Shattered

by Jason Richards

  “Cynthia, please!” Jeffrey Holland said. “That's our daughter you are speaking about.”

  “While she was sleeping with a client,” I said, “it has not been firmly established she was being paid directly to do so.”

  It was the best I could offer at the moment.

  Jeffrey sat on the couch. He paused a moment and then looked up at me. “In the end, it doesn't really matter,” he said. “She was my daughter. I loved her. She was a beautiful person. Even if...” his voice trailed off. He couldn't finish the sentence.

  I didn't want to add to their heartache, but the Hollands needed to know what we suspected about Ashley's death.

  “You are dealing with a lot right now,” I said, “but there is information related to Ashley's death you need to understand. I’d rather it comes from me than the police.”

  Jeffrey Holland stared blankly at me. While he seemed lost, I think he was bracing himself for more disturbing news. I truly felt for him.

  “What is it?” Jeffrey Holland said, barely able to get the words out.

  “The State Police have reason to believe Ashley was murdered.”

  “Murdered?” Jeffrey Holland said. “Why do you think that?”

  I recounted the conversation I had with Burke and Sanchez. Jeffrey Holland sat in stunned silence. Cynthia, too, was now at a loss for words. I noticed a tear streak down her face.

  I said, “While I am no longer officially on the case, I promise you, I am going to investigate your daughter's death. I will do everything I can to find out what happened, and bring those responsible to justice.”

  Jeffrey Holland considered what I said. He was looking at the floor but offered a nod of his head. Then he looked up at me. “Thank you,” he said.

  “I realize this overwhelming,” I said, “but I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Okay,” Jeffrey Holland said. Cynthia Holland sat down beside him, a look of shock on her face. It was all beginning to sink in for her.

  I said, “Had Ashley mentioned any trouble she might have been in?”

  Jeffrey Holland shook his head and said, “No. Nothing.”

  “She seemed to have plenty of financial resources,” I said, “but are you aware of extreme spending beyond her means? Possible debt she would have trouble repaying?”

  “Certainly nothing we were aware of,” Jeffrey Holland said.

  I nodded my head. “Did Ashley mention any issues with a client? Or with any of the other escorts at Premier?”

  Another shake of the head from Jeffrey Holland. Cynthia had withdrawn into herself, staring blankly at the space directly in front of her.

  “One more question. Did Ashley ever mention Hannah Parks?”

  “I don't recall Ashley ever mentioning that name,” Jeffrey Holland said.

  “If you think of anything. Anything at all, no matter how insignificant it might seem, please call me.”

  Jeffrey Holland again offered me a nod of his head.

  “Again, I am truly sorry for your loss,” I said.

  I left Cynthia and Jeffrey Holland sitting on their living room couch, and let myself out. I promised the Hollands I would do everything I could to solve the case, and I meant it.

  The only known connection between Ashley and Hannah was Premier Escort Service. I turned out of the Hollands driveway and pointed my car toward Premier's office.

  CHAPTER 12

  GRANT WORTHINGTON

  They were having dinner at the Polo Lounge of the Beverly Hills Hotel, the epicenter of Hollywood celebrity dining. Where you sat mattered for the occasion you were celebrating.

  Grant Worthington had his favorite power booth for when he closed one of his high profile movie deals. Tonight, Grant selected an alcove for an intimate date.

  Victoria looked ravishing in a long-sleeve silhouette Herve Leger Nathalia Signature Essentials Dress. She certainly had the legs and curves to pull off the mid-thigh and form-fitting outfit. The cultured pearl necklace perfectly accented the black dinner dress and her long dark hair.

  Victoria took in every inch of the room's hunter green walls and striped ceiling of white and the same hunter green. Celebrities and other Hollywood elite sat comfortably at tables covered in fine white linens and set with understated silverware, glasses, and white coffee cups. She drew in the scent of the simple flower arrangement at the center of the table.

