Game Town

By Janet Elizabeth Lynn and Will Zeilinger

Skylar Drake is hired as a bodyguard for two young starlets. He delivers the actresses home after the Emmy Awards ceremony, but stumbles onto the murder of Silver Brovor-Smith, the mother of one of his charges. The FBI is on-scene. He wonders why they are there for a simple murder.
Drake and his partner, Casey Dolan, are now on the case as suspicion shifts between the victim’s husband and her three brothers.
Drake and Dolan are misled while kidnapping and mysterious deaths take them into the world of Hollywood backroom deals.
They must keep the high-profile family from becoming front page news.
Drake meets the perfect woman to help him move on, but is she a suspect?
The letters P-E-G-O seem to appear everywhere. He thinks they may be connected to the crimes.
Follow Skylar Drake to Hollywood parties where the forbidden is accepted and games played are for keeps.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shorebird
• Release date: Mar 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463683491

Janet Elizabeth Lynn

Janet has been writing for 10 years and writes mysteries. She has traveled to the far corners of the globe for work and pleasure. A semi retired clinical speech pathologist she loves to garden and play with her 7 year old niece Jenny. She lives in Southern California with her husband, Bill.

Book preview

A Skylar Drake Mystery

by

Janet Elizabeth Lynn and Will Zeilinger

GAME TOWN

A Skylar Drake Mystery

Copyright © 2019

Janet Elizabeth Lynn and Will Zeilinger

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1-0913-6458-5

ISBN-10: 1091364585

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

INDEPENDENTLY PUBLISHED

Cover design by Those Designers

Printed in the United States of America

Other Books by

Janet Elizabeth Lynn and Will Zeilinger

Skylar Drake Mystery Series

• Slivers of Glass

• Strange Markings

• Desert Ice

• Slick Deal

Janet Elizabeth Lynn

www.janetlynnauthor.com

Murder Mysteries

• South of the Pier

• West of the Pier

• East of the Pier

• North of the Pier

Cozy Mysteries

• Eggnog

• Charlotte Russe

• Crepes Suzette

Cookbooks

• Recipes from the novel

Eggnog Cookbook

• Recipes from the novel

Crepes Suzette Cookbook

• Recipes from the novel

Charlotte Russe Cookbook

• The Pier Mysteries Cookbook

Will Zeilinger

www.willzeilingerauthor.com

• The Naked Groom

• Something’s Cooking at Dove Acres

• The Final Checkpoint

Acknowledgments

We would like to thank the many people

who helped us with this book

by contributing their stories of old Hollywood.

A special thanks to Lucky Duran, Adult Librarian at the Frances Howard Goldwyn-Hollywood Branch Library. Without her enthusiasm and knowledge of old Hollywood, this book would not have been completed.

Also, for the assistance of the Central Los Angeles Public Library for sharing its wealth of information on Hollywood and its history.

We thank you all for your help.

Dedication

Since this is the final book of the series,

we would like to dedicate it to those who lived,

and worked in Hollywood from its beginnings.

These are the people who made Hollywood

what it was then and what it is now.

We applaud you for your courage and dreams

that made the promise of Hollywood a reality to

many in the past and for those yet to come.

CHAPTER ONE

Two o’clock in the morning. I’d just left the Emmy Awards ceremony at the NBC Television Studio in Burbank. All of Hollywood and its finest had shown up tonight to honor the best of television for 1956. The winners and losers were either at a party celebrating or hiding somewhere licking their wounds. I’d just left the event driving south on Cahuenga toward Hancock Park. My partner, Casey Dolan, was in the passenger seat. It was pouring rain when we left Burbank. It seemed to be lessening as we headed away from the Valley.

We’d been hired by Epic Studios to escort a couple of their up-and-coming starlets to and from the event. In truth, we were their bodyguards. The motion picture and TV studios weren’t taking chances with their human investments.

The two young ladies in the back seat were passed out cold. I suspected they’d had a little too much champagne before and during the ceremony.

I drove through the Wilshire Boulevard entry gate and onto Fremont Place, one of the most exclusive and expensive neighborhoods in Los Angeles. Ahead we spotted a lot of activity on the street. Dolan sat up and stared at the mess ahead. What the hell?

Several police cruisers and what looked like government cars were lined up in front of a house with their spotlights trained on it. As we got closer, I saw the address. 859 in brass letters, were attached to the beam above the front door – the address where I was to deliver the girls.

Dolan rolled down his window to get a better look. He pulled his head back inside. You sure this is the right house?

I parked at the opposite corner.

Dolan said, I’ll stay here and keep watch on the girls.

I sprinted up the wet sidewalk and ducked under the yellow police tape. A uniformed c op approached me and held up his hand like a traffic cop. Sorry, sir. This is a police investigation. You’ll have to step back.

I showed him my PI license and explained that I was a bodyguard for the two young ladies in my car and that I was to deliver them to this address.

He took a look at my credentials and shook his head. Sorry, sir...

I heard a familiar voice.

