“Quincy,” Cal said. Just my name. But I could hear his love and support in it.
“It doesn’t seem right to put it on the shelf.”
“You might not want to display it right away, but you will.”
I didn’t know about that.
The church was a sea of blacks, grays, and dark blue, but I didn’t see anyone crying.
That was a sad legacy. When I died, I’d like people to say I’d had a good life, but I wouldn’t mind a tear or two.
As the minister gave his eulogy, I looked through the audience. People from Steamed, as well as other industry people, filled the seats.
Cilla and Dylan sat a few rows away from us. She leaned into him. I took it as a sign that all was well between them.
Shia sat with her father. He had his arm draped over her shoulder.
I noticed that Jonas wasn’t sitting anywhere near her. He was on the other side of the church, sitting with Vinny Weindorf, who’d played Sal. I hadn’t talked to Vinny. He hadn’t been at the party, so I was sure he hadn’t seen anything that night, but he’d been on set with her. He might have seen something there.
I’d track him down at the wake.
My agent, Deanne, was there. I wondered how she knew Mellie. Of course, she’d been in the industry for years. She knew most everyone, and those she didn’t know personally she knew of.
No one other than the minister said any words.
I felt bad about that, too.
When the minister finished, everyone left quietly, orderly and quickly. There was no lingering, no hugs of comfort.
The wake was at Le Celebre Hotel…in the small ballroom. Honey’s Psst was catering. She pulled me aside as we entered. “Quincy, I heard a bit of gossip. Normally, I wouldn’t pass it on, but given that Mellie is dead, and knowing you won’t say anything to anyone else….”
She left the sentence hanging, as if waiting for me to confirm that I wouldn’t, so I nodded.
“Mellie had just broken up with someone and broken up meanly. Rumor has it that she had thought he’d cast her in his next show, and what he did was cast her aside.”
“Then he broke up with her?” I asked.
“Well, first, but she broke up second in a very public venue,” Honey said.
“Where?”
“Here, at the hotel. He was meeting with someone and she walked up to the table, dumped a glass of red wine on him, then said some horrible, emasculating things and told him they were over. He tried to protest that he’d already said as much. And….”
“And?” I prompted.
“And the rumor said that her parting words were, ‘The only way anyone will ever break up with me is over my dead body.’”
“Oh,” I said. I know, it wasn’t a very detectivey sounding response, but I’m not a detective. I don’t even play on TV.
“You didn’t say who the red-wine-wearing person was.” I realized that this wasn’t a good sign. There was a very good chance that whoever she said was going to be someone that I knew. And I had a sinking feeling that the fact she hadn’t said meant I wasn’t going to be happy about it.
“Dick.”
“Pardon?” She couldn’t mean who I thought she meant.
“Dick Macy. Your friend. Your mentor.”
“Dick and Mellie?” I didn’t see it. I couldn’t see it. Dick had dated a few women since we’d met. Nice women. Normal women. Mellie was neither.
“Quincy, I didn’t see any of this for myself. It was a few weeks back and one of my staff mentioned it because she knows we’re friends and she’s a fan. She recognized Mellie, but she didn’t know the man’s name. After she heard the news reports, she looked up the receipt and it the meal was charged to Richard Macy’s card.”
Dick had come over. We’d talked. He’d asked about the investigation, but he’d never said a word about this.
“Quincy, I’m sorry, but I thought you should know.”
“You were right to tell me, Honey.”
“I don’t think it means anything,” she said. “I’ve met Dick. He’s a nice guy. He’s started coming here on occasion. He always compliments the chef.”
“He is a nice guy.” But I’d learned from a lot from my television series addiction.
Sometimes nice guys did it.
I felt horrible. Guilty before the fact, because I knew immediately that I wasn’t gong to say anything about Honey’s rumor to Cal. It was just a rumor. I’d ask Dick about it and he’d laugh it off. He’d have some logical explanation, I was sure.
