Something About Money

by Carolyn Scott

  His reaction hardly changed. Either he knew nothing about the photos or he was a fantastic actor under pressure.

  "It's you," I told him.

  That made him shift in his seat and avoid my gaze. He crossed his arms, shoving his hands right up under his pits. "So? I'm bi, okay." Teenage attitude laced his words and the accompanying sneer. "Who cares anyway? It's not like half the population isn't."

  "When did you and Taylor have a relationship?"

  "It wasn't a relationship! It was a casual fuck. Nothing else. Okay? Jeez, loosen up. You know, people your age are such prudes."

  I'd been called a lot of things in my life, but never a prude. And never had my age been used as an insult from someone younger then me. Linc had just poked the bear. "Now listen here, you little shit." I kept my voice low so the patrons around us couldn't hear. Besides, threats sounded so much more, well, threatening when spoken calmly. "Just answer my questions truthfully and Cindy never needs to know about you and Taylor. You've got a nice meal ticket going there, and I wouldn't blow it to save his ass if I were you."

  Linc's face turned as white as his hair. "You wouldn't."

  I smiled.

  "Fucking bitch."

  "Now, now. Is that any way to speak to someone who holds your security in the palm of her hand?" I sat back and let him squirm for a few seconds. "I don't want to upset you, Linc, but I do need answers. So lets be civil. Tell me how long ago those photos were taken."

  "Two years."

  I sucked air between my teeth, even though I'd suspected it all along. Taylor had claimed they were taken two years ago initially, and first responses were usually the truth. "You were sixteen."

  "I guess Taylor is in trouble now."

  "That doesn't bother you? He was your lover."

  He gave me a withering glare. His face turned pink, but there were no other telling signs of emotion. Acting could only get someone so far. There are no ways that I know of to control visceral reactions like blushes. He might be pretending that he didn't care, but he did.

  Because he worried about Taylor, or because he hated him? I had to remember that no matter how worldly Linc appeared, he'd been only sixteen at the time of the affair. It was a tough age. An age when mistakes were made that came back to haunt you later.

  "Fuck him," was all he said.

  Maybe, just maybe, he wanted Taylor to be caught. It was possible Linc had planted those photos himself before Frank had arrived in Renford. I needed to find out his travel arrangements too. But why kill Frank?

  Or had Frank been blackmailing Linc? The future of his career depended on avoiding scandal just as much as Taylor's did.

  And then there was Cindy's opinion on the matter. "Does your boss know?" I asked.

  His head snapped up to stare at me with those wide pretty eyes of his. "Don't tell her. Okay?"

  "Why not? It's Taylor who's in trouble with the law, not you."

  He sucked in his bottom lip. "She doesn't know about my…previous partners."

  "You mean she doesn't know you're gay."

  "I'm not gay! I'm…"

  "Confused?"

  He merely shrugged and folded his hands in his lap. "Just don't tell her."

  "She won't hear it from me."

  I didn't stay, but I did take my chicken salad with me. I hadn't eaten breakfast yet. Linc remained, a lonely figure hunched over his steak sandwich. I felt a twinge of sympathy, but little more. He was a guy who wanted something so badly that he was prepared to sleep with people he disliked to get it. In some ways, he was taking advantage of Cindy as much as she was taking advantage of him. They were both selfish, and both wanted something from their relationship.

  I was never happier to have left behind the Hollywood scene.

  I sent Scarface a text as I walked back to the bus stop and told him where he could find Linc. He sent one back.

  You already met with him.

  It wasn't phrased as a question so I didn't answer.

  I checked the bus schedule at the stop. It wasn't arriving for another freaking thirty minutes! Who organized these things anyway? Not someone with a life, that's for sure.

  I rang Mom. "Hey!" I said. "Can I come round?"

  "Sure, Hon."

  "Wait, Peter's not there, is he?"

  "Does it matter if he is?"

  "I'm not sure I'm ready to meet him." I winced. It sounded a little harsh, and maybe if she really did like the guy, I should make the effort. But it was just so weird!

