“What was she like, you know, as a person?” I venture. Out of the corner of my eye I see Charlie making notes.
“I suppose people would describe her as hard work. You know, high maintenance. Quite demanding, expected the best all the time.”
“You said that’s how people would describe her but what about you?” Charlie chips in.
Brad shoots him a look of confusion. “Huh?”
“How would you describe Cate?” I explain.
Shrugging he replies, “Well, the same really.”
I fidget in my seat. “Would you describe your relationship as volatile?” I need Brad to get a bit more talkative here. We have to get some leads on this case as quickly as possible.
“If you mean did we fight then no, we didn’t. Cate and I, well, I suppose we looked for the same things in life.” He goes to the fridge and pulls out another beer. “Designer clothes, posh restaurants, luxury. We’re both ambitious. So our lifestyles fitted well together.”
“Why did you break up?” Charlie asks Brad and I feel the tension between us build even higher. We still need to have our own discussion about break ups at some point, and I’m dreading it.
“Guess we felt things had just fizzled out between us,” Brad says, taking a generous gulp of his second beer.
“Who decided to break up?” I ask. My gut clenches at the memory of Charlie saying we should take a break, via a transatlantic phone call. Was that really less than a week ago? It seems like longer. Much longer.
“She did,” Brad replies, fiddling with the label on the beer bottle.
“But you weren’t upset about her decision?” I check, with another quick glance towards Charlie. My timing is off and he’s looking at me too. Our eyes meet and I see my own discomfort echoed in Charlie’s eyes. Hastily, I turn away.
Brad walks over to the window and stares out at the city. I’m just wondering if he’s forgotten we’re here, when he eventually speaks. “Being with Cate was useful. As the new star of North Shores she had great contacts. We were always invited to the right parties, and seen by the right people. That helped to further my own modelling career.”
“So, you’re saying you used her to make connections,” Charlie clarifies.
“Yeah, but it was more than that too. I did actually like her as well. And she was gorgeous.”
“Did you ever meet any of her family or friends?” Charlie asks. “If you were always out and about, you must have met some of them, right?”
“Cate didn’t have many friends,” Brad surprises me by replying. “She found it difficult to know who to trust. She liked Maurice, from the show. You know, Maurice Fabio? One of the other murder victims, but wasn’t close with anyone else. She got on OK with William Denver, the show’s director. Outside of that, like I say, she was wary of who she could trust.”
Trust. Yes, I know all about that old chestnut. I clear my throat. “What about friends from before she was famous? Didn’t she keep in touch with any of them?”
“Cate is from Florida. Up here in Vancouver, she was miles away from her old life. She worked, went home to her place in the city and learnt her lines. Oh, and she partied with other people in the showbiz world, but that’s all it was. Being seen in the right places with the right kinds of people. Protecting her precious PR image in the newspapers. That was her life.”
Charlie looks up from his notebook. “How did the two of you meet?”
“Crazily enough, my sister Annie is an actress and worked on North Shores for a season. She was due to attend some flash gathering in connection with the show and her fiancé was out of town, so she asked me to go as her plus one. That’s where I met Cate. We got on straight away and because Annie had introduced us and vouched for me, I guess Cate decided I was OK to be trusted.”
“So, despite all the showbiz stuff, you’re saying Cate was actually a bit of a loner?” I ponder. How often is that the truth behind the glossy image and the smiles in the gossip magazine photos?
Brad nods. “Yeah, I guess so.”
My curiosity kicks in. “I can understand famous people naturally being wary of who they speak to or make friends with but was that the case with Cate or had something happened in the past which made her that way?”
“No idea on that,” Brad replies, walking over and flopping onto the sofa.
“Did you ever stay at her place?” Charlie asks.
Brad looks at him as though he’s crazy. “Yeah. Of course.”
Standing up Charlie tucks his notebook into his jacket pocket. “I’ve got to say, you don’t look distraught about the death of your ex-girlfriend.”
