Chapter Eleven
Saffi had assumed that the additional information from Isaac Klossner’s death would give her a new perspective on things, but she found herself slipping back into old habits.
As rare as it was for an initial theory to be the correct one, she had never been able to restrain herself from at least looking into it. Especially one as interesting as this.
And once again, something on Kapoor’s social media accounts caught Saffi’s attention.
A comment on a post announcing her as Insomnia’s lead, one that Kapoor’s official account had responded to.
The acting headshots posted to the commenter’s profile matched the photos of Klossner that they had on file.
Kapoor had been working at a studio close to the phone booth at the time. There was a good chance she had been the one he’d been speaking to. And a few hours later, he’d been found dead. As always, every sign pointed toward Dimple Kapoor.
If Andino or Taylor were asked what to do in this situation, they’d probably advocate for confronting the suspect immediately before she got the chance to run away. Never one to be outshined, Saffi shrugged on her black suit jacket.
As she was leaving, something compelled her to pause at the office closest to hers.
The door was wide open and laughter echoed down the hallway.
Three desks were crammed into the small space, an intern sitting at each of them.
College students getting their required work experience before they could apply for their PI licenses.
Two boys and one girl. Saffi’s fingers clenched in the fabric of her jacket at the sight of them.
They hadn’t noticed her standing there, and she turned away before they could.
—
The bell chimed as Saffi stepped onto the checkered tile of an upscale café, cueing a cheesy greeting from one of the staff.
The air was ripe with the smell of overpriced coffee beans and underpaid workers.
It didn’t matter which city she was in, Saffi had never felt compelled to spend more than five dollars of her own money on a coffee.
This side of LA didn’t seem to share her mindset, full of designer bags and expensive cars and people who acted more important than they were. If Saffi let the chatter of the patrons wash over her, she could almost pretend she was in any other major city in the world.
She stepped into the line that wrapped all the way around the store, staying alert.
A quick glance at her watch confirmed that it was a quarter past twelve in the afternoon.
Most of the city had already finished their lunch hour.
There was a chance Saffi was too late to accomplish what she’d come here for. Still, she could use the caffeine.
She had yet to sleep, having stayed up all night to watch Kapoor’s entire filmography.
It had been for naught; she still couldn’t quite admit that she understood the appeal.
Saffi held steadfastly on to the belief that actors were overpaid and unjustly idolized.
And for telling lies for a living. She’d locked people up for less.
When it was finally her turn, Saffi ordered a black coffee, swearing that if she came all this way for nothing, she’d sue the place for price gouging. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, the bell made a garbled half-chime, half-clunk sound as someone stumbled inside.
Every head snapped to the door. The girl’s chunky glasses were askew as she leaned forward, hands on her knees, and attempted to catch her breath.
She didn’t seem to notice the stares. Deep brown skin, round cheeks, and short enough that her head barely reached Saffi’s shoulders.
It was twelve thirty on the day Saffi first met Dimple Kapoor’s assistant, Priyal Tiwari.
Tiwari’s presence came as no surprise. The tone of Kapoor’s usual social media posts were far too chipper for the personality Saffi had assigned to the actress.
Priyal Tiwari’s personal account, the one credited for Dimple Kapoor’s candid photos, had a suspiciously similar tone to Kapoor’s.
It was likely Tiwari had been the one who’d replied to Klossner’s comment.
There was often a coffee cup or sandwich bag from this particular café somewhere in the background of Kapoor’s photos, so it wasn’t difficult to stage a meeting like this.
If Andino and Taylor were in charge of this case, they would’ve gone to Kapoor directly—probably going so far as to knock on her door and ask outright if she was the killer.
As much as Saffi was thrown off by being back in the States, emulating Andino and Taylor would do her no good, not when she’d long since developed her own tactics.
She preferred to let her suspects stew. The longer she waited, the more her targets sweated, wondering why she hadn’t yet approached them. That was when the guilty made their most drastic, desperate mistakes.
