Hollywood Murder

by M. Z. Kelly

  “I guess that will make Sam a very rich girl someday.” Leo said.

  “Or, the way things are going, at least pay for a couple of years of college,” I agreed.

  Molly shook her head. “It would have, except both policies were modified about a month before the Potters died. The Pressleys’ church was named the beneficiary in the event of either of their deaths.”

  They both now had our full attention. “Why would the Potters modify their policies?”

  Selfie glanced at her coworker. “Molly and I have a theory that may explain it.”

  Bernie was fixated on Oz and his bag of treats, his ears standing straight up. “It looks like we’re all ears,” the lieutenant said. “Let’s hear it.”

  Selfie began spinning their scenario. “As we all know, Meagan Pressley is a beautiful woman, with considerable persuasive skills. We also know that the Potters began attending their church a few months before they died. Let’s suppose that Meagan and Walter began chatting one day and she learned he owned an insurance business. Meagan mentioned that she and her husband had to have policies written as a condition of their mortgage and Walter happily obliged.

  “Let’s also assume that when Walter wrote those policies he told Meagan that he and Maggie also had life insurance policies. He might have also confided in her that his wife had a terminal illness. Knowing that Maggie wasn’t long for this world, Meagan immediately seized on that opening. She became involved in a relationship with Walter and, in time, convinced him to make their church the beneficiary of both policies, rather than his daughter.”

  “But why would Walter modify his own life insurance policy?” Oz asked.

  “Because one of the seven deadly sins took over,” Selfie said. “Walter was blinded by lust. Our theory is that when Walter was in the process of modifying his wife’s policy, Meagan said to him, ‘I know you’ll probably outlive me, sugar babe, but, why not make our church the beneficiary on both policies? It would prove that you love me.’”

  “Sugar babe,” I said, laughing.

  Selfie shrugged. “Sorry for the embellishment. I had an old boyfriend from the south who called me that.”

  After joining in the laughter, Leo said, “Let’s finish your story. I’m betting one of the other deadly sins, namely greed, plays a role in what happened next.”

  Molly nodded. “Meagan knew a big payday was coming her way with Maggie’s death, but it wasn’t enough. She reasoned that if she got the payoff on both Walter and Maggie’s policies, it would be enough to bail their church out of hock. When she realized that, Walter’s days were numbered.”

  “It took two bodies to build the Stairway to Heaven,” Selfie agreed.

  “And the argument that Maggie and Meagan had that Samantha overheard?” I said. “What do you suppose that was about?”

  “It could be that Maggie Potter signed her life insurance policy modification without really knowing what she was doing,” Selfie said. “Later, when she looked at the policy again and realized the Pressleys’ church was the new beneficiary, she had it out with her husband. She insisted that the policies be changed back. When Walter later told Meagan about that, she went by the house to try and convince Maggie to hold off on changing the beneficiary, knowing that she would be dead in a few weeks anyway.”

  “Maybe I’m missing something,” Oz said. “Why is the Pressleys’ church still in debt, given the insurance payouts?”

  “That’s probably something Meagan didn’t think about beforehand. As the beneficiary of the policies, she filed the claims, but the Potters’ deaths were ruled a homicide. The insurance company is balking on making the payouts until the cases are closed.”

  We were all quiet for a moment, processing what they’d said. Leo then spoke up. “Let’s suppose that it all went down as you’ve speculated. That still leaves us with the Howard Dern problem. If Dern was telling the truth, our killer was a man.”

  Molly looked at Selfie and smiled. “Maybe they’ll give us detective pay if we’re right about things.”

  “What haven’t you told us?” I said.

  “It seems that Walter wasn’t the only rooster in the Meagan Pressley hen house. Selfie and I went to a church function last night, pretending we had just become members of the Pressleys’ flock. We snooped around and, according to a couple of the church’s gossip queens, Meagan and the Reverend Stanley have fallen on hard times in more ways than one. Rumor has it their marriage is on the rocks. Meagan has supposedly been hot and heavy with their church construction foreman, a guy named Sam Berger.”

