Killer Cocktail

by Tracy Kiely

  thirty

  “DeDee wasn’t saying ‘Giuseppe’!” I said to Nigel after we’d left and we were back in the car. “She was saying ‘EpiPen’!”

  “Yeah. I got that,” he said. “And you’re throwing out those damn shoes the second we get home. What the hell are they made of anyway?”

  “Steel, naturally.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Well, you have to admit,” I said, “this certainly changes things.”

  “Are we talking about your shoes or Melanie’s death?” Nigel asked, as he pulled onto the highway. A trucker honked his horn and waved at Skippy.

  “Melanie’s death,” I answered. “Someone must have tampered with the EpiPen knowing that Melanie was going to need it.”

  Nigel shook his head in disgust. “That’s what DeDee must have seen and was trying to tell me. And I helpfully shouted it out for everyone to hear.”

  I reached over and squeezed his hand. “This is not your fault, Nigel,” I said firmly. “You had no idea what DeDee was saying, let alone that it could endanger her.”

  Nigel fell silent and concentrated on driving. After a minute he asked, “Do you think whoever tampered with the pen was the father of Melanie’s baby?”

  “It’s possible,” I answered.

  “Sara was really trying to sell us the idea that Melanie and John were going to get back together,” Nigel said. “Do you think there’s any truth to that?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “There’s certainly nothing on the tapes to support that, but that isn’t proof. I do think Sara is hiding something. When I first asked her about Melanie being ill, she claimed it was too long ago to remember. And yet in the next breath she was telling us about the ingredients in a salad dressing.”

  “I caught that,” Nigel said. “Do you think she’s hiding the identity of the father? Could he be the source of her wise investments?”

  “I think it’s a distinct possibility.”

  thirty-one

  The Hollywood Handprint and Footprint ceremonies are held outside the famed Grauman’s Chinese Theater. Tourists love them because they’re free to the public, and you never know who you might see there. Today’s crowd had lucked out. Barry had brought along Frank, Christina, and John, who in turn each stood up and gave a short speech. The paparazzi were having a field day. Mandy had gotten us VIP passes so we were able to watch the ceremony up close. Unfortunately, this resulted in the addition of a certain dog’s paw prints finding their way into Barry’s cement block. I was mortified, but Barry only laughed and said, “Leave it. People always say I’m a son of a bitch, anyway. Let them think they’re right!”

  After the ceremony, we headed over to the rooftop of the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. A sleek and modern terrace with a panoramic view of the city, the spot was a favorite among Hollywood’s elite. Striped cabana-like booths and canary yellow umbrellas surrounded a crystal blue wadding pool. In the distance the iconic Hollywood sign stood proud. Against all this, upwards of one hundred of Barry’s closest friends mingled. Janice saw us first and came over immediately. “Nigel and Nic! How lovely to see you again,” she gushed. Based on her overly friendly greeting, I suspected that she knew why we’d been asked to come. “I’m so pleased that you could join us!” Looking down at Skippy, she added, “And this precious boy must be Skippy.”

  Skippy cocked his head and studied Janice. From his expression, I don’t think he liked being referred to as a “precious.” Still, he sat and politely offered her his paw. Janice cooed over him as if he had addressed her in fluent French. “Well, isn’t he the sweetest thing?” she said clapping her hands.

  As there was no polite way to ask if she’d been drinking, I said nothing. Janice escorted us to where Christina and Mandy stood talking, their heads pressed close together. “Darling!” she sang out as she approached, “Nic and Nigel are here!”

  At the sound of her mother’s voice, Christina’s head snapped up. An expression of irritation flickered across her face as she regarded Janice. Ignoring her mother completely, Christina greeted us with a grateful smile.

  “Nic. Nigel,” she said extending her hands toward us. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  “Thank you for inviting us,” I answered.

  “Well, I’ll let you talk,” Janice said with a bright smile. “But, Christina, don’t neglect Frank. Remember, he’s getting ready to make his casting decision, and I’ve got a really good feeling that he’s going to pick you. It never hurts to spread a little extra sunshine his way, if you know what I mean.”

