{"id":246,"date":"2021-02-10T16:32:33","date_gmt":"2021-02-10T16:32:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lightningbugpress.com\/blackhoodpress\/?p=246"},"modified":"2021-02-16T18:57:15","modified_gmt":"2021-02-16T18:57:15","slug":"preview-one-angel-less","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lightningbugpress.com\/blackhoodpress\/preview-one-angel-less\/","title":{"rendered":"PREVIEW: One Angel Less"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

We’re less than two months from the release of One Angel Less<\/strong> (Hollywood Newshawk Book 2)! We’re excited to offer you this brief preview of the first three chapters. The events take place right on the heels of Book 1, The City Burns at Night<\/strong>. This title is currently available for pre-order on Amazon. Coming March 30, 2021!<\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n

These books are currently exclusive with Amazon. Covert League members can read an Advanced Copy of One Angel Less<\/strong>, prior to publication.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Grab your copy: Amazon US<\/a> | Amazon UK<\/a> | Amazon AUS<\/a> | Amazon CA<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

ONE ANGEL LESS<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everyone in Hollywood lives for a gold statuette. He was the first to die by one!<\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Right on the heels of the Irene Faye story, hotshot Los Angeles Chronicle reporter Tom Miller gets called to the Metropolitan Pictures lot where a studio exec has been found dead in his office.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

As soon as Miller catches a glimpse of the corpse, he recognizes the victim immediately: Bigwig director William Wade. What\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s more, he knows who was the last person to see him alive. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But what he doesn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t realize is how hard it will be to prove her innocent. And just how far he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll have to go to save her from the gallows!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Preview Chapters<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

