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  LIVE AND LET LIE

  A Short Cat Sinclair Mystery #0.5

  Carolyn Scott

  Copyright 2014 Carolyn Scott

  Visit Carolyn at http://carolynscottbooks.com

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  Hollywood is full of fakes. Some are just more obvious than others.

  Like almost everyone in L.A., Cat Sinclair is an actress. Sometimes. When the roles are scarce, she works as a temp waitress for anyone who will pay. But taking a job for producer Angela Levine means she needs to polish up more than her acting skills. In a night where jewelry is stolen, affairs are exposed and liars are everywhere, it's left to Cat to unravel the truth.

  LIVE AND LET LIE is a prequel short story to the Cat Sinclair Mystery series, starring Cat, the ex-actress, wannabe P.I. and terrible secretary who likes to drive her sexy boss crazy. The story takes place when Cat is still living the dream in Hollywood. Only sometimes that dream turns into a nightmare. At 14,000 words, LIVE AND LET LIE is a quick read to introduce you to the first book in the series, FINDERS KEEPERS LOSERS DIE.

  CHAPTER 1

  I couldn't believe my luck when I scored a job working for one of Hollywood's biggest producers. It was only a temp waitressing position for her big party and not a part in her next movie, but it was better than scrubbing the toilets. Even I had a limit on how low I'd sink. When I moved to Hollywood some seven years ago, I'd vowed never to do two things—fuck the producers or clean for them. One of those things I'd done, but he'd been hot, single, and the movie part he gave me had no lines. No one could claim I'd slept with him to get it.

  There would be no sleeping with Angela Levine either. Neither of us bent that way, and besides, she had one of the hottest husbands in Hollywood. By all accounts, Dante Ramirez was amazing in bed. Ask almost any starlet. He'd slept with dozens apparently, and not all of them before he got married. None of his conquests would tell Angela to her face though, or they’d risk never working in Hollywood again. Believe it or not, there are some producers who still use that phrase—You'll never work in this town again! Probably more out of nostalgia than any real intention of going through with the threat.

  I smiled my way past the throng of guests congregated in Angela's Maple Drive mansion and spilling out onto her back porch. Some plucked champagne glasses off my tray or gave me their empty ones. One pinched my ass. None returned my smile.

  The party was only two hours old, but already some of the freeloaders were well on their way to getting drunk. Another two hours and it would get messy. Lucky for me and the other wait staff—we got to stay until the end and see who embarrassed themselves. It was one of the few perks of doing temp waiting work for the big names. Believe me, there weren't many others. I certainly hadn't heard of anyone scoring a big role out of doing this. The most anyone had ever gotten was an STD after sleeping with one of the guests. We lowly extras had to get our amusements where we could, and watching the stars make fools of themselves was one of life's free pleasures.

  "Excuse me, Cat," whispered a thickly accented voice. I turned to see Sofia, one of the other waitresses, sidling up to me. She pretended to rearrange the glasses on her tray while I kept my gaze peeled for Angela. Our employer was not known to be kind to idle staff.

  "Everything okay?" I asked.

  Sofia was a beautiful young Mexican woman keen to be the next Salma Hayek. She could do it too, with that gorgeous figure and the most soulful eyes I'd ever seen. All she needed was to improve her English and the right role would come her way. I was sure of it and I'd told her so when I met her at the beginning of the night. I'd also told her that she looked familiar, but after tossing around several of our previous credits, we hadn’t figured out a connection.

  She tucked her hair back and touched her earlobe. It seemed to be a nervous habit of hers. "The Ev-ster wishes to see you," she said.

  Hearing Sofia call him 'The Ev-ster' in her formal, accented English made me smile. It sounded wrong, like mixing caviar with peanut butter.

  The Ev-ster was Evan, my ex. We'd dated a couple of years ago, back when he still possessed a handful of brain cells. He'd also scored a job working as Angela's kitchen hand for the party, although why anyone would let him near hot things and knives was a mystery. He was more likely to use the stove to light up a joint.

  "What are you two doing?" snapped Angela, coming up behind us. Damn. I should have been more alert. "You're here to work, not talk. There are people down by the pool without drinks. Serve them."

