Hollywood Murder

by M. Z. Kelly

  ***

  After our meeting adjourned, Leo and I stopped for lunch, then headed to the station. I used the restroom before we planned to fill in the lieutenant on our meeting with the Pressleys. I came out of a stall and found Jessica Barlow standing there, applying a fresh coat of war paint. Her beady blue eyes found me in the mirror.

  “You,” Jessica said, eyeing me. “Maybe you’re the one who lives in the restroom. I heard you’re practically homeless anyway.”

  I went over to the sink. “Mind your own business.”

  “That wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t constantly interfere with it.” She blotted her lips on a tissue. “Charlie said you were always like this. Seeing you in action confirms it.”

  Jessica and Charlie, my retired former partner, had hooked up for a few weeks. I was convinced that was because a parasitic insect had eaten his brain. “I doubt Charlie said anything of the kind.”

  “Really? Because he said it again a couple of days ago.”

  I scoffed. “You’re out of your mind. Charlie’s living in Idaho.”

  Jessica started to walk away, but stopped and looked back at me. “Just for your information, Charlie and I are living together again.”

  At first, I doubted what she’d said, then I remembered Charlie had recently hooked up with his former girlfriend, Wilma Bibby. I’d had a talk with Wilma, warning her that Charlie wasn’t the monogamous type. It wouldn’t surprise me if Wilma had seen the light, kicked him out, and, instead of returning to Idaho, my former partner had rebounded with Jessica.

  Just the thought of Charlie, who was at least fifty pounds overweight, with a bad heart, hooking up with the painted serpent roiled my stomach. I stopped at my desk and popped a couple of antacids before meeting with Leo, Selfie, and Molly in the lieutenant’s office.

  I mentioned what Jessica had said as I took a seat and Bernie wandered over to the lieutenant, looking for a treat. “Can you believe those two are together again?”

  Oz tossed Bernie something that looked like a mini-sausage from his bag. “You can ask your ex-partner himself if it’s true. He’s returning to work for Lieutenant Edna part-time next week.”

  I sighed. “If that’s the case, it probably is true.” I looked at Leo. “Why is it men lose their minds when it comes to sex?”

  My partner smiled. “I guess it has something to do with cutting off the blood flow to the brain.”

  Selfie seconded that. “I think it leaves most of them permanently brain damaged.”

  Molly chimed in, confirming our theory. “I’ve personally seen cases where they end up completely brain-dead.”

  After some more discussion about men’s brains, we got down to business. Leo and I updated everyone on our meeting with Stan and Meagan Pressley. “Meagan became upset when I asked about the argument she and Maggie Potter had,” I said. “She ended up walking out before Stan called his security people to have us escorted off the premises.”

  Oz tossed Bernie another treat and asked Selfie and Molly for any updates. Selfie began by saying, “As we mentioned before, the Pressleys are from Lubbock, Texas. Meagan was a beauty queen there, and, from what we can piece together, met Stan in church, where he was a deacon. He worked as a mechanic for a local garage before the couple moved to Dallas and started their own church.”

  Molly took over. “Their church did well, but Meagan had a sister in this area and wanted out of Texas. They reestablished their church here and, thanks to cable TV and some wealthy community supporters, it began to take off big time. They have thousands of supporters and the new church has been under construction for the past year.”

  “This is where things get interesting,” Selfie said. Our crime analyst was wearing a blue sweater that matched her hair. She chewed on her rhinestone glasses as she spoke. “Despite lots of fundraising efforts, the Stairway to Heaven is several steps short of reaching its destination. The project is heavily in debt. The Pressleys have been actively working lots of wealthy donors to bail them out.”

  “Actively working is a code word for Meagan using her considerable assets,” Molly added. Our secretary had her hair in a French twist, giving her a conservative look, in contrast to her counterpart.

  “That’s interesting,” I said. “Before she stomped off, Meagan told us the Potters had planned to make a donation to their new church and she went to their house to collect on that promise.”

