Chapter 9
I opened the door to Dave’s room to step outside, and saw Ryan outside with an officer. He had raised one hand, and was just about to knock on the door when I'd opened it.
"What are you doing here?" Ryan said.
"I had to talk to Dave about something," I said, feeling a bit guilty. Ryan probably knew that I'd been talking to him about the case, and I didn't feel like mentioning it. I wasn't sure why I felt so guilty, because it wasn't like I was obstructing the police investigation by talking to a few people myself.
"We'd better head off and let you get to investigating," Ian said from behind me.
I was grateful for his intervention, and turned around to flash a quick smile. "We still haven't had lunch," I reminded him. "Maybe we can grab something to eat."
We left Dave, and walked down the hallway. I noticed Ryan glancing after us before going inside the room and closing the door behind himself.
"He doesn't seem happy," Ian said to me as we walked along.
"No," I said. "I actually kind of miss Elwood. I wish he was investigating the case instead of Ryan."
Ian nodded. "Your mother told me at lunch the other day that she worries about you and Ryan working on the same case."
"I can't believe she talked to you about that!"
"Didn’t she tell you anything?"
"Of course she did," I admitted. "Mom’s afraid that Ryan and I are going to break up, and then she’ll never have any grandchildren, ever."
Ian laughed. "Don't worry, this case will probably be over before you know it."
As we headed toward the cafeteria, we ran into Kyle. He was walking down the hallway from the other end, and his brows were knit and his face looked grim. But he smiled when he saw us, and said, “Hey. The two detectives."
"That's us," I quipped.
"Did Dave take my advice and hire you guys?"
I nodded. "Yeah. He wants this thing to be solved as soon as possible."
"So do I," Kyle said. "I'm really worried about missing all my meetings. I've got a great job, and I don't want to lose it all because I'm stuck in Vegas. I'm going to call each of the shows and try to set up conference calls and see what I can do, but nobody likes to deal with people on the phone–they all want me to be in the studio, live, in person."
"I didn't know it was so tough in showbiz even after you'd gotten in," Ian said.
"It's not tough if you're a megastar," Kyle said. "But if you're a minion like me, someone dependent on the big bosses, you live and work in fear." He pulled out his wallet and found a business card, which he handed to me. "That's got all my details. My cellphone’s on there too—give me a call anytime you think I might be able to help. I'm with Dave on this terrible affair–we need to wrap it up, and I need to be able to get back to LA."
I nodded. Suddenly, I was aware of how concerned everyone on the show was about solving the case–it wasn't enough for it to be solved, they all wanted a solution quickly.
Ian’s stomach growled loudly, and he said, "We'll call you soon. But right now, I'm starving–I hope the cafeteria’s still got some of that lasagna and chocolate mud cake left."
"I'll see you around," Kyle said, walking off, leaving Ian and me to head into the cafeteria hopefully.
"There's still two slices of mud cake left!" Ian said excitedly. "But the lasagna is finished."
We walked along, peering at the dishes, and then finally helping ourselves to some food. Ian went for the mac and cheese, and I opted for the Caesar salad, hoping that a light main meal would mean more room for cake afterward.
"This wasn't how I'd expected my first day on the show to go," Ian said. "But at least now we've got our appetites back and we can enjoy this delicious free lunch."
Chapter 10
When Ian and I had entered the cafeteria, it was relatively empty. But as we devoured our lunches, our hunger finally having caught up with us, more and more people began to walk in. I think a lot of them had been like us–unable to eat anything after they'd found out the news about Brenna, which meant they wanted something to eat now. By the time Ian and I were finished with our main dish, pretty much everyone we'd met earlier was in the cafeteria, chatting with each other and eating.
A young dark-haired woman I'd never seen before walked in holding a large cake that looked suspiciously like carrot and walnut, so of course Ian and I had to go up to her and ask what it was.
"It's just carrot–no walnuts, because some people might have a nut allergy."
I smiled, and noticed that her hair was pulled back in an efficient-looking braid, and she wore only a smattering of makeup.
"I'm Tiffany Black," I said. "We haven't met before, have we? Dave introduced me to most of the crew before the show started."
“I'm Catherine. I work as one of the show's assistants–I was out getting more food and supplies for everyone before the shooting started. But I've heard about you–apparently, Dave’s hired you to look into Brenna's death."
I smiled. "Does everyone here know that?"
Catherine nodded. "Yeah, Hollywood is all about the gossip. News travels fast."
I looked around. Kyle and Bruce were standing in a corner, sipping coffee and talking to each other with serious faces. The other contestants, MJ, Clayton and Taylor all sat at a table, nibbling on salads, their faces grim. At another table, the director, Chuck, stood talking with the second cameraman and stagehands.
Catherine followed my gaze. There was another woman I'd never met before sitting at the table with the stagehands, and when I asked who she was, Catherine said, "That's Penelope. She's the other assistant."
Penelope looked to be in her early thirties, with short auburn hair and stunning green eyes.
"I see. We might as well go and introduce ourselves."
