Gorgeous arrangements of flowers adorned every table. Roses, lilies, and orchids, surrounded by delicate baby’s breath. Rhythmic music, Latin-flavored, played lightly in the background. Intimate lighting cradled the people in the room. Oh, the beautiful people. They were out in spades. Everything from floor length gowns like mine to barely there mini-dresses, kitten heels to six-inch stilettos, and tousled messy hair to savagely upswept do’s. There was an open bar and it seemed everyone had a drink in their hand. Not to be left out, I headed that way.
“I’ll take a whiskey sour,” I requested of the bartender, the stereotype of a good-looking young male service worker. He smiled broadly and made the drink.
As he handed me the glass, I noticed his eyes shift to over my shoulder, so I was unsurprised when I sensed someone’s presence behind me.
“Hello, Catherine. I didn’t know you were coming to this shindig.”
I turned at the velvety sound. “Hi, Alex. Jessica invited me.” I somehow managed to keep my jaw from dropping. Alex had also apparently chosen to go all out for the party, dressed in an actual tuxedo. There were no words to describe how amazing he looked. I had resisted the urge to contact him while he finished filming, desperate to keep our relationship professional. Now I wanted to throw that right out the window.
I must not have hidden my response, because Alex gave me a Cheshire cat grin. I took pleasure in watching his eyes darken with desire, his gaze traveling down my dress and back up to my face.
“You look stunning.”
“Thank you, Alex. You look pretty good yourself.”
We smiled at each other for a moment of a silence. At the second it seemed about to turn awkward, he found his voice.
“I’d do the chivalrous thing and offer to get you a drink, but you look like you’re doing okay.”
Noticing his empty hands, I flipped the script. “Would you like me to get you a drink?”
Alex laughed. “Sure, I’ll take a gin and tonic.”
I turned my head to address the bartender, who nodded that he heard. Once Alex had his drink in hand, we walked together to an oversized television showing a slideshow of still photographs taken during filming. Alex identified people I didn’t know and regaled me with a few stories from the set. As he wrapped one up, a hand touched my shoulder.
“Ms. Rodham?”
“Yes?” I turned toward the voice. A petite brunette with luminous dark skin and eyes smiled hesitantly.
“Jessica, how many times have I told you that you can call me Catherine?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I smiled inwardly. You could take the woman out of the South but you couldn’t take the South out of the woman. “Thank you again for making me your plus one.”
“I had such a good time on set. It seemed only right to thank you for helping me get my first real role.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone wave at Alex. He gave a slight wave back.
“Excuse me, ladies.” And then he was gone.
I only half-listened while Jessica talked about being on set, my attention on Alex. He began having an animated conversation with an absolutely gorgeous woman in one of the micro-dresses and stilettos I had noted earlier. They seemed very friendly. I wondered at the jealous tinge to my thoughts and gave myself a mental shake.
More and more people arrived and much mingling took place. Occasionally, I saw Alex but we didn’t speak again that night. A few times I noticed he had an odd expression on his face, like he smelled something he was trying to identify. What that could be, I had no idea.
As the evening wore on, and more alcohol was imbibed, the party became louder and raucous. I’ll admit I had three or four whiskey sours. I can really hold my alcohol; I was only a bit tipsy. I groaned when Robin Landon headed my way. She looked blandly nice.
“Hello, Catherine. Are you enjoying the party?”
“Of course. Are you?”
Such scintillating conversation. I glanced around, looking for an out, before focusing on the woman in front of me. No reason to be rude.
“I am, thank you.”
Interesting. She lied about having fun. “Thank you for introducing me to the councilwoman the other week.”
“You’re welcome. We missed you at last night’s meeting.”
Another interesting answer. Lie mingled with truth. “You and the councilwoman?”
“Yes.”
“The two of you seem close,” I said, curious about her reaction.
Robin blushed. “Not really.”
Absolute bald-faced lie. “Really? That’s not how it seemed at all. She seemed to rely on you.” That wasn’t true, but I had a hunch.
Robin beamed. “You think?”
“Definitely.”
“I try to be there for whatever she needs.”
Truth. Not a romance, though, and from what I’d sensed of the councilwoman, a one-sided relationship, whether business or friendship.
“I’m sure she appreciates that.” I doubted my words but wanted to be kind.
A male hand tapped me on the shoulder.
“May I have this dance?”
“Excuse me,” I said to Robin, who merely shrugged and turned away.
I danced with several men and although it was fun, more than a couple of times I saw Alex dancing with the hottie in the short dress.
And then, I looked around and didn’t see either of them. I walked the perimeter of the room and, I can’t believe it, even checked the restroom, looking for the woman. Neither were to be found. The party was winding down anyway (it was 3 in the morning, after all).
