by CC Dragon
“Their lawyers are cranking the Hollywood divorce machine overtime. He couldn‘t handle Sonia‘s success, and the press is rabid,” Jordan fussed.
“Don’t give Fluffy another drink. She’s had enough,” Sonia whined and pulled the dog into her lap again.
I saw the tears welling in Sonia’s eyes but no one had answered my question. I wasn’t totally against interrogation tactics.
“What’s up with Danny?” I asked again, this time a little firmer.
“The soap dropped him when I left. Our super couple is over and they wrote us out. He tried to get them to recast me or kill my character off to keep him on. Our final episodes haven’t even aired yet,” Sonia sniffed.
“They wanted a happily ever after. Soaps,” Jordan said with a wide swish of his hand.
Jealousy counted as a motive. They’d been married since they were nineteen. She’d out-earned and outshined him every step of the way.
Sonia rubbed her eyes. "I don’t think it’s Danny. Letters aren’t his thing. The last few days there have been some hang-up calls. All blocked numbers. Then this morning there was a note on the windshield of my car. It had to have happened overnight."
I sat up straight. "A note? Where is it?" Now we were getting somewhere.
"On the kitchen counter. Danny was the only person who knew I left the side door to the garage unlocked. But why would he leave me a weird note?—I have a headache." Sonia swooned like a pro.
"Drink some water, you’re probably dehydrated. Sonia, you should never leave any door unlocked. That garage is attached and four cars wide. Anyone could’ve snuck up to find the easy way in." I headed past the dining room to the granite kitchen counter.
Finally something to go on. Rifling through her cabinets, I found a plastic bag and used it for a glove. Then I slid the casually strewn note into another plastic bag and closed it up. I’d learned a few things from my marriage—not normal things but they would be useful here.
Not much to go on. You'll be sorry. Written out in bold block letters with a thick black marker. Danny could certainly manage this, if he wanted.
"I leave that door unlocked because one time I locked myself out of the house. The paparazzi had a field day. No one knows that door is even there." She rubbed her eyes. "The note freaked me out. Someone was right there in my garage. They could've sat in my car. Yuck!"
"They could’ve jerked off in your car. The true wackos have many levels of obsession.” I wanted her to take this seriously.
“That’s so gross.” Sonia shuddered.
Jordan grinned. “Yeah, what if the stalker licked your steering wheel?”
I wasn’t really making my point.
“It's probably just a local fan going too far." I left it on the counter all zipped up in plastic.
Then I spotted a letter tucked between the phone and the Marilyn Monroe salt shaker. “What’s this?”
Chapter Two
“Nothing. Good fan mail. I’m trying to remind myself that my fans don’t all hate me. This is just a transition phase.” She sighed loudly and made a meditation hum while cradling her dog.
“Okay.” I freed the letter and read it. “This is impressive.”
“He really gets me. The writing is weird, though,” Sonia frowned.
“It’s iambic pentameter.” The letter was signed Dr. Brian. No last name listed.
“What is that?” she asked.
Sonia never took a lit class in her life or even auditioned for the role of Juliet.
“Shakespearean. Your fan is well educated,” Jordan winked.
“Why do people think soap fans are dumb?” Sonia huffed.
I didn’t think they were dumb, but this one made me nervous. “This isn’t a typical fan letter.”
I looked at the front of the envelope. The return address was Los Angeles. Worse still, it had Sonia’s home address on the front, not the studio’s.
“How the hell does he know where you live?” I demanded.
“Don’t start. I try to keep things private but it’s not that easy. He’s harmless.” Sonia fluffed a pillow roughly. “Well educated people should be too smart to stalk.”
I wished that were true. “Don’t make me put on a Silence of the Lambs and Hannibal marathon. Or would you prefer the Black List? Smart criminals are the worst kind.”
That concept gave her nightmares and always worked for a good threat, but her defensive nature about the whole thing made me back off. I slipped the letter in my pocket for research later. We had bigger issues right now. I sat back in the chair, hoping it would make my sister relax.
