As soon as the detective in charge said I could go, I bolted, leaving Cal to deal with the rest of the mess. I knew he could handle it. Me? Hangover plus explosion was more than I could take in one day. Instead, I marched up to the second floor and shoved myself in front of my computer. I pulled up a word processing file and immediately started typing.
GOSSIP COLUMNIST CALLS OUT HER MYSTERY STALKER
RECENTLY YOURS TRULY HAS BEEN THE RECIPIENT OF A NUMBER OF THREATS—
I paused. Then hit the backspace button.
—THE RECIPIENT OF A NUMBER OF CHILDISH THREATS—
There, that was better. I smirked as my fingers continued typing.
—CHILDISH THREATS FROM AN UNKNOWN SOURCE. THIS SOURCE PROMISED THAT IF I DIDN’T STOP PRINTING ARTICLES ABOUT HIM OR HER, I WOULD END UP DEAD. WELL GUESS WHAT, MYSTERY STALKER? THIS IS ONE REPORTER WHO IS A LITTLE CLEVERER THAN YOU BARGAINED FOR. I KNOW YOUR IDENTITY. AND IF YOU DON’T TURN YOURSELF IN TODAY, I’LL BE PRINTING IT IN TOMORROW’S PAPER. HOW’S THAT FOR A THREAT?
“What is that?”
I spun around to find Cam reading over my shoulder.
“It’s my column for tomorrow.”
Her blonde brows puckered in concern. “Are you sure that’s wise? You’re kind of taunting a killer here, Tina.”
I looked back at the screen. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.” Which was the biggest load of false bravado ever, but I wasn’t about to back down now.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked.
“Yes.” No. “The only problem is going to be getting this past Felix. There’s no way he’ll print it.”
“Felix is a smart man.”
I chose to ignore that comment.
“What we need is a distraction. Final copy has to be in to the printer by six. If I can find a way to distract Felix and slip this in at the last minute, it might work.”
Cam shook her head. “Don’t look at me. I like my job here. No way am I going behind Felix’s back with something like this.”
I felt my shoulders sag. I’d actually secretly been counting on Cam to help me out.
“Please?” I begged.
But the resolved look in her eyes told me no amount of pleading was going to change her mind. “Sorry, Tina, but you’re on your own with this one. Look, just submit it to him, and see what he says. Maybe he’s feeling generous today.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Hello? Have you met Felix?”
She gave me a sympathetic shrug. “Sorry.” Then added as she turned to go, “And be careful, Tina, okay?”
I nodded. Really, I couldn’t blame her. A week ago keeping my boss happy would have been at the top of my priority list, too. And I’d already gotten her in hot water over the whole lookout at Katie Briggs’s incident.
Unfortunately, that left me still distraction-less. I let my gaze wander over the newsroom for another possible ally. Max, Cece…Allie.
I froze. If ever someone had distraction written all over her, it was Allie.
I clenched my jaw. I stood up. I sucked in a deep breath. And prepared to make a deal with the devil to save my skin.
“You’re nuts, you know that?”
I nodded.
Allie shook her head at me, her blonde locks falling over her shoulder. “You’re really going to call this guy out?”
I nodded again. “Look, I need you to distract Felix. Just for a second.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And what’s in it for me?”
I bit my lip. “That satisfaction of helping a coworker?”
Her eyes narrowed further until they looked like a cat’s.
Okay, so she was into satisfaction.
“Look, I’ll…I’ll introduce you to some of my contacts around town.”
Her lip curled. And she shook her head. “Not good enough.”
I threw my hands up. “Okay, fine. What do you want?”
“I want this story.”
I blinked at her. “What story?”
“The story of the Informer reporter who’s being stalked by a murderer, threatens to expose him, then ends up getting herself killed.”
I raised an eyebrow at her.
She shrugged. “It’s one possible ending.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Do we have a deal?”
I ground my teeth together. The last thing I wanted to do was give Barbie an exclusive on my life story. On the other hand, if I didn’t, said story was likely to be a whole lot shorter and have a much less pleasant ending.
