I grinned at him, trying to ignore the hostility as I quickly scanned his body for the telltale tattoo. "Yep, it's me. I, uh, just had a couple of follow-up questions." His left arm was clean. He was leaning on the counter with his right, so I couldn't see his forearm.
He shook his head. "I've got no comment." He moved to turn his back to me, further obscuring my view.
"Wait! Uh, I was just, um, wondering how to spell your name."
He turned back around. "What?"
"You know, for my article on how Bobby wronged you by punching an innocent man. I'd, uh, hate to spell your last name wrong. I'm a stickler for details." I shot him a big toothy grin, hoping he didn't notice my gaze flicking to his arm every two seconds. Why wouldn't he quit leaning on the counter?
He paused, seeming to mull this over for a moment, then finally said, "It's Mullins. M-U-L-L-I-N-S."
"You know what? I've got a terrible memory. Could you write that down for me?"
He blinked at me as if not sure he should buy my stupid act. Luckily, in my cute little skirt and heels with my cute little bow in my hair, it wasn't all that hard for me to "play blonde." And Ritchie was no brain surgeon himself.
"Fine," he muttered, reaching across the counter for a pen and Post-it.
With his right arm.
I took a step closer to him, trying to get a good look…and easily saw he was tattoo free.
Crap cakes.
"Here. Now if you'll excuse me, I got a client," Ritchie said, handing me the paper with his name and heading onto the main floor of the gym.
"Thanks," I called after his retreating back.
Thanks for nothing, I amended silently as I shoved the Post-it into my purse and trudged back to my car. Unfortunately, my tattooed assailment was still an unknown.
I got into my car, cranked on the AC, and was just contemplating my next move when my phone rang. I looked down to see Cam's number.
"Hey, Cam, what's up?" I asked.
"Hi, Allie. There's, um, there's someone here at the office to see you."
"Who is it?"
She was fighting to hold in her laughter. "Just get here," she said and hung up.
What on earth? I tossed my phone on the passenger seat, pulled into traffic, and hurried back to the Informer.
I stepped off of the elevator. And immediately wanted to turn around and get right back on. What was waiting for me at my desk was not cool.
I peeked over at Cam, who was giggling quietly. I glared at her, and she laughed harder, covering her mouth and turning to face her computer.
Thankfully, as I passed Felix's office, I saw he was absent.
I hurried to my desk and stopped.
"What in the world are you doing here, Shane?"
The kid was standing behind a giant stuffed teddy bear. The thing was as tall as he was, which meant that it was about a foot taller than I, and it was neon pink. It looked like it belonged backstage at a strip club. He poked his head over the big pink bear's shoulder and grinned.
"Do you love it?"
Despite its wild neon color, I hated to admit, I kinda didn't hate it. But I wasn't about to tell him that.
"Shane, I told you already that you have to stop sending these gifts and find a girl your own age," I said as gently as I could.
"You keep playing hard to get, but you'll cave." He smiled.
I shook my head. "I'm a lot older than you are, Shane."
"Says you, babe. That age business is old news nowadays. You'll come around," he said, undeterred.
"Shane—
"I got to get going. I got an appointment with my tutor in about fifteen minutes. Call me if you need any more help." He leaned the bear back against my desk, grinned at me, then hurried out of the office.
"You sure he's not your boyfriend?" Tina peeked around her cubicle wall, laughing.
"Welcome to my world," I grumped and reached out and patted the bear.
"No thanks. I like my men a little…older." Tina laughed and turned back to her computer.
I glanced to Felix's empty office and frowned.
"So do I."
CHAPTER TWELVE
I was trying to shove the enormous teddy bear into the passenger side of my Bug when my phone rang. I crammed Mr. Bear's legs into the car and slammed the door shut before they could pop back out. I took a second to catch my breath then pulled the phone from my purse and answered.
"Allie Quick?"
"Yes," I confirmed.
"It's Amelia. From BTA productions."