CHAPTER ONE<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

IT WAS MURDER! Hot-tempered and cold-blooded! On that much there was no doubt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The corpse was stretched flat out across the floor of his studio office. His smashed-in cranium buried face-first in the lush carpet. He was deader than freedom in Germany.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Someone had used his noggin for an anvil. His wavy grey hair caked in dried blood. The nearby desk and his three-piece suit all stained with splashes of dark crimson.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I covered my breather with a kerchief and went in for a gander. The whole room had the pungent aroma of days-old death.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was early Tuesday morning when I got the call. Told me to hightail my keister down to Metropolitan Pictures. There was a big story about to break. And I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d sure as hell want to be in on it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d stayed true to my word with my well-dressed friend, Detective Hap Underwood, regarding the whole Irene Faye affair. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d promised that when something broke on that story, he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d be the first to know. So I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t waste any time dialing him up after she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d jumped. Even before I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d called my editor, Hal Jenkins. And now Underwood had just returned the favor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This one was a sight better than Irene\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s mangled corpse. But it was still a hell of a sight indeed. Of course, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d seen a lot worse on the battlefield. But never in such posh surroundings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We were standing in one of the executive suites on the Metropolitan lot. It was easily twice the size of my apartment stash. And then some.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pretty swanky digs from where I was standing. To one side was a couch and a low cabinet. To the other side, where we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d come in, a tall cupboard with two mirrored doors and a bookshelf in between.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the center was a big mahogany desk with a high-backed chair. All perched in front of a big picture window on the ground level.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The murder weapon was right there on the floor, next to the body. An Oscar statuette. It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s shiny surface dulled from the crusted residue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everyone in Hollywood lives for one of those little gold trophies. He was the first to die by one!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t have to wait for Underwood to clue me in on the victim\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s identity. I knew exactly who the poor sap was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Met him twice before, in fact. The first time was at W.H. Harper\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s party. The last just a week earlier. At the Grove.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Film director William Wade.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The louse hadn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t been seen all weekend and then some. But for a man in his position, that wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t unusual. So nobody asked any questions. Even when he didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t show up for Irene\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s funeral.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Especially since he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d had plans to take his yacht to Catalina for a long weekend. Preferably with a certain young actress to keep him company.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s why it had been nearly four days before anyone had noticed he was missing. Or that he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d actually been in his office all along.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A housemaid had found the remains first thing Tuesday morning. That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s when she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d noticed the offending aroma.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Naturally, she called the head of the PR Department, that bulldog Eddie Lennox. And two hours later (by my estimate), he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d called the boys in blue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I watched as Underwood checked the crime scene over. My first time to see the man at work. His personal style may have been relaxed, but I had to hand it to him. He was all business. As thorough as any tin shamus I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d ever seen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I would\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve laid even money that Lennox and his boys had already been over every detail. Arranged everything to tell exactly the story they wanted. I wouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t have been surprised if (or for all we knew) Wade had actually been bumped off in Pasadena.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Say, where\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s this cleaning woman now?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I plied. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d like to ask her a few questions.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153We let her go home for the day,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Lennox answered. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153As you can imagine, she was pretty distraught.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Be that as it may, this didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t strike me as entirely square. We still had a fresh corpse and the only witness was AWOL.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Okay, how about a name and address then?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I asked. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d still like to hit her up.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Of course, of course,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Lennox agreed. A little too willingly for my tastes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153How about Wade\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s secretary? She around?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I added. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d like to chat her up, too.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Again, Lennox was only too happy to oblige. Which was exactly why I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t entirely believe him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Of course. Whatever you need, Mr. Miller.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While Underwood and the Coroner examined the stiff, I took the opportunity to study the rest of the surroundings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You know what they say: the devil is in the details. And I was hoping this particular devil had gotten sloppy and missed a few.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was a glass of hooch on the desk just above the body. But the faint water rings in the wood told me there\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d once been two.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That squared better with what little Trudy had told me. Wade had wanted to ply her with a good swig or two before getting friendly. Too friendly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But he was barking up the wrong tree on that one. She was more pious than an old spinster in Bible School.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There were a couple of gaspers in the ashtray. Both identical. Also had to be Wade\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s. As Trudy didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t smoke, either.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Next I perused the mirrored cabinet by the office portal. It was slightly ajar. So I lifted a pencil out of my coat pocket and pried it open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t sure what to expect, but the contents didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t surprise me. That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s where Wade kept his liquor stash.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the shelves was a small gallery of framed portraits. All of Wade and the Mrs. Dark-haired Spanish gal, and still quite the dish, too. He\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d mentioned her the other night at the Grove, but I hadn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t yet had the pleasure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They looked happy together. Still deeply in love after what had to be a dozen-or-more years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But it was clear (to me, anyways), they\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d been put there to tell a story. Create a false impression. Had to wonder if they\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d all been taken by the Studio photographer. Probably so.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nothing else out of place. Except the Oscar. And the stone-cold cadaver sprawled out on the carpet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But it wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t just the ripening corpse that bothered me. No, it was something a lot worse. And for good reason.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You see, I knew chances were good that Trudy was the last person to see him still breathing. A little too good for my liking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d driven her to the Studio that Friday night. For a screen test with said victim sprawled out before me. And a meeting afterwards.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In that very same office.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Coincidence? I could only hope so.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d eventually fessed up that he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d tried to get handsy. Though she was light on the details. Except that she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d picked up the Oscar and threatened to conk him if he didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t back off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Only she didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t say anything about actually going through with it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was dead certain the only thing she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d killed were her career prospects.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d seen the torn sleeve from the encounter. But there hadn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t been one drop of blood on her frock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Same one she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d been wearing when I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d dropped her off at the studio gate. And if she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d been the one to bonk him, there\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d have been blood aplenty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Plus, I knew Trudy didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t have it in her. Not even by accident.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Still, I also knew who\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s prints were probably on that statue. And that thought bothered me most of all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If I was certain of one thing, it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s that Trudy was innocent as a newborn. Damn if could glim anything in there to prove it, though.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But that wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t about to stop me from trying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh, and there was one other big problem, too. Flora Mason was there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yeah, that raven-haired minx from the Tribune<\/em>. She might\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve been a real looker, but Irene had already proven that true ugliness can come in a beautiful package.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I thought for sure after getting one whiff she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d have bolted for the powder room and never come back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I gotta hand it to her. She didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t just talk big. She stomached it just as good as any man I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d ever seen. And some better.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I knew full well that after she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d missed out on the Irene Faye story (even floating the notion that I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d actually given Irene a push), she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d be like a dog on a mailman with this one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I was right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

