Ben shifted his laptop bag from one shoulder to the other. "Then how could I have known?"
"I spent all day looking into April Beam's case and the other missing woman."
His eyes widened. "There's another one?"
"Uh-uh." I shook my head. "I am not giving you her name. You’re not stealing this story too."
"I didn't…"
"Save it, Ben," I snapped as I whirled around and took off. I didn't have to walk far, which ruined the satisfaction of storming off but I didn't hold the door for him either. Even worse, Ben walked by seconds later without a word or even the hint of a groveling apology.
As I sat at my desk in the worst part of the office, grumpily stabbing my password into my laptop while trying to calm down, I began to wonder why I was so mad. Was it possible Ben really didn't remember the name of the missing woman during our meeting? It could have been a coincidence. He could have legitimately gotten the story from his source since he had plenty of contacts throughout the city. It wasn't unreasonable that a contact at the LAPD did inform him. The problem was: I wasn't sure. Ben had a reputation to protect as chief reporter and, through no fault of his own, recently returned to the job, usurping me from it. He knew I was a damn good reporter and he knew I wanted headlines. We talked about it often enough. Was he threatened by my past success? Or did he want to make sure I couldn't rise above him? The questions swirled in my head, making me feel both mean and angry. Clearly, I was still sore about it, no matter how often I told myself it wasn't Ben's fault.
Adding to my dilemma was the unwelcome thought of Gabi. Why was Ben's ex-girlfriend at the LA Chronicle yesterday? And where did the two of them disappear after the meeting with Bob? I didn't like the thought of them reminiscing about old times as the Chronicle's power couple but it could have happened. Ben's brief text message certainly proved he wasn't eager to see me afterward. Was it more than the story he got tipped off about? Did something happen between them? Did Gabi want her job back? And if so, was I out of one? Perhaps it was time I put some serious thought into applying for a reporting position at another newspaper or just freelancing.
Adding to my annoyance was the knowledge that the only person I should be focused on right now was Sammy Turturro. If I went with my gut feeling that she and April Beam were connected somehow, I needed to find a link between them. The only way I could do that was to comb through their lives and find out if, and where, they overlapped. I had to get started, not just to make sure I was ahead of Ben, but because April's fate was worse than terrible.
My first call was to Ashleigh. "How's the investigation going?" I asked.
"Are you calling as a reporter or a friend?"
"Both."
"Slowly."
"Have the media shown much interest?"
"Very little. April is just another body. Not that exciting apparently and yes, I know how callous that sounds. I saw the cover of the Chronicle. Ben's byline?"
"I have no idea," I sighed, knowing Ashleigh's real question was: why wasn't my name on the report when she knew I was looking into the case? "That is to say, he says he didn't know I was investigating a story involving April. It might be true. I don't think I mentioned her name when I pitched the story to Bob. Ben said a contact told him about her last night."
"It wasn't me."
"I know."
"I would have told him to take it up with you."
"I appreciate that. It was probably just a misunderstanding," I added, wondering if I were being hopeful or just telling myself what I wanted to hear. I never thought Ben would stoop so low as to steal a story from me but I'd misjudged people and been wrong about things before. I didn't know what to make of it and I didn't want to question my instincts. I didn't even want the idea that Ben could lie to me floating around and around in my head.
Plus, I still had a bigger story if I could connect the dots between the two women. "Did you find any relationship between April and Sammy?" I asked.
"None yet, but that's not to say there isn't any. We notified April's family but haven't had a chance to interview them sufficiently. April's cellphone is missing and from my preliminary search, there wasn't anything on her laptop or at her residence. Her landlord already packed up her stuff and rented her apartment. All this is strictly off the record, okay?"
"Understood. I'm not in a position to print anything anyway," I told her honestly. "But I'm still going to look into it and see if there's a connection between April and Sammy."
"If you find anything, let me know. And, Shayne?"
"Yes?"
"Don't forget April was murdered. Be careful to whom you ask questions."
