Long, Lean, and Lethal

by Heather Graham

  It didn’t matter. He could function on very little sleep. When he did lie awake—and alone—at night, he watched old movies.

  Some of them were musicals. Mainly, he followed certain directors. He liked Stanley Kubrick films. Elia Kazan. Old classics like Spartacus and Ben-Hur. And he loved Hitchcock. He had every one of the fifty-three movies Hitchcock had directed. He didn’t care if they had been critically well received or box office hits—he simply loved Hitchcock. He had studied the man. A weird, fat fellow, schooled by Jesuits, Hitchcock had fallen in love with his wife, Alma, in England, where they’d both worked for a film company. Some people had considered him to be a little bit psychotic—obsessed with sex and death. But most of the time he had put on film stories written by someone else. So if he had been psychotic, others had certainly been psychotic as well.

  He had worked with such beautiful women. In-grid Bergman, Janet Leigh, Tippi Hedren, and Grace Kelly, to name just a few. His career had spanned decades. He had been fabulous with his twist endings. Hugh sincerely believed that any would-be director was worth his salt only if he studied the films of Hitchcock.

  That night he had been watching Notorious. When the film ended, he channel-changed over to regular television. He caught the late-night news. And there it was. Another murder.

  Watching the story about the discovery of the murdered woman made him shake. He got himself a drink.

  He sat alone in the dark in his bedroom with the television channel changer in his hands. He flicked from channel to channel, hoping that one of the newscasters would identify the victim. They never said that her identity was unknown—they said that it would not be divulged until her next of kin had been notified.

  He watched, and watched, and watched.

  A prickling fear swept through him. She had been strangled to death with a tie.

  He thought about his missing ties.

  And about Brenda Lopez.

  And he was sick.

  Andy was unbelievably sober and poised the next day, his behavior calm and reasonable through all the talk that flowed on the set. He still seemed careful, though, talking normally, but always watching, as if he were afraid someone might be threatening his back at any moment.

  Joe Penny, too, seemed disturbed.

  But then, Abby was disturbed that morning as well, upset about the dead woman and about the fact that Jennifer and Conar had found her. She saw the story first thing in the morning. She hadn’t been hysterical or panic-stricken, but she had warned Jennifer to be careful, and to stay with Conar.

  Perhaps it was only natural that everyone should be distressed. The poor murdered woman Jennifer had discovered was the only topic of conversation as people first filed into work. Newspapers were spread all over the studio—everyone had read them.

  “Have they given out her name yet?” Andy asked, coming up behind Jennifer as she sat near the cast’s breakfast buffet, sipping coffee.

  “Not that I know of,” she said.

  “Did you recognize her, Jen?” Joe Penny asked. He sounded anxious, she thought. He looked tired and worn. His immaculate white hair was tousled.

  She eyed him uneasily. “No.”

  “Conar, did you recognize her?” Jim Novac, grabbing a half bagel, asked.

  He shook his head. “But if I didn’t … I might have.”

  “What?” Joe demanded.

  “She wouldn’t have looked the same,” Serena said.

  “What do you mean?” Joe persisted.

  “It’s not a nice way to die,” Conar said impatiently. “Her face was mottled, her eyes were bulging …”

  “That’s enough,” Kelly whispered.

  “Yes, I think so,” Conar agreed.

  Andy rustled a newspaper, shaking his head. “It’s so terrible that you two found her.”

  “Maybe not,” Joe Penny said. They all stared at him. He shrugged. “Well, we are getting lots of free publicity out of it.”

  “Joe, that’s awful,” Jennifer told him.

  “Hey, it’s our livelihood,” he said. He sounded so completely dispassionate that she felt a chill sweep through her. “Don’t go looking at me like that. I’ve had my plot lines determined for a long time now.”

  “Maybe we should change them,” Doug said.

  Joe stared at him, shaking his head. “We’ve changed it all enough. I don’t care how many bodies they find.”

  “Joe Penny, you should be jailed for that comment!” Serena told him.

