The River Valley Series

by Tess Thompson

  “I love you, Bella Webber.” With that, they walked down the stairs hand in hand.

  Wearing heavy rain gear, Carrot Cop and his partner were waiting right outside the door. Just like on television, Carrot Cop read Ben his rights and handcuffed him as the rain fell steadily from a dark sky. Annie and Alder were huddled together under the front porch awning.

  Bella had on only her light sweater; in their angst, she’d forgotten her jacket and so had Ben. She shivered, crossing her arms. Her hair was wet now, like she’d come from the shower. Ben’s head was down. Water dripped from his nose. He tried to wipe at his face but his hands were cuffed behind his back so the movement was more like a careless shrug of his shoulder. Annie waved for Bella to come to the porch but she shook her head. If Ben was getting wet, so would she.

  Roughly, the cops pushed Ben towards the car. “I’m sorry Alder had to see this,” Ben called to Annie.

  Annie said nothing, just put her hand over her heart.

  “Stay badass, Ben,” shouted Alder. “My dad will take care of this.”

  Bella began to cry then. My dad. And he was right. Drake would take care of this. He always had and he always would. Take care of things—that’s what I do, he used to joke. But that was before his wife and daughter were murdered and all the cockiness was snatched from him. But he was Alder’s dad now. Surely that was something good in this messed up world.

  Peter and Drake rushed into the yard. “Carl Schmidt’s on his way down,” Drake said. The attorney. Drake would take care of this, she said silently to Ben. Whatever it cost, he would take care of it.

  As the car drove away, Ben put his forehead against the window. Bella blew him a kiss. And then the car disappeared around the corner. She put her hands to her wet face. How was this happening?

  Alder and Annie were beside her now, leading her toward the house.

  “Bastards,” said Alder.

  “Bastards,” said Annie. “Fucking bastards.”

  “Mom!”

  But Annie didn’t apologize. Her face was flaming red. “Ellen’s right. These cops have to be crooked. What evidence do they have to arrest him?”

  “Drake, I’m scared,” said Bella, stumbling in the stone walkway. Rivulets of muddy water trickled between the stones.

  Drake, his eyes steely, put his arm around Bella. “Don’t worry. This shark I hired for him is the best defense attorney in Seattle. And Ben’s innocent, which is more than Schmidt can say about most of his clients.”

  They were all dripping wet and Annie steered them into the mudroom. Everyone disposed of shoes and jackets before making their way into the front room. Bella’s clothes were soaked through; her hair was dripping and she was shaking, perhaps with cold, perhaps fear.

  “Hot shower?” suggested Annie gently.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Come to our room.”

  She nodded but turned to Peter. “Let’s get to Los Angeles and talk to this Miss Zinn. There’s no time to waste.”

  “I’ll get you tickets for the first flight out in the morning,” said Drake.

  Chapter 14

  Peter and Bella left early Monday morning for the airport. Their flight arrived just before noon. Bella turned on her cell phone as they were waiting to disembark. There was a message from Mike.

  “Bella, hey, just wanted to let you and Peter know I called my son to ask him about the Hough brothers. Zac remembered them and said Lee’s recollection was right. Apparently this Rawley thought himself quite the ladies man and was aggressive with girls. Zac said several of the girls in their grade told him that Rawley had basically forced himself on them. They didn’t call it rape but it sure sounds like that now. Regarding Gale, Zac said what Lee said—he was picked on and bullied at school. Apparently his own brother would have nothing to do with him and didn’t protect him either. I have no idea if any of this is relevant but wanted to pass it on anyway. Hope you guys are doing okay down there today. Call us when you return.”

  They walked through the airport, Bella filling Peter in on the voicemail Mike had left her. “Do you think any of it is relevant?” she asked.

  “In this work, you just never know. The more information we have the better.”

  After they rented a car, they drove to the film set on one of the studio lots. Bella knew the guard at the gate. After exchanging pleasantries, he allowed them through without even asking her what film she was associated with.

  “Wow, Bella, you’re kind of a big shot in this town.”

