Shadow of Doubt, page 1
Praise for the Carol Childs Mystery Series
SHADOW OF DOUBT (#1)
“Silverman provides us with inside look into the world of talk radio as Carol Childs, an investigative reporter, finds herself in the middle of a Hollywood murder mystery, uncovering evidence that may point to her best friend. A hunky FBI Agent and a wacky psychic will keep readers guessing from beginning to end.”
– Annette Dashofy, USA Today Bestselling Author of Lost Legacy
“Silverman creates a trip through Hollywood filled with aging hippies, greedy agents, and a deadly case of product tampering. Forget the shower scene in Psycho; Shadow of Doubt will make you scared to take a bath!”
– Diane Vallere, Author of the Material Witness, Style & Error, and Mad for Mod Mystery Series
“A thoroughly satisfying crime novel with fascinating, authentic glimpses into the world of talk radio and some of its nastier stars… The writing is compelling and the settings ring true thanks to the author’s background as a newscaster herself.”
– Jill Amadio, Author of Digging Too Deep
“Carol is a smart, savvy heroine that will appeal to readers. This is a cozy with a bite.”
– Rosemary Smith, Books for Avid Readers
“Absolutely engaging, I could barely put it down. The characters in the book were well-developed and the plot was chillingly genius.”
– Lyn Faulkner, Netgalley Reviewer
Copyright
SHADOW OF DOUBT
A Carol Childs Mystery
Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection
First Edition
Digital epub edition | December 2014
Henery Press
www.henerypress.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Copyright © 2014 by Nancy Cole Silverman
Cover art by Stephanie Chontos
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-1-940976-54-9
Printed in the United States of America
Books in the Carol Childs Mystery Series
by Nancy Cole Silverman
SHADOW OF DOUBT (#1)
BEYOND A DOUBT (#2)
(July 2015)
Dedication
To Mom
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writers may be born to write. They may have stories they want to tell, but without the right people in their lives, providing them with the proper structure and support, so many writers would never have the opportunity to pen the stories or write the words that spin around inside their heads. My guess would be sometimes those very helpful people don’t even know who they are. Perhaps they are teachers, ministers, priests, rabbis, scholars or friends who along the way offered an encouraging word, suggested a new direction, or just listened. I’m lucky. I’ve had many such people in my life, and for this book I’d like to name a few.
Thank you, Kendel Lynn, acquiring editor with Henery Press and to all the very supportive people at Henery Press, including Art C. Molinares, Erin George and Stephanie Chontos. Without your talents this book would have remained another lost file on my hard drive. Special thanks to my mother, Ruth Bowman, and to my close friend and hiking partner, Rhona Robbie, both of whom read endless versions of this book. Thanks also to my sister, Marjorie Palmer, who not only read my book but blessed it. She’s a minister, and that means a lot to me. Lastly, but not least, I thank my wonderful husband, Bruce Silverman, who, without his support, I could not be me.
Thank you all.
Nancy Cole Silverman
Prologue
“…and finally, I’d like to thank my agent, Pepper Millhouse. Pepper, you’ve been like a mother to me. Without you none of this would have happened.” Amber Marx, barely seventeen, in a voice shaking with emotion, brushed a tear from her eye as she held the award for Best Supporting Actress above her head and nodded in the direction of her agent’s table. “Thank you.”
Pepper smiled and raised her wine glass as the two exchanged a brief look. Then the actress gathered the skirt of her long lemon-yellow chiffon gown in one hand and pranced off the stage like a gangly young filly.
Pepper knew that look was for helping the young actress secure her emancipation from her abusive father, the details of which Pepper had silenced from the press. Most of her fans and the media simply knew Amber as Hollywood’s sweetheart, first appearing on the screen at age two as the impossible but adorable baby Ann in the blockbuster Baby Business. The camera loved her, her fans worshipped her and the press couldn’t get enough of her. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind the young ingénue was well on her way.
“I hope she’s as happy with you when she realizes you pitched Clarissa St. Clair for The Lady in White,” Pepper’s niece, Samantha, whispered to her as the two sat back down to enjoy the Beverly Hilton’s eloquent four-course dinner.
“We all have to grow up sometime, don’t we? And if our little Miss Amber is upset, she can get in line. She’ll hardly be the first. Besides she’ll barely have time once she’s finished The Sorcerer’s Daughter, and there’s already a sequel in the works. So, for right now, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Unless, that is, you’re planning to say something?”
“Me?” Sam laughed. “And incur the wrath of my dear aunt? I hardly think it’s my place.”
Pepper Millhouse, president of ACT, the American Creative Talent Agency, was easily one of LA’s top agents. Among industry insiders she was regarded as a bulldog. She enjoyed bragging that she’d pissed-off more of her fellow agents than remained in the business. Samantha knew she wasn’t wrong. Pepper had a target on her back. Any day of the week there were a number of agents, actors and even a few directors and producers who would love to have seen her exit the business in an untimely manner. Preferably in a body bag.
