Stone shrugged. "Okay. How are you?"
"I'm fine.” I was hardly able to believe I was wasting time on banalities. "I wish I could see more of you."
Stone rarely smiled, but I thought I saw an upward twitch in his lips. "And I wish I could see more of you."
"How's the search for Tariq?"
Stone glanced around himself as though he were concerned about being followed. But there was no one else here, so he said, "It's good. We tracked him down to Santa Verona, used a special code to contact him. The two investigators we hired heard back from him. They let him know I’m here."
Hope surged through me and my eyes widened. "He's willing to help?"
"Yes. He hates Eli as much as I do, and he knows the man's after him, too."
"What happens now?"
“Tariq’s coming to Vegas. I wanted to warn you–we've given him your address as a safe house."
I gulped. "Can I trust him?"
"I’d trust him with my life. I have, and I'm about to do it again."
I nodded. If Stone trusted him, that needed to be enough to me. "When do you think he'll show up?"
"Hard to say. He needs to stay under the radar, and for all we know, Eli’s got men tracking his movements and maybe even watching your place."
I shuddered. I don't like the idea of my apartment being watched, but I knew that I was safe–at least, relatively safe. If Eli or his men knew I was meeting Stone, I would no longer be so safe. Which is why Stone did his best not to meet me if he could avoid it.
"I'm glad I’m talking to you instead of Johnson."
This time, I really could make out the hint of a smile on Stone’s face. "I wanted to see you," he said softly. "I've missed you."
"I've missed you too."
"How’s things with the boyfriend?"
I hesitated for a minute. "Good."
My hesitation didn’t go unnoticed by Stone. "You sure?"
I didn't want to admit my relationship woes to Stone, so I shrugged. "We’re working on the same case. It's not too bad yet."
"Okay. Send me a text when Tariq arrives."
I nodded, and was about to say something, when Stone stepped into the car he'd been standing next to. He drove out slowly, not turning on the lights until he'd driven off a fair distance.
I glanced around myself.
I couldn't see or hear anyone, and I was pretty sure no one else was around. Still, the thought of Eli and his men tracking my movements sent a shiver through my veins.
I walked briskly home, glancing over my shoulder every now and then. When I got into my apartment, I locked the door behind myself, and finally breathed a huge sigh of relief.
Chapter 21
The next morning, I forced myself to wake up to an alarm, and then I texted Ian to let him know I was coming over.
When I showed up at Ian's apartment, Snowflake decided to give me the welcome treatment–she weaved in and out of my legs, and then she lay on the floor while I patted her gently and rubbed her tummy ‘til she purred.
"Snowflake’s in a good mood this morning," I observed.
"Yeah, she's pretty unpredictable these days. I guess that's what it's like when you're a teenager."
As I played with Snowflake, Ian made us a mug of steaming hot coffee each, and found a packet of chocolate chip cookies.
"I got a text from Dave this morning," he said. "No work on set today either. Bruce must still be feeling sick."
"That's annoying. I was looking forward to talking to the crew members before we headed off to talk to Brenna's brother."
"We can still talk to Dave," Ian pointed out. "We know where he’s staying."
Snowflake had enough of me petting her, so she jumped on the countertop and stared at me superciliously as I went over to the couch and joined Ian.
I grabbed a mug of coffee, and a cookie for dunking. When the cookie was nice and soggy, I chewed it happily, and Ian made a phone call to Dave.
Snowflake eyed the packet of cookies thoughtfully, and then she decided that cookies weren’t worthy of her attention. Instead, she started to lick her paws diligently.
When Ian hung up, he turned to me and said, "Dave expects to see us an hour's time. Kyle and Taylor are staying at the same hotel, so we could talk to them too. We haven't really talked to Kyle yet."
"I was just thinking that last night," I said, as I finished one cookie and reached for another. "What about Bruce? Is he not staying at the same hotel?"
"I don't think so," Ian said. "But we can always get his address from Dave."
