Obsession

  Jake was also close to a climax, so there was no way she could escape to turn down the volume.

  “Hi, Kristin, sweetie,” said Darlene. “Boy, has Mister X got a hot nut for you. Talk about obsession. Can you believe he wants to book you again tonight, and he’s willing to spring for another five thousand big ones for the privilege. Twice in one night. Honey, you’ve really got it going.” A husky giggle. “What’s your secret? A mink-lined snatch? Call me back ASAP. The man is waiting.”

  chapter 18

  MADISON WOKE TO NATALIE pushing her shoulders. “What’s up?” she mumbled.

  “There’s a Detective Tucci on the phone,” Natalie said, already dressed and made up. “Isn’t he the detective covering the Salli T. Turner case?”

  “That’s right,” Madison answered, suppressing a yawn.

  “Why’s he calling you?” Natalie asked curiously.

  “Because I phoned his house last night. I couldn’t get into the location and I thought I should talk to him about the audiotape I have of Salli.” Leaning over, she reached for the phone. “This is Madison Castelli.”

  “Miss Castelli,” Tucci said, his tone slow and measured. “I understand you have some information for me.”

  “Yes, I do. You see, I was with Salli yesterday. She gave me an in-depth interview for my magazine. In fact, I have the tape if you’d be interested in hearing it.”

  “Most definitely.”

  “Shall I come to the station?”

  “That’s most accommodating of you, Miss Castelli, but I’ll be at the Pacific Palisades house all morning. Can you come there?”

  “Certainly.”

  “I’ll expect you as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “See you then.”

  She replaced the receiver. “There goes Freddie Leon for the day,” she said wryly.

  Natalie handed her a well-needed cup of coffee. “What do you mean?”

  “If I’m going to meet the detective, how can I get in to Freddie today? I was planning on dropping by the I.A.A. office to visit Max Steele.”

  “You couldn’t anyway,” Natalie-pointed out. “It’s Sunday, they’d be closed.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “And regarding Max Steele,” Natalie added. “There’s a story about him in the Times. Seems he’s leaving I.A.A. to head up Orpheus Studios.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “It’s on the second page.”

  “Really?”

  “Is this a surprise?”

  “He told me he had some news, only I didn’t realize it was going to be public knowledge so fast. I’d better call him.”

  “He’s probably sleeping.”

  Madison reached for her robe and got out of bed. “What happened after I left last night?”

  “Oh, Garth was his usual un-charming self,” Natalie said. “I was at the station all night interviewing anybody who knew her and putting together a retrospective. It’s media frenzy time, all anybody’s talking about. And once they find out you were with her, you’ll be a media sensation, too.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Madison said dryly. “If you hadn’t told your news director . . .”

  “What can he do?”

  “Tell other people, to punish me for not appearing on his shitty show.”

  “It’s not a shitty show,” Natalie said defensively.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

  “Yes, you did!”

  Madison felt bad about insulting her friend. “C’mon, Nat,” she said warmly, “let’s not start the day off badly. Did they reach Salli’s husband yet?”

  “Yeah, there’s coverage of him going into the house looking wrecked.”

  “What about the ex, Eddie Stoner? Have they questioned him?”

  “They’re looking. Nobody seems to know where he’s at.”

  “Is he the prime suspect?”

  “Could be. God!” Natalie exclaimed. “Can you imagine what the tabloids are going to do with this story?”

  Madison nodded. “It’ll turn into another O.J.-and-Nicole circus.”

  “You got it,” Natalie said. “Only this time they won’t be able to play the race card. Thank God!”

  “No, but you can bet they’ll play the sex card,” Madison said. “You know, sexy blonde, big boobs, all of that sexist crap—like Salli was asking for it.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. She was beautiful, rich, sexy and a woman. Major strike against getting any kind of fair treatment.” Madison sighed. “This whole thing makes me sick. Yesterday she was alive, today she’s dead. I simply can’t believe it.”

