Helena Goes to Hollywood: A Helena Morris Mystery (3 page)

I rolled my eyes. "Sure, I’ll just pull out my magic wand and the stalker will magically be locked up for writing a note. Let go of the fur ball, get your skinny ass off the couch, and get ready to talk to the police. We’re going if I have to drag you by your hair. Won’t that make for great tabloid photos?"

"I’m not skinny. I can't hit a zero. I bounce from a two back up to a four." She punched a pillow.

“That would be your focus.” I fought the urge to slap her.

I almost told her I was happy to stay a size ten and just wait until her metabolism started to betray her. But a noise behind me stole my attention. A snap in the trees outside her fancy etched glass patio doors that stood open to the smallish backyard. Nothing stood between us and whoever had trespassed on my sister's property but a screen door.

I put a finger to my lips to keep them quiet. Sonia’s eyes grew wide and she eased back down to hug her dog. Reality wasn't my sister’s strong suit.

Jordan grabbed an odd looking metal sculpture from an end table and huddled with the couch crew. No help there, but I was better off alone. I’d come prepared.

Walking to the doorway I looked out, slid the screen door open and pulled my gun. At least I was ready.

"You're trespassing on private property. Get out of those bushes,” I warned.

T
he young trees rustled and bowed as a balding man stumbled out with a camera bouncing off his pot belly. "Relax, babe, just doing my job. Put the gun away," he said.

Not going to happen. "Get off this property."

Paparazzi were like locusts. My sister loved the good attention and dreaded the bad but they were all annoying in my book. Stalking was their job and chasing people in cars wasn’t beneath them. Nothing was beneath them.

Maybe they needed to realize a camera wasn’t the most dangerous weapon around. Going hand-to-hand meant getting close and I wanted this guy far away. A creep who hides behind a camera didn’t have the balls to fight me.

"Doll, it's the job." He advanced until he was only a few feet away and rapidly snapped pictures. The man’s smug disregard for private property hit my last nerve.

“That’s close enough. Stop,” I warned.

“Hon, I just want a few good shots.” He hit the button again.

"Me too." I smiled, aimed, and fired three times.

The bullets sunk in the soft grass a few feet short of his shoes.

“Shit, woman! You’re psycho!” the photographer screamed.

Jordan rushed out to the patio. He stopped when he saw I was fine.

Taking advantage of my being distracted, the reporter took off like he was chasing a naked Lindsey Lohan. To get out the back he had to pass Jordan, but Jordan stepped in front of the creep and punched the guy with no display of effort. The pap went down hard. Jordan impressed me more and more. That was a solid shot to the nose. Not bad! After a few seconds the creep recovered, shook it off and scampered away under Jordan’s glare. We’d probably given him more exercise in two minutes than he'd had in ten years.

“Damn, Hel. You are not subtle,” Jordan hooted as we watched the guy run.

“Subtlety is overrated and you’re a lot tougher than you dress.” We went inside.

Closing the back door and locking it, I turned to my sister. "All better for now. Keep the doors and windows locked. Shades down. What is so hard about that?"

"You didn't actually do that." My sister’s hands covered her ears. “What is wrong with you?”

"What?" I shrugged. “He could be the stalker baiting you for a story. Sorry the gun is loud, but you can’t react that way on
Fed Files
, just so you know.”

"Are you crazy? Do you think guns go off in Brentwood all the time? My neighbors will call the cops. That guy will tell everyone about you. He has your picture, with a gun, and dressed like
that
." Sonia stood and looked around as if lost in her own home. "I need to get ready before the police come. I can’t be seen like this by people."

“The police are people?” Jordan asked.

"Good, the cops coming means we can do the stalker report here. And I don't care what reporters think about me—I’m only here to protect you," I called after her as she headed up the stairs. "Don't make me call Mom!"

Sonia leaned over the banister. "Don’t you dare tell her! She’d worry."

No shit she'd worry. Like I wasn’t worried? After what our dad had put Mom through, the idea that Sonia had someone threatening her would send Mom into a full tilt panic. I didn’t want that either. So this was my problem.

Jordan maintained a certain grace under pressure. “I’ll check on her.”

