Before Sofia could answer, the elevator door opened and Jerry Gonzales swept out, flanked on either side by an assistant. He was casually but expensively dressed in tan pants and a royal blue Ralph Lauren polo shirt. He looked as if he had just stepped off the first tee at Riviera Country Club in Bel Air.
“Sofia Salgado!” he said, reaching out to shake her hand. “I’m a big fan. No. Scratch that. I’m a huge fan.” He turned to Aidan. “Wanna know how you spell superstar? S-O-F-I-A. S-A-L-G-A-D-O. That’s how you spell superstar. Am I right?”
Sofia wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Gonzales was treating this like a talent meeting rather than the start of a privately funded homicide investigation. Out of the corner of her eye, Sofia caught Aidan smirking. He was having a good morning.
“Could you say that again? I didn’t quite catch the spelling,” Aidan said.
As Sofia got to her feet, her elbow accidentally-on-purpose caught Aidan in the ribs, and he grunted. Gonzales and his assistants didn’t even register it. They were too busy staring at Sofia with dollar signs in their eyes. They clearly thought she must be here as the first stop in resurrecting her former career. Maybe they thought she was angling for a guest spot next to Tucker Trimble on Swamptrash Survival. More likely, they were already envisioning a celebrity rehab show like the one her former agent had pitched before Fred ran him off.
Jerry Gonzales leaned in closer to Sofia. “Look, let’s not discuss things in the lobby. Why don’t you come up to my office? We can talk there.”
“I think that would a really good idea,” said Sofia.
Over the past few days, her celebrity status had pretty much always worked against her. If now it was working in her favor, who was she to argue with that? She allowed herself to be guided back to the elevator by Jerry. Aidan had to fall in behind. She was praying he kept his mouth shut about why they were here until they got into Jerry’s office. They could drop the boom on him there.
“Sorry.” Gonzales finally acknowledged Aidan’s presence. “I haven’t asked your name.”
“Just call me Aidan,” said Aidan, shaking Gonzales’s hand.
“You’re Sofia’s….manager?” said Gonzales.
“Well,” said Aidan. “I try to manage her. But she kind of likes to go with the flow.”
Still with the pee jokes. Was he ever going to run out? Sofia sighed. Now she was making them, too. This wasn’t good.
They all crammed into the elevator that would take them up to Gonzales’s office.
Inside the elevator everyone resorted to the standard default ‘stare straight ahead and don’t speak’ elevator mode. Sofia wondered where it had come from. Maybe it was the lack of personal space that led to people closing down. At least it got Aidan to shut up.
The doors opened. She followed Gonzales and his assistants down a corridor into an office with yet another attractive receptionist and into a wide corner office with a pretty amazing view of the Santa Monica Pier. Gonzales motioned for her and Aidan to sit down, and his assistants withdrew.
It was time to drop the boom on him.
“Mr. Gonzales, I’ll get straight to the point. We’re here to speak to you about the murder of your business partner, Nigel Fairbroad,” said Sofia.
She wasn’t about to mention they were working for Melissa. Not just yet.
Jerry Gonzales did a double take. He stood and looked around his office. “Okay, where are the cameras? Is this like one of those candid camera-type deals? I have to say that if it is, then it’s in poor taste, and that’s from the guy who brought the world So You Think You’re All That, Girlfriend?”
Aidan stared Gonzales down. “This isn’t a joke. Nor are there cameras. We’re here to ask you a few questions about your deceased partner. It’ll take a few minutes.”
Aidan actually did menacing fairly well. Sofia glimpsed Brendan as he must have been in his younger days—intimidating and in control. She sometimes forgot that beyond all the diaper gags and the patronizing tone, when it came down to it, Aidan was actually pretty good at what he did. Being an arrogant asshole and being good at the job weren’t mutually exclusive—something she’d learned far too well in the movie industry.
Jerry Gonzales’s demeanor changed instantly, and he sat back down. All the dollar signs were gone from his eyes. “I thought you quitting the business to play at being a private cop was a joke. Or research for a role. Not real.”
