Hot Secret (13 page)

“Yeah, I know. What are you going to do next?”

He pulled the car into a tight space at the oceanfront curb, then removed his sunglasses long enough to look her straight in the eye. “I’m surprised you intend to leave the next step up to me.”

“You are the detective,” she said dutifully.

“Try to remember that.”

“By the way, I almost forgot. Jeffrey Meyerson has an excuse for the delay between the arrival of his flight and the time he showed up at Veronica’s hotel room. He stopped by the location first.”

Michael groaned. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You’ve talked to him, too.”

“Well, Veronica did call me and ask me to come by,” she said defensively. “She was worried that he might know something about the murder.”

“And did he?”

“Not that I could discover.”

“Any other little tidbits I should know about? Things perhaps the police haven’t stumbled on yet?”

Molly smiled brightly. “Nope. None that I can think of.”

“I’m sure you’ll let me know if you just happen across some evidence.”

“Absolutely.”

Michael put a hand on her elbow and turned her to face him. “Molly, I’m serious about this. Can I trust you to pass on whatever you discover, however insignificant it may seem to you?”

“Of course you can trust me,” she said indignantly.

“Can I?” he said. “You made me the same promise just yesterday.”

“And just look at all the information I gave you today.”

He shook his head. “There’s no arguing with you, is there? You have an answer for everything.”

“I try,” she said, purposely ignoring his exasperated tone. “You may not believe this, but I really do appreciate the fact that you listen to me. You take what I tell you seriously … even when you are furious with me.”

For an instant he looked taken aback. Then a faint smile touched his lips and was gone. “Yeah, well, don’t ever tell anyone I said this, but you’ve got good instincts when it comes to people.”

“Just think what I could do if I had access to an evidence lab and a few crackerjack technicians,” she said, winking at him as she went off to take the elevator back to Laura Crain’s suite.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned as the doors of the elevator slid shut. They didn’t close quite fast enough, though. She still heard the unmistakable sound of his laughter.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

Molly figured she’d escaped the worst of Michael’s wrath. Despite his anger and his protests, she felt much better knowing that he was on the case. In fact, she was downright cheerful as she went back into the production office.

Jeannette looked far more harried than she ever did in the film office, even on the worst days with Vince on her case. She glanced up from the phones and waved Molly over. When she’d put the caller on hold, she asked, “You have anyplace else you can be for the next couple of hours?”

Molly shook her head. “Why?”

“You might want to stay out of Laura Crain’s path. She’s convinced you carried some tale off to the police that explains why both Daniel and Hank were called in for questioning. They just left in the middle of one of her production meetings and went downstairs.”

Molly glanced around the room. Jerry Shaw was the only other person in here, and he was busy scribbling all over one of the scripts. “Where’s Laura now?” Molly asked.

“The bathroom.” The normally unflappable Jeannette looked genuinely distressed. “You sure you don’t have urgent business back at the office? She is a crazy one.”

Molly shook her head. “I can’t run off and have her accuse me of abandoning her in her hour of need. You can imagine how Vince would love that. I’ll stay here and take my chances. Thanks for warning me, though.”

She crossed the room and stopped by the production assistant. “Hi, Jerry. Anything I can do to help?”

He looked up at her and shook his head.

Molly persisted. “Has tomorrow’s schedule been worked out? I can start coordinating with the Beach authorities as soon as I know what locations you need.”

“You’ll have to ask Laura. She keeps changing her mind. It’s driving everyone crazy.”

“Why isn’t Hank making the decisions?”

Jerry blinked at her. “Well, he is. Sort of. Laura keeps countermanding him. She’s better at logistics and stuff. She wants Jonathan to make some adjustments to the script that’ll speed things along. Daniel and Hank agreed, but no one can find him.”

“Maybe he got tired of everyone ignoring his suggestions,” Molly said.

“Not everyone. Just Veronica. She made the guy’s life a living hell. If I were him, I’d be back in
L.A. by now. Laura made sure that wouldn’t happen. She’s holding all the tickets.”

“Has he checked out?”

“No. He’s just laying low.”

