Dead Ringers

By Camilla Chafer

From the bestselling world of the Lexi Graves Mysteries...

When obituaries and entertainment reporter, Shayne Winter overhears a passing comment about a vanished woman, her interest is immediately piqued. But in Los Angeles, one more missing person doesn't qualify as a story. After all, she's told, disillusioned young starlets frequently have their Hollywood dreams shattered.

When one missing woman becomes two and some more digging reveals several more, Shayne knows she stumbled onto a possible serial killer stalking the city. Connecting the dots that link the missing women, Shayne notices a chilling trend. All the girls resemble her new friend, supermodel-turned-actress Daisy Casta. Suspecting the killer's obsession might mean Daisy is his true target, Shayne's investigation unravels the chilling side to the star-studded city.

Shayne hopes she’s on her way to getting her next headline... but it might cost her everything.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Camilla Chafer
• Release date: Mar 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781909577237

Camilla Chafer

USA Today bestselling author Camilla Chafer is the author of the Lexi Graves Mysteries, the Deadlines Mystery Trilogy (a spin off from Lexi Graves), Calendar Murder Mysteries, and the Stella Mayweather urban fantasy series. She is also the author/editor of several non-fiction books and has written for newspapers, magazines and websites internationally.Visit www.camillachafer.com for all the latest news. Sign up for her mailing list to be in the know when the next book comes out.

Book preview

Dead Ringers

Deadlines Mystery, 3

Camilla Chafer

Dead Ringers

Copyright: Camilla Chafer

Published: March 2020

ISBN: 978-1-909577-23-7

The right of Camilla Chafer to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

Visit the author online at www.camillachafer.com to sign up to her mailing list and for more information on other titles.

Other books:

Deadlines Mystery Trilogy

Deadlines

Dead to the World

Dead Ringers

Lexi Graves Mysteries:

Armed & Fabulous

Who Glares Wins

Command Indecision

Shock and Awesome

Weapons of Mass Distraction

Laugh or Death

Kissing in Action

Trigger Snappy

A Few Good Women

Ready, Aim, Under Fire

Rules of Engagement

Very Special Forces

In the Line of Ire

Calendar Mysteries:

Jeopardy in January

Fear in February

Murder in March

Alibi in April

Mayhem in May

Contents

Synopsis

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

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Dead Ringers

When obituaries and entertainment reporter, Shayne Winter overhears a passing comment about a vanished woman, her interest is immediately piqued. But in Los Angeles, one more missing person doesn't qualify as a story. After all, she's told, disillusioned young starlets frequently have their Hollywood dreams shattered.

When one missing woman becomes two and some more digging reveals several more, Shayne knows she stumbled onto a possible serial killer stalking the city. Connecting the dots that link the missing women, Shayne notices a chilling trend. All the girls resemble her new friend, supermodel-turned-actress Daisy Casta. Suspecting the killer's obsession might mean Daisy is his true target, Shayne's investigation unravels the chilling side to the star-studded city.

Shayne hopes she’s on her way to getting her next headline… but it might cost her everything.

Chapter One

I gazed at the palm trees gently swaying against the clear blue sky and sighed. Life was beautiful. Then I looked down at the copy of the LA Chronicle folded on the table and sighed again. Ben Kosina, my boyfriend and chief reporter at the newspaper where we both worked, managed to snag the cover story again. Not that I was keeping tabs but I had a grand total of two headlines since I joined the Chronicle only a few months ago. He had all the rest. I wasn't used to playing second fiddle to an ace reporter. I used to be the ace reporter.

Stop it, said Jenna, one of my closest friends in Los Angeles.

Stop what? I mumbled.

Feeling sorry for yourself. Ben wrote a great story and you know it. Plus, it's absolutely no reflection on you or your writing skills, none whatsoever.

Did you read my entertainment article this week? I wrote seven different variations of 'man hunk' and found twelve synonyms for 'sexy', I grumbled. It wasn't what I signed up for but the readers loved it. That was both good and bad. Good that they liked the column; bad since my editor, Bob, wanted me to keep writing that fluff instead of snagging the hard-hitting stories Ben covered.

I feel we should reward your turn of the phrase but I don't know how, said Jenna.

