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“Carla, stay right there in your car. Keep the door locked. I have two or three questions, that’s it.”
Carla, last name unknown, put her key into the ignition and started the car. Cruz crossed in front of the hood around to the passenger side. Carla reached across the seat and pushed the lock button down, but the window was half open.
Cruz reached in, pulled up the door handle, and got into the car.
“Get out or I’ll scream. I’ll call the house and someone will come out here and beat the hell out of you, buddy. They can get real ugly in a hurry.”
“I come in peace. I’m not trying to upset you,” Cruz said. “I just want to ask you about Shelby Cushman.”
“Let me see that badge again.”
Cruz held it up. “I’m licensed,” he said. “But I’m not a cop. I’m here for Shelby.”
Tears suddenly formed in the woman’s eyes.
That surprised the hell out of Cruz.
“I loved her,” she said.
“I’ve heard terrific things about her.”
“She would cry for you when you were upset. She’d give you the shirt off her back—even if you didn’t want it. And she was so funny.”
“So what happened to her?”
“What I heard? I don’t know if this is the truth or not. She was in her bedroom, and someone shot her. Shot her twice.”
“How do you know where she was when she was shot, Carla?”
“There was talk around the pool. Wait. I think Glenda said it.”
“Who told Glenda? This is important.”
“I don’t know. And I don’t know anyone who would’ve done anything to Shelby,” Carla said. “But I’m glad you’re trying to find out who killed her.”
Cruz said, “Just between us, you think the Noccias had anything to do with this?”
Carla folded her arms and seemed to shrink into herself. “Is that what you think?”
“I’m asking you.”
“Shelby was a moneymaker and absolutely no trouble. I just don’t see it.”
Carla was clearly getting restless, and nervous. Cruz smiled at her. “I’m almost done. Who were her regulars? Did anyone in particular strike you as volatile? Or possessive? Or vindictive?”
“Not really. But a couple of guys booked her a lot,” Carla said. “Two of them came in a few times a week. Shelby only worked days.”
“Who were they? This could really help. Did Shelby talk about them, her regulars?”
“Hollywood types. One is a film director. The other is an actor. A bad-boy type. I can’t tell you who they are. But maybe you can figure it out. Do you like movies?”
“Sure, who doesn’t?”
“You ever seen Bat Out of Hell?”
“Thanks, Carla. You’re terrific.”
“Don’t mention it.” She revved the engine. “Really. Don’t tell anyone. And please don’t be paying me any visits, in there or out here. I’m taking one hell of a chance as it is, sweetheart. I don’t want to end up like Shelby.”