“Thanks.” I needed a little space.

The tabloid reporter probably wasn’t the stalker but I needed to stay sharp. In La-La Land the typical stalker profile didn’t apply. It could be a complete stranger, an obsessed fan, or a jealous coworker. It could still be the ex. I had too many options.

Thanks to Mom I also had the leverage to make my sister cooperate. Not that she understood half of Mom’s overprotective nature. Lucky girl, Sonia never knew Dad. That’s how she turned out a dreamer, free-spirited, and imaginative.

A car pulled up out front just as Jordan descended the stairs. “Someone called the popo.”

I checked my watch. Under five minutes. “Pretty good police response for the 'burbs.”

But these weren't any 'burbs...this was Brentwood. Movie stars and rock stars...and now one very out of place black belt.

“Want me to go upstairs and keep Mrs. Flynn calm?” Jordan asked.

“She’ll be fine. Go wherever you’re comfortable. Cops don’t bother me.”

Jordan smiled. “Me either. This is Brentwood. OJ got off but they’re still a little nervous about harassing black men in mansions. Mess with me and it’s a double hate crime. Black and gay.” He held out two long fingers and swished them through the air for emphasis.

“Gay, really?” I looked him up and down just like he’d done to me on the front steps. “I had no idea. Guess that style is better than normal people drab.”

Jordan doubled over laughing. “Damn. Sonia said you were dull, but you’re all right. I’m just glad it’s a white chick shooting up Brentwood. Don’t try to pin it on me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I chuckled. “I’ll take all the credit. But you did hit him and I avoided that sort of physical evidence.”

Jordan’s perfectly waxed eyebrow arched. “You shot the place up on purpose to get the cops out here and force Sonia’s hand? You’re good.”

I just smiled. My sister had to be handled.

The doorbell rang and my sister shrieked from upstairs. “Jordan! I gave Lupe the day off.”

“I got it. Just relax.” I set my gun on the kitchen counter next to the stalker note.

Crossing the massive living room with its expensive white marble floors and area rugs that looked like impressionist paintings—none of this seemed real. I opened the door and found one uniformed officer so young I wanted to pinch his cheek.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. We received a report of shots fired at this address. Everything all right?” He cleared his throat and looked over my clothes.

Most guys just stared at my chest, but not so much in Hollywood. My outfit straight from Old Navy and Kohl’s consisted of worn jeans and a comfy green T-shirt and would be perfectly normal in all but the richest sections of Vegas.

“Yes, I’m visiting my sister.” I wasn’t giving him one more piece of info than he asked for until we got to my priority.

“Sonia Flynn, the owner of the house?” He glanced from me to Jordan and back.

“She’s my little sister.” She was traditional enough to take Danny’s last name. Maybe traditional was
in
in Hollywood. I couldn’t care enough to keep track.

“Can I see some identification?” he asked.

“Sure.” I grabbed my purse off the couch, freed my driver’s license from the wallet, and handed it over.

Jordan handed his over too and gave me a
just in case
shrug.

“Okay. Jordan Michaels. Helena Morris. Care to explain the gunshots?” He eyed me more than Jordan, even though Jordan fit in better here.

“I brought my gun with me to give my sister some pointers on looking natural holding a gun. She’s going to be in that new crime drama
Fed Files
. They lost their tech consultant and she’s afraid of looking awkward holding a gun.”

Too much detail looked like lying, not enough meant hiding. Plus that part was actually true. She’d texted me last week for pointers on guns and needing help with that. Eventually I’d have made this trip.

“I see. Well, firing a weapon in a residential area is illegal unless you’re defending yourself. Can I see the gun?” He returned our driver’s licenses.

I led him to the kitchen counter. “Right here. There were some special circumstances. A man was hiding in the backyard and he rushed out of the bushes at me. It was self-defense. Trespassing is illegal. He could’ve been armed. I only fired warning shots right into the grass.”

Lying to the cops or feds was a good way to make more trouble. Unless it was absolutely necessary, I told some version of the truth.

“This gun is registered to you?” he asked.

“Of course.” Like I showed off an illegal gun?

