by Patti Larsen
Because giggling was totally appropriate at a time like this.
***
Chapter Thirty Eight
“Mr. Russell,” Crew said, arms crossed over his chest, expression dark and flat. “How kind of you to finally join us.”
He tried a grin but it died, his familiar cockiness gone. “I’m sorry about running like that.” He directed his apology to me. “I couldn’t do anything and I heard someone coming so I knew you’d be okay.” Randy swallowed, clearly uncomfortable facing the four people in the kitchen who glared at him with accusing eyes.
I waved off the protective flare of anger that made the kitchen feel like doomsday for the paparazzo photographer and sighed. “Just tell us what you have,” I said.
Randy’s eyes flickered to the counter beside me, the pile of cookies Mom just made. And this time his grin was real. “I’m starving.”
His arrogance knew no bounds, apparently. Mom gestured for him to come closer, seated him with a glass of milk and a pile of chocolate chip melty goodness which Randy stuffed into his now cheerful face before he started talking through crumbs and gulps of moo.
“I think I’ve been in the game too long,” he said. “I should have just told you what I knew. But at first I was looking for reciprocity, some tit-for-tat. Knew the second I met you, Red, that’d never happen. I’d chased the lead I had myself long enough I knew I’d never get anything else out of it. Still, this job makes you squirrely about trusting anyone.”
Because he was a snake and a miserable excuse for a human being who uncovered the darkest moments of people’s lives and displayed them for the world to see.
Sympathy, thy name is Fiona Fleming.
“Then, when you got hurt. Well, by then I was scared.” He stared down at the cookie in his hand like he didn’t know what it was before shaking off his excuses and stuffing it in his mouth, chewing once before swallowing and going on. “Thing is, I’ve been researching Skip for years. Ever since the rat’s ass decided he was better at this game than me.” Randy laughed, barking a few bits of cookie as he continued to eat. “I’ve turned up a lot of dirt on that bastard, a lot. Like a book’s worth. But the thing that got me stirred up, my paparazzo senses tingling, was the kid who killed himself last year.”
Exactly what I’d been thinking about but without success. “Jason Hagan,” I said while Crew grunted like I’d kicked him.
Whoops. I failed to mention it, didn’t I? But it never seemed relevant before. Annoyingly upsetting, but not tied to the murder since Jason had killed himself. So why was Randy bringing it up?
I explained quickly what Evelyn and Matt told me while Randy nodded endlessly with great enthusiasm, finally slowing his cookie intake after about a dozen to gulp more milk and interrupt.
“Yes to all of this,” he said. “Hagan’s a big potential star, gets a starting lineup call, Skip hits him intentionally, gets the kid hooked and the rest is history.” Randy seemed at first pleased, then pissed off as he realized what he’d said. “The family was devastated. Jason was the first person in their whole clan to make something of himself. Just a freaking tragedy.”
“They settled,” I said. “Took money to go away.” Not that I was accusing them of anything. If Randy was right, they probably saw the money as the only satisfaction they’d ever get.
“They did,” he said, sounding sad now. “I tried to convince them otherwise, but the team lawyers got to them and that was it. Game over.” Randy sagged in the stool before shaking it off like that same rabbit he resembled until his grin turned him into a fox on the hunt. “Thing is, the mother then dies three months after of a heart attack. But I say a broken heart.” He tensed as he went on, like he was preparing for battle. “Dad’s an alcoholic, drinking through the measly $50,000 they settled for and big brother’s been a drug addict since he was a teenager, disappeared shortly after Mom died and dies, too, in a squatter fire after stealing half the remaining cash and running with it.”
I stared at Randy, heart breaking, trying to fathom the level of destruction Skip’s selfish and jealous act had triggered. An avalanche of agony and a family laid waste by a man who didn’t need to be a monster.
