"Miss Margo will be right with you," the woman told me, then disappeared back the way she had come.
I took the opportunity to browse the museum. Of course, the first stop was the ferret. (What can I say? I'm curious like that.) A brass nameplate on the case said: Mr. Bobo, from Sorority Strangler 7. I looked at Mr. Bobo, permanently suspended in mid leap inside his plastic tomb. Creepy.
I moved on to the next case, which held a huge pair of ruby colored earrings. The case read: Worn by 'Magdalena' in The Slasher Co-Ed Returns. The rest of the cases were similarly marked, all holding memorabilia, it seemed, from Margo's various film efforts. I paused next to a case from The Campus Killer, which held a pair of black, silk pumps, embroidered with little emerald butterflies down the sides.
"Gorgeous, aren’t they?"
I snapped my head up to see that Margo had entered the room.
"I wore those as Eleanor Swift, sophomore at UCLA and the Campus Killer's third victim."
I nodded. "They're beautiful." Personally, I thought it was a shame they were stuck behind plastic. Shoes like those deserved to be worn. Fleetingly, I wondered what size they were…
"My death scene in that one was superbly written. The killer slit me across the throat right here." She made a line from ear to ear with her forefinger. "God, I was cleaning fake dye out of my hair for a week, there was so much blood. Did you see that one?" Margo asked
I shook my head. "No, sorry. I must have missed it."
Margo shrugged. "Oh well, it was a straight-to-video. Great reviews in Sweden, though. Please, sit," she said, indicating a low loveseat.
I did, my spandex dress slipping awkwardly on the plastic surface.
Margo sat opposite me. She was dressed in a maroon skirt, black blouse and black, sheer stockings that swooshed together as she crossed one leg over the other. Though, I was pleased to see a pair of classic black pumps on her feet and not the rubber Crocs.
"So, you wanted to talk to me?" she asked. She pulled a slim, silver cigarette case from a drawer beside her and flipped it open.
"Yes, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the show."
"Sure." She offered the case to me. I shook my head and she shrugged again, pulling out a long, slim clove cigarette. "What do you want to know?"
"I suppose you saw Mia's press conference this morning?"
Margo snorted. "Who didn't? That woman is the biggest media whore I've ever seen. And I’ve been around," she added, gesturing to her treasure trove of B-movie credits. “I know whores.”
"I take it you're not that fond of Mia?"
"Hell no." Margo punctuated this by stabbing the unlit cigarette in my direction. "She’s a first rate bitch, that woman."
"Because of the comment she made about your age the other day?"
Margo gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Oh, honey, we go back way farther than that."
"How far?" I asked, leaning forward.
"I was the one who first discovered her."
"Oh?"
Margo nodded. "She was doing this terrible actor's playhouse production in North Hollywood. I was there with my second husband, Randolph Amsted, the director of Dorm Demons?" She paused, looking expectantly at me as if I should know him.
I nodded, playing along.
"Anyway, the play was awful, but Mia, I could tell she had something. She was driven. She made the audience pay attention to her. I convinced Randolph to put her in his next picture. You know, just something small, like a bit part. He did and she used that as the springboard to television. Of course," Margo added, a bitter note to her voice, "Magnolia Lane has been her big breakout."
"I heard that Mia was originally cast in the role of Nurse Nan," I said watching her reaction.
Her blue eyes whipped around to me. "Who told you that?"
"Uh…" I shrugged non-commitally. "Not sure. I guess I just heard it… around."
Margo narrowed her eyes at me and for a second I feared I was going to get thrown out of the B-Movie Museum. But finally she just leaned back on her sofa with a little plastic burp. "I was the one who suggested her to the producers in the first place. She was supposed to be my supporting actress. But, being Mia of course, she went behind my back and convinced them that she would be a better fit to play opposite Ricky." Margo barked out a sharp laugh. "Please. I've had lovers half his age."
