Swept Up (8 page)

“Fine.”  He offered us seats in the living room.  It was Spartan.  There were no knick-knacks, so muss.  There was functional furniture, and one painting of Shia over the fireplace.

“There’s really not much to tell,” he started.  “I came to the party because Sheila—Shia,” he corrected himself, “Invited me.  It’s been me and her since her mom ran out when she was five.  Anyway, I found her.  Had a quick drink with her.  I was there when you made your speech.  I loved the glasses, by the way.”

I smiled.  “I loved them, too.  They’re a tangible reminder that someone has always believed in me.  That’s a true gift.”

“It is.  I always believed in Sheila.  I try to be her biggest supporter.  She wants to be an actress—a real actress—and this movie was a step in the right direction.  It’s better than those reality shows she was in.  They made her look—”  He cut himself off. 

He didn’t need to go on.  I knew just what he meant. 
LA Shore
and
Casting Callers
both cast Shia as the wild child.  That had to have been hard on her father to watch.

“It’s all in how they cut the footage
,” he said.  “She’s not like that in real life.”

And that was a father’s blindness.  Shia was exactly like the shows indicated.  She was sweet, ambitious, and willing to use all her assets to get what she wanted. 

Mellie was ambitious and willing to use her assets, too.  But no one ever called her sweet.

Shia was.  Getting angry with her would be like getting angry at a puppy who wanted your attention.

“
Steamed
was just the first movie in her career.  She’s going to have everything she’s always wanted,” he said.

I felt a kinship with Shia’s father because I understood that.  I wanted nothing less for Miles, Hunter, and Eli. 

“Did you see anyone else?  Talk to anyone else?”

He shook his head.  “I was uncomfortable, to be honest.  I’m not much for small talk.  So, I stopped in and told Shia I was proud of her.  Had a drink.  Watched your speech and left.  Sorry.”

“Thanks.  Every little bit helps.  Someone’s going to see something that helps.”

“Someone always does,” Cal said.

“We’ll go talk to Shia now.  But if you think of anything else, here’s my card.”  I handed him a Mac’Cleaner’s card.

“You still use your maid cards?” he asked with a smile. 

I grinned.  “I might write now,” I always shied away from calling myself a writer…it felt pretentious.  “But I’m proud of my business and my job.”

We left the house and walked across the driveway to the stairway on the outside of the garage and knocked on the door.

Shia, aka Shiantay, aka Shelia, answered the door.  She was wearing a negligee.  And that was a generous description.  Really, it was a piece of silk the size of a hanky that was strategically place in order to cover up her girl bits.  And by cover I mean, barely.

“Quincy,” she said with a squeal, a small hop, and then she hugged me.  I was terrified that the silk had slipped and was no longer strategically covering anything.

“And Officer Yummy.”  She went to hug him, but he took a step back on the tiny landing and placed himself behind me.  Shia pouted.

“Come in,” she said.  “Can I get you something to drink?  I’ve got some very nice wine and—”

“Shia, it’s way too early to be drinking,” I said.

“We didn’t come for drinks.  We came to talk to you about Quincy’s party.”  Cal’s voice was ally coppish and businessy.  I hadn’t heard this particular tone since we first met.

We were standing in the middle of an open concept room.  The kitchen was at one end, a living/dining area in the middle where we were standing, then a couple doors, which I’d guess led to a bedroom and a bathroom.  It looked like someone threw up that pink stomach medicine on everything.  Pink walls.  Pink ceilings.  A pink fuzzy sofa.  Seriously.  It looked like something a Barbie dream van might have used for an interior.

I tried to ignore the fact we were drowning in pink and living in fear that Shia’s outfit was going to slip and simply concentrate on the task at hand.  “Do you have a moment to go over what happened that night with us?” I managed.

“What do you mean, what happened?”

“We’d like you to go over everything you remember from that night,” Cal, the detective, said.

“Please, have a seat,” she said.  She grabbed a robe from the back of the couch and slipped it on before sitting down.  It wasn’t much, but it was better.