  He seemed defensive and irritated. He hadn’t shaved, Jennifer thought. Strange. He was always such a man about town. Older but dignified, and usually so immaculate in every aspect of his appearance.

  “Sorry. I’m just a little unnerved.”

  “I’m feeling a little unnerved myself,” Jennifer murmured.

  “It’s awful, what’s happening,” Vera Houseman said with a shudder.

  “Awful for the world at large. Worse than awful for Jennifer,” Doug said. “And Conar, of course.”

  “Yeah. Hey, Conar,” Joe said seriously.

  “What?”

  “You know what you should do the next time you find a body?”

  “Jennifer actually found the body, Joe. And I’m really hoping that I never find another.”

  Joe waved a hand in the air. “Well, if either of you ever comes across a dead body again, here’s what you do. Walk on by. Just walk on by. That way total strangers won’t bother you about it.”

  “Joe!” Jennifer exclaimed.

  Conar was watching him, gray eyes narrowed.” Didn’t you say that you were enjoying the publicity?”

  “Yeah, sure. Publicity, of any kind, is good. I was just thinking about the two of you. Hey, what is this, by the way, a gab fest? We’re on a tight schedule here. Let’s get to work.”

  Self-consciously, they all began to move.

  Despite the way that the morning began, rehearsals and shooting went well. In the first scene, Andy’s character accosted Jennifer’s before she could beat her sister to a meeting with the newly arrived David DeVille. She managed to escape him and plunge into a party scene at the family manor. She wasn’t in the second scene filmed that day, in which her soap parents discussed her impending divorce—and the arrival of David DeVille. The police arrived at the Valentine manor house to warn the Valentines that there had been a murder in a nearby vineyard—the daughter of one of the town’s most renowned vintners. In the third scene, she accosted Conar’s character, warning him to let her sister alone—and to stay away from the Valentine cellars. He wanted their vineyard, nothing more. Naturally, he dragged her into his arms, reminding her that there had been Paris, that Paris had come before her ridiculous marriage or her desperate attempts to seduce her oldest sister’s husband. She slapped him and ran.

  She wasn’t scheduled in the rest of the scenes for that day. She retired to her dressing room, figuring she’d wait for Conar to finish up, even though he was scheduled straight through the next several hours. They had only brought one car. It was hers, but she didn’t want to leave him.

  Nor did she want to go home alone.

  The phone rang, and she picked up.

  “Yes, it’s Jennifer.”

  She expected someone in the cast, her mother, or a friend—not many people had the number to her private extension on the set.

  “Jennifer Connolly?”

  It was a woman’s voice.

  “Yes?”

  “I need to see you.”

  “I’m sorry. Who is this?”

  “It’s really important. I was a friend of Brenda’s.”

  “Brenda Lopez?”

  “Yes, of course, and I knew Trish Wildwood as well.”

  “You’ve lost me. Who is Trish Wildwood?”

  “You haven’t seen the news in the last few hours, Miss Connolly. Trish Wildwood is the woman you found last night.”

  Jennifer sat still and silent, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. “Was Trish Wildwood an actress?”

  “
Up-and-coming, but she’d been surviving. Which is more than you can say for some folks in Hollywood.”

  “I’m so terribly sorry.”

  “I believe that you are. I’d really like to talk to you.”

  “We are talking.”

  “Not on the phone. And alone.”

  “You’re more than welcome to come to—”

  “Oh, no, I’m not coming to your home, Miss Connolly. That’s the last place in the world I want to be seen. Meet me, please, meet me to talk.”

  “Frankly, you haven’t told me yet who you are, and while you’re telling me that my mother’s home is the last place you want to be seen, meeting strangers alone doesn’t seem to be high on my list of priorities at the moment.”

  The woman laughed with a pained note. “We are all getting paranoid, aren’t we? Two murders, in a huge city—and everyone is frightened.”

  “Look—”

  “My name is Lila Gonzalez.”

  “Lila Gonzalez. Your name is familiar.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “You’re an actress?”