“You think between you and that little flunky of yours you can wrap this up?” Pepper tossed her head in the direction of Andrew Reese, Samantha’s pretty-boy assistant, then stood up. “I need to chat with Clarissa for a moment and if I squeeze out now I can beat the traffic home.”
“And why should tonight be any different?” Samantha grinned sarcastically. As head of publicity for the agency, her job required the wearing of many hats, the least of which was to appease her aunt.
“Always the sassy one, aren’t you?” Pepper cupped Sam’s chin in her hand, turning her niece’s head towards her. She looked directly into her eyes. “So much like your twin. Too bad she’s so much prettier.” Patting the side of her face with a dismissive laugh, she dropped her hand, and added, “But we all have to live with our shortcomings, don’t we? Ciao.”
If Samantha flinched it wasn’t detectable. Her smile froze on her face. Her aunt’s words, like an assassin’s sharp dragger twisted deep beneath her ribs, reminding her she was nothing without her aunt. She owed her everything.
“Ciao.” Sam’s eyes followed Pepper. Her aunt’s small frame, slightly bent in her silver evening gown, weaving between tables crowded with some of Hollywood’s biggest names, headed toward the exit. Slowly, Sam raised her hand. Pantomiming a gun, she pointed it in the direction of her aunt and fired. Pow!
Pepper leaned against the large double doors to her bedroom and exhaled. It had been a long day and an even longer evening. Everybody wanted something from her, and the only thing she could think of was what she wanted, her bath. A nice warm, bubbly soak where she could forget about demanding clients and the pressures of her job.
Throwing her shoes aside she walked over to the bar, poured herself a glass of red wine and flipped on the CD player. Vivaldi was perfect. Tiptoeing to the bath she stripped off her evening dress, letting it fall to the floor, and reached for her robe. Catching her reflection in the mirror she studied her naked body.
By her own assessment Pepper Millhouse wasn’t a bad looking woman. She was of average height and build with dark hair and blue eyes. Running her hands across her stomach the loose skin beneath her grip puckered. She sighed. Then straightening up, she touched her breasts, lifting them slightly and smiled. Her fabulous double D’s made up for a lot of the sins of sagging flesh. Forty years ago they had gotten her into as much trouble as they had success. In her day, Pepper Millhouse had been quite the number, a stunner in fact, who had been linked romantically to a number of Hollywood’s leading men, all of whom she’d been smart enough not to marry. Rumor was, at one time or another, many of her conquests had been either delightfully under her—or under contract with her.
Pepper dimmed the lights and lit a candle. Leaning closer into the mirror she pushed the skin under her chin back behind her ears. Thank goodness for high cheekbones. She could ward off another facelift for one more year, but no more. Hollywood could forgive anything but age. Taking another sip of wine, she reached for a bottle of light grape seed oil, one of the specialties her housekeeper Arminta had set in a basket next to the tub. She patted it gently onto her face, down her neck, chest, arms and legs. It tingled as she applied i t. Glancing back into the full length mirror, she saw that the elixir had been working. Already she could see the skin smoothing, the dimpled effect around her legs and arms, the puffiness that comes with age, diminishing.
She pushed a button on the tub and a cascade of warm water from the elaborate gold faucet flowed into the Jacuzzi. She reached into the basket for a bottle of bath salts and read the hang tag, Lavender Lush # 7. For best results rub vigorously onto those troublesome areas plus neck and chest then add to tub for a delightful soak. She took a quick whiff. A lovely lavender lemon grass aroma gave her a momentary lightheadedness. After adding the salt to the water she began to rub her neck and chest as instructed. Her dark hair had already started to frizz from the humidity and pushing it away from her face she noticed a thin gray halo surrounded the base of her hairline. She hated that tell-tale sign of age and made a mental note to make an appointment with her hairdresser. When the tub was full, she sank slowly into the warming bubbles, the scented candle easing the tensions of the day, the music from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons: the ideal escape.
A tingling sensation ran up her arms and legs, the bubbles like silk against her skin, warm and pleasurable. Gently she sponged her neck, letting the water trickle soothingly down her chest, suds slipping between her fingers, clinging softly to her body as she massaged her neck and shoulders.
Resting her head upon a bath pillow she closed her eyes and ran her tongue mindlessly across her lips. They were numb. Too much wine. Feeling lightheaded, she concentrated on the swelling sounds of the violins. With one sudsy hand above her head, she kept beat to the music, as though she were an orchestral director.
The suds, now like sticky pods against her skin, clung to her, warming with the gradual crescendo of the violins, quietly bubbling, multiplying like a growing colony. She pushed them away and concentrated on the manic plucking of strings, their quick staccato movement now like small bites up and down her legs. She opened her eyes.
Ants! Emerging from within the bubbles were thousands of tiny black spindly creatures.
She was hallucinating. Her head warm, her heart racing, the brisk, rapid tempo of the music bursting the bubbles. Surrounding her body were thousands of crawling black ants.
