Murder Has Nine Lives by Laura Levine Read Free Book Online

shoot,” I informed her.
    Barely looking up from this week’s movie grosses, she waved me down a hallway. To my right was a warren of small offices, and to my left an oversized steel door leading to the soundstage.
    A frisson of excitement shot through me. How many famous stars had stood before doors just like this before getting their first big break?
    I looked down at Prozac nestled in my arms.
    â€œThis is it, kiddo. Showtime.”
    My plucky little trouper looked up at me with bright green eyes.
    So when do I get my Oscar?
    Taking a deep breath, I headed inside.
    At one end of the cavernous room were a buffet bar and a makeshift conference table surrounded by folding metal chairs. The other end of the soundstage had been set up for the shoot with a chaise longue and overstuffed armchair. Lights hung from the ceiling; a camera stood at attention, waiting to be called to action.
    Glancing around, I saw Ian, the silver-haired director, sitting at the conference table and taking a slug from his Starbucks thermos. And over at the buffet, Linda was chatting with a fresh-scrubbed blonde in an apron, while Zeke lingered nearby, his eyes riveted on Linda.
    As I made my way into the room, Deedee came rushing toward me in a blur of turquoise gauze and silver bangles, ebony chopsticks poking from her bun.
    â€œJaine darling!” she cried, taking a bite of a luscious cheese Danish.
    I would have liked nothing better than to grab a Danish for myself, but I couldn’t risk going near the buffet table and whetting Prozac’s appetite.
    â€œHere’s our little star!” Deedee cooed, waving the Danish in my face as she leaned over to pet Prozac. It was all I could do not to rip it out of her hand. “You two are just in time! We’re about to go over the script.”
    She led me over to a seat at the conference table.
    I settled myself in, with Prozac on my lap, nodding hello to Ian, who was still glugging from his Starbucks thermos. I couldn’t help but notice he was looking a bit bleary-eyed, no doubt waiting for his caffeine to kick in.
    Dean sat at the head of the table, hair slicked back with gel, talking intently to a striking brunette at his side. The reed-thin woman, who could have been anywhere from thirty-five to seventy (only her plastic surgeon knew for sure) was dressed head to toe in pink. From her Chanel suit to her Louboutins to the boatload of pink sapphires accessorizing her outfit, the gal was a one-woman Festival of Pink.
    On her lap sat a sleek tabby cat with what looked like a pink diamond collar around her neck. True, the collar could’ve been made of rhinestones, but I’d bet my bottom Pop-Tart that cat was wearing something straight from Van Cleef & Arpels.
    Prozac looked at the diamond-encrusted kitty through slitted lids.
    Who invited her ?
    Deedee, following my gaze, whispered in my ear: “That’s Camille Townsend. Aka the Pink Panther. Positively rolling in dough. Inherited boatloads when her hubby died. Dean met her at a pet charity function and stuck to her like Velcro ever since. From what I’ve heard, she’s bankrolling this whole production.”
    Dean was patting the Pink Panther’s arm as they talked, lingering just a little too long with each pat.
    â€œThey seem awfully chummy,” I said.
    â€œChummy? That’s putting it mildly. They’ve been boffing each other for months now.
    â€œPoor Linda,” she said, nodding at Dean’s wife, still busy chatting with the blonde in the apron. “She supported Dean for years while he worked on his inventions, and now, from what I hear on the grapevine, he’s about to dump her for Ms. Moneybags.”
    Dean interrupted Deedee’s stream of gossip just then to summon everyone to the conference table.
    â€œHello, everybody,” he said, rising to greet his minions. “I’d like to welcome you all to the first of what I’m sure will be many Skinny Kitty