After She's Gone (10 page)

 

J
udging by the empty glasses, Holly was deep into her second mojito—or was it her third?—when Cassie arrived at The Sundowner. Half a block from the beach, the bar filled part of the basement of a trendy hotel in Santa Monica. Already the after-work crowd was starting to gather, people knotted in groups inside the darkened interior, standing room only, the noise of conversation escalating.

“Hey, I thought you were going to ditch me!” Holly accused as she spied Cassie wending her way through the tightly spaced bistro tables packed between a wall of booths and a long, glass-topped bar.

“I would have called or texted if I wasn’t going to show,” Cassie said. She eyed the table. A tiny copper-colored mug with a slice of lime perched on the rim sat on the table in front of the only empty seat. Obviously the drink was intended for her.

“A Moscow Mule,” Holly said, licking a bit of mint from her upper lip. Petite, with her hair spiked on end, the current color being jet black, she waved Cassie into her seat. Her makeup was perfect, full lips glossy, skin smooth, eye shadow glittering a bit. Holly had an impish charm about her and had, she’d admitted, played the character of Tinkerbell more times than she wanted to admit. She’d started her career at Disneyland and over the years gotten into acting, primarily commercials, before the roles had dried up and she’d been forced to turn her attention to set design. A true artist, she’d worked her way up through the ranks to eventually become the lead designer on
Dead Heat.

“For me?” Cassie asked.

“Umm-hmm.”

Cassie slid onto the padded bench.

“Basically it’s vodka and ginger beer and . . .” Holly’s neatly plucked eyebrows drew together as she thought, her gaze falling onto the drink again. “And, oh, yeah, lime. Duh!” She mock-slapped her forehead, then had another sip of her drink. “Thought you might like it.”

“I’ve had ’em before.” She glanced at Holly’s mojito. “Why aren’t you having one?”

“Vodka’s not my thing.” A forced shudder. “One too many martinis on New Year’s Eve a few years back.” She rolled her expressive eyes. “Man, was that a hangover? God. It seemed to last forever. I switched to gin and . . .” She lifted her glass, hoisting it in a toast. “Rum. Yum.”

Holly seemed to be already starting to feel the effects of her drinks. Her smile was a little off-center, some of her words slightly slurred. “So,” she said, eyeing Cassie, “what’re you doing back here anyway?”

“I live in LA.”

“But it’s been a while since you really lived in California,” she said. “Ever since you and Trent . . . you know.” She ducked her head into her shoulders and waggled it as if she couldn’t quite find the right word. “. . . split, I guess you’d say, you haven’t stuck around much.”

“I was busy.”

“Yeah . . .” Another long swallow. A quick check of her phone as over the noise of the bar it had pinged, indicating texts had come in.

Cassie wasn’t going to argue, nor explain her relationship or non-relationship with her husband to Holly Dennison or anyone else for that matter.

As if she hadn’t noticed Cassie’s discomfiture Holly said, “So, I was kind of surprised when I saw you at LAX. I didn’t even know you were out of the hospital.”

“I was just released.” A bit of a fib. Not exactly “released.”

Holly waved her hand as if flitting aside any excuse. “Anyway, I was waiting for my bag there in the claim area. Just got back from Phoenix visiting my mom. Talk about a trip. I swear she’s losing it. So I’m waiting and waiting for my damned bag, texting my boyfriend and out of the corner of my eye, I see you walking out the doors. I yelled and waved at you, made myself look like an idiot, but . . . I guess you didn’t hear me. I couldn’t just leave my bag on the carousel, y’know. It’s the only Louis Vuitton I’ll ever own.” She made a face. “Anyway, by the time I grabbed my bag and tried to catch up, I saw you getting into a taxi. And that was that.”

“I didn’t hear you.”

A waitress was serpentining through the tables and Holly, catching her eye, twirled her finger, signaling another round.

“Hey, no. I just started this,” Cassie said, and thought of all of the drugs she’d recently taken while in the hospital. How much was still in her bloodstream? Should she mix alcohol and God-only-knew what else?

Holly grinned. “Then you’d better catch up.”

The waitress, a willowy blonde in a white shirt and black skirt, appeared. “Two more?” she asked.

“I’m good,” Cassie assured her while Holly shot her a disgusted look.

