MURDERED IN HOLLYWOOD
By
Dianne Harman
(A Midwest Cozy Mystery - Book 8)
Copyright © 2019 Dianne Harman
www.dianneharman.com
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Paperback ISBN: 9781077436374
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When you live in the Los Angeles area, you can’t escape the power of the movie industry. Even the Los Angeles Times newspaper gives a lot of space to movies because, after all, LA is a “company town.”
I was an antique and art appraiser for many years before I became an author. One of my clients was an insurance company that catered to the rich and famous, and those people spent a lot of their money on art and antiques! Many a day I spent in the Beverly Hills area appraising movie stars’ collections.
This book is very loosely based on what I saw and heard during those appraisals, and yes, the names have been changed to protect the innocent, or in many cases, not so innocent!
Many thanks to all of the people who work so hard to bring my books to you. I couldn’t do it without them.
And of course, to Tom, who manages to keep the house running, the dog fed, and the garden healthy, while I’m creating worlds that are semi-real, but mainly figments of my imagination. I love you!
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Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
EPILOGUE
RECIPES
ABOUT DIANNE
COMING SOON!
PROLOGUE
Marie Moorhead never stopped feeling the pressure to look like a million bucks, even at the age of eighty-four. She knew, in Hollywood, that you never outgrew the need to prove your relevance. Many of the Hollywood press corps were coming to her book launch tonight, and she knew if she looked anything less than a phenomenal, age-defying enigma, she’d be splashed all over the tabloids with less than favorable comments.
The pictures would inevitably be juxtaposed with those from her youth, when she was a fresh-faced twenty-year-old starlet. It certainly wouldn’t help the sales of her “tell-all” book, to receive a boatload of negative press coverage.
She sat at her dressing table in her palatial Beverly Hills mansion and reapplied her makeup for the third time that afternoon. Her guests were due to arrive soon and it was already 6:30 p.m. Her first attempt at getting ready had begun at 3:00 p.m., but was unacceptable to her. The lateness of the hour was causing her some concern. However, that wasn’t all she was worried about. Safety was her main concern.
It had been so easy to write the tell-all book from the security of her relatively reclusive life, since she was quite removed from day-to-day interactions with the general public. But now that her book was going to be launched, and she’d invited some prominent Hollywood figures and press to the launch, she was beginning to feel nervous about it.
Perhaps this was just another mistake to add to her long list of bad decisions, poor judgment, and regrets? She’d actually been quite adept at destroying her own life, relationships, and happiness. There was a long trail of her misadventures spread out over the past sixty some years. Maybe this would be just one more catastrophe added to the list of them that went hand-in-hand with her name. Simply the final nail in the coffin.
Some people in the industry were going to be angry about what she’d revealed in her book, even furious, and she’d known that all along. Not only was she dishing on all of her own mistakes, she was also exposing the innermost secrets of other people.
For the hundredth time she wondered why she’d ever agreed to hold the launch party at her home. It had been at the suggestion of her publisher, Molly Singh. “I should have held it at a hotel,” Marie said to herself, looking in the mirror. “Perhaps the Beverly Hills Hotel.”
She knew it well. She loved hotels, and had often considered living in one. The only thing that held her back was the fact she didn’t have much income rolling in anymore. Her biggest asset was her home, and she didn’t want to sell it. Then what would there be to pass on when she was gone? After her outstanding bills and estate taxes were paid, there probably wasn’t going to be that much left anyway. She was hoping the book would add to her depleted funds.
Marie finally managed to get her makeup applied to her satisfaction. She’d already pulled her hair into a sleek updo, and put on earrings studded with gleaming Swarovski crystals that glimmered in the light. Over her Spanx control underwear, she slipped on an equally glimmering halter neck dress, studded with Swarovski beading, that showed off her décolletage, which she considered to be her best feature.
She smiled at herself in the mirror.
*****
A short while later, she made her grand entrance to her launch party. There was no money for any regular staff anymore, other than her young housekeeper, Julia, so she’d hired some temporary staff for the event. They’d gathered all the guests in the large entryway of her home as she swept down the grand staircase, waving and smiling, while a professional pianist played on her white grand piano.
“Hello, darlings,” she called out. “Thank you ever so much for coming!”
When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she was given a glass of champagne, then she proceeded to waltz through the room, clinking her glass against those of her guests, giving each one a generous smile and a compliment. She flirted with everyone, man and woman alike. It was just how Marie dealt with people.
“Oh, darling, you look spectacular,” she said to a number of them.
And “I didn’t even recognize you, you look so fabulous!”
Or “Who invited Marilyn Monroe?”
Everyone lapped up the praise. It was one of her favorite things to do, to see people feel so deeply complimented they were almost embarrassed. She loved to make people blush, clap their hands, and say, “Marie, please, don’t!” It gave her a buzz. She loved to help other people feel good.
