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“Too sexy!” Barrie gasped, and put her hand to her head as if she were about to faint.
“You’re too young!” Rhiannon scolded. The three of them giggled like thirteen-year-olds.
“But we wore them down,” Sailor said with satisfaction.
“We were nothing short of insufferable,” Rhiannon agreed.
“And then we went back…how many times?” Barrie wondered.
“Dozens, I’m sure,” Rhiannon said.
The film had exceeded all teenage expectations and parental fears: bloody, gory, sexy and so controversial. At the time the filmmakers, a collection of Others with a few key humans like Mayo who were in the know, were pushing the envelope, portraying Others so authentically. It was always dangerous to flirt with that boundary between the worlds, and danger was seductive.
“Never has such a bounty of male lusciousness been assembled all in one place,” Sailor said.
“I remember that every week you had a different favorite,” Barrie teased her. “Oh, Johnny. Oh, Robbie. Oh, DJ…” She pretended to swoon over each young actor in turn.
“I remember you didn’t eat for weeks, you were so gone on Robbie Anderson,” Sailor retorted.
Despite herself, Barrie felt a blush rising in her chest and cheeks. It was true. She’d had a painful crush on the young shifter. She had written him dozens of letters that she’d never sent, pouring her heart out, telling him why they were meant for each other. She was destined to be a shifter Keeper, after all… .
“He was the first shifter you wanted to Keep—for yourself,” Sailor crowed, voicing Barrie’s own thoughts.
“Oh, Lord, the pain of it,” Rhiannon sighed. “I wouldn’t be a tween again for all the money in the world.”
Truthfully Barrie was shocked at how strongly the memories of that crush were hitting her; it was as if she’d never grown out of it.
Or maybe you just have sex on the brain. Damn Mick Townsend.
Rhiannon was looking at her probingly. “What’s the matter?”
Barrie shook off the feeling and focused on the present.
“I keep going back to the fact that Mayo checked into the Chateau last night with a young man who was a dead ringer for Johnny Love. And that Tiger’s specialty was shifting as dead movie stars. And that Johnny Love died at the Chateau. And I found out from Tony Brandt that they both died of overdoses of a drug cocktail that sounds really Other: heavy on the belladonna.”
“But what does all this have to do with Otherworld?” Rhiannon asked practically.
“I don’t know yet, but I’m thinking the movie has to have something to do with my cases.”
“But only Tiger is your case,” Sailor worried. “Mayo wasn’t an Other.”
Barrie felt her defenses going up. “No, he wasn’t, but his death is related. I can’t investigate Tiger’s death without investigating Mayo’s.”
Now both her cousins looked concerned. “You need to be really careful about this, hon,” Rhiannon said. “There’s going to be a lot of heat on the Mayo investigation.”
“But no one else knows the two are related, and I’m going to keep it that way,” Barrie answered stubbornly. “And don’t worry,” she said before Rhiannon could object. “I’ll talk to Brodie first thing.”
Rhiannon’s fiancé wasn’t only a homicide detective with the elite LAPD Robbery Homicide division, he was an Elven.
Like Brandt and the other Others who worked in law enforcement and criminal justice, Brodie subtly used his position to get assigned to Other-related cases, to ensure that the existence of the Others was kept secret. And now Barrie had a feeling her soon-to-be familial connection to Brodie was going to come in very handy.
Rhiannon looked somewhat mollified. “Well…as long as you’re careful.”
“What’s up next?” Sailor asked.
“I’m going to find out everything I can about Johnny Love and Mayo and the movie.”
And she knew exactly who she needed to see to get the inside scoop.
Chapter 5
Barrie showered and dressed and fed the cat, then headed down the canyon to the flatlands, the Fairfax District where NBS, one of the major television networks, had its soundstages.
On the way she listened to the news on the radio to see how Mayo’s death was being reported. The mainstream media was being incredibly tactful, as they always were with celebrity deaths, not speculating on the manner of death; the official word was that he had “col-lapsed” in his bungalow at the Chateau. She would have to check the Net for the more fringe theories.
As usual the NBS parking lot was jammed with busloads of tourists there to see the tapings of various television shows. Barrie had never seen the appeal of tapings, she found them incredibly boring herself, but she knew NBS’s most popular reality show, That’s Dancing! was filming today, and that would be where she could find Harvey Hodge.
Harvey was NBS’s self-proclaimed “Entertainment Connection,” the on-camera entertainment reporter for NBS News. H.H., as he was known, was a shifter who always had all the best Hollywood gossip because he could literally be a fly on the wall and pick up any dirt that was to be had on anyone.
And Barrie knew that Harvey never missed a taping of That’s Dancing!
