Poor Little Bitch Girl

  He’d moved on to Frankie’s crap, discovering two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar ties with the price tag still affixed; Hugo Boss jackets; Brioni suits; expensive sports clothes and a dozen matching black cashmere long-sleeved sweaters.

  Between the two of them they must’ve blown a fortune.

  Chip felt distinct twinges of envy. He did all the goddamn work, driving the whores wherever they needed to go, while Miss Nose-in-the-Air Maestro and her coked-out boyfriend reaped all the benefits.

  Well, fuck ’em both. Chip was exposing their twisted game, and to hell with the consequences. Soon he’d have his own big bucks to splash around.

  The locked drawers in the library room gave up all the proof and photos he’d ever need.

  “Here’s your proof,” he said, trying to sound macho as he thrust a manila envelope across Simon’s messy desk.

  “And what exactly do we have here?” Simon said, opening the envelope and tipping the contents onto his desk-top.

  “Plenty,” Chip boasted. “All juicy stuff.”

  “Juicy, eh?” Simon questioned. “It had better be, because wasting my time pisses me off.”

  “Wouldn’t want to do that,” Chip responded with a feeble chuckle.

  “No, mate, you wouldn’t,” Simon said, sorting through the items from Chip’s envelope. He held up a photo of Annabelle with her famous parents and scrutinized it. She was about fifteen at the time the photo was taken. “Pretty girl,” he remarked. “Got something more recent?”

  “Keep lookin’,” Chip said.

  Simon picked up another photo. This one was of Annabelle with Frankie and two of the girls who occasionally worked for them – one a vaguely well-known singer, one an actress on a weekly series – both of them recognizable faces.

  “Those two are workin’ girls,” Chip said. “I’ve driven them to many appointments.”

  “You have?”

  “Yeah. They’re into scorin’ extra bucks – they get around eight grand a pop. In cash.”

  “Proof?” Simon said.

  “You’ll see,” Chip replied. “I got photos of ’em with their masks on – I got hotel receipts. I got dates, times, client names. Everything’s there.”

  “Okay then,” Simon said, leafing through more photos. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a big kick-ass story. And here’s the good news: if I rush it through, we’ll make it for the front page of Wednesday’s edition – just in time for Thursday’s funeral.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Denver

  My freaking luck, Annabelle has decided that I am her best friend in the world, and Felix seems to think that this is excellent news. Anything to keep number one client Mr Ralph Maestro happy – including sacrificing me for the benefit of the case.

  Not that there is a case as such, because while I was freezing my ass off in New York, two suspects were pulled into the mix. Swift work by the Beverly Hills Police Department. I was impressed.

  Suspect number one – usurping Ralph from that prime position – is a stalker/fan who apparently had done all his stalking (letters, gifts, threats, declarations of love/hate) from New Orleans – so nobody had taken the threats seriously. But after Gemma’s highly publicized murder, the stalker/fan’s sister had come forward to reveal that said stalker/fan had set off for L.A. two days earlier, intent on meeting the woman of his dreams/nightmare.

  Suspect number two – dropping Ralph even further down the ladder – was a mysterious man the paparazzi had caught Gemma lunching with at a secluded restaurant in the hills above Malibu. The photos were taken the day before her murder, and nobody – including Ralph – knew who the man was.

  Was Gemma having a secret affair? Was she cheating on Ralph? Was the perfect movie-star couple not so perfect after all? The internet gossip sites were in overdrive.

  But back to me and my new best friend, Annabelle Maestro.

  “I have a life,” I informed Felix. “Why do you think it’s so important that I go to this dinner tonight with Annabelle? Ralph doesn’t even like me, he treats me as if I’m your assistant. I’m an excellent lawyer, Felix, I deserve respect.”

  Felix Saunders, AKA Mister Shark Teeth, talked me down in his slightly supercilious fashion. It was all about how important client/lawyer relationships were, how the client depends on his lawyer not only as legal counsel, but as a loyal friend and confidant.

  Eventually I caved in, because the truth is I wouldn’t mind observing the interaction between Annabelle and her famous dad. As a keen watcher of human behavior, in a perverse kind of way I was sort of looking forward to it. One of the things I do in court is to always keep a sharp eye on the jury and their reactions to even the smallest piece of information. I find that when it comes to the crunch, it always pays off.

