Now that Brendan had had time to think about it, he had come to the obvious conclusion. She came with too much baggage. It was one thing to train up a regular rookie. It was quite another to train up a rookie who couldn’t even go on a stakeout without embarrassing herself, and by extension, Maloney Investigations, all over the Internet.

  “I’ll be right there,” she said. “I totally understand that you can’t keep me on.”

  “Sofia, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “That stakeout thing. I get it.”

  “This hasn’t got anything to do with that,” said Brendan. “It’s about last night.”

  Last night? She thought last night had gone well. That she’d done the job asked of her. “What about it?”

  Brendan gave a long sigh. “Nigel Fairbroad’s body washed up on Broad Beach this morning. I have two LA County sheriffs in the office who want to talk to everyone who saw him. Don’t worry, it’s routine, but the sooner they talk to you the sooner we can all get back to normal.”

  Sofia stood in the middle of the gym. Her legs felt weak, like she’d been hit with a really good shot. She might have been one of the last people to see Nigel Fairbroad alive. It was an eerie feeling. How could someone be here one minute and then gone the next? She knew people died. Just not like this.

  And Broad Beach? Of all the places for a body to wash up. Broad Beach had some of the most expensive beachfront property in Malibu. It was home to studio heads and movie stars. Five million dollars bought a pretty average house in that part of the ’Bu. It was not somewhere usually associated with dead bodies on the beach, even if this particular body was someone who was in same line of business.

  She unlaced her gloves. The media was going to have a field day. It might take her off the main gossip homepages. She hated herself for even thinking of that. Besides, it’d be even worse if the media found out she was involved with the death, too.

  She grabbed her towel, jammed it into her gym bag next to her gloves, took her car keys out of the side pocket, and headed for the door.

  “Gotta go,” she shouted over her shoulder to Luis. She hit the door and was back outside in the blazing sunshine before anyone could ask why she was leaving in such a hurry.

  9

  Sofia pulled the Tesla Roadster into a space a few doors door from the entrance to the building where Maloney Investigations had their office. She sat quietly and took a few deep breaths. She wanted to compose herself before she spoke to the LA County sheriff’s department.

  Brendan had explained the jurisdictions when she started working for him. Although Malibu was technically a city outside Los Angeles, Malibu didn’t have its own police department. Instead, law enforcement was contracted out to the Lost Hills station of the LA County sheriff’s department in nearby Agoura Hills. As Nigel’s body had been found in Malibu, that made his death a matter for the county sheriff. The LAPD would only become involved if it turned out that he had come to harm somewhere else first.

  Sofia had spent the slow crawl back up PCH thinking over everything that had happened the night before. Nigel had certainly seemed distracted. But suicidal? Given that last night had been the first and last time she had met him, and their meeting had lasted only a few minutes, it was impossible for
her to know. All she could do was relate what had happened. But he hadn’t seemed suicidal to her. Distracted, maybe a little worried, but not suicidal.

  She got out of the Roadster and walked into the building. Aidan was at his usual post in the main office, hunched behind his bank of screens. She was thankful that he didn’t seem to be still reviewing the footage of her peeing outside the rehab clinic. He raised a hand by way of greeting.

  “Brendan in with the sheriff’s deputies?” she asked, moving yet another pack of adult diapers from her chair and dumping them under her desk. If he was going to keep this up, she ought to figure out a way to get them to seniors in need.

  “Not deputies,” Aidan corrected. “Homicide investigators.”

  “They’re thinking homicide already?” said Sofia. “How come?”

  “No idea. Why don’t you ask them when they talk to you? I’m sure they’ll be happy to share. But maybe you should take a bathroom break first.”

  Sofia reached down and grabbed the pack of diapers. She launched it in Aidan’s direction. It cleared the top of his screens just as Brendan’s office door opened, and he stepped out with two serious middle-aged white guys in suits. If any of them had noticed the flying pack of diapers, they didn’t let on.

  “This is Sofia Salgado,” Brendan said to the two homicide investigators. “She was running the honey-trap operation on behalf of the vic’s wife.” He turned to Sofia. “Sofia, do you have a couple of minutes?”

  “Sure,” she said, walking over.

  Brendan did the introductions. She followed them back into Brendan’s office. Brendan took a seat behind his desk while the two cops and Sofia perched on a chair and couch respectively. The couch was usually reserved for clients.

  She ran through the events of the previous evening from when she arrived at Frank’s Grotto until she left and saw Nigel making a hasty exit. The two investigators stopped her a couple of times to ask questions and generally clarify things, but it was all fairly routine. The only time they looked at each other was when she mentioned Bruce Blunt’s crude attempt to pick her up and Nigel’s super-charged exit.