After She's Gone

by Lisa Jackson

  “I’ve been kind of out of it.”

  They were walking along the sidewalk toward the parking space that Cassie had claimed.

  “Yeah, but not totally, right?”

  Cassie wasn’t sure where this was going, but admitted, “Recently I spoke to Lucinda Rinaldi. I visited her in a rehab facility.”

  “She gonna be okay?”

  “I don’t know. She was still struggling to walk, so it’s going to be a while.”

  “I bet she’ll sue.”

  “Maybe. It was sure as hell traumatic.”

  “For everyone,” Holly said. “God, I still have nightmares. I can’t imagine what she’s going through.” She rubbed her arms as if experiencing a sudden chill.

  As they rounded a corner Cassie added, “I saw Brandon McNary, too, well, actually I ran into him at Allie’s apartment building in Portland. Turns out he lives across the hall. Or he did while they were filming.”

  “Wow, he still has the place?” Holly fumbled inside her bag and found her phone, quickly scanned her texts again, then pulled out a pair of oversize sunglasses.

  “I guess.”

  “Convenient.” She slid the shades onto her nose. “You haven’t talked to Arnette? The man thinks he’s God, y’know. Got one nomination from the Academy and suddenly, his head swells up and he’s like above everyone else.”

  Cassie shook her head. “Not since right after the shooting on the set.”

  “You were there,” Holly remembered.

  “One of my few scenes had to be reshot and so, yeah, I talked to him that night, but it’s all kind of a blur. He called me the next day and also my mom. He was trying to get hold of Allie . . . but . . .” She shrugged, felt the dying sun’s warmth against her back. “. . . by then she was missing.” She slid Holly a glance. “For what it’s worth he said he was concerned.”

  Holly snorted. “His star flat out disappears and someone’s shot on his production and he’s ‘concerned’? He’s a prick. Ask anyone who’s ever worked with him.”

  “Have you run into anyone from Dead Heat?”

  “A few, but everyone’s into their own thing. Little Bea’s out of the country, I think, on location in London. At least that’s what Laura Merrick says. She still does my hair and makeup sometimes, so I get some info from her.” She shot Cassie a glance as Cassie pulled her keys from her purse and hit the keyless lock for her Honda. The little car responded with a chirp and a flash of lights. “And I heard that Sig Masters’s lawyer told him to keep quiet. Since he was the, you know, ‘shooter,’ it could have been big trouble. Or bigger trouble if Lucinda had died. And she could have. I think the bullet just missed her heart or aorta or something.”

  Cassie hadn’t heard that. “Sig thought the gun was the prop.”

  Holly lifted her shoulders and dropped them again. “Who really knows? Anyway, because of the ongoing investigation and his role, whether intentional or not, and the threat of a lawsuit, he’s keeping his mouth shut.” She pretended to zip her own lips closed.

  “Probably good advice.”

  “You know, I wouldn’t put a lawsuit past Lucinda to sue everyone she can. She’s such a freakin’ bitch and she’s always after money, that’s why she came to Hollywood, to make a fortune and when it didn’t turn out that way, she tried dating rich guys. Then, she discovered lawsuits. She’s already been involved with a couple. Don’t think she got much, though. If she did, she didn’t say and there’s like no new Ferrari in her garage or anything. Everyone in this goddamned town is so damned paranoid, so worried about saving their own skin, and your sister is missing! Maybe worse.” She was still slurring a little, but she seemed steady on her feet.

  “Are you driving?”

  They paused at Cassie’s car. Holly added, “You know I ran into Cherise at the fitness center. The one where we all go. Well, Allie went there, too.”

  Cherise Gotwell had been Allie’s personal assistant.

  “And get this—” Holly touched Cassie on the forearm and teetered on her four-inch heels. Her fingers tightened and she righted herself. “Sorry. I guess I had one too many and before you ask again, no, I’m not driving. My apartment is only a few blocks off the beach. You’re gonna drive me.”

  “Fair enough. Get in.”

  Holly wobbled around the back of the car and slid into the passenger seat. Again she checked her phone.