  “Doesn’t add up,” Leo said. “We know the Potters weren’t doing well financially. They didn’t have much to pledge.”

  “Unless Walter Potter made a promise to Meagan that he couldn’t keep,” Oz suggested.

  “That’s a possibility,” Selfie said. “Meagan was on several charity boards, including one for needy children. We learned this morning that Walter Potter was on the same board.”

  “That just might be the link we’ve been looking for,” Leo suggested. “Meagan and Walter get chummy while working on the charity. She uses her considerable influence to get him to make a contribution to her church. When Walter doesn’t come through, she goes to their home to collect.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But, it could also be that Meagan’s visit was more personal than that. She might have been having an affair with Walter and ran into Maggie when she went by the house.”

  Oz tossed Bernie a final favor. “If they were involved, it seems like they would have been more discreet than Meagan showing up at their house.”

  I agreed, adding, “There’s probably something we’re still missing.”

  Oz looked at our civilian employees. “Let’s keep digging, see what we turn up.”

  Leo had picked up his notebook when something occurred to him. “How do you want to handle the reporter on this, Ozzie? We haven’t mentioned the Pressleys to her yet.”

  “For now, let’s keep it that way. I want to be sure we’ve got this nailed down before Woods runs with the story, kills the Pressleys’ reputation, and permanently puts an end to the Stairway to Heaven.”

  FIFTY-FIVE

  Leo and I spent the rest of the day working the Potter case without developing anything further on the relationship between Meagan Pressley and the Potters. After leaving the station, I drove to Jean Winslow’s former residence in the Hollywood Hills to meet Natalie and Mo. I took Laurel Canyon to one of the highest points overlooking the city before finding the massive French provincial estate on its own private street.

  “This place is bigger than Fuckingham Palace,” Natalie said, greeting me after I got Bernie out of my car in front of the gates to the estate. “Just imagine the orgies that musta gone on here.”

  Mo, who was standing next to their Realtor, cleared her throat and introduced me. “You remember Mary Jane.”

  The heavyset, older Realtor looked pale, maybe a reaction to Natalie’s comments. She was impeccably dressed in what looked like Wang and Gucci, and draped in Cartier. Somehow, my Target pants and blazer didn’t quite measure up.

  After we exchanged pleasantries, Mary Jane recovered enough to tell us about the estate. “Ms. Winslow called her home Chanteclair. The estate was modelled after a similar country manor in Cannes. It’s considered one of the preeminent examples of French provincial estates in America. The distinctive characteristics of the home include the tall second story arched windows, stonework, and the elaborate carved cornices at the eaves. The main residence is seventeen thousand square feet, not including the guest homes.” Her gaze fell to Bernie. “I’m going to have to insist that the dog remain outside.”

  “It’s a flippin’ castle,” Natalie said, ignoring what she’d said about Bernie. “How many people call this place home?”

  Mary Jane’s tone was dismissive, giving me the impression that she’d decided my friends might lack the pedigree, not to mention the money, to buy the home. “Just Ms. Trenton. She’s the current owner and lives in one of the three guest homes. I promised that we wouldn’t disturb her.”

  After using a lockbox to make our way through the gates,
we followed a winding pathway to the elaborate home. As Mary Jane unlocked the front door, it was obvious that Mo was also star struck by our surroundings. “I seen a lot of houses, but nuthin’ like this.” The Realtor opened the door as she added, “You think if we rented out a few rooms and a couple of the guest houses, we could cover the mortgage?” She turned to me. “It beats living in a mobile home.”

  Our guide laughed, apparently unware that Mo was serious. The door swung wider. “Let’s see how the other half lived back when the stars of the silver screen were alive.”

  “I’ll wait outside with Bernie,” I said as my friends tried to get through the door at the same time. Mo won the battle and looked back at me. “Given the size of this joint, we probably won’t be back for a couple of hours.”

