by Ally Gray
“Well, if anybody would be that person, I’d say it was her. There was always something off about her.”
“What did you say about her words when she saw Stephanie? Something about her apologizing?” he asked, wracking his brain to piece together the assistant’s behavior with what they knew about her.
“Yeah, she said she was sorry about T-Spot, which I thought was odd, even more so since Case informed us they didn’t really have that much to do with each other. I mean, no bride wants her wedding ruined, certainly not by something as unfortunate as homicide, but it just struck me as odd.”
“I think you were right the first time, it was just a normal thing to say being said by a really abnormal person. Awkward, sure, but probably not a clue. I’ll do some more checking tomorrow, I’m gonna turn in. Don’t work too hard!”
They hung up, but not before Stacy stuck her tongue out at her phone. Why did everyone have to tell her that? In the past two days, two different people had pointed out that she was a workaholic and that she had no life other than fulfilling other people’s expectations for their perfect day. Is that all she’d ever be known for? Or was she going to end up like Abigail, alone and married to her work and living on her reputation as being the best in her field?
Nathan’s sad smile flashed in front of her eyes again. He was a really fun, really nice guy. Heck, he was the reason this business was still in operation even if Stacy was the powerhouse behind the day to day business. Any other person would have sold it off for the profit on the overhead and the supplies, leaving all of them unemployed. Had he agreed to keep the doors open because he was just a decent person, or could it have been because Stacy worked there?
She flicked away a single tear that had spilled from her eye, telling herself it was only the stress and sleeplessness of this particular wedding job that was making her weepy. She focused instead on looking up this Sassy person to see if she could somehow help tie up this case and get the wedding pulled off on schedule.
As she clicked through various tabloid-quality celebrity news sites, her eyes automatically trained themselves to see the same person in the background of almost every image. She was there in photos of Stephanie Bindle, in pictures of Stephanie arm in arm with J-Max at different appearances, and most alarmingly, pictures of J-Max when he wasn’t with Stephanie. What was really the nature of their relationship?
The weirdest pictures were those of Sassy wearing outfits or accessories that Stacy had personally seen her wear in her own office, creating an unwanted bridge between this somewhat deranged world of theirs and Stacy’s world of quiet understated richness. Seeing those same clothes on display in the paparazzi’s photos made the whole thing very real, but also made Stacy feel like the worst kind of spy. This wasn’t as simple as taking a peek at the news surrounding your favorite actor, this felt more like invading their lives.
“Wait a minute,” Stacy muttered under her breath as she scanned images from one We Luv St3phani3! website. The site had gallery after gallery of clickable images, some of them obvious professional photo shoot images from film publicity or magazine spreads, while others were the typical red carpet-style images. The most disturbing though, were from the “upload your own” section, in which people were encouraged—and apparently even paid—to submit their own photos of the actress in public.
The images were downright scary. In nearly every shot, Stephanie had been surprised coming out of a store or a night club or a gym, and in almost all of them she tried to block her face without being obvious about it. The real shame was in the images where the would-be photographer had obviously not taken the hint. Where most of the time the actress shielded herself with a well-positioned handbag or behind an uplifted mochacino cup, the more aggressive ones resulted in photos where she had used her hands to either hide her own face or try to block the camera with her outstretched palms. The comments below each picture were horrifying, with each rabid fan demanding more and more pieces of a young woman’s soul.
Finally, one set of images jumped off the screen and wrapped itself around Stacy’s brain. It was unlike all of the other pictures because Stephanie was actually… smiling. In her interactions with the starlet and in her browsing online, Stacy had never seen this measure of pure happiness. The girl wore no makeup and only a t-shirt and cut off blue jeans. Her chestnut-colored hair was being pushed back from her face by a man’s hand and she was laughing, most likely at something he’d just said.
Some of the comments actually doubted it was her. I can see why, Stacy thought, her heart-breaking for the young actress all the more the longer she stared at it. She actually looks happy, and… alive.
As the set of images continued, taken one right after another so that the photographer managed to steal several minutes of Stephanie’s fleeting happiness, the hand’s owner finally appeared. Just as Stacy had known all along somewhere in the back of her mind, it was the dead groomsman. The only clear image of his face was in the most tender picture Stacy had seen of a couple in a long time. Not like the staged pictures of happy brides and grooms that she saw every day, this one was so genuine and so physical, even though the couple within the border shared nothing more than a chaste, comforting hug. Stephanie’s head was on T-Spot’s chest and his arms were wound chivalrously around her back, holding her just close enough to tell her she was cared for.
The tears that had pricked at Stacy’s eyes earlier in the evening started again, but this time she could do nothing more than let them fall. This picture was the embodiment of joy on earth, and it infuriated her that someone had stolen this moment from them and posted it online for others to gawk over.
But more important than invasions of privacy was the very real truth spelled out right in front of her eyes: Stephanie did know T-Spot, and if these images were really as recent as they seemed, she cared about him. Maybe even loved him.
