Swept Up (Maid in LA Mystery #4)

by Jacobs, Holly

  “Jonas,” I said.

  Jonas chuckled. “Okay. You’re right. Let’s get down to what I saw, who I saw and I’ll try to be as detailed as possible in case something little is what this case hinges on.”

  He rattled off his memories of the evening without my prodding on my part.

  “What about Shia?” I asked.

  “What about her?”

  “Are you two.…”

  “Oh, not even close. Listen, she’s a nice girl. She’s sort of like what Mellie might have been if Mellie’d had a soul to go with those looks. Shia’s sweet but ambitious. And she’s not above using people to achieve those ambitions. If we hooked up, then she’d stay in the public’s eye even if there’s not another movie. I’m not interested in that kind of relationship. I made it clear to both Shia and Mellie. I could try to gloss over the fact Mellie hit on me, too, but I trust you to figure out who did it, and since I didn’t, I don’t mind telling you she hit on me and hit on me hard throughout the movie, and at your party. I turned her down flat each and every time.”

  “And how did she take that?” Cal asked.

  “About as well as you’d think she would. I told both of them no, but I didn’t kill Mellie. And I don’t think Shia did either.”

  “Can you tell us where you were when the cops came in?”

  “Me, Shia, Cilla, and Dylan were all talking. Shia’s dad came in and joined us. He’s so proud of her—that much was apparent. He seemed to feel awkward around us, but he had a drink then left. I thought it was nice to see a father that proud of his kid. My dad wanted me to be a doctor, so I wouldn’t say pride was ever his primary emotion about my career.”

  “Is he a doctor?” I asked.

  “Yeah, surgeon.” Jonas was wearing an expression I’d seen before…in the mirror.

  “God save us from surgeons,” I muttered.

  Jonas laughed. “Yeah, I will confess, I played Cal in the movie, but I felt a certain sense or camaraderie with you. I get that entire parental expectation thing that you or your character—whichever—experienced. I understood it. I relate.”

  “Hey, at least you’ve built a great career.”

  “I’ve made my career playing a villain, at least until Steamed. That you could see me as something more than a blow-‘em-up, shoot-‘em-up kind of actor. Well, it meant more to me than you’ll ever know.”

  Cal cleared his throat.

  Jonas laughed at Cal’s annoyed expression and said, “Dude, you should probably know that if you ever screw up there are lot of men in the wings who would snap her up.”

  “Again, I’m here and feeling uncomfortable,” I said.

  It was one thing to flirt with Big G, who I knew was only flirting to annoy Cal. It was entirely another thing to have Jonas flirt with me. I wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. Part of me was flattered, but the main part of me wasn’t interested and didn’t enjoy the banter.

  “I’ll stop. But if he ever hurts you, you know my number.” Jonas shot me a killer smile which made Cal annoyed. He didn’t have to say anything for me to realize that.

  Getting back to business, I asked, “Okay, so can you think of anything else from that night? Anything that sticks out, even if it seems insignificant?”

  “I know that Cilla and Dylan had a fight, but not in an I’ll-go-kill-Mellie-now sort of way, but just a couple sort of disagreement. I don’t know what about. And I mention it in case someone else did and you’re looking at them. It wasn’t them.”

  “I don’t think so either.”

  “And…well, anything I say will stay between us, right?”

  “I told Detective Randolph I’d share anything that was relevant to the case, but if it’s not, sure, we’ll keep it between us.”

  “Mellie hit on me again, big time. Blatantly at your party. She ‘accidentally,’” he air-quoted the word, “let the strap fall and let the bodice of that tart-fest dress she was wearing slip in order to expose herself. Then laughed, pulled up the strap and whispered that the dress obviously wanted the same thing she wanted.”

  He shook his head in disgust. “I explained that both her and the dress were out of luck.”

  “That sounds like Mellie,” I said.

  I didn’t like her before, but my dislike had grown as I talked to people. I felt bad about that. I didn’t like not liking a dead woman.