Brad picks up a cushion and punches it lightly with his fist. “Yeah, well, appearances can be deceptive, can’t they?” he retorts. “Models, actors, we’re all used to painting on a smile. The show must go on and all that garbage.”
“Thanks for your time,” Charlie says, heading for the door. “And I’m sorry for your loss.”
Brad nods but doesn’t make a move to see us out.
“Yes, thanks for talking to us,” I add. “And I’m really sorry about what happened to Cate.”
As soon as the apartment door closes behind me, I’m acutely aware of Charlie and I being alone together again. I don’t think my nerves can stand much more of this. Are we over for good? Can we try and figure things out between us? So many questions need asking and yet we walk towards the elevator in complete silence. The lift arrives within seconds and I’m relieved to see three people inside it. At least we won’t be alone in here.
We retrieve the car and drive back along the road by the beach. A part of me aches to get out, take off my shoes and run barefoot on the sand. But if I was to do that, I know I’d want Charlie by my side, swinging hands and arms, laughing, kissing. That’s the kind of thing we used to do.
I’m struggling to separate the Charlie I knew from the man sitting next to me, driving back towards the city, a solemn expression on his face. I want the old Charlie back. Before Diva Delilah decided to use him as a pawn in her anti-stalker case, the one which Charlie was working in LA before he came here. Before she told the world Charlie was the love of her life. Charlie insisted to me there was nothing going on between them. I wanted to believe him but then Dan told me about Sarah and that made me wonder about Charlie’s behaviour.
Charlie’s phone buzzes and he answers on hands-free. “Yep.”
I stare out of the window as the beach disappears from view. I’m about to work up the nerve to suggest we find a café and pull over and talk, when Charlie ends his telephone conversation. He slows the car and turns at the next traffic lights.
“That was Jack. He’s with Martha at the house the show uses for filming, the place we’re meeting with the director guy, William Denver. He thinks they’ve found something that might help with the case.”
CHAPTER THREE
The traffic is heavy, so I sit in silence, taking in the sights and sounds of the city and letting Charlie concentrate on his driving. By the time we arrive at the house, bizarrely called Shoreline Cottage, according to the name plaque on the gate, I’m a bundle of nerves. I hate this awkward atmosphere between the two of us.
Charlie pulls up at the gate and chats with the security guy, flashes his ID, and we wait for clearance. On each side of the gate, in a grassy area, lie row upon row of flowers – from single roses to huge bouquets. There are also loads of notes and cards. A few fans are finishing paying their respects and placing a small posy of roses alongside a black and white photo of Ed Kingston. The lump in my throat makes it difficult to swallow. I didn’t know Cate, Ed or Maurice and I’ve never seen North Shores, but it’s obvious the fans of the actors and the show are bereft at news of their murders.
It looks like the show’s production company have bumped up the security around here because it seems to take an age before we’re given the all clear, and the guard blips a remote making the eight-foot high metal gates slide open as though they’re as light as a feather, finally allo
wing us into the grounds of Shoreline Cottage. Stifling a gasp, I take in the house before us. Whoever named this place Shoreline Cottage has a very different idea of what a cottage should be to me. It’s more red brick mansion than cosy cottage. I’d expected something modern, all glass and steel, but this place has more of an appearance of an historic country house. The generous garden looks surprisingly pristine for saying this is a much-used filming location.
“Wow,” escapes from my lips and Charlie glances over towards me.
“Pretty impressive, huh?”
“Just a bit,” I say with a nod.
We drive round to the far side of the house and this seems to be where all the trailers and techy stuff is hiding out. There still doesn’t appear to be much activity though. Charlie pulls the SUV into a slot in the corner of the parking area and we climb out. Jack immediately appears from a doorway.
“Hey, guys!” He strolls towards us, removing his trendy sunglasses and tucking them in his shirt pocket. “How did it go with the interview with that Brad guy?”
“He didn’t have much to say,” Charlie replies. “So, what’s going on down here then?”