  The lieutenant’s phone was ringing as Selfie held up a mugshot. “And guess what? Mr. Berger has a history of assault.”

  I thought about the knot that had been used to tie the Potters. “Do you know if Berger was ever in the Navy?”

  Molly held up a discharge paper. “Chief Petty Officer before he was released under less than honorable conditions for fighting.”

  Our attention was drawn back to Oz. We all heard the excitement in his voice before he ended the phone call.

  “That was Agent Dukes,” Oz said. “They just got a call from Allison Marsh. She and her daughter have been released by the kidnappers. They’re on a street a few miles from the Malibu Pier.”

  SIXTY-FOUR

  Leo and I spent the evening at the Montreal estate, where FBI agents Michelle Shuler and Miguel Flores interviewed Allison Marsh after she’d been reunited with her son and parents. We’d been told that Agent Dukes wasn’t in attendance because he was tied up on other matters. There was one other agent in the room who had been in the lead car during the ransom drop, along with Henry and Georgette Montreal.

  We’d been told that Allison’s mother had already informed her of the death of her husband and her maid. It looked like that news had pushed Allison into the dark regions of despair. Her hair was matted and her face was swollen from crying.

  We listened intently as Allison told us the story of the man she only knew as Frank bursting into her home and taking her and the children upstairs. She said she thought Maria Chavez had been hurt because of the screaming she’d heard during her captivity, but was unaware she’d been killed.

  “Can you describe the man who took you?” Agent Shuler asked.

  Allison sighed. “I’m not really sure. He was about average height. I think he had dark hair.”

  “Dark hair? Are you sure about that?”

  “Not really. Maybe it sounds strange, but I didn’t really look at him. He scared me.”

  “What about his companion?”

  “Who?”

  “There was a woman. The TV cameras caught images of her. Can you describe her?”

  Allison shook her head. “I never saw a woman.”

  The two FBI agents exchanged a glance before Agent Shuler said, “We’ll have you work with one of our artists on a drawing of the man who called himself Frank. Maybe we can flesh out the details.”

  “Can you tell us what happened after you were taken from your home?” Agent Flores asked.

  Allison took a moment before responding. “I’m not sure. I think we were drugged. I just remember waking up in a room without windows.”

  “What was this room like? Can you describe it?”

  There was a hesitation again before she said, “I’m not really sure. It was just cold and dark and it seemed like we spent hours there.”

  Agent Flores had obviously been impacted by Allison’s physical condition. He asked a question in a way that implied the answer, something that law enforcement officers were trained never to do. “Could you have been held in something that was large and rectangular, maybe like a shipping container?”

  “Yes,” Allison said, nodding. “I think that’s what it was. I remember now, the air smelled like we were near the ocean.”

  The FBI agents went back and forth for the next hour, asking Allison about her captivity. We learned that she and the children had been moved to the basement of a house, where they’d been held for several d
ays, but she was unable to provide any other details. We also learned that her abductor had severed her finger, and had threatened her children if she failed to cooperate. While her captivity had been brutal and traumatic, I was struck by the lack of detail in what she told the agents.

  Agent Shuler expressed her sorrow for the loss of her husband, before asking, “Is there anyone you can think of who might have wanted to harm Vincent?”

  Allison shrugged and shook her head. “Not really.”

  The FBI agent lowered her voice. “I know this is difficult, but we understand your husband was involved with other women.”

  Allison’s eyes narrowed on the agent, the ridge of the brow tightening. “What are you talking about?”

  “Vincent wasn’t faithful to you.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “The maid,” Shuler said. “He was…he and Maria Chavez had been…in a relationship.”

  Tears sprang from Allison’s eyes. She began sobbing and shaking her head. “That’s not possible. Vince was committed to me.”

