Deadlines Page 7

  "You run?" he asked, running his eyes over my black running tights and hot pink top before settling somewhere around my shoulder. Not quite on my boobs, and not quite my eyes. My shoulder gave an involuntary, slightly self-conscious, shrug.

  "Yes."

  "Cool. I'll run with you."

  "Don't you have a job to go to?" I asked reaching for the handle, wondering if I could outrun him.

  "Don't you?" he countered.

  "I'm researching."

  "The sidewalk?"

  "I like to run alone," I told him as I slipped out of the door. I made off along the path and paused at the low wall to stretch my quads and calves while I considered the how could I offend Mike today? tally.

  "I like company," he said, tipping his head sideways.

  "I'd like you to take your eyes off my butt."

  "Full of yourself, much?" He paused. "Anymore hot dates?"

  I pulled myself up to full height, all five-foot-four of me, and tossed my ponytail. "I have a lunch date as it happens. Do you ever have any dates?"

  "No. I figured I can just chase down a woman, club her and drag her back to my apartment later."

  "You mean your squat?"

  "When you put it like that, I guess I'll have to blindfold her too. Dating becomes expensive when you have to go that extra mile."

  I rolled my eyes and tried hard not to laugh. I didn't succeed. "I'm sure she won't be able to resist."

  "I'll come by with a six-pack later and we can talk about your date," he said, stretching his arms up and revealing a hard six-pack. I wondered if that was the one he was referring to. "Eyes up here," he said, winking, and taking off before I could leave him standing.

  Since he took the same route I planned on my phone's map app, I turned and jogged in the opposite direction. I was happy, feeling my legs and glutes beginning to warm. Truthfully, I wasn't a fan of running, but considered it a necessary evil to stay in shape. And it was one hundred percent cheaper than going to the gym. Back home, running was a huge chore; but now, in the warmth of the California sunshine, I found myself enjoying the task. It seemed I wasn't the only one with the idea of free exercise. I passed several runners, all kitted out in super cute running tights and cropped tops, oversized headphones clamped over their ears, and even some with burly personal trainers at their sides, barking orders. I recognized one minor star and love interest for the main character in a sitcom that was just picked up for a second season. Whipping my cell phone from my pocket, I turned around and snapped a candid photo of her retreating, but very firm, behind. There had to be some mileage in that for a celebrity column.

  Much as I tried to focus on planning my day, Mike's annoying six-pack remained stuck in my head. He was a pain and a jerk at times, but friendly; and once again, I wondered why I gave him such a hard time. He'd gone out of his way to be helpful more than once, so I suspected he found me either attractive or friendship material. Why was I always so prickly? Didn't I need friends? What were my other options? Getting palsy-walsy with Ben Kosina? "Oh please," I muttered out loud as I picked up the pace. "No time for friends. Definitely no time for Ben Kosina's charm either. I've got a front page to claim."

  I decided to tackle Richard Adamson first, right after my run and a quick shower. I had his phone number and address, thanks to Jenna and Will, and they seemed to think he might have the answers they didn't. In my years as a journalist, I thought they were probably right. There were an awful lot of things people told their friends that their families didn't know, even families as close as Chucky and Jenna. I thought back to one of my last headlines in Montgomery. I bet the two woman I found dressed up as a plush pony during a stabbing at a Bronie convention, and subsequently plastered across The Montgomery Gazette's front cover, didn't tell their families about the things they did in their spare time. One, a chick called Lexi Graves, I later found out was a PI; and I bet she had all kinds of secrets. It was a shame I had no cause to go rooting into her life before I packed up and headed out to LA because I was sure she had stories to tell.

  As my cell phone chimed the one-mile mark, I turned around, heading for home, with a list of questions building in my mind.

  ~

  "You must be Shayne," said Richard Adamson, rising from his chair in the sectioned off outdoor area of the coffee shop.

