“That would be nice. Black is good,” he said wandering to the sliding glass door looking out on the Pacific Ocean. “Quite a place you have here, Star.”
“It’s a rental. How is Mr. Roth? You said you thought you’d have more information.”
“He’s still in Intensive Care. The doctor isn’t sure if he’ll make it, but there’s a chance. The EMTs acted quickly which likely saved him. It wasn’t a heart attack but his heart was compromised when he had a stroke a year ago.”
“Oh, I didn’t know he had a stroke.”
“The reality show, your new reality show with kids learning how to cook is on hold indefinitely. I told Roth when he pitched the project to me that I wasn’t a fan.”
“But my bakeoff show…Mr. Roth hired me to give commentary…each episode,” Star said, setting her coffee mug on the table, shaking her head as she stood. “Surely that means something…a great follow-up. Two shows featuring cooking. This type of show is hot, big ratings.”
She felt guilty. Things happened so fast since she landed in LA. She only mentioned her idea about a kids’ show to Tyler because she was angry he was leaving. It had been percolating in her mind for a long time. She told Roth about it when he invited her to come out to Hollywood for a screen test. That was months ago. Tyler was gone that time too. Maybe their love was only like the saying, absence makes the heart grow fonder, not real. No. She didn’t believe that.
Burnett rose, walked to her, wrapped her in his arms. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m sure we can find a way.”
Star didn’t like the way Burnett held her. She didn’t like it one bit. Tyler told her rumors had circulated about her when she arrived in Hollywood last year. Roth wanted her to take a screen test to see if she was good enough to be the host. They cut her voice in, sometimes filmed her giving commentary for two episodes. She was better than good. She was a natural Roth had said. The camera loved her. So was the head of Burnett Media, the Burnett holding her trying to comfort her or something else?
Immediately stepping back, breaking away from Burnett, she asked again about Mr. Roth.
“When will the doctors know if he is going to recover? If it wasn’t his heart what was it?” she asked walking to the kitchen, putting distance between them.
“Soon, I hope. As to what caused his condition, they still weren’t sure. Eliminating it was his heart, they checked for a possible drug overdose. Pumped his stomach. I told the doctor that Roth had a previous addiction problem but that Roth told me he had kicked the habit.”
“So, did they find anything?”
“Food poisoning maybe. Arsenic. Their initial reaction was that maybe he accidentally swallowed some pesticide. He often worked in his garden between projects. Your show was in the preliminary stage so he was between projects. Or, he failed in an attempt to commit suicide. That is still a possibility, but more than likely he was poisoned.”
Star, mouth agape, stared at Burnett standing on the other side of the kitchen island. What was happening here? Did she imagine an inappropriate advance? He gave no hint that he felt rebuffed. But Roth? Suicide? No way. His project, her project, was to start this week. But poisoned?
That meant someone tried to kill him?
Murder?
“Are you all right, Star?” Burnett said stepping around the island. Star felt his breath, warm, breathing faster.
“Yes, yes. Just shocked.” Star snatched a dishtowel off the handle over the oven door. Holding the towel with her fists, she rounded to the other side of the island and strode to the front door. “Tyler will be here any minute. I haven’t started dinner. If you’ll excuse me, I think you’d better leave. Thanks for coming over.”
Star opened the door and stepped outside into the beautiful sunny day.
Burnett followed, smiled at her as he climbed into his Porsche. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything more on Roth’s condition. Oh, I almost forgot, the police are investigating. A detective may be calling you. Thanks for the coffee.”
“Sure. You’re welcome.”
Chapter 8
MINUTES LATER STAR STOOD clutching the edge of the kitchen sink. A detective? Arsenic? She was at a loss—what to think, what to do?
The doorbell rang.
Maybe it was Burnett. She had to answer. He knew she was in the house. Sucking in a deep breath she walked to the door and looked through the peephole. It wasn’t Burnett.
Relieved, she opened the door to see a portly older man in jeans and red sneakers. A shock of silver hair tickled his ears. He grinned, held up a wallet showing his badge. “Hi, my name is Willie, ah, Detective William Drake. I’m looking for Miss Star Bloom.”
