Unforgettable: Book Two (A Hollywood Love Story #2)(10)

Forty-five minutes later, he’s at the house. I hug him at the front door.

“Oh, Pops! I’m so glad you’re here.”

“How are you doing, babycakes?”

I smile and usher him in. “I’m doing better.”

“I’m taking good care of her, Detective.” Widening my smile, I cast my eyes at Brandon who’s come to join us. “I’m about to order in some sandwiches from Greenblatt’s. Would you like one?”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I won’t be staying long. The missus wants me home for dinner. Boss’s orders.”

Brandon and I both laugh. “What about a beer then?” he asks.

Pops’s eyes light up. “Now, that I’ll take.”

“Me too,” I chime in.

Brandon shoots me a dirty look and waggles a reprimanding finger. “Uh-uh-uh. No beer for you. You can’t have any alcohol while you’re on your meds. Your boss’s orders. Understood?”

I make a face. “Yes, sir.” Brandon’s face lights up at the last word.

While Brandon goes to the kitchen to get the beers, Pops shrugs off his trench coat and makes himself at home, taking a seat in one of Brandon’s oversized chairs. I curl up on the couch. Someone who wastes no time, Pops gets right into it.

“So babycakes, tell me again what happened.”

I launch into my story and tell him how I’m sure I saw Brandon’s manager Scott having coffee with Mama’s murderer. “Pops, I’m more than a hundred percent sure it was him. You know I’d never forget his face. Yeah, he looked older, but it was him. I’m absolutely positive.”

“I believe you, babycakes. The problem is we can’t find any witnesses who saw two men who matched those descriptions. The Farmer’s Market is a big open space with diverse locals and tourists who come and go. My team’s spoken to all the vendors, and at best, they’ve gotten something like, ‘That sounds like a lot of people who stop by.’”

“Maybe they caught something on a surveillance camera,” I offer. Between growing up with Pops and watching a lot of Kurt Kussler, I could practically be a detective myself.

Pops glumly shakes his head. “I wish. Unfortunately, The Farmer’s Market doesn’t have a surveillance system.”

My heart sinks. We’re still at square one. Brandon returns with two Heinekens and a Diet Coke for me. Mr. Thoughtful.

“Help yourselves,” he says, setting the bottles on the coffee table. Snatching a beer, he lowers himself on the couch next to me. His thigh brushes against mine and I can feel his warmth.

“Why is Scott lying?” I throw the question out to both Pops and Brandon after taking a swig of my soda. “Pops, you should make him take a lie detector test.”

“They’re unreliable.” He grabs a beer and takes several gulps.

Brandon plays devil’s advocate. “What makes you think he’s lying?”

What! He doesn’t believe me now? My face scrunches with anger and my voice rises an octave. “Because he is! He’s a total slimebucket. I wouldn’t believe a word that man said. I bet he even told you he’s the one who found you unconscious on the day of your accident.”

Setting his beer bottle back down on the table, Brandon blinks several times the way he does whenever he’s having a recall moment. He looks flustered…unsure. “He did. While I was in the hospital, he said he called it in. Saved my ass.”

My stomach twists. I didn’t really mean what I said. A cocktail of shock and rage shoots through me. “Fucking liar! Newsflash: I’m the one who found you and called 911.” The one who held you, prayed for you, kissed…I banish the memory of that day before tears betray me.

Pops corroborates what I’ve said. “It’s true. Zoey did. We still have the dispatcher’s recording.”

Brandon is stunned into silence. Finally, in a soft voice, he says, “Zoey, why didn’t you tell me?”

My voice softens too. “I thought you knew.”

“I’m sorry, Zo.” He brushes his hand along my jawline. His tender touch sets me on fire. I feel myself flushing with tingles all over. Wondering if Pops notices, I glance his way. His brows are furrowed, his lips pressed together, and he’s rubbing a thumb across his dimpled chin. I know that expression. I’ve seen it a zillion times before. He’s onto something.


“Pops, what are you thinking?”

He lowers his hand, but his brows remain knitted. “If Scott Turner is lying, that changes everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“Babycakes, tell me again the conversation you overheard. Word for word.”

Thanks to my eidetic memory, I recite it as if I’ve just heard it, making use of my acting skills to imitate their voices. “The man who shot Mama shouted, ‘You f*cked up once. Don’t do it again.’ And then Scott nervously replied, ‘Okay, okay, I’ll take care of it.’”

Almost instantly, I gasp and clasp my hand to my mouth. I construe their exchange in a whole new way. “Pops, do you think they were referring to Brandon’s hit and run?”

Pops looks at me with intensity. “Possibly. The two of them may have something to do with it. I have a hunch someone’s trying to knock off Brandon. And there could be a connection between the accident and your mother’s murder.”