Stardom Kills: A Henry Tyler Mystery

By Tamara Emerson

First in the series to wet your appetite is Stardom Kills. A flowing page-turner intertwined with a plot mix of engrossing characters: Hollywood's Elite, Celebrities, Media Hounds and Shady Mortals-will all keep you enthralled and guessing.

Henry Tyler and his wife Barbara, who reside in La Jolla, CA since Henry's retirement, are back in L.A. vacationing with their son and daughter-in-law at the famous Beverly Hills Hotel.

Famous guests in the hotel include Pop Diva Alicia Hill, who is relaxing while promoting her newest smash album.

On Alicia's big night of jubilation sponsored by her record company, cameras are flashing, applause is plentiful and the party is in full swing until evil intervenes. Henry is nearby and hears a shrilling scream drawing him to the catastrophe. Alicia Hill has collapsed to her death.

While LAPD's finest detectives labor the perplexing homicide, Henry is powerless at getting the cold-blooded homicide out of his mind and does some snooping and analytical investigating on his own.

With little to go on, the challenging chase is on Is an "Ulterior motive" involved, or was there an "Ax to grind?" Hang on, it will be a wild ride.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 1, 2005
• ISBN: 9780595806355

Tamara Emerson

Tamara Emerson resides in Los Angeles, California with her loving, supportive husband and inspirational thirteen-year-old Cocker Spaniel. She is actively researching and writing additional crime solving plots to progress her Henry Tyler mystery series.

Book preview

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 1

Monday, July 19 Beverly Hills, CA

The man driving the Porsche cursed silently as his foot danced from the gas pedal to the brake. Even though there was no hurry, he accelerated every chance he got. It was not easy considering the ascending canyon road he was traveling on was thick with moving traffic, which was normal for that time of evening.

A glare coming from a curved flow of taillights flooding in front and bright silvery headlights behind him made it nearly impossible to read the street signs at the speed he was motoring. He could have sworn he was still headed in the right direction, but without seeing the correct posted street sign, it was obvious he’d went too far. The more he thought about it, driving along the same street was starting to seem endless. However, if he would have clocked it, only ten minutes had passed by.

Irritated knowing he had driven too far, he pounded the top of the steering wheel and said out loud angrily, Damn it! I spent all that time and still got it wrong.

To take another glance at the map, he turned off at the next stoplight with intentions to pull over when he found a quiet place to do so.

He had been told this errand was going to be a piece of cake, considering the majority he did put him at risk of getting shot on a regular basis. The cunning scheme was not going to be any more difficult than lifting a candy bar from a local grocery store. Sly in, slither out.

The start of the errand had proved to be just that simple. He had been instructed that the mark’s house was listed on a star map you buy in Hollywood. Either you purchase one from a street kid peddling them on a corner, or at a souvenir store along Hollywood Boulevard. He chose to do his business with a gangly kid who was standing on the boulevard corner listening to tiny headphones and drawing attention to motorists by waving his scrawny arms in front of a large wooden sign that said, Maps of Stars Homes.

Seeing an unlit driveway, he pulled in and parked, switched on the dome light and started comparing the written directions he wrote out to the map.

After purchasing the map he had went to a bar along the Sunset Strip, threw back some tap beers and wrote on a napkin the directions he needed to follow to complete his errand.

Comparing them, he peevishly said out loud, Damn it all to hell! I was supposed to take a left on Beverly Village Drive.

Pissed off for writing down the wrong street name, he threw the map onto the floor space behind the passenger’s seat. His heavy foot stomped on the accelerator as he gunned the Porsche out of the driveway.

Almost hitting a car that came up quickly behind him, he screeched the Porsche to a halt. The driver of the speeding car honked and swerved just wide enough to miss him.

The man in the Porsche did not think it was his fault. He yelled out, Screw you!

Realizing it had been a close call; he took a few moments to calm his nerves by lighting a smoke. The nicotine was effective and the man, determined more than ever to get his job done, cockily sped off to locate his destination.

Only after one more wrong turn did he finally approach the accurate street sign for the address he was looking for. Not having the sharpest memory, he had to look at the house number that he had written down on the napkin. He slowed the car, flicked on the light, and etched it in his brain by saying it out loud, Twelve-twenty, that be’ the one. The napkin went flying into the back seat area as he repeated the number.

Now that he was almost there, he wondered if the mark’s house would have a bearer in front of it. Monstrous walls either guarded most of the houses he passed, or the house itself was set back from the street with an iron gate concealing its privacy. All he cared was that the front of their house had an open space to make a drop.

