Read Murder at the Academy Awards (R): A Red Carpet Murder Mystery for Free Online Page B

courtesy gone? Where were good manners? People need to say “please” and “thank you” before they grind my couture into the ground. “Hey, you!” I called after the departing, nice-looking security guy. He stopped and smiled.
    “What’s going on?” I demanded. “Did you get a good look at her? I mean, I don’t want to dwell on the negative here, but I think that poor, poor girl may be…”
    “Forgive me, Ms. Taylor. Aren’t you a member of the press?”
    That did it. I have been an actress and a fashion maven for thirty years, but when they want to stonewall me, they accuse me of being a reporter. Like I’m Woodward and Bernstein.
    “I’m a style expert,” I spit out at him. “By the way, nice trousers.”
    “Don’t worry, Ms. Taylor, we’ll take it from here.” He smiled at me with a smile that lasted a little longer than necessary between a security-type person and an on-air commentator. Not that I noticed. “Where are my manners?” he asked no one in particular.
    Hello. Hadn’t I just been asking that?
    He looked at me, and I wondered for a second if he was struck by how lovely I hoped my face appeared from that advantageous angle. He wasn’t.
    He was just hired security trying to smooth over a potential PR crisis.
    Malulu, instantly protective, rushed over. She glared at him as she, frankly, glared at all men. “You okeydokey, Ms. Taylor?” she asked.
    “We’ll see,” I replied.
    At that, Malulu reassumed her shifting, swaying ready-to-attack pose. I really wished she would stop it, but I suppose if I keep an unnecessary bodyguard on the payroll, I shouldn’t interrupt her flow.
    Turning back to the security guy, I demanded, “Now where did you take Halsey?”
    “She just needs a little rest,” he said.
    What? Everyone was behaving as if nothing were really wrong, but no matter how “exhausted” they said she was, I could have sworn that she hadn’t actually been breathing. And no breathing, where I come from, usually means dead.
    “Not to worry,” the guy said, looking around. “Miss Hamilton is getting help. But even though her collapse was regrettable, we don’t need to upset the guests at the event going on inside.”
    Right. What was I thinking? Let’s keep the priorities straight.
    Drew interrupted, “What about you, Mom, are you okay?”
    “Maybe.” I wasn’t ready to commit. It’s so rare for a mother to get her child’s full attention that I felt I should maybe take a moment to enjoy it.
    Just then, the private ambulance, parked where only a few minutes earlier Halsey’s Hummer limo had been, pulled slowly away from the curb. And so I turned back to the security man. “That’s it?”
    “Oh, just one more thing. I need to talk to your camera operator,” he said, turning to Danny, of whom I’d lost track. Danny was standing back by the edge of the security curtain, stunned.
    “What?” Danny jerked to attention, surprised to find the spotlight so suddenly turned on him.
    The big-shouldered security guy faked a friendly tone. “I’m Jay O’Neil.” He handed each of us a small, white card. It said he was chief of security for GlobalTrac Ltd. “The Academy doesn’t want any disturbances.”
    “You’re a rent-a-cop?” I wasn’t surprised.
    “Consultant,” O’Neil said. “The awards are an important international event, as you know. My crew is here to prevent any unpleasantness.”
    “We wouldn’t want another streaker to rush naked across the stage,” I joked. “Oh, no. That was the seventies.”
    “No,” he replied, deadly earnest, “we wouldn’t. Nor do we want any other unfortunate matter to distract from the celebration this evening. A lot of people worked very hard to get here, and they deserve to be protected from a situation that could go unpleasantly out of control.”
    What was he suggesting? That I had somehow caused this sadscene with Halsey? How dare he? I’m never at a loss for words. Never. But to that astonishing half