Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
“He actually told us to come over!” Alden set down his phone after a flurry of calls, looking as surprised as if someone had just slapped him.
Roz had to laugh. He was just so cute sometimes. “What, you doubted your new best buddy, Blake Burbage?”
After filing a short article for John that mentioned the possibility of foul play, a few details about the movie studio deal and some color from Mae, they hit the road in Alden’s Miata. Roz left her car in front of the newspaper’s office just down the street.
She insisted they stop by the sheriff’s department. Deputies Duke Dawson and Naya Byrd were out, but she left the book for Duke with a note.
“Did you leave him doughnuts, too?” Alden snarked as she climbed back into his sporty little car.
She smiled. “Maybe next time.”
Alden grumbled, but she was pretty sure he did it just to nag her, in a pigtail-pulling kind of way. She kind of liked that he was jealous, even if he was just teasing her. Nobody had ever cared that much before.
Her phone pinged on their way to the beach and Enolia Honeywood’s neighborhood. She glanced at the text. “It’s Sebastian Esquivel. He says we can meet him at the studio site at five.”
Alden glanced at the clock on the dash. “Will we make it?”
“I think so. Depends on if Blake invites you to a sleepover.”
“Oh, shut up.” But his eyes twinkled and his mouth twitched, halfway to a smile.
Blake Burbage also had a gate, but he answered the intercom himself before he buzzed them in.
A mini forest of palms partly obscured his house from the road, but the building stuck up so high it was easy to see most of it.
At three stories with a cupola—with most of the lower floor taken up by a garage with two wide doors—it was tall and relatively narrow compared with Enolia’s place.
But as they parked next to it, Roz could see the building had plenty of depth.
This was another big house, with riotous siding in sunflower yellow and turquoise with white accents.
“Boy, my place is going to feel really small when I go home tonight,” she said as they got out of the car.
“You could always come to my apartment first. Then when you go to your house, it will seem bigger,” Alden joked.
She chuckled. “You’re not wrong.”
The main door was on the side of the house, nestled in a recess under a balcony.
Blake Burbage answered the doorbell in bare feet, navy shorts and an “I Love My Shih Tzu” T-shirt with a goofy-looking dog on it.
Rushing down the steps behind him was the dog itself, probably a girl given the froufrou pink ribbons in her long white and gray fur.
The tiny pup-mop bounced up and down on her front feet as she yapped.
“Calm down, Morgana,” Blake said, running a hand through his not-quite-short silver-streaked dark hair. He still looked good, fiftysomething or not. He bent down and ruffled the dog’s head, and the barking subsided to a low growl. “She probably won’t bite you.”
“Great,” Alden said wryly. “Thanks for letting us stop by. This is Roz Melander.”
“Roz.” Blake broke into a beaming smile and fixed her with his bright blue eyes, and her heart stopped for a minute. Yes, he really looked good.
“H-h-hi.” She hated herself for the nerves, but she didn’t meet movie stars every day. She stuck out her hand, and he shook it, and then everything was normal again.
“You have to come up the stairs unless you want to take the elevator in the garage,” he said.
“No problem,” Alden replied, and they trudged up the steep staircase, led by the pitter-patter of Morgana’s tiny feet.
This thing needs a ski lift, Roz thought as they made it to the second floor. Its large, open, light-filled space stretched all the way past dining and living areas to the sliding glass doors, balcony and views of the sea.
She wandered close enough to the glass to see the pool below and more balconies above as the dog danced around her feet. She reached down and scratched under the pup’s chin before taking another look at the sparkling blue ocean. “Spectacular view.”
“It really is,” Blake agreed. “And for this I paid less than half of what I got for my beach house in California.”
“Morgana!” came a lilting voice from down a hallway. “Treats!” The dog lost all interest in Roz and took off running.
“Lexie loves that dog. She gave me this ridiculous shirt,” Blake said with an indulgent smile. Roz had no idea who Lexie was, but Alden nodded knowingly. Obviously someone famous enough for her gossip guy to recognize.
Alden looked around at the modern furniture and tasteful accents, homing in on a credenza against one wall topped with unusual objects.
Roz followed and halted before a familiar sight. “Oh, wow, is this that cowbell that was on your desk in Chain of Honor?”
Blake grinned. “Good eye.”
“I loved that show.” She could hear herself gushing but couldn’t help it. “I loved every time you rang the cowbell to pull Doberman from his latest distraction.”
The star looked pleased. “The bell was my idea.”
Alden leaned over to look at a small glass box. “That’s not the compass button from Flameout, is it? Oh my God.”
“It sure is. Do you want to hold it?”
Alden could barely gasp out a yes, and Roz could barely hide her amusement.
It was so rare to see him act like a fanboy.
Blake lifted away the clear box and set it aside, leaving only the black display base, and picked up what looked like an ordinary brass button—until he unscrewed it to reveal a tiny compass.
He handed it to Alden, who gently rolled it around on his palm before handing it back.
“It works, too,” Blake said. “If you got shot down like I did in the movie, you could remove the button and use this with a silk map sewn into your uniform to find your way to safety.”
“That’s amazing,” Roz said. “They really used those in World War II?”
“They sure did.” Blake lowered the glass case over the button. “That’s one thing I loved about working on that movie. The authenticity. I loved the history and all the war gadgets. And I love to fly, so I geeked out over all the aviation stuff.”
“I didn’t know you were a pilot. That’s cool,” Alden said.
“I’ve got a Beechcraft Bonanza over at Comet Cove International.”
They all chuckled at this reference to the small airfield, which hadn’t graduated to international flights yet. At least not officially.
