Glamour Ghost

Glamour Ghost

By Mindy Ross

Smashwords Edition

Copyright Mindy Ross 2012

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Prologue

August 5, 1962, was one of many hot summer nights in Hollywood. The temperature had risen well above seventy-five degrees, causing many doors and windows

on Helena Drive to be left open. Three men, dressed all in black, arrived at the wrought-iron gate and slipped through easily. After parking a few yards away from the Spanish

Colonial Revival House, two of them grabbed flashlights and made their way to the front door. Marilyn’s housekeeper, Eunice, let them in. She had to—the jagged edge of a hunt-ing knife against her throat convinced her that if she fought them she’d die a slow, agonizing death.

One of the men decided to keep Eunice company in the living room. Don’t let her out of your sight, the other man said. His voice was gruff and gravelly and intoned with a heavy threat.

In the master bedroom, Marilyn was sleeping on her stomach, completely unaware of what had gone on in the next room. She was nude and had her right leg entwined in a soft, percale top sheet. Such a shame to die so young, and yet it has to be done. Before the man touched her, he stood beside the double bed for a moment, staring at the movie star, totally beguiled by her stunning beauty. The effect of her full lips and long lashes wasn’t dampened at all by the glow of moonlight spilling in from the casement window. In another life, he would have worshipped her.

But that was not his purpose tonight. He had to remind himself that he was there on a mission for his boss and if he didn’t fulfill it, he too would lose his life…

Wake up, darling.

His gruff voice caused Marilyn to stir and groan, but then she fell back to sleep.

He tried again and again to wake her up. To attack her without warning would be the cruelest of deeds; even he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Finally, he tried a low whistle and shook her. She opened her large eyes and looked at him, confused.

When she didn’t recognize him, she flipped over and tried to run. The man held her down with one grimy paw, aware that his penis was hardening as his fingers pressed her large, quivering breasts.

What I wouldn’t give to make these breasts mine and mine alone. This platinum broad wouldn’t do any naked posing for cameras if she were my woman.

The terror in her eyes told him he had to get this over with quickly. There was no point in making an innocent woman suffer. He had no grudge against her. When she didn’t comply with his demands, he took hold of her fragile body and flipped her onto her stomach. It was as easy as turning a pancake.

"Wow, this one is a fighter!

His flashlight fell to the floor with a loud thump as he struggled to keep her from squirming right off the edge of the bed.

He finally subdued her, part way at least, by shoving his thick knee into the small of her back, pinning her to the mattress. Now you shut up! There’s no point in fighting me.

Her body went limp and she sobbed into her pillow as he tried to hold her down and dig into his pockets at the same time. Damn it! He should have brought the driver with him. As if on cue, the driver suddenly darkened the doorway. With two of them in the room, the procedure could now get underway. Marilyn’s head shot up, but the driver shoved it back into the pillow.

Sit on her, the man ordered, and then he dug deeper into his jacket pocket and pulled out a long white package. He tore off the wrapper and stuffed it deep into his back pocket so he wouldn’t leave it behind.

Taking a deep breath, he parted Marilyn’s buttocks and shoved the suppository inside. Her muffled cries shook him to his core.

I don’t want to do this, princess, not at all.

He had just given her the equivalent of seventy Nembutol tablets, enough to kill a dinosaur. And as she fought and struggled to get loose, he knew she had only a minute or so left before the medicine would take effect. He truly hated this part of the process. He experienced no joy in watching a victim’s last, panic-filled moments.

It will be over soon, my sweet. Tomorrow you’ll get the biggest headline you’ve ever had.

As the driver continued to press on her back, the struggle became less and less.

That’s right, honey. Go toward that big silver screen in the sky.

I’ll read the news in The Los Angeles Times—Marilyn Monroe is found dead!

Suddenly, Marilyn got a second wind. She tossed her head back and almost fell out of bed. "Keep a hold on her, you moron! It has to look like she did it herself. No

bruises!" The death seemed to take forever although Sam Giancana had promised him it would be over in a minute. The driver was losing his grip so the first man helped hold her down. She only weighed a hundred and fifteen pounds or so. She was tiny thing. He never would have guessed by watching one of her movies. She had seemed much taller and much more imposing.

Now she was fighting with fervor. She clawed at the pillow and stiffened her body against the grip of their large hands.

She isn’t going down without a fight—that’s for sure.