  Grant gazed into Victoria's hazel eyes which sparkled in the glow of the candlelight. He flashed a smile and his perfectly polished teeth glistened. Grant wasn't the best looking guy in town – not by a long shot. But he made up for his below average looks and average build by wearing Armani suits, Rolex watches, and driving Bentleys, Lamborghinis,and Ferraris.

  It also didn't hurt that he was one of the most powerful producers in Hollywood. Grant Worthington could either make someone a star or kill their career with a phone call.

  Victoria hoped Grant would make her a star. Grant hadn't yet told her it was never going to happen. He hesitated because the sex was simply too good.

  “So, my darling, what will it be tonight?” Grant asked.

  “I'm thinking a McCarthy salad to start, and the Crispy Seared Branzino for my entree.”

  “Excellent choice.”

  “Let me guess what you are having,” Victoria said. “Polo Crab Cake, followed by Filet Mignon.”

  “You know me so well,” Grant said as he placed his menu on the table. “What about dessert?”

  “I thought I was dessert?” Victoria said playfully.

  “Of the best kind,” Grant said. He reached across the table and took Victoria's hand. “I booked us the Presidential Suite for the evening.”

  “You spoil me,” said Victoria.

  “Nothing but the best, my dear. Nothing but the best.”

  They raised their glasses of Dom Pérignon.

  “To us,” said Victoria.

  “Yes,” said Grant. “To us.”

  As they clicked glasses, Grant momentarily wondered what his wife might be having for dinner at home.

  CHAPTER 13

  EVELYN WORTHINGTON

  Evelyn Worthington turned her Diamond Metallic White Mercedes-Benz S 560 off Sunset Boulevard and pulled to the front of the Beverly Hills Hotel. She handed her keys to the valet and walked past the pink columns and stepped onto the red carpet leading to the hotel entrance.

  Evelyn had made this same walk countless times over the past thirty years. But no one was likely to recognize her in the blonde wig and colored contact lenses, making her eyes appear blue rather than their natural brown. She had purchased a Christian Siriano Grass Green Slip Dress, which she would wear just this once.

  Mrs. Grant Worthington had swapped out her her diamond engagement ring and gold wedding band with an equally stunning blue sapphire gemstone set in fourteen karat white gold. Attention to details mattered when you wanted to go unnoticed by even those who know you best.

  Evelyn passed through the grand lobby and headed directly to the Polo Lounge. Grant thought he was so clever, but Evelyn was always a step ahead of him. He thought she was home by herself.

  Evelyn entered the Polo Lounge knowing Grant had reserved seating in an alcove for intimacy – for his date. Yet she knew the spots in the Polo Lounge where you could see everyone without being seen. Attention to details.

  From her perfect vantage point, Evelyn watched and waited. She ordered a glass of white zinfandel and scrolled through pictures on her phone. The private investigator she had hired sent her all the evidence she needed of Grant's affairs.

  Grant had taken two lovers recently. Tonight's bimbo would be his third.

  How dare he? Evelyn thought as she swiped through one picture after another. Grant dining in the finest restaurants, staying in five star hotels, and giving his lovers lavish gifts.

  Fine dining, fancy hotels, and lavish gifts were expressions of Grant's love and affection Evelyn once received.

  Thirty years, she thought. Thirty years we have been marr
ied. I was with Grant when he was a nobody. The only woman who would have him before he ruled Hollywood.

  Evelyn and Grant had met in college back in Boston. He was one of the least attractive men she had ever laid eyes on, but he was smart, funny, and charming. Evelyn would often tell her friends she could “see the beauty within.” With her above average looks and smarts, Evelyn could certainly have dated any other guy. But she was drawn to Grant.

  The two fell in love and were married two weeks after graduating college. Neither wanted children. Another selling point in Evelyn's book. No, Mr. and Mrs. Worthington were going places together.

  Grant inherited a small fortune of old Boston money and bankrolled his windfall into a movie studio. He had always dreamed of making it big in Hollywood.

  Too ugly to be a movie star. Not creative enough to direct. But Grant had money, a knack for spotting talent, and the ability to know what the public wanted to see before they knew it themselves.

