Gumshoe Gorilla (17 page)

My companions noticed me staring at the Rocklands.

"Don't tell me that you've fallen prey to the triple threat," Veronica said.

"Huh? Oh, them?"

I demurely wiped a bit of seafood salad from my chin.

"Well, they are kind of easy on the eyes," I admitted.

Arnie, the fat guy, snorted.

"That's not the only way they're easy."

Rianna, who was sitting next to me, flushed crimson. She grabbed a roll off my plate and threw it at him.

"Anything I should know?" I asked.

"Rianna had a nasty break up with Doug last year," Veronica explained.

"Yeah, after he and Bernie swapped on her," Arnie added with a chuckle.

Another roll from my plate went flying at Arnie's face.

"Swapped?" I asked.

"They were out on a double date," Arnie explained, "and when it was over the two of them..."

"Oh, " I said. "Oooooooooooooh!"

I turned to Rianna.

"How did you find out?"

"She didn't," Jo-jo said from across the table, a delicious smirk spreading across her face. "Not until about half way through."

Rianna coolly avoided looking at any of them. She picked up her fork and speared a lettuce leaf with the sort of intensity usually reserved for harpooning whales. After a moment she turned to me.

"It's so nice to have supportive friends."

I laughed.

"The sad thing is that Doug's actually not a bad guy," she went on. "He's kind of sweet and quiet. He just lets Bernie talk him into doing stupid things."

"Yeah, Bernie's the one who's always on the make," Arnie said. "He'll sleep with anyone."

"Almost anyone," Rianna said, staring back at Arnie. Now it was Arnie's turn to blush.

"OK," I said. "Sounds like it's best to steer clear of the terrible twosome over there. What about Charlie though?"

I gestured to the third brother.

"Lover boy?" Veronica said, rolling her eyes. "Two words:
lost cause
."

"Yeah," Jo-jo said. "And Veronica would know."

Veronica raised an eye brow.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" she asked.

Jo-jo smiled coyly.

"Ah, how quickly some people forget last year's Christmas party."

"Hey, that was a friendly kiss." "

It wasn't the kiss I was thinking of. It was that under-the-table maneuver you performed during dessert."

"What? I dropped my fork."

"And you thought you'd find it in Charlie's pocket?"

Veronica didn't have a good response to that one. She spent a few seconds trying to think of one, and then stood up.

"I have to get the actor assignments ready for the next set of shots."

As she walked off, Jo-jo turned to me.

"So what's the real story between you and the Marquessa?"

"Who?"

"The Marquessa de Sade," explained Rianna, with a nod to the retreating figure of Veronica. "A little pet name we have for her."

"Did you know that you're the third intern she's had since we came to Atlanta?" Arnie asked.

"Really?" I said.

No wonder Skye had been able to get me this job so easily.

"Yep." Arnie responded. "The last one had a nervous breakdown."

"Are you sure?" Jo-jo asked. "I heard it was an asthma attack."

"Nope," Rianna said. "I was there. The kid broke down crying on the set and had to be carried off. One of the gaffers told me that the paramedics had to sedate her to keep her from screaming."

"How long did she last?" I asked.

"About a week," Jo-jo said.

Great. Remind me to wrap this case up fast.

"Gee, " I said. "I can't imagine why anyone would have trouble working for Veronica. She's so... easy going. By the way, was that true about her and Charles Rockland?"

"Old Charlie boy?" Jo-jo said. "Yeah, the Marquessa has had a thing for him since the first season."

"Did they ever...?"

"Nah," Jojo said. "Charlie fell for Skye, the girl over there in the funky glasses, around the second month of shooting. The Marquessa never had a chance."

"Not that she hasn't tried from time to time," Arnie added.

"Well then how do you know they haven't...?"

"Please," Jo-jo said, "if the Marquessa had gotten anywhere with old Charlie boy, she would have taken out a full page ad in
Variety
announcing it. She hasn't been particularly subtle about her feelings."

"And besides," Rianna said, "much as I hate to admit it, I think our Charlie is firmly hooked. I mean, look at those two. Are they just nauseatingly cute together, or what?"

We all turned in unison to take a look at the couple. They were sharing a cup of yogurt, and he was feeding her with a spoon.

"You're right," I said. "It's disgusting."

Rianna snickered in agreement, and went back to pushing the lettuce around on her plate. I was wondering if any of it was actually gonna make it into her mouth.

"I'm sorry," I said, "but I've just gotta ask: is that all you're gonna eat?"

Rianna grimaced, then glanced to her right. I followed her gaze over to Ivanava Jones, the star who does all of Miranda's lines and close ups.

Rianna leaned over to me and whispered.

"
That
is what I've got to match my weight to. I get five pounds heavier than her, and I'm off the show."

"Jesus," I said. --Susan, my cover identity, is Episcopalian.-- "Have you ever thought about leaving a box of donuts on her doorstep?"

"Actually, I have this fantasy where I pin her to the floor and shove chocolate eclairs down her throat."

"You know, Freud would have a field day with that one," I said.

"Yeah, well Freud didn't have to match his weight and figure to a bulimic little Barbie doll."

"True."

I glanced at my watch. 12:48.

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat," I said, "but there are a few things I need to take care of before Veronica puts my leash back on."

"Of course," Arnie said. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

"Some of us are gonna grab drinks after work," Rianna suggested. "You want to join us?"