Star smiled at the man. “I’m Miss Bloom.”
“Oh, nice. I have a few questions about Mr. Vincent Roth. I believe you know him?”
“Yes, I do and I know he’s gravely ill. Please, come in. I’m sorry, I’d offer you a cup of coffee but—”
“Thanks anyway. I just have a few questions ma’am.”
“I was just wondering if I should go see him, Mr. Roth, at the hospital. Can you tell me how he’s doing?”
“Not too good, Miss Bloom. You see, it looks like someone tried to poison him, actually did poison him, or it was an accident, or it was self inflicted. How do you know Mr. Roth, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“He was the producer for a project I, I worked with him…for him.”
“I see. Were you at the, what did they call it…oh yes, the barbecue Friday afternoon?”
“Yes, I was. We were all very excited. My project, that is Mr. Roth’s project, was scheduled to start this Monday.”
“Has anyone talked to you about Mr. Roth’s condition? Friends, fellow workers, people on the project?”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, Mr. Burnett just left here. He’s—”
“Mr. Burnett was here? Sorry I missed him. Missed him at the hospital, too. What did he tell you about Mr. Roth’s condition?”
“Unpleasant information. They, the doctors pumped his stomach for drugs. He said they found arsenic. I guess it was enough to kill him.”
“He said that…to kill him, meaning Mr. Roth?” Detective Drake said looking straight into Star’s eyes.
“Maybe not those exact words but that’s what he meant. Was it?”
“Was it what?”
“Enough to kill him?” Star said.
“I don’t know. The cupcakes, Miss Bloom. I understand you’re a baker…of sweet things like cakes…cupcakes. Did you bring cupcakes to the party?”
“Yes.”
“I love cupcakes. Just one last question, Miss Bloom, two more actually. Can you give me a list of everyone who attended the party?”
“Oh no, I’m new here. I’m sure Mr. Burnett’s assistant, Suzie Savage, could provide you a list. She must have it on her computer. Print it right out for you.”
“Good point. She’s on my list. Office is closed today. I’ll go see her Monday. My last question, I promise. Do you know anyone who might want Mr. Roth dead…Miss Bloom?”
“Detective, why would you ask me such a question? As far as I know, which is very little, everyone liked Mr. Roth. He was a wonderful producer. He did make me work hard for my screen test, a perfectionist as I understand it, but respected for his keen eye as to what the camera sees.”
“Yes, I’m sure. But someone didn’t feel as you do. Here’s my card. I appreciate your time. If you think of anything that might be helpful, or you overhear something, gossip…etcetera, I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call. I’ll be going now. It’s been a pleasure speaking with you, Miss Bloom. And, oh yes, good luck on the project.”
Star walked Drake to the door, watched him get into his pink Beetle and drive off. Along with his card, the wily detective left an uneasy feeling lurking in Star’s stomach. She should have asked him why he stopped to see her if not Burnett’s assistant. He surely could have found her home address, too.
Turning to the kitchen, Star snatched her cell of
f the island. There was a message from Tyler. It was left hours ago.
“Star, we made it to Twentynine Palms in record time. Patches of palm trees in the middle of the desert. We’re settled in. The team wants to go to Vegas tonight. Kinda like the last hooray before we dig into the project Monday. I agreed only if we were back by midnight. That gives us Sunday to set up the equipment.”
“What kind of a message was that? Now he’s going to Las Vegas while I’m warding off advances by the head of a media company. Questioned by a detective? Good old Willie Drake probably thinks I poisoned Roth. Next I’ll be arrested for murder,” Star shouted.
She punched Tyler’s code. The connection went to voicemail. “So nice to hear you’re having fun while I’m being questioned for murder. Come back! I need you.”
Chapter 9
STAR FOUGHT THE COVERS. The digital clock refused to budge from 2 a.m. Her cell next to the clock on the nightstand just laid there.
Dead!