  Mario had texted me back. Dinner on. Can’t wait!

  I contemplated phoning him, then decided against it. Another text would do. Brief and to the point. Sorry. Dinner off due to work. How about tomorrow night?

  I didn’t really care that much. Mario was a diversion – certainly not the start of something meaningful.

  Carolyn had sent me another text while I was on the plane. We must talk!! So much happening!!

  She was due to arrive in L.A. for the Christmas vacation in two weeks. I was looking forward to catching up, spending all my time with her doing plenty of girly things that I never seem to find the time to do on my own. I envisioned a lazy and relaxing day at the Korean spa. A mindless shop at The Grove. Plenty of movies. Maybe even a long weekend in Palm Springs with my main gay friend Teddy – hairstylist supreme. Carolyn was a true friend, the kind of person who would always be there for me no matter what. I could tell she was really psyched about something, and I couldn’t wait to hear her news.

  * * *

  While we were waiting at the entrance to the hotel for the limo, Annabelle grabbed my hand and said, “Thanks for doing this, Denver. I do know it’s not part of your job description, and I truly appreciate it.”

  Annabelle. Appreciating something. Definitely out of character.

  Then she added, further confusing me, “Did you know that at school I always used to envy you? Your life seemed so normal compared to mine. You had parents that actually came to school events, and they seemed to care about you. I was majorly jealous.”

  Was she freaking kidding me? Annabelle Maestro, jealous of me! Absolutely no way.

  Before she could say anything more, Frankie loped over, having just introduced himself to a famous basketball player who was standing by the entrance waiting for his car.

  “Jeez!” Frankie exclaimed, pleased with himself for having spotted another celebrity. “That Rick Fox is one tall motherfucker. I invited him to stop by Mood next time he’s in New York. Gave him my card.”

  “Who’s Rick Fox?” Annabelle asked blankly.

  “Who’s Rick Fox!” Frankie chortled. “A former Lakers great! Everyone knows who Rick Fox is. He used t’be married to Vanessa Williams, a total babe.”

  Just as Annabelle was about to ask who Vanessa Williams was – and I would’ve explained because I’m a huge Ugly Betty fan – the limo pulled up and we all piled in.

  Ten minutes later we arrived at the house, and a stony-faced Ralph Maestro greeted us at the door to his imposing mansion. He gave me a brief nod, shook Frankie’s hand, and leaned forward to honor Annabelle with an awkward hug. No words were exchanged as we followed him into the house.

  I glanced at Annabelle. Her perfectly made-up face gave nothing away.

  Ralph led us into the enormous living room, dominated by a huge portrait of himself and Gemma hanging over the mantelpiece, a fake logfire burned brightly, and a waiter hovered behind an exceptionally long bar.

  “Order your drinks,” Ralph said in a strained voice. “Have whatever you want.”

  I noted his tan had faded since last we met. Perhaps visiting a tanning salon was not the best idea during these difficult times. But surely Ralph had people who came to him?

&nb
sp; While I was pondering the disappearing tan, Annabelle requested a Martini, and Frankie went for a Jack on the rocks. Frankie was obviously under the impression that Jack (note: Jack as opposed to Jack Daniel’s) was the hot Hollywood drink. And it seemed he was right, because Ralph ordered the same thing.

  I opted for a glass of white wine. Wimpy drink, but at least I could make it last while everyone around me got wasted. And getting wasted was definitely on the agenda, for Annabelle downed her Martini in three fast gulps, then immediately requested a second one.

  Oh wow! Here we go. Hold on tight, ’cause I’ve got a strong suspicion it’s going to be a bumpy night.

  * * *

  Imagine being at a dinner where it is quite apparent that everyone hates everyone else, but for the sake of appearances, politeness rules.

  One would think Ralph was hosting a dinner for several avid fans who’d won an evening to be spent with the great Ralph Maestro. He was stiff, uncomfortable and distant.