CHAPTER TWO<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

IT WAS only two days earlier I was still basking in the glow of my banner headline. A glow that had lasted most of the weekend.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

MOVIE STAR JUMPS TO DEATH FROM HOLLYWOODLAND SIGN<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But like any blaze, it couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t burn long. And as Sunday drew to a close, it was down to only a few embers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By late afternoon, I was on my own with one more story to write. The final chapter, if you will, of the story that was Irene Faye.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Trudy and I had spent the morning at church. Then after high tea we took in a stroll at Griffith Park.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I could tell something had been gnawing at her. She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d tortured the napkins at both lunch that day and dinner the night before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Only this time when I asked, she just clammed up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thought maybe the morning\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s sermon and the fresh air might inspire her to confess. I couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t bear to see her so worked up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Come on,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I implored, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153what\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s eating you, Baby? You know you can tell me anything.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By this time, she was wrenching the strap on her purse. Kept wrapping it around her paw and cutting the circulation. After it turned blue, she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d let it go. Only to do the same a few minutes later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was a bundle of anxiety. And it was tearing her up inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She finally let the strap go for good. Then crossed her wings tight and did a stare-down with the grass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Something was really bugging her. Only she hadn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t said what just yet. But it definitely wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t because she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d just killed a man.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Of that much I was sure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m sorry, Tom,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she finally fessed up. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153But I just can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t stop thinking about everything that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s happened. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve tried to put on a brave face. I really have. But it all just keeps coming back to haunt me.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I knew exactly where this was going.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She hadn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t said much about her meeting with Wade. But the torn blouse and mascara stains had said plenty all on their own.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And if I was sure of anything, it was this. She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d spill the details only when she was good and ready. If ever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If he hadn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t have already been croaked, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d have gone over there and given him a beating myself. I may not have known the particulars, but based on the effect it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d had on Trudy, a beating was certainly well-deserved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d soon be willing to bet some other joe had gotten the same idea. But used Wade\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Oscar instead of his fists.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You mean what happened with Wade,?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I queried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She nodded in affirmation. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153That and Irene Faye trying to kill us.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153There\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s nothing to be afraid of, Doll,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I reassured her. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Irene\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s gone. And you never have to see Wade again. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll even go talk to him if you want.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Of course, at that point I had no idea he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d already pegged out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She stopped and took a deep breath. Then buried herself in my arms. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m just not used to living like this. I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t feel safe anymore. It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s just really made me rethink things.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Like what?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I had to ask.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What I want out of life,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she explained. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153When I moved out here last year, all I ever wanted was to be was an actress. It was all I ever dreamed about. But after what I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve seen, learned what it does to people\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6 well, now I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m not so sure.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll admit, that final bit took me by surprise. I knew the last couple of days had done a number on her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I never thought she was ready to pack it all up. Give up on her dream.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s exactly what she was saying. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m starting to think that maybe I should move back home. Settle down. Raise a family. All the things I never wanted to do before.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She faced away and stared up at the sky. I took her in my arms and held her tight. Whatever I could to make her feel safe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And that might\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve been enough if it weren\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t for one other thing. One I hadn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t seen coming.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It came in the form of a heaping barrel of guilt. Of the matriarchal variety. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m starting to think this just isn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t the place for me. That maybe my mother was right.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t realize just how deep that barrel was until later. Much later. And I wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t about to find out then, either. No matter how much I pried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153How so, Doll?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I inquired.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Trudy let out an exasperated sigh. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153She doesn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t think very much of Hollywood. She warned me that I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d find nothing but trouble<\/em> if I came here.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I lifted her dainty chin and stared into those beautiful blue peepers. Did my best to lift her spirits.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Come on,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I countered. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s got to be proud of you. You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re the greatest gal I know.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Trudy just shrugged. I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know if she was discounting me. Or if I just wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t in the know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t find out for sure until later. And by then it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d be too late to do much good. If any.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s had a really hard time since my father passed away,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she sighed. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153We had to sell the farm and move into town. She took up work as a seamstress to raise me and my little sister, Mildred.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t sure if she was sympathizing or making excuses. Maybe a little of both.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Like I said, I knew something was eating at her. I just hadn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t realized it had gotten this bad.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I held her even tighter. And hoped she wouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t clam up again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But if I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d had any idea what was coming, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d have driven her straight to Union Station.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Put her on the first locomotive home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And if I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d had more time, I might\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve done so. Except work was pulling me in two different directions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The first was non-negotiable: Irene\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s funeral. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d thought about taking Trudy along. But only for a second.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After what Irene had done, I wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t about to haul Trudy to her interment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Even more so after this conversation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t have gone myself, except Jenkins wanted it on the front page of the evening edition. And thankfully, Trudy understood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The second was easier to skip. I got word of a floater down in Laguna.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jane Doe. Underwood said she probably got toasted and took a spill. Either that or just got fed up and decided to end it all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was a bit of that going around. The end of the war had been a godsend. But the euphoria only lasted so long. Because after that, life was still waiting. And it wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t always music and sunshine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All of which made me worry for Trudy. Not that she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d ever take the coward\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s way out. Not a chance. But I just didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t ever want her to even entertain the idea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Little did I know, by morning, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d have another corpse on my radar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This one closer to home. Much closer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

* * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE WEEKEND wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t over before I was standing in Forest Lawn. Listening to the local padre wax rhapsodic for Irene\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s eulogy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was stunned to see an open casket. Especially because I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d seen her on that hillside just the morning before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was a sight I won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t soon forget. No matter how much Scotch I applied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But those morticians must\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve been working overtime. Because she was every bit as beautiful as her 8x10s. Just the way the Studio wanted her remembered. Same one that wouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t touch her just a few days earlier.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d put together the whole affair. All the better to keep control of the narrative. Storytellers to the end.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t waste any time, either. The burial was scheduled for that Sunday afternoon. Obviously less than the customary three days.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t get her in the ground fast enough. Too anxious to get this whole nasty business swept under the rug. Preferably over the weekend.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because everyone had to get back to work first thing Monday morning. To pretend like nothing had happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Back to the business of making artificial dreams.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The few friends who\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d stuck with Irene through the lean years were nowhere to be found. Too busy making headlines somewhere else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Poor Irene. Last thing she wanted was to be yesterday\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s news. And for her it happened in an instant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Naturally, it was a decidedly low-key affair. Not the kind of soir\u00c3\u00a9e that attracts the Hollywood crowd. There was more press than mourners. Myself and Flora Mason included.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And one mug I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t yet know: Herb Selig. Editor and publisher of Tell-All Magazine<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not at all like I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d pictured him. He was a round-faced, jovial looking fellow. Bit of an average joe, really.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d been making hay off Irene for years. Of course, he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d followed her into the ground. And in that regards, he was no different than the rest of us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I hadn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t been there two minutes before Flora sauntered over. With half a smile and mischief in her gaze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Must be hard for you to watch,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she chided. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Knowing you could\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve saved her. Assuming you tried, of course.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Charming to the last, this dame.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Why don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t you show some respect for the dead?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I grumbled. And quickly put some space between us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From the look on her surprised puss, I might\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve struck a nerve of my own.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Playing the part of the grieving husband was Derek Saltzman. This time the real McCoy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She sure had an eye for casting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked a hell of a lot like his doppelg\u00c3\u00a4nger. Minus the Limey accent, of course. Just like I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d suspected. Though I have to admit, I had to look twice to make sure he was the real deal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The ringer Irene hired was a dead one at that. The real Derek was definitely polished, but still bore the markings of someone from back East.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Saltzman might not have been an actor, but he sure put on a convincing performance. Too distraught to say a word. He just sat there in tearful silence during the whole shebang.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With Studio fixer Eddie Lennox right there by his side.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pretty emotional for a guy who was nearly framed for arson and murder. But forgiveness always plays better with the audience.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As much as I wanted to chat him up, I let him have his peace. It was still well-known he wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t exactly fond of the press. I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t want to give him another reason.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hoped I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d get an opportunity on some other occasion. Must\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve rubbed a lamp somewhere, because that was one wish that would come true. And sooner rather than later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Heard more than one person question the whereabouts of Wade. Everyone figured he was out on his yacht, as usual. Which didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t quite add up. Despite his questionable motivation, Wade had been the only one to stick by Irene\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s side. Even when all of Derek\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s pals had long jumped ship.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t help but wonder why he didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t show. Or even send his gal Friday, Eleanor, in his stead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Of course, we all got our answer soon enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The only other family present was her little grey-haired mother, Charlotte. And an older half-sister, Bappie, who had Irene by a good fifteen years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thankfully, Trudy had supplied me with the whole family tree.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Irene hailed from New Jersey. And like most folks in Hollywood, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Irene Faye\u00e2\u20ac\u009d wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t the moniker listed on her birth certificate. Her real name was Constance Ockleman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pretty little Connie made some influential friends in New York. Very influential. So when she found a gentleman suitor who would send her out West, Mother sent Bappie as a chaperone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Like closing the barn door after the horse has left the county.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bappie still lived in the City of Angels, having never gone back to Jersey. Or her husband. Quite the family resemblance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Following the tragic news Friday night, the Studio had put mother Charlotte on a plane. Flew her out lickety-split. And from the looks of her, I think the old gal was still pretty shaken by the experience.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I made sure to offer my condolences after the service. But waited until Saltzman had already done the same.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Though, if I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d given it just a moment\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s thought, I should have realized maybe that wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t the best idea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Mrs. Ockleman?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I introduced myself. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Tom Miller. I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am for your loss.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The old woman turned around. Looked at me with eyes that revealed more than a broken heart. Irene may have been a cold-blooded killer, but her passing would still leave a deep and lasting scar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Thank you so much for your kindness,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she replied. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Did you know my daughter?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Only briefly\u00e2\u20ac\u009d was all I managed to get out. That was before Bappie pushed herself in between us. All an attempt to shield her mother. Not that I blamed her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I could see the pain in her eyes, too. Pain of a different kind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Mother, this is the reporter who wrote that article<\/em>,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Bappie warned. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153The one who was actually there.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I thought the old lady would cower away in fear. But in fact, she did just the opposite.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She walked around her steadfast daughter and took me by the hand. Tears still filled her aging optics.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m sorry for what my Connie did to you,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she told me. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I do hope that you and your young lady friend are quite all right. She was such a sweet girl growing up. Please accept my apology.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Turns out the apple can fall far from the tree. Clear to another orchard. And then some.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All I could do was just stand there with my big yap wide open, gasping for what to say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And came up empty-handed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

