Nineteen

V ictory had been arrested for Haley’s murder? Wave bye-bye to my reward. I had a vision of my mother getting dragged by police out of her house past a big fat foreclosure sign. They didn’t even give her a chance to put on her wig.

“He was arrested for stealing a car on Thursday,” Aubrey said. I was instantly relieved. “He was on Martin Street.”

It took me a minute to register what he was saying. That was when and where we had our car chase. Victory was probably driving the Range Rover, which meant there actually was a good chance he killed Haley. The cops obviously hadn’t connected these dots—that the driver of the Range Rover was also probably the same person using Clothes Encounters to sell stolen goods. I could still be the one to let them know. My brain removed the foreclosure sign from the front yard and placed the wig back on my mother’s head.

“Mr. Malone has a history of alleged car theft, dating back to his days as a juvenile offender in Sherman Oaks,” Aubrey said. “He also has a history of his parents making sure he was never convicted—until now. They refused to bail him out and bring him home. He has spent the last three days in the county jail.”

I was way more comfortable with the idea of Victory killing Haley than Marina killing her. Not that I was comfortable with murder, but still. Even without the rap sheet, I could see Victory being Haley’s Rack Pack partner. From what I could recall, he had the same physical characteristics of the person in Toni’s surveillance video.

The more I thought about it, the dumber I felt for not thinking of him first. “It makes sense,” I said, causing Aubrey to look at me strange.

I remembered that he, like everyone else, wasn’t a mind reader. Given my frequent not-so-nice thoughts about him, this was probably a good thing. I launched into what I’d been up to since the storage locker, making it seem like Toni just so happened to realize she’d been robbed. “The killer left a USC cap. I’d thought it was Haley’s best friend, Marina, but it seems like it belongs to Victory.”

“We can ask Mr. Malone tomorrow when he finally is released.”

I liked the sound of that. “What time do you want me to pick you up?”

Sienna met me at the door when I got home. We spoke at the same time. “Good news,” she said.

“I got great news.” I laughed. “Jinx. You first.”

She was happy to oblige. “Montgomery’s going to talk to some of his contacts at a few networks about me doing a reality show.”

“That’s great!”

And unrealistic to think it would actually make it on air. That wasn’t a knock against Sienna as much as it was against Hollywood. Talking to a network executive did not a reality show make. I hoped she was the one in a kajillion who did make it. She deserved it. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed!”

“Thanks! What about you?”

“Marina has an alibi. But Aubrey found out Victory was arrested stealing a car a few blocks from our car chase. I figure he took it after abandoning the stolen Range Rover. We’re gonna talk to him tomorrow.”

“Nice! I was telling Montgomery this morning that I hoped this would be over soon so you’d stop running around investigating.”

Running around investigating? I was tempted to point out that she’d been right along with me. But since I didn’t want to fight, I changed the subject. “It’s Blind Item Day!”

Blind Item Day was when Anani Miss shared a tidbit about a celebrity so juicy she couldn’t use actual names. Luckily, she made sure to pepper enough clues into her wording to help readers guess who it could be. Sienna and I had made a game out of it. She’d read. I’d throw out names, and she’d supplement the blind item with info from her own sources. Needless to say, it was my favorite day of the week. And in all the hubbub of “running around investigating,” I’d completely forgotten about it.

“Already got the site open,” she said. “Ready?”

I was, so she began reading as I listened like a four-year-old during story hour. “Thanks to an oh-so-fine body … ”

“Oscar Blue!”

“And actual acting skills … ”

“Not Oscar Blue.” Beautiful man, but couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag. Even the biodegradable, reusable ones he loved so much.

“This star of one of the fall’s hottest new shows has already climbed from obscurity to near TV’s A-list faster than a ride on a bullet train.” That kind of sounded like Omari, but it couldn’t be. “The only thing needed for him to cross that fine line to the next level of the Hollywood caste system is having the right lady on his arm.”

