"She was, but once she married the boss, she became a silent partner in his business and gave up acting."

Maleah parked the rental in front of a modern architectural creation of white stucco-two levels, walls of floor-to-ceiling windows, and a breathtaking view of the Pacific. She let out a long, low whistle. "What's this place worth?"

"The estimated worth is $11,950,000, which makes it one of the less pricey pieces of real estate along this stretch of Malibu."

"That means he's far from broke, at least not until the new wife divorces him and gets her half."

"Won't happen. She signed a prenup. Unless she stays married to Dillard until he dies, she gets one million in cash and that's it. Guess the guy finally wised up."

Maleah grunted. As far as she was concerned Travis Dillard was a sc.u.mbag, the lowest of the low, who catered to the baser elements of human nature and preyed on stupid young girls with stars in their eyes.

She opened the car door and got out, meeting Derek under the vine-covered overhang that protected the front entrance.

"Pull in your claws and play nice," Derek told her. "If Dillard senses your hostility, he'll clam up immediately and refuse to cooperate. We want him friendly and talkative. Whatever you do, do not accuse him of anything. Got it?"

"Don't talk to me as if I'm some green recruit who doesn't know-"

The front door swung open, and standing just over the threshold, a small Asian man of indeterminate age stared at them.

"We're here to see Travis Dillard," Maleah said.

"We have an appointment," Derek added. "We're with the Powell Agency. I'm Derek Lawrence and the lady is Maleah Perdue."

"Come this way, please. Mr. Dillard is expecting you." Without a backward glance, the man walked off, leaving Maleah and Derek to follow him.

A rectangular tiger-print rug covered the foyer's ceramic porcelain tile floor and an elaborately decorated Chinese cabinet, painted black and red, stood against the left wall. They entered the huge living room, at least 30' x 30', two of the four walls filled with windows that overlooked the Pacific. Maleah barely stifled a startled gasp when she saw the expansive view of beach and ocean. But she managed to focus on the bone-thin, bald man who rose from one of the two white sofas flanking the stucco fireplace.

This old, haggard, bald man was Travis Dillard? He looked much older than sixty-six, more like eighty-six. And although he still resembled the photo they had of him, she would have pegged him for Dillard's father instead of the man himself. But then cancer could do that to a person, ravage their body and render them gaunt and pale.

"Ms. Perdue and Mr. Lawrence to see you, sir," the man who had met them at the front door announced.

"Thank you, Louie." Travis smiled, flicked the ashes from his cigar, and placed it, still smoking, in an ashtray on the gla.s.s and steel coffee table. "Please, you two come in. Come in and take a seat."

Maleah noticed the half-empty gla.s.s of liquor-her guess would be whiskey-on a tile coaster beside the ashtray. When a guy was dying, she supposed it didn't matter how much he drank and smoked.

She and Derek sat on the white sofa across from the identical one on which Dillard sat.

"You're from some private detective agency, right?" Dillard asked.

"The Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency," Maleah replied.

"Hmm...that's the one headed up by that famous guy-what's-his-name Powell, the billionaire."

"That's correct. Griffin Powell," Derek said. "And the agency has been hired by the families of Hilary Finch Chambless and Dean Wilson to do a private investigation into Mrs. Chambless's and Mr. Wilson's deaths."

"d.a.m.n shame about Hilary and Dean. And Charlie, too. I was just saying that to Louie"-he tossed up his hand and pointed at his servant still standing at attention halfway across the room-"earlier today. Good people, all three of them."

Maleah supposed that in Travis Dillard's world the three victims had been good people. But not in the real world, the one inhabited by the vast majority.

"Oh, yeah, either of you care for something to drink? Louie can make tea or coffee or mix up a c.o.c.ktail or-"

"Nothing, thank you," Maleah said, her voice a bit sterner than she had intended.

Dillard dismissed his servant with a quick glance before he focused on Maleah, studying her for a couple of seconds. "You got the looks, honey. How old are you? Twenty-eight? Thirty? They prefer 'em younger and younger these days, but there's a market for older chicks like you."

