16 Millimeters

by Larissa Reinhart

  "What?"

  "I'm about ready to tan your hide, Maizie Marlin Spayberry. You're sneaking around behind my back. And Wyatt Nash's back. And even worse, the judge's back. To do what? Feed your vanity?" At my look of confusion, he halted his tirade. "Baby girl, is your mother drugging you or something? That woman has stooped pretty low in her life, but I didn't think she'd do anything like that."

  "I have no idea what you're talking about. I wasn't anywhere near Palmetto Street today." I counted off bodies as a means of location checking. "Mostly the resort, the set, and the hospital. Maybe I was at the office, but only for a minute. I'm exhausted. It's been a super long, super rough day and night. Daddy, I keep finding corpses."

  It was his turn to look confused. "Like that movie with Bruce Willis?"

  "Not ghosts. Actual bodies. Murder victims. The criminal investigation I just told you about is a murder case."

  "Well, who was getting filmed on Palmetto Street? Because she sure as hell looked like you."

  "That's a good question." Vicki had stooped pretty low in her life, but she might have hit rock bottom on this one. I pushed away from the table and circled it to place my arms around Daddy's neck. "Thank you for trying to protect me."

  He kissed me on the cheek. "That's what fathers are for."

  "Daddy, I mean this in the sweetest way. But you need to lay off my love life."

  "Then don't do it in my driveway."

  * * *

  Daddy wasn't the only one waiting up for me. When I crossed the five thousand square-foot cabin to my bedroom, I found my sister in my bed. Remi flipped on the bedside light at my entry.

  "Took you long enough," she said.

  "What are you doing up? You're six. You need your sleep."

  She rolled her eyes. "That's all they want from me. Sleep and eat. What am I? A hippo?"

  "Do hippos need a lot of sleep?"

  "I don't know. They're just so cute." She wrapped her arms around her knees. "Did Daddy talk to y'all?"

  "He had words for me." I winked. "Then I had words with him."

  She slapped her face. "You can't get sassy with him, girl. Don't you know nothing? You got sent to your room."

  "I sent myself." I yawned and lowered myself next to her. "I'm exhausted."

  "Where you been?"

  "I was looking for someone."

  "Did you find them?"

  "Eventually. But first I found someone else, then someone almost found me, then they found the guy I was looking for, then I found him. And he was in bad shape. It was terrible."

  "Sounds like hide and seek. You never play that with me."

  "Okay," I yawned. "Some other time."

  "I like Sardines better."

  "You're a weird kid."

  "We need more people for Sardines." She sighed. "It's lonely when you're gone."

  "I'm sorry." I snuggled her against me. "My job is keeping me busy right now. Although Nash would be happier if I stayed and played hide and seek with you."

  "You should." Remi combed through my hair and wound a strand around her finger. "Maybe he could play, too. Then we could do Sardines."

  "He doesn't want to play with me anymore. And I'm sad." I flopped on my back. "This sucks, Remisita. Really sucks. I haven't felt like this since… Maybe never."

  "You shouldn't talk like that."

  "You're right. Renata would tell me that I'm seeking fulfillment from another person instead of directing my energies into achieving my life's purpose. And that's becoming a licensed private investigator. I think. But what if Nash is my life's purpose? I'm confused."

  "I mean you're not supposed to say 'sucks.' I don't know about the rest. But you can still play hide and seek."

  I bolted upright. "You're right. And I can do both at the same time. Without a gun." I scrambled for the burner, plugged it in, and pressed the LA HAIR number. "I need to make an early appointment."

  "I'd never play hide and seek with a gun." Remi leaned toward the floor and began pulling stuffed animals into the bed. "That's just asking for somebody to get hurt."

  "Exactly, Remi."

  I left the message, entered the bathroom, and returned to find my entire bed filled with one six-year-old and six-hundred stuffed animals. I left her to find another bed.

  * * *

  I had an early appointment at LA HAIR, but first I needed confirmation (again) that Vicki was ruining my life (again). Luckily, Theodore was an early riser. He said sunrise was his best light. After visiting him and LA HAIR, I could get on with my life. As in finding out if someone really wanted to end it.

