Lowel nodded. “Fine. But let’s make this quick. I have a massage in ten minutes.”
He stepped back allowing Tina and I entry.
“Japanese paper?” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.
“Go with it,” I urged.
While there was nothing in this world I wanted to do less than share an interview with Tina, it was clear this was the only way I was going to get to Lowel today. Better to question him in tandem than not at all.
We followed him into a sitting area twice the size of my entire apartment. A baby grand piano sat by the windows, with two immaculate white lounge chairs, a chaise and a full-sized sofa filling out the room.
“Please, sit down,” the wolf-slash-sheep-slash-wolf said, gesturing to the sofa as he sank down onto the chaise.
“Thank you.” I only hoped he’d be as cordial once we hit him with our damning evidence.
“So, what can I help you with?” Lowel asked.
I opened my mouth to tell him, but Tina pounced first. “Where is your knife?”
Lowel’s eyebrows jumped north, but the rest of his features remained impassive, a testament to his plastic surgeon’s skills. “I beg your pardon. Knife?”
“Every contestant on Stayin’ Alive is outfitted with a survival knife at the beginning of the show.”
“And I have never been a contestant,” he pointed out.
“True,” Tina conceded. “But at the end of season seven, Rebecca Lamm from Freeport, Illinois was so overcome at winning the competition after beating the favorite, Chicago Phil, in both the kayaking challenge and the Spanish Tango that she presented her knife to you as a token of appreciation for your constructive criticism on her dance moves.”
I had to admit I was impressed. Clearly Tina watched a lot more trash TV than I did.
And a lot more than Lowel had counted on as well. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I suppose she did.”
“So, where is that knife now?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“I have a theory!” I piped up.
Tina shot me a look, but I ignored her, plowing ahead. “And correct me if I’m wrong, Lowel,” I said, turning to our host. “But I think your knife is somewhere on the Sunset Studios lot. Wanna know why I think that?”
Lowel shifted again. Clearly he did not.
“Oh, I’d love to know why,” Tina said, playing right along now in my game of good cop, bad cop.
“I think it’s still on the lot because that’s where Lowel tossed it after he stabbed Chester Barker in the back with it.”
“That’s a lie!” Lowel shouted, springing up from his chair so quickly his robe flapped open. I quickly looked away. There were some parts a plastic surgeon wouldn’t touch, and I so did not want to know how saggy those were.
“I don’t think it’s a lie,” I countered. “I think you were more upset with Barker than you let on. Friends or not, he was firing you, replacing you with a younger model.”
I saw Tina raise an eyebrow beside me and did a mental fist-pump—I knew something about Lowel she didn’t.
“You were like the first wife who spent her best years making him a success, just to be tossed aside for a hot young tart,” I added.
Tina shot me a look that clearly questioned whether I had any experience as said “tart” but I brushed it aside, focusing on Lowel.
“Just a guess here, but I’m thinking you enjoy your first-wife status, Lowel,” I continued. “I mean, out-of-work reality show hosts can’t usually afford massages in the Presidential suite, can they?”
Lowel turned red, tugged his robe tighter to his body.
“So, you did the only thing you could do, didn’t you? You stabbed Barker to save your career.”
“You have no proof!” he sputtered.
“We have the coroner’s report,” Tina jumped in.
I nodded. “That’s right. It’s very interesting reading. Have you looked at it, Lowel?”
He didn’t answer, but his artfully tanned skin seemed to pale a shade.
“It details,” I went on, “the exact size and shape of Barker’s stab wound. Which, incidentally, is one-hundred percent consistent with the unique Stayin’ Alive knives.”
Tina nodded in agreement. “Completely consistent.”
Lowel’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Dozens of people had that same knife. You know how many of those we’ve given out throughout the seasons?”
“A lot,” I nodded in agreement.
“One hundred and eight, to be exact,” Tina chimed in. Dang, the girl did her homework. “But guess how many of those one hundred and eight people were on the guest list at the party where Barker was stabbed.”
Lowel clenched his jaw. He clearly wasn’t in the mood for a guessing game.
“I have a guess!” I said, raising my hand.
Tina nodded at me. “Allie?”
“Zero?”
“Correct. Big, fat zero.”
She stared at Lowel. I stared at Lowel.
Lowel seemed to shrink inside his robe, finally sinking back down onto the chaise. “All right, fine,” he sighed, his shoulders sagging. “You’re right. I stabbed Barker. Happy?”
To be honest, I was a little.
“What happened?” Tina asked, leaning in.
“It was all like you said. Stayin’ Alive made Barker, and I made Stayin’ Alive. That man wouldn’t even have a career if it weren’t for me! And how did he thank me? By firing me. Nine years I’d given that creep, and he dumps me like I’m Charlie Sheen.”
“So, you stabbed him,” Tina said.
Lowel nodded. To his credit, he looked sheepish and guilty as hell. “I wasn’t thinking. I was angry. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. He was standing with a couple other producers, telling them all how he was getting rid of dead weight on his shows this season. I knew he was talking about me. The way he was laughing, preening, so pleased with himself. I just snapped.”
