by G. K. Parks
“We analyzed the bouquet. Black Bacarra roses. No card. No note. Only one set of prints on the vase, and those belong to Becky in reception. She said the delivery guy was wearing gardening gloves.”
“What about the bouquets sent to Nykle and Martin?”
“Nothing but roses. A dozen each. No card. No indication of the sender.”
I blew out a breath. “The florist said the orders were placed using Lance Smoke’s credit card, but without an obvious threat, I don’t know if that matters. It might be circumstantial.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Amir said.
Thinking about the other loose ends and hoping to find something to connect the flower deliveries, I asked, “How’s the hotel footage coming along from last night? Did Christian Nykle drop by Dinah’s hotel?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve been focused on figuring out who started the fire.”
“Way to bury the lead. Do we have an ID yet?”
“Negative. All we know is the fire started in the public restrooms just outside the lounge. The ladies room to be precise.”
“Huh.” Several thoughts went through my mind, but before I could voice my theory, a rustling sound came from the back of the room. “I’ll call you back.”
Pushing open the door to the props department, I glanced around at the cluttered, yet organized shelves. “Hello?” I called. “Anyone here?”
My hand rested on the butt of my gun, but I didn’t remove it from beneath my jacket. I’d encountered the prop master briefly on another occasion and didn’t want to give the man a heart attack. I turned the corner and found a large bouquet of black roses.
“Son of a bitch.” Warily, I moved closer. These had a card:
I’m sorry. Love, Lance
Unlike the other flowers Dinah received, the note was handwritten in a flowing script. It’d be easy enough to match it to a handwriting sample, but I doubted the A-lister would deny they were from him since he went to the trouble to sign the card. This bouquet was different from the rest. The vase was blown, red glass in the shape of a heart, and small white tulips and pale violets accented the arrangement.
“What the hell are you doing?” Jett asked, startling me from behind.
I spun, my gun at the ready. “Drop it.”
He cocked an annoyed eyebrow and gave my gun a look of utter amusement. “You first.” He spun the handgun on his finger, and I saw the orange strip. It was one of the studio’s facsimiles. “Does Dinah want to practice her shooting again?” he quipped, pushing past me as he searched one of the plastic tubs on the second shelf. “She’s such a perfectionist.” He let out an annoyed exhale, muttering to himself.
“Did you have anything to do with the flowers?”
“You weren’t supposed to see those.” He dug out a badge and a few other items and put them into the box he was carrying. “Those are none of your business.”
I moved around the shelf, positioning myself between Jett and the door. He wasn’t going anywhere until I got some answers. “Did you put the flowers in Dinah’s trailer this morning?”
“What are you talking about? I picked up Lance’s delivery and brought it here.” He pointed at the vase. “Does this look like Dinah’s trailer to you? Don’t you dare tell her about them.”
“Fine, you want to play that game, I’ll bite. Why don’t you tell me where the hell you parked your SUV?”
He hefted the box and stared at me. “Get out of my way. I have to get these back to set. They’re in the middle of filming.”
“Answer my question.”
“I don’t know.” He tried to shove me with the box, but I pushed back, sending him into the stack of shelves. “You’ll pay for that. Lance will have you banned.”
“And you’ll be arrested. I’m pretty sure in this scenario I win.”
“Arrested for what?” He appeared genuinely confused. “What did he do now?”
“He?”
Jett dropped the box at his feet and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “He took my SUV four days ago when we were leaving the club. He didn’t want to go back to the hotel, and he didn’t want the paparazzi to follow him. I took his limo, and he took the truck. I haven’t seen it since. He said he forgot where he left it. What happened?”
“Lance didn’t go back to the hotel that night?”
Jett shrugged. “I don’t think so. I waited in his room, but he never showed. He called me at five a.m. to pick him up from a diner near the wharf.” He reached into his pocket, and I aimed at him. He looked up, still unaware my gun was real. “Seriously? Isn’t that federal agent routine getting old?” He pulled out his phone. “Just tell me what the damage is so I can get someone to clean it up. We have people who handle these situations.” He hit a few keys on his phone and stared at me expectantly.
