by Tripp Ellis
"Tell me about your encounter with Zach Ward first."
I filled her in on the details. She soaked it all in. "I'm surprised he talked to you."
“Usually, I consider the ex-boyfriends suspects. But he didn't give me that impression. Tricia Marlowe seems like a real handful, though. But other than a general disdain for Mia, I don't think she had motive."
She played devil’s advocate. “Maybe our imagination is running away with us? Maybe Mia died of an OD and an unfortunate circumstance. I mean, it's crazy to think that someone in the medical examiner's office altered the autopsy report, right?"
I shook my head. "I don't think we’re the crazy ones."
Lyric took another sip, staining the glass with her lipstick. "You know how when you think everyone else is crazy… then one day, you stop and wonder if maybe you're the one who's crazy?”
"You seem pretty sane to me."
"You just don't know me that well.” There was a devious sparkle in her eyes.
“You said you had information.”
“I tracked down a girl who worked for Nikki Griffin, supposedly at the same time as Mia.”
“Did you speak with her?”
“Not yet. I’m gonna leave that up to you. I think you might get more out of her than me. Her real name is Devon Scott, but she goes by the stage name Amber Angel now.”
“Stripper?”
Lyric shook her head. “Porn star. That ought to be right up your alley.” She arched a sassy eyebrow and waited for my reaction.
“Does she still work for Nikki?”
“Not from what I hear.”
“And who did you hear this from?”
“You know how it is with reporters and sources…” She had no intention of revealing any of them.
“You and your sources,” I muttered.
“None of them have let me down yet,” she assured.
“Where can I find Amber Angel?”
“You can give her agent a call in the morning. Who knows, maybe you can hire her? Do an in-depth investigation,” she taunted.
“Where’s the sport in paying for it?”
“So, you’re all about the sport?”
“I like a challenge.”
“Is that why there’s no Mrs. Wild? Too busy looking for the next conquest?”
“What do you know about Rory Allen?” I said, changing the subject.
“Did I hit a sore spot?” she asked with a grin.
I continued to push in a different direction. “Rory Allen?”
Her eyes gleamed with confidence. “Definitely a sore spot.”
“Not a sore spot. I’m just taking life as it comes. And please explain to me why an attractive, driven woman such as yourself is single?”
“Because this town is full of pompous jackasses, and I have a career to think about.” She paused. “You want to know about Rory Allen?”
“Look who’s changing the subject now.”
“Rory is a non-starter. He doesn’t have the resources to alter autopsy reports.”
“Who does? Desmond Ross?”
“Everyone has a price, and Desmond’s got the financial means to tempt just about anyone. He’s well connected. He had motive. He’s certainly on my list of possibilities.”
“Desmond pays Bhodi to sell Mia tainted drugs to avoid a scandal, then bribes someone in the lab or in the medical examiners’ office,” I postulated.
Lyric shrugged. “Stranger things have happened in this town.“
She took a sip of her whiskey and casually glanced across the bar. Judging by the distasteful look that curled on her face, she saw something she didn’t like. A groan escaped her pretty lips, “Good Lord.”
18
“Are you good at improv?” Lyric asked, smiling through gritted teeth as she waved to someone across the bar.
“What?” I asked.
“Go along with it and follow my lead.”
Lyric put on a cheery face as a man strutted toward the table with a blonde on either arm.
His companions had model good looks. Long legs, fitted dresses, and sparkling jewelry. Low-cut necklines and high hemlines. Toned thighs. Impeccable bone structure.
“Lyric, funny seeing you here,” the man said.
He and Lyric both smiled at each other, but their eyes filled with disdain. Invisible beams of hatred shot between them, each probably trying to incinerate the other with their minds.
The man was well dressed—a fashionable gray suit, white shirt, silver tie, and matching pocket square. His brown hair was coiffed to perfection. The gold Leroux watch on his wrist was pricey.
Lyric’s eyes flicked between the two blondes. The man displayed his companions proudly.
“Just having a few drinks,” Lyric said.
“I didn’t think this place was your style.”
“Brock, I’d like you to meet Tyson Wild.” Lyric grabbed my hand across the table, making sure Brock noticed the gesture. “Tyson, this is Brock Dorian.”
I shook the man’s hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Brock said. He introduced his two companions. “This is Anoushka and Oksana.”
There were smiles and handshakes all around.
“So, is this a first date?” Brock asked, smugly, trying not to sound too interested.
A fake laugh erupted from Lyric’s lips. “No. We’ve been seeing each other for a while now. But every time seems like the first time. Right, honey?” Lyric squeezed my hand affectionately.
“Always a new discovery,” I said.
Brock forced a smile. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt your evening any more than I already have.” His attention turned to Lyric. “I just wanted to say hello. I’m glad you’re getting out. Moving on.” Brock had a smug, condescending tone.
Lyric forced another smile.
Brock strolled away with the two beauties and made a point to let his hands slip down the smalls of their backs and grab handfuls of pert cheeks, goosing the girls.