  Both agents continued to probe, gently asking her questions about her husband’s relationships with other women. Allison steadfastly denied he ever cheated on her.

  Agent Flores finally said, “Let’s move on to when you were released. Can you tell us how that happened?”

  Allison drew in a breath and took a moment before answering. “We…we were put in the van. It seemed like we were on the road for a couple of hours before the car stopped. Jenna and I were untied and Frank said we were free to go.”

  “That’s it? Did he say anything to you?”

  Allison used a tissue, drying her eyes. She huffed out a breath and said, “Yeah. He said, ‘have a nice life.’” She looked at Flores. “Can you believe that?”

  After the agents were finished with her, Allison’s father took several minutes, asking her about the ransom money. She assured him that she had no idea where the money had been dropped or what the man she knew as Frank did with it. Henry Montreal walked away, saying something about hiring his own investigator to find his money.

  As the other agents were preparing to leave, Leo and I went over and introduced ourselves. After expressing our condolences, I said, “I’m just glad that you and both your children are home safe.”

  “Thank you,” Allison said. “We’re going to need some time to put our lives back together.”

  “Maybe your friend, Deidre, can help. She seems like she genuinely cares about you.”

  She nodded. “You talked to her?”

  “It was a routine part of our investigation.”

  “I see.” She brushed the hair out of her eyes and exhaled. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’d better go check on the children.”

  Leo and I were in the car, heading back to the station, when I asked him for his thoughts on what Allison had said.

  “Pretty sketchy. Maybe because of the trauma.”

  I didn’t respond, thinking about her interview.

  “What is it?” he finally asked. “You think there’s something she’s not telling us?”

  “Maybe.” I met his eyes. “Did you see how she reacted when I mentioned that we’d talked to Deidre?”

  He nodded. “There’s also the issue of her saying Vince was faithful. Even Deidre told us the opposite.”

  “Are you starting to have the same concerns that I have?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe it’s just denial. Not sure.”

  As Leo parked at the station, I said, “There’s one thing I am sure about. Women who are being cheated on, especially with someone under their own roof, know about it. If you ask me, Allison Marsh is a liar.”

  SIXTY-FIVE

  “I got me a bad feelin’ ’bout this,” Mo said as she drove us to the Starlight Mobile Home Park in Hollywood that night.

  We were in her big red Caddie convertible. I was exhausted and had forgotten all about meeting Noah at the park with my friends. I’d agreed to come, only because I’d learned our apartments had already been rented out. If we didn’t find a place to live, we’d end up on the street in a few days.

  Natalie was in the front seat next to Mo. A heavy fog was starting to roll in from the ocean as she glanced out the window. “Cheer up. I’m sure it will be a nice, quiet neighborhood.”

  Mo nodded her head, which tonight was adorned with green hair. “That’s ’cause the neighbors are all dead.”

  “I’m sure there are some benefits to living next to a cemetery,” I said from the back seat, trying to be positive.

  Mo regarded me in the rearview mirror. “Like what?”

  “Ghosts,” Natalie said, answering for me. “We could hold our own séances for the neighbors, raise both the dead and a few bucks.”

  I remembered the cemetery had some additional benefits that you would find only in Hollywood. “They also show movies in the cemetery and have concerts.” I wasn’t kidding. The movies were shown on the wall of a mausoleum and the summer concerts were outstanding.

  “Movies, concerts, the dead, and the pre-dead,” Mo said. “Sounds like paradise. I can’t wait.” She huffed out a breath. “You ask me, there ain’t nuthin’ worse than a bunch of old farts. Just look at Nana.”

  Maybe she had a point. I glanced over at Bernie, who was sitting up on the seat next to me. Even he looked a little unsettled, like the way he got when he went to see the vet before Noah came along.

