Undercover in High Heels (11 page)

“And you?”

Blake did the sad-smile thing again. “At least no one’s hounding me for interviews. I’d better get to the set.”

I watched as Blake shuffled out the door and into
the soundstage. Honestly, he didn’t strike me as the killer sort. More the lie-down-and-take-it-like-a-doormat sort. Then again, he was, after all, a trained actor. I wondered just how much lying down and taking it a man could do before he snapped?

It took Mia only fifteen takes to get her monologue in Blake’s hospital room right. By the time Steinman yelled an exhausted, “That’s a wrap, ” my neck was stiffer than a new pair of leather boots and I was ready to drop.

I gathered up my purse, thankful that tomorrow was Sunday—the one day the crew took off during shooting season, and met Dana near the rear gate. The bump on her head had grown and was starting to turn purple.

“Do you think maybe you should get that looked at?” I asked.

Dana shook her head. “I’m fine. Just a little bump. All I need’s an aspirin.”

I dug through my purse and came up with one, which I handed over.

“Are we ready to go try Veronika’s neighbor again?” Dana asked as she swallowed the pill.

I groaned. “I don’t exactly have a car.”

“No prob.” Dana held up a pair of keys dangling from a rabbit’s-foot key chain. “Ricky let me borrow his.”

I raised one eyebrow. “Ricky?”

Dana blushed. “Isn’t he just the sweetest?”

Uh-oh. I felt my internal radar pricking up. “Dana, please tell me you’re not—”

“No!” she cut me off. “I’m celibate, remember? Besides,
he’s, like, totally famous. I’m sure I’m not even remotely his type.”

I had a bad feeling Dana was every guy’s type.

Dana twirled her borrowed keys in one hand. “We going to go talk to the neighbor or what?”

While my head was screaming for a long, hot bubble bath and a big, frosty cocktail (not necessarily in that order), I had to admit the idea of going home to my apartment alone wasn’t all that appealing. The last thing I wanted to find was more roadkill. Or, worse yet, Mr. Roadkiller himself, waiting in his menacing SUV. So, despite the whiplash and brewing headache, fifteen minutes later we were in Ricky’s silver Porsche on the 101 heading up through the hills and west toward the Valley.

We exited at Topanga Canyon, making a left on Victory as we wound our way into West Hills, a suburban area on the westernmost edge of the Valley. Strip malls lined the major streets, while residence clamored up the hillside, each just a little higher than the others to capitalize on the view.

Dana slowed as we approached Coronado, a tree-lined street set into the natural hillside flanked with a hodgepodge of oversize homes fairly bursting from their modest-sized lots. Most were set behind manicured lawns with mature, blooming foliage, and driveways sporting BMWs and racy-looking Italian sports cars.

Dana parked in front of 1342, a faux-Mediterranean villa set behind a row of neatly clipped palm trees.

“This is where Veronika lived?” Dana asked, gaping at the near mansion. “ ’Kay, I know how much a stand-in makes. Twenty bucks says she had a sugar daddy.”

Considering her prenatal state, that wasn’t a bet I was willing to take.

“Come on; let’s go talk to the neighbor.”

We locked the car and walked up the flagstone pathway to the house Ricky had indicated, just to the right of Veronika’s. This one was done in an English Tudor style, with exposed wood beams running diagonally across the stucco face. Dana knocked on the solid front door, which was opened two beats later by an older woman in a pastel blouse with little Scottie dogs running across it. She held a TV remote in one hand, and I could hear static in the background.

“You here to fix the cable?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at us. “ ’Cause it’s been busted all morning.”

“Uh, no. Sorry, we’re not from the cable company.”

“Then I don’t want whatever you’re selling.” She started to close the door, but Dana was quicker.

“Actually we worked with your neighbor, Veronika. On
Magnolia Lane
.”

“Oh?” The woman paused. “Oh, you’re TV folk?” She brightened up, standing a little taller. Then she squinted her eyes at Dana. “I don’t remember you. Were you on last season?”

“No, I’m an extra.”

“Oh.” Her interest waned again.

“Anyway, ” I jumped in before we lost her, “we were wondering if we could ask you a couple of questions about Veronika.”