I’m sorry about T-Spot, I guess it’s just one of those things.
Sassy’s voice haunted Stacy’s consciousness again, this time providing the rest of the story. Someone had killed a man that the bride may have been in love with, and the reality of Sassy’s apology didn’t fit. Surely her own assistant, the woman who was standing behind her in practically every photograph taken of her in the past few years, would have known who this man really was to her. Yet her words were as flippant as if she’d been speaking about her neighbor’s dog, not another vital person in the actress’ otherwise shallow life.
As if someone had finally handed her a long-missing final piece of a jigsaw puzzle, Stacy connected all of the dots in front of her. It became clear in an instant… the irritated, high-strung but disinterested bride, the deranged temp help, the manager sending his henchmen on secret assignments to make sure every calculated step of his client’s career unfolded in a very public way… Stephanie was in love with T-Spot, but for some no-doubt-shallow reason was marrying someone else. Was this yet another one of her manager’s attempts to keep the attention focused solely on the bride and groom, or was it a plain old-fashioned lover’s quarrel?
Before she could organize her thoughts, a metallic click broke the silence of the empty house.
“I see you found the pictures,” an unknown voice said from directly across from Stacy’s desk. She jumped at the intruder’s presence but managed to stifle her scream when she saw the gun.
Chapter 15
“Who are you?” Stacy asked in a whisper, never taking her eyes off the gun in the woman’s hand.
“Don’t worry about me, I’m a nobody. It’s yourself you need to worry about.” The woman walked towards the desk and slammed her hand down on the laptop, shutting its lid and yanking the power plug out of the back. She slid it across the desk until her fingers gripped its edge. She pulled it towards her and placed it on a small console table close to where she stood while Stacy sat straight in her chair, sweat already forming on the back of her neck.
“Are you going to shoot me?” she asked before realizing how ridiculously simple her
words sounded.
“Well, it is kind of why I brought a gun to your office at two o’clock in the morning, wouldn’t you think?” the young woman answered sarcastically.
“I know that tone of voice, and I’ve seen you somewhere before. You’re one of Stephanie Bindle’s bridesmaids, aren’t you?” Stacy said, scrutinizing her face in closer detail. The girl’s eyes narrowed in irritation for a second.
“Yeah, one of ten bridesmaids, even though I’m her sister who’s practically raised her.”
“Is that what this is about? Your placement in the wedding party? Because I must admit, I can completely understand your anger. I might be moved to attempt homicide too, if I was in your position. I’m happy to rearrange things to move you up, we don’t even have to tell the bride until it’s too late to do anything about it,” Stacy offered, stalling for time by sifting through papers as though she was could retrieve the wedding party arrangements and pencil in the new layout right then.
“You think I’m mad about where I stand in a stupid wedding? More like, I’m mad that there’s even a wedding happening in the first place!” she roared, shaking the gun in Stacy’s direction.
“Oh, were you in love with J-Max?” she asked, still trying to keep her would-be assailant talking while she snatched desperately at ideas to get herself out of this.
“Don’t be ridiculous, that guy’s a walking cartoon character. He screams curse words and really awkward rhymes for a living while whining about how hard life was growing up in his neighborhood. Please, that guy grew up in the suburbs and went to a private school for the first eight years! He only transferred to a public school because his parents thought he could get a scholarship for sports.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize, I have to admit I’m not very familiar with his work.” Her eyes scanned the desk quickly, hoping for something to defend herself. A stapler and a letter opener would have been somehow useful, but all she saw was a box of paper clips and a half-used roll of tape.
“You’re the lucky one, trust me. Well, I mean, you were before I came here tonight to kill you.”
“I’m still not clear why you think you need to do that?”
“Because I won’t have you ruin my sister’s career. She’s worked too hard and put up with far too much to have it all derailed now, and over a stupid thing like this.”
“You mean, over homicide? That stupid thing?” Stacy asked, ignoring the inner voice that tried to tell her that sarcasm was probably not the best way to win over a murderer.
“Watch your mouth. I’ve hurt better people than you, and I don’t have any problem ruining your night, too.”
“I’m sorry, really I am,” she said, wondering if her idle threat actually meant maybe she wasn’t going to die tonight after all. “But I don’t understand what all of this is. Was Stephanie in love with someone else? T-Spot, maybe?”
“Of course she was, and they would have been really happy together. They were high school sweethearts before the game interfered with their lives.”
“The game? What game?” Stacy asked, shaking her head.
“The Hollywood game.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with the game. I mean, I think I know what you’re talking about, but I’m not completely sure,” Stacy stammered, trying to win over the woman.
“The game. The game that everyone has to play if they want to make it in the business. They have to wear the right clothes, be seen at the right parties, date the right people, and even get caught up in the right scandals. After so many successes, they have to be taken down a peg with some kind of failure so the adoring public doesn’t think they’re too high above them. Whether its drugs or a run in with the law or even a sex tape or two, it has to be epic and it has to be very, very public. Do you really think that many celebrities go around taking naked pictures of themselves with their own cell phones? Of course not. So how do you think a hacker suddenly gets access to hundreds of nude pictures and leaks them on the internet? It’s all part of the game.”
