Swimsuit Body by Eileen; Goudge

buried.”
    â€œI’m guessing you don’t have a lot of enemies either.” I’d heard of stars having their careers ruined through a combination of their own misbehavior and their being universally loathed by their peers.
    He shrugs. “We’d murder our own mother in her bed for a percentage of the gross, but we look out for our own. Glass houses and all.” I must appear taken aback by his casual mention of murder, because he says, in a mild voice, “I didn’t kill Delilah if that’s what you’re wondering.”
    â€œI wasn’t.” Liam doesn’t seem the homicidal type, although I’ve been fooled in the past.
    â€œWe were in rehab together. We’d known each other for years before that, but I didn’t get to really know her until then. That’s when you get the true measure of another, is it not? When you stand naked and shivering, stripped of all your lies and excuses.” I smile at his theatrics, and also in understanding: The first time I shared at an AA meeting, I felt as if I’d been stripped, not just of my clothes, but of my skin. “We used to stay up nights talking. We’d both known the mean streets growing up, so we had that in common, too. After rehab, we went to meetings together. For a while.”
    â€œUntil she stopped going.” He confirms my guess with a nod, wearing a sorrowful expression.
    â€œWe argued about it. She told me to fuck off. I told her she was a feckin’ idiot,that she was throwing her life away, and I wasn’t going to stick around to watch. Fateful words as it turned out.”
    â€œShe didn’t die of the disease,” I remind him.
    â€œTrue.” He turns his gaze to the teak crucifix that hangs over the altar. “May the bastard burn in hell. The killer,” he clarifies when I look startled. We sit in silence for a minute, then he collects himself with an audible exhalation and stands. “Well, it was nice chatting with you, Tish Ballard.”
    I stand to shake his hand. “Likewise.” On impulse, I ask, “Listen, do you want to grab a bite to eat?” Lest he mistake my intention, I add with a wry smile, “I promise no selfies.” It’s not bragging rights I’m after but to learn more about Delilah. Maybe he knows of someone who had a motive for murdering her. With Liam, a fellow drunk in recovery, I have an in that Spence doesn’t.
    â€œAlas, I have to be on set first thing in the morning, so it’s early to bed for me.” He places his hand over his heart, theatrically, though he seems genuinely regretful. In the old days, we’d have made good drinking buddies.
    I look at him in surprise. “Oh. I thought … So soon?”
    â€œWhat did you expect? Black armbands? Flags flown at half mast?”
    â€œNo. A hiatus maybe.”
    Liam gives a hollow laugh. “Any crying that’s done won’t be on the studio’s dime. We make all the right noises, sure, but even Karol, who claims to have loved Delilah like a daughter, won’t let sentiment get in the way of financial considerations.”
    â€œIt seems so … cold.”
    â€œMake no mistake. We’re all alike and a bad lot at that. We differ only in our ability to disguise it.” He dons his cap and slips on his sunglasses, and with that he takes his leave. I watch him make his way down the aisle before he disappears into the shadows at the back of the church.

CHAPTER NINE
    I phone Arthur on the way home and the call goes straight to voicemail. What’s up with that? He always answers when he sees my name on his caller ID because he knows I’ll hit redial as many times as it takes until he does. Or at least he did until recently. Lately, he’s been ducking my calls. And whenever I ask about his plans for the evening, he’s either evasive or downright untruthful. Twice this week I stopped by his place to find no one home on