While I could see reservation still marking his face, he nodded again. “If you make it short. She’s very distressed by this whole thing.”
“Of course,” I agreed.
“I’m her husband, Bill,” he offered, holding the door open for us. “Please, come in.”
We did, following him through the nautical living room to the kitchen beyond, also done in a beachy theme. Seashells of every shape and size were glue-gunned onto coasters, canisters, and even the low chandelier above the whitewashed dining table. At the table sat a woman with short, blonde-from-a-box hair and dark eyebrows a week past a good threading. Her hands were wrapped protectively around a coffee mug, as if it was the one thing anchoring her to the room at the moment. I inhaled deeply the scents of fresh brewed French roast, unable to keep the wistful sigh from escaping me.
“Phoebe?” the man said softly, as we entered the room. “We have some visitors.”
The woman looked up, and it was clear she’d been crying recently. Red rimmed her eyes, along with dark circles beneath.
“Yes?” she asked, looking from her husband to us.
“They’re here to ask a few questions about Alexa,” he told her. He sank into the chair beside her, gesturing for us to sit down as well.
“I’m Dana, and this is Maddie and Marco,” Dana said. “We represent the investors in the nightclub where your sister was killed.”
At the use of the word “killed”, the woman cringed, her lips drawing into a tight line. The man put a hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture.
“We’re so sorry for your loss,” I quickly jumped in.
She nodded, trying hard, I could tell, not to cry. “Thank you.”
“And we’re determined to see your sister’s killer brought to justice,” Marco added. “Which is why we were hoping we could ask you a few questions about Alexa?”
“Like we told the police, we haven’t seen Alexa in months. I’m not sure what we can tell you about her,” the husband repeated.
“When exactly was the last time you saw her?” Dana asked.
The woman frowned. “Summer, maybe? She drove down with a friend.”
“Becca?” Dana asked.
Phoebe bit her lip, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, I really don’t remember the friend’s name.”
“Can you describe her?”
“About Alexa’s age, slim.” She shook her head again. “They were only here for a few minutes. I don’t think I even spoke to the women, to be honest.”
“That’s a short visit,” I observed.
“They were always short,” her husband broke in. “Alexa only drove down here for one reason: money.”
Again, Phoebe’s face took on a pinched look. “Alexa had some misfortune in her life. She needed help from time to time.”
“More like all the time,” her husband countered.
“Bill-”
“You know it’s true,” he said, his tone softer.
Tears welled up in the woman’s eyes, but she didn’t argue this time.
Her husband turned to us and continued. “Alexa had been chasing the Hollywood dream for years. Once in while she’d land a small part and could pay her own rent. Between those, she’d show up here with her hand out.”
“But she was doing better lately,” Phoebe cut in, defending her sister.
“How so?” I asked.
“A couple of weeks ago I called to see if she needed help with the rent,” she said. “But she said she didn’t. She said she was doing fine for money.”
“Because she had a job?” I asked, thinking of her vampire gig.
Phoebe’s eyebrows drew together, and she shook her head. “I don’t know. It wasn’t the impression that I got. She said she’d hit a windfall. That she expected to come into some real money soon.”
Honestly? Phoebe was right. That didn’t sound like the language someone would use to describe steady employment. But I still made a mental note to ask Sebastian just how well he paid his vampire hostesses.
“Did she say what sort of windfall?” I probed.
“Probably illegal,” the husband piped up.
“Bill,” his wife shushed him.
But I jumped on it, coming to the point of our being here. “Had Alexa been involved in illegal activities in the past?”
Phoebe bit her lip, her eyes shooting to the dregs left in her coffee cup.
But her husband bobbed his head up and down, vigorously. “You name it, Alexa got mixed up in it. When she was younger it was vandalism and loitering. Then it was drinking, shoplifting. No matter how many times we bailed her out of something, she’d fall right back in with the wrong kind of people, doing all the wrong things.”
