Hollywood Deception Read online

He nodded. "Just there." He pointed to a house sitting across from the hub of activity.

  "I was wondering if you could do me a favor." I smiled at him sweetly.

  "That depends. What's in it for me?" he asked, eyes rooted to the low cut neckline of my jumpsuit.

  I reached into my purse, pulled out my wallet, fished around inside, and came out with a few twenties.

  I held them up.

  "I'll give you a hundred bucks if you'll watch that house and call me if the woman who lives there leaves."

  His eyes bounced between my cleavage and the money.

  "Sure. Is that it?"

  I grabbed a business card out of my purse and scribbled my cell number on the back. "Call or text this number the minute that woman leaves the house."

  He took the card and the money. "You got it, babe."

  "And keep this just between the two of us," I said with a wink.

  "No problem." He dropped the board on the sidewalk and rolled away.

  I jumped back into my car, hoping I hadn't wasted my money. Or, technically, Felix's, since I was totally expensing this to the Informer's account.

  Once I was out of the hills, I swung by the drive-thru at my favorite coffee shop and grabbed a frappe and a scone, which I nibbled on the way back to the office.

  I rode the elevator up to the second floor and stepped off.

  Felix glanced up at me as I passed by, and I waved my frappe cup at him.

  He did a palms-up and mouthed the words Where's mine?

  Cute. I shrugged and gave him an apologetic look.

  I noticed Tina wasn't at her desk. That was concerning. I fleetingly wondered if Cam knew where she was and what I'd have to do to bribe her into telling me.

  Max stuck his head up and waved as I passed then went back to work on whatever he was typing away on.

  I dropped my purse on the floor beside my desk, sat my frappe down next to my monitor, and took a seat.

  At a temporary dead end where Marilyn Baxter was concerned, I figured I'd shift focus to whom Bobby had been "telling all" about. I started by searching for the show's website that Henry had told me about. I pulled up a search engine and keyed in Bobby Baxter, quickly finding it was the top hit.

  I clicked the link, and a photo of Bobby flashed on the screen. With his big toothy smile and slicked back hair, he looked more like a greasy used car salesman than the host of a popular television show. Or maybe that was just because I now knew the personality that went with that mug. I clicked around on the site menu until I found a coming soon link.

  Following the link, a list of upcoming shows and their blurbs appeared.

  The only three shows were the same ones the personal assistant had told me about when I'd questioned him earlier in the morning.

  I clicked the first show link.

  "The Tooth and Nothing but the Tooth." From what I could tell, the theme for the show was basically telling people that they didn't need to go to the dentist as often as they thought. I skimmed the rest of the show's page, and the most scandalous thing I came across was the line about not having to floss often, as long as you rinsed well with mouthwash.

  While I suddenly didn't feel half as guilty about my flossing habits, there was no way someone had killed Bobby over this info. Not unless a convention of crazy, homicidal dentists had come to town. I closed that show's page and clicked on the second link.

  "Hair Today Gone Tomorrow."

  The plot was along the same lines as the dentist show but was about the truth behind laser hair removal and how it might only work if you have fine, unnoticeable hair to begin with. Again, I didn't see anything that would send someone into a homicidal rage. It was highly doubtful someone had killed Bobby over hair removal.

  I clicked on the last link, and a page for "Takin' Out the Trash" popped up.

  There was little information posted about it, which fit what Henry said about it still being in the research phase. Unfortunately, it also gave me nothing to go on. I grabbed my cell and pulled up Henry's office number.

  He answered on the third ring.

  "Henry Klein."

  "Henry? This is Allie Quick with the L.A. Informer."

  "Yeah, I remember. Is there something I can do for you, Ms. Quick?"

  "Actually, there is," I said and tapped my pen on the desk gently. "I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit more about one of the shows Bobby was working on. 'Takin' Out the Trash'?"

  "Why do you want to know about that?" he asked.

  "I'm still working on a story about Bobby, and I took a look at his website like you suggested. There's the bare minimum about it listed on the site. Do you happen to know what kind of info Bobby was planning to tell all about?"

