"You don't have the authority to throw anyone out of here," Mom told her.
"I can suggest very strongly," Mrs. Rosenblatt said. "They don't know the difference." She lowered her brow to glare at the reporter. His eyes went wide before he turned and fled. "See?" she asked. "Another one bites the dust."
I could tell Dana was in good hands. "I'll be right back," I assured her.
She gave me a nod before I turned and quickly made my way over to where Alia stood alone, watching the mob scene unfold.
"Alia," I called to her as I approached.
She started as if I'd scared her. Or possibly pulled her out of some deep thoughts of her own.
"Hey," she said, not exactly looking thrilled to see me.
"The reporters catch up to you yet?" I asked.
She shook her head. "A couple tried to talk to me at the Big Moose, but security got rid of them."
"They have security at the Big Moose?" I asked, genuinely shocked.
Alia gave a shrug. "It's the same guy who cleans the pool, but whatever. He got the reporters to leave."
"And apparently they came here," I noted.
Her frown reappeared. "Yeah. Looks like it."
"That was some impromptu press conference Tarrin gave," I said, watching her reaction closely.
Something flickered behind her eyes, but it was gone too quickly for me to identify it. "She sure knows how to hop on a hashtag bandwagon."
"You think that's all she was doing?"
"What do you mean?" Alia turned her big blue eyes on me, and this time I could clearly see suspicion in them.
"I mean, I'm sure this will generate some publicity for the movie. But I wonder if what Tarrin was saying about Frost had any merit. And him victimizing women."
If she had an emotional reaction to that, she hid it well. Then again, she was an actress.
"Alia, Frost never made a move on you, did he?" I asked softly.
Irritation shadowed her face. "No! God, no." She paused. "Listen, I don't know what your problem is, but I told you I got this part because of my talent."
"Talent alone?"
"Yes!"
"It had nothing to do with your mother?"
"My…" Alia blinked at me, her indignation morphing instantly into something akin to fear. "What do you know about my mother?"
"I know she worked with Frost. Years ago. Twenty-three years ago, to be precise."
Alia closed her eyes and sucked in a big breath. I waited her out, letting her inhale and exhale for a beat before she finally opened her eyes again. Only all the fire had gone out of them, and that world weary look I'd noticed on our first meeting had settled in its place. She grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me behind a castle wall, away from potential eavesdroppers.
"Look, no one knows about this," she said, her voice low. "Not even Tarrin."
"But it's true that your mother and Frost had a history," I pressed. "One that went beyond just professional interactions."
"Yes," she hissed. "I mean, I think so."
"You think so?"
"Look, I can do math, too, okay?" she said, her usual irritation creeping back into her voice. "I know she was with Frost about nine months before I was born."
"Wait—you mean you never asked her who your father is?"
"Oh, I asked." She rolled her eyes. "I'm not stupid. I've always suspected he was my dad, but she just…she never wanted to talk about it."
While my mom and I had our differences at times, I couldn't imagine her ever keeping a secret like that from me. I'd grown up in a single-mom household too, but at least the identity of my father hadn't been a secret. Even if I hadn't found out my parents' reasons for splitting until later in life, but that was a whole other story.
"But your mother did have a relationship with Frost," I confirmed.
She bit her lip and nodded. "She never said much about him. I-I got the feeling it wasn't a pretty story, you know?"
I glanced behind me. "Did it go something like Tarrin's version?"
More lip biting. Then Alia shrugged. "Possibly. It was Hollywood in the nineties—he was a famous director, and she was looking for a big break. It's not exactly a unique tale."
"So, you think Frost gave your mom the part in his Fast and Dangerous movie in exchange for…some private time alone with her."
"Look, I told you, I don't know how it went down, okay? I know she didn't like talking about him, and she never acted again. So whatever was between them was clearly no joyride."
"And I can't imagine it's been easy for you either," I said.
