Hollywood Secrets (13 page)

Like the pro he was, he shook it, despite his misgivings, his meet-and-greet public smile sliding into place seemingly effortlessly.

“
Nice to meet you, Allie,” he said. Even though I knew it was anything but.

“
Wow, Trace Brody. Huh. I never would have thought your presence would grace our humble offices?” Allie said. I noticed it was phrased as more of a question, sending an inquiring look my way along with the not so subtle hint.

One I elected to ignore.

“
Actually, we were just leaving,” I said instead, ushering Trace toward the door.

“
Where are you going?” Allie asked. I could see her mental reporter’s notebook already out, notes being taken in sparkle pen, no doubt.

“
We’re going out.”

“
Where?”

“
Someplace.”

“
Why?”

“
We have stuff to do.”

“
What kind of stuff.”

“
Just stuff.”

She paused, puckering her pink, glossy lips into a frown at clearly not winning our battle of twenty questions. She turned back to Trace.

“
I’d love to do a quick interview with you,” she gushed, standing directly in our path to the elevators.

“
Look, Allie, we’re kind of busy,” I pointedly said before Trace had a chance to respond. I shot a look toward Felix’s office. He was still on the phone, but I knew it was only a matter of time before his gaze wandered our direction.

“
Busy with what?”

Damn, she was a persistent little bugger.

“
Big important movie-star stuff. Now move.”

“
This ‘stuff’ wouldn’t have anything to do with that whole fake abduction thing the other day, would it?”

Trace tensed beside me, and again I got that caged animal vibe from him.

“
Look, we really have to go-“ I started.

But I didn’t get to finish as another voice piped up behind me.

“
Holy moley, is that Trace Brody?”

I spun around to find Mrs. Rosenblatt’s ample frame bearing down on us.

I closed my eyes and said a silent swear word. A really bad one.

“
This disguise sucks,” Trace whispered to me before once again pulling out his “on” smile as Mrs. Rosenblatt bore down on us.

“
Wow, you ladies really do get the cream of the crop at this here paper.” She turned to Trace. “Dorothy Rosenblatt,” she said, sticking a pudgy hand out at him.

Reluctantly, he shook it.

“
Nice to meet you,” he said again on auto-pilot. I silently wondered if he ever got tired of uttering stupid pleasantries like that.

“
I remember you from that suspense movie you did with Jamie Lee where she showed her tatas,” Mrs. Rosenblatt went on. “One hell of a sexy movie. Tell me, were those fake? ‘Cause I know you’ve gotten a handful of ‘em since, huh? Huh?” She elbowed Trace in the ribs, giving him an exaggerated wink.

“
Uh…” I think I saw the tips of Trace’s ears go red.

“
I also loved you in that Roman flick with all the togas,” Mrs. Rosenblatt continued. “They use a body double for that or was that really your tushie? ‘Cause that was the kind of hiney I’d love to sink my teeth into.”

“
Uh… thanks,” he said. Though it sounded more like a question. Or maybe a plea for help.

I turned to politely extricate us from the situation (Felix was hanging up. Any second now he was going to see our growing band of misfits!), but Mrs. Rosenblatt was just that much faster than I was.

“
Listen, Cam, I got a hold of that photo from Fred,” she started. Then off my blank look added, “Of Jennifer Wilson? Tootsie?” She turned to Trace. “This murdered movie star from the forties.”

Sensing a story, Allie perked up beside her. “Murdered? Really?”

Mrs. Rosenblatt nodded. “Yeah. I’m trying to find out who killed her for Max.”

“
Oh.” Allie’s perk deflated. “
Max
’s story.”

“
I got this photo of her taken the week before she died, and, boy howdy, did that sucker have some strong vibrations. Anyway, I could use your help checking some of this stuff out, Cam.”

“
Uh… sure. But listen, now’s not a real good time…” I trailed off, glancing up at Felix’s office again. He was sipping his coffee. Eyes roving the other half of the room.

Unfortunately, neither Allie
nor
Mrs. Rosenblatt seemed capable of taking a hint today.

“
See, the vibrations were kinda jumbled,” Mrs. Rosenblatt went on, “but I think Albert and I have narrowed down the field to a likely list of suspects in her murder.”

“
Albert?” Allie asked, cocking her head to the side.

“
My spirit guide,” Mrs. Rosenblatt explained.

Oh boy.

“
Anyhoo, you being a pro at this kind of stuff, I thought maybe you could if I could help me investigate these characters and get some feeling about which one did her in.”

“
I’d love to, but we’re kinda in a hurry-”

“
Who are your suspects?” Allie asked, running right over me.

I shot her a look. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but I was looking at one blonde who didn’t have nine lives.

Only too happy to oblige, Mrs. Rosenblatt started rattling off names. “The first guy on our list is Johnny Rupert. He was a bit actor at the time and apparently had a terrible crush on Tootsie. He worked on her last film with her. Unfortunately, he died in the eighties in a car wreck out on highway 15, but that don’t mean he didn’t off Tootsie first.”

“
Second character on our list is Becky Martin. She played supporting actress to Tootsie in that last film and, from what I gather, was extremely jealous of her. They were seen fighting the day before Tootsie died. Unfortunately, she dropped off the Hollywood radar shortly after Tootsie’s death, and no one has seen her since.”

“
This is all fascinating,” I said, “but we really have to go-“

“
And the third on my list,” Mrs. Rosenblatt went on, totally ignoring me, “is Tootsie’s boyfriend. Ben Carlyle. He was a director in those days, and a good fifteen years Tootsie’s senior. Rumor had it she was going to leave him, but she never got the chance.”

She paused for breath.

“
Is that all?”

Luckily her psychic abilities didn’t extend to sarcasm detection.

“
For now. Anyway, I was just about to go question the boyfriend.”

