Murder at the Academy Awards (R): A Red Carpet Murder Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page A

short walk, a dozen reporters crowded around shouting, “Halsey!” and “Where’s your dress?” and even, to Cindy, “I’ll give you two grand if you bring her here!” Not an easy few yards of red carpet. As Cindy steered Halsey along, the gorgeous young star wobbled on her high heels. I sighed. Post-rehab wobbling was never a good sign. I hoped Drew wouldn’t be too disappointed.
    “Here’s Halsey Hamilton,” I was saying to my camera, just as the dark-haired beauty was delivered to my side, “wearing possibly the boldest Academy Awards fashion statement since that girl wore a dress made out of AmEx cards. Halsey, honey. I gotta ask. Who are you wearing—18 Hour or Cross Your Heart?”
    Halsey, smiling a sleepy smile at me and not entirely making eye contact, slurred, “Wha…Bajja…Hiya, Max!”
    Cindy tried to back out of our camera shot, slowly releasing her grip, but Halsey grabbed on to my tall star-wrangler and wouldn’t let go.
    “Halsey, sweetheart!” I said, sizing up the situation. The girl was drunk. Or stoned. Or both.
    “Mama Maxo,” Halsey slurred. “I made it. I’m at the Ossars!”
    “So we can see.” My camera guy, Danny, was focusing closer on Halsey’s midsection as I continued, “Every part of you. Viewers have gotta know. Arriving here at the Academy Awards without a dress, are you making a political statement? Is it a stab atglobal warming—that we don’t need clothes? Did Al Gore put you up to this?”
    Halsey began to laugh, and my gal Cindy shook free and quickly stepped away. Standing alone in her pink satin thong and jet-black bra, Halsey put both hands on top of her head as she tried to complete one coherent thought, but the effort was too much. She almost swooned.
    In my earpiece, I heard Will’s tense warning: “Max, get to it already. Get her talking!”
    With Hasley in this condition, I knew the viewers would be stunned. This was huge. We should turn this into its own one-hour special!
    “Move it,” he said urgently.
    Live TV is a bitch, but what we had here was the mother of all interviews with a clearly altered nominee, and no one, not even my ridiculously inexperienced director, could miss that.
    “Halsey,” I asked quickly. “Are you drinking again?”
    “No!” she yelled, then smiled at me sweetly. “I would never take a drink. Never. I swear.” Halsey Hamilton, princess of the silver screen, reached out and put a dangling arm around my shoulder. She could barely stand up. Steadying herself against me, she leaned on me harder, soon hanging on me with all her weight. I’d lifted grocery bags that weighed more, but still, the unexpected burden made me list in an unattractive way to the left. There I was, dressed in my floor-length golden ball gown, wrapped in the tight embrace of a half-naked girl. I don’t care what your views are on same-sex couples, we made an alarming family-viewing-hour pair.
    From behind the camera, I heard Allie giggle softly with nervous energy. Both Malulu and Killer looked shocked. And Unja, mouth open in alarm, still had his camcorder rolling.
    What was the world coming to? This was tragic. I knew these girls seemed to exist on nothing but a cocktail of fame and pills, and I suspected this party-till-they-dropped lifestyle was never going to stop until they crashed into something cold and hard. As a mother, it disturbed me to see these talented children throw away their lives just to see their faces splashed across one more cover of People . I had half a minute of airtime left. It was tough-love time.
    “Halsey, you’re a beautiful, talented girl. You acted your heart out in The Bones of War, and don’t play it down, your part took raw courage and heart. They don’t give away Oscar nominations like party favors. You earned it. But, sweetie, something is not right. Look at you. Not only did you make a risky fashion decision today, but now you are clearly impaired.”
    “Shhhh. Maxooo. Pleassse, don’t tell the whole