  "I am. Thanks for meeting with me." I took his hand, shook it, and thought he looked nothing like I remembered from the TV show. Gone was the lanky, hook-nosed kid with the appalling, and apparently accidental, catchphrase. In his place stood a tall, slim-framed man. The biceps under his shirt sleeve said well-toned, rather than bodybuilder, and he appeared to value keeping in shape. I suspected surgery for his nose, and seeing the glasses were gone, I wondered if his sparkling, blue eyes were the result of contact lenses, or laser surgery.

  "I'm not what you expected?" he said, moving around the table to slide out my chair.

  "Actually, no," I replied, deciding honesty was again the best policy. That, and a free compliment. "You're much better looking."

  He smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment, so thank you. Jenna and Will said I might be able to help you, but I'm not sure how?"

  "It's about your friend, Chucky Barnard."

  Richard nodded. "Jenna told me on the phone last night, but you'll have to excuse me for being confused. I was really saddened to hear of his death. I've known him for years."

  "Ever since you were kids?"

  "On Not Just Chucky."

  "I used to watch you guys."

  "Really? You liked the show?"

  "I loved it. You were two crazy kids getting up to no good and it was so funny. I know Chucky was always the star, but he couldn't have done it without you to bounce those lines off. Then every so often, when you threw back something that really floored him, we'd cheer." I trailed off, momentarily lost in my own thoughts. I missed those good times with my family.

  "You cheered?" Richard looked up, his frown giving way quickly to delight, before looking over his shoulder, and signaling for a waitress.

  "We did."

  "Okay, well, you've flattered me. What can I get you?"

  "A latte, please."

  "Anything to eat?"

  "No, thanks."

  "Two skinny lattes," he told the waitress. She made a note on her pad and hurried away. "Jenna tells me you only just got to LA and you're a reporter. Who do you work for?"

  "She's right. I got here a couple of days ago and I work for The Chronicle," I told him. I omitted the disappointing news that I was not their star reporter, merely their obituaries and entertainment columnist.

  "What do you think of all this so far?" he asked, waving his hand around. I had to assume he meant the city and not just the pedestrian square where we agreed to meet.

  "I like the sun, but I don't like the traffic."

  "Me too. Tell me about the story you're writing on Chucky."

  "I'm not writing it yet. That is, I'm looking into his death to see if there is more to it than it appears."

  "What makes you think it could be more than... let's talk plainly, okay, Shayne? Chucky's death was suicide. Jenna called me right after she found him with a bunch of sleeping pills. I don't know what else there is to say about it except that it's horrible and I wish Chucky had spoken to me instead of doing something so drastic." He took a deep breath, casting his eyes down.

  "I'm sorry. I know he was your friend and I don't mean to upset you further."

  "No, I'm fine, really. You're only doing your job."

  "I am, and sometimes, reporters can be insensitive when people lose their loved ones. I don't want to behave like that, but I do want to learn more about Chucky and see if the suspicions voiced by some people have any truth."

  "Did Jenna tell you she thinks he was murdered?"

  "Yes."

  "She said the same to me. Thing is, I just don't know. Two bottles of sleeping pills? Okay, so maybe it wasn't suicide. It could have been an accident. All I know is Chucky wasn'
t sleeping too well and mentioned going to several doctors. Things were bothering him and I think he got confused. I don't think he'd leave Jenna like that. At least, that's what I want to believe."

  "Do you know what was bothering him? He seemed very excited about his comeback—" I prompted, inviting him to fill in the blanks.

  Richard reclined in his chair, crossing his arms, then apparently, thinking better of it, and resting his wrists on the arms of the chair. His face seemed thoughtful. "He was, but he was really troubled about it too." Richard stopped, frowning, as though he were trying to recall exactly what ailed his friend. "He knew all about the dark side of fame, and the things money can do to people and the kind of people lots of money can attract. I guess we all fear it to some extent in this town. He was afraid his comeback wouldn't be as great as we all thought it would be. Privately, he told me he was wondering if he should back out so he could continue to enjoy the obscure, quiet life."