“A professional fixer,” I surmised, tucking the gun back into my holster. He wasn’t armed, and I was confident I could take him without resorting to shooting him.
“It’s part of the business.”
“Is stalking part of the business?”
“Lance isn’t being stalked.”
“No kidding. Dinah is.”
Jett chuckled. “Oh, that?”
For a moment, I was convinced I was trapped in the Twilight Zone. “Why are you targeting Dinah?” He looked at the door, itching to escape. “I’ll let you go just as soon as you clear this matter up.”
“That was a stunt to gain publicity and keep Dinah on the front of the magazines. As long as she stays in the limelight, anything she and Lance touch is gold.”
“Why the flowers?”
“They’re from Lance, as an apology. He figures he needs to woo her in order to get her to agree to go public with their relationship. She keeps bucking him when he explains it rationally, so we thought turning up the charm might work.”
“And you think a hundred roses isn’t overkill? Were you planning to suffocate her?”
“What hundred roses? There’s a dozen and some tulips and violets. That’s it.”
“Not those flowers. The ones in her trailer.” I was losing my patience.
Jett glared at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I need to get back. Lance is waiting.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” The hairs at the back of my neck prickled, and I glanced around, feeling as if someone was watching me. “I saw the poster, Jett. I know you’ve been inside her room. Are you jealous of your boss, or are you acting on his behalf?”
Jett reddened. “What?” He blinked rapidly as a sheen of sweat developed on his upper lip. He’d been caught, and he knew it.
“Tell me what happened after Dinah left Clay’s party.”
“How the hell would I know?”
“You chased her up the stairs, didn’t you? And you called her in the middle of the night.”
“You’re insane,” Jett squawked, his voice cracking on an unmanly octave.
Footsteps sounded behind me, and I turned to see Lance storming toward us. Jett took that moment to scurry past, but the star didn’t turn or break stride. He waved away Jett’s muttered excuses and continued on his intended path. I attempted to pursue Jett who was now sprinting for the exit, but Lance blocked my path and grabbed my arm. He shoved me back into the prop room and slammed the door.
Despite Cross’s warning not to confront Lance with the allegations, I had no choice. I didn’t get anything out of Jett. Either Lance was responsible, or he was employing a psychopath. Either way, I thought he ought to listen to what I had to say.
“I warned you to stay away from filming,” he snarled. “What are you doing holding up production? I should have you removed.” He looked down at the gun at my side. “You aren’t authorized to be armed on set. That’s a direct violation. I’ll have your job.”
“I’m doing my job. I was hired to protect Dinah.”
He moved deeper into the room, checking to make sure his flowers were still tucked safely away. “You need to stay away from Dinah. I know w
hat’s best for her. You’re confusing her.”
“You sent the flowers.”
“That isn’t a crime.”
“Threatening phone calls in the middle of the night are.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I never threatened her. Sure, I might have called to hook up, but who hasn’t done that?”
“Killing a man is a crime.”
“What the fuck have you been smoking?” he asked. “That’s a movie, honey. Not real life.”
“So you didn’t hit someone with your SUV?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he glanced away. “What are you talking about?”
That sounded like a confession to me. “After you left the club, you hit someone. Jett already said you took his SUV. The police found a body. Does that ring any bells?”
“Shit.” He blew out a breath. “You can’t be serious. I didn’t do that.” But something in his eyes told me he wasn’t sure.
“Then Jett did.”
“No.” He swallowed. “That’s not possible.”
“Too high to remember? You were doing blow with whoever you took into the bathroom. Maybe I should ask her what happened that night.”
He licked his bottom lip. “I’m not saying a word to you. Stay the hell away from me and my assistant. You’re just some crazy bitch who misses the glory days of being an actual cop.”
