I slipped into the passenger seat. “If you don’t work for Parson why are you sharing information with him?”
He started the car. “Parson is a father whose daughter has been murdered. He may be an asshole, but he has every right to try to find her killer. And Jenny, no matter what or who she may have been, has every right for her killer to be brought to justice.” He threw the car into reverse, backed out of the parking space, and drove toward the exit gate.
“You said, ‘no matter what or who she may have been.’ Did you know Jenny?”
“Never met her.”
I leaned my head back against the seat. I thought of my husband attending a party on Parson’s yacht. He’d never told me about it. Then there was Celia, who may have been lying to me. And finally there was Heath, who could be the greatest liar of them all.
I closed my eyes. “I don’t know who to believe anymore.”
“Welcome to my world,” he said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Driving smoothly and confidently, Heath took us back along Cabrillo Boulevard. The tourists were still pedaling for all they were worth, and the boats were swaying on the glistening water. I thought of what Parson had said about not being able to mourn in the brilliant sunshine. It was true, the dazzling perfection of a beautiful California day was a fist-punch right into your wounded heart.
“What does Parson know about my husband?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Would you tell me if you did?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On the information. Who it can hurt, and how important it is.”
“Who are you to judge? Don’t your clients pay you for all the information you discover?”
“You’re not my client. They also pay me to keep their secrets. Think of me as a priest. One that doesn’t like choirboys,” he added.
He guided the car into a roundabout and followed it onto Coast Village Road in the wealthy enclave of Montecito. Expensive shops, galleries, and cafés lined the street. I looked up toward the Santa Ynez Mountains and wondered which mansion held Parson’s sedated wife. The village ended at the 101 on-ramp. Heath sped onto the freeway, and I was finally headed back home.
Adjusting my sunglasses, I studied his profile. With his graying dark hair, strong chin, and crooked nose he was more elegantly unhandsome than handsome. I’ve acted with many great-looking men, and I’ve learned it’s the ones who aren’t so good-looking that have a better sense of themselves, which made them more attractive.
“Like what you see?” He was staring straight ahead at the highway.
“I’m trying to see you as a priest. It’s bad casting. What does Parson do exactly? Or do your vows not allow you to reveal that either?”
“He told you. He’s an investor. He owns real estate, some islands, and people.”
I thought of Ryan Johns owing him money. “How does he own people?”
“He collects information on them. You’ve already discovered he’s not a nice man, Diana.”
“So he does have something on my husband.” I felt a small rip in the tether that kept me moored. The tether that kept me from being my mother, with a collection of unwanted and discarded men in her life. The tether that held me to the one person I had been certain loved me.
“I know you don’t want my advice,” he said, “but I’m going to give it to you anyway. Sometimes it’s better to leave the dead alone. Let them have their secrets.”
“I wish I had left Jenny Parson alone instead of talking my way into her condo. I wish my Jag worked and that my house didn’t need a new roof and deck. And I especially wish Colin hadn’t died.”
“I had a girlfriend once that did nothing but wish for things. She used to cut out pictures of expensive handbags and shoes from fashion magazines and tape them on the refrigerator door. A sort of if-you-visualize-what-you-want-you’ll-get-it bullshit. In her case it worked. She married a wealthy man. But every time before I opened that damn refrigerator for a beer I saw Prada, Fendi, and Channel.”
“Doesn’t sound like you and your girlfriend had a lot in common.”
“We had mindless sex. She liked wearing these Gucci stiletto heels she bought on sale …”
“I can figure the rest of out for myself. Thank you.” I peered out the window, watching drivers cutting each other off, and thought of Colin and me making love, our hot sweaty skin pasting our bodies together, and me hoping we would never be able to separate ourselves.
“What did you and Ben Zaitlin talk about at his birthday party?” Heath asked.
Heath’s question jarred me back to reality. “You’re a good interrogator. Chat about other things like your girlfriend and sex and then zero in with the question.”
“Practice. Ben kissed you.”
“Did his mother tell you that?”
“No, I was watching. That’s a big part of my job … to watch.”
“He’s a lonely kid who discovered his stepfather has had a mistress for half his life. He wanted to kiss a woman that Zailin hadn’t gone to bed with.”
“And did he kiss a woman who hadn’t gone to bed with his stepfather?”
“Is this for your own personal file? because I don’t see how it’s pertinent to the case.”
He shrugged.
“Yes, he kissed a woman who hasn’t had sex with Zaitlin.”
“Did Ben want it to go further than the kiss?”
“I’m not going to take advantage of a twenty-one-year-old.”
“I don’t think he’d see it that way. Was he at The Den the night of Jenny’s murder?”
“I’m sure the club has a security tape.”
“I’m going to take your answer as a yes unless you tell me otherwise. Did he say who else was there?”
I sighed. “Jenny. She was drunk. And I think Ben said some guy drove her home.”
“Does this guy have a name?”
“Ben didn’t say.”
“Did he mention whether he was wearing a gray sweatshirt with a hood?”
