“Married?” Jasmine spit out. “She never said anything like that to me. And she had a six-month lease!”
I shot her a look.
“Deveroux, did you know that Veronika was pregnant?” I asked.
He nodded, his eyes tearing up in earnest. “She told me just last week. I was so exited. We were going to get married and move to Oregon. My sister’s got a big place up there near the coast.”
“Oregon?” Jasmine yelled. “Why, that sneaky little…”
I gave her a quick shot to the ribs.
“Veronika was okay with leaving the show?”
Deveroux nodded. “It was her idea to move away-away from all the Hollywood types. In case you hadn’t noticed, the set can get kind of wild at times.”
Understatement alert.
“Anyway, ” he continued, “she said she was coming into some money soon and we could put a down payment on a place near my sister.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Money?” I asked, remembering how little Dana said stand-ins made. “What kind of money?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. She wouldn’t say. But she said she’d been working on something and her investment was about to pay off.”
“Investment? That’s what she called it?”
He nodded.
I turned to Jasmine.
“Hey, don’t look at me, ” she said. “My girls get free room and board from me, but that’s it.”
I wondered. Veronika hadn’t struck me as the kind to put her pennies into stocks and bonds. Granted, I hadn’t known her that well, but the fact that she was playing strip Go Fish for rent didn’t speak to a bank account bursting with extra funds.
Which left one alternative.
Blackmail.
I worded my next question carefully. “Deveroux, was Veronika particularly close to anyone on the set? Anyone who might have shared, say, a secret with her?”
His white-blond eyebrows (perfectly waxed, I noticed-wait till I told Felix this guy was straight!) drew together. “Well, she did have coffee with Kylie a couple of times.”
My ears pricked up. Coffee? Or a confession where Kylie let slip a deep, dark secret worth killing Veronika over? I had to admit, I had a hard time putting the perky cheerleaderesque Tina Rey in the role of homicidal maniac. But stranger things had happened.
“But, ” Deveroux continued, “Veronika was really careful about keeping her personal life separate from her work. She was worried that if someone on the set found out she worked for the Web site, they’d fire her. I mean, despite the drama in the script, our core demographic is Middle American housewives. It’s one thing to have scandalous story lines, but an actual scandal like working for a porn site…well, that wouldn’t fit the studio’s image.”
He turned to Jasmine as an afterthought. “No offense.”
She shrugged. “None taken. You paid for my last two photofacials.”
Deveroux blushed again.
“No one else she was particularly close to on the set?”
He shook his head. “Why do you ask?”
I hesitated to tell him my theory. But then again, I was quickly running out of suspects and at this point didn’t have much to lose. “Do you think it’s possible that Veronika may have been blackmailing someone? Maybe someone on the set?”
“No. No way!” Deveroux vehemently shook his head. Then he stopped. He gave a little sigh and slumped his shoulders forward. “Maybe.”
“And she never mentioned anything to you?” I asked again.
“No, just that she was coming into some money soon.” His eyes got that watery look to them again. “You think that’s what got her killed? I mean, we didn’t have to move to Oregon. We could have stayed here.”
I rose and gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded, sniffling loudly. “Excuse me, I need to find a tissue, ” he mumbled, and slipped out of the room.
I sank back onto the sofa, my mind whirling with possibilities. If Veronika had been blackmailing someone on the set, it would have given them ample reason to want her dead. How easy would it have been for a blackmailer to lure Veronika to Mia’s trailer under the guise of more money, then stage the death to look like Mia’s stalker?
But it still didn’t explain Dusty. Or Mia’s threatening letters. Was it possible that it was all a coincidence? That Veronika really had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time? What if Veronika had been waiting to meet the blackmailer at Mia’s trailer, but the stalker had gotten to her first? I had to admit, instead of explaining anything, this new development just added one more piece to the confusing puzzle that didn’t seem to fit in anywhere.
I was flirting with that headache again when the television piped up from the corner.
“That’s right, Tom, we’ve received breaking news about the Magnolia Lane Murders.”
Jasmine and I immediately turned our attention to the screen as a slim, African-American reporter came on, holding a microphone. The backdrop of the Sunset Studios Central Park, still cordoned off with crime-scene tape, was laid out behind her.
“We go now to Marcia Blanding at the scene, ” a voice just off-camera said. “Marcia?”
The reporter sprang to life, lifting her microphone to her cherry-painted mouth. “Thank you, Peter. As you know, we’ve been following this story all morning, bringing you updates on the latest death on the set of the popular television show Magnolia Lane.”
I winced as the camera moved left, showing a group of crime-scene technicians in slick windbreakers combing the area.
“Now it seems, ” Marcia went on, “that star Mia Carletto’s poisoned penman has struck again. We learned just moments ago from Miss Carletto herself that she has received another death threat. We come to you live from the impromptu press conference just outside her trailer on the Sunset Studios lot.”
I leaned forward in my seat, my eyes glued to the television as Deveroux wandered back in the room.
“I’m sorry; I just-”
“Shhhhh, ” I commanded, waving him off as Mia’s face filled the screen.
Reporters surrounded her. To her right stood her publicist, a thin, redheaded woman in a tailored black suit. To her left, the ominous presence of Ramirez, arms crossed over his pecs, his eyes ever watchful of the crowd pressing closer to Mia. For a second I had the tiniest prickle of guilt at giving my babysitter the slip, but it was quickly shoved to the background as Mia began to speak.
“Thank you all for coming, ” she said, her voice evenly modulated and booming over the assembled crowd.
“Are you all right?” one of the reporters shouted to her, shoving a Channel Two microphone in her face.
Mia sighed loudly, her eyes downcast. “Physically, I am unharmed. Though, emotionally, the day has taken its toll on me.”
“Where did you find the latest note?” a representative from Cable Twelve asked.
“This morning I arrived on the set to find this note in my trailer, pinned to my pillow, ” Mia said, holding up a piece of plain white stationary.
“What does it say?” shouted Channel Two again.
Mia’s bottom lip quivered momentarily. Then she cleared her throat, lifted her head, and began to read from the paper. “ ‘Veronika and Dusty were only the beginning.’ ” Her voice faltered, fear clearly evident on her pinched features as she continued. “ ‘You’ve eluded me thus far, but no more. I will have you, Mia Carletto. Make no mistake about it, ’ ” she said, looking directly into the camera. “ ‘You’re next.’ ”
A frenzy of flashbulbs went off, the reporters practically peeing their pants over this kind of news. I could see Ramirez’s posture tense in the background as the clamoring mob of newshounds surged forward. Mia’s publicist put an arm around her, ushering her back into the trailer as questions flew through the air one after another, ranging from “Are you hiring a bodyguard?” to “Who does your hair?”