Friday Five September 3

This week I’m continuing my Christmas mystery story of aging pop starlet Angela Redmond.

Friday Five

Impact, sphere, fashion, gesture, hobby

There was no denying Angela Redmond’s impact on music and fashion, Jeremy Oshima thought with a sigh, but why did she have to be so difficult to work with? He’d been standing outside in the cold for fifteen minutes. It was a nice porch, and it covered the cold wind, but still she could have called.

He was being paid handsomely to ghost write Redmond’s autobiography. It wasn’t his  usually sphere of expertise. Jeremy specialized in true crime books-several of which had been optioned-under the name P.G. Grant. The main reason he agreed to this was because his publisher was looking for someone after three others had declined. He now knew why.

The car finally pulled up, Angela’s harried daughter Charlotte looked as if she wanted to keep driving and ram it up to the side of the house. He couldn’t blame her. He could only imagine the horror show a day out with Angela must be. He felt sorry for Charlotte. She didn’t strike him as having any friends, hobbies, or interests. Charlotte was the youngest of Angela’s children, at least officially. He’d done some digging around and found that might not be true. An interesting phone call with a man named Martin Quinn had revealed quite a bit about Ms. Angela Redmond that her carefully crafted persona had not revealed. 

The maid ran out to help the daughter bring in the bags. Angela walked up to him and smiled. “I’m so sorry I’m late, “ she said. When you looked at her you would think it was sincere. Her smile was wide and her eyelashes fluttered, and she said it all so sweetly. He’d learned it was all and act but he played his role.

“We need to get started,” he said gesturing for her to go to their usual work room.  It was a spacious study near the back of the house. It didn’t look as if it had really been used, to be honest, and he seriously doubted Angela had read any of the books. The maid would bring in some tea soon. It was the usual routine.

“It took us so long. The was so much to do. I went to the gallery to look over a few newer exhibits. Supporting local artists is passion of mine,” she went on for a while but Jeremy tuned most of it out as he set down his laptop. He’d take notes on paper while she talked because she hated him typing away. It was one of her many quirks.

He took out his latest legal pad where he had the name Martin Quinn, written and underlined. Might as well start with him first, he thought wickedly, and see how she reacts. This wasn’t the same as true crime but it was getting more interesting by the day.

Copyright Echo Ishii 2021