"I beg your pardon?" Maleah glared at the old man. Had he actually told her that she had what it took to be a p.o.r.no star? When she heard an odd sound coming from Derek's direction, she snapped her head around and glared at him. Noting that he was on the verge of laughing out loud, she gritted her teeth to keep from losing her temper.

"Don't take offense, honey," Dillard said. "I just paid you a compliment." He glanced at Derek. "What is it with smart, professional women that they can't take a compliment from a man when they hear one?"

I can take a compliment when I actually hear one. The comment was on the tip of Maleah's tongue, but she managed, with great difficulty, to refrain from saying it aloud. The comment was on the tip of Maleah's tongue, but she managed, with great difficulty, to refrain from saying it aloud.

Derek shrugged. d.a.m.n the man! He winked at her, then grinned at Dillard before asking, "Do you have any idea who killed three of your former stars?"

"Don't have the foggiest." He shook his head.

"How long has it been since you last saw each of them?" Maleah asked.

"Years."

"So you've had no communication with any of them recently."

"Nope."

"Do you keep in touch with any of the people-actors and others-who were a.s.sociated with Midnight Masquerade Midnight Masquerade?" Derek asked.

Dillard reached out and picked up a red binder from the sofa cushion beside him. After flipping through several pages, he paused, pulled a pair of reading gla.s.ses from his shirt pocket, and put them on. He skimmed the information and then glanced from Derek to Maleah.

"I got Louie to compile some info for me on all the people involved in the making of that particular movie. It was a good ten years ago. I've made quite a few movies since then, a few well-received independent artsy productions, with real actors." He tapped the folder with his skeletal index finger. "I read over the names of everybody who had anything to do with Midnight Masquerade Midnight Masquerade and I have to admit that there are a few I don't even remember. Not my stars, mind you, but some of the others." He grimaced as if hating the fact that his memory failed him. "To answer your question, yes, sure, I've kept in touch with a few of the people. Not many. Some are actually still in the business." and I have to admit that there are a few I don't even remember. Not my stars, mind you, but some of the others." He grimaced as if hating the fact that his memory failed him. "To answer your question, yes, sure, I've kept in touch with a few of the people. Not many. Some are actually still in the business."

"Really," Maleah said. "Who's still in the business? And who are you still in touch with?"

"Well, Laura Lou Roberts, one of the two writers who worked on Masquerade Masquerade, is still writing for a few other producers even though she's battling emphysema. She's an A-number-one b.i.t.c.h, but she writes the kind of stuff I want. And she's getting a little long in the tooth at nearly sixty, but it's not like she's showing her t.i.ts and a.s.s on film."

Dillard laughed, the sound grating on Maleah's nerves. This guy really is a sleaze. This guy really is a sleaze.

"Anyone else?" Maleah tried not to show her disgust.

"One of the cameramen, Jeff Misner, is a director now. He directed my last film, Down and Dirty Down and Dirty, a few years back. He's married to the former Puff Raven, aka Jean Goins. She was in Midnight Midnight, too. She's doing some hot videos for the Internet and getting filthy rich. And I used to hear from Sonny s.h.a.g Deguzman, up until last year. He was over in Europe somewhere and I suppose he's still there. As far as I know, the other cameraman on that movie, Kyle Richey, is in Mexico. The first few years he was down there, he sent me some eager young things dying to be in the movies." Dillard lowered his voice to a whisper. "Young girls, if you know what I mean."

Yes, Maleah knew exactly what he meant. Underage girls, some as young as eleven or twelve, who were s.e.xually exploited and those depraved acts were filmed by ruthless, criminal sc.u.mbags like Dillard.

Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Derek jumped in quickly and said, "Can you think of anything that happened during the filming of Masquerade Masquerade that could have created some really bad feelings? You know, jealousy, professional or personal? Any fights? Any problems that resulted in violence, even if only minor altercations?" that could have created some really bad feelings? You know, jealousy, professional or personal? Any fights? Any problems that resulted in violence, even if only minor altercations?"