  "I don't really know," Henry said easily. "To be honest, I'm not sure the show was going to be that big of a hit really. Who wants to watch a show about trash?"

  "Is that all the show was about?" I asked.

  "As far as I know. It was basically just explaining how recycling isn't really that environmentally friendly. You know, with the amount of water and chemicals they use to process the trash."

  "Did the show feature any one person or company in particular?"

  "Um, I think he mostly focused on one company. Hang on. Let me pull up my contacts."

  I tapped my pen on my desk in a frantic staccato while I listened to Henry fiddling with his phone.

  Finally he came back on. "Sunshine Sanitation."

  I wrote the name down. "Any particular reason he profiled them?"

  "Not that I know of," Henry answered. "They have the biggest recycling contracts in the L.A. basin, though, so it's not totally surprising."

  I feared I was chasing down another dead end. Mostly likely, Henry was right. The only thing odd about this show was that Bobby had chosen to do a show on trash altogether.

  "Thanks, Henry. I appreciate your help."

  "Anytime."

  I ended the call and dropped my phone into my purse. Since I had nothing better to do, I googled Sunshine Sanitation. The company's website popped up. A giant yellow sun with a smiley face and sunglasses filled the screen. An animated Keepin' It Clean! popped up on the screen in hot pink lettering.

  I raised my eyebrows at the extremely bright and flashy advertisement. I loved bright and flashy as much, if not more, than the next girl, but for a sanitation company? Whatever worked, I guess. I clicked around a bit, but nothing popped out at me as odd. Other than how happy they seemed to be collecting people's trash. Just to cover all bases, I picked up my phone and dialed the number listed on their contact page.

  A bubbly woman answered after the first ring.

  "Keepin' it clean with Sunshine Sanitation. This is Ellen. How can I help you?"

  "This is Allie Quick from the L.A. Informer," I introduced myself. "I understand that your company was the focus of an episode of Bobby Tells All, 'Takin' Out the Trash,' and I was hoping to ask you some questions about your experience with Mr. Baxter."

  The woman's bubbly personality quickly turned cold. "We have no comment," she said. Before I could say another word, she hung up on me.

  So much for that. Though, I didn't blame her. If Bobby's show had been all about how recycling wasn't really all that great for the environment, it probably didn't paint the cheery company in a good light. Though, honestly, I couldn't see them killing over it. It wasn't like people were going to watch Bobby's show and immediately stop recycling. And since the city gave contracts to utilities like garbage and water, it wasn't as if Sunshine Sanitation was in danger of losing customers either.

  All of which left me right back where I'd started—nowhere.

  My stomach rumbled. I glanced at the clock and realized that it was after five. Max had already left, and Tina was still nowhere in sight. I looked at Felix in his office. He was talking animatedly on the phone. It looked like something definitely had him fired up. Felix wasn't very good company when something had him riled up, so I squashed the idea to invite him to dinn
er, until he was in a better mood.

  I powered down my computer, grabbed my purse, and headed for the elevator.

  Traffic was so thick that the drive back to my place took nearly an hour. When I finally stepped foot into my apartment and closed the door behind me, I leaned my back against the door and sighed with relief. Mr. Fluffykins raised his head from his comfy spot on the sofa, meowed at me, and then lay back down. Apparently my arrival wasn't anything to celebrate.

  "It's nice to see you too." I tossed my purse on the coffee table and went into the kitchen. Mr. Fluffykins ignored me as I made my way past his perch.

  I opened the freezer. Three Lean Cuisines: mac 'n cheese, chicken penne, and green enchiladas. I decided to make it a fiesta and grabbed the enchilada box. I popped a couple of holes in the plastic and stuck it in the microwave. Mr. Fluffykins came into the kitchen, meowing in what I knew was his way of demanding fresh food and water, so I refilled his dishes, patted his head, and then washed my hands.

  The timer on the microwave dinged, and I was just about to pull my dinner out, when my phone rang.

