Diva Las Vegas (5 page)

“Sure. You probably just want protection from these wild Playmates.”

“Well, that, too.” He looked around to see if anyone was watching and snuck in a quick kiss.

The girls were brought in one by one. Hef had left the room, but I was still there. Even so, two of the girls flirted outrageously with Jakes while they answered his questions. I had to restrain myself from having a slap fight with one of them, who kept pushing her boobs in his face.

But in the end, all the girls alibied Hef and themselves. None of them knew anything about a photographer shooting eighties Playmates.

“Can I do anything else?” Hef asked.

“I’d like to know who constructed the haunted house for you,” Jakes said, “and who was around when it was finished.”

“Sure,” Hef said. “We have it built by the same people each year. I’ll get you a card.”

When we left the mansion, Jakes had the business card in his pocket. He hadn’t shown it to me, but I figured I’d get a look at it later.

I told him I couldn’t pick the girl out from any in the mansion.

“So you’re saying you didn’t recognize her from that group, or you can’t recognize her at all?”

I hesitated, and then said, “It wasn’t that wood nymph. I’m positive of that. The one that got Shana was taller—and, now that I think of it, she was older.”

Jakes sighed and looked around.

“I’ve got to find Len, make sure the body’s been removed from the premises. And I want to take another look around. Why don’t you get George; let’s meet up in a half hour.”

“Where?” I asked.

“You tell me. You’ve been here before, right?”

“The grotto,” I said. “Let’s meet there.”

“Okay.” He touched my arm, started away, then stopped and turned. “You
have
been here before, right?”

“A few times.”

“Were you, uh, ever in the magazine?”

I couldn’t help it. “I was, actually.”

He stared at me, started to say something, then shook his head and walked away. From his expression, I figured he was about to ask if I’d been in the magazine naked.

Let him ask, I thought, and went off to find Georgie.

 

When I found him, he had managed to get his head and feet off. It didn’t look as if he’d gotten any relief, though. His face was wet with perspiration, and his hair was matted and damp. He was wearing support socks that went almost to his knees.

“Oh, thank God,” he said. “Can we go now?”

“Not quite yet.” I told him I couldn’t remember the wood nymph who came to get Shana for an apparently phony photo shoot. “There are just so many of them around here. . . .”

“Oh, I could pick her out.”

“You could?”

“Honey,” he said, rolling his eyes, “that hair . . . She needed a gallon of conditioner. That frizz factor! Oh, my God! If I had just had her in my chair—”

I grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.

“Hey!”

“Come on, Georgie,” I said. “You may have just earned your ticket home.”

“It’s none of them.”

Jakes and I glared at George, who got very defensive.

“Hey, don’t look at me that way,” he said. “You showed me five nymphs, and she isn’t one of them.”

“Okay,” Jakes said, “that’s okay, George. All we have to do now is walk you around the grounds until you spot her.”

“What?” George looked at me. “You said I could go home after this.”

Jakes looked at me. “You said that?”

“I said
maybe
.” I turned from Jakes to George. “I said
maybe
, George.”

“I’m melting!” George complained.

I looked at Jakes.

“What if I get Mr. Hefner to let you take a shower and I get you a change of clothes?” Jakes asked.

George didn’t look happy.

“It’s the best I can do, George,” Jakes said apologetically. “You’re our only reliable witness.”

“I guess I should have kept my big mouth shut.” George looked at us. “I’m just kidding. Of course I want to help!” And then, glumly, “Okay, get me a shower.”

 

Jakes managed to get a bathing suit and Hawaiian shirt that fit George. And some flip-flops.

“Better than the sheep costume,” I said when he came down.

“Not by much.” He looked down, clearly irritated at the pastel bathing suit, shirt and flip-flops. “This really isn’t me.”

“I like it,” Jakes said.

George gave him a dubious look. “Don’t tell me you’re one of them? Straight guys who think all gays like pink and Barbra Streisand?”