  Bernie was happy to sniff his way through a courtyard we found at the back of the property after walking down a driveway. The huge stone covered patio overlooked a pool and gardens. The setting was serene and I imagined the former occupant holding lavish Hollywood parties here.

  We were walking down a pathway in the garden when I heard a voice calling out. “Is he friendly?”

  An attractive woman with dark hair was standing a few yards away from us. I went over to her with Bernie. “He’s a police dog, but he’s a pushover when he’s off duty.”

  She bent down to Bernie, running a hand through his coat. “He’s gorgeous. I had a husky when I was a girl.” She stood up and extended a hand. “I’m Laura Trenton.”

  I introduced myself and Bernie. She stroked my dog behind his ears as I said, “You have a beautiful home.”

  Bernie came closer to her, resting his head against her leg. “I can’t believe he’s a police dog.” After patting him, she looked around the grounds. “Yes, the place is very special, but the upkeep is a fortune. It’s time to let it go.”

  I noticed that her eyes were iridescent, a powdery blue-gray. “Have you lived here long?”

  “About twenty years. It was…” Her gaze moved off. “I’m the niece of the former owner.”

  “Ms. Winslow?”

  She nodded, but otherwise didn’t respond.

  “My friends are touring the main house. I’m afraid it might take them a while.”

  “Would you like to join me for some tea?” She motioned to a house overlooking the pool. “I live in one of the guest cottages.”

  The guest house was covered in flowering vines and looked enchanting, like something you’d see in the French countryside. “I’d love that.”

  A couple of minutes later, Bernie and I were touring Laura Trenton’s cottage, which was larger than most single family homes I’d been in. We stopped in the family room where there were several photographs on the wall, including some of her famous aunt. There were also some family photographs of the former star, many taken when she was a young girl.

  Our guide gave me some background on the photos. “Most of these were taken when Aunt Jean was a teenager…” Her smile became wistful. “It was before stardom found her.”

  The photographs of the future legend revealed an innocent girl who was blossoming into a young woman. “They’re lovely.” I said, meeting her powder-blue eyes. “We’re you close to your aunt?”

  “Very. I used to spend summers here, until…” She took a moment, her eyes growing heavy. “She passed on to a better place.”

  I nodded, but otherwise didn’t respond.

  She went over to the kitchen and began brewing our tea. I took the time to walk around the room, continuing to examine the collection of photographs. There were more casual shots of Winslow taken through the years, many showing her with an older couple who I assumed were her parents. As I continued to glance through the photographs, I saw there were several photos of the actress taken as she’d grown older. I then came to some pictures that I realized were probably captured a year or two before her death.

  “Our tea is ready.”

  I barely heard Laura Trenton calling out to me. My eyes were fixed on one of the photographs that showed Jean Winslow by her swimming pool. It looked like the photo had been taken during a party. There were several people surrounding her, including a face that was indelibly etched into my memory.

  Trenton came over to me, apparently realizing I was transfixed. “What is it?”

  I pointed to a man in the photograph. “Do you recognize him?”

  She smiled, glancing at the photograph. “Of course. That’s Johnny. He stopped by sometimes with his daughter…” Her gaze came back over to me. She was confused, obviously trying to piece things together. “Do you know him?”

  I nodded and swallowed the lump in my throat. “He was my father.”

  FIFTY-SIX

  Laura Trenton’s voice took on an excited, girlish lilt. “Katie!” She took my hands. “Is it really you? We used to play together when I was about ten and you were little. Do you remember?”

  Katie was what my love-dad had called me. I shook my head. “I was probably only three or four at the time.”

  “We would play in the garden. I remember that you even brought dolls.” She’d said it like I should remember.

  I took a couple of breaths, trying to control my emotions. “Let’s have our tea. I have a long story to tell you.”

  We took our teacups to her patio where we spent the better part of the next hour. I spent the time going over my family history, telling her that the man she once knew as Johnny wasn’t my father, but had raised me until he was murdered by Ryan Cooper. I told her how Cooper had also murdered my biological mother and had been killed by my half-sister while stalking me. I went on to give her the details of my mother’s letters and what Collin Russell had told me, explaining that they both felt the deaths of her aunt and my love-dad were linked.