After we'd each grabbed a slice of carrot cake and the last bit of chocolate mud cake, Ian and I walked over to the table where the stagehands were all sitting.
We introduced ourselves to Penelope, and like Catherine, it turned out that she'd already heard that I was investigating the case.
"Does everyone know this?" I said, and Penelope smiled.
"News travels fast. Have you met everyone here?"
I looked at the second cameraman, who I hadn't met before.
"Not me," he said. "Hi, I'm Stephen."
Ian and I repeated introductions.
"I’ve seen you during the shoots," said Ian. "I guess you must be annoyed at having to stop work, just like everyone else?"
Stephen shrugged. "We'll get paid no matter what. It's a bit annoying if something happens to derail the project, because that wouldn't be good for our careers. But… I'm sure the cops will solve everything. Hopefully quickly."
"I'm not sure how fast they work," said one of the stagehands, whose name I remembered was Carlos. "Sometimes they take forever. That's why Dave hired Tiffany, after all."
"Are you sure you should be investigating?" said Stephen. "Don't the cops always tell people not to mess with their investigations?"
"We’re not messing with their investigations," Ian said quickly. "We’re just… Uh, sort of helping."
"How's the investigation going?" I said. "I see they started interviewing people one-on-one. Have they talked to any of you guys?"
"I think they're going to leave us ‘til last," said Stephen. "They're starting with the people who didn't have alibis for when Brenna died.”
I raised one eyebrow, and Ian said, "So you guys have all got alibis for the time of death?"
"Sure," said Penelope. "All of us, and Catherine, who you were chatting with over there, were on stage when Brenna was supposed to have died. We were talking about how the shoots had gone, and whether we needed to redo anything."
I looked from one person to another, and they were all nodding in agreement. My heart sank a little. I should've been relieved, because it meant that a whole lot of suspects had been eliminated, but I was a bit disappointed nonetheless.
"Well, that's
convenient for everyone here," said Ian. "The cops can be really annoying sometimes, with all their questioning."
Catherine smiled at me. "I wouldn't mind being interviewed by that handsome Detective Ryan."
My heart clenched in jealousy, and I felt like reaching out and shaking her by the throat. "He's got a girlfriend," I said quickly.
Catherine looked surprised. "Oh?"
"Or so I hear," I added.
Ian and I exchanged a glance, and then Ian said, "Apparently, there's a back entrance to this place?"
"Oh, yeah, that," said Stephen. "Dave's been telling us all that someone must've walked in through the back entrance and killed Brenna. That it couldn't have been any one of us."
"Do you believe him?"
I looked around the table. Most people shrugged and looked noncommittal.
"You can't really trust anyone these days," Frank said, summing up the sentiment that seemed to be shared by everyone at the table. "I mean, we know it was none of us at this table, but someone else on the crew could’ve gotten mad at Brenna and decided to off her. You never know what people are really thinking, especially in this business."
There were nods of agreement all around.
"But there's still a chance that someone might have entered through the back entrance," Ian said. "How do we get there?"
"Just walk down the hallway," said Frank. "There's a door on your left, the second from last. Open that, that's the one that leads outside."
Ian and I nodded, and I said, "Do you guys think anyone might've come in from outside?"
Again, everyone shrugged. Nobody seemed to know what to believe, but there was an air of relief at the table that at least everyone knew that none of them had anything to do with Brenna's death.
"Did any of you get a chance to talk to Brenna or get to know her before she died?"
Most people at the table shook their heads.
"Dave liked us to go around and meet everyone," Stephen said with a friendly grin. "But some of us had actual work to do. We leave the schmoozing to the bigwigs."
"You must have some idea about who would want to hurt her?"
"I don't really know that it would be anyone on the staff," Frank said. "Maybe it was one of the contestants that didn't get through–what’re their names again? Clayton and Taylor. People do crazy things for fame."
I glanced over at the table where MJ, Taylor and Clayton were sitting and chatting. They all looked like perfectly normal, sweet people. Could one of them actually have killed Brenna in an attempt to take her place?
"I think we should check out that back entrance first," Ian said. "If the cops are busy talking to everyone here, maybe we could start with someone who might’ve entered from outside."
"That's a good idea," I said to Ian. I fished out a couple of business cards from my wallet, and turned to everyone sitting at the table. "Here are some of my cards–I know you guys think you didn't know Brenna, or that you don't have much of an opinion about who could've done this, but if you think of anything, give me a call."
Everyone nodded politely, but I knew from experience that I most likely wouldn't be getting any phone calls. People don't like to come forward with information, even if they do remember to keep your card.
Before heading off to the exit, Ian and I chatted briefly with everyone else who was gathered in the cafeteria – just a few words, enough to know that the cops still hadn’t interviewed most people, and that Dave had told everyone that someone outside of the crew must’ve entered through the back door. Each time, Ian and I nodded, and said that we were just on our way to check out that exit.
Finally, Ian and I headed out the cafeteria and down the hallway. One end of the hallway led toward the stage, so we walked in the other direction, and just before we got to the end, we opened the second door to our left.
It led out onto another hallway, and Ian and I walked down it, suddenly feeling worried. What if Brenna's killer really had entered through this way?
