Kissing in Action (4 page)

Joe shook his head. "Okay, quiet. Ladies, it won't go that far. The detectives will get to the bottom of this, and the tour can continue without any further problems. It's sold out," he said, turning to us. "The fans can't get enough of them. They think they're the best band since... well, since ever!"

"Our fans are stupid, little kids," sniffed Katya. "Who cares what they think so long as their stupid parents buy more tickets and more merchandise?"

"You should care," Joe told her, turning around and fixing her with a furious look, "since you'd be nothing without them. How about showing a little humility?"

"Don't talk to me like that! We should fire you!" said Katya.

Joe dropped his head into his hands. "Why can't I get through to you?" he mumbled.

"We'll take the letters and..." Solomon stopped as Joe began to shake his head.

"Those letters don't leave this hotel. I can't risk having them fall into the wrong hands. We're trying to keep this out of the press! If anyone gets wind of it, the press will go crazy trying to uncover these so-called secrets. Who knows what kind of damaging stories they'll run? Even in the best case scenario, they'll hit on the truth. Worst, and they can make a bunch of stuff up, which is even more damaging. The band has a contractual obligation to do everything to maintain their untarnished image."

"Understood. We'll come back tomorrow and examine them; but Joe, you have to give us room to work."

"You can take my suite," said Joe. "You can have all the space you need."

Solomon shook his head. "That's not what I meant. We'll read the letters, sure, but we have to bring in handwriting analysts, and do fingerprint tests, and check for DNA. We'll need full access..."

"Sure, you can have whatever you need, but everything runs past me; and any specialist you summon comes to the hotel." Joe reached for the box containing the letters Solomon and I had yet to even take a cursory glance at. "Until then, these letters stay under lock and key."

Chapter Three

Solomon and I were holed up in Joe Carter's suite by nine the next morning. Spread in front of us was every letter the blackmailer had sent so far, but we weren't looking at them. Instead, we listened to the screaming coming from next door. I could make out two distinct voices: Katya’s and Amelia’s.

"Do you think they're killing each other?" I asked, picking up my takeout coffee cup and taking a sip. When the lukewarm coffee hit my lips, I shuddered.

"I hope so," said Solomon. "A murder investigation would be a lot quieter than this."

"They really hate each other. You know, I watched their TV movie last night with Lily and they seemed like the best of friends. Their TV show ran for years!"

"They must be good actresses."

"I guess, but it's so disappointing. What else in the music world is fake?"

Solomon gave me an amused look. "What? Aside from voices, hair, breasts, and marriages?"

I laughed. "Okay, there's a lot fake about the music world, but I'm still disappointed. How do I tell my niece that her favorite band, the band that she and her friends aspire to emulate, are nothing more than a bunch of nasty, hateful bitches?"

"You don't. That's not our job. We're here to find a blackmailer, not to fix their PR problems."

"Phew! We don't have enough time to fix their PR problems."

Solomon handed me a pair of latex gloves and slid a pair on his own. While I pulled mine on, he sorted through the box of letters Joe handed over after insisting, again, that they couldn't leave the suite. "We have five piles," he said, pointing. "Here's Amelia's, Katya's, Lauren's, and Shelley's, two letters each, and this final pile has the letters addressed to all four of them."

"And what's this?" I asked, reaching for the handwritten sheet by itself.

"That's Joe's timeline of when the letters arrived and where."

"Shall we start with the first letter?" I asked.

"That's right. Katya's was the first." Solomon placed it in front of us and we studied it. It appeared exactly as she described, right down to the demand for money.

"Who was next?"

"Shelley got the next letter."

"Right. She paid up too."

"And so far, she's the only one who confessed to knowing what the blackmailer was referring to."

"Uh-huh," I said, recalling the eye-popping secret Shelley confessed on the evening before.

"Which is..." Solomon prompted.

"Really interesting," I said, recalling Shelley's plea not to reveal it.

"I need to know. As your boss and besides, I'm working this case too."

"You are? I thought I was working the blackmail aspect solo?" I frowned, feeling puzzled.

"I'm helping you get started; then, while you investigate, I'll be working with the risk management team and keeping security in place. You won't see me much, but you'll still need to keep me in the loop."

