Scandal Sheet aka Hollywood Scandals

by Gemma Halliday

  At six square miles, Beverly Hills is actually one of the smallest towns in California. But the wealth in those miles could buy a small country. Several times over. Designer boutiques, oversized homes on acres of prime real estate, and more Mercedes per capita than anywhere on the planet, it is a haven to the elite of L.A. society. Manicured, buffed, shined, and pleasant in every aspect, Beverly Hills is the sparkling gem of L.A. County. There isn’t even a hospital or cemetery to remind residents of the unpleasant thought of mortality. It’s said that technically, no one is actually born or dies in Beverly Hills.

  Katie Briggs’s place was on a wide, tree-lined street full of homes on steroids. Big, bold, and fairly bursting from their lots. Katie’s was a two-story Mediterranean style, complete with adobe-colored shingles and wrought-iron balconies filled with brightly overflowing flowerpots. A narrow front lawn separated the house from the street, all wrapped up tight behind a large security gate that spanned the length of the property.

  Cal parked at the curb in front of a faux Tudor across the street. “Now what?” he asked. Clearly not really wanting to know.

  I ignored him, picking up my cell, dialing Cam’s number, and putting it on speakerphone.

  “Yeah?” she answered.

  “You in place?”

  “Yep.”

  I looked down the block. Cam’s Jeep Wrangler was parked at the corner, her camera to her eye.

  “Any sign of security?”

  “None that I can see. Bodyguard’s probably out with her.”

  “Weak point?”

  “I’d try the south side. There’s a bunch of trees shielding it from the road, and it leads right into the backyard.”

  “Perfect.”

  “You’re not seriously going through with this, are you?” Cal asked.

  I hopped out of the car.

  “Of course I am.”

  “It’s breaking and entering. You could be arrested.”

  “If I don’t figure out who’s behind the threats, I could end up dead.”

  Cal clenched his jaw together. “This is crossing a line, Bender. I don’t feel good about it.”

  “Fine. Wait here, then. I’ll be right back.”

  And before he could argue any further, I was jogging across the street to the small grove of trees separating Katie from her neighbor. I cautiously looked both ways, then stepped behind a thick palm and eyed the fence. It was at least eight feet high, brick topped with decorative iron scrollwork. I lifted my arms as high as they would go and tried to get some traction with my feet. I scaled a full two inches up the wall before dropping to the ground again. The bricks were too uniform; there was nothing to hold on to.

  I glanced around the yard, looking for anything to boost me over. Flowers, bushes, strategically placed decorative rocks. Shit.

  Then I spotted it. A metal planter with a skinny little lemon tree sticking out. It was only a couple feet high, obviously a newbie. With one more over the shoulder glance, I dug my fingers into the soil around the little tree and lifted it, roots and all, out of the planter. I laid the baby tree on the ground, then flipped the planter over and shoved it up against the wall. I stepped up on top of it. It was just high enough that I could reach the iron scrollwork. I curled my fingers around it, planted my feet against the brick, and hoisted myself up on top of the wall. Quickly, I twisted over the top and dropped down the other side. As soon as I landed on Katie’s flagstone patio, my cell buzzed to life with a text. I looked down at the readout. Cam.

  Way to go Spidergirl.

  I grinned, shoving my phone back in my pocket as I quickly tippy-toed to a pair of French doors at the back of the house. The interior was deserted, large pairings of overstuffed furniture the only occupants. Gingerly, I tried the handle on the back door. Locked. I quickly made my way along the house until I hit another pair of French doors. These looked like they led to a guest room, a colorful throw on the bed, but no personal photos or touches. Again, I tried the door. Locked tight as a drum.

  Okay, obviously I wasn’t going to get that lucky.

  I slipped my hand into my pocket, rummaging for anything that I could use to pick a lock. Gum, movie stub, ballpoint pen. Sigh.

  I looked at the glass panes on the door. They were small, but large enough to slip a hand through. If I could smash the one near the handle…

  I bent down and picked up one of Katie’s decorative rocks and lifted it over my head.