  "He's not here," she said. "You can meet him another time."

  "Great. Um, I don't suppose you want to pick me up. My car's getting fixed and the bus doesn't come for ages."

  "Sure. I've got nothing better to do."

  I couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not, so I chose to believe she wasn't. "Great. Thanks, Mom. You're the best and I love you sooooo much."

  "Hmmm. Just tell me where you are."

  I gave her my location and hung up. Fifteen minutes later, she picked me up in her sporty two-door hatch. She'd traded in the family sedan after Dad died, claiming she had no need for a bigger car now that she lived alone.

  "So what happened to your car?" she asked, slamming her foot on the accelerator. Apparently driving a sporty car meant she had to drive like a lunatic. She always used to be careful and keep to the speed limit, but not anymore. I clutched the leather seat with both hands and prayed to every God I could think of that the other drivers would give us a wide berth.

  "Somebody smashed into it in a parking lot."

  "Is their insurance paying for it?"

  "They did a runner. The police are looking into it, but so far, nothing."

  "Can you afford the repairs?"

  "Are you offering to pay?"

  She snorted. "No. You've got a job, you pay."

  "Just thought I'd try."

  "That's my Cat. Always trying." She shot me a grin.

  "Watch the fucking road!"

  She turned back to the front and clicked her tongue. "There's no need for that language, Darling. Or the shouting. I'm not deaf yet."

  We drove home and I ate my chicken salad sitting at the same rickety kitchen table where I used to sit at as a child for family meals. It brought back memories of Dad making me sit there until I'd finished everything on my plate, sometimes up to an hour after the rest of the family had finished. I'd been a slow, fussy eater. Times had changed. The chicken salad was awesome and I shoveled it in.

  "Is Will working today?" Mom asked as she flipped through a recipe book in front of me.

  "Uh-huh. He's working really hard lately. I don't get to see him as much." No way was I going to tell her that we were sort of having trouble. She would try to analyze the situation and me, and come to the conclusion that I was at fault. I didn't need to hear that right now.

  "Do you think he'll take some time off to come to dinner tonight with you?"

  "You're inviting me to dinner?"

  "You and Will."

  I stared at her over my fork. "Why?"

  "To meet Peter of course."

  "I'm busy tonight. So is Will. He's working and I'm catching up with Gina. Sorry, Mom, another time?"

  She slammed the recipe book shut. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Cat."

  I gave her an innocent look and a shrug.

  She shook the book at me. "You're avoiding meeting him. You'll have to do it some time."

  "I will! Promise. I'm actually looking forward to meeting the guy who can put up with your crazy new ways." I leaned across the bench and kissed her cheek. "Just not tonight, okay?"

  She scowled at me like she couldn't tell whether I was being honest or not. I looked down at my salad and kept eating. She gave up with a sigh and walked out. A couple minutes later I heard a monotonous male voice on the TV.

  "You should come and watch this," Mom called out. "It's a documentary I'm studying for my psych course."

  I felt a little bad for lying about my evening plans, so I finish
ed the last mouthful of my salad and joined her on the couch in the living room. Besides, I didn't have to watch it. I could just close my eyes and tune out.

  Unfortunately Mom kept elbowing me. "Listen to this bit, Cat. He's going to talk about religious cults."

  "How do you know?"

  "I've watched it twice already."

  "Why?"

  "Shhh. Listen."

  The bland voice listed some real life religious cults, then went on to describe why their leaders talked their followers into doing a range of things that most people would consider nuts. The majority did it for money or sexual gratification, but others seemed to simply enjoy the power they wielded.

  It wasn't riveting viewing, but it got me thinking about Play Group, and Angel in particular. Jen, Taylor and Corey loved her to the point of idolization, just like a cult leader. They stuck together and defended her and one another, just like cult members. They were closer than most families, and while they weren't cut off from the outside world, they were a community unto themselves, especially when touring.