The woman snorted. “Hmph. That tart. She thought she was really something. You know, when I heard she was gonna be on the TV, I went and baked her a pineapple upside-down cake, just like the one I seen them make on the Food Network. Anyway, she ate the whole thing, and when I asked if maybe she could get
me that Mia’s autograph, she just laughed at me. Said Mia wouldn’t give the likes of me the time of day. Can you believe the nerve of that girl? Prima donna.”

I hated to say it, but Veronika was probably right.

“Do you know if Veronika was dating anyone?” I asked.

Her wrinkled cheeks parted in a smile. “Well, I don’t know about
dating
, but I do happen to know that she went out with that hunky gardener fellow from the show. Now,
he
gave me an autograph.”

“Yes, he told us that you might be able to help us.”

“He mentioned me?” She smiled so widely I feared her face might crack.

Dana nodded. “Uh-huh. He said you knew everything that went on on this street. That we could just ask you.”

The woman laid a hand on her chest and blushed. “What a nice young man.”

“Isn’t he?” Dana gushed.

I rolled my eyes.

“He said that you told him you’d seen Veronika come home with a man…the night before he met you…?” I prompted.

“Oh, yes.” She nodded vigorously. “Now, I’m not one to spread rumors—I keep to my own business, you see. But I’ll tell you I seen a man go in with Veronika late at night, just about when Jay Leno come on, and he didn’t come out until the ladies from
The View
had their first guest the next morning.” She nodded sagely. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure what they were doing.”

Now we were getting somewhere. “Did you recognize him?” I asked. “Maybe from the show?”

She pursed her lips together. “No, I don’t think so. But it was dark. And the next morning I just got the
faintest glimpse of him. But, ” she said, leaning in, “I will tell you he wasn’t the only one.”

My ears pricked up. “Really?”

“Oh, yes. Men were always going in and out of that place.” She gestured next door. “Girls too. It’s like a cheap motel, that house. Complete den of iniquity. I tried to get the neighborhood association to fine the owner, but she just claimed she had a lot of friends. I’ve got a mind to call that gal on channel four who does those neighborhood grievance reports.”

“So, Veronika doesn’t own the house?”

“I knew it, ” Dana mumbled.

“Goodness, no. She just rents a room. She moved in a few months ago. That place had been going south long before then.”

“Do you know the landlord’s name?”

“Ask her yourself, ” she said. “She just got home a few minutes before you pulled up.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime, and, uh, tell that nice young gardener fellow I said hi.”

I eyed Veronika’s house as the woman closed her door and went back to her cable-guy vigil. A lot of friends, huh?

“Maybe we should go pay our condolences to the landlord, ” I suggested.

Dana followed as I picked my way over the moist lawn and up the gravel-lined pathway to the front door. The home itself was a pale adobe-colored stucco, with white columns flanking the front door and large, flowering birds-of-paradise in glazed planters on the porch. The front windows were all closed and shaded behind heavy curtains. Unless you
knew someone was inside, there’d be no way to tell.

I rang the bell beside the imposing front door and waited while footsteps approached from inside. Two seconds later I heard the sound of a lock being thrown and the thick door swung open.

“Yes? What do you want?”

I stared, blinking as I took in the woman’s liposuctioned thighs encased in tiny spandex shorts, her obviously man-made chest barely contained by a little red crop top, and those familiar collagen-enhanced lips, the likes of which I’d last seen six feet high on a billboard above the Taco Bell on Pico.

Jasmine.

Jasmine put a manicured hand on her hip and raised one eyebrow (which, of course, due to regular Botox injections, did little to change the expression on her placid face). “Well?” she asked.

I swallowed. “Hi, Jasmine.”

She cocked her head to the side, one finger twirling a lock of dyed red hair. “Do I know you?”

“Maddie, ” I supplied.

Still nothing but a blank stare on Porn Star Bar-bie’s face.

“Maddie Springer. Richard’s ex-girlfriend.”

More blinking. “Oh, right. You’re the chick who stabbed that girl’s implant.” She crossed her arms protectively over her double Ds. “What do you want?”