The atmosphere was warm and friendly, the alcohol flowed, the music played, and the canapes were lifted off the silver platters at lightning speed.
The plan was that the guests would have free time for networking and mingling, then the pianist would play one of Marie’s all-time favorite jazz pieces. When the music ended, she’d give a short speech, and she and the guests would then party the night away.
Undoubtedly there would be a few who would fall asleep by the hot tub, or pass out drunk on one of the plush white leather couches, but Marie had hired security to make sure everyone was all right and no one drowned in the swimming pool. She’d also made sure there was a security person stationed outside her bedroom door, just in case anyone tried any funny business.
But it turned out that a security guard was utter
ly useless. The killer entered Marie Moorhead’s bedroom, not through the door, not even through an open window, but through her bloodstream.
Somehow, at some point during the night, someone had gotten access to Marie’s champagne glass, and they’d dropped something lethal in it.
When the security guard knocked on her door the next morning, he found her lying in her bed, still and unresponsive. She wasn’t breathing, and yes, she was quite dead. She was still wearing the Swarovski crystal gown and had a smile on her face, as if she was enjoying a pleasant dream of days gone by in Hollywood.
CHAPTER 1
“Pinch me, Mr. District Attorney, so I’ll know that this is real and not a dream,” Kat whispered to Blaine Evans, her husband. She called him by his title when they were being silly. She stood up straight in her emerald-green silk gown, arranged her hand on her hip, and smiled for the sea of paparazzi in front of them.
Blaine looked like a male model featured in GQ in his gray suit, setting off his blue eyes, which crinkled when he smiled. “Sexy Cissy,” he addressed her by her pen name, the secret-code name between them. “I think it’s best to conclude we’re both walking through a dream right now, and yes, it is real.”
They were standing on a red carpet in Hollywood, having just stepped out of a stretch limousine. One of Kat’s books, a murder mystery written under her own name, rather than one of her saucy Sexy Cissy romps, had been picked up for a movie some time ago, and tonight was the movie premiere.
Called Murder in Hollywood, it was about the murder of an eccentric elderly romance writer called Beulah St. Clair. If Kat was honest, it was a take-off on Barbara Cartland, although her character was American, rather than British. She’d been just as delightfully eccentric though, and just as prolific. Kat had been rather shocked to watch a documentary and find out that Barbara Cartland had churned out 6,500 words every day. Kat knew from experience how hard that was.
Kat’s daughter Lacie, and her boyfriend Tyler, climbed out of the limousine after them, and immediately cameras flashed in their faces. Kat looked on, a little concerned. Lacie was not a young woman who reveled in the limelight and attention. She looked nervous and pushed her body so close to Tyler it looked like she wanted to hide behind him.
Their eyes met, and Kat gave Lacie a brave smile. Lacie returned it and nodded, a look that said, “Don’t worry about me, Mom. Enjoy your night.”
And Kat had every intention of doing that. Just then, a huge roar broke out as the crowd cheered and whooped. Everyone was looking behind them, towards the street.
Kat turned to see the one and only Marie Moorhead step out of her own stretch limousine which had pulled up behind theirs. She was no less than eight-four years old and looked as fabulous as ever. She was rather short and slim, wearing a vintage gold dress with fringe, like the flappers used to wear. She had on towering gold patent leather heels with a huge white and brown fur stole wrapped around her neck, trailing glamorously over her arms.
Way back in the 50s, she had burst onto the Hollywood scene as a dewy eyed twenty-year-old, and had snagged the hearts of the nation. Since then she’d been in and out of the tabloids with all sorts of dramas, sordid affairs, and strings of marriages and divorces, eight, to be exact. But the public had always been on her side. She was unlucky in love, they said. Too good for any man. Too tender-hearted for this cruel world.
“She looks fantastic, doesn’t she?” Kat whispered to Blaine. “To see her tonight and the way she looks, you’d swear she’s not a day over sixty.”
Blaine grinned. “Let’s put it this way, she’s certainly making me look forward to my 80s. Looks like life hasn’t slowed down one bit for her.”
Marie waved her elegantly manicured hands at the crowd and clearly reveled in all the attention. After a few poses for the frenzied paparazzi, she went over to the crowd and began to take pictures, sign books, shirts and even a man’s chest, next to a tattoo he had of her when she was in her heyday.
She managed to break away for a moment, giving Kat a wicked grin and conspiratorial wave from across the red carpet. Kat waved back with a warm smile, hoping Marie would be pleased with how the film had turned out. Secretly, Marie had been very nervous about it, and Kat was the only person she’d confided in.
They’d had numerous phone conversations, and after several of them, Kat learned she might as well grab her dogs’ leashes and take off on a walk. She knew she’d be on the phone for at least an hour. Kat didn’t begrudge her the time and was glad she could give it to her.
