Poor Little Bitch Girl by Jackie Collins Read Free Book Online Page B

handsome in that older action movie-star kind of way. He possessed a Harrison Ford, Bruce Willis vibe. Kind of sexy if you’re into older dudes. Actually I’m not. I prefer them young and way hotter than this old guy.
    “Showing off on my behalf, huh?” Ralph said at last.
    “Well . . .” I ventured. “Like I said – you know how kids are.”
    “No, I don’t,” he sneered, curling his lip. “How are they?”
    Ralph Maestro was being facetious. His beautiful wife was lying dead upstairs, and he was behaving like a major asshole without anything on his mind except being pissed at a couple of kids who’d invaded his privacy years ago.
    I shut up, because I knew if I said anything more I’d be history. And I wanted to be involved in this case – it had major potential.
    Later in the day, the press descended. Not that they could get in the house or even up the long, winding, fake-snow-decorated driveway. But the security cameras showed that they were out on the street with a vengeance. TV camera trucks, on-air talent with hand-held microphones and plenty of pissy attitude, paparazzi darting around like a trail of furtive ants, with their long-lens cameras at the ready.
    Bad news travels fast, and this happened to be a juicy story. A brutal shooting of a beautiful woman. Two mega movie stars. Money. Fame. Hollywood. Oh yeah – this one’s a surefire headline grabber.
    I’d better remember to call my parents. There is nothing they like less than catching a glimpse of me on the TV news without fair warning. My dad was horrified when I became a highly paid defense attorney. He thinks I should have followed the path of righteous prosecutor and eventually become a D.A.
    I obviously didn’t agree with him.
    Defending people is a challenge, and I always get off on challenges. Besides, my dad is a civil prosecutor – an excellent one – so when I decided to study law I did not want the comparison. There is nothing more soul-destroying than attempting to follow a member of one’s family into the same profession.
    The thing is, I love my dad – but doing the same thing? No way.
    As we walked down the winding driveway on our way out, Felix gave me one of his long penetrating looks. “Well?” he asked, clearing his throat. “I always rely on your intuition. What do you think, Denver? Did he do it or did he not?”
    I took my time answering because I honestly wasn’t sure. And whether or not Ralph Maestro had killed his wife really didn’t matter, since we were the defense team; we had a job to do, and that was to protect Ralph Maestro at all costs.
    “I’m not sure,” I answered hesitantly. “He certainly doesn’t seem at all broken up.”
    Felix popped another mint, still not bothering to offer me one.
    “They won’t arrest him,” he said knowingly. “Too many connections.”
    “ She must’ve had connections too,” I pointed out.
    “Ah, but she’s dead.”
    Oh really, who would’ve guessed?
    “We’ll keep a sharp watch on this one,” Felix added. “Be on alert. I gave Ralph your cell-phone number. Told him he can reach you at any time of the day or night.”
    Thanks a lot! Why am I on call? What’s wrong with your cell phone?
    “The press’ll go to town on this one,” Felix continued. “But I can guarantee that Ralph won’t be arrested.”
    Note to self: If I ever decide to murder someone I must first become famous, then make sure to commit the crime in Beverly Hills. Movie stars can get away with anything. Or so it seems.
    The crowd of press people jumped when they spotted us emerging through the imposing wrought-iron gates. Felix is well-known to the media, and since my two high-profile cases, I like to think that I am too. However, I always follow my boss’s lead, and his lead is to hold up a firm hand and announce in sonorous tones, “No comment, people. Kindly back up.”
    I know it’s shallow, but I kind of get off on seeing my photo in the newspapers.
    “Hey, Denver,” one of the