No one who reads my column knows what a synonym is, I complained. My readers only want the celebrity gossip and the juicier it is, the better.

You just need to find a great story and pitch it.

She's right, added our friend, Daisy. You need something that will knock out No Chance Bob.

I raised my eyebrows. No Chance Bob was my nickname for Bob, acquired because his surname was Chance and also because he didn't hand out a lot of opportunities, hence the No Chance.

He turned down the last seven stories I pitched.

Daisy winced and shook out her tumbling waves of dark, glossy hair. This month? she asked.

This week.

Do you have any stories that would suit the cover? Jenna asked, turning to Daisy.

Daisy shrugged. I would never sell stories about my co-workers.

"Pleeeease, I said. When she flashed me a look, I giggled. I know you wouldn't and I would never ask." Daisy was better known as Marguerite Casta, former supermodel, and now actress in one of the hottest shows on TV. She was prime celebrity material but there was no way I would exploit my friendship with her.

Plus, we're being photographed by the paparazzi right now. This brunch is going to be someone's story, said Daisy with a shrug.

What? Where? Both Jenna and I looked around.

Behind the fence dividing this restaurant from the one next door. Huge camera. Can't miss it.

I leaned towards where she nodded. Daisy was right. I couldn't see the photographer but I couldn't miss the huge camera lens peeking from between the potted topiary trees bordering the white picket fence. The courtyard walls were designed to offer some privacy from the sidewalk but not much.

Should we throw something at him? asked Jenna. Or ask the management to make him leave?

Daisy shook her head. No, he's just doing his job and he's not bothering me.

What if he sells a photo of you dribbling egg down your top? I asked as I checked her pure white dress for any accidental stains. What if that photo follows you for the next fifteen years of your life?

Like Daisy would dribble anything, snorted Jenna.

What you need to do is make friends with extras. Then you'll get plenty of stories, said Daisy, changing the topic. Many of them are in it just to make a fast buck.

But I don't want sleazy entertainment stories. I want real, hard-hitting stories like the ones I used to write back in Montgomery, I moaned, remembering the job I'd given up on The Montgomery Gazette to take up a new life in a new city.

"You do know you work for the Chronicle, don't you? asked Jenna. Ninety percent of the newspaper is puff."

Yep and I'll be there forever if I don't get a decent portfolio of headlines together. The Chronicle liked a good cover story but it also leaned towards juicy tabloid exposés to fill the inner pages: irate members of the public complaining about perceived or real infractions, D-list actors flashing their biceps in the photos accompanying non-stories about how juice cleanses kickstarted their careers, and the latest model escapade in the early hours of the morning. The circulation figures, however, suggested the LA Chronicle was widely read and since Ben had returned and I joined, those figures steadily increased.

It can't be that bad, said Jenna.

It is. I might end up writing my own obituary. It will start with 'Shayne Winter died today of boredom'.

Daisy giggled, tossing her hair again, and the patrons at the tables around us pretended they were too cool to notice the gorgeous actress in their midst.

While I contemplated my impending doom — or a very long descent towards my own obituary — I glanced around at the other diners. Most politely looked away, only sneaking furtive glances at Daisy. I couldn't blame them. My new friend was a beautiful woman. Since her switch from modeling to acting, she had also become known for her talent as much as her looks. She was the kind of woman many other women were jealous of, maybe even hating her for all her luck and success, but I wasn't. I thought she was great. She and Jenna had known each other for years, and almost became in-laws but Daisy's boyfriend — Jenna's brother, Chucky — was murdered before that could happen. Chucky's murder was how I met them both. It was an unlikely start to an enduring friendship but it worked and we became fast friends.

Hey! Watch it!

The shattering of glass accompanied by the angry voice behind me made me turn just in time to see a waiter stooping to pick up a broken glass carafe as the tray skittered to a stop next to Daisy's foot. She set down her glass and pushed her chair back, leaning down to pick it up before handing the tray to the red-faced waiter.

Thanks, he mumbled, casting his eyes down.

Happens to everyone, she said, smiling.

Oh, my gosh! You're Marguerite Casta! squealed one of the blond women at the next table, apparently the last person in the restaurant to recognize my friend. She stopped dabbing at her skirt with the cloth napkin and turned to her friends, tapping their arms. The supermodel, she added in a loud whisper.