  “Yes, but not really one in your circle of acquaintances. Still, I’d really like to see you. And not somewhere dark or deserted—just not your house. If we meet somewhere, it could be a casual occurrence and nothing more. Will you just meet me for a cup of coffee? Anytime would be fine.”

  Jennifer gave her the name of a restaurant she knew right off Sunset. There were a number of outdoor tables at the place, and she decided she’d go home and pick up Lady, bring her big dog with her. She’d leave Conar a note telling him to grab a ride with one of the others.

  “I can see you around six, I think. I may be a little late,” Jennifer told Lila, trying to calculate traffic.

  “Great.”

  Jennifer started to hang up, then hesitated. She thought she heard a clicking, as if someone else were hanging up. She looked back at her phone. It had twenty-one lines. Anyone in his or her own dressing room might have picked up on the call.

  A tapping on her door made her jump.

  “Jennifer?”

  It was Doug. She felt like a fool.

  “Doug, come in.”

  He entered, plopping down on the couch opposite her dressing table. “You look great with Wonder Boy. You’re doing such a remarkable job of getting along with him.”

  He was teasing her, she could tell. She wondered how Doug had figured out that they were sleeping together.

  “Why are you acting like the cat that ate the canary?” she inquired.

  “I’m just glad that we’re doing things the way we’re doing them.”

  “Which is … ?”

  “You’ll see on Friday.”

  “Great.” She stood up. “Okay, Mystery Man, Conar drove in with me this morning, but I think I’m going to take off—he’s going to be hours yet. If you’re going to be hanging around here, will you give him a ride to the house for me?”

  Doug frowned. “Well, I can, but I thought that we might go have coffee.”

  “I’m really tired, Doug. Would you mind just bringing him for me?”

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  “See you later, then,” she said, and fled quickly.

  When she reached the house, she found that Drew Parker was visiting her mother. They were sitting by the pool. Abby seemed relaxed in Drew’s company. Both dogs were running around the yard. It was a domestic, normal picture.

  “Sweetheart!” Abby said, pleased to see her. Drew rose and squeezed her hands warmly, and kissed her cheek.

  “Hi, to both of you.”

  “Where’s Conar?” her mother asked with a frown.

  “Still on the set. Doug will drive him home.”

  Abby was still frowning, but she seemed to accept this. “Have some tea and scones with us, dear.”

  “Scones?” Jennifer said.

  Her mother smiled. “Mary has been cooking. Edgar has hardly taken more than a few hours off in weeks.”

  Mary McDougal was one of the two maids who came in on a part-time basis to help Edgar keep the house up. She was as Irish as a four-leaf clover, in the States barely a year, and very industrious.

  “A scone sounds great. Quickly. I just came home for Lady. I’m—” She hesitated, not wanting to worry her mother. “I’m meeting a bunch of the girls for a bite at the Flamingo Café just off Sunset.”

  “Alone?” Abby said worriedly.

  “Mom. I’m meeting a bunch of the girls. I’m taking Lady with me.” She was only lying a little. She was going to a heavily populated section of town with a very big dog. She’d be okay.

  “Jennifer, I don’t know … ,” Abby said.

  Drew gave her a sympathetic look. “Abby, Lady is one big dog.”

  “I’ll be okay,” Jennifer said firmly. She flashed Drew a smile of gratitude and took a scone. It was delicious, a raisin scone with cinnamon. She was glad she stopped to eat. Mary’s tea was delicious as well, brewed with leaves to a perfect point, strained, and served in her mother’s delicate little teacups. “Mary makes the best tea,” she said.

  “Don’t let Edgar hear you say that,” Drew warned.

  “I won’t, I promise you,” she said, and laughed.

  “Have another scone,” her mother suggested.

  “Mom, I’m meeting people at a café for something to eat,” she reminded Abby.

  “All right. But, Jennifer, when you get back, may I talk with you for a few minutes?”

  “Of course, Mom. What is it?”

  “When you get back.”

  Did Abby want to talk to her alone, without Drew present? She would have pushed it now, except for that fact. She didn’t want to make waves. Abby looked good. Really good, better than she had looked in days. She wasn’t shaking with any of her violent tremors.

