Gemma Halliday - Scandal Sheet aka Hollywood Scandals

I chewed my pen top as I sat back in my chair. It was a long shot, but…

I grabbed Strawberry Shortcake and made for the elevator.

Unfortunately, as soon as I got there, the doors slid open to reveal Cal on the other side.

He looked down at my purse. “Going somewhere?”

“Jake Mullins’s widow.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Let’s just say I’ve got a hunch.”

Cal looked like he was about to protest. Luckily, he knew me better than that by now and, instead, shrugged, leading the way back into the elevator.

Half an hour later we were back in Echo Park, Cal’s Hummer stashed in the Ralph’s parking lot and the two of us knocking on Alexis Mullins’s front door. A few beats later it was opened a crack by the widow herself.

This time she was fully dressed, sporting a pleather miniskirt, thigh-high boots, fishnet stockings, and a lacy top that left little to the imagination. Either she was headed for the casting couch or a street corner somewhere on Hollywood Boulevard.

“Hi,” I said, doing a little wave at her. “Remember us?”

She wrinkled her forehead as if trying to. “Yeah. The writer, right?”

I nodded. “I had a few more questions about your husband. Do you mind if we come in?”

Her eyebrows drew together. Clearly, she did mind. But the allure of her name in print finally won out as she stepped back, allowing us entrance. “Sure. But I’m on my way to meet my agent for lunch, so if we could make it quick?”

“No problem,” I promised her.

This time she didn’t offer us coffee or a seat, instead standing near the door, antsy, shifting from one foot to another.

“So, what kind of questions?” she asked, biting a manicured fingernail between her two front teeth.

“You mentioned roles had picked up lately for you. When exactly did they start coming in again?”

Alexis blinked at me. “I dunno.”

“Was it before or after your husband passed away?”

Her eyes darted once to the door. “After, I guess.”

“Any particular reason things picked up for you?”

Again with the, “I dunno.”

“I bet people were very sympathetic when they heard what happened to Jake.”

She nodded. “Everyone has been very supportive.”

“Your friends?”

“Yeah.”

“Agent?”

“Sure.”

“Casting directors?”

She chomped down on that fingernail again.

“It’s because of Jake’s death that you’ve been getting roles again, isn’t it?”

She didn’t answer.

“Look, it’s okay. I know Hollywood loves a sob story. I mean, you practically have to be dead to get a cover of Entertainment Weekly these days, right?”

“I guess,” she finally conceded, her eyes darting to the front door as if really wishing she hadn’t answered it.

Cal must have noticed, too, as he nonchalantly moved so he stood directly between her and any chance of escape.

She shifted on her heels.

“I talked to a couple of people who worked with Jake on the set of his last film,” I continued. “Did you know that your husband was trying to blackmail Edward Pines?”

“No!” Alexis vehemently shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest in a protective gesture. “That’s not true. They’re lying. Jake would never be that stupid.”

“Why would they lie?”

She bit her lip, not sure how to answer that one.

“Pines said your husband tried to extort a hundred grand. He said he’d tell the world that Pines was into kiddie porn if he didn’t pay.”

Alexis shook her head again, but I could see doubt creeping into the gesture this time.

“Pines refused to pay,” I went on. “He said he’d ruin Jake, make sure he never worked in Hollywood again.”

Tears started to fill Alexis’s eyes.

“You knew, didn’t you?” I asked. “You knew your husband was making enemies, knew he was ruining his reputation at the studio, killing his career.” I paused. Then mentally crossed my finger I was on the right track with this. “And he was taking you down with him.”

“That bastard!” Alexis suddenly shouted. “Sonofabitch gets a chance at a real film-fucking Edward Pines!-and what does he do? He throws it away. Pines wouldn’t have touched him again with a ten-foot pole. I’ve been waiting fifteen years to get back into the business, and just when I get a chance to walk those red carpets again, he goes and ruins everything. And he wasn’t going to stop with Pines. He said he had even bigger fish lined up for the next time. The next time! God, how stupid could he get.”

“So, you killed him,” I slowly said.

“He had to be stopped! Look, you should be thanking me. Everyone in Hollywood should be thanking me. Who knows how many people he could have blackmailed. How many lives he could have ruined.”

Sure. She was a regular Mother Teresa.

“But he was your husband,” I said, feeling like a complete dope for ever having bought her grieving widow role. I had to hand it to her, the woman had mad acting skills.

She rolled her eyes. “Please. I did the world a favor. Did you see his last film? The man couldn’t act himself out of a paper bag.”

Ouch.

Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Cal dialing on his cell, probably calling the cops for the second time that day. (Hanging out with me lately, he’d be smart to put them on speed dial.)

Unfortunately, Alexis saw it, too. Her eyes cut to the door-still being guarded by Cal-and then to the bedroom, her body making a split second decision as she bolted toward the bedroom door.

I lunged after her, one quick step behind. Unfortunately, her legs were a hell of a lot longer than mine, and the door slammed in my face.

“I’ll go around back,” I heard Cal yell, throwing the front door open.

I jiggled the bedroom doorknob, but no luck. She’d clearly locked it from the inside. My eyes darted wildly around the apartment for anything I could use to break the thing down. Lamp, CDs, old copies of Variety . Damn.

Then I spied it. A Golden Globe award from 1983 sitting on the bookshelf.

I grabbed it, testing the weight in my hand. Stars weren’t kidding in their acceptance speeches. The thing was hefty.

I lunged for the door again, raising the Golden Globe up over my head, and brought it down as hard as I could on the cheap renter’s doorknob. The force knocked it sideways.

I heard shouting from the other side of the door. Cal’s voice outside, Alexis screaming back, “Leave me alone! I’m a celebrity!”

I lifted the award for another go, slamming it down on the dented knob, knocking the brass thing to the ground with a clang. The lock fell away on the other side, and I easily pushed the door open, still brandishing the Golden Globe as a weapon.

“Freeze!” I yelled, suddenly feeling very Law & Order .

Though it turned out Alexis didn’t have much choice. She had the screen off her bedroom window, one leg thrown over the sill, her pleather skirt around her waist, and her fishnets caught on the latch, capturing her halfway between Cal and me.

She was totally stuck.

And crying, “I want a lawyer. Get me Robert Shapiro. Get me Paris Hilton’s lawyer. I’m too famous to go to jail!”

Three cups of coffee, two statements to the cops and four hours later, we were finally released from the police station for the second time that day. I swear the detective in charge was starting to look at me funny. Like I had some golden touch or something, but in reverse; whatever I touched eventually ended up in a homicide.

By the time we pulled Cal’s Hummer back onto the freeway, it was five thirty. Prime traffic time. And I only had half an hour to get my threatening column into the printer behind Felix’s back.