  Theodore's Neoclassical Revival — the exact words he used to describe his house — was found in old Black Pine, a few blocks from the old downtown. Which meant a few blocks from the Dixie Kreme donut shop. And Nash.

  Although he never confirmed the fact, I knew Nash lived in that office while he sought to reclaim his business and everything he lost in his divorce from Jolene Sweeney.

  My poor, sweet Nash.

  Of course, wasn't this more evidence that we couldn't have a relationship? Neither of us had a real home. Or money. We were no better than teenagers with a truck and a dirt bike between us.

  Oh my God, my life was pathetic.

  I was (maybe) in love with a man who (maybe) had nothing to his name besides part ownership in a dirty, old private investigation office. It was so tragically romantic. Like La Bohème. Except without the singing. Or tuberculosis.

  Although Nash and I had more dead bodies.

  I parked Lucky on the street before Theodore's stately home, pulled off my helmet, and pinched my thumb to stop a string of broken heart tears. Climbing the porch stairs, I took in the sea grass love seat and chairs. A steaming teapot sat on a coffee table. I rang the trilling bell, and a moment later Theodore made his entrance. In a Japanese robe with long sleeves and a giant crane on the back. A ginger cat wound through his legs, then shot off the porch after a bird.

  "Morning, darlin'," he squealed and deposited air kisses over my cheeks. "Let's sit on the porch and have a cup of matcha. It's wonderful for digestion and full of vitamins."

  My appetite sank. Didn't anyone drink coffee anymore?

  I sounded like Lamar.

  He moved toward the loveseat, the sash trailing after him. Embroidered slippers peeked below the robe. Patting the seat next to him, he motioned me over and began spooning green powder into two mugs.

  I sat beside him but turned to face him. "What's going on between you and Vicki and someone who looks exactly like me?"

  He eyed me, then poured steaming water into the mugs. "Do you want to whisk or shall I?"

  "You." I crossed my arms. "Theodore. Sweetie. I've been seen around town. And it's not me. Vicki's going to get me in trouble with my probation officer with this stunt."

  "You know Vicki better than me, why don't you talk to her?"

  "That's exactly why I'm talking to you. I can't talk to Vicki. Come on, I know you know about it. You know everything that's going on in town."

  Sighing, Theodore set the dripping bamboo whisk on a tiny china plate. "All right. But quid pro quo, Clarice."

  "Deal. I haven't forgotten about your party tonight." I picked up the scalding mug and set it down again.

  "You promised already."

  "I keep my promises. Although I don't think Cambria can make it."

  "I heard she's in the hospital."

  Theodore really did know everything that went on in Black Pine. "Yes, throat issues."

  "Hmm." He cocked his head, studying me. "Back to that in a minute. Vicki. Your sweet mother—"

  I snorted, and he laughed.

  "Couldn't help it. Anyway, you have to feel a little sorry for her. She's under contract to fulfill another season of All is Albright."

  "I don't feel sorry for her. She entered those negotiations without asking me whether I'd do another season."

  "Hop off that high horse for just a minute, honey. Whatever the backstory, she's still under obligat
ion to produce the show. And she is. Without you, as per your wishes." He giggled. "However, she hasn't exactly told the network that you're not in it."

  I gasped. "How does she think she's going to get away with that?"

  "According to Vicki, there's still footage from last year and a lead-in to your new career in Black Pine. She found someone that resembles you…"

  "I've seen her. She more than resembles me."

  "The B-roll is the actress acting as a detective. But the main story is the adjustment to life in Black Pine for the rest of the cast. By the way, have you seen the new Nash?"

  "What do you mean the new Nash?"

  "Total hottie that Vicki hired to play PI in your cameos."

  "They're not my cameos. Oh, my God. Nash will kill her." I sucked in a breath. "What does he look like?"

  Theodore reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out his phone. He had a not-so-small album of the Nash Hottie.

  "Wowsers." I took the phone from him to examine the pictures more carefully. And to enlarge parts of his physique for better inspection.

  "I know, right?" said Theodore. "He'll be at the party."

  I darted him a look. "Really?" Hang on. I was (maybe) in love with my boss. That was enough for me. But still… I took another look. "Name?"

