Reel Murder (22 page)

“Mom, don’t say another word.” I took a deep breath, trying to calm my jangled nerves. “Anything you tell her is going to end up on the front page of one of the tabloids and it’s going to be blown all out of proportion. Carla’s going to twist whatever you say.”

“Oh my, feeling a little defensive, are we, Maggie? I’d never twist anyone’s words.” She gave a nasty cackle. “I don’t have to, honey. I find that people dig their own grave; all I have to do is hand them a shovel.”

Mom went back to her trailer to gather up her belongings and I headed for the craft services table for a water bottle. Carla was still yipping at my heels like a persistent hound. I couldn’t seem to shake her, even though I thought I’d made it clear that I had nothing to say to her.

The catering staff was packing everything up for the day and I reached for the last bottle of Crystal Geyser just as an attractive young actress did the same thing. She was tall and blond, California slim, dressed casually in jeans and a tank top. I remembered her from an earlier scene that Hank filmed.

“You go ahead and take it,” she said graciously. “I have an extra water bottle in my tote bag, and I’ll just grab some ice in a paper cup.” She shot me a curious look. “You’re Maggie Walsh, right? The one who got hit in the head with the light?” She shook her head sympathetically. “It must have been awful; I hope you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.” I smiled at her. “And just for the record, I wasn’t hit on the head. The light missed me completely and I just have a couple of scratches on my arm. A little flying glass, that’s all.”

She grinned back. “I’m glad you’re all right. I guess somebody just got the wrong story out there—you know how it is.”

“I certainly do.” Movie sets were gossip mills and I knew people were going to ask me about the Klieg light incident over and over. The story was going to get bigger and bigger each time it was told. I wondered who’d started the rumor that I’d been conked on the head. For all I knew it could have been the intrepid tabloid reporter standing next to me.

“She’s just being brave,” Carla piped up. “It was almost a near-death experience.” Carla turned to me. “I meant to ask you, Maggie, did you see a white light? Or maybe even hear a voice telling you to go to the light? That would be a great addition to the piece. Readers always like to hear stories about the afterlife.” She paused. “If you happened to see some dead relatives waiting for you, that would be good, too. Just give me a few names; I can fill in the rest. I’ll add a little dialogue to flesh it out.”

“Carla,” I said firmly, “there
was
no near death experience. And no white light or voices or dead relatives.”

“Sorry to hear it,” Carla said, not the least bit embarrassed. “It would have made a hell of a good story. Unless you’re saving it for a book, of course.”

“Look, Carla,” I said, my nerves fraying, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you really need to give it a rest. There’s no story here, really.”

I gave her a hard look, but Carla just laughed and helped herself to a stale doughnut. “Oh, you have a lot to learn, my dear. There’s always a story. Always.” She gave the starlet a sharp look. “Say, you’re Lori Taylor, right? You play the part of Tiffany Hale, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. It’s a very small part. And you are—”

“Carla Townsend, entertainment reporter.” She whisked out a card like an insurance salesman and pressed it into Lori’s hand. “You didn’t see the light crashing down by any chance? An eyewitness report is always good. I could include it in my story. I might even be able to get the editor to include a picture of you.”

“No, I wasn’t in that scene. I was back in my trailer studying my lines.”

“And how is that incredibly sexy husband of yours?” Carla nudged me and winked. “Lori is married to one of Hollywood’s most gorgeous guys, Sam Taylor.”

Lori tensed, a wary look crossing her face. “He’s fine. He’s only here for a couple of days. He’s flying back to L.A. before I am.”

“Just as well,” Carla said, munching on her doughnut. She brushed away some sugary crumbs that had dropped onto her polyester tunic top. “You know how people talk.” She let that comment hang in the air for a moment, and when Lori didn’t take the bait, she continued, “I suppose he’s devastated by Adriana’s death? The word on the street is that the two of them were very”—she paused delicately—“close.” Carla turned to me. “You may not know this, Maggie, but Adriana was very fond of young guys.” She flashed a look at Lori. “Isn’t that right, Lori? Or is it true what they say? The wife is always the last to know?” She gave a sly laugh.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lori slung her tote bag over her arm and stalked away, her face flushed with anger.

