Kissing in Action (10 page)

"I would if I thought they would give me access, but I'm guessing, no. Will you keep trying?"

"Sure."

I shuffled the papers Lucas gave me, taking his advice to look closer at the dates on the birth records. Katya was twenty-three as widely reported. Lauren was twenty-five, but I was pretty sure she claimed to be twenty-three. Shelley was twenty-six. That was no biggie. Plenty of starlets lied about their age. I moved Amelia's to the top of the pile and frowned. Amelia would be thirty next month. Now that was entirely at odds with her claim. Just to be sure, I typed her name into the search engine, and sure enough, the band's Wiki named her as the oldest member of the band at a mere twenty-four. That meant while the rest of the band became famous at seventeen, nineteen and twenty — just young enough to pass for a faked younger age — Amelia was already twenty-three. Was her true age a big enough secret for her to hide it? If that were the case, why was her blackmail message so cryptic?

As I began contemplating that, my cell phone rang.

"Hi, Solomon," I said, smiling, wondering if he had any other requests for later.

"The story broke nationwide," he said.

"I saw online. What do you need me to do?"

"Nothing. Stay put. Press are arriving and it's going to be a circus here at the hotel soon. That’s going to make our investigation harder. For now, I need you to stay out of the way so that all the focus remains on the murder and away from the blackmail."

"Got it."

"Where are you with the case?"

"Just running background checks. I think I discovered Amelia's secret. She's seven years older than she claims to be."

"Would you pay to keep that quiet?" Solomon asked.

"If I were a teen idol, maybe. Did you get the hotel plans?"

"Working on it, but I think you're right about extra exits. I went to the hotel and checked Amelia and Shelley's suite against the blueprints I have, and there's some kind of hidden access. I just can't work out how to get into it."

"Secret tunnels are so cool!"

Solomon made an unimpressed noise. "Where are you with the letters?"

"Since Joe wouldn't let us remove them from the hotel, I took photos. I'm reviewing them again while I run background checks. I'd like to continue interviewing the band."

"Could be a problem. They were supposed to start shooting their new music video today, but it's been called off for now, due to Katya's death. They have the time, but I insisted they remain in the hotel, and I've told you to stay out. Plus, their PR is here, briefing them on how to talk to the media in the days ahead. They're already talking about interviews and a real life story movie, made for TV," he finished wearily.

"I guess that's celebrity."

"Let me see what I can arrange with regards to access."

"Is Joe still mad at me?"

"He's too distracted to stay mad," Solomon told me. "Since yesterday, he's moved onto bigger issues, but he does want an update later on where we are with the blackmail letters. If they get out, on top of the murder, this nightmare will be never-ending for them all and our jobs will be a lot harder."

"I'm on it," I assured him. I spread the newly printed blackmail letters across my desk. After hanging up, and making my second coffee of the day, I got comfortable and assessed the letters from start to finish, arming myself with a big notepad to scrawl down my thoughts.

I started from the top. Katya got the first letter, with the second, third, and fourth, addressed to each of the other band members. The same cycle was repeated through letters five to eight. In total, each band member got two individual letters demanding a transfer deposit to the phantom account. Then, the pattern changed; letters nine to ten were addressed to the whole band with the same extortion demands.

The letters were all typed so it would have been impossible to get handwriting samples to match. The paper was thin and appeared to be a standard printer paper, although I had to recall that from memory since all I had now were the photos.

I wrote on my pad,
access to computer and printer.

Next, I looked closely at the content of the letters. They were brief and straight to the point. Each started by personally addressing the recipient, with a terse note about the secret the blackmailer knew, and then directions for depositing the ransom money. Unsurprisingly, it wasn't signed off with a name, which just told me that some blackmailers were undeniably rude.

Underneath my first note, I added
, find out who owns bank account
. It was an offshore account, according to Solomon, and I figured just about anyone could set one up so unless a personal appearance was necessary, that didn't rule out anyone so far. I added,
How was the account created?
and then,
How is it managed?

I picked up my desk phone and dialed Lucas's extension. My biggest and best shot at a lead was to find out who owned the account. I could only hope the bank wasn't so mired in secrecy that Lucas couldn't get past their systems.

"Talk to me," he said on answering.

