After She's Gone (21 page)

 

A
t three minutes to nine, Cassie stepped through the doors of Salon Laura.

The spa-like business was located a couple of blocks off Rodeo Drive, tucked into the first floor of a stucco and glass building in the high-rent district. Behind a sleek black counter a big-eyed, too-cool-to-smile receptionist, whose platinum hair was short and carefully mussed, told her what she’d already guessed, that, “No, Miss Merrick isn’t in today, but I see you have an appointment with Verna.”

An appointment she didn’t need.

Cassie wanted to speak to Laura.

“But Laura, er, Miss Merrick is coming in, right? I thought that’s what she said.”

She was offered a bored expression and a single raised skeptical eyebrow. “That’s not what she told me. Or like anyone else here.” Then, with a word to another girl, the receptionist grudgingly guided Cassie through a frosted glass door and down a tiled hallway lit by sconces. Soft Asian-inspired music played from hidden speakers and the scents of lavender and eucalyptus seeped into the hallway from double doors leading to the day spa.

Around a final corner the hallway opened into a brightly lit area designated for hair stylists. Along one wall were individual stations, separated by half walls, each with a chair, sink, mirror, and private closet.

Verna’s space was on the end of a row of eight stylists. “Laura said to take good care of you,” she said as Cassie dropped into the chair and yanked the band out of her hair before shaking it loose.

Tall and thin, with an asymmetrical hairstyle in multiple shades of brown and blond, a nose ring, and a tattoo climbing up one arm, Verna eyed Cassie’s hair. “Just a trim?” Obviously she thought a lot more work was in order. Her eyes met Cassie’s in the mirror and she physically started. “Wait a second, you’re Allie Kramer’s sister, aren’t you? How could I not put two and two together? You really look like your mom.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Hey, I’m sorry . . . really sorry about your sister, I mean.” She shook her head and reached for a comb. “I don’t suppose anyone has any idea . . . ?” She left the sentence unfinished as if she were unsure how much she could ask.

“No,” Cassie said, not wanting to go into it with a virtual stranger. Besides, she was on edge, well, more on edge than usual, especially with Trent in her house. The thought of him hanging out in her apartment without her bothered her and she mentally kicked herself again for handing over her key so readily.

“Bummer.” Verna was already touching Cassie’s hair, pulling it away from her head, testing it as an assistant came by with the offer of drinks, everything from herbal tea to regular coffee and cucumber water.

Cassie declined. She’d just come here for information, but it seemed her idea had been foolish.

“You know, I think some red streaks would be cool,” Verna was saying. “Nothing too noticeable. Maybe a deep burgundy or an auburn with a kick would brighten this up. Be nice on you. Kind of contempo.”

“Just a trim.” Her hair wasn’t the issue.

“Okay,” Verna agreed with a smile as she met Cassie’s gaze in the mirror again. “You’re the boss.”

This was turning out to be a big waste of time. Verna knew nothing. Of course. In the end, Cassie ended up with slightly shorter hair and a lot less cash in her wallet, but she hadn’t found out anything about her sister.

Once again, a dead end, she thought as she found her way out of the building and slid a pair of sunglasses onto her nose. What had she really thought she’d accomplish? She didn’t know the first thing about locating a missing person. She should just leave Allie’s disappearance to the police. Let the professionals handle it.

And who are they considering their number one suspect in her disappearance? You
.

As she reached her Honda, a BMW tore into the lot, wheeled into one of the few open spaces, and in a chirp of tires stopped short. The driver’s door flew out and Laura Merrick, blond hair streaming behind her, oversize sunglasses covering her eyes, practically leaped from the car. “Oh, God, Cassie! I thought I might still catch you,” she said breathlessly. “I mean I was hoping. Did you hear?”

“Hear what?” Cassie asked, instantly panicked.
Allie! Oh no. It’s Allie. Something awful has happened!

“About Holly Dennison.”

“Holly? No . . . I just saw her.”

A pause. “When?”

“The other night.”

“Not last night?”

Cassie shook her head. “What?”