I refrained from commenting on Margo's math. Ricky didn't look a day over thirty, and if Margo had fifteen year old fans, I was a rocket scientist.
"So, Mia got the role of Ashley and you got the supporting role?" I prodded.
Margo lit her cigarette, blowing a fine stream of smoke toward the ceiling. "At least on the small screen." She looked at me, her eyes twinkling. "Did you know that FOX has picked up the film rights? There's going to be a Magnolia Lane movie, staring yours truly."
My heart leapt into my throat and my internal TV junkie did a happy squeal. "Really? Ohmigod – too cool!"
Margo smiled smugly. "Oh yeah. 'Cool' all right. Even cooler? I'm the executive producer. The movie was not only going to be my return to film, but also my revenge on that little tramp." She took another long drag. "I was writing Mia out of the film."
"Writing her out?" I asked. "But isn’t she the star of the show?"
Uh oh. The second the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Margo froze, cigarette halfway to her lips, and gave me a death look.
"There are other inhabitants of Magnolia Lane, you know," she barked out. "Tina Rey and the electrician were the hot item in the ratings last season. And my lines have doubled since Blake went into that coma."
"Right. Of course. Sorry." Though I personally couldn’t imagine a Magnolia Lane without Mia. I mean, Blake in a coma and Nurse Nana hovering over him a story did not make. Where was the drama in that?
"Anyway," she went on, "that was going to be my revenge on the backstabbing bitch."
"Was?" I asked, honing in on the word. "Did something change?"
Margo stood up, slashed her cigarette in the air. "Mia found out about the film and pitched a royal fit! Suddenly the whole project's on hold. And now with the letters and these murders, backers are talking about pulling out altogether. All because of that overrated prima dona."
I waited while Margo took a long drag of her cigarette, exhaling vigorously before she sank down into the loveseat opposite me, the plastic casing crackling beneath her frame. "I swear to God, if that wacko writing the letters offs Mia next, I'll die a happy woman."
I watched Margo's nostrils flare in and out, thanks to the aggressive facelift, the only part of her face that held any expression. The bad blood between the two actresses ran deep, that much was clear. Deep enough for Margo to kill two innocent victims just to get to Mia? I wasn't sure. But if the treasure trove of artifacts filling her home was any indication, Margo took her films seriously. Mia sabotaging her comeback to the big screen just might be enough to put Margo over the edge.
I was about to ask Margo how well she had known Veronika when the maid came into the room again.
"Excuse me, Miss," she said softly addressing me.
I turned. "Yes?"
"There's a woman out front. She told me to say…" The maid blushed. "To get your ‘fanny’ outside. She's on the night shift tonight and if you don't hurry the," she paused again, "'heck' up she'll take off without you."
Any other time, I would have sent a return message that Porn Star Barbie could go to “heck.” But, unfortunately, she was my only ride.
I rose, painfully peeling my exposed thighs off the plastic couch, and thanked Margo for seeing me.
"Anytime, honey," she said, blowing smoke out through her nostrils. "My door is always open for a bitch session about Mia."
* * *
Jasmine drove through the evening traffic back toward West Hills, having composed herself enough by now that instead of freaked, the set of her bony jaw just looked pissed off. She was silent, no doubt using all her brainpower to mentally add up how
much it was going to cost to have her baby fixed. I took the opportunity to check my voicemail. Just one message. I keyed in my pin number and got an earful of Ramirez’s growl.
"I'm at your place, Maddie. I couldn’t help but notice that neither you nor my officer are here. Where the hell are you Maddie?" he asked, his voice growing louder with each word. "I got a call about a woman shooting at a blonde in a McDonald’s parking lot. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?" Then the slam of his receiver hanging up echoed through my ears as the message clicked over.
Needless to say, I didn't call him back.
