Hollywood Deception

by Gemma Halliday

  "You okay?" he finally asked, pulling back and letting his eyes scan my face. Though how he thought he could tell any new bruises from the old ones, I didn't know.

  I nodded, feeling my hair bob up and down.

  "What happened?" he asked, easing me back down into one of the folding chairs. "We got people calling in to our tip line that you were involved in some sort of car chase?"

  I let out a shaky breath and relayed to him the events of the evening, starting with Shane installing the app and ending with the handcuffs all around as we rode to the station. Felix sat quietly, only nodding here and there where appropriate. When I finished, he rubbed a hand across his face, as if I'd aged him a couple of years since he'd arrived.

  "And where was Cal during all of this?"

  I shook my head. "Not his fault. I snuck away in Shane's car."

  "Shane." He paused, the name sinking in. "The guy who keeps sending you flowers?"

  "Kid, not guy."

  Felix nodded, letting that detail go for now. "You turned all the photos over to the police?"

  "Yeah," I said reluctantly. "I told them everything."

  Felix raised an eyebrow my way.

  "Well, almost everything," I mumbled, knowing when to invoke my right to remain silent.

  "It should be enough to put Ritchie Mullins away."

  I perked up. "Did they charge him?" The police hadn't filled me in much and had kept the three of us separated since we'd arrived. Which was fine by me—I'd be happy if I never had to set eyes on Ritchie Mullins again.

  Felix nodded. "I called a contact of mine in the DA's office on my way here. He said they've charged him with attempted assault with a deadly weapon for now. But more charges are likely to follow, depending on which parts of his story check out."

  "His story?" I said, jumping on the words. "So he's talking?"

  "Not much at first, but when the DA started mentioning murder, conspiracy, and fraud charges, Ritchie decided he wasn't getting paid enough to take the fall for everyone."

  "Everyone being Sal Bukowski and Sunshine Sanitation?"

  Felix grinned. "You seem to already know what Ritchie was up to."

  I couldn't help smiling back. "What can I say? I'm a good reporter."

  Felix let out a chuckle. "No argument from me on that point."

  "But I'll admit I don't know everything he was up to—what was with the trash cubes at the port?"

  "Well, according to Ritchie's confession, Sunshine Sanitation began cutting some corners shortly after receiving their new contracts from the city."

  I nodded. "They started disposing of less waste instead of more."

  Felix raised a questioning eyebrow at me. "And you know this…?"

  "You don't want to know," I told him honestly. "But I thought they were dumping the extra chemicals."

  Felix shook his head. "Actually, it turns out they were never processing the recyclables to create the waste in the first place. Instead of running it through the plant, they were simply compacting the trash into those cubes you saw, loading it onto a cargo ship, then dumping the recyclables in the middle of the ocean."

  "Seriously?"

  "Seriously," he answered. "Turns out dumping trash illegally is cheaper for the company than actually recycling it."

  "So Ritchie and those guys we saw were loading the ship after dark, presumably to keep it on the down-low."

  Felix nodded. "That's what he says."

  "Bobby must have uncovered their scheme while working on the recycling story," I said, pieces falling into place. "And threatened to expose them on his show."

  "According to Ritchie, he did. That's when Sunshine turned the problem over to Bukowski. Apparently, Ritchie describes Bukowski as something of a 'fixer' at the company, taking care of unpleasant problems."

  I thought of the missing union rep and shuddered, wondering if Bukowski'd had me on his radar as a "problem."

  "So Bukowski sent Ritchie to confront Bobby?" I asked, remembering the very public altercation at Beverley's.

  "Correct. Bukowski offered Bobby money for his silence, but Bobby wasn't having it. I guess he felt he'd make more in the rating boost than Sal was offering. So the altercation with Bobby at the restaurant was a warning for Bobby not to do the show. When Bobby hit Ritchie, Ritchie was instructed to press charges in hopes that the bad press might put a damper on any future airings of his show, especially the exposé on Sunshine Sanitation."

  "Only it had the opposite effect," I pointed out. "Bobby got more press, not less."

