Hollywood Murder

by M. Z. Kelly

  After some small talk, Dupree gave us some history on the Starlight. “The park is on ten acres of land. The parcel is worth a fortune, but, luckily for us, it can’t be sold or developed. You are standing in the middle of Hollywood history.”

  Our potential landlord looked like she was pushing eighty. Dupree was slender, with flowing red hair. She had a Pomeranian pocket puppy in her purse that caused Bernie to whine. Maybe he was thinking I should start carrying him around in my handbag.

  “Looks to me like just a bunch of old trailers,” Mo grumbled under her breath to me as she scanned the area.

  She had a point. The mobile homes were a variety of colors, all of them like something you’d see in old photographs from the middle of the last century. There were several more plastic pink flamingos in the grassy area around the clubhouse.

  An elderly man passed by us, his bulging eyes fixing on Natalie like something out of a cartoon. She waved to him and he walked into a pole.

  “This place ain’t so bad, Mo,” Natalie said, chuckling as the man picked himself up off the ground. “The neighbors seem right friendly.”

  “I think you’ll like the trailer when you see it,” Noah said, smiling at what my friends had said. “It’s considered chic vintage.”

  “I seen enough cheap vintage to last me a lifetime,” Mo groused.

  Our hostess had walked ahead of us and apparently hadn’t heard Mo’s comments. Dupree waved a hand. “Let’s stop by the clubhouse before we see your new home.”

  As we entered the building, everyone turned and looked at us.

  Mo said, “This place looks like it’s full of those old guys in them Viagra commercials. Next thing you know somebody’s gonna be walkin’ ’round with a painful four hour erection.”

  “I’d like to see that,” Natalie said. She asked me, “How do you suppose a bloke gets rid of that problem? Do you think they give him a prescription for a hooker?”

  “Maybe,” I whispered, trying to quiet them down as Dupree brought over a little man she introduced as Harvey, the Starlight manager.

  “Call me Harv,” the manager said, shaking hands with us. He lingered as he took Natalie’s hand, saying, “’Bout time we got someone here like you. We need to do some pool time tomorrow.”

  “My tan is startin’ to fade,” Natalie said. “It’s a spray-on job and could use a touch-up. Maybe you could help me lather up.”

  While Harv went into cardiac arrest, a woman, who introduced herself as Maude, had wandered over to us. She gave us the once-over and turned to Madeline Dupree. “I hope you’re not considering renting to them. We have certain restrictions that I’m sure they don’t meet.”

  Before I could stop her, Mo said, “You mean ’cause we don’t got one foot in the boneyard?”

  “They obviously lack a sense of culture, as well,” Maude said. She cast a dark eye on Bernie. “And they have that.”

  “In case you aren’t aware,” Dupree said. “I’m one of the original owners. My property has been grandfathered in, with no age or pet restrictions.”

  “I’m going to take this to the residents’ council,” Maude protested, eyeing us like she needed to call a pest control company. “We’ll get a petition started.”

  Dupree looked the elderly busybody in the eye and said, “Bite me.” She turned to us. “Let’s go have a look at your new abode.”

  As we walked up a row of trailers, I said to Noah, “I don’t want to create a problem by living here.” I looked at Natalie and Mo. “My friends have a hard enough time fitting in under the best of circumstances. I doubt they’re ever going to find common ground with Maude and some of the other neighbors.”

  Noah smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m sure there’ll be an adjustment period. Your neighbors will come to love you, just as I do.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re an eternal optimist.”

  After a short walk, we stopped in front of a pink trailer with lime green trim. It had a carport and small grassy area in front of it.

  “This is a Delta Queen,” Dupree said, working her key in the lock. “It’s a very cozy coach.”

  Mo leaned over and said, “She must mean cockroach.”

  “This place is the bomb,” Natalie said, after entering the Queen and waving us inside.

  Mo said something about it needing a roach bomb as we entered. Our new home was about the size of a large trailer, with three small bedrooms and one bath. It would be considered small for one person, let alone a Brit who spent her mornings primping, a large woman with more wigs than an English courtroom, and a cop who was always running late.

  After a tour of the home, we met on the grassy patio in front of our coach. I searched for something positive to say and finally came up with, “I think they made efficient use of a small space.”

  “It’s smaller than a tin crapper,” Mo grumbled. She regarded me. “You’ll end up with a bunch of homicides in less than a week, ’cause we’ll kill each other.”

  “I suppose I could give a few of my outfits to Goodwill,” Natalie offered. “I seen walk-in closets bigger than this.”

  Dupree glanced at Noah. She grinned and said, “Should we tell them?”

  He shrugged. “I guess they’ve suffered long enough.”

  “What’s going on?” I demanded.

  “I own this coach and the one next to it,” Madeline told me. “You can rent this one and your friends can have the unit next door. It should give you all plenty of space.”

  Mo glanced at the coach that was next door to the one we’d just toured, seeing that it was about the same size as the Queen. “This just might work out.”

  A half hour later, after touring the other coach, we shook hands with Dupree, sealing a deal for both the modest rent and our fates. We were now the youngest residents of the Starlight Mobile Home Park. Life would never be the same for anyone.

