A Not So Model Home Read online

  So why this big change of heart? Simple. I saw what the show had made me become . . . No, what I allowed myself to become. The show didn’t actually make me do anything. I did it to myself. Celebrity went to my head. But I got over myself in the nick of time before I became a real asshole. So it was feelings of guilt, pride, and remorse that made me change course. Well, that and almost getting caught having an affair with Ken’s best friend, and also taking a look in the mirror after months of barhopping and seeing Courtney Love staring back at me. If that’s not enough to scare some sense into you, I don’t know what will. We wrapped for the day at 8:30 P.M. I was dead tired. But I still wanted to take photos of the homeless man’s suit and send them to Anderson & Sheppard before I went to bed. Jerry then could contact them in the middle of the night before they closed on Saturday afternoon their time. There was a lot of work to do tomorrow.

  I met Jerry for breakfast to discuss our game plan for the day and weekend. We had to strike in a matter of days, so we had a lot of people to talk to, a lot of leads to investigate.

  “I called Anderson & Sheppard at one A.M. and gave them a list of the guys on the show, including Ian and Lance Greenly, just to make sure.”

  “Lance spends some big bucks on clothes. It could have been him.”

  “They said they would look through their list of clients and would get back to me today. Do you know that besides suiting Fred Astaire and Gary Cooper, they made suits for Marlene Dietrich?”

  “I knew that. That’s why when I saw the label in the suit, I knew we’d have no trouble finding the owner. They’re very, very high end, so very few men would be clients of theirs. Plus, they keep detailed records of their customers, besides their measurements.”

  “Oh, they said they got the pictures of the suit when they got in this morning. They wanted to impress upon you that they can replace the pants since they still have some cloth from that pattern left over. Isn’t it wonderful that your attacker was wearing well-tailored pants?”

  “My neighborhood has a very strict dress code for muggers, Jerry.”

  “Oh, I got the Chief of Police to put a rush on our DNA samples. We should have the results early Monday. And I talked to Jeremy last night on the phone.”

  “Did he reveal anything?”

  “Certainly not the contest winner.”

  “I tried that already with Aurora. She’s staying mum on that matter. So Jeremy wasn’t able to shed any light on the murders?”

  “No, he’s ecstatic that the show is doing so well. And that it’s about over.

  “What about the footprint, Jerry. Of my mugger?”

  “We weren’t able to match it with any of the shoes belonging to the guys in the show. Ian and Lance Greenly included.”

  “But the suit showed up.”

  “But no shoes. I checked with the Hyatt. The Dumpster is emptied twice a week. If they were dumped in there with the suit, they’re long gone. So the homeless guy didn’t have nice shoes on when you got the suit?”

  “No, he wasn’t wearing any shoes. Oh well, it doesn’t matter, Jerry. The suit ties one of the cast members to my attack. It’s proof.”

  Jerry’s phone rang. “I better get this. It’s from overseas from the look of the phone number,” he said, hitting the Answer button and putting the phone to his ear. “Detective Jerry Hallander here. Oh yes, thank you so much for calling back. You did? Noooooooo! Are you sure? . . . Yes, I’m sure you keep very detailed ledgers. Now, you’re sure? Okay, I thank you for getting the answer to me so quickly and on such short notice. Thank you very much.”

  Jerry hung up the phone and stared at me.

  “Yes? Jerry?” I said, snapping my fingers in front of his face to wake him from his trance.

  “You’re not going to believe this, Amanda.”

  “What?!” I asked, dying for the answer. “Who do the pants belong to?”

  “What?” he asked, still in disbelief.

  “I’m sorry, Jerry. That was grammatically incorrect. To whom do the pants belong?”

  “Darryn Novolo.”

  By the time the shock wore off Jerry’s face, I was smiling from ear to ear.

  “I just can’t believe it. I just can’t,” he repeated over and over.

  “And why is that, Jerry?”

  “First of all, he’s seems like such a really nice guy. Not capable of harming a fly.”

  “And what’s your second objection?”

  “He wasn’t even in town when Keith was murdered. I checked. He was just finishing a show for Prada in Paris. Hundreds of people saw him walk down the runway.”

