They found Shayonne and Shalonda by the pool, Shayonne engrossed in Star Magazine and Shalonda in Us Weekly. They both had cotton balls between their toes. They were reading with sunglasses perched on their rhinoplastic noses, their surgically enhanced boobs practically popping from tiny bikini tops. They didn’t even look up when they passed.
Chase had set up interviews with the crew, and they headed for the guest house, which sat fifty yards from the main house. It was a backyard bungalow. Slate gray weatherboard with a nice porch. Big enough for a small family. Or a television crew.
On a concrete slab next to the house, a makeshift outdoor gym was constructed, and Stanbury Boa was on his back on a power bench, lifting a massive barbell. The veins in his neck stood out like cords as he bench-pressed the iron, his arms pumping up and down like pistons. He had a smoothly shaved head and wore a red bandana, a pair of American flag swim trunks and a lot of attitude.
“Hi there,” Odelia said pleasantly. “Can we ask you a few questions? Is now a convenient time for you, Mr. Boa?”
He merely growled something and continued pushing out his reps.
Chase stepped up. “Hampton Cove police, buddy. Where were you the night Shana Kenspeckle was murdered?”
Boa racked the barbell and sat up, dusting chalk from his hands. “I was right here, guarding the property,” he growled, hitting them with his best glare, the one he probably hoped would land him a role next to Vin Diesel in the next Fast & Furious movie.
“If you were so busy guarding the property how come you didn’t catch the killer?” asked Chase.
The bodyguard's eyes darkened. He seemed foreign born, judging from his accent. "I was guarding the property against outside intruders. How was I to know that one of them—" He gestured to the main house, where Dion had just walked out and stood stretching. "—would kill one of their own?"
“So you think one of the Kenspeckles killed Shana?” asked Odelia.
“No one came onto the property. At night security around this place is tight. I see to that.”
“Have you heard any rumors who might have done it?” asked Chase.
“I’ve heard no such rumors. But you may want to interview the sisters. They hated Shana’s guts.”
“And why was that?”
He shifted his massive shoulder in a shrug. “Sibling rivalry. They couldn’t stand that Shana was more successful than they were. More popular.”
“What about the crew?” asked Chase.
“You should talk to Alejandro,” said the giant. “He would do anything to get his show to the top of the ratings again. Last week I heard him tell Burr that he was praying for a murder.”
“He said that?” asked Odelia.
"Yes, he did. He said only a juicy murder would get people to watch the show again. They were on the verge of being canceled." He nodded curtly. "I think that's enough motive for murder, don't you, Detective?"
With these words, he lay back down and picked up the huge barbell again. With an animal-like grunt, he launched into another grueling set.
“Wow, I wouldn’t like to get into a fight with that guy,” Odelia said as she tripped after Chase. She had to take two strides for every one of his.
“Pfft. He’s all show. I’ll bet those muscles aren’t even real.”
“They looked pretty real to me.”
“Trust me. It’s all steroids, growth hormone and synthol injections.”
Sounded like someone was a little envious. Then again, Chase didn’t have to be jealous of Boa the man mountain. The cop was built like a Hulk himself.
The guest house was tastefully decorated. Like the main house, white was the dominant color, the floors a warm mahogany in contrast. They’d stepped into the foyer and the man they’d come to see was comfortably seated on a white leather couch, reading a copy of Men’s Fitness. Alejandro was wearing a yellow polo shirt and beige slacks and looked like a million bucks. When he got up to greet them, he did so with outstretched hands and a killer smile. He kissed them on the cheeks. Twice. Surprised, Chase touched the spot. Bet that hadn’t happened to him when he interviewed gangbangers in the Bronx.
“Please, sit down,” Alejandro said. “Make yourself at home.”
They took a seat on the white leather couch, and Odelia saw that Alejandro seemed very eager to talk to them. He sat ramrod straight and eyed them brightly, a smile on his face. Before they could ask him a question, he announced, “I think you should look into the terrorism angle again.”
“We already established that the note was a fake,” said Chase.
“Yes, but have you considered that perhaps this terrorist simply wasn’t well-versed in the Arabic language?” Alejandro asked, his brows arching. “Not all terrorists have a college degree, Detectives. One might even make an argument that most terrorists never had any schooling at all. It’s well established that a lot of them are ordinary criminals who turned to terrorism because it pays better and lends them prestige and self-esteem. Most of them are not even ideologically motivated. They’re simply in it for the money.”
He continued with wide gestures of his hands. “You have a terrorist who’s not schooled, who decides the Kenspeckles would make an excellent target. He does his business and leaves that crudely written note, merely showing he doesn’t have a thorough grasp of grammar, and voila. Case closed.”
Chase shook his head. “I really don’t think the terrorist angle is a viable one, Mr. Salanova. For one thing, security around the house was tight that night, and we’ve already established that the murder was an inside job.”
“So? That simply means this house has been infiltrated by a terrorist.”
“Do you really think a terrorist would target Shana and leave the others unharmed?” asked Odelia. “Wouldn’t a real terrorist murder the entire family when he had the chance?”
This gave the flamboyant director pause. Then he brightened. “Perhaps he’s planning to do the others at a later date? Like a staggered terror spree?”
Chase, obviously bored with the terrorist angle, asked, “Where were you between four and five the night Shana Kenspeckle was killed, Mr. Salanova?”
His eyes went wide. “Me? You suspect me?”
“Everyone’s a suspect until we find the killer, sir. So where were you?”
“Right here, sleeping in my bed,” said the director. “Mentally preparing myself for another day of making the best reality show on the planet.”
“Isn’t it true that the best reality show on the planet was losing steam?” Odelia asked.
The director brushed a stray lock of hair from his brow. “Pardon?”
“We were told you were so anxious to boost the dropping ratings of your show that you figured a nice, juicy murder might just do the trick.”
He waved an airy hand. “I may have made such a comment, but it was only in jest. I merely wanted to convey the message that it would take a miracle to get our numbers back up to an acceptable level.”
“So you admit that your show is in peril?” Odelia asked.
He smiled that bright smile of his. She wondered if it was veneers or implants. Either way, his choppers looked amazing. “Of course I do. And I hate it. This show is a passion project. It has put my name on the map.”
“So you would do anything to salvage your show—even commit murder,” Odelia stated, taking a leaf from Chase’s book.
Alejandro draped his arms over the back of the couch and leaned back. “You do have a way with words, Detective.”
“Oh, but I’m not a detective,” she said. “I’m a consultant. And a reporter.”
“I knew it. Your facility with the language is remarkable. Yes, I would do anything to extend the life of this show. But I would never kill a person to do so. Besides, without Shana Kenspeckle this show is doomed. She was my star, the biggest and brightest celebrity to step onto the stage. With her gone, the show won’t last another season.”
“What about the rest of the Kenspeckles?” asked Chase.