My sympathy must have caught her off guard, as she blinked at me a few times. "No. I mean…no, it's never easy being the kid of a single mom."
That I did know about firsthand. "What did she do after she quit acting?"
She shrugged. "This and that. She worked a lot of jobs when I was growing up. Sometimes several at a time."
"So, while Frost was riding a career high, your mom was struggling to make ends meet."
Alia's eyes came up to meet mine. "I see where you're going, and you can forget it. Did I resent him for going home to his mansion at night while we were lucky to keep the lights on? Yes. Of course I did. I'm human."
"Anyone would."
"But I didn't kill him over it. Why would I? He made me the Dragon Queen." She lifted her chin with a note of pride at that last part.
"Yes, why did he make you the Dragon Queen?" I asked.
"I told you. He recognized—"
"—your talent. Yeah, you've definitely got that line memorized."
She opened her mouth to protest, but I ran right over her.
"But that isn't the real reason. You visited him at the production office and convinced him to change his mind about casting."
She narrowed her eyes at me again, working her jaw back and forth. I wasn't sure if she was preparing an insult or trying to work up a plausible lie. Again.
Finally, she settled on one. "Fine. Yes, I might have given him some other reasons—besides my acting talent—to cast me."
"Like the fact he was possibly your father."
"Look, I read online that he was slated to direct Lord of the Throne. And I saw an opportunity."
"To blackmail him?"
"Blackmail?" She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "No. No way! I just told him that I wanted a part—a big part—and if he gave it to me, I'd keep quiet about his relationship with my mother."
I wasn't sure what she thought blackmail was, but clearly she needed a dictionary.
"And what did Frost say?"
"He agreed." She shrugged. "Why wouldn't he? It was a win-win for him—he got a talented actress to play Modura, and he got to keep his name scandal-free and out of tabloids."
"So Frost admitted to sleeping with your mother?" I clarified. "To…taking advantage of her?"
Alia frowned. "Well, agreeing to my terms was kind of an admission of guilt in itself."
My disapproval at her methods must have shown on my face, as she continued.
"He owed it to me." Her voice sharpened. "It was the least he could do, after what he did to my mother. I was going to get the big break that she never did."
"One way or another?" I asked.
"You can stop right there. I told you—I did not kill Frost."
"Didn't say you did," I pointed out.
She sucked in her cheeks. "Well, good. Let's keep it that way!"
With that she stalked away, making quick tracks to her trailer, where she slammed the door shut with enough force to startle a nearby Sworf.
"What was that about?" Dana asked, nodding toward the trailer door as I rejoined their group.
I shook my head. "I'll tell you later." I glanced at the time on my phone. Almost four. "I promised I'd meet Ramirez back at the hotel."
"Well, it doesn't look like we're going to get any more shooting done here," Dana said, looking around the set that had descended into chaos. "We'll be losing the light soon anyway. Let me get out of this stuff, and I'll be rig
ht behind you."
* * *
Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt stayed behind to ride back to town with Dana—neither of them wanting to leave her alone and at the mercy of the press. Or Bobbits.
Marco and I piled back into his rental car and made the short drive back to town, where he dropped me off at the Big Moose before heading on to the Moose Mart to see if they had anything that passed for a palatable latte.
As I traversed the parking lot toward the lobby, I replayed Alia's story. While I had the feeling she was telling the truth about how she'd gotten to be the Dragon Queen, I wasn't as convinced that was where the story ended. She was admittedly ambitious. While there was nothing inherently wrong with that, I wondered where she drew the line. Clearly not at blackmail. Had she been ambitious enough to kill? Had she sensed that Frost was getting less worried about her going to the press than he was about her tanking his big comeback vehicle? Or had her motive been something else entirely from the get-go—revenge. Getting back at the man she blamed for her rotten childhood while he'd sipped champagne and caviar earned on the backs of vulnerable actresses. Like Alia's mother.