Begrudgingly, I stuck my hand out. “Deal.”
Allie shook it, the most evil grin I’d ever seen spreading across her cute little face.
I involuntarily shuddered.
“So, you’re on Felix, then?”
She nodded. Then fluffed up her boobs. “Come six o’clock, he’s all mine.”
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for the boss.
Crisis One taken care of for the day, I made my way back to my desk, avoiding looking directly at Felix as I passed his office, lest he see the glint of guilt in my eyes.
As soon as I sat down, my cell rang.
“Tina Bender?” I answered.
“Tina, dahling,” Marco cooed on the other end. “How are we this fine morning?”
Oh, boy. Loaded question. But I figured the short version would suffice. “Fine.”
“Fab. Listen, hon, is it true that you’ve been talking to the police?”
Shit. My worst fears were confirmed. Word was spreading through my network of informants that Tina Bender and the cops were like that.
“Um, sorta.”
Marco made a tsking sound. “Sweetie, that’s not good. You know loose lips aren’t gonna wag your way like that.”
I nodded at my cubicle. “I know. Look, it’s just…temporary,” I hedged, not willing to air all my dirty laundry for Beverly Hills’s biggest gossip.
“Let’s hope. For your sake, dahling.”
“Thanks.”
“In the meantime, I’m not a fair-weather friend, and has mama got some good d-i-s-h for you, girl.”
I leaned forward. “I could use some good dish today. Lay it on me, Marco.”
“Guess who came into the salon yesterday?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but he didn’t give me a chance.
“Duke Donovan.”
I drew a blank. “Who?”
“Duke Donovan! Ohmigod, girl, don’t tell me you don’t watch Massexachusetts?”
I had to admit, I didn’t. But the name was starting to ring a bell. “He did that paranormal alien show for a while, right?”
“Yes! Gawd, I miss that show. Anyhoo, while Gia was doing his highlights I overheard him on his cell saying that he was slated to star in that new action film with the mondo budget. And, get this, his co-star—Tom Cruise!”
I raised an eyebrow. That was big news. If I remembered correctly, the last movie Donovan worked on had been…well, I couldn’t actually remember the last movie he’d worked on. Then again, Donovan’s sister had been murdered last spring, catapulting his name back into the spotlight and earning him that all important Hollywood sympathy vote.
Amazing how one little murder could make a hasbeen a household name again.
I froze.
Suddenly I felt the distinct click of puzzle pieces falling into place in my brain.
Jake Mullins’s widow was a has-been child star. One who was desperate to get back into the business. Hadn’t she mentioned she’d recently picked up a couple roles?
“Thanks for the tip, Marco. I gotta go,” I quickly said into the phone, hanging it up and letting my fingers fly with lightning speed over my keyboard. I pulled up the IMDB website again, typing in the name “Alexis Mullins.” Her credits as a member of The Fenton Family popped up (back when she was known as cute little Alexis Grant), but alongside them were three new projects: a Lifetime movie, VH1’s Celebrity Sorority House, and an HBO TV series pilot produced by Tom Hanks. Not t
oo shabby.
I chewed my pen top as I sat back in my chair. It was a long shot, but…
I grabbed Strawberry Shortcake and made for the elevator.
Unfortunately, as soon as I got there, the doors slid open to reveal Cal on the other side.
He looked down at my purse. “Going somewhere?”
“Jake Mullins’s widow.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Let’s just say I’ve got a hunch.”
Cal looked like he was about to protest. Luckily, he knew me better than that by now and, instead, shrugged, leading the way back into the elevator.
Half an hour later we were back in Echo Park, Cal’s Hummer stashed in the Ralph’s parking lot and the two of us knocking on Alexis Mullins’s front door. A few beats later it was opened a crack by the widow herself.
This time she was fully dressed, sporting a pleather miniskirt, thigh-high boots, fishnet stockings, and a lacy top that left little to the imagination. Either she was headed for the casting couch or a street corner somewhere on Hollywood Boulevard.
