“Or Darwin,” I answered, playing devil’s advocate. “I mean, we only have his word for it that Sebastian was even there.”
“True,” Dana nodded.
“Either way,” I said, remembering what Goldstein had said about Becca being nervous, “the accomplice suddenly has the power, and now Becca is on the run.”
“We’ve got to find her,” Dana said.
I nodded. And quickly. Before the accomplice did.
“Well, the last place anyone saw her was in North Hollywood where Goldstein dropped her two nights ago.”
“Let’s check it out.”
* * *
We stopped at a Jack-in-the-Box for a couple of sandwiches first (Okay, I had a couple of sandwiches, and Dana grilled the woman behind the counter to see if there was anything on the menu without trans fats and “hormone pumped meats”, finally settling on a side salad sans dressing.), then we headed toward No Ho to look for Becca.
North Hollywood is not my favorite of places. First off, its name is deceiving. While Hollywood is known for glamour, glitz, and stars, North Hollywood is known for used cars (with or without pink slips), liquor stores, and porn studios. Bad place to drive at night, but a great place to hide out if you’re on the run after killing your best friend.
We slowly drove down Victory, passing several sad storefronts and a couple of houses with tilting porches and chain link fences around the yards, until we hit Lankershim.
Dana pulled the Mustang in the lot of a strip mall featuring a discount cigarette shop, a check cashing place with bars on all the windows, and a pawn shop, and we took stock of the corner. Across from us was a furniture warehouse. On the opposite corner, a square cinderblock of cheap housing where a couple of guys in jeans that were just barely hanging onto their butts were engaging in pharmaceutical trade in the front entrance. Across the street from that sat a fast food place that served both Chinese and Mexican buffets all night long.
“Okay, so where do we think Becca is hiding out?” Dana asked, her eyes doing the same sweep as mine.
I shrugged. “The housing project?”
Dana nodded. “Likely place to start.” She paused. “You wanna go in?”
I looked across at the Baggy Pants Dealers. I shook my head. “Not really.”
“Yeah. Me neither.”
We sat there for a beat, holding onto our chickenhood, watching the transaction complete across the street.
“Maybe we should drive around the back,” Dana suggested. “Maybe just peek around. You know, with the windows up and the doors locked.”
“Fabulous idea,” I agreed.
We pulled back out onto the street, rounding Victory until we hit the back of the building. A small service alley separated it from the next block of houses behind it, the length of it filled with covered parking spots holding dented Chevy’s, supped up Impalas, and a couple of vehicles so rusted they were beyond brand recognition. The pavement was coming up in chunks, the dumpsters overflowing, and the windows all covered in sheets and dirty blinds, shut tight against prying eyes.
Dana eased us down the length of the alley, passing by an emaciated looking dog and a group of boys with guilt written all over their faces. (I didn’t even want to know why.) In the center of the building, the parking slots gave way to a small courtyard, punctuated with overgrown bushes and a couple of faded folding lawn chairs. An elderly man sat in one smoking a cigar in his boxers.
But there was no sign of Becca.
Dana swung into an empty spot at the end of the alleyway and, on a last ditch effort, I dialed Becca’s cell number. I rolled my window down a crack, listening intently.
Through my phone I heard the call ringing on the other end. Outside the window all I heard was a dog barking somewhere far away and a booming bass from one of the upstairs apartments
“Even if she is around, we’re not going to be able to hear her phone from in here,” Dana pointed out.
I nodded. “Okay. Fine. We’ll get out of the car.”
I eyed the guilty looking kids. They wouldn’t hurt a pregnant woman, right? I mean, they were just kids, right?
I slowly eased my car door open and gingerly stepped outside, immediately feeling like I was invading foreign territory. I heard Dana do the same, then quickly scuttle around to my side of the car, sticking close as I dialed Becca’s number again. Again we waited, listening to it ring on my end. I closed my eyes, willing my hearing to strain to its most super sonic. I heard a baby crying somewhere inside the building. A muted TV show. And a faint ringing sound.