“You okay?” Cal asked when I rejoined him.
I nodded, but the fact I’d decided not to tell him about Dick weighed on me. I felt sick with the silence.
“Let’s make the rounds and see if anyone has remembered anything, or inadvertently says something.”
And we did. We circled around the room.
No one said anything incriminating. The thing that stood out for me the most was how no one said much about Mellie period.
Most wakes I’d gone to, people shared memories and stories of the deceased. This time they spoke about anything but.
I bumped into Sean, whose Mortie for best director of a made-for-television movie had been clutched by Mellie’s dead hands. I’d called him twice, hoping to talk to him, but he hadn’t returned my calls. I spotted him in the corner and glanced at Cal, who saw him, too. We both meandered in his direction.
“Hi, Sean. You remember my fiancé, Cal, right?”
He thrust out his hand and the men shook.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I know you called me to ask me about Mellie. The cops have been all over me, too. I’ll tell you what I told them. I didn’t have an affair with her. I’d left the Mortie up in the room when I’d changed out of my tux and into jeans. I didn’t do it, I don’t know who did do it. Sure, she was a pain in the butt.” He didn’t say butt, but I’d made a practice of editing swearwords from my head and my mouth for years. I substituted without thinking.
“But Quincy, I’ve worked with bigger pains over the years. She never hit on me, and I can assure you that I’d never hit on her. She was decidedly not my type.”
I’d met Sean’s wife. She was a small bundle of energy with a huge smile. I’d liked her instantly, so I had to agree, Mellie wouldn’t have been his type.
“Why didn’t you return my calls?” I asked.
“Honestly?”
Cal gave him a cop look. “Honestly.”
“I loved Steamed, and I’m hoping to work on Dusted. But you’re not a cop. I’d rather leave the investigation up to the actual police.”
He shot Cal a nervous look. “I know you’re a cop, but the other Detective said you’re taking personal time to keep an eye on Quincy.”
“Hey, Cal took time off to work with me,” I said, though I knew Sean was right…he was watching out for me more than detecting.
The men gave each other a look, but didn’t include me in it. “I don’t need looking after, I just needed you to call me back,” I insisted.
“There’s one more reason I didn’t call you back,” Sean said. “I seriously don’t want to end up in your next script. I’m a behind the camera guy, not a character.”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed. “Yeah, I get that.”
“So, you’re not going to demand I don’t direct Dusted?” he asked.
“No, if everything works out, I’d ask for you to direct again, not that what I say goes.”
I could see him visibly relax. “Thanks. I told that Detective Randolph I’d left my Mortie in my bag upstairs. I didn’t like Mellie—no one did—and I was thankful her character wouldn’t be in Dusted. Like I said, she hadn’t hit on me, and I certainly didn’t hit on her. I think my Mortie being there was just lucky happenstance for the murderer. It’s not like everyone and their brother doesn’t know that there was a Mortie involved with Steamed.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
Sean looked at Cal, who nodded as well.
&
nbsp; “It was my first Mortie,” Sean said. “I’m not sure what to do with it, and I feel awful for feeling awful it was involved.”
“Don’t feel bad. I asked if it was mine.” That wasn’t my proudest moment.
“You did?” he asked.
I nodded. “I did. And even though it wasn’t, mine feels…tainted.”
“That makes me feel better,” Sean said. He beat a hasty retreat. I think he was still nervous about annoying me.
Cal and I continued through the room. No one said anything else of interest. A few people got a bit tipsy. A few more got more than just a bit. The few-more included some guy I’d never met and Shia, who was happily sitting on his lap…when she wasn’t practically sliding off it.
Dylan wobbled as he came over with Cilla.
They both had happy drunk expressions on their faces.
“Do I need to take your keys?” I teased.
“Maybe his but not mine,” Cilla assured me and they both laughed.
It took a moment for me to realize what she was saying. Cal, ever the detective, got there sooner. “So the argument was a moot point.”
