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"The couch, the coffee table, and those two side tables," I said, pointing. "And thanks. I appreciate it."

  "The bed frames are back here, but I don't know what happened to the mattresses."

  I grimaced at the thought of sleeping on someone else's used mattress, especially one that had lain in a storage locker for who knew how long? But having just slept on Mike's used air mattress, I decided it couldn't be any worse. Also, what was he now sleeping on? I shook the thought of Mike's bed from my head. "No, thanks. I'll buy a new one," I told him, watching my mental bank balance decrease a little, but not nearly as much as it would have if I had to buy all that stuff new. At least, I could make do for a while and save for something better without dipping into my back-up funds.

  "These boxes are crockery, or lamps, or something," Mike told me as he crouched down, opening one and pulling out a plate. "Oh, a dinner service. Nice. Want to take a look?"

  "I brought my kitchen stuff with me."

  "Where did you come from anyway? You're not native."

  "Montgomery."

  "Where's that? Alabama?"

  "No, near Boston."

  "Where's that?" He looked up, frowning. Just as I was about to give him a terse geography lesson, he laughed. "I know where Boston is. Is Montgomery nice?"

  "It's pretty nice. I lived there my whole life until now, except for college anyway."

  "Why'd you leave?"

  "No one questioned me like this back home. I figured I'd have to move to get quizzed more regularly."

  "Don't tell me then! Just making conversation." He looked away, but not before I caught the wounded expression on his face. I imagined Gran's voice in my ear, telling me how rude I was again. What did Mike do wrong? Apart from squatting in my apartment, he left pretty fast after Jacob evicted him. He helped carry a carload of stuff to my apartment for absolutely no personal benefit to himself. He teased me too, but left me a potted palm on the dry, dull balcony; and he knew I didn't have any furniture so he showed me all this stuff when he could have simply kept quiet and donated it.

  I felt chagrined. My sucky life wasn't his fault. "Sorry. That was rude."

  He didn't turn around, but did stop rooting through the box. "Yes, it was."

  "Thank you for the stuff."

  "No problem."

  "I'm very grateful," I said stiffly.

  Finally, he turned around, a small smile playing on his lips as he looked up at me. "Did it just about kill you to say that?"

  I couldn't help laughing. "Maybe."

  "C'mon. Point out the things you want and I'll help you carry them up."

  Chapter Seven

  My new apartment had a new-to-me sofa — a blanket now tucked over the faded upholstery – plus, a coffee table and two side tables. On our final trip, I added a small wooden dining table and two chairs; the paint was faded, but I figured a few hours with a paintbrush and they'd look shabby chic. Somehow I managed to get them into the living room without Mike seeing the murder board tacked to the walls. Even though it looked like he wanted to stay and help me set up, I told him I had to run an errand, and unceremoniously ushered his offended face out of the apartment. So much for a tentative friendship.

  I was thinking about my apartment, and trying not to think about how to apologize to Mike, as I parked outside Chucky's house. The doors were shut and the blinds closed, but I hopped out anyway and knocked on the door. No one answered.

  "He's gone, honey," called a voice. I stepped back and looked around, eventually settling my eyes on a tiny woman wearing a huge hat and carrying a trug with a few long-stemmed flowers and a pair of clippers.

  "Gone?" I asked.

  "As in dead. I saw them take him out in the truck. Sorry to break the bad news to you," she said, sounding not at all sorry.

  "Yes, I know. I was looking for Chucky's sister, Jenna."

  "You must be a friend of the family?"

  I nodded, letting her make an assumption that I wouldn't refute. "I was looking for his sister, Jenna. I thought I might find her here."

  "Jenna lives right over there. The bungalow with the white fence," she said, pointing. "Tell her Marie says hello and that I'm looking forward to seeing her at the funeral. Will it be big? Press?"

  "I don't know, but I'll pass on your hello."

  Marie waved, ambling off to tend her flowers. I walked away from Chucky's house and crossed the street, heading to Jenna's. I never had any brothers or sisters so I wasn't sure how close I'd ever want to live to siblings, but I had friends with siblings and none seemed to live so close as these two. I wondered if Jenna and Chucky were inseparable, or kept an eye on each other for other reasons.