  “Go away, Mother,” Christina said closing her eyes.

  Surprisingly, Janice did not take offense at her daughter’s dismissal. Instead, she let out a little laugh and patted Christina on the arm. “You always get grouchy when you don’t eat. I’ll fix you a plate of something. Veggies, I think. If Frank gives you that role, which I’m sure he will, you’ll have to slim down.”

  “Go away now, Mother,” Christina repeated.

  Janice merely tittered, shaking her head as she moved away. Mandy looked askance at Christina, “Is she drunk?” she asked.

  Christina shrugged. “Probably. She’s sure that Frank is going to offer me the role in Barry’s new film. She’s been celebrating.”

  “I thought the studio hadn’t signed off on that yet,” Mandy said.

  Christina looked at her sharply. “Where did you hear that?” she asked.

  Mandy’s gaze slid away. “Barry might have mentioned it to me in passing,” she admitted.

  Christina’s lips pursed together. “Perfect.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “You know what? Who gives a damn? I’ve got bigger things to deal with.” She took a deep breath and turned to Nigel. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you came, especially in light of what that horrible detective seems to think about me,” she said looking up at him. “But, I hope you’ll believe me when I tell you that I had absolutely nothing to do with the attack on DeDee.”

  Her voice shook slightly as she spoke; it was a nice touch. “Of course you didn’t,” Nigel said with a reassuring smile.

  “I’d like to do whatever I can to help you find who did do it, though,” she said, placing her hand on Nigel’s arm. “I know it’s silly, but I feel partly responsible; after all it was my Oscar that they used in the attack.”

  Nigel covered her hand with his and patted it. “It’s kind of you to offer,” he said. “But you’ll be happy to hear that Nic made some progress today. We met with Sara Taylor this morning.”

  Christina frowned. “Sara Taylor?” she repeated.

  “Melanie Summers’s old personal assistant,” I explained. “It was Mandy who was able to track her down for us, actually,” I added with a nod toward Mandy.

  Christina glanced quickly at Mandy and removed her hand from Nigel’s arm. “Oh. I see. Oh, yes. Sara. I remember her now,” she said. “Quiet girl. I didn’t envy her job. Melanie wasn’t an easy woman to work for.”

  “How is Sara?” Mandy asked.

  “Well, I didn’t know her from before, of course,” I said, “but she seems to be doing quite well for herself.”

  “Is she still an assistant?” Christina asked.

  “No,” I said. “She said she retired from the business soon after Melanie died. She bought a house out in Marina Del Rey.”

  Mandy arched an eyebrow at this. “Nice area,” she said.

  “She said something about having made some wise investments,” I answered, just as Sebastian approached. He nudged Christina’s arm slightly, as if to get her attention. Christina’s drink slipped from her hand and spilled down her front.

  “Sebastian!” she cried. “You big oaf. Look what you’ve done!”

  Sebastian glanced down at his sister in surprise. “What did I do?” he asked in confusion.

  “You spilled my drink,” she answere
d, indicating her now wet skirt.

  “I barely touched you,” he protested.

  “Then why am I wet?” she retorted. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said to the rest of us, “I need to mop this off me. I’ll be right back.”

  Sebastian watched her march off with an expression of surprise. Turning to Mandy, he asked, “What was that all about?”

  Mandy shrugged and took a sip of her wine. “She’s a little on edge. On top of everything else, your mother has been at her about Frank’s new movie. She told her to ‘play nice,’” Mandy said bending her fingers into air quotes.

  Sebastian made a noise of disgust. “God, some things never change.”

  “Which project is this?” Nigel asked.

  “It’s a courthouse drama set in the south about a judge who becomes romantically involved with the prosecutor,” said Sebastian. “Christina is being considered for the role of the prosecutor, but the studio is concerned that she’s too old for the part. The kicker, of course, is that Johnny has been cast as the judge.”

