“Yes. What else would it be?” Steven asked.
“How about relief?” I said.
“Those are your words, not mine,” he replied. “And what an offensive thing to suggest.”
“Steven, you can try to fool me all you want, but I can read between the lines. I know you hated working for William,” I said.
“Stop right there. I don’t like where this conversation is going,” Steven said.
“Because I’ve hit a nerve?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. Because you’re making wild accusations.”
“I haven’t accused you of anything,” I said.
He scowled at me. “You could have fooled me.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just interested in finding out the truth. That’s why I figured you’d be the perfect person to talk to,” I said.
“So you do think I had something to do with this then?” Steven snapped.
“Whoa, Steven, calm down. There’s no reason to get jumpy,” I said. “Let me clarify. I figured you’d be the perfect person to talk to because you were Richman’s assistant. You knew his life. His business dealings. His foibles. And let’s be honest, he had many of those.”
“So what do you want from me exactly?” Steven asked.
“Given everything you knew about your boss, can you think of anything that might help us find out who killed him?” I asked.
Steven scoffed. “You came to the wrong place. I don’t know nearly as much as you think.”
I didn’t need a polygraph test to see that he was lying to me. The question was, how could I flush the truth out of him? I decided to set a trap and see if he would take the bait.
“Is that really the answer you’re going with? Because in a town like this, people talk. Secrets don’t stay hidden for long. And let me tell you, there has been some very interesting chatter—”
Steven cut me off. “Have people been badmouthing me?”
“Like I said before, if you can tell us anything about your boss that might lead us to his killer, now is the time to fill us in,” I said.
“It was Noah who badmouthed me, wasn’t it?” Steven asked. “That no good has-been. Well, you can’t listen to anything he says. I mean, if anything, it’s him you should be talking to.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because Richman was pulling the plug on his show. The TV series that was supposed to revive Noah’s career,” Steven said.
“There’s a motive for you,” I said. “Do you know why Richman was axing the show?”
“Noah was a royal pain to work with. He showed up late, didn’t ever want to do more than three takes, threw temper tantrums on the set, and had all kinds of ridiculous demands. After a few weeks of that, Richman decided that Noah wasn’t worth dealing with anymore, so he decided to pull the plug on the show,” Steven said.
“Thanks for the information,” I said.
“You can see why Noah would want to deflect attention away from himself,” Steven said.
“True. But what beef does Noah have with you?” I asked.
“Part of my job was to keep tabs on Noah’s behavior and report back to Mr. Richman. So when Noah began acting like a monster on the set, he tried to convince me to keep my mouth shut—but I refused. Ever since then, he’s had an ax to grind against me,” Steven said.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Look, I really need to get this coffee back to Mr. Terwilliger before it gets cold,” Steven said.
He then scuttled away.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Hope and I paid Noah Davidson a visit at his trailer. To me, it was surprising that he still had a trailer on the lot. Perhaps William hadn’t gotten around to taking it away before his murder took place. The same could be said about the canning of Noah’s show. Even though William and Noah had argued over the scrapping of the television program, perhaps the formal paperwork had not been filed to officially pull the plug on the series before Richman’s demise.
While the bureaucratic details were unknown to me, one thing was quite clear—Noah had zero interest in speaking to me or Hope.
“I’m really busy,” Noah said.
I did not believe that to be the case, but I didn’t want to start an argument so early in the conversation.
“Don’t worry. This won’t take long,” I said.
Noah threw out his arms. “Why are you even here?”
“I was just wondering if Detective Taggart talked to you yet?” I said.
“That’s none of your business,” he said.
“I hope you had a better answer to the detective’s questions than that. The police don’t like it when you aren’t forthcoming with them,” I said.
“Look. I don’t know anything about a detective, all right? And I have no interest in talking to you, so get lost,” Noah said.
“So the detective hasn’t spoken to you then? You’re lucky. It’s an incredibly intimidating experience,” I said.
“Didn’t you hear me? Get out of here,” Noah said.
“Before we go, let me just say this. If you aren’t nervous, you should be,” I replied.
Noah’s eyebrows rose. “Why?”
“When the detective talks to you, which he will, just know that he does this tricky thing where he tries to get suspects to turn on one another,” I said. “And he also knows things about your life that you wouldn’t expect him to. Like, for example, how you had that blow up fight with Richman the day before his murder.”
Noah stared me down. “Where did he hear that from?”
I played dumb. “I don’t know. From Audrey, maybe. Or Isaac. Or Steven, possibly.”
Noah was dismissive. “So Richman and I had an argument. That doesn’t mean anything.”
“You say that, but Richman was murdered the next day. The timing is certainly suspicious,” I said.
