“And she lied!” I pointed out again. “And just because the software isn’t there now, doesn’t mean that she didn’t delete it after using it. What we really need is to scan her computer for any possible deleted files.
Felix narrowed his eyes at me. “We?”
I batted my eyelashes at him. “Please? I know it would only take you a second.”
“That’s all it would take for someone to see us here and call the cops, too” he pointed out.
“Don’t worry. If anyone comes, Cam will tell us.”
His eyes narrowed again. “Cam’s in on this too?”
Oops. Sorry, Cam!
“Uh, sorta.”
Felix ground his teeth together, probably thinking about five bucks worth of dirty words. Finally he spat out, “Fine,” and crossed the room to Katie’s laptop. “But only because the sooner we find this person, the sooner I can have my paper back to normal.”
“Amen to that!” I agreed as Felix started typing in strings of letters and numbers that made the screen turn black. He bypassed Windows, going into some directory that housed information in a completely foreign language. I tried to keep up with his commands, but it was all Greek to me. Instead, I peered out the window, scanning the street for any sign of other cars, hoping that Katie needed a long touch-up today.
It seemed like hours passed while Cal and I listened to the keys clack in silence, but in reality it was probably a matter of mere minutes before Felix finally shut the computer down and lowered the top. “Sorry. There’s no sign Audio Cloak was ever used on this computer.”
I felt my shoulders sag. My one good lead, crushed. “Well, maybe she has another computer. In another room!”
Felix shook his head, his face stern. “No way. We’re out of here, Bender.”
“But-”
“No buts. This has gone far enough.”
“He’s right,” Cal said.
I shot him a mutinous look.
“The longer we stay, the greater chance someone will see us,” he reasoned.
Two to one. I was sorely outnumbered. “Fine,” I conceded, crossing my arms over my chest as Cal led the way downstairs, Felix bringing up the rear as if afraid I might bolt into another room if he let me out of his sight. (Which, honestly, I might have.) I was about to turn back into the guestroom with the open lock when Felix gestured toward the front door.
“We should go out the front. Less conspicuous.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Okay, how did you get in the front? Wasn’t the door locked?”
He shrugged. “I carry picks.”
Jesus, was everyone more experienced at breaking and entering than I was?
We quickly filed out the door, clicking it shut behind us, and crossed the street to where Felix’s beat-up dodge was parked behind the Hummer. And behind him was Cam’s Jeep, Cam sitting on the tailgate.
“Some lookout you are,” I mumbled as I passed her.
She mouthed, “sorry,” at me.
“It wasn’t Cam’s fault,” Felix said, unlocking his car.
I paused. That statement suddenly begged the question – whose fault was it?
“Soooooo, how did you know we were here?”
“Allie told me.”
I felt my jaw clench, remembering the way her eyes had followed Cal and me to the elevators. She must have eavesdropped on the whole conversation. When I got my hands on that blonde…
“Speaking of whom,” Felix continued, unaware of the rage building in my gut, “she tells me you interviewed Pines today?”
I swallowed my temper, telling myself to save it for the blonde. (I was out of quarters anyway.) “We did. And have we got a scoop on the Mullins guy.” I filled him in on how Pines had alleged Mullins was trying to blackmail him just before his death. “If he tried it with Pines, maybe he tried it with someone else who wasn’t as confidant, and they killed him.”
Felix listened with his poker face in place, mulling this over. Finally he said, “I like it. I want to know who else Mullins might have been trying to blackmail. Start with his co-stars. Find out who else was on the film with Pines and Mullins.”
“On it!” I promised.
* * *
The first thing I did when I got back to the office was head straight for Allie’s desk. Only to find out she was taking a late lunch. I hoped she enjoyed it. Because there was a distinct possibility that meal would be her last.
It also served to remind me I hadn’t eaten yet either. Cal offered to go get us sandwiches again, and I plunked down at my desk.
Max’s head popped up over the top of the partition. “That you, Bender?”
