“That’s not what I think,” Jennifer assured her, wishing she could leave all of the who-did-what-to-whom of her teenage years behind her. All she really wanted to know was who had murdered Danny.
Jennifer shuffled Teri past the glass door at the front of the building, hoping a little flattery might take some of the edge off Teri’s bite. “You’re so good at plotting,” she said. “This should be easy as—”
“Can I help you, ladies?” The receptionist, clad in a summer floral dress, accosted them with a honeyed voice, which, no doubt, made her worth at least half her salary for just answering the phone.
“We’re here to see Mr. Farmer.”
“You must be his two o’clock.” The woman glanced up at the clock on the wall—which was a full five minutes fast—and then back down at them. Jennifer shot a pointed look at Teri.
“Sorry. We’re a little late,” she confessed.
“That’s all right,” the receptionist beamed, apparently mollified by the apology. “Have a seat. I’ll see if I can find him.” Then she disappeared down a hallway.
“Now, exactly who is this dude?” Teri asked.
“Danny’s business partner.”
“And we’re here because...”
“I want to know how they got along, if there was any ill will between the two of them.”
“Uh-uh-uh,” Teri warned. “Looking for a reason Danny killed himself will only bring you grief. Anyone with emotional baggage so big that he would—”
“Look. Don’t worry about it. You’ve got a video project. That’s all you need to know.”
“What kind?”
“Anything you want. Make something up or use one of the plots from your novels—”
“And risk plagiarism? I guard those plots with my life.”
“Okay, then. Just get us in the door, and I’ll take it from there.”
“Lord have mercy, Jennifer. The things I do for you.”
“I know, and I love you for it.”
“What did you tell the woman when you made the appointment?”
“Just that you’re an independent filmmaker, and you’re going to be needing some professional services. But not really. Remember, whatever you do, don’t sign anything.”
“Maybe we don’t need them now, but what if we filmed one of your mysteries, or better yet, one of my romances? Independent films are coming into their own. Everybody in America saw The Blair Witch Project. If the biggies in New York caught our stories in the theater...” Teri’s voice dropped off as her gaze rose upward, and Jennifer turned.
He was medium height with dark hair flirting with his shoulders, eyes so brown they looked black, and skin tan enough to confirm the rumors floating around Riverside High that he had Native American blood somewhere in his lineage. His jeans were worn, but his white dress shirt, open at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, looked new.
“Mick Farmer,” he said, offering Teri his hand.
Farmer hadn’t lost his appeal. He was having a definite drool effect on Teri. Not good. Teri couldn’t concentrate on two things at one time, and she was checking out the absence of a wedding band on Farmer’s left hand a little too closely.
“You must be Ms....”
“Teri. Call me Teri,” she said, standing to accept his hand.
Focus. Jennifer willed her thoughts to her friend.
Mick took a double take in Jennifer’s direction.
“Hey, Mick. How ya’ been?” she asked.
“Fine,” he said automatically. Then he shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m really sorry about Danny,” Jennifer offered. “I’m sure it’s been hard on you and the business. Is Sheena helping out?” She didn’t see how she had time, but she wanted his reaction.
“Sheena?” He frowned.
“Yes. I thought, now that Danny’s gone, she might—”
His look stopped her cold. “Might what?”
“Be helping out here.”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “That actually might not be a bad idea. I suppose I could train her if she wants back into the business.” He gave her a funny look. “Have you and Sheena...”
She shook her head. “I was just curious.”
“Are the two of you together?” He pointed at Teri.
Jennifer nodded. “I’m here for moral support.”
“Well, then, why don’t you come back to my office and tell me what it is we can do for you.”
They followed Mick into a good-sized room where he pulled out chairs for them around a small table near the window.
Jennifer scanned the room. The only photo on his desk showed a big black Lab on a boat, the wind whipping its fur.
“I believe you told my secretary you had some footage you want us to work on for you.”
“Right,” Teri said, raising one eyebrow in Jennifer’s direction.
“Want to tell me about it?”
Teri’s face went blank.
“Personal, documentary, fictional?” Mick suggested.
“Fictional.”
He made a note on a yellow legal pad. “Complete?”
“Not yet.”
“So what are we looking at?” He paused, but Teri didn’t say anything. “Timewise, I mean. How long is it?”
“Oh. An hour and a half sounds good.”
“Is that in raw footage?” He scribbled a note on a pad.
“Probably not,” Teri suggested, frowning at Jennifer. “I mean, that’s the length I’m planning for the end product,” recovering maybe a little too confidently.
He pursed his lips and nodded, then dropped his pen and leaned back, cocking his chair, with his hands behind his head. “Tell me about it.”
“You mean—”
“Tell me the plot.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Jennifer said.
“Sure it is,” Mick insisted.
A look of panic flashed over Teri. This was not good, not good at all. She hadn’t really had much time to prepare.
“It’s a horror flick,” Teri said, settling back into her chair. “A quasidocumentary.”
She was going to describe Blair Witch, Jennifer thought. Not a bad idea.
“About a boy who disappeared...”