“Is there anyone else, besides the fans that sent letters and Danny, who might have a reason to threaten you? Be upset with you? At all annoyed with you? Did you steal someone’s housekeeper? Nail appointment? Boyfriend? Dog sitter?" I asked.
Sonia shook her head. "I’m not seeing anyone! I didn't cheat. I’m not the one who threw a fit when my wife got the offer of a lifetime. If Danny got his big break I’d have been happy for him. But he liked the soap life and felt safe there. He never had enough ambition."
Sonia took a long drink of her Bloody Mary and it seemed to calm her down. My little sister never failed at anything. She was always popular and fell into acting almost by accident while trying to be a model. People loved her and fawned over her, which she couldn’t get enough of. The more popular you were though, the more people wanted to bring you down in this town. Now with the divorce, the upset fans, and a stalker, it had to be eating her up.
"It’s okay. We’ll figure this out. Did you report the note and trespassing to the police?" I asked.
She looked up with a doe-eyed innocence many fell for.
I glared. “Sonia—”
Sonia shook her head. “The reporters, Hel. Those paparazzi. They’d hound me even more. I’d be all over Twitter, vlogs, YouTube, websites, and the gossip shows. Those tabloids are already vicious about the divorce and they’re everywhere. Say one thing in a salon and it’s on everyone’s iPhone ten seconds later."
“TMZ does love to mock you,” Jordan said, then tsked and rolled his eyes.
“Bad press doesn’t matter! You know Hollywood, Sonia. You can handle this. It’s just drama. A stalker could actually hurt you."
"Before it was so nice—the press focused on how successful I was. What a cute couple Danny and I were. Now it's my divorce and my deserting the soap when its ratings are sinking. All soaps’ ratings are diving now. Lots of high paid stars are getting the axe so the show can stay on the air. Some studios are cancelling soaps. This is the right career move. It’s my life. I want a hiatus instead of working nonstop all year." She snuggled with the dog like it was her security blanket.
"I know. Soap opera life is rough. Only two weeks off a year. It’s like you're a regular person." Damn, I swore I wouldn’t be my usual smart-assed self this trip!
“Look out, sisters gone wild!” Jordan sat back and held up his hands.
"It’s a lot of work to do a show. In early for makeup and hair and you work late all the time. I’m not a regular person. It’s part of my job to be pretty and perfect. Image sells." Sonia stomped her foot.
“The show change is smart," I admitted but couldn’t resist a joke. “How do I get my own show?”
“You chose your career, I chose mine." Sonia had a snarky side too. We were very much related even if it took a while to show.
“Danny’s career was tied to yours. If he’s that upset over the soap, maybe he’s trying to scare you.” I wanted to keep her focused on the problem.
“Get real, Hel. You’re too bad ass with all that Krav Maga self-defense stuff. Danny wouldn’t stalk me. He’s a Hollywood pretty boy but not that stupid. He knows you’re my first call.”
“Krav Maga?” Jordan asked, suddenly interested. “You have trendy potential. That’s the hottest martial arts thing going. How’d you get into that?”
“It’s just one of my studies. I got into martial arts before it was a trend. I�
��ve earned three black belts in different ones. My college roommate had an ex-boyfriend from hell and he—well, let’s just say I wanted to be able to defend myself. I ended up meeting my ex in a martial arts class.” The history of my life wasn’t interesting or relevant but I didn’t want to be rude.
“Your ex was a prince. Why did you ever let Todd go? He didn’t cheat on you.”
Sonia loved Todd like a big brother but it also let her play the victim. No, he didn’t cheat on me and he didn’t want the divorce either but Sonia wouldn’t win with distraction.
“Don’t change the subject. We need to go to the police station and file a report. Give them the note." I stood up.
I expected her to sprint into action. I’d pay Danny a visit later, alone. Even though Danny knew I could hurt him, divorce made people act irrationally. Jordan stood up with a distinctive attitude and smiled big at my sister. I appreciated his help trying to motivate her.
“Let’s get ready. We’ll feel better when we’re pretty.” Jordan nodded.