We finished our breakfasts, said goodbye to Snowflake, and then headed over to the Riverbelle to talk to Dave.
When we got to his penthouse suite, we noticed that Dave had that same sleepless look about himself. Today, his dark circles were even more pronounced, and a smattering of stubble covered his cheeks. He wore chino shorts and a checked shirt. Sitting opposite us on one of the leather sofas, he looked very unhappy with the whole situation.
We chatted a bit about how difficult it was for him to pause production while Bruce recuperated, and I said, "Bruce didn’t look that sick to me when I saw him yesterday. What's wrong with him?"
Dave twisted his lips in a facial shrug. "I'm not sure, and I don't want to probe."
Ian said, "Do you think he’s trying to back out of the project?" He clearly hadn't mastered the art of tactfulness yet.
Dave didn't look as shocked as I'd expected him to. Instead, he shrugged and looked blasé. "I hope not. But if he does quit, it’s early enough in the project to replace him."
"It's probably a good thing he got sick now, rather than later on," I joked.
"I guess so," Dave said, but he didn’t seem to find the situation funny.
"So," I said, deciding to get straight to business, "why didn't you tell us about your affair with Taylor?"
Dave's eyes bulged, and he stared at me, slack-jawed. "Who told you that?"
I shrugged. "We’re private investigators. We find out things like this."
Dave leaned back in his seat, and sighed. "This has just been one disaster after the other."
I mused that having an affair with an attractive blonde couldn’t really be counted as a disaster, but I decided not to say anything.
After a few minutes of silence, Dave said, "I've been seeing her for the last three months. I'm not sure why I invited her onto the show, but I thought she would make for good TV. And perhaps I wanted to impress her a bit more."
Ian asked, "How's that working out for you?"
Dave laughed bitterly. "I wish I could rewind time. I would never have invited her, and maybe I shouldn't have done the show in the first place. Maybe a nice cooking competition, or one of those dance shows would’ve been a better idea."
"I'm sure a zombie apocalypse survival show will be a huge hit once it airs," I said, trying to sound encouraging.
Dave sighed. "I hope so. I hope it's all worth this."
"Do you think Taylor might've been jealous of Brenna?"
Dave’s eyes widened. "I never thought Taylor was the jealous type."
I nodded, and watched his reaction closely. If Taylor had somehow manipulated Dave into killing Brenna, he wouldn't have looked so surprised. If he'd really been the killer, he would’ve tried to shift the blame elsewhere. But so far, Dave had tried to defend every suspect we mentioned to him, whether that was Taylor or Chuck.
"You really don't think Taylor could’ve had anything to do with Brenna's death?"
Dave shook his head. "I've only known her for three months, but I'm sure she could never be so violent or dangerous."
"We still have to talk to her. Ian tells me she’s staying in the same casino?"
Dave nodded. "I’ll text you her phone number, and you can give her a call to set up a time to chat."
I gave him a long look. "I know you don't want to believe this, but people often aren't who they say they are. Perhaps Taylor was desperate to win the show."
Dave shook h
is head. "No, I know that's not the case for Taylor. She wouldn't even have entered this show if I hadn’t invited her. I persuaded her that it might be a fun idea, but when she was eliminated in the first round, I can't say I was surprised. I don't think she was surprised either."
Dave texted Ian Taylor's phone number, but just before we were about to say our goodbyes, the doors to the elevator pinged open, and Kyle stepped out.
He seemed slightly surprised to see us, and turned to Dave. "Is this a bad time? I thought our meeting was now."
"It's fine. I didn't expect my talk with Ian and Tiffany to go on for so long."
"Actually," I said, "Ian and I need to talk to Kyle as well. Perhaps we could have a chat after you two finish your meeting?"
"I'm happy to push back the meeting," Dave said. "I’ve got to make an important phone call anyway–why don’t you three sit here and chat, and I’ll go off to make my call."
Chapter 22
Dave disappeared into one of the rooms and closed the door behind himself, and Kyle seated himself on the sofa that Dave had just vacated.
