Celebrity Sudoku (8 page)

“And even that was a last-minute addition because they’d lost a contestant,” Buck added. “So the people who were handling her saw the handwriting on the wall. A troublesome client that nobody wanted anymore. After they got the check from
D-Kodas
, that would be the end.”

Liza frowned. “Ritz had to know it. So why did she go out of her way to alienate everybody on the set?”

“Maybe she figured she’d go down in a blaze of glory—or at least notoriety,” Michael suggested.

“From all her DUIs and shady hookups, Ritz had a pretty wide self-destructive streak,” Buck said. “God knows she also had an ego. It’s possible she couldn’t really believe she was in trouble.”

Michelle shook her head in disagreement. “I don’t think so. Jocelyn said that when she told Ritz she only had one shot, it was the first time she saw an honest reaction from her client—fear. Ritz was scared.”

“So you think she was up to something during the taping of the show?” Liza asked.

“I have no idea,” Michelle replied honestly. “But I think we should find out.” A crafty smile crept over her lips. “And I think the first person we should ask is the one who got bumped from the celebrity contestant lineup so that Ritz wound up on
D-Kodas
.”

“Who was that?” Michael asked.

“Ummmmmm.” Liza racked her brain to remember who had been originally scheduled. “It was a singer . . .”

“Sukey Tupp.” Michelle supplied the name.

“The British Bombshell of a couple of years ago,” Michael said reminiscently. “Turned up at the Grammy Awards wearing just a Union Jack.”

“I remember that,” Buck said.

Michelle shot them both a look. “More recently, she came across as the British Burnout,” she told them. “It seems success went right to her nose. But she had a come-back album released back in June and seemed to have cleaned herself up. Then, two weeks before taping started for
D-Kodas
, Sukey had a relapse. Of course, the standard rehab stint is twenty-eight days, but my sources tell me that Sukey is signing herself out tomorrow morning.”

Liza could only laugh. “Well, Michelle, if the publicity business ever goes south, you could always make ends meet by ratting people out to Don Lowe.”

The look on Michelle’s face showed that she didn’t think that line was too funny, but all she said was, “Let’s hope things never come to that.”

Then she glanced at Liza’s propped-up leg. “So, will you be up—and about—to talk with Sukey tomorrow, or should Buck and I handle it?”

“It strikes me that both you and Buck have businesses to run.” Liza looked over at Michael. “You’re on hiatus, and it looks as if I’m out of the game for a while. What do you say to asking a few questions? I seem to remember that Sukey and Ritz used to be pretty tight.”

She turned back to Michelle and Buck. “Not that I think there’s a deep, dark mystery about why Ritz Tarleton died. But you do have me wondering what was on her mind that last time I saw her.”

 

 

Retreatments looked more like a spa than a drying-out clinic, located near the old artists’ colony in Malibu. Liza could hear the surf from the Pacific—and feel the chilly breeze coming off the water. It wasn’t even eight in the morning yet, the middle of the night for most party people—and the paparazzi who stalked them. But, according to Michelle’s usually infallible sources, this was when Sukey Tupp was checking out of the treatment center.

Liza looked up and down the block. Except for Michael sitting beside her, nobody else seemed to be waiting.
I guess Don Lowe and his minions didn’t get this newsflash,
she thought.

The glass door opened, and a young woman stepped onto the street. Liza already had her car door open and the walker in position. She heaved herself upright and began stumping across the street, outdistancing a surprised Michael.

Watching her advance, the young woman called out, “Sorry, luv. I don’t think this place has the kind of rehab you need.”

“It’s you I need, Ms. Tupp.” Liza hadn’t been quite sure before, but that Cockney accent was the clincher.

Sukey Tupp might be a Brit, but she’d fallen back on the usual Californian idea of going undercover—no makeup and large sunglasses. Liza’s memories of the singer’s brief glory days left her with an image of a saucy, rounded figure, wearing too-tight jeans and always swaying to an insistent drum backbeat.

Rehab Sukey’s cheekbones seemed more prominent and the rest of her seemed skinnier . . . or maybe just drawn.

She sighed. “Well, you got me, luv. Should I be smiling for the cameras?”