She ignored the jibe. She’d been insulted by better men than Gonzales. She needed to start asking him serious questions, but she didn’t want to dive in by asking Gonzales to account for his whereabouts. That would be fastest way to getting thrown out of his office. In any case, the sheriff’s department would cover that territory better than they could. It was better to start general. “Mr. Gonzales, did you notice any change in Nigel’s behavior over the last few weeks or months? Did he seem anxious? Upset? Was there anything he confided to you?”
Jerry Gonzales picked up the phone on his desk. “Hi, Jasmine, can you get my attorney on the phone?”
So much for the direct approach.
Aidan shot Sofia a ‘what’s the deal with this guy?’ look. “Did you have any fallings out with Mr. Fairbroad? Having to work with someone every day can create tensions.”
“Who are you?” said Gonzales. The question seemed to be aimed at both of them. “I mean I know who Half Pint over here is. But who are you?”
“Aidan Maloney of Maloney Investigations. We’re a firm of private investigators who have been asked to look into the circumstances surrounding your business partner’s untimely demise. I take it you’ve heard the rumors circulating that he was shot before he was dumped in the Pacific.”
Gonzales looked like he was thinking about how to answer Aidan’s question. In the end, he just nodded.
“If there’s someone out there who wanted to harm him, your life may be under threat,” Aidan said. “The sooner whoever did this is brought to justice, the better for everyone.”
“Nice speech, Mr. Maloney. Are you a washed-up actor, too?” said Gonzales.
Sofia hadn’t expected him to exactly welcome them with open arms, but she hadn’t expected quite this level of hostility, either. Not only that, but Gonzales hadn’t uttered a single word of regret that his business partner of so many years was dead.
“Mr. Gonzales, you don’t seem troubled by the fact Nigel was shot and fed to the sharks by a person or persons unknown. That might strike people as a little odd.” Aidan sounded just like his father had when talking to Mrs. Fairbroad. It was eerie.
Gonzales let out an audible sigh. “Nigel and I hadn’t been getting along. That’s hardly a secret. You know what this industry is like for gossip, so you’ll find that out soon enough. But the idea that I am somehow involved in what happened to him? That’s laughable.”
Sofia sensed this was about as candid as Jerry Gonzales was about to get. Mr. Fairbroad had seemed like a nice enough guy, and nobody seemed to care that he’d been murdered. She felt bad for him.
“I make dumb TV shows,” Gonzales went on. “I do it well, and I make a ton of money doing it. That’s it.” He paused. A smile flitted across his face. “Wait. You’re not working for that pyscho wife of his, are you?”
Neither Aidan nor Sofia answered. “She’s trying to muddy the waters, right? Throw suspicion on someone else.”
If he wasn’t going to answer their questions, they didn’t have to answer his.
“All we’re doing is trying to find the truth of what happened to Nigel and why,” Sofia said. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Sure you are.” Gonzales’s tone oozed sarcasm.
His phone buzzed and Jasmine came on, sounding less perky than before. “Your attorney is on line one, Mr. Gonzales.”
“Tell him to hold for a second. I’m just finishing up here.” Gonzales clicked a button, and the line went dead. “Oh, this is just too perfect. I assume you’ve met Melissa Fairbroad, so you must have some idea of
what I’m saying.”
Aidan got up from where he was sitting. “No, Mr. Gonzales, I really don’t. Why don’t you tell me?”
Gonzales leaned away from Aidan’s looming form. Sofia wished she were big enough to loom over someone like that.
“Don’t be coy,” said Aidan. “If you have something to say, why don’t you man up and say it?”
Gonzales stood up and walked round his desk, past Aidan and Sofia to his office door. “Let’s say that Melissa wasn’t exactly an ideal wife and leave it at that. I’m sure even the Half Pint Detective can work out what that means.”
Sofia didn’t rise to that bait.
Gonzales opened the door, making sure the door was between him and Aidan. “You can show yourselves out, but don’t talk to any of my employees on the way or I’ll call the Santa Monica Police Department and make a complaint. Understand me?”
