Little White Lies: Georgiana Germaine, #4

Chapter One

Pippa Holliday bade farewell to the last of her guests and switched off the porch light, pleased her hosting duties had come to an end. She crossed the living room and stepped onto the back deck, pausing to breathe in a lungful of cool coastal air. Nights like this were Pippa’s favorite. Nights where she sat with a blanket draped across her legs, listening to the waves slapping against the rocks on the shore below.

Four months earlier Pippa had purchased the oceanfront home in Cambria, California, at a cost of two and a half million dollars, her first big splurge since landing a major acting role on the Netflix series, A Murderous Affair. The show was two seasons in, and she’d already been bumped up from supporting actress to lead actress after one of her co-stars entered rehab.

For as long as Pippa could remember, all she had ever wanted was to become a star. Now, at age twenty-seven, her dreams had become a reality. Life was good, and it seemed to just keep getting better.

With her dinner party at an end, Pippa’s thoughts turned to her four-year-old son Cooper. It had been a while since she last peeked in on him. She walked to his room, pulled the blanket over his tiny frame, and brushed a lock of his dark-brown hair out of his face. Leaning down, she planted a kiss on his forehead, and then she watched him sleep, reminiscing about the day she’d discovered she was pregnant.

Back then, Pippa was a broke, out-of-work actress, crashing at friends’ apartments and scraping pennies together to get by. She remembered how scared she’d been and how ill-equipped she’d felt about becoming a mother. At the time, she wasn’t sure she could manage it. Then her sister Greer swooped in, and everything changed. Greer moved Pippa into her house and looked after Cooper while Pippa pursued a future in Hollywood.

A lifetime ago, and sometimes it still didn’t seem real. But it was real. At long last, life was the way she’d always imagined it could be.

Pippa tiptoed out of Cooper’s room, catching a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror. Her eyeliner was smudged, and the curls she’d rolled into her long, blond hair had flattened. At some point during the night, she’d also managed to spill a dime-size dollop of tomato sauce on the sleeve of her shirt.

Nice.

Hoping the stain hadn’t set, she headed for the laundry room, stopping when she heard a strange noise on the back deck. It sounded like footsteps, like someone was walking around out there, but when she poked her head out to check, she saw no one.

Hello? Is anyone out here?

Of course, no one’s out there.

You’re two stories up, and everyone’s gone.

Don’t be silly.

Pippa’s cat brushed across her leg, and she picked him up, turning him around to face her. Was it you, hmm? Are you the one making a racket out here, Percy?

The cat meowed in response, and Pippa smiled, stroking his fur before putting him back down again. Percy trotted off toward Cooper’s room, perhaps to jump on the bed and snuggle next to him like he always did.

Pippa removed her shirt, dabbed it with stain remover, and then set it on the counter, leaving it to marinate until morning. Then she wiped her makeup off with a washcloth and slipped into a bikini.

Entering the kitchen a few minutes later, she grabbed a bottle of chardonnay out of the refrigerator. Every night since she’d moved into the new place, Pippa’s ritual was the same. She poured herself a glass of wine, got into the pool, and watched the moonlight dance across the ocean. But tonight was different than other nights. The sky had been impregnated with a foggy haze, shielding the moon from view.

Pippa sipped her wine, drifting to one end of the pool and back again. Minutes passed, the fog began to clear, and Pippa’s gaze fell upon a dark shape next to the sliding glass door. She could have sworn the shape had moved at first, but not so much now. She swam over to get a closer look, squinting at the area in question. She saw nothing and decided her exhausted mind was playing tricks on her. It had been a long night, and she was beyond tired. Maybe all she needed was a good night’s rest.

She tipped the last bit of wine into her mouth and reached for the metal bar to pull herself out of the pool but struggled when her muscles failed her. She tried again, feeling paralyzed, like she was about to collapse.

On her third try, Pippa managed to pull herself onto the cement. She tried to stand and couldn’t. Hunched over on all fours, she began crawling toward the house. If she could get to her cell phone, she could call for help. But her cell phone was at least thirty feet away, and with each passing moment, she felt weaker, her stream of consciousness wavering.

Just stop, rest a minute, and try again.

Pippa rolled onto her back and stared up the sky, wondering why her body was so feeble. The sensations she was experiencing were unfamiliar, and she couldn’t recall a time when she’d lost control of her body and mind the way she was now.

The wind whistled a faint melody through the air. Pippa listened to it for a moment, and then something dawned on her—it wasn’t the wind at all.

Someone was whistling a familiar tune.

Someone close by.

Relax, Pippa. Close your eyes and relax, a voice said.

She attempted to turn her head toward the voice but couldn’t.