“Oh my, what a temper. It’s always better to keep your cool in these situations, but I guess as a psychologist, you already know that.”

“I think you provoked her, Carla. What exactly were you hinting at?”

“It was more than a hint,” Carla said, licking powdered sugar off her fingers, one by one. “It’s well known that if you’re a struggling actor and have the right look, you can score a bigger part in the film by making nice with Adriana.”

“And making nice means—”

“Exactly what you think it means, sweetie.” She heaved a sigh. “It’s a tough business, Maggie, and Sam Taylor wouldn’t be the first guy to be tempted. After all, a quickie affair with Adriana, and his career gets a tremendous boost. Who wouldn’t jump at the chance?”

“But he has a lovely young wife.” I tried not to look as shocked as I felt.

Carla shook her head. “You haven’t seen much of the world, have you? I think Lola has kept you way too protected, my dear. Lori and Sam have only been married for a few months and I guarantee they won’t last another year together.”

“Why not?”

“She wants to move to some little podunk town in the Midwest and have kids and he wants to spread his wings in Hollywood. It’s just not meant to be; you know?” She paused, raising her eyebrows. “Of course, with Adriana out of the picture, maybe that chapter of Sam’s life is over and he’ll be ready to settle down. Adriana was his mentor, to put it delicately. He’s really not much of an actor, you know.”

“I think I’ve seen him in a few movies,” I said doubtfully.

“Adriana got him those parts. She begged the producers to find something for him, even if it was a bit part.” She waited a beat, flashing me a look. “It’s certainly a nice break for Lori that Adriana isn’t on the set anymore, isn’t it? Her death might have saved Lori’s marriage. Would a woman kill to hang on to her husband? I’d say yes. Just my own opinion. You probably know more about this than I do.”

“You’re not going to publish this ‘opinion’ of yours, are you?” I was horrified. “A lot of innocent people could get hurt.”

Carla elbowed me. “Oh honey, believe me, they’re not that innocent. And as far as being hurt, well you know what they say, there’s no such thing as bad publicity.” She gave a high-pitched laugh and I winced. “As long as I spell their names right, they’ll be happy!”

“That dreadful woman!” Lola steamed. “I haven’t seen her in years and I’d forgotten how truly odious she can be. She’s much more bitter and cynical than I remembered.”

We’d just finished a quick stir-fry dinner and were stashing the plates in the sink. Lark had gone out for the evening so Mom and I were alone in the town house.

The kitchen is a cozy place, with a round oak dining table, gleaming wood floors, exposed beams, and cream-colored walls. The walls are dotted with colorful canvases that Lark picks up at local flea markets along with some nice pieces of vintage wicker. She has a good eye for color and texture; if she wasn’t studying to be a legal assistant, she could have a kick-ass career as an interior decorator. I feel more at home here than I ever did in my overpriced apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

“No argument there,” I muttered. “She’s the reporter-from-hell.” I was still flummoxed over Carla’s revelations about Lori and Sam Taylor. “Did you ever hear anything about Sam on the set?” I asked. “Was there ever any gossip about him and Adriana?”

“It’s hard to say. Adriana always did have the reputation of being a cougar, and he’s not a very good actor, I’m sorry to say. So it’s very possible that Carla was right. All Sam really has going for him is his youth and good looks.”

“And Adriana,” I said wryly. “So you think it’s possible that Hank Watson hired him because Adriana asked him to?”

Pugsley tapped his feet on the wide oak floor and I tossed him a Beggin’ Strip. I knew he’d have “bacon breath” all evening, but I couldn’t resist. Eating Beggin’ is the doggie world’s equivalent of nibbling a luscious Godiva chocolate in ours.

“I’d like to say no, but the truth is, I just don’t know. Everything’s changed so much. It was different when we were all starting out together in Los Angeles. It was always competitive, but now it’s at a completely different level; it’s really cutthroat. I don’t know what Sam would do to get a part.” She shrugged. “He’s a good-looking guy, but hunks are a dime a dozen in Hollywood. He doesn’t have any real training as an actor. I think he started out as a model and then he met Adriana.” She raised her eyebrows. “And the rest, as they say, is history.”