That was the second mention of the word fine. Omari’s character on LAPD 90036 was Jamal Fine. I hoped it was a coincidence, not a clue. Sienna continued on. “And it looks like Mr. Bullet Train finally found her, the Liz to his Dick. The Beyoncé to his Jay-Z. The Miss Piggy to his Kermit. I’m not talking reality A, or even TV A. Not to put too fine a point on things, but I’m talking valedictorian-of-the-class A-list.”

Another fine. No. No. No. Oblivious to my impending panic attack, Sienna kept going. “Things are getting pretty steamy pretty quickly. Our spies spotted our Bullet Train and his Lady Love arriving at said diva’s house, where they weren’t seen for hours. Maybe next time we’ll see them in the 90036 … ”

Sienna’s voice trailed off as she realized what she was saying. I almost choked … on air. The 90036? That wasn’t a clue as much as a blinking bright pink neon sign alerting us that Omari Grant was getting some.

Sienna looked at me like I might run to the window and jump. I was tempted. “There are, like, four guys on that show.” She didn’t sound like she even believed what she was saying. “It could be any of them, but definitely not Omari.”

How I wanted to believe her. “Have you heard anything about him dating anyone?”

“Nope. And you know I would, since everyone knows we know him.”

“Because you would have told me … ” It was more question than statement.

Sensing my hesitation, she switched tactics. “And even if it was about him, it would be BS. The spy was his publicist. Didn’t you say she was a bit overzealous?” I did indeed say that. “I’m just surprised Anani fell for it.”

Maybe Sienna was right. I started to feel better, but still. “Can you ask around?”

“Will do when I go out tonight.”

The doorbell rang. Sienna looked relieved. She started to hand me the laptop but thought better of it. Maybe she assumed I would use it to bash my head in. She carried it with her to the front door. A few moments later, she and the laptop returned with Montgomery in tow.

“Hey, you,” he said, then he turned to Sienna. “Sorry for dropping by out of the blue, but I always like to share good news in person. I heard back from Oxygen already. They’re interested.”

That got my mind off Omari real quick. Sienna practically did a double back handspring. “So we’re gonna have a meeting? When? What should I wear? I need to go shopping!”

“Calm down,” he said, laughing as he did so. “You’ll have a meeting. Eventually. They want a sizzle reel first. I’ll film you, put together some footage, and send it to them. And if they like it … ”

“I’ll have my own show. On Oxygen! I already have the name: Lady in Red!”

She looked at me all excited-like. “Congrats!” I said.

I was happy for her. I admired people like Sienna who kept trying and trying year after year after year to break into Hollywood. I, on the other hand, was a bit too pragmatic to follow the long, winding, twisting boulevard of dreams that ultimately lead to a dead end. It was why I’d retired and why I wouldn’t be in her reality show when she undoubtedly asked me to. I just hoped she wouldn’t get too mad.

My phone buzzed, signaling I had a text. It had to be Emme. Bill collectors weren’t allowed to text. I knew because I’d looked it up. I grabbed my cell and headed to my bloset. As I disappeared inside,
I heard Montgomery talking about me. “What’s up with her?”

Closing the door before I could hear her answer, I checked my texts. Emme had sent me a message saying to check my email. I pulled out my tablet and found a Facebook link waiting in my inbox. I clicked on it. A photo album called Allie’s Legal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! came up. There were almost as many pages of photos as there were exclamation points. Emme had found Allie’s birthday party, thereby proving Marina’s alibi.

I scanned photo after photo of people smiling in clusters of twos and threes. Interspersed was the occasional shot of food and lots and lots of alcohol. I couldn’t blame Allie. The girl was turning twenty-one, after all.

I was surprised to see quite a few pictures of Nat, but since Allie had worked at Clothes Encounters, it made sense Nat would be there. And be there she was. Nat sure loved the camera, and she dressed way better than she did at work. She posed in every photo, even kicking her leg up so we’d get the full effect of stilettos. Like every other woman in LA, she was rocking Pink Panthers.

