16 Millimeters

by Larissa Reinhart

"It's not a red carpet, but okay."

  Rhonda stacked makeup boxes before the salon mirror, then pulled out bottles.

  "Um, Rhon?" I said. "Orange is not a good color for me. I need to lose the tan."

  "And your hair." Tiffany plugged in a fat curling iron and cracked open a new case of bobby pins. "We need to change your hair. Maybe an updo. Unless you want extensions."

  I bit my lip. "I think no extensions. And maybe a rinse out? Matte black makes me look like a ghost in those Japanese horror movies."

  "How about turquoise for your hair?" said Tiffany. "And I still have those lavender contacts. That's a nice combo."

  "Hard to blend when you're turquoise." I leaned over the counter to take out the brown contacts.

  "Sapphire blue?"

  "Girls, I need to look like Maizie Albright for this role."

  "I guess if Ed Farmer's arrested, you don't need to hide anymore," said Rhonda.

  "Actually, I've learned disguised skulking gives me heartburn. I'd rather talk to people, and a disguise doesn't do me any good for that. Besides, I'm going with Leonard. I'd have to tell him it's me."

  Tiffany held up a bottle. "We'll switch you back to ginger and give you a deep conditioning treatment."

  "Let's make this happen." I popped her JP's finger gun, walked to the row of sinks, and plopped into a chair.

  Humming, Rhonda fanned her makeup brushes on a towel. Tiffany started toward me, her arms full of towels. Watching them, I sniffled.

  "You don't mind doing this? I feel like I'm taking advantage of your salon abilities," I said. "I'm standing you up. You've always wanted to go to a Black Pine party."

  "That was Rhonda," said Tiffany. "I don't care if it's a Black Pine party. I just like the free booze and food."

  "Of course we don't mind," said Rhonda. "You'll take us another time. Girl, we're going to make you look so good, the party invites will not stop. It'll be like this." Hands in the air and hips swinging, she danced in a circle, then dabbed for effect. "Booty all up in the house. Twenty-four seven. Three sixty-five. The invites will be rolling in."

  "It better not be like that," said Tiffany. "Or we're never going to a party."

  I clasped my hands to my heart, my eyes brimming with tears. "You better call your Aunt Carmen for that dress, Rhonda. Screw Leonard. I'm taking both of you on our date. He's getting three times the lady. "

  * * *

  At the Dixie Kreme Donut Shop building, I parked Lucky, changed in the Nash Security Solutions bathroom (which smelled like bergamot and lost opportunity), and walked to my fake office. The girls met me there. Rhonda wore optimism and spangles. Tiffany wore fishnet and a pluming vape. I wore L'Agence's star sequin dress and a gold anklet. The anklet was my nod to Double Indemnity. I wasn't going to Maltese Falcon for Leonard, but the stars were meant as a reminder that I had once been one.

  I was no longer in awe of these Pine Hollow people. Familiarity breeds contempt. So does questionable morality and murder.

  After the usual girl chat about clothing choices, we gazed at the brick building where Sam Spade might have had an office if he had been Southern and an ex-celebrity.

  "Are we going inside?" said Tiffany.

  "No key," I said. "Anyway, Vicki's using it as an All is Albright prop. That's why Theodore had it ready so quickly. It's not real."

  Plus, I still hadn't told Nash about it. Which I planned to do as soon I got the nerve. So, never.

  "Your dream is real," said Rhonda. "In two years, you can buy it from T. Malthus, Esquire. And hire us as your assistants."

  "I can't compete with Nash Security Solutions. That'd be ungrateful after he trained me." I paused. "Actually Nash hasn't trained me. But he's got two years. Unfortunately, now that I know how much a private investigator makes, I won't be able to hire anyone."

  "Reality bites," said Tiffany. "You ready to go back to Looney Land? Maybe this time your mother won't keep all your money."

  "La-la Land. And no. That reality bites, too. I may miss the perks, but spending time with these people has made me remember what I hated about my old career. Better real reality than fake reality."

  "Did you forget about all the death?" said Rhonda. "Because I would choose fake acting over murder any day."

  We contemplated the dark building, reality, and murder. Then turned toward the street as a vehicle approached. Leonard's Escalade.

  "I thought he'd have a limo," said Rhonda.