  Theodore smiled. "I know what you're thinking, girl. You wish."

  I handed him back his phone. "Back to my original point. I know you've been reporting my wardrobe to Vicki. She has my Barney's personal shopper on speed dial. It'd be easy to dress Not-So-Mini Me to match. But it's causing a lot of problems. She has to stop filming the fake me."

  "Lana Miles." He smirked. "Not-so-mini? Feeling insecure, sweetie?"

  "The hallmark of an actor is insecurity, Theodore," I snapped. "Vicki has to stop filming this Lana Miles. Daddy just ripped me a new one, thinking I had strayed back to the dark side."

  "Poor Boomer." Theodore laughed. "Alright, Clarice. Your turn. Why's Cambria in the hospital? And I can't believe it's her throat. She couldn't have stripped her vocal chords. She's not a singer. I know for a fact they haven't even started shooting yet. She had a meltdown, didn't she?"

  "It is her throat." I held up my fingers. "Scout's honor. Although there's been some weird stuff going on related to Cambria or the movie."

  He leaned forward. "Do tell."

  "Are you going to tell Vicki to stop trying to clone me?"

  His fingers flew before my face and snapped. "Done."

  That was too easy. But telling Vicki and Vicki following Theodore's advice were two different things. Jesus could reappear on earth just to tell Vicki to stop filming my body double, and she'd say, "I'll take it under advisement" then ask him about the mansions in heaven. "What's the view like? And how exclusive is that neighborhood really?"

  Ah well, Theodore was my gossip dealer. I needed to keep him happy if I needed him for a later fix. "You didn't get this from me, but I heard there was a murder on the set last night."

  Theodore held a hand before his open mouth. "Girl. I haven't heard anything on the police scanner. Who was murdered? Someone important?"

  "Everyone's important, sweetie."

  "Retract the claws." He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean, Miss Priss. I want details."

  I picked up the steaming mug and set it back on the table. "You didn't hear anything on the police scanner? A 10-54 or a 187? Possible dead body and homicide? Nothing like that?"

  "Nada. A patrol unit was sent to the set late last night, though…"

  "And?"

  "And nothing. They had nothing to report."

  "What the frig."

  "I'll look into it." He waved a hand, and his long sleeve dipped into the mug of green tea. "Dammit."

  "For a tea stain on silk, sponge it in lukewarm water, then rub glycerin into it. Leave it for half an hour, then rinse with warm water."

  "You're a wonder." His brows arched. "Smarter than your ta-tas make you look."

  "I had a great wardrobe tech once who was a genius for stain removal." I shrugged. "Also, who doesn't love silk?"

  "You may be mad at me, but we get each other. There are so few people in Black Pine who really appreciate fashion."

  "True that."

  The cat, back from her bird hunt, hopped onto the love seat between us and attacked the cane with her claws. Theodore swatted at her and received a scratch for his efforts.

  I rose from the love seat, then leaned over to hug him. "Be careful with Vicki, though. She's got claws, and she bites."

  "So do I. That's your problem, sweetie. You need bigger teeth." He brandished his gleaming veneers.

  "I have no interest in becoming a shark. See you at the party." I turned to glance over my shoulder. "How many plus ones am I allowed?"

  "Looking at your figure, I'd say you need at least three." He winked and blew me a kiss. "Be fabulous."

  I was determined to live up to that expectation. But not in the way Theodore expected.

  Twenty-Two

  #MaizieMakeover #InPartnersWeTrust

  I didn't know which bothered me more, knowing Vicki was using a stand-in for me or knowing Theodore helped her to do it. But Vicki would have to wait. At least now I knew one of Theodore's secrets: a police scanner. I trusted he would have picked up a murder call-in. How hard was it for security to find a body when I'd stumbled upon Orlando in the dark?

  As much as his rejection stung, I needed to call Nash or go to the office. The office had donuts and coffee. Donuts always helped in the face of humiliation. Plus Nash needed to know I meant business. Both his and ours.

  I carried my loot from the first-floor shop up to the office, where I found Lamar. He didn't want a donut but took a Dixie Kreme cup of coffee. In a Styrofoam cup.