  “Me neither,” said Cole, walking into the room. “I heard on channel five that Salli’s dad is flying in from Chicago, and there’s a private funeral tomorrow. I’d like to be there.”

  “That’s a tough one,” Natalie said. “Salli had so many fans, they’ll all want to attend.”

  “I’d still like to go,” Cole said.

  “Me, too,” Madison agreed. “How can we arrange it?”

  “I’ll see what I can find out,” Natalie said. “Right now I’ve got to get back to the studio. Then Luther wants to take me to lunch, and girl, I am not passing him up.”

  As soon as Natalie left, Madison decided to call Max Steele. She had his home phone number, so she picked up the phone and got through immediately. “Hi, Max,” she said. “This is Madison—remember? Breakfast yesterday?”

  He sounded groggy. “What’s doin’?”

  “I read your news.”

  “News?”

  “You told me you had an announcement; however, you didn’t tell me it was going to appear today.”

  “What announcement?” Max said, kicking off his bedcovers, realizing he was suffering from a monster hangover.

  “Is it true you’re taking over Ariel Shore’s job at Orpheus?”

  “Shit!” he said, sitting up. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “It’s in the Times.”

  “Christ!” he said. And he knew what had happened. Freddie had opened the door before he was ready to leave, and shoved him out. Hard. Now Billy Cornelius would be mad as hell, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  “Off the record,” Madison said. “Would you mind giving me Freddie Leon’s home number?”

  “Why?” Max said suspiciously. “You wanna ask him about this?”

  “No, it has nothing to do with you. I’m simply looking to find out everything I can about him. That is why I’m out here.”

  “If you want the dirt on Freddie, talk to his secretary—Ria Santiago. She knows things nobody else does.”

  “Would you happen to have her phone number?”

  “Yeah, I’ll give you both numbers.” Nothing like a little sweet revenge, Max thought.

  Madison hung up and glanced at her watch. It was too early to call anyone else. Waking Max was one thing, but she figured she’d be nice and let the others sleep for an hour or so, although she was sure Freddie Leon was an early riser—he looked the type.

  While she was waiting she called Victor in New York, where it was three hours later. “I’m holding the press for your story,” Victor said. “I need it like yesterday.”

  “I’m seeing the detective on the case this morning. As soon as I get back I’ll write it up and fax it to you.”

  “Good,” Victor said. “And maybe you can include the name of the killer.”

  “Yeah, sure, Victor,” she drawled. “Why not? Simple.”

  “No need to be sarcastic, Maddy. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Yes, Victor, later.”

  chapter 19

  ARIEL SHORE ARRIVED AT Billy Cornelius’ house at eight in the morning and insisted upon seeing him. Ethel, his feisty wife, was still asleep. The butler, a prudent man, did not wake Ethel. Instead he ushered Ariel into the living room, where she waited impatiently for ten long minutes.

  When Billy finally appeared, she thrust the
L.A. Times in his face. “What’s this?” she said through clenched teeth, towering over him.

  Billy Cornelius stared bad-temperedly at the newspaper. “What’re you talking about?” he snapped, his left eye twitching.

  “This ridiculous story about Max Steele getting my job,” Ariel said. “Read it.”

  Billy scanned the story with beady, red-rimmed eyes. “Bullpuddy, hogwash,” he said.

  “It better be,” Ariel said sternly. “Because I’m sure you wouldn’t relish Ethel finding out about us.”

  Billy curled his lip. “You wouldn’t do that, Ariel.”

  “Think again, Billy, I certainly would.”

  “You promised.”

  “I know what I promised,” she said, marching up and down. “And I know what you promised. You break yours, I can break mine. What is this crap with Max Steele anyway?”

  “I was planning on telling you,” Billy said. “I considered bringing him in as head of production. Nothing definite.”

  She arched an eyebrow in disgust. “Without informing me?”

  “Max is a go-getter, he knows everyone.”

