Free All That Glitters by Michael Murphy Page A

cream, her hair in curlers. “I barely slept.”
    I struggled to sit up, but stabbing pains shot through every joint in my body.
    “I…I thought about it all. I acted like a complete fool about you and Christine. She’s a manipulative vixen.” She wiped away most of the cold cream with a towel.
    Christine didn’t manipulate me, but I wasn’t in a position to quibble. “Yes, she is.”
    I tried to move and winced from the effort.
    “You’re right about Eric Carville. He’s a despicable bully. I’m sure you had every reason to punch him in the nose.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. “And the screenplay does need some help. I knew it on the train, but I figured as an actress, it’d be up to me to make Faith Chapman funny.”
    I braced my hand against the arm of the couch and managed to sit up. “The cabbie thought you were a hoot.”
    Apparently oblivious to my discomfort, Laura kissed my cheek. She smiled and wiped a spot of cold cream from my nose. “You must be feeling a ton of pressure. I mean, it’s laughable to believe you’d think you’re even qualified to write a screenplay.”
    Laughable? I arched my back, my spine popping like popcorn. “Do you still feel it was a mistake to invite me along?”
    “I shouldn’t have said that.” Laura stared at her hands as if she had more to say.
    I didn’t like the way she avoided me while picking at her glossy red fingernails. “Something else on your mind?”
    “If we’re going to be married, we shouldn’t have any secrets from each other.”
    Where did women get ideas like that? A few secrets were okay with me. “Of course.” From her expression of dread, I didn’t want to hear this.
    “Several months after you left for Florida, I met William Powell at a party—”
    We both jumped when the phone rang.
    Laura hurried to answer it.
    What time was it? I stumbled across the room. Doubled over in pain, I must’ve done a passable Groucho Marx imitation.
    As Laura answered the phone, I yanked open a desk drawer and pulled out a flask I’d unpacked earlier.
    “This is Laura.”
    As she listened, I took a sip of whiskey. After another, I slowly managed to stand.
    Laura’s mouth opened, and she sucked in a gulp of air. Her face faded to a ghastly white. “Of course…come right up.” She hung up and stared vacantly across the room.
    “What’s wrong?”
    She grabbed the flask and tossed back a long swallow. “That was Todd Carville. He’s downstairs.”
    Todd Carville, in the lobby?
“What does he want at this hour?”
    “Eric…” Her voice sputtered. “Eric’s dead.”

Chapter 6
He Left with a Bang
    Laura gathered the pillow and blanket I slept on and dashed into the bedroom to freshen up. I struggled to recover from my few hours on a cramped couch. As I pressed my thumbs into my back and arched my spine, the bones sounded like a string of firecrackers on the Fourth of July.
    In the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face. The mirror told me to slick down my hair. The stubble on my face felt like tree bark, but I had no intention of changing clothes or shaving.
    I returned to the living room and struggled into my tuxedo jacket.
    Laura burst into the room wearing a slip, with freshly combed hair and perfectly applied makeup. She gasped. “You’re going to wear
that
?”
    “Why not?”
    “Todd Carville will be here any second!” She rushed into the bedroom.
    I didn’t care if Roosevelt was about to enter our suite, I was too tired and sore to make an effort. I buttoned my tuxedo, covering the barely noticeable bloodstain on my shirt.
    Someone rapped on the door. Todd Carville, eyes dazed behind wire-rimmed glasses, stood beside a man I hadn’t seen in years, former L.A. patrolman Gus Connolly. With a granite face and gray bloodshot eyes, Gus looked like he hadn’t slept well…in years.
    However, my former drinking buddy had gained a few pounds of mostly brawn. The gray sprinkled in his hair gave him a sophistication I’d never