Not only was I jealous that Alex might have gone home with the woman, I was angry that he didn’t ask me to dance. Ugh. Maybe the alcohol was having more of an impact than I thought. It was definitely time to leave.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I woke up the next “morning” in time for the midday news. After making myself a café mocha, I curled my legs under me to sit on the couch. Momma jumped up beside me. I turned on the television and was surprised to see Elizabeth Addison; I didn’t realize she did the actual news in addition to her morning show. She had the perfect newscaster expression of sad and caring while she announced the latest breaking news.
“An actress was found dead this morning in her Summerlin apartment. This marks the fourth unexplained death of an actress in four months in the Valley. Karen Weston was last seen at a party following the conclusion of filming for John Doe, leading some to wonder if the production was cursed.”
A picture of the dead actress was displayed on the screen. I actually spit my coffee out, something I thought only happened in the movies. An outrageously attractive blond-haired, blue-eyed twenty-something smiled engagingly from what was clearly her professional headshot. I immediately recognized her. The woman Alex had spent much of the night with.
Could he be a killer?
Images of Alex and Karen whirled in my head. I tried to decide what to do. Should I call Alex to ask him about her? Should I call the police to tell them what I saw? In my heart, I didn’t believe he was a killer. Technically, the police weren’t calling any of these deaths homicide, I didn’t think. Though how they were explaining four deaths in four months of young attractive actresses, I had no idea.
My phone ringing saved me from having to make a decision. “Catherine Rodham speaking.”
“Ms. Rodham, this is Detective Jacob Dawson. We spoke before.”
As if I could forget. “Yes, Detective. How may I help you?” My stomach had already begun churning, while I imagined where this was going.
“I understand you were at the party last night for John Doe?” He asked this as a slight question, though it seemed obvious to me he already knew the answer.
“Yes, I was.”
“Would you be available later this afternoon to answer some questions?”
“Um, sure. Do I need to come downtown?”
“I’ll c
ome to you.”
Awesome. “Of course. Do you need my address?”
“I have it, thank you.”
Ugh, I was slow sometimes. “Okay, well, what time?”
“3 p.m.”
“See you then,” I said, more cheerfully than the circumstances lent themselves.
“Thank you, ma’am.” The call ended.
I set my phone on the coffee table and shakily stood. Momma meowed from the couch. I scratched her behind the ears before I walked over to the sliding glass door that led to my balcony. I leaned my forehead against the glass. This did not bode well.
*****
The hours passed in a blur. I became increasingly anxious as 3 p.m. drew nearer. When there came a knock at my door, I about jumped out of my skin. My tabby freaked from my nervous response and ran for the bedroom. I’d probably find Momma under the bed later.
I opened the door and appraised the gentleman standing before me. He defied my internal representation of him from when we spoke before. He was tall, with a lithe swimmer’s build and close-cut blond hair. I realized I was stalling when he spoke.
“Ms. Rodham? I’m Detective Jacob Dawson. We spoke on the phone earlier.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry,” I stammered, before standing to the side to allow him room to pass. “Please come in.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He entered and walked toward the dining room I had arranged in the middle third of my studio condo. He looked at the table though did not move to sit.
“Pardon my manners, please be seated.”
As we both sat, he smiled unexpectedly, blue eyes kind. “You don’t have to be nervous. You’re not a suspect.”
I knew he was telling the truth. Still, the comment threw me for a second. “Wait. A suspect. I never thought I was a suspect.”
His smile dimmed. “Oh, usually people worry they’re a suspect when a homicide detective comes by.”
I hesitated, uncertain, before finally blurting out. “If someone at the party last night is dangerous…that’s what worries me. That I might know him.”
“Him?”
“Aren’t men statistically more likely to do harm?”
“That’s true.” I could read his disbelief in my explanation.
I smiled and tried to look helpful. “How can I help, Detective?”
The questions began innocuously enough; general timeline type questions to establish when I arrived, when I left, that sort of thing. Then we got to the meat of the matter.
“Did you know Karen Weston, the actress who died?”
“I did not.” I answered succinctly before asking, “Was she murdered?”
“That’s unclear at this time.”
“Huh? There are four dead actresses, right? All young and healthy? All blond and blue-eyed? You guys have nothing?” I heard the hysterical note creeping into my voice.
“Ms. Rodham, this is an ongoing investigation.” He paused before continuing. “The news reports actually have it right so far. All four women seem to have had a heart attack. Yes,” he added as I started to interject, “that’s statistically unlikely, so we’re looking at other explanations. Comprehensive drug testing came back on the first two victims and they were clean. The others have been requested.” The detective looked vaguely surprised to have told me this much. I wanted to reassure him this happened all the time; I have one of those faces. People liked to confide in me. Or maybe it was part of my poorly understood empath abilities.
“No evidence of poison,” I said slowly. “That seemed like the most logical explanation.”
Detective Dawson unexpectedly laughed. “Do you watch a lot of crime television shows?”