“I’ll have another. Of these.” Holly hoisted her glass and when the waitress cast another glance at Cassie, she shook her head. After she moved to the next table, Holly turned to Cassie and said, “I just don’t get why anyone would voluntarily check themselves into a nuthouse.”

“Pressure. Stress.”

“Because of the Allie thing, yeah, okay . . .” Holly nodded, her head wobbling a bit. “Whoa . . . maybe I’d better slow down.” She let her drink go untouched as she leaned back in the booth. “So what do you think happened to her?”

Cassie slowly shook her head and stared at the copper cup. “Don’t know. It’s upsetting, to say the least.” She thought about her mother’s grief, her fears, and once again, felt as if she were the worst daughter on earth for not communicating more with Jenna. She grew silent and Holly was quick to fill the ensuing lapse in the conversation.

“I wasn’t that close to Allie, but if you ask me, she was a head case . . . oh, sorry, that’s probably a sensitive subject.”

“I’m okay.”

“Good. Good. But it was the whole man thing with Allie, y’know? From one to the other. I mean, I’m not one to judge, hell, who wouldn’t want to hop in a few of the beds she warmed, you know what I mean? This isn’t a judgment call—God knows I’m no saint—but it wasn’t just casual sex with her, was it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t mean to get too personal, but didn’t she go after some of your boyfriends, even your husband?” Holly held up her hands, palms outward, stopping any answer Cassie would make. “Sorry . . . sorry . . . I should leave Trent out of it. But Brandon McNary? She swore she was over him, right? I mean, I heard it over and over again, and they barely spoke on the set of
Dead Heat.”

“They’d broken up just before it started shooting.”

“I know, but I got this feeling, call it a vibe or female intuition or whatever, that she was still in love with him.”

“McNary? Nah . . .” Cassie was skeptical, but she recalled the pictures of Allie and Brandon in Allie’s bedroom.

The waitress deposited the new drink and Holly actually smacked her lips. “She still had a thing for him,” she insisted.

Cassie shrugged and nursed her Moscow Mule as customers continued to drift into the bar. The decibel level had risen to the point that Holly was nearly shouting in order for Cassie to hear her. After Holly downed her last drink, they paid their tab, splitting the lopsided bill, and the minute they stepped away from their table, two couples who had been eyeing it descended. Each claimed ownership rights, and a squabbling match ensued.

Outside, the sun was dipping into the Pacific, the sky striped in vibrant hues of orange and pink. A cool breeze blew inland and rustled the fronds of the tall palms guarding the entrance to the hotel, and Cassie was reminded why she loved this part of California as she watched Rollerbladers, dog walkers, and runners vying with pedestrians on the long stretch of sidewalk raised above the beach.

“You ever talk to anyone from the movie?” Holly asked.

“I’ve been kind of out of it.”

They were walking along the sidewalk toward the parking space that Cassie had claimed.

“Yeah, but not totally, right?”

Cassie wasn’t sure where this was going, but admitted, “Recently I spoke to Lucinda Rinaldi. I visited her in a rehab facility.”

“She gonna be okay?”

“I don’t know. She was still struggling to walk, so it’s going to be a while.”

“I bet she’ll sue.”

“Maybe. It was sure as hell traumatic.”

“For everyone,” Holly said. “God, I still have nightmares. I can’t imagine what she’s going through.” She rubbed her arms as if experiencing a sudden chill.

As they rounded a corner Cassie added, “I saw Brandon McNary, too, well, actually I ran into him at Allie’s apartment building in Portland. Turns out he lives across the hall. Or he did while they were filming.”

“Wow, he still has the place?” Holly fumbled inside her bag and found her phone, quickly scanned her texts again, then pulled out a pair of oversize sunglasses.

“I guess.”

“Convenient.” She slid the shades onto her nose. “You haven’t talked to Arnette? The man thinks he’s God, y’know. Got one nomination from the Academy and suddenly, his head swells up and he’s like above everyone else.”

Cassie shook her head. “Not since right after the shooting on the set.”

“You were there,” Holly remembered.

“One of my few scenes had to be reshot and so, yeah, I talked to him that night, but it’s all kind of a blur. He called me the next day and also my mom. He was trying to get hold of Allie . . . but . . .” She shrugged, felt the dying sun’s warmth against her back. “. . . by then she was missing.” She slid Holly a glance. “For what it’s worth he said he was concerned.”

