Riverstar

by Tess Thompson

  His voice broke. He took off his glasses once again, wiping under his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “When I cast the film there was an unknown actress who auditioned for me. She goes way back with Graham—theatre school at USC—and I would’ve given her the role if it hadn’t been for Tiffany. We’ve offered it to her now and she’s accepted.” He put his glasses back on, shaking his head. “But I cannot film for the next several days. I cannot bear it. Instead I’ll find an AA meeting, in honor of Tiffany and to ensure my own demons do not yank me over to the dark side. Tonight my wife’s arriving with our five children so that I may hug them and hold them close and take them to dinner and tuck them in for bed at night. So please, all of you—take the day off. Do something you love. Live. In honor of Tiffany’s memory. And to say, we will not succumb to the evil that wants more than anything to bring us to our knees. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

  In the parking lot, Gennie grabbed Bella and they hugged one another in a tight embrace. “How’s Ben?” The rain came down upon them but neither seemed to notice.

  “Scared.”

  “Oh, Bella, me too. And heartbroken. I think it sunk in this morning. This is real. Tiffany’s gone.”

  Stefan came up behind them, his eyes sad and red. It appeared as if none of them had slept last night. He embraced her as well. “What’s your plan, Bellalicious?”

  “Peter Ball’s picking me up. We’re going to poke around, see what we can figure out.”

  Stefan nodded and glanced at Gennie. “Come on, sweetie, I’ll take you back to the lodge.”

  Gennie nodded and took his outstretched hand. “Call us later, okay?”

  Call us? Since when were they an “us”? And since when did they hold hands? Kiss in the rain, she wished for them. Just kiss in the rain.

  ***

  Moments later, Peter picked her up and they headed toward town. “Like I said last night, always start with the bartenders,” he said to her. “They know everything.”

  “And makeup artists,” said Bella.

  They parked in the muddy lot outside Lefty’s Tavern and went inside. It was cold and empty but for a couple of drunks at the end of the bar and smelled like a damp ashtray. The walls were made of stone; there were no windows. How long had this place been here, she wondered?

  Peter spoke under his breath. “Places like this always depress the hell out of me.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  They sat on two barstools in the middle of the counter and waited for the bartender to acknowledge them. He was white-haired and overweight, with a red, bulbous nose. Sampled the goods too often, thought Bella. Was he Lefty?

  “What’ll it be?” asked the bartender. His eyes were half-closed. Suspicious of them?

  “Nothing for now,” said Peter. He pulled out his badge. “I’m a cop, looking for some information.”

  “This about the actress?” He leaned against the counter with both hands, shaking his head. “Terrible thing. But the cops have already been here. I told them everything I remembered.”

  “I’m on the case as well,” said Peter. “They want us to be as thorough as possible.”

  “That don’t make no sense. Why would there be more than one cop assigned to a case? That ain’t how it is on television. She a cop too?” He indicated Bella with a jut of his chin.

  Bella scooted to the edge of her barstool and looked him in the eyes. “No. Just a friend of Tiffany’s. I’m a makeup artist on the movie set. She and I were close. I’m devastated and can’t rest until we find her killer.” How easy it was to lie, she thought. It just rolled off her tongue. She thought of Ben, home and scared, and let her eyes fill with tears. This must be how Genevieve did it, she thought. Just think of what you’re really sad about and let the tears come.

  The bartender visibly softened. “Well, I’m real sorry to hear that. Hard to lose a friend.”

  “Are you Lefty?” asked Bella, keeping her voice vulnerable.

  “Oh no, that was my old man. He’s been dead twenty years already. Gave me this heap of stones that’s like a dead weight around my neck.” He put his hands, red and chapped with short square fingers, on the surface of the bar as if he wanted to shake hands but then thought better of it, hiding them under the counter in the next instant. “I’m just plain Spike. Spike Lawson.”

  “I’m Bella Webber and this is Peter Ball.”

  “Wait a minute. You Annie Bell, I mean, Annie Webber’s sister-in-law?” asked Spike.

  “Yes. Drake’s my brother.”

  “Oh, well, anyone family with Annie is all right in my book.”

  This surprised Bella. She would have thought Spike would consider Annie competition. “You know her?”

  “Sure. She and Lee Tucker been real great to me and great for this town. Brings people in here to spend money and that’s good for all of us. Plus, Annie sends me down dinner every now and again. Knows my wife died last year and that I sleep down here in my office most nights. Gotten to where I hate to go home.”

  “I know how that is,” said Bella. “Hard to live alone.”

  “Sure is,” said Spike. “It was a heart attack that took her. Just like that, she was gone.” He said this as if she’d asked.

  “I’m sorry.” Bella hesitated, her heart twisting. “I’ve lost so many people.”

  He nodded, knowingly. “Most folks have. Guess it’s the way of the world.” Spike looked over at Peter, the wariness gone from his face now. “So what do you need to know?”

