Hot Secret (8 page)

With a slight wave of his hand, Duke was able to get the attention of a waitress who’d been ignoring them since the instant she realized Michael wasn’t interested. She sashayed over so fast she stirred a breeze that sent napkins from half a dozen tables fluttering to the ground.

Despite his claim that he craved anonymity, Duke removed his sunglasses and directed his baby
blue eyes straight at the waitress, practically commanding her to recognize him. She didn’t fail him. Her own eyes widened and her pencil dropped to the ground. Michael retrieved it since she seemed too busy staring in openmouthed adoration.

“You’re Duke Lane,” she said finally. “Ohmigosh. Wait’ll I tell the others. Oh, wow!”

“What’s good, honey?” His tone suggested he was interested in more than what was on the menu.

“Salads,” she said in a breathy voice that indicated she had fallen victim to his sexy innuendoes. “We have
really
good salads.”

Duke seemed to tire of the game. “Then bring me one,” he said abruptly. “Dressing on the side. A bottle of mineral water.” He winked at her. “We’ll talk about dessert later.”

Molly noticed that Michael was watching the entire act as if he ought to be taking notes. She felt like reassuring him that his own technique was considerably more effective, at least on any female over twenty-one.

“Terrible about Greg,” Duke said when the waitress had left. “I had the car radio on and I heard it on a newsbreak. I almost crashed into a guard rail.”

“What time was it on?” Molly asked, relieved that Duke had brought the subject up himself. “I didn’t even think to see what time the story broke on the news.”

“Midnight, maybe later. I was coming back to the hotel from having drinks with a friend down in Coconut Grove, some yuppie bar. Man, you ever go there on a Saturday night? That place is overrun
with kids. I’ve never seen so many convertibles and boom boxes in one place before, except maybe Santa Monica beach in the summer.”

“Any thoughts about who might have shot Kinsey?” Michael asked.

Duke frowned. “Who shot him? You mean it wasn’t some kind of mugging or something? They didn’t give any details on the radio. They just said he was dead.”

Molly shook her head. “We were still on location. His body was found in Veronica’s trailer.”

The actor looked genuinely shocked. “Oh, man, you’re kidding me. I know those two fought like jealous ex-lovers or something, but I didn’t think she’d pull a gun and shoot him.”

“So you think she did it?” Michael said, pouncing on Duke’s comment.

Duke looked confused. “But you-all just said … He was in her trailer. I just assumed.”

“Veronica has an alibi,” Molly said staunchly. Michael looked unconvinced. So did Duke.

“You checked it out?” Duke said.

“I didn’t have to. I’m her alibi, at least for all but a minute or two.”

“No kidding. Then your guess is as good as mine. Everyone else loved Greg.”

“Including you?” Michael inquired mildly, managing to sound as if his interest was only that of a casual bystander.

Duke turned his most sincere gaze on Michael. “Including me,” he said emphatically. “I know he didn’t want me on this picture. Hell, I know what half the serious directors in Hollywood think of me.
They think I’m a no-talent hotshot who’s trying to capitalize on my looks.”

He leaned forward, his expression intent. “Well, you ask any director who’s actually worked with me and you’ll get a different story. I know what the hell I’m doing in front of a camera. That’s why the audiences want to see me, not because I’ve got some killer smile and a decent body. Those don’t mean shit if you can’t deliver your lines. Too bad Greg’s not alive to tell you what I’m saying is true. We talked plenty over the last couple of weeks and the man respected me. I turned his attitude around and, believe me, it didn’t happen because I could smile.”

Duke leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. His belligerent expression dared them to challenge him.

Michael met his gaze evenly, then finally nodded. “Okay, so you and Kinsey got along in the end. Somebody on the set didn’t get along with him quite as well. Did you ever hear anything, see anything that looked like maybe somebody might not be as enchanted?”

“Besides Veronica, nobody. I flat-out don’t believe there’s a person involved with this production who could have killed him.”

“You know anything about his personal life?” Michael asked.

To Molly’s amazement, Duke didn’t seem thrown by Michael’s persistence. He answered readily.

“Nope. What the man did on his own time was
none of my business. I was too busy keeping my own squeeze happy to worry about his.”