  “I didn’t kill her because she hit on me,” Jonas said. “I mean, I’ve been hit on a few times in the past and the women I turned down are all still alive.

  “Thanks, Jonas.”

  “You’ll keep me posted?” he asked.

  I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to keep him posted on the investigation or on whether or not Dusted was going to be produced, but it didn’t matter. I nodded.

  “We’ll talk to you soon,” Cal said and stood.

  I followed suit.

  “Are you going to the memorial service?”

  I felt horrible. I hadn’t thought about Mellie’s service. I didn’t like her, but there was no way I could not go.

  “Yes, I’m sure I’ll have to go.” It sounded less than enthused even to my own ears. “Sorry. But yes, I’ll be there.”

  “Me, too. I think maybe that’s the saddest part of this whole thing. I mean, everyone dies, but it would be nice to think when it’s your time to go, people will mourn your loss. But I guess, you reap what you sow.” He paused. “And yes, I know how that sounded. Reap What You Sow. Now there’s a title in that.”

  He saw us to the door. “Speaking of titles,” he said before we walked out. If you write a screenplay based on this, you should call it Swept Up. Like swept up in all the Hollywood glitz and glamour, or even swept up in your engagement to Cal. But if you want an actor’s perspective before you write it, make your proposal to Cal more romantic in the screenplay, and make the Mellie character more likeable. Even if no one’s going to really mourn her at her memorial, your audience will mourn her character on the screen.”

  He hugged me again. “That was just to watch the big guy get all snarly. I wanted to be sure I had the expression down for the next movie.” And he did do a masterful impression of Cal’s growl. I know, because I’d been on that receiving end of it more than once.

  “Talk to you soon,” he said and shut the door as we walked down the hall to the elevator.

  “So did you get all worried when the big, hunky, sweaty, buff man hugged me?”

  “I trust you,” he said, which really didn’t answer my question. “Of course, I don’t trust him at all.”

  I laughed and took his hand.

  Chapter Seven

  Detective Charlie called first thing on Thursday. I suggested we meet at Pattycake’s, the local pancake house, but he asked if we could meet at my place. He wanted to take a look at my white-board and see what I had.

  I reluctantly said yes.

  I hung up the phone and scurried around the house trying to clean up before he arrived. It was one of the few times since moving to LA that I was happy about the traffic situation. I hoped it was horrible today and slowed him up.

  “Cal, seriously, you’re worse than the boys,” I called as I picked up a pair of his socks from under the couch.

  First off, that was a lie. My boys were much, much worse than Cal. When I move them into their dorm rooms I went up and helped them settle. Then I never went back until it was time to move them out—at least not after I went up to Hunter’s room once. I never repeated that mistake with him or his younger brothers. They were that bad.

  I didn’t feel guilty about lying to Cal though, because secondly, who takes off their socks on the couch? I take mine off in a bedroom or the bathroom when I change clothes, but seriously, I don’t believe I’ve ever left a pair of socks languishing under my couch.

  “Quincy, calm down,” Cal said from the hall. I’d asked him to clean the bathroom.

  “Calm down? I invited your cop buddy to Pattycake’s, but he wanted to come here.”

  “You could have
said no,” Cal said, oh so reasonably. “After all, you said no to me that first time.”

  “Yeah, but I promised Charlie I’d cooperate with him…I didn’t promise you that.”

  Still trying to be the soul of reasonableness, Cal tried, “I don’t think he’s going to check under the couch.”

  Cal might be wonderful, he might be smart and have great intuition, but seriously he still hadn’t figured out not to mess with a woman in the midst of a cleaning frenzy?

  “But what if he did check under the couch?” I asked. “I’m a maid, and I have a reputation. I have professional pride. Between the Mortie Awards and then the investigation, the house is looking a bit rough.”

  “You’re nuts. You know that, right?”

  I hurried down the hall and kissed him. “That’s what you love about me.”

  He snorted, then kissed me back.

  That kiss could easily have become something more if I didn’t have Detective Charlie on his way over.

  “Later,” I whispered and pulled away. “Back to cleaning.”

