“You couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman?”
“No. It was quite dark and sound gets distorted in that big, tiled room.”
“How do you know that person killed Gloria Maitland?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Irene admitted. “But I think that, under the circumstances, the situation warrants a full investigation.”
“You mean because Miss Maitland had an affair with Nick Tremayne? And because rumor has it that he ended things, and because Tremayne just happened to be staying at the Burning Cove Hotel at the time of the death?”
“I see you read my story very carefully.”
“Yes, indeed,” Mildred said.
“There was someone else in the spa last night,” Irene said. “I think that at the very least the police should find and interview that individual, don’t you?”
Mildred pursed her lips. “I’m afraid it’s not going to be that simple. This is Burning Cove.”
“You mean the authorities here are as corrupt as they are back in L.A.?”
“You didn’t hear me say that.” Mildred raised one shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “According to the Herald, the lady who discovered the body was very upset. It says she was likely suffering from a case of shattered nerves.”
“Do I look like I’m suffering from a case of bad nerves?”
“No,” Mildred admitted. “What are you going to do next?”
“I’m here to cover a story,” Irene said. “That’s what I intend to do.”
“We’ll see. Good luck to you is all I can say.”
Chapter 9
“What is it with actors?” Earnest Ogden tossed the copy of Whispers onto his desk, got to his feet, and walked to the window. “They’re all the same. I swear, the hotter the star, the more likely he is to get into trouble. If only their brains matched their looks and their talent. Damned fools, all of them. Pardon my language, Miss Ross.”
Maxine Ross glanced up from her stenography notebook. “Of course, Mr. Ogden.”
As usual, she was cool and unruffled. It was, after all, not the first time she had heard the lament about temperamental, neurotic actors or a bit of rough language. She was a professional. She also happened to be one of the few females employed by the studio who had never had aspirations to become a star. She was unflappable, a steady, calming influence in a business built on overheated passions, dreams, ambitions, and too much money.
Glumly, Ogden contemplated the scene outside his second-floor office window. From where he stood he could see an array of large, enclosed soundstages, the commissary, and the wardrobe department. Beyond was the big backlot used for outdoor scenes. That week they were filming a western, a staple of the business. You could always sell westerns, Ogden thought. The façade of a frontier town had been set up—a saloon, the sheriff’s office, the bank that was destined to be robbed, and a general store—and all of it fake. That was the movie business for you. It sold illusions. He did love it so.
The whole establishment, from backlot to executive offices, was, in effect, a secure compound surrounded by high walls. Access was controlled through high, ornate gates manned by tough security guards. Theoretically the walls and the guards were there to protect the privacy of the stars and prevent interference with the filmmaking process. But sometimes it felt as if he worked for a fancy prison or a secret government agency.
He was a very well-paid nanny to a bunch of spoiled actors and actresses. He routinely saved prominent talents who went on drinking binges and got involved in hit-and-run incidents. He made morals charges against actors with a fondness for underage sex partners disappear. He paid off women who claimed a star had raped them or that they were pregnant with a star’s love child. He hushed up rumors of homosexuality. And so it went. He could fix just about any problem that came up.
“What’s done is done,” he said. “Nick Tremayne is very important to the studio, so obviously we will have to clean up this mess.”
“Yes, sir,” Maxine said.
She waited, pen poised above her notebook.
Ogden considered his options. He lived by three simple rules. Rule Number One: Identify the problem. Rule Number Two: Identify the source of the problem. Rule Number Three: Identify the pressure points and apply whatever pressure was required to make a problem disappear.
Most of the time, money was all that was needed. Money persuaded cops and judges to look the other way. Money persuaded women to cease making accusations of rape. Money kept blackmailers quiet.
But sometimes more forceful measures were required.
“The problem, Miss Ross, is that a gossip columnist has published completely false rumors about Nick Tremayne in a cheap Hollywood scandal sheet.”