Deadlines Page 13

  "I'd just like to corroborate what you said with Detective Smith's notes."

  "Oh, sure. Um, it was in Malibu, a seafood place. Seafolly, I think. Have you been there? You should try it. It was one of Chucky's favorite restaurants."

  "I will. Do you have the receipt for the work done on your car?"

  "Sure. It's somewhere in that stack of paperwork," Jenna said, rising and crossing the room. She rummaged through a small stack of papers and extracted a sheet, handing it to me. I speed-read it, noting the work was exactly as Jenna described and all the dates matched up. "Chucky was a terrible driver," she explained.

  "Why was he driving your car and not his?"

  Jenna laughed. "He had just done the same thing... to his car."

  "Do you mind if I take a photo of this?" I asked, reaching for my phone. When Jenna shook her head, I hit the camera function and snapped a photo of the receipt. It might have been nothing, or could come in handy later, especially after I contacted Detective Smith. "I have to go, but thank you for taking the time to talk to me," I said as I returned the receipt. Tucking my phone into my pocket, I reached for my purse.

  "No, thank you for believing in me," said Jenna. "Detective Smith clearly thinks I'm a nut."

  "I doubt that; especially since she's treating your brother's case as a homicide. She's just following leads," I told her, trying to sound reassuring. Unfortunately, I didn't know of Smith's other leads, but wished I did. I hoped Jenna wasn't the sole suspect, especially now that the contents of the will and her overblown threat apparently pointed to her as suspect number one.

  "She's following the wrong lead," said Will. He was walking behind us as we made for the door. "Honey, I wish you would let me complain to Smith's captain."

  "She's just doing her job, even if she's on the wrong path," said Jenna. "I don't mind talking to her, or anyone else. I'm just worried that she won't come up with another possible suspect. Will you call me if you find or hear anything?"

  "Absolutely. I'm going to check on a lead of my own. I don't want to get your hopes up though..."

  "My hopes went up the minute you started asking me about Chucky."

  I gave Jenna's hand a squeeze and left the pair with Will's arm slung around Jenna's shoulders, framed in the doorway. I couldn't help feeling sorry for Jenna. Having been accused of lots of things in the past, thanks to my career in investigative reporting, I’m grateful to say murder wasn't one of them. I wondered how Jenna was actually holding up under the upset of losing her brother and the subsequent pressure of the investigation. Despite her optimism, the skin under her eyes was visibly darker and I suspected she wasn't sleeping well.

  After plugging the SatNav in and fixing it to the windshield, I programmed the directions to Aria. Chucky met with the mystery woman there and I hoped to pump the employees into remembering him and the woman he was with. Did the mystery woman even know about his death? When I asked Jenna if anyone she was not acquainted with had reached out to her recently, she said no. I scoured the news every day, but to date, Chucky's death hadn't gained any major attention. I begged the universe to keep the investigation into his suspicious death quiet and not let it break as a major story until I was ready to lead in with the real story. Part of me felt selfish for doing that but, I remembered, there were only two people investigating his death and I was one of them. If it weren't for me, Detective Smith might have let the case be totally mislabeled as an accidental death or suicide. I deserved that headline!

  It took me far longer than anticipated to navigate the roads. By the time I arrived at Aria, I was flustered and annoyed. After a long search for parking somewhere in the vicinity, I was in a poor temper by the time I walked along the pretty street in the direction of the bar.

  It looked more like a restaurant, small and cozy, primarily dominated by couples of all ages. What looked like a group of bachelorettes came streaming into a private room at the rear, past a majority of empty tables. With a brief pang of homesickness, I wished I had a group of friends like them here; but no. I had a very blank diary, save for my work commitments and a special space for my next date with Richard.

  "Table for one?" asked the server when I stepped into the air-conditioned room.

  "Actually, I wonder if you recognize this man?" I asked, showing her Chucky’s photo on my phone.

  She shook her head. "What did he do?"

  "Nothing bad. I'm just trying to trace his movements last week; I heard he came in here for lunch."

