I slumped against the back of the couch. "A lot seems to add up about Ryan Ellison. He's got links to all the women and plenty of access. He's charming enough that they would trust him but has a reputation for treating women like disposable possessions. Plus, even though his house is in Beverly Hills, it's isolated enough from the neighbors that he could transport and keep his victims there. I still think there's something there."
"Like I said, just a creep, not a serial killer."
"Okay, you have to be done now," said Jenna. She and Daisy returned from the kitchen, their arms laden with bowls of chips and dips that they set on the long coffee table. "You can't talk shop all day. We have to do cheerful stuff like gossip about Mike's pecs, or Ben's current uselessness as a boyfriend, or I can tell you about how sweet Will was yesterday when he bought me flowers for absolutely no reason. Plus, Daisy almost certainly did something cool that we'll all be jealous over."
"Aww. Will bought you flowers," we cooed and Jenna blushed.
"Mike's pecs deserve honorable mention," said Ashleigh contemplatively.
"Someone's got a crush," I teased and she smacked my arm playfully.
"I have done zero cool things all week," Daisy informed us after Jenna flashed a photo of her flowers. "All I've done is learn my lines, go to the set, film scenes, come home and crash. Oh, and some jerk tried to go through my trash and I had to call security."
"Your trash?" I asked, pulling a face. "Why?"
"I don't know. Some kind of dirt or crap they can sell to the media. I was photographed drinking coconut water last week; and this week there was a whole article in a magazine about how coconut water is my new beauty regimen. They even said I import it from India on a private jet," said Daisy.
"That's even worse than the stuff I write," I scoffed as I reached for a handful of chips. I decided not to mention the brief moment I had earlier when I wondered if I could go through Ryan Ellison's trash in search of any incriminating evidence.
"At least they didn't see all the weird crap I receive in the mail," continued Daisy. "Then they would have a story."
"What kind of weird crap?" I asked.
"Some of it's nice, like cards and letters and drawings," said Daisy. "I even reply to some."
"Tell them about the weird stuff," said Jenna.
Daisy rolled her eyes. "Over the last month, I've been sent women's and men's undergarments… Used. Also, a request for mine."
We all pulled faces and someone squealed in disgust.
"I know," continued Daisy. "So gross. Then there's the letters written in red crayon, and the photos of me going about my business smeared with blood…"
"Say what?" said Ashleigh.
"Do you still have them?" I asked.
"Show them," insisted Jenna. "It's so weird the crap people send. Like Daisy wants any of this stuff."
"They know she doesn't want it. They want her to have it. They want to creep her out," said Ashleigh.
"It creeps me out," said Jenna.
Daisy got up and went to her hall closet, pulling out a small sack of mail. "I don't even know why I brought this stuff home," she told us, emptying it onto the floor at our feet. "I thought I was picking up the bag of fan mail sent to the studio. As soon as I started reading this stuff, I should have thrown it in the trash."
"Who even thought it was a good idea to give this to you?" asked Ashleigh. She reached for a letter, read it, and grimaced. "Are you going to accept this marriage proposal written in crayon?"
"Hell to the no," replied Daisy.
"Aww, that's cute of a kid to send you that. I think you should reply," said Ashleigh.
"At the end of his letter, he says he's fifty-two," said Daisy.
"Burn it," replied Ashleigh. She opened another letter. "Oh, this is sweet. The writer thinks you're really pretty and admires you and wants to put your toes… oh, my goodness! That is not okay!" She dropped the letter back into the pile.
"Listen to this one," I started. "The sender says he always admired you while he was growing up and as a young man you were especially useful for… oh, um… looking up to," I lied as I tossed the vulgar message back onto the pile.
"I know what it says. That's why it's in the gross, 'do not reply' mailbag," said Daisy.
"This one is writing to your character on Special Unit. He even addresses you by your character's name but I think he believes you're genuinely involved with that detective on the show and you should stop it because you don't deserve him since he’s so wonderful and special and you’re…um… not," said Ashleigh, spluttering to a stop.