“The mootest. And she’s the cutest,” Dylan quipped.
“Nothing’s certain. I peed on one of those early response tests. There’s a lot that could go wrong and….” Cilla started.
Dylan wrapped her in his arms. “Nothing’s going wrong, babe. It’s all smooth sailing for us.”
She rolled her eyes in his direction, though she was still grinning. “Dylan is obviously planning to take advantage of having a designated driver for a few months.”
“Just tonight,” he said.
“It makes me sad in a way.” Cilla sighed.
“Why?” I asked.
“Sitting at the funeral I couldn’t help but feel sad. I mean, I didn’t like Mellie, but her death was a waste. Maybe if she’d met the right man, she’d have become a better person. She’ll never have that chance now. She’ll never have the chance to find someone who would mourn her. Did you notice there was no family here? That’s sad.”
“She didn’t have anyone,” I said. It was one of the facts I’d gleaned from NMD and other media sites. “It was just her and her mom, and her mom’s dead.”
“That’s even sadder,” Cilla said.
Cilla and Dylan swore us to secrecy, and I told her to call if she had questions. I didn’t mention it, but if Dusted sold and she was back at Quincy, having had a baby would lend a bit of authenticity to the role.
I thought about checking on Shia, since she was obviously so drunk, but I saw her father leading her out of the ballroom and knew she had a way home.
Cal saw them, too. “I was going to go check on her,” he said.
I took his hand and squeezed it.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“You really are a hero. A genuinely nice, caring guy.”
“Well, at least I’ve got that going for me, because I’m not feeling like much of a detective. There were no leads here,” Cal said.
I thought about what Honey said and almost told him.
Almost.
I promised myself I’d tell him…after I talked to Dick.
But as I drove home with my fiancé, I felt guilty.
And despite that, I still didn’t say a word.
It made me wonder just what kind of person Cal was engaged to.
Chapter Nine
I called Dick from home that night and made arrangements to meet him the next morning for coffee in order to discuss a character issue—I didn’t mention the character I wanted to discuss was him.
I called in front of Cal, which meant when I left Sunday morning for Pattycake’s, he didn’t even question me—so it wasn’t a lie.
I was skirting the truth maybe but not lying.
So why did I feel so guilty?
I was sitting at a corner booth towards the back when Dick came in and waved at me.
I’d brought my laptop to add an air of legitimacy to the meeting.
As soon as Dick had his coffee, he said, “So which character is giving you problems?”
I looked at him.
My mentor.
My friend.
Even my partner when I investigated the stolen paintings.
I said, “I have a character who the heroine adores.”
I forced myself to continue. “They’re very good friends and she’d trust him with her life. The problem is, it’s a one-sided friendship. He’s at a murder scene in this story and when she asks him about it, he either lies outright or omits some very important information. Either way, it’s hard for her to have the whole picture. Why would he do that? I think I’m pretty good at getting into my characters’ heads, but I just can’t manage it with him. I can’t figured out why he’d lie to me…her.”
Dick sighed. “I figured you’d find out. I planned to tell you, but just you. I didn’t want to tell Cal.”
I didn’t expect that. “I thought you and Cal were friends, too.”
“We are. But.…” He took a long sip of coffee. It had to have burned, but he didn’t even wince. He set it back down on table with an audible thud. “Quincy, you and I both know, I’m not the most handsome of men.”
“Dick, you’re—”
“Don’t,” he said sharply. “Don’t talk about my good personality or other charms. For the most part, I’m happy with who I am. I have a job I love, I have good friends, and I really enjoy running workshops for new writers. I know, some people hate that kind of thing, but I like teaching and fostering young talent. But I am not a handsome man. Women don’t swoon when I walk in a room. And Cal… We are friends, but Quincy, not only is he a good looking man—and I mean that in a totally heterosexual way. But he’s also a cop. He’s accustomed to women swooning. So talking about this in front of him…it’s embarrassing.”
