At the Golden Globes
Jack Morgan got out of his dark blue Lamborghini near the Beverly Hilton. It was the night of the Golden Globes, and he was with a beautiful and famous movie star. He helped Guinevere Scott-Evans out of the car, and she held his hand hard. Guinevere trusted Jack, and she trusted his company, Private. Everyone trusted Private; it was the best.
But then Jack's oldest friend, Andy Cushman, called him.
Andy spoke quickly. "Jack, come to my house now! I need you."
"It's not a good time. What's wrong?" asked Jack.
"It's Shelby. She's dead," said Andy. Shelby and Andy married six months ago.
Guinevere wasn't happy, but Jack took her to her table. Then, he was on the road to Andy's house in Bluffs. He stopped near the open front door, took out his gun, and went in.
"Andy?" shouted Jack.
"Jack! I'm in the bedroom."
Jack went through the house, his gun in his hand. In the bedroom, there were clothes everywhere. Shelby was on the bed, with blood on her head.
"What happened?" asked Jack.
Andy was near Shelby, his head in his hands. "Someone shot her. Please find him!"
Jack took photos of everything in the room. "Did you call the police?" he asked.
"No, I wanted you here," said Andy.
"Do you have a gun?" asked Jack.
"No," said Andy.
"OK, you must understand. The police will want to talk to you. They always want it to be easy. They will think, 'A woman is dead - did her husband kill her?' But I can help," said Jack.
He called the police and waited for them to arrive.