Hi, said Daisy, flashing them a megawatt smile.

Between our tables, the waiter gathered the broken glass and hurried away. The young woman dabbed her skirt some more, then dropped the damp napkin on the table I've been trying to get a part on your show, she said, still focused on Daisy as she smoothed her hair over her shoulder. I got a callback for tomorrow.

Good luck! Daisy started to turn away but the woman leaned forwards.

Do you have any tips for me? she asked.

Stay confident in yourself and follow direction. I just know you'll do great, said Daisy, smiling warmly. Excuse us. Our brunch has arrived.

Oh, of course. Thank you so much, gushed the woman. She turned to her friends excitedly.

That was nice of you, Daisy, said Jenna. Dropping to a whisper, she added, And after she yelled at the waiter too.

She's also taking a photo of you and pretending it's a selfie, I muttered, trying not to giggle at how obvious the woman was in her determination not to appear obvious. Daisy simply shrugged. It constantly amazed me how unperturbed Daisy was by her fame. I wasn't sure if I would be quite as cool with strangers noticing everything I did at all times, and trying to take photos of me while doing it.

Did I tell you about my latest attempt at cooking for Will last night? asked Jenna, changing the topic as she shook out her napkin and slipped it over her knees. It was a horror story. I burned two pans.

What happened? asked Daisy. She reached for her glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and took a long sip. I watched, waiting for her to spill a drop on her pristine, white wraparound dress but it didn't happen. That just went to prove Daisy occupied a whole different world from the rest of us mortals. Daisy frowned at me as she set down her tumbler and I shrugged.

We got takeout, continued Jenna.

No, I meant how did you burn the pans?

I forgot to put the water in before I turned on the stove. Then I couldn't find the tomatoes to make that recipe I told you about and by the time I did, the pans were charred. It could have happened to anyone. Jenna shrugged. Daisy simply shook her head and tried not to laugh. I wasn't quite as successful. Yes, thanks so much, Shayne. Jenna shot me a look as I choked back the laughter.

We need to take a cooking class together, I said.

Jenna reached for my arm, her eyes widening. Yes, we do, she said, seizing on the idea. We can double date. Will and I. You and Ben. And you, she added to Daisy. You should bring a date.

Meh, said Daisy as she shrugged. She played with the bracelet on her wrist. I knew Chucky gave it to her and she never took it off. Even when she was in character, she had it under a sleeve or tucked inside a pocket. I knew it was an expression of her grief.

Seriously? asked Jenna. You need to go on a date. I say this as your friend, and as Chucky’s sister.

I go on dates!

Dates with actual men. Not us.

Daisy rolled her eyes. I'm not ready, she muttered softly. But there's a cute guy who just leased one of the apartments in my building. Carlos. We’re flirting a little. I actually worked with him on a campaign a few years ago and he's a photographer.

I'm sorry. What? I leaned in. Who? What? Where? When?

This cannot go into your column!

I feigned shock. "I would never! Seriously, Daisy, I would never." Fortunately, my boss hadn't a clue that I was friends with Daisy or he’d be bugging me every five seconds to either get an exclusive with her or use her to get some juicy gossip on everyone she knew. He wasn't too interested in the actual truth; rumors worked for the LA Chronicle's entertainment column just as well as the truth did. Since I was stuck writing that column, along with the obituaries — with no idea which part of my job was worse — I was usually desperate for any juicy information. Having only arrived in LA a few months before, and with my contact book slowly growing, it was hard work to get enough stories to fill my column. But if you happen to know anyone who is fame-hungry and wants to feed me some information, there'll be something in it for you, I finished.

Daisy looked up and frowned. Like what?

That was a good question. What could I give a beautiful, famous, rich woman who had everything?

You can use my apartment complex's pool on hot days, I said.

Daisy's lips flickered into a smile. We both knew it was a crap deal since she belonged to a hot, exclusive club with a rooftop pool, waterside butler service, and skyline views of the city. I knew this because the three of us, along with our friend, Ashleigh, went there last week to bask in how the other half lived. Tempting offer, she said finally as if she actually contemplated it.

I thought so, I deadpanned. Mmm, this looks delicious, I added as I stared at my avocado and egg brunch, almost forgotten while we chatted.