“And you brought it from Vegas with you?”

“In my suitcase. Yes. I’m not looking for trouble.” I rolled my eyes at the by-the-books cop.

He’d learn eventually. A more seasoned officer would’ve pegged me as connected to law enforcement already.

“Good to know.” He didn’t sound convinced.

Jordan chimed in. “People have a right to defend themselves.”

I really didn’t need the help. “The guy blatantly trespassed. I told him to leave and he refused. Did he file a complaint?”

I already knew that answer was no or the cop would’ve started there. Not that there had been time. Getting to the cops first was an advantage.

“Not that I know of.” He inspected the gun, pulled out the clip and so on. Basic baby cop stuff.

Then he noticed the note. “Where did you find this?”

“My sister found it on her car this morning. Sonia is being stalked. Naturally I was even more on guard for trespassers. I told her to call the police. She’s very scared.”

“She contacted you first because you own a gun?”

“Because I have a gun, I’m her sister, I’m a black belt, and I was married to an FBI agent for ten years. She didn’t want publicity.” I grinned at him. The tables had spun. “I had every reason to suspect my sister was in immediate danger from anyone trespassing on her property.”

The cop looked a little nervous now. “FBI? Field office?”

“He’s out of Chicago. Todd Morris. Check if you want.” I nodded at the radio on his shoulder.

My ex and I were on generally good terms, and to help Sonia I’d abuse the connection. The cop actually called it in and then inspected the note while he waited for answers. He was so new at this he probably thought whatever he was doing was the most important thing anyone at dispatch had to deal with.

“Who could’ve done this?” he asked.

“She left the side door to the garage open, so anyone. Can we file the report here? She’s worried about going to the station and making it a tabloid story. Obviously the reporters are hanging all over her because of the divorce. It’s a zoo!” I wasn’t looking forward to any of it.

“I can take the info here, sure. We’ll have a team come out and check for evidence so you both need to stay out of the garage.” He nodded.

“Not a problem.” Duh. I’d have searched it myself except I didn’t want to disturb it any more than Sonia had.

His radio chirped and I walked to the staircase to let him chat.

“Sonia, get down here. Time to talk to the police,” I called upstairs.

I turned back to the cop. “Going to write me up for illegal discharge?”

He smiled at me. “No ma’am. Self-defense is your right. But you’re not going to carry that weapon concealed in the state of California, are you? Nevada law doesn’t apply.”

I smiled and lied to his innocent face. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Giving up my gun was not an option. What the Boy Scout didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me. Nevada was open carry, which meant I had to display my gun to carry it. California still hid their guns, so anyone could be carrying and you just never knew.

Sonia appeared on the stairs looking like a billion dollars. Flawless make up, perfect hair, and a killer red dress—that was the Sonia I knew.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I hope this won’t take too long. My sister and I have a party to attend tonight for my new show. I can’t tell you how I admire law enforcement officers now that I get to portray their drama and heroics on television.” Sonia was such an actress.

“Darling, you look fabulous.” Jordan gushed.

I went in search of my diet soda and possibly a splash of rum for it. My sister was in full actress mode and I’d just been enlisted as her bodyguard for a party. At least she was on board with talking to the cops and having me for a shadow. She was high maintenance but not stupid.

Parties and stalkers...I was in Hollywood hell!

O
ur baby-faced cop left and I still had my gun so it was a win. He’d taken the report and promised to have someone check out the garage. Stalkers were like missing persons; unless you could prove immediate danger the police wanted to wait and see how it played out. You couldn’t put a restraining order on someone without a name. Plus, Hollywood stars could afford bodyguards. The police spent more time arresting wild celebrities.

At least Sonia hadn’t gone that route. She wasn’t out of control or a rehab frequent flyer. However, the divorce had triggered a bit more drinking than normal.

Jordan had dashed off home but promised to be back soon. Then Sonia disappeared upstairs. After a little searching I found my sister in the massive bathroom upstairs.

“What party?” I asked.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing major. It’s for the band that did the
Fed Files
theme song. I have to be there. You don’t really need to go.” She dabbed powder on her neck, already looking model perfect.