My eyes shot open. “I hear it!”
Dana must have heard it too, as I felt her perk up beside me. “Dial again,” she prompted. “I think it was coming from that way.” She pointed toward the middle of the alleyway where the building split in the center at the courtyard.
I did, hitting redial as we power walked toward the courtyard. This time the ringing on the other end grew louder as we approached. I turned into the courtyard, Dana a short step behind me. Bushes flanked either side of the tiny space, a cement block serving as a patio area. In the far right corner sat what might have been a koi pond in the building’s finer years, but was now a concrete hole in the ground, covered by brush and debris.
The guy in the lawn chair watched us walk in.
“What you want?” he barked, smoke billowing from his mouth.
“Um, we’re looking for our friend,” I told him as the ringing went to voicemail on the other end. “Becca Diamond. Do you know her?”
The man stared at me. “What do I look like, the damned yellow pages?”
I bit my lip. “Right. Thanks. We’ll just keep looking,” I said, hitting redial again. I strained to hear which of the apartments the ringing on the other end might be coming from.
Only I realized, as I listened to it trill, that it didn’t seem to be coming from the apartments above us. It seemed to be coming from somewhere below us.
“Maddie,” Dana said, grabbing onto my arm. I looked up to see her staring at the koi pond.
Uh oh.
I took a step toward the abandoned pond. And heard the ringing grow louder. I slowly peered over the edge. It wasn’t deep, only a couple of feet, though it was fully covered in palm fronds and trash.
And it was clearly ringing.
I bit my lip. I did an eenie meenie mine mo between curiosity and common sense. Ultimately, curiosity won out, and I gingerly reached down and shifted the palm fronds away from the edge of the pond.
What happened next was kind of a blur of “ohmigods”, “holycraps”, and high-pitched dog-whistle range screams. Some from Dana, but I’m pretty sure most were from me. Because staring back at us from the bottom of the abandoned koi pond were the lifeless blue eyes of Becca Diamond.
Chapter Sixteen
My hands were shaking as I dialed 911 and told the dispatcher what we’d just seen. Her calming tones did nothing to actually calm me down as she told me a squad car was on its way. Ten minutes later, it arrived, and the uniformed officer followed my shaking directions to the koi pond. Then he radioed in to dispatch for more squad cars. Twenty minutes later the entire block was filled with flashing red and blue lights, and the old man with the cigar and the kids had conspicuously disappeared inside.
Two officers split Dana and me up, an older redheaded guy taking Dana to one end of the courtyard to get her story and a younger guy with thick glasses taking me to the side closest to the alleyway.
“I understand you and your friend found the body?” he asked, pulling a notebook from his pocket.
I nodded, looking past him to where another squad car and the coroner’s truck were pulling into the alleyway.
“Did you touch the body at all?”
I shook my head, nausea rolling through my stomach at the thought. “No way.”
“But you could tell she was deceased?” he asked.
“Her eyes were open,” I said. “And not moving.”
He nodded. “Okay, what time e
xactly was this?”
I bit my lip. “I’m not sure. Maybe half an hour ago?” I said, watching as another car pulled into the alley behind us. A big, black SUV.
Uh oh.
“Um, do we really have to do this now?” I asked the officer. I watch the SUV park, a familiar figure emerging from the driver’s side.
“Yes, ma’am. Now is a good time.”
Maybe for him.
“Uh, okay, but you see I really have to…” I wracked my brain for an excuse to get away - any excuse! - as I watched Ramirez move away from his SUV to talk to another uniformed officer, no doubt being filled in on the fact that two ditzy blondes had found the body.
One of whom was conspicuously pregnant.
“…pee!” I yelled. I crossed my legs. “It’s the pregnancy thing. The baby is sitting right on my bladder. Uncooperative little tyke. So, um, I have to go. Seriously. Now,” I added with conviction as Ramirez’s gaze swung my way. I ducked behind a tall bush, hoping The Bump didn’t protrude too much.