  Mandy rolled her eyes in disgust. “Typical Hollywood sexism. And you know what’s worse?” she asked before answering her own question. “Barry says the studio wants to give the role to Jules.” She tilted her head to an area to our right. Looking over I saw Jules. She was standing at the edge of the pool, her body pressed close to Frank’s. He said something, and she giggled and patted his arm.

  “Ouch,” I remarked.

  Mandy nodded. “Ouch, is right.”

  “What the hell is Jules doing?” Sebastian asked.

  “The only thing she knows how to do,” Mandy said. “Playing nice.”

  Sebastian frowned and watched the pair with narrowed eyes.

  thirty-two

  Mandy and I had gone inside the restaurant in search of a restroom, when we bumped into John. He was talking to two very pretty and very young women. One was blonde; the other was brunette. Other than that, there was little to set them apart. “Hello, John. Enjoying yourself ?” Mandy asked archly.

  John turned bleary eyes in her direction and produced a lopsided smile. “Mandy!” he cried, either oblivious or indifferent to her annoyance. “How are you? I want you to meet my new friends.”

  “Oh, gosh. How can I say this?” Mandy asked as if at a loss for words. Then, with a snap of her fingers she said, “Oh, right. I’d rather not.”

  John ignored her. Waving his hand toward the girls, he said, “This is Jasmine and Stacy.” It wasn’t clear who was who. However, it wasn’t an omission that was likely to plague me. “Girls, you know Mandy,” John continued before gesturing toward me. “And this is Nicole Martini. You know, the one with the tapes everyone is talking about.”

  The blonde gave me a sympathetic frown. “Did that happen to you, too? God. Don’t you hate it when guys film you and put it on the Internet?” she asked.

  The brunette snickered and punched her friend in the arm. “You idiot!” she giggled. “Not those kind of tapes. He’s talking about those old movie tapes. You know, the ones of that famous movie.” She paused a moment mentally searching for the name, before going with, “Whatchamacallit.”

  “Also known as A Winter’s Night,” I said.

  The brunette nodded and smiled at me as if I’d said something clever. “That’s the one!”

  “Oh!” said the blonde, her eyes going wide. Turning to John, she put her hand on his arm. “You were in that movie! But, wait.” Her brow creased in thought. “Didn’t somebody die on that set?” she asked.

  John stiffened. “Yes,” he said, his voice going flat. “Melanie Summers.”

  “I heard Barry Meagher was having an affair with her,” the brunette said, her voice barely a whisper.

  The blonde giggled. “Big deal. Barry Meagher has an affair with everyone,” she said.

  Next to me Mandy froze. “What did you just say?” she asked, her voice low and angry.

  The blonde seemed surprised at the question. Opening her vapid brown eyes very big, she said, “Oh come on, everyone knows that Barry is a total man slut. I mean, don’t get me wrong. The man exudes sex appeal. He may be old, but he’s still got it. Hell, I wouldn’t say no to a private meeting with him, if you know what I mean.”

  Mandy glared at the woman, mouth pinched, nose flared. Leveling John with a glacial stare, she hissed, “Get your little friends out of here, now. I doubt their future holds more promise than a short stint at Hooters and a lifetime on Z-Paks but Cecelia will destroy you and them if she gets wind of this crap. This is a party for Barry. You’d do well to remember that.”

  The warning seemed to sober John. He nodded at Mandy and began to usher the protesting girls outside. Mandy watched them go, her expression still furious. Once they were out of sight, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “You okay?” I asked after a minute.

  She nodded and took another deep breath before opening her eyes. Shooting me an apologetic smile, she said, “Sorry. I just get so sick of those rumors. I feel so sorry for Cecelia. People have been saying their marriage is a sham since day one. They never had any kids, you know, which only added fuel to the fire. Everyone thinks Barry married her because she was Frank’s sister and it would help his career.”

  “Did he?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Mandy replied matter-of-factly. “But I still feel bad for Cecelia that everyone knows it.”

  We returned to the rooftop to find Christina, Janice, and Sebastian chatting with Danielle about living with her mother in Italy. “Bellagio is gorgeous,” Danielle was saying. “In the mornings, Mom and I would sit on the patio and drink coffee and watch the mist float over Lake Como.”

