A few plastic chairs were scattered around a white table with a faded umbrella. In the table’s center was an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts and some gum wrappers. Laura scooped up the ashtray and poured its contents into a nearby trash can. Then she lit up the Gauloise, drew deep, and tossed back her head to exhale the smoke toward the sky. “Better,” she sighed.
Still in shock, Cassie asked, “How do you know about Holly?”
“Internet.” She wrapped one arm around her waist and held the cigarette near her face with the other. “She was only found this morning. Google it.” Another deep drag. Cassie started typing Holly’s name into her phone and Laura added, “Little Bea called me when she heard, too.”
“I thought she was out of the country.”
Laura shook her head. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Holly.”
“Don’t think so. She had an appointment with me, what? Like two days ago, I think.” Another deep drag and after dusting the seat of a chair with her hand she flopped into it. The umbrella shaded half of her face and reminded Cassie of one of Jenna’s old movie posters, one she’d hung up in her bedroom where part of her face was in darkness, the other pale.
“Holly told me you said she was in London.” Cassie looked down at the screen on her phone where she’d Googled information on Holly Dennison.
“Little Bea and Cherise were in London. They came back a week or so ago.” She rolled her eyes. “Trust Holly to get it wrong,” she said, and then caught herself up as if she’d realized the woman was gone. “Did you find it?” Laura asked.
Cassie looked down at her phone again where a picture of Holly filled the small screen. The back of her mouth went dry. Scrolling down she read the headline: Set Designer’s Body Discovered. She skimmed the scanty details, heart racing. A man frequenting a bar in Venice had found the woman, who was identified as Holly Marie Dennison, a set designer, in a parking lot. Several of the movies she worked on were mentioned, including the last, Dead Heat. The police had limited details but the death was being investigated as a homicide. Anyone with any knowledge should contact them immediately.
Cassie sank into one of the chairs. Sadness enveloped her as she remembered Holly’s quick smile and recently spiked hair, how she’d sipped her mojitos at The Sundowner. “I can’t believe it.” She was stunned.
Calmer now, Laura suddenly looked at her cigarette as if it were the devil incarnate and angrily jabbed it out in the ashtray. “She has . . . had a sister who lived in town. That was her next of kin, I guess, so her name was released and these days, everything, all news is instantaneous.” She let out her breath, then looked at Cassie. “I didn’t mean to shock you, but I thought you’d want to know and since I knew you were coming here . . .”
“I do. Did.” She was still in shock. “God, it’s hard to believe.”
“Look, I’m glad I caught you, but I have an appointment in like . . .” She glanced down at her phone for the time. “Five minutes ago.”
“I just wanted to talk to you. I really didn’t need a haircut.”
Laura frowned. “About . . . Allie?” she guessed.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know anything, Cassie. That’s what I already told the police.”
“I know. But you were Allie’s friend as well as makeup artist. She spent hours with you daily, especially when Dead Heat was filming. I thought you, of all of her friends, might have some idea of what she was going through. What was happening in her life. Why she didn’t show up for the last day of the reshoot of the movie.”
“I have no idea. We talked, sure. But just about normal, everyday stuff. Nothing deep, trust me. It wasn’t like I was her shrink or anything.”
Cassie pushed, “But everyone talks to their hairdresser because of all those hours in the chair.” When Laura didn’t respond, Cassie added, “Look, of course you’re not her shrink, but maybe her confidante? It’s what we all do. People are always talking to, or even dating, sometimes marrying, the person who does their hair and makeup, especially in this business.”