  “I just have a few questions for you,” said Peter, taking out his notepad. Bella noticed his gun then, just perched at his side like a cell phone or something. He was a cop. A real cop. The enormity of what happened in the last forty-eight hours hit her then. Tiffany was dead. Raped and murdered. She felt the pastries she’d eaten earlier rising to her throat. Peter glanced at her. “You okay?”

  She took in several large breaths. Keep it together, she ordered herself, or Peter will make you stay at home.

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “Spike, what do you remember about Tiffany that night?” asked Peter.

  “Well, she came in around ten, give or take. She’d already had a few if I was to guess. Real chatty with me, like we were old friends or something. Ordered straight shots of tequila. Two of them. Drank them one after the other then went to the jukebox and put in at least ten dollars worth of music. And then came back to the bar and asked for two more shots.”

  “Was it crowded for a Thursday night?”

  “No, it was slow. Everybody was down at Riversong listening to Tommy’s band. It was just some of my regulars and the girl. And two suits, sitting over in the corner, nursing beers.” He pointed at the far corner of the bar, near the restrooms.

  “Were they here when she arrived?” asked Peter.

  “No, they come in right after her.”

  “You recognize them?”

  “No, never saw them before.”

  “Did they leave before her?”

  “Yeah. Sort of. They went outside, I figured to smoke, but instead they just stood under the awning, like they were waiting for someone to pick them up. After the girl left, they came in and put some money on the table for the beers and left.”

  “Did you hear anything the two men talked about?” asked Bella. “You know, to give you a clue about who they are?”

  “Not really. They were quiet, didn’t seem to speak much as far as I could tell, even to each other.”

  “What did Tiffany talk to you about?” asked Bella.

  “Shoot, only her life story. The girl was as plastered as they come. She told me she was an actress because I didn’t recognize her. I’m not partial to movies—I like hunting and fishing shows mostly—but anyway, she seemed real surprised by that and said she was glad to be in a bar where no one seemed to know who she was. I asked her why she wasn’t out with her movie friends and she said none of them really liked her—that they all felt sorry for her because she’d had some trouble.”
>
  “Did she tell you what kind of trouble?” asked Peter.

  “Said something about drug rehab and…” He searched the ceiling as if for answers. “What did she call it? A declining fan base. That was it. Said this movie was kind of her last chance but that the acting stuff didn’t come easy no more like it did when she was a kid. Said she wanted to quit the whole business but knew she couldn’t because of her sister.”

  “Her sister?” asked Peter.

  “Yeah, apparently her twin sister is her manager or something like that. Said her sister’d be lost without all the money she makes in the movies. Then, she said something about how she had a best friend for a while but they’d gotten in a fight because the friend accused her of taking something that didn’t belong to her.”

  “Do you know who she was talking about?” asked Peter.

  “Well, I asked her, ‘cause by now I was real curious and I’m hanging on every word—it’s like watching a show, you know, and my life’s pretty boring. So I asked and she said, ‘You ever read in the papers about Jocelyn Zinn?’ And I said, ‘That the one accused of running a brothel?’ And she nodded in the affirmative. I started feeling embarrassed given the fact I would never have gone to a place like that because of my wife Myrtle, but I know they exist and everything.”

  “What did she say next?” asked Bella, horrified and curious at the same time.

  “She said Madam Zinn was her roommate at rehab and they became best friends, until she accused Tiffany of taking her customer book and blackmailing some of the men who are in it.”

  Both Peter and Bella stared at him. This was motive. Blackmail? She could only imagine the list of names in that customer book.

  “I told her a nice girl like her should stay away from anything like that and find a nice man to marry. And she said she had a boyfriend but he was married. And I told her to run away from that as fast as she could. Nothing good could come from seeing a married man, I told her. Then I told her a story about one of my customers getting bludgeoned to death by a jealous husband one night a few years back. But she was the type of girl who doesn’t listen. You know the type?” He said this to Peter, as if it were only something another man would understand.

  Peter nodded, serious, and then wrote something in his pad before looking up, his placid expression suddenly animated. “How loud was she talking? Could the suits hear her, you think?”

  Spike looked at the counter, thinking. “She talked loud for sure. However, the jukebox was playing so I’m not sure if they could hear her or not.”

  “Do you remember if they seemed agitated at all when she was talking about the blackmail stuff?”

  “Can’t say I noticed.”

  “Could you describe the men to me?”

  “Clean cut. Military-looking haircuts. Like secret service types for the president or something.”

  “Did you tell the other cops all this same information?”

  Spike looked blank for a moment. “No, matter of fact, they never asked much about Tiffany. Those two buffoons didn’t know which end was up. They just wanted to know if I’d seen the man who picked her up in the parking lot.”

  “Did you?”

