by AR Winters
I looked around the group. Some of them were nodding.
“It’s in the contract we signed,” said an Asian guy, who’d told us his name was Aaron. “Lots of stuff like that. Anyway, all the judges look healthy, so hopefully they won’t kick the bucket. Not even Carlos, even though he’s probably always high.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. That meant that none of the winners from the previous rounds had any reason to try to kill Lana, even if she had been mean to them. Unless, of course, the killer was slightly deranged. Perhaps they resented Lana so much for humiliating them on public TV that they’d take their chances of losing the show in order to get revenge.
“So you guys like the crew?” Ian asked.
“They’re okay,” said Aaron’s wife Linda, who was his singing partner. Linda was slightly chubby and had blond, frizzy hair and greenish-blue eyes. “Don’t see them much, but we can go around backstage if we want. We’re supposed to use the soundproof studio rooms to practice our singing. But other than that, there’s no reason to. We’re not supposed to fraternize with the judges. I mean, Aaron and I got through in the New York round, but we’ve hardly said two words to any of the judges since.”
Steve chose that moment to show up. “You two,” he said to Ian and me. “You’re out. Get packing.”
Nicole smirked, but none of the other winners seemed affected or surprised by the news. We said our quick goodbyes and walked with Steve.
“You’re not upset, are you?” Steve said.
“No,” said Ian. “I guess the judges made a mistake.”
“Exactly.” Steve looked at the two of us seriously. “You can’t tell anyone about these events. It’s all confidential, and we’re going to delete the footage.”
“The entire footage?” My pulse quickened, and I looked at Steve hopefully. “Everything? Including me singing?”
“And waving your hands,” Steve said drily.
I broke into a huge grin and gave Steve a hug before he could stop me. “This is great,” I said, pulling away. “You’re the best! This is the best news I’ve had all day.”
“This is awful,” Ian complained. “We could’ve been famous.”
“We don’t want fame,” I reminded him. “We came here to do some work.”
And having the footage deleted meant the best of both worlds. Nobody would see my humiliating performance, and I could keep a close eye on the contestants, under the guise of being friendly.
Logically, none of them would want to kill Lana, unless they were particularly vengeful. Apart from the crew, the contestants were the only ones who’d been traveling around with Lana the entire time.
Chapter Seventeen
I felt a bit guilty about calling in sick to work, but the call had been made. When we got home, Ian tried to persuade me to watch some more Singing Duos, but I’d had enough at the trials. He promised to pull an all-nighter to catch up on the episodes, while I took advantage of my gambling-free night and got some shut-eye.
The next morning, I got up bright and early and checked in with Lana. “We’re coming around to chat with you and the other judges,” I told her. “And maybe have a look around your dressing rooms.”
“I’ll warn the natives, honey,” Lana drawled. “They’ll be happy last night’s performance was a joke.”
I got dressed and stopped by Ian’s apartment. “Hi-ho, we’re off to work,” I told him. “And never, ever remind me of last night.”
“Why?” said Ian. “It was great. We could’ve been on TV.”
I fixed a stony stare on him, and he grew quieter. We walked in semi-silence to the Riverbelle. Every once in a while, Ian would mention how excited he was to be working with Lana Fierst, and how cool it would be.
We met Lana near the lobby when we got there.
“Look at everyone staring at us!” Ian said loudly as we walked towards the studios. “Isn’t this cool?”
“I need to keep up an angry face all the time,” Lana said. “It gets old. If I didn’t have Botox, I’d have a permanent scowl.”
Like Elwood, I thought, but I didn’t say that out loud.
Lana took us through the “staff only” entrance to the backstage studio area. We walked through a long hallway, with doors on either side leading to different rooms.
“This here’s the makeup room for extras,” Lana said, pointing to one door. “Staff cafeteria. Producer’s room. My room. Gordon’s, Carlos’s, Steve’s, bathrooms, practice rooms, dressing room, quick edits.”