“Perfectly,” said Sofia as she stepped through the door. Aidan followed her. The door slammed behind them.
“Well,” said Aidan, “that went well, don’t you think?”
16
They got back into Sofia’s Roadster. For having been all but thrown out of the office, Aidan seemed pretty upbeat.
“He’s hiding something.” Aidan closed the passenger door.
“So is our client,” Sofia said.
“I thought that was a given,” said Aidan. “Hollywood wife living in Brentwood. Stressed-out husband who probably hasn’t had an erection since the last Eagles reunion tour.”
“They toured last year,” said Sofia.
“Whatever,” said Aidan. “She was probably fooling around with her tennis coach or some yoga dude. That’s where we ought to look next. Women like that always have something on the side.”
“Generalize much?” Sofia pulled out of the parking space and joined the traffic on Ocean Avenue. “What if he’s right? She had the motive. What if she killed him because we came up blank running the honey-trap? When she realized she couldn’t base a divorce on infidelity, she flipped out, and decided to take the easy route.”
“Except it’s not the easy route, is it?” Aidan shot back. “If she planned on offing her hubby, she’s not going to go out and hire a PI firm to draw attention to the problems in their marriage first. That puts her straight in the frame. It’s dumb, and she doesn’t strike me as dumb. Insanely hot, obnoxious, and slightly unhinged.” He seemed to lose his train of thought. “She has a dirty mouth, too. I kind of like that.”
“You’re gross,” said Sofia. “But, hey, she’s single now, so there’s nothing stopping you. She probably meets all the criteria in your stupid checklists.”
Aidan seemed to consider her suggestion seriously. “Nah, my old man would flip out. Plus I have a date lined up for tonight. Right age. Right height. UC Davis grad, smart but not too smart.”
Sofia already pitied the unfortunate young woman. “You wouldn’t want to be with a woman who was too smart.”
“Exactly.” If Aidan detected the sarcasm in Sofia’s voice, he didn’t let it show. “It would be a complete disaster.”
“Kind of cuts down the dating pool pretty substantially for you,” Sofia continued. “I mean, there must be a lot of women who are smarter than you.”
Aidan glanced over at her. “Like you go for brainiacs? That dude you were seeing who tends bar at Frank’s Grotto is hardly a rocket scientist. Dude could be in a dark room and wouldn’t even notice if someone turned on the light.”
“I’m dating him for his, err, other qualities,” said Sofia. A defensive tone had crept into her voice, and she wished she hadn’t said anything.
“Which other qualities?” Aidan said.
Sofia had to actually stop and think. “He’s really sweet.”
Aidan laughed. “What? Like a Labrador puppy? You accuse me of being superficial, yet you’re only hooking up with that guy because of his puppy dog looks.”
“That’s not true,” Sofia protested.
Aidan shot her a look of sheer disbelief.
“Okay, maybe his looks are a factor,” said Sofia, backtracking.
“See?” said Aidan. “People want what they want.”
17
If the Fairbroad family residence was anything to go by, there was a lot more money in TV shows called things like So You Think You’re All That, Girlfriend? than Sofia had thought. Their house was located near the top of a quiet street in Brentwood, an upmarket neighborhood sandwiched between Malibu to the north and Santa Monica to the south.
The house itself was set back from the road, shielded from public view by a tall bougainvillea hedge and electronically controlled metal gates. Aidan had already checked the house out on the property website Zillow and emailed Sofia the details before he left to get ready for his hot date with the latest unfortunate woman he’d be rejecting shortly for some minor imperfection.
According to Zillow, the Fairbroads had purchased the house seven years ago. Its current value was estimated to be approximately four point six million dollars. For that amount of money, unimaginable to most people in the world, they got an architect-designed four-bedroom, three-bath home of just under five thousand square feet set on a pretty spacious half acre lot—with a lap pool, large decks, and a spa area, complete with wet bar, cabana, and hot tub.