The first man expressed his gratitude. Without the bungalow’s thick walls and the seclusion of the cul-de-sac, some of the neighbors might have heard her screams…

Chapter 1

Rain was pouring down in heavy sheets outside my window. I had listened to it smack the concrete walkway for most of the night and part of the morning. Finally, I gave up trying to sleep and got up to start the day. According to the news, Hollywood was experiencing a record number of inches and when I ventured out to my car, I wondered if most of it was falling on Rossmore Avenue. The street was flooded and my car, a 1976 Honda Civic, which my dad bought me for high school graduation, was actually floating away.

I ran after it, managed to unlock the door, and hopped in. My body weighed it down and I was most relieved when the engine fired up without any trouble. My first day in Hollywood was proving to be a challenge. My stomach had been in knots for days and I often awakened with a palpi-tating heart. I hoped that Piper would have appreciated the sacrifice I was willing to make for her. I think she would have. In journalism school, she had been a sweet, thoughtful girl who had reached out to me when I had no other friends. And yet, she had ignored the letters I’d sent in the last few months.

Possibly, she was not as good a friend as I had thought. For an instant, I regretted the choice I’d made to quit my job at the San Diego Union to move to L.A. Dorothy Stratton—Star 80—had been shot in the face by her estranged husband only four days prior to my move. I saw an article about it in The Los Angeles Times which I read every day.

An ominous feeling about Hollywood had come over me after that. I wasn’t sure how long I could bring myself to stay in a studio apartment with the members of my extended family more than one hundred miles away.

Once I crossed Melrose, Rossmore Avenue became Vine Street. The overhead sign gave me goose bumps and after bouncing over every pothole leading to Sunset Boul-

evard, I turned left on the glitter-filled street and marveled at the sights most young women from Valley Center only dream about. The Hollywood sign, The Pink Palace and

Grauman’s Chinese Theater all lay before me, glimmering tributes to the glory days. When I later passed Schwab’s drug store, I trembled. How many actresses wished they could get discovered there?

For a moment, I was giddy from the excitement of being in a town that held so much promise as well as broken dreams. Not everyone was cut out to be a star, but when one did come along, it was as thrilling for audiences as I’m sure it was for the producers and agents who discovered him. Michael Jackson was rumored to roam the streets, as well as Jodie Foster, Chuck Berry and Marvin Gaye. It was September of 1980, and as I entered the Interstate 110 to travel south to downtown Los Angeles, I shivered at the thought that I might see one of them pass me by.

I would have loved to stop off at the fashion or arts district, but I was headed for a high-rise in Bunker Hill. The main purpose for my move to L.A. had suddenly come back to me and I looked forward to my first day with utter dread. I wasn’t the kind of person who could lie and get away with it. Even when I told a white lie, my mother said that guilt was written all over my face. So to pull off a caper like the one I had planned would be nothing short of a miracle. As I drove down Main Street looking for 315, I could only hope that the day would go smoothly despite the angry protests my stomach and conscience were giving me.

Finally, I found the black, glass-covered building that rose so high I couldn’t see the top of it from the street. A few blocks away, I entered a parking lot and almost choked when I saw a sign that said it would cost me five dollars to park there for the day. After handing the parking attendant a five-dollar bill, I crossed three busy streets to get back to Haverston Publishing. I was soaking by the time I took the elevator to the top floor, although only a light mist still permeated the air.

When the elevator door finally slid open, I entered a glass and chrome world where people in business suits bustled from one end of the room to the other. Until that moment, I hadn’t known such a high-tech place existed. It was a far cry from the small shacks that served as offices back home. A pretty, young blonde talked on a phone behind a wide, half-circular desk. I stood in front of her, waiting for the opportunity to speak. Ripples of pale gray clouds hung in the air outside the picture windows casting a gloomy pallor over the entire atmosphere. I couldn’t have estimated how much a penthouse like this would cost, but I imagined the owner of the magazine was worth a fortune.

May I help you? she added, after placing the receiver in its cradle.

I opened my mouth to speak but was distracted by three imposing figures coming down the hall. Two of the men were very young, but it was the striking older gentleman with silver curls and mesmerizing pale blue eyes that captivated me. I was sure he was Marc Haverston. Piper had described him to a tee.

My name is Silver Bear, I said. I’m here to see Ms. Sheremet.

She picked up the phone and pushed a button. Shortly, she said, I have Silver Bear here to see you. She hung up and pointed to a chair against the far wall. Will you have a seat, please? Rona will be right with you.

I was grateful for the wait. It gave me another chance to study the men who were now standing in front of the elevator. Marc, if that indeed was he, was impeccably dressed in a sharp black suit. One arm was propped across his midsection and the elbow of the other arm rested upon it. He touched his chin with two fingers and occasionally pointed at the men to emphasize his speech. I couldn’t hear a word they were saying, but I guessed the conversation was quite important. Marc was looking at them with piercing intensity.

