“And then?” Jackson had a no-nonsense tone to his voice that I found incredibly attractive—as long as it wasn’t directed at me.
Wesley’s hands flew in the air as he emphasized every word of his side of the conversation. “I told the woman it was my place and that I needed to go inside. The closing papers hadn’t been signed, so I was still within my rights. Then she acted all interested.”
“How so?” I asked, unable to stay quiet.
“She asked me if I knew how to find you.” Wesley’s gaze met mine. “I told her no and that she should go away. The next thing I knew, she was practically attacking me.”
“This all happened on the deck?” Jackson squinted, as if he tried to picture the scene playing out.
I tried to picture it also. It couldn’t have been pretty.
“That’s right. On the deck. I didn’t lay a hand on her. I only raised my hands to defend myself. Eventually, I got tired of dealing with her. I had a feeling she’d try to follow me inside my house, and I didn’t want that.”
“So you left?” Or was this the turning point where everything had gone south and Desiree had ended up dead? I knew that wasn’t quite the case. Adam had said he’d seen Wesley leave after their argument. Could he have come back later?
“So I left.” Wesley stared at me, as if trying to read if I was accusing him of something. “And that was that. I called Zane and asked him if he’d pick up the painting at closing, which was two days away. Only, as I’m sure you’re well aware, when he went to pick it up, he discovered that woman’s body in the bedroom where my painting was located.”
Wesley closed his eyes. In mourning over Desiree? In mourning over the loss of his painting? The tainting of his house?
Maybe all three.
“So, just to clarify, you have no idea how the woman died?” Jackson stared Wesley down in a manner that would intimidate anyone.
“I have no idea. All I want to do is paint and get paid for my work. I promise. That’s the only reason I was there. I didn’t want to start trouble. I didn’t know the woman was there. And I didn’t know she was going to be so determined to get into my house. In fact, she seemed to be rather obsessed with Joey. Desperate, almost.”
“Do you have an alibi for later that evening?” Jackson continued.
Wesley’s eyes widened. “As a matter of fact, I do. I was here with Dizzy.”
My gaze and Jackson’s swerved to Dizzy.
She tried to look innocent, but she didn’t succeed as she nodded and found her cheap Chinese folded fan. She said she liked to use it for her menopausal moments. But I had a feeling she had more moments of being nosy than she did menopausal lately.
“It’s true,” Dizzy said. “We drank tea and talked about things of the non-criminal nature. He’s innocent.”
“Do you remember what time it was when you drank tea and chatted?” Jackson asked.
“I do,” Dizzy said. “My favorite TV show was on—well, my favorite other than Relentless. It was ten o’clock.”
I frowned. Wesley not only had an alibi, but he had an alibi who was my friend—my aunt, for that matter. Certainly Dizzy wouldn’t lie to cover for him, would she? I didn’t want to believe it. But she could be a piece of work sometimes. I loved her for it . . . usually.
But, like any smart wannabe detective, I waited until Jackson and I were back in the car before I asked, “What now?”
“I guess it’s back to the drawing board.” Just as Jackson said the words, his phone rang. When he ended the call, he turned back to me. “That was Billy Corbina from Willie Wahoo’s Bar and Grill. We just got a call about disorderly conduct.”
“You have to take that one?” I questioned. It seemed like something a beat cop could handle.
“Do I have to? No. Do I want to? Yes.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because the name of the person they called in about is Jennifer, and she’s from Georgia.”
Willie Wahoo’s was a bar here in town—a bar where less-than-desirable things often happened. Billy Corbina was the owner, and he had his hand in trouble. Yes, trouble. Not specific trouble, just any trouble in the area, it seemed.
However, Willie Wahoo’s did have a decent vegan menu, which meant when I was on my vegan kick this was a decent place to get takeout. I was off my vegan kick, and I told myself I was going to eat more protein instead. Or maybe just protein. I couldn’t decide.
Figuring out a diet was hard—but not as hard as sticking with one.
We walked into Willie Wahoo’s and saw Jennifer standing on top of the bar, singing at the top of her lungs. Half of the patrons there looked amused and the other half perturbed. I wondered if they would like her more if Jennifer sang on key.
Billy met us at the door with a scowl on his face. “She’s knocked three people’s drinks over. She’s got to go.”
“Why didn’t you get security to get her down?” Jackson asked, his gaze still on Jennifer.
Billy’s scowl deepened. “Because it’s only four in the afternoon. I don’t have security here yet. And every time I try to grab the woman, she runs to the other end of the bar and knocks over another drink. It’s a catastrophe in the making.”
Jackson nodded slowly and glanced at Billy. “I’ll handle this.”
This was going to be interesting.
“Jennifer,” Jackson called.
She kept dancing and singing “Man, I Feel Like a Woman,” acting like she hadn’t heard him. She held a spoon in her hand, substituting it for a mic, and her voice cracked with off-key awfulness.
“Jennifer,” Jackson said. “You need to get down.”
She sang louder.
“Jennifer!”
She paused for long enough to wink and say, “You want to sing with me, Dreamboat?”
