Mann.â An ominous music sting over a picture of Dick and Betty Bradford Mann at the Emmys. âFelina Lopez and Dick Mann were lovers, according to one woman who knew them bothâa woman who also worked as a call girl. Weâve disguised her identity here.â
No duh. The woman on the screen wore a wig, sunglasses, and was photographed entirely in shadow. A caption read â MISSY â: FORMER HOLLYWOOD PROSTITUTE .
âFelina and Dick were dating for almost a year,â said the woman. Her voice had been electronically altered. She sounded like sheâd been sucking helium underwater.
âHow did they meet?â Grassley asked from offscreen. From the odd break between the statement and the question, I guessed that the interview had actually been done by some anonymous producer with Grassley dubbing in his questions later. Just another bit of fudging with the facts.
âHe started as a client of the agency where we both worked.â
âAnd youâre telling me that their relationship developed from a prostitute and her client to something more.â
âI always had that impression. Felina talked about him all the time.â
âBut he was married. To Betty Bradford Mann.â A quick cutaway to a telephoto shot of the actress leaving her husbandâs funeral.
âHe was married. Felina knew it. We all did.â
Frank put on a stern face. âMissyâdo you think Felina Lopezâs tragic death might have something to do with this book she was planning to write?â
âI donât know.â
Back to Via del Paraiso, where Frank Grassley stood on the beach like a Ken doll. âThere you have it, Mary. We tried to reach Betty Bradford Mann for comment, but she was unavailable. We also tried to reach this manââ
âKieran!â yelped Claudia.
It was a picture of me.
Some freelance video photographerâ videorazzi was the wordâhad caught me standing in front of a buffet table. They say the camera puts on fifteen pounds, but here it looked more like thirty. In the footage, I was gnawing on a spring roll like a mook.
âThis is Kieran OâConnor, a former entertainment columnist who was ghostwriting the project with Felina Lopez. We tried all day to contact Mr. OâConnor, but, Maryâ¦â Frank took a pause that was not only pregnant but ready to deliver. âHe couldnât be located.â
Mary Lasater sucked in the skin below her cheek implants. âI hope heâs okay.â
âWe all do,â said Frank Grassley, âand weâll keep trying to locate him. In the meantime, weâll have Part Two of our exclusive interview with Missy tomorrow.â
I aimed the remote like a gun and zapped the TV. The image died.
âKieran, they made it sound like youâd gotten kidnapped or gone into hiding!â
âItâs just something Frank Grassley would pull. I wouldnât return his call and heâs not smart enough to find me, so he gets even by making it sound like a case for the FBI.â
Claudia sighed. âSo you think the book is off?â
âI donât know, Claude. I just donât know.â
Claudia went back to the shop about eight and I did a couple loads of clothes. No matter how little or how much you bring on a trip, all your clothes come back dirty. After a long, not particularly relaxing bath, all I could find to wear was a T-shirt and a pair of Halloween boxers patterned with pumpkins.
I poured myself a glass of wine and laid down on the bed to read the transcripts, listening to the soft drizzle on the roof. Before long, I had dozed off.
The phone woke me.
My head jerked up from the drool-spotted pillow. Eleven oâclock. I heard the machine pick up, and then a dial tone. Whoever was calling had hung up.
I laid down again, uneasy. Claudia would have left a message. My guess was Frank Grassley.
Twice more during the night the phone rang, but I
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