Before Jakes could reply, George smiled. “I’m just kidding.”

Jakes looked relieved. Before either of them could say anything else, Hef came in.

“Hey, they fit,” he said to George. “Looks good.”

“Thank you,” George said politely.

“I don’t think Jack will mind.”

“Jack?” George asked.

“Nicholson,” Hef said. “He usually wears those when he’s here.”

“Really?” George asked. “Jack Nicholson?”

“Uh-huh.”

George looked down at himself again, and Hef took that moment to wink at me. I grinned back.

“Well, I guess I don’t look so bad,” George said, looking up and grinning at all of us.

“So, we can go outside now?” Jakes asked.

“Sure,” George said. “I’m ready.”

“And you’re sure you’ll be able to recognize her?” Jakes asked as they walked out.

“If I don’t see her,” George said, “then she’s not here.”

“Some party, huh, Alex?” Hef asked.

“It was,” I said, “until Shana got killed. I’m so sorry, Hef.”

“I’m sorry, too. Shana had an attitude sometimes, but she had a kind side and always loved a good party. And who knows? Maybe the party can go on after the police leave. Shana would have liked that.”

He looked at me, and we both knew that wasn’t going to happen.

 

I left Hef in the house and went outside. Some people were milling about; others were still being questioned by police, who were taking down names, addresses and phone numbers.

The party really was over.

Len Davis approached me and said, “Do you know where Jakes is?”

“He’s walking around with George,” I said, “looking for the girl who called Shana away.”

He nodded.

“Are you ready to start letting people leave?” I asked.

“I’ll have to ask Frank,” he said. “It’s his crime scene, but I think so.”

“Hef will be happy to hear that.”

“Hef, huh?” He looked at the mansion. As far as I knew, he hadn’t been inside yet.

“Jakes is busy,” I said. “I can take you inside and introduce you. You can tell Hef yourself.”

“Inside?” he asked. He was trying not to seem eager. It was kind of cute in an I-get-to-meet-the-king-of-naked-women sort of way. “Sure, why not? Somebody’s gotta keep him posted, right?”

I shrugged and said, “Might as well be you.”

“You’re Len’s hero, you know,” Jakes said to me. We were in his car. He was driving me home from the party. We’d been there for hours. It was three a.m., and the cops had finally let people go home. I had told George to take the limo. He was disappointed that he hadn’t ID’d the nymph.

I looked at Jakes. “You mean I made up for leaving
The Yearning Tide
?”

“Well,” he said, “I don’t know about that, but taking him into the mansion and introducing him to Hef sure earned you some points.”

“I’m sorry about George.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “She got out somehow, before we had the place locked down.”

“So, what do you think, Jakes?” I asked.

“Huh?”

“About who killed Shana? And why?”

“I was going to ask you that,” he said. “After all, you knew her.”

“Not that well.”

“Well enough that when she needed someone to talk to, she turned to you.”

“I think she only wanted to talk to me because I know you.”

“You know who her friends were, right?”

“Sort of,” I said. “I know her ex-husband. He’s on my show.” Then it dawned on me. “Are you asking me to help you with this investigation?”

He gave me a look before moving his eyes back to the road.

“Like I could keep you away?” he asked. “You’re my ace assistant, right?”

He was right. I’d had a taste of being an amateur detective a couple of times before, and except for some bumps and bruises—and almost getting killed—had come out unscathed and oddly invigorated.

“I’ll see what I can do for you, Detective.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

 

He pulled up in front of my house in Venice, one of those 1920s Craftsman types with the canal running behind it. I also had a smaller guesthouse back by the canal, where my mother lived. It was very handy, having her around to babysit my daughter, who was going to turn seven that year.