The look on the waiter's face when you told him you wanted yolks, not just egg whites, giggled Jenna.

I cannot do LA food, I told them. If I ever order an egg white whatever, send me back home to Montgomery.

You might like it, said Daisy who ordered a bowl of granola, yogurt and an artful display of berries.

I shook my head and shuddered.

…Tried calling her, like, a hundred times and her cellphone goes straight to voicemail. She's been gone two weeks. Should I re-let her room? I tuned in to the conversation at the next table while Jenna and Daisy got stuck discussing the latest food fad taking over the city; something to do with juices and vile ingredients that I absolutely refused to try, no matter how popular they might be. Although I could be persuaded to hang around the store they both name-checked in case someone semi-famous popped in and did something column-worthy, like order a smoothie.

What about all her stuff, Nadia? asked another voice.

I glanced over my shoulder, noting the shrug from the blond woman who spoke to Daisy. I guess I could try her parents again. Someone has to pay the rent ‘cause it's due next week. Sammy paid until the end of the month but I can't let her room sit empty when I have bills to pay.

Maybe she'll come back next week? Maybe she got a job that took her on location without any phone service?

I don't think she got that catalog shoot. Maybe she was called in for something else.

I think it's weird, said one of the women. I've known Sammy since we met at the university and she's never off her phone. She loves that thing. I just don't see her going away without telling anyone and then not getting in touch.

I barely know her so I can't comment, said the second voice. But Cindy knows her best.

It is out of character, said the other woman, whom I decided must be Cindy. Her hair bobbed in a high ponytail and she wore expensive athletic wear.

Do you think I should report her missing? asked the first woman, a note of confusion in her voice. I guessed she had to be Nadia.

I think we should call her parents again. If Sammy is away on a job, she must have told them. If they haven't heard from her, we should probably call someone.

Like who? The police? asked Nadia. They weren’t interested.

They might have some advice about what qualifies as missing.

Maybe she met a guy, said the only woman I couldn't put a name to.

Sammy wouldn't run off with a guy. She would text all of her friends and tell us about him first. I tried to look over my shoulder again discreetly and saw Cindy holding up her cellphone. Nada, she said. You know, there was a girl who went missing a few weeks ago. April Beam was her name. I met her at my agent's office and we agreed to meet up the next week but she never showed up. My agent said she took off without a word.

Never heard of her!

That doesn't make her missing!

The two women spoke at once.

I guess. Cindy sighed. But isn't it weird? Two women disappear and no one knows a thing?

Laughter now. Your imagination, snorted Nadia. Okay, here's what I'm going to do. I'll call Sammy's parents again and if she doesn't show up next week, I'm advertising her room. And we'll also report her missing. You'll both come with me, right?

Right!

Absolutely!

Shayne?

Hmmm? I turned my head quickly, finding Jenna and Daisy both watching me.

I asked you about Ben. Are you two doing anything this weekend? repeated Jenna.

Oh, um, no, I don't think so. That is, we haven't discussed any plans. Actually, Ben and I hadn't arranged anything since we last went on a date a week ago, hiking in the Hollywood Hills. Of course, we'd seen each other at work but Ben was chasing a story and away from his desk for several hours at a time. Even when he was here, his eyes were glued to his computer screen. Occasionally, when he looked up, he flashed me a fast smile. When I texted him, I got short, abrupt answers. It was disconcerting. I wondered if I'd done something wrong but I couldn't fathom what. As far as I knew, our date was fantastic. We laughed, held hands, teased each other and had a lovely picnic. I was sure I didn't say anything to scare him off.

Great. Girls' night, said Jenna. Pizza. A movie from the eighties. Wine.

My place, said Daisy. We can ask Ashleigh over too. It's such a shame she couldn't make it today.

Great! I grinned. Our friend, Ashleigh was a homicide detective with the LA Police Department. She’d been busy with a triple homicide. When we first met, she thought I was a pain in the butt. Her butt, specifically, but we bonded over fashion. Plus, I owed her my life. She closed her case so she's probably free unless something else gruesome happens, I added.

Daisy scooped the last oat of the granola into her mouth and I realized I'd been so busy eavesdropping the next table, I forgot about my brunch. I started eating quickly, hastily catching up.

