Box Office Poison (Linnet Ellery) (12 page)

I goggled at him. “Are you nuts? Why would you
want
her out? She killed eleven people and wounded fifteen others. Sixteen if you count me, though I guess it was technically the light…” I firmly shut my mouth so I would stop babbling. “Anyway, you can’t.”

Jeff looked at Diggins. “Then we’ve got to recast and reshoot.”

“I’m not sure the studio will support that,” Diggins said.

Jeff looked sick. “I’ve sunk a lot of my own money into this film. We can’t just fold it.”

“We’ve got to consider how it looks. The young lady’s right. People are dead.”

“So, we go to Romania or Latvia and shoot there. Away from the press. Do it quiet.” Jeff was pleading, but Diggins just shook his head. “So, what you’re saying is, ‘Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown,’” Jeff said bitterly. He correctly read my expression as one of complete confusion. “Not a movie buff, huh?” Then he gave a sharp laugh that turned into a choking sob. He turned away and drew his sleeve across his eyes.

I looked away, wanting to excuse myself. “Pardon me, where’s the restroom?”

Diggins pointed at a door on the left side of his office. “There’s one in here you can use.”

It wasn’t exactly what I was looking for. I wanted to go into the bathroom and bawl like a little kid for a minute, but I was stuck. I stood up and the office door opened. Diggins’s assistant escorted in David, who was looking thunderous.

He crossed to my side in three long strides and took hold of my shoulders. I winced, and he released me like I was hot. “Are you all right?” he asked.

It was one of those reflexive, stupid statements that make you want to scream at the person,
No, I’m not all right. I just saw eleven people killed right in front of me.
But I didn’t say that, since he did seem honestly concerned. I settled for a nod.

“What?” Diggins said. I looked around, confused by the question, but it had been directed to the assistant.

“Sorry, Chip, but the lead detective is really insistent about talking with Mr. Montolbano and Ms. Ellery.”

David stepped in. “Tell him we’ll have both of them available tomorrow morning.” He quirked an eyebrow at Jeff. “I assume you won’t object if we involve Ishmael, McGillary and Gold?”

“Why would I need a lawyer?” Jeff asked.

“It’s a good idea to always have representation when you’re dealing with the police,” I said.

“Why? I didn’t do anything wrong. And I didn’t have a lawyer when my house got robbed last year. I just told the cops what happened, they took a statement, and then nothing happened. Never got back a single item.” He seemed to realize he was babbling because he abruptly shut up.

“Burglary is one thing. You witnessed murder today,” I said.

“And you were the victim when your house was robbed,” David added.

“Well, I can tell you I found today’s events pretty damn victimizing,” Jeff said.

David twitched a shoulder impatiently. “Not the same.”

I stepped in. “Look, Jeff, I’m going to be taking someone—”

“That would be me,” David interrupted.

“Thanks.” I hoped I’d successfully hid my surprise. I then added, “Point is, I’m a lawyer and I’m going to take a lawyer.” I was also remembering the long hours in a police station in Bayonne, New Jersey, after werewolves had attacked and killed an old man and damned near killed me. Hours in which I’d had no help, and for a time it looked like I was going to be charged with murder. That time John had come and taken me home. I blinked hard at the fresh rush of tears.

David pushed his argument. “If you go now, Jeff, you won’t get home until three or four in the morning. You’ve all been through a shocking experience. You’ll be fresher in the morning.”

“And they’ll argue that memories will fade,” Montolbano said. He gave a sick little smile. “I played a cop in four Knight Shield movies, did some ride-alongs. Makes me an expert, right?” He paused and shivered. “Truthfully, I don’t think the memory will ever fade. Never seen anything like that.”

“Who’s going to tell the cops?” Diggins asked. “I’m sure as hell not making Cindi.” The assistant looked grateful. “And I’m not real keen on doing it myself.”

“I’ll handle it,” David said. He turned to Jeff. “Go home. We’ll call you in the morning with the details.”

“That’s another issue,” Cindi said. “The press is seven deep at every gate. How do we get him out?”