We passed a door on our right, and on a hunch, I turned back and opened it. It opened onto a large conference room–much larger than the rooms that had been allocated to the show’s contestants–and there was a table with seats for about twenty people. A large whiteboard hung on one wall, and on another wall hung a black-and-white photograph of Las Vegas. Ian and I looked around the room carefully, on the off chance that Brenna’s killer had decided to make a stop in this room and decided to hide something important. But the room was empty, and we didn’t find anything interesting.
I closed the door, and then Ian and I continued onward toward the door at the very end of the hallway. When we opened it, we found that it led to the parking lot.
"Are you sure you can open this again from the outside?" said Ian. "I don't want to go out, and then get stuck.”
"You stay inside, and I'll go out and test it from that side."
I stepped out into the Vegas heat, and let the door shut behind me. The sun was high overhead, and the rays beat down mercilessly–I didn't want to stay out here in the heat for too long. At this hour, the parking lot seemed to be mostly empty–only a few cars were parked at the other end.
And then, a strange sensation came over me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I knew I was being watched.
My heart hammered loudly in my chest, and I glanced around. Nobody was visible–but perhaps whoever was watching me was inside one of those cars. Quite a few of the cars had dark tinted windows, and even if I walked past them, I wouldn't be able to check if anyone was watching me from inside. Not that I wanted to walk past them. Why would someone be watching me? Everything about this was wrong.
I glanced above my head, and noticed a camera above the door. But Dave had told me that this entrance was unmonitored, which meant that the camera was a fake one. And if I was in an unmonitored car park with somebody sitting in one of the cars watching me–I didn't like to finish that thought. I grabbed the door handle quickly.
I wrenched open the door–relief flooding through me when I found that it did open.
"What's wrong?" Ian said, when he saw my face. "You’re all pale and sweaty."
I stepped inside the hallway, and let the door bang shut behind me.
"I'm probably sweating from the heat outside,” I said shakily. “I don't know why we bother to live in a desert."
"But why are you pale?"
I told Ian about the feeling of being watched.
Ian frowned. "Are you sure you weren’t imagining it?"
"I'm sure."
Ian nodded. I knew he believed me–we’d worked on quite a few cases together, and by this time, I'd learned to trust my instincts.
I said, "Something's not right."
"We basically announced to everyone on the show that we were coming out to have a look at the entrance. I shouldn't have been blabbing about it."
"It's not your fault," I said quickly. "If you weren't there, I would probably have told them myself. It didn’t seem like something to hide."
"You're right," Ian said, cheered up by my words. "But why would someone follow us outside?"
"They didn't follow us," I reminded him. "If someone from the cafeteria got to the parking lot before we did, they must've dashed out the cafeteria, and raced around the side of the building. It's amazing they got there before us."
"We did get distracted by having a look at that conference room."
"What if it was just someone else? Someone who'd been sitting in the parking lot from before?" But even as I said the words, I knew they were wrong. It was someone I knew, someone I'd met before, who was watching me.
"Why would they want to watch us?" said Ian. "Maybe they're just curious about the case."
I shook my head. “Something about this feels off. I know Dave is really confident about everyone on this show being great people, but that can't be true–if it was true, Brenna would still be alive."
I took a deep breath, and tried to push the incident out of my mind.
; "Do you think the cops have gone over this hallway?" said Ian. "I'm sure Dave must've told them the same thing about the killer coming in from outside."
"That must've been one of the first things he told them," I said, trying not to feel guilty that I hadn't told Ryan about the unmonitored back entrance. "I'm sure they've already gone over it with their CSI techs, looking for any kind of clue or trace DNA."
Ian and I glanced around silently. Although I tried to feel better about the parking lot incident, I felt nervous and shaken, for the first time since I'd taken on this case.
"Let's get some more cake," Ian said. "We can head back to my room and talk about what we want to do next."
"Cake sounds like a great idea," I agreed. "If somebody from the show bothered to spy on us, then a crew member or contestant must’ve been involved in the murder.”
Chapter 11
When Ian and I headed back to the cafeteria, we found that it was empty other than the stagehands, who were still sitting around the same table.
The carrot cake was half finished by now, but there now seemed to be some lemon bars and a box of brownies. Ian and I helped ourselves to the lemon bars and brownies, grabbed a mug of coffee each, and headed toward the table where everyone was sitting.
"You're back soon," said Frank. "Did you find what you're looking for?"
"I'm not really sure what we were looking for," I admitted.
"When did everyone else leave?" Ian said.
Marcos shrugged. "Around the time you guys left. Dave walked in, and everyone seemed to leave in a rush."
It was too much to ask that whoever had been watching me from the car park had announced to everyone before leaving, Okay, I'm going off to hide in the car park and spy on Tiffany and Ian. But I still asked, "Did they tell you where they were going?"
"I assume most of them went off to try to do some work," Frank said. "I think Kyle wants to do video conferences with his other clients, and maybe Bruce wants to do some editing? Chuck might be looking around for a job."
Zombie Cash Run in Las Vegas Page 6
