Murder at the Academy Awards (R): A Red Carpet Murder Mystery (12 page)

T
here she was, Max. Bra. No gown. Humming.”

I looked at Cindy, curious. “What was Halsey humming?”

“‘I Kissed a Girl.’ You know how that one goes? First thing I thought was, ‘This girl is high.’”

“Because…?” I asked, leaning forward.

“
Because?
Because she was high! You saw her. I mean,
no clothes
. This was a girl who could have literally worn any dress in the universe that night. No designer, no price tag, was out of her reach. And instead she chose to show up in her bra?” Cindy laughed in pain at the wasted fashion op. “So that’s it. She was just sitting in the backseat.”

“No. Give me details.”

Cindy nodded. “Well, the leather was zebra-stripe, black-and-white, you know—”

I held up my hand. “Details about Halsey.”

“Right. She was undressed. Just like you saw her. She was kind of sprawled out in the back there. Very relaxed. And I said, ‘Halsey, are you ready? Max is all set.’ But she…well, Max, she asked me if I wanted to come on in and give her a big kiss.”

“You don’t think she was making a serious pass? She’d been humming that song the kids all like. She was joking.”

Cindy said seriously, “Whatever. If it meant getting Halsey Hamilton for you, Max, I would have gladly kissed—”

You have to give Cindy props for trying to boost her own stock in the retelling of the story.

“So,” I interrupted, “in the back of the limo, any signs of bottles or needles or pills?”

Cindy shook her head quickly. “No. I mean, the limo had a bar, but I didn’t notice any open booze bottles lying around.”

“No food? No drinks?”

“Oh, she was drinking some bottled water, I think. Yeah, she had a big bottle of Voss water, which was just about empty. But that was it.”

The doorbell to the Herb Garden Suite chimed, and Cindy and I were joined by Drew, looking energized and happy. While the two girls were chatting, I grabbed my cell phone and redialed Unja’s cell for the twentieth time since we’d become separated after the Oscars. Again, no answer. I couldn’t even leave my twentieth pleading message because, naturally by this time, all the message space on his service was full.

Malulu, dressed in a bright orange pantsuit, entered the din
ing area with Killer in her arms, and I noticed she also had his lead.

“Oh, good,” I said. “You’re taking him on a walk. He needs a little fresh air.”

“No, Mrs. Livingston,” she said, “Killer have an appointment.”

Killer stopped wagging his tail. “He need to go to, you know, dat place.”

“The V-E-T? We can drop you off on our way out of town,” I offered, checking with Drew.

“Of course. We have a ton of room. I got us a limo, Mother. A really large limo to take you to that place you’re going to this morning.”

A morning of unnamed places: Killer was going to the V-E-T and Mommy was going to R-E-H-A-B. Perfect.

“Malulu,” I said, “did you pack up a big box of brownies? I want to bring them with me.”

“Yes, Mrs. I make a big batch. I wrapped them up with the satin bow, like you like. I get them now.” She bustled off, holding tight to Killer.

Drew said kindly, “I think they have gourmet chefs at the…place, Mom.”

“The brownies aren’t for me,” I said, insulted. “I want to bring something with me when I go over to the Hamiltons’.”

Drew eyed me closely. “What’s this? You know we have an appointment at the
place
. Why are you going to—”

I put a hand on her arm. “We’ll stop off on the way. A condolence call. It’s the least we can do, right? Now, someone, get my bags.”

Cindy Chow leapt up and called, “I’ll get them.” She had
spied the four Louis Vuitton monogram canvas bags at the door, a virtual fleet of
LV
s and stylized stars and flowers floating across a brown/green sea, and hurried to hoist the packed Keepall, pulling its natural-leather shoulder strap across her chest, and extending the handle on the roller Trolley bag.

“Mother.” Drew narrowed her eyes at the luggage. “The Steamer Bag?”

“I may have overpacked,” I admitted. “Why not look one’s best?”

Outside, the day was beautiful as the sun shone brightly onto the cobblestone paths winding among the pink buildings. The scent of the lemon trees mixed with the aroma of mint and rosemary from the herb garden outside my suite’s door.

“The driver had to park in front of the main entrance,” Drew explained. As she led us down the path past the hotel’s lake, two large swans drifted by.

“This hotel is amazing,” Cindy said, handling all four of my bags without complaint. “It has such a history.”