  I’d googled the mobile home park a couple of days earlier and learned that the Starlight was built in 1953 by a developer named Abe Coolidge. The place had been designated an historical site, which made it against the law to move or modify any of the vintage homes. From what I read, most of the homes were called coaches or trailers, and were referred to as museum quality.

  “Ain’t we too young to live in a mobile home park?” Mo said. “I thought you had to be at least as old as Anthony Perkins’ grandma to live in one of them.”

  “Maybe everyone living there is dead,” Natalie suggested, her hazel eyes growing bigger. “It could be that we’ll be livin’ with a bunch of mummies.”

  Mo shook her head. “I ain’t livin’ with no mummies.”

  “Speaking of mummies,” I said, trying to change the subject. “What’s the latest with Nana’s party?”

  “Last I heard it’s on hold till she gets a permit to hold it on Hollywood Boulevard. She wants to close the street and hire the Stones.”

  “You’re kidding. The Rolling Stones?”

  “Given her age, it could be The Kidney Stones,” Natalie said, laughing at her own joke.

  “All I know is that she wants a bunch of rock bands there,” Mo said, steering her big boat of a car. She went back to complaining about the Starlight and its adjacent cemetery. “I suppose we all gotta dig the graves for our neighbors in our spare time to pay the rent on this joint.”

  “We each get our own shovel,” I said.

  “Funny.”

  I tried to calm her nerves. “The park is supposed to overlook the graveyard, not be a part of it.”

  Natalie turned back to me, thankfully moving the conversation in a different direction. “So I heard on the news that lady that was kidnapped and her kid were released. Why do you suppose the dirty wanker let ’em go?”

  “Since the kidnappers got their money, Allison and her daughter were no longer useful.”

  Mo called over her shoulder. “I’ll betcha that Marsh woman’s father ain’t gonna rest till he gets his money back.”

  “That wouldn’t surprise me. I think the money was more important to him than his family.”

  We turned a corner, and the fog now enveloped the road ahead. Mo turned on her headlights. “Lordy, I betcha this place is gonna be haunted. The next thing you know, we’re gonna see a dead guy in the road, holding his head under his arm.”

  She had a point. The world did seem to suddenly grow dark and ominous. I wondered if we were making a big mistake. Then I again thought about having to live on the street, o
r worse with my mother, and decided it wasn’t so bad after all.

  Natalie seemed unconcerned about our move and asked me about Hollywood Detective. “I heard that reporter is stirring up a boatload of cack. Are you gettin’ close to solving the case?”

  I didn’t want to go into details, so I said, “We’re still following up on a few leads. It’s hard to say at this point.”

  “I saw where that Woods woman is blogging ’bout the case,” Mo said. “According to her, there’s something big ’bout to break.”

  What she’d said wasn’t surprising, but I was angry if Woods was, in fact, posting details about our investigation online. “Don’t believe everything you read. We still have some work to do.”

  “Hey, what’s the latest on you and the cowboy?” Natalie asked, remembering that I’d mentioned he was now a part of Section One. “It must be difficult working with someone who’s seen your kitty cat and bat cave.”

  “Yeah,” Mo agreed. “It’s kinda like going to work with your gynecologist.”

  I did my best to suppress the visual images they were suggesting and tried to sound light and airy. “The past is behind us. I don’t even think about what happened between us.”

  Mo looked at Natalie and rolled her eyes. “That, baby sis, is what you call a major load of cack.”

  The road turned, and we saw a large neon sign up ahead through the fog that read, Starlight Mobile Home Park. There was a grassy area below the sign, full of fake flamingos.

  “Turn here,” I said to Mo, seeing the long driveway was lined with palm trees. “I think it’s back off the main highway.”

  Mo huffed out a breath, turned, gunned the motor, and we shot up the driveway. She slowed down when we saw Noah standing by a clubhouse, talking to an elderly woman.

  Mo parked her car and, after a couple of tries, managed to extricate herself from the driver’s seat. We all walked over to Noah and he introduced us to the owner of the property, Madeline Dupree.