  SIXTY-SIX

  The next morning, Leo and I decided to have a talk with Reverend Stan Pressley. We were hoping to interview him without his wife present, and discuss what Selfie and Molly had learned about Walter Potter changing the beneficiary on his insurance policies.

  Before leaving the station, I had a brief conversation with Agent Shuler regarding her thoughts on their interview with Allison Marsh. Shuler agreed that Allison hadn’t been very forthcoming, but dismissed it as trauma over her kidnapping and mutilation. When I suggested that she might know a lot more about her kidnappers than she told us, I got platitudes about them following up with her, but nothing more. I had the impression that the FBI had given the case a lower priority, now that Allison and her children were safe.

  As we drove to Glendale, I tried to put our cases out of my mind for a few minutes and told Leo about my new home. “My friends and I will be the youngest residents of the Starlight Mobile Home Park. Most of our neighbors look like they’re in their eighties.”

  “At least you’ll have a view of wide open spaces,” he said, referencing the cemetery.

  “Mo thinks we’ll have to dig graves for our neighbors when they drop dead.”

  He laughed. “At least the place is convenient and affordable.”

  “And, it beats living on the street, or worse, staying with my mother.”

  “How is she doing these days?”

  I sighed. “I try to call her once a week, but…” I searched for the words to explain our conversations. “…we don’t seem to have a lot in common. She’s talking about having a family reunion this summer and inviting my sister Amanda. It’s not something I’m looking forward to.”

  I went on to tell him that my sister lived in Europe with her worthless husband. He’d inherited a small fortune, and they spent their time finding new ways to squander it. We had nothing in common.

  “I have a brother, but we’re not very close any more,” Leo said, finding some common ground with me. “I think some of us just grow apart over the years, despite having grown up together.”

  I exhaled. “Having a family like mine doesn’t
help things.”

  “Anything new with looking into the Revelation and Kellen Malone?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve been too busy to give it much thought, but I did call Jean Winslow’s niece the other day. We’re going to get together and look through some of her aunt’s old photographs in a couple of days.”

  I then changed the subject, mentioning something Oz and I had talked about this morning. “I think there’s a good chance Brie will be coming to work for Section One part-time. She’s going to need more chemo and radiation, and Oz agreed to talk to her bosses about exclusively working our cases to help her out with expenses.”

  “She’d be a terrific addition. It sounds like a win-win all the way around.”

  I saw the glass skyscraper we knew as the Stairway to Heaven looming in the distance. Despite its history, the cathedral brought to mind a higher power. I said a little prayer for my friend, thinking about the lifetime battle she was facing.

  After checking in with the Reverend Stan’s administrative staff, we were granted fifteen minutes with him. Instead of meeting in the modular construction building, we were led to a reflection garden near a babbling stream. We found the reverend sitting by the gurgling water with his eyes closed.

  We gave him a couple of moments, waiting until he acknowledged our presence. He was casually dressed and definitely more relaxed than the last time we’d talked. Bernie went over and sniffed his shoes, stirring him from his mediation.

  “Please, have a seat,” he said, after opening his eyes. “I’m not sure what brings you back here, but I’m happy to talk. Unfortunately, I only have a few minutes.”

  I had the impression Reverend Stan was a very different person than the one we’d seen before, in the presence of his wife.

  “We’re here because of an insurance matter that’s come to our attention,” Leo said.

  “Insurance?” He shrugged. “Not my favorite subject, but I’m listening.”

  Leo went on, “As you know, we’ve been investigating the deaths of Walter and Maggie Potter. A few days before Mr. Potter died, he made some changes to a life insurance policy that had been taken out on him and his wife. Those changes made your church the beneficiary of both policies.”

  The lines in the reverend’s brow grew deeper. “If that’s the case, it’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “Your wife never mentioned it to you?” I asked, tugging on Bernie’s leash when he saw a squirrel climbing a tree.

  He shook his head. “Meagan…” He took a breath. “She’s the one who deals with the financial matters, but she never said anything. I doubt that she was even aware of it.”

  I decided to take some liberties with the truth, picking up on the scenario Selfie and Molly had spun. “We have it on good authority that Meagan was the one who convinced Mr. Potter to change the policies.”

  There were more lines on his brow, deeper now. “Really? I don’t understand. Why would she do that?”

  Leo answered. “Before she died, Maggie Potter was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. We believe that your wife knew about that.”

  He took a breath, fixing his eyes on my partner. “What are you trying to say?”

  Leo went on, “We also know that your new church is heavily mortgaged and in default of some loans. We believe that Meagan planned to use the proceeds from Maggie Potter’s death to pay off some of those debts.”

  The reverend stood up. “This is unbelievable. My wife…”

  I cut him off. “Your wife isn’t the woman everyone thinks she is, is she, Reverend?” I also stood up and met his eyes. “She was involved with Walter Potter…” I glanced at the glass monstrosity towering nearby. “And the man who was building your new church.”

  The reverend blew out a long breath and slumped back down on the bench. “It’s out of control…”

  When he didn’t go on, I said, “What’s out of control? Tell us what’s been happening.”

