Hollywood Forbidden: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  “And we still don’t have any idea how the shooter got into the courthouse?” Sloan asked, after slurping his coffee. His eyes were red, probably from lack of sleep worrying about the case and the press.

  “There’s lots of possibilities,” Baxter said. “Our shooter might have known someone on the inside, he might have found a way in through the smoker’s patio in the back, could have posed as a janitor or maintenance worker…” He looked directly at me. “Who knows, the shooter might have even been a cop from outside the area, using her credentials.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Bernie perked his head up as my voice pitched higher.

  Baxter shrugged. “The LT wanted possibilities. I was just laying every possibility out on the table.”

  “You’re a little touchy, aren’t you,” Spencer said, taking up her partner’s cause. Her red lips turned up. “Tim’s just playing with you, lighten up.”

  “I don’t consider false accusations, play.”

  “What did Aster’s assistant have to say,” Sloan asked Buck, trying to deflect the confrontation.

  “He’s going to look at Aster’s cases, past and present, see if anyone might have posed a threat,” Buck said. “He and the secretary, Carly Lucia, weren’t much help. I spent a couple hours with Lucia last night going over Aster’s client list. The attorney represented hundreds of defendants over the years but no one jumped out as possible suspect. It was pretty much a waste of time.”

  Buck glanced at me, the corners of his mouth lifting. I wondered if his entire evening with Lucia had been a waste.

  Baxter fixed his eyes on Buck, his fleshy face turning florid. “So we got a big bunch of nothing after wasting a day poking around the courthouse and making nice with Aster’s buddy. What now?”

  “I did hear something last night,” I said, seeing that my new partner was irritated by what Baxter said. “One of the locals, a guy named Sammy Boxer, mentioned that the victim, Derek Shaw, might have been running drugs from the mainland to the island. He said it was small time, but maybe it’s worth digging a little deeper into Shaw’s background.”

  “Boxer’s a little blowhard who goes around trying to stir up trouble,” Spencer said. “What’s your relationship with him?”

  I wasn’t about to tell her my friends were working with the PI to find Sissy. “We don’t have a relationship. I just ran into him and he mentioned the drug issue.”

  “You might as well ask your dog for his theory about the case as talk to Boxer,” Baxter chimed in.

  “Don’t insult my partner.”

  “Enough,” Slade said, trying to head off another battle. “Where do we go from here?”

  Buck turned to Spencer and Baxter. “Did you run record checks on everyone who works at the courthouse?”

  Baxter answered. “They were screened when they were hired.”

  “I know that. I want them screened again. Maybe someone has been arrested after they were hired. Maybe they’ve got ties to someone who’s involved in the crimes. I want everyone checked out.”

  “Jesus,” Spencer groaned. She tossed a pen on the table. “Another day of pushing paper, spinning our wheels. Why don’t you let me work the case with you, put Sexton on the ground with Baxter.”

  “Thanks for throwing me to the wolves,” Baxter complained to Spencer.

  “We work this case as I’ve already laid it out,” Buck said. “Where are we on the warrant for Aster’s house?”

  “The residence is in his father’s name,” Spencer said. “He lives on the east coast in an assisted living facility. According to the DA the judge wants to be sure we have his consent before he’ll issue the warrant. It’s a work in progress.”

  “Let’s get it done then,” Buck said. “Kate and I are going to talk to Aster’s ex this morning.”

  ***

  “I think we should tie weights to Spencer and Baxter’s ankles and toss them off the end of the Catalina pier,” I said as we drove to Marlena Aster’s home. Bernie was in the backseat drinking in the warm island air.

  “You tie, I’ll toss,” Buck said. He laughed. “They’ve actually been on their good behavior.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “We’ve all got some history. I’ll tell you about it someday.”

  “I know I’m a guest here, but the last thing I expected was Baxter’s comment about maybe the shooter being a cop from the outside.”