I held back a snicker, especially when I saw the tension mounting between Jackson’s shoulders. He could manhandle her, but that wouldn’t look good, especially since two people had their phones out and directed toward the scene.
“Jennifer, you’ve got lipstick on your teeth and those pants show your panty line,” I called. “This is not the kind of publicity you want.”
“Man, I feel like a . . . what?” She froze. Looked down at me. Frowned.
What woman wouldn’t take pause at the mention of those things? Who wanted to rise to public awareness on YouTube because they looked like a fool?
Well, some people. But I had a feeling Jennifer wasn’t that desperate.
“This isn’t the way to be famous,” I continued, looking up at her.
Her shoulders sagged. “I just want to have fun.”
She was so obviously drunk. Trying to numb her grief? Most likely. But still . . .
“There are better ways,” I continued. “Can we talk? About Desiree?”
She stared at me a moment before nodding and starting to come down. But she stumbled on a metal bucket of peanuts.
Jackson lunged forward and caught her before she hit the floor. It really was a Prince Charming type of moment—only it was the wrong woman in Jackson’s arms.
“Let’s have this conversation in my car,” Jackson said, placing Jennifer back on her wobbly feet.
Based on the stares of everyone around us, that was a good idea.
Chapter Twenty
“Why have you been lying to us, Jennifer?” Jackson asked from the front seat of his police cruiser.
I sat beside him, and Jennifer sat in the backseat, looking rather subdued right now. At least, she was subdued compared to only five minutes ago when she’d gone all Coyote Ugly.
Jennifer’s face paled, but her nose and eyes remained red. She smelled like alcohol, sweat, and fried foods.
The woman was going to have a killer headache after all of this. And probably a boatload of regret. I only hoped she wouldn’t turn to alcohol again to numb the pain of what alcohol had done the first time around. It could be such a vicious cycle.
“I didn’t mean to lie.” Jennifer’s eyes p
leaded with both me and Jackson. “I was just . . . I just wasn’t telling the whole story.”
“Then start talking before I arrest you for impeding an investigation,” Jackson said.
Her face went even paler and her nose redder. “Desiree told me she figured out a way to make some extra money and that it wasn’t quite scrupulous. But she was desperate. I told her not to do it. That’s when I decided to come over here to Nags Head and make sure she behaved.”
And the plot thickens . . .
Jackson exchanged a glance with me. “Did she say what she was planning on doing?”
“No, she didn’t give me any details. She said the less I knew, the better.”
I had an inkling. Was Desiree planning on selling Wesley’s prized painting? It made sense to me. The facts all aligned.
“What about her boyfriend, Michael Mills?” Jackson asked. “What was going on between the two of them? Were they in this together?”
Excellent question.
“No, but he’s always been a little jealous. He thought Desiree was the most beautiful woman in the world. It was nice, really. Except when it wasn’t. I mean, he could be possessive. He didn’t like the idea of her being here. He was afraid fame would change her. That she’d be able to get any guy she wanted, and that Desiree would leave him in the dust. So he tried to keep her on a short leash.”
“Do you think Michael would hurt her?” The words burned my throat as they left my lips. There had been too many people in relationships hurting each other lately.
“I don’t think so. But . . .” Jennifer sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m just a mess over all of this. I should have told Desiree not to come. I should have insisted.”
“She was a grown woman,” I said. “She made her own choices. All you could do was encourage her to make wise decisions. That’s all any of us can do.”
“I know, but . . .” Jennifer sighed again. “There was always just something a little vulnerable and desperate about Desiree, you know? She wanted validation, and she wanted it through fame or fortune. She had neither of those things, and that led her to do some unwise things.”
“I’ve seen that a lot,” I added. I thought I was beyond that point. I hoped I was. I’d crawled out of the trap I called Hollywood, and now I felt empowered, like I didn’t need external affirmation of my worth. I was acting because I wanted to do it not because I needed to.
At least, that’s what I’d thought until I’d gotten this movie offer from Fred Compton.
How different would my life look if I took that job? How would Jackson and I navigate those waters? How would we see each other to grow our relationship?
I’d found a semi-normal life here. I’d found it through new friends. Through Jackson. Through buying a 3,000-square-foot cottage on the ocean.
I pulled my thoughts back to the conversation around me.
“Desiree always thought if only she had this or if she had that . . . then she’d be happy,” Jennifer continued. “Then she would have arrived. But nothing was ever good enough. There were always more goals. I don’t know . . . I just can’t believe she’s dead.” Jennifer let out another cry.
My heart pounded with compassion. Grief could be a wonderfully terrible thing. Wonderful because it meant you’d loved someone deeply—and that was a gift. But terrible because you’d lost that person and now you only had memories to hold onto.
“Is there anything else you’re not telling us, Jennifer?” Jackson asked.
She shook her head. “No.”
“Then I’m going to leave you at the station to sober up, and I’ll write this off as a warning,” Jackson said. “But alcohol isn’t the way you want to numb your pain. You’d be wise to keep that in mind. A good counselor can do wonders, and the side effects aren’t nearly as embarrassing.”
Jennifer nodded, but her bloodshot eyes looked haggard.