  But someone grabbed it away before I could use it.

  “Jesus, Bender!”

  I spun around to find Cal glaring down at me. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I was gonna smash the windowpane.”

  Cal dropped the rock back on the ground. “I can’t take you anywhere.” Then he proceeded to pull a long, thin thing that looked a dentist tool from his pocket. He inserted it into the keyhole and jiggled it.

  “What’s that?”

  “Lockpick.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “How is it a guy that ‘doesn’t feel good’ about breaking and entering owns a lockpick?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t always have to feel good.”

  I grinned.

  My cell buzzed in my pocket. Cam again.

  Cal’s coming in after you.

  Gee, thanks for the heads-up.

  “There.” I heard a click, then Cal turned the handle, pushing the door open. “We’re in.”

  I shoved my phone back in my pocket and brushed past him into the guest room.

  It was on the small side, expensively furnished, but in an understated way. A queen bed, dresser, and matching set of nightstands. A large oil painting hung above the bed depicting the Tuscan countryside, and a vase of fresh flowers sat on the dresser.

  “Guest bedroom,” Cal said, voicing my thoughts.

  “Let’s go find hers, then.”

  I opened the bedroom door, peering out. Two more doors, then the hallway opened up to the large living room I’d seen through the first set of French doors. Quickly I tried the other two rooms, only to find similarly furnished guest rooms. Beyond the living room was a tall, winding staircase, leading to another hallway. I motioned for Cal to follow and jogged up, hoping like hell that my shoes didn’t muck up Katie’s bright white carpets.

  At the top of the stairs were three more doors. The first two contained a home gym and a study. The third, a master bedroom bigger than the entire offices of the Informer. Large canopied bed, two walk-in closets, and a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

  “So, this is how the other half lives,” Cal whispered beside me.

  No kidding.

  I spied a Victorian writing desk in the corner. And on top of it? A laptop.

  Gotcha.

  “No technology my ass…” I mumbled as I crossed the room, flipping the top open and powering the sucker up.

  “You know, just because she has a computer doesn’t make her a killer,” Cal pointed out. “Lots of people have computers.”

  “Yeah, but why would she lie about it?”

  “To impress a fan? To seem deeper than she is?”

  I shrugged him off, watching the welcome screen flicker on. I went through the motions of booting up her system, then quickly started scanning her list of programs for Audio Cloak. But, of course, I still wasn’t that lucky.

  “Maybe she deleted it,” Cal offered, reading over my shoulder.

  I checked her trash folder. Empty.

  “Got any other ideas?” I asked him.

  He shrugged. “Sorry, not a computer genius.”

  Unfortunately, neither was I. What I was dying to do was take this back to the office, to the one person I knew who was a computer genius. Felix. Only, if I did that, I’d also have to tell him whose it was and how I got it. Not exactly a conversation I was dying to have.

  “What about her browser history?” Cal suggested. “If she had to go through the website, it should show up there, right?”

  “Brilliant.” I pulled up an Intern
et Explorer window, then checked her history. A list of websites came up. An online shoe store, two spas, a bank, Variety online.

  And Match.com.

  I snorted. “Looks like we just found Katie’s dirty little secret.” I clicked the link. And immediately a profile popped up on the screen for “Kate B.,” a single, “friendly, outgoing” woman in the L.A. area looking for a “confidant man who doesn’t mind sharing the spotlight.”

  “Is this for real?” Cal asked over my shoulder.

  I scanned through her profile. “Sadly, it looks like it.” I thought back to the lonely look in her eyes as she’d told me about her night home alone. Could it be that Katie was really that hard up to find a good man?

  Cal shook his head. “Finding love online. What a myth.”

  I cringed, my thoughts instantly bounding to my own dirty little secret and Black. “Not necessarily. I’m sure some people hook up that way,” I countered. “There’s no shame in looking for love online.”

  Cal raised an eyebrow at me. “Ninety percent of the guys on there are losers or perverts.”

