“Me? No. Actually, I’m here to see Carol Carter. I understand she’s a client of yours?”
“She is,” the receptionist said. “But she’s not here.”
“Maybe you could give me her number?”
“Uh, hold on a sec,” the receptionist gave the one finger universal wait sign as a Marilyn in a pink sweater and pumps pushed her way to the desk.
“I’m here for the-” the breathy blonde started.
Bored Receptionist cut her off. “I know, I know. The Lifetime movie. Sign in on the table, the sides are next to the sign in sheet. Leave your headshot on the pile.” She shook her head as Marilyn tottered off on two-inch heels. Then mumbled something that sounded like, “I need a raise.”
She turned back to me. “I’m sorry, who did you say you were?”
I took a deep breath, pulling out the speech I’d prepared in the car on the way over here. “I’m with Springer Productions. We saw Carol Carter’s headshot and think she’s perfect for our latest film. Do you think I could get her number from you?”
“I’m sorry,” the receptionist informed me. “Miss Carter is on location in Toronto. She’s there shooting a pilot for FOX.”
“Canada? How long has she been in Canada?”
“Since last Wednesday.”
I tried not to let my disappointment show. If Carol Carter had been out of the country all week she couldn’t very well have put the hole in Greenway’s head. I was beginning to feel like I was on a wild goose chase.
“Would you like me to set something up for next week?” the receptionist asked, looking past me as another Marilyn came through the door.
“Uh, no, that’s okay. We’ll check back then.”
“Excuse me,” the new Marilyn said, brushing up beside me in saddle shoes, a pencil skirt, and a pink polka dotted blouse that was two sizes too small. “I’m here for the Goodbye Norma Jean audition, and I…” Newbie Marilyn trailed off as she trained her eyes on me.
It took me a second to realize why, but as I stared at those big blue eyes, then lower to those big round implants, recognition hit me like a smack in the head. Bunny.
“You!” she breathed, pointing at me. “What are you doing here?”
“Uh-” Again with the stumped thing. Irrationally I looked to the receptionist, who seemed to have perked up. Apparently her day was becoming more interesting.
Bunny planted her hands on her hips. “I hung around the studio all day yesterday and your photographer never showed up.”
“Huh. Go figure.” I tried to edge toward the door, but Bunny and her double D’s were suddenly blocking my way.
“You know what I think?” she said.
I shook my head, glancing around the sea of blond bombshells for an escape route.
“I think you’re not even a real reporter.”
“Reporter?” Slightly Less Bored Receptionist narrowed her eyes at me behind her frames. “I thought you said you were with Springer Productions?”
“Uh…” I looked from Marilyn to the receptionist. Wondering why my cell phone never rang at times like this? Now would be an excellent time for Mom to call with a wedding emergency or for Dana to need break-up therapy. I looked down at my purse. Silent. Damn.
“Look, here’s the truth,” I said, breaking under the pressure of two pairs of glaring eyes, “I’m looking into the murder of Devon Greenway. And, from what I understand, both you,” I gestured to Bunny, “and Carol Carter dated Greenway.”
“So?” Bunny challenged. “Devon dated lots of women.”
“Which makes for lots of people with reasons to want him dead.”
Bunny narrowed her eyes at me. “You think I killed Devon?”
I shrugged.
“This is better than Desperate Housewives
“Look, Devon may have been an ass,” Bunny conceded. “But there’s no way you’re pinning his murder on me. Besides, didn’t they arrest his lawyer?”
I cringed. “Sort of. But the police are still investigating.”
Bunny put her hands on her hips, her implants jutting towards me, the buttons on her blouse straining against the pressure. “Are you the police?”
I bit my lip. “No.”
“Then I don’t have to answer anything.”
“She’s right,” the receptionist said. “I saw it on Law & Order. She doesn’t have to answer you.”
“In fact,” Bunny went on, advancing on me, “I think maybe it’s time you answered some questions. Who are you, anyway?”
“Me? I’m, uh…” I’m cornered.
Thinking fast, I reached into my purse and flipped my Motorola open. “Sorry I have to take this.” I pretended to push the “on” button and held it to my ear. “Hello?” I said into the silence.
“I didn’t hear it ring,” Helpful Receptionist said.
Bunny crossed her arms over her chest. “Me neither.”
“Vibrate,” I mouthed to them as I nodded and made appropriate listening noises. “Uh huh… sure… right…”
I’d like to think my acting skills would have been pretty convincing if my phone hadn’t picked that moment to start ringing the William Tell overture.
Bunny smirked. “I think your phone is ringing.”
Damn. Note to self: I sucked at undercover work. “Uh, I gotta go.” I made a break for it, through the front doors and down the street. All the while being serenaded by the William Tell Overture still trilling from the cell in my hand. I rounded the corner and made it to my Jeep, quickly locking the doors against any killer Marilyn Monroes before I picked up my call.
“Hello?” I breathed into the phone, the unexpected sprint causing me to pant like a golden retriever.
“Hey, it’s me,” Dana’s voice came through. “Listen, I just remembered something else about Carol Carter.”
“What?”
“She’s on location in Canada right now.”
Does my friend have timing or what? “Yeah, I just found that out.”
“Oh. Sorry. Well, listen, I got a call for an audition tomorrow and I was wondering if I could come over in the morning and borrow something to wear. It’s a campy sixties thing, kinda modern Mod Squad and none of my clothes are right for the part.”
“Sure. Mi closet es su closet.”
“Thank, hon. Oh, Sasha’s calling me, gotta go.” And Dana hung up.
I flipped my phone shut and took a moment to get my breathing under control again before hopping back on the 10 toward Santa Monica. Unfortunately, my day had been a bust and I was no closer to knowing who killed Greenway than Ramirez was. All I’d accomplished was alienate a pissy porn star and discover that Richard’s lawyer was an old-school chauvinist. I wasn’t even fully prepared to cross Carol Carter off my list of evil girlfriends. Sure she had an alibi, but what if she’d hired someone to bump Greenway off? I know, I was grasping now, but I was desperate.
I stopped at Von’s on the way home to pick up a frozen pizza and another liter of Diet Coke. Then somehow a dozen Krispy Kremes jumped into my cart, along with another pint of Chunk Monkey. I didn’t fight it. I figured my dismal encounter at the Platt Agency called for major calorie comfort.
It was dark before I pulled up to my studio. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed not to see Ramirez’s SUV gracing my driveway again. As much as I hated the fact we fought over everything I did, at least it beat the silence I knew was waiting for me inside.
I opened my door and flipped on the lights. Then tripped over something on the floor.
“What the-?” I looked down. It was the crushed EPT.
God I hated that thing. That thing had started this whole mess. I had a married ex(ish)-boyfriend sitting in jail, a sexy cop showing up at my apartment at all hours, a killer Barbie running around shooting people, and I had to deal with a freaking pregnancy test!