"Oh, right, yes. How are you?" I asked, only slightly out of breath. That bear was much heavier than it looked. "I, uh, thought the offices were closed?"
"They are," she answered quickly. "We're just clearing some things out today. But you asked me to let you know when Henry was back in?"
"Yes. Is he back?"
"He is. I just saw him head into his office a few minutes ago."
"Thanks, Amelia. I'm on my way." I paused. "Uh, would you mind putting my name on the guard's list?"
"Sure thing," she said in her always cheerful voice.
I ended the call and jumped into my car. If Henry wouldn't return my calls, I was just going to have to ambush him. I made a beeline for the studio in hopes of catching him before he left.
I made the drive in record time and gave my name to the guard at the gate (who thankfully was not Alfredo), and he directed me to the visitors' parking area. I hopped into the closest golf cart and steered in the direction the guard had given me for the BTA production offices. I had to pass studio 28B on the way, and I gave a quick scan of the area. The studio was locked up tight again, but today there was a guard posted outside the doors. They clearly weren't taking any more chances on break-ins.
I pulled up in front of the small, cottage-like building on the edge of the studio lot just in time to see Henry exit with a cup of coffee and a bundle of file folders in hand.
I stopped the cart, slung my purse over my shoulder, and hurried toward Henry before he could get away.
He saw me coming and smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Ms. Quick, I'm surprised to see you here." He took a sip of his coffee.
I gave a quick glance at his bare forearms, revealed by his short sleeve polo shirt. Neither was tattooed. Well, so much for that theory. "I've been trying to get hold of you," I told him. "I left you a few voicemails."
His smile wavered. "Sorry. I've been taking some personal time."
I nodded. "Understandable. It's got to be hard when your boss is murdered."
He flinched at the words. "Yes, well, I'm on my way to a meeting." He held up the folders in his hand.
"I won't keep you," I promised. "I just had a couple more questions about your relationship with Bobby."
He shook his head. "I don't know what else I can say. I've told you everything there is to tell."
I propped my hand on my hip and raised an eyebrow. "Except you left out the part where you were angry at Bobby because he was blocking your show from airing."
He frowned. "Who told you that?"
"A source."
His eyes narrowed. "Okay, yes, I was upset that the network had decided not to pick up my show. But that was their decision, not Bobby's."
I suddenly wondered if Henry was actually ignorant about the fact Bobby had killed his show or if he was just hoping I was.
"Bobby had a big hand in swaying their minds, though, didn't he?"
Henry shrugged and sipped his coffee.
"In fact, he basically said it was his show or yours."
"Did you say you had a question for me?" he asked, neither confirming nor denying my accusations.
Okay, if he wanted to play it that way… "Yes, I do. Where were you the night that Bobby was killed?"
His expression turned stony, his jaw clenching. "Home. Asleep."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
"That's not a great alibi."
"I wasn't aware I needed one," he said, his tone hard.
/> "Well, you do have ample motive to want Bobby out of the way."
He shook his head. "Not true. Yes, I was angry that Bobby was holding my career hostage. But I didn't kill him over it. Look, my agent was set to launch a lawsuit against Bobby for burying the show. Why would I kill him if I thought I would be getting a major payout?"
"What kind of payout are we talking about here?" I asked.
Henry stepped closer and lowered his voice. "Hundreds of thousands in restitution, according to my agent and the lawyers."
He was right. No one would want to lose that kind of money. If his lawyers really thought they could win.
"Did Bobby know you were going to sue him?"
Henry shrugged. "I certainly didn't tell him. Not that it matters now. With him gone, I get squat. So print what you want, but I didn't kill Bobby." Then he sipped at his coffee again and walked away.
I made my way back to the golf cart and steered back in the direction of my car, feeling another theory shot down. If Henry had been expecting to make hundreds of thousands of dollars from his lawsuit against Bobby, he had no reason to want Bobby dead. Heck, if he won, he might even be able to get the green light on his project after all. His alibi might have been crap, but his motive suddenly looked a lot slimmer.