  Felix shrugged. "I guess Bukowski didn't know much about how Hollywood worked."

  "So then Bukowski met Bobby for dinner at DeVitto's to try to convince him one last time…and when that didn't work, he killed him."

  Felix shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "That's where your guess is as good as anyone's. The police picked Bukowski up a couple hours ago, but he's lawyered up and isn't confessing to anything. Ritchie says he has no idea who actually killed Bobby, but he didn't do it. He's pointing a finger at a guy named David Parks, one of Bukowski's hired muscle at Sunshine, as the person who stole Bobby's laptop from the studio in an effort to cover up the recycling story."

  "And who attacked me in the Informer parking lot to shut me up," I added. "Tattoo Guy."

  Felix nodded. "He's being brought in now, but so far it sounds like he's denying pulling the trigger on Bobby as well."

  I shook my head. "Well, I'm sure the police will sort out which one." I stifled a yawn, realizing I'd been up all night.

  Felix must have noticed. "Let me take you home," he offered.

  "I'm free to go?" I glanced up at the camera.

  He nodded. "Unless there's anything illegal you'd like to confess to?" I was pretty sure he was at least half kidding.

  I gratefully grabbed my purse and stood, feeling the evening's toll in my sore muscles. Shane and his parents were nowhere to be seen as we made our way out of the precinct, which I hoped meant he'd been let go already and was at home in his bed like a good kid should be. I let Felix lead me out to his junker in the parking lot, and we spent the short ride back to my apartment in silence. For once, I didn't mind when he left me at the door with a chaste peck on the cheek and a promise to check in with me the next day. I stumbled inside and fell asleep on top of my bed, fully clothed, just as the sun was starting to peek through my blinds.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It was after noon before I awoke the next day, groggy and disoriented by the late hour. I took a quick shower, pulled my hair back into a simple, high ponytail, and went with an extra short skirt and extra low-cut, flowy pale violet top to make up for the fact that I'd slept most of the day.

  I pulled up my article on Sunshine on my laptop as I sipped coffee at my kitchen counter, filling in all the gaps with the juicy details from the night before. Then I quickly sent it off to Felix. No matter what Tina might have had up her sleeve, this time I knew I had her beat. I almost felt bad for her.

  Almost. She had scooped me the last two times, so I figured we were even.

  I finished my coffee, grabbed my purse, and headed out to my Bug. Noticeably absent was Cal's SUV. I guessed with the not-so-sunny contingents from Sunshine Sanitation all in police custody, it was a lot safer out there today.

  I pulled out onto the street and headed toward the freeway. While I was dying to see the look on Felix's face as he read my killer story, there was one stop I wanted to make first.

  As I'd drifted through dreamland the night before, Marilyn Baxter's tear-stained face had haunted me. I felt bad for suspecting that she'd been involved in her husband's death—all but accusing the grieving widow. I mean, who was I to judge how someone grieved? If pedicures and sunbathing helped her through it, so be it. Granted the number of zeros on her husband's estate would help her remember him fondly, but it wasn't going to bring him back. So while I was pretty sure the police had already filled her in on Bukowski's involvement in his death, I felt I needed to personally sh
are any details I could with her. If only to give her some sort of closure. I felt like I owed her that at least.

  As soon as I hit Marilyn's street, I spotted Shane skateboarding on the sidewalk outside his house. I waved as I pulled up to the curb outside the Baxter residence.

  Shane skated over and kicked his board up as he rolled to a stop in front of me.

  "'Sup," he greeted me. In true teen fashion, he looked like he'd bounced back from the night's ordeal a lot quicker than I expected to. He didn't even look tired.

  "You okay?" I asked.

  He nodded. "Sure. Mom said I could take the day off school for a mental health day. Though, if you ask me, I think she's the one who needs it more."

  I bit my lip, feeling that guilt wash over me again. I really owed his mom an apology muffin basket. Or big pink teddy bear. "I bet she was worried sick about you."

  His jovial expression darkened a bit. "Yeah. I feel bad. But I'm fine, so, you know, she'll be okay. Though…" He trailed off, looking down at his board.

