“That’s it, I’m calling the police.”
“No!” I wailed, lunging at Felix before he could reach his phone.
“Tina, this is serious. This is not some adolescent prankster.”
“It was an email. No one got hurt.”
“Yet.” He gave me a pointed look.
I glanced at the open laptop on Felix’s desk. After a sleepless night littered with visions of faceless men threatening me in mechanical voices, I’d reluctantly shown the email to Felix as soon as I’d got into the offices that morning.
He hadn’t been any more thrilled about it than I had. And, I had to admit, he was right about one thing. This was looking less and less like some random prankster. In fact, I was beginning to think this really was someone with a grudge against me.
On the other hand, no way was I going to let Felix bring in the cops over this. “You can’t call the police. What will my informants say?”
“Informants?” Cal piped up from the corner. He’d insisted on following me to work in his I’m-clearly-over-compensating-for-something mobile and had been my shadow ever since. Though, to be honest, I didn’t mind quite so much today.
“Yes, informants,” I repeated. “Look, no one’s going to trust me with their dirt if it comes out I’ve been talking to cops. Who wants that kind of scrutiny? Most of these people are ratting on their friends.”
“Nice group you hang out with,” Cal mumbled.
I shot him a look.
“Alright, that’s enough.” Felix held up his hands. “Look, I know you don’t like this, Tina. And I know you’re scared-”
“I am not scared!” Which might have been more convincing if my voice hadn’t raised two octaves. I cleared my throat. “I’m not scared, I’m pissed off,” I clarified. “Really fu-”
“Swear Pig,” Felix reminded.
I clenched my jaw. “Really freaking pissed off.”
Felix shook his head. “Tina, this isn’t something I can take lightly. What if something were to happen to you? I’d never be able to forgive myself.”
“Nothing is going to happen to me. I have rent-a-” I stopped myself just in time. “I have Cal.”
“Which is great,” Felix agreed, “but it’s just a temporary solution. Look, whatever this guy’s beef is, he’s clearly not letting go of it. What’s next? Do we wait until he’s actually followed through with a threat?”
I bit my lip. Yeah, that idea didn’t appeal to me too much either.
“Look, give me three days.”
“Three days?” Felix asked.
“Three days to track this guy down myself. If I can’t, then you can turn it over to the police.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Think about it, Felix,” I said, grasping to strengthen my case. “Cops crawling all over the place, confiscating our notes and archives. That’s not going to look too good for the paper. Won’t be good for sales.”
Felix cocked his head to the side, contemplating this. “And just how do you propose to find this guy in three days?”
“I don’t know. I’m a reporter, I’ll think of something.”
“You’re a gossip columnist. That’s a far cry from Bob Woodward. When was the last time you actually investigated anything?”
I snapped my mouth shut, narrowing my eyes at him. Mostly because I couldn’t remember. While I’d done a pretty successful stint at my school paper in college, since then I’d been perfectly happy to leave the hardhitting stories to other reporters. My talent was spinning. Give me any nugget of news, and I could turn it into a dishy, dirty, salacious bit of snark that cut the famed and fabulous down to the level of average Jane Reader.
Clearly, I hadn’t investigated many death threats. But that didn’t mean I was giving in.
“Three days,” I repeated. “That’s all I’m asking. Come on, I think you owe me that.”
“Owe you?” Felix spat out the words, crossing his arms over his chest in a much scrawnier version of Cal’s stance.
“Yes. For saddling me with Barbie.”
“Allie.”
“Whatever. Look, you know how long it’s taken me to make the kind of contacts I have. They don’t grow on trees. The best thing for all of us is to keep this thing quiet. Please. Three days.”
Felix looked from me to Cal. Finally he sighed and shook his head. By the way all the fight drained out of his shoulders, I could tell before he even spoke that I’d won.
“Alright.”
“Thank you!” Despite myself, I threw my arms around his neck.
“But if Cal feels there’s even the slightest hint of danger to you, or anyone else on my staff, all bets are off.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” I said, giving him a mock salute as I backpedaled out the door.
As soon as I sat back down at my desk, I booted up my computer and opened my archives folder.
I could do this. So what if my reporter skills were a little rusty? I had skills. Mad skills. I would find this creep. And I knew just where to start looking.
The unlucky celebrities I’d written about.
I pulled up my columns from the past month. Monday through Thursday I put out a short daily, with a longer, detailed version on Fridays. Five days a week times four weeks, and I had twenty articles to work with.
Going on Allie’s assumption that our Mystery Caller had multiple mentions, I scanned through the columns, making note of any name that appeared more than once.
“Who did you write about yesterday?”
I jumped in my seat and spun around to find Cal reading over my shoulder.
“Jesus, you scared me.”
“A little jumpy?”
