Murdered in Hollywood

by Dianne Harman

  He made a vow then and there that he would be the boss. There would never be anybody, ever again, who would have authority over him. Never again would someone do what the studio boss had done and get away with it.

  And it had turned out to be surprisingly easy. He invested some of his acting money in a movie as the producer, and it was a smash hit, so he had a nice payout and it bolstered his reputation. He managed to parlay that into being the vice-president of a studio, and it was only a couple years later that he became the boss of the studio.

  He loved to rub his success in his father’s face. Whenever he visited, he called him ‘useless,’ a ‘tired old man,’ ‘ugly,’ and a ‘waste of oxygen.’ His father was now too broken to lose his temper, and he’d become depressed. Christos felt guilty, but it lasted for only a few minutes. All he had to do to make the feeling go away was remember his childhood.

  In fact, there were moments closer to the present he could remember, too, such as Dimitra calling him in tears, telling him that Gio had given her a mouthful of abuse, a rare occurrence for now, and then thrown a kitchen knife at her from across the room. Luckily, it missed her.

  The next time Christos visited Naples, he’d given his father hell to pay. He’d held the very same kitchen knife up to Gio’s neck and told him that if he so much as called Dimitra ‘stupid,’ Christos would be on the first plane back from Hollywood to slit Gio’s throat.

  He did all this to avenge his mother.

  When Gio cried and snivelled pathetically, Christos simply said, “You did not care when Mama cried. You did not care when we cried. Now it is your turn to cry, and nobody will care.”

  Of course, Christos did not stay in the family home when he visited. It was far too humble for him. Instead, he stayed at the most luxurious hotel in Naples, right on the Bay of Naples, making sure absolutely everyone knew who he was, and lived it up like royalty.

  He always asked Dimitra to come with him, but she said she didn’t feel comfortable around such luxury. She had much simpler tastes, which annoyed Christos, but she wasn’t to be swayed. Plus, she never liked his girlfriends.

  Christos understood why she didn’t like them. He didn’t exactly pick his girlfriends for their personalities. Actually, he’d prefer if they didn’t have personalities. Just a blank slate with a nice body and long dark hair would have been his ideal. He didn’t believe in love or romance or anything of the kind. He was convinced it was all made up by romance writers. Ironically, his studio had produced a number of romance movies over the years.

  His girlfriends never lasted long. There was always someone new ready to spread her legs in exchange for a movie role, so why say no? He never felt guilty about it because that was just the currency Hollywood operated in. And if they didn’t offer, he asked. If they didn’t oblige, once in a while he had to get a little physical. He told himself it was just to loosen them up. He’d never forced himself on anyone, but little touches here and there didn’t really do any harm, right?

  That’s what he’d always believed, and he’d had always gotten away with it.

  But now, things were changing.

  He was sitting on the terrace of the hotel, sipping a cold beer, when he got a call from Alexandra Harrington, the head of the studio’s legal team. She was drop dead gorgeous and had a killer body in the skirted suits she liked to wear.

  But she also had a steely glint in her eye, and he knew he was only allowed to make an occasional comment, and never to let his hands wander. He wasn’t stupid. She was trained up to the eyeballs in law and litigation, and that was why he hired her.

  “Christos,” she said. “You’re in trouble, potentially.”

  “Well, hello to you too,” he said with a laugh. “Aren’t you going to have some manners and ask me about the weather? About how my family is doing?”

  “No,” she said curtly. “Sir, don’t ask me how, because I’m not going to tell you, but the PR team got ahold of a copy of Marie Moorhead’s upcoming book. They wanted to comb through it for any actor’s names for movies coming up in the next couple of years. But they found yours.”

  That made him instantly snap out of his vacation mode. “And?”

  “And Marie’s laid down a huge number of names of people who have supposedly slept with you so they could get roles, and who you may have ‘sexually assaulted,’ allegedly, that is.”

  “That’s a load of trash,” he said. “Baseless allegations. No one can prove anything. Just pay them all off. What are you going to do about it?”