Sofia parked on the street. She’d decided not to call ahead. She hoped to catch Melissa at home and hopefully slightly off guard. That way she stood a better chance of Melissa being honest about the infidelity Gonzales had hinted at. Brendan had impressed upon them that they could help Melissa best if they could build a complete picture of her life. Money could be a motive for divorce, but so could a jealous, and possibly impatient, lover who wanted Nigel out of the way so he could a start a new life with Melissa, the rich widow. Sofia had to find out if that lover existed.
She rang the buzzer on the keypad next to the gates and waited. A few moments later, a woman answered.
“Yes?” It wasn’t Melissa. This woman had a strong Hispanic accent.
“Hi, it’s Sofia Salgado from Maloney Investigations in Malibu. I’m here to speak with Mrs. Fairbroad.”
There was a silence. Sofia waited several minutes, but no one replied.
Eventually she hit the buzzer again. If Melissa wasn’t home, then having a chance to talk to the woman she presumed was a housekeeper or cleaner would be the next best thing. In any case she didn’t want to turn back without having accomplished something.
“Yes?” asked the same woman. “What do you want?”
“I’m supposed to be meeting Melissa here. I’m working for her. Would it be possible for me to wait inside rather than standing out on the street? I’d really appreciate it. If she’s not back soon, I’ll leave her a note and come back tomorrow.” Sofia added a parting shot. “I’m afraid she’ll be unhappy with me if she finds me loitering on her sidewalk.”
There was another silence. The voice on the other end probably knew just how easy it was to make Melissa angry. The gates swung open. Sofia walked through and up the driveway to the front door.
The front door opened before she even reached it. A middle-aged Hispanic woman stood at the door. She peered at Sofia over half-moon glasses attached to a gold chain around her neck.
“Thanks for letting me in.” Sofia walked past her and into the double-height front hallway. Ahead of them was a sweeping, curved staircase. On the right hand side was a large living room, tastefully decorated, complete with a marble fireplace that looked like it had never been used. Across from the living room was what looked like a home office with bookcases crammed with leather-bound books and a giant mahogany desk with a captain’s chair. Sofia guessed that this had been Nigel’s office.
“You’re the housekeeper.” Sofia framed it as a statement rather than a question. “Sorry, Mrs. Fairbroad told me your name, but it’s slipped my mind.”
“Perla,” said the woman.
Sofia put out her hand. “I’m Sofia.”
Perla shook a little
tentatively. “I know who you are. My daughters watched your TV show.”
Finally, thought Sofia, her fame was working for her. “Oh, really? What are their names?”
Partly she wanted to get Perla on her side, but she had always taken an interest in people who had taken an interest in her. There was nothing more awful to Sofia than someone who treated the people with contempt who made their career possible and paid their bills. She had seen lots of actors complain about fans over the years, and she had vowed to never become one of those actors.
She still remembered how exciting it had been when she had first moved to LA with her mom and sister and saw people she recognized from movies and TV. Even if it wasn’t that magical after she stepped behind the curtain, that didn’t mean she had to ruin the illusion for everyone else.
“Marie and Jennifer,” said Perla.
“Sweet,” said Sofia. “How old are they?”
“Marie just started college at UCLA, and Jennifer is graduating high school this year.” Perla seemed to be starting to warm up.
“You must be so proud,” said Sofia.
“They’re good girls,” said Perla with a smile. “And you, you are real detective now?”
“Yup,” said Sofia. “Not just playing one on TV. But I’m still in training and I’m more an investigator rather than a detective.”
“That is nice,” said Perla uncertainly.
Sofia figured that with the small talk out of the way, this was her chance to get some inside information. “Maybe I got the time wrong. Did Mrs. Fairbroad say how long she was going to be?”
Perla shrugged. “Another hour. She went to the spa.”
Sofia would have guessed that Melissa would be at a meeting with Stark planning her defense. Or making arrangements for her husband’s funeral. A spa visit was an odd choice for the top of her ‘To Do’ list on the day she was widowed, but it kind of figured.
“What spa does she go to?” she asked Perla.
“I don’t know the name,” said Perla. “I think it’s down on San Vincente and South Bundy.”
A is for Actress (Malibu Mystery Book 1) Page 7