"Okay, since you insist, could you find out who set up the blackmailer’s bank account?" I read out the numbers while he made a note.

"Solomon mentioned that. It's going to take more time than usual."

"I'm glad you're on it," I told him, which was a lot nicer than "Get started!" and hung up.

Even though I pored over the letters, just like I had the previous day, I had no success in narrowing down my enormous list of suspects. What I needed was a way to knock people off the list. Unfortunately, without talking to Joe or the band, I had no easy way of learning the answers I needed.

My eyes were getting tired, which was no good for my skin regimen, and I was getting frustrated. Shuffling the photos of the letters into a pile, I dropped them into a manila envelope, and had to admit defeat.

Besides, wasn't there a murder to solve?

Despite all my attempts, I couldn't shake the mental image of Katya lying there, dead. It didn't matter how many dead bodies I'd seen, each one was shocking.

The question remained: was the blackmailer I searched for responsible? Did Katya confront someone about the incessant demands and threats to reveal her secret? Did she threaten to expose them? I wouldn't have put it past her to get nasty and retaliate, I thought as I rocked back in my chair and stretched my legs, my mind racing ahead. It was conceivable that Katya might have even discovered who the blackmailer was. She might have had a vicious mouth, but she seemed pretty smart. As soon as I thought of her confronting the blackmailer, I discounted it. She hadn't gone looking for the creep, but died in her own hotel suite. Someone went there. Someone came to see her... or she must have summoned someone. Someone who knew how to get in and out of her suite without being seen.

That puzzled me. B4U had only been in the suite a few days before Solomon and I arrived for our meeting. That could have given someone connected to them enough time to discover any secret entrances into their rooms. However, it seemed more likely that a hotel employee, or someone else who regularly serviced the rooms would have had that knowledge. That didn't mean it was an employee. An employee could easily have unwittingly passed on any access secrets to the murderer.

How did the killer know Katya would be alone? The killer must have approached her after Lauren stormed out. Did that mean someone was watching the pair? They had returned from an unscheduled trip to the mall, argued, and Lauren unexpectedly retreated to Shelley and Amelia's room. Their movements couldn't have been precisely foreseen or predicted.

The more I thought about it, the more implausible it seemed that the killer was an unknown assailant. Although no forensic evidence was found on Lauren, as far as I could see with my own eyes, all clues still pointed to her. She was the obvious person. She had motive and access. She shouted to Katya as she left and Katya didn't shout back. My only problem with it was: it was just too easy. That, and Lauren didn't even attempt to conceal her lack of alibi.

I didn't want to pin it on Lauren, but I couldn't help placing her at the top of list as my number one suspect.

More confused than ever, I deposited all my photos and files into my desk drawer, locked up and left. After grabbing my overnight bag from home, I was halfway to Solomon's house when Lily called me. "Why didn't you tell me Katya was dead! We've spoken twice since it happened! Ohmygosh! This is huuuuge! Who did it?"

"No idea," I told her truthfully.

"Was it a member of the band?" Lily asked, and I paused a fraction too long. "Oh, wow! Really? Which one? Who did it? Why didn't you tell me any of this? I had to find out from TMZ!"

"I was going to tell you yesterday when I came by the bar."

"I need to know everything now!"

"I'm on my way to Solomon's..."

"Meet you there," Lily squealed and the line clicked dead.

She was waiting for me on Solomon's doorstep by the time I turned onto his street, and searched for a parking space. Lily's turquoise blue Mini occupied the prime spot right outside his house, meaning I had to drive all the way to the end of the block before I found one. Grabbing my bag from the passenger seat, I walked back and let us both inside.

I told Lily everything while she cooed, gasped, and speculated on who the most likely murderer might be: Lauren, Shelley, Amelia, or, her wild card, Joe Carter.

I poured us both a glass of water after Lily refused wine and we perched on the bar stools at the island in Solomon's large, elegant kitchen. "Maybe I should tail them?" Lily suggested. "Pick one. Any one. Make it Amelia, she's my favorite."

I wondered if she would still be Lily's favorite if she knew Amelia's lies about her age. "No need. The paparazzi tail them wherever they go, and according to Solomon, Montgomery will be crawling with them soon."

"They would never spot me."

"True, you would blend in easily with their legions of fans."