“Hey, Max.”
“I got that obit typed up that you wanted,” he said, handing me a sheet of paper.
I took it, scanning the highlights of Mrs. Carmichaels’s obituary. Apparently she’d been crowned Miss Venice Beach back in the forties. She’d owned two racehorses, one that had come in fourth in the Kentucky Derby in the sixties. She had penned a romance novel in the eighties that even sported Fabio on the cover. She’d been widowed three times—by a plumber, a car salesmen, and a window washer. She’d been a certified scuba diver, had a pilot’s license, and a black belt in judo. And, according to Max’s fine reporting skills, she’d been the very first person to ever play Mickey Mouse at Disneyland.
Immediately a deep sense of sadness hit me. While she’d been a pain in the butt as an old woman, I’d had no idea the kind of life she’d led before Palm Grove. I suddenly felt sorry that I hadn’t taken the time to find out until now.
“That work for ya?” Max asked.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak as I handed the sheet back to him.
I turned my watery-eyed gaze back to my computer screen, forcing the lump from my throat. Focus. I had work to do. And sitting here feeling guilty wasn’t going to help Mrs. C at this point.
Trying really hard to believe my own pep-talk, I booted up IMDb and focused on finding out who else had been in Pines’s picture with Mullins.
The Internet Movie Database has all the info on every movie or TV show ever made. Plot, production status, cast, crew, and every agent associated with it. It’s a huge network of who’s who in Hollywood. You know that you’ve truly made it in this town when you have your own entry on IMDb.
I plugged in the name of Pines’s last film, and came up with a page that held the meager plot, a movie poster, and list of participants. Pines, of course, and a handful of other crew whose names I didn’t recognize. Mullins was listed, as was the kid who’d played his son and allegedly posed for Pines. But as I scanned the names of the rest of the cast, one fairly jumped out at me.
Jennifer Wood.
Apparently she’d had a small part as the kid’s babysitter. Huh. Small world. Well, considering “Samantha” was already pals with Jennifer, it was a place to start.
“Salami on sourdough.” Cal dropped a sandwich on my desk. “Extra mayo.” He gave me a wink.
I had to admit, I could get used to this lunch delivery thing.
* * *
An hour later we were parked outside the Sunset Studios lot, watching as one flashy BMW after another was waved through by a security guard who looked like he’d started shaving yesterday.
“So, how are we going to get in this time?” Cal asked behind his shades.
I stared out the passenger side window. Across the street were a liquor store, a souvenir shop and a Krispy Kreme.
I grinned. Now, this I could use…
Ten minutes later Cal and I were at the front gate, facing the baby security guard with two dozen glazed donuts.
“Who did you say you were again?” he asked, pulling out his list of those-cool-enough-to-be-allowed-entry.
“Crafts service. For the Celebrity Diet Wars show.”
He frowned, his baby-fine brows drawing together. “It says here crafts service already came in at noon.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I know. But, see, they didn’t anticipate how much
those chubby celebs like their pastries.” I held up the Krispy Kreme box. “We had to go get more supplies.”
The guard nodded. “Oh. Right.” He consulted his clipboard again. “Okay, well, um, I guess go on in.”
I gave myself a little mental pat on the back for my fabulous acting skills as Cal maneuvered the SUV through the gates.
Five minutes later we’d ditched the tank for a golf cart and were speeding our way toward the Pippi Mississippi set. We parked outside, near a row of white trailers, and made our way onto the sound stage. Today’s filming was taking place in Pippi’s “bedroom,” a three-walled set decorated in more pink tulle than the entire cast of the Nutcracker. I tried not to gag on the cotton candy-colored overload as Cal and I hung back.
In the center of the scene, on a ruffled pink daybed, sat Jennifer and her co-star. Jennifer was texting someone as a make-up artist powdered her forehead. The brunette was listening intently as the director gave her instructions.
