Dee cursed as she hurried to finish her business. She ran out and managed to catch the call on the last ring. “Dad, hi,” she said, sounding out of breath. “You got anything for me?”
“I had a very nice chat with Mr. Jones. I can see why he’s a successful real estate agent. He’s a charmer. At first, I bumped up against the fact he spent a year in London during college. I had to do a little tap dancing there. Good thing we were on the phone and it wasn’t a video chat. He couldn’t see me pull out your mom’s ancient copy of England on Ten Dollars a Day. Why she held on to that for all these years, I’ll never—”
“Dad, your conversation with Jonas,” Dee said, trying to get Sam back on track.
“Right, sorry. Jonas and I went through a list of properties he represents. The house on the lake’s gonna be a beaut, but it’s out of my price range. Curiously, the very large warehouse is priced much cheaper. I could swing that.”
“You mean Ian could swing it,” Dee said, fearing her father had gone overboard in committing to his character.
“Yes, but Jonas is so good at his job that he had your very own dad considering an investment. Here’s why. Rather than utilize the space as a warehouse, a buyer wanted to turn it into a soundstage. He was storing the contents of a house there, but ran into financial difficulties and had to sell everything and back out of the deal he was trying to put together. A soundstage in one of the most beautiful parts of our beautiful state. Now, that’s something Sam Stern and Ian Devonshire Holmes could get behind.”
“And Michael Adam Baker too,” Dee murmured. Her father had stumbled onto a crucial clue; Dee was sure of it. He’d also solved the mystery of what happened to the belongings Shawn helped Michael move.
She could totally see the late sitcom writer pitching the idea of a warehouse-turned-soundstage to Jonas and whoever else might glom on to it. New Orleans and Atlanta both claimed to be the Hollywood of the South. New York was the Hollywood of the Northeast. Bulgaria, Slovenia, and other countries duked it out for the title of the Hollywood of Eastern Europe. So many places wanted to be the Hollywood of something. Why not West Camp and environs as the Hollywood of Central California? If the idea appealed to an industry vet like her father, it would surely be alluring to the residents of the region that stood to benefit the most from it.
Dee was also sure that given Michael’s sketchy life track record and gambling addiction, his plan had gone off the tracks. But how? And if so, how had it led to his murder?
“Great job, Dad,” she told Sam. “Thanks so much.”
“It was a blast. I can’t wait to help you out again.” His voice brimmed with enthusiasm. “In fact, now that I know I can put my skills to use in investigations, I’m gonna look into getting a PI license.”
Hoo boy, Dee thought as they signed off. I hope I haven’t created an amateur-sleuth monster.
She texted what her father had uncovered to Raul and Jeff. Raul instantly wrote back he’d look into it. Jeff responded with a thumbs-up, adding: Ran into Serena at All-in-One. Helping her w/ big charcuterie order.
Dee hoped her friend and partner hadn’t transferred his affections to one of the many unavailable women he pined for.
A text alerted her to a package delivery. Since she wasn’t expecting anything, Dee’s suspicions were aroused. She picked up a broom whose handle could double as a weapon and put an eyeball to the front door peephole.
A gift basket wrapped in cellophane and laden with a wide variety of snacks and beverages sat on the front step. Dee relaxed. She put down the broom, opened the door, and carried the heavy basket to the kitchen counter. She opened the note attached to the basket and read: From all of us at the All-in-One. Feel better!
“Aww,” Dee said, touched. She unwrapped the cellophane to make sure none of the items needed to be refrigerated. “Nugs, there’s even a bag of homemade dog treats for you.” She extracted the small bakery box and fed him one of the cookies, which were shaped like paw prints. “I hope Elmira sticks to making these. It’s a much better fit for her skill set.”
The gift reminded Dee she’d yet to write thank-you cards for the flowers and gifts she’d received after her unpleasant run-in with the doctored glass of punch. From the age where she could only write in block letters with crayons, Dee’s late mother, Sibby, had drilled into her that no gift ever, ever went un-thanked. Sibby’s job as a legal secretary for an entertainment lawyer entailed meticulous proofing of documents, and she brought that home with her. No card or letter departed the Stern house without a rigorous grammar and spell check.