"That was pretty harmless," said Daisy. "Chips, anyone?"
"I don't know how you can eat and read this stuff," said Ashleigh.
"Practice," replied Daisy.
"Why do you even have these in your house?" I asked as I reached for another letter. "Couldn't you hire someone to open these and burn them for you?"
"My assistant at the studio opens them but she accidentally tossed the bag in with the nice pile I'm supposed to read or reply to. I don't usually bring them home since I'm hardly going to read this stuff in my spare time. It's creepy enough just knowing it exists," replied Daisy. "I'm kind of enjoying seeing all your disgusted expressions though. It sort of makes receiving it worth it."
I skimmed over the next letter, then tossed it, picked up another letter, read it and tossed it back. I picked up another one, deciding it would be my last because, like Daisy said, it was bad enough to know what horrors lay in the bag without having to read the actual content. "Ashleigh, read this," I said, passing it to my friend.
She took it with a frown and read it.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" I asked.
"What is it?" asked Daisy.
"A super creepy letter where the writer thinks you're beautiful and wonderful and all kinds of nice things, then he accuses you of snubbing his letters so obviously you're just stuck-up like all the rest," I said, "but it's the last part that gets weird."
"I don't think I read that one," said Daisy with a shrug. She munched a handful of chips and reached for a napkin, apparently unconcerned.
Ashleigh read aloud, "I've tried to find girls that look just like you but it turns out they're all nasty bitches too. All of you only go for bad boys who won't treat you right instead of nice guys like me. All of you need punishing and one day you, like them, will get exactly what you deserve." Ashleigh shook out the envelope and a photo fell to the floor.
I picked it up and winced. The photo was a Polaroid of Daisy exiting a deli, a shopping bag held to her chest. But in the center of her chest was a hole with ragged black edges. I passed it to Ashleigh. "Are you sure Daisy's not in danger?" I asked.
Chapter Eighteen
By Monday morning, I was still troubled by the awful things Daisy received in the mail. That she appeared largely unperturbed by it all was partially a good thing, yet I couldn't help worrying that she should have been more concerned by the threats she received. According to her, she'd gotten much worse. My view was no one should have sent her a single nasty thing at all. What the hell was wrong with people? If they didn't like her, why did they have to take the time to make sure she knew that? If they did like her, why did they have to be so weird about it?
Finally, after debating what kind of people sent those kinds of mailings for some time, Daisy told us the studio had offered to finance a bodyguard due to some of the mail her assistant reported. With our unanimous encouragement, she reluctantly agreed to take them up on the offer as soon as she got back to the studio.
Knowing that Daisy was being protected by someone whom I hoped was an enormous brick wall of a man that was fully prepared to lay down his life for her, I headed to the office, somewhat relieved, with a plan in my head. Ashleigh thought she had the right man. I thought I did. The problem was: all the pieces didn't exactly fit for either man. I had to get closer to Ryan Ellison and fast. Fortunately, Hayden had already given me the ruse I needed to access him. A little bit
of searching revealed Ellison's latest film was in financial trouble and needed bailing out fast. As far as the hotshot producer thought, I was a woman with money and he was a man who wanted it. If I were lucky, he wouldn't have spoken to Jessica Suarez at the party; if he did, I had no chance of getting close to him ever again.
Just as I picked up the phone, Ben walked past me and gave me a quick look. I nodded to him politely, but without smiling, and turned away, busying myself with my notepad and pretending I had something better to do than talk to him. When Ben reached his desk, out of earshot, I dialed the number on the card Ryan Ellison gave me.
"Good morning!" came the chirpy voice. "King Studios. Ryan Ellison's office. How may I help you?"
"Hi, this is…" Dammit! I hadn't thought of a fake name to give, so I looked around for some inspiration and settled on a magazine cover with Jennifer Aniston on the cover. "This is Jennifer from Shay's office."
"Shay?"
"Just Shay," I replied, adding a pompous air to my voice. "I'm calling to set up a meeting regarding the financing of Mr. Ellison's new film. They spoke about it over the weekend. He's expecting the call."