  Sofia lowered her head. "Si, Mrs. Levine. So sorry, Mrs. Levine."

  "It's Ms."

  "Si, Ms. Levine." Sofia tucked her hair behind her ear again. The gemstones in her earrings sparkled in the low light.

  Angela's eyes narrowed. Her nostrils flared as she squared her shoulders in defiance. I got the impression Sofia's youth and beauty threatened Angela, despite her expensive cocktail dress that showed off a trim figure. Sofia and I wore conservative black maids' outfits that she somehow managed to make look sexy. Mine was too big and hung like a sack on my thin frame.

  I'd always thought Angela attractive for a woman in her mid-forties, but ever since meeting her that afternoon, I'd changed my mind. She may have had a great body, enhanced by the dress, but she had a tight slit of a mouth surrounded by more tiny lines than a woman her age should have. It spoke of pursed lips and frequent scolding. I hadn't seen her bitchy streak until tonight, although I had heard of it. Everyone in Hollywood had heard of it. She was infamous for hiring and firing assistants as frequently as she changed underwear. Since arriving at the mansion that afternoon to prepare for the evening, I'd heard Angela yell at her assistant every chance she got. The poor woman was a quivering mess by the time the party started.

  Luckily for Dante, Angela treated her husband better than her staff. He'd been all over her when I saw them together just moments before their first guests arrived. They'd kissed like teenage lovers in front of all of us.

  The cynic in me thought the young, charming Dante was with her because she was rich and powerful. But seeing them together had made me wonder if he actually loved her. After all, he wasn't getting parts in her movies, so he wasn't trying to further his career. He wasn't even an actor. His background was in the circus, weirdly. Mind you, seeing him in acrobat's tights wouldn't be something I'd say no to.

  "It's my fault," I told Angela. "I stopped Sofia."

  Sofia shot me a small smile of thanks and rushed off toward the pool. Angela folded her arms and watched her go.

  "I'll be having words with my assistant," she said with a toss of her blonde hair. "No more foreigners." She stalked off through the double French doors, but paused in the living room before quickly stepping back out into a shadowy part of the porch again. She peeked around the corner and glanced through the doors.

  I followed her gaze to the entrance foyer beyond. Dante walked up the grand staircase with a woman I recognized—Hollywood's current It Girl, Naomi Radcliff. The foyer was ablaze with light from the crystal chandelier dangling above their heads. It turned their teeth dazzlingly white as they smiled at one another, although Dante wasn't looking directly at Naomi. He was scanning the foyer and the living room. He would have spotted me, but I doubt he saw his wife skulking in the shadows nearby.

  Well, well. It would seem Mr. Angela Levine was having an affair right under his wife's nose—and now she knew about it.

  It wasn't surprising. Everyone in Hollywood seemed to be fucking someone else. It was the most amoral place I'd been to. Not that I'd been to many places. I grew up in a middle-class suburb in Illinois with the world's most boring parents. Dad had been a cop before he turned private eye, and no, it wasn't as exciting as it sounded. He and his younger partner had mostly corporate clients. Th
ey spent their day spying on employees taking too long for lunch then typing up reports. Dad tried to get me to be his secretary before he retired a couple years ago, but I'd rather have pulled my eyeballs out through my nostrils. Being stuck behind a desk all day would have driven me nuts. Even serving drinks for the world's biggest bitch was better than that.

  Besides, I couldn't have worked with Dad. We would have killed each other within a week. He liked normal, average, careful. According to him, life should follow a pattern. Go to college, get a job, get married, and have babies so the cycle could begin all over again. Sadly for him, he got me as a daughter. I left home for Hollywood as soon as I could. It's not that I had a burning desire to be an actress, it was just that it seemed like the best thing to annoy Dad at the time. I'd had years of his lectures and rules. It was time for me to grow up and make my own rules.

  Since Angela probably wouldn't do anything about Dante and Naomi during the party, I made my way to the kitchen to see why The Ev-ster wanted to see me.