Noah shot me a glare. “You have a lot of nerve.”
“Me? I’m just relaying what I’ve heard. And let me tell you, there have been a lot of whispers.”
“From who?” he asked.
“Who do you think?” I said.
His eyebrows knitted. “Those whispers could have come from any number of people.”
“True. You don’t have the best reputation at this studio,” I said.
Noah clenched his fists. “It was Steven Mitchum, wasn’t it? That little punk. Don’t listen to anything that snitch says.”
I laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Noah asked.
“Steven told me you’d call him a snitch,” I said.
“Because he is—”
I cut Noah off. “Let’s get back to you for a second. Look at it this way, if you don’t have anything to hide, you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“I don’t have anything to hide.”
“So you’re saying you had nothing to do with Richman’s death?”
“Of course not,” Noah said.
“Can you prove that?” I asked.
“I just said I didn’t kill him,” Noah replied.
“Is that the best you can do?” I asked.
“It’s the truth. That’s the only thing that matters,” Noah said.
Chapter Twenty-Five
That was Noah’s final word on the issue. I knew a brick wall when I slammed into one. So, instead of trying to force the issue any longer, Hope and I headed across the lot to speak with my limo driver.
When Jacob Stewart saw me approaching him, he thought I wanted to be chauffeured somewhere.
“Where to?” Jacob asked.
“Nowhere, actually,” I said.
He gave me a baffled look.
“I just wanted to come over here and talk to you for a minute,” I said.
“Oh, okay. About what?” Jacob asked.
“Audrey Hill.”
He squinted at me. “I’m not familiar with that name.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Come on, Jacob. Don’t lie to me. I saw you in the
parking lot with her earlier.”
“When did this supposedly happen?”
“Today. You tried to kiss her and she turned away from you.”
“Are you sure you weren’t mistaking me for another driver?” Jacob asked.
“Jacob, I know what I saw,” I said.
“You’ve been under a lot of stress. I think you made a mistake.”
“That’s just what you’d like me to believe. I don’t know why you think lying is doing you any favors. Because, trust me, it’s not.”
“Why would I lie to you?”
“The same reason everyone lies. To protect themselves.”
“From what?”
“Did you know that Audrey and Richman were having a fling?” I asked.
“I already told you. I don’t know who Audrey is,” Jacob said.
“I’ll tell you what I know. The only thing worse than lying once, is digging yourself a hole so deep that you can’t crawl out of it,” I said.
“You know what? It’s time for my break. I’m going to go grab some food,” Jacob said.
Jacob walked away.
I could have run after him, but since he was clearly determined to avoid the truth, there was no use lobbing any more questions his way.
Hope folded her arms. “Your limo driver is sure allergic to the truth.”
I nodded. “He also couldn’t wait to get away from us.”
“Talk about highly suspicious.”
“I’ll say. It’s time to find some alternative transportation, because I’m never riding in that limo with him at the wheel again,” I replied.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Just as I was shaking off my disturbing encounter with Jacob, out the corner of my eye, I spotted Isaac Terwilliger exiting the building to his production company. Initially, he began to walk toward the parking lot. But when he spotted me, he turned around and headed in the opposite direction.
I wasn’t about to let Isaac scoot away without answering some questions. I ran after him. Hope joined me, and soon we caught up with him.
“Mr. Terwilliger. It’s nice running into you again,” I said.
“That’s not the phrasing I would use,” Isaac said.
“I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression of me earlier,” I said.
“I’ve certainly heard enough of your probing questions for one day. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s somewhere I need to be,” he said.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” I asked.
“You should learn to mind your own business,” he said.
“You really seem like you’re on edge. Is this because I caught you flirting with Mrs. Richman this morning?” I asked.
“I don’t know what you think you saw, but—”
I interrupted him. “Why don’t you just come clean? I know what I saw. And I’m tired of people lying to me.”
“This conversation is over,” Isaac said.
“I’m sure the police would be interested in hearing about what I saw this morning,” I said.
“Who do you think you are?” Isaac snapped.
“Someone who wants to find out who killed your business partner,” I said.
“Then talk to someone else, because you’re wasting your time with me.”
“Really? Well, someone killed Mr. Richman. If it wasn’t you, do you have any idea who might have committed the murder?” I asked.
“I have no clue,” he said.
“In that case, let’s talk about you and Michelle Richman again. When did you two start flirting with each other? This morning? Or has this been going on for a while? And has it gone beyond flirting?” I asked.
“I don’t have to answer your questions,” Isaac said.
“No. But you do have to answer the detective’s,” I said.
“If the detective asks me those questions, I will tell him whatever he wants to know. In the meantime, this conversation is over,” Isaac said.
Isaac then ran away.
