Hollywood Scandals

by Gemma Halliday

  I quickly directed Millie to the kitchen and made for Cal’s Hummer before Felix decided that the Informer could get along with one fewer gossip columnist on staff.

  * * *

  Luckily, by eleven thirty there was little to no traffic on the way into the Informer’s offices. Unluckily, the talent agency on the third floor was holding auditions for a role in the latest Spielberg movie, so there was no parking to be had for two blocks in either direction. Cal circled twice, finally finding a space six doors down. By the time we’d hoofed it back to the office, I was sweating from places I didn’t know even had sweat glands. I hated Indian summer.

  Finally we rounded the building, cutting across the parking lot to the back entrance. We were halfway to the doors, when I spotted my Rebel bike, parked in a space to the left of the entrance, just where I’d left it. Only, unlike the shiny, clean state I’d left it in, it was now covered in large splotches of white birdie do-do.

  “Shit!” Literally.

  I looked up to find two pigeons perched on the fire escape directly above my bike, looking innocent as anything. Damned birds.

  “My bike is not a bathroom!” I shouted to them. I thought I heard Cal smirk behind me, but I chose to ignore him, taking my anger out on the stupid pigeons instead. “Stay the hell away from my bike. Got it?”

  I swear to God, the fatter pigeon cocked his head at me. Then, as if to spite me, flapped his no-doubt diseased little wings, sailing down from this perch and landing, you guessed it, on my bike.

  “Oh, that’s it. You’re toast,” I said, taking a menacing step forward.

  Only I didn’t get any farther. Suddenly a booming sound filled the air, bright orange flames bursting from my bike, tossing hot pink pieces of metal into the air, and sending me flying backwards across the parking lot.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Instinctively, I threw my arms up, trying to shield my eyes from the instant sunburn. I felt my butt slam down on the macadam. Hard. Tiny pieces of debris that used to be my baby raining down on me.

  From somewhere that sounded very far away, I heard Cal yelling my name. Only he must have been closer than I thought, because in an instant his arms were around me, pulling me to my feet and way from the smoldering black spot on the ground that used to be my bike.

  “Tina, are you okay?” he asked, his eyes searching my face and limbs, hands feeling for broken bones.

  I blinked, trying to take in what had just happened. “I… I think so.” Which, as I wiggled my fingers, toes, arms, and legs seemed true. My arms were red and covered in tiny scratches, and I was sure a big purple bruise was already forming on my butt, but other than that I was mostly unharmed.

  More than I could say for my bike.

  “It blew up,” I said, lamely pointing to where the pigeon’s bathroom used to be.

  Cal nodded, his face grim.

  And the full realization of what just happened hit me. “Someone blew up my bike. Someone… tried to blow me up.” I looked back to the charcoaled spot. “Ohmigod!”

  The first threat on my life I honestly hadn’t taken all that seriously. Even the email had been creepy, but not particularly scary. But with Mrs. Carmichael’s murder and now this… this was so over the top I needed a new word for scary. I felt myself start to shake as Cal pulled his cell out, dialing whom I presumed to be the police. In fact, I was trembling so badly that I slid to the ground against the wall of the Informer’s building.

  “You okay?” Cal asked, the phone still to his ear.

  I nodded. Apparently unconvincingly, as he crouched down on the pavement next to me. “Don’t worry, we’re going to get this guy,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder.

  I nodded again. But didn’t tell him that I wasn’t trembling solely out of fear. I’d have to be a moron not to be freaked out by this, but, even more than scared, I was pissed. This guy had taken away the safety of my home, my neighborhood, my job. He’d turned my life upside down. And I was ready for it to end. I was ready to take my life back.

  And as I stared at what could very well have been barbequed me, I vowed that I wasn’t going to stop until I did.

  * * *

  Two hours later the cops had dusted, swabbed, and sprayed the entire parking lot for any trace evidence my would-be killer might have left behind. With no results. They said they needed to take it all back to the lab for more comprehensive testing.

