“Oh, really? Maybe I’m getting out too soon after all. Isn’t there some other little detail you’d like to share with your best friend?”
“Wipe that smirk off your face. There are no details,” Molly retorted. “I’m going to bed. Let yourself out.”
As it turned out, going to bed was achieved far more easily than getting to sleep. She kept remembering the sight of Greg Kinsey lying dead and the sound of the heated argument that had preceded it by what must have been no more than minutes.
• • •
“Tell me about Kinsey,” Michael suggested midway through brunch the next morning, after he and Brian had filled Molly in on every detail of the soccer game she’d missed. Her son beamed as Michael lavished praise on a shot he’d made. She knew how he felt. She wouldn’t mind basking in a little of Michael’s admiration.
Michael had arrived precisely at ten, wearing perfectly pressed navy blue slacks, a pale blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and an expensive gold watch no thicker than the very masculine hairs that subtly shadowed his arms. Lord, the man was sexy, Molly had thought then and thought again now. What had possessed her to send him away the night before?
At the sound of Michael’s chuckle, she blinked and stared. “What?” she said blankly. Regretfully, she forced her gaze away from his hands and her attention away from the decidedly wayward thoughts about what those hands could have been doing to her during her long, sleepless night if she hadn’t had an attack of conscience. Or cowardice. Probably the latter, she decided with a sigh.
A knowing twinkle sparked in his dark brown eyes. “Kinsey,” he reminded her. “Tell me what he was like.”
“You mean when she found his body with the bullet hole in the middle of his forehead?” Brian asked hopefully. At eight he was fascinated with anything that made Molly squeamish. The more gore, the better.
“No, I mean when he was alive,” Michael told him, barely hiding a grin. “I pretty much know what dead guys are like.”
Brian looked disgusted. “If you guys are gonna talk about all that boring stuff, can I go play on the beach?” he asked. “I finished eating a long time ago.”
“Go,” Molly said. “You know the rules. Stay within sight and don’t go in the water.”
“And be careful crossing the street,” Michael added, glancing toward Ocean Drive’s parade of convertibles and open Jeeps filled with teens and practically shaking with the sounds of rock. “The traffic’ s bumper-to-bumper.”
When Brian had successfully navigated the street in front of the outdoor café, Molly considered Michael’s question about Greg.
“He was driven,” she said finally. “I’ve never met anyone so totally absorbed in what he was doing. He seemed to have this vision of what a scene should look like on screen, how it should be played. More important, he knew how to communicate that vision to those around him. I think everyone on the picture was really psyched about working with him.”
“Had all of them worked with him before?”
“I think most of the crew had. I’m not so sure about the actors. I know this was the first time he’d worked with Duke Lane. Laura had insisted on casting him, and Greg respected her judgment when it came to box-office decisions.”
“Why was she so anxious to get this Lane in the picture? Isn’t he one of those hunk-of-the-month types?”
“Pretty much,” Molly agreed. “But unlike some of the others, he can act. That was critical to Greg. He would never have agreed otherwise, I’m sure.”
“Was this Laura more interested in his acting or his body?”
“Duke and Laura?” She tried to envision it and shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay, what about the others? Was Veronica someone Greg had used in other movies?”
“No, and that’s what was so odd about him choosing her for this role. No one, from Laura to Hank to the production assistant, thought he should take a chance on her.”
“Why? She has an incredible track record.”
“Had an incredible track record,” Molly corrected. “Her last couple of films were disasters, primarily because of her drinking. Supposedly she’s gotten herself straightened out, but until Greg came along no one wanted to risk another overbudget debacle. She delayed her last film by nearly a month while she sobered up enough to shoot the final scenes.”
Michael regarded her doubtfully. “Wasn’t that vodka she was swilling down like water last night?”
“It was.”
“Looks to me like she not only fell off the wagon, but is headed for a crash landing.”
“I know. I don’t think she was drinking when production started, though. In fact, I’d swear she was stone-cold sober every time I was on the set.”
“When did that start to change?”
Molly thought back to the first time she realized Veronica had started substituting vodka for her bottled mineral water. “A week ago, maybe less.”
“When did the fights with Kinsey start? About the same time?”
“Oh, no. She and Greg started battling on the first day of production. I’ve never seen two people go at it the way they have, especially two people with no past history.”
“You’re sure there’s no past history there?”
“Not according to anyone I’ve talked to, and that includes Greg and Veronica. The tension on the set was beginning to take its toll. Yesterday, between that and the heat, everyone was snapping.”
“What were the fights about?”
“The script and Duke Lane. Veronica wasn’t wild about either one of them, and she was not shy about expressing her opinion. The writer, a newcomer named Jonathan Fine, has hidden out in his hotel room since the first day of production. She humiliated him in front of everyone. Greg had to talk him into staying around to make any script changes he needed.”
“And Duke?”
“Duke steered clear of the set whenever he could. I have to give him credit. He never let her attitude get to him, at least not in public.” She looked up just then and caught sight of the actor waiting for a table. “Speak of the devil.”
Michael followed her gaze. With his eyes hidden by sunglasses, Molly couldn’t see his reaction, but his surprised tone said it all. “That’s Lane?”
