I, Kelly Canyon, member of the paparazzi, freelance journalist, author, and actress, snapped a photo of the son of the man who owned most of the land under the movie studios. William Johnson, Jr. paused in the doorway of an abandoned building and straightened his tie. This might seem strange to most people, but most of the acquaintances I knew also knew that Junior was an addict. I chalked his frequenting the building up to meeting his drug buddies.
Since I hadn’t landed another acting gig and didn’t particularly care if I did, I spent most of my time snapping pictures of celebrities and selling them to tabloids. I made good money and set my own hours. Nothing wrong with that.
I really perked up when Ben Jones, one of the studio janitors, also emerged from the building. Only he didn’t have the swagger Junior did. Ben glanced both ways and scurried off like a mouse with a cat on its tail.
I was tempted to enter the building to see what the attraction was, but after almost being killed a little over six months ago, I erred on the side of caution. Instead, I crossed the street to peer through the dirty, boarded-up window.
Since nothing but a long dark hallway appeared on the other side of the dusty glass, I shrugged and headed to the gym. Not to work out, but to photograph those who did. I was one of the lucky women blessed with a great metabolism.
The wait wasn’t long. Brock Hanson, my unofficial celebrity boyfriend, exited the gym and slipped a pair of sunglasses over his amazing eyes. He slung his backpack over his shoulder in one fluid movement. The man was sexy without even trying. He glanced my way and grinned, then strolled toward me.
“Hey, gorgeous.” He cupped my cheek and leaned in for a kiss.
I closed my eyes and kissed him back. “Anyone inside I should wait for?”
“The usual, plus that new rising star, Josh Bolton.”
“Yummy.” I grinned.
“Should I be jealous?” He wiggled his eyebrows, knowing full well no one could top him in the looks department. Add in the fact that he was one of the genuine good guys, and Brock had nothing to worry about.
“Don’t be silly.” I grinned and snapped Bolton’s photo over Brock’s shoulder, right along with a pretty, young woman with a baby bump. “Is he in a serious relationship?”
Brock turned. “I haven’t heard. I think he’s too new to be part of the Hollywood gossip yet.”
My photo would be sure to start the rumors flying. Of course, it could be innocent, and Bolton and the woman just happened to exit at the same time. Stop it, Kelly. Stop looking for mysteries where none existed.
“What are your plans for the day?” Brock asked.
I glanced at my watch. “I’m meeting Ruthie and Doug for lunch. She said she has something to tell me. I hope it isn’t that they’re getting married.”
“Why not?” He chuckled. “Would that be so bad?”
“The marriage or the fact it would be to Doug?”
“Either.”
I frowned. “It’s too soon. My grandmother tends to rush into things. Would you like to join us?”
“Sure. I’ll drive and drop you off at your car afterward.”
Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to an old-fashioned diner right out of the fifties. The red vinyl booth squeaked as we slid onto our seat across from Ruthie and Doug. A jukebox played an Elvis tune. I immediately fell in love with the place. If the burgers were as good as the atmosphere, I might have found my new favorite place to eat.
We made small talk until we placed our orders, then I fixed my gaze on Ruthie. “What’s the news you wanted to tell me?”
Ruthie’s eyes sparkled. “After the success of our premiere last weekend, Doug received a request for a TV drama starring a mother-and-daughter detective team. What do you think?”
I crossed my arms and sat back against the booth. “I’m not sure I want to continue an acting career.”
She frowned. “You’ll never make the same kind of money taking photos, Kelly.”
“I like taking photos, and I’m good at it. I catch people unaware and real.”
“You’re also good at acting. Very good, in fact,” Doug said. He slid a thick stack of papers across the table. “Read the script before making a decision. The part is perfect for you.”
“I’ll look at it, but no promises.” Acting wasn’t a horrible way to make money. In fact, after working long hours for weeks on end, an actor got more than enough time off. At the age of twenty-five, it was time to pick a career and stick to my decision.
The waitress brought our burgers and fries in plastic baskets lined with red-and-white-checkered paper. One bite of my bacon, mushroom, swiss burger confirmed the fact this was the best burger place in LA.
Ruthie had remained quiet since telling me of the acting gig, something very unusual for her. After a few nibbles of her club sandwich, she pushed her basket aside and sighed. “They won’t take me in the role without you.”
I glanced over my Styrofoam cup. “Why didn’t you say that at the beginning?”