I looked out the window. The sky was turning dusky pink and blue as the sun sank behind the hills. It was clear that I couldn’t go home tonight without risking a) a pissed off cop with a pair of handcuffs, or b) a pissed off crack head with a gun. Ditto Ramirez’s place. Despite his invitation this morning, I had a feeling he wouldn’t be all smiles and sunshine to see me right now.
I hit speed dial and called Dana's number.
No answer on her cell and Daisy Duke informed me that she hadn’t been home all day. Great.
I looked across the console at Jasmine. If I bribed her with an above-the-fold mention, I could probably spend the night in her den of iniquity, but the idea of strangers touching their tab A while watching me sleep was creepier than a stuffed ferret.
Which left me with only one place to go.
I bit my lip.
"Hey, Jasmine, do you think you could drop me off someplace?"
She did an exasperated sigh and looked at her dash clock. "If it's on the way. Where?"
I took a deep breath, hoping the slime didn't rub off as I gave Jasmine Felix's address in the Hollywood Hills.
Chapter Seventeen
The sun was long gone by the time we climbed the last ridge to Felix’s monument to modern architecture, the sky a deep blue by now, almost dark enough to see stars if the ever present sheen of city lights didn't blind them out. The night air had chilled considerably and Jasmine and I were doing a teeth chattering duet as wind whipped through her non-existent windows.
“I swear I’ll pay for these,” I stammered, feeling my lips turn blue.
“Damn straight you will! Are we almost there?”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say Jasmine was anxious to get rid of me.
"A couple more turns," I responded.
Jasmine mumbled something under her breath (I caught the words "blonde" and "pain in the ass") and cranked the wheel to the right as she wound further upward. Finally the trees broke and Felix's glass structure came into view.
"Wow," Jasmine said. “Who is this guy? And more importantly, what does he like to watch? I could retire on a perv this rich.”
I ignored her comment as, at the moment, the important question on my mind was would he put up a slightly snarky shoe designer on the run from the cops for a night?
“You can let me out here,” I said as she pulled into the drive.
Jasmine shot me a look and for a second I could see her desire to meet Mr. Mega-bucks warring with her desire to be Maddie-free. For a second. Personally, I think it was the shot-out windows that put her over the edge.
"Yeah, fine. And don't think I won't send you the bill for the car!" she reminded me as I grabbed my purse and got out. I scarcely had the passenger door shut again before she had the car in reverse, peeling out of the drive and back down the hill.
I climbed the steps to Felix's front door, crossing my fingers he was home. I gave a sharp rap and waited two beats while footsteps approached from inside.
Felix opened the door and stared at me.
"Maddie?"
I gave him a one finger wave. "Hi. So, um, I need another favor."
His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Lovely to see you, too. What, me? I'm just fine, thanks for asking, love."
If I'd had any energy left I me, I might have felt bad. "Sorry. It's been a long day. I hate getting shot at."
At the word "shot" Felix's face immediately lost it's mocking hint, his eyebrows drawing together in a tight line. "Again? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. She’s got terrible aim. Can I come in?"
Felix stepped back. "Of course. I was just making some cappuccino." He gave me a quick (sort of) up and down. "You look like you could use one."
He motioned for me to follow him as he led the way down a hallway and into a kitchen massive enough to make Rachel Ray jealous. He proceeded to flip on a cappuccino machine the size of a Buick and pull two coffee mugs down as I sat at the granite counter and relayed to him the entire events of the day, starting with his gun getting confiscated (to which he asked if I knew how much that thing had cost him. Cheapskate.) and ending with the Mickey D's shoot out and my conversation with Margo. By the time I was done, we were both downing steaming mugs of cappuccino and Felix's forehead was permanently etched in a frown. No doubt from trying to take mental notes on every detail for the Informer’s headline tomorrow: Blonde Fugitive Spotted Eating Massive Amounts Of Apple Pie While Getting Shot At. By Bigfoot. (Hey, they were the Informer. They took a little artistic license with their facts.)
"So, you think Margo did it?"
