I cocked my head to the side, sizing Jennifer up as a suspect once again. Sure she had an alibi, but now that she was tied tighter than a Christmas bow to PW Enterprises, I wondered, how hard would it have been to get one of her “Nicole Richie” hangers-on to make the call for her?

“Did you know that someone has been threatening my life?” I asked.

“No way! Who?” she asked, leaning forward.

“I don’t know yet. But I traced the threatening call to PW Enterprises.”

Jennifer blinked at me, realization slow in coming. “Wait, you don’t think that I…? No way!” she repeated.

I nodded. “Way.”

She shook her head back and forth so violently her hair smacked her perfectly powdered cheeks. “Nuh-uh. Not me. I would so not do that.”

“You just admitted you’re not my biggest fan.”

“Well, yeah, but can you blame me?”

She had a point. “Who else would have access to the PW offices?”

She shrugged. “Anyone, I guess. I mean, everyone on the lot knows where it is. And PA’s are always coming and going.”

“What about at night. Aren’t they locked up?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. I mean, probably, but we’re not like putting alarms and guard dogs on the place. Security on the lot is tight enough we don’t really worry about it that much. They don’t let just anyone into Sunset.”

She was right. I thought back to how inventive Cal and I had to be to get on the lot. While it wasn’t impossible the call was made by an outsider, chances were it was someone who actually belonged on Sunset property.

Unfortunately, that included half of Hollywood.

“Look, I totally swear I had nothing to do with this,” Jennifer said again. “You have to believe me!”

Sadly, by the look of true fear of bad press in her eyes, I kinda did. I sighed, realizing just where that left me.

All the way back to square one. Again.

Chapter Fifteen

By the time we finished with Jennifer Wood, the sun was setting, my stomach was growling, and the traffic on the 101 was thicker than Kirstie Alley’s waistline.

“Ready to call it a day?” Cal asked, inching forward behind an electric smart car. The driver looked nervously in his rearview mirror as if Cal’s monster truck might crush his bumper any second.

I nodded. “I’m beat. But first, you think we could stop at a drive-thru?”

“I think your aunt said she was making enchiladas tonight.”

“All the more reason to stop for food first.”

He shot me a look.

“Trust me, it’s survival.”

He shrugged, then pulled off at the next exit, navigating the Hummer into the Carl’s Jr. drive-thru. (Just barely—the top of the tank was mere inches from the clearance rod.)