  Cal sighed.

  After he finished, I took pity on him and asked him to make a donut run.

  “Just because he’s a cop doesn’t mean he likes donuts,” he pointed out.

  “You’re right, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t. You’re a cop and you like donuts.”

  “Not because I’m a cop,” he maintained stubbornly.

  “No, because you’re human. I mean, who doesn’t like donuts?”

  He left without another word.

  Ten minutes later, Detective Charlie arrived…early.

  “You’re early,” I said by way of a greeting.

  “I’m normally early. I’m never late.” He waited half a beat, then asked, “Can I come in?”

  I opened the door and let him in. I couldn’t help but remember the first time Cal had tried to come in my house to ask my about Mr. Banning’s murder scene. I smiled.

  Charlie noticed. “What?”

  “I was just remember the first time Cal came over.”

  “You slammed the door in his face and wouldn’t let him in.” I must have looked surprised, because he added by way of an explanation. “The movie.”

  I shut the door and beckoned him. I led him into the now straightened up living room with the two big white-boards in it.

  “Wow, you’ve been busy,” he said.

  “Want some coffee? Cal will be back home any minute with donuts.”

  “I don’t like donuts because I’m a cop,” he groused, echoing Cal’s words.

  “No, but you do because you’re human. What’s not to love? We have a donut shop in Erie, Mighty Fine, that makes the best donuts ever. But Danny’s Donuts here in LA is a close second.”

  “Believe it or not, your mom mentioned Mighty Fine when I called her. She’d stopped to buy them for her office. She said the same thing.”

  “A corroborating witness,” I teased.

  I thought he had a hint of a smile as he answered, “I take my coffee black.”

  “Of course you do,” I said and turned to get it, but the doorbell stopped me in my tracks. “I’ll be right back.”

  I opened the door, doubly thankful I’d cleaned, and found Tiny and Sal. “Hey, what’s up?” I opened the door and let them in only to be scooped into Tiny’s arms.

  I’d had an inordinate amount of hugs lately.

  “I’m pregnant,’ she said, loudly, in my ear. “Knocked up. With child. Expecting.” She squeezed me tightly. “There’s so much to do and only six months left to do it. I don’t think pregnancy lasts long enough. Why, I have to decorate the nursery and shop. Not just for clothes, but for a baptism gown and—”

  “Breathe,” Sal said.

  Tiny released me and I turned to hug Sal. Then looked at them both. “Congratulations.”

  I might not be a hugger by nature, but the hug I gave her was totally necessary.

  “And of course you’ll be the baby’s godmother,” she said. “So you’ll have to get a dress for the baptism, too. We’ve got so much to do….”

  And she launched into the list that was evolving and expanding as she went.

  I wanted to ask them to come in.

  Offer them something to drink.

  To be honest, I wanted to distract Tiny from her baby-planning. I’d been down this road when she’d been planning her wedding to Sal. Months of walking into her office to find myself in a sea of pastel taffeta.

  “Tiny,” Sal finally said firmly.

  “Okay, okay, I know. I’ll stop.”

  “Detective Charlie’s here. I was just getting him coffee. Cal will be back any minute with donuts.”

  “I can’t have coffee—”

  “I’ll bring you milk.” I looked at Sal. “You?”

  “Coffee. And there’s a tip in it if you make it an Irish coffee.”

  I laughed, because I knew he wasn’t serious. Then Tiny rushed in and told Detective Charlie she was pregnant and started on her to-do list again, and Sal shot me a look that said he might be serious about the alcohol in his coffee after all.

  I smiled. “The beautiful thing about your wife is she never does anything by halves. It’s why we have a successful business. And it’s why you have her. She got you in her sites and you didn’t stand a chance.”

  He laughed. “You’re right.”

  I brought out everyone’s drinks, Cal arrived with donuts and after Tiny told him about the baby and wound down, he stood next to Charlie, pointing out things on the board. I felt torn between Tiny and Sal, and Charlie and Cal.