"Are you sure you aren't hiding from Katya?" I asked, biting my cheek to keep from laughing. I recalled Katya's annoyance at finding Solomon with me.

Solomon shivered. "About that secret..."

"You can't tell anyone. I promised Shelley. No one at all."

"Can't promise that if it gets us to the blackmailer, but I'll be discreet."

That was good enough for me. "Fine. Ten years ago, Shelley had a fling that she wanted to keep covered up. Anyhow, someone found out, and got a video of them as true evidence. They sent her a still."

"That's it?"

"Yup."

"A sex tape?" guessed Solomon.

I nodded. It was disappointing that Shelley had fallen foul to putting her personal life on tape but she'd never intended it to be revealed. I felt sorry for her predicament.

Solomon paused, looking pensive. "Who was she with? Someone famous? Or was she compromised in some way? Also, wasn't she barely thirteen, ten years ago?"

I shook my head. "Turns out Shelley is a little older than we thought. She's actually twenty-six; so ten years ago, she was sixteen; and no, she wasn't with anyone famous."

"Huh. The blackmailer could run afoul of child endangerment laws if they ever distributed anything featuring Shelley at that age. No publication would risk running something like that," Solomon explained. "So what's the deal with this guy?"

I took a deep breath. "That's exactly it. Shelley wasn't with a guy. She had a fling with another girl. Shelley thinks the photo is from a sex tape they made."

"Whoa!"

"I know. No big deal, right? Except Shelley doesn't want her legions of teenybopper fans to know that she was once into, or still is into, women, and she doesn't want the tape made public. She's afraid the blackmailer might have it."

"We should find the other girl. Just to see if she knows anything."

"I asked Shelley, and she says the girl married an Australian guy and they recently won the lottery before moving to Melbourne. I don't think she needs the money."

"Check that out. I thought Shelley was dating a hot Hollywood stud!"

"How do you know that?"

"It was in your copy of
US Weekly."

"You read that?"

"Only for the purposes of this gig."

"Yeah, right," I scoffed. "Secretly, you're a pulp entertainment junkie."

We paused when something smashed against the wall that divided the suites and winced when there was another loud crash. "We should get in there," said Solomon, not moving.

"You first!"

The middle suite was a mess. We didn't have to knock; we simply walked through the open door and stopped next to Large and Larger, as I'd named the enormous security guards. Neither was doing anything. Instead, they just stood there, their arms crossed while Katya and Lauren glared at each other from opposite sides of the room.

"What's going on?" asked Solomon when no one spoke.

"I'm going to kill her," said Lauren.

"Can you do it more quietly?" asked Large. Larger laughed softly.

"Why?" I asked. "What happened?"

"She. Took. My. Shoes!"

"I didn't!" yelled Katya. "I would never take your nasty shoes. You have huge feet!"

"Take that back!"

"Huge, ugly, gnarled feet. I could go sailing in one of your shoes if I could stomach the stink."

"Argh!" Lauren screamed, reaching for the iPod dock on the bookcase. She wrenched it from its socket and hurled it at Katya. Katya ducked and the dock crashed against the wall, sliding to the ground without leaving a mark. "When will you shut up?"

"When you stop being such an evil bitch!"

"I wish I'd never met you! I wish you were dead! You are evil and hateful and vile!" screamed Lauren. "Everyone despises you! I wish you would go back to Russia so they could send you to the Siberian labor camp you belong in!"

"Lauren!" I gasped.

"I'm sorry," said Lauren. "That was mean."

"Apology not accepted," sniffed Katya.

"I'm not apologizing to you. I was apologizing to the Siberians. I hope you rot in a gulag until someone stabs you with a shiv. And stop sniffing, you stupid cokehead."

Katya started to sniff again, but stopped herself. "Screw you!" she yelled. "And screw your stupid shoes!" She pushed past me, almost knocking me over as she stormed out of the room. I made to follow, but Larger caught me by the arm.

"Trust me," he whispered, his voice surprisingly high, almost like a whistling balloon. "Let her go. She gets nasty when she's in a mood."

"Does she get like that often?"

"At least three times a day, or we’d worry she's not well," he said, smiling, and revealing two very shiny gold teeth at the center of his mouth.

"Send housekeeping to clean up Katya's mess," instructed Lauren as she turned on her heel before walking out of the suite.