I suddenly wondered if one of those wrong people had killed her.
“But Alexa didn’t have a record,” I argued, remembering the clean slate Ramirez had told me about.
He nodded. “And we worked hard to make sure of that. In most cases, we paid restitution, and no one pressed charges.” He glanced at Phoebe, drawing his lips into a tight line. “Look, for my wife’s sake, I’m sorry that Alexa is gone. But honestly, I’m not surprised. It was only a matter of time before one of those people she hung out with turned on her.”
But the question was, which one?
Chapter Nine
“I think it was Becca,” Dana said as we munched on sandwiches at a shop two blocks from the sister’s place. Mine a BLT with extra mayo and extra bacon on the softest sourdough I’d ever tasted. Marco’s a lean turkey breast wrap with lettuce. And Dana’s sprouts and egg white salad on a whole wheat roll that looked hard enough to make my nausea come back.
“Why Becca?” I asked, sipping at my soda.
“Well, it’s a little suspicious that she’s gone, no?” Marco added.
I nodded. “Yes.” I paused. “Okay, what about this? Let’s say that this windfall that Alexa came into was from something shady. You think Becca knew about it?”
Dana shrugged. “They were friends. I know I’d tell you about any windfall I got.”
“Awe. Ditto, bestie,” I said, doing a warm-fuzzy moment. “Okay, so let’s say Alexa tells Becca about it.”
“Or, better yet, let’s say they were in on it together,” Marco said, nodding as he munched.
“But maybe Becca gets greedy and wants it all for herself,” I added.
“So she kills Alexa, grabs the cash, and takes off!” Dana finished.
I nodded. “We really need to find Becca. She’s the key to all of this.”
Dana paused, taking another bite of her health on a bun. “You know, I remember when I was just starting out in the acting business. No matter where I went or what I did, I always made sure that my agent could always get hold of me in case a role came up.”
I raised an eyebrow her way. “You think Becca’s agent knows where she is?”
“It’s worth a try.”
“And you can find out who that agent is?”
Dana grinned, showing off a sprout stuck between her molars. “Piece of cake. Give me ten minutes, and I’ll have all her deets.” She pulled her cell from her purse and began furiously texting.
Only seven minutes later we’d finished our sandwiches (plus a couple of cookies on my part), and Dana’s phone buzzed to life with the answer we’d been looking for. According to Dana’s former co-star’s husband’s best friend’s manager, both Alexa and Becca were signed with the Bowman Agency in Encino.
One hour and two pee stops (I knew I shouldn’t have ordered the large soda.) later, we pulled up to The Bowman Agency’s offices located just off Ventura. It was a small storefront in a strip mall, sandwiched between a Mexican bakery and a nail salon advertising $20 acrylics. Not the most prestigious of addresses by a long shot.
And the inside wasn’t much better, I noted as we pushed through a pair of glass doors. The furnishings were pure Craigslist – mismatched chairs, a coffee table in eighties black laminate, and a magazine rack that tilted slightly to th
e left. As the door shut behind us, a bell on a piece of orange yarn jangled above us, and a moment later a short, paunchy guy emerged from the back room. He had a full head of jet black hair, with just the hint of grey roots growing near the hairline, and his face was a weathered tan like he’d either spent too many hours at the pool or too many session under a tanning bed. He was dressed in a pair of pants that were tight enough to show off the shape of his wallet, ending in a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots. He’d kill it at a Johnny Cash look-alike competition.
“May I help you?” he asked, an eager light in his eyes as he took in Dana’s short skirt, long legs, and obvious It quality.
“We’re looking for Herbert Bowman?” Dana asked.
The man smiled, showing off a row of white veneers that were at least two sizes too big. “That’s me! What can I do for you lovely ladies,” he said, kind enough to make the compliment a plural even though I noticed his gaze had barely flickered to Marco or me.
“We’re looking for Becca Diamond,” Dana said.