"It's funny," he said, "but we've never actually sat down and had a chat. I assume you're talking to everyone about Brenna's death."
I nodded. "And I suppose we've got you to thank for convincing Dave to hire us."
Kyle smiled and shook his head. "Dave would have hired you guys anyway. He's really desperate to get the show back on the road, and I know how it is to feel that way–you absolutely don't want to leave anything to chance. If he hadn't hired you two, I might’ve done that myself. I can't wait to get back to LA."
"Can't you do most of your meetings over the phone?"
Kyle shook his head sadly. "I usually meet with a bunch of people at once. These TV shows have a whole team of writers working on each episode, and it all needs to be done in a snap. They need my input, and they don't like sitting around and waiting, and they especially don't seem to like talking on the phone with me!"
"What exactly do you have to do on these shows?"
Kyle leaned forward excitedly. "I'm a show consultant. Basically, I talk to the producers, directors, writers and actors about what we need to do to make a show seem authentic. I've got a PhD in molecular physics, and about twelve years back, I wrote a novel about a dystopian future. I was lucky that it went on to be a bestseller, and after that, I wrote a few more books. I was lucky that my first book got turned into a movie–and the studio people actually appreciated my input. After that, I kept getting calls from people who wanted to do science fiction based stuff–you know, shows based on an alternate reality, set in the future, or just shows featuring scientists as the main characters."
"That sounds like really amazing work," Ian said.
Kyle smiled. "I've been very blessed. I love my work, well, most of the time at least. There are difficult things about the job, just like in any job."
"What are you working on now?"
"Well, there's this zombie reality show, of course. And I'm working on another game show that’s science-based, for kids. I’m consulting on a sitcom where the main characters are scientists, and they want them to be doing research that sounds fairly accurate to listen to, and sometimes they want me to help with doing science-y jokes. And, I'm consulting on a drama that’s set in the future, and I'm helping another studio try to set up a season and the pilot for an apocalyptic TV show."
Ian looked like a child who’d seen his first Christmas tree light up. "Wow," he breathed. "I love science fiction shows. Your job sounds amazing! I wish I could do what you do."
Kyle laughed modestly. "It's great, but there are some difficult bits. You have to deal with very entitled people sometimes, and often, people don't take you seriously. Or they disregard what you have to say, create a bad project, and then you get blamed for it–even though they never took any of your suggestions. Hollywood can be a difficult place to navigate."
"But you seem to have done well," Ian said.
I made a mental note to look up Kyle in my private investigator's database, but I was pretty sure I wouldn't find anything particularly juicy on him. He looked like a rather straight-cut man–what with getting a PhD, and dealing with what sounded like a stressful job, he couldn't have had enough time to get into trouble.
"There's a lot of luck involved," Kyle said, sounding modest. "I mean, I had to get a PhD to learn enough about science that I could write about it, and then, I got lucky in that I met the right people. And for some reason, they liked me and my ideas. Maybe they wouldn't have taken me so serious if I hadn't gotten an actual PhD–and maybe if I hadn't gotten that, I wouldn't have learned enough to be able to consult on such a wide range of shows."
Ian nodded, and I knew that he was about to ask some more about Kyle's fascinating job–but that wouldn't get us any closer to learning about Brenna. So, before Ian could ask anything, I said, "Brenna's death must be affecting you badly."
Kyle nodded. "I'm doing damage control. You would think that I'd be able to do my work remotely, but it doesn't work that way in showbiz."
"Did you get a chance to talk to Brenna before she was killed?"
Kyle shook his head. "She did come up to me briefly. She said hello, and we chatted for maybe half a minute, before I had to run off to make an important phone call."
I nodded. Kyle’s story matched with what I’d heard earlier–that he and Brenna had chatted briefly, before he'd rushed off.
"And did Brenna tell you anything interesting during that brief chat?"
Kyle shook his head. "Nothing really. She said it was nice to meet me, and that it was good that the show had a scientist on board as a consultant, to make it appear more realistic. I think I thanked her for the compliment, said something about my work, and then I had to run off."