Harvey was a handful, but Barrie had taken great pains to cultivate him as a source. Luckily being a Keeper was its own modest form of fame, and she was able to use that to her advantage. She’d sussed out Har-vey’s great weakness: he wanted to be as much of a celebrity as the stars he reported on, and she knew how to play the starstruck kid. It was a lot of work, but she could usually wheedle and flatter Harvey into talking to her, and he really did know everything about every Other in show business.
The tough part would be making it onto the set of That’s Dancing! The show was down to the last few episodes, with just four couples left, and it seemed from the lines that every dance fan in the world was trying to crash the gate.
The guard was militantly checking soundstage passes, so Barrie called up what she could vaguely remember about one of the contestants and glamoured her way by him in a swish of tulle and sequins. The effort left her gasping for breath on the other side, but at least she was in.
She found Harvey in the press pit, a corner of the soundstage draped with curtains for reporters to conduct their interviews and film their stand-ups.
He was in a foul mood. “Weres are beastly dancers,” he complained without even bothering to say hello as Barrie approached him. “I don’t know why they ever let them on to begin with.”
“So, who’s going to win it?” she asked, feigning interest.
“How would I know?” he said coyly.
“Oh, come on, H.H.,” she coaxed. “If not you, who?”
“I’ll never tell.”
“Not even a hint?”
But she’d gone too far. Harvey looked her over shrewdly. “I’m short on time and temper, and you are so not here as a Dancing! fan, Keeper. So, what are you after?”
Barrie felt caught out, and then realized it was better just to lay it on the table.
“I need the scoop on Mayo,” she told him.
He rolled his eyes. “You and half the town.”
“I need to know about Mayo and Johnny Love.”
Harvey stopped and really looked at her for the first time, his gaze narrowing. “That’s original of you, doll. What about them?”
“Exactly. What about them?” She lowered her voice. “You know what I’m saying, H.H. Did Mayo have a thing for Johnny Love? Was there anything between them? Like, during the filming of Otherworld?”
“Funny. That yummy Mick Townsend asked me the same thing.”
She stared at Harvey in disbelief. Was there any way to escape Mick? “You were talking to someone outside the community about Other business?”
“No, I was talking to a fellow journalist about a story. He asked me if Mayo had a thing for Johnny Love, just like you just did, and I told him that Mayo had a thing for all kinds of things.”
“But what do you think?” Barrie asked the question with a kind of ingenue breathlessness that made it sound like Harvey’s opinion was the only one that mattered. Sailor wasn’t the only actress in the family.
Apparently it worked, because Harvey glanced around them, as if checking for prying eyes and ears. “It’s an interesting thing. There were rumors.” Then he looked straight at her. “But I’ll tell you—the great Mayo always had a thing for shifters. The younger, the better. I don’t think he ever got over Johnny dying. But you know, things were such a nightmare for everyone after Otherworld came out. It was one of the great cursed films of Hollywood. So much tragedy associated with it. First Johnny, of course, that nasty OD.”
“It was some special speedball, wasn’t it?” she asked. “Something exotic?”
“Heroin, cocaine and atropine,” Harvey said, and Barrie felt a rush. Atropine was the hallucinogen found in belladonna. The same combination that had killed Mayo and Tiger. “And DJ, well, you could say fame and fortune is no kind of bad luck, but…”
DJ, no last name required, was a vampire who had played a teen vampire in the film. Currently one of the highest-paid actors in Hollywood, he was a total recluse and rumored to be nearly impossible to work with. Blood wasn’t his only addiction, and when you added an ac-tor’s temperament to a vampire’s, then threw in his dark past…it all spelled constant trouble. In fact, DJ was famous for being so unreliable that 90 percent of his salary on any film was withheld until the end of shooting, just to make sure the film was completed.
“Right, DJ…” Barrie murmured.
Harvey shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m not the only one who updates his obituary every few months just to have it ready. It’s a miracle he’s lasted this long. No one in town would give him the time of day if he weren’t, well, brilliant.”
Harvey was starting to warm to the topic, a great thing for Barrie, who now only had to prompt him with wide-eyed attention and the occasional little exclamation. “Then, of course, Robbie Anderson disappeared without a trace. A lot of people think he died not long after Johnny, but no one could ever prove anything. It’s just that…someone that gorgeous and talented? He couldn’t have stayed away from acting.”
“No,” Barrie murmured. “Probably not.” But privately she thought that anyone who had suffered the death of one of his best friends and been witness to the crippling addictions of the other might not be all that hot on the profession. She herself would have fled for her life. She thought of Robbie with a pang, that surreally beautiful teenager, and silently hoped that he’d gotten out and started a new life far from the corruption of Hollywood that he’d been thrust into far too young. Robbie had been British, had never known his mother and was estranged from his father; he’d filed for emancipation when he was just fourteen. He could have disappeared back home, but the media had tracked him relentlessly; it seemed that someone would have found him—if he’d still been alive. The thought gave Barrie a chill. “So much tragedy associated with” this film is right.