  “Don’t panic,” Alexandra said. “We can get this taken care of. We’re getting a court injunction to prevent the release of the book before we’ve had adequate time to look at the allegations. We have to frame it as potential libel and potential false claims.”

  “Potential? No, 100% actual false claims!”

  “No comment,” Alexandra said. “In any case, you don’t have too much to worry about. I just called to keep you in the loop. We’re handling it. Try to relax and enjoy your vacation.”

  “I won’t give it another moment’s thought,” he said, but his hand was shaking as he reached for his beer. “Thanks, Alexandra.” He drained the bottle with the next swig.

  CHAPTER 9

  Marie adored Jazz and Rudy, and had requested that Kat bring them with her when she went to California. “Actually, I’d really like you to bring the whole family,” she’d said on the phone the day before the scheduled launch of the book, “however, I am trying to keep in perspective that I’m not the center of the universe, and people have other things to do.”

  “Marie, I’d love to bring them both, but traveling with two dogs by myself would be a nightmare. I’ll bring Rudy, because I had my doctor help me get a comfort therapy certificate for him for when I travel. He can actually get on the plane with me.

  “As a matter of fact, I’d love to bring everyone, but with Lacie so late in her pregnancy, it isn’t possible. Besides, neither Blaine nor Tyler could take that much time away from work. They’re saving all their vacation time so they can use it after the baby’s born.”

  Early the next day, Kat headed to the airport in Kansas City with Rudy. She checked in at the last minute, which was unlike her, because she’d taken him for a long walk when they got to the airport. She wanted to make sure he was a little tired and ready for the flight.

  The flight went smoothly, taking just over three hours. Kat spent her time on the plane plotting out her next book for her Sexy Cissy pen name. It was going to be about an English duke and his American assistant, a young woman named Renee, who helped plan a fake marriage with the duke’s son, so he could inherit the dukedom and his father’s vast fortune. She was enjoying thinking about Renee, the heroine, who was sharp and feisty and gave as good as she got.

  After the plane landed in Los Angeles, Kat and Rudy got a cab to take them to Marie Moorhead’s home in Beverly Hills. Thankfully there was little traffic, so it was only a short drive of thirty minutes.

  Marie’s home was located on South Mapleton Drive, which was just off Sunset Boulevard. The streets in the neighborhood were lined with high bushes, trees and walls, no doubt to keep nosy people from looking inside. Actually, Kat was surprised at how normal it was. The area looked like a lovely, upscale neighborhood and contrary to what she’d heard, none of the streets were paved with gold.

  “The Playboy Mansion’s down there,” the driver said, nodding down an adjoining street.

  “Oh, right,” Kat said, not that she’d ever thought about where it would be.

  “And P Diddy, the rapper, well, he lives there.” The driver indicated a huge mansion on the other side of the street.

  “Wow. Nice house.”

  A couple of moments later, he said, “The house you’re headed for is just around the next corner.” He turned the corner, then said, “Uh-oh.”

  Kat had been looking out of her own window, but straightened up and looked out the windshield. There were a number of police cars parked haphazardly on
the street in front of a large white mansion. Kat felt her stomach drop. “That’s Marie Moorhead’s house, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he said as he pulled to the side of the street and parked. “Stay here, and I’ll find out what’s going on.”

  “No, it’s all right, I’ll do it.” She had no patience with sitting in the car and watch conversations she couldn’t hear through the windshield.

  As she got out of the cab the transition from the cab’s air conditioning to the blazing early afternoon heat hit her like a furnace blast. She began to feel lightheaded, but walked on. There was a female policewoman standing alone in the shade of a huge tree, writing on a note pad.

  “Good afternoon, Officer,” Kat said, walking over to her.

  “Yes, it is afternoon. Precisely 2:03.” Her reply was not said in a rude or malicious tone, but was just very matter-of-fact. She was obviously a person who liked details. “How can I help you?”