  For her part, Angel gave each member her undying attention. She loved them, and as anyone who's been in the Hollywood system knows, true love is hard to find in that town. Performers were often separated from their families at a young age, or pushed into the industry by ambitious parents. Then there was the fake love dished out by agents, managers, producers and directors. A needy person immersed in that environment could easily fall pray to a beautiful, caring, strong leader like Angel.

  Holy crap! I couldn't believe that I was thinking of her as a cult leader with Play Group being her followers. It was all so creepy. But it explained so much.

  Including how she could get away with murder.

  "Cat, are you okay?" Mom asked. She removed her glasses and peered at my face. "You look peaky. Maybe that chicken wasn't cooked properly. You should have eaten here. I could have made you something."

  "It's not the chicken." I nodded at the rolling credits on the TV. "That was enlightening. I've got to make a call."

  "To Will?"

  "The police."

  "Does this have something to do with that murder you're working on?"

  "Yep." I walked back into the kitchen and fetched my bag from the bench.

  "Then why not call Will?" she said, following me. "It does affect your fee, right?"

  "It's too early to tell."

  "Discuss it with Will first. He'll be able to guide you so you can keep your fee and do the right thing for the police at the same time."

  My thumb hovered over the number to dial Scarface. "Wait. Are you telling me to withhold information from the police? You, an ex-cop's wife?"

  "I'm an ex-P.I.'s wife too. Besides, you only have a hunch at this stage, right? No real proof?"

  "I suppose."

  "The police are only interested in facts, not theories."

  "Scarface likes to hear theories. He's more open-minded than most of his colleagues."

  "Is he that one-eyed man?" She shivered. "He gives me the heeby jeebies."

  "He has that affect on people." I stared down at my phone. "Maybe you're right. I'll call Will first."

  "Good for you, Honey." She circled my shoulders and pressed her temple to mine. "You're doing good work. Your dad would have been proud."

  "Dad would have been happy if I was flipping burgers as long as it was here in Renford and not the den of iniquity that is Hollywood." Dad's worst nightmare was that his little girl had grown up and moved far away. He couldn't control what I did or who I did it with. The stress probably helped send him to an early grave.

  I dialed Will's number and got his voicemail. "It's me," I said. "I've got a theory about Frank's murder that I want to run past you. Call me back. I'm at my mom's."

  "But you'll be going home now," Mom told me. "I've got friends from psych class coming over."

  I told Will's message bank that I was about to head home then hung up.

  "I can give you a lift before my friends arrive," Mom offered.

  I gave her my sweetest smile. "Thanks, Mom, you're the best."

  "I know," she sang.

  Will never called me back and I needed to talk my theory through with someone, so I called Gina and invited her over. She brought cake and problems of her own that she wanted to discuss.

  "I invited Ben to my place last night," she told me as soon as she'd set one foot inside my apartment.

  "I gather from your smile that you and he hit it off."

  "If that means we had hot, sweaty sex then yes." She passed me the cake then flopped onto my couch. "Oh my God, Cat, you should see his guns!"

  "Why was he showing you weaponry?"

  "His arms!" She flexed her muscles.

  "Biceps."

  "Whatever."

  "You'll have to learn what some of the muscles are called if you're going to date the kickboxing instructor."

  "We're not dating, we're fucking."

  "Sorry, my mistake. No need to learn anything except the safe word in that case."

  Her withering glare was spoiled by her fit of giggles.

  "I'm glad it worked out for you," I said. Not that I was convinced that anything had worked in her favor. It seemed to me she'd gone backwards, from a guy she liked who was good for her, to casual sex with a man who was a flirt. At least Gina seemed happy again, and a happy Gina made me relieved. I guess she just wasn't cut out for a proper relationship.

  Maybe I wasn't either.

  "How about you and Will?" she asked. "Have you two worked things out?"

  "I spoke to him briefly last night." I set the cake down on the kitchen bench and sliced it. Chocolate. My favorite. "He's busy, so we didn't get to talk much."

  "Busy, huh?" She gave me a sympathetic look.