Diggins considered, then said, “Call one of the limo companies. Have them send a big white stretch to the main gate. Have somebody leak that it’s for Montolbano. That should pull most of them off the other gates.”

“My car’s pretty recognizable,” Jeff said.

“Would you be willing to let Cindi take you home?” Diggins asked. Cindi tried to look blasé, but I saw the excitement beneath the weary industry sophisticate.

Jeff gave her that patented smile, though it seemed a little rough around the edges. “Sure. That would be fine.”

“It’s just a Prius,” she said apologetically.

Diggins looked at David. David took my hand. The icy touch removed any warmth supplied by the tea. “I’ll handle getting us out. Just tell me which of these other gates to use.”

8

“We need to go get my car. It’s still at the office,” I said, as David led me across a parking lot.

Overhead the sky was lit by city glow and not a star was visible. Bushes with heavy palmlike branches rattled in a sharp breeze that carried the smell of exhaust and, maybe very faintly, the smell of the ocean.

“It can wait. Right now I’m going to get you back to your apartment.” He pulled out keys, and hit the unlock button. The headlights flashed on a blue Sebring, and the interior lights came on.

“You drove yourself,” I said rather stupidly. It wasn’t all that common with vampires. Servants were part of a vampire’s life. Even the awful Ryan had a driver. It was also another clue to the mystery that was David. Either he’d learned to drive before he was turned, which meant he wasn’t that old by vampire standards, or he’d learned afterward, which indicated that he wanted very badly to integrate into human society.

“I can drive. Also, it’s the middle of the night. I didn’t want to roust Kobe this late.”

“That was nice of you,” I said as David opened the passenger door for me.

“Meaning surprising and unexpected?” he asked.

“Well, yes. You’re polite, but you’re not considerate.” I immediately cursed my too ready and blunt tongue.

He leaned into the car. “Meaning me in particular or vampires in general?”

Well, may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. “Both,” I said.

He gave a short laugh and shook his head. He came around the car, got in, and started the engine. “Well, it wasn’t total altruism. I wanted a chance to talk to you alone.”

A cold knot settled in my already aching stomach. “Are you mad because I came to the set with Jeff?”

“No … yes … well, maybe a little. It’s the situation.” He put the car in gear and we headed toward a side gate. “I’m going to do a little—in the words of Mr. Campos—whammy here. You won’t tell on me, will you?”

“Depends on how much of a whammy it is, and on who,” was my cautious reply. Stoker wasn’t completely off base on some of the powers he gave vampires, but vamps were careful not to use them too often on humans. To do otherwise sort of undercut that whole assimilation effort.

“Not on you. On the guards at the gate and the press vultures.”

As we approached the gate David’s eyes narrowed with concentration, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. A gray fog rose up around the vehicle. As we came level with the guard shack David muttered beneath his breath. The guard’s expression turned vague and dreamy and he raised the gate pole.

David shot me a quick glance. “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.” I gaped at him. We drove through and past a couple of people standing on the sidewalk just outside the gate. In addition to the pedestrians, there were three parked cars. The doors flew open, people stepped out then stopped and looked confused. Some of the watchers looked at us, or whatever we appeared to be. One raised his camera. I wasn’t sure if he snapped a photo or not, and then we were past and turning onto Riverside Drive. From there it was a close hop up the hill to my apartment.

“Why did you tell Jeff to wait until tomorrow to go to the police?” I asked.

“So I could keep
you
away from the police,” came the answer that gave me a bit of a chill.

“Why? I can’t possibly be blamed for this.”

“No, but all that unpleasantness back in New York and Virginia is going to come up, and that will be … awkward. I wanted a chance to talk with you first and find out exactly what happened before I allowed a bunch of unimaginative cops to grill you.”

I remembered a conversation with John about the police. He’d been an officer in Philly, and while he liked and respected the people in his former profession, he was also blunt about the drawbacks. “Cops like simple stories,” he’d said. “The simpler the better. You start messing with the story, and they’re not going to like you. When cops don’t like you, your life gets complicated.”

I repeated this aloud to David as we headed up the hill toward the Oakwood. “Right now they have a story. Crazy elf actress goes nuts and shoots up set,” I said.