“Oh.” His smile faltered for a half a second. “Uh, are you interested in booking her? I can check on her availability.”
I opened my mouth to set him straight, but Dana jumped in before I could.
“Yes! Yes, we are.”
“Wonderful,” Bowman said, clapping his hands. “Please, come into my office,” he instructed, leading the way into the back room.
“We are?” I whispered as the three of us followed the agent.
“What better way to corner her?” she mumbled back.
I nodded. “Clever.”
“Please, sit down,” the faux Johnny Cash said, sinking into a leather office chair behind his desk as he indicated a couple of metal chairs with seventies inspired orange and avocado prints on the seat cushions.
“Thanks,” I said, complying. The chair groaned under my weight, and I suddenly wasn’t sure if the chairs were inspired or original.
“So what sort of job is it that you’d like to hire Becca for?” he asked.
“Uh…” I shot Dana a blank look.
“Music video,” Dana supplied, lying seamlessly through her teeth. “See, I’m launching a music career, and I really need this first video to be fabulous.”
“Love it, love it,” Bowman said, his eyes shining with dollar signs. “Becca is an excellent dancer. And singer, if you need some backup.”
“That’s what we’re counting on,” Dana said, flashing him a big smile.
“I understand you represented Alexa Weston, too?” I jumped in.
At the name of his fallen client, his “on” face slipped, his eyes going moist for a moment. “I did. It’s such a terrible tragedy what happened to her. What a waste of talent.”
I murmured agreement and nodded. “Alexa and Becca where friends, right?” I asked.
Bowman nodded. “Yes. I often booked them together. But,” he quickly added, “if you’re looking for another girl, I have several clients who would be perfect to work with Becca on a music video.”
Dana shook her head. “No, that’s fine. We’re just interested in Becca.”
“When was the last time you saw Becca?” I asked.
Bowman paused. “Why?”
Oops, maybe too direct? “Uh, well, I just wanted to make sure that she still looks like the pictures we’ve seen.” Hey, I was catching on to this lying game.
Bowman nodded slowly. “I can assure you that she would not change her style without letting me know.”
“So, you’ve seen her recently?”
“I have. She was in here a couple of days ago and looked perfect. Camera ready,” he assured me.
“A couple of days ago. That was before Alexa died,” I noted.
He nodded. “Yes, they were both in. They were collecting their checks for a tampon commercial they did.”
“How big were the checks?” I asked, remembering the mention of the windfall.
Bowman frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t think that’s something I should share.”
“What she means,” Dana said, jumping in to save my horrible-liar butt again, “is that our production has a tight budget. We heard a rumor that Alexa and Becca were commanding higher pay lately, and we’re quite frankly a little concerned that we may not be able to match them.”
God, she was good. I nodded next to her like a bobble doll. “That’s right. We’re concerned.”
Bowman pursed his lips, and I could see greed warring with the fear of losing a paying gig. Finally fear must have won out as he leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk. “Look, to be honest, the commercial was a regional thing. I’d doubt the amount of the checks could pay their rent, let alone qualify as ‘high pay,’” he said, doing air quotes with his fingers.
“Is it possible they’ve been working under the table somewhere else?” I pressed.
Bowman shook his head. “No way. I’d hear about it. I’m very well connected.”
While his modest digs made me question the last part of that statement, I knew for a fact that Hollywood was a small world. Chances were he honestly would have gotten wind of them moonlighting eventually, especially if it was a high paying gig. And while Alexa and Becca may not have been brain surgeons, I had a feeling even they weren’t stupid enough to risk it.
Which meant Alexa’s windfall had to have come from somewhere else.
“So that means,” Dana said, her own mental wheels turning beside me, “that you booked them for all their jobs. Even the vampire parties?”
Bowman scoffed. “Great, you’ve heard about those?”
“Oh, have we,” Marco jumped in.
“Look, I told them not to do that job.”
“Really?” I asked, leaning forward. “Why not?”