  “Hardly.”

  “I’m going to call Brent and tell him I’ve replaced him with a younger and better-looking partner.”

  They parked and walked over to the film’s set. It took only a few moments for Bella to spot a cameraman she knew who pointed them towards Chris Weaver’s trailer.

  She knocked on the door and Chris answered almost immediately, shaking her hand and then Peter’s. “Come on in, guys. Bella, great to meet you. You’re one of Stefan’s favorite people ever.”

  Chris was plump, bearded, short, and looked vaguely familiar. She’d probably seen him in a dozen movies without ever knowing his name. This was the difference between being a movie star and a character actor. Stefan, because of his looks, was a movie star. Chris Weaver was an actor.

  “Good gig this time,” he said, smiling. “Have my own trailer. I play the frumpy district attorney.” He pulled on his beard. “This thing’s driving me crazy but the real guy has one. Itchy as hell.” Pointing at the small table and chairs, he asked if they wanted to sit. “Stefan told me you want to talk to Jocelyn but didn’t say what about.” He held up his hands in a gesture of submission. “Not that I need to know. Or want to know, most likely. She’s on set today—just saw her at the craft table. Do you guys have a way to get her to talk to you?” His brown eyes were curious. All actors were curious about everything, all the time.

  “I thought I’d just flash my badge,” said Peter.

  “Wow, man, that’s cool. I played a cop once,” said Chris. “The fat sidekick.”

  “Oh, sure, I saw that movie,” said Peter. “Saw it with my real partner, Brent. He was bitter—says the sidekicks are always portrayed as overweight.”

  “Totally,” said Chris, grinning. “But I’m here to represent the ugly fat guys.”

  “You’re adorable,” said Bella. “And a great actor.”

  “A great actor no one’s ever heard of,” said Chris. “And I like it that way. Stefan and I go way back and I hate the way he’s hounded wherever he goes.”

  Peter nodded in agreement. “I couldn’t stand it.” He glanced at his hands, shaking his head. “My wife’s an actress and I’m not sure I’m ready for it if she becomes well known.”

  Bella explained that Cleo was taking Tiffany’s role. “Cleo went to school with Graham Rouse.”

  “The producer?”

  “Right,” said Bella, flushing.

  “Stefan says he’s a douche,” said Chris.

  “Yeah, that about sums it up,” said Bella with a glance at Peter.

  “Dude, super sad about Tiffany,” said Chris. “I worked with her years ago. She had the chops back in the day.” He opened the mini-fridge and reached inside, pulling out several bottles of water. “You guys thirsty?”

  They both took one and sat at the small table.

  Chris joined them, wiping condensation from his bottle of water with his shirtsleeve. “Not that Tiffany would’ve even remembered me or anything. It was one of my first movies—I had only had three scenes or something—but they were all with her and she was huge then. There were hundreds of screaming fans outside the studio every night waiting for her.” He shook his head, obviously remembering. “And her sister—wow, I had the biggest crush on her.”

  “You did?” asked Bella. “Sabrina?”

  “Totally gone for her. She seemed so smart and was impressive, you know, especially to me, being new to Hollywood back then, how she worked the industry and the press and everything. But
she wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

  “Did you ask her out?” asked Bella, intrigued by this insight into Sabrina. She must remember to tell her. Maybe there was still a chance for them?

  “Once.” His eyes clouded over at the memory. “She said something like, ‘Don’t you mean my sister?’ And I was like, ‘No, I mean you,’ and I swear she looked through me like I was a ghost, and then she pointed at her scar. ‘What? You’ll pretend like it’s Tiffany if I’m angled the right way?’”

  “No way,” said Bella. “That’s harsh.”

  “Completely. Sent a shiver down my spine. I’ll never forget it. Something so broken about her I didn’t see until that moment. You know how that is sometimes?” Chris stood, gesturing toward the door. “Anyway, let’s go see if we can find Jocelyn. Talk about a piece of work. I’m surprised I’m not madly in love with her, actually. She’s as crazy and mean as they come. Totally my type.”