I told Ashleigh I would be careful and we hung up. I rocked back in my chair, my gaze drawn to Ben again. He turned to face the window, the desk phone held between his shoulder and ear as he made notes. Was he looking into April's murder or had he already moved onto another story? I couldn't tell and I was too irritated to ask.
My thoughts were blank regarding my subsequent investigative steps, so I moved onto the next assignment waiting for me.
Another obituary.
Most people would think writing obituaries was a morbid thing to do but it wasn't. I could understand that frame of mind. I certainly wasn't very enthused when the job was dumped on me but now I occasionally found it interesting to research a person's life, curating the best parts of their achievements and the people who were with them on the way. It was a mini biography and with the LA Chronicle leaning towards celebrity stories, more often than not our obituaries were filled with people from show business. Actors, directors, producers, stunt-people, writers and more.
Just this morning, the classified section alerted me that Toni Sharpe, a long-serving agent just passed away, leaving behind a fat contacts book and enough gossip for an eye-opening wake. She was perfect for the column. I spent a pleasant couple of hours researching her online and calling a couple of quotes in from her family and friends before I could finish writing my column. Pleased with the final draft, I sent it to Bob, hoping he wouldn't protest that he couldn't open the email, never mind the attachment. Despite Bob’s claim to be a luddite and his stubborn resistance to new technology, I wasn't entirely convinced. I was sure some of it was just a show, a reminder of "the good old days" when he came up in the newspaper world. Naturally, he was the antithesis of today's citizen journalists writing online and stealing some of that old-world cachet. However, I wasn't sure Bob ever actually sent an email — the ones that came from his account were usually signed off by Martha — so it was entirely possible he really was technologically illiterate.
With my actual contracted work finished, I had two thrilling options: look for new material for my next columns; or turn back to the more puzzling case of the deceased April Beam and the still missing Sammy Turturro.
A new thought popped into my head thanks to the obituary. As both women worked in showbiz, they both had to have agents. An agent would know their schedule, where they went, whom they spoke to and what they worked on. Perhaps their agents could shed some light on the last movements of the women before they disappeared?
I knew Sammy's talent agency was Sirens. It didn't take long to find out April's information since I vaguely remembered seeing it when I was researching with Mike. Both women listed their agents on their Instagram profiles but unfortunately, they were two different agents. One would have meant crossover in their lives; two put them further apart. That wasn't my problem though; the problem now was how to get someone at the agencies to divulge private information to a journalist.
I grabbed my cellphone and called Jenna. "Do you know anyone at Sirens or Blank's?" I asked.
"Uhhh… Talent agents? Sounds familiar. Let me think. Why?"
"For some research."
"Ahh. Do you need them for a quote or something?"
"I need to speak to them but I'm not sure they'll speak to a journalist, given what I want to ask them."
Jenna laughed. "They're showbiz agents, Shayn
e. They'll speak to anyone. Haven't you learned that by now?"
"The 'any publicity is good publicity’ thing? I'm not sure it applies here."
"I'm not sure they'll care. Just turn up. They can't hang up on you if you're standing in front of them."
"I don't know why I didn't think of that."
"You're off your game." Jenna paused. "What gives?"
I glanced at Ben. The phone was gone and he was staring intently at his screen, leaning forward slightly and typing quickly. Whatever captured his attention clearly absorbed him. Unlike me. "Nothing. Everything's fine," I sighed.
"I knew it! It's Ben, isn't it? What did he do?"
"Nothing. He hasn't done anything. Literally. Nothing." Aside from stealing my story but it didn't sound like Jenna read the front page yet.
"Nothing," Jenna repeated. "As in, nothing? Nothing at all?"
"That about sums it up." I sighed again. "Did you see the published photo of us with Daisy?"
"I did," said Jenna with a sigh. Clearly, I didn't have to tell her what photo I meant. "I've already had ten calls from eager wannabes who think I can turn them into the next Marguerite Casta."