“Hi,” I said, doing a little wave at her. “Remember us?”
She wrinkled her forehead as if trying to. “Yeah. The writer, right?”
I nodded. “I had a few more questions about your husband. Do you mind if we come in?”
Her eyebrows drew together. Clearly, she did mind. But the allure of her name in print finally won out as she stepped back, allowing us entrance. “Sure. But I’m on my way to meet my agent for lunch, so if we could make it quick?”
“No problem,” I promised her.
This time she didn’t offer us coffee or a seat, instead standing near the door, antsy, shifting from one foot to another.
“So, what kind of questions?” she asked, biting a manicured fingernail between her two front teeth.
“You mentioned roles had picked up lately for you. When exactly did they start coming in again?”
Alexis blinked at me. “I dunno.”
“Was it before or after your husband passed away?”
Her eyes darted once to the door. “After, I guess.”
“Any particular reason things picked up for you?”
Again with the, “I dunno.”
“I bet people were very sympathetic when they heard what happened to Jake.”
She nodded. “Everyone has been very supportive.”
“Your friends?”
“Yeah.”
“Agent?”
“Sure.”
“Casting directors?”
She chomped down on that fingernail again.
“It’s because of Jake’s death that you’ve been getting roles again, isn’t it?”
She didn’t answer.
“Look, it’s okay. I know Hollywood loves a sob story. I mean, you practically have to be dead to get a cover of Entertainment Weekly these days, right?”
“I guess,” she finally conceded, her eyes darting to the front door as if really wishing she hadn’t answered it.
Cal must have noticed, too, as he nonchalantly moved so he stood directly between her and any chance of escape.
She shifted on her heels.
“I talked to a couple of people who worked with Jake on the set of his last film,” I continued. “Did you know that your husband was trying to blackmail Edward Pines?”
“No!” Alexis vehemently shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest in a protective gesture. “That’s not true. They’re lying. Jake would never be that stupid.”
“Why would they lie?”
She bit her lip, not sure how to answer that one.
“Pines said your husband tried to extort a hundred grand. He said he’d tell the world that Pines was into kiddie porn if he didn’t pay.”
Alexis shook her head again, but I could see doubt creeping into the gesture this time.
“Pines refused to pay,” I went on. “He said he’d ruin Jake, make sure he never worked in Hollywood again.”
Tears started to fill Alexis’s eyes.
“You knew, didn’t you?” I asked. “You knew your husband was making enemies, knew he was ruining his reputation at the studio, killing his career.” I paused. Then mentally crossed my finger I was on the right track with this. “And he was taking you down with him.”
“That bastard!” Alexis suddenly shouted. “Sonofabitch gets a chance at a real film—fucking Edward Pines!—and what does he do? He throws it away. Pines wouldn’t have touched him again with a ten-foot pole. I’ve been waiting fifteen years to get back into the business, and just when I get a chance to walk those red carpets again, he goes and ruins everything. And he wasn’t going to stop with Pines. He said he had even bigger fish lined up for the next time. The next time! God, how stupid could he get.”
“So, you killed him,” I slowly said.
“He had to be stopped! Look, you should be thanking me. Everyone in Hollywood should be thanking me. Who knows how many people he could have blackmailed. How many lives he could have ruined.”
Sure. She was a regular Mother Teresa.
“But he was your husband,” I said, feeling like a complete dope for ever having bought her grieving widow role. I had to hand it to her, the woman had mad acting skills.
She rolled her eyes. “Please. I did the world a favor. Did you see his last film? The man couldn’t act himself out of a paper bag.”
Ouch.
Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Cal dialing on his cell, probably calling the cops for the second time that day. (Hanging out with me lately, he’d be smart to put them on speed dial.)
Unfortunately, Alexis saw it, too. Her eyes cut to the door—still being guarded by Cal—and then to the bedroom, her body making a split second decision as she bolted toward the bedroom door.