  As soon as the detective in charge said I could go, I bolted, leaving Cal to deal with the rest of the mess. I knew he could handle it. Me? Hangover plus explosion was more than I could take in one day. Instead, I marched up to the second floor and shoved myself in front of my computer. I pulled up a word processing file and immediately started typing.

  GOSSIP COLUMNIST CALLS OUT HER MYSTERY STALKER

  RECENTLY YOURS TRULY HAS BEEN THE RECIPIENT OF A NUMBER OF THREATS-

  I paused. Then hit the backspace button.

  -THE RECIPIENT OF A NUMBER OF CHILDISH THREATS-

  There, that was better. I smirked as my fingers continued typing.

  -CHILDISH THREATS FROM AN UNKNOWN SOURCE. THIS SOURCE PROMISED THAT IF I DIDN’T STOP PRINTING ARTICLES ABOUT HIM OR HER, I WOULD END UP DEAD. WELL GUESS WHAT, MYSTERY STALKER? THIS IS ONE REPORTER WHO IS A LITTLE MORE CLEVER THAN YOU BARGAINED FOR. I KNOW YOUR IDENTITY. AND IF YOU DON’T TURN YOURSELF IN TODAY, I’LL BE PRINTING IT IN TOMORROW’S PAPER. HOW’S THAT FOR A THREAT?

  “What is that?”

  I spun around to find Cam reading over my shoulder.

  “It’s my column for tomorrow.”

  Her blonde brows puckered in concern. “Are you sure that’s wise? You’re kind of taunting a killer here, Tina.”

  I looked back at the screen. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.” Which was the biggest load of false bravado ever, but I wasn’t about to back down now.

  “Are you sure about this?” she asked.

  “Yes.” No. “The only problem is going to be getting this past Felix. There’s no way he’ll print it.”

  “Felix is a smart man.”

  I chose to ignore that comment.

  “What we need is a distraction. Final copy has to be in to the printer by six. If I can find a way to distract Felix, and slip this in at the last minute, it might work.”

  Cam shook her head. “Don’t look at me. I like my job here. No way am I going behind Felix’s back with something like this.”

  I felt my shoulders sag. I’d actually secretly been counting on Cam to help me out.

  “Please?” I begged.

  But the resolved look in her eyes told me no amount of pleading was going to change her mind. “Sorry, Tina, but you’re on your own with this one. Look, just submit it to him, and see what he says. Maybe he’s feeling generous today.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “Hello? Have you met Felix?”

  She gave me a sympathetic shrug. “Sorry.” Then added as she turned to go, “And be careful, Tina, okay?”

  I nodded. Really, I couldn’t blame her. A week ago keeping my boss happy would have been at the top of my priority list, too. And I’d already gotten her in hot water over the whole lookout at Katie Briggs’s incident.

  Unfortunately, that left me still distraction-less. I let my gaze wander over the newsroom for another possible ally. Max, Cece… Allie.

  I froze. If ever someone had distraction written all over her, it was Allie.

  I clenched my jaw. I stood up. I sucked in a deep breath. And prepared to make a deal with the devil to save my skin.

  * * *

  “You’re nuts, you know that?”

  I nodded.

  Allie shook her head at me, her blonde locks falling over her shoulder. “You’re really going to call this guy out?”

  I nodded again. “Look, I need you to distract Felix. Just for a second.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “And what’s in it for me?”

  I bit my lip. “The satisfaction of helping a co-worker?”

  Her eyes narrow
ed further until they looked like a cat’s.

  Okay, so she wasn’t into satisfaction.

  “Look, I’ll… I’ll introduce you to some of my contacts around town.”

  Her lip curled. And she shook her head. “Not good enough.”

  I threw my hands up. “Okay, fine. What do you want?”

  “I want this story.”

  I blinked at her. “What story?”

  “The story of the Informer reporter who’s being stalked by a murderer, threatens to expose him, then ends up getting herself killed.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her.