  “Someone trying to get hold of you?”

  “Not really. Just, you know, talk.” She sighed. “Well, that’s not really the truth. I might’ve told a couple of people that I was meeting with you and they’re curious, like about how you’re doing and if you’ve seen Allie . . . crap like that.”

  Cassie did a slow burn. “Who?”

  “People who know you.”

  “Who?” Cassie demanded.

  “Like Cherise.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “People you don’t know.”

  “Oh, great. Gossip. Thanks so much, Holly.”

  “Hey, no offense.”

  Cassie’s stomach was churning. “They could talk to me themselves instead of talking behind my back. Especially Cherise. Damn it.” Angrily Cassie flicked on the ignition and pulled down her visor.

  Holly nodded and seemed a little rueful, but it didn’t last long. “I saw Cherise after yoga class and she casually mentioned that she’s going to work for Brandon McNary. Just like that. Like it was no big deal.” Struggling with her seatbelt, Holly glanced up at Cassie and gave her a can-you-believe-that-crap? look. The seat belt clicked. “She always was a bitch.”

  Cassie didn’t comment. As she backed out and took directions from Holly to her apartment that was considerably more than “a few blocks” from the beach, her companion rambled on about how everyone in Allie’s entourage from bitchy Cherise, her assistant, to Laura, the makeup and hair stylist, had been searching for new jobs, backstabbing each other as if it were necessary to find one, probably all calling Holly for any gossip she had on the Kramer sisters. Cassie forced her voice to be level, for the anger to dissipate. “Everybody needs to work,” Cassie muttered.

  “Not for pricks, bitches, and dickheads. Oh, wait.” Holly paused dramatically as if struck by a sudden truth. “I’m one of the bitches.” Barely able to see over the dash, she pointed a manicured finger at the glass and steel apartment building that rose seven floors into the sky. “That’s it. Home sweet home. Just pull in there, to the side entrance.” She indicated a back alley and Cassie nosed her Honda around a planter with lavender plants so lush the blooms scraped the side of the car. “A little close, aren’t you?” Holly complained.

  “Shut up,” Cassie teased. “You got a ride, didn’t you?”

  Holly giggled.

  Cassie let the car idle as Holly reached for the door handle. As she clambered out, she said, “Hey! Have you seen the trailer? For Dead Heat?”

  “It’s out already?” Cassie asked, a chill running through her as she thought about seeing Allie on the screen. She didn’t want to think it, didn’t want to believe it, but there was a chance that the movie might be the last time Allie’s image would ever be caught on film. She’s not dead.

  The nurse in the old uniform’s words came back to her and she clung to them.

  “Just out,” Holly was saying. She looked over her shoulder as she pushed the door open and stepped outside. “I caught it last night, before one of the late shows.”

  “And?”

  “It was okay. Even good, I think.” She leaned into the interior. “But it was weird, you know. Seeing Allie up on the screen. So . . . vibrant. So alive.” Holly appeared to sober up a bit as her gaze met Cassie’s for a second. “I just wish I knew what happened to her.”

  Cassie nodded and her mood darkened even more. “We all do.”

  “I know, I know.” Holly was nodding. She cleared her throat as if she, too, were emotional. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “No problem.”

  Holly closed the door, then veered a lit
tle unsteadily toward the side entrance.

  Attempting to shake her thoughts from Allie, Cassie managed to turn her car around in the tight parking lot and eventually eased her Honda into the steady stream of traffic. Night was falling and in the dusk, streetlights began to illuminate the city, a place she’d called home as a child and then again after she’d fled Falls Crossing. She’d never felt at home in the small town, the horror of her captivity by a lunatic only adding to her hatred of all things Oregon. The night terrors and fears, the feeling of abject vulnerability and, yes, paranoia, hadn’t left her when she’d headed south after her high school graduation.

  Maybe that’s why she’d wanted Allie to join her. Familiarity. Safety. And maybe that’s why she’d fallen for Trent, whom she’d met in Oregon. Maybe that’s why she’d foolishly ended up marrying him.