Where was Tyler? Feeding the Vegas slots…or with that Roxy person…or showgirls?
She jerked her feet from under the sheet planting them on the floor.
“Face it, Star, you’re jealous. Jealous of a gorgeous redhead. He’s a man—”
She stood, paced to the empty living room, empty kitchen.
“Stop it, Star. Stop it! Stop it. Tyler would never pick up a girl, let alone a showgirl with fake wings.”
She heard her cell ping. A text message?
“Miss Bloom, MURDER? A little dramatic don’t you think? I can’t come back yet, a few more days…maybe this weekend. How’s Roth?”
“How’s Roth?” she mumbled deleting the text. Nothing about me? Nothing about how I am?
A tear slid down her cheek. Swatting it away she headed to the shower. She was on her own. Go back to Daytona Beach? My bakery?
Oh, I don’t know. Leave Tyler?
No, not that. Think, think. Come on.
But…?
Chapter 10
MONDAY, THE BEGINNING of the work week.
Suzie flipped her long blonde waves behind her shoulders as she entered Burnett Media. She saw his Caddie so Donald must be in his office. She preferred to think of him as Donald or Don. Mr. Burnett was way too formal. She liked being personal. Oh yes, she caught him ogling her at the barbecue.
She’d been with him, not in the biblical way, for almost six months. One time, a particularly stressful day at the studios, things were not going well and he came close. She was ready, always dressed for a close encounter. But her career was not progressing fast enough. In fact it had come to a standstill. She needed to light a fire to be noticed, to gain attention not only for her beauty but for her talent as an actress. She’d taken several classes. One professor said she was going places. At least he appreciated her.
She had to light Donald’s fire.
Stepping into the suite of offices, she stopped at her desk putting her tote in the drawer. She added a little gloss to her puckered lips, then straightened her black leather mini-skirt, smoothed her hair and entered his office.
Heavy tapestry drapes with threads of gold were drawn across an eight-foot section covering a small window in the concrete block building. The drapes feigned the illusion of opulence of large picture windows in the room that used to be a small studio. Recessed lighting washing the walls from behind a border of creamy crown molding produced the intimate effect Donald Burnett sought for most of his meetings. Most of meetings were with starlets who generally were hypnotized when in his presence. Hypnotized to think they were on their way to fame and fortune when leaving his presence.
Burnett was a handsome man. Clean shaven, blue eyes, appearance somewhere in his forties although his birth certificate would prove him to be in his mid-fifties. He sported a slight, very slight paunch, but the starlets never seemed to notice and never complained when he suggested they lose a few pounds.
Burnett Media was doing fairly well. Not super well, but Burnett enjoyed living the life of a film mogul. He was a player in the burgeoning new profit arena, the lucrative advent of television streaming. The public had an insatiable thirst, ready to sign on to subscription services. Cable outlets as well as streaming services constantly screamed for more content. Content was king.
Burnett Media was willing and able to crank out that content.
Truth be told Burnett wouldn’t miss Vincent Roth. He certainly wouldn’t miss the high salary Roth demanded. But that was before Burnett knew better. He could pay far less to get the job done. Well, the man was probably knocked out of the game. Good riddance.
Burnett sighed hearing the soft rap on the mahogany door to his office. Only Suzie could make a rap sound sultry. He was standing at the only window overlooking the lot, cell phone to his ear listening to a producer pitching what he believed to be the next great romantic series.
Opening the door, Suzie rapped lightly again to get his attention. He turned, smiled, and quickly ended the call.
“Well, good morning, Suzie.” Burnett returned to his desk retrieving his calendar.
“And a good morning to you, Mr. Burnett.”
“Have a seat. We’ll go over my appointments for the week.”
“Okay. I have your morning coffee. Just how you like it, steamy with heavy cream and sugar. Want me to add a shot of whiskey?”
“Yes, please. That would be nice,” he said getting up leaving the calendar on his desk, taking a few steps to the red velvet couch as Suzie tip-toed to the wet bar.
“Sit with me a minute, Suzie. Tell me the latest gossip about Roth?”