  “Well, that still leaves a girl with a 10 percent chance,” I mumbled.

  I looked at Kate’s picture. It wasn’t a headshot or studio airbrushed job, but a candid photo of her sitting at a park, an ice cream cone in one hand as she laughed at something off camera. I had to admit, it was nice. Okay, she was a movie star, there was no way any pic of her was going to look hideous. But it was more natural, fresher, than I’d ever seen her.

  Unable to quell my curiosity, I clicked her mailbox to see who’d written to her. Three profiles came up. A guy carrying a “few extra pounds” in Omaha who loved dogs and rodeos. A guy who listed himself as five feet tall, but promised that “good things came in small packages.” And a seventy-five-year-old who listed himself as “very young at heart.”

  Wow. Talk about depressing. If this was the response someone like Katie was getting, what kind of chance did the rest of us have?

  “What does this have to do with your stalker?” Cal asked, glancing at his watch. Clearly he was feeling less “good” the more time we spent in Katie’s house.

  “Nothing. But, it’s the best gossip I’ve hit on all year. LONELY HEART MOVIE STAR SEEKS CYBER ROMANCE.”

  “I thought you said there was no shame in looking for love online.”

  “There isn’t. But it makes for awesome headlines.”

  Cal opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by my cell ringing from my pocket. I slipped it out and saw Cam’s number light up the screen.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “You’ve got company.”

  I froze. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean someone is coming up the walkway.”

  I ran to the window, hiding behind Katie’s heavy curtains as I peeked out the front.

  Sure enough, I could see the back of someone’s head as he stood at the front door.

  “Who is he?” I asked, praying she said the UPS guy.

  “The tree’s in the way. I can’t see his face,” Cam protested.

  Which, I realized as the front door creaked open, didn’t much matter. Because whoever he was, he’d just entered the house.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I froze, adrenaline coursing through my body as I heard the sound of the front door shutting behind our mystery man. Then footsteps coming up the stairs.

  Shit.

  We had to hide. Now!

  I grabbed Cal by the arm, making for the large, walk-in closet. I shoved aside a rack of designer gowns (OMG-I think that was Katie’s 2009 Oscar dress!) and wedged myself behind them. Cal opted to stand behind the door, his hand on the butt of his gun.

  Two beats later the footsteps made their way into the bedroom. I closed my eyes, praying to the saint of breaking and entering that whoever it was saw Katie wasn’t home and left quickly.

  But, by this point, we all know how great my luck is.

  I heard the man walk around Katie’s canopied bed, to the window, and back again. What was he doing, pacing?

  And then my luck got worse. Footsteps heading straight toward the closet.

  I crossed my fingers, bit my lip, and mentally chanted “please go away, please go away, please go away.”

  The door flew open, narrowly missing Cal, and I was face to face with mystery man.

  “Bender, what the hell are you doing?”

  Felix.

  I let out a breath so big it made Katie’s dresses flutter.

  “Jesus, Felix, you scared me half to death.”

  “I scared you?” Felix put both hands on his hips. “I hear one of my reporters is breaking into an A-lister’s house and I’m the one who scared you?”

  I stood up, disentangling myself from Katie’s couture, and pushed past Felix into the bedroom again. Out of the corner of my eyes I noticed Cal holstering his gun.

  “And you,” Felix said, turning on him. “You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on her.”

  “I am,” Cal answered truthfully.

  “This is hardly what I call keeping her out of danger. Do you know what would happen if anyone caught you two here? God, the lawsuits alone would cost us millions.”

  “Your concern is touching,” I said, brushing hundred-thousand-dollar lint off my sleeve.

  “What the hell are you even doing here?” he asked, his gaze pinging from me to Cal.

  “Katie has a computer,” I answered.

  He gave me a blank stare.

  So, I quickly filled him in on Katie’s so-called techno aversion, the fact she was lying, and the computer sitting on her desk.

  “No sign of the Audio Cloak software?” he asked when I was done.

  Reluctantly, I shook my head.