“You mean like the man on the security tape in Jenny’s garage?”
He nodded.
“I’ve found over the years that most men don’t think about what other men are wearing. In fact, they can hardly remember what their wives were wearing,” I said.
“I’ll remember what you wore today. Tight sexy black dress. Gray leather jacket for toughness. Which I’ve discovered you have in spades.”
“Do me a favor. Forget the dress. Remember the toughness.”
Grinning, he said “I’ll try. How well did Ben know Jenny?”
“He said he knew she was causing her father problems on the set, but he didn’t really know her personally. He implied that she ignored him.”
“You believe that?”
“Yes, I do. Besides, what’s his motive for killing Jenny? Zaitlin has more motive than Ben. I’ve never seen him put up with so much from an actress who wasn’t a star.” Hearing my own words, I now realized why Zaitlin had put up with her. “Is Parson backing the film?”
“You won’t see his name anywhere.”
“God, all an actor wants is a job. No one thinks about where the financing comes from to make the movie.”
“You’ve probably helped launder a little money in your career and never knew it.” He swerved off onto a freeway exit ramp.
I tensed. “Where are we going?”
“Lunch. Or are you one of those actresses who doesn’t eat?”
I thought of the nonfat food in my refrigerator that never rotted, just turned rigid. “Actually, I’m starving.”
He pulled into a shopping center lined with big square-shaped warehouses that didn’t look much different from soundstages, except for their enormous signs announcing Target, T. J. Maxx, Best Buy, and Nordstrom’s R
ack. Hollywood doesn’t have a monopoly on selling dreams at cost.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Red Pepper was a pseudo-Mexican food chain restaurant with ropes of plastic red peppers hanging from the walls and waitresses stuffed into pseudo-Mexican fiesta skirts and blouses.
I slid into a booth.
Heath remained standing. “I’ll be right back.” A cell phone rang in one of his pockets. It was a familiar ringtone. In fact it was my ringtone. He took my iPhone from the inside of his jacket and handed it to me. “It’s for you.”
Anger gave my adrenalin a jolt. “You bastard.”
“You weren’t going to drive back with me. I had to think of something.” He strolled off toward the restroom.
Glaring after him, I answered the call.
It was Zaitlin. “What did Parson say to you?”
“Robert, how could you let Parson have me driven to Santa Barbara without telling me where the hell I was going, who I was going to meet, or why? I thought I was being abducted.”
“Nothing I could do. Parson wanted it handled his way.”
“You could’ve said no.”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything. There are some things you don’t know, Diana, and some things it’s better you don’t know. And don’t try to bully me about it. Tell me what you told him.”
Inwardly I sighed. “Exactly what I told you. But I think you should talk to Ben. He was at the club where Jenny was the night she died.”
“Did you say anything to Parson about Ben?”
“No.”
“Good. Tell Heath. If it needs taking care of, he’ll do it.”
“I’m sure he will.” I looked across the restaurant through the service opening into the kitchen. Heath was talking intently to an older man in a chef’s hat.
“Robert, Parson knew Colin. He had something on him. What was it?”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t worry about it. Colin’s dead.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Tell Heath to bring you to the Formosa Café. Jake Jackson, Beth Woods, and I will be there around three o’clock. If you’re late we’ll wait.”
“You’re replacing me with another actress, aren’t you?”
“Jake Jackson wants to meet with you. That’s all.”
“Just be honest with me. Save me the trip.”
“Sometimes we have to feed the beast, Diana. You know how the game is played.” He hung up.
I did know how the game was played. I also knew if you had to feed the beast, in this case Jake Jackson, there had to be prey and that was me. I was surrounded by bastards.
I Googled a Camarillo cab company on my iPhone. Ordering a car to pick me up, I gave them the address. Then I leaned back in the booth and waited.
Heath returned and sat across from me. Rubbing his hands together he said, “I ordered us chicken tostadas, they aren’t bad here. Or don’t you like men ordering for you?”
“No, it sounds good.”
His eyes narrowed. “I thought you’d be more upset.”
“You mean about my iPhone? I didn’t expect less from you.”
“That was a well-placed jab to my chin.”
“Who were you talking to in the kitchen?”
“The chef. He’s a client.”
“He can afford someone who has a fleet of expensive cars?”
“He’s a good man who’s in a little trouble. I’m just helping him out.”
The waitress brought our meal, two glasses of white wine, and the check, which she left on the table underneath two red and white peppermint hard candies.
“Wine?” I smiled my soft pliable you-can-do-anything-you-want-to-with-me smile.
Heath started to respond, then stopped, wary. “Tastes like water with a bite. But I thought maybe you could use it after what we put you through. Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
We clinked glasses and drank. I ate my tostada. It’s not easy to eat with clenched teeth.
“What did Zaitlin want?” He lustily shoved food into his mouth.
“How did you know it was him?
“Saw his name on your phone.”
“You don’t miss a thing, do you? I told him about Ben. He said you would handle it.”