I rested my chin in both hands. "Maybe. I don't know. But with Mia getting another note today, it sounds like whoever it is isn’t satisfied yet. I mean, if Veronika was a mistake, and Dusty was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, maybe whoever is after Mia will try again."
"Personally, I'd say it sounds like she deserves it. Is there anyone she hasn't screwed?"
I shrugged. "Beats me."
"So, what's our next move, Miss Marple?"
"Who?"
He shot me a lopsided grin. "Never mind."
"Well, I don't know about you, but my next move is sleep. Which reminds me…" I trailed off, biting my lip. "I was kind of hoping that maybe I could stay here tonight?"
Felix raised one eloquent eyebrow at me.
But I didn't give him a chance to say no, jumping right into the speech I'd mentally practiced on the way here. "See, my place isn’t safe, what with Isabel running around, and it's still kind of trashed, and I can't go to Ramirez’s because, even forgetting the fact that I don't have a key, he left a really pissed off message about the whole escaping the babysitter thing and he probably wouldn’t open the door for me anyway, and Dana's not home, probably at SA, and Jasmine has cameras all over the ceiling, and, well, you were my last hope."
"It's always lovely to know I'm at the bottom of your list, Maddie."
I ignored his sarcasm. "Please?" I pleaded, doing my best pathetic voice. Which, considering the day I'd had, wasn't too hard to fake.
He paused, his face unreadable. Then finally said, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Come on. I’m sorry about the whole Deveroux-is-gay story. I promise I’ll make it up to you. Please, please, pretty please?”
Felix looked at me over his mug. He bit the inside of his cheek and narrowed his eyes. I could see emotions at war behind his blue eyes, but I wouldn’t venture to guess what they were.
Finally he relented. "All right, you win. Guest room's upstairs. First door on the left."
I was so relieved I actually jumped off my stool and hugged him.
For a half a second he went completely rigid. Then his arms circled around my waist. Lightly. As if he was almost afraid to touch me. Odd as it may sound, it actually felt kind of nice. His rough cheek pressed against mine and I felt myself inhaling deeply the scents of expensive cologne and warm cappuccino.
"Thanks." I lifted my face to give him a quick peck on the cheek.
And that's when it happened. Somehow, his head turned. And instead of my lips coming up against stubbled cheek, they were suddenly on his lips. Soft lips. Lips that tasted like imported coffee. And they were moving. Slowly, brushing over mine, warm breath whispering as they skimmed my bottom lip.
I think I made a little sighing noise.
And just like that they were gone.<
br />
I realized I had my eyes closed and opened them to find him two steps away, his chest rising and falling heavily, his eyes locked onto my mouth.
I blinked. What had just happened?
"Felix, I-" I started.
But he cut me off, his voice husky and thick with an emotion I didn't want to guess at, as he turned his back to me and quickly grabbed both of our mugs, taking them to the stainless sink. “Guest room’s the first door on the left. Goodnight."
I stood there watching his back for a full two seconds before I managed a feeble, "Goodnight," myself and followed the stairs to the first door on the right.
Which turned out to be a bathroom, because, of course, Felix had said "left," not "right". So sue me if I wasn't totally paying attention at that point. I'd just been kissed by Tabloid Boy.
And worse yet, I'd liked it.
* * *
I was on a beach. A white, sandy beach filled with palm trees and tropical breezes. The sound of the ocean roared behind me, the scent of salt water filling my nostrils as warm sun soaked into my skin. I was probably going to get a sunburn, but I didn’t care. It all felt too good.
I was wearing the itty bitty blue bikini I saw on sale at Nordstrom’s last week, and lying on a soft lounge chair. I looked over to the side and saw another chair beside me. I was just wondering whose chair it was when he walked up. Shirtless. I think I drooled a little as Ramirez stood over me, his bronzed chest glistening in the afternoon sun, pecs rippling as he sank down beside me.
High Heels Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-5) Page 73