  “We should probably let the three of you get down to all your murder talk,” Tiny said.

  “Unless you need legal representation,” Sal teased me.

  “I don’t, but you two don’t have to leave. I haven’t found anything. No, conflicting statements. No clues. Nothing. I really think those first two times were flukes.”

  Before Tiny could jump in and say something to comfort me, Detective Charlie said, “You’ve made progress. Your boards show well thought out, well-documented timelines, and suspect assessments.”

  “I’m biased,” I admitted. “I mean, I never even entertained the thoughts of Tiny or Sal here having done it so I took them right off the suspect list.”

  Tiny piped up, “That other woman, Shia, she hit on Sal. But I didn’t kill her, so I can’t imagine I’d have a motive to kill Mellie. Although, to be fair, detective, I didn’t like her either. Not that I knew her well, but what I did know, I didn’t like. Mac’Cleaner’s does a lot of work for Hollywood types. Most of our clients are decent people. But I’ve noticed the actors on the lower end of the food chain are the biggest pitas.”

  “Pitas?” he asked.

  “Pains-in-the…uh, butts,” I answered.

  “Yeah, I’ve met my share of those,” Charlie admitted, “and I’m sure Cal has, too. From what I’ve learned about Mellie, I wouldn’t have liked her either. But not liking someone has never been a very good motive for murder, in my experience.”

  “Mine either,” Cal said. “Though, hating someone is more of one. And loving them. People with strong emotions on either end of the scale are more prone to killing.”

  “My only experience was Mr. Banning,” I said, “and that strong love/hate thing certainly applied.”

  “Then I’m out,” Tiny said. “I didn’t like her, but I didn’t know her well enough to feeling more than a mild annoyance.”

  “We’re not really any closer to an answer,” I said with a sigh.

  “We could be, we just don’t know it yet. We need that one crucial piece of the puzzle, then everything else we’ve gathered will fall in to place,” Charlie said. “Do you have anything else you want to share with me?”

  “You heard about the memorial service on Saturday?”

  “I did. I’ll be there.”

  “Us, too,” I said indicating Cal.

  “Not us,” Sal said. “Unless you need us.”

  “I think w
e’re good. I just to solve this and get back to my normal life.”

  “Oh, Quincy, there won’t be any normal for a while,” Tiny gushed. “We have your wedding and the baby to plan for.”

  Oh, no. I thought the baby might have pushed thoughts of my wedding from her head.

  “Your mom’s coming in town in two weeks so the three of us can get to work,” she continued. “There’s so much to do. Finding a venue and cake, and let’s not even talk about your wedding dress. And….”

  I groaned.

  “But the baby,” I tried. “You have to plan for the baby.”

  “Quincy, I can do both,” she assured me.

  I wasn’t sure I could.

  Later that day, Cal and I were still making calls when my phone rang. I dropped my pen on my notepad—my overflowing with notes and recordings—when I saw it was Detective Charlie. He called to tell me that coroner had ruled on Mellie’s cause of death. I waited for the words, blunt force trauma, but instead he said, “Strangulation.”

  “Strangulation?” I asked. There had been no blood at this crime, but I hadn’t felt that ruled out her getting whacked with the Mortie. It only meant that the wound hadn’t bled.

  “How hard would it be for a woman to strangle someone?” I asked.

  Cal was on the phone with someone, but was obviously listening well enough that he shot me a look. I defended the question. “I don’t think I’m being gender biased when I say that women don’t have the upper body strength that men do. I don’t know how hard it is to strangle someone with a…what did they use?”

  “Bare hands,” Charlie said. “They shattered Mellie’s trachea.”

  I was pretty sure that ruled out most, if not all the females on my list.

  Charlie agreed.

  “Well, thank you for letting me know. And the Mortie?”

  “As far as we can tell, it was placed in her hands after the fact.”

  “So we were right, they were trying to make us take a look at either me, or the movie.”

  “I think so,” he agreed.

  Not a woman. Someone who wanted the cops looking at me, or the movie. “Okay,” I said and hung up.