A is for Actress (Malibu Mystery Book 1)

by Rebecca Cantrell

  Across the office, Aidan finished setting up the surveillance app on his computer. Basically everything the microphone in Moonbow’s living room caught would be uploaded. It’d give them something to do tomorrow morning, but Sofia wasn’t holding out much hope. As soon as he was finished, Aidan grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and made a beeline for his car. Looked like he wanted to be punctual for the Other Sofia.

  Sofia stuck her head into Brendan’s office. He was on a call so she handed him the messages from Playboy guy and Lost Cat Lady, and let him know she was leaving.

  It was only three in the afternoon, but it had been a long day and she wanted to try to beat the worst of the traffic heading from the west side back to the valley. Not that traffic was ever light. It was just varying degrees of bad. She thought about swinging back home first but decided against it. Tonight, Fred would have to either go hungry or mooch off someone else for his dinner. Or forage like seagulls did before humans moved onto the beach to feed them.

  She headed north, picking up Malibu Canyon Road just before she reached the campus of Pepperdine University. From there she could get on the 101 before picking the 134 and taking the 2 freeway to La Canada.

  Malibu Canyon Road was quieter than she’d expected. It was single lane for miles, so a lot of regular commuters avoided it. If you got stuck behind a slow-moving vehicle like farm machinery or a big rig hauling timber, you were pretty much screwed because there were no places to pass safely. But she got lucky and zipped along, loving the road and her little Tesla.

  The only real way to deal with LA traffic was to adopt a Zen master attitude. And Malibu Canyon was a pretty drive. As she piloted the Roadster through the sweeping curves and steady climb, her mind drifted back to Nigel Fairbroad. She was still struggling with the idea that someone she’d met, if only briefly, had been murdered. She wondered what his final moments had been like.

  Something about the night he’d been killed didn’t make sense. Pieces were missing. Big pieces.

  When she had met him at Frank’s Grotto and tried to pick him up, he’d seemed on edge. The way he’d blown her off, how he’d been constantly checking his cell phone, and his sudden departure were the behaviors of a troubled man.

  Had he been alone in the boat? If his boat had been returned to its berth in Marina Del Rey, and he had already been dumped overboard by then, it didn’t seem likely. Either a person or persons unknown had been with him in his own boat the whole time, or someone in another boat had intercepted him along the way, boarded Nigel’s cruiser, killed him, threw him overboard, and returned Nigel’s cruiser to its rightful slip. If that was the case, there had to have been at least two people involved. If the person was already in the boat when it left the marina, then there only had to be one.

  Leaving Nigel’s last moments aside, Sofia thought about each of the suspects. Even though they were on Melissa’s defense team, she saw exactly why the cops had her as the prime suspect. Out of everyone, she had the strongest motive. With Nigel out of the way, Melissa would be free to enjoy her life with Moonbow and a big pile of cash. Not only would she inherit the house and the rest of Nigel’s money and whatever shares he had in the production company, but there was also the matter of that hefty new life insurance policy. A million reasons right there.

  Moonbow seemed eerily calm for a felon who could still end up arrested for a murder one charge. It could be ex-con bravado, but Sofia didn’t know anyone who could be that calm unless they were a complete sociopath. He had made his alibi sound pretty watertight, but that didn’t mean it was. Maybe another frustrated Brentwood wife had fallen for him. All he needed was for her to swear blind he was with her, and if she was credible, it would be hard for the cops to prove otherwise without firm evidence. Maybe Melissa’s team would get lucky and find CCTV footage to disprove it.

  Tucker Trimble was the wild card. She didn’t doubt he was capable of murder. He had a well-known, hair-trigger temper and previous convictions for violent crimes. He was also wildly unpredictable. Plus, she knew from her own experience what fame could do to someone, especially sudden fame. Fame was usually fleeting, but most people assumed it would last forever. When they found out their fifteen minutes were nearing an end, most people tended to react badly. If Tucker felt that Nigel was threatening his position as star of the show, there was no knowing what he was capable of doing. With his wilderness survival skills, he had plenty of experience killing things. It may not have been that much of a step for Tucker to go from hunting game to taking a human life. From what she’d seen of the TV show, he was proficient with all manners of weapons.