As Tiwari waited in the long line, Saffi bided her time, mind sharpening with every sip of her drink. Past experience of what was to come made her slip off her suit jacket and drape it over the back of a chair for safekeeping.
The girl was just as absentminded as Saffi suspected, looking anywhere but in front of her as she walked. It was a collision course waiting to happen. Saffi would prefer anything to small talk, even surface-level burns, but thankfully Tiwari was holding two iced coffees.
The inevitable collision was underwhelming, one drink splashing onto Saffi’s white button-down, the other coloring the ground. A shocked gasp from the girl. Conversation halted, scaling down into murmurs as everyone stopped to stare again. Saffi prepared her meanest glare.
“I’m so sorry!” Tiwari said, elbows pressed flat against her sides.
She looked like she was about to cry, which Saffi hadn’t accounted for.
She hurried to the single-occupancy bathroom, relieved to see Tiwari clambering after her, wringing her hands with nerves.
With angry, stilted movements, Saffi wiped her shirt clean.
She didn’t actually want it to stain. Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately—she’d done this enough times to work out the best method to avoid that problem.
Guilt was a powerful bonding tactic, especially for a first meeting, but it only worked on certain types of people. Priyal Tiwari, luckily, was exactly that type of person.
“Can I do anything to help?” she asked.
The girl was trembling. She kept a very specific distance from Saffi, standing almost exactly an arm’s-length away, and had left the door open behind her.
Deciding she’d let the girl wallow in misplaced guilt for long enough, Saffi braced herself to endure yet another conversation. As if the needlessly verbose dialogue with Hollywood’s diet-elite hadn’t been enough. The things she did for justice. Her father would be so proud.
Saffi looked up, glaring at Tiwari through the mirror. And then she faltered. Her eyes widened as though sudden recognition had struck.
See? Acting was easy. Even Saffi could do it.
“I know you,” she said. “You’re Dimple’s assistant.”
Tiwari seemed caught off guard—but not like she was about to cry again. Thank god Saffi had circumvented that potential disaster. It would’ve completely turned the conversation on its head, leaving her as the guilty party.
“Have we met?” Tiwari asked warily. Kapoor probably wasn’t famous enough to have a rabid fanbase, but stalkers were an issue for any woman.
“I’m a friend of Dimple’s,” Saffi lied, tossing the wet paper towels into the trash. There wasn’t a trace of coffee left behind.
“Oh!” Tiwari said in surprise. “I didn’t know Dimple had friends.” Realization of what she’d just said seemed to dawn on her. “I didn’t mean—!”
“She shouldn’t,” Saffi agreed, leaning back against the sink and crossing her arms. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her own performance. How actors did this and still had the gall to take themselves seriously, she couldn’t fathom. “She’s always so busy, no time for anything but work.”
Tiwari laughed like it was the truest statement she’d ever heard. “Don’t be too hard on her. I’ve only worked for her for a few months now, but even I know how much being a lead means to her.”
“She finally did it, huh?” Saffi asked.
“With Insomnia, yeah! It’s about time people started recognizing her talent.”
The way Tiwari said it, practically sparkling, made Saffi wonder what kind of woman inspired such devotion. Her mind began working faster than she could keep up with it. Flashes of rivalries and dead actresses at the bottom of stairs.
“Sorry,” Tiwari said, looking genuinely confused. “How do you know her, again?”
“We worked the same temp job a few years ago,” Saffi said, figuring it was a safe bet. Most actors had side jobs.
“You’re from California?” Priyal asked a bit skeptically.
It seemed that despite her best efforts, Saffi couldn’t pass for a local as well as she thought she could. “Arizona originally,” she said. It was always best to stick as close to the truth as possible.
“Oh wow, does an Arizona driver’s license really have the Grand Canyon on it?”
As innocent as she seemed, Saffi knew what Priyal was trying to do. She wasn’t quite as clueless as Saffi had initially thought.
