Hollywood Jury Read online

  HOLLYWOOD JURY

  MZ Kelly

  Note from the author

  This book, like all the Hollywood Alphabet Series novels, contains an interesting Hollywood fact or quote from a famous movie star. As you read, look for the fact or quote, and then look for details about how to win valuable prizes at the end of this book. Contests may be related to information in this book or Hollywood in general. All contests are updated regularly, it’s easy to enter, and the prizes are great.

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  Also in the Hollywood Alphabet Series:

  Hollywood Assassin

  Hollywood Blood

  Hollywood Crazy

  Hollywood Dirty

  Hollywood Enemy

  Hollywood Forbidden

  Hollywood Games

  Hollywood Homicide

  Hollywood Intrigue

  Hollywood Killer

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Note from the author

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY-ONE

  FIFTY-TWO

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  COMING SOON

  ONE

  “I think the troglodyte likes you,” my British friend Natalie said, nudging me. “Maybe true love has finally found you.”

  Mo, who was sitting on the other side of me at the table, grinned, and took up the cause. “Yeah, a little manscaping, a decent haircut, a couple of quarts of blood, and, who knows, the knuckle-dragger might not look like a corpse.” My hefty African-American friend belly laughed and then chewed on a turkey thigh.

  We were at the wedding rehearsal dinner for Nana Hannah. Our eighty-something former landlord was marrying a man named Claude Whipple who looked remarkably like a vampire. The dinner was being held in a Tudor mansion called Ravenswood in the Hollywood Hills that Claude had recently inherited. We were in a massive oak-paneled dining room that reminded me of Hogwarts’ dining hall from the Harry Potter movies.

  My friends and I were Nana’s former roommates at the estate and we’d all been chosen to be bridesmaids for the wedding that was a week away. In addition to the bride and groom who sat at the head of the table, there were close to a hundred other drunken friends and family members of Nana and Claude, many of whom, like Nana’s fiancé, looked remarkably ghoulish.

  Natalie and Mo’s respective references to a troglodyte and a corpse were descriptions reserved for a guy named J-Bone. The groom’s best man had made a habit of following me around earlier in the evening like a lost zombie, or maybe I should say Big Foot. J-Bone, a big guy who was pale and gaunt, wasn’t quite the cave dwelling cadaver my friends had made him out to be, but their description wasn’t too far off.

  In recent weeks, my friends had made a habit of claiming that any guy who came within ten feet of me was a potential mate. I’d had my issues with failed relationships over the years, including a brief marriage a couple of years ago, something that my friends never hesitated to mention, but J-Bone was in another league—as in the Forest Lawn League.

  “Sssomebody bring us sssommmore of this Dom Peregrine,” Nana demanded, holding up an empty champagne bottle. The drunken bride-to-be turned to her vampire. I mean beloved. “Do they have any iddeaaa who we arrre?”

  “Just a wild guess,” Mo said, putting down her wine glass and leaning over in Nana’s direction. “But I’d say you’re the Munsters.”

  Natalie, who was also feeling the effects of her alcohol, snapped her fingers at a waiter, “Bring Morticia and Gomez another bloody drink, before they sober up and realize they got a house full of freaks on their hands.”

  “Your reference was to The Addams Family,” Tex said, correcting Natalie from across the table. Natalie’s former fiancé had a mound of wiry black hair that gave the impression he’d just survived a lightning strike. The brianiac was with his new wife, Georgette. “While your attempt at a humorous insult is not without merit, you’ve obfuscated your analogy using a juxtaposition of fictional personalities.”

  Tex had an IQ that approached Einstein-like proportions but he didn’t have an iota of common sense, something that he demonstrated on a regular basis. He and Natalie had dated for several months before he left my gorgeous friend for his new wife.

  “What the bloody hell did he just say?” Natalie asked Mo.

  Mo regarded Tex with one eye. “I’m not sure.” She then fixed both eyes on his wife. “Maybe we should ask his librarian to translate.”

  Georgette, a pale, dark-haired woman with diaphanous eyes, did look like she belonged in a room full of books, if not geeks. She said to Mo, “Sorry, but I don’t consider it my duty to translate for a couple of high school dropouts.”

  “Dropouts,” Mo said, folding her arms across her enormous breasts and working her head from side to side in anger as she spoke. “I’ll have you know that I attended Rockfield Industrial School. Got me a BS, too, and that don’t stand for bullshit like your dipshit husband.”

  Prissy, Nana’s transsexual great-grandson, overheard the conversation and attempted to defuse things. “These meatballs are simply scrumptious.” He batted his heavily shadowed eyes and held up one of the delicacies with a fork. “I highly recommend them.”

  My heavyset friend was still on meltdown mode over Georgette’s comment. “I’d say the only meatballs in this room are sitting across from us.”

  Larry, Mo’s boyfriend, and his brother Phyllis—mama wanted a girl and saddled him with the name she’d chosen before he was born—came over and stood behind Mo. The two muscle-bound men reminded me of the characters Hans and Franz from Saturday Night Live.