"Exactly. Do you think they'll stay together as a trio?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I don't think they've decided yet."

"Katya didn't write any of the songs; and she only did a couple of solos ever. She's not the most valuable member. That's Amelia. She writes most of their songs. Maybe she could go solo?"

"I don't think any of them can go solo. I haven't seen their contracts, but I think they're obliged to stay with the band unless management throws them out."

"Or they die," Lily pointed out. "If the band breaks up, Amelia could make a lot more money as a solo star. Oops, gotta pee. Don't solve the case ‘til I'm back." She slid off her stool, grabbed her purse, and hurried to the downstairs bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

I refreshed our water and tossed the empty bottle into the recycling can, thinking about what Lily said. Could Amelia make more money without the band? That had to be a strong motive for breaking up the band; and what better way to do that than by threatening to expose their secrets? I wondered if Shelley and Lauren could have similar greedy motives, but without their contracts or financial records, I couldn't definitively answer my own question. Assuming the theory that the blackmailer and the murderer were the same person, Amelia became the only name I could place as my number one suspect. She hated Katya and benefited the most from the band splitting.

By the time Lily returned from the bathroom, several long minutes later, I was still clinging to the thought that the band members could each have a lot more to gain by being ejected from the band, rather than staying together. All except Katya, who according to the anecdotes I heard, seemed to contribute the least to the band, but demanded the most. "I gotta go," Lily said, giving me a quick hug. "Something came up."

"What?" I asked.

"Uh, nothing. I mean, something. I'm running late!" She turned on her heel, heading towards the door, and leaving me no other option, but to hurry after her. "Oh, I meant to ask you, what was on the envelopes?" Lily asked, pausing as she pulled open the door. Before I could tell her I didn't know, and hadn't seen the envelopes, she hurried down the steps and vanished.

Chapter Eight

"How's dinner?" Solomon asked.

We were seated in his dining room, at opposite sides of the table, and I could tell he'd gone to real effort to pretty the table up, using expensive white china, glass votives with small flickering candles, and a narrow-mouthed vase of blooming white and pink roses.

"Delicious," I said, tucking the final forkful into my mouth. "You've outdone yourself."

Solomon smiled. "Another glass?" he held up the carafe of sparkling grape juice. It wasn't wine, but I had no complaints.

"Thanks."

"How're you feeling?" he asked next.

"Frustrated mostly. I cannot work this case out. Every time I find a new question to ask, it just opens up ten more. As for making a connection between..."

"I meant your health," interrupted Solomon.

I frowned. "I'm fine, thanks."

"Have you thought about taking supplements?"

"It hadn't crossed my mind, no."

"I thought I might go to the health store tomorrow and pick up some supplements."

"Okay. And then can we call Joe and ask him for the envelopes? I had an idea..."

"Do you want to take Victoria out at the weekend?"

I frowned. "Victoria?"

"Your niece," Solomon reminded me, a little unnecessarily. I knew who she was, I was just thrown by the question. Solomon was great with my nieces and nephews, having been present on more than a few occasions when I babysat, but he never volunteered before. "I thought maybe we could take her to the park or out for lunch. What do you think of her stroller? Is it a good model?"

"Uh... it's cute. Sure, I'll ask Serena if we can take Victoria out."

"Great. Delgado seems to be enjoying step-fatherhood."

"Victoria adores him. She thinks he's a jungle gym."

"She's changed him. She makes him happy. I never thought I'd see the day when Delgado became a family man."

"I never thought I'd see the day when my sister acted like a normal human being; so I thank Delgado every day for that," I replied, laughing. "And Victoria. Babies change people."

"For the better, I think."

"Absolutely. How did the blackmail letters get into the hands of the band members?" I asked, switching topics, my mind still stuck on the case. "Don't they get screened by their staff first? Shouldn't a dozen people or more handle any letter before it reaches any one of them?"

"I'll ask tomorrow. Let's not talk about the case now. I don't want you to get tired. Do you want to change your hours? Do you need more flexibility?"

"No, I'm fine with working exactly as I am, thanks."

"If you need to, just say. If you want to come into work later, that's not a problem."

"Uh..." I frowned again, wondering if I misheard the dinner invitation. It appeared to be more like an appraisal session about my work. Any moment now, I expected Solomon to move the roses aside and produce his latest pension plan.