"And did you notice Brenna talking with anyone else on the set?"
"I wasn't paying much attention. I think she did talk to everyone, but I was busy typing out an email on my smartphone. That's how it is when you work on so many different shows–your attention’s constantly somewhere else. It's very hard to be in the present."
I smiled, and tried to say something polite. But so far, our chat with Kyle hadn't revealed anything new. What did I expect, given that Kyle had only talked to Brenna for a few minutes?
Ian said, "Dave says he knows most of the people on the crew. Have you worked with any of them before?"
Kyle shook his head. "Not really, but that might be because I’ve never worked with Dave before. I haven't worked with Chuck before, and I get that he and Dave’ve worked together a few times. I might've seen the stagehands or the cameramen around, but I'm bad with names. When I introduced myself, nobody mentioned having seen me before. But I'm not always on the sets of shows I work on, so maybe I've seen someone around briefly, but never got to know them."
Ian and I sat quietly for a few minutes, trying to think of what else to ask, but I was coming up blank.
"You wouldn't know much about Brenna's personal life then," Ian said, half to himself.
"I'm afraid not," Kyle said. "I'm sorry I couldn’t be of much help to you two."
I handed him one of my business cards, and stood up to say goodbye. "That's okay, most people haven't noticed anything unusual about Brenna. The more I talk to the crew, the more I think that the people we need to talk to aren't involved with the show."
I handed him one of my business cards, and said, "Let me know if you think of anything else that might help us out, anything at all."
"I'll be sure to do that," Kyle said, standing up and walking with us to the elevator doors. "I can't wait ‘til this whole thing is sorted out and I can get back to work."
Once the elevator doors closed, I turned to Ian and said, “We didn’t learn anything interesting—again. I think this means it’s high time we went and had a chat with Brenna’s brother, Jake.”
Chapter 23
Ian and I headed home first, where I fired up my laptop and logged into my PI database to see if I could fin
d anything interesting on Brenna's brother, Jake.
Ian brought his laptop over to my place, along with Snowflake, who decided to explore my kitchen and check for any insects she could hunt down–I was thankful when she didn't find any, and instead, jumped on top of my fridge and decided to lick herself clean.
While I logged into the PI database, Ian used his social media skills to try to find any publicly available information on Jake. Unfortunately, a half hour of searching didn't turn up anything interesting–Jake and Brenna had moved to Vegas three years ago, neither of their parents was alive, and neither Jake nor Brenna had any priors.
I'd found out the details of the garage where Jake worked, but when I called to check if he was at work, his manager told me that Jake had taken a few days off, and was most likely at home. So I looked up Jake's phone number, and gave him a quick call.
He seemed slightly surprised to hear that Dave had hired a private investigator, but he agreed to see me in an hour's time. So Ian shuffled Snowflake back to his apartment, and I grabbed my laptop and handbag, and we headed out, ready to see if Jake knew anything about Brenna that we hadn't learned already.
Jake lived in Winchester, a suburb east of the Strip. His address was off East Sahara, in an area populated with car dealerships and garages, and I guessed he had a very short commute to work.
By the time we drove up to his place, it was mid-morning, and the desert sun beat down relentlessly. The street was lined with palm trees, and Jake's townhouse had a small, desert-scaped front lawn.
Ian and I walked up to his front door and knocked.
A few seconds later, Jake opened the door. He had to be over six feet tall, and had the build of a former high school athlete who'd gained some weight. Stubble lined his cheeks, he had dusty blond hair, and his greyish eyes looked at us with only a vague curiosity.
Ian and I introduced ourselves, and we followed Jake inside. The living room was carpeted in a dark material designed to hide spills, and the furniture consisted of a navy-blue sofa set and a large media unit displaying a flat screen TV. A calendar hung from one wall, and the room led to a small dining area and kitchen. Stairs led upward, where I assumed there were bedrooms and a bathroom.
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