  "Yes?" I prompted.

  "Look, it's been cool hanging out with you and all, but I probably shouldn't help you out anymore. I mean, it's not that I don't want to help, but I kinda promised my mom I'd stick close to home for a while."

  I tried not to smile at his earnest tone. "I understand," I told him.

  His grin returned. "Thanks. Besides, I've only got, like, three more months left to enjoy being a kid. Might as well live it up before I have all that responsibility and stuff, right?"

  This time I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me. "Totally," I agreed, nodding. "But thanks for everything," I added.

  "No prob. See you around, Allie," he called before skating away.

  I watched him go then pulled my car up to the gates of the Baxter estate. I hit the intercom and waited as a female voice came on the other end.

  "May I help you?" it asked with a heavy Spanish accent.

  "Allie Quick from the L.A. Informer," I said into the speaker. "I have some information for Mrs. Baxter about her husband's death."

  There was a pause, then a beep, and the gates slowly opened. "Please come in," the voice told me.

  I made my way through the open gates and up the cobblestone driveway and parked behind the same pool service SUV I'd seen the last time I'd been by. I rang the front doorbell once and waited. A moment later the door opened, and Marta, the housekeeper I'd met before, smiled out at me.

  "Ms. Quick. Please come in," she said, standing aside. If she noticed I was the same "neighbor" she'd talked to before, she didn't mention it.

  "Thank you. I was hoping that I could have a word with Mrs. Baxter."

  "Of course. Come in. Come in. She's in the yard." She waved me inside and closed the heavy wooden door behind her. "If you'll just wait here, I'll get Mrs. Baxter for you," Marta said as she led me down a hallway and opened another thick door. She motioned me into the study I'd seen from the street.

  "Thank you," I said as she turned and closed the door behind her.

  The smell of old books and papers permeated the air. I turned in a complete circle and took in my surroundings. The room was quite beautiful. Very masculine with thick, dark wood accents, a heavy desk, leather desk chair, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining the walls. The side wall was all glass and looked out over an immaculate side garden that put my one tiny Bonsai tree to shame. Out the front windows, I had a clear view of Shane's house. He was still skateboarding on the street.

  I could spend hours in that garden if given the chance. The roses looked divine.

  I shook myself away from the view and back to the real world. I heard who I assumed were the housekeeper and Marilyn talking in the hallway and turned toward the door.

  But as I did, something caught my eye.

  On the desk there was something partially shoved under the keyboard, almost as if hidden in a hurry. My curious nature got the best of me. The women were still talking in the hallway, so I tiptoed the three steps to the desk and slid the paper out from its hiding place.

  A pair of plane tickets. One way to New Zealand. The top one held the name Marilyn Smedfield. With a quick glance toward the door, I shifted the bottom one. The name on the second ticket was listed as Chad Davies. I froze, my mind going to the SUV in the driveway. Would this be Chad Davies of Davies Pool Maintenance?

  The room suddenly felt eerily still, my vision narrowed to the two plane tickets, and my head swirling. Why would Marilyn be taking the pool boy to New Zealand?

  The housekeeper's remark about infidelity in the Baxter household came rushing back to me. At the time I'd assumed she'd been talking about Bobby being unfaithful. But what if it hadn't been the husband stepping out, but the wife…

  "Ms. Quick?"

  I heard Marilyn's voice behind me and instinctively shoved the plane tickets back under the keyboard and whirled around, adrenaline shooting through me.

  "Mrs. Baxter, it's so nice to see you again." I gave her my best attempt at a friendly smile.

  She returned it with one that wasn't nearly as sincere. "Marta said you wanted to see me?" Her eyes flickered to the desk behind me. "That you had some information for me?"

  "Yes. Right. Of course. I do." I cleared my throat, my brain still whirling with images of Bobby's dead body, Marilyn's crocodile tears, and the plane tickets. "I, uh, assume the police have been in touch with you."

  She nodded, her perfectly sculpted updo, not moving. "They called me this morning." She was dressed in a pair of white linen shorts, a thin halter top, and gold sandals—the perfect outfit for lounging by the pool and admiring your pool-boy-slash-lover.