Maleah took a deep breath, her heart gradually slowing to a normal rate as the anger boiling inside her subsided. For once, she was thankful to Derek for b.u.t.ting in and stopping her from shooting off her mouth. If she'd said anything whatsoever, the loathing and revulsion she felt for Travis Dillard would have been more than obvious. And antagonizing the depraved old b.a.s.t.a.r.d would do nothing to help them solve this case.

"h.e.l.l, there was always catfights among the women. That was a given," Dillard said, a smirking grin on his wrinkled face. "Nothing like a couple of naked broads rolling around on the floor, scratching and pulling hair."

"Any fights out of the ordinary?" Derek asked.

"I know where this is going. And the answer is no, I don't recall any incident that would make me suspect someone connected to Masquerade Masquerade has gone on a killing spree ten years after the fact." Dillard reached out and picked up his whiskey gla.s.s, took a swallow, and shuddered. "Sure neither of you want a drink? This is eighteen-year-old Macallan scotch, costs me a hundred and sixty dollars a bottle, but it's worth every penny." has gone on a killing spree ten years after the fact." Dillard reached out and picked up his whiskey gla.s.s, took a swallow, and shuddered. "Sure neither of you want a drink? This is eighteen-year-old Macallan scotch, costs me a hundred and sixty dollars a bottle, but it's worth every penny."

"I'm tempted," Derek said amiably. "But no thanks."

"Who handled the fan mail for your actors?" Maleah kept her voice calm and even.

"My secretary handled everything that came in for the actors I represented. The others-I have no idea."

"Were there any threatening letters after the release of Masquerade Masquerade? Or any particular zealous fan who-?"

"There was that one guy." Dillard grunted. "d.a.m.n. Can't remember his name. Henry? Hewitt? Nah, doesn't sound right." He snapped his fingers. "Hines. His name was Hines."

"What about this guy named Hines?" Derek asked.

"He's a p.o.r.no movie aficionado and a huge fan. He tried to get on the set a couple of times. Had to have him escorted off. He wrote to just about every actor in the movie more than once. I thought at the time the guy seemed obsessed with that one movie in particular."

"Does Mr. Hines have a first name?" Maleah looked Dillard in the eye.

"Yeah, sure, I just can't put my finger on it, but I can get Louie to call Etta and see if she remembers."

"Etta?" Derek and Maleah asked simultaneously.

"My old secretary. She'd probably remember the guy's name. h.e.l.l, she might even still have some of the letters he wrote. My actors never answered their own fan mail, you know. That was part of Etta's job."

"How can we get in touch with Etta?" Maleah asked.

"I'll get Louie to call her. We keep in touch. She and her latest girlfriend even come over for dinner occasionally. They live here in Malibu. She rents an apartment on Las Flores Canyon Road. If she's home, I'll ask her to come over and you can talk to her this evening."

"Thank you," Derek said.

For the life of her, Maleah couldn't thank this slimy old b.a.s.t.a.r.d, not even when he had given them their first real lead in their case.

"I want to know why you've got Tyrell following me everywhere I go," Shontee screamed at Tony. She was angry and hurt because she thought he didn't trust her. What had she ever done to make him think that she would betray him in any way? "d.a.m.n it, tell me why! I have a right to know why you believe you can't trust me."

"Stop your b.i.t.c.hing, woman." Tony tried to grab her by the shoulders, but she jerked away from him and planted her hands on her hips. "Don't act like this."

Shontee's bottom lip trembled. Tears pooled in her eyes.

"Baby, I can't stand seeing you so upset." He held open his arms. "I trust you. I swear I do. I've had Tyrell following you to protect you."

Shontee swallowed and then swiped the teardrops from her eyelashes. "Protect me from what? From who? Has somebody you do business with threatened you?"

Tony shook his head. "n.o.body would dare threaten me."