I blushed slightly. “A few.”
“Keep in mind, some poisons clear the system faster than others, so it’s possibly something like that.”
“Which brings me back to my fear that someone at the party is a killer.”
His eyes narrowed. “You said that before. Is there someone you have in mind?”
When I didn’t immediately answer, he leaned forward in the chair. “If you know anything, please share it. Help us catch whoever is doing this.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “I had never seen Karen before last night, but I definitely noticed her.”
“How come?”
“She was dressed rather … provocatively. Designed to draw attention.”
“And did it?”
“It seemed to.”
“Anybody in particular?”
I hesitated again. If Alex was innocent, this would be a minor inconvenience. If not, if my gut was wrong and he was a killer, this might save a life.
“One of the actors from my agency seemed to spend a lot of time with her,” I finally stated.
“Alexander Moore?”
“Yes,” I answered, surprised.
“Thank you for confirming what we’d already been told by others at the party.”
“Okay. Isn’t poison the choice of female killers?”
The detective smiled again. “Yes, that’s true. However, remember that we haven’t confirmed poison – and we’re just gathering information.”
That was not an entirely truthful statement; Alex must be a person of interest. My chest tightened.
“Did you see anybody else or anything that stood out as suspicious?”
Like when Alex sniffed the air repeatedly, I immediately recalled but chose not to share. I didn’t understand what it meant if anything, and I had already made up my mind to track down Alex. For the detective, I simply shook my head.
“Well, since you’ve seen a few detective shows you know the drill,” Detective Dawson said with a playful smile. He reached into his pocket and removed a business card. “If you think of anything else that might be helpful, please give me a call. My cell is on there; you don’t have to call the station.”
“Of course.”
He stood and I followed. At the door, he turned to me. “Please be careful, ma’am, until this is solved.”
“I will, thank you,” I responded, rattled slightly.
He smiled a final time and left.
I needed to talk to Alex to find out what happened. I wondered if I needed to wait for the detective to talk to him first. Unable to decide at that moment, I chose to go to the office and answer emails until I could make a decision. I’m a pretty good judge of character and I didn’t believe Alex was a killer. And a serial killer at that. Four dead women in four months. It didn’t seem possible.
*****
When I arrived at the office, the decision was made. Alex was sitting on the ground, slumped against the door, with his head in his hands.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Alex!” I hurried to him. He looked up with such hope in his eyes when he saw me that I melted a little. He stood so that we met at the door.
“Catherine, I didn’t do anything, I swear.”
As before, that rang true but incomplete. I had never gotten such mixed impressions from someone before, and I didn’t like it or understand it. “Hang on a minute; let’s go inside,” I stopped him from speaking further and inserted my key into the lock. He stood there, the anxiety rolling off of him, igniting my own.
We silently passed through the waiting area to my office. He collapsed in the chair, eyes wide, silently begging me to believe him. And I did. Mostly.
“What happened?” I asked instead.
“Has a Detective Dawson spoken to you yet? If he hasn’t, he certainly will soon, I’m sure. He spoke to me this morning at the station. I’m apparently a suspect. What should I do?”
I didn’t respond immediately, because I realized that the detective had already spoken to Alex before coming by my condo. Questioned and released. Sneaky.
“Catherine?”
I refocused on the distraught man before me. “Tell me what he asked you.”
“He asked me all about last night, including whether or not I had spent t
ime with Karen. The actress who died,” he added, not realizing I already knew.
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth, of course. I danced and talked with her off and on throughout the night.”
“What happened when you left with her?”
Now it was Alex’s turn to stay silent. “What makes you think I left with her? Did you tell the detective that?” He managed to look both wounded and angry.
“No, I didn’t. He didn’t ask.”
Alex appeared relieved. He grinned suddenly. “Did you really think I left with her?”
I shrugged and averted my gaze. “Both of you vanished at the same time.”
“Did we now? And how do you know that?” He leaned back in the seat, hands interlocked behind his head. He smiled broadly, worries of a murder suspect forgotten, at least temporarily.
“I noticed you talking with her. Then you were both gone,” I finished, rather lamely to my own ears.
“Were you tracking me?” He seemed interested rather than irritated.
“Yes, yes I was,” I astonished myself by admitting.
“I’m glad.”
“You are? I thought you were interested in Karen.”
“Karen? She was sweet and liked to dance. That was all.” He paused before continuing. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever act on your attraction for me. Because of our work relationship.”
“My attraction?” I asked the question, though we both knew the answer.
“Yes. The one that is definitely reciprocated by me,” he replied flirtatiously and I smiled back, feeling a flush of heat in response.
“Wait. Let’s stay focused. What happened to Karen?”
He paused a beat too long before answering. “I don’t know. I didn’t leave with her. Although I left after her.”
Again, that incomplete truth. “How do you know that?”
“I looked for her before I left and didn’t see her.”
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