by Diana Orgain
Cheryl nodded. “Yeah. You can take Paul on to the airport. It’s probably best if we split up. I’ll arrange for another car.”
She tapped again on her phone, bringing it to life. No wonder the thing didn’t have any battery power left at the end of the day!
The next mile in traffic was excruciating, the three of us having a silent staring contest while Cheryl called a car service.
Finally the driver exited and let Scott, Cheryl, and me out. Paul barely glanced at us as we got out of the van.
“What now?” Cheryl asked as we climbed into the waiting Town Car.
“Let’s get my dad,” I said.
“Your dad?” Cheryl asked with more than a little trepidation in her voice.
I waved a hand around. “Don’t worry. I know you two are an item.”
Cheryl smoothed down her skirt, looking a little embarrassed, while Scott chuckled. “He’s a very nice man, your father,” she said.
“I know.”
There wasn’t much traffic southbound on 101, so we arrived at Dad’s hotel relatively quickly. Cheryl had phoned him in advance and he was waiting for us in his room. We figured we’d be able to work there and at least focus.
I quickly introduced Dad to Scott.
Dad quirked an eyebrow and looked back and forth from Scott to me. “The writer?” he asked, not making an effort to mask his shock.
I frowned and brought a finger to my lips, trying to give Dad a signal not to repeat our earlier conversations.
Scott chuckled, not missing a beat.
Cheryl and I brought Dad up to speed on the details as best we could.
Scott got comfortable near the window and stared out at the street. He was lost in thought and I suddenly felt bad. I’d thought the worst about him. Thought he’d lied to me and accused him of being a killer.
He looked in my direction and caught me staring at him. He offered me a smile with a small nod. “I think we should head back to La Playa Carmel. Maybe one of the crew saw something. Saw them together or overheard their plans.”
“Good idea,” Dad said, clapping Scott on the back. He seemed glad to have something to do and eager to get on with it.
And if I were being honest, I’d say he was probably relieved that Scott was in my good graces and there was no chance of Paul winning the game now.
We all left the hotel and walked the short distance to La Playa Carmel. Cheryl was busy tapping on her phone the entire time, presumably rounding up the crew into the salon for a meeting. Dad held her elbow as she furiously tapped away, so she wouldn’t trip. It was really too cute for words.
Scott took my hand and I felt the now familiar butterflies in my stomach.
When Cheryl finally finished on the phone, she squeezed Dad’s hand and I saw my own expression of schoolgirl delight reflected on her face.
We made it into the salon library; the staff members were already present with worried expressions and gossip afoot. It was a more skeletal staff than we’d had in Los Angeles, but still about twenty people, between the wardrobe and makeup crew, cameramen, lighting, sound engineers, and several runners.
Cheryl stepped in front of the group. “Gang, thank you all for your dedication to the show. We’ve had a bumpy and totally unprecedented ride together. I’m sorry to announce that Becca is missing and we need your help to locate her.”
Kyle, the makeup artist, gasped and shrieked during Cheryl’s talk so much that one of the runners had to hold him and pat his back. “I know, honey, I know. We all love Becca,” she repeated over and over. “We’ll find her.”
I found myself annoyed. We all loved Becca, yes, that was true, but nobody loved her like I loved her. She was like a sister to me and I was going to find her or die trying.
“Stop blubbering!” I said. “We need to focus here, people! Did anyone see her and Ty last night or even this morning?”
“She wasn’t with Ty last night,” one of the runners said. She was wearing a long-sleeved black turtleneck, but I recognized her as the girl with tattoos down each arm. “She was with me. We went out to have a couple drinks. She was trying to hook up with him, but they didn’t connect. In fact, I ended up with her phone. I had it this morning and took it to the mission to give it to her, but she wasn’t there. And then someone stole the phone out of my bag,” she whined.
“That was me,” Cheryl said. “We found your bag with her phone. We took it. Sorry. We were trying to locate her,” Cheryl said.
