with a flourish. “Honey, you drool just like the rest of us plebeians. We’re groupies, plain and simple. How pathetic that we’re so enamored of a freaking movie star. He’s probably a pig and a lout, but do we care? No.”
Mia frowned as she looked around the bar. She’d changed from her black tux and pink bow tie uniform into black jeans and a white peasant blouse. She’d even put on fresh makeup, and for what? If they did see Danny Austen she wasn’t going to talk to him. The last thing she wanted was to appear unprofessional. All she cared about was giving her friends a little treat. “There’s nothing wrong with having fantasies. In fact, it’s good for the imagination. Besides, I’ve practically forgotten what it’s like to be with a real man. I mean, who has time for dating?”
“Well, you never look,” Jenna said. “Honey you’ve got to lighten up. The world won’t come to an end if you think about something other than the job.”
“Hey, that’s not all I think about.”
Jenna raised her eyebrow. “Your mystery novel obsession doesn’t count. Nor do your puzzle collections, your trivia books, or the fact that you’d rather dig up bat hearts than go ogle Danny Austen.”
“Oh, come on. I’m not that bad. Besides, I do think about men. I just haven’t met one who’s worth the trouble.”
“Mia, sweetie.” Carlane signaled the bartender. “The right guy isn’t any trouble. Unfortunately, most of the men in this city are deviants or married or gay or all three.”
Mia sighed and they all just sat there for a moment, wallowing in the sadness of their pitiful love lives. “Okay,” she said, finally. “I’m going down to Exhibit A to see if they’re shooting. If they are, I’ll try and get you two in to meet him, okay?”
“Please,” Jenna said. “Give me something delicious to dream about tonight.”
Mia hopped down from the bar stool. “I’m on the case. You guys hold the fort, and if he walks in here while I’m gone, call me immediately.”
Both women saluted, and Mia strode off toward the elevator.
Amuse Bouche, the restaurant that was connected to the hotel, had closed at midnight. At twenty-till, there’d still been a line. The big draw, aside from the incredible food, was the outdoor patio. It didn’t hurt that the film trucks were still there, although most of them were parked on side streets or in the underground garage, or that there was an even chance of seeing really famous people walk by. Just ask the paparazzi. Talk about people who never slept. They covered the hotel front and back 24/7. She often wondered when and how they went to the bathroom. They sure as heck didn’t use the hotel’s facilities.
She got to the elevator and hit the down button, feeling her martini, but not too strongly. She probably wouldn’t have another. Maybe some water, just so she wouldn’t wake up with a headache.
She fished her lip gloss out of her pocketbook. After a hasty application, she put a mint in her mouth, got her small compact out to dust her nose, then checked her hair and eye makeup. Nothing was too dreadful, but she wasn’t going to pose for Vogue anytime soon.
By the time she stepped out of the elevator, she was as good as she was gonna get.
The hall was suspiciously quiet all the way past the black Exhibit A logo and when she got to the nightclub’s door, there was nothing to see but a big sign that said HOT SET. She assumed it was not okay to go inside and move stuff around. But if she didn’t touch anything…
She hadn’t been in Exhibit A since the movie company had rented it. They’d changed things, of course. They had to make the room fit their story, right?
She turned around and went back to the door to peek inside. It wasn’t as dark as she’d assumed. Soft lights were lit all around the perimeter. The white tables that normally were in the center of the room had been pushed to the far left wall. The booths and sofas hadn’t been disturbed, but the wall art, the chandeliers, most everything that would immediately identify the club as one of the most exotic and sensual in the city had been covered over or replaced by pretty mundane stuff.
She stepped inside, wondering why they’d chosen such a boxy bandstand with such awful orange curtains, but then she had no idea what the movie was about. Maybe she could score a script—that would be interesting and fun. She’d never read one before, although she was a certified movie addict.
She went over to the bar area, trying to figure out if the small glasses on the counter were drinks to be used in the next scene or just a mess left from the crew. Just as she was about to investigate up close, she tripped, fell forward, saving herself from a serious crash at the last second by catching the edge of the bar.
Shaken, worried she’d ruined some vital piece of movie set, she turned to see what she’d fallen over. Her breath left her in a strangled scream as she saw the body.
It was a guy, a big guy, and oh, God, there was blood, a lot of it, all over the shiny floor. Some seeping around long, thick cables. But her gaze went straight to the face, because he was on his back, he was staring up, and even in the shadows she could see he was dead. Really dead.
She moved toward him, careful not to step in the blood. The guy had on jeans and a plain shirt, and oh, crap, the blood didn’t quite cover a gaping wound that stretched across his neck.
If she moved just a couple of inches to the right the light from behind her would illuminate his face. With a quick gulp of air she steeled herself then moved those few steps. The light fell right on the face. His face.
Gerry Geiger’s face.
Her hand went to her mouth as she fought another scream. As the blood rushed from her head. As the urge to run propelled her toward the door. But then she remembered her job. The hotel. Her responsibility.
With shaking hands, she pulled her personal cell from her purse and dialed 9-1-1. She could be sick later.
2
BAX HATED CELEBRITIES. He hated the paparazzi. He hated movie people in general.
Who was he kidding, he hated pretty much everyone and everything in this town, particularly in this precinct.
His pain was somewhat mitigated by the fact that he’d pulled Grunwald as his partner on this. He was a good detective, hungry, and a fiend for detail. Which meant that Grunwald would be doing the paperwork on this baby, while Bax would focus on the footwork. If only Grunwald’s breath didn’t always smell like an especially foul combination of stale cigarettes and some acid reflux.
They had already been briefed by the first officer on scene, and now it was time for Bax to interview the first witness on scene. He glanced over to where she stood in the corner near all the cameras, lights, director’s chairs and cable. Her name was Mia Traverse and she worked at the hotel. It didn’t surprise him that she was pretty. One of those tiny girls, barely five feet, who looked as if a strong wind could carry them across the street. She hugged herself as she snuck glances at the body.
Bax was anxious to talk to her before the swarm that always surrounded murder descended. As he got closer he saw she wasn’t exactly as delicate as he’d first imagined. She looked upset all right, but her back was straight, her eyes serious and focused. He nodded. “Detective Milligan. You found the body?”
She nodded back. “I came down to see if they were still filming. I hadn’t been to the club since they’d rented it.”
“You always here at two in the morning?”
“I’m a concierge for Hush. My shift ended at five, but I had dinner and drinks here with some friends. They were hoping to meet Danny Austen.”
“And?”
“There’s not much else to say. The club was empty. I was trying to be careful, not to touch anything. I tripped over—”
Her voice had cracked. So she wasn’t quite as in control as