  “John, the man who raised me, was a police officer back then, like me,” I said. “He worked part-time at the studios. I think that’s where he met your aunt.”

  Trenton took a long moment to absorb everything I’d said. Bernie came over and she ran a hand through his fur. “It all seems like such a long time ago.” Her eyes brightened. “But we had great fun together as children. Your dad was very nice.”

  Something Leo had once said about my love-dad being unhappy in his marriage came to mind. During my real, or imagined, conversation with my dad, he’d denied being unfaithful in his marriage to my mother. Despite that, I asked, “Do you think he and your aunt…could they have been involved?”

  She chuckled. “Well, it’s hard to say. We are talking about Jean Winslow.” Her smile was still there, but more reflective now. “You probably know that she was involved with the producer Donald Regis before her death. He died recently.”

  I confirmed that I was aware of what she’d said. “Your aunt’s death…” I hesitated, trying to choose my words carefully. “I guess you’ve heard the rumors over the years that it may have not been a suicide.”

  She nodded. “I have no way of proving it, of course, but I also have my doubts. Aunt Jean…she wasn’t the type to get depressed. I just can’t believe she killed herself.”

  I remembered what my friends had said about Winslow’s mother dying in a hit and run accident and her brother also taking his own life. I asked her about them.

  “My Uncle Kevin was into drugs, so I think his death was more of an accident than anything that was deliberate. As for their mother…” She shrugged. “I can’t really say.”

  “What about a man named Kellen Malone? Does his name ring a bell?”

  Her smile returned. “You know a lot about my aunt.”

  “She had a lot of history.”

  “Mr. Malone came by right after Aunt Jean had broken up with Donald. I remember him being here a few days before…before she died. He was very kind and seemed like he wanted the best for her.”

  I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly. “He was kind?”

  “Very. It was summertime and he even went swimming with me once.”

  My gaze moved off, watching the sunset as
I tried to process what she’d said. I suddenly questioned everything I’d heard about Kellen Malone. My mother had told me in her letters that my love-dad had been murdered to cover up what he’d learned about Winslow’s death. Collin Russell had led me to believe his son might have been involved. Even my Mom’s one-time friend Lana Palmer had said that Malone was surrounded by people who scared her.

  While I knew that children were sometimes not the best judge of character, Laura Trenton had known Malone, and what she’d said contradicted everything I’d heard. Now I wondered if I’d taken what I’d heard from the others out of context and made a false assumption that Malone had been involved in both Jean Winslow’s and my father’s deaths.

  I took a moment and filled her in on what I knew about Malone, adding, “His father said he’s involved in a secret organization called The Revelation that controls much of what goes on in Hollywood.”

  “The Revelation.” She released a breath, looking away from me. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that name, but I also heard those same rumors.” Her beautiful eyes found me again. “All I know is that, unless he’s dramatically changed, Mr. Malone was a very nice man who seemed to only want the best for my aunt. He also didn’t seem like he would fit with what I’ve heard about the Revelation.”

  Trenton’s phone was on her kitchen counter and she excused herself for a moment to answer it. While she was gone, I tried to piece together everything she’d told me. If Jean Winslow had been on the rebound from Regis, I had to admit that she and my love-dad might have become involved since he’d been at her estate. I didn’t want to believe that he was having an affair with Winslow while he was married to my adoptive mom, but I couldn’t rule it out, knowing that he’d been unhappy with my sometimes difficult and disapproving mother.

  I wondered if he and Kellen Malone had run into one another at Chanteclair, and if they’d become enemies. If that had happened, it didn’t seem to fit with what Trenton had said about Malone. While I knew that Ryan Cooper had fired the bullet that killed my love-dad, I still didn’t know who else was behind that act. The possibilities swirled around in my head until I felt more confused than ever.