  I jogged the five steps into the living room to my purse, fished around inside, and pulled out my phone. A number I didn't recognize flashed on the display. I pressed the phone to my ear.

  "Allie Quick."

  "Hey, this is Shane."

  "Hi," I said, hesitantly, trying to remember if I knew a Shane.

  "You gave me your card today and asked me to call you if the lady across the street left her house, remember?"

  Right. The teen on the skateboard. "Of course. Has she left?" I asked, my heart rate kicking up a notch.

  "It looks like she's about to," he said with a hint of excitement in his voice. "I saw her toss a black bag into the backseat of her car, and then she went back inside."

  "That's great, Shane. I'm on my way. Keep an eye on her. Text me if she leaves before I get there. There's an extra fifty in it for you if I catch her."

  "You got it!" he agreed eagerly before ending the call.

  I tossed my phone back into my purse and hurried out the door.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I gunned my little Bug, ignoring the speed limit. I had to catch Mrs. Baxter leaving her home before she got too far ahead of me and I lost her. I'd just rounded the last curve leading to the Baxter estate when a black BMW zoomed past me. I recognized the car as the one that had been sitting in the Baxters' driveway earlier in the day when I'd been talking to Marta. A second later a text pinged in from Shane.

  She just left

  I turned around in front of the Baxters' house, quickly heading back down the hill after the BMW. As soon as I caught sight of her, I hung back. The last thing I wanted to do was spook her into thinking she was being followed. I let her weave through the turns a few car lengths ahead of me, staying just close enough to keep her in sight.

  Once we made it out of the hills, she stayed on Highland, following it all the way to Wilshire. I stayed behind her one lane over and to the right to avoid being spotted. We bobbed and weaved through the evening traffic until she pulled up to the Grand Hotel and Spa.

  Checking into a hotel for the night? That might explain the bag Shane had seen her toss onto the backseat of her car.

  I pulled around the building and parked in a slot marked Visitor instead of valeting my car. After paying off Shane to spy for me, I was a smidge low on funds. I jogged back around to the front of the building just in time to see a woman I assumed was Marilyn Baxter get out of her car. She was a tall, extremely thin, platinum blonde with high cheekbones and obviously enhanced lips. And boobs. And butt. I wondered if there was anything on her that wasn't man-made. From my vantage point, she appeared to be your typical trophy wife. I silently wondered how long she and Bobby had been together.

  I watched her hand a bellboy a black overnight bag and a tip and stroll inside. I followed a step behind, pushing through the revolving door. She was at the check-in desk. I busied myself looking at some magazine racks in the gift shop until she thanked the clerk and made her way down the hall toward the spa.

  I waited a two-Mississippi count then followed. She chatted with a short brunette at the spa's front desk for a moment. Then she was led into another room, where I could see pedicure chairs set up in neat little rows. Mrs. Baxter sat and put her feet into one of the tubs before the brunette walked away.

  My piggies immediately whimpered with jealousy inside my ballet flats. It had been more than a month since my last pedicure. I wiggled my toes. A pedicure would be a great excuse to strike up a conversation with Marilyn. I mentally calculated just how much room I had left before hitting my credit card limit. I could pay a couple of bills a little late, couldn't I? I mean, who really needed electricity?

  Mind made up, I walked into to the spa and up to the reception desk.

  The woman manning it smiled at me in greeting. "Welcome to the Grand Hotel Spa. I'm Elizabeth. How may I help you?"

  "I'm Allie. I was wondering if you happen to have an opening for a pedicure?"

  Without even looking at her book, she beamed at me. "Of course. We have several chairs open at the moment. Are you a guest of the hotel?"

  "No, I'm just stopping in," I said and returned her smile.

  "No problem. I only ask because hotel guests are automatically given a discount."

  She then waved over a woman of average height with brown hair and a pale complexion.

  "This is Callie. She'll take good care of you."

  "Thanks," I said and followed the young woman to the line of chairs along the back wall. Callie sat me one chair away from Marilyn. I toed off my shoes and placed my feet in the warm bubbly footbath Callie provided.