“Then maybe he’s on the beach or having lunch at one of the cafes.”

“Could be, but I don’t have time to go look for him. I have to finish these script notes. Could you try to track him down?”

Since looking for the writer beat waiting for Laura to throw one of her tantrums, Molly agreed.

She found thirty-year-old Jonathan Fine some fifteen minutes later on the porch of a hotel five blocks south. He was sipping what looked like a double shot of Scotch and staring at the ocean, his expression bleak. Molly slid into the seat across from him, wondering how he stood the glare and scorching heat of the direct midsummer sun. She was drenched in perspiration just from walking a few blocks in the humid, 88-degree weather. It probably helped that each time the hotel door opened a rush of cool air breezed past.

“Hi,” she said, taking in the rumpled shirt with its exotic and colorful flowers and the khaki shorts. The clothes contrasted sharply with his bookish horn-rimmed glasses. He looked like a writer’s idea of what a screenwriter in Florida ought to look like. He also looked as if he’d feel more comfortable in a three-piece suit with his blond hair trimmed to executive neatness, instead of scraping his collar as it was now.

“You looking for me?” he asked, barely sparing her a glance. He sounded as miserable as he looked.

Molly nodded. “Laura wants some changes in the script.”

“So what else is new?” he said. If anything, he looked even more woebegone. He turned his gaze on Molly. “Maybe you can explain why they bought it in the first place. About the only thing left from the original is the title, and I understand some marketing guy at the studio hates that.”

“It must be frustrating. This is your first feature film, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I used to be in a business that made sense.”

“What was that?”

“Banking.”

No wonder he looked as if he ought to be wearing a suit. “From what I’ve seen of banks collapsing, you may have gotten out of that just in the nick of time. How did you sell the script to Greg?”

“He banked at my branch in Santa Monica. One day there was a problem with his account and we got to talking. I told him I’d been working on this script. I’m sure people said that to him all the time, but he asked to see it. After he read it, he called me. He actually said then that he liked it.”

Jonathan finished off his drink. “Greg helped me find an agent, took out an option, and then started trying to put the financing together. Everybody told me it was a fluke, that I shouldn’t quit my day job, but would I listen? No. I was so sure this was it, my ticket to fame and fortune. Jesus, was I naïve.”

“What you accomplished is pretty incredible,” Molly said. “I’ve seen the statistics. The odds are against a beginner breaking in with a first script.”

“But how am I supposed to reconcile what’s on the screen with what I put on paper? Duke likes to ad lib and Greg let him. He said Duke’s an instinctive actor.”

“You don’t agree?”

“It’s bull. He just can’t memorize his damn lines. As for Veronica, she wants to play the role like she’s still twenty-seven. If the script had called for a woman that age, Greg wouldn’t have cast her. She blames me for making her seem old.”

“What’ll happen now that Greg’s dead?”

“God knows. Hank can’t control the cast and Laura’s more interested in the bottom line.”

He sighed heavily and blinked several times behind his thick-lensed glasses. “Sorry. You didn’t come chasing after me to listen to my gripes. What do you need?”

Molly winced. “Actually, Laura …”

“Has a few changes. You said that. I guess I blocked it. Well, come on. I might as well get it over with.”

He staggered a little as he stood up, then squared his shoulders. Molly wondered if perhaps she should have insisted on coffee before dragging him back to the hotel.

“Are you working on another script?” she asked.

For the first time he gave her a rueful grin. “Yeah, this one. Maybe once it’s done, I’ll be able to write something that a director and the stars will actually love as it is. I’m not holding my breath, though.”

Molly wondered idly if Jonathan Fine was disturbed
enough over what had happened to his script to murder the man responsible. She dismissed the thought immediately. He seemed too mild-mannered to shoot someone in cold blood. If he was anything like other writers she had known, though, he probably had a keen eye for human frailties.

“Tell me something,” Molly said. “You know everyone connected with the film. Have you had any thoughts on who might have shot Greg?”

Jonathan stared at her, his eyes blinking even more rapidly. “Me? Why would you ask?”