  “And no sign she’s even been to the website?”

  Again, I shook in the negative.

  “Then really all you have is the fact that she’s not fond of appearing in your column.”

  “And she lied!” I pointed out again. “And just because the software isn’t there now, doesn’t mean that she didn’t delete it after using it. What we really need is to scan her computer for any possible deleted files.”

  Felix narrowed his eyes at me. “We?”

  I batted my eyelashes at him. “Please? I know it would only take you a second.”

  “That’s all it would take for someone to see us here and call the cops, too,” he pointed out.

  “Don’t worry. If anyone comes, Cam will tell us.”

  His eyes narrowed again. “Cam’s in on this too?”

  Oops. Sorry, Cam!

  “Uh, sorta.”

  Felix ground his teeth together, probably thinking about five bucks worth of dirty words. Finally he spat out, “Fine,” and crossed the room to Katie’s laptop. “But only because the sooner we find this person, the sooner I can have my paper back to normal.”

  “Amen to that!” I agreed as Felix started typing in strings of letters and numbers that made the screen turn black. He bypassed Windows, going into some directory that housed information in a completely foreign language. I tried to keep up with his commands, but it was all Greek to me. Instead, I peered out the window, scanning the street for any sign of other cars, hoping that Katie needed a long touch-up today.

  It seemed like hours passed while Cal and I listened to the keys clack in silence, but in reality it was probably a matter of mere minutes before Felix finally shut the computer down and lowered the top. “Sorry. There’s no sign Audio Cloak was ever used on this computer.”

  I felt my shoulders sag. My one good lead, crushed. “Well, maybe she has another computer. In another room!”

  Felix shook his head, his face stern. “No way. We’re out of here, Bender.”

  “But-”

  “No buts. This has gone far enough.”

  “He’s right,” Cal said.

  I shot him a mutinous look.

  “The longer we stay, the greater chance someone will see us,” he reasoned.

/>   Two to one. I was sorely outnumbered. “Fine,” I conceded, crossing my arms over my chest as Cal led the way downstairs, Felix bringing up the rear as if afraid I might bolt into another room if he let me out of his sight. (Which, honestly, I might have.) I was about to turn back into the guest room with the open lock when Felix gestured toward the front door.

  “We should go out the front. Less conspicuous.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Okay, how did you get in the front?

  Wasn’t the door locked?”

  He shrugged. “I carry picks.”

  Jesus, was everyone more experienced at breaking and entering than I was?

  We quickly filed out the door, clicking it shut behind us, and crossed the street to where Felix’s beat-up Dodge was parked behind the Hummer. And behind him was Cam’s Jeep, Cam sitting on the tailgate.

  “Some lookout you are,” I mumbled as I passed her.

  She mouthed, “sorry,” at me.

  “It wasn’t Cam’s fault,” Felix said, unlocking his car.

  I paused. That statement suddenly begged the question-whose fault was it?

  “Soooooo, how did you know we were here?”

  “Allie told me.”

  I felt my jaw clench, remembering the way her eyes had followed Cal and me to the elevators. She must have eavesdropped on the whole conversation. When I got my hands on that blonde…

  “Speaking of whom,” Felix continued, unaware of the rage building in my gut, “she tells me you interviewed Pines today?”

  I swallowed my temper, telling myself to save it for the blonde. (I was out of quarters anyway.) “We did. And have we got a scoop on the Mullins guy.” I filled him in on how Pines had alleged Mullins was trying to blackmail him just before his death. “If he tried it with Pines, maybe he tried it with someone else who wasn’t as confident, and they killed him.”

  Felix listened with his poker face in place, mulling this over. Finally he said, “I like it. I want to know who else Mullins might have been trying to blackmail. Start with his co-stars. Find out who else was on the film with Pines and Mullins.”

  “On it!” I promised.

  The first thing I did when I got back to the office was head straight for Allie’s desk. Only to find out she was taking a late lunch. I hoped she enjoyed it. Because there was a distinct possibility that meal would be her last.