"Oh, yes, he mentioned your office would be calling. I can schedule you in for… hmmm… let's see, next Tuesday at eight?"
"Shay is flying out on her private jet this afternoon and will be in Europe for the next few weeks. She can see him today at eleven." My eyes bugged with the audacity of my claims and the imperious air of my voice.
"Today? At eleven? Oh!" gasped Ryan's assistant.
"She would love to finance the movie but has so little time and she's meeting Steven next week…" I trailed off.
"Steven?"
"Spielberg," I lied. "Between you and me, if Shay commits several million to his new project, I doubt she'll be interested in anything else."
"Yes, yes, of course. A slot just opened up this morning. Mr. Ellison can meet you for brunch at eleven at Angelique's on Robertson Boulevard. Do you know it?"
"Perfect. I'll inform Shay right away. Bye!" I hung up before she could say another word and before I got lost in my lies. I had an appointment to see him; all I needed to do now was rattle him enough to get some information that confirmed he not only knew the women at the center of my investigation, but also had a fixation on them. I just hoped I didn't annoy Ashleigh in the process. She was sure she had the right man and while I didn't doubt the facts that took her to him, I still thought there was something suspicious about Ryan Ellison. I didn't mind being wrong but I did need to prove it before I could give up on this particular lead.
With one quick glance at my outfit, I wondered if it realistically said I was a woman with millions, and I decided it didn't matter. If questioned, I would just say I didn't like attracting attention. Hopefully, the vague back story Hayden invented would still stand up and Ryan wouldn't go to any lengths to investigate the truth of Hayden's claims.
Just as I was leaving the office, my phone buzzed and I glanced at the screen. Can we talk? asked Ben. My stomach flip-flopped. That was exactly the sort of text no person on earth enjoyed reading. Usually, it meant a breakup was imminent and given Ben's standoffish behavior and plenty of quality time with his ex, I didn't have to think too hard if there could be any alternative. Sucking in a deep breath, I didn't even open the message, but instead left it on my screen, and stuck the phone back in my pocket. If I were about to become single, at least I could grab a headline and some success in my professional life first. Then I could cry into a gallon of ice cream.
By the time I reached the restaurant, I was doing my best to ignore all thoughts of Ben. Not that he sent another message but because I couldn't deal with whatever he had to say while trailing a serial killer I had to catch. I knew that my meeting with Ryan Ellison wouldn't end with a confession and dramatic arrest but I had high hopes that he would reveal something I could use to get closer to the truth.
Pausing at the restaurant door, I took a deep breath, reminding myself to concentrate on my assumed role, then I grabbed a door handle, pulled the door open and stepped inside. The interior was stripped back as far as it could be without being an actual dump. Exposed pipes ran across the open rafters, plan brickwork dominated one wall and the floor was the kind of smooth, poured concrete only a skilled craftsman could make look good. The tables were reclaimed wood and the metal and wood chairs looked terribly uncomfortable.
"I'm meeting Ryan Ellison," I told the hostess, hovering by the desk in skinny, ankle-grazing black pants and a crew-neck t-shirt. Without smiling, she nodded, and indicated I follow her with an arrogant toss of her head. We passed several tables and rounded a corner to a quiet section with big windows overlooking the street. She stopped at the furthest table, pulling out a chair for me.
"Shay! Great you could make it!" exclaimed Ryan, half rising to greet me.
"Don't get up on my account," I said wearily as if I didn't care one bit about social graces. After all, my alter ego had millions and plenty of people to do her bidding. What would she care about shaking hands or vapid air kisses? I checked my watch as if I had a better place to be, then hoped Ryan wouldn't get a look at the watch-face since it clearly didn't ooze "oodles of cash to spare." As I settled, I took a moment to look over Ryan. Black dress pants and a blue, open-necked shirt, the sleeves rolled casually to the elbow. Diamonds circled his watch-face. No trace of stubble and his hair was cut very short and gelled into place. Ryan Ellison looked like he didn't have a care in the world.
