Not So Model Home - By David James Page 0,72

came up to join the rest of us. But you made another fatal mistake with a comment you made.”

“What comment, Amanda?” she snorted.

“After you made some sort of remark about ‘who could be doing this,’ you directed our attention to the drugs on the top of the tall dresser.”

“And what’s so wrong with that? There were drugs there.”

“Yes, Aurora, there were. But you couldn’t see them because of your height. I wasn’t allowing anyone into the room, and I could barely see them on top of the tall dresser. You only knew they were there because Darryn had just told you where he left them. That’s why both of you were at the back of the group looking into Aleksei’s room—you were going over the details of what to say and do downstairs before you came up and joined us.”

One more swig of wine. God, you really get dehydrated solving crimes.

“All it took was one phone call to the right gossip Internet reporter in Hollywood and he told me that you were seen with Darryn when he was in town. The connection was made. The reason Brian Hopper didn’t report the two of you was because he couldn’t believe you were straight, Darryn. He wanted to be sure of his story.”

Darryn looked up at all of us, then glared at Aurora. “I’m not. I’m gay.”

Aurora flew across the room, her fists wailing at Darryn while policemen tried to pry her off him. They managed to handcuff her, and as they were leading her away, Darryn lobbed one more Molotov cocktail onto the pyre.

“I wanted the money, Aurora needed a good-looking model, and I pretended to be straight for her.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess that psychiatrists can be in denial too.”

CHAPTER 30

Amanda Becomes the Butt of A Joke

The dust eventually settled. The final episode aired to huge ratings, Aurora and Darryn were in jail awaiting trial, and the final winner of the competition for Ian’s affections. . . ahem . . . the money . . . was in doubt. Since Aurora’s opinion on who should be the final winner was somewhat tainted, Ian and a team of lawyers from the network and his own personal cadre of attorneys hammered out an agreement and Ian chose David Laurant as his boyfriend to the end. This, of course, led to more publicity, which pleased the network and Jeremy Collins, whose career was on a trajectory that would make a rocket jealous. And life returned to normal, whatever that was.

Ken had successfully gotten his mother back on her feet and returned to Palm Springs just in time for summer. He and I cooked a wonderful dinner and as we sat in my dining room, Knucklehead asleep at my feet, he asked the question that I was dreading, because once he asked it, I wasn’t quite sure how to answer. Should I be completely honest about my dating, even though I never gave away any more than a passionate kiss? Should I stretch the truth just a bit, or should I be a conniving, thieving liar?

“So, besides the show, the celebrity, and two murders, did you do anything exciting while I was gone?” he asked with complete and total innocence.

“Naw, nothing much. Just the same old stuff,” I replied, hoping that the acting skills I had honed while on Things Are a Bit Iffy would help me cover my guilt. And while I expected the long arm of the law to come down from the sky and reprimand me (or at least point a finger at me accusingly), Ken cut another slice from his filet and ate it without a hint of doubt of my story crossing his face. And that was it. Had I carried off the perfect crime? Ken was a very good detective, and I was sure he heard things about me while he was gone. But his face, his emotions, and his questions signaled that he was willing to accept my answer completely and without reservations. I felt like a louse for a while but justified my behavior by saying it was the fame that made me do it.

While I had escaped being made accountable for my actions with Ken, I had to face a much tougher adversary: Alex.

He wanted to deliver a gift to celebrate my stint on television, so I invited him over for dinner at my place. I had since toned down my wardrobe, no longer needing to be noticed all the time. Just like beauty,