"And if you need to take breaks, just say so. I want the agency to be a good place to work."

"It's a great place to..."

"I was thinking of starting a company car program. Do you need a bigger car? More space in the trunk?"

"No, the VW has all the space for shoes and cameras that I need."

"Okay," Solomon agreed readily. "Just let me know if you’d prefer something bigger."

"Have you been reviewing employee benefits?" I asked, puzzled at his questions. "I can tell you I'm really happy. You don't have to worry about my hours or a new car."

"What about your health plan?"

"I'm healthier than I've ever been."

He narrowed his eyes. "Really?"

"Really!"

"Want some ice cream?"

"Yes, please."

Solomon insisted I relax in the living room while he cleared our dinner plates. I listened to him tidy away, loading the dishwasher and banging the freezer drawer shut. Meanwhile, I leafed through a magazine as I wondered what could have gotten into him. Normally, he loved talking about work, but this evening, he seemed to want to talk about anything else. Not that I minded him voicing his concern about my general health, it was just strange. As he dropped onto the couch next to me and handed me a spoon, I put it down to the stress of the case. Nothing had gone to plan, and nothing appeared straightforward. Even I wondered why on earth I wanted to talk about it. Really, I should have been enjoying an evening off with the man of my dreams and a large bowl of ice cream.

"Can I get you anything else?" Solomon asked, prying off the lid.

"What? Like a pickle?" I teased and he sucked in a deep breath. "Joking," I said hurriedly. "All I need now is a loving arm around me and I'll be set for the evening. I barely had to wait a second to get my wish.

~

Solomon and I awoke together, breakfasted together, and I convinced him, despite his warnings for me to stay away from Joe and the band, that we should go together to the hotel. On the way, I explained my confusion about the envelopes, waiting for Solomon to come to the same conclusion. If the letters were hand-delivered to specific areas where only the band members would find them, our suspect pool would have been substantially decreased. I could certainly check off superfans and strangers, moving directly to my list of band and crew.

Speeding past the front of the hotel, where a small number of photographers waited, we drove around the back to the employee parking area. Solomon flashed a pass for access and I followed him to the lobby and an elevator that only stopped at the top floor. "When we first visited, this accessed all floors," I pointed out.

"I tightened up security," replied Solomon. "Now, this elevator only services the top floor. It's easier to track all who enter and exit." Seconds later, we stepped out in front of Large and Larger before beginning our search for Joe as Large pointed in the direction of Joe's suite.

"Where are you on the blackmail?" Joe asked as we entered. He was sitting on the couch, a bunch of papers spread across the coffee table and didn't look angry anymore, which was a relief.

Solomon shut the door. "Lexi?"

"I'm following up leads, but there's nothing solid yet."

"I need it solved like, yesterday. My phone is ringing off the hook. Management are going crazy back in LA. I've got journalists from every newspaper, magazine, and entertainment show trying to get the inside word."

"All of that for Katya?" I guessed, knowing I was correct when Joe nodded. "So far, the blackmailer doesn't know we're investigating him or her. Probably thinks he or she is in the clear."

"To try again?" he wondered.

"Potentially," I admitted, "which means they won't be scared off either. Regardless of whether the blackmail and murder are connected, the blackmailer might try and use Katya's death to his or her advantage. To threaten and extort further since the band are now scared."

"Great. Just great. I thought you might have been the bringer of good news."

"Give us time, Joe," said Solomon. "Lexi's got an idea."

"When you gave us the letters, there weren't any envelopes. Can you remember if they were hand-delivered, or if there were postmarks?"

"I can do one better. I still have them." Joe got up and moved over to the desk in front of the balcony windows, pulling open a drawer. "I was going to throw them out, but then I thought about fingerprints. I meant to put everything together in the file, but I guess I've been a little distracted." Joe turned around, a plastic folder in his hand, and walked across the room, handing it to me.

I opened it, peering inside, uncertain as to whether I should touch the envelopes or not. Like Joe said, there could be fingerprints, and Solomon had access to a lab, but prints were useless without something to compare them to. What became immediately obvious was that each name was typewritten across the middle of the envelope and there was no postmark. Someone must have hand-delivered each envelope, which meant the blackmailer had to have obtained access to every place the band stayed.