“No, death threats make me feel perfectly secure, thanks,” I said. Then I swiveled back to my screen, taking a deep breath to rein in my heart rate.
Unfortunately, Cal didn’t take my sarcasm as a hint, instead leaning his butt against my desk and making himself comfortable. “The email said you hadn’t taken his warning. Which means that he didn’t like something you printed between the time he called and last night,” Cal persisted.
“I was getting to that,” I said.
I pulled up the file containing yesterday’s column and checked it against my list. Four names came up.
Cal pulled out a notebook and pen and wrote them down.
Katie Briggs, an actress whose volatile love life had single-handedly paid my rent last summer.
Jennifer Wood, the teen idol who unwittingly ended up holding the doobie.
Blain Hall, rehab-bound rocker.
And, of course, Edward Pines, pedophile director.
“Any of these characters stand out? Any have a history of erratic behavior?” Cal asked, his pen hovering.
I snorted. “They’re celebrities. Everything they do is erratic.”
“Who’s this girl?” Cal stabbed his finger at Katie’s name.
“Katie Briggs,” I said.
He shrugged. “Should I know her?”
I blinked at him. “Seriously? Katie Briggs?”
“You keep repeating her name like that will help. Look, I don’t know who she is. Wanna clue me in?”
“Daughter of David Briggs, only the most powerful producer in Hollywood. Won the Golden Globe last year for playing the plucky paraplegic Olympian? Dated George Clooney, Leo DiCaprio, and Orlando Bloom? Katie Briggs.”
“Oh. That Katie Briggs,” he said. Only this time it was his turn to be sarcastic.
“You really never heard of her?”
“I don’t go to the movies much.”
“And apparently you don’t read my column either.”
“Not until now,” he said, gesturing to the screen. “So, you think Katie could be your mystery caller?”
“Anything’s possible. Any one of them could. Though, I gotta say, the whole macho threat thing feels more like Blain’s style.” I paused. “Please tell me you know who Blain Hall is.”
Cal nodded. “I listen to the radio. Okay, so any one of them could have done it. Let’s start at the top and work our way down. This Katie chick, how can we get hold of her?”
“Well, most people,” I started, opening up my address book, “would have to call her publicist and either wait for a comment or promise their firstborn for an interview between shoots.”
“I have a feeling you’re not most people.”
“You’re not as dumb as you look, Cal.”
“Ouch.”
Instantly, I regretted the comment. Okay, so it was awkward, annoying, and painfully limiting having a brawny babysitter following my every move. But he was just doing his job. To be fair, the situation wasn’t Cal’s fault any more than it was mine.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” I quickly said. “Sorry.”
“Wow,” he answered.
“ ‘Wow’?”
“‘Sorry.’ I have a hunch that’s not a word you utter very often. I’m feeling kinda special right now.” He grinned. And his eyes were definitely laughing again.
I cleared my throat. “Anyway, back to Katie. It just so happens that I have a close, personal friend at her hairdresser’s.”
Cal raised an eyebrow. “Close personal friend?”
“Not that kind of personal. He’s gay.”
“Ah.”
“And chatty.”
“Let me guess, that’s where you got all this dirt on Katie’s love life?”
“Hey, people will tell their hairdressers just about anything. It’s crazy.”
He glanced at my own purple locks.
“Some people,” I quickly added.
He nodded. “Uh huh. So, this hairdresser guy, he can get us access to Katie?”
I nodded. “No sweat. Her new movie comes out next month, and she’s in the salon daily for touch-ups during promo. All I have to do is find out what time her appointment today is and-” I paused, narrowing my eyes at the hulk of man sitting on the edge of my desk. “Wait, what do you mean ‘us’?”
“Us. From the German Gothic uns. Plural form of I. I’m sure you’re familiar with the word.”
“There is no plural ‘I.’”
“There is now.”
I gritted my teeth together. Though I had to be just a little impressed by anyone who could rattle off word origins like that. “This is exactly why I didn’t want Felix calling the police. These people trust me. I start bringing the National Guard with me, and there goes my lifeline to Hollywood.”
“I’m hardly the National Guard.”
I looked down to where the butt of his gun peeked out from the waistband of his jeans. “You’re carrying a.32. You don’t exactly scream ‘friendly.’”
He pulled the hem of his T-shirt down to cover it. But instead of arguing the point, his voice took on a firm tone. “Let me help you.”
I stood, meeting him almost at eye level. Give or take a foot. I lifted my chin, crossed my arms over my chest.
“I don’t need your help.”
He gave me a slow, assessing stare. “No, I don’t think you do. But,” he added, “if you’re smart, you’ll take it anyway.”