  They found Jocelyn sitting with one of the associate producers near a table lined with sandwiches and fruit with an open flask in her hand. So much for rehab, thought Bella.

  Peter introduced himself, showing his badge.

  “This about Tiffany?” asked Jocelyn.

  “Yeah. I just have a few questions,” said Peter.

  “Why’s a Seattle cop investigating a murder in Oregon?” she asked, standing, pushing long brown hair out of her eyes. She was tall and slender, almost pretty if it weren’t for pockmarked skin and a crooked smile. And an overly exuberant nose job, thought Bella. Who the hell was her plastic surgeon? The man or woman should be court-martialed.

  Peter shrugged. “We have our reasons.”

  “Why should I talk to you?”

  “Do you have anything to hide?” asked Peter.

  “No.”

  “Then why not?”

  Jocelyn shrugged. The numerous bangles around her wrists made a clattering noise. “Fine.”

  “You want to use my trailer?” asked Chris. “You know, for privacy.”

  “That’d be great, doll,” said Jocelyn. She took a swig from her flask, smacked her lips, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Come on then.” She pointed at Bella. “This your partner?”

  “Yep,” said Peter.

  “You’re kinda pretty for a cop,” said Jocelyn to Bella. “I know a way you could make a lot more money.”

  Bella laughed. “That’s okay, I’ll keep my day job for now.”

  Back in Chris’s trailer, they sat at the table. Peter took out his notepad without taking his eyes from Jocelyn Zinn, who returned his gaze without so much as a flinch.

  “What’s up?” she asked, taking another swig from her flask.

  “When was the last time you heard from Tiffany Archer?” asked Peter.

  She crossed her arms over her small chest. “It was at my house. A month ago. The day my client book went missing.” She was matter of fact, and quiet, almost eerily so, thought Bella.

  Peter proceeded to fire questions at her, one after another, matching her calm tone. “You think she took this client list?”

  “No doubt in my mind.” Jocelyn’s eyes flickered, like a cat watching a fish bowl.

  “Why?”

  “Because a week later, four of my best clients, extremely high-profile, called me to tell me they were being blackmailed. Didn’t know by whom. But I know.”

  “Why Tiffany?”

  “Tiffany’s bad news. And she was broke. Doesn’t take a cop to figure that out.” Well, maybe not, thought Bella. If Carrot Cop was any indication.

  “Did this make you angry?” asked Peter.

  “What do you think?” Jocelyn’s eyes flipped to Bella. “Could you look in the fridge and see if he has any beer?” She pointed at the miniature refrigerator near Bella’s feet.

  Bella, without getting up from her chair, opened the refrigerator door. Six beers were lined up neatly on the top shelf. “Corona or Sierra Nevada?”

  “Is there any lime?”

  “No lime,” said Bella, stifling a smile. This Jocelyn Zinn was nothing short of outrageous in the best possible way. That is, unless she was a cold-blooded killer in addition to being a boozed up madam. She needed a reality show. Why hadn’t any of the idiots running this town figured that out yet?

  “Sierra Nevada then,” said Jocelyn.

  Using the opener on the top of the fridge, Bella popped off the cap and handed Jocelyn the beer. What would come next? She had a feeling it would be shocking. Something about Madam Zinn guaranteed it. Regardless, it was better than anything television provided, she thought, settling into her chair to enjoy the show.

  Peter shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes flat. He didn’t like Jocelyn Zinn. Bella could tell by the way his handsome features had turned stony. He was no fish in a bowl. No, more like a panther meeting a mangy alley cat. Neither would back down, despite the ferocity of the other.

  “Angry enough to kill her?” asked Peter, as if the conversation about the beer hadn’t interrupted his questioning.

  Jocelyn raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to the side. “Yeah, probably.”

  “Probably?”

  “I didn’t, but I would’ve liked to. I would never take the risk of murder—I have no intention of going to jail if I can help it. It’s impossible to commit the perfect murder. Isn’t that right, Mr. Ball?”

  “In my line of work we like to think so.”