  “This is Marie Moorhead’s house, isn’t it?” Kat asked. “I’m her friend, and her ghostwriter. What’s going on?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t release that information at the moment,” the policewoman said. “The scene is still being analyzed.”

  “The scene. Is her house a crime scene? Has Marie been arrested?”

  The cop looked at her for the first time. “Why? Should she have been?”

  “No, I just, well, I suppose I’m almost hoping she was the perpetrator of a crime, rather than a victim of one.”

  “Do you enjoy fraternizing and working with criminals?”

  “Of course not,” Kat said, exasperated. “I just hope she isn’t hurt.”

  The woman sighed. “Well, don’t hold out too much hope, is all I’ve got to say.”

  Kat’s stomach dropped. “She’s not, someone didn’t, she’s alive, isn’t she?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to divulge…”

  “Please,” Kat said. “You can’t just tell me that?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Well, here’s my card with my name and phone number on it. Please call me if circumstances change.”

  At that moment, there was a horrific squeal of tires behind them, and a car thundered up the street. Everyone turned to look. At the rate the vehicle was speeding, it looked like it was going to plow into the parked squad cars. But it came to an abrupt screeching stop just behind them. Kat had expected to see some kind of a supercar, but it was a simple Volkswagen sedan.

  A man jumped out of it. He was tall, with sandy hair and dark rings under his eyes. He was pale as death.

  “Where’s my mother?” he asked, to anyone who would listen. No one replied. “I said where’s my mother?” he burst out. “She called me, gasping for breath, and…” He trailed off, and looked around in disbelief as none of the police answered him. “WHERE IS MY MOTHER?” he shouted.

  “Who are you?” the policewoman asked.

  Kat was dumbfounded at the level of insensitivity displayed by the police. The man looked like he was about to implode with anger, so Kat answered for him. “This is Auberon Lennon-Shroeder, Marie Moorhead’s son.” Kat knew him from the photographs Marie had shown her.

  Auberon was in such an agitated state of mind he didn’t have the wherewithal to ask who Kat was. “Yes, I am,” he said firmly. “Now can someone tell me where my mother is.”

  “One second,” the policewoman said. She went over to a group of policemen who were standing by the gate, and came back with someone who looked like he was a more senior policeman. He was wearing plain clothes, but he had an air of power about him.

  “You are Auberon Lennon-Shroeder?” the man asked.

  “Yes. Where’s my mother?”

  “She’s been rushed to Cedars-Sinai Hospital. You can locate her there.”

  Auberon turned around without a word and got back in his car.

  “Don’t speed!” the cop yelled after him.

  But Auberon didn’t pay any attention to him. He sped back down the street the way he’d come.

  Kat ran back to the cab. “Can you take me to the Cedars-Sinai Hospital, please?”

  “Sure,” the cab driver said, his eyes wide. “Marie Moorhead’s in the hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, she is pretty old,” he said, turning the vehicle around.

  “With all that police presence,” Kat said, clearly irritated, “I’d bet something much more than old age is going on here.” As they passed back through the upscale Beverly Hills neighborhood, she was distinctly less impressed than she had been on the way in. None of these amazing houses or all of this wealth could save anyone from the harsh realities of old age, death, and, if it was as it appeared to be, crime.

  She gave Rudy a treat. “I feel bad about leaving him in the car while I’m in the hospital. He’s been cooped up a long time.”

  “I’d offer to walk him,” the cab driver said, “but I’m not big on dogs. I got attacked by one when I was a little kid, and I haven’t liked them since then.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Kat said. “Well, I’ll try to be as fast as I can. You have the time to wait for me, right?”

  “As long as you’re paying me, ma’am,” he said with a chuckle, “I got all day.”

  “Of course. Sorry, I realize I don’t know your name.”

  “I’m Lance,” he said.

  “Okay. Nice to meet you, Lance. I’m Kat Denham.”

  They soon arrived at the hospital and Lance dropped her off by the front door. They’d taken each other’s cell phone numbers, so they could get in touch if necessary. Kat noticed Auberon’s VW parked illegally near the entrance, with a ticket already attached to its windshield.

