City Of Mirrors: A Diana Poole Thriller Part 11

"Is this for your own personal file? because I don't see how it's pertinent to the case."

He shrugged.

"Yes, he kissed a woman who hasn't had s.e.x with Zaitlin."

"Did Ben want it to go further than the kiss?"

"I'm not going to take advantage of a twenty-one-year-old."

"I don't think he'd see it that way. Was he at The Den the night of Jenny's murder?"

"I'm sure the club has a security tape."

"I'm going to take your answer as a yes unless you tell me otherwise. Did he say who else was there?"

I sighed. "Jenny. She was drunk. And I think Ben said some guy drove her home."

"Does this guy have a name?"

"Ben didn't say."

"Did he mention whether he was wearing a gray sweatshirt with a hood?"

"You mean like the man on the security tape in Jenny's garage?"

He nodded.

"I've found over the years that most men don't think about what other men are wearing. In fact, they can hardly remember what their wives were wearing," I said.

"I'll remember what you wore today. Tight s.e.xy black dress. Gray leather jacket for toughness. Which I've discovered you have in spades."

"Do me a favor. Forget the dress. Remember the toughness."

Grinning, he said "I'll try. How well did Ben know Jenny?"

"He said he knew she was causing her father problems on the set, but he didn't really know her personally. He implied that she ignored him."

"You believe that?"

"Yes, I do. Besides, what's his motive for killing Jenny? Zaitlin has more motive than Ben. I've never seen him put up with so much from an actress who wasn't a star." Hearing my own words, I now realized why Zaitlin had put up with her. "Is Parson backing the film?"

"You won't see his name anywhere."

"G.o.d, all an actor wants is a job. No one thinks about where the financing comes from to make the movie."

"You've probably helped launder a little money in your career and never knew it." He swerved off onto a freeway exit ramp.

I tensed. "Where are we going?"

"Lunch. Or are you one of those actresses who doesn't eat?"

I thought of the nonfat food in my refrigerator that never rotted, just turned rigid. "Actually, I'm starving."

He pulled into a shopping center lined with big square-shaped warehouses that didn't look much different from soundstages, except for their enormous signs announcing Target, T. J. Maxx, Best Buy, and Nordstrom's Rack. Hollywood doesn't have a monopoly on selling dreams at cost.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

The Red Pepper was a pseudo-Mexican food chain restaurant with ropes of plastic red peppers hanging from the walls and waitresses stuffed into pseudo-Mexican fiesta skirts and blouses.

I slid into a booth.

Heath remained standing. "I'll be right back." A cell phone rang in one of his pockets. It was a familiar ringtone. In fact it was my ringtone. He took my iPhone from the inside of his jacket and handed it to me. "It's for you."

Anger gave my adrenalin a jolt. "You b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"You weren't going to drive back with me. I had to think of something." He strolled off toward the restroom.

Glaring after him, I answered the call.

It was Zaitlin. "What did Parson say to you?"

"Robert, how could you let Parson have me driven to Santa Barbara without telling me where the h.e.l.l I was going, who I was going to meet, or why? I thought I was being abducted."

"Nothing I could do. Parson wanted it handled his way."

"You could've said no."

"It wouldn't have changed anything. There are some things you don't know, Diana, and some things it's better you don't know. And don't try to bully me about it. Tell me what you told him."

Inwardly I sighed. "Exactly what I told you. But I think you should talk to Ben. He was at the club where Jenny was the night she died."

"Did you say anything to Parson about Ben?"

"No."

"Good. Tell Heath. If it needs taking care of, he'll do it."

"I'm sure he will." I looked across the restaurant through the service opening into the kitchen. Heath was talking intently to an older man in a chef's hat.

"Robert, Parson knew Colin. He had something on him. What was it?"

"I don't know. I wouldn't worry about it. Colin's dead."

"That's not the point."

"Tell Heath to bring you to the Formosa Cafe. Jake Jackson, Beth Woods, and I will be there around three o'clock. If you're late we'll wait."

"You're replacing me with another actress, aren't you?"

"Jake Jackson wants to meet with you. That's all."

"Just be honest with me. Save me the trip."