Definitely Blair Witch, Jennifer prayed.
“...right here in Macon. On prom night.”
Farmer let his chair legs drop back onto the floor.
Jennifer sat paralyzed, unable to speak, blink, or stuff a sock in Teri’s mouth.
Teri leaned forward, warming to her subject. “A lot of it is filmed at night so it’s got this dark, moody atmosphere.”
“I see. Could make editing difficult.”
“Of course, the interviews with the locals about the disappearance will be in the daylight. You look about the right age to remember what happened. Maybe you’d care to give me an interview.”
He shook his head. “I’m strictly a behind-the-camera kind of guy.” He tossed his pen down on the table and looked her in the eye. “Why are you doing this?”
His words echoed Jennifer’s thoughts, but her this had a different reference.
Teri didn’t even blink. “I want to know what happened to Jimmy Mitchell.”
So much for subtlety.
Mick pursed his lips and looked straight at Jennifer. “What the hell are you up to?”
If Mick had been the silent, brooding type in high school, he’d definitely gotten over it.
Jennifer sat up in her chair. “Mick, Sheena thinks Danny was murdered. So do I.”
“Murdered?” He said the word as though the idea surprised him, but she sensed it didn’t.
“I thought I told you—” Teri began, but Jennifer cut her off.
“Whether Danny’s death was a suicide or not, the catalyst appears to have been Gavin Lawless’s song suggesting Jimmy was killed the night of our senior prom.”
He must have heard the song—who hadn’t?—but he didn’t react to her mention of it.
“Tell
me what you remember of that night, Mick,” Jennifer said. “Al came and got Danny out of the car where we were parked near the school’s loading dock. He said he needed his help. Did he come get you, too?”
Mick shook his head. “I was with Sheena.”
“No,” she insisted. “This was later, sometime after Seth had been crowned prom king. Sheena made a scene trying to get Danny to dance with her. He shrugged her off. You tried to distract her, and we left. Sheena told me the two of you parted company shortly after that.”
He sat there not saying a word.
“Talk to me, Mick,” Jennifer pleaded. “What did you do?”
“I went home. What else does a guy do when his date ditches him?”
She felt like shouting, Get over it! That was twelve years ago, but she knew better. “Did you see Jimmy at all that night?”
“Yeah. I saw him earlier, arguing with Al.”
“When?”
“I don’t know exactly. Sheena had to go to the restroom, so I stepped outside for a smoke. I heard a couple of guys getting loud by the trees. One of them was Al. I think the other one was Jimmy. Candy stepped in between the two of them.”
“Candy?”
“Yeah. I heard her tell the other guy to go on and he backed away. Then she and Al walked away together, but he was none too happy about it.”
“How do you know?”
“She tried to hold his arm, but he pulled out of her grip. He was drunk.”
“How do you know that?”
“Al was always drunk.” Mick stood up and slid back his chair. “Let me give you both a little free advice: let it go.”
“Why?”
“You tell me. You’re the one who thinks Danny was murdered.”
Chapter 26
What was she going to do with Teri?
“Way to tell everything you know. Are you out of your mind?” Jennifer demanded in the parking lot of Macon Pictures. “Now he knows what we’re looking into.”
“Excuse me? Did I not tell you to drop this whole Danny-was-murdered theory Saturday night?” She sniffed. “You opened your mouth, and I suppose everything you ever knew about prom night at Riverside High School just happened to fall out.”
Teri was being totally unfair, and Jennifer would tell her if she could get a word in.
“I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” Teri rushed on. “He told you what he knew. Besides, we got some in-your-face, immediate shock reaction data. Jimmy Mitchell makes him nervous and Sheena Buckner makes him hot. I just hope he’s not too focused on the young widow. That fine hunk of male attitude was too cool for words.”
“What we got was a warning, and you’re sounding way too much like Leigh Ann.”
“Surely you couldn’t be suspicious of a guy as good-lookin’ as that.” Teri sniffed, then added, “Don’t compare me to a woman who regularly gets neck strain checking out babes as she walks down the street.”
“Of course I’m suspicious, and why not? Leigh Ann is your very good friend, and you would do well to remember it.”
“Duh and duh. You’re good at rewriting history, Jennifer. You know that?”
“Just go,” Jennifer insisted, pushing Teri behind the steering wheel of her car and shutting the door behind her. She wanted Teri out of there and somewhere safer.
“You’re upset because Mick scared you. He didn’t threaten you. There’s a big difference,” Teri reminded her out her car window.
Jennifer nodded. “Whatever you say.” As she turned toward her Beetle, she thought she caught an almost imperceptible movement of the blinds from the lobby of Macon Pictures. It had to be the air conditioner. Or her paranoia.
What the heck did she think she was doing? All she’d accomplished so far was to establish that everyone she ever knew or heard of was in the vicinity of Riverside High School prom night twelve years ago. Big surprise. She could have predicted that on her own.
Even if by some miracle she figured out what happened to Jimmy, she still wouldn’t know what that had to do with Danny’s death. She needed to put it all away for awhile, to let her mind rest. She couldn’t come up with one more original thought if her life depended on it.