“
Wait – he’s still alive?” I asked, doing some quick mental math. If he’d been fifteen years older than Tootsie in the forties, he’d have to be at least… “He’s gotta be what, ninety?”

“
Ninety-four,” Mrs. Rosenblatt confirmed. “Lives at the MPTF retirement home in Woodland Hills.”

The MPTF was the Motion Picture & Television Fund home, a community of little cottages nestled in the hills that housed the retired members of Hollywood society who hadn’t quite ever made it into Trace Brody territory. While the big stars usually retired to their multi-million dollar mansions, the bit actors and extras often found their golden years leaving them with less than stellar bank accounts. Instead they played out their final roles at the MPTF home, staging readings of
Fiddler on the Roof
from their wheelchairs.

“
So, what do you say? Wanna come help me interrogate Mr. Carlyle?”

While “interrogating” a ninety-four-year-old fell somewhere near kicking puppies on my moral radar, we still had a good two hours before the meeting with Trace’s agent. Of all the places in Hollywood to hide him, a retirement home would be the last one someone would go looking for Trace.

I glanced up at Felix’s office. He was setting down his coffee cup. Seconds away from spotting me.

“
Okay,” I quickly said. “As long as we leave
now
, I’m in.”

“
Me too!” Allie piped up behind me.

I refrained from pointing out that no one had actually asked her.

“
Great! Just let me grab my purse and I’ll meet you all downstairs,” Mrs. Rosenblatt said, waddling off.

Allie shot me a smile so sweet it would give a Care Bear the runs, then flounced (there was no other way to describe the way her mini-skirt floated around her thigh-high boots) back to her cubicle to grab that sparkly pen and her notebook.

“
Interesting people you work with,” Trace mumbled to me as we watched her. Though I noticed his expression was more of genuine interest than disgust as Allie’s pert little backside wiggled behind the partition. Figures he’d be an ass man. I woefully glanced at my own flat fanny as I turned and pulled Trace with me toward the elevator.

Only I never quite got there.

“
Cam?” came Felix’s bellowing voice.

Shit.

On instinct, I shoved Trace toward the nearest cube. Hard. So hard he kinda stumbled, catching his balance on the edge of the desk.

“
Hide,” I whispered out of the corner of my mouth.

“
Where?” he shot back.

“
I don’t know, you’re the actor. Improvise!”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him dive under a desk as my boss purposefully crossed the newsroom toward me.

“
Hey, chief, what’s up?” I asked, in a voice that was, in hindsight, two octaves higher than warranted.

Luckily, if he noticed, Felix didn’t comment on it. “Where are we on Wedding Watch today?” he asked, getting right to the point.

“
Um. We’re, great.”

“
You track down Trace?’

I nodded. “Yep. Totally got him.” If he only knew…

“
Good.”

He stared expectantly at me.

“
And?” he asked, motioning with his hands for me to go on.

“
And what?”

“
The whole kidnapping thing?”

“
Oh. Right. Totally a fake. Publicity stunt, just like you said.”

“
I’ll be the bigger man and refrain from telling you. ‘I told you so.’”

“
Gee. Thanks.” I was so remembering this when I finally turned in my story.

“
So what’s our Jamie Lee up to today?”

“
Jamie Lee?”

Felix crossed his arms over his chest. “The
bride
.”

“
Yeah, right. Of course. The bride.” I made a “pft” sound, blowing air out through my lips as I smacked my forehead, ever so eloquently illustrating that of course I wouldn’t forget the bride. “I was just going to catch up with her now,” I lied.

“
Fab. By the way, those pictures you took of Jamie Lee coming out of Dr. B’s yesterday were perfect. Just what our readers want to see.”

“
Thanks.”

“
I expect three more like those by the end of the day,” Felix informed me as he marched back to his office.

I waited for him to close the door and turn his back to us again before shooing Trace out from under the desk. I grabbed him by the arm (careful to avoid the bandaged one) and quickly steered him toward the elevator before anyone else noticed us on this less-than-stealth mission.

Once inside, I heaved a sigh of relief that ruffled my hair and sagged into the metal walls.

Trace on the other hand, looked slightly disturbed, a frown furrowing between his brows. “Why was she at the doctor’s office?”

“
What?”

“
Jamie Lee. Your boss said that you took pictures of her at the doctor’s office yesterday? Is she okay?”

“
Oh. That. Yeah. Dr. B’s a cosmetic doctor. She was just getting a little pre-wedding refresher.”

“
Refresher?” The frown deepened. “Like a facial?”

I grinned. “Well, from what I could tell it was a little Botox, a little collagen in the lips, and possibly a little thigh lipo.”

Trace blinked at me. “You’re kidding.”

“
Scout’s honor.” I held up two fingers.

“
Wow. I had no idea.” He paused. “Girls really do all that stuff?”

“
Girls? No. Jamie Lee? Yes.” I cocked my head at him. “Seriously, you thought she just naturally looked like she stepped out of a Photoshopped
Sports Illustrated
spread?”

He shrugged. “I guess I never really thought about it.”

“
Yeah, well, you don’t get to look like Jamie Lee does by leaving it to Mother Nature.”

He paused. “Do you get that kind of stuff done, too?”

“
Me?” I snorted. “No way. Even if my salary afforded me the luxury, I’d probably be spending it on camera equipment before I injected it into my face.”

“
Huh,” he said. Then gave me a long, assessing stare.

So long I felt my cheeks go red.

“
You’re staring.”

“
Sorry. Just trying to figure out which part of you Mother Nature’s screwing with. Personally, I don’t see it.”

I bit my lip. Did the hot movie star just give me a compliment? While I was pretty sure he was being more nice than honest, my cheeks heated some more anyway, and I ducked my head, letting my long hair cover them.