What got your attention? asked Jenna softly. Her eyes darted to the table behind me. Were they talking about us?

I shook my head. Something about a missing girl. Maybe two, I murmured.

Really? asked Daisy.

I nodded.

I mean, really missing? Girls go ‘missing’ in LA all the time. Daisy added air quotes and shrugged.

They do? I asked, looking up sharply. How had I not heard about this before?

Daisy nodded. Sure. Only thing is they're not really missing. They get fed up at not making it after a few months and being stuck waiting tables or counters and dealing with creepy or overly demanding casting calls. They give up their dream and go back to wherever they came from.

Without telling anyone?

Sometimes they don't really have anyone to tell. They come here with no one. They only meet superficial people who don't really care about them and then they go home, wanting to put the whole experience behind them.

My friend used to rent her spare room to wannabe actresses. We actually called it the ‘short stay suite’ because the girls would always pack up after three months and move. Sometimes they didn't even leave a note. Just poof, room empty and gone, said Jenna.

That's sad. I recalled the few months when I arrived in the city with nothing but a car full of my possessions. I didn't know anyone and my promised luxury apartment was less a dream and more a nightmare. It would have been easy to stay a week and then slip away without a word to anyone. Yet I held onto my hope of making it as a big city reporter. Even though my job sucked most of the time, I managed to meet people and now I had real friends and a boyfriend, Ben. I glanced at my cellphone, screen-side up on the table. Still no message from him suggesting a date. He ignored my latest proposal of dinner and drinks at my apartment tonight too.

Oh, shoot, said Daisy, glancing at her watch. I have to run. The driver will be here any minute to take me to the set. Hair and makeup are waiting for me.

Your life is just awful, said Jenna. Poor you.

Daisy stuck out her tongue. She scooped up her napkin and dropped it over her bowl as she reached for her purse. I recognized it earlier as a limited edition designer bag that we featured on our fashion pages. Apparently, it had a waiting list. Daisy dropped a clutch of dollar bills on the table and stood, kissing our cheeks before hurrying out in a moment of silence as the other diners watched her. As soon as she was gone, the noise started again. Most of it centered on the important question, Was that the real Marguerite Casta?

"When's your driver showing up?" asked Jenna.

"I'm walking. I'm eco-friendly," I told her and she snorted. And you?

Taking the bus. I like to be one with the people.

Are we being mean? I asked.

Jenna laughed. No. Daisy rips us to shreds too.

I should head over to the newspaper. I sighed. Brunch was already the highlight of my day and it was barely ten AM.

I'll walk part of the distance with you. I'll tell you about my potential new client on the way.

We both reached for our purses and Jenna signaled the waiter who arrived promptly with the check. They didn't like to hurry diners out the door, but I caught a glimpse of the queue of people still waiting to be seated. We paid, gathered our things, and started to leave. As we got to the door, I stopped Jenna with a touch to her arm. I'll meet you outside, I told her, hurrying back to the table next to us. I couldn't shake what I overheard.

Hi, I said to the trio as they looked up when I came to a stop next to them. "I'm Shayne, a journalist with the LA Chronicle. You spoke to my friend, Daisy… uh, Marguerite."

Really? preened Nadia but I wasn't sure what she was more impressed about: my status as a journalist or being friends with Daisy.

We just love Marguerite, said her friend, which answered my question.

She suggested I discuss an article I'm writing about new actresses to LA, I lied. I overheard you mention your roommate was new here. Was she an actress too?

She's gone now, said Nadia quickly. I've only been here a year and I already have several credits. A year is practically no time at all.

We're all actresses, said the woman to her left. Cindy, I thought.

I'm a singer too, chimed the third, straightening her back and preening.

Fabulous! I matched their beaming smiles. Why don't I take your cards and set up times for an interview? I would love to hear your stories.

And, I was careful not to add, find out more about the missing women.

Chapter Two

I sat at my desk the next morning, tapping my pen against the fresh notepad in front of me. Every so often, I caught a furtive glimpse over the top of my cubicle. Across the room, Ben had his head down, headphones on, a slight frown on his forehead as he typed quickly. Whatever he was working on, he seemed very enthused