  At the front desk, Kat asked for Marie, and was told she was in intensive care. Kat’s heart sank.

  She’d begun to feel a little shaky, so she bought a packet of cookies from the hospital snack bar to bring up her blood sugar. Then she made her way through the innumerable corridors of the hospital to the intensive care ward.

  She explained who she was to one of the nurses and was told she couldn’t be admitted to Marie Moorhead’s room or officially updated on her status, since she wasn’t a member of the family.

  Kat, uncharacteristically for her, felt close to tears. She gulped them down, feeling hot, but her voice still shook when she said, “Okay,” to the nurse.

  “Sorry,” the nurse said. “You’re clearly very close to her, but that’s just the way it is. I have to obey the rules. Do you know her son? He’s here. Maybe when he comes out, he’ll talk to you,” the nurse said.

  “Yes, I think I’ll wait for him,” Kat said. She sat in the waiting area, nibbling on her cookies. She sent a text to Blaine, but didn’t tell Lacie or Tyler what was going on with Marie, since the last thing she wanted was for Lacie to get stressed.

  There was a TV in the waiting room, playing a mindless sitcom. It would have been a very good distraction, if it weren’t for the fact that the sound was turned off. She looked around the waiting room. It was mostly empty. There were a couple of people lying down across rows of chairs, trying to sleep. She guessed they’d been in the hospital waiting for updates for some time.

  A pinch-faced woman was in the room, reading a magazine, twitching with worry every now and again, and looking up at the doors that led to the ward, as if hoping her loved one would come through it, walking and smiling.

  Kat shook her head. She’d seen far more of hospitals in the past two days than she’d seen in a long time. She realized how lucky that made her.

  A short while later, Auberon walked through the doors of the ward, and hurried towards the exit. Kat had to jump out of her seat, grab her handbag, and rush after him to catch up.

  “Auberon,” she said when they were outside in the corridor.

  He turned around. “Yes? Who’s asking?”

  “My name’s Kat Denham. I’m a friend of your mother’s.”

  He paused, as if he wasn’t sure how to react.

 
; “I just wanted to know how she’s doing,” Kat said softly.

  “You’re not a journalist, are you?”

  “No. You don’t even need to tell me what happened. I just want to know if she’s okay.”

  “She’s in intensive care. What do you think?”

  Kat took a deep breath to try and calm herself. “Yes, but is she getting better or worse? What’s the prognosis?”

  “How do you know her?”

  “I’m an author. I wrote a book that was made into a movie. Marie was the leading lady in it.”

  “I see.” He looked relieved, then immediately became suspicious again. “One second. Let me see if I can get some proof.” He took out his phone and punched in an Internet Movie site. He typed in his mother’s name, first clicking on the movie, then on ‘writer’ and found Kat Denham’s name. He clicked on her profile and saw her picture. “Okay, I believe you.”

  Kat nodded. “Thank you.”

  “They say she’s not going to get better. She’s in a coma and is not going to come out of it. I’ve been told I’ll say my goodbyes tomorrow, and then they’ll turn off the life support machine that is keeping her alive.” He said it with no emotion whatsoever. She wondered if he didn’t care, or if he was trying to hold it together.

  “Oh.” Kat felt his words like a punch to her heart. “Did someone…? Why were the police there?”

  “Probably because I called them,” he said. “She phoned me, choking, and said she was having a problem with her breathing. She said it had something to do with her book. That blasted book. It never should have been written. I’m going to get hold of the person who encouraged her, and…”

  Kat winced. “I think I better stop you there. I was the ghostwriter for her book.”

  “You’re the…” He looked at Kat as if she was a serial killer. “Never, ever, ever speak to me again,” he shouted in anger. “You as good as killed my mother by writing that book. Get out of my sight! Now! Get out! Go!”

  Kat knew his wants trumped hers in this situation. After all, Marie was his mother. Kat looked at him and said, “I’m so sorry, Auberon, for what’s happening.”