"Can you tell me where the letters were found?" I asked.

"Either in the girls' bedrooms at their hotel or in the dressing rooms at the venue."

"The crew that tours with you all have access to the venue's dressing rooms?"

"Most of them, yes."

"Do the crew also have access to the hotel rooms?"

"No. Most of the crew stay elsewhere, so only a limited number would have access to B4U's hotel."

"Who would that be?"

Joe pushed out his jaw as he thought. "Me, security, wardrobe, their vocal coach, occasionally the dancers and choreographer are here."

"Have these people been the same throughout the tour?" I asked, rapidly narrowing down my suspect pool to the lower double digits.

Joe nodded. "They're all contracted through the tour, and we haven't had any replacements."

I pointed to the notepad he'd been using as we entered. "Can you write the names of all security staff who have or could have accessed the hotel, plus, the wardrobe staff, a vocal coach, choreographer and the dance crew?” A minute later, I had a list of eight, plus the names of ten dancers. I pulled a pen from my purse and added Joe, Lauren, Shelley and Amelia. Twenty-two names and one of these names had to be our blackmailer, maybe even Katya's murderer.

"Does that help?" Joe asked.

"Yes. I'm going to start talking to all of these people. Where can I find them?"

"Everyone will be at the warehouse."

"Preparing for the concert?"

"No, they're working on the video."

"I thought it got canceled?"

Joe shrugged. "It's postponed for now, but it might still go ahead. The guys above me want it reworked as either an homage to Katya, or a relaunch for the band as a trio."

"Kind of cold," I said, wondering how many hours had passed Katya's death before the management sent down their decision.

"That's the music business, honey."

"How are the band today?" asked Solomon.

"I think it's only just sinking in that Katya's really gone. They're pretty cut up." Joe paused as a whoop sounded from the hallway. "They express their grief in different ways," he said, picking up his cell phone as it beeped.

"We'll head over to the warehouse," said Solomon. "And I want to take all the letters and envelopes for testing."

"I need to think about that," said Joe, reaching over and tugging the folder from my fingertips before I even realized what he was doing.

"Think about it fast," Solomon warned him. "Think about whether you want the blackmailer caught, or if you want another murder on your hands."

Joe swallowed. "I get your point, but I need some damage control too. Murder is bad for business," Joe added before we left and headed for the elevator.

"You were a little hard on him back there," I said to Solomon as the elevator doors shut, and we quickly descended.

"He's delaying. He's letting us see what he wants us to see, but refusing to take it any further."

"Why would he do that? What's he hiding?"

"What? Or whom?"

I frowned. "You think he knows who’s behind the blackmail?"

"It's just a hunch but I think he might suspect someone."

"Why didn't you ask him?"

"Because I didn't think he'd say. He wants to be wrong."

"Then it must be someone close to him," I decided, shaking my head at the pointlessness of my statement. "But he's close to everyone. He's the linchpin of this tour. He knows everyone and the entire schedule, including where the band can be found at any given moment."

Solomon pulled out his phone as we exited the hotel, heading towards his car. "Delgado, we're leaving the hotel and heading to a warehouse across town. Watch Joe Carter and let me know his movements." He hung up.

"Now you're having him watched?"

"Naturally."

I climbed in and pulled the seat belt around me. "I need you to drop me off at Warehouse Twelve on Westbrook Road."

"Drop you off?"

"So I can interview everyone on this list while you do whatever you're doing with security. That was your plan for today, right?"

"Plans change. You know whose security I am today?" Solomon asked, gunning the engine. "Yours."

Warehouse Twelve was a cavernous building with a beefy security guard at the door. Evidently, Joe called ahead because our names were on the list and we were waved in. At the far end, a set had been built complete with cameras and lighting equipment situated all around it. To the left of that, the dancers were practicing a routine. To me, they looked perfect, but the choreographer didn't seem to share my opinion. He repeatedly stopped them, shouted and signaled to start again. The dancers shuffled into different positions and struck poses. The choreographer counted them in, and again, they struck different poses to the beat before bursting into an energetic routine. Twirling, changing positions, and always remaining entirely in sync with each other, it was fabulous to watch and I wished I could have seen more.