Piper had said that he was incredibly disciplined and well-organized and knew every detail of what was going on, down to the last phone message. I could tell that was true just by watching him. He took his job seriously, no doubt about it. I found myself admiring him already and I hadn’t even met him yet. The slight smell of new carpeting reminded me of how much this place had cost. And the furniture was as up-to-date as it could be. There was certainly no expense spared when it came to putting up a good front. I just hoped I could break through the barriers to find out what I really wanted to know.

Hi Silver.

I was suddenly shaken from my daydream. The woman who spoke was forty-something and stood beside the reception desk. She was pale and harried. Her short,

hennaed hair hadn’t been combed and her jeans and button-down shirt quite possibly had been slept in.

I’m Rona Sheremet, the editor you’ll be working with.

It’s nice to meet you, I said. I smiled but she barely cracked a grin. She honestly looked as if she were too tired to speak.

As I told you on the phone, I’m swamped with work and I need you to assist me. Mr. Haverston has to give his approval first and then you’re in.

Oh, you didn’t tell me that. My job sounded like a done deal.

Don’t worry. It’s only a formality.

I followed her to the back where I saw a row of large, glass-enclosed offices. Along the way, I wondered what had happened to make her look so sick. PMS? Menopause? Perhaps she was just damn tired of being run into the ground by a workaholic like Mr. Haverston.

Should I call you Ms. Sheremet? I asked.

Rona will do, she said nonchalantly. I hope you’re not too cold, the heater is on the fritz.

No, I’m fine. The air was chilly, but I had chalked the goose pimples up to my jangled nerves. My heart was knocking against my chest and my knees were weak. As I hurried to catch up with Rona, I had the distinct feeling that someone was watching me, even though none of the workers were looking in my direction. I shivered at the thought of being spied on, and followed her into the largest glass enclosure.

She offered me a padded chair in front of her desk. I tried not to gawk but on a clear day, the view out the window would have been magnificent. I could see parts of a sprawl-ing golf course down below the foggy haze. And Rona occupied the shiniest desk I’d ever seen. It was contemp-orary, made of thick, polished wood and was long enough to sleep on. I longed to touch it just to delight in its smoothness. Rona had her own miniature refrigerator in one corner and book shelves in the other. The teal carpet in the room was thick and deep; my tan pumps sank into the luxur-ious pile almost up to my ankles. In that moment, I felt as if I’d arrived. These amenities were a far cry from the lunch room, carpet tiles and steel cubicles we’d had back home. How in the world had Marc made so much money?

Is this the new assistant? a deep voice asked.

I turned to look up at the older man with the light blue eyes. He may have been in his fifties, but his looks had only gotten better with time. He was refined, dignified and a man of accomplishment. Despite the fact that we were meeting for the first time, he looked right into my eyes as if he’d known me for years. I felt myself drawn to him and couldn’t tear my eyes away. Piper had never mentioned he was so handsome; she’d only talked about his savvy as a businessman.

My name is Silver Bear.

And my name is Marc Haverston. I suppose your name has something to do with the color of your eyes.

Normally, I hated it when someone brought up the comparison—obviously it was what my mother had in mind when she chose my name. But for some reason, the comment didn’t irk me when Marc said it. In fact, every word he uttered took my breath away. According to Piper, he had never been married and had no children. He was a virtual recluse. He shunned the spotlight and refused to give interviews even though he’d made a half a billion dollars by getting interviews from other people. He looked incredibly powerful in his black, tailored suit with a light blue tie to match his eyes. His six-foot frame radiated with good health and he seemed to move quickly with the energy of a much younger man.

When he continued to stare, I felt self-conscious and wondered if he had already written me off. I hadn’t realized you were so young, he said.

I’m twenty-two and worked for the San Diego Union for more than a year.

I wouldn’t have thought it.

He was dismissing me without having talked to me first. I was quite mature for my age and knew I could handle the work. I’ve already quit my job at the Union and moved to L.A. I had the impression that this job was in the bag.

Not quite. No one gets hired here without my approval first, he said, grinning.

He seemed to enjoy the fact that I was on the verge of panic. The minute your boyfriend shows up with a diamond ring, you’ll go running off with him.

I didn’t go to college for four years so I could toss my career to the wind.

No woman does, but then Mr. Right comes along and off she goes…

I chuckled. I don’t even want a boyfriend, much less have one. I’ve been working to make a name for myself in journalism for more than a year. If a man hasn’t stopped me yet, I don’t think he ever will. My eyes blazed at him but I was careful not to express my rage in words. He was what feminists called a sexist pig but I needed the job desperately. When Marc winked at me, I realized he was just playing.