I took a deep breath, biting back the refusal on the tip of my tongue. Mostly because he had a point. The smart move here was to take the assistance of the guy with the gun. No doubt he had a lot more experience tracking down bad guys than I did. And the sooner I found this creep, the sooner my life could go back to normal. And the sooner I could dismiss my musclebound shadow.
“Okay,” I finally said.
“Good.” It irked me just a little that he didn’t seem the least surprised at getting his way. “So, Katie Briggs?”
I nodded. “Katie Briggs.”
We were in luck. My friend at the salon said Katie had an appointment on the books for ten that morning. The bad news? It was nine thirty-five. And we were across town. I told my friend to stall her at all costs, then grabbed Cal by the sleeve and made for his ozonekilling machine.
Exactly forty minutes later, we pulled to the curb in front of the opulent glass doors of Fernando’s salon in Beverly Hills.
Fernando was a famed hairdresser to the stars, an incredibly tanned, incredibly flamboyant, and incredibly talented man who’d burst onto the Beverly Hills radar about five years ago. While he claimed some sort of Spanish nobility in his ancestry, his actual past was a little hazy. But as long as his extensions kept winning oohhs and ahhs on the red carpet, no one really cared.
I pushed through the doors and into the reception area, this month decorated in a medieval castle theme. Plush red sofas lined the windows, and a large crystal chandelier hung over an intricate parquet floor. Beyond reception, cut-and-color stations outfitted with huge gilded mirrors lined the room, while lengths of thick tapestries hung from the walls, depicting scenes of men out for the hunt, while maidens wearing shockingly little for the cold English countryside fawned over fairhaired boys. A reception desk complete with turrets took up one corner of the room, and behind it stood a slim, Hispanic guy wearing more eyeliner than I even owned. As soon as he spotted me, he skipped (yes, actually skipped) toward me.
“Tina, dahling, where have you been hiding yourself?” he called, descending upon me with air kisses.
“Hi, Marco.” I returned his quick shoulder hug and stepped back. “Marco, this is Cal, my…” I trailed off, not really sure what to call him. Bodyguard seemed so melodramatic. And rent-a-goon just seemed rude.
But Marco didn’t seem to notice, grabbing Cal’s hand in both of his. “Well, hell-o, Cal.” He pumped vigorously, holding on just a little too long as his eyes rested on Cal’s biceps. “Always a pleasure to meet one of Tina’s friends.”
Oh, brother.
“So, is Katie here?” I asked, lowering my voice as my eyes scanned the salon.
Marco nodded. “Getting a touch-up. In the back.”
I looked over his shoulder to a discreet station near the rear. A brunette with big pouty lips was scrutinizing her reflection in the mirror while the master Fernando spun around her with a straight razor like he was Edward Scissorhands.
“Perfect. You think you could distract Fernando for a sec so I can talk to her?”
Marco clucked his tongue. “Aye, girl. You’re gonna get me in trouble.”
“Pretty please, Marco?” I batted my eyelashes at him. “With Brad Pitt on top?”
Marco grinned. “You know I can’t deny you, doll. Give me two shakes of a lamb’s tail, and that A-lister is yours.” He threw me a wink as he made his way through the buzzing hair dryers and pungent chemical rinses to Katie’s chair.
“Is that guy for real?” Cal asked, watching him skip (yes, skip) through the salon.
“Shhh,” I said, batting him on the arm. “Just let me do the talking.”
I waited two beats, then followed Marco’s path, my shadow a step behind me. I caught up just in time to hear him say, “So sorry to interrupt, Fernando. But something has come up at the front. Can I steal you away for the teeny tiniest moment?”
“I’ll be right back,” I heard Fernando promise Katie, then watched out of the corner of my eye as the pair made their way to the front.
Luckily, the station next to Katie was vacant. I waited a three-Mississippi count, then grabbed a copy of Cosmo from a rack on the wall and sat down. Cal hovered just to my right, pretending to rearrange the brushes at the next station over. I gave him a look that clearly said, “stay out of sight!” then turned to the brunette fluffing her hair beside me.
“Hey, you’re Katie, aren’t you? Katie Briggs?” I asked.
She turned, a bored expression in her big blue eyes as if even she was tired of hearing that name.
“I’m…Jeannie,” I lied, sticking a hand her way. “I’m a huge fan. I love, love, loved your last movie! That scene with the mother, right before she died after being stabbed by the circus clown hired by the mob-so realistic!”
A smile tickled her oversized lips. “Thanks.” Then she turned back to the mirror.
Okay…so what now? I bit my lip. I couldn’t very well come right out and ask her if she was the one threatening my life. I tapped my nail on the plastic edge of my chair.
“You know, I’ve read all about you,” I said, vying with her reflection for her attention. “In the Informer.”
Her expression puckered into what would have been a frown had she not been a plastic surgery devotee. “The Informer?”
“That newspaper. Have you read it?” I asked.