Drake, over here! I almost didn’t recognize FBI Special Agent Olivia Jahns. She looked like she’d just stepped off the red carpet, poured into a slinky black evening gown. She held up one side of her long gown and made her way over to me.

That’s all right, Officer, she said. I’ll take it from here. He turned away while I followed Jahns into the mansion.

Olivia...er, Agent Jahns. What’s this all about?

She glanced back at me. You’ll see. Just follow me.

I stopped. I meant the dress, the hair and...

She, too, stopped and took a breath. Come on, Drake. You’re wearing a tuxedo. I can have fun too. She continued to the front door. Right now, we have a problem.

Inside, the body of a woman in a pure white coat with a white fur collar was sprawled on the hardwood floor at the foot of a marble staircase. Her light blonde hair and fur coat were soaked with blood. The handle of a knife protruded from her waist. I bent down for a closer look. The blood in her hair was plastered to her face. Her mouth and hands were clenched. I detected a strong odor by the body. It wasn’t cherry, but it was sweet.

Who is...?

The victim’s name is Silver Brovor-Smith. Jahns interrupted me as most FBI agents do. She’s the mother of Holly Becker, one of the young ladies in your charge.

Brovor?...Brovor. Why did that name sound familiar? It dawned on me. The toy company Brovor? I could visualize the logo – a big red circle with black and white letters.

Yep. Jahns nodded. You got it.

My mind raced. I remembered a lawsuit from years ago between family members after their father passed away. The papers had a field day with the scandal. I stood and asked Jahns, You sure about Holly’s lineage?

Yup, no doubt, Brovor. Since you’re in charge of her, I’ll leave it up to you to break the news to the soon-to-be grieving daughter.

We looked out the front door. The press had already gathered on the front lawn. Radio and television remote trucks had set up their lights and equipment while the newspaper photographers’ flashbulbs blinded us. The reporters didn’t help the chaos as the street in front of the house was already jammed with the coroner’s truck, loads of police cars and an ambulance. It seemed dark on the street. I looked up and saw that the street light was out. Strange that would happen on Fremont Place.

Jahns looked at me. Why are you still here, Drake?

I headed for the door. It was late, and my brain had stopped working hours ago.

The two starlets came running past me. No! Holly yelled when she saw her mother’s body on the floor.

Theresa, the other young lady, shouted, Oh my God. Oh my God! She struggled to join her friend Holly, but Dolan had his hands full, holding her back from the scene.

What are you doing here? I yelled over the two young women’s screams. You were supposed to keep them in the car.

Hey! Dolan said. There are two of them and only one of me.

I took Holly by the shoulders and turned her away from the bloody scene. I hoped to say something comforting to her when she looked toward the stairway.

What did you do to her? Holly shouted at an older man wearing a white tuxedo coming down the stairs. Holly broke away from me and ran toward him. She began kicking and punching him, screaming, What did you do to her!

Several officers pulled her away, but she continued kicking and flailing. You killed her!

CHAPTER TWO

Jahns opened the door to a side room and waved us in. Dolan followed her with Theresa. I grabbed Holly around the waist and struggled to contain her flailing arms and legs. Jahns closed the door behind us.

I felt a sharp tug when I threw the screaming and flailing Holly onto the couch. She’d ripped the breast pocket of my tux jacket. At least she was out of view of the press. Jahns took Holly by the shoulders and tried unsuccessfully to calm her. I wanted to help, but Jahns slapped her...hard. For an instant, Holly froze with a shocked look on her face, like a freeze-frame taken from a horror movie. Quickly she cupped her hands over her face and sobbed. Theresa rushed to her side. They held each other in their arms. We stood back while the two young actresses cried together.

I was dazed by the young women and their dramatic train wreck of a show.

Jahns snapped her fingers in front of my face. I broke my gaze and looked at her. She tucked the torn corner of my jacket pocket back in place. We need to get these two down to the Hollywood police station now!

Why the Hollywood Station? Dolan asked.

Jahns looked at me. Drake, you explain it to him on the way. She looked at the pair of crying girls, shook her head and said, I’ll meet you down there.

I don’t understand, Dolan said. Why don’t we interview them here?

I handed him the car keys and said, Look at the circus out front. We have to get them away from this.

Dolan moved the rented town car to the back of the mansion. Luckily the windows were darkly tinted. We put the two starlets inside and headed for the gate. Uniformed officers held the gate open while we drove through the gauntlet of press photographers. Dolan rode shotgun as we passed their bright film lights and blinding flashbulbs before I headed up Vine toward the Hollywood police station on Wilcox Avenue. Once on the street, Dolan asked, I still don’t get it. Why the move to the HPD station?

Epic Studios’ rules tonight. Jahns’ bosses probably ordered her to avoid any undue press exposure. Since the place was already crawling with reporters, Jahns had no choice but to put as much distance between the reporters and the girls as possible. What better place than the police station? Dolan should’ve known this, but he was new to the whole Hollywood publicity thing. He just got back yesterday after a week on location as a stuntman with a big studio second unit. He said it was some World War II film about a river and a bridge in Burma. That job gave him quite a tan. I gotta be more patient with him but now was not the time.