I’ll expect you to show up on time with clean, fresh copy on Rona’s desk each day. Check your sources twice so I don’t get sued, and whatever you do, don’t talk to the wrong people. Stories about politicians are off limits.

Politicians were fair game in San Diego, but in Tinsel Town the rules appeared to be different. There were plenty of celebrities to write about, too many if you asked me. I was willing to go along with whatever Marc wanted. I just wanted to be treated fairly, that was all. That alone might have been too much to ask from a controlling man like Marc Haverston. From what I’d heard, he did whatever he wanted to get his own way.

As I stared into his cold, quartzite eyes, I became convinced he was the reason Piper had disappeared. I didn’t believe for a minute that she had taken a break from journalism as her mother had implied. Piper loved her job. Why would she leave?

My former boss was quite pleased with me, I assured Marc.

And how long are you planning to stay?

What an odd question! As long as you and I are both happy with my work, I said.

So your love life won’t get in the way?

Not a chance.

I couldn’t believe the major bullshit I was putting up with already. I was on a mission to find a possible murderer, not a lover. And until I did find my friend, I would not stop working for Haverston Publishing, no matter how long it took. Of course, Marc didn’t know any of this. He considered me to be nothing more than a hapless employee.

Have her fill out a W-2 form, he said to Rona.

He then extended his large hand and I gently squeezed it, trying to look grateful for the opportunity he was giving me. His palm was surprisingly warm and soft for a man with such a rough demeanor. He certainly hadn’t been doing any manual labor lately. He definitely had the upper hand when it came to intellect and savvy. I’d have a heck of a time outsmarting him, no matter how hard I tried. I fully expected the experience to be the challenge of a lifetime. He lingered at the door, causing my cheeks to flush with heat. What was he staring at? Didn’t he want me to be there? If this job didn’t work out, I fully expected to end up back in San Diego, churning out obituaries or news stories from the beat at the Mexican border.

After pulling a remote control out of his pocket, he pushed a button setting off a buzzing sound throughout the office. The entire staff gathered around him as automated as robots.

Anything else I can do, sir? Rona asked.

Just make sure our new lady has whatever she needs to feel comfortable working here. That goes for the rest of you too. By the way, this is Silver Bear, our new celebrity news editor.

Rona gasped. She hasn’t even written a story for us yet.

She’ll do just fine. She did a great job for the Union, didn’t she? he asked gruffly.

My face reddened with embarrassment. I didn’t want to cause her any trouble.

Yes, but interns usually get that job after they’ve worked here awhile.

I’ve seen what she can do on paper. He shot Rona a warning glance and then turned back to me.

How many years of experience do you have?

I choked. I had already told him I only had one, but I was a natural when it came to writing. Despite getting a good job right out of college, I’d worked hard to get it. My professors were more than happy to give me a good recommendation. Simply because success had come easily for me didn’t mean I hadn’t earned it.

Uh, I said, stalling for time while I picked my brain for an answer. I didn’t want to make Marc look like the fool that he was, at least not on the first day. Five years, I finally spit out. It was true, if you counted the four years I spent in college.

See? She’s up to the challenge!

Let’s hope so, Rona muttered. She’d seen the one year of experience on my resume.

I hope you’ll all welcome our new star, he said. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to work.

I hoped I could live up to his high expectations. If I didn’t, I could quit the job the minute I discovered what had happened to Piper. Marc’s powerful presence was appealing. He was a bit of an ass, but I did admire his strength. He wasn’t intimidated by anything and didn’t care what others thought of him. I hoped to be like him some day. I remembered Piper had said as much when I’d last talked to her. He never listens to anybody else. she told me. And from what I’d just seen, I believed it.

It was nice meeting you, I called out to Marc as he walked away.

He raised his hand in reply without bothering to look at me.

After a few minutes, he disappeared into his office and I relaxed a little bit. Rona sighed and went back to her office. She seemed to accept defeat quite well. I figured she was used to it after working for Marc for years.

Pick up your purse, Silver. I don’t have time to show you to your office. It’s in the back, near the restrooms. Sorry, but it’s the only one we have left. Go down this hallway and make a right. Yours is the first door on the left. And don’t make any outside calls, without checking with me first.

What? Did she realize how much trouble that would be for a journalist? I had the phone glued to my ear for most of the day. I stood in the hallway, hoping my dismay didn’t show on my face. I was grateful for the job, I really was. Without it, I would never find out what happened to my best friend.

Piper and I had stopped seeing each other after graduating from college. We were both pursuing our careers, and didn’t take much time out for socializing. I had gone away in the first place to get away from my family. They put the d in dysfunction. Piper wasn’t close