She scowled and didn’t move.
"Sonia." I gave her the big sister tone. “Keep pouting and you’ll get wrinkles.”
Her expression went neutral. "I’m not going to the police. We’re re-shooting the pilot this week. It starts tomorrow. I can't handle the stress, the scandal, the set, and all the pressure. On the soap I was one of dozens. Now I’m the female lead, Hel. The lead! Just make this go away."
I rolled my eyes. "Sure, I’ll just pull out my magic wand and the stalker will magically be locked up for writing a note. Let go of the fur ball, get your skinny ass off the couch, and get ready to talk to the police. We’re going if I have to drag you by your hair. Won’t that make for great tabloid photos?"
"I’m not skinny. I can't hit a zero. I bounce from a two back up to a four." She punched a pillow.
“That would be your focus.” I fought the urge to slap her.
I almost told her I was happy to stay a size ten and just wait until her metabolism started to betray her. But a noise behind me stole my attention. A snap in the trees outside her fancy etched glass patio doors that stood open to the smallish backyard. Nothing stood between us and whoever had trespassed on my sister's property but a screen door.
I put a finger to my lips to keep them quiet. Sonia’s eyes grew wide and she eased back down to hug her dog. Reality wasn't my sister’s strong suit.
Jordan grabbed an odd looking metal sculpture from an end table and huddled with the couch crew. No help there, but I was better off alone. I’d come prepared.
Walking to the doorway I looked out, slid the screen door open and pulled my gun. At least I was ready.
"You're trespassing on private property. Get out of those bushes,” I warned.
Chapter Three
The young trees rustled and bowed as a balding man stumbled out with a camera bouncing off his pot belly. "Relax, babe, just doing my job. Put the gun away," he said.
Not going to happen. "Get off this property."
Paparazzi were like locusts. My sister loved the good attention and dreaded the bad but they were all annoying in my book. Stalking was their job and chasing people in cars wasn’t beneath them. Nothing was beneath them.
Maybe they needed to realize a camera wasn’t the most dangerous weapon around. Going hand-to-hand meant getting close and I wanted this guy far away. A creep who hides behind a camera didn’t have the balls to fight me.
"Doll, it's the job." He advanced until he was only a few feet away and rapidly snapped pictures. The man’s smug disregard for private property hit my last nerve.
“That’s close enough. Stop,” I warned.
“Hon, I just want a few good shots.” He hit the button again.
"Me too." I smiled, aimed, and fired three times.
The bullets sunk in the soft grass a few feet short of his shoes.
“Shit, woman! You’re psycho!” the photographer screamed.
Jordan rushed out to the patio. He stopped when he saw I was fine.
Taking advantage of my being distracted, the reporter took off like he was chasing a naked Lindsey Lohan. To get out the back he had to pass Jordan, but Jordan stepped in front of the creep and punched the guy with no display of effort. The pap went down hard. Jordan impressed me more and more. That was a solid shot to the nose. Not bad! After a few seconds the creep recovered, shook it off and scampered away under Jordan’s glare. We’d probably given him more exercise in two minutes than he'd had in ten years.
“Damn, Hel. You are not subtle,” Jordan hooted as we watched the guy run.
“Subtlety is overrated and you’re a lot tougher than you dress.” We went inside.
Closing the back door and locking it, I turned to my sister. "All better for now. Keep the doors and windows locked. Shades down. What is so hard about that?"
"You didn't actually do that." My sister’s hands covered her ears. “What is wrong with you?”
"What?" I shrugged. “He could be the stalker baiting you for a story. Sorry the gun is loud, but you can’t react that way on Fed Files, just so you know.”
"Are you crazy? Do you think guns go off in Brentwood all the time? My neighbors will call the cops. That guy will tell everyone about you. He has your picture, with a gun, and dressed like that." Sonia stood and looked around as if lost in her own home. "I need to get ready before the police come. I can’t be seen like this by people."
“The police are people?” Jordan asked.
