Page 34 of Naughty Nelle

A shiver creeps up my spine. As many times as I’ve wanted to kill him for driving me crazy, including today, the thought of Brandon Taylor dead rattles me. Pops’s gut feelings are always spot on. A troubling thought crosses my mind. My stomach knots up and my pulse accelerates.

“Pops, am I a suspect?”

Pops laughs his hearty laugh. “Of course not, babycakes. You’re the one who found him. If you hadn’t, he would have bled to death. Plus, if you recall, you were running errands at the purported time of the accident. All the shop owners have confirmed that as well as Brandon’s gardener, who, by the way we questioned, and is not a suspect either.

Though I’ve tried to block it out, I flashback to that fateful day. Driving home from my final stop, the drycleaner, I was halfway up the private road to Brandon’s house when I spotted his lifeless body sprawled on the ground. Blood was pouring from his head. Wearing his running clothes, he was already swimming in a crimson pool. My car came to a screeching halt and so did my heart. In a panic, I leapt out of my car and rushed over to him. At the time, I had no idea what had happened—I thought perhaps he’d taken a terrible tumble—but I knew he needed help. Fast! With trembling fingers, I called 911. I cradled him in my arms as I awaited the paramedics. Tears filled my eyes. Fear filled my mind. Grief filled my heart. I talked to him. Told him to hang in there. Told him it wasn’t his time. And then I spilled my heart out. My tears trickled onto his soft face and I…

My father’s husky, Jersey-accented voice catapults me back to the moment. “You okay, babycakes?”

I nod though I feel shaken. “Yeah, I was just thinking about that day.”

“It must have been hard on you.”

“Yeah, it was.” He has no idea.

“Do you remember anything unusual about it?”

I shake my head. “It was just like any day. Brandon went for a jog. I was doing errands.”

Pops takes a deep breath. “Can you think of anyone who would want Brandon Taylor dead?”

I rack my brain and shake my head again.

“A crazy fan? An ex-assistant? An employee? Someone who works on the show?”

“No, Pops. To the best of my knowledge, everyone worships him and he’s never been stalked.”

“What’s his manager Scott Turner like?”

“A total slime bucket.”

“A murderer?”

“No, Pops, he’s slimy in that icky slick Hollywood kind of way, but that’s about it. He’s been with Brandon since the beginning of his career. He’s the last person who would want Brandon dead. He’s all about Brandon. And Brandon, in return, treats him well.”

“How much do you think he makes?”

“Not sure, but probably a couple hundred thousand dollars a year. Plus, he gets hefty bonuses. Last Christmas, he bought himself a brand new Corvette thanks to Brandon.”

“What about Brandon’s fiancée, Katrina Moore?”

The mention of her name makes my stomach churn, and once more the repulsive image of her sucking him off flashes in my mind.

“She’s a piece of work, but again no murderer. I mean, she’s marrying a superstar. The sexiest man in the world. Something every woman in the world dreams of. If that was me, I sure wouldn’t want him dead.”

If that was me.I inwardly sigh. I don’t hold a candle to Katrina. She’s Hollywood royalty. Supermodel beautiful. America’s It Girl. She may be a bitch to me, but she’s the perfect woman for Brandon. Second thoughts bombard me—maybe, I should implicate the bitch. Get rid of her!

My father bites into the other half of his sandwich. “Sure you don’t want some?”

It looks so damn delicious. I’m mentally drooling, but I pass once again. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

My father swallows, but not before getting another mustard stain on his light blue shirt. Smiling with amusement, I hand him a paper napkin.

“Thanks, babycakes.” He swipes at the yellow blotch. “Your mother’s gonna kill me.”

I laugh while he asks me another question.

“Do you know Katrina well?”

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