“We, uh, we’re friends of Veronika’s, ” I said, stretching the truth just a little. “Your neighbor said that you lived here together?”

“She was my tenant. I own this place.”

Dana did a low whistle. “Business must be very good.”

Jasmine smiled (which, with her highly lifted face, was something akin to the Joker in Batman). “Very. I’ve got a billboard up on Pico.”

“I noticed, ” I mumbled. “Veronika rented a room from you?”

“More like worked for me. I run a twenty-four-hour Web cam. Veronika was one of my girls.”

Mental forehead smack. “Veronika was a cyber-sex girl?”

Jasmine frowned. (Or tried to. See Botox reference above.) “It’s not just cyber sex. Yes, we do some private chats, but mostly we just let the cameras run and go about our daily lives.”

“And men pay three ninety-nine a minute for that?” Dana asked, peering into the house over Jasmine’s bony shoulder.

“Well, we’re naked most of the time.”

Aha.

“You’re awfully nosy, ” Jasmine said, planting her hands on her hips again. “What’s all this about?”

“We’re helping the police investigate Veronika’s death, ” I lied. Hey, the police were investigating; we were investigating—it was almost like we were working together.

“Veronika was killed on the set, not here. Besides, I saw on
Extra
that Mia was the real target anyway.”

“Maybe, ” I hedged. “But we’re looking into all possible leads.” Wow, that sounded official. Finally, all those hours of watching
Law & Order
were paying off.

“Well, I didn’t do it, ” Jasmine said, crossing her arms protectively over her boobs again. “I’ve got nothing to hide. Everything we do here is perfectly legal. See for yourself.” She stepped back to allow us entry.

I admit, curiosity got the better of me. I’d never been inside a real live den of iniquity before.

As we stepped into the marble-tiled foyer, I realized that the inside of the house was even more decadent than the outside. To the right lay a sunken living room lined in plush red velvet sofas. A black-lacquer coffee table sat in the center of the room, in the corner a matching bar, fully stocked with colorful bottles. The walls were painted in deep reds and burgundies, and the windows were all covered in heavy curtains, though bright, strategically placed spotlights on metal stands blazed throughout the room.

And in each corner, mounted into the ceiling, were white Web cams, little red lights blinking on each of them.

“Are those on?” I asked.

“Always, ” Jasmine responded.

I resisted the urge to cover my face.

Two girls walked past us, into the living room (both clad only in their itty-bitties), sat down on one of the sofas, and started to play a game of Go Fish.

“Seriously, guys pay for this?” Dana asked.

Jasmine smirked. “And girls. I cleared three mil last year.”

I was so in the wrong business. “Three million?” I gasped out. I looked over at the Go Fish players, wondering if they needed a third.

“What can I say? Sex sells.”

“So, Veronika worked here for you. Doing what? Playing”—I gestured to the two girls. One was taking her top off now. Apparently it was strip Go Fish—“cards?”

Jasmine nodded. “Among other things. I gave her room and board free, and her hours were flexible, so
she could go on auditions. Most of my girls are aspiring actresses. Of course, when she landed the gig as Mia’s stand-in, it cut into her hours here some, but she worked nights. I gotta get my beauty sleep, you know.”

“Do you know if Veronika was seeing anyone special?” I asked. “Maybe a boyfriend?”

Jasmine puckered her collagen-enhanced lips. “Veronika kind of kept to herself. Not real friendly. Unless, of course, the cameras were on her. I remember she did bring this one guy home once. After that she started getting the same guy logging in to watch her every day. I figured maybe it was a boyfriend.”

“When was this?” I asked, mentally crossing my fingers.

“I dunno. About five months ago. Maybe four. But like I said, he’s logged in every day since then.”

“What about since Veronika’s been gone?” Dana asked.

Jasmine cocked her head to the side. “Once or twice, I think. Mostly just quick stints. Nothing longer than a couple of minutes.”

“Any way you could find out this guy’s name?”

Jasmine shook her head, her red hair whipping across her cheeks. “Nope. All our transactions are done through a secure online payment system, Pay-Mate. The clients enter their credit card information, the company tracks their online time, then sends me a check. It’s all anonymous. The clients can’t find us, and we don’t know who they are.”