I lunged after her, one quick step behind. Unfortunately, her legs were a hell of a lot longer than mine, and the door slammed in my face.
“I’ll go around back,” I heard Cal yell, throwing the front door open.
I jiggled the bedroom doorknob, but no luck. She’d clearly locked it from the inside. My eyes darted wildly around the apartment for anything I could use to break the thing down. Lamp, CDs, old copies of Variety. Damn.
Then I spied it. A Golden Globe award from 1983 sitting on the bookshelf.
I grabbed it, testing the weight in my hand. Stars weren’t kidding in their acceptance speeches. The thing was hefty.
I lunged for the door again, raising the Golden Globe up over my head, and brought it down as hard as I could on the cheap renter’s doorknob. The force knocked it sideways.
I heard shouting from the other side of the door. Cal’s voice outside, Alexis screaming back, “Leave me alone! I’m a celebrity!”
I lifted the award for another go, slamming it down on the dented knob, knocking the brass thing to the ground with a clang. The lock fell away on the other side, and I easily pushed the door open, still brandishing the Golden Globe as a weapon.
“Freeze!” I yelled, suddenly feeling very Law & Order.
Though it turned out Alexis didn’t have much choice. She had the screen off her bedroom window, one leg thrown over the sill, her pleather skirt around her waist, and her fishnets caught on the latch, capturing her halfway between Cal and me.
She was totally stuck.
And crying, “I want a lawyer. Get me Robert Shapiro. Get me Paris Hilton’s lawyer. I’m too famous to go to jail!”
Chapter Seventeen
Three cups of coffee, two statements to the cops and four hours later, we were finally released from the police station for the second time that day. I swear the detective in charge was starting to look at me funny. Like I had some golden touch or something, but in reverse; whatever I touched eventually ended up in a homicide.
By the time we pulled Cal’s Hummer back onto the freeway, it was five thirty. Prime traffic time. And I only had half an hour to get my threatening column into the printer behind Felix’s back.
“Can’t this thing go
any faster?” I asked as we crawled up the 101.
Cal shrugged. “Sure. I’ll drive on over the top of these other cars. I’m sure they won’t mind.”
Smart-ass.
I pursed my lips together. “Well then, maybe we should take surface streets, huh?”
He shot me a look. “What’s the hurry, Bender?”
“Nothing. No hurry. I just…want to get back to work.” I turned my face to the window so he couldn’t read the obvious lie in that statement. If Cal had even a whiff of my plan, there was no way he’d let me follow through with it. Not that I’d normally let or not let anyone tell me what to do, but Cal was bigger, stronger, and I had a feeling he wasn’t above using bodily force if the situation called for it. All in all, the less he knew the better.
So, even though I felt as antsy as a six-year-old on a double espresso as we inched forward, watching the minutes tick off on the dash clock, I kept my mouth shut. Trying not to do a little impatience dance in my seat.
At five forty-eight, the traffic miraculously parted as we neared Hollywood and exited the freeway. I held my breath as we hit two red lights in a row, losing precious seconds, then, of all the luck, got stuck behind a Beemer double parked outside a nail salon.
“I hope you get toe fungus!” I yelled out the window as we finally slipped into the left lane and passed.
Cal raised an eyebrow my way. “You okay?”
I shrugged. “What? Double parking is very rude. Oh, there! Right in front!” I pointed to the left as a cab pulled away from the curb, leaving an open space right in front of the Informer’s building. After making a semilegal U-turn, Cal maneuvered his tank into it, and I bolted, grabbing Strawberry Shortcake and flying through the lobby with a speed generally only seen in Olympic trials.
Giving up on the ancient elevator, I took the stairs, jogging up two at a time until I reached the second-floor landing, panting and holding my side. I looked up at the clock over Cece’s desk. Five fifty-six.
“Jesus, Bender, where have you been?” Allie slipped behind me, whisper-yelling in my ear. “I thought you said six o’clock?”
Scandal Sheet Page 18