  The kitchen was hot and busy with a chef and an assistant working at the large central bench arranging some sort of rolled-up pastry log on a platter. Then there was Evan, standing at the stove stirring a pot, slowly. Evan did everything slowly unless he was running into the water at the beach, surfboard under his arm. He had the whole blond and bronzed thing going, with shoulders you could sink your teeth into and blue eyes that turned a girl into a puddle when he gave her his full attention.

  "Hey, Catwoman!" he drawled upon seeing me. He eyed me up and down, then gave me one of his sloppy grins. "Cute outfit. Kind of French maid."

  "French maid, my ass."

  "Speaking of your ass, bring it closer." He went to grasp a handful of my butt cheek, but the tray loaded with empty glasses got in the way.

  "Careful!" I gave him a withering glare and shifted back. "Sofia said you needed to see me."

  His mouth curved into a sexy half-smile. "That Sofia," he purred. "She's delicious. Think she'll go out with me?"

  Evan never had any trouble asking me what I thought about other girls he liked, even when we were dating. The big, gorgeous, dumb surfer thought monogamy was a type of wood. He was never happier than when he had two girls in his bed and a joint waiting for him afterward. His cheating was the main reason we hadn't stayed together, despite the physical attraction. The other was because I grew bored. There are only so many conversations you can have about waves.

  "Evan!" the chef shouted. "Keep stirring, you dumb fuck, or the sauce will go lumpy."

  I peeked into the pot. A golden brown sauce bubbled like a volcano. "What is it?"

  "Dunno," Evan said, picking up the spoon again and stirring. "Something to dip that in." He jerked his head at the thumb-sized canapés being rolled up by the chef and his assistant. "Man, I hate this fucking job. It's so fucking hard."

  "Try to stick it out this time, Evan," I said on a sigh. "You can't afford to lose any more jobs. How'd you get this one anyway?"

  "That asshole is my brother-in-law." He pointed the spoon at the chef. Some of the sauce splattered onto the floor.

  "You better clean that up!" the chef shouted at him.

  "Nope, don't think I will."

  "Want me to tell your mom how you fucked up this job as well?"

  Evan bared his teeth and snarled like a dog. Then he bent down, swiped his finger through the goo and licked it. He did it three times until the floor was clean.

  I screwed up my nose. "That's disgusting!"

  "Tastes pretty good," he said. "Would be better with some weed."

  "You wouldn't."

  He just grinned.

  "So what do you want?" I asked. "Angela will kill me if she sees me standing around in here when I should be out there."

  "Don't worry about her. She'll be too busy keeping an eye on her husband. He's after that cute girl, the star from Angela's latest movie." He stopped stirring again and clicked his fingers. "What's her name again?"

  "Naomi Radcliff."

  He pointed at me. "That's it! Jeez, Cat, how do you remember all this shit?"

  "I stay away from weed."

  He winced. "Big price."

  "The sauce, Evan. Keep stirring."

  He picked up the spoon again and resumed stirring.

  "What do you know about Dante and Naomi?" I asked. I couldn't help it. I was a naturally nosy person, especially when I could smell a scandal in the air. And there was a lot of scandal in Hollywood. It was the fuel that kept the movie engine running. Without it, the entertainment business would grind to a halt.

  "He supplies her with coke and sex. Not always in that order, or at the same time."

  "He's a drug dealer?"

  "It's not dealing if it's just a little bit here and there for friends," he said. "Jeez, Cat, lighten up. You're such a prude."

  Only in Hollywood would I be called a prude. At home I was the wayward child, the daughter who never did what she was told. "Has their affair been going on long?"

  He shrugged. "Couple of months maybe."

  "How long has Angela known?"

  "Dunno."

  I actually felt a little sorry for her. It would be heart-wrenching knowing your husband was cheating on you. No wonder she was a bit of a bitch.

  "So what did you want to speak to me about?" I asked.

  He gave me the classic blank Ev-ster stare. "Huh?"

  Talking to him was like living the movie Groundhog Day. "You sent Sofia to find me."

  "Oooohhhh. Yeahhhhh." He removed the tray from my hands and set it down next to the stove, then he hooked me round the waist and pulled me to him. "I just wanted to do this." He kissed me on the lips.

