Murdered in Hollywood

by Dianne Harman

  “No, I’m fine, thanks,” Kat said. “I’ll get a glass of water in a few minutes.” She sat down on a chaise longue and Rudy positioned himself next to her feet.

  Auberon sighed deeply. “Maybe, maybe she wasn’t murdered. Maybe she was telling me something else about her book. She didn’t get much out.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said…” A pained look crossed his face and he took a deep breath. “She said she loved me. And that she couldn’t breathe. And something about I should check her book. That part was a bit garbled, and I was half-asleep. With the shock of it all, I’m not sure I’m remembering it properly.”

  “You assumed that she meant if she was killed, her death would have something to do with the book, and she wanted you to check it to see who it might have been.”

  “Yes,” he said. He nodded to a copy on the table. “That’s what I’ve been doing. But maybe it wasn’t that at all. Maybe she just wanted me to read it because there are stories about me in there. I’ve read some stuff…” He broke down in sobs, then tried to control himself. “She has a lot of good things to say about me, and she’s very apologetic about her parenting.”

  “That she was,” Kat said sadly. “I know. I’m the one who put the words together, remember? But the sentiment was all hers.” Her eyes tracked over to the book. “I think the people most likely to be suspects are Christos Alexiadis and…”

  “James Strauhan,” Auberon said darkly. “I’ve never liked him.”

  “You’ve met him?” Kat asked.

  “No. I’ve just seen him on TV. I’m not a woo woo kind of guy, and I don’t believe in auras, but there’s something dark and foreboding about him. He’s sinister. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”

  Kat nodded. “I understand. Well, now that you’ve read the book…”

  “It confirmed my suspicions about him,” he said. “I mean, who has an affair with their best friend’s wife? Only the lowest of the low.”

  “He’s not a bastion of morality, I’ll grant you that,” Kat said. “But even so, that doesn’t mean he killed” – the word seemed so harsh and blunt, but she didn’t know what else to say – “your mother.”

  “I know,” he said. “And, like I said, I’m not sure anyone killed her at all. You see, I’ve been in therapy.” He looked up into her eyes, reading her reaction, seeing if he could trust her. She obviously gave an appropriate look because he continued. “It’s made me be able to reflect on myself, my motives, and my responses. What if I automatically wanted, deep down, to believe she was murdered?”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Because, because then I can have the narrative that someday I would have resumed contact with my mother, but the actions of a cruel murderer took away that choice, instead of the fact that I lost out by letting it go. It takes all the blame for the failure of the relationship off me.”

  Kat paused. “I’m not sure, Auberon. It could be that, but it could also be a gut feeling in you that will turn out to be right.”

  He shook his head. “I have no idea. And there’s no way of telling now, is there? Either the police are telling the truth, or someone’s paid them to lie, and there’s no way I’ll be able to find out.”

  “Yes, there is,” Kat said.

  “What’s that?”

  “When the body’s sent to the morgue, you can hire a pathologist to examine her body and conduct a private autopsy to try and find out the cause of death. If the results indicate she died from poison, that means she was murdered.”

  Auberon’s eyes widened. “I never even thought of that. Yes, that’s exactly what I need to do.”

  CHAPTER 13

  That afternoon, Kat decided she’d plunge right into investigating the strange death of Marie Moorhead. She knew she needed to get moving as quickly as possible in case Lacie needed her. Although Lacie wasn’t due to give birth for four weeks, Kat knew from experience babies sometimes didn’t feel like sticking to timetables. Lacie had been one of them, born three weeks early.

  She went up to her room with Rudy, and as she climbed the stairs, she decided that she’d look into James Strauhan first. She’d met him at the premiere, which potentially could be useful, because at least he’d know who she was. Hopefully, that would allow her to get her foot in the door.

  She sat on the bed and searched for James Strauhan Management Company on her phone. In a moment it popped up on her screen with the number for his agent. When she called it went through to the agency switchboard, and she was amazed when she was put through to his agent without any questions being asked.