Society’s cult-like fascination with celebrity and the desire to be famous could be devastating. And Desiree was just one more unfortunate example of just that.
And I prayed that my new relationship with Jackson wouldn’t become one more casualty. If it was, I’d have only myself to blame.
“What now?” I asked Jackson as we cruised down the road after leaving Jennifer at the station. Was this the right time to tell him about my phone call with my agent?
I didn’t know. But I felt like telling him would only add another layer of stress to our relationship—which had just been restored after our earlier fight. I didn’t want to rock the boat again.
But I would have to. Soon.
“Now, you’re going to go back to your house and you’re going to prove that you can stay there and that ghosts don’t exist,” Jackson said.
“What? Whoa. Why would I want to do that?” I’d been dreading spending the night at my house all day, and now Jackson was encouraging me to do just that. It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet. I had a good two hours of daylight still—even though I was exhausted since I’d met with Phoebe so early this morning and stayed up so late with Sam last night.
“Ghosts aren’t real,” Jackson reminded me.
“I know. But they feel real. Desiree feels real.”
“She was real. But she’s not anymore.” Jackson continued driving toward my place, and I was powerless to stop him. “It’s your house. You paid a lot of money for it. You’re going to have to learn to stay there.”
He had a point but . . . “Do you have to go back to work?”
“No, I have the rest of the day off.” He glanced at me. “I was thinking maybe we could order pizza and try to feel normal.”
He would stay with me for a while? And we could try to do something normal? I could handle that. In fact, I craved it.
“That sounds great. Maybe we should get Ripley also.” Ripley was Jackson’s Australian shepherd. I’d been missing the furry little guy lately.
I had dog-sat him while Jackson was doing his bomb-squad training, and he’d been a faithful—albeit stinky—companion. Sometimes I even thought about dognapping the guy. I mean, not really dognapping, but something close to it—only legal.
“I like the way you think.”
Thirty minutes later, we had Ripley and the pizza. Jackson and I sat on the therapy couch in my living room and chowed down. For a moment, everything did indeed feel normal—and I loved it. That’s what I had loved about my life here. I suppose to most people, being mistaken for the detective you played on TV wasn’t a bad thing. But for me, everything I had now felt like a slice of ordinary life—and I craved that.
I glanced at Jackson as he rubbed Ripley’s face and told him he was a good boy. We sat on the couch, paper plates in the trash, and everything calm around us.
I was going to miss our time together when I left for filming. I could only hope that the old adage about absence making the heart grow fonder was true.
And maybe this was the time I needed to tell Jackson about my earlier phone call. My choice to either take the role or not wouldn’t just affect me. It would affect Jackson and our relationship. I didn’t know if I liked the possible conclusions as to where that might lead us.
Jackson’s life was here, and my life was pulling me away from here. And it wouldn’t just be a few weeks. It would end up being almost an entire year.
Then what happened after that? Would Relentless get picked up for another season? Would I get more movie offers? How would I balance it all?
I didn’t like all the unknowns.
“I need to tell you something,” I started, pulling my legs beneath me.
Jackson sat back and turned toward me, his hand brushing my hair and twirling it. “What’s that?”
“You know that phone call I got earlier?”
“Yeah, I was wondering if that was something important. We got distracted after your neighbor came over and then with Wesley and Jennifer.”
I sucked in a deep breath as I prepared myself to launch into my news. “It was my agent. Fred Compton wa
nts me to be in his next movie.”
Jackson’s eyebrows shot up. “Fred Compton? He’s the guy who did The Reckoning, right?”
I nodded. “The one and only.”
“That’s great, Joey.”
I tried to smile. I really did. “I’m honored that he wants me to be in the movie. It would do great things for my career.”
“It sounds like it.” Jackson tilted his head. “Why do I feel like there’s more to this?”
I drew in a shaky breath. This whole dilemma was getting to me more than I’d thought. “It’s just that . . . I’ll be gone for six months to film Relentless. I’d get done with that just in time to leave again and film this movie. It’s . . .”
“It sounds like an opportunity you can’t pass up,” Jackson finished. His voice sounded even-keel, but was there disappointment hidden beneath his nonchalant tone?
Maybe I was reading more into this than I should. Maybe my emotions were clouding my view of how he would react to this. I didn’t know.
“You’d think, right?” My throat felt so tight that I could hardly breathe.
“So what’s wrong?”
I gazed deeply into the eyes of the man I wanted to build a life with. To have a future with. To be normal with. “It means I would hardly see you.”
He nodded slowly, and I couldn’t read his expression. “Yes, it does.”
Tears poured down my cheeks. I hadn’t expected them to come. I didn’t exactly consider myself an emotional person, but the weight of the decision was making me feel sick to my stomach. “I don’t want that.”
Jackson scooted closer and gently wiped the moisture from under my eyes with his thumb. “Joey . . .”
“I feel like I’m on a precipice where I’m having to choose between my career and my personal life. You know that saying about how you can have it all? Well, my dad used to say that you could have it all, just not all of it at the same time.”
“Joey, we could work something out. If you accept the movie role, that doesn’t mean I’m going to be out of your life.”
Gaffe Out Loud Page 11