We all start walking towards the house. “We’ve interviewed the available crew up here,” Jack says. “The production guys have become so paranoid they’re not doing much location shooting at the moment until we’ve got these cases wrapped up. Martha was chatting to one of the runners, you know, the guys who do all the fetching and carrying on the sets, and he was saying how he overheard a major row between Cate and one of the directors the day before she died.”
I scurry along, trying to keep up with Charlie and Jack’s long strides as we enter the house’s grand foyer. A staircase worthy of a royal palace sweeps off to one side of us, and I can’t help but admire the traditional-looking works of art lining the walls of the corridor we’re now heading along.
“The director in question’s name is William Denver. The guy we’d arranged to meet with anyway. He’s only been working on the show for just over a year. Opinion seems to be divided between whether or not he and Cate despised each other or were pretending to despise each other in an attempt to hide something going on between them.”
“You haven’t spoken to this director yet though?” Charlie asks him.
“No, we waiting for you to get here for our scheduled chat with him,” Jack replies. “Oh, and yeah, we found out there have been some thefts around here. Don’t know if it’s connected with the case or not yet. We were chatting with the show’s key costumer, a woman called Aimee Caffrey. I think you should speak to her.”
Charlie nods his approval. “OK, lead the way.”
We follow Jack through the house and out to some huge trucks, one of which has ‘wardrobe’ written on the side. Jack taps on the door and it’s opened by a harassed-looking woman with spiralling bright pink hair and matching glasses. “Aimee, this is the guy leading the investigation, the one I asked if you’d meet with,” Jack explains to her. “I’ll leave you guys to it. I need to return a few calls.”
The woman frowns and then smiles, as though she’s dug through a whole mess of things she needs to remember and now recalled her earlier conversation with Jack. “Of course, Charlie, right? Come on in.” She steps back to make room for us inside the trailer. The place is organised chaos. There are rails of clothing with labels on them and boxes of accessories piled everywhere. She pushes aside some bags to clear a space for us. “Take a seat.”
“So, Aimee, I’m told there’s a thief on the set,” Charlie prompts.
She scrunches up her face and nods. “Well, it’s kind of weird. Things go missing but then, most times, they show up again, just a few days later, so it’s not really theft, is it?”
I glance around at all of the stuff covering every available surface. “Maybe these items just got mislaid,” I suggest.
“Maybe. There’s so much going on around here, and we do keep moving things around for different filming locations, but…” She smiles shyly. “This place probably looks a complete wreck to you guys but I can assure you I know exactly where everything should be. Each time I realised something, say a dress, scarf or jewellery, was missing I spotted it because I was fetching something else from nearby for use that day on set. Funny, but the stuff that went AWOL was never anything I needed on that occasion, at that particular time.”
“So,” Charlie recaps, looking as though he doesn’t have time to sit and discuss wardrobe mishaps. “Wardrobe items for the show weren’t where they were supposed to be but when you did need them for filming, they were right back where they were supposed to be.”
Aimee nods again. “Yeah, I know, like I said, weird, right?”
Charlie pushes to his feet. “Well, thanks, Aimee. We need to go and meet with the director right now. We’ll get back to you if we need any further information on this, OK?”
“Oh, there was something else,” she says, heading for the door but stopping before she opens it.
I’m eager to get out of here, the place is making me come over all claustrophobic, but Aimee stays where she is, her hand on the door, trapping us inside her wardrobe nightmare.
“Yes?” I ask eagerly, just wanting to get outside to the daylight and fresh air. To a world not festooned with velvet, lace and scary-looking naked mannequins.
“It’s not just clothing and accessories going walkabouts. One of my wardrobe fitters has done a runner on me too. She’s a freelancer, Ronnie Brandon. Had been working on the show for most of this season, but suddenly she doesn’t show up for work. I rang her number but didn’t get an answer. I suppose she could have got a better offer on,” she pauses and rolls her eyes, “you know, THAT show, but she could have had the guts to tell me before she defected.”