I opened the squeaky gate to the pool area, taking a shortcut to my room across the patio. The pool was completely void of swimmers now that shooting had resumed. In fact, the entire hotel seemed abandoned—guests either busy shooting or busy furiously typing up their stories for various news outlets. I wondered if Allie Quick had checked into the Big Moose and was lurking in one of the rooms.
While I liked the revenge scenario for Alia as Frost's killer, I had to admit there was one problem with it—no evidence. We had nothing tying Alia to Frost's murder. Whereas I was almost certain that J.R. Ravensberg had left evidence of his presence in Frost's trailer. According to Ellie and her boyfriend in Legal, Ravensberg had potentially millions of reasons to want Frost dead. I wondered how the director's death affected Ravensberg's screen rights. Would they go to Frost's heirs, or would they revert back to the author? An author who admittedly would have done anything to keep Frost's version of his story from making its way to the viewing public.
Then there was also Frost's wife, Selma, I reminded myself as I made my way around the swimming pool, watching the pale afternoon sun sparkle off the water. She'd seemed more upset at being stuck in Moose Haven than about her husband's death. Then again, if he'd been the womanizer that popular opinion seemed to be painting him as, maybe his death had been a relief to her. She had been overheard telling her husband she wasn't going to stand for it anymore, and there was the secret exchange with Jaden in the woods. Maybe seeing Dana emerge from her husband's trailer had been the final straw for her. One starlet too many? I wondered what Selma would think of Tarrin's little speech—which I had no doubt was in the process of going viral already.
A speech that, while it wasn't going to help Dana's case any, was great publicity for Elora and Paddington Productions. I had half a notion she might have even orchestrated the whole thing—alerted the media to show up on set, fed Tarrin the lines that would play out so beautifully in the press, made sure the film's name was attached to it all. I wondered how far Elora would go for publicity. The film was national news right now. Every reporter in the country had Frost's name on their lips. Had the death of her overspending director been a PR opportunity Elora was simply taking advantage of…or had it been by design? I wondered if Elora's heart really was cold enough to come up with that plan—to get rid of a liability and gain free publicity all in one swoop.
I was wondering so much that I almost didn't hear it.
The soft padding of soles on concrete. Moving closer.
It was just part of the background noise of Moose Haven, my mind filtering it out as unimportant.
Until it grew close enough that it was right behind me.
My spidey senses were suddenly tingling, the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention, and I moved to spin around.
But I never got the chance.
I only registered a presence for a brief second before something hard connected with my back, sending me reeling forward, flailing as I plunged into the cool water of the swimming pool.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The shock of the cold water hit me like a slap in the face, making my lungs immediately cry for air. Instinctively my feet started kicking, arms moving back and forth in jerky motions as if scrambling for something to hold on to. My eyes couldn't focus, the heavily chlorinated water making them sting and blurring my vision. I pushed upward, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to break the surface. It took a second before I was able to comprehend why. Pressure came from above, pushing my head and shoulders lower even as I struggled to rise.
Someone was holding me under the water.
Panic coursed through me, and I thrashed in a futile attempt to break free. My heart thundered against my ribs, my lungs clamoring for breath. But there was no breath, only water.
And the realization that someone was trying to kill me.
Adrenaline surged through my body, fueled by raw fear. Someone was trying to kill me! I tried to swim away, but whoever was on the surface had a tight grip. I clawed at the hands clamped on my shoulders, trying to pry them off, trying to control my panicked need for breath. I choked, my body fighting against the absence of oxygen, causing water to surge into my mouth. I fought the instinct to breathe it in, sputtering, as I kicked.
I felt my vision going dark, the energy in my arms and legs ebbing, adrenaline leaving me as the last bit of air left in my lungs gave out.
Then just as suddenly as I'd gone under, the pressure released.
Immediately I surfaced, gasping in air as I launched myself away from the side of the pool to create distance from my attacker. I coughed and gasped all at once, treading water. When I was beyond arm's reach, I twisted around.