"That depends on how the rest of the day goes," I said. "I may have a date with the paramedics."

We said our goodbyes, and then the three of them started swapping dish on me before I was even out of earshot. Funny, I hadn't realized that I come off as a closeted lesbian with a thing for being dominated. Go figure.

I jogged over to the stairs and got my phone out. Drew answered on the first ring.

"Hello Susan. How's my little mogul doing?"

"Oh, just rolling in the glamor over here. I've got maybe fifteen minutes before the Wicked Witch of the West starts screaming for her flying monkey again. How'd your morning go?"

"Lousy. Security at the hotel was even tighter than I expected. The studio has taken over three floors, and locked them off to the public. I spent most of the morning trying to find a way into Rockland's room, with no luck. Going after his phone records was also a bust. And by the way-- why is it that I'm doing all the legwork on this case while you're rubbing elbows with celebrities?"

"Because you're abrasive, moody, and you suck at small talk."

"Oh yeah, that was the reason. Anyway, I had better luck with the car cleaning gambit. Skye told a guard at the garage that I would be coming by to detail her car, so he didn't question it when I did Rockland's as well."

"Find anything interesting?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure I found a whole secret identity."

"What do you mean?"

"There was a gym bag in the trunk with a hokey disguise: blond wig, brown contacts, leather jacket, red bandana. And a fake California driver's license in the name 'Jackson Brand' with a picture of our boy Rockland looking like a reject from Hell's Angels."

"Hm. That is interesting. Any idea what 'Mr. Brand' has been up to?"

"Not yet. The address on the license is a mail drop, and I haven't found any credit cards in his name. Whatever Rockland is doing as Jackson Brand, he must be doing it with cash."

"Which means it's probably dirty. Anything else from the car?"

"The usual detritus. Cups from some fast food places. --All that money and the guy still eats at Taco Cabana?-- And an empty container of breath mints. You might find out if they're his brand. If not, keep an eye out for someone popping peppermint Tic-Tacs. Oh yeah, and one more thing: A couple short black hairs on the passenger side head rest. Too dark to have come from Charles or any of his brothers."

"Oh, those probably belong to Skye," I said.

"Not these. The color is right, but Skye is what, five feet? Maybe five-one? These strands were deposited thirty seven inches up from the base of the seat, which means that whoever left them there must be in the neighborhood of six feet tall."

"Hm. Someone six feet tall with short black hair who pops Tic-Tacs. Haven't run across anyone like that yet, but I'll keep my eyes open."

"Good. How are things coming on your end?" Drew asked.

"Well, I've tapped into the gossip mill, but I haven't got any dirt on Charles yet. It may take me a couple days to figure out who his confidants are and get close to them."

"Have you had a chance to toss his trailer yet?"

"On my way there now. This is the first free minute I've had all day."

"Fine. Call me if there's any trouble. Otherwise I'll see you tonight for surveillance."

"It's a date," I said, and put the phone back in my pocket.

I exited the staircase onto the bottom level of the garage, where the "trailers" were parked. Each of the stars had a Winnebago to relax in when they weren't on set, and there were also specially fitted trucks for the makeup artists and costumers and props people to work out of. I passed a security guard-- a real one, not an actor-- but since I'd been running errands down here all morning he just waved at me and smiled.

"Hey Susan!"

"Well hey there!" I shouted back.

This was going to be my best chance to break into Charles's trailer, while the cast and crew were all up at lunch. I walked up to the door, and casually looked around to see if anyone was watching me. The security guard was walking away. Good.

The door had a numeric lock, but Charles had given the access code to Skye, and she had passed it along to me. The door opened with a soft click. I stepped inside, and closed it quietly behind me.

The interior was cramped, but neat. A television, a microwave. A picture on the wall with all five brothers in it. They were young, maybe in high school. Another picture, this one of an older woman. Probably the infamous Virginia Rockland. A pile of costumes on the bed. I looked through them, but it was all stuff that belonged to Charles. No starlet leaving behind an incriminating feather boa or anything like that.

A cup of black coffee on the table, cold. There was a lip stick stain on the rim, but it was the dull shade of red that the makeup artists use on all the Rockland brothers. No smoking gun there, either.

A quick sweep of the rest of place found the box of condoms that Charles keeps in a vase next to his bed, a bottle of eucalyptus-scented massage lotion, and a white towel in the bathroom that was embroidered with the Hilton logo. Great. I'd been hoping for something juicier than a stolen hotel towel.

Well, I wasn't out of tricks yet. I'd brought along a couple of "snoopmans", a PI's best friend. They're little digital recorders, about the size of a postage stamp, with enough memory to record twenty four hours worth of conversations. And they're voice activated, so they just record the good stuff, not the hours of empty room tone. And best of all, they have adhesive on the back, so you can stick them almost anywhere. I planted one on the back of a picture, and the other on the underside of the nightstand. I'd come back in a day or two and find out what my little gremlins had overheard.

My work here was done. I did a quick check to make sure that I hadn't left any signs of my search, and then headed for the door. I was just reaching for the knob when I heard footsteps.

Someone was walking up to the trailer. I froze, hoping that whoever it was would keep on going. No such luck. They walked right up to the door, and then started tapping in the access code.

There was barely time to think. Where to hide?

The bathroom? --Great, as long as no one decides to use it. Cause if they did, I'd have to flush myself down the toilet.