I’ve missed you, Black typed.
I bit my lip. Nothing. Right. Then why was my chest suddenly clenching as I stared at those three little words on my monitor?
I typed back a simple, Me too.
I’m not making a date for tonight, because I hate being stood up. But type at me when you can.
I will, I promised, meaning it. Okay, so maybe he was just a fantasy, but Black was the one person who really got me. He always knew just the right thing to say-or type-to make me feel better. Let’s face it, my internet crush knew me better than anyone.
Jesus, I needed to get a life.
Chapter Thirteen
I was just finishing up my story when my cell rang from Strawberry Shortcake. I pulled it out, glancing at the caller ID. Marco.
“What’s shaking?” I asked.
“Dahling, did I come through for you, or did I come through for you!”
“You got Jennifer Wood’s alibi?” I asked.
“I did.”
I grabbed a pen. “Shoot.”
“Well,” Marco started, and I could tell he was going to give me the long version. “I met up with my friend’s friend’s boyfriend at a party in the Hills last night, and he said that he did, in fact, see Jennifer at Ashlee’s housewarming.”
I felt my heart sink. One by one my suspects were falling. I could feel myself slowly being dragged back to square one again. “Did he see what time she got there?” I asked.
“No. But he said he was there at eleven, and she was already drinking appletinis with a Jonas brother.”
“How long was she there?” I asked.
“She did a table dance in Ashlee’s dining room at two.”
Shit. “Did she leave the party at any time?” I was so grasping here.
“Sorry, dahling, no idea. Ricky didn’t keep that close tabs on her, ya know.”
“Right. Thanks anyway.” So, Jennifer had been telling the truth. Granted, there was a slight chance she could have snuck out of the party, booted up her computer, used the Audio Cloak software to disguise her voice and play it back into a phone to leave me a threatening message before slipping back into the party. But, considering the phone was on the Sunset Studios lot, that chance was very slight.
“Hey, before you hang up-whose party were you at last night?” I couldn’t help the gossip hound in me from asking.
“Oh, honey, it was to die for! A birthday party for that kid who plays the brother on that medical drama. He turned twenty-one, and man, does that boy know how to throw down.”
“Sounds fun.” I tried to remember the last time I’d gotten an invitation to a birthday party. I think it was Aunt Millie’s. And we’d all had pudding cups instead of cake ‘cause she’d cracked her dentures.
“Oh, it was, doll. Everyone was there. The Kardashian girls, Jessie Simpson, Katie Briggs.”
That’s it, my social life officially sucked. “Anyone get drunk? Make out? Cat fights?” I asked, mentally preparing tomorrow’s column.
“Well…Kim K. and Jessie showed up in the same dress, and of course Jess looked better in it, so that almost turned into a wrestling match. But luckily that guy who does the Mac commercials was there to break it up. Oh, and Katie, she totally lost her iPhone in the pool when one of the Playboy bunnies bumped into her. She was pretty pissed about that. Apparently those suckers sink.”
“Wait,” I said, my mental hamster stopping in his tracks. “Did you say Katie Briggs has an iPhone?”
“Well, she did. It’s toast now.”
I narrowed my eyes. So much for Katie’s rebelling against modern technology. Was that whole speech she’d given me a line of bull? If so, maybe she did have a computer. And maybe my suspect list wasn’t so depleted after all.
“Is she scheduled at the salon today?” I asked.
“She’ll be here in half an hour.”
“Thanks, Marco. Hey, be a doll and keep her there as long as possible, ’kay?” I said. Then added, “There’s a backstage press pass to Clay’s next concert in it for you.”
I heard Marco do a happy squeal as I hung up.
I grabbed my purse and stood.
“Where are we going?” Cal asked, suddenly at my side. He was licking the remnants of a protein bar off his fingers.
“Katie Briggs.” I headed for the elevators, my shadow a step behind me as I quickly passed Allie’s desk. She was scrunching her nose at her computer screen, no doubt trying to figure out how to spell “guilty.” She looked up as I hustled past, but I ignored her.
“I thought we already talked to Katie,” Cal protested.
“We did. And apparently she really is an Oscarworthy actress, because it turns out her whole aversion to technology was a fake.” I quickly filled him in on the conversation I’d had with Marco as we waited for the elevator.
“So, you think Katie was lying about owning a computer?” he asked.
“Could be. Look, Blain has no motive, Jennifer has an alibi, and Pines was in jail. Katie’s our best bet at the moment.”
We rode down two floors, then Cal beeped open his Hummer, and I hoisted myself inside, cueing up his GPS as soon as he cranked the engine over.
“What’s that?” Cal asked, watching me input the address.
“Katie’s house.”
“I thought you said she was at Fernando’s.”
I grinned. “She is. Which means we only have an hour at best to search her place for a computer with Audio Cloak installed.”
Cal cut the engine. “You’re joking.”
“What?”
“We are not breaking into her house.”
“There’s no way I can trust Katie to be straight with us. The only way to out her as a murderer is to find that computer.”
“Then let the cops search her place.”
I put my hands on my hips. “You really think my word is enough probable cause for a search warrant?”
He bit the inside of his cheek. Obviously he saw my point. “You’re making it very hard for me to do my job, Bender.”
“Your job is to protect me from bad guys. No one said anything about keeping me from bending the law a little.”
Cal narrowed his eyes at me. Then finally muttered an, “I need a raise,” and turned the car back on.
I tried to hide my smirk of triumph.
“And quit smirking.”
Okay, fine. I didn’t try that hard.
As soon as we were on the freeway, I grabbed my cell and dialed Cameron’s number. She picked up on the fourth ring.
“Cameron Dakota.”
“Hey, Cam, it’s me,” I told her. “Listen, where are you right now?”
“Afternoon baby bump watch on Melrose. Why?”
“I need a favor. Think I can steal you away for a couple hours?”
“Are you kidding? You’d be doing me the favor. It’s like a hundred degrees out here, and I’ve already downed three Frappucinos. What’s up?”
I quickly filled Cam in on our little mission and gave her the address to Katie’s place in Beverly Hills.
When I hung up, Cal still had that I’m-going-to-live-to-regret-this look on his face.
“You’re dragging Cam into this, too?”
“She’s got a telephoto lens that can spot cellulite at a hundred yards away. She’s our lookout.”
Cal just shook his head again. “A big raise.”
At six square miles, Beverly Hills is actually one of the smallest towns in California. But the wealth in those miles could buy a small country. Several times over. Designer boutiques, oversized homes on acres of prime real estate, and more Mercedes per capita than anywhere on the planet, it is a haven to the elite of L.A. society. Manicured, buffed, shined, and pleasant in every aspect, Beverly Hills is the sparkling gem of L.A. County. There isn’t even a hospital or cemetery to remind residents of the unpleasant thought of mortality. It’s said that technically, no one is actually born or dies in Beverly Hills.