  “I know that.”

  “So how do you explain it, then?”

  Still smiling from ear to ear, I told him, “He had help.”

  “Who?”

  “I’m not going to say quite yet. There are a few things I need to prove yet.”

  “But, Amanda, another innocent person could be killed while you’re sleuthing around. This isn’t Agatha Christie. This is real life. Someone could be in very serious danger!”

  “I’m the only one in danger anymore, Jerry. The guys are fine now.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because the threat to Ian’s inheritance and the only witness who saw something he shouldn’t have seen have been eliminated. And the odds are better now, with two contestants gone.”

  “I get Keith’s death. Someone was worried that he might somehow have a stake in Ian’s fortune, or at least that Ian might change his mind once he knew he had a son.”

  “Correct.”

  “And Aleksei’s death?”

  “Because of something he said.”

  “And you’re not going to tell me that right now, are you?”

  “No, but trust me. Just help me chase down some leads. When Aurora announces the winner of the contest, we’ll have our own announcement to make.”

  The weekend sped by. Jerry dutifully made a lot of calls and hustled things along. Me, I made three important calls. One to Brian Hopper, celebrity gossip Web reporter. I had a simple question: Who does supermodel Darryn Novolo spend his time with when he’s in Los Angeles? The answer didn’t stun me, but it was unexpected nonetheless. I mean, I just couldn’t picture the two of them together, but it bolstered my theory, making it bulletproof.

  The second call was to Ken in Ohio. I filled him in on everything. He listened patiently, and after spilling everything I knew, he congratulated me on solving the case. I mean, he was really impressed and excited by what I had accomplished. And, oh, he missed me desperately. I told him I felt the same way. And he confessed he was horny. Me too, I said. Then Ken told me the best news of all: that he’d be back in two weeks. His mother was back home and getting around fine.

  The third call was to Alex. In all the excitement, I realized I hadn’t talked to him in a few days. He had summited Thunderbolt Peak and descended safely. Tomorrow afternoon, he would be heading back to Palm Springs.

  Great, it was only Saturday afternoon and I had the rest of the weekend free. Free to nap and then plan on setting my trap.

  CHAPTER 29

  Colonel Mustard Was Blowing Professor Plum In The Library

  Monday finally rolled around, the day we filmed the final episode. Or should I say night. Yes, Jeremy and the directors all decided that by filming outside around Ian’s pool by torchlight, the announcement would have more drama. Everyone in the cast, the support people, and everyone who made the show happen—the cameramen, grips, electrical people—everyone was excited. Me too. But for a different reason.

  The only change in our normal routine was that this one-hour episode was going to be very short in terms of filming. And most of it would be shot around Ian’s pool by torchlight. The lead-up to the big announcement would be intercut with flashbacks of each contestant as they were highlighted for six minutes on this final episode. The purpose was, as Jeremy explained, to allow viewers to recap what had happened to each cast member over the course of the season and to
keep them guessing as they tallied both the good and bad qualities of each contestant and how they reacted to stressful situations. The real reason was more pedestrian: to stretch out the episode so that advertisers would have more places to shove their commercials.

  Before the cameras started rolling, Jeremy whipped the cast up into a frenzied state. “Well, guys, this is the day it happens . . . the day one of you will have his life change forever. I have five cameras to catch your emotions the minute the announcement is read. Now, I don’t have to tell you that, no matter what Aurora and Ian’s verdict is, I want big emotions. Big win! Big loss! Just make it big! And remember, you’re under legal contract not to divulge the winner under any circumstances until the show airs. You got that?”

  There was a murmur of agreement among the guys.

  “And that goes for everyone on this set, has been on set at one time, or is in contact with anyone on this show.”

  And that was it. Even the threat of legal action didn’t dampen the enthusiasm of us all that day. But it wasn’t going to take a lot to stir up the energy, the guys were so wound up. Even David managed to show emotion. I was impressed. He had become quite the actor.

  We all filed out to Ian’s pool, which was decked out for the occasion with lots of torches and strategically placed uplighting. Since it was now late March, the nights were still chilly, but we went in short sleeves (and my cleavage showing—Jeremy’s request) and pretended it was a balmy night.