  The back door opened and Leonard leaned out. "What's this? I said no girlfriends."

  "It's either them, or I'll call Mr. Nash and switch jobs with him. He can take you to the party. It's just business, right?" I jerked my thumb toward the office. Rhonda stuck a hand on a spangled hip and Tiffany drew heavily on her vape.

  "Right," said Leonard. "Get in."

  * * *

  Theodore's garden covered the three pillars of Southern party decor: fairy lights, Mason jars, and flamingos. A tiny feathered flamingo rode on the lapel of his robin's egg blue Haspel. Frosted glass flamingos bobbed in his tiered fountain. Concrete flamingos — tastefully made from pale pink crushed shells — decorated the tables and lighted the steps on his veranda.

  Theodore gave me a double-cheeked kiss. "I forgive you for wearing black sequins to a garden party. Let's call it ironic. But you do look stunning, honey."

  "I like the flamingos," I said. "You outdid yourself."

  "Not really. I wanted elephants but held back in case we had to cancel." His voice dropped to a whisper. "All these murders."

  "Of course." My tone dried.

  "And you brought plus three, sweetie. I didn't mean it literally." He smiled graciously at Rhonda and Tiffany, rubbernecking the Black Pine A-listers who'd surrounded the bar. "More irony."

  He gave Leonard a double-clasped hand shake. "Mr. Shackleton. It's an honor and a delight."

  Taking his hand from Theodore's, Leonard placed it on the small of my back. "Do you know if my publicity gal got the list of media outlets invited? She has some sound bites prepared."

  Theodore waved his hand, and a young, Haspel-suited man appeared. He also had a flamingo pin but wore his seersucker in pale gray. "Take Mr. Shackleton to the prepared green room."

  "Maizie?" Leonard's thumb stroked my spine.

  With a discreet sidestep, I said, "I need to speak to Theodore," and gave him my Julia Pinkerton finger gun salute. "Still on the clock, you know. Your clock."

  Gray seersucker whisked Leonard away. Theodore tucked my arm through his. "Let's stroll."

  "My friends…"

  Another seersucker suited youth appeared with a tray of food and drinks. He bobbed a bow and presented the tray to Rhonda and Tiffany.

  "We're good," said Tiffany, scooping up a fistful of cheese straws. She grabbed a glass of pink liquid. "Go do your thing."

  "Keep an eye out for Dahlia Pearson," I said. "And save me a cheese straw."

  "Hello, sweet thing." Rhonda took the tray from the young man's hand and slipped her free arm around his elbow. "You're going to give us a tour. Inside and out."

  Theodore nodded to the young man and led me down the winding garden path. "I thought you'd gone brunette."

  "Did you get that insider info from Robin Coxon or Vicki?" I snapped, then gusted a long sigh. "Theodore, do you know where Vicki is? She's not answering her phone. Giulio has disappeared, too."

  "Oh my dear, you know your mother. She's probably up to something."

  "I'm not sure about that. I'm worried. I may have gotten her in trouble."

  "Hold that thought." Theodore pressed a hand to my arm, nodding toward a small cluster of movie people.

  We waxed pleasantries and moved on. Strolling around a rose garden, we nodded at guests and arrived at a pergola covered in a flowering vine thick enough to act as drapery. Small Mason jars filled with winking lights hung from the overhead beams.

  "We'll have some privacy in here."

  I peeked around the vine and saw most guests still crowded the bar or s
at on the veranda. Tiffany and Rhonda had disappeared inside the house.

  "Your momma will turn up. Giulio on the other hand, I don't know," continued Theodore. "Word is he's about to get cut from All is Albright. He hasn't been showing up to the location shoots. Even when you're benched, you still need to go to the game. Bad boy."

  "That might not be his fault." I bit my lip and turned to face Theodore. "I'm worried something awful has happened to him. He was helping me and might have gotten caught by whoever killed the man they found in the resort."

  Theodore bowed his head. "That's terrible. I heard the man they found made movies. Professionally."

  "Yes, his name was Billy Goodwin from Atlanta."

  "Did the police catch the person who killed him and the stuntman yet?"

  "I'm not sure." I studied him. "Theodore, what do you know?"