“See for yourself.” Saffi flashed her license in Priyal’s direction, taking care to block out most of her name and other vital information with her fingers.
Priyal relaxed at the mere sight of it. “Oh, it does!”
No matter how suspicious, most people had a strong compulsion to believe their peers. Confirmation that Saffi had been telling the truth about a single aspect of her story was usually enough to convince them that she could be trusted. It was certainly enough for Tiwari.
“I can’t believe I’ve never heard of you before,” Priyal said. “Then again, Dimple doesn’t really talk about herself. What am I saying—you probably know her much better than I do.”
Saffi gave her a bland smile. “You like working for her?”
“It’s the best job I’ve had in a while,” Priyal said without missing a beat. “The last one stole half my tips and made me work through my breaks. I couldn’t even complain because I needed the money.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Priyal said, laughing. “Thanks to Dimple, I don’t have to worry about that anymore.” She gestured at Saffi’s shirt. “She buys me coffee every day and lets me shadow her while she’s filming.”
“Maybe I should visit her on set,” Saffi mused. “So she can’t avoid me anymore.”
Tiwari brightened with what seemed to be pleasant surprise before suddenly deflating. “I wish you could, but today’s actually their last day of filming.”
Saffi tried to act disappointed, but it fell flat. There was something here. She just needed to keep the girl talking. “I’m sorry I missed it.”
“Me too,” Tiwari said. “Seeing Dimple act up close is something incredible.”
“So she’s doing well, then?”
“Better than ever—she’s glowing. And to think she almost didn’t take the role.”
“What? Why not?” Saffi asked a little too quickly.
Tiwari shuttered immediately, her whole body closing in on itself. “Um, never mind. Please just forget I said anything.”
Saffi had just witnessed her first hint of gold. “What do you mean?” she asked with false innocence.
“It’s kind of a sensitive topic.”
This was going nowhere, but Saffi knew enough to take a chance and make a wild guess. “It has to do with Irene, doesn’t it?”
“How did you—?”
Saffi had struck gold. She tried to temper her rising giddiness. “Dimple’s told me a little, but you know how she bottles things up. She probably doesn’t want me to worry, but I do anyway,” she said, attempting to replicate a level of devotion that was still foreign to her.
Tiwari’s expression softened. “She’s a good person, she really is,” she insisted.
“Dimple didn’t know why they offered her the role all of a sudden.
As soon as she found out, though, she tried to get out of it.
But the director refused and she’s under contract, so—you know how it is.
But I think it still bothers her. What if people found out… ”
Holy shit.
Saffi had just found her motive.
“You mean, if people find out that Irene had the role first?” Saffi guessed. Her voice came out breathless.
Tiwari nodded solemnly.
“When did she accept the job?” Saffi asked.
Tiwari’s eyebrows furrowed, and Saffi worried she’d probed too far, but she didn’t have to worry for long. The girl was deep in thought. “I told her about it myself. The Tuesday before filming started, I think.”
“January 27th?” Saffi guessed.
Tiwari sighed in relief. “So she did tell you. I was worried she didn’t have anyone to talk to. If you’re going to blame anyone, though, blame the director, he’s a horrible man. He practically tricked Dimple into signing the contract.”
Saffi couldn’t believe her luck. Kapoor had been interviewed by Andino and Taylor on Monday the twenty-sixth.
Saffi had heard the tapes; she knew the men had explicitly told her about Singh’s death.
Which meant she knew exactly why she’d been offered the role.
Clearly, Kapoor wasn’t above lying to keep her image clean, even to those closest to her.
“How awful,” Saffi replied, this time unable to keep the sarcasm from her tone. “Poor Dimple Kapoor.”
Tiwari didn’t seem to notice her insincerity and nodded along enthusiastically.
Kapoor was a liar, that much was certain, but the question was why she’d lied. To keep her image clean or to cover up a murder? Saffi crossed her arms, staring down at Tiwari. She had no idea who she was dealing with. Then again, neither did Saffi.