  Since all the flashbacks would be edited in later with Aurora’s commentary on the ups and downs of each contestant, there was little to film. But Jeremy wasn’t taking any chances. He hired a professional TV studio “cheerleader” to whip up the excitement the way they did before live-audience TV shows. I had to go along. It was like being at an Anthony Robbins life coaching rally. You knew it was all psychobabble New Age shysterism bullshit, but you had to join in jumping up and down, and yelling and clapping like an idiot because you would look like a sour grapes asshole if you didn’t.

  After twenty minutes, everyone was ready to burst an aorta, but we were excited and it showed for the cameras.

  Aurora was ready.

  “Gentlemen, we’ve all been through a lot together. I’ve seen you at your worst. And I’ve seen you at your best. Through it all, I’ve been watching and evaluating you, looking for that one man who will make a good match for Ian. That person needs strength, intelligence, courage, patience, and above all, a kind and giving heart. And after careful consideration of many, many months, I think that that man is”—she stopped, giving the cameras plenty of time to catch a variety of facial expressions—“Darryn Novolo!” she finished, holding a glass of champagne to the camera.

  All cameras went to Darryn, who was really acting excited. Genuinely excited. The other guys were mortally disappointed—I could see it, knowing them all these weeks—but they did a damn good job hiding it.

  And then I moved.

  “There is another announcement to make,” I shouted as I took center stage. All cameras swerved in my direction as Jerry bounded onto the set. I deferred to Jerry.

  “Darryn Novolo, I am arresting you for the attempted murder of Amanda Thorne and the murder of Aleksei Kikorov!” he said, placing handcuffs on a dazed Darryn.

  The cast thought it was all a planned joke. If they weren’t standing with their mouths in a frozen laugh/startled expression on their face, then they were uttering a chorus of “What-the-fucks?” that would later be bleeped out.

  “What is going on here?” Aurora asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “Aurora, we have evidence that proves Darryn tried to murder me the night after Aleksei’s memorial service.”

  “I don’t believe it!” Aurora exclaimed. “It’s not possible! Darryn, tell me this can’t be true.”

  I turned on my biggest personality for the cameras, probably for the last time, and went for it. “It is true, Aurora. I’ll start at the most recent developments, and we’ll work our way back in time to reveal even more. As you all know, I was attacked by a strangler some time ago at my house. My dog managed to tear a portion of my attacker’s pant leg off. The cloth was extremely well woven, but it would take weeks, maybe months, maybe never to find the company that made the pants. But lo and behold, a short time after that, I saw a homeless man going through Ian’s garbage wearing a very fine suit. Guess what was missing from the end of the pant leg? A piece of cloth that matched the piece my dog had taken out of my attacker’s leg. Coincidence? No. The homeless man found the entire suit in a Dumpster behind the Hyatt hotel, which is, coincidentally, just down the road from Ian’s house. Just a few short blocks. Someone obviously wanted to get rid of the incriminating trousers and suit, so my attacker took them down the road and tossed them in the Dumpster, not realizing that homeless men frequent North Belardo Road because of the food handouts from the church on the corner. Bad planning. But also telling. Anyone who had spent enough time at Ian’s house would know that. But one person was fairly new here: Darryn.”

  “So you’re going to try and incriminate me on the basis that I don’t know where the homeless get their food?”

  “No, that realization that came into my head was just the icing on the cake. No, I’ll let Detective Hallander tell about the pants.”

  Jerry, not having the great experience of being in front of a camera that I now had, cleared his throat and made a few false starts, but in no time, he rose to the occasion. “The label on the suit coat was from Anderson & Sheppard of London. We sent photographs to them, and thanks to the extensive records they keep of each client, we got a positive match: Darryn Novolo. Back to you, Amanda.”

  “Thank you, Jer . . . Detective Hallander. So was this the only foul play Darryn got involved in? Hardly. He also murdered Aleksei Kikorov.”

  Drake spoke up, “How can you be so sure?”

  “We know the person who strangled Aleksei while he was sitting in his chair was tall. The tie that was used to kill him was tied around his neck and pulled up sharply to cut off his air and blood flow. So you’re off the hook, Marcus,” I said half-jokingly.