  “Lilia Hart,” the agent answered.

  “Good afternoon,” Kat said. “I’m trying to get in touch with James Strauhan. Could you help me?”

  “Why don’t you give me some details of what this about, and I’ll pass the message along to him?”

  “Sure,” Kat said. “My name is Kat Denham. I’m the ghostwriter for Marie Moorhead’s book.”

  Kat heard a sharp intake of breath. Ms. Hart’s voice became instantly frosty. “Yes?”

  “I want to discuss some of the contents of the book with him.”

  “You’ll be speaking to our lawyers in due course,” his agent said.

  Kat knew that she was legally protected. Marie had assured her of that. Kat was contracted for writing work, and had no responsibility for the information contained inside the book, but she knew that tack probably wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She was going to have to become devious.

  “Yes, I’m aware there’s going to be a legal challenge,” Kat said. “The publishing of the book is being pushed back two weeks, and the publisher is allowing me to release some supplemental material to rebuff some of the book’s contents. The portion about James has been on my conscience, and I wanted to meet with him to get his side of the story.”

  “He’s already in talks with magazines and publishers.”

  “Yes, but since I’m the ghostwriter for Marie’s book, I may be able to help in getting some changes to the manuscript.”

  “I see.” Kat sensed a change in Ms. Hart’s tone of voice. “Just a moment. Please hold the line.”

  “Sure.”

  Kat listened to the music by Greensleeves while she was on hold and felt her stomach flutter. She hated lying, but she’d learned a lot from Marie about these Hollywood types. There was no way she’d ever be able to meet with James Strauhan face to face without some form of “creativity” on her part.

  In a few moments Ms. Hart came back on the line. “Yes, he’ll meet with you. He’s shooting at the Turner Studio today, but he sees this as a matter of utmost urgency. Can you meet with him this evening?”

  “I’d be happy to,” Kat said.

  “He’d prefer somewhere private. Would it be possible for you to meet with him at his home?”

  Kat gulped. What if he was the killer, knew she was onto him, and wanted to finish her off? She paused. “Does he like dogs? I’d like to bring…”

  “I’m sure that will be fine,” Ms. Hart quickly said. She sounded deeply relieved. “I’ll have his personal chef prepare dinner. What would you like? And wine? What about wine? Spirits? Soft drinks?”

  “Oh, umm…” Kat hadn’t expected the question. It was obvious Ms. Hart was tripping all over herself in order to make Kat comfortable. “Maybe chicken?”

  “Which would you prefer? Roast chicken? Fried chicken? Baked chicken?” Ms. Hart’s voice was beginning to sound somewhat frantic.

  “Any of those would be fine.”

  “Okay… Roast chicken with potatoes and vegetables, with white wine, followed by… Do you eat dessert?”

  “I’ve been known to.”

  “Cheesecake?”

  Bemused, Kat said, “Yes, that would be fine.”

  “Okay, it’s all arranged then. Would 7:30 p.m. work for you?”

  “Yes, that should be fine.”

  “Brilliant. My name is Lilia Hart, Ms. Denham.” S
he gave Kat her direct work number and her cell phone number. “Please call me for anything, anything at all. We want to make sure you’re extremely comfortable and have everything you need.”

  Well, Kat thought, this service had to be better than any 5-star hotel. “Thank you, Ms. Hart. I’ll be sure to call if I need anything.”

  Ms. Hart gave Kat the address of James Strauhan’s home. “Thank you again for reaching out to Mr. Strahan, Ms. Denham.”

  “You’re most welcome.” Kat hung up the phone shaking her head with amazement. “Well, Rudy,” she said, ruffling the dog’s head, who was calmly sitting by the bed, “that had to be one of the strangest phone calls I’ve ever had.”

  She went downstairs to let Auberon know her plans, and spent the rest of the afternoon at a table in the large garden, editing one of her books on her laptop, while Rudy explored his surroundings in between his naps.