  "Maybe Janelle will know. Janelle waited lunch all last week. Table for one?" she asked again.

  This time, I nodded. Clearly an answer would take second place to an order.

  Within minutes of being seated at a small table against the wall, Janelle appeared. "Can I get you water?" she asked, her voice gently Southern and the perfect compliment to her big blonde hair and pageantry smile.

  "Still water, please," I replied, producing my phone again. "And do you recognize this man? He was in here last week?"

  "Sure do! He's such a nice guy and always tips well. I think he used to be some kind of bigshot actor or something. Chucky Barnard. What did he do?"

  "Nothing." What was it with everyone always asking what he did?

  "Oh. Okay. So why are you looking for him? You some kind of PI?"

  I thought about my tangles with PIs and shuddered. "Ugh, no."

  Janelle looked disappointed. I continued, "I'm a reporter..."

  Janelle immediately preened. "What kind?"

  "Entertainment for now, but..."

  "No kidding? I just shot scenes for a brand new show, Malibu Moms with Guns. Season one already got picked up," she told me, hurriedly, almost tripping over her words in her eagerness to share. "This is my last day waitressing!"

  "That's great..."

  "Maybe you could put that in your entertainment column. You can find all the information you need on IMDB."

  An idea flashed into my head. Sometimes, the best kind of currency wasn't money. "What about, I mention you, if you can remember the woman Chucky came in with?"

  "Great! Sure, Chucky was here for an early dinner with Marguerite Casta. She's a model. I recognized her from the perfume commercial. You know the one? She's lying in a field of flowers?"

  I knew exactly the commercial she meant. Marguerite was a sensational-looking woman with thick, brunette hair that fell in waves about her shoulders and huge, doe eyes framed with long, dark lashes. Although a well-recognized model for a number of years, she was considerably younger than Chucky.

  "Do you know what they were talking about? Did they look morose?" I asked, recalling Ben's comment.

  "No, I don't remember, but they looked friendly. Happy even."

  "How so?"

  "They held hands across the table for a little while. I think they were trying to be discreet. Chucky called Marguerite Daisy, so I guess they were trying to appear incognito; and she was wearing a ballcap, like she didn't want to be recognized. I don't know why. It's not like Chucky was ugly either. He was kinda cute."

  I wondered if I should’ve explained to the waitress that Daisy was simply an English nickname for Marguerite, but I didn't want to distract her. "Does Marguerite come in here often?"

  "No, I don't think so. Just Chucky. Does that help? Will you promise to mention me?"

  "I will," I told her, making a mental note to add her to my entertainment column. A new TV show had to have some merit and she had been helpful in identifying my mystery woman.

  "Let me get your water," she said, darting off and returning moments later with a glass bottle that she set on the table. "Can I take your lunch order?"

  "No, I'll just take the water, thanks."

  "Sure thing. Here's your bill." She left a slip of paper on the table and gave me a cheery wave.

  "Holy crap," I muttered, picking up the bill. "Ten dollars for water?" I sighed, leaving the money on the table. I grabbed the water and exited the restaurant, but not before almost running straight into Detec
tive Smith.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

  "Getting a drink," I answered, holding up my expensive glass bottle. I decided to turn it into a bud vase just to make the expense worth it. "You?"

  "Following a lead, like you don't know! Are you bugging my witnesses?" Smith stared at me from behind her big sunglasses, her face poker straight.

  "There's a witness in there?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

  "Don't play dumb with me. You know there is. What did you find out?"

  "Hmmm, let me see..." I pursed my lips and tapped my finger against my mouth, pretending to think. "I hear Jenna Barnard is suspect number one."

  "Where did you hear that?"

  "Jenna Barnard."

  "I can't confirm or deny anything in an ongoing investigation."

  "Hardly matters when Jenna told me. If it's about the 'I'll kill you' comment, she claimed it was because Chucky scraped the side of her car. She has a receipt to prove it too."

  "I know. Why do you think I'm here checking other leads?"

  That flattened me momentarily. "Oh."