"My assistant tells me you're still interested in funding the film. Let me tell you about it. I know you'll be excited," he said. After waving to the server who promptly poured me a coffee, Ryan launched into his pitch, talking animatedly about the plot, the films the screenwriter had already written, whom he had lined up for the lead role, and the locations they planned to shoot. What I got from his speedy pitch was that he thought it would turn out to be the best film ever made. Somehow, I doubted that but given Ryan's track record, I knew it had a good chance of becoming a box office success. The only thing he didn't mention was his struggle to find funds.
"Sounds amazing," I murmured at several key points when he paused for breath.
"I knew you would love it. I can tell you're a woman of great taste. Have you invested in films before?"
"No," I said, because it was easier to be honest about some points, especially given Ryan's connections, "but I've always loved the movies and I want to invest my money in something great. This seems like a good idea but I need to know more about who I'm investing in. Tell me more about you. Who is Ryan Ellison?"
Ryan laughed. "I can't remember the last time someone asked me that! Usually, my investors just want to know the percentage of return. Who am I? Let me tell you, Shay. I'm a man with taste, great taste, and I have the best contacts in town. If there's a new trend, I know about it first but I'm not swayed by what's fashionable. I'm all about style and substance. That's why I make films people can't stop talking about."
That made absolutely no sense to me. "And Mrs. Ellison?" I pressed.
Ryan shook his head and reached for his coffee, smiling warmly at me. "There isn't any wife," he said.
"No fiancée? No girlfriend?" I pressed.
"I'm not a man who gets tied down."
"How can a man who won't commit to one person, commit to making a film with hundreds?" So what if it wasn't a question that made total sense? I had to goad him into admitting he did get involved with women, perhaps even to the point of obsession.
"There's a girlfriend from time to time but nothing ever worked out." He gave a casual shrug and leaned back in his chair, picking up his coffee and taking a sip. If the question irritated him, he didn't show it.
"You must have women throwing themselves at you," I laughed… and waited.
"Sure. The industry is shallow like that but you soon learn to distinguish between what is actual interest and what is pure social climbing."
I leaned in. "You're not tempted by all those beautiful ac
tresses?" I asked with a conspiratorial wink.
Ryan's smile was shallow. "I don't really want something that's thrown at me. Where's the thrill of the chase?"
"You would rather capture someone?"
"I wouldn't put it like that… but yes, I'd rather have a thrilling woman, and easy isn't thrilling."
"I spoke to some actresses on set recently and they said there's always been the kind of problems you mentioned."
"Problems?"
"Social climbing. One of the girls, Sammy, said a lot of guys are out to take advantage. I think you worked together on something. Perhaps you know her?"
"Sammy? I don't think I know a Sammy. Is that her stage name?"
"Sammy Turturro." I watched him carefully for any sign of recognition, even shock, but there was none. His expression didn't even change to shrewd, knowing that I was on to him. He acted like he never heard the name at all. That was disheartening.
"Perhaps she knows me and I don't know her. I doubt she's been cast in anything I'm involved in."
"Maybe," I said offhand, "Maybe I got her name wrong. Could it have been April?"
Ryan shrugged. "Like I said… maybe she knows me."
"Is that your car?" I asked, changing the subject. I pointed to the car parked adjacent to the restaurant. I saw him drive the same sleek black model to his house, so I knew it had to be his. I didn't see the car that took Sammy but I knew there had to be one. Its trunk didn't look huge but I'm sure it could still fit a body if someone was sufficiently motivated to stuff one in. Or maybe he had another vehicle? Perhaps I could trap him into an admission if I pretended to see it before?
Now Ryan beamed. "A lot of guys own a fleet of cars but for me, all I ever wanted was to drive one of them," he said, pointing at it. "It's my pride and joy and one of a kind. I can take you for a spin some time?"
"Awesome. One of a kind, you say? You know, I think I saw one when I was out with friends a couple of weeks back."
"I doubt anyone else has one but you might have seen it around. I'll admit, it's a head-turner!"
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