“It ruined their credibility. That Sebastian character may have some ridiculous stuff going on at that place, but I know the kinds of movers and shakers that are into ridiculous extra curricular activities. Alexa and Becca were more likely to run into a big name director at one of the parties than they were at the farmers’ market. They were pigeon-holing themselves before they even got a part.”
“But you booked them on it anyway?”
“In case you didn’t notice, I’m not exactly repping Tom Cruise here,” he argued, gesturing around his office. “I gave them my honest opinion, they ignored it, what can you do?” He shrugged.
“Did the parties pay well?”
Bowman shook his head. “Well below scale. Then again, they aren’t exactly union jobs, if you know what I mean.” He paused. “Look, you want to book Becca or not?” Bowman asked, some of the eagerness he’d originally displayed having been questioned out of him.
Dana nodded. “Definitely. As soon as possible.”
“Great,” Bowman said, turning to an ancient computer monitor beside him and squinting at the greenish font. “She’s free all next week?” he offered.
“We were hoping for sooner,” I said. “Like… today?”
“No can do,” Bowman answered, shaking his head. “She’s booked tonight.”
“Where?” I asked, leaning in.
“One of those vampire parties at Sebastian’s place. She’s book from 10:00 PM on.”
* * *
“I knew it all came back to vampires!” Marco stage-whispered, grabbing my arm as we left Bowman’s.
“Okay,” I conceded. “Let’s say, just for kicks, that however Alexa came into her windfall is tied to the vampire parties.”
“I bet it was Fangs,” Dana said. “He looks loaded. I bet he was paying them to do something illegal.”
“He did seem a little cagy about what happens after the parties,” I agree. “Maybe he was paying the girls to sleep with his guests?”
“Hooker vampires? I love it!” Marco said, clapping his hands together. “Or, even better, maybe he was paying them to suck their blood!”
I shot him a look. “Gross.”
“Hey, the body was drained of blood,” he pointed out.
“Tr
ue. But there was only one pair of bite marks on her neck. Meaning she was only drained once. If someone had been,” I cringed, nausea creeping up on me again “drinking her blood on a regular basis, there’d have been older marks.”
“Well, maybe it was a one-time thing? He paid her for one blood suck, but it got out of hand, and he sucked too much blood?”
“Can we not say the words ‘blood’ and ‘suck’ together anymore, please?” I pleaded, willing my stomach to sit still. “Besides, there’s one problem with your theory.”
“Only one,” Dana mumbled as we got back in her car.
“What problem?” Marco asked, ignoring her.
“Why kill Alexa at the club? I mean, if Sebastian really did hire her for some sort of drinking thing, it stands to reason he’d do it in the privacy of his own home. Why risk doing it at a crowded club?”
Marco pouted. “Good point. Well, whatever Alexa was into, I’m betting both Sebastian and Becca are into it up to their fangs.”
“So you guys think Becca will show up at Sebastian’s party tonight?” I asked.
Dana turned to me, her eyes suddenly gleaming with a Cagney and Lacey look I knew all too well. Though in reality, we were probably closer to Lucy and Ethel. “Oh, Maddie. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked, a grin dimpling her cheeks.
“That a cheeseburger would really hit the spot right about now?”
“The party tonight! It’s our one chance to corner Becca and grill her.”
“I don’t know…” I hedged. “Maybe we should just turn all this info over to Ramirez and let the police sort it out.”
Marco scoffed. “Like the police could blend in at a vampire party.”
“They don’t have to blend, they have warrants,” I countered.
“No, Marco’s right,” Dana argued. “We’re much more likely to get info about Becca by going undercover than the police are by busting through the doors, badges drawn.”
I bit my lip. She had a point.
And she could tell she was wearing me down. “Please, Maddie,” Dana pleaded, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Ricky’s Moonlight contract is up for renewal for a third movie next week. If the club is still closed by then, I just know he’s gonna sign.”
Fearless in High Heels Page 6
