Holly woke up to the ringing of her phone. She blinked sleepily up at the ceiling. Peter had driven her home quite late the night before. He’d said something about coming over today…or was it calling? She’d been too exhausted at that point to listen closely.
She reached for her phone, before realizing she hadn’t left it on her nightstand. She pulled herself up and out of bed and shuffled over to the chair she’d placed her purse on. She rummaged inside the bag for her phone and finally answered it on the seventh ring.
“Oh. Hi Nikki.” Holly made her way back towards the bed and lay down. “How are you?”
“I’m good. I was just returning your call from yesterday morning. Tried calling you several times but couldn’t get through.”
“I’m sorry. It was kind of a crazy day.”
“Must have been. You said something about some photographer dying?”
Holly hesitated. A week ago she would have told Nikki everything, but who was to say Nikki was any more trustworthy than Frank?
“It was just a paparazzi that the police are saying was mugged and he had some kind of heart failure.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry. Was he a friend of yours?”
“No he wasn’t.”
“I see.” It was clear from Nikki’s voice though that she didn’t. “So you’re okay then? You’re not upset?”
Holly couldn’t help but laugh. “I wouldn’t say everything’s okay, no. But Lionel Atwood wasn’t a friend or anything.”
“Lionel Atwood? Was that the photographer?” asked Nikki.
“Nothing. It’s just that name sounds familiar. As if I might have heard it somewhere before.”
Holly sat up quickly in bed. “Could you have heard it from Malcolm Grant?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Well it wasn’t from him. But it could have been from-…you know I have a friend who might have known him.”
Holly thought quickly. Peter had said they would look into things. Finding out a bit more about Lionel would be a good place to start. But perhaps Peter would have thought better of it all in the cold light of day?
She squared her shoulders.
Even if he did, she wanted answers. And she was going to get them.
“Do you think I could talk to this friend?”
There was a beat. “Really?” Nikki sounded confused. “Why? I mean, I don’t understand why you want to know about Lionel? Were you there when it happened? Or is he a friend of a friend?”
“I just have a few questions,” said Holly. “Please?”
“I suppose,” said Nikki. “I’ll call him up and get back to you.”
Nikki hung up and frowned. Holly’s request certainly seemed bizarre. If this man wasn’t a friend, why did Holly care so much? Holly hadn’t been romantically involved with him had she? She’d never mentioned him but then Nikki had never told her about Clint.
Clint. She could vaguely recall, him mentioning some of his fellow paparazzi and the name Lionel Atwood rang a distant bell.
She could at least call him and ask. It’d be an excuse to talk to him at any rate.