“Dick.” I didn’t know what to say. I tried to remember what I’d thought when I’d first met him. I’m sure I didn’t swoon. What I remembered most about that first class was being scared and excited. I told myself I wanted to know how to write a detective in case I found another dead body. But I think secretly, way down, I wanted to try to write. Listening to Dick had calmed my fears and made me hope that maybe I could do it.
“So, tell me,” I said.
“I met Mellie that day I came to the studio with you. You were talking to Sean when she came over and asked me about her character. She knew I’d worked with you on the script and thought I might have some insights. Sean called her back to the set, and she suggested we meet for drinks later. I was flattered.”
“And did you two meet?” I asked.
“Yes. We talked about Steamed, about your writing, about my writing, about her acting. She wasn’t like she was later. She was charming that first night. Funny. And we met again for dinner a few times. The second time, I told her I was working on a new idea for a series. Cereal Killer. A ten episode drama about a husband and wife detective team who’s tracking a female serial killer who’s a—”
“Mom.” Dick and I had talked about this project. He’d told me that he’d based the female detective on me, in a loose sort of way.
“I thought it was a very different drama…seeing working parents looking for someone who is a good parent, even though they’re a despicable person.”
“And?”
“Mellie really wanted the role of the killer. She didn’t come right out and say it, but hindsight is twenty-twenty, you know. I thought she really liked me.” He shrugged, as if the fact that she used him didn’t hurt, but I could see that it had.
I reached out and took his hand in mine. “You had an affair?”
“Yes. It lasted a month. One morning, we were having breakfast when a friend called. I didn’t pick up, but she left a message.”
“Another girlfriend?” I asked.
“No. An actress friend. She said she’d couldn’t wait to read the script and to call her.”
“Cereal Killer?”
He
nodded. “Kristin mentioned she was tired of playing the girl next door. She wanted the killer mom’s role.”
“And that’s when…?” I prompted.
He twirled his coffee cup, staring at it so he didn’t have to meet my eyes. “Mellie laughed,” he said quietly, “and said she was sorry my friend was going to be disappointed that I’d already found my killer mom.”
“Oh.”
“I know. I realized she was just using me to get the part. If I was dating her, if I wrote the role for her and said as much to the producers, she figured she’d have the part.”
“And…?”
“I thought about breaking up with her right then,” Dick said. “But I was sort of in shock. I guess she was a good actress because I’d bought that she cared for me. Despite the fact I am who I am. I called her later that night and said I was sorry that things weren’t working out for us, and I thought it would be best if we ended things now, on a friendly basis.”
Suddenly the scene Honey had described made sense. “Mellie doesn’t do friendly breakups?”
“No. She found me at a restaurant the next day, upended a drink on me, and told me the only way I got to break up with her was over her dead body.”
“You couldn’t have been afraid that if you told me that I’d have thought you’d done it?” I said.
“No. It’s not in your nature to distrust your friends. When you love its wholeheartedly, Quincy. I knew you’d believe me. And I planned to tell you. But not while Cal was sitting there. And not because I thought that he wouldn’t believe me, but because I was pretty sure he wouldn’t have a clue what it’s like being a guy like me.”
“Dick.” My heart broke for my friend.
He was still staring at the coffee. “I work in a town of beautiful people. I am not beautiful.”
I still felt bad for him, but he didn’t need my sympathy. He needed a kick in the butt. “Seriously, Dick? I’ve had three kids. I have a baby-pooch, even though all the boys are in their twenties. If I haven’t lost it by now, what are the odds I ever will? I’m average in a town of above-average people. So are you. It plays with your mind, skews your view of yourself. But you and me? We’re normal. Neither of us is the most beautiful person in any given room, but our mother’s didn’t have to tie porkchops around our necks in order to get the dog to play with us.”
Swept Up (Maid in LA Mystery #4) Page 10