“Fine, let’s talk about the prop dummy that was dressed like Dinah and stabbed through the heart. That’s a threat, Mr. Smoke. Any idea who might have done it?”
“Someone did that?” he sounded dumbfounded. “No wonder Di’s been so out of it lately.”
“You took credit for the flowers, but you deny that?” Even as I made these accusations, they felt wrong. Lance didn’t go back to the hotel after the club, so he couldn’t have chased Dinah up the stairs. Jett was there, but he seemed to be unaware of a lot of things. Or he was great at playing dumb.
“Flowers are romantic. They are an I’m sorry, not an I’m going to stab you, eeek, eeek, eeek.” Lance made a stabbing gesture and mimicked the sound from Psycho. “Do I look crazy to you?”
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I reached for it, keeping one eye on Lance. It was the police. They found Jett’s SUV abandoned near the water. The front fender was badly dented and showed signs of blood and hair. Forensics was analyzing it now.
“Have you checked for prints?” I asked.
“It’s been dusted. We’ve found several sets. They’re being run through IAFIS now. I’m guessing you sent us to look for this car in connection with our DB.”
“Yeah.” I stared at Lance, who was fidgeting uncomfortably.
“Thanks.” The homicide detective reconsidered hanging up. “Our lab experts were able to recover a single image from the internal memory of the camera found beneath the dumpster. It’s pretty blurry and pixelated from the recovery, but I’ll text it to you. Maybe you can make heads or tails out of it.”
“Sure.” I tucked the phone back in my pocket. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me what’s going on? The cops found the SUV.”
Lance squeezed his eyes closed. “I’m not speaking to you. If they have questions, they can talk to my attorney. We’re done. And so are you.” He pushed his way out of the room.
“We’re not through.”
“Yes, we are.”
He detoured to the stage, and I followed after him, unwilling to let him out of my sight until this matter was resolved. I already lost Jett. I wouldn’t lose my other potential suspect. Grabbing my phone, I called security and told them to detain Jett. Lance crouched down in the middle of his character’s living room and reached for something on the floor. From this angle, I couldn’t see what was on the ground in front of him, but I heard the sudden staticky buzz and saw Lance drop.
I took a step closer, seeing the live wire spark and jump momentarily before the circuit breaker overloaded and the lights around the set went dead. I dialed 911. While I relayed pertinent facts, I knelt next to Lance and felt for a pulse. Shit. I put my phone on the ground, listening to the operator as I began chest compressions. After what felt like an eternity, he gasped, and I let out the breath I’d been holding.
“He’s back. Get that ambulance here ASAP.” I hit the disconnect and dialed the security station. The studio had medics on standby who’d be able to help a lot faster than emergency services. “Lie still. You’re okay. Help’s on the way.”
He didn’t say a word. He just winced and closed his eyes. I noticed the flashing image on my phone’s screen. It was from the homicide detective. It was a blur of pale skin and dark hair. Basically, a photographic Picasso of a person’s likeness which was entirely indecipherable unless you knew who you were looking for. In that instant, I knew who was stalking Dinah Allen, and it wasn’t Jett or Lance.
Thirty-six
“Is he dead?” Elodie asked from somewhere in the dark.
“Lance, don’t speak and don’t move,” I whispered. “Help is on the way.”
“Alex, is he dead?” she repeated more forcefully.
“Where are you?” I called, removing my gun and chambering a round. With my other hand, I grabbed my phone and flipped the flashlight on. It didn’t do much to illuminate the dark, expansive studio, but it might be enough to lure Dinah’s stalker out into the open. “It’s safe. You can come out.”
“He was ruining her life,” Elodie said, and I moved laterally around the stage in the direction of her voice.
“He can’t hurt her now,” I said. Elodie didn’t speak, but I heard shuffling near the back corner. “You only wanted to protect her. She’ll be grateful.”