  "Peppermint, lavender, or vanilla?" she asked me and motioned toward a line of scented oils.

  "Vanilla please," I answered.

  She placed a few drops in the bath. "I'll be back in a few minutes. You just sit here and relax." She smiled and then walked away.

  The scent of smooth, creamy vanilla wafted up to meet me, and I had to fight the urge to close my eyes and relax against the soft cushiony seat.

  I shook myself out of the little heaven I was enjoying and set my mind firmly back on the reason I was splurging on the little luxury my feet rested in.

  I glanced over to Marilyn. She was wearing a short skirt, which was the designer version of a knockoff I had in my own closet, and a red sleeveless blouse. Her hair was piled high atop her head, and white gold and ruby chandelier earrings dangled from her earlobes. She was reading the latest copy of Vogue magazine and completely ignoring the world around her. I made a mental note to see if my copy had come in the mail when I got home. I spotted her shoes, a pair of black Christian Louboutin's, sitting in the chair between us.

  "I love your shoes," I said and smiled.

  She glanced at me then said in a bored tone, "Thanks. They were a gift from my husband."

  "Wow. Lucky girl."

  "If you say so," she said with a slight shrug and continued perusing her magazine.

  I could see that she wasn't going to be an easy nut to crack. Just my luck. So I decided to just play it straight.

  "You're Marilyn Baxter, aren't you?"

  This time, she looked at me fully. "Yes. Who are you?"

  "I'm Allie Quick. I'm a reporter for the L.A. Informer. I had an interview with your husband set up for yesterday, but he rescheduled, and then he was killed last night."

  "And you think I can tell you something about that?" She pursed her blood red lips and narrowed her eyes at me.

  "Your husband wanted to tell me his side of the story. About this altercation with that fan at Beverly's. I was hoping maybe you could help fill in the blanks."

  She snorted. "You were, huh?"

  "For example, where were you last night when he was killed?"

  At that moment, her nail technician came over and shut off Marilyn's footbath, drying her feet in a large, fluffy towel.

  "Listen, Abby," Marilyn said.


  "Allie," I corrected her.

  "Whatever." She waved a dismissive hand in the air. "I don't know how you got in here, but I'm not talking to the press. Least of all the tabloids." She said the last word as if it had a foul odor.

  I let it roll off of me. This wasn't the first time I'd been subjected to rude comments concerning my career, and if I was doing my job right, it wouldn't be the last.

  "I hear he was cheating on you," I said, almost offhandedly.

  She froze. "Who told you that?"

  I shrugged. "A source."

  She shook her head, her eyes spitting fire at me. "You people are relentless. This is why I checked in here for the week in the first place. To get away from the likes of you!"

  With that, she stood, grabbed her shoes out of the chair, and followed her tech to another area of the spa before I could say a single word in response.

  So much for questioning her about her whereabouts. But at least I knew where she would be for the next week. I guess some women figured a spa week could fix anything, even their husband's murder.

  Since I was already there, and probably already obligated to pay, I let Callie finish my pedi. An hour later I was back at home with a fresh coat of perfectly pink polish on my toes. I reheated my enchiladas, which were the consistency of cardboard at that point, then tossed those and microwaved the mac 'n cheese instead. It wasn't bad, especially when paired with a glass of chardonnay that I felt I had so earned after the day I'd had.

  Once I'd drained my glass, I grabbed a quick shower and slid into a pair of pajamas with little purple pigs on them then pulled my laptop out.

  Felix was online. Most likely working late. He was a bit of a workaholic, although he'd never admit it. I PMed him.

  How was your day?

  Busy, he responded.

  Want to come over and relax a little? I can make some popcorn, and we can watch a movie? I asked. I knew chances were slim, but a girl had to try when she could.

  Rain check? Got work to do still tonight.

  Gee, he was really racking up those rain checks. At this point, he was close to a monsoon.

  I was about to type back when he shot off, I'll talk to you tomorrow, and then a second later he signed off without awaiting a response.