“Netflix and chill, huh?” Vicki smiled. “You know that has nothing to do with watching TV, right?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked with mock offense. “We’re going to watch TV. Get your mind out of the gutter, woman.”
We arrived home and ‘Netflix and chilled’ for the rest of the morning, and then went back to the studio. When we arrived, the studio door was locked, and everyone was standing outside.
“We can’t get him on his phone,” Ken told us with a frown.
Everyone else had the bright idea to call Jerry’s cell, and the studio office, so they all stood around on their phones.
Just when Vicki and I were ready to desert this sinking rat ship, the cops showed up.
“What the hell?” Ken echoed the sentiments of everyone standing out in the parking lot.
Then, suddenly, The Count opened the door and let the cops in.
“What’s going on?” I asked him.
The Count was clearly upset. He was wringing his hands, and his eyes were darting from side to side
“It’s Jerry,” he said. “He’s dead.”
Chapter 3
“What do you mean he’s dead?” Allison asked with wide eyes. “How could he be--”
“I don’t know,” The Count cut her off. “I’m sorry, I just found him.”
The cast unleashed about a thousand questions onto The Count, who looked overwhelmed.
“What do you mean you found him?” Allison demanded. “You were with him.”
“We had a row,” The Count admitted, “and I left the building. Then I realized I’d forgotten my script, and when I returned to retrieve it, I found him on the floor in a puddle of blood.”
There were several groans at the openness of the statement.
“Stop,” Allison cried out. “Just stop. Where is he? I want to see him.”
She tried to enter the studio, but The Count stopped her.
“Good ma’am,” he said, “I would urge you to protect the innocence of your eyes.”
She cursed a blue streak and pushed past him, but then an officer stopped her.
“I’m sorry ma’am,” the officer told her. “You can’t go in there. It’s a crime scene.”
“Officer,” The Count said as he turned to the cop, “it was interesting how he was laying his head at an angle. The way he was laying suggests he could have been bludgeoned with a heavy object.”
“Uh-huh,” the officer replied dubiously.
“I did see a marble statue lying on the ground near him,” The Count went on. “I believe that could have been the method. Did you dust for fingerprints on the statue?”
“Why?” the officer said. “Are we going to find yours?”
“Mine?” The Count looked genuinely surprised. “Why would you find mine? I had nothing to do with the murder. I just found the body and called the authorities as soon as I learned of the death.”
“Uh-huh,” the officer said with a raised eyebrow, “but you were the last person to see him, and there are about two dozen witnesses to confirm you were meeting alone with him in this office, correct?”
“W-well,” The Count stammered, “that is correct, but I had nothing to do with it. This is all a big misunderstanding.”
“Right,” the officer said. “We’re going to have to take you in for questioning.”
“For questioning?” The Count echoed indignantly. “I did nothing wrong.”
“Good,” the officer said. “Then you won’t mind talking to the detective.”
“Detective?” The Count shook his head. “I’m speechless.”
The Count got hauled off to one of several squad cars, and suddenly the parking lot was bathed in blue and red flashing lights and uniformed officers on radios.
I wanted out of here.
“You want to go to the gardening party at my parents?” I asked.
Vicki shrugged, and we silently trudged back to our car.
“I don’t know if we’ll ever get used to this,” she finally said once we were in the car.
“Death?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “I mean, in L.A., it was all about spoiled rock stars and movie stars and their money. They were annoying, but rarely did anyone die.”
“Well,” I protested, “there were a few cases … ”
“Yeah,” she said, “there was the one with the wrestler who killed his wife. But, most of the time, the stuff we did was lighthearted. I don’t know if I can get used to this. Should I even get used to it?”
“That’s a complicated question,” I sighed. “Maybe gardening will do us good.”
“Yeah,” she murmured as she stared out the window, lost in thought.
We drove the rest of the way back to my parents house in silence, and when we pulled up, my dad was in the yard. It was clear from his face he had already heard about Jerry. News in a small town travels at the speed of a text message.
“You guys okay?” he asked when we stepped out of the car.
“Yeah,” I said as I rubbed the back of my neck. “It was pretty upsetting.”
“No kidding.” He frowned. “Were you guys at the studio?”
I nodded. “Yeah. They called a break, and we came back to cops.”
“Geez.” My dad shook his head.
We walked into the house, and my mother was in the kitchen.
“Oh my gosh,” she gushed as she rushed toward us. “How are you holding up? It must be so shocking.”
“It is,” Vicki agreed with a furrowed brow. “This is the third murder this year, I think.”
“Oh, heavens,” my mother murmured before she clapped her hands around her face. “Come, come.”
“Where are we going?” I asked as we followed her. “I thought we were gardening.”
She took us back into what was originally my bedroom. Now, it was decked out as a full yoga studio. The carpet had been replaced with wood