“Do you mind if I tape this?” I was already pulling out my tape recorder and setting it down on the coffee table.

“Sure.  I don’t really have much to say.  Let’s see, we went to the award show, me and Jonas.  Women everywhere want him, you know.  He plays such a tough guy in most of his movies.  A bad guy most of the time.  His fans were so jealous I was his date.”

It was obvious the fact other women were jealous was not a problem for Shia. 

“I’m used to women being jealous of me.  And I’m not talking about when I started my
meteoritic
,” she said the word with long drawn-out emphasis, “career with
LA Shore
.  It’s been like that my whole life.  I just talk to a boy, and rumors would fly and girlfriends would get mad.”  She sighed, as if that were truly a trial, but even though she tried to disguise it, her expression said she enjoyed the attention.

“My date Jonas and I went to all the big parties.  And even though I was done in, we came to your little party.  Jonas insisted.  He said he owed you ‘cause you stuck up for him getting the part of Cal.  He went on and on about being typecast as a bad guy.  You gave him the opportunity to play a tough cop, who was a sweet guy.  A good guy.  The hero.”

Jonas was sweet and added that nuance to his performance as Cal.

“So we came to your party,” Shia said.  “Jonas was talking to people, so I made the rounds and talked to people, too.  I spent an hour talking to this one guy and I knew he wasn’t an actor.  I thought he had to be a director or producer or something.  I mean, he was kind of short, and not a looker, if you know what I mean.  Turns out he was a lawyer.   A married lawyer, no less.”

I thought there was a good chance she was talking about Sal.  He was the only married lawyer I could think of who would have been there.  Her
not-a-looker
remark set my teeth on edge. 

“But he was a nice guy, so I didn’t really mind,” she added, and I remembered why I liked Shia more than Mellie, though they both were looking to climb the ladder.  Mellie would have made it clear to Sal that she minded he couldn’t further her career.  Shia never would.

“His wife called him and after that I found Jonas again.  We were talking to Cilla and Dylan when my dad came in had a drink, then left.  And then the cops were there saying Mellie was dead.  And you and Cal were upstairs and we thought you might come down in handcuffs, but you didn’t, probably ‘cause he’s a cop.”  She nodded in Cal’s direction.

“Or maybe because the cops knew we didn’t do anything,” I pointed out. 

She laughed.  “Of course you didn’t.  Now, Mellie, she might have done someone in for walking on her lines or just annoying her.  But you’re nice Quincy, and he’s,” she pointed at Cal, “hunky, even if he’s a cop.”

Being annoyed at Shia would be like being annoyed by fireflies.  “Anything else?”

“Nope.”

“Did you see Mellie at all?” I asked.

“I think I saw her come in, but I didn’t talk to her.  She didn’t like me, which was okay ‘cause I didn’t like her.  She was jealous that Jonas took me to the awards.  She thought every man on the set was in love with her.”

I didn’t mention that Shia seemed to feel the same way, instead I simply said, “Well, if you think of anything else will you give me a call?”

“Sure, I will.  But I don’t think I will.  I didn’t see anything at all.”

Cal stood.  “Thanks for talking to us.”

“Hey, any time.  And have you heard anything more about
Dusted
, Quincy?  I’d really, really like to be in another one of your movies.  I’d love it if they made it a series.  Quincy, well, not you, but the character, is so much fun, and you know I love Tiny, both the character and I met the real life one a couple times and liked her, too.”

“I haven’t heard for sure,” I told her. “But as soon as I do, we’ll call.”

“Thanks, Quincy.  And thank for giving me the opportunity.  Some people look at me and just see a reality show star.  You saw me as so much more.”

Now, here’s the thing, I did go to bat for Jonas playing Cal, but I didn’t know anything about Shia before they said she was up for the role of Tiny.  I didn’t protest, but I didn’t lobby for her.  She seemed nice, but we’d never gotten close like I had with Cilla.