Holly snorted. “His star flat out disappears and someone’s shot on his production and he’s ‘concerned’? He’s a prick. Ask anyone who’s ever worked with him.”

“Have you run into anyone from
Dead Heat
?”

“A few, but everyone’s into their own thing. Little Bea’s out of the country, I think, on location in London. At least that’s what Laura Merrick says. She still does my hair and makeup sometimes, so I get some info from her.” She shot Cassie a glance as Cassie pulled her keys from her purse and hit the keyless lock for her Honda. The little car responded with a chirp and a flash of lights. “And I heard that Sig Masters’s lawyer told him to keep quiet. Since he was the, you know, ‘shooter,’ it could have been big trouble. Or bigger trouble if Lucinda had died. And she could have. I think the bullet just missed her heart or aorta or something.”

Cassie hadn’t heard that. “Sig thought the gun was the prop.”

Holly lifted her shoulders and dropped them again. “Who really knows? Anyway, because of the ongoing investigation and his role, whether intentional or not, and the threat of a lawsuit, he’s keeping his mouth shut.” She pretended to zip her own lips closed.

“Probably good advice.”

“You know, I wouldn’t put a lawsuit past Lucinda to sue everyone she can. She’s such a freakin’ bitch and she’s always after money, that’s why she came to Hollywood, to make a fortune and when it didn’t turn out that way, she tried dating rich guys. Then, she discovered lawsuits. She’s already been involved with a couple. Don’t think she got much, though. If she did, she didn’t say and there’s like no new Ferrari in her garage or anything. Everyone in this goddamned town is so damned paranoid, so worried about saving their own skin, and your sister is missing! Maybe worse.” She was still slurring a little, but she seemed steady on her feet.

“Are you driving?”

They paused at Cassie’s car. Holly added, “You know I ran into Cherise at the fitness center. The one where we all go. Well, Allie went there, too.”

Cherise Gotwell had been Allie’s personal assistant.

“And get this—” Holly touched Cassie on the forearm and teetered on her four-inch heels. Her fingers tightened and she righted herself. “Sorry. I guess I had one too many and before you ask again, no, I’m not driving. My apartment is only a few blocks off the beach. You’re gonna drive me.”

“Fair enough. Get in.”

Holly wobbled around the back of the car and slid into the passenger seat. Again she checked her phone.

“Someone trying to get hold of you?”

“Not really. Just, you know, talk.” She sighed. “Well, that’s not really the truth. I might’ve told a couple of people that I was meeting with you and they’re curious, like about how you’re doing and if you’ve seen Allie . . . crap like that.”

Cassie did a slow burn. “Who?”

“People who know you.”

“Who?” Cassie demanded.

“Like Cherise.”

“Anyone else?”

“People you don’t know.”

“Oh, great. Gossip. Thanks so much, Holly.”

“Hey, no offense.”

Cassie’s stomach was churning. “They could talk to me themselves instead of talking behind my back. Especially Cherise. Damn it.” Angrily Cassie flicked on the ignition and pulled down her visor.

Holly nodded and seemed a little rueful, but it didn’t last long. “I saw Cherise after yoga class and she casually mentioned that she’s going to work for Brandon McNary. Just like that. Like it was no big deal.” Struggling with her seatbelt, Holly glanced up at Cassie and gave her a
can-you-believe-that-crap?
look. The seat belt clicked. “She always was a bitch.”

Cassie didn’t comment. As she backed out and took directions from Holly to her apartment that was considerably more than “a few blocks” from the beach, her companion rambled on about how everyone in Allie’s entourage from bitchy Cherise, her assistant, to Laura, the makeup and hair stylist, had been searching for new jobs, backstabbing each other as if it were necessary to find one, probably all calling Holly for any gossip she had on the Kramer sisters. Cassie forced her voice to be level, for the anger to dissipate. “Everybody needs to work,” Cassie muttered.

“Not for pricks, bitches, and dickheads. Oh, wait.” Holly paused dramatically as if struck by a sudden truth. “I’m one of the bitches.” Barely able to see over the dash, she pointed a manicured finger at the glass and steel apartment building that rose seven floors into the sky. “That’s it. Home sweet home. Just pull in there, to the side entrance.” She indicated a back alley and Cassie nosed her Honda around a planter with lavender plants so lush the blooms scraped the side of the car. “A little close, aren’t you?” Holly complained.