“Oh, uh, well, I guess we could go to the station…” the officer said, his cheek turning pink as he stammered. Bad guys with guns he could handle. A pregnant woman with a small bladder, not so much.
Lucky for me.
“Yes, the station would be great. Wonderful. Perfect,” I said. “I’m sure you have lovely bathrooms at the station. Shall we go now?” I turned and near-ran to the closest squad car as Ramirez entered the courtyard, his gaze sweeping over the scene, taking it all in. I could see his eyes were sharp, going into cop mode, making sure no little detail escaped him.
Even if she sorely wanted to.
“What’s the hold-up?” I asked, slipping into the backseat of the car.
Officer Flustered took his sweet time closing his notebook, radioing in to someone that he was bringing in the witness for further questioning, mumbling a bunch of numbers and letters into the walkie attached to his belt. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he got into the car and started the engine.
Not a moment too soon.
As he put the car into gear, I saw Ramirez’s eyes lock in on Dana, gesturing wildly with her hands as the red-haired guy took her statement down as fast as he could scribble. Ramirez’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowed, and I thought I saw that little vein on the side of his neck start to pulse.
“Go! Drive!” I shouted, ducking down below the window panel.
Thankfully Officer Flustered did, pulling away from the curb just as a string of curses in Spanish emanated from my husband’s mouth, following me down the street.
* * *
Once at the station I did, in fact, have to pee again so I hightailed it to the ladies room. Once relieved, I then sat with the uniformed officer and gave him a full statement. By the time he finally released me, I’d gone over our discovery at the koi pond about a hundred times and knew very detail of the moment like the back of my hand. The only thing I didn’t know was what our murderer was doing murdered in North Hollywood.
As soon as I left the station, I called Dana for a ride back home. Unfortunately there was no answer. She was probably still fending off the wrath of Ramirez. I totally owed her one. I made a mental note to take her out to the spa when this was all over. As a backup, I dialed Marco who, luckily, picked up on the third ring, did the appropriate amount of “ohmigod”s and “are you alright”s, then came to pick me up in his bright yellow Miata.
As reluctant as I was to face Ramirez, I knew from experience that the place he was least likely to be found after a dead body surfaced was home. So I took a chance and had Marco drop me off at my place with a promise that in the morning I’d fill him in on all the gory details of our finding.
I made myself a huge grilled cheese (Okay, I made two, but one was for the baby.), took the longest, hottest shower on record (which still didn’t 100% get the feeling of dead person cooties off of me), and flopped into bed, willing myself to fall asleep before my husband got home.
Which, as it turned out, wasn’t an issue. Since he didn’t come home. A fact that left me with a mix of relief and dread in my stomach as I had brunch with Marco and Dana the next day at Café Melrose.
“I’m sure it was just because he was working,” Marco said reassuringly as he sipped his mimosa.
I watched, sure I was turning green with envy. A mimosa would really hit the spot right about now.
“You think?” I asked, fiddling with the Denver omelet on my plate. “I mean, he seemed a little upset at the scene.”
“A little?” Dana interjected. “I’m pretty sure people in Malibu heard him roaring about his little ‘fregadita’ of a wife.”
Uh oh. Fregadita was his sometimes pet name for me that meant little pain in the ass. Only in this case, I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean it as a term of endearment but more as an actual little pain in the ass.
“But he got over it, right?” I squeaked out hopefully.
Dana glared at me over her fat-free bran muffin. “If by ‘over it’ you mean he ranted for an hour, interrogated me for another hour, then cursed in Spanish for another hour, then yeah, he’s totally over it.”
I bit my lip. “Sorry. I totally owe you one. Honestly, I didn’t think he’d take it out on you.”
Dana shrugged. “I guess it could have been worse. At least it took my mind off of Ricky for a while.”
“How is your Prince of Darkness lately?” Marco asked.
Dana sighed. “Don’t ask. He was gone all night on another shoot with Ava. I swear to God if he signs on for another Moonlight movie next week, I may have to slit my wrists.”