  Jenna was wearing an apron when she came to the door. It read, "Good Luck!" and I didn’t know if that were a warning about her cooking, or simply a cheerful motif. "The reporter," she said, her face a mix of apprehension and hope. "Did you find out anything?"

  "That's what I came to talk to you about. Chucky's neighbor pointed me over here."

  "Well, sure. Come in. I hope Marie didn't accost you. Do you mind being in the kitchen? I'm cooking. Well, trying to anyway." She smiled and held the door open for me to step in.

  "What are you making?" I asked as I followed her through an open plan living and dining space into a cozier kitchen with a built-in breakfast nook stuffed with patterned pillows.

  "Pasta with a homemade tomato sauce," she said, pointing to an open can of tomatoes on the counter by the stove. "It is homemade if I opened the can at home, right?"

  "Yes," I agreed. "What are you putting into it?"

  She glanced up from the pan she was inspecting. "I have to put other stuff into it?"

  "Try some of those herbs in the planters on the sill," I suggested, pointing to the basil and thyme plants on her sill.

  "My boyfriend said they were edible, but I didn't believe him," she mused, looking closer at them before grabbing a pair of scissors and snipping off a few leaves of basil. She dropped them onto the tomatoes and stared into the pan. "I'm guessing you're here about Chucky's case? Did you talk to the detective? What did he tell you?"

  "LAPD are taking a closer look at your brother's case."

  This time, Jenna stopped what she was doing and looked up with wide eyes. "Really?"

  "Really. I spoke to Detective Smith, who got the case and said she was going to personally look into it. She wasn't satisfied with the police report."

  "Does she think he was murdered?"

  "She didn't go that far, only saying that she wasn't happy to write your brother off as a suicide."

  Jenna looked away, stirring the tomatoes again. I might have thought she was being pretty casual about my news if her other hand weren't gripping the countertop so hard that her knuckles turned white. "I told you he wouldn't have killed himself."

  "I spoke to another of his friends. An old friend, who said the same thing."

  "Yeah? Who was that?"

  "Allen Hemming. Do you know him?"

  "No, I don't think so, but Chucky knew lots of people."

  "Were you two close?"

  "Yeah, very close actually. He wasn't just my brother, he was my friend. You know that I was his manager too. I have to be honest though, I am more familiar with his business dealings than his personal life, probably because he had more of one than the other. Plus he is... he was... eight years older than me."

  "I was hoping to ask you a few questions about him."

  "For the article?"

  "Yes."

  "Will it help us find out who killed him?"

  "I hope so."

  "Tell me what you need to know."

  "Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt your brother?"

  "That's the thing. I've been thinking about it non-stop ever since I found him and I can't think of a single person who would want to hurt him. Chucky was a nice guy. People generally liked him."

  "Did he ever get any hate mail? Or did anyone ever threaten him?"

  "No. Well... there were a
few letters when he had his show as a kid, but it was more from people who just found him irritating and wished the show were canceled than people who outright hated him. And that was years ago."

  "Did the letters persist?"

  "No, they all trailed off after the show was canceled."

  "What about any fans who wouldn't leave him alone?"

  Jenna shook her head. "No, he never attracted stalkers. Most people just remember him as that cute, cheeky kid. Like I said, people liked him. They wanted his autograph, or a photo, but they didn't want to stalk him."

  "Did any fans ever come by his house?"

  "Yeah, a few times. I think his address got onto one of those celebrity house tour things. Anyway, if Chucky was around and in a good mood, he might feel generous and go out and sign an autograph, or let them take a photo with him. We actually keep a stack of signed photos by the door. We never had any issues."

  "I don't recall him ever being married? Does he have a girlfriend?"

  "Actually, he was married, very briefly in his early twenties, but it only lasted a year."

  "Would his ex-wife have benefited from his death?"

  "No, it was a clean break divorce."