  At 6:00 p.m., she went upstairs to shower and change. She knew it was a little early, but her mounting anticipation and nervousness was getting to her. She’d been reading each sentence in the manuscript she was editing a minimum of three times, but she still forgot what they were about.

  She had no idea what to wear to this type of a meeting. She remembered some advice Marie had once given her, “When meeting executives, darling, don’t overdress. They want to be seen as the professionals, while they see you as an eccentric creative.”

  But that advice didn’t quite apply here. James Strauhan was also a creative, but they were talking business, and she had been asked to dinner. And so she went back and forth and back and forth.

  She definitely wasn’t going to wear one of her evening gowns. Even she knew she’d be horribly overdressed in one of them. Still, slacks and a shirt seemed too casual. She finally managed to put together something she felt would be appropriate, a purple silk shirt, designer jeans, and black espadrilles with a little wedge heel.

  She and Rudy took a cab to James Strauhan’s home. Fortunately, he lived in Beverly Hills, so it wasn’t that long of a drive. His house was at the end of a long street with a huge pair of black gates guarding the entrance to the driveway.

  The nearby hedges that surrounded the property had been trimmed into very precise angles. It was a look that said whoever lived in the house was very exacting and probably a perfectionist. The driver got out the cab to speak into the intercom, then returned to the cab. Kat expected the gates to open, but they didn’t.

  “They’re going to send a golf cart to the gate for you and the dog,” he said, raising his eyebrows a little. “Apparently they don’t let anyone in.”

  “I see,” Kat said. She wondered if this was normal in Hollywood, or if James was being especially paranoid. She got out of the cab, taking Rudy with her, then paid the driver with her credit card and headed for the pedestrian gate at the side of the drive-in gate. She had to buzz again since the door wouldn’t open, but soon it unlocked, and she was allowed in.

  The other side of the gate was a whole new world. The thing that struck her the most was the exact perfection of everything, although the gate and the hedges she’d seen on the other side should have been a clue. There was a long driveway, completely straight, like a Roman road, leading up to a perfectly symmetrical mansion.

  It wasn’t a classical style of a house, like Marie’s, but modern, full of glass and chrome and sharp angles. On either side of the driveway were sidewalks made from light gray tile, which she thought was an odd choice. But like everything else, they were laid out in a very exacting manner. Even the trees seemed to stand at perfect attention, as if they were soldiers in a landscaped army.

  In a moment, a large golf cart came down the driveway from the house. It was gray with gray upholstery, and Kat was getting the distinct feeling that if James Strauhan could have painted the whole world gray, he would have eagerly done so.

  She wasn’t particularly fond of the color, despite it being somewhat in vogue in the interior design magazine she subscribed to. She preferred warmer tones, like beiges, soft blues, browns, and camels. She had no doubt that the interior of James Strauhan’s home would look like an operating room in a hospital, and be just as clean.

  “Kat Denham?” the man on the golf cart said. He wore casual jeans and a t-shirt. His manner made it clear he was staff.

  “Yes, that’s me,” she said. “And this is Rudy.”

  “Right,” he said. “Well, you’ll both fit in the back.”

  “Thank you,” Kat said, climbing in, and beckoning for Rudy to join her.

  When they got closer to the house, Kat realized she’d been wrong. Through the glass walls she could see the bright colors inside. Primary colors had been used in the rooms, some red, some blue, and some yellow. It wasn’t her style, but she thought it was a welcome change from the starkness of everything else.

  There was a water feature in the middle of the driveway, a tall flat wall of metal, with water pouring over each side of it into a rectangular pool dug into the ground. Kat thought it was totally unwelcoming and ugly.

  She didn’t feel it did anything to add to its surroundings and wondered why James Strauhan had spent what was probably a substantial amount of money to have it installed. The saying she’d heard about rich people came to mind. “Because I can.” Maybe it applied in this situation.