  The roar of an engine behind her brought her attention back to the road. She had to pay attention now because the canyon road narrowed up ahead. A white Cadillac Escalade zoomed up close behind her, coming from nowhere. Its hood filled her rearview mirror and the driver stayed inches from the Tesla’s rear bumper. Another tailgater.

  “Jesus, buy me dinner first,” she said.

  She pressed her gas pedal, pulling away to get distance between her car and the Escalade. The driver of the Escalade laid on his horn. One way or another, he was determined to get past her. She glanced in her rearview mirror, trying to glimpse the driver, but the Cadillac was too close and too tall.

  Round the next corner, the road widened again. She hit the gas, pulling away, and taking the corner at speed. The Cadillac fell away—it couldn’t take curves like a sports car without flipping over. After she rounded the corner, she slowed, and pulled off the road and onto the dirt. The Cadillac came round the corner and sped past.

  She tried to get another look at the driver but the Cadillac was moving too fast, and the side windows were tinted. She waited for a few more seconds and pulled back out onto the road. It was probably just an impatient commuter, eager to get home, and happy to bully someone else off the road if it got them into their driveway a few moments quicker. Who knew, maybe there was a big game on that they didn’t want to miss. Or maybe they hated Tesla drivers. Or didn’t like it that a young woman was driving an expensive sports car. Or they were just an asshole. After all, LA was often called the asshole capital of America. People wanted what they wanted. They wanted it yesterday. And if you or someone else was in the way then that was kind of too bad.

  She rolled her neck and tried to relax. Hard to do when she was heading for dinner at her mom’s house, and some road warrior had just tried to turn her into jelly. But she was a traffic Zen master. She could do this.

  31

  Sofia had always been a believer in the power of visualization. Not that she believed if you closed your eyes and dreamed of a Porsche that you’d open them to find one sitting in your driveway. If only. And right now, as she merged from the 2 onto the 134 toward La Canada she couldn’t really close her eyes anyway—even if that was what most LA drivers seemed to do when merging. Sofia did believe that if you tried to visualize something in life going well, it was a lot better than dreading it. Even if everything ended up being crappy, there was no point in suffering the crappiness before it happened.

  With that in mind, she took a few moments to conjure up a vision of a relaxing dinner with her family. She’d park her Roadster in the driveway, next to Emily and Ray’s minivan and Tim’s Benz. She’d walk to the front door. Her mom would be waiting with a glass of chilled white wine and a hug. Violet and Van would come running over and hug their Auntie Sofia, wrapping themselves around her legs. She’d hunker down and be showered with kisses as they told her how much they’d missed her.

  Eventually Ray would shoo them away. They’d skip off hand in hand to play as everyone looked on dotingly. Tim would appear from his den and give her a hug, and she’d follow the family to the dining room where the table was already laid out. After everyone got caught up, Sofia’s mom would order everyone into their seats. They’d enjoy a lovely dinner with no arguments and no one quizzing Sofia about her continuing single status or why she had turned her back on a great acting career to go wor
k as a “gumshoe” (her mom’s term for Sofia’s new job).

  After dinner they’d all go outside and sit by the pool as Violet and Van played quietly. Tim and Ray would clear the dishes (a sign that this really was a dream) and tidy up. Sofia would get to spend quality time with her mom and sister.

  “Holy crap on a cracker!” Sofia shouted, turning hard on the steering wheel to avoid getting sideswiped by a hulking black Ford SUV that had come from nowhere. Today, she had won the asshole driver jackpot. Double prizes.

  The Tesla was halfway over into the breakdown lane. The black Ford had slowed down. Sofia checked her rearview mirror. The driver was a big white guy with huge arms and biceps that strained the fabric of his blue T-shirt. His face was obscured by an LA Dodgers ball cap and a pair of wraparound sunglasses.