  “There’s an old saying about never approaching a bull from the front, a horse from the rear, or a fool from any direction.” He smiled. “Something you might wanna keep in mind around Baxter.”

  I thought about asking him more about his history with the two detectives but I had the impression that he didn’t want to talk about it, at least for now, so I moved on. “So how did things really go with Carly Lucia last night?”

  “Late night with files and lots of leg.”

  “And?”

  “And, nothing. Aster’s represented a lot of scum over the years but I didn’t come up with anything worthwhile.”

  “And?”

  “What?”

  “You and Carly?”

  “You almost sound jealous.”

  “Hardly.” I fussed with the buttons on my blouse. “I’m just a detail oriented person.”

  He smiled. “Carly’s not my type. I’m not even entirely sure she’s domesticated.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “She seems the type that has a few secrets. Tell you the truth, between her and Hal Quinton, I’m not sure we’re getting the whole picture.”

  I’d had the same feeling. “Maybe we need to go back to Quinton, lean on him.”

  He seemed to mull over what I’d said before asking, “So how was your night?”

  “Just spent it with a couple of hundred eighty year-olds, one who screamed like a wild banshee.” He looked at me, his brow furrowing. There was also that crinkle thing at the corners of his eyes that made me tingle. “I’m staying at the Stardust.”

  “You’re fooling me.”

  I shook my head. “Sissy Maddox’s mother is my friend Mo’s sister. We’ve had free room and board for a few months.”

  “My condolences. I’ve heard stories about that place.”

  “They’re probably all true. It’s kind of like Hollywood’s Jurassic Park.”

  “I heard they had the bright idea of inviting the old timers to the policeman’s ball this coming weekend.” He smiled. “Should be interesting.”

  I thought about asking if he was going and needed a date but thought better of it. For all I knew he had a girlfriend who he was taking to the affair. Sissy Maddox’s attorney then crossed my mind. “I stopped by and saw Sissy’s lawyer, Peter Roth, before going home. Did you know he owns Clowney’s Funeral Home?”

  He laughed. “I’ve heard something about that. I guess Ross is trying to kill two birds with one stone, in more ways than one.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “A bit of a player with an alcohol problem, always working an angle and always in debt.” He glanced over at me. “If I were you I’d steer clear.”

  We drove on for a few minutes until I asked him about his night after he left Aster’s secretary, thinking I might learn more about whether he was involved with anyone.

  “Just spent a quiet night at home. Nuthin’ special.”

  I gulped in air and decided to ask the question that had been on my mind. “So, are you married?”

  He smiled. “Haven’t you noticed I don’t have a ring?”

  “Umm…yes, I guess so.”

  “So you did notice?”

  I blushed. “Let’s just change the subject.” We turned onto Marlena Aster’s street and, referencing Clay Aster’s ex, I asked him, “You ever done any snake wrangling?”

  “Everyone’s afraid of snakes, but critters that shake their tails before they bite are the easiest thing in the world to deal with.”

  We pulled up in front of a large home with an
expansive view of the bay. “Since you’re a critter expert then, I’ll let you take the lead when Marlena Aster shakes her tail.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Clay Aster’s ex-wife showed us into her great room, great being the operative word. It looked like something out of a designer magazine: high white-washed beamed ceilings, polished wood floors, overstuffed sofas and chairs, modern art on the walls. It gave me the impression of being in an expensive Caribbean villa I’d seen on one of those real estate shows. I thought about the room I rented in the home I shared in Hollywood with my friends and a wave of depression hit me as we settled in on the sofa.

  “I’m glad he’s dead,” Marlena Aster announced before we had a chance to ask her anything. Aster’s ex was around fifty with short silver hair and a model-sized figure. Her eyes were green, almost the same color as mine. She wore a blue linen dress and what I recognized were a pair of expensive Jimmy Choo opened-toe pumps. “Having Clay gone is like celebrating Christmas and my birthday at the same time.”

  I looked at Buck, raised a brow.