She clenched her jaw, her lips drawing into a thin line. (Okay, considering she had about a gallon of collagen injected in her lower lip, maybe “thin” wasn’t an accurate description. But it was at least thinner.)
“I’ve seen it,” she spit out.
“Oh, you should totally pick up a copy. That Tina Bender, she’s a hoot!”
She glared at me. “Hoot?”
“Oh sure,” I said, forging full steam ahead. “The way she likened your love life to a string of bad Spanish soaps just yesterday. I swear, I spit out my latte at that one.”
“Tabloid trash. They’re all printing lies. Malicious lies.”
Malicious. My ears perked up. That was exactly the term Mystery Caller had used, too.
“Wow. I wonder how she gets away with printing lies. I mean, don’t you think someone should stop her?” I asked, carefully watching her reaction.
She swiveled in her seat, turning back to her own reflection. “Please. Like anyone really pays attention to what that kind of tabloid trash writes.”
Ouch.
Vehemently, I shook my head. “Oh no, a ton of people read that column. Tina Bender is very popular.”
I thought I felt Cal smirk to my right, but I ignored him.
“Ha!” Katie barked. “Someone should put that sad woman out of her misery.”
Again, ouch. But…now we were getting somewhere.
“Where were you last night?”
“Excuse me?” she said, her eyes shooting to mine in the mirror again as she clenched her jaw.
“I mean, did you go to any big Hollywood parties last night?” I asked, backpedaling. “I am just so fascinated by the lifestyle of an award-winning actress such as yourself.”
“Oh.” Her frown evened out instantly. Apparently flattery, as with all of Hollywood, was the key with this chick. “I went to a charity event. Some thing in the Valley. My publicist said I had to be seen there.” She turned to me. “But did that Bender girl print that? No!”
A-ha! So she did read my column. I felt a little lift of triumph.
“What about the evening before?” I persisted. The night the first call had come in. It would have been easy enough to send the email from a cell while at some fab party. But, for the phone call, Mystery Caller would have had to have access to a computer to run the voicealtering software. Not quite as inconspicuous a task.
“I was at home,” she answered.
“With a new guy?” I couldn’t help the gossip hound in me from asking.
“No. Alone.” And by the way she pouted again, this time with a true hint of sadness on her swollen lips, I was inclined to believe her. For a fraction of an instant I wondered if maybe the life of a famous actress wasn’t even lonelier than that of a gossip columnist.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Fernando break away from Marco’s grasp, threading his way back through the salon to his waiting client. I chose my next question carefully.
“So, what do you do when you’re home alone? Ever spend time online, maybe trying out new programs?” Like Audio Cloak?
She turned away, flipping her hair over one shoulder. “I don’t own a computer.”
I froze. Then blinked at her. “Wait-you don’t own a computer? Seriously? Even African tribesmen own computers these days.”
Again she did the would-be-frown pucker. “They’re trappings of a digitized society. Modern technology is only serving to distance us from the reality of living. I prefer real human interaction. I’m an artist.”
Okay, her plastic surgeon was an artist; Katie was just a movie star.
Unfortunately, she was a movie star who couldn’t possibly be my mystery caller.
Stifling a wave of disappointment, I shoved the dogeared Cosmo back in the rack and slid off my seat just as Fernando approached.
“Well, great to meet you. Can’t wait for your next pic,” I called as I walked away.
Though I’m not sure it even registered. Katie was once again enthralled with her own reflection as Fernando appeared to fluff her hair into Rapunzel-worthy waves.
Cal followed a beat behind me. “So much for our starlet,” he mumbled.
“Well, one down, three to go,” I shot back, making my way back toward Marco’s Camelot desk.
“Sorry, doll,” Marco said, shrugging his slim shoulders as I approached. “I held him off as long as I could.”
“That’s okay,” I reassured him. “You did great.”
“Oh, but I’ll call you tomorrow. The Lohan’s coming in for a cut and color, and you know there’ll be dirt.” Marco gave me a wink.
“That’s my boy. Hey, check your inbox for payment later.”
I gave him a wink as we exited the salon.
I felt Cal shaking his head beside me.
“What?” I asked.
“I just can’t believe there are so many people willing to sell secrets to you. You ever think of working for the CIA?”
I grinned, soaking up the compliment. Even if it wasn’t intended as one. “Thanks. But, you know, not all of them do it for money.”
“Oh?”
“For some it’s revenge. Some it’s a feeling of importance. Others just like to see their quotes in print.”
Cal gestured back at the salon as he beeped his Hummer open. “So, what’s Marco’s story? He squeal for cash?”
I laughed. “Marco? Heck no.” I looked back at my flamboyant friend. “He’s much easier than that. As long as I send him the weekly Clay Aiken update, Marco’s a happy camper.”