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Samuel Shelton leaned on the balcony railing of his luxury Beverly Hills high-rise apartment watching the blood-red sun begin its slow descent through the smog to the Pacific. Although he didn’t know it, this was to be his last California sunset. He took a sip from the lowball glass of 100-proof Absolut on the rocks, and for a long moment, he stood gazing at the darkening January sky.
A mogul in a town of moguls, Shelton had just turned fifty-six, yet he had somehow succeeded in remaining true to his generation. He still didn’t trust anyone over thirty, and he dressed casually in latter-day hippie: Reeboks, pleated jeans, and a lightweight denim shirt. The top three buttons of the shirt were purposely left undone to expose the curly salt-and-pepper hair of his chest and the gold chains that dangled from his neck. It was a style he had consciously made his uniform.
Shelton downed the last of the vodka, chewed the ice, and with a sigh of resignation turned to enter his apartment. He still had a lot of packing to do. He headed for the master bedroom and placed the empty glass on the dresser next to a picture of him embracing Sharon Grant, star of 1994's biggest hit, the Sharon Grant Show. Against his better judgment, he picked up the silver frame and allowed himself a wistful smile, remembering the good times. He wiped a smudge off the glass with his thumb, turned the picture face down on the dresser with a grunt, and strode into his walk-in closet. The red digital numerals on his nightstand glowed 5:43 p.m.
“Shit,” he muttered. His flight to Honolulu left LAX at 8:30. Shelton hated that he had wasted so much time waiting for her to call. She was a good lay—one of the best he’d ever had—but if she didn’t want to fly to the other side of the world with him, screw her. Hadn’t he killed for her? What the hell was she trying to prove? She’d tire of trying to live the straight life, and by the time he returned from Tokyo, she’d be back in his apartment. In the meantime, there was a whole new country of good lays waiting for him across the Pacific.
It took Shelton less than five minutes to cram into a travel-worn bag all the essentials he needed for his two weeks in Hawaii and Japan. All he needed to survive anywhere in the world was a pocket full of plastic and a thirty-day supply of FiberCon, Flomax, Ambien, and Viagra in his toilet kit to help him shit, pee, sleep, and have a ball.
Shelton hefted his bag from the bed. If he was going to make his flight, he couldn’t keep the moron down in the garage waiting any longer. The phone rang before he reached the bedroom door.
“Yes!” Shelton hissed, throwing his fist in the air. He knew she’d call. The caller ID on his phone showed an anonymous call. Where the fuck was she calling from? He let it ring two more times before hitting the talk button. It never paid to appear too anxious, especially when dealing with talent.
“Hi, beautiful!” he answered cheerily.
“Samuel Shelton?” a deep, male voice asked.
“Who is this?”
“My name’s Hicks. Deputy Hicks. I’m with the San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Department—”
“How’d you get through on this line? All my calls are screened.”
“Sorry, sir, but we need your help.”
“Look. If you’re selling tickets to a Sheriff’s ball or something, put them in the mail and bill me. I gotta catch a flight to Honolulu.”
“I’m investigating a homicide, sir. Don’t hang up.”
Shelton’s face flushed, and he cleared his throat. “Homicide? Murder?”
“A double murder.”
“Ah, how can I help?”
“Just answer a few questions.”
“All right. But make it quick.”
“Do you own a cabin on Big Bear Lake?”
“Yeah, my company does. So?”
“Do you know a Gordon Duffy?”
“Gordon? Yeah, he’s my partner.”
“Then I’m afraid I’ve got some very bad news for you.”
“Bad news?”
“There’s no easy way to say this, sir …”
“Say what?”
“Your partner’s dead.”
Shelton sank onto the bed. “Dead? You gotta be kidding. What is this, some kind of sick joke?”
“I assure you, Mr. Shelton, it’s no joke.” The man had a curious squeak to his voice. “A male victim tentatively identified as Gordon Duffy and a woman we think was his wife were found dead in your company cabin at Big Bear Lake this afternoon.”
“Oh, God. I can’t believe it …”
“Believe me, sir. We’ve got two bodies up there. Both victims were shot in the head.”
“In the head? Oh shit. That’s terrible! But murder? It couldn’t be murder”
“It has to be,” the officer chuckled. “There was no weapon in the bedroom. But we did find a .30-30 deer rifle on the living room floor. We believe it’s the weapon that killed them.”
“You sure? I mean, is it really Gordon and Jen?”
“The bodies haven’t been positively identified yet. That’s why I called. I’d sure appreciate it if you could drive up here and make the ID.”
“Yeah … I’ll, uh, drive right up.” Shelton clenched his teeth and closed his eyes. He needed another Absolut, preferably a double, but he’d had a stiff one already, and now he had to drive all the way to San Bernardino to meet a cop. He took a deep breath, trying to quell the anger, but it spilled out anyway.
“Goddamn it! Why did this have to happen? I’m supposed to be on an 8:30 flight to Hawaii!”
“Sorry, sir. I know it’s an inconvenience. Murder always is. But we really do need your help. You can meet me here at the Sheriff’s Department.”
Shelton’s hand was shaking so badly he had trouble removing the gold pen from its holder on the note pad by the phone. He scrawled the directions as best he could.
“Traffic won’t be too bad on a Saturday evening. Shouldn’t take you more than an hour and a half or so,” the officer assured him.
Glancing at his Rolex, Shelton answered, “It’s a little before 6:00. I should be there about 7:30 or 8:00.”
“Better bring along a warm jacket. Nights can be cold up at Big Bear this time of year.”
“Any time of year,” Shelton agreed.
“Just one more thing, sir—”
“Yeah?”
“Until we have a positive ID, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this. There’s always the possibility it’s not your partner or his wife. We do make mistakes.”
“I hope to shit you have.” Shelton hung up and immediately tried to call his secretary at home to have her cancel his reservations, but after two rings, he changed his mind. She was sure to ask why he’d changed his plans, and he couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t tell anyone.
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