  Frankie on the other hand did not shut up. On his usual coke-fueled high (oh yes, it hadn’t taken me long to figure out his numerous visits to the bathroom were not to pee) he carried on about the hotel, the city, the weather, and what an honor it was to finally meet the amazing Ralph Maestro.

  “I’ve seen every movie you ever made,” Frankie enthused, eliciting a glare from Annabelle, who’d had no idea he was such a fan. “Brain-dead, The Great American Train Wreck, Jolt, Finding Mr Lee. I grew up watchin’ your movies. You and Bruce Willis, you guys kicked it like nobody else.”

  I had a strong feeling that Ralph had been prepared to dislike Annabelle’s boyfriend, but the accolades were coming so fast and furious, that Ralph’s enormous ego couldn’t resist. He nodded, accepting the praise as if it was his due.

  Annabelle and I listened in stunned silence as Frankie proceeded to talk about every one of Ralph’s many movies in detail.

  After a while it seemed Annabelle couldn’t take it any longer. “Excuse us,” she said, standing up and throwing me a pointed look. “We’ll be right back.”

  Hmm . . . I guess that means I’m going with her, leaving Frankie to shove his nose all the way up Ralph’s ass – an act he’s obviously enjoying.

  Annabelle led me into an ornate guest powder-room decorated in over-the-top shades of turquoise and gold. “I’m in dire need of a cigarette,” she muttered, groping in her Balenciaga purse for a pack of Marlboros. “Isn’t this torture?”

  “I imagine your dad is still in shock,” I said lamely. “Besides, Frankie is kind of monopolizing the conversation.”

  “Frankie can be such a dick,” Annabelle said, dismissing her boyfriend with an abrupt wave of her hand. “Who knew he worshipped Ralph? I certainly didn’t.”

  “You had no clue?”

  “Nothing. Nada. We never even talked about my family, and now this show of adulation. Quite frankly, I’m pissed.”

  “Don’t blame you.”

  “Oh, Denver,” Annabelle said, suddenly clutching onto my arm. “I’m so grateful you’re here. I honestly couldn’t go through this if you weren’t around to support me.”

  “That’s nonsense,” I said, swallowing fast. “You’d be fine.”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “Yes, you would,” I insisted. What was going on here? Why was I all of a sudden Miss Indispensable?

  “Anyway,” Annabelle continued, “you are here, and as long as we stay together I’ll be able to cope. The funeral’s on Thursday, and right after I want to be on a plane back to New York. Can you arrange it?”

  Crap! So add travel agent to my job description.

  Back at the dining table Frankie was quoting lines from Brain-dead, and Ralph was finally looking bored. Ignoring Frankie who was in full quote, Ralph fixed Annabelle with one of his steely stares and said, “I expect you to go through your mother’s things while you’re here. The housekeepers will help you. Be sure you watch that they don’t try to take anything.”

  “You want me to do it?” Annabelle said, not at all happy at the prospect.

  “Yes, you,” Ralph said sharply. “There’s nobody else that’s family, therefore it’s your responsibility. Be here at ten in the morning.”

  “But—”

  “Annabelle,” Ralph said, his voice ice cold. “You’re her daughter. It’s what she would have wanted.”

  “I don’t think so,” Annabelle mumbled.

  “Well, I do,” Ralph said, big movie-star face staring her down.

  End of discussion.

  We finally got out of there at nine-thirty.

  “Time to party,” Frankie said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of a wild Hollywood night. “Where’s the place to hang?”

  I had definitely had enough of Frankie Romano for one night. “Beats me,” I said with a quick shrug. “I’m going home to bed.”

  “No way!” Frankie exclaimed. “We’re hittin’ it tonight. I gotta know what’s goin’ on in this town. Gotta catch the vibe.”

  “Sorry,” I said – not sorry at all. “You’re on your own.”

  “Yes,” Annabelle said, agreeing with me. “You’re on your own, Frankie. After dinner and all that tension, I’m exhausted.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Frankie complained. “What’s wrong with you two?”

  “The driver will steer you in the right direction,” I offered. “Right after he’s dropped us at the hotel where I’ll pick up my car, and Annabelle can go get a good night’s sleep.”

  “What are both of you – fifty?” Frankie sneered.