Footsteps approached, fast and heavy, and then a blur of a person leaned over her body, blinking at her and smiling. Don’t worry, Pippa. This will all be over in a few minutes.

Chapter Two

Two weeks later

Today felt like an all-black kind of day, so I indulged the mood, choosing to dress in a wide-legged jumpsuit and a pair of art deco earrings. While simple, it was still ’30s chic. I grabbed a notebook and a pen and answered the door, exchanging formalities with Greer Holliday, my first potential client as a private investigator. I offered her a glass of water, and we sat at the table.

I drummed my fingernails on the tabletop, waiting for her to speak. Judging by the number of times she’d fiddled with the loose button on her shirt, she was nervous—and becoming even more so with each passing second. I wasn’t the type of person who could endure uncomfortable silences for long, so I broke it.

On the phone you said you’d like to hire me. You didn’t say why.

Greer’s eyes darted around. She twirled a finger around a lock of her long ash-blond hair and said, I guess I’m just a bit shocked. Your office is, well, not what I expected. I mean, it’s not even an office. It’s a … you know.

The way she’d said it sounded like we were meeting inside a rundown fixer-upper from the ’70s, instead of a cute, top-of-the-line RV. At present, my office was an Airstream—an Airstream parked next to a five-million-dollar house I shared with Giovanni Luciana, my boyfriend.

I thought about renting a space downtown, but this is just as intimate and private, I said. Truth is, it doesn’t matter where we meet. What matters is being great at my job, and I am.

Greer raised a brow, staring at me like she wanted me to prove it. How long have you been a private detective?

Six months wouldn’t sound too impressive, so I tried wooing her a different way. I worked as a detective for the San Luis Obispo Police Department for over a decade before I became a private eye.

Why don’t you work there anymore? Did something happen?

I considered her question, envisioning three metaphorical doors in front of me that, in combination, explained what happened. Behind door number one was my stepfather, Harvey, who was also my former boss. When he retired as chief of police several months ago, I knew working for the department would never be the same again. Behind door number two was Ivan Blackwell, a.k.a. Ivan the Terrible, San Luis Obispo’s new chief of police, and a man who was callous, racist, sexist, and with whom I didn’t get along. And then there was door number three. Behind it was me, a woman of forty-four who wasn’t ready to retire or stop going after bad guys yet.

Here’s what you need to know about me, I said. "I’ll work harder for you than anyone else will. I’ll solve your case, and I’m local. I’m the only private detective in Cambria. Now, let me take a stab at why you’re here. Your last name is Holliday, which also happens to be the same last name as Pippa Holliday, the actress who was murdered a couple of weeks back. I assume you’d like to hire me to look into what happened to her and why."

She blinked at me, seemed impressed. I … yeah. I do. It’s just, I’ve been to the police department a zillion times since she died, and they’re worthless. They keep assuring me they’re following up on leads. If they are, they’re not sharing any information with me. It’s frustrating. I need someone to keep me in the loop, someone who will tell me what’s going on.

I get it.

"Do you?"

More than she realized.

How’s Cooper doing, your sister’s son? I asked.

She smiled like she was pleased I knew the kiddo’s name. He’s confused. Slept through his mother’s murder, I guess. Doesn’t remember a thing. He keeps asking me when mommy’s coming home. I wish I knew what to say, but I don’t.

Where does he think his mother is?

I told him Pippa’s in heaven. He doesn’t understand what heaven is—or where it is, for that matter. Pippa never talked to him about things like that. We weren’t raised with religion.

Where is Cooper now?

Preschool. I thought it was best to keep his routine consistent while all of this is going on.

Which preschool?

Horizons Academy.

What’s their security like?

Why?

What an ignorant question.

Until you know who murdered your sister, you don’t know if he’s safe.

The way I look at it, if the killer wanted to take him, he could have the night my sister died.

She had a point.

Then again, maybe the murderer didn’t know Cooper was there at the time.

I didn’t like the idea of a preschool being responsible for keeping tabs on a child whose mother’s killer hadn’t been caught.

And … what if he had seen something and hadn’t mentioned it yet?

Is Cooper staying with you? I asked.

Greer nodded.

Where’s the boy’s father?

I have no idea where he is or who he is. Pippa told me they dated for a couple of weeks before he shipped out overseas with the military. It was nothing more than a fling. The pregnancy was an accident.

Did Pippa ever tell Cooper’s dad about him?

I don’t think so. After the guy shipped out, he never contacted her again, so she decided to raise him on her own. Well, not just on her own. She always had me.

What about other men in her life? I asked. Was she dating anyone else before she died?