  The cameras shifted to Marcus to catch his reaction. “Thank God,” he said, wiping his brow with an imaginary handkerchief.

  “Don’t get too comfortable, Marcus. I said you’re off the hook for Aleksei’s murder. Not Keith’s.”

  A trapped look flashed across Marcus’s face.

  “Allow me to continue. I think I was attacked because I was snooping around the potting shed where the poison that killed Keith was stored. But we’ll get to that in a moment. So Aleksei’s killer was tall. Aleksei, still sleeping off a drunken luncheon, was easy to approach from behind and strangle. But was there a way to make the murder look like an autoerotic accident? Yes. Sperm on the floor as if Aleksei was jerking off and the tie got too tight and he passed out and was strangled by his own hand. The only problem is, the sperm isn’t Aleksei’s. We got lab test results back late this morning that prove that the semen stains on the floor don’t belong to Aleksei, but to Darryn.”

  “This is insane. I wasn’t even in the U.S. when Keith was killed. I was in Paris.”

  I pointed at Darryn. “That you were, Darryn. At a fashion show in front of hundreds of people. So we have two murders that occurred at Ian’s house. Unrelated killings from two different men trying to eliminate just about anyone to thin the ranks of competitors? It’s possible, but I thought not. But the idea got me thinking. There were two murders. Most likely related, but that couldn’t be carried out by the same person since one killer wasn’t even in the country at the time of the first. So I thought, what if Darryn, our second murderer, had an accomplice? A lover perhaps?”

  The guys in the cast, Lance, and even Ian looked very nervous all of a sudden.

  I continued. I had everyone in the palm of my hand. “But who? I asked myself. Marcus, Drake, David, and yes, even Lance and even the producer of this show, Jeremy Collins, could have committed the first murder. And of course
we’re assuming that the reason Keith was killed was because he revealed on an episode of Things Are a Bit Iffy that he was Ian’s long-lost son. The cast members had every reason to bump off Keith since he might cause Ian to divert a lot of money to a man if he thought he was his son.

  “Lance Greenly,” I started, watching a rather shocked Lance step back into the shadows off camera, “could have done it because of the same reason, fueled by resentment that he had worked so hard over the years and now it could all be given to someone who shows up at the last moment. It could even be the show’s producer, Jeremy. Why? Ratings, my dear. People in Hollywood would kill for high ratings. And maybe in this case, someone did.”

  David, who usually had plenty to say, finally spoke up, “Amanda, you know I like you. But this all seems so insane. It’s too unbelievable. It’s surreal!”

  “At first, I thought so, too, David. So who committed the first murder, of Keith? Killed by strychnine in gopher poison from the garden shed. The police had been all through the shed but didn’t find the container used to mix the poison. But there was one item in there that, when I first saw it, well, it didn’t seem right.”

  “What do you mean, wasn’t right?” Drake asked, the one person most tightly connected to the shed.

  “It hit me the day you wanted to throw out a wineglass Aleksei had chipped. Ian claimed he couldn’t see any damage, but you insisted on throwing it away.”

  “So what does that have to do with something that shouldn’t have been there?” Drake asked, puzzled.

  “Drake, face it—you’re so obsessive, I’m surprised that you don’t catalog your turds. Anyway, in the first place, the pail was dented on the side.”

  “Yeah, and I would have thrown it away. . . .”

  “Exactly, Drake. But it was there the morning of Keith’s murder. There was no time to throw it away.”

  Drake the Dominator started to emerge. “Are you accusing me of mixing poison in the pail to kill Keith?”

  “Not to mix poison in, Drake. To stand on. You see, ever since I really looked at the pail, there was something strange about it: It was crunched on the side. So I asked myself, why would that be? It was used by a painter to hold paint when painting a wall, or touching up here and there. So why the dent on the side? Then I noticed something even stranger: two small, round dents on the bottom. Were the two related? They were. It came to me when we were praying last week in our little mini-memorial service for Aleksei. I was looking down at the soft pine floors in Ian’s house. There, in the shiny polyurethane finish were small dents. Dents caused by high heels. Shoes worn by Aurora Cleft!”