“I’m not looking for an interview,” Liza said. “My name is Liza Kelly—”

Sukey’s face actually showed some animation. “The sudoku lady!”

Liza nodded.

“I love those pieces you do in the newspaper,” Sukey went on with enthusiasm. “Wherever I go, I try to get the
London Times
—they have the real fiendish puzzles—the
Guardian
, and the local paper that has your column.”

I bet her people have an easier time getting hold of the British papers than finding my stuff,
Liza couldn’t help thinking.

“Thanks,” she said aloud. “You sound like a real sudoku fan. I imagine you’d have done well on
D-Kodas
.”

At the mention of the show, the singer’s face went tight again. “P’raps I might have done . . . ’cepting for my wee indiscretion. You don’t really want to hear about that, do you?”

“No, we’re hoping you can tell us a little about Ritz Tarleton,” Michael said, joining them. “My wife was one of the last people to talk with her before the earthquake.”

Sukey’s shoulders slumped a little. “I heard about that. Hell of a thing. Some of the people down here on the farm didn’t even feel the ground move. It’s one of the reasons I decided to leave the place. Not the earthquake or the people—I’m trying to make up my mind whether I want to go to the funeral.”

“I thought you and Ritz were pretty close,” Liza said.

Sukey jerked her head around. “So why did the dizzy bitch ship me, then?”

Michael had the better handle on British slang. “You’re saying she’s the reason you’re here?”

“Had to go show me face at some award to-do—only cable, but it’s still publicity.” Sukey halted, a little embarrassed. “Well, I was really fagged out, and Ritz offered to help me out—a hit of, errrr, Andean pick-me-up powder, if you know what I mean.”

She shook her head. “Don’t know what they cut it with, but the stuff had the exact opposite effect. Fell out of me seat, not to mention my dress, and wouldn’t you know it, there was some bastard there from
The Lowdown
with a camera. So there was no hope of hushing it up. Off I went to restore my chemical balance.”

And when you went, they needed another body for Celebrity Week on
D-Kodas, Liza thought. Surprise, surprise, Ritz Tarleton turned out to be the next female celeb on the list.

While Liza considered other questions to ask, a car finally came to pick up Sukey Tupp. Maybe that was just as well—the singer wasn’t in much of a mood to reminisce more about Ritz Tarleton anyway.

That suited Liza. Even if Sukey was a fan, the longer Liza spoke with her, the more she seemed to pick up a tone in the woman’s voice, as if someone had stretched a wire almost to the breaking point and kept plucking it.

Liza remembered watching videos of Sukey onstage—she had an intensity to her performance, an ability to communicate a vibe. The problem was, the vibe was now enough to make Liza quiver, too.

Methinks Ms. Tupp is not as together as she tries to present herself,
Liza thought.

Watching Sukey’s attempt (and failure) to maintain her facade made Liza wonder if Ritz had been doing the same thing—only more successfully—on the set of
D-Kodas
.

Slogging back to Michael’s Honda, she frowned in thought. Liza had gotten a snootful of Ritz Tarleton’s attitude and indolence while trying to teach her in that prison sudoku class. She’d certainly been turned off by the way Ritz behaved—was it really just two days ago? It seemed like a week.

The point was, Liza had put her efforts into ignoring Ritz rather than paying attention to her. Even with that nasty little trick on Samantha Pang, Liza had been more interested in the victim than the perpetrator.

What had really been going on behind Ritz Tarleton’s smug-looking little fox face? Who on the set might have had a chance to know?

When she got back to the car, Liza called Buck Foreman on her cell phone. “I imagine Michelle had you checking backgrounds on the major people involved with the
D-Kodas
Celebrity Week.”

“Ever since you agreed to take part,” Buck told her.

“Did anybody have a history with Ritz Tarleton?”

Buck laughed. “You figure an old enemy stalked her and used the earthquake as a convenient cover-up for doing away with her?”

“I’m just trying to get my head around what she was thinking that last day on the set.”

“Mainly she seemed to be thinking about how to give Darrie Brunswick a stroke.” Buck chuckled again. “What do you figure? Ritz was planning to take her place and be the new hostess?”

“Unlikely,” Liza said dryly. “But she may have mentioned what her plans were if she had a friend on the set.”