Lana reeled off the list of names, and as we walked down the hallway, which veered left, young men and women passed us, walking rapidly. Some of them carried Styrofoam coffee cups, some held papers, and one girl passed us carrying a tray of tiny sandwiches. I followed the girl with my eyes—the sandwiches reminded me that I was getting hungry. It was time for a snack.
Ian looked after the girl too. She was tall and slender, with an athletic physique. She had a squarish jaw and slightly masculine features, which combined with her short-cropped red hair to give her a cute, elfish look.
“That’s Pam,” said Lana, following our gazes.
Ian said, “She’s pretty, right?”
“I was thinking more about the sandwiches,” I said, looking at Lana. “Is the food here free?”
Lana rolled her eyes. “You think about food so much. You’re lucky you’re not in showbiz.”
“Hey,” I said defensively. “Food makes you smart. If you eat the right kind.”
“Like cupcakes,” said Ian. “Tiffany thinks cupcakes make her smarter.”
“They make you fat,” said Lana. “But yeah, there’s a free buffet in the staff cafeteria. We can pop in later, if you’d like.”
I grinned. “I’d love that! Can we grab one of the sandwiches in the meantime?”
“Pam,” Lana called out.
The red-haired girl turned around, and when she saw who it was, she rolled her eyes. “What is it now?” she said drily.
“Tiffany wants to grab a sandwich.”
Pam waited patiently as I went over and grabbed one, and then she gave Lana an icy stare and stomped off.
“That was kind of rude,” Ian said. “Is everyone rude to you?”
“Only half the crew,” said Lana. “Some people think I’m too demanding. I just think they need to do their jobs.”
“Hmm.” I bit into my sandwich thoughtfully, wondering if Lana’s insistence on being demanding had garnered her a vengeful enemy.
“I’ll show you my room,” said Lana as we retraced our footsteps.
We headed back to a small break room which we hadn’t gone into last time. There was a countertop along one wall which displayed a microwave, a kettle, a coffeepot and some mugs. In the middle of the room, there was a small six-seater table, and Linda sat on one of the wooden chairs.
“Hey, Linda,” I said when we saw her. “What’re you doing here?”
She looked at Ian and me, one eyebrow raised in surprise. “What’re you two doing here? I thought you were kicked out of the show.”
I went to stand closer to her and noticed that I could see the door to Lana’s dressing room from where I stood. “We did get kicked off,” I agreed.
I was wondering whether to make up some fib about getting hired as an assistant on the show, when Lana said, “These two are looking into who’s trying to kill me.”
Linda glanced at Lana, and her greenish-blue eyes narrowed. I could feel the iciness emanating off her body, and she said, “Is that so?” before looking away from Lana.
“Why’re you sitting here by yourself?” said Ian. “Are you waiting for someone?”
“Yeah,” said Linda. “My husband.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “Though I don’t think he’ll show up, now.”
“Well, it was nice seeing you again,” said Ian, and the three of us trooped over to Lana’s dressing room.
Lana opened the door, and we stepped inside. It was a small room, a bit smaller than my bedroom. There was a table pushed again
st the far end of the room, a sofa on one side, a large old-fashioned dressing table, and a bureau with a glass box on top.
“What’s in the box?” Ian asked.
“This is Tabby.” Lana reached her hand inside and scooped something out. “Here,” she said to me. “Wanna hold her?”
She extended her hand towards me, and I saw the thing sitting on her palm. My eyes widened.
It was a massive tarantula. Big, hairy legs; mean, beady eyes. I drew back, dropped my sandwich and screamed. “Arrgh! Spider! Spider, spider, spider!”
My heart was racing, my palms were sweaty, and the next thing I knew, I was out on the Strip.
I paced back and forth, trying to catch my breath, and Ian appeared beside me.
“You’ve never run away so fast,” he said. “Not even from psycho killers.”
I tried not to hyperventilate. I looked at Ian and said, “Spiders are worse than psychos. Psychos don’t have eight legs.”