“You’re hurting her too.”
“Me?” That was a surprise.
She let out a derisive snort. “I saw you last night with him. In his car. You’re conspiring against Dinah.”
Martin. Of course, she’d seen us. She was in the lobby. She set the fire. It had been her the entire time, but we overlooked it because Dinah said he chased her. Elodie used Dinah’s key to get into the gym and make the call, and she had access to Dinah’s trailer and the set. She must have found a way to sneak in and out without us noticing, or she enlisted the help of her clueless friends. She used Jett to point us in the wrong direction. Her friendship with Jett must have been how she got access to Lance’s credit cards.
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re a liar,” she screamed from behind me.
I spun, but it was already too late. She barreled into me with a heavy metal object, and I heard and felt the ka-thump followed by jolting pain. Ka-thump. Ka-thump. Batting the nail gun away from my chest with my elbow and forearm, I aimed and fired at her, but she skittered away into the dark.
I dropped to my knees. I couldn’t breathe. The flashlight was inches away, but I didn’t dare make a move for it for fear that it would give away my location. I swallowed, looking down at the three nails sticking straight out of my chest. I tugged on the top of my vest and looked down. They didn’t penetrate.
My eyes searched the pitch black while I struggled to get my lungs to fill. After several wheezing gasps, I climbed to my feet. Scooping the flashlight off the ground, I held the light beneath my gun as I swept the area. Lance remained in the middle of the set. I wasn’t sure if he was still conscious or even alive. His heart might have stopped again.
Spotting a few drops of blood, I cautiously moved in the direction Elodie must have gone. “Elodie,” I called. She was wounded. Maybe I could convince her to give up.
Something clanged inside the prop room, and I edged to the doorway. With all the shelves and clutter, it would be nearly impossible to spot her, but I wasn’t going to give her the opportunity to sneak up on me again. I killed the light and slid along the wall, moving silently toward the sound. She was looking for something, probably Reaper’s gun.
“She wants to be just like you, Alex. She listens to what you say. You told her the person who sent the flowers is evil. You told her the diorama was a threat. Yo
u poisoned her against me.”
“You dressed a prop up in Dinah’s likeness and stabbed it. It looked like a threat.”
“It was a warning,” Elodie insisted. “She spreads her legs and lets these…these men,” she said it as if they were disgusting vermin, “do whatever they want. They take advantage. They use her. First for modeling. Now for acting and gaining publicity. The new one just wanted her to make a deal, but you wanted him for yourself.” She laughed. “Maybe I should thank you for that. At least he didn’t spend the night like the others.”
“Why did you send flowers?”
“It’s their funeral. It’s only appropriate.”
The sound of my voice tipped her off to my location, and she fired in my direction.
“Where’d you get the gun?” I asked, hoping the muzzle flare I’d seen was just a prop.
“I had to take it from that disgusting snoop. The one who takes the pictures. God,” she sounded exasperated, “they post such filth for the world to see. These paparazzi sickos think it’s great to show Dinah being preyed upon by Lance in the most depraved of ways.”
I crouched down and hit the flashlight on my phone, sliding it across the room. She fired again at the moving light, and I rounded the corner, returning fire where I’d seen the muzzle flash. She let out a surprised shriek.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Elodie, but I will if I have to. It doesn’t have to go like this. You were protecting Dinah. Anyone can see that. We’ll get this sorted out, but first, I need you to drop the gun.”
“Don’t worry, Alex. I have everything under control. The perfect cover story.” She bumped into one of the shelves, and I followed the movement, finally able to decipher her from the shadows. I stepped backward, making myself less visible as I focused on her position. “You thought Jett was stalking Dinah, but you were wrong. It was Lance. The two of you had words, and somehow, you ended up killing each other.”
“Except he was electrocuted. That’s a pathetic storyline for someone who’s supposedly writing a screenplay.”
“Stop it,” she screamed. “You don’t know anything.”