  Ariel planted herself in front of her so-called boss. “Listen to me, Billy, and listen carefully. I run the studio. You do not make decisions like that without my input. Max Steele will have nothing to do with Orpheus. Nothing. Is that perfectly clear? Because if it’s not, I’m sure that Ethel will be able to make it very clear to you.”

  “You have nothing to worry about,” Billy said, backing down in the face of Ariel’s fury.

  “And next time you sneak around behind my back,” Ariel said, eyes glittering dangerously, “you’d better be more careful. I want a retraction, and I want to see it in Monday’s paper. Do we understand each other, Billy?”

  Billy Cornelius nodded. He might be one of the richest men in America, but when Ariel Shore screamed, he jumped.

  chapter 20

  WHEN DIANA AWOKE ON Sunday morning, she realized that Freddie had not returned home the night before. It wasn’t the first time he’d stayed out all night.

  Nevertheless, she was livid. How dare he think he could simply walk out and not return.

  And where exactly was he? Not that she was worried about other women—Freddie had never been a sexual being. Even in the beginning of their marriage they’d made love infrequently; then several years ago, their lovemaking had stopped altogether.

  No, it wasn’t another woman. It was Freddie’s way of hurting her. First he ruined her dinner party, then he stayed out all night. What a cold bastard he could be.

  The children were away in Connecticut staying with her mother, so the house was quite peaceful. She got out of bed and marched downstairs to the kitchen. The caterers had done a masterly job of cleaning up.

  Throwing open the fridge she surveyed the leftovers, wrapped neatly in Saran Wrap. Cold hors d’oeuvres always appealed to her, so she took out an egg roll and wolfed it down without thinking. Then she stomped around the house, making sure everything was in place and that the catering staff hadn’t stolen anything. Diana lived in fear that someone was going to rip her off. It could be because she had been brought up by extremely strict parents in Utah who suspected everyone of stealing. She’d never forgotten her stern upbringing.

  The Sunday L.A. Times was neatly laid out on the kitchen table, alongside the New York Times. Usually Freddie got to them first; he was fastidious about his newspapers and did not like anyone else touching them before him. However, today Diana felt it was her duty to mess them up before he got home.

  The heading of a story on page two caught her attention.

  ARIEL OUT; MAX IN. MAX STEELE TO LEAVE I.A.A. AND JOIN ORPHEUS.

  How could this have possibly gotten into the newspapers so quickly? Somebody must have leaked it early, long before Freddie and Max’s confrontation.

  Diana read the story quickly, then rushed to the phone.

  Max answered immediately. “Yes?” he snapped, sounding most unfriendly.

  “Max, this is Diana. Can we meet?”

  “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

  “There’s something I wish to discuss.”

  “Is it about Freddie?”

  “He mustn’t know we’re meeting.”

  “Whatever you say, Diana.”

  “Nine-thirty at the Four Seasons. The dining room.”

  “I’ll be there,” Max said.

  “Good,” Diana replied. She’d known he wouldn’t turn her down.

  chapter 21

  EDDIE STONER WAS AWAKENED from a liquor-induced sleep at six A.M. on Sunday morning by two burly cops, who burst rudely into his apartment and informed him he was under arrest. He was between girlfriends at the time, so there was no one to buffer their entrance.

  “What the fuck is this about?” Eddie mumbled, as they instructed him to get out of bed.

  “Parking tickets,” cop number one said. “You got thirty-four of ’em, all unpaid. You’re under arrest, bud, so let’s go.”

  “Parking tickets!” Eddie Stoner said, throwing off the sheet, knowing he was naked and not caring. Let the cops get an eyeful and see what they didn’t have.

  “Yeah, unpaid tickets,” said cop number two, proceeding to read him his rights.

  “Jesus Christ!” Eddie grumbled, reaching for his pants. “Don’t you guys have anythin’ better t’do?”

  “Where’d you get that scratch on your chest?” cop number one asked.

  “Didn’t realize gettin’ a parkin’ ticket meant havin’ to explain my physical state,” Eddie replied, running a hand through his mane of dirty blond hair. “There’s one on my ass, too—wanna take a peek? My girlfriend’s got long fingernails.”