"That's good?"
"Could be, since I'm giving serious thought to launching my own agency, but don't change the subject. What's going on with Ben?"
"I can't talk about it now. I need to speak to these people."
"Do you want me to come over later? We can hang out by your pool. I can bring wine. We can look at Mike's abs. I'll invite Ashleigh and Daisy! You can't say no. See you at eight." Jenna hung up before I could argue with her. So, instead, I shrugged at the phone and set it down while I plugged the agents' names into the search engine and found their addresses.
Scooping up my laptop, phone and notepad, I slipped them inside my purse; then, with only the smallest backward glance at an oblivious Ben, I headed towards the door. When I reached for the handle, it burst open and I stepped back in surprise.
"I am so sorry," grinned the man stepping away from the doorway. He looked around, blinking, then adjusted the camera slung over his shoulder. "I went for pull, realized it said push but didn't intend to burst in and make my grand entrance." He laughed, revealing a pair of deep dimples. "Hayden Roth," he said, sticking out his hand while pushing back a flop of mid-brown hair with his other.
"Shayne Winter," I replied, shaking his hand with mine. "Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Bob Chance, the editor. I'm the new photographer. That is, temporary photographer. Heard your last one took a tumble." He tapped his camera.
"That's right," I said, loosely recalling a conversation about a broken wrist that put Dan, our staff photographer, out of commission for a few weeks. I pointed to Bob. He was hunched over his laptop, his eyes widening with alarm, which meant he probably deleted something crucial, like his operating system. "That's Bob in the glass cubicle. Good luck."
Hayden grimaced in Bob's direction. "Is this a good day?" he asked, but I wasn't sure if it were a rhetorical question.
"As good as any," I told him, stepping around him to leave the office. I had to search for scraps of information that would connect the two women.
~
The offices for Sirens and Blank Faces turned out to be only a couple of blocks apart. Seeing their proximity, I couldn't rule out the chance that April and Sammy could have encountered each other. Between the two office suites were a plethora of cafés, juice bars, health food stores, boutiques, a spin studio and a large gym. The gym’s exterior walls were clad in enormous posters of happy-looking, slender people with glowing tans and shiny hair. I made a note to find out if either woman frequented any of these places.
I started with April's agent first. Marlene Davis, listed as both owner and director, occupied the first floor of a small, ugly building with a bored-looking teenager in a too-large uniform manning the front desk. I took the elevator up without being challenged and stepped out into a neat lobby bare of anything except a very large motivational print on the wall. Just seeing the quote for the thousandth time made my shoulders slump, which I suspected was not their intent. That was the problem with overused clichés; eventually they lose their power and meaning.
Also, there was a very good chance I was just in a foul mood.
Leading off the narrow lobby were four doors. Blank Faces occupied the last one. Pulling open the door, I stepped into what appeared to be a broom closet, if broom closets were occupied by a young woman with a phone in one hand, tapping a laptop with the other. "I'm sorry, it looks you didn't get the job," she said into the phone. "It was a strong audition but they didn't feel you were right at this time. I know. Hang in there!" She hung up and glanced at me. "Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Marlene Davis," I said.
"Are you her ten o'clock?" she asked.
I nodded. "Absolutely," I lied.
"Take a seat. She's just finishing up with one of her clients."
I took the one seat available, wedged between the desk and the door. As I waited, I looked at the magazine covers and the photos crammed on the walls, wondering if I would recognize anyone. There was a print ad for a perfume that I remembered seeing in magazines and another for a new flavor of ice cream that I remembered being an unsuccessful product even though the ad was glamorous and enticing. There was a group of surfing women in white swimwear advertising a menstruation product that caused a stir online because who the hell wears white when riding the red waves?
The door opened and a blond teenage girl plastered in makeup stepped out, smiling. In her hands, she clutched a portfolio and several scripts. She waved to the secretary and hurried out.
"Come on in," said the short woman behind her.