  When the golf cart pulled up in front of the house, James Strauhan opened the chrome front door and walked towards her with a phony smile plastered on his face. “Kat,” he said, like she was an old friend. “So glad you could make it.”

  Kat couldn’t stand fake friendliness, but she managed a little smile and wave. When she and Rudy were out of the golf cart, she gave him a handshake. She hated the look in his eyes, but returned his gaze. “I’m glad to be here, James. Thanks for meeting with me.”

  “Please, come in.” He looked at Rudy in a disapproving sort of way. “You must love your dog very much to take him everywhere with you.”

  “Yes, I do,” Kat responded

  “That’s great, just great. Please, come in. My wife is visiting her sister, so we have the place to ourselves.”

  They went inside the house and the first thing Kat saw was a long hallway with black walls and chrome features, which led to a chrome staircase and an upstairs hallway. It seemed much more inviting on the second level, blue in color, with an open wall to the yard. The yard, like pretty much everything else, wasn’t in her style. There was a pristine lawn with no trees whatsoever, only hedges cut into odd, abstract shapes, but at least it was natural and green, as opposed to everything else.

  “Let me get you a drink,” he said, walking over to the bar at the far side of the room he’d led her to, which she assumed was a study.

  She chose a gin and tonic, and watched him carefully as he poured. If he was the killer, and had poisoned Marie, she wanted to make sure the same thing didn’t happen to her.

  He made a martini for himself and sat down opposite her. Although the couches were angular and stark, at least the cushions were comfortable.

  “So, let’s cut to the chase,” James said. “Lilia told me the publication of Marie Moorhead’s book has been pushed back a couple of weeks, and there’s a chance I can get my story out there, or at least amend what’s in the book.”

  “That’s right,” Kat said. “Did you go to the launch party?”

  “No, I wasn’t invited,” he said. “Marie Moorhead has never been a fan of mine, despite how charming everyone thinks she is.”

  “I see.”

  “Pity she died,” he said. “Such bad timing for her, but it certainly was wonderful timing for the publishing industry. I’m sure the buzz around her death will sell a lot of books.” He sipped his martini. “It only makes sense for me to jump on that wave. Perhaps she did me a favor after all. Well, it will be a favor only if you can make sure that nothing contentious is published about me.”

  “Well…” Kat let her imagination run free. “The publisher is very much against me taking out the juicy sto
ries contained in the book, such as the one with you and Angelica Smith on the beach.”

  He turned away from her.

  “Is it true?” she asked.

  “Of course not.”

  She tried to give him a knowing look, but he didn’t even look up, so it was wasted. For a moment, there was complete silence.

  “How can we make this go away?” he asked quietly.

  “Are you sure you want it to?” Kat asked. “The public forgives celebrity figures for all sorts of missteps. And you know what Barnum, the circus guy said. Think it went something like, ‘I don’t care what you say about me, just spell my name right.”

  “It’s not the public I’m concerned about,” he said.

  Kat went right for the jugular. “Are you talking about Lucy? Or Brad Ewell?”

  “Brad, mainly,” he said. “He’s Hollywood’s darling. He could probably get me blacklisted anywhere and everywhere, if he wanted to. Trust me, I’ll never work in this city again. You simply don’t cross Brad Ewell.”

  Well, that certainly would qualify as a motive, Kat thought.

  “I see. I understand you were going to have your lawyers sue to obtain a legal injunction against having the book published, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “What were you hoping to achieve?”

  “For the passage to be removed from the book.”

  Kat nodded. “I assume you had a lawyer send a letter to the publisher.”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Did you get a response?”

  “Yes, Molly Singh said it was out of the question, and I could sue away because there was no law to stop anyone from publishing the truth.” His face started to become very red. There was no doubt in Kat’s mind he was very angry.

  Kat drifted off for a moment in thought. If he was that concerned about what Marie had said about his affair with Angelica, it would have made some kind of sick sense for James to have killed Marie in a last-ditch attempt to prevent or delay publishing of the book.