“It sounds like someone had the pictures stored somewhere and then released them,” Stacy admitted. The thought of having compromising pictures hacked was bad enough, but the woman's accusation that the handlers were actually involved in the taking and releasing of pictures was astounding. But from what this woman was saying, the chances that it was true were growing in Stacy's mind by the minute.
“Yes! I’ve seen it myself. I’ve been watching out for Stephanie ever since this whole train wreck left the station. I’ve been there as people manipulated her and used her for their own financial gain. Now I get to stand fourth girl down at this total sham of a wedding and watch her marry a guy she barely likes, let alone loves.”
“Wait, why would she get married? I thought that would be bad for her career, you know, since she’d be ‘off the market.’ Isn’t that what they always tell these couples?”
“Not by a long shot. When you’ve had a few too many bad girl moves and the adoring crowds are a little thinner, they marry you off to someone and play it up like it’s true love. It’s actually stated in her contract how long she has to stay married to this loser, can you believe that?” the woman demanded. The anger was leaving her little by little now that she had a confidant to share her burden with. Stacy tried her best to look duly outraged but supportive.
“That’s just… unreal. No wonder people in the public eye get so burned out. But, I’m still confused. Who killed T-Spot?” Stacy asked, praying that her question hadn’t taken the conversation too far. If Stephanie’s sister had done it—Michaela, she remembered reading from her online investigating—that could be the question that snaps her back to her intended missions, and no one wanted that. But instead, she shook her head sadly as a tear splashed the carpet.
“That whack job Erica, I’m sure. Oh, I guess you’d know her as Sassy. But it was on Stephanie’s manager’s orders. The whole thing has been orchestrated, down to who’s gonna get the blame. They’ll play it up like some ‘east coast versus west coast’ rapper feud, throw in some crap about some Illuminati organization, then start launching the rumors that he faked his own death. Besides having him out of the way of Stephanie’s ‘dream wedding,’ his record sales will go through the roof.”
The cell phone on Stacy’s desk buzzed sharply, and both women looked at it for a long moment. Stacy finally looked at Michaela and held her hands up. “I won’t say anything. But people know I’m here, and if I don’t answer my phone on the day of an important wedding, they’ll know something’s wrong. Just let me answer it.”
Michaela held the gun back towards Stacy’s head, having let it drop to her side while she was talking. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Stacy nodded as she answered with her usual professional response. She waited silently as the caller talked, nodding from time to time and darting her eyes to Michaela to make sure the woman wasn’t at the end of her patience.
“Thank you for calling, I’ll pass the message along.” Stacy pressed the end button on her phone and placed it back on the desk before folding her hands neatly in front of her and looking at Michaela.
“Well, it would seem that you were almost correct. There’s definitely a game being played, and I for one do not know the rules.”
“What do you mean?” Michaela asked, confusion coloring her face.
“That was a Mister T-Spot, formerly deceased, on the phone. He and Stephanie are boarding a private plane as we speak, and they asked that I let you know not to expect them again for quite some time.”
Chapter 16
“So the guy faked his death so he could marry his girlfriend? That is SO romantic!” Tori said between bites of shrimp. The group lounged on the veranda with a massive container of crab boil and corn roasting over an impromptu chafing dish. Chef Pierre dished out more helpings in between bites from his own plate.
“That’s how it would appear, although that’s one event even I couldn’t organize. Do you realize how many insiders had to be worki
ng on this? The fake medical team, those fake cops, even the actresses playing the coroner and the ditzy secretary feeding Rod a bunch of crap?” Stacy asked, not sure who to trust anymore but knowing that the game would go on. She shucked another shrimp from its translucent pink shell and dunked it generously in a ramekin of the chef’s homemade cocktail sauce. She toasted the group and the meal with her most recent helping of champagne, one whose number she blissfully couldn’t remember anymore. “I guess it pays to be connected in Hollywood, especially if you’re reading a script as you go along. Oh well, true love triumphs, even as we failed miserably.”
The chorus of indignant groans was to be expected. She smiled at them and nodded as shouts from her staff contradicted her words. They were distracted by the soft wail of sirens in the distance, growing louder until a squad car turned off the main road and began the long trek up the winding driveway. It came to a sudden stop in the front yard, frighteningly close to the porch railing. Detective Sims jumped out and took the porch steps two at a time.
“I heard there was public drunkenness and open containers of alcohol on the premises, and so I decided to join you,” he said, his grim cop face breaking into a smile at the end. Someone scooted a chair in his direction and an ice cold imported beer was placed in his hand. The party continued in the background as he leaned close to Stacy.
“So, does this one count as a success or a failure in your book?” he asked before taking a swig and waiting for her to take the bait.
“I’m not dignifying that with a remark, mostly because I’ve had just enough champagne to prevent me from holding my tongue,” she teased.