"Marlene?" I asked as I followed her into an office only marginally bigger than her secretary's broom closet. Here the walls were also plastered in framed photo shoots of beautiful people of all ages.
"That's me. Did you bring your portfolio? You're older than I expected but that doesn't matter. We'll fix that."
"Fix it?"
"We'll just tell everyone you're twenty-three. No one cares. You're obviously not too far off."
"Okay," I said, briefly flummoxed.
"So how did you hear about the agency?" asked Marlene.
"From April Beam. She said you were a good outfit to work for," I lied quickly.
"April?" Her expression switched from jovial to sad. "You heard, of course?"
I nodded. "I did. It's a tragedy. I can't imagine anyone hurting her."
"Me neither. Probably a date that went wrong. Terrible but these things do happen." Shrugging, she squeezed behind her desk and dropped into the chair. I took the seat opposite.
"She was dating?" I asked.
"Probably. Who doesn't?"
"Do you know who by any chance?"
Marlene shrugged again. "Could be anyone. She was probably on one of those apps like every other person in this city."
"But definitely a guy?" I asked, because it wasn't a given. As for a lead, it wasn't a strong one. Marlene clearly assumed that April was dating but that didn't mean she was wrong.
"Oh, yes. She was straight."
"Did she have a lot of success?"
Marlene frowned. "In dating?"
"At your agency. I heard she might have gotten a modeling gig before she disappeared."
"She auditioned for it but didn't get it. I don't think she had anything on the books when she disappeared. I feel bad about it now but I was pissed at the time she disappeared. I had three auditions lined up for April and had to send replacements at the very last minute because I couldn't get in touch with her."
"Does that happen a lot? Girls suddenly going missing?"
"Not so much missing but they often pack up and go home without a thought to tell anyone. It's not the first time it's happened to me. I feel lucky to get a whiny email. I hope if we end up working together, you'll be more diligent. I thought April might have gone back to wherever she came from but I couldn't
think why. She was on the verge of a breakthrough. I was sure of it."
"Oh?"
"I'm not saying April was about to be the next Angelina Jolie, but she was pretty and punctual and she didn't give any of the crew a hassle. People liked her."
"And the other missing girls? Are any of them from the agency?"
Marlene narrowed her eyes. "Not from mine. I run a good agency and I care about my people. My, but you're asking a lot of questions."
"I just want to make sure I'm with the right agency. I want to feel safe," I said, before she got too suspicious of me. "When April went missing, a lot of us got scared."
Marlene relaxed at that but suddenly threw her palms up. "Like I said, I look after my clients and run a reputable company. If I sign you, I'll make sure you get the right auditions and if you have any problems, you come to me. You know, you look familiar. Have I seen you in something recently that's not on your résumé?"
"I don't think so." As I shook my head, I saw the daily newspapers folded on her desk, on top of a stack of magazines. Damn. She probably recognized me from the photo with Daisy. If she remembered, I would be outed as a journalist. The last thing I needed was for her to clam up, not that she revealed anything particularly exciting.
A knock sounded at the door and the secretary put her head around. "I'm sorry. I think there's been a mix-up. Your appointment is here."
Marlene fixed me with a look. "Then who are you?"
"I'm sorry, there must have been a mistake. I thought I had an appointment at this time," I said, pretending to look at my watch as cover, like I got the time wrong.
"Wait! I remember where I know you from…"
I held my breath, waiting for Marlene to grab the newspaper and turn to the page with the offending photo.
"The comedy night at that little place in Burbank."
I nodded enthusiastically. "That's right."
"I gave you my card."
"Yes! There must have been a mix-up. Thanks for the talk though… Why don't I come back another time?" I grabbed my bag, waved and hurried out before Marlene could realize that she still had the wrong woman. I squeezed past the waiting model, and didn't stop in the broom closet outer office, but instead hurried out to the lobby and hit the button for the elevator.
Dead Ringers Page 6