Lana appeared behind Ian. “Why’d you run off?” she said. “Tabby got a fright.”
“Poor Tabby,” Ian said. “That scream was loud.”
I looked at them like they were nuts. “Spider,” I said, trying to distill my feelings into one word. I cannot stand spiders. They’re hairy and mean-looking, and I’m sure their bites are poisonous. Urgh. Just the thought of the spider made me shudder.
“Tabby’s completely tame,” Lana said. “You scared her.”
I said, “I’m the one who’s scared.” And with good reason.
Ian looked at me accusatorily. “You’ve got a spider phobia,” he said, as if that was a crime.
“It’s not a phobia. It’s a logical fear.”
“Well.” Lana crossed her arms disapprovingly. “Tabby’s as sweet as a pussycat.”
Ian beamed. “I’ve got a pussycat!”
“She’s not sweet as a pussycat!” I said. “She’s—a spider.”
“Let’s go back inside,” Lana said, trying to sound reassuring. “Tabby’s back in her box.”
I tried not to imagine spiders crawling all over me. “And she can’t get outside?”
“No, she can’t get out.”
I looked at her skeptically. “Just in case, I’d rather not go into your room again. Not just now.”
I could see Lana stifling a sigh. I knew I’d have to check out Lana’s room at some point, but I couldn’t imagine seeing the spider again—at least, not right now.
I tried to sound logical. “We can spend today meeting everyone else. You never know who might be trying to hurt you.”
Lana agreed reluctantly. “All right, I’ll introduce you to everyone now.”
As we headed back towards the studio, Ian said, “Is there anyone on the crew who really hates you?”
Lana shook her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I’m that bad.”
“Still,” said Ian. “You never know what secrets people have.”
Chapter Eighteen
We headed to Carlos’s room first, and when we knocked and walked in, he was rubbing some white powdery stuff off his nose.
“For God’s sake,” said Lana. “You need to stop with that, or you’ll get kicked off the show.”
Carlos gave us a goofy grin and settled down on the small love seat pushed against one wall. “Hey, guys.”
“Recording starts again in a few hours,” said Lana. “You need to clean up by then. I’ll have Pam get you a coffee.”
“Black and no sugar,” said Carlos in a happy, singsong voice.
Lana called someone from her phone. “Pam,” she said, “bring a coffee into Carlos’s room. Black and no sugar.”
“Who’s Pam?” Carlos asked, looking at Lana with big eyes.
Lana made a face. “You know Pam. She brings you coffee and food.”
Carlos nodded. “So she’s here to party.”
“That’s not wh—” Lana sighed and shook her head, giving up.
Carlos looked at me and Ian. “Are you guys here to party, too?”
“No,” said Ian. “Although I might party with you later.”
Carlos leaned forward and his mouth gaped open a little. “I know you!” he said. “I saw you two yesterday! You’re the ones who can’t sing. And you dance funny, too.”
I felt my face go red. “That was an act.”
“Right.” Carlos nodded, as though that was a perfectly logical explanation.
“Anyway,” I said, relieved to have gotten that over with so easily, “I wanted to ask you about Lana.”
Carlos said, “Right in front of her? Isn’t that rude?”
Lana looked at him and rolled her eyes. “No, it’s rude to talk behind someone’s back.”
“And anyway,” said Ian, “would you tell us anything different if she wasn’t here?”
Carlos laughed, even though it wasn’t a funny question. “I guess not. She’s okay.” He gave her a big wink. “As long as she doesn’t tell Rowan about my habit.”
“Rowan knows,” snapped Lana. “Anyway, someone’s trying to kill me.”
Carlos peered at Lana. “Amazeballs.”
“No, not amazeballs,” said Lana. “You know anything about this?”
Carlos shook his head. “No one tells me anything. They think I’m always high.”
“That’s because you are always high!”
“Yeah,” said Carlos, nodding in agreement. “Live it up.”