“I’m sure we’ll be talking to you soon,” I said.

We walked down the stairs, then towards the car.  When we got inside, Cal said, “Well, she’s.…”  and left the sentence hanging, as if he couldn’t think of anything that accurately described Shia.

“She’s someone who is entirely herself,” I filled in.  “I think that’s why they picked her for the reality show.  She has no inner filter.  If she thinks it, she says it.  But there’s not malice in her.  I mean, she’ll flirt with any male—I’m pretty sure you were in her sites, Detective Hunky.”

“Hey, that’s not what she called me and I’m an officially engaged man now, so even if she was blatantly flirting, I wouldn’t notice because the only woman I have eyes for is you.”

I snorted, though it was sweet of him to say.  “You’re heading to Jonas’s now?”

He nodded.

Jonas lived in a condo.  It was a three-story building that was all glass and sleekness.  He lived on the top floor.  He opened the door wearing nothing but tight biking shorts and sweat.

“Quincy,” he said and hugged me to his bare, sweaty, buff chest.

Cal made a choking noise behind me and Jonas released me immediately.   “And Quincy’s cop,” he added, using his nickname for Cal. 

Cal shook Jonas’s hand, and I figured he made out on the bargain because Jonas had already wiped most of his sweat on me.

“Sorry for hugging Quincy like that in front of you,” he said, then quickly added, “not that I’d be hugging her behind your back like that.  I just meant…I mean, I didn’t like Mellie, I don’t think anyone did, but she worked with us.  She was one of us.  And now she’s dead.  And I was there at the party.  Quincy’s party.  I’m just so upset.”

“It’s okay, Jonas,” Cal assured him.  “I don’t get jealous when other guys hug Quincy because I know she’s mine.  Just like she knows I’m hers.”

I flashed Jonas the ring.  “It’s official.”

“So he finally got you to take it off your chain?  I hope it was something romantic.”

“She asked me to re-ask her at the murder scene.”

Jonas looked at me and shook his head.  “Oh, hell, Quincy.  This is why you write murder mysteries, not freakin’ romance.  Seriously, I’m not known for romantic roles, but even I know that after making a guy wait forever to make it official, he deserved to be wined and dined a bit. 
You
should have gotten on one knee and—”

Cal shot me that sexy look of his, then said to Jonas, “She could have slipped it on her finger at the corner of Hollywood and Vine, and I’d have been fine because she finally said yes.”

Jonas laughed.  “Yeah, I figure I’d feel the same if I finally caught a woman like Quincy.”

I waved my hand in the air.  They were sweet, but they were making me uncomfortable.  “Standing here feeling very exposed and wondering if we can turn the talk from me and my lack of romantic proposals to—”

“Mellie,” Jonas said.  “Yeah.  Sorry.  Come in, make yourselves at home and give me a sec to throw on a shirt.”

He disappeared into the hall and Cal and I sat on the couch.

“Nice guy,” I said.

“Or he just played one on TV,” Cal quipped.

I laughed and hugged him.  “He is kinda right.  You deserved a better proposal.”  He’d proposed to me in front of my family at Christmas—a truly romantic proposal.  And I’d accepted at a murder scene.

He must have sensed I was worrying because he gently put his hands on my cheeks and looked me right in the eye.  “I proposed to you and having you finally say a definitive
yes
was romantic enough for me.”

I gave him a hug.  Not for the first time, I realized I was a very lucky woman.

“Okay, actor in the room,” Jonas called.  “If you keep that up I’ll be studying it for future movies.  Have you heard officially about
Dusted
?”

“Not yet,” I told him, “but you know you’ll hear as soon as I do.”

He sat down across for us.

“So do you have a white-board set up?”

“Yeah.  Two actually,” I said.

He nodded, then turned to Cal.  “And are you threatening to send her to jail for interfering with your investigation?”

“It’s not my investigation.”

“Yeah, this time it’s a different cop.  I talked to him,” Jonas said.  “Detective Randolph.”