One of the electricians sprang to attention. “Wait. I saw her this morning. I think it was around eight A.M. I was in early to prep for the elimination scene—”
“Is there still going to be an elimination scene?” Kyle asked, eyeing how Scott stood so close to me.
“Of course!” Cheryl said, practically screeching. “We have to have an elimination scene; we have to have a finale!”
“Hold up, hold up. Quiet!” I turned to the electrician. “What were you saying? You saw Becca this morning?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Ty came to pick her up. They looked happy. He had an arm around her waist; they were giggling. I don’t understand—”
“Did they say where they were going?” Scott said.
The electrician scratched his chin. “Coffee, I think. She was talking about a latte. He said he’d fix her up with one right away.”
• • • • • • • • •
Scott and I exchanged glances, our minds already working together.
“There’s a coffee shop on the corner!” he said.
“We need a phone.” I tried to swipe Cheryl’s out of her hand, but she screamed as if I’d stabbed her.
“No! You can’t take mine.”
Dad pulled his out of his pocket. “Here, peaches.”
“I need a smartphone. GPS, Internet—”
One of the sound engineers handed his phone to Scott. “Here, take mine.”
I stuffed Dad’s phone into my pocket anyway.
Scott and I exited the building and ran to the coffee shop on the corner. The afternoon fog, blowing off the coast, was in full force. Goose bumps covered my skin.
Scott shrugged out of his wool crewneck sweater and gave it to me.
“Thank you,” I said, taking his sweater and pulling it over my ridiculous sequined halter top. Now I was feeling more like me, but I would have loved to ditch the stilettos and put on a simple pair of Keds. “I can’t run in these shoes,” I complained.
“You look good in them,” he said. “But you look good even in pink bunny slippers.”
I laughed. “Now is not the time to win flattery points. Oh, and so you know, if I trip and kill myself on the streets of Carmel, I want you to sue. These shoes should be outlawed in every town!”
The coffee shop was open and the acrid smell of roasted coffee wafted toward us; despite it, I found myself craving something hot to drink. I skipped putting in an order, though; that would only slow us down.
“Were you working this morning around eight?” I asked the barista.
“Oh, yeah, been here since six.”
I described Becca, suddenly wishing I had a photo of her or Ty, but as soon as I mentioned Ty wore a cowboy hat and boots, she said, “Yes, they were here! I thought they were so cute.”
Relief flooded my body.
Scott jumped in. “Did they have their coffee here or—”
“Oh, no, they took it to go,” she said.
Disappointment ran through me almost as quickly as the relief had.
“Do you happen to know where they were going?”
“No.”
• • • • • • • • •
Of course things could never be easy for me. I felt like a great big loser. I collapsed at the closest table and banged my head against it. “Think, think, think,” I repeated to myself.
Scott joined me with two foamy cappuccinos. “Caffeine. It stimulates the brain cells.”
“I think you’re lying,” I said. “But I’ll take you up on it anywa
y.”
I sipped the hot coffee and closed my eyes.
Scott fiddled with the smartphone in his hands. “Okay, they grab coffee. She says something. Something that threatens him. He knows that she knows . . .” He stopped talking and quirked his head. “What does she know?”
“She doesn’t know anything. I didn’t tell her about the file.”
Scott frowned. “What file?”
“The one that said you’d never been married and that Ty lost his rodeo money. The file that was stolen out of my coach.”
“Oh.” He was silent for a moment. “You’ve been holding back on me.”
I sipped my cappuccino. “Fat lot of good it’s done.”
“For the record, I really was married. What I told you about Jean was all true.”
The cappuccino swirled in my tummy, making me feel sick. I knew now that Martinez had messed with the information he’d provided me on Scott’s record. He obviously wanted me to pick Paul at the end.
Had Paul been in on that decision?
It didn’t seem to matter anymore.
