“Hey, I just wrote what I saw.”

“Right.” She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at me like a two-year-old facing a plate of broccoli.

“I’m sorry,” I conceded.

“Yeah, well, check your facts next time,” she spat out. “I don’t smoke.”

“Duly noted. Look, actually, I’m investigating Mullins’s death.”

“I thought that was an accident? Overdose or something?”

“Sleeping pills. But I’m not convinced it was accidental. I think he may have tried to blackmail someone else on the set and been killed for it.”

Her eyes went big. “Dude.”

“No kidding.”

“So, what do you want to know?” she asked, curiosity starting to override her initial anger.

“Anything you can tell me about Mullins. His behavior on the set, who he hung out with, what he might have dug up on his co-stars.”

Jennifer pursed her lips together. “Jake was really creepy. Always keeping to himself, kinda slinking around the place like he had some secret. I don’t think he was really close to anyone. There was always something a little greasy about Jake, you know? Like he was just a little too desperate. But blackmail…Wow. I had no idea he’d be that stupid.”

A great quote that I mentally tucked away for later use. However, not really helpful in finding out anything further about Mullins’s potential killer. I bit my lip, trying to come up with anything else that might make this trip not for nil. My eyes rested on the script beside her.

“A new film opportunity?” the gossip columnist in me had to ask.

She followed my gaze. “Kinda.”

“What’s it about?”

“Oh, it’s one of those boring Oscar films with a micro-budget that no one goes to see but sweeps all the awards. But it’s not for me personally,” she said, scrunching up her nose at the idea of doing anything less than a summer blockbuster. “It’s for my production company. My manager thinks it will be good publicity.”

I froze, gears clicking into place.

“You own a production company?”

She nodded. “Co-own, at least.”

“That company wouldn’t happen to be here on the Sunset lot, would it?”

Again with the nod, her blonde hair bobbing up and down.

Mental forehead smack.

“PW Enterprises?”

Her shoulders sagged, and her mouth dropped open into a surprised little “o.” “Yeah! How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” I mumbled. It all fit, and I felt foolish for not putting it together sooner. The company was on the same studio lot as Pippi Mississippi, Jennifer had been in the one and only film they’d produced so far, and if Pines was the “P,” it was suddenly painfully obvious who the “W” had to be. Jennifer Wood.