Chapter 23

On the way over to the LA County Jail, I tried to explain Denise to Detective Romero as best I could, and that I suspected she had been arrested for impersonating a reporter.

“A reporter?” Romero tsked. “I don’t think we have a criminal code for that on the books. FBI agent. Cop. Doctor, yes. But reporter? No. It’s not like we arrest people for fake news or bad grammar. Too bad, huh?” Romero laughed at his own joke.

Wilson buried his head in his hands. “Not only does the man have no taste, he thinks he’s funny.”

“I appreciate the humor, Detective, but if I’m right, Denise may have been impersonating a reporter so that she can get close to Hugh Jackman.”

“The actor?” Romero’s brow wrinkled.

“I’m afraid so. You see Denise is also an actress of sorts, and—”

“I thought she was your landlady.”

“She is, but she fancies herself an actress. Song and dance mostly. Small productions, musical theater. That type of thing. And for reasons that defy logic, she has this kind of teenage-girl crush on Hugh Jackman. She’s convinced they’re soul mates, and I’m afraid things may have gotten out of hand.”

Romero bit back a smile. I could see he didn’t think Denise was much of a threat. “You mean she’s been stalking him?”

“Not in her mind, but yes,” I said.

“You realize if Denise’s been arrested for stalking, it’s likely Jackman, or his manager anyway, may have filed a restraining order against her. Bailing her out not only won’t be easy but it won’t be cheap either.”

I wasn’t familiar with the process. Fortunately, most of my clients were good, law-abiding citizens. While I had worked with the police before, this was the first time I’d worked with someone whom the police had arrested and was likely to spend the night in jail.

“What is it I need to do?” I asked.

“To start with, you’ll have to post bail. For stalking you’re looking at about a half-million dollars.”

“A half a million dollars?” I choked. “You’re not serious?”

“Like I told Zoey, stalking’s a serious charge. But the good news is, there’s plenty of bail bondsman around, and one of them can help you out with the money. If Denise owns a home and is willing to put a lien on it to guarantee she’ll show up for trial, the bondsman will issue a bond. Beyond that, I’m afraid, you’ll still have to come up with about fifty-thousand dollars.”

“Cash?” My personal checking account never had more than a couple thousand dollars in it. And my savings wasn’t much better. How could I possibly come up with a sum like that?

“But I may have another idea, provided you’re convinced Denise isn’t a real threat to Mr. Jackman or herself.”

“I’m listening,” I said.

“Denise could be released into my custody. If I were to tell the sheriff she’s a principal witness in a criminal investigation, the sheriff could be convinced to release her to me.”

Wilson put his hands to his head again and began rapidly shaking his head from side to side, the words coming out of his mouth like rapid gunfire. “No, no, no, no. No, no. Please, Misty, tell him not to do that.”

“I can’t—” I was about to tell Wilson I couldn’t leave Denise in jail when Romero reached over and put his hand on top of mine.

“It’s not a lie. Denise was in your house the night of the séance. In a sense, that makes her a material witness. Someone I still need to talk to. And, just so you know, she’s someone I wouldn’t mind spending more time with.”

  

Romero’s idea worked like WD-40 on a stubborn lock. He flashed his detective’s ID at the Sheriff’s senior administrator. Words were said. Papers crossed the desk. Signatures were scrawled on dotted lines. And suddenly, Denise was a free woman. Marched out from behind the jail’s heavy metal security doors and back out onto the streets. Holding her purse in front of her face to hide her identity, just in case of paparazzi—there were none—Denise jogged from the jailhouse to Romero’s car. When Wilson realized his sister was about to sit next to him, he slipped over the front seat like a seal diving for cover and joined me in the back of the car.

Romero hadn’t even put the key in the ignition when Denise turned to me. “I don’t believe you didn’t see this coming. If you’d warned me, I never would have been arrested or humiliated myself. How could this happen? How could you let me do this?”

Denise hung her head and tears ran down her face as she poked into her handbag for a tissue. I reached for one in my bag, but the detective was faster. From within his coat pocket, Romero took out a handkerchief and offered it to her.

Wilson moaned. “There is no justice. Look at him. He’s falling for her.”

I spoke up. “Perhaps, Denise, the universe is trying to tell you something.”

“Well if the universe is trying to tell me something why didn’t you tell me first?” Denise sniffed and wiped her eyes.