  Evelyn was a shrewd businesswoman and kept both the studio's and their home's financial affairs in order. At least half of their fortune was owed to Evelyn's money sense. The Worthingtons had spent thirty years building an entertainment empire.

  Now Grant was screwing around.

  Evelyn hated his cheating.

  Despite that, Evelyn still loved the homely jerk.

  There had been some pretty good years the past three decades. She wanted to rekindle the magic. But his cheating – his lovers – stood in the way of their happiness.

  Evelyn slammed her phone down on the table. A little too hard. She attracted glances from other diners. Some of them the most notable stars in Hollywood.

  “Is everything alright?” asked a waiter.

  “Yes. Sorry. Everything is fine.”

  She had lost her cool and attracted unwanted attention, no matter how little or fleeting. She wouldn't let anything like that happen again. Attention to details mattered.

  Evelyn ordered a Caesar salad, Scottish salmon, and another glass of white zinfandel.

  Still no sign of Grant and the little bitch he was currently boning.

  They'd arrive soon, she had no doubt. Grant would want to leave enough time for screwing in the hotel room he had booked here at the “Pink Palace.”

  Enough time for dinner, sex, and to go home and pretend none of it happened.

  “Just another day at the studio,” he'd say. “Another power meal at the Polo Lounge making the next big movie deal.”

  Yeah, right, Evelyn thought. Just another day, my ass.

  Evelyn finished her salad and was starting on the salmon when in walked Grant and the twenty-something piece of eye candy. She was a younger and prettier version of Evelyn.

  If Evelyn were being honest, the images on her phone didn't do the young woman justice. She was stunning.

  No doubt Grant was letting her believe she would be the next big name in Hollywood. She likely was nothing more than great in bed.

  Evelyn no longer could match the looks, but she was certain she knew more about pleasing Grant in the sack.

  Why, Grant? Evelyn thought to herself. Why am I not enough?

  Evelyn watched as Grant led the little whore to their table. Her arm looped through his. Her lithe body moved gracefully. Evelyn was certain the form-fitting black dress had Grant turned on. Hell, Evelyn was almost turned on.

  “Why do you do this to yourself?” Evelyn said quietly. “Why torture yourself more than you have to?”

  Evelyn didn't have an answer. All she knew was she needed to be there.

  She needed to see with her own eyes.

  It was the same with the other two. The beautiful young girl with the perky breasts he took to their lake house in Maine. The strawberry blond he most recently took to a gala in Boston.

  Light conversation filled the room.

  Waiters delivered orders.

  Grant and his date smiled and laughed.

  Evelyn watched as the two toasted with their flutes of champagne. After dinner they would rush to one of the suites or bungalows.

  “I hope it's worth it,” Evelyn muttered in the young woman's direction.

  Evelyn knew one thing for certain: by getting into bed with Grant, the young woman had sealed her fate.

  CHAPTER 14

  When Evelyn could no longer stand to watch her husband fawn all over the little tramp, she paid her check and left the Polo Lounge. Outside, a warm LA breeze caressed her face as she waited for the valet to fetch her Mercedes.

  “Here you go, Ma'am,” the young man said as he hopped out of her car and held the door open for her.

  “Thank you,” she said. Evelyn gave the valet a generous tip, slid behind the wheel of her S-Class, and sped off toward her Beverly Hills mansion.

  She loved the warmth and near constant sunshine of southern California, but Evelyn was a Bostonian at heart. She loved the city’s history and culture. It is why she insisted they purchase the Brownstone in the Back Bay twenty years ago. While Grant wanted to be in Hollywood most of the time, for the past two decades they had been rather bi-coastal.

  Before Evelyn reached their neighborhood, she pulled into an alley behind many of the Beverly Hills boutiques she frequented. She got out of the car and went to the trunk. She opened it, took off the wig, removed the colored contact lenses, and changed out of the green slip dress. She placed those items in a trash bag and tossed it in a dumpster.