“Okay, Lani, this is where Chloe confesses to Pippi that she has a crush on her boyfriend. So, I need you to look really contrite, okay?”
The brunette nodded seriously. “Okay.”
“You can do that, right?”
She rolled her eyes. “Julius, I’m a classically trained Shakespearean actress. I think I can handle ‘contrite teen’, okay?”
“Right.” I saw the director’s nostrils flare as he took in a deep breath. Then he shouted, “Back to one, everyone,” causing the crew to scatter like mice that had just heard the kitty coming.
The guy with the clapboard yelled, “Speed,” someone yelled, “Rolling,” and a loud bell sounded, signaling that shooting was underway.
“Nick totally asked me to the dance at lunch today,” Jennifer said.
“Oh.” Lani did an exaggerated “sad” face.
“What, Chloe? I thought you’d be happy for me.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Lani said. “I just… well, I was kind of hoping that Nick would ask-“
“God, she’s doing it again!” Jennifer interrupted.
“Cut,” the exasperated director yelled. I could feel the collective groan ripple through the crew. “Doing what, love?” he asked.
“She’s going off script.”
“I am doing no such thing!” Lani protested, throwing her shoulders back.
“Are too. The line is, ‘I wondered if Nick was going to ask me.’ Not, ‘I was hoping Nick would ask me.’”
The director closed his eyes, and I could imagine him mentally chanting whatever mantra his therapist had given him that week. “Jennifer. Honey. Darling. It doesn’t matter. It’s close enough. Let’s just finish the scene so we can all go home, okay?”
“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” Jennifer yelled. “I memorize my lines, but Lani can get away with messing hers up?”
“It’s called adlibbing, Jenny,” Lani protested. “If you’d ever taken an acting class in your charmed little life, you’d know that.”
“Snob!” Jennifer stuck her tongue out at Lani.
“Twit!” Lani gave Jennifer the finger.
“Enough!” The director put both hands out in a stop sign motion. “Look, let’s just… just call it a day,” he said with a resigned sigh, “and we’ll work this out tomorrow, okay?”
“Fine,” Jennifer said.
“And Lani,” the director added. “Could you please go over your script again tonight?”
Jennifer sent Lani a smirk. The brunette narrowed her eyes, mumbling something about a donkey and Jennifer’s mother under her breath as she stalked off set.
“Are all teenage girls this catty?” Cal whispered to me.
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’m pretty sure I was never a teenager. There!” I pointed as Jennifer walked off the set. “I’m going in.”
“Good luck,” Cal mumbled to my back.
Jennifer stepped outside, immediately going to one of the white trailers and shutting the door behind her. I did a quick glance over my shoulder, then followed, knocking on the metal door.
“What?” I heard from inside.
Gingerly, I turned the knob and pushed my way inside. “Hello? Jennifer? It’s me, Samantha.”
The interior of the trailer was, like Pippi’s bedroom, done in all pink - pink walls, pink carpeting on the floor, pink velvet sofa. It was like a cotton candy machine threw up. To the right sat a small table and chairs, pink vinyl on shiny chrome. On the side table a film script sat open-faced, as if abandoned mid-read.
The queen of all things pink herself sat on the sofa, her legs curled up under her, eyeing me over an iced latte. (I had to find out where she was getting those!) “You’re who?” she asked, clearly not recognizing me.
“Uh, Samantha. Stevens. You know from the Bochco drama.”
Jennifer blinked, trying to place me. Then finally shrugged as if it didn’t really matter that much to her anyway. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Uh, I was wondering if you had a few minutes?”
“I’m actually kind busy right now,” she said, taking a long, noisy sip from her drink.
“It’ll just take a minute.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatev.”
I took a seat on the sofa next to her, trying not to covet her caffeine fix too deeply. “A little trouble with your co-star?” I asked.
She cocked her head at me.
“I watched that last scene you shot,” I explained. “The brunette seemed to be giving you some trouble.”