  Larry folded his arms and said, “We got us some trouble here?”

  “Not unless you call a little dick with a nitwit trouble,” Natalie said.

  After that, the insults came fast and furious, flying across the table. While the tongues wag, I should probably explain how I ended up in a ghoulish rendition of Family Feud in a Hollywood mansion. For that, you’re going to need a little background.

  My named is Kate Sexton. I’m a detective with LAPD’s Robbery Homicide Division, or RHD. My canine partner Bernie and I had recently been assigned to Section One, a homicide unit located out of Hollywood Station that handled some of the department’s highest profile cases. Our unit had recently stopped an insane killer who called herself The Prophet and I was enjoying the break between cases.

  Bernie was taking a well-deserved night off, but was spending the evening with my mother who has her own mental health issues, including a propensity to believe she is having affairs with ex-presidents. My big dog, who was slated to be the flower bearer for Nana’s wedding, was probably thinking he’d rather be in a room full of ghouls than with Mom.

  Bernie and I live at the Barkley Bungalows in North Hollywood, right next door to Natalie and Mo. My friends are private investigators and part-time actors on a sit-com called Hollywood Girlz. My British friend Natalie is in her twenties, blonde, and beautiful. Mo’s a decade older, with a take-charge attitude, probably brought on by being a former pimp whose mission was to get girls off the streets.

  I’d recently had the misfortune of being named Nana’s maid of honor. I don’t know why I was chosen for the role, other than the fact that I believe a gypsy was visiting the hospital where I was born. She walked by the nursery, saw me, and put the evil eye and a curse on me. The result has been a lifetime of bad luck, my problematic relationship issues and my current maid of honor duties being just the latest examples.

  “Excuse me, but were you making fun of my son?”

  The question was directed at Natalie and Mo, and came from J-Bone’s father who was sitting a couple of chairs over from Tex and Georgette. Mr. J-Bone, or whatever his name was, appeared even more pale and gaunt than his Sasquatch-like son. Maybe he’d suffered from a recent bout of cardiac arrest. The lack of blood flow to his cerebral cortex had apparently slowed his response time to Natalie and Mo’s earlier cave-dwelling corpse comments about his offspring.

  “Where did ya come up with a name like J-Bone for your kid?” Natalie asked. My British friend is stunning but
several suits short of a royal flush when it comes to tact. She was also drunk. Natalie laughed and looked over at Mo. “Hey, it could be that the best man is either a rapper or a werewolf.”

  “Maybe J-Bone is a specialist and only raps at funerals?” Mo speculated, turning her attention away from Tex and Georgette for a moment. She lowered her already sonorous voice and broke into a variation of a line from Ghostbusters. “Somethin’ dead in the neighborhood, who ya gonna call—J-Bone.” My hefty friend belly laughed and slapped Natalie on the back.

  J-Bone’s mama, who was sitting next to her husband, wasn’t amused. “I’ll have you know that my son is an orthopedic surgeon. He’s extremely wealthy and well respected in his community.”

  “I didn’t know they had doctors in Transylvania,” Mo said with a laugh. “I just assumed if you broke somethin’ they drove a stake through your heart and dumped you in the local boneyard.”

  Maurice, the house raven—yes, as in a bird—took that moment to swoop down on us from the rafters. From what I understood, Maurice had been the pet of Russell Van Drake, the previous owner of Ravenswood, and still maintained his residency status.

  The big black bird flapped his wings and took the opportunity to utter the only phrase he knew. “Fuck you. Go away.”

  After a couple of air swats by my friends, Maurice flew off into the shadows of Hogwarts. I mean Ravenswood. His entrance had only momentarily delayed the wedding feud.

  J-Bone’s twin cousins and fellow groomsmen, a duo I’d been introduced to earlier named Merrill and Darrel, had overheard the earlier conversation and came over to us. They did a stare down with Larry and Phyllis as Natalie called over a waiter.

  “More wine and some champagne, Boris,” Natalie said to the waiter, inventing his name on the spot. She turned her attention back to Tex and Georgette. “I’m gonna have to get really drunk to put up with these two bozos.”

  “Bozos,” Georgette said. “You’re just jealous because I stole your man.”

  Mo took up the cause, working her big head back and forth again that tonight was adorned with a red wig. “Honey, your man, as you call him, is a couple of inches short of a Boy Scout and I heard he’s got some lame-ass job as a chicken plucker.”

  “How dare you disparage my husband’s career?” Georgette said. “You probably don’t know what the term means, but Tex is a sous chef.”

  Tex chimed in, “Actually, I’ve recently invented a machine that systematically removes the feathers from the common Gallus domesticus in a matter of seconds. It is quite revolutionary and extraordinary.”

  “That’s bloody impressive,” Natalie said. She turned to Georgette. “I heard that your sous chef recently plucked himself a couple of mama chickens. Guess that would make him a mother plucker.”