Charlie’s interested now this isn’t only about missing clothes, I can tell from the glint in his eyes. “What show?” he asks.
“City Wives of course,” Aimee replies, staring at the two of us as though we must have been on another planet for the past few months if we haven’t heard of City Wives.
“What’s City Wives?” Charlie queries, sitting back down. Aimee follows suit, leaving me standing looking longingly at the door, tempted to make my own escape before I hyperventilate inside this stuffy wardrobe trailer. But I can’t do that. I’m here to work, so I slide back into the seat next to Charlie and concentrate on what Aimee is saying.
“Our big rivals,” she explains, pushing the pair of pink glasses on to the top of her head and rubbing at her eyes. “The show is still filming its first season at the moment but the initial episodes have already been broadcast and it’s pushing us off the ratings. We’ve already lost some staff to the show. They pay more than North Shores but then, doesn’t everyone?”
“How do you know that?” I lean forward in my seat, curious. “Have they offered you a job?”
She nods and the glasses slide down from their head-top perch onto her button nose. “Yes, of course they have. I’m one of the best in the business.”
“And yet you stayed here,” Charlie prompts. “Why is that?”
Aimee shrugs. “I don’t like change. Plus, I’ve been with this show since the start. There is such a thing as loyalty in this business, well, there is for me anyway.”
Charlie flips his notepad open again. “Right then, Aimee. Tell us all about City Wives.”
She settles into her seat as though she’s preparing to relish every second of telling a long story. I hope it isn’t too long though. My eyes flick longingly towards the door and freedom. Feeling as though one of the mannequins is staring at me, I stifle a shudder.
“City Wives has heaps more money than this show does. It’s got a team of swanky backers with ambitions to make it the best show out there. They’ve had digs in the media about how North Shores used to be the show, how it was perfect for what viewers wanted a few years back, but now it’s had its day.” She pauses before adding passionately, “They’ve even dubbed our show Past Perfect, but North Shores hasn�
�t had its day at all. We can get back to being the best, to being perfection. Most of our fans seem to think so. Have you seen all the lovely flowers outside the front gates? I blub like a baby every time I go past them.”
“Where is City Wives filmed?” I ask, studiously avoiding looking at the mannequin behind Aimee. “Are they in Vancouver too?”
Aimee shakes her head and pink hair fans her face. “No. They film on the other side.”
“Other side?” I frown.
“Eastern Canada. They film in Toronto,” she explains patiently.
“We’ll need a contact address and phone number for this missing woman Ronnie Brandon,” Charlie says. “Can you get that for us?”
She nods. “Of course.”
“OK, great.” Charlie makes to stand up but we’re in such close quarters around the table that his thigh brushes against mine as he does so. It feels as though a thousand volts has shot through me, and I jolt out of his way. I spot a flash of confusion on Aimee’s face. Clearly, she noticed that awkward moment between Charlie and myself too.
A few minutes later, and I’m in the fresh air, breathing a sigh of relief to be out of that trailer and away from being so close to Charlie.
“Here’s my card. When you’ve checked your freelancer records and got the contact details for Ronnie can you text them over to me please?” Charlie says, pressing one of his CCIA cards into Aimee’s hands.
“Of course,” she repeats, slipping the card into the pocket of her shirt. “Anything I can help with, just let me know.”
Jack’s been lurking near the door back into the house, waiting for us to finish our chat with Aimee, and now he waves us over. “The director guy, William Denver, is ready to see you now. I’ll show you the way.”
Inside the house, Jack leads us along more interior-designed corridors and into a room. It’s huge and several elegant pieces of furniture are thrown into shadow by the sun shining through the floor-to-ceiling glass doors at the other end of the cavernous space. Martha strolls towards us with a nervous-looking man at her side. He’s fiddling with a clipboard in his hands and there’s a sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. “Great timing,” she says. “We just finished our little chat.”
Past Perfect: A Fun and Flirty Romantic Mystery (Amber Reed Mystery Book 4) Page 3