  He nodded, picking up a towel from under the counter and rolling it into a ball. “I didn’t want her to drive in her state, especially because I’m liable now for over-serving. But when I tried to get her to stay and let me call someone to pick her up, like her sister, I suggested, she got furious and threw her empty shot glasses at me. Knocked down three bottles of booze.” He pointed to the shelf behind him. “Yep, went totally crazy like a mama bear surprised in the forest, I swear to Jesus. Next, she came up over the bar and pushed me so hard I fell back, knocking a bunch of glasses to the floor. After she practically demolished my bar, she charged out the front door, making this clacking sound in those shoes of hers. It took me a minute to recover—I ain’t young, you know—anyway, after I got up, I ran out the backdoor to try and stop her at the pass but by then there was the young man who works for Hylink—I recognized him from his photo in the paper when they announced the call center coming here—offering her a ride. Once I saw he had it under control, I came on inside. Can’t trust folks these days not to help themselves to a couple of drinks while I’m gone.”

  “Okay, just one more thing,” said Peter. “Can you describe to me exactly what you saw in the parking lot?”

  Spike proceeded to describe what he saw. It matched Ben’s story almost perfectly.

  After Spike finished, Peter handed him his card. “Call me if you think of anything else.”

  “You’re with the Seattle cops?” said Spike. “What’re you doing down here?”

  “Making sure an innocent man doesn’t get blamed because of faulty police work,” said Peter.

  “You sure you two don’t want a beer?” asked Spike.

  “Not today, Spike,” said Bella, putting her hand on top of his rough one. “But I’ll come back. I promise.”

  “Say hi to Annie for me.”

  “Will do.”

  ***

  In Peter’s car, they sat for a moment, taking in what they’d just learned. After a moment, Peter took out his phone. “Jocelyn Zinn, right? Yeah, here it is.” He shook the phone in the air, almost triumphantly. “Rumored Madam is what the press calls her.”

  “There’s no rumor about it in Hollywood. I’m sure that little black book of hers was filled with half the actors and two-thirds of the elected officials in Los Angeles. But seriously, I can’t imagine Tiffany was doing this. For one thing, where is the money? Sabrina said they were broke.”

  “The industrious Miss Zinn’s been arrested a bunch for refusing to give up her client list. Could make her angry enough to kill if she thought, even erroneously, that Tiffany took it and was blackmailing some of these guys.”

  “Which means we have yet another suspect,” said Bella. “What do we do next?”

  “Let’s go back to Drake’s and tell Ben what we learned. Should give him some peace of mind.”

  On the way, Bella’s phone rang.

  “Bella, it’s Sabrina.”

  “Oh, Sabrina, I’ve been worried about you. Did you get my message?”

  “No. My phone’s so full I haven’t been able to sift through anything. I’ve just been sitting in my hotel room staring at my hands. I can’t believe she’s gone. And the police are saying she was raped. Her room was torn apart too, like someone was looking for something.” Her voice broke. There was the sound of tears on the other end of the phone. “I can’t stop thinking about her final moments.”

  “Oh, Sabrina, don’t think about that. You’ll make yourself crazy.”

  “I’m glad our parents aren’t alive to see any of this.”

  She glanced at Peter and mouthed, “Sister.”

  He nodded, understanding.

  “Bella, the cops told me they brought Ben in for questioning.”

  The wipers were on intermittent. Rain fell steadily, causing the window to blur until the wipers wiped them clean. She fiddled with the car vents, moving the lever up and down. “Yes.”

  “I told them how nice he’d been to pick her up outside the bar and that he didn’t seem the type, what little I knew of him, to be violent. But they didn’t seem to believe that. Bella, they seem like complete idiots. Or worse, not on the up and up.”

  “I know. Ben’s scared and so am I. We had a friend come down from Seattle. He’s a detective, Sabrina, with the Seattle Police Department. He’s helping me poke around a bit.”

  She heard Sabrina sigh. “You have no idea how much better I feel to hear you say this. I want whoever did this brought to justice. Do you think your friend can help us do that?”

  “They say he’s the best.” She glanced over at Peter. He reminded her of the Australian actor Simon Baker, only younger. Had anyone ever told him that?

  “Will you come see me? I feel so friendless here and the press and paparazzi are swarming the hotel. I’m like a trapped animal in here.
Maybe I could tell your cop friend something that would be helpful?”

  “Of course, we’ll come.”

  “Now?”

  She made eye contact with Peter who nodded in the affirmative. “We’ll be there in five minutes.”

  Bella filled him in on what she knew about Tiffany’s financial situation, according to what Sabrina had told her the night before. At the lodge, they parked in visitor parking. Sabrina was right. Every big and small news station, magazine, and newspaper seemed to be represented. As they walked past the vans and cameras and reporters wearing heavy coats and sipping coffees, several of the reporters gave them the once over, but clearly decided they were no one important and turned away.

  The lobby was quiet; the two front desk people nodded in their direction as they walked past the desk to the elevators. There was no one in the elevator or the hallway. All the movie folks were inside their rooms, thought Bella, probably in shock over the news and also hiding out from the press.