  With a quick glance past the pergola, Theodore grasped my hands and turned me to face him. "You know I'm Black Pine's premier lifestyle designer. That comes naturally with my heritage."

  "Heritage?"

  "My name. Malthuses have been around forever." He shrugged. "It's a Southern thing, honey. Anyway, I also function for Black Pine in another capacity. I told you earlier, I'm a resourcer. I resource people, things, events, locations. I just know how to get things."

  "Okay?"

  "For example, Vicki Albright contacted me to find an actress who resembled you. And Nash. Although she didn't really care if the actor looked like Nash. He just had to look like 'walking sex.' Her words, not mine."

  I pulled my hands from his. "I already figured that out. You checked Clone Star and found Mini Me—"

  "Lana Miles. You met her. She worked as your secretary in your fabulous office for half a minute."

  I opened and closed my mouth.

  "Before your panties get too bunched, let me get to my point. Miss Cambria contacted me, too."

  I grabbed Theodore's hands and gripped them. "I needed to know this three days ago. Talk."

  "Cambria wanted someone who looked like her, too. Except this actress, for a hefty paycheck, had to be willing to perform before a camera, if you get my euphemism."

  At my angry nod, he continued. "Couldn't use a reputable place like Clone Star. I went with Craig's List."

  "Who is she? Do you know what happened to her?"

  "Stella Craven. I think that's her," he coughed, "stage name. We colored her hair and used contacts, but her facial structure is similar."

  I dropped Theodore's hands, feeling like I needed a long, hot, sanitizing shower. "What happened to Stella?"

  "I'm concerned." He studied the overhead Mason jars. "And ashamed. And feeling horribly guilty. Cambria offered me a handsome price for resourcing. I had nothing to do with the actual job. Stella and the filmographer were paid well, too. Still, that's no excuse."

  "You hired Billy Goodwin?"

  "He was harder to find, oddly enough. Cambria wanted someone who used actual film. She said the video had to be high quality and artistic. She was afraid someone who filmed digitally would go 'too blue.'"

  "Oh my God. Cambria was always such a nerd." My stomach knotted. "She overthinks everything. She can't even pull off home porn without making it a production. God, what a diva."

  Theodore pinched the bridge of his nose. A tear rolled down his cheek. "I didn't realize that Stella might be in trouble until I heard about Billy Goodwin. And I just found out about him today."

  "We need to go to the police with this. It connects the murders to the missing girl. They haven't really been able to act without any information. Maybe they can get a court order to make the doctor wake Cambria and get her to confess to murder."

  "Murder? Why would Cambria murder Stella? She'd paid her up front. Cambria didn't want anything to do with the actual film session. She just set it up."

  "What about Orlando Feelzen?"

  "She brought him from California. I know nothing about him except entertainment news." He grabbed my hand. "Am I an accomplice to murder? Maizie, you have to believe that I had no idea Stella was missing. I knew the job was sordid, but I didn't presume it dangerous."

  "I'm not a lawyer, Theodore. But I don't care if the woman was willing, you should have told Cambria no. I don't know what Cambria was planning on doing with that video, but whatever it was, it was wrong."

  "Tell Cambria no?" Theodore placed a hand on his chest. "She's a movie star."

  "In my experience, that's not going to let Cambria off the hook. Your party can continue without you." I took his arm. "I assume Detective Mowry wasn't invited. If you don't want the police here, we need to go to the station. I need to call Nash, too."

  "I was afraid of that." Theodore sighed. "Let me have a moment with my staff. They'll keep the party rolling. If I can't be here, at least it'll photograph well."

  Twenty-Seven

  #TheLadyorTheTigress #BlindedByTheSight

  I left Theodore to search for his people, and I went in search of mine. I strode up the veranda stairs and combed the crowd for Tiffany and Rhonda. Unable to get through the back door, I rounded the wraparound porch and entered the house through the side entrance. In the kitchen, the catering crew arranged party trays. A waiter pointed me to the front of the house. More people crowded the spacious living room. In a paneled library, I found Leonard.

  "Maizie, there you are." Leonard strode across the thick oriental rug. "We still need to talk. Let's go somewhere more private."

  "I'm sorry, but I'm on my way to the police station. There's been a development in the case."

  "Does it have to do with Ed? You should have told me he's there." Leonard folded his arms. "We need to talk. Now."