  Mo and Natalie broke into a fit of drunken laughter. It was apparently enough to cause Merrill and Darrel and J-Bone’s parents to think the hilarity was directed at them.

  “We don’t have to sit here and take these insults,” Mama J-Bone said, tossing her napkin on the table.

  Mr. J-Bone stood up. Insults were exchanged again before Darrel picked up a turkey thigh and heaved it across the table at Mo.

  “That all you got?” Mo bellowed, dodging the thigh toss. She picked up her plate and threw it like an Olympic discus thrower at his brother, Merrill. Unfortunately, her aim was poor and a big guy with something that resembled a dead raccoon on his head got thumped.

  “Maybe you need a little wine with your meal,” Natalie said, before picking up a magnum of champagne and spraying it at the cousins like a fire extinguisher.

  I got up and walked away as the food fight escalated. I found myself standing next to Nana and Claude at the head of the table. I ducked down as a plate flew in our direction.

  “I was hoping something like this would happen,” Nana said, grinning at me. “It’s the perfect evening.”

  My brows came together. “You wanted a food fight at your wedding rehearsal dinner?”

  She smiled at me. Her dentures, something she called Leo’s, gleamed in the overhead lights. “Of course.” We now saw that entire plates of food were being tossed, along with the silverware. “It will be something Claude and I will be talking about for years to come.”

  I was about to walk away when a man, who looked like he might have been created from multiple dead body parts, came over to me. He claimed that I had instigated the food fight and dumped a bowl of gravy on my head.

  I was about to retaliate when Mo came over, put the guy in a headlock and slammed his face into a mound of mashed potatoes.

  “Why me?” I groaned, finding a napkin and making my way into an alcove off the main dining hall, where I was out of the line of fire. I groaned at the realization that being doused by the gravy boat had done nothing for my new do, something I’d spent a couple of hundred dollars on that afternoon at my brother’s salon.

  “You’ll have to forgive him,” Nana said coming over to me. She laughed and made a couple of disparaging comments about my hair. She then said, “My doctor is quite protective of me.”

  I was still soaking up the gravy and spewed, “That was your doctor? He’s an idiot.” I sighed, realizing my dress was also ruined.

  Nana’s ruby lips turned up and her eyes moved in something that was probably meant to be seductive. In Nana’s case, it just looked like she had gas. “Dr. Franklin is my gynecologist.” The gas smile grew wider. “We have a lot of history, as you can imagine.”

  I didn’t want to imagine, and I had to wonder if the night could get any worse. My phone was ringing as I saw Mo slip and go down as the slime fest continued.

  “Sorry to interrupt your evening but you just caught a case,” I heard lieutenant Oz say after I answered the call.

  “What’s going on?”

  “A girl was murdered in the dorm over at Westridge University. I don’t know all the details, but I asked Pearl to meet you there.”

  Pearl Kramer was a part-time detective that assisted with Section One cases. I wondered why Ted Grady, my partner, wasn’t involved and asked Oz about him.

  “He’s not picking up his phone. Not sure what’s going on.”

  I told Oz that I would meet Pearl at the university and ended the call. I then went over to help Mo. I’d seen her trying to get up a couple of times while I was on the phone, but her feet kept slipping out from under her like a tubby cartoon character. I finally got her back on her feet with Natalie’s help.

  “I’m gonna whack that little pork chop,” Mo said, fuming as she stood up. “Life ain’t fair.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “It’s Tex,” Natalie explained. “The chicken plucker just made a deal with Claude. He’s giving him a million bucks to decorate this joint for the wedding.”

  TWO

  I left the wedding rehearsal dinner, aka riot, a little after ten and went by my mother’s house to pick up Bernie. Mom, who lately was going by the name Rose, met me at the front door. When I saw her I nearly fainted.

  “What’s with your hair?” I asked. When I’d left her, Mom was a brunette with flecks of gray in her shoulder length hair. She was now a platinum blonde.

  “I decided I needed a change.” Her eyes held on my food encrusted do. “And if anybody should be asking about hair, it’s me.”

  “I just had a little too much gravy with dinner.”

  I went over and got Bernie’s leash off the counter while he did a tail-wag and happy dance, probably overjoyed that he didn’t have to spend another minute with Marilyn Monroe.

  “You look like hell,” Mom said, coming over to me. “It’s a good thing all your customers are dead.”

  “At least I’m not wearing a dead movie star’s wig.” Okay, I didn’t say it. I just met her eyes for a moment but otherwise didn’t respond. Lately, my mother had about as much tact as Natalie and Mo. Her personality had changed in recent weeks and I had trouble just being in the same room with her.

  I headed for the door. “Thanks for watching Bernie. I’ll see you later.”

  “Just so you know, I’m engaged.”

  I turned back to Marilyn, or Rose. “What?”

  Her lips became a thin smile. “You don’t have to act like it’s the end of the world.”

  There was something manic about the way my mother acted lately, like she could break into insane laughter at any minute without provocation. “I’m just…surprised. Who…?”