  I shoved him in the chest until he unlatched himself. "Evan! We're not going out anymore. You can't just kiss me whenever you want."

  "Fuck, you've got so many rules, Cat."

  Sofia entered as I was about to leave.

  "She's so fine," Evan crooned quietly in my ear. "Do you know if she's single?"

  "Apparently."

  "Watch The Ev-ster work his magic."

  Ugh. No thanks. I rolled my eyes, picked up the tray, and headed for the door. Sofia smiled at me then greeted the chef and his assistant. The assistant started talking to her in fluent Spanish. My Spanish was almost non-existent, so I had no idea what they were saying. I cast a final glance back into the kitchen before I left to see Evan admiring Sofia's chest, his stirring forgotten, and the chef about to explode at him.

  I refilled the tray with fresh drinks and made my way out to the guests again. They were a glittering, beautiful bunch of people, even those on the "wrong side" of fifty. They knew how to dress to show off their best features and hide their worst, and they knew how to charm. Hollywood was full of charmers. It could be tough to separate the fakes from the real friends. I was pretty good at assessing people, since I wasn't into the ass-kissing like some wannabes, but a few slipped by even me.

  I was about to head outside again when Angela's loud gasp drew my attention. She stood in the entrance foyer with a bright-eyed Naomi Radcliff, holding Naomi's long blonde hair back from her neck. The usually sleek hair was messy. Dante was nowhere to be seen.

  "They're missing!" Angela cried. "Those beautiful diamond earrings I was admiring earlier are gone!"

  What a drama queen. Most people would just ask where the earrings were, but Angela drew everyone's attention to their absence with her over-the-top exclamation.

  Naomi felt her ears then giggled. "They must be upstairs." Her voice slurred a little and she swayed. Her lipstick was crooked too, and her movements weren't quite controlled. She'd probably lose her balance at any moment. I'd seen enough stars doped up on various drugs to know she'd partaken in something. I'd also seen myself in the mirror after having wild sex to know what else she’d been up to. Angela knew it too. "They were heavy so I removed them in the, um… In the bathroom! Yes, that's it. I put them down when I was in there to…you know." She smothered another giggle with her hand.


  Angela gave her a sweet, caring smile that did nothing to hide the viciousness lurking just below the surface. It made my insides curdle, but Naomi didn't seem to notice. "You should go find them, Naomi darling," Angela said, all earnestness. "They must be valuable. You wouldn't want one of the staff to pocket them."

  Well, fuck you too. Nice to know she thought so highly of our integrity.

  "They are hugely expensive," Naomi said, swaying as she turned to go back upstairs. "They're real diamonds."

  "Oh? Buy them for yourself, did you?"

  "No. The man who gave them to me is super rich."

  "Is he?" Angela purred. "Lucky for him." She patted Naomi's cheek the way a mother would her child after a terrible performance in the school play. "If they're so expensive then I should help you look for them. In fact, why don't we all go?" She beckoned to two guests who'd stopped to watch the spectacle. They looked uneasily at each other. Maybe they were wondering how the hell they could get out of this without ruining their relationship with Angela, Naomi, or Dante. Angela was up to something.

  "You too," Angela said to me. "Come on. Let's all go into the bathroom."

  Why me? And why couldn't I have walked away when the shit began to hit the fan? Curiosity, cats, and all that, I guess.

  I set my tray down on the hall table and followed the small party upstairs. A few other guests watched, but didn't join us. We met Dante at the top.

  "What's this?" he asked, his smile uncertain. Unlike Naomi, he didn't appear under the influence of dope, coke, alcohol, or any other drug. He was as dapper as always, not a slicked-back hair out of place. "Where are you all going?"

  Angela breezed past him. "To the bathroom!"

  Dante and Naomi exchanged glances. She looked like she wanted to cry. He put out one hand as if to calm her, then followed after his wife.

  I didn't have a clue what was going on, or why. I felt like not only had I entered the cinema halfway through the movie, but I'd also missed the trailer.

  Naomi followed them into the bathroom, and the two guests and I brought up the rear. I was the last to see what they all saw. Or what they didn't see.