  “It sounds perfect,” said Christina.

  “It was,” Danielle said. She paused and added, “Well, it almost was. Not being able to see my dad every day was hard. I really missed him. I think my mom did, too. I don’t think she ever got over him. After she died, I thought about staying in Bellagio, but it wouldn’t be the same. Too many memories, I guess. Besides, it was time for me to come home.”

  “Your mom sounds like she was a very special lady,” I said. “I’ve heard nothing but nice things about her from everyone. Which, as you probably know, is a rarity in this town.”

  Danielle looked at the floor and nodded. “Thank you. She was special.” She paused and added, “But I’ve got my dad, and he’s great, too.

  “You’re working for him as an editor now, right?” I asked. “Are you enjoying it?”

  She nodded, a genuine smile lighting up her face. “I am. I absolutely love it. I always wanted to work in this business. The fact that I get to do so with my dad just makes it all the more amazing.”

  “Well, it seems like you have an eye for it. Even as a kid. You captured a lot of great things on your videos,” I said.

  Danielle looked at me with a doubtful smile and said, “I have a feeling you are being very polite. But thank you. Honestly, I had forgotten all about those tapes. I’m dying to watch them. When do you think they’ll be ready?”

  “I’m not sure, actually,” I answered. “As you may have heard, we’ve hit a few bumps.”

  Her eyes widened with sympathy. “I did. I can’t believe someone broke into your house,” she said. “Do the police have any leads?”

  I shook my head. “A few, but nothing solid yet,” I answered.

  “What are we talking about?” asked Jules in a sing-songy voice as she and Frank joined our group. She was wearing a skintight rose-colored sheath and had draped herself around Frank like a spring accessory.

  “The latest on our break-in,” I explained.

  “Oh, that’s right. I heard your employee was attacked,” Jules said to Nigel, her eyes wide with concern. “Is that true?”

  “It is,” he said.

  Jules’s expression of concern quickly morphed into one of disgust. “How awful,” she
said. “I hope she is okay.”

  “That’s kind of you,” Nigel said.

  Jules made a production of shaking her head as if she were lamenting the moral erosion of today’s society. She really was a terrible actress. After a moment, she made a small noise as if startled by a sudden thought. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” she said, “but didn’t I hear something about an Oscar statue being used in the attack?” Across from me, Christina watched Jules with narrowed eyes.

  “I don’t know,” Nigel answered amiably, “Did you?”

  Jules scrunched her face into an expression of serious concentration. After a minute, she looked up as if the answer had suddenly made itself clear. “Yes,” she said. “I did. I’m sure of it.” With a startled gasp, she then turned to Christina. “Didn’t I hear something recently about your Oscar going missing?”

  Christina took a steadying breath. “I don’t know, Jules,” she said. “I’m not an audiologist.”

  This time Jules’s expression of confusion was genuine. “What?” she asked.

  “I’m not an audiologist,” Christina repeated as if she were talking to a deaf relative. She paused. “That’s a doctor who checks your hearing,” she explained slowly. “You seem concerned about yours, so maybe you should make an appointment.”

  Jules’s mouth flattened into a thin glossy pink line. She squared her shoulders. Running her hand up to her hair, she then casually twirled a blonde lock of it around her right forefinger. “Maybe you’re right,” she said with a delicate shrug. “I have heard some strange things.”

  “Not unusual when one is a psychopath,” agreed Sebastian to no one in particular.

  “There are just so many vile rumors in Hollywood,” continued Jules, in a sorrowful voice. “Strange how many of them turn out to be true.”

  “Like the one that claims you can’t act?” asked Sebastian.

  Jules narrowed her eyes. “No,” she snapped. “Like the one that claims that Melanie Summers’s death wasn’t an accident at all.” She paused and then looked pointedly at Christina. “Funny how well her death worked out for you, Christina,” she said with an icy smile. “After all, it got you your big break, didn’t it?”