Frantically she splashed at the suds, her nails scraping to remove the foamy pods that now adhered to her skin like small suction cups. It was hopeless. With each frenzied movement more bubbles broke with more of the insidious black ants now crawling up her chest, into her hair and ears. Her eyes stung, her chest ached, her body burned from the inside out. She tried to pull herself from the tub, but collapsed. Her legs limp, her arms heavy. She had lost all control of her limbs. Nauseous and short of breath, her body slid back against the tub, the beat of her heart mirroring the feverish pace of Vivaldi’s final chorus. It was the last thing she heard. Suddenly, like the music, it was over, and her lifeless body slid beneath the water.
Chapter 1
My name is Carol Childs. I’m a reporter—or more correctly—I’m a middle-aged mom in transition from my role as a sales exec with KCHC, a talk radio station in Los Angeles, to that of a news reporter. Most of what I do is a balancing act. My daughter Cate is in college, and my fourteen-year-old son Charlie is more preoccupied with sports than he is in need of mothering these days. Thankfully, I have a new relationship in my life, a hot FBI agent named Eric Langdon. He seems to think I’ve got it all together.
KCHC recently had an opening in their news department and I convinced management to give me a chance. The only problem was KCHC’s news director Tyler Hunt, a one hundred and twenty-five pound boy-wonder who considered anybody over thirty-five ancient. He didn’t want me for the job but offered it to me on a probationary basis. To him, I was the world’s oldest cub reporter in need of a good story. And now, right in front of me was exactly what I needed, a damn good story.
I’d been asleep or at least in that twilight state, floating blissfully when I heard a banging on my front door. Tucked safely in Eric’s arms, I was tempted to ignore it, but the knocking was persistent. I lifted my head, careful not to disturb Eric, and peeked with one eye at the clock. It was barely six forty-five.
“Did you hear that?” he mumbled. The soft early morning stubble of his beard tickled my ear.
“No,” I said, snuggling back against his chest. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Nothing’s sounding very determined.” He sat up and I was suddenly disengaged from the crook of his arm. Without a word I slid out of bed, grabbed my robe and stumbled down the stairs toward the front door. The incessant knocking was getting louder.
“Carol! Carol! Are you home? Please, it’s an emergency.”
I opened the door to find my neighbor, Samantha Millhouse, barefoot and disheveled in a pair of sweat pants and a stained t-shirt, clutching her cell phone. Her short dark hair, usually so neatly styled, showed evidence of hot rollers on one side while the other was like an untamed bush growing out of the side of her head.
“My aunt died,” she said flatly. She sounded more annoyed than disturbed. I tightened the sash around my robe and opened the door wider.
“Pepper?” My voice must have raised an octave. “I just saw her on TV last night at the Silver Screen Awards.”
“She’s dead!” she said as she stepped inside the door. “Her housekeeper found her, looks like she drowned. I need to use your phone. My cell died while we were talking and I’m going to need to call my assistant, Andrew.”
I nodded in the direction of the kitchen. Sam pushed by me. “Arminta said she found her body in the tub. When she came into the house this morning she heard music coming from my aunt’s bedroom upstairs. She went to check on her and there she was, drowned.”
“Are you okay?”
Sam exhaled and reached for the phone. I watched as she took the receiver off the hook then swung around and looked at me. “You know there was never any love lost between us.”
I knew Sam’s relationship with her aunt was rocky. It was apparent to me the two didn’t get along the day I moved into the complex with my son Charlie. Sam’s Aunt Pepper had stopped by with one of her clients, a young starlet named Amber Marx, who happens to be my son’s big celebrity crush. For about two seconds I think he thought Amber, not Sam, might be our new neighbor. She was standing outside Sam’s place smoking as we came up the walk, trying very hard to avoid the scene going on inside. Pepper was raging. I don’t think there was a soul in the neighborhood who couldn’t hear her screaming.
I glanced over at the coffee pot on the kitchen counter. In another minute it’d turn on automatically. I needed a cup. “Is there anything you need me to do?”
She looked like she was about to answer when Eric’s cell phone rang. I turned to see Eric, standing at the top of the stairs, barefoot with a towel wrapped around his waist looking like he was ready to model for a fitness magazine. He held his cell to his ear and from the serious look on his face I knew the call was from the FBI.
Sam looked back at me apologetically. “I’m sorry, Carol, I thought you were alone.”
I glanced up at Eric. I’ve got this. With my thumb and little finger to my head I motioned I’d call later, then turned my attention back to Sam. She was on the phone with her assistant. I could hear her giving instructions on what to do and who to call. I waited for her to finish. I was chomping at the bit to learn more. News of Pepper Millhouse’s death was big. I needed to call the station.
Chapter 2
Tyler Hunt has a constitution I could set a clock to. I called to give him a heads-up on Pepper’s death but he wasn’t answering. When I got to the radio station, I saw Tyler heading to the men’s room with his newspaper and crossword puzzle, as was his habit this time of day. I raced down the hall after him, but too late. The door swung closed in my face. I debated whether or not to knock, then decided I’d given it my best effort.