  She went on, “Just so you know, I was at a fundraiser for the upcoming policemen’s ball when he was shot. About twenty-five of my dearest friends will serve as my alibi.”

  “Any thoughts on who might want your ex-husband dead?” Buck asked, leaning over and holding his hat between his legs.

  “Besides me, probably a few dozen people. I can give you a list but it might take some time to gather all the names.”

  “It sounds like Clay didn’t have a lot of friends,” I said.

  “Clay was a first rate asshole and user.” She fussed with a diamond studded bracelet, smiled at both of us. “To tell you the truth I even considered putting a hit out on him a few times myself. I just never had the guts to go through with it.”

  “Did you have much contact with him in recent years?” Buck asked.

  “Heavens no. I kept as much distance from that bastard as possible.”

  “Anyone on that list of his enemies who rises to the top?”

  She shrugged. “Not off hand. You might talk to Hal Quinton, his assistant. I’m sure he knows where Clay buried the bodies.” She smiled, displaying perfect white dentition. “I’m just speaking figuratively, of course, but who knows? I wouldn’t put a murder or two past my ex-husband if it served his purposes.” She took a moment, eyeing Buck and leaned closer to him. “Your accent. It’s very charming. Where are you from?”

  My partner’s cheeks flushed. Maybe this was a friendlier serpent than he was used to. “Texas, ma’am. Thanks.”

  I tried to refocus the discussion. “We already talked to Quinton. He wasn’t much help. Can you give us anything specific about your ex-husband’s interests, maybe something that might have led him into conflict with someone?”

  “Ha…ha…ha,” she said, meeting my eyes. “Clay had only two interests: money and sex. Follow one or both of those trails and you’ll probably find the killer with a smoking gun.” Maybe it was the reference to smoking that caused her to remove a cigarette from a brass container, light it, and blow smoke above our heads. “My ex-husband was a sex addict so there’s probably any one of a dozen women who wanted him dead.”

  “Is there anyone specific that he was involved with who comes to mind?”

  Marlena Aster took a deep drag off her cigarette, spewed smoke out into the room again. I held my breath trying to avoid lung cancer from second hand smoke as she answered. “You might want to start by talking to his bitch of a secretary, Carly Lucia. She broke up our marriage.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “I’ll take the turkey with lettuce and tomato,” Grace Breslin says to the vendor.

  After paying for the sandwich she walks over to a seawall that has a view of the harbor. The sun has begun to set, the purple sky now filling with hues of red and gold above the fog bank hovering offshore.

  She places her backpack against the wall and slides down onto the sidewalk. Behind her there’s the sound of traffic as cars drive up and down Crescent Avenue where there’s a host of tourist attractions, restaurants, and hotels.

  Grace takes her time, savoring each bite of the sandwich. This will be her first and only meal of the day. She knows that she has to conserve every penny Melissa Taylor gave her. She’s spent the morning applying for jobs at the gift shops and stores that dot the streets around the bay. No one was hiring.

  She glances at the beach, the waves lapping against the seashore. Something she once read comes to mind about the sand and the first stars of evening that are breaking through the purple and red sky.

  There are more stars in the universe than all the grains of sand on all the world’s beaches.

  She doesn’t know if that’s true. There’s no mathematical formula that can answer the question. Grace does know there are up to 200 billion galaxies in the known universe, each galaxy with up to one hundred billion stars. The number of stars is staggering, something like a one followed by twenty-four zeros. She’s just a tiny spec in a universe that seems to go on forever. Her mind becomes dizzy at just the thought of it all.

  “You want some company?”

  She hears the man’s voice and looks up. He’s probably in his thirties with long hair and a beard. His clothes are filthy. It looks like he hasn’t had a bath in weeks. “Thanks but I’m good,” she says, turning away from him.

  “Come on, now. No need to be alone.” He sits down next to her. She smells something sour, turns her head away as he says. “I’m Jerry.”

  She hesitates, finally turning to him saying, “I’m Grace.” She sees that his eyes are flat and dark. Something about them reminds her of Jonah at the group home.