  She shrugged. “It’s one possible ending.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Do we have a deal?”

  I ground my teeth together. The last thing I wanted to do was give Barbie an exclusive on my life story. On the other hand, if I didn’t, said story was likely to be a whole lot shorter and have a much less pleasant ending.

  Begrudgingly, I stuck my hand out. “Deal.”

  Allie shook it, the most evil grin I’d ever seen spreading across her cute little face.

  I involuntarily shuddered.

  “So, you’re on Felix, then?”

  She nodded. Then fluffed up her boobs. “Come six o’clock, he’s all mine.”

  For a moment, I almost felt sorry for the boss.

  * * *

  Crisis One taken care of for the day, I made my way back to my desk, avoiding looking directly at Felix as I passed his office, lest he see the glint of guilt in my eyes.

  As soon as I sat down, my cell rang.

  “Tina Bender?” I answered.

  “Tina, dahling,” Marco lisped on the other end. “How are we this fine morning?”

  Oh, boy. Loaded question. But I figured the short version would suffice. “Fine.”

  “Fab. Listen, hon, is it true that you’ve been talking to the police?”

  Shit. My worst fears were confirmed. Word was spreading through my network of informants that Tina Bender and the cops were like that.

  “Um, sorta.”

  Marco made a tsking sound. “Sweetie, that’s not good. You know loose lips aren’t gonna wag your way like that.”

  I nodded at my cubicle. “I know. Look, it’s just… temporary,” I hedged, not willing to air all my dirty laundry for Beverley Hills’ biggest gossip.

  “Let’s hope. For your sake, dahling.”

  “Thanks.”

  “In the meantime, I’m not a fair-weather friend, and has mama got some good d-i-s-h for you, girl.”

  I leaned forward. “I could use some good dish today. Lay it on me, Marco.”

  “Guess who came into the salon yesterday?”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but he didn’t give me a chance.

  “Duke Donovan.”

  I drew a blank. “Who?”

  “Duke Donovan! Ohmigod, girl, don’t tell me you don’t watch Massexachusetts?”

  I had to admit, I didn’t. But the name was starting to ring a bell. “He did that paranormal alien show for a while, right?”

  “Yes! Gawd, I miss that show. Anyhoo, while Gia was doing his highlights I overheard him on his cell saying that he was slated to star in that new action film with the mondo budget. And, get this, his co-star - Tom Cruise!”

  I raised an eyebrow. That was big news. If I remembered correctly, the last movie Donovan worked on had been… well, I couldn’t actually remember the last movie he’d worked on. Then again, Donovan’s sister had been murdered last spring, catapulting his name back into the spotlight and earning him that all important Hollywood sympathy vote.

  Amazing how one little murder could make a has-been a household name again.

  I froze.

  Suddenly I felt the distinct click of puzzle pieces falling into place in my brain.

  Jake Mullins’s widow was a has-been child star. One who was desperate to get back into the business. Hadn’t she mentioned she’d recently picked up a couple roles?

  “Thanks for the tip, Marco. I gotta go,” I quickly said into the phone, hanging it up and letting my fingers fly with lightning speed over my keyboard. I pulled up the IMDb website again, typing in the name “Alexis Mullins.” Her credits as a member of The Fenton Family popped up (back when she was known as cute little Alexis Grant), but alongside them were three new projects: a Lifetime movie, VH1’s Celebrity Sorority House, and an HBO TV series pilot produced by Tom Hanks. Not too shabby.

  I chewed my pen top as I sat back in my chair. It was a long shot, but…

  I grabbed Strawberry Shortcake and made for the elevator.

  Unfortunately, as soon as I got there, the doors slid open to reveal Cal on the other side.

  He looked down at my purse. “Going somewhere?”

  “Jake Mullins’s widow.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Let’s just say I’ve got a hunch.”

  Cal looked like he was about to protest. Luckily, he knew me better than that by now and, instead, shrugged, leading the way back into the elevator.