“Well, surely someone at PayMate must have his personal info then?”

“Someone, ” Jasmine replied. “But it ain’t me. Now,
if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to work. You can let yourselves out.”

With that, Jasmine walked into the living room to join the rousing Go Fish game. She stripped off her spandex shorts to reveal a pair of Brazilian-cut panties so skimpy they left little to the imagination as to what else might be Brazilian on Jasmine’s body.

Dana and I quickly ducked out the front door and down the pathway to her borrowed Porsche.

“So, ” she said once we’d settled in, “how do we get to PayMate’s records?”

Chances were, if they catered to the adult industry, they weren’t likely to give out their clients’ names and addresses to a couple of blondes just because we asked nicely. What we needed was someone who knew computers and how to get around them.

Unfortunately, I knew only one computer hacker.

Felix.

I debated the merits of calling him. It felt a little like poking at a slug—like some of that slime might rub off if I stood too close. On the other hand, the fact that Jasmine had bought our “we’re working with the police” spiel meant the actual police had yet to attack her with the same line of questioning. They were so busy focusing on Dusty’s altercation with Mia that they’d likely have Dusty handcuffed, fingerprinted, and on her way to San Quentin before anyone ever got around to checking PayMate’s records.

So figuring I was doing a favor for a friend of a friend of my college roommate, I dialed Felix’s cell.

He picked up on the first ring, no doubt hoping I was a hot lead on Jessica Simpson’s latest nude-sunbathing location.

“Felix Dunn, ” he answered.

“Hey. It’s Maddie.”

He paused on the other end. “Yes?” he asked cautiously. Apparently he knew how I felt about the slime factor.

“Listen, I need a favor.”

He laughed. “Don’t you always? And what do I get in return for this favor? You know, my editor wouldn’t even print that story about Deveroux being gay. I got bumped off the front page.”

“Oh, don’t pout. One story about Liberace’s ghost and you’ll be back on top.”

“You know, for a girl who needs a favor, you’re not being very nice to me.”

He was right, I wasn’t. What can I say? Old habits died hard. “Sorry. How about this: Pretty, pretty please will you do me a favor?”

“Am I going to get a real story out of it?”

I looked up at Jasmine’s Mediterranean. “Uh-huh.”

“Does it involve sex or starlets?”

“Both. In spades.”

“I’m in. What’s the favor?”

I quickly explained Veronika’s involvement in Jas-mine’s Web site, the credit card company, and the regular customer. As I talked I could hear him mentally putting together a sensationalized headline:
Cyber-sex Starlet Slain by Sweetheart—Bigfoot Involved?
(Okay, I added that last part, but ten to one he’d be in the story somewhere. I mean, this was the
Informer
we were talking about.) By the time I finished he was practically salivating into the phone. He said to meet him at his place in twenty minutes and he’d pull up the PayMate site.

The address Felix gave me was in the Hollywood Hills, up Laurel Canyon, down Mulholland, and winding around until we broke through the trees and were treated to a spectacular view of the city that made my breath catch in my throat faster than a lungful of freeway smog. Below us the entire valley spread out like a fine mosaic of twinkling lights, and through the trees I could make out the Hollywood sign, starkly white against the dark hills. It was the kind of view that would make a location scout stand up and cheer.

And the house standing in front of it wasn’t any less impressive. It was a large glass structure, constructed of sleek modern angles. I could tell it was the work of some famous architect, the angles leaning to the side as if they might topple over with a strong Santa Ana. The front of the house was paneled in pale blond woods, while what I could see of the back was one solid wall of glass. In the driveway, as if to mock the grandeur of the structure, sat a blue Dodge Neon with a dented front fender.

Last year while working with Felix on the story in Vegas, I’d learned that, while he was swimming in family money from his father’s side (though he wouldn’t divulge just how much), he was a cheapskate of the highest degree, courtesy of his mother’s Scottish upbringing. I’d teased him at the time about being a cheap rich guy. Though I hadn’t realized until now just how rich he must be.