  Evelyn put on the dress she had worn out of the house earlier that evening. She removed the sapphire ring and replaced it with her diamond ring. Evelyn couldn't bring herself to toss the sapphire ring. It was too beautiful. She placed it in her purse.

  Evelyn closed the trunk and got back in the car. She checked her hair in the mirror. Satisfied she was herself again, Evelyn pulled out of the alley and drove the remaining three blocks to her home.

  The Worthington's west coast home was fifteen thousand square feet in one of the trendiest neighborhoods in the 90201 zip code. As Evelyn pulled the Mercedes to a stop in the wide circular driveway, she was greeted by the tall Romanesque columns at the front of the sprawling home.

  She walked up the steps as one of their staff got in the Mercedes and parked it in the five-car garage. Another of the Worthington's staff opened the front door and greeted her. Evelyn headed straight upstairs to the master suite.

  The master suite had two rooms. A large bedroom with an ornate king-size bed was to the right. To the left was an equally large sitting area with two sofas. Evelyn passed through the sitting area to her walk-in closet, which was larger than a typical New York City apartment.

  She undressed and put on a silk nightgown. Evelyn padded back into the sitting room and plopped down on one of the sofas. She tried not to think about Grant and Victoria back at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

  Maybe Victoria would be the last affair? Evelyn figured Grant would be so shocked at three accidental deaths he would regain his senses. He would have to question what sort of sordid business the women from Premier Escort Services were involved in that three of them would end up dead.

  Surely Grant would no longer want anything to do with Premier. He would never admit to using the service. He definitely would not admit to sleeping with some of the escorts.

  Evelyn wouldn't let on about any of it. She would just suggest they take a long vacation. It would rekindle the magic. They could put a temporary unpleasant period of their lives behind them.

  Was that possible? Could Evelyn go on as if nothing happened? His cheating? Her response?

  Yes, she told herself. There was no other choice. She had done what needed to be done. Evelyn had long ago promised herself she would never let what happened to her mother happen to her.

  All of her father's affairs with younger women destroyed their family. It destroyed her mother's life. And nearly destroyed Evelyn's life as well.

  After her mother died from alcohol abuse, Evelyn worked two jobs to save for college. She refused to be a victim. At college, she met Grant. They fe
ll in love. All her friends told her she could do better, but Grant made Evelyn happy.

  When Grant inherited family money, the world was their oyster. Grant became the king of Hollywood, but they both had built the Worthington entertainment empire. In truth, it was as much Evelyn's as it was his.

  She would not lose what they had built together. She wouldn't lose him. Gathering evidence for a divorce was a good cover story. But that is all it ever was.

  Evelyn Worthington would never divorce her husband. For better or worse, until death do them part. But she couldn't allow Grant to continue with his affairs.

  Like her father, Grant was weak around young and beautiful women. It was a disease. The only cure was to eliminate the temptation.

  The burner cell phone rang. Evelyn picked it up.

  “It's done,” Mercado said on the other end of the phone. “I'm texting you a picture as proof of death.”

  “Good,” Evelyn said. “Now I need you to come to California. I have another job for you.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Drew Patrick

  Premier Escort Service occupied an office suite in a prominent five-story building on the corner of Newbury Street and Massachusetts Avenue. They had strategically situated themselves among eight blocks of high-end retailers, trendy boutiques, art galleries, chic eateries, and stunning Victorian brownstone homes. Location, location, location.

  “Ms. Osbourne will be with you momentarily,” the front desk receptionist told me. She was tall, slender, and tanned. Her above the knee navy blue dress looked expensive. As did her jewelry. They were probably from the boutiques on Newbury Street. They either had a corporate expense account or Premier's front desk job paid more than minimum wage.

  I was the only one waiting in the reception area. I was sure most executives booked their escorts online. I bet they even had a phone app.

  The receptionist used a mouse to click around on her computer. I picked up a People magazine. When I got bored reading about Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner, I put the magazine back on the table.