| Eighteen
After breakfast, Colin and I started walking back toward McKenna’s room. She was staying in the same tower we were in, but her room was a suite on the fourteenth floor.
“Let’s walk by the lagoon,” I said. “I want to see it again.”
“Are you sure?” Colin sounded doubtful.
“Yeah,” I said. “I need to see it. It’s all so muddled in my memory. It’s like, when you’re in panic mode, it’s impossible to remember things how they really happened. The pieces get all jumbled.”
“Okay.” He followed me, and soon we were on the walkway alongside the lagoon.
“I was about here when I was texting you,” I said.
We took a few steps forward.
“And this must be where I was walking when he grabbed me.”
I looked at the rock wall to one side of me and, again, felt lucky that my phone flew that way instead of into the water. I looked up at the ceiling and remembered staring desperately at the windows and lights above the water.
My neck was still stiff. I reached a hand back to massage it.
“You okay?”
“I’m good. I just … I just need to put it all together, I guess. I can’t explain it.”
I walked toward the railing the man had tossed me over and later, I climbed over to get back up to dry land. I grabbed the cool, top rail and leaned over, looking down. There were jagged corals and rocks everywhere.
“I guess that’s where I hit my leg,” I said.
Colin let out a breath. “Lucky it wasn’t your head.”
“Yeah.” I cringed thinking about what it would feel like to have my teeth or eye hit one of the rocks. “Really lucky.”
I squinted into the water, but I didn’t see any sharks.
“Ok. Let’s go see McKenna,” I said.
While we continued on the walkway, I looked around for security cameras. I couldn’t see any, but they had to be there, somewhere. It was hard to see how they’d get a good picture with the unusual lighting and the glare from the water below and glass windows above.
“Do you think McKenna knows about what happened to you last night?” Colin asked while we walked.
“I hope not.”
“You’re not going to tell her?”
“Well, I wasn’t planning on it. She’s anxious enough. And can you imagine what Mariah would do?”
“I think she needs to know, just for her safety,” Colin said. “She should be aware so she can look out for herself.”
“She already has security with her,” I said. “I really don’t see the point.”
Colin shook his head. “That’s part of her problem, I think. People hide stuff from her and baby her trying to protect her, trying to keep her competition-ready. She never grew up. If I’d been treated like that my whole life, I’d end up on drugs, too.”
We walked up to the elevator. I pushed the button a little harder than was really necessary to get it to light up. “I think it’s a little more complicated than that,” I said, trying to stop myself from glaring at him.
We stepped onto the elevator.
“I need to get this last interview done so I can finish the story. The lagoon thing probably won’t even come up anyway,” I said.
“I’m not trying to upset you,” Colin said.
“I’m not upset,” I said. But my voice came out snappy and irritated.
I sighed. “Let’s try again. I’m not upset. And maybe you’re right. But for now, I’m not planning on saying anything unless it comes up.”
Colin nodded. We stepped off the elevator, went to McKenna’s suite, and knocked on the door. We heard a scratching noise before Mariah opened the door. It was Cecile. She came running out and circled Colin and me, her fluffy fur bouncing with every step her tiny legs took. We said hello to Mariah and to Cecile.
“Good morning, young lady,” Colin said. He reached down to scratch the top of the dog’s head.
“McKenna is just finishing her morning yoga,” Mariah said. “She’ll be out in a minute.”
While we waited, we talked about what it’s been like for Mariah and McKenna to leave their homes and live in the hotel.
“This is a smaller place, but the services are great. I could get used to it here,” Mariah said.
Finally, McKenna came into the living room area where we were waiting. She hugged Colin first, then me.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow,” McKenna said. “You have to promise me you’ll visit.”
“You should visit me—come meet me someplace I’m doing a story,” I said.
Mariah smiled. “It’s been really nice for McKenna to have a friend around.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I smiled and said, “Me, too.”
“Come on, let me show you the terrace. We can do the interview out there,” McKenna said as she stood and tugged on my wrist. Colin stayed behind to get some photos of Mariah since she was going to be in the story, too.
The terrace was tiny, with two aluminum chairs and a small table in between them. I was glad there wouldn’t be room for Colin or anyone else out there. I needed some one-on-one time with McKenna.
“I feel like I let you down. I’m sorry,” I said. “My editor is making me leave tomorrow.”
She wrinkled her nose. “What do you mean? You’re not letting me down—unless your story is going to be mean or something.”
“No, no, it’s not that,” I said. I looked out over the strip. “I’m sorry I didn’t help you more. I wanted to find the person who’s after you before I left.”
“Well you’re not the cops, Jae,” McKenna said with a shrug. “It’s okay. I’m safe here. And I think Jacob is close to figuring it out.”
I nodded.
“So about the story—what are you going to write about me?”
“I think you’ll like it,” I said, smiling. “Some of it is going to be about the show and your skills and all that. Some of it is going to be about how close you are with your mom. I’ll talk about all the training and work you have to do for the show.