  I shoved that thought away, trying to focus on the conversation at hand.

  "Then you know they have employees of Sunshine Sanitation in custody in connection to your husband's murder?" I asked, suddenly doubting if they were the guilty parties.

  She leveled me with a pointed look. "Yes. You have no idea how relieved I am to hear my husband's killer is behind bars."

  Now that statement I believed—at least the relief part. The killer part…

  I cleared my throat again. "Yes, well, I just wanted to make sure you had heard and to, uh, personally tell you again how sorry I am for your loss." I made a move toward the door.

  Marilyn stepped in front of me. "Really?"

  "Um, what?" I asked.

  "Are you really so sorry for my loss?" she asked, her eyes again flicking to the not-so-hidden plane tickets. "You know, everyone says that, but I think it's mostly a hollow sentiment to get them out of an awkward situation."

  I laughed. Awkwardly. "Oh, well, yeah, I guess sometimes…" I trailed off as she took another step toward me, so close I could smell her lunch mimosa on her breath.

  "Why did you really come here, Ms. Quick?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at me.

  I tried to take a step backward and came up against the desk. "Look, I'm just a tabloid reporter—"

  "Yes. A nosey little reporter." She scoffed. "You people used to be Bobby's lifeblood, you know? Keeping his name front and center in the public's mind."

  "Happy to help?" I said, though it squeaked out more as a question.

  "Who knew you'd be so much trouble in the end?"

  "End?" I asked, not at all liking the sound of that word.

  Then Marilyn surprised me by throwing her head back and laughing. It was loud and shrill with a slightly maniacal edge to it. Instead of breaking the tension, it caused a chill to run up my spine. Then she quickly skirted around me and pulled something from a desk drawer.

  "Don't move." Before I could even take a step toward the closed door, she had a gun leveled at me.

  I froze, my heart suddenly pounding so hard I feared we'd both soon be able to hear it. "Is that Bobby's gun? The missing one?" I asked, my voice surprisingly calm for how panicked I felt.

  She nodded. "Not so much missing as being kept safe."

  My eyes darted around the room that I knew must have been searched by the police after Bob
by's death. "Someone else was keeping it for you," I guessed. "Your boyfriend? Chad?"

  Her red lips curled into a wicked smile. "So you did see the plane tickets. I suppose I should have kept them hidden a bit better, but I didn't expect a surprise visit from the press."

  That was me. Full of surprises. I glanced behind Marilyn toward the window, hoping to catch the attention of Shane skating by. Not that I wanted to put him in any more danger, but if I could somehow get him to call for help…

  As if she could read my mind, she reached behind her and pulled the blinds shut with her free hand.

  "Look, it's none of my business if you have a hottie on the side," I told her. "Your prerogative, right?"

  Her eyes narrowed again.

  "So, you know, enjoy your trip, and I'll just be on my way…"

  "Don't play dumb with me," she sneered. "I know you know."

  After how stupid I'd been to dismiss the obvious suspect in all of this, I didn't feel like I was playing much at all. In fact, I was mentally kicking myself on so many levels. Tina had been on the right track all along by suspecting the wife, while I'd been on a wild, recycling goose chase. Granted, several bad geese were now behind bars thanks to me. But one homicidal housewife was still on the loose.

  And pointing a gun at me.

  "Tell me why you did it," I said, stalling for time. "Why did you kill Bobby?"

  She did a nonchalant shrug. "He left me no choice."

  The calm, clear admission sent another chill up my spine. And told me that Marilyn had no intention of letting me leave this room alive. I felt my breath come fast as my eyes scanned the room for anything I could use as a weapon. Stapler. Paperback books. Pen holder. Nothing that could compete with a gun.

  "What do you mean you had no choice?" I asked, trying to keep her talking. And not shooting.

  "I didn't lie to you when I said Bobby stopped paying attention to me. All he cared about was that stupid show. So left to my own devices, I found my own hobbies."

  "Like Chad."

  She grinned. "Have you seen him? That body of his is quite the fun playground."