When we pulled up in front of the house, it was three thirty a.m. “Good night. Umm . . . we’ll talk tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Of course. I understand, Alex.” He leaned over to kiss me. He was
very
understanding about Sarah being my priority. Jakes and I had actually been seeing each other for a year. But ever since I had broken up with my ex-boyfriend Paul, I had been very reticent to bring Jakes around my daughter. I didn’t want to be one of those single moms who subjected their children to a merry-go-round of boyfriends. Making it even more difficult was the fact that Sarah and Paul had adored each other. My mother’s being thrown into the equation only complicated things. She had been a big Paul fan, as well. What do you do when everyone else loves the guy but you? I had the feeling I was flunking this part of single parenthood, but I didn’t quite know what to do. Was anybody winning?

Jakes could sense my conflict. He held my hand and looked at me.
Really
looked at me.

“I mean it, Alex. I do understand. I’m a grown-up.” He brushed a ringlet away from my cheek. “I’ll just miss you, that’s all.” He kissed me again.

“I’ll miss you, too. Thanks.” I was looking at the floor of the car, feeling a little inadequate.

“We’ll figure this out, right?” I asked. He took my face in his hands and turned it toward him.

“Of course we will.
You’re
worth it.” I smiled at him, and he kissed me yet again. A slow, deep kiss that did crazy, thrilling things to me. It also reminded me why I was with him and not Paul. The windows of the car were getting a little steamed up when he broke away.

“I told you I was understanding, but I’m not superhuman. Go, before I throw you in the backseat.”

I disentangled myself from his arms, smelled his neck one last time and got out of the car. I was heading toward the house and thought of something. “By the way, I lied.” Jakes looked puzzled. “I was never really in the magazine.”

He just shook his head and smiled as he drove away. I opened the front door quietly.

“Hey, Mom!” Sarah yelled. So I guess they were awake after all. I barely had time to set down my Bo Peep staff before she threw herself into my arms. “Where’s Georgie?” she asked.

She had seen George in his sheep outfit when the limo had picked me up the previous evening.

“He had to go home and go to sleep,” I said. “What are you doing up?”

She yawned. “I heard the phone ring when you called and I woke up. Was the party fun?”

“It was okay, sweetie,” I said, kissing her cheek. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

My mother came into the living room, looking bleary-eyed in her pj’s and hair curlers.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“Terrible,” I said. I put Sarah down and said, “Honey, I’m going to take my makeup off and get my jams on. Go to bed, and I’ll be in to snuggle. You need to get some more sleep.”

“Okay, Mom. I’m super tired.”

She yawned again and headed for her room.

“Poor Shana,” I said. “It was horrible.”

“Sweetheart, I really don’t want to hear about it,” my mother said, cutting me off, waving her hands. “I hate the thought of you being involved in another murder.”

“How do you know I’m involved?” I asked a little defensively.

She gave me a great deadpan look. “Was he there?”

“And by
he
, do you mean Detective Jakes?” I paused before finally surrendering. “Yes, Mom, he was.”

“You’re involved,” she said as she walked out the back door toward her little guesthouse. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours, honey. Get some sleep.”

She left me standing there, feeling about six years old myself. How do moms do that? It’s a special gift.

I don’t know what I expected people’s reactions to be after the news of Shana’s death made the rounds. I certainly didn’t expect what I got at work the next day. Oh, they were shocked, of course, and a little sad—mostly for her ex, Barry. But people were sort of blasé, really. It made me feel very alone. Especially since George had texted me that he was staying home to “recuperate.” I couldn’t blame him. At least he was feeling something, right? Had our society devolved into one that celebrated violence so much that we were becoming immune to murder? Too many ultraviolent films and television shows? One too many celebrity murders? I’d like to think it was because people didn’t know Shana that well. That’s what I’d
like
to think, anyway.

Daytime television was going through lots of changes, and
The Bare and the Brazen
was no different. The show had begun to take drastic steps to save money. Sets were very expensive to put up and take down, so now the routine was to put up a set, like my character’s living room, and in the same day film all the scenes from several episodes that took place there. It was more cost-effective, but it also meant you could spend all day at work just to tape three or four scenes from several different episodes. Not so great.