  "What happened between them?"

  "Nothing really. I think they just realized they made a mistake."

  "Are you still in touch with her?"

  "No, but I think I have her address somewhere."

  "What about a girlfriend? Or someone significant in his life now?"

  "No, he wasn't seeing anyone. He would have liked to, I think, because he was lonely." Jenna paused. "Actually, I wondered if there might have been someone. He seemed pretty happy lately. He said he'd been thinking about what he wanted from life."

  "Anything about being lonely specifically?"

  "No, I don't think so. He had a lot of friends and he loved to be working again, but he wanted someone special to come home to. I think he was referring to having someone special. Actually, he introduced me to Will."

  "Will?"

  "My boyfriend. He's a scriptwriter for a show Chucky did a cameo on a couple of years ago. I was with Chucky on set and he introduced us. We've been dating ever since."

  "That's sweet."

  "Yeah, it was, wasn't it? Chucky never really liked setting me up on dates with his co-stars though. He told me years later that a few asked. He said they were never good enough, but Will? He liked Will and thought he was good for me. He said it would stop me from working on his stuff all the time and let me actually enjoy life a little. I kind of agreed, which is why Chucky became my only client. More free time for life." She smiled, but her eyes were far away and I thought she was talking directly to Chucky, not to me. After a moment, she shook herself and gave the pan another stir. I wanted to tell her she didn't need to. That pan of canned tomatoes could not change into anything better no matter how many stirs she gave it.

  "I don't want to be crass, but do you know anyone who could financially benefit from Chucky's death?"

  "You mean from his house and stuff?" Jenna asked, waiting for me to nod. "I haven't seen his will, but I'm pretty sure he left the whole estate to me."

  "No other relatives?"

  "No, just me and Chucky. Our parents passed on a few years ago and we don't have any other siblings."

  I looked around the pretty, little kitchen and it struck me that Jenna must be very lonely and sad without her brother. Not only did she not have anymore surviving family, she didn't have a job either. If it weren't for the untimely death of The Chronicle's obituary columnist, I probably wouldn't have had a job either, I reminded myself. If I could prove Chucky's death was not accidental, but murder, I might get an even better job. It seemed selfish to profit from his death indirectly, but there was a lot about reporting that didn't feel okay until the printed truth was on the front page. In my years as a journalist, I had to remind myself that the quest for truth often meant pushing boundaries outside my comfort zone. Plus, I would be helping Jenna, and Chucky.

  "What will you do for work now?" I asked.

  She shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I've thought about it, but there's too much to do for Chucky still. I have his house to pack up, and his investments to deal with and... I don't know. I could probably get another management job, or pick up some more clients of my own. I know a lot of people in the industry and I'm a good manager. I know not everyone gets on with their brother, but I loved working for him."

  "He didn't leave you enough money so you could manage without a job?" I paused as she glanced over, and an imperceptible look passed across her face. "I know that sounds really crass."

  "No, it's okay. I said to ask me anything. Truly, I don't know what's in Chucky's will. All I know is: his house was paid off years ago and he bought me this place and I don't have any mortgage. I think that's enough, don't you? He always took excellent care of me and I don't need anything."

  "Did he have any children?"

  "No. He liked kids, but he never really wanted his own. I always thought that was because he never met the right person. Do you have kids?"

  "Me? No."

  "Have you met the right person?"

  I thought about my first LA date as I said, "I've met a lot of idiots so I figure I'm getting close."

  Jenna laughed. "Every frog is one step closer to the prince."

  I couldn't help smiling back at her. "True. Did Chucky ever have any problems with women? Selling their story, or that sort of thing?"

  "Oh, no. You know, I don't think Chucky was ever famous enough since the show ended. He wasn't really newsworthy until recently when he got the emcee gig. He was never in the magazines with a model on his arm, or having bust-ups with the cops. He didn't hang out with other celebrities in bars. The women he dated were nice, but there wasn't anyone special in his life, at least, no one that he told me about. He was crazy about the most recent girl he dated but I don't know what happened there. His ex-wife never wanted to cash in on the fame. I'm not even sure many people knew about her."