“Is your
squeeze
involved with the production?” Michael seemed to stumble over the description a bit.

“What difference does that make?”

“If she’s been around, maybe she noticed something.”

Duke hesitated for a split second before responding. “She’s been around town, not around the set. Moviemaking bores her to tears.”

Molly regarded him oddly. She tried to recall seeing Duke with a woman at any time since he’d arrived. She honestly couldn’t remember a single occasion. He showed up, played his scenes, then retreated to the privacy of his trailer or went back to the hotel.

“Has she been here all along?” she asked cautiously. Apparently something in her tone alerted Michael that she wasn’t entirely buying Duke’s story. He turned his most penetrating gaze on Duke.

“From day one,” the actor assured them both.

“Where is she now?”

“Asleep. Daylight’s not her gig.”

“Did you talk with the police last night?”

“I got a message they were looking for me, but we crashed when we got back to the room. I’ll check in this morning.”

Just then a car cruised to a stop right in front of them and Sergeant Jenkins emerged. He scowled at Molly and Michael. “You two are a long way from home, aren’t you?”

“Just out for a pleasant brunch,” Molly said cheerfully. “Care to join us?”

He looked at Duke Lane for several seconds before recognition sparked in his eyes. “Maybe I will at that.” He waved his driver on, then stepped on the curb. He grabbed a chair from the next table, and wedged it between Molly and Duke.

“Duke Lane, right?”

“Yes.”

“Sergeant Jenkins, homicide. Didn’t you get my messages?”

“We were just talking about that. I figured I’d check in as soon as I got back to the hotel.”

Jenkins glared at him. “Some police officers might view that attitude as uncooperative.”

Duke shrugged. “Everybody’s got hang-ups. Me, I’m the most cooperative guy you’ll ever want to meet, once I’ve had my morning coffee. Before that, I can be real mean.”

Jenkins glanced pointedly at the coffee cup. “Drink up. Then you and I are going down to headquarters for a friendly little chat.”

Molly tried to hide her disappointment. She’d been hoping he’d go over Duke’s story right here and now. Maybe he’d get an answer to the question uppermost in her mind.

Why the hell would Duke be lying about some woman when everyone on the set and in Hollywood knew he was gay?

CHAPTER
SEVEN

“What was that all about?” Michael asked Molly the instant Otis Jenkins and Duke Lane left for the police station.

“What was what all about?”

“Don’t you dare play dumb with me,” he chided. “Your eyes will give you away every time. You picked up on something. What was it?”

When he was regarding her with that intent, dare-you-to-lie cop look, Molly found it virtually impossible to skimp on the truth, even when she wanted to. “All that talk about Duke’s squeeze,” she admitted. “I’ve never once seen him with a woman.”

“So he’s discreet. So what?”

“He’s not only discreet. He’s gay.”

Michael looked as if she’d just announced that cows flew. “Him? No way. Didn’t you see the way that waitress reacted to him? I think she slipped him
her phone number on one of those little napkins she dropped in his lap.”

Molly shook her head. “You saw what you expected to see when some heartthrob is out in public. Forget the way
she
reacted to him. Think about the way he reacted to her. He played the role to get her attention, but he never once looked her over.”

Michael nodded as comprehension slowly dawned. “Okay, say you’re right.”

“I am right.”

“
Say
you’re right,” he repeated with careful patience. “What possible difference does it make as far as Greg’s murder is concerned?”

That stymied Molly as well, which was why she hadn’t particularly wanted to bring it up. “If he’d lie about one thing, why not another?” she ventured.

“Maybe. Or just maybe he had a crush on the director.”

“If he did, it was definitely unrequited. Greg’s list of conquests,
female conquests
, was endless. To hear some of the guys tell it, he couldn’t keep his pants zipped.”

Michael’s brows rose. “Exactly what do you and the boys discuss in your spare time?”

“They don’t necessarily say things like that to me. They just say ’em when I’m around.”

“Fascinating,” he said, sounding oddly disgruntled. “If Greg wasn’t gay, then Duke Lane’s sexual preferences probably don’t matter.”