With Raul on the soundstage trail and Jeff busy cubing cheeses with Serena, Dee decided to concentrate on the cards. She took them out of the sideboard drawer, where she’d tucked them. After emptying a bag of locally made potato chips from the gift basket into a bowl, she got to work.
Dee fell into a comfortable rhythm as she wrote, which allowed her mind to occasionally drift. She channeled her mother with every card, proofing them carefully. The task brought back the memory of the threatening note she’d received from the arsonist behind the Golden cabin fire. Something still bothered her about it, but she’d yet to land on exactly what. After wracking her brain for a while, she gave up, figuring it would come to her eventually.
She finished the last card and took a moment to congratulate herself. She glanced upward. “You’d be proud of me, Mom.”
She threaded her fingers together, stretched her arms above her head, and hopped off the kitchen barstool. She tended to Nugget, after which he joined her on the couch to watch a British mystery on Masterpiece. The feeling they were finally getting somewhere with the investigation into Michael’s and Shawn’s deaths freed Dee to relax, a sensation she hadn’t felt in weeks and greatly welcomed. She finished the night with a glass of cabernet from a bottle in the basket, then settled into bed, where she quickly fell asleep.
In the middle of the night, Dee bolted upright. “That’s it!” she cried out, earning a disgruntled grunt from Nugget. Relaxing had allowed her mind to home in on what was bothering her about the threatening note. But Dee knew a theory based on one supposition wasn’t enough.
She jumped out of bed and ran to her laptop, where she called up Michael’s online video channel. She weeded through what felt like an endless list of pretentious titles for his episodes, searching for one that had tickled her curiosity but she’d skipped past during her last viewing session.
Dee located “Those Who Can’t” in the middle of the list. She steeled herself and pressed Play.
Michael’s smug face filled the screen. He spent a few minutes extolling his own virtues, then launched into the video lesson’s theme. “The Bible says something about false idols.” He shrugged. “I don’t know exactly what and I’m too busy making bank as a writer to look it up. But I know it’s not good. So today I wanna talk about the people you put on a pedestal. And what you should do when you realize they don’t belong there.”
Dee made it through the entire half hour, which felt four times its actual length. By the time it ended, dawn had broken. She texted an urgent message to Jeff and Raul:
Meet me ASAP! I’m 99.9% sure I know who our killer is.
CHAPTER 31
By the time Raul and Jeff showed up in the morning, the sheriff had received the results of Shawn Radinsky’s autopsy. Radinsky’s cause of death reinforced Dee’s theory about who killed both the personal trainer and sitcom writer Michael Adam Baker.
She pitched her friends a plan to corner the murder suspect. They voiced concern, but she convinced them that with Raul and his fellow sheriff, Gerald Tejada, crouched outside and ready to spring, she’d be safe.
“And I’m pretty sure I can talk O’Bryant into getting in on the action,” Raul said, now totally on board. “All I have to do is get him to figure out that if he’s not there, he won’t get any credit for the arrest.”
At noon, Dee showed up outside Gold Rush Contractors and Carpentry, squeezing through the front door as Millie was about to flip around the OPEN.
“Dee, hello,” the older woman said. “I was about to close for lunch.”
Dee walked to the middle of the reception area, sending the message she wasn’t leaving. “I know, but I got Brian’s quote to rebuild our cabin and I need to talk to him. It’s urgent.”
“Brian isn’t here right now, he’s out on a job.” Millie’s face wrinkled with concern. “Is it something I can help you with?”
Dee thrust her fists into the pockets of her jacket and nervously tapped a foot. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“All right. Give me a minute.” Millie adjusted a small arrangement of ivory cabbage roses on the coffee table, where potential clients waited for their appointments. She picked up a heavy bucket filled with unused flowers. Water sloshed over the edge as she carried it to the reception desk, where she placed it on a corner. “All set.” She turned to Dee. “Now tell me what’s going on. It sounds serious.”
“It is.” Dee stopped tapping, but kept her hands in her pockets. “I think everyone around here knows the Golden is in financial trouble. Thanks to the murders, we have zero guests. Bills are piling up. I don’t know if we’re going to make it.”
“I’m so sorry,” Millie said, genuinely sympathetic. “But how does this tie into Brian?”