  “Don’t go there,” she warned herself, checking the rearview to catch the clouds in her eyes before looking farther back, to the street and the headlights crowding behind her. She felt that same little prickle of anxiety skitter up her neck and burrow into her hairline, digging deep into her brain. Was a car following? Maybe a silver SUV of some kind? Or was she mistaken? How could she tell in the sea of vehicles that swelled around her?

  Impossible.

  And fruitless. Ten cars could be tailing her and she wouldn’t know which they were, not in this throng of vehicles.

  “Get over your scaredy self,” she warned.

  She tried to concentrate on the road ahead but found herself eyeing her rearview mirror several times, making certain that someone wasn’t silently tracking. The eerie feeling of someone watching her had been explained, at least when she was leaving the airport. Holly had seen her and tried to chase her down. There was no danger here.

  She took the side streets near her home.

  No car followed.

  No vehicle slowed at the corner, then kept going.

  No suspicious van kept a long distance from her, then cruised by the massive house that sheltered her apartment from the street.

  No. It was all in her mind.

  Letting out her breath, she parked, locked the car on the fly, and felt more at ease than she had in days. She walked back through her apartment door, dropped her keys onto the kitchen counter, then found a glass and poured herself a drink of water from the faucet over the sink. She made a note to herself to get some bottled water as she took a long swallow. Then she took out her phone, leaned against the counter, and listened to the message from Trent again.

  The sound of his voice called up memories best forgotten. The deep timbre, the slight bit of a drawl reminding her of his Texas childhood, his inflection.

  Her hand tightened on the phone as she reminded herself that she despised him. When the message finished, she considered playing it once more, just to hear him and allow herself to be taken back to a time when they’d been happy. Before he’d been tempted by Allie. Before he’d admitted as much. Before she’d realized their marriage had no chance. Before her sister had disappeared. Her throat thickened. Unshed tears burned behind her eyes.

  “Idiot,” she whispered, not knowing if she was thinking of him or herself as she quickly erased the message. It irritated the hell out of her that he had the gall to phone on behalf of her mother.

  Nonetheless, before her cell’s battery completely gave up the ghost, she punched in the digits of a familiar number.

  It was time for that talk Jenna wanted so desperately.

  CHAPTER 9

  “I’ll be fine,” Cassie reassured her mother for what had to be the dozenth time in their telephone conversation. She was standing in the kitchen, one hip resting against the counter near the sink and staring out the window where in the coming twilight she spied a black cat on the top of the fence near the bougainvillea. Of course Jenna was worried, she thought, watching as the cat, ever patient, stalked a tiny bird fluttering in the blooms. With Allie missing and Cassie checking herself out of the mental hospital and hopping a flight to LA, Jenna was obviously attempting not to freak out about the safety of her kids.

  Because they were both adults.

  “I’m trying not to be a mother bear, you know, overprotective and all, but . . . I worry, Cass. You know it. And with Allie missing . . .” Her voice trailed off and, damn it, Cassie imagined Jenna struggling against tears.

  Cassie turned away from the window and closed her eyes. “I know. I get it.” She felt bad. Her mother, who had been famous and yes, rich at one time, had lost a lot in her life. Jenna’s sister, Jill, had been killed in a freak accident while filming White Out, a movie produced by Jenna’s husband, Robert Kramer, a film that, because of the tragedy, had never been released. Losing Jill had been a horrible blow. Losing Allie would devastate Jenna. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How soon?”

  “Couple of days. I’ll keep you posted.”

  A pause. Probably Jenna was remembering all the times Cassie, as a rebellious teen, had lied through her teeth and broken more promises than she could recall.

  “All right,” Jenna acquiesced.

  Cassie envisioned her mother’s face, worry lines evident between her eyebrows, green eyes clouded with concern, upper teeth gnawing at her lower lip. “I’ll let you know when I’m close,” she said.

  “You’re sure your car will make it?”

  “Positive,” she answered too quickly. Another lie. She had no idea how dependable the car would be, but she covered it up. “Hey, it’s a Honda. They run forever. Come on, Mom, don’t freak out about that.”

