Page 7 of Lethal Seduction

“I know,” I say. “Oh my god, I hate myself when I get like this.”

“Nah.” She waves away my self-consciousness. “He probably didn’t even notice.”

I laugh. “Let’s get the fuck out of here and get a latte before our shift starts. There’s plenty of time to go to Coffee Cravings.”

“Perf.” Tina smiles with all the giddiness of a true coffee-obsessed fiend.

It’s one of the many things we have in common. I can almost feel the surge of life I know I’ll have after that first glorious sip. The caramel mocha sweetness will give me goosebumps, and the caffeine, the will to live through my shift. It’ll be great!

We gather up our equipment and head for the car. I need an extra shot of espresso in my iced coffee if I have the slightest hope of tolerating the assholes that frequent what once was thecountry club of the Hollywood elite. It’s where I get paid to hand out towels and toiletries in the guest locker room and at poolside. We also provide drinks and snacks to the middle-aged, out-of-touch, shitty rich people who repeatedly get handsy and ask for happy endings during their massage. Although, I suspect some of the other staff have it worse, especially those giving facials, waxing, and other spa treatments.

Needless to say, we rarely ever see any true Hollywood royalty, but the B-Rated and Forgotten-Abouts are there in force. Seas the Day Country Club and Med Spa has really fallen out of favor, to which I can’t see any way to fix. Oh well. I’ll ride this ship as it circles the drain. At least I’m still getting paid.

Happy fucking Monday.

4

MICHAEL

I’ve arrived at Who’s Your Caddy Golf Club before sunup. The club is one of two from the olden days of Hollywood. From what I’ve been told, this place and Seas the Day Country Club and Med Spa have been struggling to keep up appearances since larger chain clubs backed by corporations have been cropping up the last few years. This incident will do little to keep them afloat. Another Hollywood mainstay on the brink, it seems. It’s sad, really.

As I step through the grand, arched entrance, the opulence of old-world glamour and luxury now feels eerie under the shadow of crime scene tape. The soft glow of crystal chandeliers hanging from an intricately coffered ceiling catches my eye, their light reflecting off polished marble floors that now echo with the footsteps of investigators and the murmurs of staff.

In the reception area, I notice the plush, emerald velvet chairs and the dark mahogany woodwork. Gilded mirrors adorn the walls, their ornate frames catching the light and adding a touch of opulence to the scene. Black-and-white photographs of Hollywood stars hang along the corridor, now serving as silent witnesses to the current investigation.

The air is still filled with a delicate blend of eucalyptus and lavender, a stark contrast to the tension that fills the room. The main lounge area, usually a sanctuary of comfort and style, now hosts a team of detectives, their voices low as they confer over the grand fireplace. Fresh flowers and vintage ornaments on the mantle seem out of place amidst the chaos.

Every corner of Who's Your Caddy Country Club, once whispering tales of secret rendezvous, star-studded parties, and the timeless pursuit of leisure and luxury, now tells a different story. It’s a place where the echoes of the past blend seamlessly with the grim reality of the present, offering me a unique challenge in uncovering the truth behind the crimes committed here under the cover of darkness.

“Who are you?” a seductive male voice sounds behind me.

I turn as a perky young red-haired twenty-something saunters over to me with his hand extended. Taking his hand I shake the limp, dead, fish. Gross. Nothing worse than a limp handshake.

“Hello,” I say. “My name’s Detective Michael Borne.”

“Say no more,” he says. “Put me in cuffs.” He wiggles his hands and fingers between us.

Chuckling, I smile. “I don’t think that will be necessary… unless you’re a murderer, of course.”

The gasp and clutching of pearls sounded as honest as any answer I’ve ever received during my time on the homicide division.

“My goodness,” he says. “I was not expecting you to say such a thing.”

“Sorry,” I say, pulling out my pencil and small notepad. “What was your name?”

The handsome man before me seems to turn a shade of red, then white, and then green? Is he terrified of me now?

“Mr. Kaleb Robert Carmelo Hector Hudson, at your service.” His eyes twinkle as he clearly shifts from being scared to horny.

“Wow,” I say. “That’s quite a mouthful.”

“So I’ve been told.” He pouts his lips and tucks a non-existent strand of hair behind his ear. “What can I do to… sorry,foryou?”

“I was hoping you could tell me something about the incident that happened here last night.”

His demeanor grows serious. “I don’t know anything. In fact, I didn’t even know the old guy that was found.”

“But you knew Gordy?”

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