“Unless he propositioned Greg anyway and Greg shot him down.”

“That’s a stretch. You couldn’t build a case
around something as speculative as that, not without witnesses.”

“At this point, I don’t see much we can build a case around. I’m grasping at straws here. Help me out. You’re the hotshot detective.”

Michael opened his mouth, but Molly cut him off. “And if you dare tell me to leave it to the Miami Beach police, I’ll scream.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good.”

“There is something I would like to know, though.” At her nod, he said, “Why is it that you are constitutionally unable to leave well enough alone? I could understand it when it was your condo president and we thought the murder weapon belonged to you. But this time? I don’t get it. This kind of idle curiosity can get you killed.”

“It’s hardly idle curiosity. I was assigned to keep things running smoothly for this production. Instead, the director winds up dead. You’ve met Vince. If you were me, would you want to go to work tomorrow morning without some answers?”

“Molly, the man can’t hold you accountable if some lunatic pulls a gun and shoots someone.”

“Vince can and, believe me, he will. Especially if he happens to get half a dozen calls from county officials wanting to know how the hell he could have allowed this to happen? He is more than willing to throw the burden of answering that question off on me. Surely you’ve dealt with the occasional boss who survives by passing the buck.”

From Michael’s expression, she could tell that he had.

“True,” he said. “Okay, let’s make a deal, then. If you have a theory about what happened, you’ll tell me about it and let me do some unofficial snooping. If you find something concrete, you’ll tell Sergeant Jenkins at once and let him check it out. You will not stick your own neck out. Deal?”

With those brown eyes pinning her in place, Molly would have made a deal to sell her soul. “Yes,” she said finally. “I promise.”

Even as she said the words, she had a feeling they were likely to have about as much substance as her wedding vows. She’d meant them heart and soul at the time, but after a while they had lost their meaning.

The apt comparison came up again an hour later, when she and Michael left the elevator in her condo just in time to run smack into her ex-husband, who was prowling the hallway outside her apartment. Hal DeWitt ruined his good looks by glaring at her. He was obviously in a foul temper.

“Where’s Brian? I’m taking him home with me,” he announced without so much as a by-your-leave.

“He’s outside and no, you are not taking him anywhere,” she retorted, glaring right back at him. The man always brought out the worst in her. Since he often chose to ignore his son unless he could use Brian to gall her, she had no doubt about his motive in showing up today. He’d read about the murder and decided she was once again endangering his child.

“I won’t allow him to live with a woman who’s a damned jinx.”

“Jinx,” she repeated incredulously, her voice climbing.

“Two men are dead,” he reminded her, a stubborn, accusing set to his jaw.

“Not because of me, they’re not.”

Since he couldn’t win that argument, he directed a scathing glance at Michael. “Who’s he?”

She made the introductions warily, watching as Michael seemed to sum Hal up with a quick once-over. Hal was still a very good-looking man, obsessive about staying trim and keeping a year-round tan despite the well-publicized risk of skin cancer. Unfortunately, he was well aware of his attractiveness. He’d skated through life on little more than his charm and his easy smile. Both were wearing thin, along with his carefully styled dark hair, which no longer quite covered his receding hairline.

Given a little time and vastly improved objectivity, Molly had finally come to see Hal DeWitt for what he was—a shallow, vain man who took delight in belittling everyone around him. His cutting remarks no longer had the power to hurt her. That didn’t stop him from making them, however.

He waved the local section of the Sunday paper in front of her. “Just look at this! There you are, smack in the middle of another murder, your picture on page one. Don’t you give a damn what your son thinks of you?”

Molly could practically feel Michael tense beside her. He took a protective step closer.

“Brian seems to think his mother is a very special woman. I’d say he’s got it nailed,” he said to Hal. His voice was deceptively mild.

Hal’s face reddened. “This is none of your business. We’re talking about my son.”

Michael stepped toward her ex-husband, but Molly put her hand on his arm to stop him from defending her. She was getting better all the time at standing up for herself. Lord knew, Hal gave her enough practice.

“He’s my son, too, and don’t you ever forget it!” she reminded Hal coldly. “If you want to come inside and discuss this rationally, fine. If not, you can leave.”