Jennifer couldn’t wait to get home and into her old baggy jeans, out of her shoes, and back into the pretense of a normal life. She’d left her detective in a most precarious position at the end of chapter two, and there was only one way for him to get out of it: she had to write it.
At least with her work, she had some control, and at the moment, control was the major element lacking in her own life.
Jennifer stared at her computer screen. She was no further than two chapters into her new novel about Zimmerman, a boozer of a private eye who had hit the wagon to help the long and luscious young thing who had flowed into his office on the second worst day of his life. She hadn’t typed more than two sentences, and she’d been at it for more than thirty minutes. At the moment, murder was the last thing she wanted to think about.
Maybe she could work on the romantic element. She’d promised Zimmerman if he solved the case, she’d let him get the girl, but even she wasn’t buying that idea. She should have made this guy more attractive. A few searches and deletes could get rid of that bald spot in the back of his head. She could take away that smoker’s hack, get some of the grime off his office windows, and maybe—
The phone rang, and she snatched it up. It was Leigh Ann having one of her little fits. “Calm down,” Jennifer insisted. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.” She could hear loud heaves and then the phone hitting something hard.
“Leigh Ann?” she called into the receiver.
No response.
“Leigh Ann,” she called louder, a hint of panic replacing her annoyance. “Answer me. If you don’t say something in the next five seconds, I’m calling 911.”
“Okay, I’m back,” Leigh Ann said. Her breathing, a little more regular, was still audible. “I had to get a glass of water.”
Was that all? “Okay, good. Now try telling me what happened. Slowly,” Jennifer suggested. Whatever brilliant revelation she’d been about to commit to her hard drive had flown right out of her head.
“It blew up!” Leigh Ann said.
Jennifer clicked on Save and then Close. Leigh Ann, for all her bluster, had never used the words “blew up” before.
“Now what are you talking about? You can’t possibly mean a bomb.”
“If he hadn’t become suspicious and dived out of the driver’s seat of his van....” She panted even harder. “God, Jennifer. He could have been killed. Or maimed. Or... Oh, Lord, what if he hurt his hand?”
“Who?” Jennifer demanded, just to make sure.
“Gavin. Who did you think I was talking about?”
“How seriously was he hurt?”
“I don’t know. He called me from Macon General. He has some scrapes on his head and his arms. He rolled under a nearby car and it shielded him somewhat from the explosion.”
“If he called you, he can’t be that bad off, so settle down. Was anybody else hurt?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
Thank goodness for that.
“Are they keeping him?” Jennifer asked.
“You mean in the hospital?”
“Did he give you a room number?”
“No. He was leaving. He’s got to get some kind of transportation and find a safe place to stay. Before he hung up he said something else.”
“What?”
“He told me not to talk to you anymore. He doesn’t trust you, Jennifer.”
Well, she didn’t trust him, either, and now he was undermining Leigh Ann’s trust in her. He could readily have blown up his own van, although she had to admit that would be a major sacrifice, considering the art work on the side. At least it would take the suspicion off him.
“So. Are you going to listen to him?” She held her breath.
“If you hadn’t noticed, I called you. So don’t start preaching to the
choir.”
Go, Leigh Ann. That was her girl.
“Does he have any idea who might have done it?” Jennifer asked.
“Nope. But he’s pretty sure why. I take it you haven’t seen this morning’s copy of the Atlanta Eye.
“It’s Tuesday, Leigh Ann. The Eye doesn’t come out until Wednesday.”
“They put out a special edition dedicated to Macon.”
Oh, great. What had Teague done now? “Break it to me gently.”
“Half of the front page has to do with what happened at the reunion. There’s a huge picture of Sheena and Mary Jo going at it over the crown, and a smaller inset photo of Danny’s graduation picture. It’s kind of grainy so I bet they lifted it from the yearbook. The headline reads: ‘Prom Queen Struggles over Past Jealousies While Husband Kills Himself in Parking Lot.’”
“They got all that on one line?”
“Three, actually. Inch-high letters. Most of the text of the article is inside. The lower half of the page has a big picture of Gavin playing his guitar. His headline reads: ‘Song Holds Key to Long-Ago Disappearance.’”
She didn’t bother to ask whose byline the articles had come out under. Teague had come to Macon on Sunday morning for an interview with guess who. Well, there was only one surefire cure for stupidity, and it looked as though someone had tried to apply it to Gavin.
“I want you to promise me you’ll stay away from Gavin, at least for a while.”
“You know how unfair it is for you to ask me.”
“I do.”
“He needs me right now, Jennifer.”
“I know. But he needs you alive. Promise me.”
There was a long pause.
“Don’t make me come over there,” Jennifer threatened.
“Okay, okay.”
“Don’t go anywhere, not even the grocery store, without calling me first. Understand?”
“Yes, Mama Jen.”
“There’s nothing we can do except let the police investigate.”
If Gavin wanted to get himself killed, that was one thing, but he’d better not do anything to endanger Leigh Ann.
Chapter 27
Dying to Remember Page 12
