Fred looked up at Peter. “You poking around for Ben’s sake?”
Fred. Not as dumb as he looks, thought Bella.
“I am. He’s a friend of mine. And my wife’s down here filming so I tagged along.” Peter, sounding conspiratorial, leaned closer to Fred. “You want to help me?”
“Could I? Well, shoot, yeah, I would.”
“You have access to her room?” asked Peter, sounding a little too casual. Fred didn’t seem to notice.
“Yep.” He nodded toward the front desk. “These guys know me. I’ll get a key right now.”
“You’re more than a tad bit evil,” Bella whispered to Peter. “I like it.”
“Takes one to know one,” he whispered back.
Room 501 was blocked off with crime scene tape that Fred gingerly moved so they could cross over before using the key to unlock the door. Bella suddenly felt strange entering the room, and a shiver went up her spine, given what had happened here. The light was dim, making it hard to see much except the bed and chairs similar to the ones in Sabrina’s room. Fred turned on several lamps. Bella stifled a gasp.
The room was ransacked. Every bureau drawer was open, clothes and shoes strewn about, magazines tossed on the floor. There were several empty bottles of airplane-size tequila bottles on the bedside table. Dirty towels were in a pile on the floor in the bathroom, with evidence of someone getting sick in the splashes around the toilet. A crumpled up washcloth was on the sink, dry now but obviously wet at one time. The one Ben used to wipe Tiffany’s face after she was sick—just as he’d indicated.
Had they been looking for Ms. Zinn’s black book?
Peter was on the floor with a small flashlight that must have been attached to his key chain, looking under the bed. “Don’t see anything under here.” He scooted onto his stomach, reaching under the bed with his right arm. “Ah, I feel something,” he said, scooting a few inches farther, his face plastered against the side of the bed. “Somebody hand me a tissue.”
Fred did so, placing it in Peter’s outstretched hand. Peter made a stretching noise, grunting softly. “Got it.” He straightened, coming to his feet and holding something shiny. “A lighter. Stuck between the bed’s leg and the wall. They must’ve missed it the first time.”
The room began to tilt. Bella took in deep breaths but still black spots appeared.
“Bella, what’s the matter?” she heard Fred say, sounding like he was inside a tunnel.
But she couldn’t answer, her vision darkening. The nausea came, swift. She stumbled. Fred caught her and brought her to an empty chair.
“Put your head between your legs,” said Peter.
She did so, taking in deep, calming breaths, until the feeling of faintness dissipated enough for her to speak.
“What’s wrong?” asked Peter, his brows wrinkled in concern. “Too much for you to be in Tiffany’s room?”
“It’s not that,” she answered, bringing her hand to her mouth, the nausea in waves now. “That’s Graham Rouse’s lighter. I’d know it anywhere. It was his father’s. He takes it everywhere with him. Loves to light people’s cigarettes with it. Especially actresses, apparently.”
“Graham Rouse? The producer?”
“Yes.” She looked up at him. “And my ex-boyfriend. My married ex-boyfriend.”
“The married man she told Spike about is Graham Rouse?” said Peter, in a way that was more a statement than a question.
Fred’s gaze bounced between them, like he was watching a tennis match. “Another suspect, then?”
“I suspected it but I wasn’t sure,” said Bella. “But this proves he was here. I think he’s the man Ben saw get off the elevator that night.”
Peter shrugged. “We don’t know when he dropped it. Could’ve been any night and it certainly doesn’t mean he raped and murdered her.”
All Bella could think was, she was raped. She was raped. Could Graham Rouse be capable of rape? And murder? He was a liar, sure. But he’d only been aggressive with her once and that was after he’d had a lot to drink the night she told him she was done. He’d shaken her, thrust her against the wall before he charged out of her apartment, slamming the door so hard her neighbor, Tim, a Venice Beach body builder, had come over to check on her.
As if he’d read her mind, Peter asked her the question. “Bella, was he ever violent with you?”
She glanced at Fred, feeling self-conscious to talk about it in front of him. What did he think of her? The feeling of shame washed over her, as it did when she had to talk about her relationship with Graham Rouse. But it was for Ben. To save Ben. She had to tell the truth. Graham? What have you done? she thought. “Once. When I broke it off the last time. But nothing close to rape. He just shook me. Almost like a child throwing a temper tantrum.” She thought back to what Spike had told them earlier. “You know, Peter, she didn’t tell Spike she was afraid of her married lover. Did she?”
“No, she didn’t,” he replied. “But murders are more often than not committed by someone the victim is intimate with. I think it certainly puts Graham Rouse on the suspect list.”
She felt nauseous again. “How do we get him to talk to us without letting it be known we were in here snooping around?”
“That’s where you come in,” said Peter.
“I don’t know.”
“Think about Ben.”
“Graham’s not going to tell me anything.”
“You might be surprised.”
Chapter 11
When they returned home, she found Ben in the guesthouse watching television from the bed. She knew by the way his eyes were glazed over that he was merely making an effort to stay distracted.
She sat next to him as he shut the television off with the remote. “How’d it go?” he asked, with that same wary fear in his eyes he’d had for twenty-four hours now.
