“No, they’re not fake,” Claudia said, ignoring Mary’s comment. “And yes, you can go in.” She nodded toward the door behind her.
Mary walked through the small waiting area with a loveseat, two chairs, and a curvy coffee table stacked with entertainment industry pubs.
She pushed open the door, which was already slightly ajar, and stepped into Mitchell’s office. It was a large space, lined on all sides with glass that provided views of the surrounding greenery.
Mitchell’s desk was solid black and solid wood, stacked high with notes, paper, and books. He looked up at her.
“Ah, the p.i. who threatened to go to the press if I didn’t see her,” he said, his voice booming with a deep richness that didn’t get its just desserts through television speakers.
He was dressed in a shirt and tie, Mary noted the blue sport coat tossed over the back of one of the visitor’s chairs.
“Thank you for that completely accurate assessment,” Mary said. “That’s me in a nutshell.”
He stood and extended his hand. Mary took it. “So you’re Brent’s niece, huh? I can see a slight resemblance. You have all of his good, none of his bad,” he said.
“Brent didn’t have any bad looks. That’s why he was so lucky with the ladies.”
“I wasn’t talking about looks,” Mitchell said. He gestured Mary to the visitor chair that wasn’t holding the blue sport coat.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, moving to the little bar off to the side. “It’s almost five, isn’t it?”
“Three-thirty,” Mary said.
“Close enough.”
He poured himself a scotch.
“Club soda,” Mary said.
“Boo,” Mitchell said.
Mitchell fixed the drinks and brought Mary’s to her. He then sat behind the desk and sipped.
“So how’s business?” Mary said.
“Good, good,” Mitchell said. “Ratings as high as ever. I’ve got three development deals on the table.”
“I’m happy for you. So tell me how you found out about my uncle.”
“The news. Just like everyone else.”
Mitchell rocked in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He leaned forward, took a drink, then rocked back and again examined the ceiling.
“So tell me about you and the gang,” Mary said. “Brent’s old gang. Way back when,” Mary said.
Mitchell’s head dropped down and he looked her in the eye. “We had fun,” he said. “I’ll tell you that.”
“So much fun that someone would want to murder Brent?” Mary said.
“I don’t know anything about that. Brent screwed, and screwed over, a lot of women. That didn’t go over well with the women, naturally, or some of the men, frankly. Old boyfriends, new boyfriends, brothers, fathers, uncles, sons, you name it. Brent pissed them all off.”
Mary pretended to take a drink as Mitchell looked at her, clearly trying to gauge her reaction.
“I’m a big believer in instinct, Mr. Mitchell,” Mary said. “And something’s telling me that this isn’t about a lover scorned. Somebody is killing off people from the ‘old gang’ as it were. Brent. Barry Olis. Noah Baxter. Dicky Kay.”
“Dicky’s dead?” Mitchell asked, his voice incredulous. “Jesus Christ.” His face had gone pale. Mary didn’t think he was acting. He was scared. But of what she wasn’t sure.
“I heard about Noah Baxter. Somebody shot him,” Mitchell said.
“Yeah,” Mary said. “Me.”
“You?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“He tried to kill me first. And he was a bad dresser.”
“Jesus! What the hell is going on?”
“I have no idea. So who do you think it is?”
“Who?”
“Whoever’s killing off you old unfunny bastards.”
Mitchell raised an eyebrow.
“Just kidding,” Mary said. “But what do you think? Anyone from the old gang come to mind? Anyone who hated all of you and wouldn’t mind knocking you off one by one?”
“Everybody hated us,” he said. “A lot of us weren’t stars. But we were writers, actors, producers, behind-the-scenes guys who made it happen. We ended up being quite a power to reckon with. Not bad for a bunch of guys who just started partying together and success just kind of showed up. Not to mention the fact that between Brent, Braggs, and myself, half the hot ladies in Hollywood were getting laid on a regular basis.”
Mary rolled her eyes.
“I’m just stating the facts, ma’am,” he said.
“Fine,” Mary said. “Let’s get down to specifics.”
“Oh, looks like I got down to the bottom of my glass,” he said and went and refilled his drink.
Mary waited until he had returned to his chair. “David Kenum,” she said.
Before he could answer, Claudia “The Claw” Ridner poked her head in. “Mr. Mitchell? You’ve got a pre-pro meeting in fifteen minutes.”
Mitchell nodded and waved her away.
“Let’s make this quick.”
“David Kenum,” Mary repeated.
“Oh God. Psycho. Utterly nuts. Mean, vicious, violent. He killed a girl. Probably more than one. He’s in prison.”
“Actually, he got out last week.”
“Oh Lord have mercy on us all,” Mitchell said.
“Know where he might be?”
“Fuck no!”
“Think he might be behind all of this?”
“Hell yes! The guy’s a basket case. He’s probably killed a dozen people we don’t know about!”
“Has he ever contacted you?”
“No. Never. I would remember because I would have shit my pants.”
“All right. Marie Stevens.”
He turned slightly in his chair. The first time he’d shifted since she started asking questions. Mary noted the move.
“Nice girl,” Mitchell said. “A little weird. But nice.”
“Know where she is?”
“God, I haven’t heard from her in twenty years. She just sort of disappeared. That Kenum,” Mitchell said. “One time I was banging this girl in the bathroom.” He stopped and looked at Mary. “Sorry, but — ”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve heard plenty of stories regarding sex in bathrooms. I was thinking of making a coffee table book about it.”
“Anyway — I was doing this chick in the bathroom and all of a sudden I feel this pain on my throat. I thought it was weird. Was I tangled in something? Then I turn my head and there’s Kenum. He said he wanted to cut my throat.” Mitchell shook his head.
“What happened then?” Mary said.
“Limp dick happened, that’s what. I was a horny sonofabitch, but show me a guy who can diddle someone while a knife is at his throat.”
Mary nodded. “That’s a cute story,” she said. “Bet you always tell that around the holidays.”
The secretary poked her head back in.
“Mr. Mitchell…”
He got up and breezed past Mary.
“Sorry, showbiz calls.”
Mary followed him out.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Mary was not proud to admit it, but she was somewhat ambivalent about kids. She had a feeling she would be crazy about her own if she ever had any, but at the moment, there wasn’t a huge attraction there. Some kids were cute as hell. Beautiful, actually. And she did encounter a flare of envy now and then. But she also saw the other side of the coin. The incredible amount of hard work it entailed. She didn’t think she could handle it. At least, not right now.
It really came down, though, to her own thoughts about herself as a mother. It was tough to picture. Being honest with herself, she was about as nurturing as Cruella deVille. Maybe the sight of her own little duckling would bring out her soft side, or at least, help her discover it.