Page 30 of Wild Idol
“Maybe a month ago. About the time we broke up. When I found out she was cheating on me.”
“And you haven’t had any contact since?”
“We’ve had a few heated discussions. A few text exchanges.”
“Did you ever threaten her?”
“What!? No. I never threatened her. I never did anything. If she’s saying otherwise, it’s complete bullshit.”
The guy had the resources to hire someone to take her out, but he wasn’t high on my suspect list. If he was trying to clean up his image, hiring a hit squad to take out his ex-girlfriend wouldn’t do him any favors.
I thanked him for the information and told him I might be in touch. I ended the call, and we headed across the island to grab lunch at Sharktooth. Jack ordered the baby back ribs with a tangy honey barbecue sauce. I went with the Shark’s bacon double cheeseburger.
The place had the aesthetic of a shack that was cobbled together with driftwood. The walls were covered with viscous jaws and sharks’ teeth. There were pictures of great whites and the obligatory infamous movie poster. Life preservers and harpoons added to the ambiance. A massive great white jaw above the bar was a focal piece. A wooden deck with outdoor seating extended to the white sand of the man-made beach. Teal waves crashed against the shore, providing a soothing soundtrack. Gulls squawked, drifting on the breeze. The waitresses pranced around in tight bikinitops a size or two too small and cutoff jean shorts. The food was good, and sometimes the view was better.
It got a little rowdier at night. There was a pool table and a dartboard. Sometimes, a live band played on the deck. You never knew who you’d bump into. If you listened, there were plenty of outlaw stories to be told by old-timers at the bar.
We chowed down and kicked around theories about the case.
“Sable’s on top of the world,“ Jack said. “She’s got everything at her fingertips. Money, fame, influence.”
“That breeds a lot of jealousy and contempt,“ I said.
“I don’t think she got sideways with drug dealers. She’s got more than enough money to pay her bill.”
“Just because she has money doesn’t mean she pays her debts.”
“I think we’re looking at a rival,” Jack said. “Brianna fits the bill. Takes out her competition, earns street cred, and makes anyone else think twice about talking shit.”
“I seriously doubt this is something Brianna is going to take credit for.”
“Sometimes these dipshits can’t keep their mouths shut.”
That much was true. The number of times an inmate got busted from bragging to his cellmate about a crime he committed was staggering. Most people just love to blabber on about their nefarious accomplishments.
After we ate, we set out to find Brianna.
17
Seascape Sound was a state of the art recording studio. The owner, Dale, had converted a house on the beach into an award-winning facility. With a magnificent view of the teal ocean, several soundproof recording rooms, and comfortable areas to lounge, it was quickly becoming a favorite among recording artists. A secluded oasis to nurture creativity. A place to let your imagination run wild.
The futuristic white stucco house was elegant and refined. With black doors and trim, it had a clean, minimalist feel. Surrounded by lush green foliage, it had an infinity pool and a private beach. No expense had been spared in its construction.
Jack had kicked around the idea of recording the next Wild Fury album here.
We parked at the curb and made our way up the walkway to the front door. I rang the buzzer, but nobody answered.
I rang the bell a few more times.
Finally, an annoyed voice crackled back through the speaker. “We’re in the middle of a private session.”
I flashed my badge to the lens. “Coconut County. We need to speak with Brianna.”
The man hesitated. “Hang on.”
JD and I exchanged a hopeful glance.
The man’s voice filtered through the speaker a moment later. “She says, and I quote,fuck off.”
