Hollywood Secrets (16 page)

“
There!” Trace pointed. He knocked on the glass. “Decker!”

No answer.

“
Hey, Decker! Wake up, man!” Trace shouted, banging on the glass again.

Again, no answer.

But Trace was, as I was quickly coming to find out, a man not easily deterred. He jiggled the latch on the sliding glass door. It opened easily. What do you know – not locked.

I felt a flutter of concern in my gut. No one left their doors unlocked in L.A.

But apparently Trace didn’t share my misgivings as he charged right into the room. “Hey, Decker,” Trace called again.

I followed a step behind, feeling just the teensiest bit intrusive invading the man’s home uninvited.

“
Decker, wake up, man. I need to talk to you about-”

Trace stopped in his tracks, his gaze frozen on the man in the lounge chair. His eyes grew wide, pupils dilating, his jaw going slack as his color simultaneously drained from movie star tan to polar bear white.

“
What?” I asked, coming around to stand beside him. I looked down at the chair.

And heard a piercing scream.

It took me a moment to realize it was coming from me.

The man in the chair was Decker, all right. I recognized his soft frame, salt-and-pepper hair, and tanning-bed complexion from the numerous photos I’d printed in the
Informer
throughout the years.

However one thing was different about the agent today.

A neat little round bullet hole in the center of his forehead, which led me to believe that Decker wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon.

Chapter Eleven

Living on a ranch, it wasn’t totally uncommon to run across a dead animal. Coyotes would often pounce on smaller animals, sick livestock sometimes passed away in the night, and our cat, Tigger, was under the impression that anything lower on the food chain than he was would make a nice gift for his human owners.

But this was the first time I’d seen a dead human body. And, let me tell you, the fact we were the same species brought about a whole new host of sensations, none of them pleasant. They rolled around in my gut, threatening a repeat appearance of my morning Corn Flakes.

I doubled over in the middle, putting my head between my knees like I’d seen them do on TV, and took deep breaths. They smelled like the fabric softener I used on my clothes and a stale scent wafting from the body that I didn’t want to examine too closely.

“
Holy shit!” From the corner of my eye I saw Trace jump back a full two feet, his gaze shooting around the room as if looking for what might have made that neat little hole.

Me? I kinda didn’t want to know.

I straightened up, finding my voice again. “He’s dead, right? I mean, he kinda looks dead. Not that I’ve seen a dead guy before, but he looks like what a dead guy seems like it should look like.” Yes, I was babbling. Again. Apparently both hot movie stars and dead bodies make me nervous. Go figure.

“
He… he looks dead.” Trace cocked his head to the side, his throat bobbing up and down. “Ah, geez, Bert.”

“
Maybe we should check for a pulse. They always check for a pulse on
CSI
,” I offered. Yes, all of my experience with the dead came from prime time TV shows.

“
Right. Yeah. A pulse. Good idea.”

Neither of us moved.

“
You first,” he said.

I spun around. “Me? Nuh-uhn. You check. He’s your agent.”

“
But you have all that first-aid knowledge,” he said, pointing to his arm.

“
I can put on a Band-Aid. That doesn’t make me an EMT,” I shot back.

We both stared at the dead guy. His eyes were open wide, staring at a point on the ceiling, unblinking. Which was a pretty big clue that a pulse would be nonexistent. Still…

I squinted one eye shut, bit my lip, and reached two trembling fingers toward Decker’s neck. I cringed as they made contact, his skin cold and rubbery to the touch. It felt more like an uncooked chicken breast than human skin. My breakfast bubbled up into my throat again, but predictably nothing fluttered beneath my fingers.

I jerked my hand back like it was on fire, instinctively wiping it on the seat of my jeans as if I could wipe away the creepy sensation of his lifeless skin.

“
Oh yeah. That sucker’s 100% deceased.”

“
Holy shit.” Trace ran a hand through his hair, his skin paling even further until it almost matched that of Decker. “How long do you think he’s been…” He gulped, as if not able to actually say the word, “dead.”

“
Like that,” he finally finished.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. He’s cold.”

Trace just shook his head again, as if he couldn’t believe we were staring at his dead agent.

“
I’m sorry, Decker,” he said quietly. “Jesus, this is all my fault.” He gulped. “When I told those guys Decker had the flash drive I never thought they’d actually…” He trailed off, running his hand through his hair again.

“
You think they did this?” I asked. “Your flash-drive guys?”

“
It would be a hell of a coincidence if not, wouldn’t it?”

Good point.

I stepped away from the body, as if putting a little distance between us would somehow mitigate the fact that I was standing in a room with a dead guy. I took a couple deep breaths, then pulled my cell from my pocket. My fingers trembled as I dialed. But I only got a nine and the first one typed in before Trace’s hand shot out and grabbed the phone from me.

“
What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes wide, his brows hunkering down tightly over them.

“
I’m calling the police.”

Trace shook his head violently from side to side. “No way. No cops. Remember?”

I stared at him. “You have got to be joking. I mean, last night was one thing. But this…” I trailed off, pointing at the lifeless agent. “Trace, it’s a dead body.”

“
Yeah, and if I bring the cops into this, the next one could be mine.”

“
Tell the police what happened. Maybe they can help you.”

“
You’re kidding, right?”

“
They can protect you.”

“
How?” he asked, letting out a bark of laughter that held zero actual humor. “What are they gonna do, park a cruiser outside my house? These guys broke into my place last night, getting past security gates, alarms, and two full-time bodyguards. I have a feeling a black and white at the curb isn’t going to deter them.”