“Because you’re an astute observer of people. You’ve probably taken traits from everyone involved in GK Productions and created new characters, in your mind, if not on paper.”

A dull red crept up the back of his neck. Since his back hadn’t been to the sun, Molly had to assume she’d guessed correctly and that he was embarrassed by her observation. “Maybe a little.”

“Well, then? Anyone capable of murder?”

He considered the question thoughtfully. “Daniel has the temper for it,” he said finally. “Laura’s probably calculating enough. Duke might do it to protect himself. I don’t know about the others.”

“Veronica?”

“Not a chance,” he said without hesitation. “She vents all her anger with words. She’d cut a man to ribbons with that sharp tongue of hers, but then she’s ready to kiss and make up. She even sent a bottle of champagne to me after she publicly shredded a scene of mine day before yesterday.”

Satisfied that his observations jibed with her own, Molly picked up the pace. Maybe the heat
would sweat some of the alcohol out of the writer’s system.

Minutes later, she delivered a reasonably sober Jonathan Fine to Laura. She felt almost guilty for doing it when Laura promptly began berating him. Jonathan pulled himself together sufficiently to defend the pages of script she wanted cut.

“Do you want this movie to make a bit of sense?” he finally snapped in exasperation.

“Of course, but we can handle some of this in cover shots, second unit stuff. We don’t need dialogue.”

“Maybe we should have hired a cast of mimes,” Jonathan retorted.

From her place beside Jeannette, Molly cheered the return of his fighting spirit.

“You look pleased with yourself,” Michael noted, coming up behind her.

“Just watching a shift in the balance of power.”

“Laura Crain?”

“Yep.”

“Who’s that with her?”

“Jonathan Fine, the screenwriter. She’s been giving him fits from the beginning, but today she seems even more tense than usual. Want me to introduce you, or would you rather wait for one of her better days?”

Michael watched Laura’s tirade with evident fascination for several minutes. The look on his face might not have been so worrisome if Molly hadn’t known how attracted he was to volatile women. During one unforgettable scene at the soccer field, she’d seen for herself how quickly Bianca’s temper
flared and how Michael had seemed to enjoy the passionate bout.

“Michael?”

“No, thanks. I’ll introduce myself,” he said and crossed the room.

Laura listened, her expression wary, as he showed her his badge. “I don’t have time for this,” she snapped.

“Make time,” Michael countered in a friendly but adamant tone. He pulled up a chair.

Molly was prepared to gloat, but unfortunately Sergeant Jenkins arrived just in time to take the wind out of her sails.

“You and me,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “Out there.”

“We could talk here,” Molly said hopefully. She wanted witnesses. Jenkins looked capable of a little police intimidation. He’d probably stop short of outright brutality.

He shook his head. “Now.”

Molly followed him into the hallway. “I came straight down to the station when you called,” she said hurriedly, hoping to forestall some of his anger. “You were just leaving.”

“I know. I know. I saw you lurking around out there in the hall. Don’t think I don’t know who’s responsible for getting O’Hara over here. Don’t expect him to bail you out.”

“I don’t expect anything from him.”

“Then maybe you’ll explain to me what the hell you were doing at that motel on Eighth Street yesterday. Unless you’re having an affair you’re trying to keep secret, my guess is you were paying a call on
one of my prime suspects. Why’d you go chasing after Francesca after I’d specifically told you to keep your nose out of this investigation?”

“You seem to know it all. Why bother asking me?”

“Because I want to make a point. I get very irritated when amateurs mess with my case. My ulcer starts acting up. There’s not enough antacid on the face of the earth to make it quit, and that makes me cranky. When I get cranky, I start making calls. Official calls. Are you catching my drift here?”

“You’d like me to stay out of your way or you’ll call my boss.”

“You’re mighty quick for a white girl.”

“Could I ask one question before I go?”

“Certainly,” he said magnanimously.

“Why is it that only one person in that motel room is on your list of suspects? The way I’ve got it figured, both of them have motive and opportunity.”

His gaze narrowed. “Meaning?”

“Meaning Giovanni has an obsession with his star model and he was at the scene of the crime,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll follow up.”