The four of us stood there, looking at the overturned furniture, the bouquet of flowers strewn across the room, as well as bags, shoes, and clothes draped over every surface. "Katya did all this?" I asked. "She's worse than a rock star."

"I'll send someone to clean up the flowers," said Larger.

"What about the rest of it?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Looks normal to me."

Solomon slipped his hand around mine. "Back to work," he said softly.

"They are destroying the illusion really fast," I said as we returned to Joe's suite and resumed our positions around the table. "I hoped last night was a blip, but I guess not."

"It could be the blackmailer. He could have set them all on edge."

"That's benevolent of you. Do you really think so?"

"No, but being threatened with past secrets wouldn't help their moods any."

With the suite next door quiet, Solomon spread out the letters, and silently, we read through each one. There were plenty of common clues that tied the letters together. For instance, the paper was the same size and thickness, suggesting it came from the same packet. The font and ink color used were also the same, and the ransom words sparse. Compounding that was each demand for money featured the same bank account number.

"Why don't we trace the bank account?" I asked. "The blackmailer might have opened it under his or her own name."

"I thought that too, but if so, he or she would have to be really stupid. They would, no doubt, expect the band to go to the police and start an investigation, in which case, they'd be found out quickly. Let me see those numbers again." Solomon pulled the closest letter to him and perused it carefully. "Thought so. This isn't a regular account. It's a numbered account in the Cayman Islands. Getting a name attached to it will be hard, if not impossible."

"So much for an easy solution."

"I need to talk to the security team; and I'll call Lucas about tracking that account. Can you take over from here?"

"Sure. I'm going to spend the next couple of hours going over the letters for clues before I interview the band and their manager."

"Do you want me to come back?"

"No. I know they're pretty horrible, but I hope that if I can speak to each one alone, I might make some headway," I said. I was wondering if some smooth words of female solidarity could pave the way. I figured Katya would prefer to get an offer from Solomon, but unfortunately, he wasn't on the table.

"Call if you need more help. Or a bodyguard," Solomon teased as he grabbed his leather jacket. "I'll be downstairs."

I agreed I would and took a moment to watch his rear end as he left. Sure, it was unprofessional, but it was worth it all the same. My job provided many bonuses.

Alone, I stared down at the ransom letters. All I could say for certain was that they all came from the same person, using the same printer, and with access to the same bank account. I also calculated how many tens of thousands of dollars the blackmailer received since the beginning of the tour. "Sweet gig," I muttered to myself. "Keep four secrets and make bank."

What I most wanted to know was: what were the secrets? Only Shelley was forthcoming about hers. Why she was less willing to hide her secret than all the others were, I didn't know, but I suspected when I dug into her background, I would find that her ex-girlfriend wasn't behind the plot. And despite B4U's mutual dislike of one another, it wasn't inconceivable that the band also knew each other’s secrets. I had to wonder if it would be possible to extract those secrets from them, possibly by exploiting their mutual animosity, and using that to aid me.

"But how do
you
know their secrets?" I asked the letters. They lay there, blankly unable or unwilling to surrender any clues.

I grabbed my notepad from my purse and wrote
blackmailer?
in large letters. First, I added
superfan
, then
stranger,
then
known to the band.
It seemed rather unlikely that the blackmailer would be entirely unconnected to the band. It would have been very hard to learn the secrets of four band members who all grew up in entirely different areas of the country. For a start, B4U's management company was very careful to ensure, nourish, and cultivate, their squeaky clean image. Someone who was close to them would have to be absolutely convinced there was dirt before they went digging. It wouldn't be too far-fetched to imagine someone spending time and effort on one single starlet with the aim of blackmailing a big payday; but four women? No. That took an inordinate amount of time, effort, and access.

Crossing
stranger
off the list, I pondered
superfan.
B4U's target audience was the pre-teen, or “tween,” and early teen crowd. It was almost a given that a child could not have orchestrated the blackmail. It was too careful, and too well planned. It had to be an adult, but what kind of adult would be a superfan of the teen-orientated sensations? Could a superfan find the time and resources to hunt for more dirt? If he or she were that big a fan, why would they want to threaten or hurt their beloved band? I added the word
deranged
along with a large question mark.