  "I thought he was due to make a lot of money from the show?"

  "He was. I don't know the details exactly... you'll have to ask Jenna about that... but I do know Chucky didn't have a mortgage. He got good financial advice when he was a kid so he never burned through his cash like some child stars. He made sure I did the same thing too. He was a smart guy, but he was also depressed and worried."

  "Did he tell Jenna any of this?"

  "I don't think so. He said she would only worry about him, and he didn't want that."

  "Was the show the only thing that made him feel anxious?"

  "I'm not sure. He hinted that he was having other problems that just wouldn't go away, but he wouldn't tell me what they were. I didn't like to press him too hard, but now that I know how depressed he'd become, well, I can only wish I had." Richard sat back while the waitress placed our lattes in front of us. She asked us again if we wanted to see the menu, but Richard waved her away after I declined.

  "Did he give you any kind of indication what the problem was about, or with whom?"

  "No, none at all. I'm sorry to sound so vague. Like I said, in hindsight..."

  "Hindsight is both beautiful and cruel."

  Richard smiled. "I can see why you're a reporter. You have a great way with words."

  "Now I'm the one who's getting flattered." I picked up my coffee and sipped. It was just the way I liked it. Perfectly frothy, not too milky with a nutty aftertaste. "Were you involved with Chucky's show at all?"

  "Yes," Richard brightened momentarily before he sighed and shook his head. "I was scheduled to be on the first episode. We planned to start filming my segment in a few days. I haven't worked with Chucky in years, so I was really looking forward to it. I'm sorry it will never happen now."

  "Do you know who'll take over for him? Or will the show be shut down?"

  "That's a good question actually. I spoke to the producer yesterday and she said she was interested in me doing a screen test, but I'm not sure. Chucky was my best friend and he left big shoes to fill."

  "Maybe that would be a good thing? I mean, you getting the lead role. Wouldn't Chucky rather see his best friend take over than cancelling the show altogether?"

  "I guess it would stop everyone from losing their jobs. You know, you're right! I've been wavering since that call, but maybe I'll talk with them a little more. Perhaps we could dedicate the show to Chucky. You know, do it in his honor."

  "That sounds like a great tribute."

  "It's nice talking about him. I know you're a reporter, but I don't get the sense you're trying to dig some juicy, paparazzi-style story. It seems like you really care about Chucky, even if you never met him."

  "I care that a crime might have been committed; and I know that can sound very uncaring about him personally. I’ve learned Chucky was a real person and that his sister and you cared very much about him, but I'm employed to get to the truth, so I have to be a little more objective," I told him. I skimmed over the details of what I was actually being paid to do. "The police are taking another look at his case too."

  Richard's head shot up. "They are? That sounds serious."

  "They think there's enough doubt to review it again," I added, embellishing the truth slightly. It wasn't too far from what Detective Smith told me. She had a hunch, and so did I. So did Jenna. That totaled a lot of hunches.

  "Maybe LAPD are just covering their own asses since he was a name? All the same, if someone hurt Chucky, I hope they catch whoever did it." Richard returned his cup to the table and fixed me with a sincere look. "Listen, I'm sorry, Shayne, I hope I'm not wasting your time, but I don't want to give you any kind of false impression by telling you about his worries and doubts. I agree that Chucky might not have committed suicide. He had everything to live for! I'm just not convinced it wasn't a horrible accident, or that he couldn’t have made the worst mistake possible. You hear of that happening all the time. People take a sleeping pill and get confused and take another one and another, and before they know it... it's too late."

  "I really appreciate your time and hopefully, Chucky's death is exactly that, but just to be sure..."

  "You're going to stay on the case?" he cut in.

  I nodded. "Yes."

  After a long moment, during which I couldn't guess what he would say next, he surprised me by asking, "Then how can I help?"

  "Could you introduce me to the crew on his show? I'd like to talk to them."