  “Twenty-five actually,” I said, loathing him more every minute. “But don’t sweat it, I’m sure you’re capable of having fun on your own.”

  Annabelle stifled a giggle. It wasn’t often Frankie didn’t get his own way.

  Back at the hotel, Annabelle and I scooted out of the limo, and Frankie took off to go God knew where.

  Annabelle didn’t seem to mind. “You’re right, he can look after himself,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning, Denver.”

  “You will?”

  “Ten o’clock. We’ll drive over to the house together and deal with my mother’s things.”

  “Look, Annabelle,” I said, feeling quite awkward. “I’d really like to help you out, but here’s the thing – I have to be at my office tomorrow. I’m way behind on everything. Got a thousand things to take care of.”

  “Not to worry,” Annabelle said with an airy wave of her hand. “I’ll have Ralph fix it with your boss. Just remember this – while I’m in L.A., you’re all mine.”

  Talk about getting caught in a trap. It seemed I had no choice in the matter.

  Chapter Thirty

  Carolyn

  Tuesday morning, Carolyn awoke early. She was too revved up to sleep. Gregory had promised her a surprise, and the thought of what it might be was driving her crazy. She was sure it was something she’d like, something to do with their future together, something amazing.

  Humming softly to herself she decided she had time to go for a run before work. Slipping into a pale-blue tracksuit and Puma sneakers, she left her apartment and bumped straight into Kerri.

  “Am I glad to see you!” Kerri exclaimed. “Got a big favor to ask.”

  “Ask away,” Carolyn replied.

  “Well, you know how I always pick up Nellie’s meds once a month.”

  “I know you do, and she really appreciates it. It’s so thoughtful of you.”

  Kerri gave a modest shrug. “Guess it’s my twelve good deeds for the year. But here comes the favor. I can’t do it today – got a way hot date, an’ he’s meeting me from work. So since Nellie is out of her sleeping pills and her heart meds, can you pick them up for me an’ drop them off at her apartment?”

  “Of course I can,” Carolyn said. “No problem.”

  “Everything’s pre-paid,” Kerri explained. “I gave the prescriptions to the pharmacy yesterday, they’ll be ready after five.”

  “Done,” Carolyn said.


  “You’re such a doll,” Kerri said, leaning forward and giving her a quick hug.

  “We should take turns doing it anyway.”

  “I’m down with that.”

  “I should’ve thought of it before.”

  “Hey, you’re doin’ your bit, always lookin’ in on the old dear, makin’ sure she’s breathin’.”

  “We both do what we can.”

  “How about an early breakfast tomorrow?” Kerri suggested. “I can give you all the filthy details from what I hope is gonna be a night of crazy mad lust!”

  “Sounds good,” Carolyn said. Then she couldn’t help adding, “I might have some exciting news of my own.”

  “Awesome!” Kerri said. “Are you seein’ someone?”

  “I could be . . .” Carolyn replied, almost tempted to spill everything.

  “That’s my girl. You can tell me all about him tomorrow. Same time, same place. My treat.”

  Carolyn nodded. “Make sure to take note of every single detail.”

  “Oh, I will,” Kerri said, beaming. “Doncha you worry ’bout that!”

  * * *

  Later in the day, Carolyn breezed into Muriel’s office and said, “I’m leaving early today.”

  “Why is that?” Muriel inquired, tightly wound as she sat ramrod straight behind her desk.

  “The Senator knows,” Carolyn continued. “I mentioned it to him last week.”

  “He didn’t tell me.”

  “Does he tell you everything?”

  “Where are you going?” Muriel asked, tapping her pen on her desk-top.

  None of your business, Carolyn was tempted to say. But she didn’t, she remained cool.

  “Dentist,” she said shortly.

  “In the middle of the day?”

  Carolyn shrugged. “The Senator said it was okay, and since it seems he’s not coming in again, my timing appears to be right on.”

  “Personal appointments are supposed to take place after office hours,” Muriel said primly. “Surely you’re aware of that?”

  “Yes, I am aware of it,” Carolyn replied. “But exceptions happen.”

  “For some people,” Muriel sniffed disapprovingly.