Lyric groaned. “I hate that man. He’s not even a man, he’s a worm. A very small worm.”
“I take it that was the pompous asshole?”
“The most recent one.”
“So, you’re telling me you have bad taste in men.”
“I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
“I thought this was just business.”
“It is,” she said, still holding my hand. Her hand was warm and soft. I didn’t mind holding it.
“Think he bought it?” Lyric asked.
“Bought what?” I asked, knowing what she was referring to.
“You and me. It’s not an outrageous pairing, is it?”
I shrugged. “Do you care?”
“Not really.”
“Obviously, you do.”
Her eyes narrowed at me. She glanced at Brock and his companions at the bar, ordering shots. “He’s just a dick. That’s all. And I don’t want him to think I’m moping around, pining for him.”
“Are you?”
Her eyes narrowed at me. “Do I look like I’m pining over anyone?”
I shrugged.
She sneered at me playfully.
Lyric glanced back to the bar, and her face crinkled. “Oh, my God. Seriously?”
Brock had locked lips with Oksana. They were exploring each other’s tonsils with their tongues. His lips broke away from the Russian beauty, and he turned his attention to Anoushka. Their lips collided with a generous display of public affection.
“He’s just doing this to get a rise out of me,” Lyric said.
“Seems like it’s working.”
She glared at me. “It’s not working.”
Lyric glanced around the bar. “Where’s our waitress? I think it’s time for another drink.”
Our server was nowhere in sight.
Lyric stood up, still holding my hand, and pulled me toward the bar. “Come on. Let’s get a drink.”
I tugged back against her hand. “I think this is a bad idea.”
Her face scrunched. “Don’t worry. I’m nowhere near my limit.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
She tugged me toward the bar, closer to Brock. We leaned against the counter, and she flagged the bartender down. “Two shots of Jägermeister.”
The bartender grabbed the bottle from the freezer and served up two of the syrupy brown shots.
“Put it on Mr. Wild’s tab,” Lyric said with a grin. She lifted the shot glass. “What should we toast too?”
“Poor life choices?”
“I’m on board with that. In the end, you will regret the things you didn’t do more than the things you did,” she said.
We clinked glasses and downed the minty licorice-like beverage. We both slammed the empty shot glasses on the counter, and I saw Lyric’s eyes flick to Brock. He was watching us with curiosity, trying to be discreet about it.
Lyric moved close. I felt a tingle down my spine. Being in close proximity to a woman that beautiful was always something special. She put her hand on the back of my neck and pulled my face toward hers. Our lips collided, and our tongues danced.
She was just doing it to piss off Brock. I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind at all.
19
Her pillowy soft lips felt heavenly, and her slick tongue teased. Her warm body pressed against mine, igniting lustful thoughts. My hands traced the supple curves of her body.
We were all over each other at the bar. It was late enough, and most people were drunk enough, that it didn’t draw much attention.
Brock put on a show with his two Russian beauties.
I was an innocent pawn in a jealous war. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices. War is hell.
It didn’t take long for Lyric to say, “Let’s get out of here.”
Her delicate words tickled my ear and sent a spark of desire through my body.
Who was I to say no?
I settled the tab, and Lyric grabbed my hand, pulling me out of the bar, intentionally brushing past Brock and his entourage.
We crossed the lobby and hit the call button to the elevator. The doors slid open, and we stepped on.
Alone.
Within seconds, I had Lyric pinned against the wall, our mouths colliding, our bodies mashing against each other. My hands found every curve and valley. Somehow I managed to press the button for the 4th floor.
The elevator ride was too short. The bell rang, and the door slid open.
Someone cleared their throat, waiting to board the elevator.
After a moment, we broke free and came up for air. I looked at the gentleman waiting to step aboard. I recognized his face—a big-time movie star.
I grabbed Lyric’s hand and pulled her off the elevator. The movie star grinned, stepped aboard the lift, and the doors slid shut.
“Was that…?” Lyric asked.
“Yes. I think it was.”
I pulled her down the corridor, looking for my room number. We quickly realized we were on the wrong floor.
Whoops!
At the end of the hall, we pushed into the stairwell, and we found ourselves in another embrace.
Fuck it!
The stairwell was as good as the elevator.
We went at it hot and heavy for a few moments. Our hands groping and kneading each other's flesh. I spun her around, pushed her against the wall, and kissed the back of her neck. She jutted her sweet cheeks against my hips. My heart pounded, and blood swelled. My body burned with desire.
Hers did too. Heat radiated from her like a furnace.
It didn't take long before I hiked up her skirt and pulled her frilly lace panties down.
This was the Château, after all. We couldn't have been the first to christen the stairwell.
Moans of ecstasy echoed through the staircase. I'm sure it permeated every floor and spilled out into the lobby.
I didn't care if somebody walked in on us or not.
We worked up a sweat in the stairwell, then decided to take the party back to my hotel room. We hit the desk, knocking stationery and pens to the floor. After a moment, we moved to the balcony, letting our symphony of delight echo across the courtyard, bouncing across the water.