  “Wasn’t sad to hear she was dead. Got rid of a bunch of my problems. But I didn’t kill her.”

  “Did you send men up to Oregon to get your client list back?”

  Jocelyn’s grip around the beer bottle tightened but her face remained passive. “Is that a crime?”

  “Could be.”

  “I wanted what was rightfully mine. She could’ve hurt a lot of people with the information in that book. So yeah, I sent my guys up there to get it. A pair of private detectives I use frequently…for various things.”

  “And did they?”

  She played with the silver locket that hung just above her breasts. “They did not.”

  “Did they kill her looking for it?”

  Jocelyn took a long swig of her beer before looking Peter directly in the face. “No, they did not. They would not have, as those were not my instructions. And they’re private dicks, not hired killers. It’s my understanding hired killers are much more expensive.”

  “Why should I believe, given how much you had at stake, that you didn’t hire those thugs to murder Tiffany Archer?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, like a sassy teenager in the principal’s office. “You can believe it or not. Regardless of your unfounded suspicions, it’s the truth. None of this is complicated. I’m a businesswoman hell-bent on protecting my clients. I’m not a whore like the girls who work for me. I’m not a murderer. Nothing’s worth taking some silly bitch’s life, no matter how perfectly worthless she was.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and then moved her beer in a circle around the table. “They followed her the night she was killed but got nowhere. Some guy picked her up outside of the bar where they planned to confront her and convince her to give them the book.”

  “Miss Zinn—”

  Jocelyn interrupted him. “Ms. Zinn.”

  “Ms. Zinn, do you think either of these so-called private investigators you hired are capable of rape and murder if pushed far enough, despite your lack of orders to do so?”

  “Tiffany was raped?” Jocelyn’s stoic mask cracked for an instant before being reassembled. Was it Botox or a cold heart that made her features so unreadable?

  “Yes. Perhaps they broke in and decided to rape her and then murdered her to hide the rape?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “How are you so sure?”

  “Both my boys are gay. They’re married to one another, actually. Ceremony just last month. Strangest thing you ever saw—two men who look like they should be Marines fighting in one of those God awful countries, saying I do and kissing on
a Santa Monica beach.” She crossed her arms over her chest again and must have dug her feet into the floor because her chair tilted back several inches. “Plus, they weren’t in her room that night.”

  “Can you prove that?”

  “Depends on if anyone saw them go back to their hotel. After she left with the man at the bar, the tools had the brilliant idea of dealing with her in morning.”

  “Where were they staying?”

  “How should I know?”

  “It’s important you remember because it could determine their innocence without question.”

  “How’s that?’

  “The murderer had to be a guest at the hotel. Surveillance shows no one but the man who picked Tiffany up that night entering the lobby after eleven.”

  Jocelyn bounced the bottle cap back and forth between her hands like a game of air hockey. “Okay, give me a minute. It’ll come to me. Something like Second Chance Inn or something. Told me some stuffy gay boy runs it and he had an unexpected cancellation so they were able to get a room there.”

  Linus’s inn. The detectives couldn’t have killed her.

  “I want to talk to your henchmen,” said Peter. “How do I get in touch with them?”

  “My detectives have an office on Wilshire.”

  Peter wrote something in his notebook. Then he took a business card out of his suit jacket and set it on the table. “Call me if you think of anything that might be helpful.”

  “Stop by my place sometime. I’ll have my girls take good care of you.”

  “No offense, Madam Zinn, but it would be a cold day in hell before I ever set foot in your establishment or laid a hand on any of your girls.” He shuddered. Yes, physically shuddered, thought Bella. She must remember to tell Cleo his reaction.

  “And why is that exactly?” asked Jocelyn with a slight smile. How could a smile be so thoroughly nasty?

  “For one, it’s illegal. Two, your business is debasing to women. Three, I have no intention of exposing myself and therefore my wife, who’s an angel I’m privileged to have by my side in this cruel and unpredictable world, to whatever diseases your girls, as you so affectionately refer to them, may or may not have. And four, I’m married. It means something to some people.”