“Well… Kim K and Jessie showed up in the same dress, and of course Jess looked better in it, so that almost turned into a wrestling match. But luckily that guy who does the Mac commercials was there to break it up. Oh, and Katie, she totally lost her iPhone into the pool when one of the Playboy bunnies bumped into her. She was pretty pissed about that. Apparently those suckers sink.”
“Wait,” I said, my mental hamster stopping in his tracks. “Did you say Katie Briggs has an iPhone?”
“Well, she did. It’s toast now.”
I narrowed my eyes. So much for Katie’s rebelling against modern technology. Was that whole speech she’d given me a line of bull? If so, maybe she did have a computer. And maybe my suspect list wasn’t so depleted after all.
“Is she scheduled at the salon today?” I asked.
“She’ll be here in half an hour.”
“Thanks, Marco. Hey, be a doll and keep her there as long as possible, ‘k?” I said, then added, “There’s a backstage press pass to Clay’s next concert in it for you.
I heard Marco do a happy squeal as I hung up.
I grabbed my purse and stood.
“Where are we going?” Cal asked, suddenly at my side. He was licking the remnants of a protein bar off his fingers.
“Katie Briggs.” I headed for the elevators, my shadow a step behind me as I quickly passed Allie’s desk. She was scrunching her nose at her computer screen, no doubt trying to figure out how to spell “guilty.” She looked up as I hustled past, but I ignored her.
“I thought we already talked to Katie,” Cal protested.
“We did. And apparently she really is an Oscar-worthy actress, because it turns out her whole aversion to technology was a fake.” I quickly filled him in on the conversation I’d had with Marco as we waited for the elevator.
“So, you think Katie was lying about owning a computer?” he asked.
“Could be. Look, Blain has no motive, Jennifer has an alibi, and Pines was in jail. Katie’s our best bet at the moment.”
We rode down two floors, then Cal beeped open his Hummer, and I hoisted myself inside, cueing up his GPS as soon as he cranked the engine over.
“What’s that?” Cal asked, watching me input the address.
“Katie’s house.”
“I thought you said she was at Fernando’s.”
I grinned. “She is. Which means we only have an hour at best to search her place for a computer with Audio Cloak installed.”
Cal cut the engine. “You’re joking.”
“What?”
“We are not breaking into her house.”
“There’s no way I can trust Katie to be straight with us. The only way to out her as a murderer is to find that computer.”
“Then let the cops search her place.”
I put my hands on my hips. “You really think my word is enough probable cause for a search warrant?”
He bit the inside of his cheek. Obviously he saw my point. “You’re making it very hard to do my job, Bender.”
“Your job is to protect me from bad guys. No one said anything about keeping me from bending the law a little.”
Cal narrowed his eyes at me. Then finally muttered an, “I need a raise,” and turned the car back on.
I tried to hide my smirk of triumph.
“And quit smirking.”
Okay, fine. I didn’t try that hard.
As soon as we were on the freeway, I grabbed my cell and dialed Cameron’s number. She picked up on the fourth ring.
“Cameron Dakota.”
“Hey, Cam, it’s me,” I told her. “Listen, where are you right now?”
“Afternoon baby bump watch on Melrose. Why?”
“I need a favor. Think I can steal you away for a couple hours?”
“Are you kidding? You’d be doing me the favor. It’s like a hundred degrees out here, and I’ve already downed three frappucinnos. What’s up?”
I quickly filled Cam in on our little mission and gave her the address to Katie’s place in Beverly Hills.
When I hung up, Cal still had that I’m-going-to-live-to-regret-this look on his face.
“You’re dragging Cam into this, too?”
“She’s got a telephoto lens that can spot cellulite at a hundred yards away. She’s our lookout.”
Cal just shook his head again. “A big raise.”
* * *
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 scroll work. 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, ball-point 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 window pane.”
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?”
“Lock pick.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “How is it a guy that ‘doesn’t feel good’ about breaking and entering owns a lock-pick?”
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 Internet 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 ten 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.”
Hollywood Scandals Page 15