“And you stabbed him.”
Lowel nodded again. “I never meant to really hurt him. You have no idea how relieved I was when the hospital said he was going to be fine.”
“Relieved enough to poison him two weeks later?” Tina suggested.
“What? No!” Lowel shook his head violently from left to right. “Look, I stabbed Barker out of blind rage, but I didn’t kill him!”
“And why should we believe you now?” I asked.
“Because it’s the truth!”
“Prove it,” Tina challenged. “Give us an alibi. Where were you the night he was killed?
Lowel looked from me to Tina then back again. He clamped his thin lips shut and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that.”
“Because you were busy poisoning Barker that night?” she asked.
“No!”
“Then where were you?”
He sat back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Fine.” I shrugged. “You don’t want to tell us? You can just tell the police when we let them know it was you who stabbed Barker.”
“You can’t prove that,” Lowel tried again. “It’s my word against yours.”
I watched as Tina grinned. A horrible, wonderful, evil grin. Usually I was the recipient of that look, but this time it was all focused on Lowel. “Au contraire, my friend.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a micro recorder. “It’s your word against yours. I just got it all on tape.”
That was twice in one day Tina’s skills had impressed me. If I didn’t watch out, I was liable to start admiring her or something.
Lowel, on the other hand, blanched. Then his shoulders slumped and, despite the work of his excellent plastic surgeon, his face sagged, looking suddenly all of his nearly fifty-one years.
“Fine. Look, I’ll tell you where I was. But this cannot be printed. Ever. It’s strictly off the record.”
“Fine,” Tina and I said in unison. Though I’m pretty sure I saw Tina’s fingers cross behind her bac
k.
“I was with Sergio Melendez.”
I wrote down the name. “Where?”
Lowel squirmed in his seat. “At his studio. His dance studio.”
I wrote it down. “Okay. And?” I asked, waiting for the punch line.
“And I was at his studio taking dance lessons.”
I blinked at the man.
“It’s true,” he said, his eyes tearing up as he explained. “I’m a sham! I don’t know how to dance to save my life. I have the worst rhythm of anyone you’ve ever seen. Four left feet, to tell the truth. It’s all fake.”
Mental forehead smack. “You’re serious?”
Lowel hung his head. “I’m afraid so.”
I thought I heard Tina snort beside me.
“So all that yelling at the contestants on the show about their poor technique?”
“Totally talking out my ass,” Lowel whined. “I never even saw a tango until the finale of season one.”
“And Barker knew this?” I couldn’t help asking.
Lowel nodded. “Didn’t care. Said I had the presence he was looking for. Barker was a showman.”
So I was beginning to see. I made a mental note to ask Alec how much he knew about it.
“I assume Sergio can confirm your alibi?” Tina asked.
Lowel nodded. “Yes, he’ll tell you I was there. Go ahead and ask him. Discreetly, of course,” he added.
“Of course.”
* * *
As soon as we stepped outside the doors to Lowel’s suite, Tina whipped out her cell and began texting like mad. I peered over her shoulder as we waited for the elevator, but she covered her screen with her thumbs and shot me a dirty look.
“If you want to know what I’m doing, you can ask instead of snooping,” she said.
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Tina, may I ask who you’re texting?”
“Yes, you may. I’m checking on Lowel’s alibi. I happen to know an up-and-coming actress who also takes lessons with Sergio. I’m asking her to ask him about the night Barker died.”
“Is there anyone in Hollywood you don’t know?” I asked. Only slightly sarcastically.
Tina paused a moment. Then shook her head. “Within a Kevin-Bacon degree? No.”
I hated her.
The elevator arrived and by the time we hit the lobby doors, Tina’s phone was beeping with return texts.
“Confirmed,” she said, a distinct note of disappointment coloring her voice. “Lowel was with Sergio from ten to midnight.”
“Your informant is sure?”
Tina nodded. “Totally. Sergio said he was sore for days afterward. Apparently Lowel stepped on his feet. Numerous times.”
“Great. So we’re back to square one.”
Tina sent me a sidelong glance. “Well, maybe you are. I have a few viable leads still.”
I narrowed my eyes at her, trying to decide if she was bluffing or not. “By the way,” I said. “I’d appreciate it if you’d stop telling everyone I’m sleeping with Felix.”
She blinked innocently at me. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I mean, stay out of my business.”
“You mean, like you stayed out of mine by stealing my story?”
“I didn’t steal anything. Felix gave it to me.”
“Right. Because you are Felix’s—”
I shot her a death look.
“—favorite,” she finished. Though I had the distinct feeling that hadn’t been her first word choice.
“Can I help it if I deliver?” I retorted.
“Look, you follow your leads, and I’ll follow mine,” Tina shot back. “We’ll see who delivers this story first.”
“Fine.”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
We both stared at each other a beat. Then Tina turned on her black boots and marched to her motorcycle, revving the engine as she shoved a helmet on her head.
