Free Killer Riff by Sheryl J. Anderson

For listening. I wasn’t sure you would.”
    I nodded. “I’d suggest you be cautious about discussing this with anyone else.”
    “And spoil your exclusive?”
    “I’m more concerned about how it would play on Page Six .” Every gossip column in the city would have orgasms over Olivia accusing Claire, and it just wasn’t smart.
    “Point taken.”
    I still wasn’t convinced any of this was a motive for murder, but I was intrigued. Out in the hallway, staring at the call button for the elevator, I wondered about the strain of living in the public eye, with paparazzi charting your every move, mood, misstep. It had to take a thick skin, and a skin that thick would get hard to shed over time, might even become your regular coat. Combine that with the ballistic power of artistic egos, and small wonder relationships went sour, marriages faltered, and families got weird.
    I was in the middle of trying to figure out what I’d be like if I’d grown up with rock stars when a slender hand grabbed my upper arm with viselike strength. I came close to literally jumping out of my shoes, but that didn’t faze Claire in the least.
    “You do understand that she only sees her side of the story,” she said darkly.
    “Pretty common affliction,” I said, trying to ease my arm away from her. But she wasn’t going to let go until she’d had her full say. I hoped I’d still have use of my fingers at that point.
    “Olivia has a particularly flexible relationship with the truth,” Claire continued urgently. “Her grief over what’s happened makes it even more difficult. I don’t want you to take her fantasies and present them as fact. She’s a very troubled girl, and she should be allowed to come to terms with her responsibility in private with the help of the people who love her.”
    “‘Responsibility’?” I asked, no longer caring that my arm was numb. It wasn’t just Olivia’s imagination or guilty conscience.
    Claire released me abruptly. At first I thought she was being coy, then I realized she’d genuinely said something she hadn’t intended to say. I was willing to bet that was a historic event. “Poor choice of words on my part.”
    Still, it gave me an opening I couldn’t resist pushing at a little harder. “Unless you think Olivia had something to do with Russell’s death.”
    Claire ran her tongue over her top teeth, pushing out her pursed lips even farther. She was waiting for me to continue or, better yet, to change the subject, but I wasn’t about to let her off that easily. Finally, she said, “His death was an accident.”
    “Not a universally held opinion.”
    “The official decision.”
    “What do you think?”
    “What exactly is your article about?” she said, putting on the practiced smile of a public person.
    I’d gotten as much as I was going to get at the moment.
    “Olivia as gatekeeper of her father’s legacy.”
    The last thing I expected from Claire Crowley at that moment was laughter, especially the throaty laugh of the bitterly amused. Before I could ask her what was so funny, the doorway at the other end of the hall opened, framing Olivia. Claire saw her but made no effort to quell her laughter. Olivia stepped out in the hallway, but Claire turned back to me and said, “We should talk. So our lawyers don’t have to,” and walkedback into her apartment without another look at Olivia or me. As soon as Claire’s door closed, Olivia withdrew and closed her door. I was left standing in the hallway, rubbing the hairs on the back of my neck and wondering exactly what I’d thought was wrong with being an advice columnist.

4
    “You can’t go alone.”
    “Thank you for being worried about my safety.”
    “Oh. That too.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Okay, I admit it. I love Jordan Crowley, and you’re denying me the opportunity to see him up close, all sweaty and artistic and magnificent.”
    It was nearly déjà vu. We were in my bedroom, with Cassady going through my closet with