I said, “Well, not Boston Tea Party history, but Hollywood history. And that’s much juicier. If these pastel walls could talk, do you know what they’d say?”

Malulu muttered her guess: “Sex, sex, sex.”

Cindy giggled. “Anyone really famous?”

Drew said, “Mom knows all the dirt.”

“Well,” I offered, “I read that Ted Danson and Whoopi Goldberg…whooped it up here.”

“Mother!”

“Oprah Winfrey threw her fiftieth-birthday slumber party here. And Nancy Reagan was a lunch regular.”

Drew prompted, “Mom even knows Nancy’s lunch order.”

“Cobb salad with low-fat dressing, no blue cheese,” I offered.

Malulu said, “Dat’s what I must order the next time. Dat first lady is tin.”

“‘Thin,’” I translated when Cindy looked up. “They say Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman met here in secret to hammer out their divorce details. And all the legends used to stay here—Grace Kelly, Cary Grant, Elizabeth Taylor…”

Malulu walked along beside us carefully leading Killer by the leash. “I love dat Liz Taylor.”

Ah, yes. Malulu would. Only because of Elizabeth Taylor and a wacky fan who went overboard to impress her did Malulu and I meet four years ago. Call it fate. The nut job wrote Liz several hundred love notes on Brut-scented stationery and sent them all here, to the Hotel Bel-Air, addressed simply to “Ms. Taylor,” and the huge sack of perfumed devotion was mistakenly delivered to me the next time I checked in. The times being what they are vis-à-vis wack-job fans and celebrities, I naturally thought I was being stalked by a crackpot with atrocious taste in men’s aftershave and was advised to hire a full-time bodyguard, as soon as possible. Enter Malulu Vai, my karate-chopping Samoan savior. Then later, when we came to our senses and discovered I was not the target of any fool’s fondest longing, Malulu stayed on with me. Just as it was meant to be.

The five of us—Cindy, Drew, Malulu, Killer, and I—passed a young couple heading back toward the lake on our trek across the grounds, and I remembered another tidbit from the past. “You’ll love this, Malulu. I heard that Liz and Dick knew how to keep room service hopping. The Burtons had a standing order for two bottles of vodka with their breakfast tray.”

Drew looked up at me. “Are you sure? I thought that happened at the Beverly Hills Hotel.”

“Honey, don’t wreck a good story.”

At the curb in front of the main entrance to the hotel was parked a large, white stretch limo.

“A Hummer?” I said, looking at Drew as if she were out of her mind. Nice way to make a quiet arrival at detox.

“Not
a
Hummer, Mom,” Drew said, smiling. “
The
Hummer.”

Cindy had slowed her pace. “This is Halsey’s limo.”

Drew whispered to me, “And Halsey’s driver. I got lucky. It was available, and so was he. I knew you’d want to ask him some questions. Find out about Burke, Mom. If Halsey’s driver didn’t see Burke anywhere near Halsey on Sunday, then we are home free.”

I stopped and stared. The driver of the limo stood by the door, and by the tousle of his thick, brown hair and the gleam in his smile, I would put money down that he worked his driving gigs around his auditions.

“Cute?” asked Drew under her breath.

“You hired Patrick Dempsey’s stunt double to take me to rehab? What woman wouldn’t be thrilled?”

Drew beamed.

I watched the hunk help Cindy load my luggage into the limo, while Malulu and Killer took care of some last-second “business” before they headed into the vehicle, and I pulled Drew aside. “Honey, I hate to ask. But those diamonds that Burke gave you. I’ve been thinking about them. Did you leave them back at your house?”

“No. I didn’t know if that was safe.”

“Good, good.” The last thing I wanted was the police to return to Drew’s house with a search warrant. Drew had sent Burke away, so that was good. But if the police looked around her house and somehow stumbled over the stash of Halsey’s Best Actress bra diamonds, would they assume Drew had been in on the heist? “Do me a favor,” I said. “Go in and ask Mori if you can put that little bag into the safe.” Every guest at the Bel-Air could use the guest safe-deposit boxes. And if the police were looking for the jewels, they’d be more likely to check area banks to see if anyone connected to the case had been seen going into their vaults. Who would think to look here?

As Drew dashed into the hotel’s main entrance, and the hunk finished loading my bags into the limo, I pulled Cindy aside. “I can’t go into details, but something very important has come up, and I must get in touch with Unja.”

“I’ll find him,” Cindy chirped. She would do anything to work her way into my good graces. I found that comforting.