  "What about Ed?" squeaked Dahlia. She peeked over the edge of a wingback chair then rose to meet us. A strapless maxi dress made a beautiful show of her sinewy arms and muscular back.

  "I thought you'd be here."

  "Of course." She shrugged. "What's going on with Ed? You didn't tell me anything, Leonard."

  "Ed didn't call you, Dahlia?" I felt a surge of Julia Pinkerton teenage cynicism. "I thought you'd be one of his two calls."

  "What? Alvin, did you know anything about Ed?" called Dahlia. "Isn't he with Cambria? How's she doing?"

  Glancing behind me, I saw Cambria's agent stroll into the room, a stunning woman on his arm. He smiled apologetically at the woman, led her to the hall, and returned. "Hello, Dahlia. Leonard. Maizie? I just checked. Cambria's about the same. They moved her to her villa. Sleeping peacefully."

  Of course she is, I thought. That's what good drugs do to a person.

  "Dahlia," I said. "I've been trying to reach you all day. Do you know where my mother is?"

  "I don't always check my messages. Have you tried to call her?"

  "Duh," I said, matching Dahlia's tone. "You were the last person to see her."

  "I'm sure that can't be right. Unless she never left my trailer."

  I narrowed my eyes. "What does that mean?"

  "Leonard?" said Alvin. "Anything going on that I should know?"

  "Not now, Murphy," said Leonard. "Maizie, find us an empty room. We need a one-on-one. I think there's a room upstairs."

  I grabbed Dahlia's arm. "We're going to use it first."

  She wrenched her arm from my grip. "What do you think you're doing?"

  "You need to tell me about Vicki."

  "Get over yourself." Dahlia stalked from the room.

  I followed, calling her name.

  Dahlia slipped past a group standing shoulder-to-shoulder within the tight hallway. I elbowed my way inside. Pushing through, I stepped into an empty space. The hallway brightened, darkened, then filled with burning, dancing eclipses. I slapped a hand over my eyes. The crowd behind me booed.

  Squinting through my fingers, I made out a professional photographer. He waved a hand. Someone circled an arm around my shoulders, drew me back, and clamped me in place. The flash ignited my retinas once again.

  "Great smile, Miss Albright," called the
photographer.

  Muscle memory.

  I stumbled forward, blind and blinking.

  More people crammed the living area. I bumbled through, tossed around in the mosh pit of a party. "How is this exclusive? Is this even code?" I called. "Anyone seen Dahlia? Or Theodore? Two women in cruise ship dresses?"

  Laughter erupted. At the far end, chords swelled from the piano, and a jazz quartet began playing. I opened the front door, looked out on the front porch. On the sea grass love seat, a couple made out. Three people sat on the front rails, smoking. No Dahlia. No Theodore. No Rhonda and Tiffany.

  Closing the front doors, I fought my way back through the living room, down the jammed hall, and into the kitchen. The smell of garlic and herbs heated the space. I bumped into a waiter and knocked over a tray. Apologizing, I helped him pick up the fallen food — tiny ham and pimento biscuits. Such a sad waste — and asked about Dahlia. Shoving a dropped sandwich in my mouth (five-second rule), I muscled through to the back veranda. Took a quick turn around the enclosed garden (for the air, if nothing else) and returned to the living area.

  "Dahlia?" I called.

  “Maizie?"

  I turned toward the voice in the crowd. "Rhonda?"

  A minute later, a man was shoved aside. My friends appeared bearing empty glasses.

  "Where you been?" said Tiffany.

  "Trying to find Dahlia. I think she knows where Vicki is. But I can't find Dahlia."

  "This way." Rhonda dropped their empty glasses on a Chippendale table.

  Tiffany picked up a small concrete flamingo and shoved it in her purse. "I think they're party favors. He's got plenty anyway."

  Entering a smaller hall, we passed a queuing line.

  "Bathroom," said Rhonda. "Been like that all night."

  We traipsed into the kitchen and up the backstairs.

  "Shortcut," said Tiffany.

  "We had the tour. We know where we're going." Rhonda's spangles glimmered with each step. "I got a phone number from one of those cute waiters."

  "Great," I said. "I hope you're having a good time. Because this is one of the worst parties I've ever attended."