  * * *

  Half an hour later we were back in Echo Park, Cal’s Hummer stashed in the Ralph’s parking lot and the two of us knocking on Alexis Mullins’s front door. A few beats later it was opened a crack by the widow herself.

  This time she was fully dressed, sporting a pleather miniskirt, thigh-high boots, fishnet stockings, and a lacy top that left little to the imagination. Either she was headed for the casting couch or a street corner somewhere on Hollywood Boulevard.

  “Hi,” I said, doing a little wave at her. “Remember us?”

  She wrinkled her forehead as if trying to. “Yeah. The writer, right?”

  I nodded. “I had a few more questions about your husband. Do you mind if we come in?”

  Her eyebrows drew together. Clearly, she did mind. But the allure of her name in print finally won out as she stepped back, allowing us entrance. “Sure. But I’m on my way to meet my agent for lunch, so if we could make it quick?”

  “No problem,” I promised her.

  This time she didn’t offer us coffee or a seat, instead, standing near the door, antsy, shifting from one foot to another.

  “So, what kind of questions?” she asked, biting a manicured fingernail between her two front teeth.

  “You mentioned roles had picked up lately for you. When exactly did they start coming in again?”

  Alexis blinked at me. “I dunno.”

  “Was it before or after your husband passed away?”

  Her eyes darted once to the door. “After, I guess.”

  “Any particular reason things picked up for you?”

  Again with the, “I dunno.”

  “I bet people were very sympathetic when they heard what happened to Jake.”

  She nodded. “Everyone has been very supportive.”

  “Your friends?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Agent?”

  “Sure.”

  “Casting directors?”

  She chomped down on that fingernail again.

  “It’s because of Jake’s death that you’ve been getting roles again, isn’t it?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Look, it’s okay. I know Hollywood loves a sob story. I mean, you practically have to be dead to get a cover of Entertainment Weekly these days, right?”

  “I guess,” she finally conceded, her eyes darting to the front door as if really wishing she hadn’t answered it.

  Cal must have noticed, too, as he nonchalantly moved so he stood directly between her and any chance of escape.

  She shifted on her heels.

  “I talked to a couple of people who worked with Jake on the set of his last film,” I continued. “Did you know that your husband was trying to blackmail Edward Pines?”

  “No!” Alexis vehemently shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest in a protective gesture. “That’s not true. They’re lying. Jake would never be that stupid.”

  “Why
would they lie?”

  She bit her lip, not sure how to answer that one.

  “Pines said your husband tried to extort a hundred grand. He said he’d tell the world that Pines was into kiddie porn if he didn’t pay.”

  Alexis shook her head again, but I could see doubt creeping into the gesture this time.

  “Pines refused to pay,” I went on. “He said he’d ruin Jake, make sure he never worked in Hollywood again.”

  Tears started to fill Alexis’s eyes.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” I asked. “You knew your husband was making enemies, knew he was ruining his reputation at the studio, killing his career.” I paused. Then mentally crossed my fingers I was on the right track with this. “And he was taking you down with him.”

  “That bastard!” Alexis suddenly shouted. “Sonofabitch gets a chance at a real film - fucking Edward Pines! - and what does he do? He throws it away. Pines wouldn’t have touched him again with a ten-foot pole. I’ve been waiting fifteen years to get back into the business, and just when I get a chance to walk those red carpets again, he goes and ruins everything. And he wasn’t going to stop with Pines. He said he had even bigger fish lined up for the next time. The next time! God, how stupid could he get.”

  “So, you killed him,” I slowly said.

  “He had to be stopped! Look, you should be thanking me. Everyone in Hollywood should be thanking me. Who knows how many people he could have blackmailed. How many lives he could have ruined.”

  Sure. She was a regular Mother Teresa.

  “But he was your husband,” I said, feeling like a complete dope for ever having bought her grieving widow role. I had to hand it to her, the woman had mad acting skills.

  She rolled her eyes. “Please. I did the world a favor. Did you see his last film? The man couldn’t act himself out of a paper bag.”