Not So Model Home - By David James Page 0,56

(I shook them just to make sure there was paint in them), a jar of eight different paintbrushes all so clean you’d think they were never dipped in paint, and finally, toward the back, an opened bag of bonemeal. I hauled the heavy bag to the front, took the five perfectly spaced clothespins off the top, and stuck my hand inside, looking for a gun or something dangerous. I felt plastic toward the bottom, grabbed at it, and pulled out a . . . a baggie with hundreds of dollars in it. Followed by another. And another. And another. No, not hundreds. Thousands. I counted one bag and estimated the amount in the others and came up with a figure of $87,000. Had the cops missed all this? In the bottom of the fifth baggie, there was a key that looked like a safe deposit key. (I know, since I carried one on my key ring.) I put the baggies back, burying them down at the bottom of the bag. On the floor . . . I just couldn’t get over the money. Eighty-seven thousand! And probably much more than that in a safety deposit box in a bank somewhere, all of it, no doubt, belonging to Drake. I imagined Drake was planning his escape from Casa de Ian. Or he was embezzling from Ian, skimming money off the top of his estate. Anyway, not my business. Okay, back to work. On the floor, I pulled out three pots filled with gravel, sand, and the last one, Japanese river rocks. All white. I explored deep inside the pots but came up with nothing.

And those were the contents of the shed. Not much to go on, unless you thought that keeping close to $100,000 in a bag of bonemeal was suspicious. I exited the shed and closed the door behind me. I still swear someone was watching me, eyes peering from somewhere unknown, but after scanning the ficus hedges, the Mediterranean fan palm groves, and the visible upper stories of the various windows that looked down on this part of the yard, I concluded that it was just the heebie-jeebies caused by the fact that a murderer was still stalking around, maybe waiting to strike again. It was natural to feel this way, I told myself.

CHAPTER 24

Maybe You Should Talk To A Psychiatrist About That

Since I was on a roll, I felt like I needed to talk with someone who wasn’t an obvious suspect. That ruled out the entire crew, Ian, Jeremy, and his assistant, Tony. Even though Darryn wasn’t even in town when Keith was bumped off, I ruled him out as too much of an outsider and not in the know about what was going on at Ian’s estate. I sat down next to Aurora, itching to get started. If anyone could shed some light on this whole mess, it would be her.

I wanted to meet Aurora on neutral territory, so we met at a dark Mexican restaurant that no one ever went to. I didn’t want anyone from the cast coming in and seeing me with Aurora. A lot of the guys in the tribe weren’t too smart, but they would know enough if they walked in and saw me talking to Aurora.

Aurora stilted into the restaurant on towering heels, dressed in her usual black. (I wondered what she would look like in pastels.). She sat down and folded her long hands on the table in front of me, her black nails clacking loudly before they came to a silent rest.

“So what was so urgent and secret that you had to meet me here . . . and that I couldn’t tell anyone about?” she asked.

I leaned forward, not to keep my conversation volume low, but because I was becoming quite the actress. I wanted to add some drama.

“I want you to tell me everything you know about everyone.”

“Amanda!” Aurora replied incredulously. “That would take forever. Plus, remember, what I know about Ian is held in the strictest confidence.”

“But you can tell me about the rest of the cast, can’t you? And Jeremy and Tony and Lance?”

“Of course. I’m not treating them.”

“Great! Let’s start with the non-cast members.”

“Amanda, you’re trying to figure out who killed Keith, aren’t you? You didn’t invite me here because you want to get something over the other cast members, did you?”

“Aurora, I have nothing to gain by learning the other guys’ dirty secrets . . . but wait . . . have other