Suzie handed Burnett his coffee and sat on the couch facing him.
“Nothing much. I don’t know if he shared with you…Vincent offered me the spot of hostess on his project. He suddenly changed his mind. Star Bloom caught his eye. He didn’t treat me right. Are you going to replace Vincent? Maybe a new producer would hire me, replace Star.”
“I don’t know if I’ll hire another producer. I can see you as the hostess, Suzie.”
She smiled smoothing her skirt.
- - -
Suzie returned to her desk outside of Burnett’s office. Her lips slightly parted as she applied fresh lip gloss.
Chapter 11
LUNCH SERVICE WAS IN full swing at the hospital. Carts carrying the lunch trays rolled down the hall, nurses checking on the patients, visitors leaving. Entering Mr. Roth’s room Star was surprised to see him sitting in a chair, a tray table positioned to receive his lunch.
“Hi, Mr. Roth. Wow, you look terrific, out of bed, sitting in a chair,” Star said with a big smile. “I just dropped by to see how you’re doing, but I don’t want to interrupt your lunch. It’s a little after eleven. I can come back.”
“Nonsense, Star. It’s good to see you. I’ll ask the nurse to bring you a cup of coffee?” He spoke slowly, voice soft but clear.
“Oh, no, please. I’m fine.”
“Pull up that chair. It’s nice to see you and your bright smile. All my visitors have been very dour. I believe they had given me up for dead. Some sorry to see me fit as a fiddle I think.”
“Here’s your lunch, Mr. Roth,” the orderly said with a grin. “Can I get your guest something? I think there’s an extra tray. A patient was discharged early and the kitchen didn’t get the message in time,” the orderly said.
“Star? Please change your mind. Join me.”
“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to join you. I haven’t eaten much today.”
“I’ll be right back,” the orderly said.
“Nice, a pretty visitor and a lunch date,” Roth said lifting the lid off a hot piece of chicken with a side of mashed potatoes and gravy. A small bowl of custard was next to the plate.
The orderly brought in the extra tray and pulled a small table beside Star’s chair.
“Hospital food can be rather bland but it doesn’t bother me. Now, tell me what you’ve been up to. I’m sorry about the show,” Roth said taking a small bite of his mashed
potatoes.
“Hey, you first. Mr. Burnett said they had to pump your stomach and—”
A conspiratorial smile crossed Roth’s face. “The doctor says I was poisoned. Some kind of pesticide. Personally, I don’t believe a word of it. My cleaning lady uses all kinds of chemicals. She’s fastidious to a fault. No germ is ever lurking around after she leaves.”
“But you were so sick. You almost died…your heart—”
“I guess it was nip and tuck for a while but I wasn’t ready to join the man upstairs. Oh, I’ve been given strict orders to take it easy. The doctor set up a rehab routine at the gym to regain my strength.”
“But… Has Detective Drake talked to you?”
“Oh, yes. Wonderful fellow. We played chess last night. I took his King, Checkmate.” Roth laughed wiping a dab of mashed potato off his chin. “Of course, the chap is pumping me with questions the whole time. Between you and me I think he agreed to play chess so I’d talk to him. Now, I don’t mean to minimize what happened. I get tired, very tired, but the doc has agreed to let me go home. My wife is taking some time off from her charity work so I’ll be well taken care of. She promised the doctor I would stay on schedule with the rehab program. Now, enough about me. I’m sorry, I guess your follow-on show, the kids’ idea has been postponed too. But maybe Burnett will let you use the kitchen studio.”
“I’m weighing my options, Mr. Roth. Don’t you worry. I may go back to Daytona Beach. I miss the bakery.”
“What about that fella of yours?”
“Tyler and his team are working on a new project. They hope to pitch it to Disney.”
“How about that,” Roth said beaming at Star.
“They are in seclusion. Have you been to Twentynine Palms?”
“Middle of the desert. I’ve driven close by. He must miss you.”
“I guess so. Anyway, as I said, I’m weighing my options.”
A Cupcake to Die For Page 3