  “Get dressed,” cop number two said.

  Eddie Stoner shrugged, threw on a T-shirt and some sneakers. “Fuck!” he said. “You’re haulin’ me in for parkin’ tickets. Who the fuck’d believe this?”

  chapter 22

  MADISON PLAYED THE tape as she drove her rented car on the way to Salli’s house. It was truly heartbreaking to hear Salli explain her life in her own words—exactly as Madison remembered. She found it particularly interesting when Salli talked about Eddie Stoner. “Eddie was basically a good guy,” Salli said. “Just frustrated, ’cause like his mom drove him loco. Never left him alone for a moment, laid a big fat guilt trip on him ’cause his father ran out on them when Eddie was twelve. So like he always felt kind of responsible for her. An’ she got off on that—telling him he was a bum and no good. Guess he wanted to prove her right. She hated me, thought I was a little tramp. Said so to my face. Well, I guess I gotta confess— Eddie did beat me up a few times. But it wasn’t his fault, and later, he was always so nice and loving, begging my forgiveness. I had to escape though, otherwise he would’ve dragged me down with him.”

  Madison listened to her own voice on the tape. “If I remember correctly, Salli, you told me on the plane that Eddie was a psycho freakazoid asshole actor who sued you for alimony. You also told me that he still thinks you’ll take him back one day.”

  “Wow!” Salli’s voice again. “You’ve got a good memory.”

  “So which is it? Was he a sweetheart? Or a wife beater?”

  “A little bit of both,” Salli said. And then wistfully—“But I must’ve loved him at one time.”

  Madison switched off the tape. She wished she’d asked more questions about Eddie Stoner.

  Now it was too late.

  * * *

  “Nice of you to come, Miss Castelli,” Detective Tucci said, greeting her at the door. He was a tall, heavyset man with brown hair and faded blue eyes. Not unattractive, Madison thought as he took her arm and led her inside the house. Walking through the hall without Salli there to greet her felt strange. Automatically, she glanced up at the giant portrait. It was still there, smiling down at everybody.

  “Merely doing my duty,” she replied. “When I leave here I’m writing a piece for my magazine, and I thought I should let you know what I have, in ca
se it could be useful for your investigation.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you, Miss Castelli.”

  “On the tape, Salli talks about her ex-husband, Eddie Stoner. When we flew into L.A. a couple of days ago, she was telling me he always expected they’d get back together. Do you think he could’ve—?”

  “Mr. Stoner’s already in custody on parking-ticket violations,” Tucci said. “Of course, that’s official information, not for publication. I can trust you, Miss Castelli, can’t I?”

  “Please call me Madison,” she said, nodding. “I spoke to your wife; she was most charming on the phone.”

  “Faye’s a good woman.”

  “Salli was a terrific girl,” Madison said. “You’ve only seen the public image, but to know her was to realize that she had a certain sweetness that really came through. I’m so saddened by this horrible tragedy.”

  “The world seems to be,” Tucci said. “There’s already several Web sites set up to discuss her murder.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “May I listen to the tape back in my office?” Tucci said. “Then maybe I can ask you questions about it later.”

  “I made a copy for you.”

  “You’re very organized.”

  “I’m a good journalist.”

  “My wife said that. She speaks very highly of your work. Faye’s the one who has the time to read magazines, I don’t.”

  Madison laughed politely.

  “Are you from here?” he asked.

  “New York,” Madison said. “I’m in L.A. preparing a story on Freddie Leon.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know who that is.”

  “Your wife would, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, yes, Faye—she knows all about show business.”

  Madison smiled again. She liked this man; he was warm and seemed to care. “Did you meet the houseman yesterday?” Tucci asked.

  “Froo. Yes, I did. I gather he’s the other victim.”

  “We think he heard noises and came to investigate.”

  “Well, Detective, if there’s anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

  “You say she had a certain sweetness?”