  "Would he have made a bequest to any of them? Something large enough to create a motive?"

  "I doubt it. He was fond of his ex-wife so I suppose he might have left her something but I doubt it after this long. I couldn't say for sure."

  "What were things like on the set of his new show?"

  "Really good. Nice crew. Chucky was loving it. The producers loved him too. Turns out he's a natural interviewer. Was a natural interviewer. I only wish I could have convinced him to take that route earlier."

  "Did anything happen on set that was negative in anyway?" I asked. I wanted to keep the conversation moving lest she dwell on her accidental usage of the present tense. I wondered how long it took before someone who was gone was thought of as no longer here.

  "Nothing that I recall Chucky saying. I wasn't there all the time because I manage his business affairs from home usually, but... no, I don't remember him being worried about anything."

  "Jenna, I'm really struggling to find a motive. So far, it seems everyone liked Chucky and you're the only one who benefits from his death."

  "Is it selfish if I say that doesn't sound good for me?"

  I hesitated because it wasn't a question with an easy answer. "No... and yes."

  "I agree. All I can say is: I think someone killed Chucky, but I don't know why. I'm glad you and Detective..." she faltered.

  "Smith," I supplied.

  "Yeah, Detective Smith. I'm glad you two are looking deeper into it. If I killed him, wouldn't I have just silenced my suspicions and buried him?"

  I agreed she probably would have unless it was an amazingly clever double-cross, but I didn't add the last bit. Moreover, after my questioning, I didn't think Jenna knew anything about Chucky's death. Mostly, she just seemed sad, although she was holding it together.

  From the kitchen, I heard the door open and shut and a man called her name. Jenna smiled as she dropped the spoon into the pan before crossing over to the kitchen door. "In here, honey," she called
out.

  "Are you cooking?" asked the voice, his footsteps getting closer. He stepped in, wrapping his arm around her. "How are you doing, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice muffled against her hair as he kissed it. His eyes lifted and he jumped when he saw me.

  I held up my hand. "Hi."

  "Sorry," Jenna giggled. "This is Shayne, the reporter I was telling you about."

  "About Chucky? Hi, I'm Will," he said, proffering his hand to shake mine. His palm was warm and dry, and his smile shy, but welcoming. Wearing tan chinos and a white shirt, open-necked, he carried a slim, black backpack that he dropped at the kitchen door. He wasn't handsome in the classic sense, but there was something very compelling about him. Together, they looked like a really nice couple. Just the type of people I would want to make friends with.

  "I was just asking Jenna about Chucky's friends; and if she knew anyone who could benefit from his death?"

  "Other than me," Jenna interjected.

  "The best person to ask is probably Richard," Will said.

  "Richard?"

  "Richard Adamson."

  "Why didn't I say that?" asked Jenna, tapping her palm to her forehead. "I’m not thinking properly. Richard is exactly the right person to ask! He's been Chucky's best friend for years."

  "His name sounds familiar..." I trailed off, waiting for them to fill in the blanks.

  "He played Chucky's best friend in Not Just Chucky, but they've always been best friends in real life too."

  An image of the pair floated into my mind. "Wasn't Richard famous for saying..."

  "Yeah, about that—" started Jenna.

  "Don't say it in front of Richard," finished Will. "His reaction is not pretty."

  Chapter Eight

  With my murder board featuring one prime suspect — Jenna Barnard — I wanted to chase up Richard Adamson; so the following day, I called Martha and told her I was running some leads and wouldn't make it into the office. She responded with some vague, cooing noises about how delighted she was that I could find information for the column, and wouldn’t Bob be thrilled? If only she knew!

  After leaving a message for Gran on her answer machine, and asking her to call me back, I dressed in my running clothes. I deposited the keys to the apartment and building into a little, zipped wrist pouch and trotted down the steps. I'd almost edged past Jacob's door when it opened and Mike stepped out, dressed in shorts and a tank top. My eyes dropped to his feet. Running shoes.