Jennifer nodded. “Lani. She thinks she’s so hot just because she’s taken a few acting lessons. She doesn’t understand that some of us are just naturals, ya’ know?”
“I thought I read in the Informer that you and Lani were friends?”
“Well, sure,” she said, slurping away. “But she’s, like, totally the Nicole Richie of the friendship, you know? She’s just riding my coattails.”
“Right.” Ah, Hollywood loyalty.
“So, I heard that you worked on that last Pines movie?” I said, getting down to business.
She nodded, licking coffee off her lips. “Yeah. What of it?”
“Well…” I leaned in close. “Someone told me a rumor about Jake Mullins, and I was wondering if you could confirm if it’s true.”
She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me. “What kinda rumor?”
I took a deep breath, mentally crossing my fingers. “That he tried to blackmail Pines.”
The other eyebrow shot up. “Seriously?”
I nodded.
“Wow, that’s so not cool.”
“You didn’t know anything about it?”
Jennifer shook her head, her blond locks brushing her shoulders. “Nope. Man, you think you know someone.”
“Any idea if he approached any of your other co-stars?” I asked.
“No. Why?”
“Who did Mullins talk to? Pal around with on the set?”
“You’re awfully nosey,” Jennifer said narrowing her eyes as she bit down on her straw.
I suddenly had a bad feeling that the blonde might not be as dumb as she played on TV. So, I decided to level with her. Hey, at this point, what did I have to lose?
“Okay, here’s the deal,” I said. “I’m not really an actress.”
“I know,” Jennifer said.
Which took me off guard. “You know?”
“Duh.” Jennifer rolled her eyes. “That hair. Who would hire an actress with purple hair like that?”
I bit my tongue, promising myself I could crucify her in tomorrow’s column. “Right. Well, I’m actually a reporter,” I confessed.
Jennifer froze, straw dangling from her lips. “A reporter?”
“With the L.A. Informer. Tina Bender.”
She slammed the latte down on the side table. “You! What, trying to dig up more fake dirt on me? Those marijuana lies weren’t enough?”
“Hey, I just wrote what I saw.”
“Right.” She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at m
e like a two year old facing a plate of broccoli.
“I’m sorry,” I conceded.
“Yeah, well check your facts next time,” she spat out. “I don’t smoke.”
“Duly noted. Look, actually, I’m investigating Mullins’s death.”
“I thought that was an accident? Overdose or something?”
“Sleeping pills. But I’m not convinced it was accidental. I think he may have tried to blackmail someone else on the set and been killed for it.”
Her eyes went big. “Dude.”
“No kidding.”
“So, what do you want to know?” she asked, curiosity starting to override her initial anger.
“Anything you can tell me about Mullins. His behavior on the set, who he hung out with, what he might have dug up on his co-stars.”
Jennifer pursed her lips together. “Jake was really creepy. Always keeping to himself, kinda slinking around the place like he had some secret. I don’t think he was really close to anyone. There was always something a little greasy about Jake, you know? Like he was just a little too desperate. But blackmail… Wow. I had no idea he’d be that stupid.”
A great quote that I mentally tucked away for later use. However, not really helpful in finding out anything further about Mullins’s potential killer. I bit my lip, trying to come up with anything else that might make this trip not for nil. My eyes rested on the script beside her.
“A new film opportunity?” the gossip columnist in me had to ask.
She followed my gaze. “Kinda.”
“What’s it about?”
“Oh it’s one of those boring Oscar films with a micro-budget that no one goes to see but sweeps all the awards. But it’s not for me personally,” she said, scrunching up her nose at the idea of doing anything less than a summer blockbuster. “It’s for my production company. My manager thinks it will be good publicity.”
I froze, gears clicking into place.
“You own a production company?”
She nodded. “Co-own, at least.”
“That company wouldn’t happen to be here on the Sunset lot, would it?”
Again with the nod, her blonde hair bobbing up and down.
Hollywood Scandals Page 16