"Sometimes we have to feed the beast, Diana. You know how the game is played." He hung up.

I did know how the game was played. I also knew if you had to feed the beast, in this case Jake Jackson, there had to be prey and that was me. I was surrounded by b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.

I Googled a Camarillo cab company on my iPhone. Ordering a car to pick me up, I gave them the address. Then I leaned back in the booth and waited.

Heath returned and sat across from me. Rubbing his hands together he said, "I ordered us chicken tostadas, they aren't bad here. Or don't you like men ordering for you?"

"No, it sounds good."

His eyes narrowed. "I thought you'd be more upset."

"You mean about my iPhone? I didn't expect less from you."

"That was a well-placed jab to my chin."

"Who were you talking to in the kitchen?"

"The chef. He's a client."

"He can afford someone who has a fleet of expensive cars?"

"He's a good man who's in a little trouble. I'm just helping him out."

The waitress brought our meal, two gla.s.ses of white wine, and the check, which she left on the table underneath two red and white peppermint hard candies.

"Wine?" I smiled my soft pliable you-can-do-anything-you-want-to-with-me smile.

Heath started to respond, then stopped, wary. "Tastes like water with a bite. But I thought maybe you could use it after what we put you through. Cheers."

"Cheers."

We clinked gla.s.ses and drank. I ate my tostada. It's not easy to eat with clenched teeth.

"What did Zaitlin want?" He l.u.s.tily shoved food into his mouth.

"How did you know it was him?

"Saw his name on your phone."

"You don't miss a thing, do you? I told him about Ben. He said you would handle it."

"Let's hope there's nothing to handle. I like Ben." He broke off a hunk of tostada sh.e.l.l, dipped it into the salsa, and stuffed it into his mouth.

"So I take it you were in the military?"

He nodded, chewing. "Army CIU."

"What's that?" I glanced out the large plate-gla.s.s window. No cab yet.

"Criminal Investigation Unit."

"And who did you investigate?" Feigning interest. "The enemy?"

"The bad guys. Ours."

I was genuinely surprised. "You mean American soldiers?"

"There are always a few bad apples looking to scam, to earn a buck on the side."

"How?"

"One guy was selling arms our men had confiscated from the Taliban back to the Taliban. CIU wasn't too popular among the rank and file, even though they might agree with what we were doing. They always felt we were there to spy on them while they were getting their a.s.ses blown off by IEDs. And they were right."

"They must've been confused about which side you were on."

His head jerked back slightly. I had hit a nerve.

Finally, the cab arrived. I gave my lips a ladylike dab with the napkin and put it down. Then I grabbed my purse and slid out of the booth, glaring down at Heath. Raising his head toward me, he stopped chewing, balancing in midair a neat pile of chicken, lettuce, avocado, and sour cream on his fork.

"You're right," I said in a low controlled voice. "I don't like men who order for me. I don't like men who lie to me. And you may have the biggest security firm in the world and help out a few people who can't afford you, but to me you're just another Hollywood player. A fixer getting paid the big bucks to clean up other people's s.h.i.t. The army trained you well."

I felt his eyes burning into my back as I stalked out of the restaurant.

Feeling miserable, I slouched in the corner of the taxi's back seat as the driver careered onto the freeway, honking his horn, tailgating, and mumbling to himself in a language I couldn't make out. I thought I'd feel vindicated walking out on Heath, but I didn't. Even though I had every right to. And now I was heading to my meeting with Zaitlin and Jackson, where I was probably going to have the proverbial rug jerked out from under me. Worse, I knew what was going to happen. Christ, how pathetic is that? But I had to play the game because if I didn't, there might not be the possibility of the next movie, the next role. Possibility and hope is what actors lived on.

Once we got onto Laurel Canyon, the cabbie was lost. I had to give him directions all the way into West Hollywood.

I took out my compact and checked my face in the mirror. Ignoring my sad tired eyes, I put on lipstick and lightly patted a little powder onto my shiny forehead and chin.

"You're an actress," the driver said in his thick accent.

Purposely avoiding his reflection in the rearview mirror, I brushed my hair.

"An actress," he persisted.

"Yes." I snapped.