“I am so sorry I didn’t believe you. You were on the show looking for love?” I asked.
Scott smiled. “Yeah, definitely.” Scott reached a hand across the table and laced his fingers through mine.
My throat felt thick and I found it hard to swallow.
“Did you find it?” I asked.
He laughed. “You can be really dense, huh?”
I pulled my fingers from his and stood. “Now, wait a minute.”
He got up and took me into his arms. “Yes, I found it.” He kissed me, our lips and bodies pressing together.
There was something so right about being in his arms. I must have been afraid of that from the beginning. It was no wonder he was the first one I’d wanted to eliminate from the show.
I was suddenly aware of someone watching us and I pulled away from Scott. Out the window and across the street, I saw him.
“Oh, God,” I said.
“What?” Scott asked, following my line of vision.
Across the street was a photographer.
“It’s the press. The Enquirer. I have a feeling I know who was hiding in the shrubbery last night.”
“Now they have their story,” Scott said. “They know who you’re going to pick at the end of the show . . . at least . . . I hope you’re going to pick—”
“Please.” I pressed my lips to his, only pausing to say, “Now who’s being dense?”
A tour bus pulled up in front of the café. I overhead someone saying something about Point Lobos. A jolt surged through my body and I leapt away from Scott.
He frowned. “What? I’m sorry. I . . .”
“Point Lobos!”
“Huh?”
“The sea caves. Becca’s always wanted to go.” I ran out of the café and hurled myself into the tour bus. Scott followed.
“Can you take us to Sea Lion Cove?” I asked the driver.
The driver looked from Scott to me, but before he could answer, Scott pressed a wad of cash into his hand. “It’s an emergency.”
The driver gave a crooked smile. “Well, in that case, get in. I’ve been in love before, too, boy.”
Thirty-one
It was a short ride to Point Lobos, about five miles south of Carmel. On the ride, I frantically texted the Carmel police, Paul, Dad, and Cheryl. I got various responses, from “We’ll be right there” to “You always have to be right, don’t you?”
The last one being from Paul.
When I grumbled about it, Scott leaned into me and said, “So, are you going to tell me the whole story about that guy or what?”
I flinched. Eventually, I knew I’d have to tell him, but I hated having such baggage.
“He left me at the altar.”
Scott’s eyes grew wide in disbelief and then he whispered, “What an idiot!”
I laughed. “Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
The driver pulled into the Point Lobos State Reserve. There was a smattering of trailhead postings along with amazing views of remarkable rock formations. “Where exactly do you want me to leave you?” he asked.
“Get us as close to Sea Lion Cove as you can,” I said.
“All right, there’s a parking lot up ahead. Then you can take a trail down. You want me to wait for you?”
“That’s not necessary,” Scott said. “The cops will be here soon.”
A look of alarm crossed the driver’s face as if he suddenly realized he’d gotten in over his head. “The cops? What are they coming here for?”
“Hopefully to arrest a cowboy,” I said, flicking off my high heels and jumping out of the bus barefoot. “Thank you for the ride!”
Scott and I raced down the trail, the sound of crashing waves calling us. There were barking sea lions and chattering shorebirds, and a mist of fog that almost obscured the turquoise water of the cove.
As soon as I saw the dirt trail, I said, “Thank God I ditched the stilettos. There’s no way I could have made it down there in those.” Then under my breath I mumbled, “I hope I never have to wear another pair in my life.”
Scott nodded. “Right.”
I looked at him, surprised. “You don’t like women in stilettos?”
The trail got narrower and more slick as we approached the cave. Scott grabbed my arm to steady me. “Well, you know, I’m a horror writer. I keep thinking you’re going to get mad at me and bash me in the head with one.”
I laughed. “Oh, God, we’re never going to make it as a couple.”
He smiled wickedly. “Are we a couple?”
“Yeah, a couple of knuckleheads, rushing in for a rescue unarmed.”
“Right, what’s our plan here?” he asked.