Crew cleared his throat while Mom wiped at her eyes with a murmur of something I didn’t catch, turning her back on us with her head bowed. Daisy just swayed, mouth opening and closing, like she searched for something to say in a moment when there was nothing. Nothing.
Dad just scowled at the floor as the sheriff spoke.
“I’ll look into it myself,” he said. “Do you think the older brother or the father could somehow have found their way here or managed to get some of the Quexol in their possession?”
Randy shrugged, seeming defeated now that he’d finished his tirade. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve been keeping my eyes open, but from what I know the dad, Abner Hagan, is still in New Jersey. And like I said, the brother is gone. They found a burned out abandoned warehouse squatters frequented with three bodies in it and some of his stuff was there. So he’s a dead end, if you pardon the pun.”
“But this isn’t the first time Skip’s done something of the sort, is it?” I met Crew’s eyes. “Maybe Randy can give you a list? If there are more victims of his jealousy, maybe one of them decided to act on it when they heard about Jason and his family?”
Long shot. I could see it on Crew’s face. And I honestly had to admit it really did look like Willow might be the murderer. But no stone unturned and all that, right?
“I have to turn the evidence into the troopers,” he said then, softly, all the fight going out of him. I knew then it didn’t matter what Randy said. That the sheriff agreed and whoever hit me was probably trying to protect Willow. So maybe Julian or even Stella. We might never know. And I honestly didn’t care at this point. I just wanted it to be over.
Not like me, but there it was.
Randy left, going with Crew to the office, Mom and Dad retiring to their suite in the carriage house. The Jones sisters were already gone and I shooed Daisy off home for the night, promising her I was going right to bed. Now that my special guests were gone, the street outside seemed quiet, peaceful even. Dad’s guess the media would want to talk to me thanks to my proximity with Skip’s dead body turned out to be less enticing than his wife at the police station, I guess.
I found myself pacing the house, Petunia at my feet, well into the evening, nerves keeping me moving.
Every time I settled down to watch a movie or surf the net or even try to read, my mind spun into fear and anxiety and the pain of focusing on anything just augmented my unsettled feeling.
By the time someone knocked on the front door, I was so wound up I almost didn’t answer it, but forced myself to breathe, standing in my foyer with my heart in my throat and my unhappy pug at my feet, pulling every scrap of who I was back together again.
Fiona Fleming wasn’t afraid of something as simple as answering her own front door. And the day she let fear stop her from anything was the day she curled up in her dark bedroom and gave up forever.
So there.
With my shoulders squared, I turned the knob at the second soft knock and, plastering a welcoming smile on my trembling lips, I pulled it open. And almost burst into tears at the sight of Carter Melnick standing on my porch with a bouquet of flowers and a worried expression on his handsome face.
***
Chapter Thirty Nine
We ended up on the couch in the sitting room, his flowers in a vase of water, his arm around my shoulders with the gentlest of pressure, cheek against my hair as I let myself lean into him and did my best not to cry all over his soft cotton shirt. His free hand held one of mine in his lap, the one around me softly stroking my upper arm as he just held me and let me shiver while he supported me without saying a word.
When I finally leaned away I could smile for real, much calmer and more myself than I had been since the attack. Carter touched the point of my chin with one finger before smiling back.
&nb
sp; “I’m so sorry, Fee,” he said. “This should never have happened to you.” Again he touched me, this time over the round of my cheekbone, pushing a bit of hair away, such tenderness in his touch, in his beautiful eyes. I sighed and let my head rest back on his arm, though I winced when I made contact and immediately flinched away. His anxiety flared. “You should be lying down.” He tried to rise but I patted his thigh and reassured him with a little lip twist of wry amusement.
“You sound like my mother,” I said. “But I’m okay. My head won’t stop spinning. I just need to settle a bit then I’ll try again.”
He relaxed against me, the subtle scent of him not so much warming me up as mellowing me out. Too bad he’d be going back to L.A. soon. I was pretty sure I could get used to this.