“But I really think the essence of the story is how you transitioned from a really difficult chapter of your life to this awesome, successful chapter,” I said. I took my pen and notebook out of my bag. “So, yeah. How did you do that?”
She giggled and shrugged. “There’s no clear-cut answer to that, you know? If it was easy to go from addiction to sobriety, well, we wouldn’t have the problems we do.
“For some people, getting their anxiety or depression or bipolar taken care of the right way, medically, is the biggest thing that helps. Some people hit bottom and just decide they’ve had enough. I guess maybe for me, it was the realization that I had a lot of healing to do. And that healing really is possible. You don’t have to just bury your pain and numb yourself—you can face it and then heal from it.
“It’s an ongoing process, though,” she added. “Even though I’m sober, I’m still working on myself. Still healing.”
I nodded along and wrote furiously. Those were the quotes that would make my story. She was being real with me—letting me in.
“Thank you, McKenna. This is going to inspire a lot of people,” I said.
She nodded and glanced back through the glass doors, into the suite.
“Someone is looking after you,” she said in a whisper.
I furrowed my brow.
“Colin. He looks at you in, like, a protective way,” she said. “He’s like protective, but respectful.”
“He’s been good to me—a good friend.”
“You’re not more than friends?” she asked.
I was drawing triangles in my notebook and coloring them in. “Maybe. I don’t know. We work together, so, you know.”
She nodded without saying anything else.
We talked some more about her training and her career plans for the future. McKenna told me she wanted to perform for as long as she could. After that, she said she might go back to s
chool to study art.
“I never had time for the painting and crafts and stuff as a kid,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to draw.”
“I can see that kind of self-expression being a really great process for you,” I said.
We went back inside where Mariah and Colin were talking and playing with Cecile.
“So, I guess that wraps up all the interviewing I needed to do. Now we need to go backstage with you tonight so Colin can get some more art and I can have some more descriptive material to write about the performance,” I said.
We said our goodbyes. Colin and I headed back to our rooms. He wanted to work on his photos and I needed to do some writing for this piece.
But when I sat down with my laptop, I didn’t feel like working on the Vegas story. McKenna’s statements about healing were echoing in my thoughts. My conversation with Lance, about needing to cut ties with my mom, was also on my mind.
I opened a new document. I wanted to write a letter to my mom. I knew what I needed to tell her, but I didn’t quite know how to say it. So I just started typing.
I wrote: Hi, Mom. I hope treatment is going well. I’m writing to you because when I was talking to my supervisor today, he mentioned that you had called my work a few times. I’ve asked you not to do that. It made me realize I think we need some space from each other. I’d like you to stop calling me, asking me to help you with your finances, and stop calling my work. I know this is hard, but you need to focus on your recovery, and I have things going on too. I need space and time alone. I love you.
I stopped typing there. I’d written ‘I love you’ out of habit. Or maybe out of guilt. But I didn’t feel love. I didn’t feel anything, really. I just wanted her to leave me alone.
I saved the draft to my hard drive and clicked it closed. I’d written many, many letters to my mom. When I was younger they were ‘get well’ notes and drawings. She called hangovers ‘the flu.’
Then, when I was a little older, the letters were longer. I used them to plead with her to stop drinking. Sometimes I gave her those letters. Usually, I just stuffed them in a drawer in my bedroom.
It would take a lot of courage to send my mom the note I’d just written. And it would take even more courage to enforce what I’d said—to truly stop communications and stop the financial handouts. I would have to find the courage soon, but not today.
| Nineteen
I knew backstage of Dream Myst—in the moments leading to curtain—would be a buzz of energy. But I didn’t expect all the shouting. Or the running.
No one seemed capable of walking from point A to point B. They just ran. No one used a normal speaking volume, either.
“Here Jae, I have an extra one,” Dee said, handing me a radio and headset. “I thought you’d like to hear the directions and stuff—just so you can write about all the work that happens backstage.”
I thanked her, put the headset on, and adjusted the volume.
Very little of what I heard made sense to me. It was all theater lingo. But the one thing that came through clearly was the excitement, the adrenaline. I wasn’t even performing, but I’d caught that antsy feeling.
Dee was right—I needed to somehow acknowledge all the workers who made the show possible, not just the performers. I looked around for someone I could interview at the last minute, regretting that I hadn’t thought of that earlier.
I wasn’t going to dare approach anyone now. Every single person I saw was either a flurry of activity or pre-show angst.
Finally, the stage manager counted down and announced “blackout” in my headset, calling for the theater to be darkened. The crowd began applauding. Backstage, the applauding was a monotone rumble that seemed to rise from the floor and push in from the walls.
Dee ran past me, flashing a smile on her way.
Colin wasn’t with me now. He was at an area they called “the landing.” It’s where performers entered and exited the water backstage. A narrow channel of water connected that area with the centerstage.
I stood off to the side and watched last-minute costume preparations. Now, everyone who wasn’t performing watched eagerly on flatscreen monitors mounted in several places backstage. They even murmured “oohs” and “aahs” when the performers hit their big moves.