Laura took in a breath, then said, “She’s dead.”

“
Dead?
” Cassie said, her insides going cold.
Holly? Bubbly, full-of-life, Moscow-Mule-pushing Holly?
“No.”

“It’s true. I just heard,” Laura said, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Then you must’ve heard wrong.” But the expression on Laura’s face said it was true. Cassie went from denial to despair. Could it be? She felt the blood draining from her face and the warm sun beating against the back of her neck.

“Her body was found this morning. Outside a bar in . . . in, oh, God, I can’t remember, no . . . somewhere in Venice, I think. It . . . it doesn’t matter.” Laura ran her hands through her hair. “I need a cigarette.” She looked pointedly at Cassie.

“I don’t have any.”

“Really?”

“Never smoked.”

“Figures. Well, come on, Verna or maybe Alana might.” She saw that a couple of potential customers had stopped to listen to their excited conversation, and she grabbed Cassie by the arm. “No reason to make a scene.” Quickly, she propelled Cassie back through the shop, stopped at Verna’s station where, after a quick exchange, she was handed a French cigarette, then she hurried them both through a supply area and break room with a coffeepot and mini fridge to a small outdoor space facing an alley.

A few plastic chairs were scattered around a white table with a faded umbrella. In the table’s center was an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts and some gum wrappers. Laura scooped up the ashtray and poured its contents into a nearby trash can. Then she lit up the Gauloise, drew deep, and tossed back her head to exhale the smoke toward the sky. “Better,” she sighed.

Still in shock, Cassie asked, “How do you know about Holly?”

“Internet.” She wrapped one arm around her waist and held the cigarette near her face with the other. “She was only found this morning. Google it.” Another deep drag. Cassie started typing Holly’s name into her phone and Laura added, “Little Bea called me when she heard, too.”

“I thought she was out of the country.”

Laura shook her head. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Holly.”

“Don’t think so. She had an appointment with me, what? Like two days ago, I think.” Another deep drag and after dusting the seat of a chair with her hand she flopped into it. The umbrella shaded half of her face and reminded Cassie of one of Jenna’s old movie posters, one she’d hung up in her bedroom where part of her face was in darkness, the other pale.

“Holly told me you said she was in London.” Cassie looked down at the screen on her phone where she’d Googled information on Holly Dennison.

“Little Bea and Cherise
were
in London. They came back a week or so ago.” She rolled her eyes. “Trust Holly to get it wrong,” she said, and then caught herself up as if she’d realized the woman was gone. “Did you find it?” Laura asked.

Cassie looked down at her phone again where a picture of Holly filled the small screen. The back of her mouth went dry. Scrolling down she read the headline:
Set Designer’s Body Discovered.
She skimmed the scanty details, heart racing. A man frequenting a bar in Venice had found the woman, who was identified as Holly Marie Dennison, a set designer, in a parking lot. Several of the movies she worked on were mentioned, including the last,
Dead Heat.
The police had limited details but the death was being investigated as a homicide. Anyone with any knowledge should contact them immediately.

Cassie sank into one of the chairs. Sadness enveloped her as she remembered Holly’s quick smile and recently spiked hair, how she’d sipped her mojitos at The Sundowner. “I can’t believe it.” She was stunned.

Calmer now, Laura suddenly looked at her cigarette as if it were the devil incarnate and angrily jabbed it out in the ashtray. “She has . . . had a sister who lived in town. That was her next of kin, I guess, so her name was released and these days, everything, all news is instantaneous.” She let out her breath, then looked at Cassie. “I didn’t mean to shock you, but I thought you’d want to know and since I knew you were coming here . . .”

“I do. Did.” She was still in shock. “God, it’s hard to believe.”

“Look, I’m glad I caught you, but I have an appointment in like . . .” She glanced down at her phone for the time. “Five minutes ago.”

“I just wanted to talk to you. I really didn’t need a haircut.”

Laura frowned. “About . . . Allie?” she guessed.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know anything, Cassie. That’s what I already told the police.”

