After She's Gone (West Coast 3)

As she reached her Honda, a BMW tore into the lot, wheeled into one of the few open spaces, and in a chirp of tires stopped short. The driver’s door flew out and Laura Merrick, blond hair streaming behind her, oversize sunglasses covering her eyes, practically leaped from the car. “Oh, God, Cassie! I thought I might still catch you,” she said breathlessly. “I mean I was hoping. Did you hear?”

“Hear what?” Cassie asked, instantly panicked. Allie! Oh no. It’s Allie. Something awful has happened!

“About Holly Dennison.”

“Holly? No . . . I just saw her.”

A pause. “When?”

“The other night.”

“Not last night?”

Cassie shook her head. “What?”

Laura took in a breath, then said, “She’s dead.”

“Dead?” Cassie said, her insides going cold. Holly? Bubbly, full-of-life, Moscow-Mule-pushing Holly? “No.”

“It’s true. I just heard,” Laura said, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Then you must’ve heard wrong.” But the expression on Laura’s face said it was true. Cassie went from denial to despair. Could it be? She felt the blood draining from her face and the warm sun beating against the back of her neck.

“Her body was found this morning. Outside a bar in . . . in, oh, God, I can’t remember, no . . . somewhere in Venice, I think. It . . . it doesn’t matter.” Laura ran her hands through her hair. “I need a cigarette.” She looked pointedly at Cassie.

“I don’t have any.”

“Really?”

“Never smoked.”

“Figures. Well, come on, Verna or maybe Alana might.” She saw that a couple of potential customers had stopped to listen to their excited conversation, and she grabbed Cassie by the arm. “No reason to make a scene.” Quickly, she propelled Cassie back through the shop, stopped at Verna’s station where, after a quick exchange, she was handed a French cigarette, then she hurried them both through a supply area and break room with a coffeepot and mini fridge to a small outdoor space facing an alley.

A few plastic chairs were scattered around a white table with a faded umbrella. In the table’s center was an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts and some gum wrappers. Laura scooped up the ashtray and poured its contents into a nearby trash can. Then she lit up the Gauloise, drew deep, and tossed back her head to exhale the smoke toward the sky. “Better,” she sighed.

Still in shock, Cassie asked, “How do you know about Holly?”

“Internet.” She wrapped one arm around her waist and held the cigarette near her face with the other. “She was only found this morning. Google it.” Another deep drag. Cassie started typing Holly’s name into her phone and Laura added, “Little Bea called me when she heard, too.”

“I thought she was out of the country.”

Laura shook her head. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Holly.”

“Don’t think so. She had an appointment with me, what? Like two days ago, I think.” Another deep drag and after dusting the seat of a chair with her hand she flopped into it. The umbrella shaded half of her face and reminded Cassie of one of Jenna’s old movie posters, one she’d hung up in her bedroom where part of her face was in darkness, the other pale.

“Holly told me you said she was in London.” Cassie looked down at the screen on her phone where she’d Googled information on Holly Dennison.

“Little Bea and Cherise were in London. They came back a week or so ago.” She rolled her eyes. “Trust Holly to get it wrong,” she said, and then caught herself up as if she’d realized the woman was gone. “Did you find it?” Laura asked.

Cassie looked down at her phone again where a picture of Holly filled the small screen. The back of her mouth went dry. Scrolling down she read the headline: Set Designer’s Body Discovered. She skimmed the scanty details, heart racing. A man frequenting a bar in Venice had found the woman, who was identified as Holly Marie Dennison, a set designer, in a parking lot. Several of the movies she worked on were mentioned, including the last, Dead Heat. The police had limited details but the death was being investigated as a homicide. Anyone with any knowledge should contact them immediately.

Cassie sank into one of the chairs. Sadness enveloped her as she remembered Holly’s quick smile and recently spiked hair, how she’d sipped her mojitos at The Sundowner. “I can’t believe it.” She was stunned.

Calmer now, Laura suddenly looked at her cigarette as if it were the devil incarnate and angrily jabbed it out in the ashtray. “She has . . . had a sister who lived in town. That was her next of kin, I guess, so her name was released and these days, everything, all news is instantaneous.” She let out her breath, then looked at Cassie. “I didn’t mean to shock you, but I thought you’d want to know and since I knew you were coming here . . .”

“I do. Did.” She was still in shock. “God, it’s hard