Cat Scratch Cleaver

is trying to pass off this bathwater as my libation. I’d better hit the bar and find me a real man to spike my drink. I’ll be back.” She squints over at Darby. “Don’t get too friendly with present company.” She takes off, and he blows out a breath of what seems to be relief.
“It’s almost as if she could read my mind.” He grimaces my way. “Did I just say that out loud?”
“I think it’s the iced tea talking.” I’m willing to give him a pass. “That was some night last night. How are you holding up?”
He squints so hard his eyes disappear for a second as they succumb to mounds of pink flesh.
“My trick knee has been giving me trouble,” he says. “I’ve got a molar that’s darn near abscessed, and I haven’t moved my bowels in three days.” He picks up his drink. “Nothing a couple of these won’t cure.”
“Here’s hoping.” Okay, so he’s an over sharer. That might just work in my favor. “But what about the murder?” I shake my head as I whisper. “Did you know the poor girl? Heather Kent?”
“Not well.” His brows knit together as he pulls his drink in close. “But you could say I was the one who helped land her the role in the film to begin with.”
“What?” I scoot next to him another notch, not wanting to miss a thing.
“That’s right.” A cheesy grin glides across his face. Now that she thinks I’m a gatekeeper, she’s suddenly interested again. He glances to the proximity of our chairs and I promptly scoot right back. He scowls before leaning in. “See that guy behind you?”
I turn and catch another glimpse of Peter Olsen and the brunette Bobbsey Twins nibbling on his ears. It’s an off-putting sight, especially knowing he’s married.
“Hey?” I pretend to be surprised to see him. “Isn’t that the producer?”
“Director,” he corrects.
“You’re so smart. I’m still new to all this,” I say and watch as his ego inflates ten times its natural size. Something tells me Darby here likes to impress the ladies at every turn. “But how did you help Heather?”
Knew it. He chuckles to himself. Ms. Blue Eyes here is hoping I’ll do the same for her.
He leans in so close, I can smell his cheap cologne, coupled with an intense garlic scent coming from his mouth.
“The truth is, I came here looking for a part myself,” he confesses. “All the local writers, producers, directors like to hang out here. Mostly men. But then, men make the world go round. Am I right?”
I give a wry smile that says you’re pushing it, buddy, and he waves it off.
“Anyway”—he’s back to leaning in hard, and I’m about ready to pass out from the smell—“I bought his drinks for a couple weeks straight while he talked to the ladies about roles and whatnot.”
I’m guessing it’s the whatnot that Jane Olsen was so irate about.
“And Heather was one of the girls?”
“That’s right. I bought her drinks, too. She was a regular here. Peter’s Girl they called her.”
“Do you think they were having an affair?”
He frowns over at me. “What, do I look naïve? I may have bought my way into his movies by way of hard liquor, but Heather was required to make a meatier payment, if you know what I mean.”
“About a hundred pounds of flesh.”
“You got that right.” He lifts his drink as if toasting Heather’s effort. “And just between you and me, Peter really did like her.”
“As in he was willing to trade in his wife?” There’s no sense in ignoring the matrimonial elephant in the room.
He shakes his head. “Let’s not get crazy. Jane is his first wife. And rumor has it, they got hitched without a prenup. It’s not easy to get rid of a woman like that without feeling a punch to your wallet.”
“Oh, so he sneaks around.”
He shakes his head. “Peter Olsen doesn’t need to sneak,” he whispers. “She knew what she was signing up for. Jane was the female lead in three of his first films. She knows how the game is played.” She played it well herself.
“I was in a scene with her last night, and she was in a mood. I’m thinking she didn’t like Heather.”
The truth is, she didn’t like Peter, but he’s not the one that’s dead.
Hey? Maybe she found them together and killed the wrong person? That would explain the wet sand on her feet.
“Maybe she didn’t like Heather.” Darby swills the drink in his hand. “But for the most part, she and Heather pretty much gave one another the cold shoulder. Jane and Peter are notorious for having blowouts on set. Jane likes to threaten Peter with divorce now and again. It’s a game they play.”
The exact game I found them embroiled in last night.
“Did Peter have a beef with Heather?”
He cuts a glance in the slimy director’s direction.
“I don’t know. But I do know that after weeks of being lovey-dovey, Heather was icing him out. Rumor had it, now that she landed the role, she was moving on to bigger, younger, fish—Bates Barlow.”
“Bates?” I tip my head, considering this. “He is all the rage among the single ladies.”
“And not so single. In our line of work, it’s considered schmoozing with the right crowd. You can’t really limit yourself to the people who wear a wedding ring.”
Or those who don’t wear one on purpose.
I glance back to Peter and affirm my naked finger suspicions.
“So Heather was rebuffing his advances. And Peter really liked her,” I say, mostly to myself. “I bet a man like Peter isn’t used to being turned down.”
“And so publicly,” Darby adds. “It was a bruise to his ego when she started making out with Bates on set, that’s for sure. He was so mad the first time it happened, I thought he was gonna kill her then and there.”
My mouth falls open. “Darby, do you think Peter killed Heather?”
His gaze flits to the scene behind me. “No.” Maybe, but I won’t