I went through each picture, then checked them all again. Something was missing. Or should I say someone. I texted Emme. Where are the photos of Marina?

Emme hit me back almost instantly. There are none.

Doesn’t mean she wasn’t at the party. Camera shy?

Another lightning-quick response. Camera shy people don’t move to LA.

The girl had a point. Thanks.

NP.

I dialed Aubrey to tell him the news. He didn’t answer, so I left a message and went to bed.

The next morning, I saw red. Literally. I woke up ten minutes before my alarm to find Sienna hovering over me in yesterday’s clothes. She held her tablet about two inches from my face. “I need a new paint color. What do you like better? Cherry Tomato.” She pointed at a deep red paint, then swiped the tablet, revealing another swatch of deep red. “Or Carriage Door. I can’t decide.”

“Carriage Door.” They looked exactly the same but Carriage Door was a much cooler name.

“I was leaning toward that one! I really like the undertones of blue.”

“Exactly. So you’re painting?”

“And getting new furniture! My couch should be here this afternoon.” She swiped her tablet again. A furry red couch popped up. It looked like someone had skinned Elmo. “I’m redoing the entire apartment.”

I was almost too afraid to ask. “In red?”

“Of course,” she said, already walking out the door. “I want to be prepared in case my show gets picked up. I’ve got to order this paint. You’re on your own for breakfast.”

“Not even red eggs and ham?”

But she was gone. I forced myself out of bed. I had a busy day. After Aubrey and I spoke with Victory, I planned to help Emme go through Toni’s house to catalog what was missing.

I completed my daily cleansing ritual, then squeezed into my dress, threw on my Pink Panther heels, and headed into the living room to find Sienna staring at the hardwood floor. “You get a chance to ask about Omari last night?” I asked.

“Ended up not going out. I was up all night redesigning. Think I can get new carpet installed by noon if I call right now?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, just reached for her phone as I said goodbye.

I made it downtown to the LA county jail in record time—meaning only five minutes late. Neither Victory nor Aubrey was around. I was obsessing about Omari and this girlfriend when Aubrey opened my car door and invited himself to take a seat. Again. He didn’t bother with a good morning.

“Ms. Anderson, we cannot mention anything to Mr. Malone about how we suspect he killed Ms. Joseph. He will be more apt to slip up if he thinks we do not know. We need to get him to admit he was her partner. The only person besides us who would know the same car was used in the robbery and the hit-and-run is the killer. He has to bring that up first. Do you understand?”

“Do I get a lollipop if I don’t tattle?”

“Lollipops are nothing but sugar cubes that will rot your teeth.”

“Only if it’s done right!”

This insightful exchange was interrupted by a Victory sighting.

This was my first real life, in-person viewing of someone using his “get out of jail” card. It was nothing like television. Victory didn’t ­walk past a long row of fences. He wasn’t holding all of his life possessions in a box. He didn’t even have a car waiting for him. I figured at least his mom or maid would be waiting to take him back to their house in the Valley.

He just walked out the front door and proceeded to cross the street without looking both ways. Criminals today. Such risk-takers. At least he had enough sense not to steal a car right outside of jail.

I looked him over. He barely topped five foot seven. His lack of height was complemented by his lack of weight. Haley’s shadowy accomplice on the video was also lacking on both the vertical and horizontal fronts. It could easily have been Victory.

I heard a door open. It was mine. Aubrey was out the car and taking off after him. Never one to be left out, I joined the procession and caught up with them across the street. “Oh goodie,” Victory said when he saw me. “You brought your friend.”

Aubrey ignored this. Big surprise there. “So will you answer a few of my questions?”

Victory looked from Aubrey to the keys in my hand. “If you give me a ride.”

“Sure,” I said, the sarcasm as thick as good quality bacon. “Aubrey brought his bike. Just jump on the handle bars and we can get this conversation over and done with.”