To find myself alone.
My eyes darted left and right, but whoever had held me under the water was gone. Clearly they'd taken the moment I'd needed to recover to vanish as quickly as they'd appeared.
I swam to the shallow end of the pool and stood fully clothed in the water for a full minute, not trusting the silence. Finally, I made my way to the steps, hoisting myself out. Slowly—my limbs weighed down by my soaking wet jeans and ruined blouse. I was just lamenting the ruin of a second pair of shoes in as many days, pulling off the sling-backs that were now fully waterlogged, as a familiar face appeared through the lobby window.
Ramirez.
He paused to speak to the clerk at the desk, then glanced out the window. And saw me. I know he saw me because his expression went from neutral to surprise to panic in rapid succession. He abandoned the conversation with the confused clerk, rushing out the glass doors and through the iron gate to me.
"Maddie!" he called, his eyebrows drawn in a deep frown. "What happened?"
I sank into a lounge chair, my legs feeling rubbery now that the surge of fight-or-flight had left me. "I fell in the pool."
"You fell?" Clearly that didn't register with him. He sat beside me, taking off his jacket and draping it around my shoulders. Which I now noticed were shaking uncontrollably.
"Well, I sorta fell," I amended. "After I was pushed."
"Pushed." The frown turned into a menacing thing that would put the fear of Bad Cop into any perp.
I licked my lips and nodded slowly, telling him everything. Which, granted, was not much. I hadn't seen whoever had pushed me in, as they'd snuck up behind me. Or as they'd just as stealthily made a quick escape afterward. All I knew about them was that they had a heck of a strong grip. And had apparently wanted me dead. Or at least very nearly.
"He held me under the water," I finished lamely. I worked my shoulders to gauge any level of soreness.
"Who?" The single word was sharp as a gunshot.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I didn't see him. I just…felt those hands."
"Him. It was a man?" Each word was clipped and heavy with rage.
I paused. "I-I really don't know. I
suppose it could have been anyone."
He bit off a pointed four-letter word. "And you didn't see anything?"
I shook my head. "It all happened so fast."
His eyes cut to the parking lot. Anyone could have ducked between the cars and quickly disappeared from view. Or gone through the back gate and slipped into one of the hotel rooms.
"You didn't see anyone pass you in the lobby?" I asked on the off chance.
"No." Ramirez's assessing gaze was still roaming the surrounding buildings, as if daring my attacker to show himself. Or herself. "No security cameras out here," he noted.
I glanced around. Not surprising.
He let out a long sigh and rested his head against mine for a second before pressing a kiss into my hair. "Let's go get you dry."
I wasn't going to argue that plan. I let him help me to my feet and retrieve my purse, which thankfully looked as if it had been knocked off my shoulder when I'd fallen in. At least my phone and cosmetics had been saved the soaking.
Half an hour later, I stepped out of a very long, very hot shower and into dry, comfortable clothes. I pulled on a pair of white pants and a pale lilac sweater, still trying to stave off the cold consuming me. While I was physically warming, the chill of someone trying to drown me remained, leaving me feeling vulnerable and shaky. Ramirez got me a cup of tea from the lobby, and I sipped the Earl Grey gratefully, adding a generous number of sugar packets as we sat at the small table by the window in our room.
"Feeling better, babe?" he asked.
I nodded. "At least I'm dry."
"I called the manager while you were in the shower and told him what happened. He should have cameras installed." While his voice was even and calm, I could see the tension in the hard glint in his eyes and the vein in his neck starting to pulse.
"Do you think we should call Detective Bartlett too?"
His eyes cut to me. "Why?"
"Well"—I licked my lips—"it's possible that this is connected to Frost's death."
Ramirez sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was silently counting to ten for patience. "Please tell me you've just been running lines with Dana today," he finally said.
Peril in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries Book 11) Page 18