  "Sure. I can get you on set tomorrow. How does that sound?"

  "Perfect!"

  Chapter Nine

  My lunch date was hot. There was an old school sort of glamour about Thom, from his slicked back hair to the three-piece gray suit he wore. Even his tie was finished with a silver tie clip and expensive cufflinks. From his profile on the dating app, I knew he was an entertainment lawyer. It seemed everyone I’d met so far was involved in entertainment. Even Detective Smith and I weren't so far away from the business, given our investigation into Chucky's death.

  "Tell me about yourself, Shayne," he said after we ordered the mixed sushi platter in the busy restaurant. Far from being a Japanese pastiche, the restaurant was light and airy with indoor palms dividing the tables set with crisp, white linens. The servers dressed head-to-toe in black, talking bilingually amongst themselves. I was glad I wore a light, wrap dress and sandals, ensuring I was neither too casual, nor too dressy. Any less and I would have felt like I wasn't making an effort with Thom. Any more, and I would have been horribly overdressed.

  "I'm a reporter for The Chronicle," I started.

  "Hold up! Are you going to be writing about this?" he joked, his smile broad and his eyes friendly. "I might have to ask you to sign a waiver."

  I shook my head, feeling instantly at ease with his jovial manner. "Not one word, I promise. Actually, I write a couple of columns, but I just joined the paper so my first pieces of copy aren't due for another week."

  "Well, that's good to know. I like a discreet person."

  "You can count on that. I do not kiss and tell."

  "Sounds promising!" He smiled again, giving me a moment to check my reflection in his teeth. "How long have you been in LA?"

  "Only a few days."

  "What do you think of the crazy city so far?"

  "Warm, thrilling, beautiful, crazy traffic. And you?"

  "Sounds about right. Let's see. I moved here with my parents when I was thirteen and never left. My dad was a lawyer too so we moved all around whenever he got a big new job."

  "Upholding the law is the family business?"

  "I'll tell you a secret, occasionally, we break it too."

  I leaned in. "Really?"

  He leaned in. "I got a speeding ticket once."

  "You bad boy!"

  He laughed again, his demeanor that of someone who knew he was easily liked and relished it. "Tell me, Shayne. Do you ever do anything a little bit naughty?"

  "Hardly ever," I replied, which wasn't strictly true. I wasn't sure how far doorstepping grieving relatives, stalking criminals, and publishi
ng people's criminal activities went as naughty, but I figured they might count to someone who wasn't a reporter, or who might not agree that such activities went along with the territory. "But occasionally," I added with what I hoped was a cheeky wink. As Gran always says, it's best to keep them guessing.

  "Good to know. So is this your first date since you got to town?"

  "Actually, it’s my second," I admitted.

  "Fast work. Nice guy?"

  "Total jerk."

  "You'll meet a lot of those here."

  "I guess this is where you tell me you're one of the good guys."

  "Far from it!"

  We laughed again. I could like this guy, I decided. He was tall, smart, had a great conversational manner and I found myself enjoying the back-and-forth teasing. Moreover, he seemed like a gentleman and didn't try to order my dinner for me. I could see us easily moving into a second date. Maybe even a third and fourth. Maybe a mini-break.

  "So, I told you my story of being deposited here as a kid and staying. What brought you to town?"

  "I always wanted to be a reporter and I’d gotten as far as I could on The Gazette back home. I always told my Gran I wanted to go to the big city one day, and when this job opportunity came up, I grabbed it," I answered, sketching over many details.

  "Your gran must be proud of you."

  "Very," I agreed, smiling as I remembered her face the day she showed me the advert for The Chronicle reporter job. Apply right now, she told me, or I'll send in an application for you.

  "So I see you're smart, successful, and very pretty," he started, laughing as I told him — not at all seriously — to stop before I blushed. "You're obviously single... unless you've got a guy stashed away back home?"

  "No."

  "Okay, so put all that together, and tell me why the hell hasn’t anybody snapped you up already?"