  “Okay. I’ll check that one off the list.” Jenna actually chuckled weakly. “I’ll see you soon then.”

  “Yes. And Mom?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Next time, don’t call Trent, okay? He and I are over.”

  “You say so, but—”

  “Don’t bring up the marriage thing. I’ll take care of it. But now he doesn’t need to know anything about me. It’s . . . what I do is none of his business.”

  “Got it.” Jenna waited a beat. “So listen, when you get up here, to Oregon, you can camp out in the space over the garage until you find a place, if you don’t want to stay in your old room.”

  “I’m not seventeen.”

  “I know. That’s the problem,” Jenna admitted.

  The conversation stalled again before Cassie said, “Listen, I’ve gotta run.”

  “Sure. Me too. Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” Cassie said automatically and cut the connection. She plugged the phone into its charger and attempted to shake off the oppressive feeling that she wasn’t good enough, hadn’t measured up, had always been a problem for her mother. The feeling was like a bad taste that lingered, something you couldn’t rinse away or spit out no matter how you tried. And the fact that Allie had come to LA at Cassie’s urging and had ended up missing only made that sensation dig a little deeper, like needle-sharp talons slicing into Cassie’s brain, making it bleed with guilt. Jenna would be horrified if she realized how Cassie felt, so, Cassie promised herself, her mother would never know. And somehow, she, Cassie, would solve the problem. First step? Locating Allie.

  Making her way to the postage-stamp-sized bathroom shower, she stripped off her clothes and let them fall, then turned on the spray. The old pipes creaked a bit and a fine mist, the best her ancient showerhead could deliver, started to steam up the bathroom that felt small enough to be configured for an airliner. She cracked the tiny window, then let the water wash over her.

  In her mind’s eye, she saw her sister on the set of Dead Heat, playing the terrified, deranged heroine of the film. Allie’s skin had been pale, her big eyes round with fear as she’d understood that her lover, played with a feverish passion by Brandon McNary, might kill her. The image was from a poster made specifically for the movie with Shondie Kent, Allie’s character, staring into a broken mirror, her lover visible between the cracks.

  Allie and B
randon had been perfectly cast, their on-screen chemistry palpable as they’d made love or fought, their combustible relationship offscreen exploding during filming. Though they’d avoided each other when not on the set, while the cameras were rolling, they’d come alive, their interaction believable, the sparks flying. Brandon’s sizzling looks coupled with Allie’s sultry sexuality created a passion the viewer could almost feel.

  Cassie shook the vision from her head, letting the spray of the water rinse the day’s sweat and frustrations from her body. Of course she knew Allie was a remarkable actress. Her talent was obvious. That wasn’t the issue, nor really was Cassie’s lack of success. The problem was their relationships with Jenna. Both daughters had “mommy issues” where Jenna Hughes was concerned. Never had it been more obvious than the last time the sisters had collided, the night before Allie’s disappearance. Cassie had made the fateful mistake of wanting to discuss the tweaks to the script of Dead Heat before the final day of the reshoot. Allie had already voiced her concerns, after all Cassie had a bit part in the movie and hadn’t written the script, but both the writer and director had liked the subtle change. Sure, Allie had lost a little screen time and Cassie, cast as the heroine’s sister-in-law, had picked up those precious minutes.

  Allie had perceived it, as always, as a way for Cassie to garner favor at Allie’s expense.

  All of which was a lie.

  Cassie had driven to her sister’s Portland residence through the driving rain, second-guessing herself, all the while wondering if she’d made a huge mistake. As the windshield wipers struggled with a deluge from the heavens, Cassie had squinted against the glare of headlights and told herself she needed to have it out with her sibling once and for all. She’d intended to straighten out any misconceptions and had hoped beyond hope that all their adolescent insecurities and unresolved issues would be put to bed.

  What a pipe dream!

  The meeting started off rocky as it was immediately obvious that Allie had somewhere else she would rather be. Though she didn’t admit as much, she’d continually glanced at the decorative clock mounted in the dining area. At least three times she received texts on her cell phone. She responded quickly to them, all the while trying to end her conversation with Cassie.