“Yes.”
“I thought he’d be …” Apparently words failed him.
“Taller? Sexier?”
“More imposing,” Michael countered, which was a nice way of saying that Duke Lane wasn’t exactly ready to do health club ads. Molly had had the same initial reaction. On-screen he had a larger-than-life presence. In person, with his slight frame and five-feet-seven-inch height, he was unimpressive, as ordinary as the boy next door.
Until he smiled. Then any woman would be able to say exactly what all the excitement was about. That smile combined a boyish eagerness to please and sleepy sensuality in a way that invited thoughts of wild sexual adventures. The glint in his eyes promised intelligence and fun. Molly had discovered that the expression didn’t lie. Duke Lane was both smart and witty, facts too often lost in the Hollywood hype. She wanted Michael to see that side of him.
“Think we should ask him to join us?”
Michael gave her a wry look. “Could I stop you?”
“Admit it,” she said. “You’re every bit as curious as I am.”
He leaned back in his chair. “True. Bring him on.”
Molly stood up and walked over to the young actor, who was wearing faded jeans, a T-shirt, and cowboy boots. It was the same laid-back clothing style affected by his character Rod Lukens, the dressed-up boy-toy of the film. Either he liked to stay in character or he didn’t waste his millions on wardrobe.
“Duke?”
He turned toward her and the famous Duke Lane grin spread across his face. “Molly! What a relief! I hate going out by myself. Some chick spots me and the next thing I know I’m mobbed. If I’d had one more hamburger from room service, though, I think I would have thrown up.”
A pleasant image, Molly thought. “I’m with a friend. Come join us.”
She led the way back to the table and made the introductions. She neglected to mention that Michael was a cop. Since he wasn’t here in any official capacity, she figured it wasn’t relevant. Interestingly enough, he didn’t offer the information himself.
With a slight wave of his hand, Duke was able to get the attention of a waitress who’d been ignoring them since the instant she realized Michael wasn’t interested. She sashayed over so fast she stirred a breeze that sent napkins from half a dozen tables fluttering to the ground.
Despite his claim that he craved anonymity, Duke removed his sunglasses and directed his baby blue eyes straight at the waitress, practically commanding her to recognize him. She didn’t fail him. Her own eyes widened and her pencil dropped to the ground. Michael retrieved it since she seemed too busy staring in openmouthed adoration.
“You’re Duke Lane,” she said finally. “Ohmigosh. Wait’ll I tell the others. Oh, wow!”
“What’s good, honey?” His tone suggested he was interested in more than what was on the menu.
“Salads,” she said in a breathy voice that indicated she had fallen victim to his sexy innuendoes. “We have really good salads.”
Duke seemed to tire of the game. “Then bring me one,” he said abruptly. “Dressing on the side. A bottle of mineral water.” He winked at her. “We’ll talk about dessert later.”
Molly noticed that Michael was watching the entire act as if he ought to be taking notes. She felt like reassuring him that his own technique was considerably more effective, at least on any female over twenty-one.
“Terrible about Greg,” Duke said when the waitress had left. “I had the car radio on and I heard it on a newsbreak. I almost crashed into a guard rail.”
“What time was it on?” Molly asked, relieved that Duke had brought the subject up himself. “I didn’t even think to see what time the story broke on the news.”
“Midnight, maybe later. I was coming back to the hotel from having drinks with a friend down in Coconut Grove, some yuppie bar. Man, you ever go there on a Saturday night? That place is overrun with kids. I’ve never seen so many convertibles and boom boxes in one place before, except maybe Santa Monica beach in the summer.”
“Any thoughts about who might have shot Kinsey?” Michael asked.
Duke frowned. “Who shot him? You mean it wasn’t some kind of mugging or something? They didn’t give any details on the radio. They just said he was dead.”
Molly shook her head. “We were still on location. His body was found in Veronica’s trailer.”
The actor looked genuinely shocked. “Oh, man, you’re kidding me. I know those two fought like jealous ex-lovers or something, but I didn’t think she’d pull a gun and shoot him.”
“So you think she did it?” Michael said, pouncing on Duke’s comment.
Duke looked confused. “But you-all just said … He was in her trailer. I just assumed.”
“Veronica has an alibi,” Molly said staunchly. Michael looked unconvinced. So did Duke.
“You checked it out?” Duke said.
“I didn’t have to. I’m her alibi, at least for all but a minute or two.”
“No kidding. Then your guess is as good as mine. Everyone else loved Greg.”
“Including you?” Michael inquired mildly, managing to sound as if his interest was only that of a casual bystander.
Duke turned his most sincere gaze on Michael. “Including me,” he said emphatically. “I know he didn’t want me on this picture. Hell, I know what half the serious directors in Hollywood think of me. They think I’m a no-talent hotshot who’s trying to capitalize on my looks.”
He leaned forward, his expression intent. “Well, you ask any director who’s actually worked with me and you’ll get a different story. I know what the hell I’m doing in front of a camera. That’s why the audiences want to see me, not because I’ve got some killer smile and a decent body. Those don’t mean shit if you can’t deliver your lines. Too bad Greg’s not alive to tell you what I’m saying is true. We talked plenty over the last couple of weeks and the man respected me. I turned his attitude around and, believe me, it didn’t happen because I could smile.”