“Mayo was opening quite the can of worms when he decided to remake it,” Harvey was saying.
Barrie jolted back to the present. “Mayo was going to remake Otherworld? I hadn’t heard anything like that.” Not that she followed production news religiously, but certainly news like that would have registered with her or one of her cousins at least.
“Oh, it hadn’t been announced yet, but he was gearing up for it. And you can bet your buttons the community wasn’t too thrilled about it.”
Barrie knew that Harvey wasn’t talking about the film community now, but their community, the underground.
“The interspecies politics are such a mess on these paranormal films,” he sighed. “Everyone’s got an agenda.”
“So, a lot of people didn’t want this remake to go through,” she said, and thought to herself, That’s a lot of potential suspects.
“It’s not even just political. Think about it. Three white-hot rising superstars: one kills himself, one disappears, one’s a total train wreck…The town is superstitious, darling, and that’s looking a lot like a curse to me.”
Despite herself, Barrie felt a chill.
The “Dancing!” stars—well, minor celebrities—swirled onto the soundstage with their pro dancer partners, and Harvey went on journalistic alert. Her interview was done.
“Thanks, H.H.,” she said quickly. “I owe you.”
“Yes, you do-o,” he trilled back at her, and gave her a backward wave as he rushed to meet the stars.
As Barrie was walking off the soundstage, musing over the idea of a cursed film, she saw a tall, familiar figure strolling toward her. Oh, great, she thought, even as her heart started racing a mile a minute. Be calm. Just be calm. It was just the glamour, remember?
She struggled to keep her expression disinterested as she stopped in front of Mick Townsend in the center of what was ironically an absurdly romantic set: white roses trailing over a gazebo, a bridge over a mirrored stream. Probably the backdrop to a waltz competition.
“Don’t tell me you’re a ‘Dancing!’ fan,” she said dryly, and was proud of her nonchalance.
“I never miss it,” he deadpanned back.
He sounded so almost-serious that for a moment Barrie had a fantasy of what it would be like to dance with him. Of course she was dreaming—men just didn’t dance anymore—but if he could…oh, if he could lead even half as well as he kissed…
Focus, she ordered herself.
“You’re following me,” she accused aloud.
“Or maybe great minds think alike,” he suggested. “You were just here to see H.H., right?”
She was silent, unable to deny it.
He gave her a killer smile. “That’s why we need to team up. This is a big enough story for two people, and we’re obviously on the same track… .”
She raised an eyebrow. “If we’re thinking alike, what is it we’re thinking?”
His luminous green eyes met hers and held them. “I’m thinking about last night.”
Immediately her heart was racing again, and she was finding it hard to breathe. She struggled for distance and control. “Last night was—inappropriate. Adrenaline rush, the circumstances…it happens, but it doesn’t mean anything. If you want to team up on this, then we have to focus on the case and the story.”
For a moment she thought she saw a flash of amusement on his face, but he nodded seriously and said, “Per-fectly understood. Strictly business.” He held out a hand for her to shake.
She hesitated, then put her hand in his. “Strictly business,” she echoed, even as a betraying rush of lust raced through her veins at his touch. She pulled her hand away quickly. “So, what are we thinking? About the case?”
“That the same person killed Mayo and that poor kid,” he said softly, and she felt a jolt, realizing that he did know about Tiger, and more than that: he seemed to care. He continued, still holding her gaze. “That someone didn’t want the remake of Otherworld to go forward, so that someone hired Tiger to lure Mayo to his death, dose him with a fatal exotic cocktail, and then the killer fed Tiger the same stuff.”
She had to hand it to him: it was exactly what she was thinking. But she wasn’t about to let him know that. Not yet.
“Is anyone saying there was a third person in that bungalow at the Chateau?” she demanded. If he wanted to work with her, he had to prove he had something to offer besides lethal charm.
“Not that I’ve been able to find out. Most of the rest of the town is so focused on Mayo they’re not looking anywhere else.”
“And someone went to a great deal of trouble to make Mayo and Tiger look like unrelated cases,” she pointed out.
“Someone who knows how the LAPD is structured,” Mick agreed. “Mayo’s case went straight to Robbery Homicide, while the Hollywood division detectives who caught Tiger’s case just accepted the obvious.”
Damn, he was good. Barrie could feel herself weakening, even though she knew it was madness. But how much did he know? That was the question.
“So, why do you think this someone used Tiger to get to Mayo?” she hedged, probing.
Mick looked grim. “Mayo wouldn’t be the first power player to have a taste for underage prostitutes. Word is this Tiger had some kind of resemblance to Johnny Love,” he said distastefully. “Which explains the bellhop saying he saw Johnny with Mayo. Add a touch of pseudo necrophilia to Mayo’s list of perversions.”