“Find him and find his camera. I need to see the footage he shot of the red carpet. All of it. Get it to me as soon as you possibly can.”

“Okay, got it. It’s done.” Cindy ran off without another word, bounding down into the hotel parking lot.

Drew emerged from the lobby and gave me a thumbs-up. Good. The jewels were safely tucked away. Malulu, Drew, and I all lined up at the side door of the stretch Hummer. Now, normally, an H2 Hummer is an SUV of impressive size. With the two-hundred-inch stretch modifications, it was gargantuan.

The driver-for-hire gave me a gleaming smile, and my dear protective Killer, not far away, began to snarl at him. Malulu held on to Killer a little tighter as the driver looked deep into my eyes.
“Ms. Taylor, it is a pleasure to drive you. My name is Barry, and I’ll be all yours for the day. Whatever you have in mind.”

What a thought. I had a forbidden daydream. I fantasized about how Barry might look standing up on a ladder, reroofing a patch of Drew’s red tile that had been causing her sunroom to leak. A good roofer costs a fortune. Ah, but back to reality!

Inside the Hummer, I already had a headache. The old-time Vegas glitz of twenty feet of zebra-striped upholstery was reflected in the mirrored ceiling, mercilessly doubling those damned stripes into infinity. The subwoofers and amplifiers hidden under the seats pounded out the latest hip-hop sounds, while the neon strips along the ceiling were flashing through a rainbow of unnatural colors, pulsing to the beat. Three TVs and a DVD player stood at the ready. I sat there, mouth open, taking in the sight of all the lava lamps, lightning disks, acrylic bars, and fiber optics. Above the music one could not even hear Killer as he barked his heart out.

“Barry, make it stop,” I begged. “For the love of all that is holy, make it stop.”

“You don’t like it?” Barry asked, then closed the back door and sprinted to the front. A few seconds later, all sound was halted. The aqua blue neon light that had bathed the entire interior in its unearthly disco glow was cut, and the two sunroofs were opened.

“Much better,” called Drew to the front.

“Dis is crazy,” said Malulu, trying to contain Killer, who would not stop barking at Barry.

I looked over the interior in the new calm and still shuddered. “So this is where Halsey spent the last afternoon of her life.” We all got quiet then. All except Killer. “Killer, sweetie,” I said, looking for a treat in my purse. “Darling boy. Quiet now.” He did as I
asked, but kept his eyes on Barry, who was now sitting up in the driver’s seat, steering the limo away from the curb.

I turned to Drew. “Could we be any more ostentatious?”

She said, “We have a method here, Mother. Stay the course. I just know that Barry will tell you everything. I think he really likes you.”

I laughed. “Oh, please. He’s a driver-for-hire, Drew. He really likes…tips.”

Malulu said, “Killer is not very happy, Mrs. L. He usually loves everybody, right? But dis new driver? Dis mon he no like.”

I waved away her concerns and scooted up the long, long center aisle, shifting from banquette to banquette, to get to the front of the limo. Drew followed me closely, and so Malulu scooted along as well, holding on to Killer.

“Oh, Barry,” I said.

Naturally, he couldn’t hear me, and I had to get the hang of the hands-free intercom before communication could be initiated. Really, this limo needed to come with an instruction manual, which I would still refuse to read.

“Barry,” I tried again, into the intercom.

Barry looked in the rearview mirror and gave me a brilliant smile. “Something you need?”

“We need to make a quick stop. We’re not going to Pasadena.”

Drew shot me a wary look.

I amended, “Not
right away,
I mean. First, we need to stop down the road.” And I handed him an address to a house above Sunset.

“Oh, okay,” Barry said. “You’re going up to Halsey’s place. Cool.”

Halsey’s mom, Dakota, had asked me to stop by, and, of course, we had known her daughter for many years, even before the crazy years. It was the right thing to do. But in addition, I had a wild hope that if the people who were closest to Halsey were angry enough, maybe someone in the family would tell some stories about Halsey and Burke. It was just possible.

Maybe we’d hear a bit more of the real story from Jimmy Hamilton, Halsey’s dad and manager. I bet he knew the romantic history of his daughter, and I hoped he would talk. Drew would finally hear that her former love had been an unfaithful rat, but she would at least hear the terrible news from someone other than me.

And after that, who knew? If she was disgusted enough, I might even be able to cancel my trip to Wonders.