Because I was ninety-nine percent sure she was zooming to the Informer to turn in a story with her name front and solo on it, I quickly jumped in my Bug and pulled up my dictation program to run while I navigated traffic back to the offices.
Not surprisingly, her Honda was a little bit better at navigating between the stalled traffic, and she beat me there. I was just pulling into a spot near the back of the lot when my cell rang.
“What!” I barked, grabbing my bag, laptop, notes.
“Whoa. You always answer the phone that way?” came Felix’s voice.
I bit my lip. “Sorry,” I said, taking my volume down several notches.
“Yes, well, so am I.”
I paused. I glanced up at the second floor windows. Was Felix actually calling to apologize? Granted, he’d been totally in the wrong to tell me that my biggest assets to the paper were my tits, but I was impressed to hear he was big enough to admit it. “You are?” I asked.
“Yes.”
What do you know? He was apologizing.
“Sorry,” he added, “that I don’t have your copy yet.”
And just like that, he had to ruin it.
“Right. Because copy is all you care about.” I slammed my car door shut, heading for the elevator.
“I’m sorry, do I detect a smidgeon of attitude?” he asked.
“Who me? Nope. I’m perky, happy sunshine.”
“That was more than a smidgeon.” He paused. “Do I want to know?”
I stepped off the elevator doors on the second floor. I could see him pacing in his glass office, one hand to his Bluetooth.
“If you don’t know, then I’m certainly not telling you,” I countered.
“Then why are we even having this discussion?”
“We’re not!”
“Wonderful. Your copy?” he pressed.
I pushed through the doors to his office. “Just sent it. Check your inbox.”
He spun around, clearly surprised to see me. “Oh. Hi,” he said, hanging up.
I kept my mouth shut, giving him a mini silent treatment. But he didn’t seem to notice, instead moving to his computer screen, pulling up his inbox, and scanning my story.
“You’ve been busy today.”
“Yes. My assets have gotten a full workout.”
He raised an eyebrow at me but before he could come up with some bitingly British remark, I continued, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”
“Hot lead?” Felix asked.
I put my hands on my hips. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
He paused. Raised his eyes to meet mine. Lifted his eyebrows ever so slightly. “Who?”
“Alec Davies. I’m meeting him for dinner.”
Felix stared at me for a beat, some indefinable emotion flitting behind his eyes. “Dinner?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds personal.”
I paused. “He’s got footage of Don and Deb for me to look at.”
“He could drop that off here.”
“He could,” I agreed.
“So, why the dinner?”
I squared my shoulders. “Okay, so maybe this is a little personal. I am allowed to have a personal life, aren’t I?”
Felix gave me a long, hard stare. “No.”
I blinked. “What do you mean, ‘no?’”
“No, you’re not allowed to have a personal life where Alec Davies is concerned.”
“Oh, yes I am,” I said, my volume rising.
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes. I. Am.”
“No. You’re. Not.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me, but you have no right whatsoever to tell me what to do.”
“I’m your boss.”
“You’re not the boss of my love life.”
He paused. “Love? Just how personal has this gotten already?”
I squared my shoulders, making the most of my meager height. “That is none of your business,” I replied. Even though, quite frankly, there wasn’t much to tell. But even if there was, no way was I telling Felix.
“Like hell you are!” I shouted. “You’re the one who told me I should use my assets. Well, that’s what I’m doing. You don’t like the outcome, that’s your fault.”
Felix took a step toward me. “You are not to go near Davies again, you hear me?”
“Why? Because he’s cute? Successful? Into me?”
Felix took another step toward me, pinning me to the spot with a look so intent I had to stop myself from physically backing away. “No, Allie,” he responded, his voice hard and commanding, “because Davies is a convicted felon.”
Chapter Eleven
I’ll admit it, that nugget of information stunned the snide remarks right out of me. “What?” I breathed out once I’d found my voice again. “What do you mean, ‘felon?’”
“I mean, he’s been convicted of a felony.”
“You must be mistaken.”
Felix shook his head. “I assure you, I’m not.”
“Where did you get this information?”
“From Tina. And she’s never mistaken.”
I thought a really bad word directed at one purple-haired reporter.
“Where did she get it?” I asked. Even though the second the words left my mouth, I remembered the criminal database I’d seen in her browser history earlier. Apparently she hadn’t been bluffing at the hotel when she’d alluded to an ace up her sleeve.
Felix crossed the room to his computer and jiggled the mouse to life. A few clicks later, a picture of a younger-looking Alec filled his screen. In a mug shot.
“I don’t believe it,” I whispered, taking in the photo.
Only, of course, the proof was here staring me in the face. And I felt like a fool. I’d let his dimples and easy smile distract me from good investigating. I was better than that.
“What was he convicted of?” I asked, hoping Felix said jaywalking.
“Theft.”
Damn.
“Apparently,” Felix went on, “grand theft auto, according to his rap sheet.”
“He stole a car?”
“Fifteen cars.”
Yikes. “So, why isn’t he in jail now?”
Hollywood Confessions Page 12