“Ladies,” Detective Romero glanced back at me in the rearview mirror. He had this. “Perhaps it might be better if we let Denise explain what happened.”

“What happened is I’m ruined.” Denise blew her nose. “Oh, I know it sounds terrible. The police think I broke into Hugh’s hotel suite, but that’s not entirely true.”

“What do you mean not entirely?” I couldn’t believe what Denise had just said. “How could you do such a thing?”

“Misty.” Romero’s eyes caught mine in the mirror. A warning shot.

Denise batted her wet eyelashes at Romero and continued. “Well, first, you must remember I was there for an interview. Hugh and I were supposed to meet in the lobby, at least that’s what his assistant had told me. But when Hugh didn’t show up, and I realized time was getting short and he’d probably not have time for the interview, I decided to go to his room and wait for him there.”

“His room?” Romero’s jaw tightened. “Just how did you manage to get the key to his room?”

It was well known most of the celebrities in town for the awards shows stayed at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills. Security around the hotel was as good as it gets, so how Denise managed to get a key to Hugh Jackman’s room was beyond even my imagining.

“I took it,” Denise said.

“You took it?” This went far beyond Denise impersonating a reporter or printing up fake business cards. “How?” I asked.

Denise looked over her shoulder at me and bit her lip. “It’s like I told you, Misty, the other day. I went to the hotel for a fan meeting, and when it was clear I wasn’t going to get any one-on-one time with Hugh, I was very disappointed. Then today, when I went back for what I thought was going to be a scheduled interview, I could see I was never going to get any one-on-one time with him. I knew I had to get creative, which isn’t hard when you’ve been acting as long as I have.”

“Ugh!” Wilson clawed the air like a wild cat. “Here she goes.”

“You see, years ago I played the role of Fagan for a local production of Oliver at the Pasadena Playhouse. Maybe you saw it?” Romero shook his head. “Fagan was a pickpocket, wonderful role, and I had to learn a few tricks of the trade so to speak.”

“You learned to pick pockets for a role?” Romero asked.

“You know the song ‘You’ve Got to Pick a Pocket or Two’? I could sing it for you if you like.”

“Pleeeeeeeeeeease.” Wilson pleaded. “Don’t encourage her.”

“Another time,” Romero said, “but I’m getting the idea. You played this role, and because of that, you were able to pick Jackman’s pocket?”

“Yes, but in my defense, all I took was the key. I wasn’t after his wallet or anything like that. I assure you, it was all very innocent. Hugh was at the bar, right where I was scheduled to meet him. But he was surrounded by fans. I realized very quickly this interview was never going to happen. Not like I wanted anyway. So I sidled up to the bar, ordered myself a ginger beer, ’cause that’s what he was drinking, slipped my hand in his pocket, and took his room key. I couldn’t help myself.”

“And then you went to his room and waited for him there?”

I could hear the disbelief in Romero’s voice. It was laced with a myriad of emotions: surprise, humor, conflict, frustration. The surprise was no greater than my own. How quickly Denise has lassoed the detective’s interest. Albeit, not without the blessings of the detective’s former wife. Sometimes spirits give us a little shove.

“I knew he’d have to come back to his room, and I didn’t think of it as breaking in. I wasn’t there to harm him. I know it sounds awful, but I knew if I didn’t do it now, he’d be gone. He leaves in a couple of days, and who knows if we’ll ever meet again?”

“All you really wanted to do was meet Hugh Jackman, face to face?”

“Is that so bad? Honestly, Detective, I’d do anything. I’m convinced if we could just talk he’d know I’m a talented actress and not just some crazed fan. That we have a lot in common, and maybe, who knows, we’d click. You know what it means to really click with someone? To look across a crowded room and know—”

“That somewhere you’ll see her again and again?” When Romero quoted the line from Rogers and Hammerstein’s Some Enchanted Evening, Denise flushed.

“Why, Detective, I didn’t realize you were a theater buff.”

“Musicals mostly,” Romero said. “Did a little theater myself back in high school. Anything Rogers and Hammerstein I could recite line for line.”

Wilson collapsed against me. “There’s no justice.”

We turned onto Fryman Canyon, just a block from Zoey’s house where Wilson and I had left the Jag. Romero asked Denise if she’d like to join him for coffee. The two of them had a lot to talk about.