"Please, tell me-"

"Just wait here," he said as he walked across the room to his wall safe hidden behind a sleek platinum-framed mirror.

She waited, nervous and uncertain, as Tony opened the safe, reached inside, and pulled out several plain white envelopes. He closed the safe and turned to her. What was in those envelopes? Photos of her from the past?

When she stared at the envelopes, he held them out to her. "They're pretty much identical, all four of them. You know my a.s.sistant opens all our mail and-"

"I know, I know." She grabbed the envelopes out of his hand.

"You've received a letter each month, starting in late December. The fourth one arrived this past Sat.u.r.day."

Her hand trembled. "Why did you keep these from me? Why hide them away in your safe?"

"Read one of them," Tony told her.

She dropped three of the envelopes down on the armchair near where she stood, then inspected the one she held in her hand. Her name stood out against the stark white background. There was no return address, only a Knoxville, Tennessee, postmark. Slowly, cautiously, she eased the single typed page from the envelope, unfolded it and read the brief note.

Midnight is coming. Say your prayers. Ask for forgiveness. Get your affairs in order. You're on the list. Be prepared. You don't know when it will be your turn. Will you be the next to die?

"Oh my G.o.d!" She released her hold on the letter and let it float down onto the floor. "Tony?"

When he held open his arms this time, she raced into the comforting embrace he offered.

"Now you understand why I've had Tyrell keeping a close watch over you whenever I'm not around. Somebody is threatening you, baby, and I haven't been able to find out who the motherf.u.c.ker is."

Etta Muro handed Travis Dillard a large manila envelope, then turned and shook hands with Maleah and Derek. The woman was at least six feet tall, rawboned, darkly tanned, and sported a short, spiked haircut. She wore billowy beige gauze pants and a matching blouse. A large gold and turquoise pendant hung from a leather chain around her neck. Maleah guessed that she was close to sixty and one of the few women in the LA area who hadn't had cosmetic surgery, although she kept her hair dyed a bright reddish orange.

"We appreciate your meeting with us," Derek said, offering the woman his charm-the-birds-from-the-trees smile. The only problem was that this particular bird preferred her own s.e.x, so his machismo was totally lost on her.

"Travis told me that this involves a murder investigation, that somebody killed Woody and Hilary and our sweet Charlie." Etta shook her head. "Now, who'd do something like that?"

"What's in here?" Travis held up the large overstuffed envelope.

"Fan letters that we received about Midnight Masquerade Midnight Masquerade," she told him. "I've got the folder labeled. Put on your gla.s.ses so you can read." She turned her attention back to Derek. "Most of that mail was for Hilary, a few for the other women, and even some for the guys."

"Mr. Dillard said there was one fan in particular who was obsessed with this movie," Derek said. "He believes the guy's last name is Hines."

"Duane Hines," Etta stated emphatically. "He wrote a letter to everyone in the movie. He'd written to Hilary before then, and wrote to several of the stars later about other movies they were in. The guy's a real nut. We had to have him arrested once when he attacked one of our guards who had escorted him off the set."

"When is the last time Duane Hines contacted anyone involved in Midnight Masquerade Midnight Masquerade?" Maleah asked.

"He's a persistent cuss, I'll give him that." Etta grunted. "He sent Hilary another letter sometime last fall. And come to think of it, he sent one to another of the actors from Masquerade Masquerade at the same time. The bosomy redhead." Etta rubbed her chin. "Nice girl. Not cut out for our business. She used the name Cherry Sweets." Etta chuckled as she glanced at Travis. "She was one you never did nail, wasn't she?" at the same time. The bosomy redhead." Etta rubbed her chin. "Nice girl. Not cut out for our business. She used the name Cherry Sweets." Etta chuckled as she glanced at Travis. "She was one you never did nail, wasn't she?"

Travis snorted. "It was only a matter of time. If she'd stayed around long enough, she would have spread her legs for me."

"Lorie Hammonds," Etta said. "That was her real name. I wonder what ever happened to her."