I wasn't sure if this was the kind of behavior that would get us kicked out of the hotel, or earn us reward points?
We finally ended up in bed, exhausted. I passed out with Lyric’s smooth body wrapped around mine.
I woke the next morning with a phone call from JD, the sun beaming through gaps in the curtains. “Wake up, sleepyhead!”
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “I’m up,” I yawned. “When are you coming out?”
“I’m here, bitch. Took the redeye.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have sent the driver.”
“I’m in a Zoomber.” It was an upscale ride-sharing service. “I’ll be there momentarily. What room are you in?”
“Number 421.”
“Did you get a suite, or do I have to sleep on that shitty foldout couch?”
“Relax, I booked a suite. You’ve got your own bedroom.”
“Good deal. See you in a few.”
By the time the call ended, Lyric had already slipped out of bed. She disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the shower nozzle twist, and the spray hit the tile.
I grabbed the room service menu and looked over my breakfast options. The spinach and cheese omelette sounded good.
Lyric slipped out of the shower a few minutes later, wearing a fluffy white robe and a towel wrapped around her hair.
“I’m about to order room service. You want breakfast?”
“No, thank you,” she said. “I’m late for work.”
She peeled out of the robe, and I took the opportunity to survey her perfect form. She slipped on the skimpy blue cocktail dress from the night before, searched for her panties, shimmied them up her legs, then put on her high heels. Once she was put together, she marched to the bed, gave me a kiss, her wet hair dangling in my face. “I had fun. Maybe we can do it again sometime?”
“Maybe,” I teased.
She gave me another kiss, then darted toward the door. “Walk of shame, here I come.”
With that, she was gone.
I finally decided to climb out of bed. I took a shower, brushed my teeth, and ordered breakfast.
Room service arrived 20 minutes later.
The attendant rolled the cart into the room and served the meal. I put cash in his hand, and he left me to enjoy my breakfast.
Afterward, I texted David to touch base. He said he was putting the final touches on the treatment, and he would be in touch later for me to review. He asked me once again for my journals.
Lyric had given me the number to Amber Angel’s agent. I thought it might be worth a quick call to see if I could pry out her personal contact information. A gruff, New York voice answered the phone when I called. “What do you need?”
“My name is Deputy Tyson Wild. I’m trying to get in touch with Amber Angel—real name Devon Scott. Can you give me her contact info?”
20
“Nice try, pal. You and everybody else want a piece of that,” the voice said.
“This is official police business,” I assured. “I’m investigating a death.”
“Yeah, and I’m the Pope. Give it a rest. Do like everybody else does. Buy one of her videos and jerk off.”
He hung up the phone before I could protest further.
There was a knock at the door. When I pulled it open, JD was standing in the hall with a bellhop carrying his bags.
JD strutted into the room with a wide grin on his face.
The bellboy followed behind. “Where would you like your bags, sir?”
I said, “Put them in the bedroom on the right.”
“Yes, sir,” the bellboy said as he lugged JDs baggage into the other bedroom.
“What? No breakfast for me?” JD complained.
“Order some up.”
JD tipped the bellboy before he left.
&
nbsp; “Where exactly is the band staying when they get here?” I asked.
He looked at me like it was an idiotic question. “I told them to bring sleeping bags. They can crash on the floor. They’re young. They can handle it. They can fight over the pullout bed.”
I sighed and shook my head. “Why don’t you spring for a room for them. You can afford it.”
“I’m not paying for them to trash a hotel room at the Château and live out their rock ’n’ roll fantasies.”
“Aren’t you living out your rock ’n’ roll fantasies?”
“Yes, but I’ve earned it.”
“Don’t be a cheap ass, get them another room,” I said. “You know this is going to turn into one long party.”
Jack grinned. “I know. That’s the fun of it. It’s like an adventure that we're all taking together. We will have bonded by the end of this period, and we will have stories to tell that will last generations.”
I rolled my eyes.
“How are the story meetings going?”
“Great. I think we’re almost done.”
JD smiled. “What about casting? Because I want approval on who plays me in the TV show. I’ve got a list.”
“Save it for the meeting with the studio.” JD was not getting approval on casting.
“What about Mia?”
I caught him up to speed on my investigation.
JD sniffed the air. Among the lingering scent of breakfast, the air swirled with coffee and the faint traces of Lyric’s perfume. “Did you have company last night?”
“Yes, I did.”
A sly smile curled his face. “I guess the investigation is going rather well, indeed.”
“It has turned up some interesting surprises.”
JD surveyed the accommodations, pacing around the suite. There was a palpable excitement in his eyes. “This is going to be great. We are going to totally rock that club come Friday night.” He continued to survey the accommodations. “We have to honor the history of this establishment.”
And by honor it, he meant throwing a party that was worthy of rock legends. The walls of the hotel kept the secrets of the icons of rock from the ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s. JD wanted his band, Wild Fury, to be a part of that storied history.