  "If we all killed everyone we said we would, few people would be left on this planet."

  "Very true," I agreed. "So you don't think Jenna did it?"

  "I didn't say that."

  "Did you find out anything about the cufflink?" I asked, trying to encourage her sharing mood.

  "I'm not at liberty to say."

  "What about Chucky's body? I was thinking: we already know of the bruising to Chucky's body. Are there any indentations? Anything unusual about them? Maybe the cufflink left an imprint or a pattern? That would be pretty damning."

  "I'm not showing you Chucky's body!"

  "How about a teeny peek at the autopsy report then?"

  "Did I mention this was an...?"

  "Active investigation. I know, you did mention it once or twice." I scratched the itch developing on my collarbone nervously and Smith's eyes narrowed again.

  "Is that a vintage Dior bracelet?" she asked.

  I glanced at my wrist in surprise. "Yes. I found it in a thrift store ten years ago; it was buried under a pile of junk."

  She removed her sunglasses and took a closer look when I held out my wrist. "Get out! Really?"

  "Really!"

  "There's a great thrift store three blocks from here. You should go there sometime."

  "Thank you." I paused, somewhat puzzled at her swift change in direction. Was Smith trying to redirect me away from the case? If so, I could understand why. Unfortunately, the pause in our conversation made me glance down where I noticed her Kate Spade flats. They only served to remind me how much I liked her style. Not only her style, but I liked her too. It was a shame she refused to give up anymore information, but maybe if I dropped her a few clues, she would warm up to me when we, no doubt, ran into each other again.

  "There's a server in there called Janelle who has a great memory," I told her, inclining my head towards the restaurant.

  "Good to know." Smith waited until I started walking away before calling after me, "And from now on, please stay out of my investigation!"

  I gave her a little wave and walked away, smiling to myself. The smile broadened as my cell phone trilled. "Hi, Richard," I cooed.

  "Hey, Shayne. You sound happy. Can I be all egotistic and ask if it's because I'm calling?"

  "I won't deny that hearing from you makes me happy."

  "Really? And that makes me happy. Listen, I only have a couple of minutes before we start shooting, but I just found out I'm free tonight. I know it's short notice, and we mentioned dinner this weekend, and you probably made plans already; but what do you say to meeting for drinks later?" he finished. I wondered if he practiced such a smooth, confident speech.

  "Sounds great."

  "Really? Terrific. I'll pick you up at nine."

  "I'll be ready. Is there any dress code?"

  "Smart-casual. I'm sure you'll look amazing whatever you wear."

  "Great. Oh, I meant to tell you. I don't think you need to worry about Jenna anymore. I checked into her story about threatening to kill Chucky and it turned out to be nothing. Just a misunderstanding from whoever overheard them."

  "That's great! Shayne, I'm so relieved. Do you mind me asking what the supposed threat concerned?"

  "Something about Chucky scraping Jenna's car again. She said it happened more than a few times."

  Richard paused so long, I had to check my screen to see if we were cut off. "No, it's the other way around! Jenna can be pretty careless; she’s always scraping the sides of her car and asking Chucky to fix it for her."

  "That's not how she and Will explained it."

  "I can't say I'm surprised to hear that. Chucky said it was becoming embarrassing to always have to cover up for her. I wonder why she lied about that."

  "She has receipts."

  "That itemize the damage, but not who caused it," Richard pointed out. "I don't like the idea of her lying to you, not when you're only trying to help. This might sound terrible, but maybe you should stay away from Jenna. Do you think we should tell the detective about it?"

  I drew a mental blank as Richard's point hit home. Having only Jenna's word that Chucky caused the damage to their cars, I replied, "I don't know."

  "I want to believe Jenna, I really do; but Chucky is gone now. He can't cover for her anymore. She shouldn't make something up just because someone overheard something incriminating. I just hope it really was an idle threat and not a valid one."

  "Do you think she would threaten to kill her brother over simply scraping her car?" I asked.

