Reading Online Novel

Scandal:The Complete Series(9)



“You’ll be better off working from home,” Mark suggested. And then after a pause, “Take care, Ella.” His tone was so sincere it caused tears to well. I left quickly before the waterworks could begin.

So here I am now, in the crammed, tiny living-room of my second-floor apartment in Studio City with a TV dinner. I compare my notes against the spreadsheet that Rick Esposito emailed me this morning. I have no idea why he’s being so helpful, but I’m not going to ask any questions.

I would not put it past Mark to have something on Detective Esposito and to have hinted he could keep his secrets just that. It has long been rumored that The Daily Scandal has a secret file on various law enforcement officials as such information proves quite useful in greasing the wheels.

Esposito has mapped out Madison’s trajectory from the time she left home at eight in the morning of the 22nd till she was found dead on the morning of the 23rd. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. Madison drove to her usual coffee shop and then met with Rita North on Rodeo Drive for some shopping before they both arrived at the building of The Next Big Thing for a scheduled rehearsal.

According to Esposito’s notes, Jaxson Cole arrived at the agency a little after three in the afternoon but didn’t speak with Madison until the evening.

I close my eyes, trying to piece all the information together step by step, before I decide I need to drink something cool to help my sketchy lunch go down. I’m about to get up from the couch when a note on the side of Esposito’s spreadsheet catches my attention.

Rick Esposito has typed down that Jaxson and Madison had ended their dating relationship only days before she was murdered in her own bed. Two asterisks next to the note suggest that Esposito finds this fact extremely significant. Does this make Jaxson Cole a suspect? On what basis? Jealousy? Anger? Was it even Madison who ended things?

Surely, he must have an alibi?

I don’t know why it bugs me so much, but being suspicious of Jaxson doesn’t sit well with me. I need him to be one of the good guys which makes no sense unless I already have feelings for him—making me the most selfish human on planet Earth.

I linger between two options—start writing my first draft of the events as I know them so far, or call Rick Esposito and ask for clarifications—when my phone rings.

As a principle, I don’t pick up when the caller ID is anonymous, but given the extraordinary circumstances, I go ahead and answer. “Hello?”

“Ella Wade.”

His voice sounds annoyingly cheerful and even enthusiastic. It takes me a few seconds to get my bearings. “Jaxson Cole,” I say, trying to imitate him.

“You and I should talk.”

I want to ask when and where but I somehow manage to get my shit together. “Something about Madison?”

He waits maybe ten seconds before he answers. I know because I’m staring at my watch. I need some form of distraction to keep myself from blurting out anything embarrassing.

“Yes, something like that. Something you’d want to know.”

Now it’s my turn to sound busy, so I silently count to five before I speak. “Okay, when do you want to meet?”

“How about now?”

“Now?” My jaw drops and my heart tries to escape my throat.

“Do you have anything better to do, Ella?”

“I have to work, you know. I somehow have to feed and dress myself.”

“You’re at home.”

What the fuck? “How do you know that?”

He laughs which doesn’t exactly put my mind at ease. Instead, my thoughts get busy in the most annoying kind of way. What if he is a murderer after all and wants to do away with me like he did Madison?

“Well?” I say, nervously biting on my nails. “Let’s hear it. How do you know where I am?”

“Relax, I’m not a stalker. I called your workplace first. They actually gave me your number.”

Oh—my—God, can I be any more stupid? The first thing I should have asked him was how he got my number. I never gave it to him, duh! “All right,” I say, “I will need an hour or two to finish up what I’m doing. Where do you want to meet?”

*

A fucking private strip club, that’s where. Of all the places in the vast Pacific city of Los Angeles, Jaxson Cole wants me to meet him at a place where girls take off their clothes in front of random strangers for money.

To my defense, I didn’t know what I was walking into until this very moment when I find myself outside the small club with the misleading name of Peach Corner on a bright neon sign.

Jaxson shows up a minute later in faded jeans and a navy blue t-shirt, his dirty blond hair pulled back, green-blue eyes bright as the sun in the late afternoon. The tan, muscled skin of his arms and neck emit the fragrance of the sea, salty and windswept. He leans in to give me a quick hug, briefly tapping my back as if I were a small pet.