Pippa didn’t have time for anyone else. She was too focused on her acting career. The only male in her life was her son.

Has the autopsy come back yet?

It has, and the medical examiner said she was poisoned.

The county medical examiner was Silas Crowe, a laid-back, yet responsible beach bum I’d worked with for years.

Poisoned with what? I asked.

Rohypnol.

It made me wonder if someone at the house party had drugged her.

And if so, why?

Rohypnol was a popular date-rape drug, which led me to question whether the intention had been to rape her, kill her, or both. The night of Pippa’s murder, she’d hosted a private party to celebrate wrapping the previous season of A Murderous Affair. The party’s guest list included a smattering of people. According to the news reports, Pippa’s costar Donovan Grant was the last to leave, exiting the party with his wife. The following morning, Greer came by to help her sister clean up. She found Pippa next to the pool, dead.

Was your sister sexually assaulted?

No.

If rape wasn’t the goal, killing her must have been.

Can you give me the names of everyone who attended Pippa’s party? I asked.

I can.

Were you there the night of the party?

For a short time. I left right after I put Cooper to bed.

This was new information, something I didn’t know. The local news had mentioned Donovan Grant, his wife, and a few others, but had reported nothing about Greer being in attendance.

How long were you at your sister’s house? I asked.

I helped her set up for the party, and then I stayed for the first hour and a half until it was Cooper’s bedtime.

Did anything happen at the party while you were there? Any tension or anyone upset with Pippa for whatever reason?

She shook her head. It was perfect. Everyone had a great time, from my perspective, at least.

Can you describe what you saw the morning you found her?

She resumed fiddling with the button until the stitching came undone, the button sliding onto the floor. She reached down to grab it, shoved it into her pocket, and then looked at me like she was embarrassed.

I know how hard it is to lose someone you care about, I said. Take all the time you need.

It’s just … it was awful, finding her body. I still can’t talk about it.

No problem. I can get additional information from the medical examiner. Where was Cooper when you arrived?

In his room, playing with toys. He seemed to think Pippa was asleep. I don’t think he’d left his room that morning.

There was still a chance he’d seen something.

For his sake, I hoped he hadn’t.

You worked for Pippa, didn’t you? I asked.

I was her assistant.

You two would have spent a lot of time together, then. Is there anyone in Pippa’s life who had a problem with her?

Greer crossed her arms, considering the question. I mean, she got along with almost everyone, but yeah … I can think of a couple of people. Laney St. James, for starters.

Pippa’s co-star, right?

Greer nodded. She thought she’d do a quick stint in rehab while the show was on hiatus and return for the next season, like the complete meltdown she had on set never happened. Truth is the show’s producers had been irritated with her diva attitude for a long time. As soon as she entered rehab, she was fired.

How did Laney take the news?

Not well. She called everyone and cussed them out, even Pippa, who had nothing to do with Laney being fired.

Pippa had been given Laney’s job.

It was reason enough.

How did Pippa respond when Laney lashed out? I asked.

She bawled her eyes out. She’d idolized Laney for years. I drove to Laney’s house and gave her a piece of my mind. She never said a word to Pippa again.

It was obvious Greer took on a protective role when it came to her sister and that she was the more dominant of the two.

Who else had a problem with your sister? I asked.

Trevor Armstrong. They dated for about six months. She liked him, but it didn’t last because he’s a paranoid weirdo.

Paranoid in what way?

On most Sunday’s, Pippa and I had brunch together. There was this one time when Pippa had just arrived, and her cell phone rang. It was Trevor.

What did he say?

He’d stayed over at her place the night before, and he was calling to say he thought she was too dressed up to be having brunch with her sister. He accused her of lying to him about her plans for the day. He didn’t come right out and say he thought she might have some other guy on the side, but that’s what he was suggesting. Pippa would never cheat on anyone. She wasn’t that kind of person.

A jealous coworker. A jealous ex. A pattern was beginning to form.

I’m assuming you’ve told all of this to the police, I said.

Yep. Everything, including the phone calls I discovered on Pippa’s phone.

What phone calls?

Dozens of them from Trevor, all in the last five or six weeks of her life.

How long were the calls?

She shrugged. I didn’t go over every single one, but it varied. Some were a few minutes. Others were longer.

She was talking to him before she died, then.

Or he was trying to talk to her.

I turned to a blank page in the notebook and flipped it around, handing her the pen. Write down the names of the party’s guests for me, as well as Trevor’s information. I’ll start there.

She spent the next few minutes complying with my request and then returned the notebook and pen to me. Anything else?

I’ll also need to take a look around your sister’s place.

"I can get you a key, but it’s still considered a crime scene. They haven’t let