Page 16 of The One for Forever

“It all begins with Amber.”

Amber Printz started out in modeling. She managed to get some magazine and runway gigs, but her big break was becoming the face of that perfume,Adore Me. The ad campaign gave her enough recognition that she had access to the upper echelon of parties and charity events when she moved to Hollywood. Which was ideal, because what Amber had always wanted was to be an actress. A movie star.

Enter the famous director, Thompson Hayworth. He had the Hollywood pedigree. Son of classic movie actors, graduate of a prestigious film program.

“The two of them met at a charity event in Beverly Hills,” I say. During the prep for this trial, I’ve learned far more than I ever needed about Amber and Thompson’s romance. “Thompson wasn’t the type to go after younger women before Amber. He genuinely seemed smitten. She told him a whole backstory about overcoming poverty and abuse and moving to New York City on her own as a teenager to pursue modeling. Of course, none of it was true.”

We’ve confirmed that by speaking to Amber’s family and former friends from her hometown in Arizona. Yet in her public statements, she’s always managed to hedge enough that her legions of fans don’t seem to mind the discrepancies.

“People hear what they want to hear,” Rex remarks.

“Thompson certainly did. He bought Amber a five-karat diamond and eloped with no prenup.”

Rex whistles. “I guess he was a romantic.”

“So they say. His son, who runs Hayworth Productions, was furious. And then, from what I’ve learned, the industry elites in LA weren’t nice to Amber either. She convinced Thompson to move here. To West Oaks.”

Rex nods. “I’ve seen their house. The one overlooking that bluff? Gorgeous.”

“A picturesque backdrop for a gruesome murder.”

“Is that line going to be in your opening statement?”

“Lana will do the opening, and she’s more diplomatic than me. She’s a politician now. She has to be.”

“But if it were up to you?”

I think of the first day I saw the evidence at the homicide staffing meeting, and shiver. “I would just try to tell the truth. Which is…tragic. And brutal.”

Rex studies me for a few moments, keeping quiet. As if he understands that I need to settle my nerves.

I resume the story. “Now that Amber had Thompson to herself, she started pestering him about his next Oscar-bait movie. Of course, he agreed to cast her in the starring role. But once filming started and the producers saw her acting chops, they told him Amber had to go. She was okay, but not Oscar caliber. Thompson was stuck. And by then, he suspected his young model wife wasn’t the ideal angel he’d believed. There were rumors of cheating, of her siphoning his money. It was enough that he called his lawyer to schedule a meeting. Wanted to discuss his will and potential divorce proceedings. Their marriage was about to blow up. Amber was about to lose it all. A week later, Thompson was dead. Murdered in their home. The scene was staged to look like a home invasion.”

“Awful,” Rex says. “When did the police suspect Amber?”

“Not right away. She had an alibi for the day of the murder, but it’s flimsy. The detectives started digging and found awealth of circumstantial evidence. A big clue was her internet search history. She’d tried to delete it, so we got a warrant and the search engine turned over the info. She’d done dozens of searches on burglary crime scenes, reading up on forensics. Different methods of murder like poisoning and blunt force trauma. Claimed it was for a movie role.”

Rex curses under his breath. “Do you think Amber did the deed herself? Or did she hire someone else?”

“There was no unusual DNA or physical evidence suggesting a stranger at the house. Only Thompson, Amber, and a few other staff members who had airtight alibis. Amber’s fingerprints and DNA were on the murder weapon. It was her. You’d think it would take rage to do something so vicious, but the planning suggests she was cold as ice. She smashed her husband over the head with a sculpture while he was napping. It was—” I shake my head, trying to banish the memory of the crime scene photos. The blood. “Sorry. We were having a nice time. I didn’t mean to turn our conversation so dark.”

“I’ve seen plenty of darkness and violence. Wish the world wasn’t like that, but it is.” He touches my arm. “And Ireallywish you didn’t have to see it.”

My first instinct is to argue that it’s my job. I’m not fragile. But Rex still thinks of me as the girl on prom night he wanted to protect, and that isn’t going to change.

“Anyway,” I say, “Amber is out on bail, living in her West Oaks mansion, posting videos to social media claiming she loved Thompson and would never hurt him. She went from a mediocre actress to a household name with millions of followers. Playing up that damsel-in-distress persona. Falsely accused by the evil West Oaks DA’s Office because we couldn’t find the real?—”

I stop mid-sentence, mid-step.

“Quinn? You okay?”

“I don’t have my purse.” I pat my dress, though of course it’s not hiding in the slinky fabric. No pockets here.Crap. “My phone and wallet are in there. I must’ve left it at the picnic table.”

Rex frowns. “I glanced over the table as we left. It was empty. When’s the last time you had it?”

“I don’t remember. I…maybe I set it down at the food counter.”

“It’s okay. We’ll head straight back. Maybe Eddie’s nephew saw it on the counter and grabbed it.”

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