“I saw you in the hospital,” he said. “After they brought you in. I stopped in to see you but you were out of it.” Petunia groaned softly, staring up at both of us but making no effort to leap into his lap. Nice of her to give us space. “And you were in good hands.”
Likely, Mom and Daisy and Dad had chased him off. Not like I was in any condition to appreciate his visit then anyway.
Carter reached for me again with his free hand, the cuff of his shirt lifting slightly, the faintest trace of an old scar showing before he made contact. I almost asked him about it before he leaned close and pressed his lips to my forehead, hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure if the gesture was welcome. I leaned into the sweet kiss instantly and found myself smiling when he finally pulled away.
“I was thinking,” he said, “that maybe the life of a body guard isn’t for me anymore. That there might be something a little less demanding and more fulfilling for me to do.”
My breath caught at his subtle inference. “You’re not going back to L.A.?”
He shrugged, all casual and coy, though with a sparkle of good humor in his eyes. “Hollywood’s a big town,” he said. “I kind of like the smaller variety. Seems like the people are nicer, you know?”
“If you can get past the bossy mayors, the neighbors who know all your secrets and the murders,” I said. “But who’s judging?”
He laughed. “I guess.” Carter dropped the act, genuine hope in his face. “I’m going to quit. Tonight. Once I’m done here. I’ll go see her and tell her I’m done for good.” Wow, that was commitment, though I did my best to believe he was doing it for his own good and that it had nothing to do with me because that would be wrong. So wrong. But he obviously meant it, because he stopped referring to her as Ms. Pink. “And I was wondering if you’d object to me looking at maybe settling somewhere close by. Open a small business, maybe.”
I couldn’t help the hormones, or the big smile that crossed my face. Perhaps I had a thing for Crew, but here was a sweet and caring man who obviously liked me the way I liked him. And was willing to move to my town to see if we could make a go of what we thought could be something.
“Carter,” I said, surprised at the hitch in my voice, “I’d really like that.” Wow, what a huge gesture. And paused, tried to grasp some semblance of slow down your horses, woman. “What about your family?”
His face darkened just a fraction, gaze dropping to Petunia to who he offered a nice scratch behind her ear, making her moan in happy response. “I’m pretty much on my own,” he said. “So making a new home, a new family, is kind of my priority right now. Something that probably won’t happen if I stay with the career I’m in.”
When Carter met my eyes again, all that wishfulness and gentle sweet nature shining from his expression, I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in, lured to that luscious mouth, the warmth of his hand as it settled on my face, how his body curved into mine, his breath passing between my lips.
“Fee!” I know she didn’t do it on purpose. I am very much aware my best friend in the entire universe did not just cut off the first kiss I’d had the opportunity to enjoy in months because she was vindictive or jealous. Nor do I believe if she had to do it over again Daisy would have even considered intruding on this very poignant and stirring moment. However.
Yeah.
She gasped as she came to a halt, hand over her mouth, blushing as she stammered an apology. The front door swung shut on its own after her rapid entry, her approach lost in the moment of pending lip connection.
While my bestie tried to backpedal, Carter smiled down at me before standing, helping me to my feet and then saluting Daisy with one hand.
“I’m just glad you’re all right,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
I nodded, still in a bit of a daze—thank you adrenaline mixed with painkillers and a concussion—and let him go, not falling back into the couch cushions until the front door shut behind him.
Daisy hurried to me, hugging me as she threw herself down beside me. “Fee, oh my goodness, I’m so sorry, I never, ever would have, not if I’d known. Girl, he’s so cute!” She gushed and giggled, then sobered as she sat upright and her face fell. “I’m the worst best friend ever.”
“You saved me from making my first kiss a drug-addled choice instead of waiting until I’m fully able to appreciate his hotness.” I patted her hand, grinned. “He wants to move here, Daisy.” Why did that make me want to giggle like a little girl?