“I’d say there were two possibilities.” Buck rustled some papers together, looking over his reports. “When Ritz started making the whole celebrity scene, she turned up often with the actor guy—Richard ‘Chard’ Switzer. They were pretty tight, at least to begin with.”

He paused for a second. “More recently—within the last few months—Ritz turned up at a lot of places with that rapper guy, Forty Oz.”

“Places?” Liza pressed.

“Clubs, hotels, parties . . . and his crib, if you can use that term for a mansion up in Coldwater Canyon,” Buck replied. “Papa Tarleton was not happy.”

Liza had met Ritz’s father. Frederick “Fritz” Tarleton had turned his father’s family travel business into a deluxe tourism empire. He’d made a lot of money and had no problems with using it as a weapon.

“Old Fritz hired a beat-down on a former boyfriend who did Ritz wrong,” Liza said slowly. “Just how unhappy was he with Forty Oz.?” She thought about the couple of encounters she’d had with the rapper, in makeup and then watching him tape the first game. He had a fast mouth and maybe a temper, not a good combination for dealing with a heavy-handed father.

On the other hand, she couldn’t remember Ritz or Forty Oz. even talking to each other on the set. “What’s the situation between them now?” Liza asked.

“It seemed to be over, although
The Lowdown
still rehashed some he said/she said stuff about the end of the relationship.” Buck sounded almost embarrassed to recount the tabloid gossip. “The Ritz camp says she dumped him, while the other side claims she caught him with a dancer from his touring act.”

Interesting point of view,
Liza thought,
where infidelity is better than being dumped.

“As a practical matter, is there anyplace I can catch up with these guys?”

“Forty Oz. seems to be pretty big on the whole entourage thing—I’ll have to dig a little to find a reasonably private place where you can get to him,” Buck told her. “Switzer doesn’t work so hard at being a celebrity. He’s got a standing daily appointment at Body by LiComo, which should end in just about the time it would take for you to get there from Malibu.”

Liza turned to Michael. “I know where the place is,” he said, starting up the car.

“So how does a second-tier comic actor rate a standing appointment at Hollywood’s leading body sculptor?” Liza asked.

“It wouldn’t be easy,” Buck admitted, “except that Switzer was training with Rudy LiComo years before either of them became famous.”

“Well, it’s nice to see someone displaying a little loyalty,” Liza said. “Do you think we’ll have any problems getting in there?”

“Nothing that a call from Michelle couldn’t take care of,” Buck said.

“There’s very little in this town that a call from Michelle couldn’t handle,” Liza told him.

Buck agreed with a not exactly humorous chuckle. Liza said good-bye and cut the connection.

After a quick heads-up call to Markson Associates, Liza sat quietly, just rubbing her right knee as Michael drove on. If she had an ounce of sense, she’d be back home with her leg up and those silly frozen peas soothing the pain. Instead, she was stumbling around on a walker playing detective.

Why? I didn’t even like Ritz Tarleton,
she thought ruefully. But when she glanced over at Michael, she realized why. He wasn’t saying anything, but the tension she saw in his shoulders wasn’t from any traffic. He was worried about Lolly Popovic.
And I’m worried about him.
They rode on in mutual, troubled silence until they reached Rudy LiComo’s glorified gym.

Michelle had already worked her magic. Not only did they get the red-carpet treatment when they walked in the door, but Rudy LiComo came over to say hello. The head of the gym was a tall, sinewy guy who was losing his hair, so he wore it cut very short.

“Michelle wasn’t very clear on what you needed,” he said, taking a sidelong glance at Liza’s walker. “We aren’t set up for physical therapy, although I could make some recommendations. Or are you interested in building some more upper-body strength?”

Liza rattled her walker slightly. “I seem to be getting enough of a workout from this right now,” she said. “Actually, I was hoping to catch up with Chard Switzer.”

LiComo frowned. “Richie finished his workout. Why don’t you go to the juice bar while I pop in the locker room and tell him you’re here?”

Getting us out of the way if he decides to leave without talking,
Liza thought.

Michael glanced at her, obviously thinking the same thing. Liza shrugged.
LiComo’s place, LiComo’s rules.
“Great,” she said. “I appreciate your help.”