  The guy seemed a lot more malevolent than the Cadillac driver had been—more intent on threatening her than on just passing by. He accelerated suddenly. The huge grill of the Ford bore down on the back of the Roadster. If he swerved this time, she would have nowhere to go except into the concrete barrier that ran down this side of the freeway. The Tesla was a really safe car, but against an old Ford tank it would be squished like a bug. So would Sofia.

  She jammed down on the gas pedal, and the Tesla zipped ahead. Grateful for the car’s sprightly acceleration, she found a gap and pulled back into the inside lane behind a gardener’s truck. Checking her mirror again, she saw that the Ford had moved over a couple of lanes. The driver of the Ford tailgated a Porsche, riding hard on the bumper until the Porsche driver was bullied out of the way and moved over.

  The Ford driver threw a look over at the Tesla. He slowed and moved back over a lane so he would be next to her. He kept glancing over. With every glance, he would adjust his speed. He wasn’t trying to get in front of her, or behind her. He was aiming to stay parallel but a little behind.

  Sofia knew exactly the position he was aiming for. He was trying to get his front wheel in line with the rear wheel of the Tesla. That was the position you needed to be in if you wanted to fishtail someone off the road. Your front wheel next to their rear wheel. You’d hit them hard, then you’d keep going straight. They’d spin round a hundred eighty degrees where, on a busy freeway like this one, they’d be hit by oncoming traffic.

  Fishtailing was one of a number of maneuvers, along with J-turns and how to properly run a road block, Sofia had been taught by Hollywood stunt driver and former Nascar driver Dale Arnott. She’d met Dale while shooting a movie in South Carolina after she’d insisted on doing her own driving stunts. He’d spent a week teaching her all kinds of stuff on an abandoned airstrip outside of Charleston. He’d been clear that she couldn’t use her newfound skills out on the public highway, but she figured that under the circumstances, Dale wouldn’t mind her making an exception.

  As soon as the Ford got close, she scooted ahead a little. All the while she counted off the miles until she hit the exit for La Canada. Right now, the counter stood at seven. The Ford driver would make his move long before that.

  By now he was barely looking at the road ahead. He slammed on his brakes as he came up too fast on a couple driving a green Prius with a ‘Hilary for President’ sticker. They didn’t appear to notice him until he honked his horn, then they moved out into the outside lane with a completely bemused look.

  The Ford accelerated again. This time Sofia couldn’t move ahead of him. There was a dark blue Lexus in front of her, the driver doing something she had never seen on an LA freeway—the speed limit. She spotted Iowa plates. Now it made sense.

  She checked her mirror. If she couldn’t accelerate out of the way, maybe she could brake.

  No dice. There was a big rig behind her. It was about twenty feet off her rear bumper, and she wasn’t sure if that would be enough. She’d never survive a big rig driving up her tailpipe.

  She still had six miles to go until she made the La Canada exit, and two miles to go before she hit the exit before that. There was only one thing for it.

  She waited until the Ford was almost in position. As he tensed his arms to spin his wheel, she did the same, moving into the breakdown lane. The Tesla shifted under her, the rear jostling from side to side. The Ford made his move a fraction of a second later.

  Sofia hit the gas and scooted down the breakdown lane, passing the blue Lexus on the inside. The driver of the Lexus, ‘Mr. Speed Limit,’ looked over in horror. People didn’t drive like that in Iowa.

  The Ford driver obviously hadn’t reckoned on making contact with fresh air. Plus, the SUV was top heavy. It began to slide, drifting into the breakdown lane. To wrestle back control, the driver must have hit the brake. Sofia saw his panicked face in her rearview. He pulled his steering wheel back the other way, frantically trying to correct his oversteer. As moves went, it was amazingly dumb, especially with a car with such a high center of gravity.

  The black Ford wobbled all over the place, threatening to roll over completely. There was the wail of an air horn as the big rig driver tried to slow. But he was carrying more weight than the SUV was. There was no way he could brake as quickly.

  Sofia hit the accelerator. Her car leapt ahead of the Lexus and she moved into the inside lane. Behind the Lexus, the big rig had clipped the rear side of the Ford SUV, sending it spinning. The big rig, still unable to stop, slammed into the front of the Ford.