  "I don't know. Listen, they're calling me on set. I have to go. I'll pick you up at nine, and please don't go near Jenna. I'm worried about you."

  I hung up after reassuring him he need not worry about me, but as I walked to my car, the former spring in my step deserted me. So much for a productive morning disputing leads! I wondered what Detective Smith would have to say about this latest development. It wasn't worth my time to chase down the auto mechanic. Like Richard said, he'd only be able to talk about the damage, and not the driver. The problem was: only two people could corroborate Jenna's story; one was dead and the other was an unknown source to whom only Smith had access.

  With my latest lead now gone, I had to find another.

  I needed to work out some way to take a look at Chucky's body.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "I'm learning a lot about this case, Gran, although I'm not any closer to finding out who the killer is. Soon, I hope. Did I tell you about Detective Smith? She doesn't want me anywhere near the case, which is annoying. I'll have to get around her somehow. She does have great fashion taste though. I checked out a thrift store she mentioned and I found a very cute necklace, which I plan to wear on my date tonight." I paused, wishing Gran would pick up. I missed talking to her so badly. "Did I mention my date? His name is Richard. You’d probably recognize him from Not Just Chucky. Obviously, he looks a lot different now. He’s much taller and handsome, too. And he's interested in my career! He's not pompous and arrogant either. I think I like him. Okay, I have to go now, Gran. I'll call again real soon. Love you!"

  I hung up and pushed the phone back into my pocket, knowing Gran wouldn't call me back tonight. I would have loved to hear her voice, and ask her advice about the case, but definitely not what I should wear on my date. Gran still had a sharp mind, but her fashion sense was terrible. I was lucky to have gained my sense of style from my mom. My parents never made much money, but my mom was so clever at putting together outfits. I liked to think her style rubbed off on me.

  Fondly recalling my mother’s good taste, I mentally picked out the red A-line skirt and tailored, pale pink, sleeveless blouse to wear later. Some people considered the two colors a no-no, but they were a favorite combination of my mom. Cufflinks, I recalled, turning my attention to the sheared-off cufflink Jenna found, were never a favorite of my dad's. He was more of a t-shirt and jeans
type of guy. But I knew somebody who did like cufflinks; and as much as I hated to ask, I needed some help. I didn’t know which direction to head next for answers.

  I was still working out my strategy as I entered the building and took the elevator up to The Chronicle's office.. How do I ask for help from the most annoying man in the building without casting more suspicion on the Chucky story? However, I needn't have worried. As I stepped onto the floor, I walked directly into Ben.

  "Late night?" he asked.

  "No."

  "Definitely a late morning," he said, checking his watch, giving me a glimpse of his cufflink as he turned his wrist.

  "I've been busy." I paused, my visible worry overwhelming me. "Did I miss something? Were you looking for me?"

  Ben cracked a smile as he fell into line with me. "No, and no. I did want to be the first to tell you that you have a new desk chair, delivered just this morning. And the good news is: this one doesn't collapse."

  "Awesome!"

  "It's not that exciting." Ben laughed, the smile reaching his eyes. Did I notice before that moment how attractive his eyes were? "How's the obituary going?"

  There it was! The chair wasn't what he wanted to talk about at all! No, it was my story. "I'm getting a real sense of the deceased now," I said, skimming over the actual facts. Not that I was lying; I was feeling like I knew Chucky. He seemed like a nice guy to a lot of people. The only person with a motive for killing him wasn't a reliable suspect. It wasn't just my opinion either; Detective Smith hinted as much when I ran into her. I wondered if Marguerite Casta had anything to say about him. The waitress described them as being much more than friendly. "I'm trying to get in touch with his girlfriend for some extra color."

  "Yeah? Who's that?"

  "Marguerite Casta."

  "The model?" Ben whistled. "Lucky Chucky. I know where you can find her."

  "Seriously?"

  "Yes. She takes a spin class in Santa Monica at ten AM."

  "How did you know that?"

  "The previous entertainment reporter mentioned seeing her there regularly. Apparently, that's a good spot for column fodder."