two

“Both theories are absurd,” said Nigel.

“Why is it absurd to think that she faked her death?” Mandy asked.

“Because contrary to the Elvis sightings routinely documented in The National Enquirer, celebrities simply do not fake their deaths and then disappear into thin air,” said Nigel.

“Some do,” said Mandy. Turning to me, she asked, “What do you think, Nic? After all, you’re the detective.”

“Ex-detective,” I corrected. “My days with the New York City Police Department are over.”

“Fine. Then as an ex-detective what do you think?” she asked.

“I have to admit it’s not something that keeps me up at night …” I said. Nigel opened his mouth to say something, but I quickly placed my hand over his mouth. “But, if pressed, I guess I’d have to ask why Melanie would fake her death in the first place? She’d just landed one of the most sought-after roles in Hollywood. Her career was set to take off.”

“True, but some believe her life was in danger from a stalker fan,” said Mandy. “Others believed she had a fatal illness and wanted to die without the media attention. And then there are those who claim that she just got sick of Hollywood and wanted out.”

“So, if she faked her death, then where did she go?” I asked. “In this day and age, it’s kind of hard to live under the radar.”

“I don’t know,” said Mandy. “But, I’ve heard theories ranging from she married an obscure European prince to that she’s living on a beach in Tahiti.”

“That in and of itself should give you a hint as to the collective IQ of these theorists,” Nigel said as he removed my hand from his mouth. “But, even they’re brighter than the ‘She Was Murdered’ theorists.”

“Why? You have to admit, she wasn’t very well liked,” Mandy countered.

“By those standards, half of Hollywood would be dead,” Nigel said. “And, I think that if Melanie were murdered, someone might have noticed. You know, like the coroner. Or her assistant. Or just about anyone on the set.”

Mandy turned to me. “I’m sure Nic would agree with me that lots of murders go unreported.”

“Not if I’m sober, I wouldn’t.”

“If that’s a clever ploy to get me to buy you a drink,” said Mandy with a grin, “then drinks are on me tonight.”

Nigel shook his head. “No deal. There are some lines even I won’t cross for a free drink.”

“Fine,” said Mandy, “but at least answer me this. Nic, you’re a good judge of character.” She winked at Nigel and added, “Normally. From what you’ve seen of the footage, what did you make of her?”

“She was a great actress,” I said slowly. “And obviously, we haven’t watched all of the footage yet, but, from what I’ve seen so far, I’d say she could be…difficult.”

Mandy laughed. “If by ‘difficult’ you mean a spoiled brat with a rotten soul, then I’d agree with you.”

“I was somewhat surprised,” I admitted. “She was always portrayed as America’s Sweetheart.”

Mandy scoffed. “America’s Sweetheart, my ass. That reputation was created by the studio’s publicity machine, and even then it took a team of full-time workers to make it believable. The real Melanie Summers was a manipulative, egotistical little shit who only cared about herself.” Mandy paused and then added, “May she rest in peace, of course.”

“What a pretty eulogy that would have made,” I said.

Mandy laughed. “Oh God, the stories I could tell. She was one of the first celebrities I was assigned to cover. On the outside, she was a beautiful girl with great talent. On the inside, she was poison. Pure poison.”

Behind us a collective scream went up as the latest It Girl stepped onto the red carpet. An actress better known for her revealing outfits than her talent, she had outdone herself tonight. Her skirt was nothing more than a scrap of transparent gauze; however, this was rendered modest by the two bedazzled band-aides that served as a bodice. Mandy let out a small sigh. “Dear God, tits and no talent certainly are all the rage these days,” she said with a small shake of her head.

“Now that’s a dollop of a trollop,” I said.

“That’s not a dollop,” Nigel protested. “That’s a trough. And it makes me want to gouge out my eyes. Is that the reaction she wants?”

“Somehow, I doubt she’s going for the Oedipus Rex effect,” I said.

“Somehow, I doubt she can pronounce Oedipus Rex,” said Nigel.

“Well, it’s my lucky job to feign interest in the half-dressed minx,” Mandy said as she started to walk away. “I’ll see you later at the Vanity Fair party, yes?”

“Absolutely,” Nigel said with wave. “We’ll be sitting at a table with Elvis.”

Mandy’s response was nonverbal, but nevertheless unambiguous. Nigel burst out laughing. “Roscoe would be so proud of you!” he yelled after her.

“Speaking of which,” I asked him, “did you really rhyme ‘golden lord” with ‘impotent gourd’?

“Trust me,” he said as he offered me his arm, “It was a vast improvement over what Roscoe suggested.”