In the rearview mirror, I spotted a few press cars following us. I had an idea to use the town car as a decoy. I sped up and temporarily lost them around a corner before stopping by our office building where I put Dolan and the girls in my Ford Fairlane. We offered the girls our tuxedo jackets to keep warm, but they refused. Dolan sped off with them to the Hollywood Police Station, while I took the town car. The press found me. I led them on a trip to get some real coffee for everyone. That sludge the police departments have is undrinkable. A few of the press cars followed me to one of my favorite coffee shops. I ordered at the counter. The waitress kept staring at the torn pocket on my tuxedo jacket.

When I got to the station, I found Dolan sitting in the station lobby with the two sobbing girls. He was surrounded in pink and green chiffon. I saw a flash out of the corner of my eye and noticed several cameramen taking flash pictures through the windows and glass doors.

I set the cardboard box containing our coffee on an empty chair and took Dolan aside. Why are Holly and Theresa out here where the press can see them and not behind the door in an interrogation room or a cell...somewhere except out here?

I knew both girls could use some peace and the studio would not want to see photos of the girls in the paper.

Dolan pointed to officers milling around behind the desk, I tried to talk sense into them. But they won’t make a move until Jahns shows up. Seems she called ahead and told them to wait until she arrived.

I gave the girls each a cup of coffee and headed to the desk, Who’s in charge here?

Captain Robb, a young officer volunteered while staring at my pocket. I pulled out a note pad and wrote down his badge number.

I want to talk to him now! These young ladies are not safe out here. Those newspaper guys could storm in here any minute, and they could be injured.

Just a minute... He threw open the door leading to the back of the station.

Two men in suits came out. What can we do for you, sir?

I explained the situation.

Sorry. Orders are they wait here until the FBI arrives.

I looked at them and saw they were talking to my torn jacket pocket and not me. I was about ready to take it off.

This smacked of the same stubborn attitude I encountered last year during the Veterans Day Parade. Since the media was already on the scene, I figured I’d use it to my advantage.

I leaned close to the officers. I don’t think the captain or the mayor would appreciate it if I dragged up the Wrong Door fiasco again for those reporters out there. I know your captain. He’s worked hard to bury that embarrassing episode. You really want me to bring it up again? After all, the newspaper and TV reporters out front are starving for a juicy story. If you don’t work with me, I’ll give them a doozie.

And who the hell are you? one asked.

I pushed my business card across the desk. After they all took a look at it, one of them looked me up and down. Drake, yeah, I heard of you. You’re nothing but trouble.

Another one piped up. We heard you threatened Captain Robb at the Veteran’s Day Parade last year. He wasn’t happy.

My sentiments exactly. Well, fellas?

Hold it. We don’t take to threats, one said.

Who said I was threatening you? I’m simply going to talk to the reporters standing out front on public property. There’s nothing illegal about that, is there? I said it loud enough so others in the waiting room could hear it and there were plenty of witnesses.

I was just about to step outside when a short, heavyset woman dressed in a black and yellow striped dress burst into the station through the front doors. She looked like a round bumblebee heading toward the pink and green chiffon flowers.

Oh, my heart! Oh, my heart! she called. My Holly, are you okay? She plopped herself down next to Holly, nearly crushing her. Dolan jumped up and out of the way.

Oh, my heart! Let me see your ears. The woman lifted Holly’s hair and tugged on her earlobes.

Oh, my heart. She squinted at each ear. They look fine. Next, she latched onto Holly’s nose and pulled up on her nostrils. These seem okay too. Oh, my heart! She then put her hand on Holly’s forehead and stared at the ceiling. No fever.

Theresa pulled the edge of her skirt from under the bumblebee woman and stood. The woman looked a bit annoyed and squirmed around until she’d taken up the rest of the bench. Oh, my heart!

Holly took hold of the women’s wrists and shouted. Fern! Calm down. I’m fine. She held Fern’s wrists down on her lap.

Fern cried, Oh, my heart!

Now, Fern. I want you to slowly count to five and breathe with me. Breathe in and count, one-two-three-four-five. Hold and count one-two-three-four-five. That’s good. Keep doing it.

The woman in the bumblebee dress continued to breathe with Holly. After a few minutes, the women calmed down.

I stood with my mouth open at the circus before me – crying starlets in fluffy chiffon gowns and a round woman dressed like a bumblebee. Reporters plastered against the windows and police officers as stiff as mannequins.

Dolan brought Theresa over to me. The recessed lights highlighted her golden brown hair. I bet the cameras loved her.

Tell him, Dolan said.

Tell me what? That I’m the only sane person in this nut house?

Mister Drake, Theresa whispered, nodding toward the bumblebee woman. That woman is Fern Anderson, Silver Brovor-Smith’s secretary...well, former secretary. Her husband died suddenly years ago. Fern was a down-to-earth, professional woman, but after her husband’s death, she turned into ...well that–a neurotic mess.

I looked at