“Wow.” Dana stared up at the imposing structure. “You sure your tabloid guy lives here?”

“He’s not
my
tabloid guy, ” I protested a little more loudly than I’d meant to. “And I guess we’re about to see.”

Dana locked the Porsche, doing the little
beep-beep
thing with her rabbit’s-foot remote, and we walked down the neatly laid stone pathway and up a flight of slate stairs to the front door.

“How come you haven’t introduced me to this guy before?” Dana asked, taking in the multimillion-dollar view. “What, is he, like, hideous or something?”

“Not if you like slugs, ” I mumbled as the door opened.

Felix was dressed in the same rumpled button-down shirt he’d been in the last four times I’d seen him, though tonight he was going casual, pairing it with jeans, ripped at the knees. His feet were bare, and while his hair was still sticking up in that messy-chic way (though knowing Felix it was a messy didn’t-bother-to-comb-my-hair-after-rolling-out-of-bed way), I was glad to see he’d at least shaved since the last time I’d seen him, giving his face a deceptively boyish look.

“Maddie, ” he said.

“Felix.”

I felt Dana nudge me in the ribs. “Ohmigod, he’s Hugh Grant-alicious!” she whispered in my ear.

Uh-huh. With the moral fiber of pond scum.

“Some place you’ve got here, ” I said as I pushed past him. The floors were a polished hardwood, the furnishings simple, yet stylish, obviously the work of an interior decorator who knew when to stop knickknacking. Low sofas, pale woods, smooth, clean lines. Overall a calming atmosphere made to showcase the natural beauty of the surrounding hills.

Felix looked around himself, as if he hadn’t really noticed. “It’s a roof.”

“How many square feet have you got?”

He grinned. “Enough.”

“Hi, I’m Dana.” I watched as Dana thrust her hand out at Felix, doing a big-eyed eyelash-batting thing.

Oh brother.

I almost felt sorry for Felix. (Almost. He had, after all, spliced my head on Pamela Anderson’s body.)

“Pleasure to meet you, ” Felix said, pumping Dana’s hand. “Felix Dunn.”

“Oh, I know! Maddie’s told me so much about you.” Dana fluttered her eyelashes and leaned in closer.

“Has she now?” Felix asked, cocking an eyebrow my way.

I pretended not to notice.

“Oh, yes. I think it’s so cool that you’re a reporter. You must see some amaaaaaaazing things, ” she said, drawing out the word with a Betty Boop giggle as she laid a seductive hand on his arm.

Oy vey. It was only a matter of time before the flattery started getting laid down thicker than sunblock on a Venice lifeguard.

“Yes, just last week he saw Bigfoot run off with the Crocodile Woman, ” I added.

Felix grinned, extricating his hand (with no small effort) from Dana’s grip. “Our Maddie’s ever the comedian, isn’t she?”

The sad thing was, I think the
Informer
had actually printed that story last week.

“No, I’m onto bigger and better things, ” he continued. “Like starlets who work for cyber-sex sites, right?”

Right. I forced myself to rein in my sarcasm. “Where’s your computer?”

“This way, m’ladies.” Felix did a mock bow, gesturing to the back of the house.

Dana giggled and touched his arm again.

Good grief. One week off sex and already her standards were dropping faster than Paris Hilton’s panties.

My wedges echoed on the hardwood as we followed Felix through the foyer and down a small flight of stairs to a large office overlooking the back of the house. The wall of glass capitalized on the unobstructed view of the valley. Beyond the glass sat lush, obviously professional landscaping and a bubbling hot tub perched atop a large wooden deck.

“Wow, what a great view, ” Dana said, pressing her nose to the glass. “And check out the size of that hot tub. I bet you could fit fifteen people in there, easy.”

“Honestly, I’ve never tried. But it fits one quite nicely.”

“Or two…” Dana purred.

That was it. I was driving her straight to an SA meeting after this.

Felix crossed the room to a large, Craftsman-style desk. Beside it an array of printers, fax machines, scanners, and lots of other scary-looking electronics lined the low bookcases. A slim, state-of-the-art computer hummed to life on the desktop, a flat-screen monitor bigger than my television just above.