Immaculate Reception by Jerrilyn Farmer

Brother Frank invented a new way to accidentally bash himself on the head with an acting trophy, I think not.”
    â€œAnd why Brother Frank? It makes absolutely no sense,” Wes said. “Unless…” He seemed to get lost in the thought. “Holly said his cousins belong to a gang. Think that could be related?”
    â€œWes, he was killed in Dottie’s dressing room, not on the corner of Western and Sunset.”
    â€œWhich brings up the question of all questions. You think Dottie did it?”
    â€œNo. I don’t. She’s so…so…loopy.”
    â€œRight. She may be getting desperate, but I don’t think she’s reached the point where she’s murdering men who won’t sleep with her.”
    We’d been through this many times. This is where one of us said, well, the police will investigate. And the other one said, yeah, unconvincingly.
    â€œWhat’s really odd, Madeline, is the news coverage. There is none. Nobody’s got this story.”
    â€œYou noticed that too?” I asked, glancing across the van at Wesley. Perched in the co-pilot captain’s chair you get this super high-up view of the world. Pretty cool.
    â€œA man is killed at a Hollywood studio. That is usually considered news. Man, Dottie has lucked out.”
    â€œPerhaps it’s the studio.”
    â€œKeeping things quiet?”
    â€œIt happened in their private kingdom,” I said. “They’re in control. They have their own security. When the police were notified, I bet it was done at a very high level, with lots of secrecy.”
    â€œJust think what other crimes could be committed on the lot, with no one the wiser.”
    â€œNo kidding,” I said.
    â€œIt’s suspicious,” Wes said. “You know when the cops get involved nothing stays quiet for long. Reporters hang out at the station and these kinds of stories leak. Someone’s controlling this. Someone with more clout than the studio.”
    It dawned on me. “Maybe it’s the church,” I said. “They’ve got to be sensitive about a Jesuit killed by an unknown assailant. And Brother Frank del Valle had ties to gangs.”
    â€œYes. And then the pope is coming…”
    Wes turned the van up Vine and drove past the cylindrical Capital Records building, whose kitsch architecture resembled a stack of records. The red light at the tip of its roof antenna blinked on and off. Every twenty seconds the light blinked out the word “Hollywood” in Morse code. In case, I don’t know, some sailor got lost?
    â€œLet’s get crazy for a minute,” I offered. “The mayor of our city goes to…what church?”
    Wes smiled.
    â€œAnd didn’t I hear that the mayor got married again?” I asked.
    â€œI hear you. He needs a favor, you think, to get his last marriage annulled so this new wife will be kosher.”
    â€œExactly. In the doing-a-big-favor-for-the-pontiff department, how would keeping this whole mess out of the glare of the world’s press rank?”
    Wes said quietly, “Up there.” We were waiting out a red light at Melrose and Wes turned his head to look at me.
    â€œLet me just get this straight,” he said. “You think the mayor is conspiring with the Catholic church and a major Hollywood studio and a famous redhead to cover up the death of a young Jesuit.”
    â€œOnly in a nice way,” I said. “See, everybody is happy in this scenario.”
    â€œSo what you’re saying,” Wes said with escalating sarcasm, “is this could just be a win-win-win-win situation.” He shook his head.
    â€œWhat a world, what a world,” I muttered, quoting a melting witch.
    â€œSo, who is going to go to bat for poor Brother Frank?” Wes asked, full of concern. Then it hit him. He should not be giving me any ideas. I hated to melt. I preferred drying off and fighting. He spun on a dime and