  “Grace,” he says, extending a hand. “I like that. I think I’m gonna call you Gracie.”

  She wavers but finally takes his hand. When she tries to pull back his grip tightens. She tries to break free but he pulls her closer. Grace thinks about screaming, calling out for help but she now realizes there’s movement, a shadow somewhere behind her. She sees a man’s hand reaching down to her. What’s going on?

  Grace turns her head, the realization about what’s happening suddenly hitting her. The backpack. It’s gone. Someone’s on the street, running away. Jerry finally releases his grip, jumps over the wall, and disappears down the avenue catching up with the man.

  Grace stands, yelling out. “My backpack. Someone’s taken it…”

  A couple on the sidewalk turns in her direction for a moment, but then keeps walking. No one seems to notice or care about what happened. She thinks about calling the police but then decides against it. Jerry and his companion are long gone, probably already making plans to spend the money on booze that Melissa gave her. The realization that everything she owns is gone settles into her consciousness.

  Grace draws in a deep breath of salty air and slides back down against the seawall. The sun is now a blowing ball of fire resting on the ocean. Soon there will be nothing but the darkness of night and a billion points of light shining somewhere overhead. A tear slips down Grace’s cheek. She suddenly understands what it means to be alone in the universe.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “We’re here to see your nephew again,” I said to Mildred Butcher as Bernie and I stood in the lobby of Clowney’s Funeral Home the next morning.

  After spending yesterday with Buck, interviewing Marlena Aster, we’d gone by the deceased attorney’s office again. We found it was closed, and neither Hal Quinton nor Carly Lucia had returned our calls. Our case was going nowhere fast and I knew we had to somehow catch a break.

  Mildred’s rheumy eyes came slowly up to me. Maybe she’d had a busy night with the leather and chains. Her gaze then slid down to Bernie. “Peter’s in the back, but the dog…”

  “The dog is staying with me.”

  “I’m allergic.”

  “I’m sorry. We’ll only be a moment.”

  We found Roth in an office adjacent to his showroom. He smelled of alcohol again and I had the impressio
n he’d been up all night. I’d called and made arrangements with him to go by Sissy’s school before I was scheduled to meet with Buck at the police station at mid-morning.

  “Let’s get going,” Roth said, looking out the window. He grabbed his coat and snatched his keys off the desk. “I have another appointment…”

  I heard the sound of glass breaking in the front of the house. Bernie immediately alerted as we rushed over to the front window. We found that the window had been shattered, glass was everywhere. There was a brick on the floor.

  “Probably Grady again,” Roth’s aunt said to him.

  Roth shook his head, sighed. “He’s nothing, if not persistent. If you can tidy up, Mildred, I’ll be back in about an hour and deal with things.”

  We were in the car, headed for the school when I asked Roth about the broken window. He was about to answer when I heard the Sex and the City theme song.

  “The brick was a little extreme,” Roth said into the phone. “You need…” There was a long silence as he listened to whoever was on the line. Sweat popped on his forehead. He was flushed as he ended the call, saying, “I’ll have it by five o’clock.”

  “More problems with your investor?” I asked as he put his phone away.

  He smiled, mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “Just an investment that didn’t work out quite as I’d expected.”

  “An investment called a bet?”

  He smiled again, leaned a little closer to me as I drove. “What do you say we stop for lunch after we go to the school? I know this place…”

  “Let me make this perfectly clear, Peter. No. I don’t want to have lunch, a drink, or a date.”

  Another smile. He glanced back at Bernie who was panting in the backseat. “She called me by my first name. I think she’s starting to weaken.”

  After explaining to the Avalon High School vice principal why we were there he arranged for us to meet with Jenna Washington, Sissy’s best friend. We found Jenna in an office adjacent to the red tiled school administration offices. The girl was Sissy’s age with long brown hair and chocolate colored eyes. She was nervous and fidgeted with her phone as we explained the reason we were meeting with her.