“I don’t have a plan.”
“I was afraid of that,” he said.
“I just hope we find her.” When we reached the cave, I called out, “Becca! Becca!”
The cave was cold and dark, and my voice echoed off the rocks. The tide was coming in and we slogged through ankle-deep water, calling her name over and over again as we searched the recesses of the cave.
“Becca!” I called out again, my voice hoarse from screaming. Then suddenly a lump near one of the rock formations moved. Tears sprang into my eyes.
It was Becca, bound and gagged.
Scott and I raced toward her in the ankle-deep water and unbound her as quickly as we could. Her eye was blackened and her lips were blue. She was soaked from sitting in water, the tide coming up all around us. But she was alive.
Thank God, she’s alive!
She stood and hugged me, crying and trying to speak at the same time. She was shivering and her teeth were clattering so much we couldn’t make anything out.
I hugged her to me. “It’s okay, shhh, honey. It’s okay. Let’s get you out of here and get you into some warm clothes. We’ll figure everything out.”
“Ty,” she wailed.
“I know. Can you walk?”
She nodded, but her knees buckled under her. Scott and I hooked our arms and carried her out of the cave in a two-person fireman carry. Hiking the narrow trail in that fashion was out of the question, so Scott put her over his shoulders and walked ahead of me.
When we reached the parking lot, emergency response vehicles were already there: a police cruiser with its lights flashing and an ambulance. Scott and I brought Becca over to the ambulance, where the crew immediately started treating her for hypothermia.
Sitting in fifty-five-degree water will bring on hypothermia in about an hour, and death in three. I shuddered to think how long Becca had been in the cave.
Cheryl came racing toward us, clapping her hands in delight. “You found her!”
Dad was right behind Cheryl, encircling Scott and me in a bear hug. “They got him!”
“What? How? Who?” I asked.
“The bus driver!” Cheryl said. “Apparently, the car they’d rented wouldn’t start up again and Ty’d been hi
ding out in the parking lot looking for a way out, and when he saw you two, he knew he didn’t have much time left, so he tried to hijack the bus.”
“But the driver put two and two together,” Dad said. “Gathered from what you all told him that Ty was a wanted man and clobbered him with one of your shoes!”
Scott, his eyes as wide as saucers, said, “I told you!”
I looked over at the police cruiser. The officer was taking a statement from the bus driver. We’d have to give our statements, too. I could make out a hatless, bandaged head in back of the cruiser. “Is that him?” I asked.
Dad nodded.
“He lost his hat, huh?” Scott asked.
“On the bus,” Cheryl said. “That’s how the driver knew it was him.”
Another vehicle pulled into the lot.
“Oh, no!” I said, burying my face into Dad’s shoulder. “It’s the press!”
Cheryl’s head swung around so fast, I feared it actually did a full three-sixty. “Scott, get into my car! We can’t ruin our finale. Or our tell-all show and, boy, are we going to have one tell-all show! We’re going to top the charts.”
I didn’t have the nerve to tell her they’d already got a shot of us together at the café, but I did muster one comment. “They’ve been hiding outside my Prevost.”
Cheryl marched over to the reporter and exchanged terse words. When she returned, she ordered Dad and me to return to the set via the tour bus, which was still parked in the lot. She didn’t want to chance Scott and I being seen together again.
The ambulance took off with Becca, the crew assuring me that she would be fine and released in twenty-four hours.
Dad and I climbed onto the bus and waited for the driver to finish with the police. When the driver finally got on the bus, he said, “Sorry, folks, I guess I have to drive you over to the police station so you can give your statement.”
Thirty-two
Only one champagne glass remained. It was delicately laid out on the same small butler tray covered in red velvet, only this time it was oceanside instead of poolside. For the finale, Cheryl had made arrangements for us to film the scene on a balcony that overlooked the Pacific Ocean and I would be joined by each remaining contestant individually.