“He means your car, Ms. Anderson.”

“Really? I didn’t realize that,” I said. Sometimes I wondered if he truly thought I was stupid, but I was too afraid to ask.

Victory just rolled his eyes. “We got a deal or naw?”

Unfortunately, we did. The only thing I wanted more than Victory not being in my car was to know his whereabouts the night Haley died. Maybe if I drove and talked fast, he would be out before he infected the seats with his ickiness. I motioned to my car. “Fine, but you ride in the back.”

Victory followed me to the Infiniti, then laughed when he saw the paint job. “Nice. If I ever want to cure my nausea, heartburn, and indigestion, I’ll just lick the hood.”

“It is not the color of Pepto!” I said, but he was climbing into the car.

Aubrey started to get in next to him. “You ride back there and I’ll be expecting a tip,” I said.

Victory, to his credit, laughed. Aubrey did not. “You did not tell me you wanted me to bring cash,” he said.

We both looked at Aubrey with the same expression, then shared a look. It’s a bad day when you’re bonding with a car thief who might have run over his girlfriend and then left her for dead, but Aubrey had that effect. “She wants you up front, man,” Victory finally said.

Aubrey climbed into the front seat while I assessed the situation. This could work. I could be good cop to Aubrey’s weird cop. Maybe we could get something. “Where are we going?” I asked.

“Just drive,” Victory said. “I’ll tell you where to go. Get on the 101 South.”

Whatever. I took off in the proper direction and gave Victory my best good cop smile, just like I’d seen on The First 48. “All comfy back there?”

“Cut the crap and tell me what this is about.”

So much for that. “We have reason to believe you were one of the last people to see Ms. Joseph before she died,” Aubrey said. “We wanted to see if you had any information that might help us solve her murder.”

“I didn’t see her,” he said.

“Our sources say you did.”

“Marina?” He smiled, showing off dimples and perfect teeth that probably had cost his parents the gross national product of a small country. “Next time you see her, tell her it wasn’t me Haley was with that night.”

I rolled my eyes as I got on the freeway. “That because of the fight you had when you robbed Toni Abrams’ house?”

The dimples abruptly disappeared. “Marina tell you that too?” Was he saying Marina knew about the robbery? “Haley and I liked things that didn’t belong to us. It was one of several things we had in common. She chose houses. I chose cars. Only cars.”

“You expect us to believe that you two never overlapped?” Aubrey asked.

“Houses don’t go zero to sixty in six seconds. Get off at the next exit.”

“What were you doing if you weren’t robbing that house with Haley?” I asked as I got off the freeway. Might as well let him think I believed him.

“I was at home. Alone. Smoking some bomb weed.”

“That’s your alibi? You didn’t rob a house because you were doing drugs? You’d admit that in court?”

“Sure, right after I showed them my medical marijuana card. I get really, really, really bad migraines.”

I didn’t know how to react to his admission. Drugs as an alibi never came up on The First 48. “Turn at the next light,” he said. I did, barely registering we were now in a residential area.

“What about your arrest the other day?” Aubrey asked. “Why did you steal a car from Martin Street?”

“Wrong question. Turn left at the stop sign. You should be wondering why I got caught stealing a car from Martin Street. Next stupid question.”

I hated to admit that he was right. All the questions running through my head were indeed stupid. There was a nine-months pregnant pause as I tried to wrestle back control. “You own a USC hat?”

“I’m a Bruins fan,” he said, name-dropping the UCLA mascot. “Here’s my stop.”

I realized where we were—a couple of blocks from where Aubrey and I had our car chase. A couple of blocks from where Victory was caught jacking the car. “Where are we?” I asked him.

“My place.”

“You don’t live in the Valley?”

“I did until I started subletting from my friend a couple months ago. You need a place to stay? I do need a roommate. It’s a great neighborhood.” Victory climbed out the backseat, then bent down so he could show me his dimples one final time. “Except for all the car thefts.”