Lana looked at me in exasperation. Carlos was no help. On the other hand, he didn’t seem to be able to harm anyone, either.
We headed to Gordon’s room next. When we knocked and entered, we found Gordon on the floor, doing shirtless push-ups. He stopped his workout and stood up when we walked in, and I tried not to stare. His abs were outlined, and the waistline of his jeans slung low around his hips.
I’d just broken up with Jack, and now everywhere I looked, there were attractive men. I’d been single for a while before I started dating Jack, but if handsome men kept popping up in my life like this, I’d be back on the dating bandwagon pretty soon.
Gordon gave Lana a quick hug and a peck on the cheek before turning to us. “What’s going on?”
“They’re here because—remember how I told you someone’s stalking me? Tiffany’s a PI. She’ll find whoever’s behind this. Even though she and Ian put on a bad act last night.”
Gordon turned to me seriously. “That was the worst song and dance I’ve ever seen. I had a hard time putting you guys through.”
I gulped and Ian said, “Well, it was just for work. I’m actually a really a good singer. I was just pretending to have stage fright so the other contestants would talk to us.”
Gordon looked at Ian, trying to decide whether or not to believe him. In the end, he chose to ignore Ian completely and turned to me. “Find this guy, soon. We’ve got to keep Lana safe.” He gave Lana a quick squeeze around the shoulders. “I need Lana around for all the advice.”
“Advice?” said Ian.
“Lana’s my mentor,” Gordon explained. “She’s helped me get this far. Without her, I’d just be a burnt-out model with one album to my name.”
I nodded. That explained their dynamic. That’s why Gordon always agreed with Lana.
“She got me onto this show,” he went on. “I owe her.”
“Can you tell us anything about who might be stalking her?” I frowned. “You really believe someone’s trying to kill her?”
“If Lana says someone’s trying to get her, she’s gotta be right.”
“Anyone you suspect?”
Gordon shook his head. “Not that I can think of.”
I looked around his room. There was a vintage Baywatch poster on one wall, Pamela Anderson in all her swimsuit glory. There were a few books on a table, and a laptop lying closed on the floor. I asked him a few more questions, but although he clearly wanted to help us out, he didn’t have anything to suggest. I left my card with him, and we all moved along to meet the producer of the show, Rowan.
As we he
aded along the corridor, Ian and I ran into two of the contestants we’d met last night, Shane (who’d been wearing the wolf t-shirt) and Melissa. After we explained to them what we were doing here, the two contestants told us that they were heading back upstairs after a practice session, and no, they had no idea that someone was stalking Lana.
Rowan’s room was on one end of the corridor, and it was the largest we’d been in. There was a round table with four chairs tucked under it in one corner, and a three-seater sofa facing a large plasma TV against another wall. In the far corner, there was a desk piled with books, laptops, and a plateful of mini muffins.
Lana introduced us, and after explaining that last night had just been an act, Ian and I asked him all the usual questions. Could he think of anyone who might want to hurt Lana?
“No,” he said. He watched me carefully, not missing a beat. “But then, maybe this is all in Lana’s head.”
“It’s not, Rowan,” Lana snapped. “And I need your support for this.”
“Look, I’m supporting you! But it’s a bunch of coincidences, and who would even bother?”
There was silence for a moment, and then Ian said, “Do you like working with Lana? With all her tantrums?”
Lana laughed, and Rowan cracked a smile. “Yeah, she’s a real hard-ass. Nah, that’s a joke. We built this persona for the show, and it’s doing well for us. Fingers crossed, we’ll get ten more seasons out of this show.”
“That’d be great for everyone,” Lana said. “But you need me alive for that.”
We moved on to chat with the director, Steve; like everyone else, he couldn’t help us out. But he gave us a sheet listing all the crew on the show and said, “It might be one of Lana’s crazy fans. After all, she did get a note with that gator. Though the two might not be related, check her fan mail. She gets some real angry letters.”
“But they wouldn’t want to kill you, would they?” Ian said. “And how would they even get in?”