I saw Anne, across the room, holding a long paintbrush while a man with a chiseled body, wearing only owl wings and tight black shorts, stood in front of her. She was painting a feather pattern on his chest.
Her facial expression revealed calm concentration while she made quick, light brushstrokes across the man’s skin. I wondered if she finished her work before the show was over—if she’d had time to sneak away and post those photos in McKenna’s dressing room.
It seemed like Anne would always have to be available for touch-ups as cast members came and went. And it wasn’t like she was the only makeup artist. Her small work station, a stool and a mirrored, lighted vanity, was just one in two rows of identical work areas, each staffed with a makeup artist.
“This place is as entertaining as the actual show, isn’t it?” a familiar friendly voice said from behind me.
I turned to see Jacob White smiling at me. He was wearing his usual suit and tie and had his hands in his pockets. I smiled back, for a moment forgetting I’d been mad at him—betrayed that he didn’t tell me everything he knew about Marcos Marilla.
“Hi, Jacob,” I said. “You’re investigating McKenna’s thing?”
He nodded. “And your thing.”
His casual, friendly, expression darkened. “Actually, I was going to call you.”
I pulled the headphones off, letting them rest around my neck.
“We know who it was—who assaulted you,” he said.
“Really?” My throat tightened around the word.
“It was a guy they call Mace. He’s out on parole for selling meth in a school zone.”
The squeezing sensation in my throat got more intense.
“What happens next?” I asked.
Jacob’s smile faded. He looked down at his feet then back up to meet my gaze.
“We can’t pick him up yet,” Jacob said. “We have a conversation recorded where Marilla’s giving him your description and telling him to find you here. They were careful to do it when Marilla had an alibi.”
“Why can’t you arrest him, then? What if he comes after me again?”
“We’re really close to a huge bust—not on Marilla—on his supplier. The Feds are even involved,” he said. “If we disrupt them in any way, it could tip them off and months of work would go down the drain.”
“And that case is bigger than mine,” I said.
“I’m sorry Jae,” he said. “We are going to get justice for you, I promise. It’s all set up. We just have to be patient.”
I nodded and looked away. I didn’t want him to see my face, my reaction.
“I understand. It’s okay,” I said.
He nodded.
“Any breaks on McKenna’s case?”
“No. I think they’re okay staying here for now,” he said. “There’s always a chance that whoever was threatening her has decided to back off.”
“Keep an eye on her, okay?” I asked. “This case isn’t going to have a big payoff like breaking up a drug cartel, but it matters. McKenna matters. And she’s been through enough.”
“I know, Jae,” Jacob said quietly. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Look,” I said, pointing to the monitor. “Have you seen this part?”
We watched as McKenna, as the butterfly of sleep, swooped through the air, flipped, and landed on her feet on the stage.
“Amazing,” Jacob said, shaking his head.
“Yeah.”
Colin walked up to us, wearing a barely-perceptible frown. He nodded at Jacob, then looked to me.
“I got something for you,” he said. “The scuba tech has some amazing stories. He’s retired from the Navy and has a Purple Heart.”
“That’ll
be perfect,” I said.
We said goodbye to Jacob. Colin led me to the landing and introduced me to Arthur Brown. I was able to get a quick interview in while he was managing the underwater breathing equipment.
Finally, the music reached a climax. It was time for the finale—McKenna’s big dive.
This is it, Colin whispered in my ear. He put his hands on my shoulders and guided me to stand in front of him. From there, we could see just a sliver of the stage.
The crowd let out an “ooh,” and we saw a bolt of electric blue light as McKenna slipped down from the ceiling and into the water.
Arthur pointed to a black-and-white monitor screen. “There. She’s ok.”
We watched McKenna swim up to the air tubes and put a nozzle to her mouth. She grinned around the blue plastic mouthpiece and waved at the camera.
“We keep eyes on the performers the whole time,” he said. “This stuff can be dangerous.”
We waited until after curtain call, when McKenna arrived at the landing. After assistants helped her into a robe, she hugged Colin, then me.
“I’ll miss you guys,” she said.
“Us, too,” Colin said.
“Thanks for letting us do this, McKenna,” I said.
She walked down the corridor toward the dressing rooms, looking back to wave one last time before she turned the corner.
Colin and I walked toward the exit of the backstage area. He nodded at the security guard as we left.
“You hungry?” he asked me. “Let’s get one last brick oven pizza.”
While we ate, we talked about the story and he showed me his favorite photos from tonight. He’d gotten one of me interviewing Arthur. He must have said something funny just before Colin took the picture, because Arthur and I were both smiling brightly.
“Delete,” I announced in a teasing tone.
“No way,” Colin said, shaking his head.
We finished eating and went toward our hotel rooms. We stepped off of the elevator and slowed when we were near Colin’s door.
“So I guess you get your own bed tonight?” I said. My voice felt shaky, but it wasn’t so obvious that Colin might notice.
Assignment Vegas: The Case of the Athlete's Assassin: Jae Lovejoy Cozy Mystery Two (Jae Lovejoy Cozy Mysteries Book 2) Page 14