He spotted the address number on a massive pillar connected to a wrought iron gate. That was his first break; the second was his audacious eyes did not spot any security cameras. He did notice though that there was a security sign, which was not uncommon since the house was located in Beverly Hills.

Thinking of the best way to drop the manila envelope, he drove about a quarter mile up the street. Not making it complicated for himself, he came to the quick decision to pull the car up along side of the street, get out, walk up to the gate and drop it through.

Dropping the envelope, his eyes bugged as they were drawn to the estate.

Casually walking back to his car, he said under his breath, Those damn bastards have one fine crib. His pants had slid over top his boxer shorts and he yanked them up while he slipped unnoticed into the Porsche. The lights were switched off, but the motor was running.

Inching away from the house, he drove slowly without his headlights for a block and then switched them on. Secure from danger in the opulent neighborhood, he took his time speeding up instead of racing off. The address faded from his mind and was left behind in the darkness.

The job had popped up at a good time. He was close to being broke again. Not ever thinking the day would arrive where he would not be able to raise cold, hard cash, he never looked ahead at putting any ready money aside.

His head swelled as he reflected how he had done a great job. In the way a bank teller would count out money to a worker who was cashing a weekly paycheck, in his mind he was counting the dollar bills that would be handed over to him after he wrapped up the job by dropping a second envelope off next week.

With the thought of his new windfall, he changed channels on the radio until he found one that fit his moneymaking spirit. He came upon Today was a good day, and stopped there. Bellowing out the tune, he decided to maneuver his way back to where he had hung out earlier on the Sunset Strip. A celebratory beer was in order and if he got lucky, maybe he would cross paths with some young bitch he could fast-talk into keeping him entertained for the night.

CHAPTER 2

Thursday, July 22

Waking from a restless night of sleep, Donnell rolled over to savor the one person from whom deep inside him he loved most in life, his beautiful wife.

Alicia was breathing peacefully as she calmly slept. He stared adoringly. As he cherished the moment, he caught himself needing to take a breath. A rush of ecstasy filled his aching heart as he was reminded of her liveliness, which was apparent even without the open communication of her eyes that revealed the channel to her blessed soul.

As he longed to be her protector and hold her in his arms, he told himself that starting today he was going to make a much stronger effort than he had been, to win her trust back. Also, as he lay there with devotion on his face, presentiment images running through his mind, he could not help but think about keeping a close eye out for any psychos who might be lurking close by the house, or in the vicinity.

They had received a mystifying letter at their residence, and he had told Alicia not to worry about it. He had been firm that it was nonsense and did not need to be reported.

After reading it over a few times, Donnell had tucked it away in a drawer in his office. Since then, coming across it again last night, he had evolving thoughts that maybe he should be concerned.

Alicia awakened to Donnell gazing wide-eyed at her. Even though her innermost awareness told her she should feel nothing but devotion with him being by her side, there was still the reluctance to let his eyes filled with love change her current despair of their relationship.

She was not willing to forgive him quite that easy. Recently, the bonding closeness between them was drifting away. Alicia was finding it hard to believe Donnell when he claimed to have cleaned himself up.

Just months ago, they had gone to a party consisting mainly of Donnell’s friends. Within several minutes she had become bored with the partygoers and had wanted to go home. They had said a few not so nice words back and forth, he refused to leave, and she went home by herself. She had not bothered waiting up for him knowing the crowd he was partying with would be snorting coke way into the wee hours.

The two of them originally engaged at a musical function held by mutual friends. The first time their eyes locked there was a clear vision of glowing passion between them. After being formally introduced, there was no doubt the chemistry between them was undeniable as cravings for one another throbbed throughout their bodies.

She had known ofhim and his talent. At that very moment they met, she recognized him to be everything desirable in a man. With their first unforgettable greeting, she dreamt of the day his chiseled body and handsome countenance would be lying beside her every night.

Just looking at him and imagining his moving touch upon her, sent tingling sensations throughout her body.

She loved to listen and watch him sing, especially to her. It was truly another way his tenderness showed through. The words flowed from his lips into her heart, melting it with the fire and passion he acted out reaching deep inside her.

She was the equivalent to him and even more. The way she looked at life with the frame of mind—nothing was impossible if you set your priorities straight, was a quality in a woman he did not know existed.

With their hearts joined as one, they made beautiful music together. They dated for a year before he proposed, which he did romantically and with the traditional kneeling. Without hesitation, she accepted and they got married after a brief engagement period.

