Blake emerged from the bedroom, his hospital gown flapping pathetically around his bare ankles above black dress socks and loafers. “It’s true, things didn’t exactly end well between us.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Oh?”
“No. She said she wanted to see other people, but I didn’t. I…” He paused, biting his lip. “Well, I’m sure you’ve heard by now. I had a breakdown. It wasn’t just Mia. It was the whole pressure of the show. The press conferences, the interviews, the appearances.”
I could well imagine how Blake wasn’t suited to being in the public eye. I could see him starting to sweat just talking about it.
“Anyway, it was after I came back that they put me in the coma. I guess Mia just felt it was too awkward to work with me.”
I phrased my next question carefully. “And you weren’t upset by this?”
Blake shrugged. “A little. But not terribly surprised. Before the coma, Kylie’s and Deveroux’s characters were the hot items in the ratings. Tina Rey and the electrician were getting all the press. Mia was in danger of slipping into a supporting role. The coma’s slowly pulling up her numbers. Well, that and the press she’s been getting lately over these letters hasn’t exactly hurt her.”
“And you?”
Blake did the sad-smile thing again. “At least no one’s hounding me for interviews. I’d better get to the set.”
I watched as Blake shuffled out the door and into the soundstage. Honestly, he didn’t strike me as the killer sort. More the lie-down-and-take-it-like-a-doormat sort. Then again, he was, after all, a trained actor. I wondered just how much lying down and taking it a man could do before he snapped?
It took Mia only fifteen takes to get her monologue in Blake’s hospital room right. By the time Steinman yelled an exhausted, “That’s a wrap, ” my neck was stiffer than a new pair of leather boots and I was ready to drop.
I gathered up my purse, thankful that tomorrow was Sunday-the one day the crew took off during shooting season, and met Dana near the rear gate. The bump on her head had grown and was starting to turn purple.
“Do you think maybe you should get that looked at?” I asked.
Dana shook her head. “I’m fine. Just a little bump. All I need’s an aspirin.”
I dug through my purse and came up with one, which I handed over.
“Are we ready to go try Veronika’s neighbor again?” Dana asked as she swallowed the pill.
I groaned. “I don’t exactly have a car.”
“No prob.” Dana held up a pair of keys dangling from a rabbit’s-foot key chain. “Ricky let me borrow his.”
I raised one eyebrow. “Ricky?”
Dana blushed. “Isn’t he just the sweetest?”
Uh-oh. I felt my internal radar pricking up. “Dana, please tell me you’re not-”
“No!” she cut me off. “I’m celibate, remember? Besides, he’s, like, totally famous. I’m sure I’m not even remotely his type.”
I had a bad feeling Dana was every guy’s type.
Dana twirled her borrowed keys in one hand. “We going to go talk to the neighbor or what?”
While my head was screaming for a long, hot bubble bath and a big, frosty cocktail (not necessarily in that order), I had to admit the idea of going home to my apartment alone wasn’t all that appealing. The last thing I wanted to find was more roadkill. Or, worse yet, Mr. Roadkiller himself, waiting in his menacing SUV. So, despite the whiplash and brewing headache, fifteen minutes later we were in Ricky’s silver Porsche on the 101 heading up through the hills and west toward the Valley.
We exited at Topanga Canyon, making a left on Victory as we wound our way into West Hills, a suburban area on the westernmost edge of the Valley. Strip malls lined the major streets, while residence clamored up the hillside, each just a little higher than the others to capitalize on the view.
Dana slowed as we approached Coronado, a tree-lined street set into the natural hillside flanked with a hodgepodge of oversize homes fairly bursting from their modest-sized lots. Most were set behind manicured lawns with mature, blooming foliage, and driveways sporting BMWs and racy-looking Italian sports cars.
Dana parked in front of 1342, a faux-Mediterranean villa set behind a row of neatly clipped palm trees.
“This is where Veronika lived?” Dana asked, gaping at the near mansion. “ ’Kay, I know how much a stand-in makes. Twenty bucks says she had a sugar daddy.”
Considering her prenatal state, that wasn’t a bet I was willing to take.
“Come on; let’s go talk to the neighbor.”
We locked the car and walked up the flagstone pathway to the house Ricky had indicated, just to the right of Veronika’s. This one was done in an English Tudor style, with exposed wood beams running diagonally across the stucco face. Dana knocked on the solid front door, which was opened two beats later by an older woman in a pastel blouse with little Scottie dogs running across it. She held a TV remote in one hand, and I could hear static in the background.
“You here to fix the cable?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at us. “ ’Cause it’s been busted all morning.”
“Uh, no. Sorry, we’re not from the cable company.”
“Then I don’t want whatever you’re selling.” She started to close the door, but Dana was quicker.
“Actually we worked with your neighbor, Veronika. On Magnolia Lane.”
“Oh?” The woman paused. “Oh, you’re TV folk?” She brightened up, standing a little taller. Then she squinted her eyes at Dana. “I don’t remember you. Were you on last season?”
“No, I’m an extra.”
“Oh.” Her interest waned again.
“Anyway, ” I jumped in before we lost her, “we were wondering if we could ask you a couple of questions about Veronika.”
The woman snorted. “Hmph. That tart. She thought she was really something. You know, when I heard she was gonna be on the TV, I went and baked her a pineapple upside-down cake, just like the one I seen them make on the Food Network. Anyway, she ate the whole thing, and when I asked if maybe she could get me that Mia’s autograph, she just laughed at me. Said Mia wouldn’t give the likes of me the time of day. Can you believe the nerve of that girl? Prima donna.”
I hated to say it, but Veronika was probably right.
“Do you know if Veronika was dating anyone?” I asked.
Her wrinkled cheeks parted in a smile. “Well, I don’t know about dating, but I do happen to know that she went out with that hunky gardener fellow from the show. Now, he gave me an autograph.”
“Yes, he told us that you might be able to help us.”
“He mentioned me?” She smiled so widely I feared her face might crack.
Dana nodded. “Uh-huh. He said you knew everything that went on on this street. That we could just ask you.”
The woman laid a hand on her chest and blushed. “What a nice young man.”
“Isn’t he?” Dana gushed.
I rolled my eyes.
“He said that you told him you’d seen Veronika come home with a man…the night before he met you…?” I prompted.
“Oh, yes.” She nodded vigorously. “Now, I’m not one to spread rumors-I keep to my own business, you see. But I’ll tell you I seen a man go in with Veronika late at night, just about when Jay Leno come on, and he didn’t come out until the ladies from The View had their first guest the next morning.” She nodded sagely. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure what they were doing.”
Now we were getting somewhere. “Did you recognize him?” I asked. “Maybe from the show?”
She pursed her lips together. “No, I don’t think so. But it was dark. And the next morning I just got the faintest glimpse of him. But, ” she said, leaning in, “I will tell you he wasn’t the only one.”
My ears pricked up. “Really?”
“Oh, yes. Men were always going in and out of that place.” She gestured next door. “Girls too. It’s like a cheap motel, that house. Complete den of iniquity. I tried to get the neighborhood association to fine the owner, but she just claimed she had a lot of friends. I’ve got a mind to call that gal on channel four who does those neighborhood grievance reports.”