  My stomach sank. "You think that's bullshit?"

  "Oh, Honey. I think he's—"

  A gunshot rang out. It shattered my window, sending glass scattering across the floor. The bullet whizzed past me and lodged into the plaster on my wall.

  Gina screamed.

  "Get down!" I shouted at her.

  We both dove to the floor behind the couch. She clutched me, her hands shaking. "Jesus, Cat! Who the hell is shooting at you now?"

  "Probably the same person who tried to run me over."

  "Someone tried to run you over? Fucking hell, why don't you ever tell me these things?"

  "I didn't want to freak you out."

  "Well I'm freaking out now! Jeez, no wonder Will worries. Um, what are you doing?"

  "Trying to get my bag. My phone's inside." I wriggled backward until my feet hit the table. I was about to reach up for the bag strap when I heard footsteps running along the corridor outside my apartment. Old Mrs. Krenski couldn't move that fast. Maybe one of my other neighbors was coming to see if I was okay.

  Fists pounded on my door. My heart leapt into my throat. Gina screamed again.

  "Cat! Open up!" It was Jenny.

  What the hell was she doing here? Oh. Fuck, no, please don't let her be the one shooting at me.

  "Oh my God! Cat, are you in there?" Her high-pitched screech grated on my ears until another round of knocking drowned it out. "Someone's trying to kill me! Cat, please open up! Please!"

  "Let her in!" Gina cried, getting to her knees and shuffling toward the door. "We're coming!" she called out.

  "I'm not sure we should," I hissed. "It could be a trick."

  "You think she did that?"

  We stared at the bullet in my wall. An ice-cold shiver trickled down my spine. "Maybe. I dunno."

  "She got up here pretty quick if she did," Gina whispered. "That shot was fired from the street and she was banging on the door almost straight after. It couldn't have been her."

  "Cat!" Jenny screamed. "Cat, open up!"

  "I'm letting her in." Gina unlocked the door and opened it. Jenny stumbled through on her high heels and Gina caught her. I flew to the door and pushed to close it.

  A shoe wedged into the gap before I suc
ceeded. A man's shoe, and it was attached to a man's body.

  Chapter 15

  "Hey!" Taylor cried. I didn't have time to digest the fact that he was there too, and Corey and Angel behind him. I was too busy trying to shut the door.

  I almost managed it too. I doubted Taylor had been prepared for me to have my hands free. Clearly he'd expected me to catch Jen so he and the others could waltz right in and do whatever it was they wanted to do to me.

  Fuck.

  My efforts went from heroic to pathetic when Corey stepped in to help. Together they muscled the door open and stormed inside. Corey grabbed my arm, wrenching it behind my back. Pain shot up to my shoulder and stars danced before my eyes.

  "You're hurting me!" I cried.

  "Let her go," Angel said in that sweet, soothing voice of hers. She looked worried, her clear blue eyes clouded. "You poor thing. Guys, you shouldn't have been so rough. She didn't know it was just us."

  Corey did as he was told. I noticed that Jen and Gina had untangled themselves and stood to one side. Gina's chest heaved as she sucked in breaths. Jen chewed her lip and wouldn't meet my gaze.

  "What the hell was that all about?" I yelled, rubbing my shoulder. "Did you shoot at my apartment?"

  "No!" Angel's denial was echoed by her three friends. "Of course not." She glanced past me to the broken window. Her brow creased and her mouth twisted with worry. "We think it was meant for us. We raced up here as soon as we heard it."

  "You'd have to be superhuman to reach my apartment in the time it took for that bullet to hit my wall and Jen to knock on the door. How did you get into the building anyway?"

  "The door was open," Jenny said.

  "Jen was almost here when the shooting happened," Angel said. "The rest of us lingered downstairs."

  I looked to Jenny. She still didn't meet my gaze. "Then why didn't she announce that you were all here? She said someone's trying to kill me, not us."

  Taylor clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. "You're so suspicious. Why would we want to hurt you? You're helping us."