I was halfway back to the Informer when a text popped up on my phone from Max.
Beading of Bobby's villain day. Four on sock.
I blinked, staring at the readout. What the—?
I pulled over to the side of the road at the next light and texted back. What?
Feeding of bobbies will toothsay. For the clock.
I stifled a snort of laughter. I was impressed that Max was attempting to text, when I was pretty sure he still preferred a rotary to a cell phone, but he clearly hadn't gotten the hang of it yet. I dialed the Informer's number and keyed in his extension.
"Max Beacon?" came his grizzled voice through my car speakers.
"Hey, Max, it's Allie. I got your text. Sort of. It was a little…unclear."
"Damned contraption. Felix told me all I had to do was talk into this smartphone thing, and it would send a message. But it never understands me. More like an idiot phone if you ask me."
I didn't bother stifling the laugh this time. "What was it you meant to say?"
"Well, I was trying to tell you that I got a tip they're reading Bobby's will today. Four o'clock."
I glanced at my dash clock. It was 3:45. "Any idea where?"
"His lawyer's office. I could text you the address."
"Uh, maybe you better just tell me," I said, reaching for a pen from my purse. I wrote the address Max rattled off on a Coffee Bean napkin and quickly thanked him before flipping a U-turn and heading toward the lawyer's Burbank offices.
It was ten past four by the time I got there, and I quickly parked in the adjacent garage before heading toward the two-story building. After a quick check of the directory, it looked like Abraham, Schmidt & Associates took up the entire first floor. I bit my lip, wondering what the chances were I could just walk in and ask how the reading was going. Probably slim to anorexic. I quickly walked the perimeter of the building, looking for any low windows or open back doors. Blinds covered the four windows on the side. The back of the building butted up against a small alleyway, rimmed in a chain link fence. Not the most scenic of views, but I hoped maybe the inhabitants wouldn't be as concerned about privacy and keep a blind or two open. At least enough so that I could make out which part of the building held Marilyn Baxter and company.
Only what I found as I rounded the back of the building wasn't a view of the trophy wife. It was a nosey, purple haired reporter crouched beneath a covered window.
I thought a really dirty word as I approached my competition.
Tina looked up, and I could see the same word mirrored in her thoughts. "Allie."
"Tina," I responded in kind.
"I see you got Max's text too," she said.
"Such as it were," I mumbled.
I saw a ghost of grin tug at Tina's mouth. Then she pulled at my sleeve, dragging me down to a crouch beside her.
"They'll see you." She gestured up at the window above us.
"Is that the room they're reading the will in?" I whispered back.
Tina nodded. "I got a glimpse of the wife before the legal secretary closed the blinds."
I glanced up. It looked just like all the other windows. For once, I was grateful Tina had gotten there before me. However, with both window and blinds shut tightly, there wasn't much we were going to get from the knowledge. "Oh, to be a fly on the wall," I murmured.
Tina grinned beside me. "I kinda am."
I raised an eyebrow at her, for the first time noticing that she had an earbud lodged into her left ear. "Do tell, Bender?"
She shrugged, still grinning. "Let's just say, I might have borrowed a little something from Cal's surveillance stash."
I blinked at her. "You are brilliant, girl."
Tina turned a shocked face my way. "Was that a compliment?"
I felt my cheeks heat. She was right. I couldn't think of another time I'd ever said anything nice to Tina. "Hey, I call it like I see it."
Her expression softened, and for a moment something eerily like camaraderie passed between us.
Just for a moment.
"Yeah, well, glad one of us can get the scoop." She smirked.
I rolled my eyes. "Come on. What are they saying?"
She shot me a reluctant look. Maybe it was the out-of-character compliment, but finally she removed the earbud and held it between us instead. We both leaned in, getting as close to it as possible without whacking our heads together.