“And you’re the one discordant note in this song.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said.

“Think about it, Linnet. You’re the woman who was present when nine people got killed last year too.”

“Not all at the same time or in the same place,” I protested. “Three at one place and six at the other…” My voice trailed away.

“And you don’t think that makes it look even worse?”

I had no answer to that. I just slumped into sullen silence. David started to pull in the main gate at the Oakwood but suddenly swerved back into the traffic streaming up the hill, occasioning more than a few blaring horns, and Anglo-Saxon gestures of disapprobation aimed in our general direction. What had spooked him was a TV truck and a gaggle of reporters besieging the gates.

“Well, damn. Back to the hotel?” David suggested.

“I have no clothes, not even a toothbrush. They may get bored, and I can always slip in the pedestrian gate on the side.”

“So, what do we do in the meantime?” David asked.

It was embarrassing to admit. Societal norms said I should be more like a nineteenth-century heroine, shattered by what I’d seen, but awful as it was it wasn’t as horrible as watching a werewolf literally tear a fellow associate to pieces right in front of me. Bottom line, I was hungry. A lot of hours had passed since that lunch in the Warner’s restaurant. Shamefaced, I confessed as much to David.

“Start looking for something that looks good and is open at this hour.”

We were on Ventura Boulevard and despite the late hour there were still a lot of cars. The small strip malls held a lot of sushi restaurants, but they were all closed. Which was good: I didn’t want sushi.

“I want comfort food,” I said, and then I saw a large building on our left that looked like a 1950s diner. A large sign read
DUPAR’S—OPEN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS
. “There,” I said and pointed.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No. And don’t be a snob.”

He forced extra air through his lungs so he could produce a gusting sigh and turned into the parking lot. Behind the restaurant were other stores, a Trader Joe’s, a beauty supply house, and a McDonald’s.

“I guess I should be grateful you didn’t want to eat there,” he said with a jerk of his head toward the golden arches.

We walked into the smell of french fries and coffee. There were booths, and linoleum underfoot. It really was a blast from the past. David requested a booth near the back of the restaurant from the hostess, an older woman whose face looked like five miles of bad road and whose voice was a husky smoker’s rasp. She didn’t move from her position behind the cash register. Instead she waved over a young woman in a starched white uniform complete with the little cap perched in her hair like a nesting bird. The young woman took two menus from the older woman.

David held up a hand. “I don’t need a menu.” But the girl ignored it and led us to the booth, where she tried to give David a menu.

“No, thank you,” he said.

“So, you know what you want already?” she asked.

“I’m not having anything.”

“If you look at the menu you might change your mind. We make our own pies. They’re real good.”

“I’m sure they are, but I’m not having anything.” He was fast losing patience. I could hear it in his voice.

While the argument continued I perused the big menu, and decided on a hot roast beef sandwich and a Coke. “Well, I’ll leave the menu just in case you change your mind,” she chirped.

“I’m. Not. Having. Anything.”

I snapped shut my menu. “Well, I am.” I placed my order, and she went away. David was almost growling.

“Does she not get that I’m a vampire?”

“I don’t think she even noticed,” I said.

“That kind of inattention can get you killed,” David said.

“What? You’re planning on going rogue?”

“I don’t mean with vampires. In general. You’ve got to be aware of your surroundings. Especially women.”

That hit a little too close to home. “Look, she came in the door and started shooting. There wasn’t a lot of opportunity for me to assess the situation.”

“I’m not blaming you.”

“Oh. Okay. It just sounded like you were.”

The girl returned with my Coke and a cup of coffee. She smiled brightly at David and set it down in front of him. “Here. It’s on the house. It just looks so lonely with you sitting there with nothing in front of you.” Another smile and she went away.

David looked like he’d been pole-axed. I stifled a giggle. “She’s flirting with you,” I said.

“Does she know nothing?”

“Apparently not.”

He gave an irritated shrug of a shoulder. “Enough of this. Tell me what happened.”

So I did. I summarized the end. “The camera knocked her down. Jeff jumped on her. Then security, ambulances, and police arrived.” My dinner arrived just as I was finishing.