  He sighed, dragging a hand through his silver hair. There were tears in his eyes. “Meagan wanted a new church…but not just any church. She wanted the biggest, fanciest church she could imagine. I wanted something smaller.” His watery eyes found me. “Meagan always gets her way. When the bills started piling up…” He sighed. “I’m not sure what she’s done, but I know she won’t let anything get in the way when it comes to her church.”

  “Her church,” Leo said, glancing at me before fixing his eyes on the reverend again. “What about murder?”

  The reverend stood up. “I think I’ve heard about enough.”

  “Both Walter and Maggie Potter were murdered,” I said. “Your wife had insurance policies that would pay off in the event of both their deaths. We also know that Meagan and Sam Berger, your construction foreman, were in a relationship. Mr. Berger has a history of violence and assault.”

  The reverend slumped back down and held his head in his hands. He choked, “I don’t want to believe any of this.”

  “You don’t want to believe it because it’s true,” I said. “Tell us what Meagan did.”

  He took a couple of deep breaths. “I don’t know exactly. All I know is that she spends most of her time with Berger. She told me he was going to help her finish the church, no matter what it took.”

  “Including murder,” I said.

  He broke down again. “I don’t know.”

  “Where is your wife now?” Leo asked.

  Reverend Stan’s watery words were barely audible. “Probably with Berger. She’s always at his house, except for Sundays and when she isn’t fundraising.”

  ***

  Before leaving Reverend Stan, we got his wife’s cell phone number. I called Selfie when we got to the car. “Can you give us the address for Sam Berger?”

  “Of course.” I heard papers rustling. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m not entirely sure yet, but it just might be that you and Molly will be receiving detective pay soon.”

  “Good. I could use a raise.” She paused. “Here it is. He lives in Glendale, a couple of miles from the Pressleys’ church.” She gave me the street address and I told her I’d call her later.

  After I gave Leo the address, he started the car and looked in his rearview mirror. “It looks like we have some company.”

  We pulled out of the parking lot with Shelia Woods and her camera crew on our tail. We headed for Berger’s residence as I called Meagan Pressley’s cell number. When she answered I identified myself and said we were coming over to talk.

  “I have nothing to say. Call my lawyer.”

  I could tell she was about to end the call and said, “We know about the insurance policies, Mrs. Pressley.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the policies for Walter and Maggie Potter. Policies that had the beneficiary changed to your church a few days before their deaths.”

  “I don’t know anything about it.”

  “That’s interesting, since your husband said you would stop at nothing to build your new church.”

  “He’s a lying bastard.”

  “That might be the case, but he told us the truth about you, how you were involved with both Walter Potter and your construction foreman, Sam Berger.”

  “That’s nonsense.”

  I was on a roll and wanted to tell her what we suspected before she ended the call. I wasn’t sure if I had all the facts straight, but that didn’t stop me.

  “You knew that Maggie Potter was dying of brain cancer, so you convinced Walter to change the beneficiary on her policy to your church. But that wasn’t good enough. You realized if your church was the beneficiary on both polices, you could pay off the entire mortgage. After you convinced a love-struck Walter Potter to also change his policy, you had your construction foreman murder him and his wife so that you could collect on both policies.”

  I heard a man’s voice in the background and knew it must be Berger. I realized that he’d been listening in on the conversation. He was angry an
d said something about being used and not putting up with it any longer.

  Meagan then came back on the line. “I’ve heard enough of these lies.” The line went dead.

  “She’s with Berger,” I told Leo. “He overheard our entire conversation and threatened her, even though she denied everything.”

  “We’re less than a minute out. Maybe you should try calling her back.”

  I did as he suggested. The first call went to voicemail, but Pressley answered the second call. She was breathless, but said, “I want my lawyer.”

  “You haven’t been formally charged with anything. We just want to talk.”

  “You…you don’t understand.”

  I glanced at Leo as he turned onto Berger’s street. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  The breathless quality in her voice was still there, along with her surfacing emotions. “Sam is dead. I shot him, but he tried to kill me. It was self-defense.”

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  We spent the rest of the day investigating the killing of Sam Berger and booking Meagan Pressley on murder charges. Shelia Woods had agreed to stay on the street during the initial processing of the scene, but, thanks to LAPD’s brass, she was granted access to the area after the coroner and the forensic teams had finished their work. Berger had been shot three times in the upper torso. We had no doubt that Meagan and he had argued, but there was only one gun found at the crime scene. There was nothing, other than her word, to indicate the shooting had been self-defense.

  There was also the matter of the murders of Walter and Maggie Potter. We had talked to Berger’s estranged wife, who confirmed that her husband and Pressley had been involved in a relationship over the past year. She described her ex as becoming increasingly despondent, and telling her that his girlfriend had made him do something bad recently. He’d even said something to her about Meagan telling him that the Potters needed to go away before they were murdered.

  While our evidence was circumstantial, we were sure that Berger had done the killings at Meagan Pressley’s behest. The decision about filing charges would rest with the DA, who would likely have his investigators try to further tie Pressley to the murders. If we were lucky, and justice prevailed, the woman who wanted a stairway to Heaven would spend the rest of her life in a place that was about as far from paradise as you can get.