She gasped her delight, hugged me again then retreated with a wince at my hiss of pain. “Sorry again.” Daisy’s mercurial mood slammed her into shock and then determination. “Crew sent me.” She seemed to realize who she mentioned, hesitated. Like Crew Turner and our lack of dating action was a problem considering the man I’d just almost kissed actually wanted to be with me. I’d deal with my romantic disasters after I was feeling better.
“What does he want now?” It was time for bed. I could feel it, the weight of my weariness, finally enough to knock me out before my addled brain could wire me up for insomnia again.
“It’s Willow,” she said. “The troopers finally released her, said there wasn’t enough evidence and Crew had to stand down. But she was supposed to come back here. She didn’t, did she?” Daisy looked over her shoulder as if expecting to see Willow walk down the stairs.
“Not as far as I know,” I said.
“I didn’t think so. That means she disappeared, Fee, and no one knows where she went.”
“Probably back to L.A.” But her stuff was still here. While she didn’t need any of it, could replace it easily, it didn’t seem like her. Unless she was talked into running? “Julian?” That sucked. “Stella?”
But she shook her head as if instinctively understanding the question behind those names. “They are both super worried,” she said. “And claim they have nothing to do with her vanishing.” Daisy sat back, bit her lower lip. “Crew wants you to stay out of it, naturally. But asked me to let you know. And to tell you that this doesn’t look good for her.”
It wasn’t like she could just disappear. She had a distinctly recognizable face. But yes, I had to admit, running after being released like that? Made her look guilty. Maybe it was time I accepted the fact that Willow Pink killed her husband and played all of us for fools.
The end.
***
Chapter Forty
There was no use calling Crew. I already knew what he’d say. Still, didn’t stop me from fretting and worrying and winding up into the kind of mental state that promised I’d get not one scrap of sleep without more pills.
“I was thinking,” Daisy said. Stopped. Shook her head and looked away. “It’s stupid.”
“I wish you’d stop saying that about yourself.” I squeezed her hand. “Say it.”
“Well, we might not be able to help Willow,” she said. “But I was thinking about what Randy told us about the family. How horrible that was. Maybe we can find something that Willow can use for her defense if the police decide to charge her after all?” She snorted at her own suggestion. “As if anything justifies murder.” She exhaled deeply then perked and slapped her thighs, standing abruptly and offered me her hands while I pondered what she said. “Bed fo
r you, miss.”
There was no defense I could think of for murder, though she was rich enough and powerful enough and had a shark like Julian on her side I highly doubted Willow would end up spending any time in prison, even if she was convicted. One sad and tearful admission to a jury about the treatment she endured, his abuse of others and herself, and she’d be back to making movies again.
The likelihood she’d skedaddled back to Hollywood was looking more and more real. And while I didn’t want to lose respect for her, I was kind of pissed she’d just run like this. Julian and Stella could claim they had nothing to do with her booking it to the airport until they were purple and aged, but that meant little to me. They’d both do anything to protect her.
I tried not to feel like the woman I thought I was going to be able to call my friend might not be who I’d come to believe she was and sagged into the sofa with a dejected sigh to add to my already wobbly state of mind.
I didn’t fight Daisy then when she tugged me to my feet, drifting after her, my pug on my heels. Daisy got my shoes off and tucked me into bed when I protested even bothering getting out of my clothes, feeling a bit grumpy about the whole thing the longer I thought about Willow and her flight from Reading. She didn’t even say goodbye. I was being childish and blamed it on the concussion while knowing there was a lot more to it than that.
“I’m not an invalid,” I said, taking out my sourness on Daisy.
“Will you please just let me help you?” She wrinkled her nose, handed me a pill from the prescription bottle and the glass of water. I shook my head, sinking into the pillows, refusing the comfort the painkillers could offer. No more drugs. I’d rather suffer with a sore head than fall down that rabbit hole. Besides, they left a bad taste in my mouth in more ways than one.