  There was the teeth-grinding sound of metal on metal. The Ford flipped. The big rig kept moving, pushing the Ford like a broom sweeping trash. The Lexus driver finally located his accelerator and scooted up and out of the way. Sofia pulled over into the breakdown lane and came to a stop.

  She popped on her hazards, opened her door, and got out. Looking back down the freeway, she watched the big rig finally coming to a stop. A few agonizing seconds later, the door of the black Ford SUV screeched open, and the muscular driver pushed his way out and climbed down. He was way shorter than Sofia would have thought, maybe five four. The big rig driver leapt out of his cab.

  From what Sofia saw, no one had run into the back of the big rig. Traffic behind it was stopped, but by some miracle, it had ended up being contained to a two-vehicle crash. The big rig driver went over to check on the Ford driver. The Ford driver pushed him angrily out of the way. He glared down the freeway at Sofia and reached down to his waistband as several lanes of traffic behind the big rig came to a honking standstill.

  She could take an educated guess at what the Ford driver was about to pull out. It wasn’t going to be his insurance details. One near-death experience was good enough for an evening. She jumped back into the Tesla, slammed the driver’s door, and smashed down on the accelerator, using every ounce of the Roadster’s zero to sixty in three point nine seconds to get the hell out of Dodge.

  Sweat trickling down her back, her heart still racing, she reached the La Canada exit. She took the exit fast and headed up the ramp. She thought about calling Brendan, or the cops, but decided against it. At least for now. She wanted to gather her thoughts first. If anyone had been trying to drive her off the road, she’d figured it would be Moonbow or Tucker Trimble. Not some dude she’d never seen before with muscles on his muscles and a look of chronic constipation.

  32

  “You’re late.”

  Sofia’s mom stood framed in the doorway. Sofia leaned in and gave her a hug. “Sorry, traffic was really bad. There was an accident on the 2.”

  Her mom leaned in to give her a hug. “Well, you’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

  Sofia’s mom pulled away from the hug but kept her hands on Sofia’s arms. She seemed to be studying her face. “I’ll always love you. No matter what. You understand that, don’t you, Sofia?”

  Oh God. The only time her mom came out with stuff like this was when she’d been hitting the wine a little too hard. That usually didn’t happen until after dinner, so this was not a good sign of what lay ahead. And, judging by the pained expression on her mom’s face, she hadn’t been convinced by Sofia’s e
xplanation of how she came to be videoed peeing outside a prominent Malibu rehab clinic. Her mom was looking at her like people looked at a dog—right before they took it to the vet for the last time.

  “And I love you, too,” Sofia said.

  From somewhere in the bowels of the kitchen, a timer beeped. Tim shouted through. “Janet! Is this for the broccoli or the potatoes? Should I have turned the grill on?”

  Saved by the timer. Her mom rolled her eyes and let go of Sofia’s arms as Ray, Sofia’s brother-in-law, appeared from the bathroom down the hall clutching a white box with red cross emblazoned across the front. First aid kit.

  “Everything okay?” Sofia asked Ray.

  “Tim! The grill should have gone on an hour ago. Shut the Golf Channel off once in a while and get a clue,” said her mom as she disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Flesh wound,” said Ray, giving Sofia a hug. He also did the release and arm grab. “You look tired. You getting enough sleep?”

  “Long week, that’s all,” said Sofia.

  “I thought the only people who’re supposed to look that exhausted are parents,” said Ray.

  “Violent and Van still a handful, huh?” Sofia said, trying to change the subject.

  “A handful? That’s a good way to put it. I’ll remember that the next time Van takes apart the principal’s transmission or Violet chokes out one of the boys she sits next to at lunch. A handful.”

  Most people would have assumed that Ray was merely exaggerating for comic effect, putting an over-the-top spin on some spirited hijinks. Sofia knew better. There was a reason why Ray locked up all the tools in his garage and searched his son’s room for screwdrivers like a prison guard, and why Violet’s semi-official family nickname was Violent.