Taking off after him seemed fruitless. He wasn’t going to say another word to me. So I just let him go.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hope and I had reached the point in the case that I dreaded. We had questioned all the suspects, were fresh out of leads, and were running short on inspiration.
It was almost impossible to keep frustration from settling in. I let out a big groan.
I suppose I could have put on a good face for Hope, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew the investigation wasn’t going well. In my opinion, there was no need to sugarcoat things. Instead, I let my emotions hang out.
“That could have gone a lot better,” I deadpanned.
“I’ll say. Some of those interviews were about as helpful as asking a mime for directions,” Hope said.
I grimaced. “I hate to admit it, but some were even less useful than that. A mime can at least point in the right direction. All those suspects cared about was pointing the finger of blame away from themselves.”
“Yeah. For self-proclaimed innocent people, they all managed to look guilty in their own way,” Hope said.
“It’s amazing how often that happens.”
She squinted. “Really?”
I nodded. “Oh yeah. You’d be surprised how rare it is for a suspect to be able to conclusively prove their innocence.”
She scratched her chin. “Yet, theoretically, they are all innocent…except one.”
“But which one?”
“That’s what I was going to ask you.”
“I’m afraid you’re not going to like the answer.”
“Why not?”
“Because at this point, I have no clue,” I said.
“You’re right. That’s a terribly discouraging answer.”
“How about you?” I asked. “Do any of the suspects stick out in your mind?”
“I have my suspicions, but nothing that we could go to the detective with.”
“I agree.”
“So, what do we do now?”
I put my hand on my stomach. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
“I meant, how should we proceed with the investigation?”
“If there’s one thing I have learned about working on cases, it’s that they are almost impossible to solve on an empty stomach.”
“If it will help, we can head over to the studio’s commissary. But what are we going to do after we grab some food?” Hope asked.
“I’ll probably just head back to my hotel to regroup,” I said.
Hope looked deflated. “Oh. Okay.”
“I know you were expecting me to give you a more inspiring answer, but sometimes the best thing you can do is get a full night of rest and tackle a case with fresh eyes in the morning.”
“If you say so.”
“The good news is that you never know when you might catch a lucky break,” I said. “And who knows? Maybe an idea will come to me once I’ve gotten some food in my stomach.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Hope’s doubts began to spill out of her mouth as we walked toward the commissary.
“Do you really think we’ll be able to figure out who killed Richman?” Hope asked.
“I sure hope so,” I said.
A concerned look remained on Hope’s face. “I was expecting a more confident answer.”
“Sorry. I don’t have one for you right now,” I said.
Hope became deflated.
“See, this is why low blood sugar is a killer,” I said.
Hope’s eyes widened. “That’s some interesting phrasing, given the situation we’re in.”
“Sorry. This is why I can’t work on an empty stomach. I just can’t think straight. But look, after we eat, maybe inspiration will strike.”
“You’re not just saying that, are you?”
“No. It’s the truth. With a full stomach and some determination, it’s amazing what you can do.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Hope said.
“Besides, you
never know when you’ll catch a big break,” I said.
Hope must have caught something out of the corner of her eyes, because she stopped dead in her tracks.
“What is it?” I asked.
“The break you were just talking about. This might be it,” Hope said.
Hope nudged her head toward the backlot set of the New York City street, which was about a hundred feet to the left of where we were standing.
At the edge of that street, Isaac Terwilliger and Noah Davidson were in the middle of a heated exchange.
All my thoughts about food instantly dissipated. My adrenaline kicked in. I wanted to know what Isaac and Noah were talking about that was getting them so worked up. But Hope and I were too far away to hear anything that was being said.
Generally, when I saw two murder suspects speaking with each other, I hung back and observed their body language while trying my best not to be spotted. In this instance, my gut was telling me to go over there and force the issue.
Unfortunately, Hope and I didn’t get very far before Isaac and Noah spotted us approaching them.
They both had the same reaction to seeing us—which was absolute horror. Isaac took off running to the left of Hope and I while Noah darted away to the right of us.
Hope and I could have split up and ran after them, but they already had such a big head start that we wouldn’t have caught up with them. So we didn’t waste what little energy we had left. Instead, we finished heading to the commissary while speculating about what Isaac and Noah had been discussing.
***
After making quick work of some sandwiches and French fries, Hope and I tried to plot out our next step.
We exited the commissary and headed back toward Hope’s trailer. That was when Hope noticed something new out of the corner of her eyes.
She lowered her voice as she spoke to me. “Don’t look now, but I think we’re being followed.”
“By who?” I asked.
“Isaac.”
I scratched my chin. “Interesting.”
Hope was visibly uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”
Cupcakes with a Side of Murder Page 7