She filled him in on everything they’d learned, saving the part about Graham Rouse for last.
“Son of a bitch,” he said, sitting up.
“I’m going over to the hotel to talk to him. Peter suggested I try and get something out of him myself before we go to the police with anything.”
He made a stop gesture with his hands. “Absolutely not. There’s not a chance in hell I’m letting you alone with that guy.” He paused, looking at her like she was insane. “For so many reasons, not the least of which is that he might be a rapist and murderer.”
“I’m doing this.” She rose from the bed, heading toward the bathroom.
He followed her. “You are not.”
“I am.”
“Dammit, Bella, let Peter handle this. He’s a pro.”
“Peter suggested I go. No one can get Graham Rouse to talk like I can. I know him so well. He’ll open up to me if I ask the right questions.”
“You just might be the most stubborn, infuriating woman I’ve ever met.” He yanked a towel from the rack and twisted it in his hands. “I cannot let you put yourself in danger for my sake. I got myself into this. I should get myself out of it.”
“You got yourself into this because you’re a great guy who was trying to help a woman in trouble. I’m not abandoning you now. Peter’s going to figure this out. You should’ve seen him in action today. The guy’s awesome.”
“That’s my point. He’s a professional and you’re getting in over your head.”
She turned on the shower, stripping off her clothes. “Are you going to fight with me or get in here with me?”
But he didn’t smile like she thought he would. “I’m serious, Bella. This is not okay, no matter how hot you are, and trust me, there’s nothing I’d rather do than get in there with you but even I have my limits. I’m pissed at you. Seriously.” With that, he turned and left the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.
When she was done with her shower, he was gone, his jacket missing from the coatrack and the bedside table empty of his keys.
Fine, she thought. Be angry. I’m still figuring out who murdered Tiffany if it’s the last thin
g I do.
She met Graham Rouse for dinner in his room. He ordered room service: a vegetable stir-fry with tofu for him and a steak for her. Yes, that’s right, she said silently, when he showed surprise at her request. I eat steak now. And you can suck it. For years it was the almond milk and tofu and wheatgrass shakes and waiting for him to call. Why? Why had she done it for so long? The familiar feeling of regret came to her, like something bitter in the back of her mouth she couldn’t rid herself of.
After he hung up the phone, he turned to her, indicating the open bottle of red wine on the minibar. “I got you the good stuff.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll pour.”
“Figured you missed good wine now you’re no longer with me.”
“I’m perfectly capable of buying good wine with or without you,” she said, pouring two glasses for them. Keep it nice, she told herself. But how she would like to deck him. Or karate kick him. Not that she knew karate. Just kick him, then, right in the chest.
“Bella, did you hear me?”
“What? No. Sorry.”
“Why did you call?”
She handed him a glass of wine. “I wanted to talk to you about Tiffany.”
Was it her imagination or had he turned pale under his tan?
He shook his head, took a sip of wine, and then sat on one of the chairs, crossing his legs, revealing a bare ankle next to his loafer. The pretentious ass never wore socks. Did he not realize where he was or that the temperature was in the 40s? “Terrible. Just terrible. Richard’s shook. Never seen him so shook.”
“You didn’t waste any time replacing her.”
He took another sip of wine, watching her over the rim of his glass. “You know how that goes, Bellie, budget and stuff. Can’t stop production over another dead actress. Sad as it is.”
“Another? Really? That’s how you’re going to talk about her.”
He shrugged, playing with the cuff of his pants with his manicured fingers. “Come on, Bella. Don’t sound so righteous. These crazy bitches always do themselves in one way or another.”
“Jesus, Graham. Have a little respect for the dead.”
“Sorry to bother your sensitive side, babe, but that girl did everything she could to fuck up her life. And she hurt a lot of people along the way.”
“Hurt? Or do you mean cost a lot of money?”
“Isn’t that the same thing in Hollywood?” He took another sip of wine. “This is good. Not sure a hundred dollars good but hey, only the best for you.” He gazed at her with a half-smile on his face. “You miss me? That why you called? You don’t have to make up some excuse to see me, you know. I’m always here for you.”
“Graham, cut the shit. I know you were sleeping with Tiffany.”
He flinched. “Excuse me?”
“She told me.” There it was, again—the lies just slipping off her tongue. This is for Ben, she told herself. All for Ben.
“Did she now?” He downed the rest of his wine and went to the bar, filling his glass.
“Yes, she did.” She took a sip of wine, enjoying playing with him. “I could use a smoke.”
He looked at her like she had two heads. “You don’t smoke anymore.”
“I’ve decided to take it up again.” She reached in her purse for the pack of cigarettes she’d bought on her way. “Want one?”
“You know I don’t smoke.”
“Tiffany did.”
“Yeah. So what?”
“I forgot to pick up any matches. Do you have your lighter?”
He did turn white under his tan then. “Can’t find it.”
“Really? When was the last time you used it?” She said it innocently, with her head cocked to the side. She took a cigarette from the pack, sniffing it. “Still smells good to me even after all these years.”