“I wanted you to want to join me, not feel as if you have to.”
Brock nudged my leg, clearly encouraging me to say something that would make the shimmer of tears disappear from her eyes. My grandmother desperately wanted to renew her acting career. The movie we’d done together was only the beginning. This drama might be the very thing to cement her dream.
“Let’s head to the studio,” Brock suggested. “Maybe the surroundings will help you make your decision.”
I hadn’t been back to the studio for a while. Being chased through a jungle set by a mad woman will do that to you. But I nodded. “I’ve made my decision. If it means that much to Ruthie, I’ll take the part.” And use the time on the lot to overcome my unreasonable fear of a killer lurking around every trailer.
As if sensing my thoughts, Brock reached under the table and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll stay with you,” he whispered, leaning close. His breath tickled the fine hairs at the nape of my neck.
Brock dropped me off at my car with promises to meet me at the lot. I drove home and picked up Shutterbug, my rapidly growing German shepherd, and drove to meet him. I’d gotten so accustomed to having my furry friend next to me, I took her wherever I could. I hoped the studio lot would welcome her. Some people had an entourage to protect them, I had a dog.
Shutterbug whined when she spotted Brock leaning against his car in the parking lot. I barely got the car door open before she bounded out and raced toward him.
Laughing, Brock put his hands on both sides of the dog’s head and ruffled her fur. “I’m glad to see you too, girl.” He glanced up and met my gaze. “Ready?”
“As ready as I can be.” I held out a shaking hand to him.
He took it in his strong one. “There’s no one lurking here who wants to hurt you.”
I hoped not. It wasn’t that I was a coward. I’d done what needed doing when Amber Jacobson had chased me and my nemesis, Susan Gilroy, through a plastic jungle. And I just had no desire to repeat the experience.
As we stepped through the gates and I spotted the trailer I shared with Ruthie, I stopped. “Who replaced Amber as makeup artist?”
Brock shrugged. “I haven’t met her, but I’m sure she’s nice.”
“Yeah, Amber seemed nice too, and she turned out to be a killer.” I headed for the large building opposite us. The cafeteria seemed a safe enough place to make my reappearance. I could do with a cup of coffee.
Mary, one of the women who cleaned the trailers, spied me from the counter. “You’re back.”
“Yes, it appears so.”
“We’ve missed you.” Her gaze flicked to Shutterbug. Instead of telling me the dog couldn’t come in, she turned to leave. “Catch you later.” She flashed a smile and headed through a side door.
I stayed where I was and let Brock fetch our drinks. I figured remaining by the door would not only allow a quick getaway if I got spooked, but I could also slip out if Shutterbug’s presence bothered anyone.
With coffees in hand, mine a mocha flavor with a side cup of whipped cream, we headed to the outside eating area. I set the cream on the ground for Shutterbug and took a sip of my drink. With the temperature hovering around seventy-six degrees, I was surprised to see the place almost empty. Rod Looper, one of the janitors, swept garbage near the wrought-iron fence encircling the area. A few actors and actresses read scripts or quietly conversed, but over half of the tables were empty. I shrugged and pulled the script from my bag, intending to look it over while I enjoyed my drink. Setting it on the table, I used a napkin dispenser to keep it from blowing away.
Marilyn Clark, an actress, who had almost been one of Amber’s victims, frowned at Shutterbug. Then glancing up at me and Brock, she smiled before returning to reading the papers in her hand. Since Brock had saved her life a few months ago, a smile was the least she could do.
Shutterbug finished her cream and started investigating the area. Of course, her nose led her straight to the nearby dumpster. She gave three sharp barks and looked at me.
I patted my leg. “Come here, girl. There’s nothing for you over there.”
She barked again and tugged on something. As long as it kept her occupied, I let her be. A few minutes later, she trotted back to me, a brown workman’s boot in her mouth.
My blood chilled as I reached for it, then stared into Brock’s face. As one, we darted for the dumpster, skidding to a halt at the sight of a pair of men’s legs sticking from underneath the trash receptacle.
Brock dropped to his knees and peered under. “It’s Ben Jones.”
“What?” Rod whirled from where he was sweeping under the tables. “Ben?”
Before we could tell the man not to touch the body, he grabbed the ankles of his friend and pulled Ben into the open.
Ben’s eyes stared unseeing at the sky. Wrapped around his throat was a strand of electrical wire. Beside him lay an overturned toolbox, its contents scattered.