Blake gestured them toward a seating area of soft beige furniture where they had an excellent view of the ocean. They took a couch; he took a chair. Alden didn’t ask to record as he usually did, so she got out her notebook and pen.
Blake saw her do it but didn’t seem concerned. “So what can I do for you two? I saw your latest story on poor Wayne. Foul play, eh?”
Wow, John worked fast. He must’ve liked what they wrote to get the article online already.
And Blake had just called Wayne by his first name.
Alden beat her to the obvious question. “You knew Wayne Vandershell?”
“I did. He was trying to talk me into starring in an indie movie. He described it as ‘offbeat.’ He kept saying I’d have a comeback like John Travolta in Pulp Fiction.
” His mouth quirked. “I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted that he assumed I needed a ‘comeback.’ I’m very happy here.
” But there was something in Blake’s face that made Roz wonder.
“You weren’t tempted?” she asked.
“Of course I was tempted. I’m starting to get a few scripts to look at again since my role in that creepy priest film. Small roles in horror movies and that kind of thing. I haven’t taken one yet, but that doesn’t mean I won’t. I always think of Ray Milland—you know his work?”
“Great actor,” Alden said.
“He was. Won the Oscar for The Lost Weekend. He had a lot of great roles, big roles.”
“I loved him in Hitchcock’s Dial M for Murder.” Alden brimmed with enthusiasm while Roz made a mental note to catch up on her classic movies.
“Oh, he was great at being evil,” Blake agreed.
“And then almost twenty years after The Lost Weekend, he was starring in The Man with the X-Ray Eyes. I mean, it wasn’t terrible.
It’s Roger Corman. But it was pretty cheesy stuff.
I don’t mind pulp if I have a good role.
But I was still waiting for Wayne to show me the script that would herald my triumphant return.
” He shrugged. “Can’t say easy come, easy go, because I never saw it to begin with. ”
Roz saw a theme here. “So he promised you something but didn’t deliver?”
Blake regarded her with those sharp blue eyes. “He was careful not to promise anything. He talked a good game. Why he wasn’t in Hollywood, I’ll never understand.” It was a joke, but his smile thinned. Was he angry under all the good cheer? He’d really wanted that comeback script.
“Did you know he was planning to build a movie studio by the airport?” Alden asked.
“Of course. He considered it part of the glorious cinema-fication of Comet Cove.”
“He told his construction partner you were on board with doing a movie there,” Roz said.
“Did he now?” Blake’s eyebrows rose, and there was a flash of something like hope immediately dashed by reality in his face. As if he thought: The movie’s happening … no, wait. The producer’s dead.
There was a pause before Alden asked, “Were you familiar with his previous work?”
“I looked it up online, but no, I hadn’t heard of those movies. Of course, I can’t keep up with everything nowadays. Streaming. YouTube. Everybody’s famous,” he said dryly. “Have you seen any of it?”
“No. I’m too busy watching Turner Classic Movies.”
Blake made an amused sound and gave Alden a keen look. “You’re too modest. I’d say you’re right on top of current events.” In other words, he knew exactly who Alden was and wanted him to know he knew.
There was a beat, and Roz saw an opportunity. “Did you see Wayne when you went into the back hallway at the bookstore Saturday during the event with Enolia Honeywood?”
Blake shifted in his chair and turned to her. “Oh, that’s right. You were there, weren’t you?”
“Yes. Alden’s a big fan,” Roz said.
“She’s good, isn’t she?” Blake replied. But the blasé way he said it made her wonder if he knew the answer. Had he read Enolia’s books?
“So did you see Wayne?” she pushed.
Blake nodded once. “I saw him come in, exchanged a hello. He disappeared, and I never saw him again.”
He disappeared because you killed him and then you never saw him again? she thought. Or maybe her imagination was getting ahead of her.
After a moment, Alden filled the awkward silence. “That was an enthusiastic crowd.”
Blake seemed to relax a bit. “Yeah, I wish they’d come to see me.”
They all laughed, and it felt like the interview was over. Alden must’ve felt the same, because he stood. “Thanks so much for your time.”
“No problem.” Blake stood as well, regarding him evenly. “You know I have a reputation for shooting from the hip, and I don’t mean in my movies. I don’t need a publicist to manage everything I say.”
Alden nodded as Roz wondered where Blake was going.
“But I know you’ll use good judgment when you decide what to write after our chat today,” the actor continued. “I’d love to talk to you again when I have some news.”
Oh, he was good. Treat me well, and I’ll give you access. He was someone who knew how to use his fame and the power it gave him.
“I’m not in the gotcha business anymore,” Alden said, returning Blake’s frankness. “But I’m in the business of publishing the truth.” Go, Alden! “And I’d love to talk to you and Lexie sometime.”
Blake smiled. “Until then.” They shook hands.
Whoa, that was slick. But she could live with their deal. The paper would publish the truth, wherever it led them, but a little discretion didn’t hurt.
Roz stepped up and shook Blake’s hand too and got to bathe in those blue eyes one more time. Wowzer. That electric, effortless charisma—that was why Blake Burbage was a movie star.
Despite the courtesies and Blake’s seeming candor, as she and Alden said goodbye and headed out, she had an uncomfortable sensation that they knew less than they did before they began.
Writer Sheryl—and Nicole, via Sebastian Esquivel—apparently had production deals with Wayne Vandershell. But Sebastian wasn’t thrilled with the dead guy, and Blake Burbage seemed to think Wayne had been leading him on.
Could the cool Blake Burbage have killed Wayne Vandershell?