Duke leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. His belligerent expression dared them to challenge him.
Michael met his gaze evenly, then finally nodded. “Okay, so you and Kinsey got along in the end. Somebody on the set didn’t get along with him quite as well. Did you ever hear anything, see anything that looked like maybe somebody might not be as enchanted?”
“Besides Veronica, nobody. I flat-out don’t believe there’s a person involved with this production who could have killed him.”
“You know anything about his personal life?” Michael asked.
To Molly’s amazement, Duke didn’t seem thrown by Michael’s persistence. He answered readily.
“Nope. What the man did on his own time was none of my business. I was too busy keeping my own squeeze happy to worry about his.”
“Is your squeeze involved with the production?” Michael seemed to stumble over the description a bit.
“What difference does that make?”
“If she’s been around, maybe she noticed something.”
Duke hesitated for a split second before responding. “She’s been around town, not around the set. Moviemaking bores her to tears.”
Molly regarded him oddly. She tried to recall seeing Duke with a woman at any time since he’d arrived. She honestly couldn’t remember a single occasion. He showed up, played his scenes, then retreated to the privacy of his trailer or went back to the hotel.
“Has she been here all along?” she asked cautiously. Apparently something in her tone alerted Michael that she wasn’t entirely buying Duke’s story. He turned his most penetrating gaze on Duke.
“From day one,” the actor assured them both.
“Where is she now?”
“Asleep. Daylight’s not her gig.”
“Did you talk with the police last night?”
“I got a message they were looking for me, but we crashed when we got back to the room. I’ll check in this morning.”
Just then a car cruised to a stop right in front of them and Sergeant Jenkins emerged. He scowled at Molly and Michael. “You two are a long way from home, aren’t you?”
“Just out for a pleasant brunch,” Molly said cheerfully. “Care to join us?”
He looked at Duke Lane for several seconds before recognition sparked in his eyes. “Maybe I will at that.” He waved his driver on, then stepped on the curb. He grabbed a chair from the next table, and wedged it between Molly and Duke.
“Duke Lane, right?”
“Yes.”
“Sergeant Jenkins, homicide. Didn’t you get my messages?”
“We were just talking about that. I figured I’d check in as soon as I got back to the hotel.”
Jenkins glared at him. “Some police officers might view that attitude as uncooperative.”
Duke shrugged. “Everybody’s got hang-ups. Me, I’m the most cooperative guy you’ll ever want to meet, once I’ve had my morning coffee. Before that, I can be real mean.”
Jenkins glanced pointedly at the coffee cup. “Drink up. Then you and I are going down to headquarters for a friendly little chat.”
Molly tried to hide her disappointment. She’d been hoping he’d go over Duke’s story right here and now. Maybe he’d get an answer to the question uppermost in her mind.
Why the hell would Duke be lying about some woman when everyone on the set and in Hollywood knew he was gay?
CHAPTER
SEVEN
“What was that all about?” Michael asked Molly the instant Otis Jenkins and Duke Lane left for the police station.
“What was what all about?”
“Don’t you dare play dumb with me,” he chided. “Your eyes will give you away every time. Y
ou picked up on something. What was it?”
When he was regarding her with that intent, dare-you-to-lie cop look, Molly found it virtually impossible to skimp on the truth, even when she wanted to. “All that talk about Duke’s squeeze,” she admitted. “I’ve never once seen him with a woman.”
“So he’s discreet. So what?”
“He’s not only discreet. He’s gay.”
Michael looked as if she’d just announced that cows flew. “Him? No way. Didn’t you see the way that waitress reacted to him? I think she slipped him her phone number on one of those little napkins she dropped in his lap.”
Molly shook her head. “You saw what you expected to see when some heartthrob is out in public. Forget the way she reacted to him. Think about the way he reacted to her. He played the role to get her attention, but he never once looked her over.”
Michael nodded as comprehension slowly dawned. “Okay, say you’re right.”
“I am right.”
“Say you’re right,” he repeated with careful patience. “What possible difference does it make as far as Greg’s murder is concerned?”
That stymied Molly as well, which was why she hadn’t particularly wanted to bring it up. “If he’d lie about one thing, why not another?” she ventured.
“Maybe. Or just maybe he had a crush on the director.”
“If he did, it was definitely unrequited. Greg’s list of conquests, female conquests, was endless. To hear some of the guys tell it, he couldn’t keep his pants zipped.”
Michael’s brows rose. “Exactly what do you and the boys discuss in your spare time?”
“They don’t necessarily say things like that to me. They just say ’em when I’m around.”
“Fascinating,” he said, sounding oddly disgruntled. “If Greg wasn’t gay, then Duke Lane’s sexual preferences probably don’t matter.”
“Unless he propositioned Greg anyway and Greg shot him down.”
“That’s a stretch. You couldn’t build a case around something as speculative as that, not without witnesses.”
“At this point, I don’t see much we can build a case around. I’m grasping at straws here. Help me out. You’re the hotshot detective.”
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