“I know. But you were Allie’s friend as well as makeup artist. She spent hours with you daily, especially when
Dead Heat
was filming. I thought you, of all of her friends, might have some idea of what she was going through. What was happening in her life. Why she didn’t show up for the last day of the reshoot of the movie.”

“I have no idea. We talked, sure. But just about normal, everyday stuff. Nothing deep, trust me. It wasn’t like I was her shrink or anything.”

Cassie pushed, “But everyone talks to their hairdresser because of all those hours in the chair.” When Laura didn’t respond, Cassie added, “Look, of course you’re not her shrink, but maybe her confidante? It’s what we all do. People are always talking to, or even dating, sometimes marrying, the person who does their hair and makeup, especially in this business.”

“We weren’t dating,” Laura said with a glimmer of humor.

“But you knew who she hung out with. Who she was seeing.”

“Other than Brandon?” Laura shrugged. “He’s the last one she was really involved with. It made things kind of awkward on the set.”

Not exactly news. Cassie had been there. “So what was she thinking before she disappeared? Was she depressed? Anxious? Did you think there was any reason she would take off? Anyone she was scared of?”

“Cassie, what do you want from me? If I knew anything about Allie, I’d tell the police or you or Jenna.”

“Mom?” That surprised Cassie.

“Mothers always worry. So, of course I’d let her know.” She shifted in her chair, as if suddenly uncomfortable.

“I didn’t know you knew her.”

“I don’t, not really, but Allie introduced me once, on the set. It was obvious that she really cared about her kids.”

That much was true. And it was obvious that she and Allie shared enough of a bond for Allie to feel comfortable enough to introduce Jenna to her. Cassie tried again. “Are you sure Allie didn’t say anything to you about what was going on in her life?”

Laura checked the time on her phone once more. She seemed to wrestle with her conscience then said, “Oh, hell. Look, I really don’t know much . . .” Again she hesitated, then through the dark glasses her gaze found Cassie’s and her voice was almost a whisper. “What I do know, you’re not going to like.”

“What?”

“It’s about you, Cassie.” For a second, Laura looked away. “She . . . she was jealous of you.”

“Jealous of me?” Cassie barked out a short laugh. “Sure.”

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Allie was successful. On top of the world.”

“Was she?” Serious.

“Of course she was. She had her pick of movie roles.”

Laura let out a sigh. “It wasn’t about her work.”

“What then? Why would she be jealous of me?” The idea was ludicrous. Allie had always been the baby of the family and as such, both Cassie and Jenna had protected her in their ways and Robert had coddled her. Allie had shined in school and then later in the same profession where she competed with Cassie, always, always crushing her older sister in any audition.

“There’s always been some kind of competition between you two, hasn’t there?”

“But she always came out on top. Always.”

“I guess it depends upon what you’re vying for.” Laura seemed to become philosophical, her thoughts turned inward. “It happens in every family. My family.”

“You have sisters and brothers?”

“Not anymore. I had a sister, but . . . she passed years ago. Freak car accident.” She let out a sigh. “I survived. Felt guilty ever since.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, though she turned a little pensive. “It was a long time ago. But I remember sibling rivalry.” She shot Cassie a look. “It’s never any fun.”

“No, but Allie and I . . .”

“I just think Allie always wanted what you had.”

“But I didn’t have anything . . .” Cassie’s voice faded away slowly.
Trent.
Allie had never been married. Never come close. Never engaged. A handful of quasi-serious boyfriends, none of which had connected with her until after she’d made her mark in Hollywood, but no one who’d ever wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

“That’s ridiculous.”

Laura got to her feet. “You asked. If you don’t believe me, talk to Cherise. She was the one who knew her best, who scheduled her appointments, who knew what Allie was doing, who probably even covered for her.”

“Cherise hasn’t returned my calls. I think she doesn’t want to talk to me. Holly said she’s working for Brandon McNary.”

“Yeah, I think I heard that, too . . . maybe from Little Bea. I can’t remember, but hey, I really have to go. I can’t help you with Allie.” She was already walking through the doorway into the back of the salon. “I have no idea what happened to her.”