“Did he at least keep his phone on?” I asked.
Dana nodded. “Sure. In fact, he even accidentally butt-dialed me during the sex scene.”
“Oh, no,” I said, clucking my tongue in sympathy.
“Oh, yes. You know, it’s one thing to know that your boyfriend is pretending to have sex with another girl, and it’s another to actually have to hear it.”
“What did you do?” Marco asked.
Dana bit her lip. “I hung up, then left him a couple of voicemails telling him to turn the phone off.”
“A couple?” I asked.
Dana’s cheeks went pink. “Okay, seventeen. Was that excessive?”
“Maybe just this much,” Marco responded, holding up his thumb and forefinger.
Dana grabbed his mimosa and took a big gulp.
“Well, one thing’s certain,” I said, changing the subject before she downed the whole thing. “Clearly the fact that Becca is dead means she isn’t our murderer.”
Marco nodded. “Becca couldn’t very well have murdered herself. So who did?”
“Okay, let’s start at the beginning. Becca and Alexa were into something bad.”
“Most likely blackmail ending in a big payout,” Dana added.
“Right. They blackmail someone for cash, but something goes wrong and Alexa ends up dead. We thought Becca was on the run because she had something to do with Alexa’s death, but what if it’s the other way around? What if she was afraid for her life, too?”
“So she goes home and quickly grabs a bunch of clothes, then takes off,” Marco added.
“But then why show up at the party the other night?” Dana asked. “Why not just take off for Mexico or something?”
I shoved a bite of omelet in my mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Maybe she needed money? I mean, if their first attempt at blackmail failed, maybe she was broke. She needs some cash to get out of town, and now she has twice as much leverage against the blackmailee. She knows he killed Alexa.”
Dana raised an eyebrow. “You think she’d be stupid enough to try blackmailing the guy again?”
I shrugged. “She didn’t strike me as the brightest rhinestone on the ring, you know?”
Dana nodded. “Okay, so Becca goes in for a second blackmail attempt, but this one fails too, and instead of giving her the money the guy kills her.”
“So, who is our blackmailee turned killer?”
Marco asked.
“It must have been someone from the parties,” I decided.
“So who was there that had a secret?” Marco asked.
I shrugged. “Who didn’t? I mean I’m sure there are people who the very fact that they were at the parties was knowledge they wouldn’t want to get out. Let alone the flirtations that went on there.” I paused. “Or more than flirtations.”
“I like Goldstein,” Marco said. “He’s rich, old, and married. Prefect material for blackmail.”
“But what about Sebastian himself,” Dana argued. “What if more was going on at those parties than we know about? What if he was pimping the girls out, and they got tired of it and tried to blackmail him for it?”
“But I don’t think we should count out the boyfriend, either,” I added. “He lied about knowing Alexa and he conveniently broke up with her right before she was killed. Or so he says.”
“Plus he was at the club the night she died,” Dana added.
“Let’s face it, we have plenty of suspects,” I said. “The problem is that we have absolutely no evidence.”
“Goldstein was the last person to see Becca alive,” Dana pointed out. “I think we need to talk to him again. Sure he says he dropped her off, but he could have easily killed her first.”
I shrugged. “It’s as good a place as any to start.”
“Uh, I’m gonna let you gals go on ahead,” Marco said, downing the last of his mimosa. “I’ve, uh, got somewhere to be this morning.”
“A hot date?” I joked.
He grinned. “Something like that. I’ll catch up with you ladies later, okay? Let me know how it goes with the lawyer,” he said, then got up from the table and headed to the parking garage down the street.
I watched his retreating back. Hmm… Marco skipping out on a big interrogation? What was that boy up to?
* * *
An hour later Dana and I were hoofing it from the parking garage on 5th to Goldstein’s corner office. We’d made it past the first receptionist, the second receptionist, and were just entering the third reception area when a familiar face began walking down the hallway toward us. Alexa’s sister, Phoebe.
Fearless in High Heels Page 11