"…portfolio at Schneider investments to be divided equally among the heirs heretofore mentioned," I heard a deep male voice read. Presumably Bobby's lawyer. I heard someone clear their throat in the room and papers rustling. The quality of the audio was pretty darn good. I could swear I even heard Mrs. Baxter sigh as the lawyer went on to list all of Bobby's bank accounts individually in exhaustive detail.
"How did you get the bug in there?" I whispered to Tina.
That big grin reappeared. "Turns out a member of the evening cleaning crew is a big fan of Ellen DeGeneres. I got her two tickets to a taping of Ellen next week, and she hooked me up."
"Nice," I said, meaning it. I filed that trick away for later. "So that's how you knew about the prenup too?"
Tina nodded. "Dating a security expert comes in handy."
So it seemed. I wondered what dating a tabloid editor came in handy for? That was, if we were even still dating at this point.
That disconcerting thought was interrupted as I heard the lawyer finally get to the good stuff.
"…and to my wife, Marilyn, I leave the rest of my assets and real property, totaling the estimated current value of…"
Tina and I both leaned in until our temples were touching.
"…just under thirteen million dollars."
I almost swallowed my tongue. I looked over at Tina and saw the same thought mirrored in her eyes.
No matter how Mrs. Baxter had tried to downplay her husband's celebrity status, he'd clearly been raking in celebrity bucks. Bucks she wouldn't have seen a dime of had Bobby divorced her. Giving her thirteen million reasons to want her husband dead.
* * *
I left Tina still listening to the details of Bobby's will as I made my way back to the office. I figured I'd heard the best parts, and I was eager to jump on them before Tina had the chance. I slowed only as I approached our friendly neighborhood CHP's speed trap then made my way up to my desk, where I added this latest juicy detail to my notes on the story. Then I went searching for anything I could find to try to corroborate that Bobby had been cheating on his wife, as his housekeeper had implied. I went over his phone records again, double checking each number. I did an exhaustive search of his social media accounts, searching for any overly-friendly encounters with female fans. And I looked back over the cast and crew lis
t for the show, checking each female member in detail, looking for a hot receptionist or young assistant. Unfortunately, nothing yielded any results. If Bobby had been seeing someone on the side, he'd been incredibly careful to cover his tracks.
"Hey, Allie." Cam took a seat on the corner of my desk just as I was about to give up for the day.
"Hey back," I said, grateful for the distraction as I rubbed my eyes.
"Trace is still on set filming that new action movie he landed, and I don't feel like having dinner alone. Do you want to grab a bite to eat? If you're not too busy, that is." She motioned to my screen.
I glanced at Felix, who was studiously ignoring me, and then nodded. "Sure. Just let me grab my purse. Oh—" I stood to take a step then stopped. "Can we take your car? I'm still driving around with a big pink teddy bear in the front seat of mine."
Cam laughed. "Sure thing."
I followed Cam to the elevator, not looking in Felix's direction as I passed his office. I needed a break from everything. The questions about our relationship included.
A girls-only dinner with Cam sounded like just what the doctor had ordered.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cam and I decided that a fancy dinner wasn't what either of us was in the mood for and stopped at a mom-and-pop Mexican place a few blocks down. We both ordered a three cheese and chicken quesadilla and a bottle of water. All of that cheesy goodness would go straight to my thighs, but at the moment I couldn't care less.
We took our meal to a booth near the back. Almost as soon as we sat down, Cam busted out with, "So what's the deal with you and Felix?"
I almost choked on my water. I grabbed a napkin and patted my lips. Cam had never asked about my relationship with Felix before. In fact, no one at the office ever mentioned it. I was sure everyone knew we had something going on, but no one ever commented on it.
"What do you mean?" I asked as nonchalantly as possible because, honestly, I didn't have an answer for her. I had no idea what the deal was with me and Felix.
"I mean, you two obviously have a thing—" She flicked a hand in the air. "—but it feels like there's this tension there lately."
Damned. Even Cam could tell?
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