I refrained from pointing out that, by his own admission, his security team wasn’t exactly the tops.

“
Maybe they can put you into protective custody or something,” I offered.

“
That’ll work real well. Trace Brody goes into witness protection. No one will notice me, I’m sure.”

“
You don’t have to be sarcastic about it,” I mumbled, crossing my arms over my chest.

“
Look, these guys are serious,” he said. “And they’re not going to stop here,” he gestured around himself at Decker’s family room.

And that’s when I really looked around the place for the first time. Along the back wall sat an antique roll-top desk, the top open, papers strewn every which way. Next to it a lamp lay on its side, the bulb broken. A small sofa sat in the corner, the cushions upended, the stuffing bulging out of their torn sides. The dead body in the center of the room had, until then, kind of stolen my focus (go figure), but it was clear now as I looked around that whoever had killed Decker had torn the place apart looking for something.

That damned flash drive.

I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling a chill despite the climbing temperatures outside.

Trace pulled his arm inside the sleeve of his shirt, then walked to the sliding glass door and began wiping the handle.

“
What are you doing?” I asked.

“
Getting rid of my fingerprints.”

“
You’re contaminating the crime scene!”

He shot me a look. “Good!”

I bit my lip. Oh boy. I was in way over my head.

“
We got to get out of here,” Trace said, moving on to the outside of the door where his nose print was still clearly visible.

I looked back at Decker. He was kind of slumped in his chair, his head lolling to the side, his mouth hanging slack in a perpetual look of surprise.

“
So what are we gonna do? Just leave him here?”

Trace paused, cocking his head to the side as he glanced at his former agent. For a moment genuine emotion shone there, and I wondered how close they’d been. But he only indulged in it for a second, shaking his head again. “There’s nothing we can do for him now. Come on.” He grabbed my hand, quickly pulling me back out the door, shutting the slider behind us, and wiping the handle again with his sleeve. Then we carefully backtracked through the yard, Trace covering our footprints as we went. Apparently he watched
CSI
, too. When we got to the gate, he hoisted me up first, giving me a boost up-and-over, before he climbed it himself, dropping with a quick thud on the other side.

Two minutes later we were racing down Verdugo, as if Decker’s killers might somehow be hot on our trail. Which, of course, they weren’t. If Decker was cold, that meant he had to have been dead for at least an hour. And considering the temp outside today it was likely closer to three or four. (Okay, I watch a
lot
of
CSI
.)

Four blocks down, I spied a Coffee Bean and pulled in. I needed some serious caffeine if I was going to approach this whole thing with a clear head.

“
What are we doing here?” he asked, his gaze shooting to the rearview mirror as if he, too, were expecting a crazed gunman to appear behind us at any second.

“
I need a coffee break.” I held out my right hand. It was still shaking after having touched Decker’s neck. “See?” I said.

Trace nodded. “Yeah. Coffee. That’s a good idea.” And as he got out of the car, I noticed his hands weren’t all that steady either.

The Coffee Bean was L.A.’s answer to Starbucks – the uber trendy chain where people pretending they were too cool for Starbucks went to see and be seen. At any given time of day it is mandatory for all Southern California Coffee Beans to have at least two frustrated screenwriters pounding on their laptops in the corner, four wannabe actresses causally thumbing through scripts in hopes of being noticed, and one washed up sitcom star lurking near the entrance hoping someone will ask for his autograph if only he says his characters’ catch phrase loudly enough.

We ordered our drinks from a barrista with long, red hair and a purple stud in her tongue. I asked for a black coffee and, to my surprise, so did Trace.

“
What, no fashionable lattes for you?” I asked as we waited in line behind a blonde wannabe actress with a script sticking conspicuously out the top of her Juicy handbag. (See what I mean?)

He shook his head. “That sweet stuff gives me a headache. Sorry to disappoint you.”

On the contrary. I was actually kinda impressed. Fleetingly I wondered what Jamie Lee drank. Probably something nonfat, nonsugar, nontaste. Not that I blamed her. I knew what it was like to have your ability to pay your rent tied directly to your looks. But that was a long time ago and not a lifetime I wanted to revisit anytime soon.

Our orders came up and we took them to a table near the back of the coffee shop to regroup. Only, no sooner had we sat down than the blonde wannabe noticed us.

“
Oh wow. Oh wow.” She immediately descended upon us, her heavily lipsticked mouth hanging open in a perk little, “O”. “Trace Brody?” she asked.

Shit. We’d forgotten the windbreaker in the car.

“
Ohmigod, it is you!” Pert Blonde said, rounding our table.

I saw Trace’s “on” face slide reluctantly into place. “Hi there,” he said, giving her his matinee-idol smile.

“
Wow, it is so cool to meet you,” she gushed, grabbing onto his hand and shaking like she wanted to detach it and take it with her. “I’ve seen all your films. You are such an inspiration.”

“
Thanks.” I watched his eyes do a slow sweep of her frame and sucked down a wave of jealousy as he took in her micro-mini, long legs dedicated to countless hours of daily pilates.

“
You know, you are like my idol,” she gushed. “Did you know that we had the same acting coach? Well, okay, a different coach but at the same studio. I send my headshots in to your agent every time I get them updated. His assistant said he was definitely going to call me if a part came up that I’d fit. I’m expecting him to get back to me any day now.”

“
Don’t hold your breath,” I mumbled.

Trace kicked me under the table.

Luckily, Blondie was so engrossed in Trace I wasn’t even on her radar.

“
In fact, I heard that you’re about to start production on that
Planet of the Apes
remake movie, and I really think I’d make a perfect ape.”