  “Of course, Mom.”

  “Don’t be long, please.”

  “I promise. I won’t be.”

  “Take your cellular phone.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She kissed her mother and Drew and went to the coat tree in the den where the dog’s leashes were hung. When she came back for Lady, Ripper was suddenly all over her, barking and distressed.

  “I can’t take you, too,” she told the little Yorkie, scratching his ears and setting him down firmly. He jumped at her again, barking wildly.

  “Ripper!”

  “I’ll get him,” Drew offered.

  “Thanks.”

  He came for the Yorkie, but when he picked him up, the dog tried to snap.

  “Ripper!” Jennifer admonished. The little dog hung his head, but then started barking again.

  “He’ll be okay when you’re gone,” Drew assured her.

  “I’ll take him, Drew,” Abby called. “He does well with me.”

  For once Jennifer was glad that Conar’s dog liked her mother. She needed to get going.

  With Lady on her leash and her cell phone thrown into the car, Jennifer started back down toward Sunset.

  Traffic was terrible, and it took her far longer than she had expected. She had to park her car much farther from the restaurant than she wanted, but she left it on a side street and felt confident walking with Lady back toward the restaurant.

  It was closer to seven than six. She hoped Lila Gonzalez had waited.

  With Lady, she stood outside the café, watching anxiously for a young woman who might be Lila. Finally, a waiter approached her.

  “Miss Connolly?”

  “Yes?”

  “Miss Gonzalez is waiting for you inside. I’m afraid the dog isn’t allowed in.”

  “Can we have a table outside?”

  The young man shrugged, then said, grinning, “Miss Connolly, believe it or not, I watch Valentine Valley. I’d love to get you a table out here. Quickly. But all these people just sat. And my boss is big on no favorites for television and film people, or we’d have pissed-off clientele all the time. Inside is all we’ve got. We barely have that. Miss Gonzalez has been sitting the
re for a while now as it is.”

  Jennifer hesitated, then felt like a paranoid fool. She wouldn’t be staying long. “Please tell her I’ll be right back. I’ve got to put the dog in the car.”

  “Sure thing. Make sure you roll your windows down, huh?”

  “Of course.”

  “Sorry, Lady,” she told her wolfhound.

  She walked back to the car. It was slightly uphill. She realized that she had parked past another vacant lot, and then a condemned house.

  “And they say property is so expensive down here,” she muttered to the dog. “They need to make better use of it.”

  She slid back into her car and rolled the windows partially down. “You protect the home front, eh, Lady?”

  The dog whimpered.

  She locked Lady in the car with plenty of air in the cool night, and hurried the few blocks back to the restaurant. The young waiter had just delivered two glasses of wine to an outside table, and he quickly motioned to her, escorting her inside to a table at the rear of the restaurant.

  The woman sitting at the table was very attractive. She had long, sleek ash blond hair, large brown eyes, and nearly perfect skin. As she stood up, Jennifer saw she was tall and slim and handsomely dressed in a business suit. “Hi,” she said, flashing a quick smile of thanks to the waiter. “I’m Lila Gonzalez.”

  “Jennifer Connolly, and I’m so sorry for being so late. It took me longer to get here than I expected.”

  “It’s all right. I’m glad I’ve been drinking decaf cappuccinos, but it’s all right,” Lila said, smiling again. “I really wanted to talk to you.”

  Jennifer sat down.

  “What will you have?”

  “The same,” she said.

  “How about an appetizer platter, too?” Lila said. Leaning forward, she added, “I’ve been taking this table a rather long time.”

  “An appetizer platter sounds great,” Jennifer said.

  The waiter left them.

  “So you were friends with both Brenda and Trish … the girl I found last night,” Jennifer said. .

  Lila nodded. “L.A., the whole scene out here is huge. But then again, it’s very small. Brenda kind of crawled above the pack, but I met both her and Trish because we’d go to lots of the same auditions and parties, you know.”

  “It’s a small world.”

  Lila grinned. “With a pecking order—films, TV, what have you, but still, lots of the players go round and round, and you get to meet them time and again.”