“Bella, what the fuck?”
“The fuck is Fred Hughes, a friend of mine who happens to be the local deputy here, found your lighter under Tiffany’s bed. Wouldn’t surprise me if the cops come calling tomorrow and haul your cheating ass into the station in Echo Grove, where they will ask you every question under the sun, including swiping your lying mouth with one of those little DNA thingies to find out if it’s your sperm they found in Tiffany. And I just came over here to hear your side of the story, you know, maybe vouch for you if you’re suddenly accused of rape.”
He sank into the chair. “Crap. Bella, I was sleeping with her, but I swear I didn’t rape her. I had sex with her earlier that night, before she went out, which by the way, I tried to talk her out of. She’d already had a bunch to drink.”
“So you just let her go? Let her drive like that?”
“Listen, I couldn’t control her. No one could. Not even her sister.”
“Well, someone should’ve looked out for her that night that actually gave a crap about her and that way Ben Fleck, a perfect stranger, wouldn’t have had to pick her up in his car and get involved in this mess that has nothing to do with him. Unlike you, who had a vested interest in her both as an actress on your damn film, but that…” She choked on her own words, on her anger. “You were sleeping with her, for fuck’s sake—sleeping with her when you knew how fragile she was, how much she needed this film to restart her career. If nothing else, couldn’t you have thought about Richard staking his reputation and his film on her?” She stopped, glaring at him.
“You have a mouth like a sailor,” he said, shaking his head as if disgusted.
She chose to ignore that insult. “Did you rape her?”
“Of course not. Why would I do that? She gave it up freely. You know how it is with me.”
“God, you’re the biggest prick in Hollywood. And that’s really saying something.”
He put his hand over his heart. “That hurts.”
“Good.”
“Bella, don’t be like this. You know I still love you. Tiffany was my way of trying to get over you.” He tilted his head, with an indulgent expression that at one time had turned her heavy with desire. It no longer did anything but fill her with rage.
“The fact that you think I still care is almost sad.”
His face flushed; he sat up straighter in his chair. “Listen, I may be a prick but I’m not a rapist or murderer.” He set his glass on the table. “Seriously, you think I’m in trouble here?”
She softened slightly. “I think you’d better come clean before they figure out it’s your sperm. You won’t look nearly as guilty.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” He picked up his glass of wine, swirling it around the glass as if they were at a wine tasting event instead of talking about a dead girl. “If this gets out, my marriage is over.”
She stared at him. “Did you really just say that to me?”
“Oh, come on, Bella.”
“Come on?”
“You know my situation.” He went to the bar and poured the rest of the bottle into his glass. “You want me to open another bottle?”
“No, I should go.”
“But what about dinner?”
“I’m suddenly not hungry.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “Did you ever really contemplate leaving Susannah? Or was it always just lies to keep me where you wanted?”
He blew air out of his nose like he was exasperated, like they’d talked about this too many times. “Bella, I love you, have since the moment I met you but I cannot get divorced.”
“Why?” She wanted to hear him say the truth. “You’ve never really told me your reasons. Instead it was just empty promises that you would.”
“Because I’d have to give her half of everything. You know the divorce laws in California.”
There it was. The truth. Finally. It was about the money.
“Did you make empty promises to Tiffany?”
He wrinkled his brows, as if what she said was difficult to understand. “Of course not. It was just a casual thing.”
“Accord
ing to what she told others, she was afraid of you.”
He made a scoffing sound. “In what way?”
“Afraid she’d lose her job if she didn’t sleep with you.”
“That’s ridiculous. You know I’m not like that. I thought we were just having fun.”
“You know, Graham, your idea of fun and a vulnerable woman’s idea might be two entirely different things. Have you ever thought of that?”
“Babe, you and I were totally different. This Tiffany thing was just a way to pass the time. I was willing to give you everything. You know that.”
“Except a marriage certificate. You really think that was fair to me?” She paused, watching the shadows on the wall made from the gas fireplace. “I didn’t get it for so long that I deserved more than the crumbs you gave me at the end of every day. I regret every moment I waited for your call. I have to live with that the rest of my life. And, sadly, I can see that means nothing to you.” She stood, gathering her bag from the table. “I have to go.”
“Please stay.” He went to her, putting his hands on her upper arms. “I really need you to stay.”
“I really can’t, Graham.” She backed away, toward the door. “Call the police. Tell them the truth.” At the door, she turned to look at him. “I’m going to marry Ben Fleck when this whole mess is done.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
She was already out the door when she heard him call out, “Thanks for nothing.”
“No, thank you,” she muttered under her breath, buttoning her coat in preparation for the dark and cold October night. I need to get home to my family, she thought, and Ben.
Chapter 12
When Bella returned to the house, Annie was putting dinner on the table. Alder was staying another night with Ellen, Drake told her. Cleo, Peter, and Ben were already seated and talking quietly when Bella joined them. Annie, looking considerably better than the day before, served them all squash soup while Drake passed around freshly baked bread and butter. As they ate, Bella filled them in on everything she’d learned from Graham.
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