Marie was fascinating. She’d taken the role of Beulah St. Clair beyond seriously, and all the phone calls to Kat were to find out the minutiae of the character. She’d pored through the book and listened to the audiobook on repeat for two hours every day while she did her workout. But she still had plenty of questions for Kat.
“What was her relationship like with her father when she was a child?”
“Why did she decide to break up with her first love, Gregor? No, I mean, I want all the gory detail. What had he said? What was the straw that broke the camel’s back?”
“What other writing processes had Beulah tried before she came up with dictating to assistants for four hours a day? What happened when she tried to write herself? What was her handwriting like?”
The book Kat had written about Beulah was far from thin, because she was a rich, intricately-detailed character. But Marie’s probing questions stretched even Kat’s knowledge of her character.
Kat was grateful that Marie had taken such a detailed interest in the character, and really wanted to get it right. The Beulah St. Clair books were close to Kat’s heart, and she’d seen enough books butchered into mediocre films to know she’d gotten lucky with Marie.
After a while, Marie walked over to them. “Hello, Kat.” She gave her a double air kiss, and then went over to Blaine, Lacie, and Tyler, doing the same. “This must be the formidable District Attorney Blaine Evans. You, my gorgeous girl, are Lacie, in training to be a child psychologist, am I correct?”
“Yes,” Lacie said with a smile. “And you’re Marie Moorhead, the Hollywood star.”
“That I am,” Marie said, then put on a stage whisper. “Actually, I was born Ann Schroeder, but that’s not nearly so glamorous, is it?”
They all laughed.
“And this must be Lacie’s wonderful boyfriend Tyler, who is apprenticing as a veterinarian.” Marie nodded, pleased with herself.
Kat was surprised she’d remembered all the details about her family. “You’re something else, Marie,” Kat said with admiration.
Marie smiled. “I hate to sound boastful, but I have a rather formidable memory. I’m one of those awful people who can remember what they wore and what they ate on October 16, 1992.”
“That’s quite a talent,” Blaine said.
“A talent, or a curse?” Marie said with a laugh. “I always say that’s why none of my marriages ever worked out. I’m afraid I just can’t forget long enough to forgive.” She laughed sunnily, then linked her arm with Kat’s. “Now, come along, my dear. There are numerous people I’m going to introduce you to. And later on I’ll give you the inside scoop on all the gossip about them. Even though the movie is finished, we’re still going to have our telephone chats, aren’t we?”
“Of course,” Kat said as they walked along the red carpet. They’d become a fixture in her life now, and she and Marie still talked once a week even though filming had ended. She felt like part of the family.
“You must come and stay at my house sometime,” she said. “The whole family.”
Kat smiled. “We’d love to. And you must come and stay with us, too, though I’m afraid our home won’t be up to your usual standard of opulent luxury.”
“Oh, stop it,” Marie said. “You’re making me sound like a spoiled princess.” She grinned at Kat. “Okay, perhaps I am a bit of a spoiled princess. But I’m sure your home is absolutely beautiful, Kat. I can see you and Blaine as being people who pay a great de
al of attention to detail.
“I imagine it’s quite classic, with beiges and light blues and pale greens, but very comfortable, with lovely soft sofas and a warm kitchen. None of this chrome and black shiny décor for you. Am I right?”
“Bingo,” Kat said. “I love somewhere that feels warm, and my house is full of warm colors.”
Marie smiled. “I knew it. Now, you know I’m not a tremendous dog fan, but I’d still like to come see Jazz and Rudy, your dogs. I’ve found when you love people, you have to at least try to love what they love. It’s just considered good manners.”
They reached the main entrance to the theater where the premiere was being screened and entered a huge lobby with a gleaming marble floor and sparkling chandeliers overhead. Soft piano music could be heard in the background, and people were talking and clinking champagne glasses. It was a sea of black tuxedos dotted with flashes of color where the women stood in their long gowns.
“Oh, my, isn’t this marvelous?” Marie said. “It reminds me of the old days.”
Kat nodded. Marie had told her this was the first movie she’d done in over twenty years where she was the star. She’d landed several roles in other recent movies, but they were mostly cameo appearances. “No one wants a shriveled up old glamourpuss as the leading lady,” Marie had laughed, and then sighed.
“At your age, Kat, I was worried about wrinkles and getting old and all that. And to think I was really such a spring chicken. Now, don’t you waste a moment worrying about any of that, my dear. You’ve got the best years of your life ahead of you yet, and you’re still as gorgeous as ever.”
Marie had commandeered Kat, so they entered first, followed by Blaine, Lacie, and Tyler. “You wouldn’t believe what these upstanding types who are assembled here do behind closed doors,” Marie whispered to Kat as she looked around the room. “You’d be shocked to the core.”
They walked over to where champagne was being generously poured, picked up a glass, and toasted each other.
“To Kat’s book being on the big screen,” Blaine said.
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