Over the five-year period of their marriage, they entrusted in one another to be each other’s soul mate. With demanding careers making it a challenge to find quality time together, she was the one who made the extra effort at making sure romance played an important role of their commitment, keeping the flame ignited.

Only in the past year had she felt a barrier beginning to exist between them. Donnell had found a new love affair, an addiction to drugs and all night parties.

It was a devilish, tempting combo that Alicia was having a hard time knowing how to compete with.

Socializing at star-studded parties was a major part of their lives. In most cases the party scene was swarming with alcohol and drugs, including cocaine. The trouble free access to the nose-candy made it easy to get hooked on. Its sensational high feeling left those craving it, repeating their intake.

She knew Donnell was into some drugs when she met him, but he had promised her he wasn’t dependent on them. She’d only tried marijuana once and had quickly realized it was not something she needed in her life.

Others claimed drugs gave them courage or kept them going. Not her, she had felt out of control and numb, not a welcoming experience. Her career was way too important for interference from drugs. She wanted to be admired and she loved being at the top. Her wish included continuing making sure she stayed exactly where she had worked so extremely hard to get to in the first place.

Disregarding her strong feelings against drug use, especially coke, Donnell continued to use, but in a more discreet fashion. She was wise to him and knowing how it was already affecting his career and could be even more damaging to his reputation if he didn’t take control, she consistently reminded him of that fact. With those words being said, occasionally they were at each other’s throats.

Privately, the conflict was a strain between them and their marriage, but under no circumstances would she let others know to what degree. Her feeling was she had warned him before getting married if he ever slipped up and cheated on her, she would drop him flat and there would be no turning back.

This was different. In this circumstance she came to a decision that she would let him have his space, but not enough that she would lose him completely. With gentle persuasion, at some point, she felt he would smarten up and agree that what she was telling him would be beneficial to him, and likewise, for the both of them to continue staying in a marriage that flourished rather than becoming diluted.

As far as Hollywood was concerned they were still the ideal celebrity couple. Only once, around a year ago, she had become frightened that Donnell was capable of harming her and she had called the authorities. Only to realize later, she shouldn’t have called the cops as the mishap had gotten scooped to the media in mouthful proportions. Luckily, with time, the incident had been minimized, but beyond question good dish does not die easily in Hollywood.

CHAPTER 3

Thursday, July 22 San Diego, CA

Henry if you bowl another high scoring game like that, I’m going to have to insist you sign up for a men’s or mixed league, said Tom, the owner of the bowling alley, who was looking at their scores on the overhead screen.

There had been a bowling banquet held last night and Henry’s score of 193 today was barely below what the average league players had accomplished.

Barbara, Henry Tyler’s wife, had been coaxed into joining a women’s league by one of the board members at an organization where she did volunteer work. Besides tennis, she wasn’t much for sports, but had decided to give it a try. Taking a shot at it, she had discovered she was quite skilled at throwing a powerful curve ball. Supportive ofher competitive play and a fan of just about any sport, occasionally Henry would go to the alley with her to be her bowling partner while she worked on improving her game.

Barbara said, Tom, I already tried him. He’s too busy with golfing.

So, he’s too busy with golfing?

Yes, that’s about the size of it, Barbara replied.

Henry was putting his ball away and expressed on his behalf, Kid stuff. Serious—golf s the real challenge.

That’s a good one, Tom said and chuckled, Barbara said you’re headed back to L.A. next week. Her replacement has big shoes to fill.

You got that right, Henry said while slipping his feet into street shoes. He winked at Barbara who was powdering their bowling shoes before packing them away for next time.

Henry, I suppose going back to L.A. will get your detective juices flowing again? Tom asked. He was the kind of guy who found fascination in hearing about others livelihood, past or present. The focal point of his work shift revolved around shooting the breeze.

Tom, that’s ancient history, Henry quipped. Although, only two years had passed since he had retired as a detective from the LAPD Homicide Detective Department.

Well, at least check out that new bowling lounge in Hollywood while you’re there. I heard they have sofas instead of these great chairs we provide, Tom said jokingly as he tapped the back of one of the plastic molded seats.

Henry swallowed the last of his diet soda before placing the glass back in the drink holder. He said, My guess—fat chance you’d see a real bowler there. Hollywood and all.

Tom said, Well, let me know when you get back if you checked it out. Henry and him started walking to the counter and vending machine area.

Barbara was busy polishing her ball before putting it away. She knew Henry was going to get another diet soda before they left and had decided she’d like another one as well for the drive home. She said, Henry, get me one also please.

Got it, replied Henry.