“Let’s hope there’s nothing to handle. I like Ben.” He broke off a hunk of tostada shell, dipped it into the salsa, and stuffed it into his mouth.
“So I take it you were in the military?”
He nodded, chewing. “Army CIU.”
“What’s that?” I glanced out the large plate-glass window. No cab yet.
“Criminal Investigation Unit.”
“And who did you investigate?” Feigning interest. “The enemy?”
“The bad guys. Ours.”
I was genuinely surprised. “You mean American soldiers?”
“There are always a few bad apples looking to scam, to earn a buck on the side.”
“How?”
“One guy was selling arms our men had confiscated from the Taliban back to the Taliban. CIU wasn’t too popular among the rank and file, even though they might agree with what we were doing. They always felt we were there to spy on them while they were getting their asses blown off by IEDs. And they were right.”
“They must’ve been confused about which side you were on.”
His head jerked back slightly. I had hit a nerve.
Finally, the cab arrived. I gave my lips a ladylike dab with the napkin and put it down. Then I grabbed my purse and slid out of the booth, glaring down at Heath. Raising his head toward me, he stopped chewing, balancing in midair a neat pile of chicken, lettuce, avocado, and sour cream on his fork.
“You’re right,” I said in a low controlled voice. “I don’t like men who order for me. I don’t like men who lie to me. And you may have the biggest security firm in the world and help out a few people who can’t afford you, but to me you’re just another Hollywood player. A fixer getting paid the big bucks to clean up other people’s shit. The army trained you well.”
I felt his eyes burning into my back as I stalked out of the restaurant.
Feeling miserable, I slouched in the corner of the taxi’s back seat as the driver careered onto the freeway, honking his horn, tailgating, and mumbling to himself in a language I couldn’t make out. I thought I’d feel vindicated walking out on Heath, but I didn’t. Even though I had every right to. And now I was heading to my meeting with Zaitlin and Jackson, where I was probably going to have the proverbial rug jerked out from under me. Worse, I knew what was going to happen. Christ, how pathetic is that? But I had to play the game because if I didn’t, there might not be the possibility of the next movie, the next role. Possibility and hope is what actors lived on.
Once we got onto Laurel Canyon, the cabbie was lost. I had to give him directions all the way into West Hollywood.
I took out my compact and checked my face in the mirror. Ignoring my sad tired eyes, I put on lipstick and lightly patted a little powder onto my shiny forehead and chin.
“You’re an actress,” the driver said in his thick accent.
Purposely avoiding his reflection in the rearview mirror, I brushed my hair.
“An actress,” he persisted.
“Yes.” I snapped.
“How much farther to this Formosa place,” he complained.
“We’re almost there. See the awning?”
“I don’t know how to get anywhere in this town. I despise it.” He pulled up in front of the café and hit the brakes.
“Wait here,” I said. “I won’t be long.”
“I should’ve asked for more money. I’m always getting cheated.”
“Welcome to Hollywood.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Formosa Café smelled of egg rolls and ghosts. Ov
er the years the mahogany wood bar had been smoothed to a shadowy glint by the famous hands and elbows of Hollywood’s heaviest drinkers. The Chinese décor, created with a set-designer’s flamboyance, was bathed in a soft pinkish-red light that made all its patrons look younger. At least I had that to be thankful for.
At this time of day the place was almost empty except for a lone man at the bar and a couple huddled in a small both drinking their way through an affair. In a larger booth were Zaitlin, Beth Woods, and Jake Jackson, watching me walk toward them.
Jake, who was on the end, jumped up. “God, you look great, Diana.”
The compliment of death, I thought. “Thank you,” I said.
I slid in next to Zaitlin. Across the table from us was Beth. The spiked ends of her short henna-red hair looked as dull and blunted as useless knives. She took a long nervous draw from the straw in her Mai Tai. Jake sat back down next to her. The remains of pot-stickers, ribs, and rumaki lay cold in their dishes. Dipping sauce splattered the tablecloth. Zaitlin and Jake were nursing hot tea from small cups.
“We’ve been interviewing actresses for Jenny’s part.” Jake’s voice was glazed with a Southern drawl.
I nodded and smiled.
“Would you like something to drink?” Zaitlin asked, attempting to ease the situation.
“No.”
A faded Boston Red Sox cap was pulled low over Jackson’s shaggy blond hair, shading his slightly crossed blue eyes. Somehow young girls and the camera loved him. He was the new Paul Newman, the new Robert Redford, the new Matt Damon, the new Owen Wilson, the new Ryan Gosling. He was new, new. Making me feel old, old.
“Jake has another commitment,” Beth said, finally looking at me. “We have a short period of time to finish shooting his scenes.”
“Where’s Heath?” Zaitlin asked looking around.
“The last time I saw him he was in Camarillo, eating a chicken tostado and watching out a restaurant window as I got into a taxi. That reminds me, the driver’s waiting for you to pay him.” I could still feel Heath’s eyes burning into my back.
Zaitlin gaped at me. “You took a cab all the way from Camarillo? How much is that going to cost!”
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