"Good, the cops coming means we can do the stalker report here. And I don't care what reporters think about me—I’m only here to protect you," I called after her as she headed up the stairs. "Don't make me call Mom!"
Sonia leaned over the banister. "Don’t you dare tell her! She’d worry."
No shit she'd worry. Like I wasn’t worried? After what our dad had put Mom through, the idea that Sonia had someone threatening her would send Mom into a full tilt panic. I didn’t want that either. So this was my problem.
Jordan maintained a certain grace under pressure. “I’ll check on her.”
“Thanks.” I needed a little space.
The tabloid reporter probably wasn’t the stalker but I needed to stay sharp. In La-La Land the typical stalker profile didn’t apply. It could be a complete stranger, an obsessed fan, or a jealous coworker. It could still be the ex. I had too many options.
Thanks to Mom I also had the leverage to make my sister cooperate. Not that she understood half of Mom’s overprotective nature. Lucky girl, Sonia never knew Dad. That’s how she turned out a dreamer, free-spirited, and imaginative.
A car pulled up out front just as Jordan descended the stairs. “Someone called the popo.”
I checked my watch. Under five minutes. “Pretty good police response for the 'burbs.”
But these weren't any 'burbs...this was Brentwood. Movie stars and rock stars...and now one very out of place black belt.
“Want me to go upstairs and keep Mrs. Flynn calm?” Jordan asked.
“She’ll be fine. Go wherever you’re comfortable. Cops don’t bother me.”
Jordan smiled. “Me either. This is Brentwood. OJ got off but they’re still a little nervous about harassing black men in mansions. Mess with me and it’s a double hate crime. Black and gay.” He held out two long fingers and swished them through the air for emphasis.
“Gay, really?” I looked him up and down just like he’d done to me on the front steps. “I had no idea. Guess that style is better than normal people drab.”
Jordan doubled over laughing. “Damn. Sonia said you were dull, but you’re all right. I’m just glad it’s a white chick shooting up Brentwood. Don’t try to pin it on me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I chuckled. “I’ll take all the credit. But you did hit him and I avoided that sort of physical evidence.”
Jordan’s perfectly waxed eyebrow arched. “You shot the place up on purpose to get the cops out here and force Sonia’s hand? You’re good.”
I ju
st smiled. My sister had to be handled.
The doorbell rang and my sister shrieked from upstairs. “Jordan! I gave Lupe the day off.”
“I got it. Just relax.” I set my gun on the kitchen counter next to the stalker note.
Crossing the massive living room with its expensive white marble floors and area rugs that looked like impressionist paintings—none of this seemed real. I opened the door and found one uniformed officer so young I wanted to pinch his cheek.
“Good afternoon, ma’am. We received a report of shots fired at this address. Everything all right?” He cleared his throat and looked over my clothes.
Most guys just stared at my chest, but not so much in Hollywood. My outfit straight from Old Navy and Kohl’s consisted of worn jeans and a comfy green T-shirt and would be perfectly normal in all but the richest sections of Vegas.
“Yes, I’m visiting my sister.” I wasn’t giving him one more piece of info than he asked for until we got to my priority.
“Sonia Flynn, the owner of the house?” He glanced from me to Jordan and back.
“She’s my little sister.” She was traditional enough to take Danny’s last name. Maybe traditional was in in Hollywood. I couldn’t care enough to keep track.
“Can I see some identification?” he asked.
“Sure.” I grabbed my purse off the couch, freed my driver’s license from the wallet, and handed it over.
Jordan handed his over too and gave me a just in case shrug.
“Okay. Jordan Michaels. Helena Morris. Care to explain the gunshots?” He eyed me more than Jordan, even though Jordan fit in better here.
“I brought my gun with me to give my sister some pointers on looking natural holding a gun. She’s going to be in that new crime drama Fed Files. They lost their tech consultant and she’s afraid of looking awkward holding a gun.”
Too much detail looked like lying, not enough meant hiding. Plus that part was actually true. She’d texted me last week for pointers on guns and needing help with that. Eventually I’d have made this trip.