CHAPTER THREE<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

SOON AS I left the crime scene in Wade\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s office, I found my way back outside. Under the bright sun and palm trees. My cranium already spinning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had a story to chase. And I was ready to kick it into high gear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was a gaggle of coppers hanging out near the door. One in particular stood out. And not just because he was in plain clothes around a bunch of harness bulls. Or built like a steamroller.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The name was Detective Hank McDonagh. He was a big Irishman with a bad crew cut and a sour disposition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d seen him around. Especially at the bottom of Mount Lee the morning after Irene made her last headline.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hap Underwood was the laid back type. But whenever he needed to make a point, McDonagh was the muscle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That told me Underwood was dead serious about this one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stepped off to the side and set fire to a gasper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yeah, the details at hand were limited. I really wanted to talk to that maid. I was sure that Hap would soon be knocking on her doorstep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was the only one who saw the crime scene before the Studio set decorators did their handiwork.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Was certain they\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d keep her under lock and key. Still, that wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t about to stop me from trying. Or bump her off my list of suspects.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sure the crime scene had been staged, but one item was certain. Wade had been bashed in the back of the head. With his own Oscar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The whole thing smelled of revenge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My gut was telling me there was a dame involved. Possibly more than one. And it just so happened I already had another pair of possible fraus on my radar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The first was Mrs. William Wade. Always the likely suspect in these situations, just by virtue of her relation to the victim. Based on what Trudy had clued me, I already knew Wade liked to make friendly with the help.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Add one jealous wife and stir. Simple recipe for murder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The other wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t quite so simple. Which was why I liked it even better.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Eleanor. Wade\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s middle-aged Gal Friday. Didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t get the surname at the time because I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d need it. But I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m sure it wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Roosevelt.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Trudy had described her as the \u00e2\u20ac\u0153mother hen type.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d taken the call, scheduled the screen test. Even told Trudy to wait for Wade in his office.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mrs. Wade just had to put up with her husband\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s wandering proclivities. Eleanor had to make all the arrangements.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And if she had any designs of her own? Well, it doesn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t take a genius to make five<\/em> out of that little equation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Luckily, I still had the card Wade had given me. Hopefully, Eleanor would answer again. Unless, of course, she suddenly got called out of the country<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was just about to bolt for my heap when Flora Mason darkened my path. Heart on her sleeve, looking to make nice for a change.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe our little chat at the requiem had put her wise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Say Miller, you got a minute?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she piped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s your nickel, Sweetheart,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I told her. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Make it quick.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Look…\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she stumbled. Wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t like her to be at a loss for words. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I just want to apologize for what I said at the funeral. That was over the line. And I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m sorry.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe if that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d been the only time she said it, I might\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve been more inclined to believe her. As it stood so far, I was still battling a healthy dose of skepticism. One thick as Castor Oil.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What you said? Or where you said it?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I queried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Both,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she replied. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I hope perhaps you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll see it in your heart to forgive me.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And that was that. No fluttering of the eyes. No fingering the top button of her silky blouse. No come-hither smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She sounded sincere as a Rabbi on the witness stand. Which is exactly why I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know what to make of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Surely, she had an angle. I knew that, if it was me, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d have an angle. And she was too much like me not to have an angle. And enough curves to make it happen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Trying to throw me off balance? Send me back to the starting gate?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We were both on equal footing with this one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Or maybe she already knew something I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t? And wanted to throw me off the scent before we even made it into the trees?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What do you say we go grab some lunch? Sort of a getting to know you <\/em>meeting? Start fresh and bury the hatchet?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she suggested.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And shiv me with a smile doing it? Not a chance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But then again, maybe this broad really was on the up-and-up. And maybe flying monkeys soar over Hollywood Boulevard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I figured she must\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve been trying to size me up. Get a better handle on the competition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Maybe some other time, Doll,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I told her. I wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t looking to get burned again anytime soon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

* * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n

NO SOONER had we parted ways, when the Studio bulldog blocked my path. I was ready to make tracks to Mrs. Wade\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s residence. Where every other scribe in town was certainly headed. Flora included.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But Lennox looked like he had other ideas. Which came as no surprise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Our last meeting, when I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d dropped in unannounced looking for Saltzman, had been less than cordial. And from the sour look on his mug, this one was about to go the same.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lennox reminded me a lot of some of the mob boys back East. A lot of polish and just as many rough edges. Expensive suits hiding a pair of brass knuckles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Miller, good,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he piped. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re still here. Mr. Saltzman would like to see you in his office.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well, that was a surprising turn of events. What a difference a headline makes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As long as I was on the scoreboard, I thought I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d go two-for-two. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Say, how\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s about that name and address for the housemaid?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153We\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll have to check the employee files,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he smiled before trotting off. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll have my girl call you this afternoon. Enjoy your visit with Mr. Saltzman.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just the man I wanted to see. And this time, I had an invitation. Practically engraved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

* * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n

DEREK SALTZMAN\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s office had the same floor plan as Wade\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s. Just a few floors higher and one with a lot more shelves. But not a single photograph of the Missus. That much was understandable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead the hovel was chock full of books. The cupboards so full he had them stacked two deep and sideways.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And it looked like he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d actually read most of them, too. There were plenty of dog-eared pages and scraps of torn paper used as bookmarks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Decoration-wise, it looked more like a living room. Save for the large wooden desk. Plus a smaller one off to the side.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Seating was ample. In front of the escritoire were two regular chairs with leather cushions. Then a pair of wingbacks in a floral pattern. And further still was a couch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And a lot of lamps. I think I lost count.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m sure there was a liquor cabinet in there somewhere, too. But I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll be darned if I could spot it. And this being early still, he wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t offering.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Like I said, he was a dead ringer for the imposter Irene had hired. But that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s where the resemblance ended. The real Derek was polished, yeah, but he was energetic and straight to the point.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I got the distinct impression he knew he was at least a few IQ points higher than everyone around him. Me especially.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t waste any time on introductions. But for someone who was notoriously at-odds with the press, he was much friendlier than I expected. By a long shot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He immediately grabbed me by the paw and shook hands. Got right up in my map, practically beak to beak. Looked me dead in the optics.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Mr. Miller, such a pleasure to finally meet you in person.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d He talked fast, like he was late for a train. Then motioned for me to grab a chair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Please, sit down,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he offered. He took one wingback and I took the other. It was comfortable enough for a king. The kind you could easily fall asleep in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Thanks, Saltzman,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I replied. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Glad we finally got the chance to meet face-to-face.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Yes, well, I wanted to apologize for not speaking to you sooner,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he countered, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153especially at the funeral.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Well you had more important things on your mind,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I concurred.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Quite so,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he agreed. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153As it were, you may have heard that my past dealings with the press have not exactly been cordial.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was the first thing Trudy had told me about him. It was nice to see he didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t have a problem owning up to it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Be that as it may,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he continued, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I owe you a great debt of gratitude for clearing my name. I can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t imagine the consequences had you not interfered.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t have to ask what kind of a man could fall for a woman like Irene. Get completely taken in by her spell. All I had to do was look in a mirror.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But Saltzman had known her when she was young and innocent. Uncorrupted by the Hollywood dream. That was the gal he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d married. And just being around him made her feel smarter. Until she found out about his other study partners, of course.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And maybe he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d helped create the monster she became. Helped in a big way. But the punishment she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d planned had far outweighed the crime.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He concluded: \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d probably be sitting in a jail cell this very minute. Loudly proclaiming my innocence. All on deaf ears, of course.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just the words I wanted to hear. Glad to know we were on the same page. And I knew someone else who would be even happier.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153If there\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s ever anything I can do for you,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he offered, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153just let me know. I assure you, I will be more than happy to oblige.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was just about to mention Trudy\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s screen test when I remembered something else. Something that gave me pause. And with good reason.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The guy who shot that screen test was presently lying face down in his office. Deader than Vaudeville. And headed to the county morgue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I remembered the conversation I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d just had with Flora Mason. About showing some respect for the dead. Better to wait a few days on that one. Save it for later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Much appreciated, Saltzman,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I replied. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I just may take you up on that.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Still, I couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t leave without putting on my reporter\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s hat. Exercise my First Amendment rights. What can I say? It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s in my blood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Tell me one thing, though,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d I asked him. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153You have any idea who\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d want to bump off Wade?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Saltzman just shrugged. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Jealous husband? Jealous wife? I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll admit I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m no saint, but a man like Wade\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6 well, I can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t say I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m surprised.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was rich coming from him. Especially since his own jealous wife had just tried to frame him for arson and murder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d hit the nail on the head. Which was exactly why the jealous wife was next on my list.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

* * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Read the rest at: Amazon US<\/a> | Amazon UK<\/a> | Amazon AUS<\/a> | Amazon CA<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

We’re less than two months from the release of One Angel Less (Hollywood Newshawk Book 2)! We’re excited to offer you this brief preview of the first three chapters. The events take place right on the heels of Book 1, The City Burns at […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":247,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,6],"tags":[16,30],"class_list":["post-246","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-hollywood-newshawk","category-tom-miller","tag-hollywood","tag-hollywood-newshawk"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lightningbugpress.com\/blackhoodpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/246","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lightningbugpress.com\/blackhoodpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lightningbugpress.com\/blackhoodpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lightningbugpress.com\/blackhoodpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lightningbugpress.com\/blackhoodpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=246"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lightningbugpress.com\/blackhoodpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/246\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lightningbugpress.com\/blackhoodpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/247"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lightningbugpress.com\/blackhoodpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=246"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lightningbugpress.com\/blackhoodpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=246"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lightningbugpress.com\/blackhoodpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=246"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}