He was planning on it anyhow. He hated when Barbara would say she was fine without one, but then decided to share his. She would say, I’ll just have a sip of yours.

The same went for when he would go out for fast food. She would say she was okay, and then when he came back with the food, she would pick at his fries and watch as he ate his sandwich. He would give her some and soon enough his meal would not be entirely filling. He eventually learned it was wiser to order double.

Henry returned munching on a candy bar and carrying two diet sodas. Barbara was ready to go and grabbed the diet sodas so Henry could carry the bags.

As they left, Barbara chatted on about how they better start making arrangements for the time they were going to be away on vacation. Henry told her not to worry about it yet—they had a whole week still. She made the argument that there was a lot to do.

CHAPTER 4

Tuesday, July 27

San Quentin State Prison

Martin Green was calling from prison. Gruffly, he spoke out of the side of his mouth, You’re saying then you took care of it?

The voice on the other end of the phone was the man who drove the Porsche. He smugly said, Yeah man, I told you I could handle it. I dropped the second envelope off late last night. They gots’ themselves one fine crib in Beverly Hills, that’s what I’m sayin’.

I don’t care about their crib. I only asked if it had been done. For sure nobody saw you?

Hell no! As I said, I did the job. When you goin’ to get me my cash?

Bro’, I told you already you’ll get your money.

The man had already been conned once by receiving zip from another employer, he rashly blurted out, How do I know I can trust you?

Hey cock-sucker don’t you even start up with that. I gave my word to you at the beginning of this deal. He kicked the wall with his boot, sending a vibration running through his leg. He yelped forgetting his shin still had a welting bruise on it from getting whacked out in the prison yard earlier that day.

Silence came on the other end as the man from the Porsche thought, Damn, why’d I go and say that? Now there’s no way I can ask if he’ll hook me up again.

Martin’s time was up to use the phone. He snapped before hanging up, I have to go! While limping back to his cell, he grumbled to himself through his two newly chipped front teeth, I want that bitch to suffer like I’m suffering from being locked up in here. Air whistled through his missing teeth and evil hatred steamed from his ears. Fight after fight since arriving at the pen ten months ago stabbed at him.

Most faithful children worshipped their parents for the emotional support they received. Martin, damned from birth, knew only violence, malnutrition and the importance of being in a gang versus an unloved family. High strung with a short fuse easily tipping the scale, Martin had ended up in the exact same place his father had spent his last living days before a rival gang member killed him with a prison made shiv. At the pace Martin was keeping, he figured it would only be by sheer luck that he’d live to the ripe age of forty.

The man who drove the Porsche felt equally content and mindless as he hung up the phone. His spoilsport cousin had been listening in and was now making him conscious of how reckless he had been when opening his big mouth and using it to lip off while talking back to Martin Green. Still rolling with laughter, his shady, underhanded cousin told him he was not that smart to have said that shit to someone who’d be paying him green. Physically, his cousin had been bent over holding his gut as he said, Get it, the guys name is Green and he’s going to be paying you with green and you think he’s a ‘mother-whoring’ cheat.

A bad habit unable to break, the man couldn’t keep in check when feeling overly sure he was right and everyone else was wrong. This time by mouthing off he felt it was going to cost him a chance at getting another sweet gig set up through Martin Green. What the hell, he thought as he smirked at his cousin who said his thick skull of fricking stupidity had probably blew it for him scoring the next job Martin had lined up. His cousin explained to him what it was and then left the room.

The man was not worried. He knew there would always be more errands. Maybe not as risk free as the Beverly Hills gig he had pulled off without a hitch, but certainly more would come his way.

Leaning forward he grabbed a cigarette from a pack sitting on the coffee table. He then thrashed through his pockets looking for a lighter. Locating the lighter in his jeans, he lit the cigarette and took the first puff of smoke deep into his lungs before blowing it out. When pocketing the lighter into his shirt instead of his jeans, he came across a twenty-dollar bill. Like a gold-digging gigolo smiling with conceit, he thought about how sweet it was going to be when he got his hands on the green, which he should have by days end.

Cash was king in his opinion and not a single person could try to tell him differently. Especially his mom, who consistently barked at him to get his sorry ass into a trade school and get an education that would get him a real job, or risk turning out to be nothing better than his father, who sat around drunk all day collecting disability. As far as he was concerned, she didn’t have a clue about how life worked. He earned, just not in the way that made a mom proud.

What the hell, he thought every time she brought it up, I’m no geek who’s going to go to a place like ITT to learn about computers. His belief was that