  So retro.

  "My intel tells me the police didn't find Orlando," I said.

  "We were just discussing that." Lamar sipped his coffee. "No body, but they called in forensics anyway. Your anonymous tip was enough for probable cause."

  "But…"

  "But BPPD can't get a warrant to search the entire set. Probable cause only allowed for the trailer lot. No body and not enough evidence to search inside the trailers."

  "It's the studio. They have good lawyers."

  "And a lot of money wrapped up in our town," said Lamar.

  "I'm going to find out who was on the set last night. And I need to talk to Big Jim about that pie."

  The door to Nash's inner sanctum banged open, and he strode out. "I just finished talking to Mowry. They I.D.'d the bathtub guy. Billy Goodwin. A videographer."

  "What type?" I handed him a coffee and a donut.

  "Does it matter?" He handed me back the donut and sipped his coffee. "He's not employed by the movie people. They checked that out."

  "You don't think it's odd that a videographer was in Cambria's villa, making what looks like an illicit movie with Cambria's lookalike and then died?"

  "I find all of this more than odd. It's—"

  "I know what you think about the movie business. But most people don't hire a professional to shoot a private video unless they plan on an audience seeing it." I studied my mostly eaten donut. "Except weddings. And bar mitzvahs. Bat mitzvahs. Quinceañeras. Okay, maybe it wasn't an illicit video but some funky rite of passage? No, that's just disgusting. Maybe they were in a cult, and it was a snuff film? An exclusive gang membership?"

  Nash rolled his eyes.

  "Right, that's a little out there even for Hollywood. But you never know." I popped the last bite of donut in my mouth and spoke with it tucked in my cheek. "I'll keep it in mind while I'm investigating Cambria's poisoner today."

  "The poisoning was meant for you," growled Nash.

  "Potato po-tah-toe, when it comes to who was poisoned." Noticing the hard set to Nash's jaw, I scrambled to clarify. "Leonard will want some results today. If someone tried to kill me, at least we should get paid for it."

  "Where's your .38 Special?" demanded Nash.

 
; "At home. I have a plan."

  He stalked toward the couch and stood over me. "We didn't discuss another plan."

  "There's a lot of things we didn't discuss last night." I expertly arched a brow, JP-style, then rose to stand beneath him. "But the word partner was tossed around. And partners need to trust each other."

  His nostrils flared. His jaw twitched. The icy blue eyes narrowed.

  The donut did that weird stomach dance, but I held my ground.

  "I stick to my word, Miss Albright," he murmured. "Do you want to keep your job?"

  "Are you going to trust me?"

  His eyes ran down my Helmut Lang halter-neck tank and back to my face. From the corner of my eyes, I saw his hands clench.

  "Cambria better talk today." He spun away from me and reached for a gym bag. "Lamar. Keep an ear out. I'll be at the hospital."

  "Will do," said Lamar. He watched Nash stalk from the room, then turned to me. "I hope you do have a plan. You get yourself killed, and that boy will lose his damn mind."

  * * *

  I had a plan. Because I was me, my plan involved makeup, hair, and wardrobe. But you know what you know, right? At least Giulio wasn't in charge this time.

  Giulio, who was still not answering his phone. I'd texted him throughout the night, unable to sleep with worry.

  The girls were waiting for my pre-office hour appointment. I would call it the perks of celebrity, but that wouldn't cut it with Tiffany. She'd only come in early for a friend, and that was even better.

  "Are you sure you want to do this?" asked Rhonda. She glanced at Tiffany who hummed and as she mixed chemicals in a plastic bowl.

  "It's either this or a gun. I don't want to use a gun."

  "You need to find some middle ground in your life. Dr. Phil says choosing extremes is not crushing it; it's crushing you." Rhonda tapped a finger against her lip. "Or maybe that was Dr. Oz. Wendy Williams? I can't remember."

  "Me? I'd take the gun any day." Tiffany grinned and waved a paint brush. "But this is going to be fun."

  I squirmed in my chair. "Remember, I still have to look fabulous. Theodore's party is tonight. You're coming with me, right?"