We both were silent for a moment. “Are you up for watching a movie?” Mom asked. “I saw some good ones listed on the TNT Channel for tonight.” Mom and I are both fans of old movies, especially anything set in the golden days of Hollywood. I think I’ve seen every Gloria Swanson movie ever made. Several times.

“Hold that thought. I want to take Pugsley for a quick walk first. Maybe I’ll stop by Sweet Dreams on the way back. Is there anything you’d like?” Sweet Dreams is an ice cream shop just a few blocks away. The signature dish is to die for—lemon sorbet, topped with fresh raspberry sauce and whipped cream. I thought of the Oscar Wilde quote,
I can resist anything but temptation
.

“I’d like something really decadent, but I have to fit into my costume tomorrow.” Mom sighed, patting her stomach. “If they have any of that sugar-free frozen yogurt, the coffee flavor, that would be great.”

Pugsley was jazzed because he recognized the word “walk” and was dancing around the kitchen in excitement, making little yips of joy.

“You’ve got it. C’mon, Pugs.”

I gave a low whistle and Pugsley appeared at my side with his leash in his mouth. It’s the only trick he knows, unless you count running in frenzied circles when he greets us. And jumping straight up with all four feet off the floor when he spies his favorite treats. Not enough to get him on Letterman, perhaps, but he has no interest in a career in show business—he’s happy being a pampered pet.

It was a lovely evening, the air soft and balmy, the cicadas humming in the trees. My brain was racing with possibilities as I thought about the events on the
Death Watch
set. Carla, in her own irritating way, had added yet another suspect to the list.

According to Carla, the young actress, Lori Taylor, might have had a motive for tampering with the prop gun. After all, she was a “woman scorned,” and if Carla was correct, Lori’s husband Sam was sleeping with Adriana. Lori didn’t seem like the type of person to commit a murder, but then, who does?

I remembered Rafe’s crack about Ted Bundy. According to the newspaper reporters, even his neighbors liked him. He volunteered at a crisis hotline with the now-famous true crime author Ann Rule. How’s that for irony? He was a chameleon and could fool the most astute people.

And remember the serial killer John Wayne Gacy? He dressed up as a clown to entertain sick children at a hospital in Philadelphia. I shudder every time I think of it. No one had a clue what he was up to until they found the bodies of the murdered boys stashed underneath his house. Scott Peterson? Another supposedly great guy with a charismatic personality; generous to his friends; a great host and the life of every party, people said. No one suspected a thing.

When I think about these crimes, I’m glad I’m out of forensic psychology and doing a radio talk show.

Was Lori Taylor capable of murder? I didn’t seriously think she was a killer, but I added her to the list anyway. She wasn’t at the top of the list, though; I had plenty of other suspects to consider.

Sidney Carter, for one. Revenge is certainly a motive for murder. Even though Sidney had seemed outwardly calm and composed when I met him at the Seabreeze, it must have galled him that Adriana had managed to thwart his career. All because she decided to spread a false AIDS rumor about him. So cruel and unnecessary.

So perhaps seeing Adriana land a starring role in
Death Watch
, and watching her lording it over everyone on the set every single day, may have proved to be too much. Maybe it caused him to snap?

Did he have the technical knowledge to tamper with the prop gun? I made a mental note to ask Rafe about the ballistics report. How hard would it be to do? I’d never be able to figure out how to rig a gun with a pellet, but I’m very low-tech.

And there was Malibu Barbie, the ditzy actress, Tammilynne Cole. She was no Einstein and it was hard to picture her fooling around with the gun. But maybe she talked someone else into doing it for her? She seemed to have several admirers on the set; would one of them be smitten enough to kill for her? A long shot, perhaps, but I’ve seen crazier things in my forensic work.

Pugsley stopped for a moment to do his bloodhound imitation. He circled a banyan tree three times, nose to the ground, snuffling along like he was hot on the trail of an escaped convict. Of course, all he was really doing was checking out all the dogs who’d been there before. I waited quietly while he went through his evening ritual, my mind still mulling over the case.

Hank Watson was the number one suspect according to the police, but I just couldn’t bring myself to believe that he’d killed Adriana. Why? I wasn’t really sure. Just a gut feeling. If I tested the theory with my mental Magic 8 Ball, I was sure it would say, “Signs point to no.”