“We’ve all tried to warn her,” Starla whispered. “Anyway, I heard another rumor, Joey. I hate to be the bearer of bad news. I’d much rather talk about Mule’s Bottom or Island Fever.”
I braced myself, not liking the ominous ring of her words. “Okay . . . Is it about the book Eric is supposedly writing about our relationship?”
I couldn’t wait for that to hit the shelves. Sarcasm, just in case you were wondering. I’d talked to a lawyer who said he couldn’t do anything. Go figure.
“No, I haven’t heard anything else about that. But I was talking to Fred, who’s friends with Arnold, who helps with the video editing for Alastair Productions. Anyway, long story short, you know that scene that was cut from Family Secrets?”
My mind raced through the possibilities. “I’m sure a lot of scenes were cut.”
“I’m talking about the scene with Eric.” Her words hung in the still, nighttime air.
The icky feeling in my gut grew even ickier. Eric had done a guest spot in the movie, playing a deliveryman who was secretly supplying a message to me from the Russian government. It was all cute when we were married. But I’d understood that scene had been cut.
“Yeah, they put that scene back in,” Starla told me.
A surge of anger rushed through me. “Why would they do that?”
“For ratings, of course. Everyone knows how contentious your split was. They’re doing to you what they did to Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt. They’re capitalizing on your loss. I’m sorry, Joey. I wanted to be the first to tell you.”
I was definitely going to be talking to Rutherford, my manager.
We chatted a few more minutes before I ended the call. As soon as I hopped back inside, Zane glanced at me.
“Everything okay?” Zane asked.
“No, not really.” I plopped down beside him and wrapped myself in my grandmother’s quilt. I’d found it in a trunk my father left behind, and since then, I’d wanted to cuddle with it every night. It somehow made me feel connected with my past, which was therapeutic because I felt desperately disconnected in general.
“What’s wrong? Is it something a shoulder rub would help?”
“Unfortunately, no,” I said. “I’ve got to go to a movie premiere.”
And I’d see Eric. I never wanted to see Eric again, which was one more reason it was nice being here in North Carolina, miles and miles away from him.
“A movie premiere?” Zane’s eyes lit. “It sounds fun.”
“It’s not that fun.” There would be a lot of pictures on the red carpet. And I’d be there alone. Which would cause even more speculation and rumors. Meanwhile, Eric would be there with his new fiancée and look like the epitome of happiness.
“If you need someone to go and have your back, let me know,” Zane said.
I smiled. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“By the way, my GMRO video went viral—minus the mermaid tail portion, of course.”
“Did it?” That wasn’t really surprising. Zane knew his way around social media.
“That’s, in part, thanks to you. Slick Ocean is thrilled.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
He rubbed his hands together, as if preparing for another adventure. “I’ve got to plan our next undertaking.”
“It will have to be after my movie premiere.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Or will it?”
I didn’t know what that meant. But I didn’t have time to worry about it now.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jackson asked the next day. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”
“Yeah, I’ll be totally fine.” But I didn’t feel totally fine. No, I’d considered changing my mind. Feigning some life or death hair emergency at Beach Combers. Maybe a last-minute radio interview that I couldn’t get out of contractually.
And then I’d remembered all those people I knew of who’d been taken advantage of in their quest for fame. I felt like I had to do this to help all of them. Moreover, there was an elaborate setup in place, and I couldn’t let the department down.
“Besides, what can go wrong?” I said.
Jackson didn’t say anything, and I knew what that meant. Everything could go wrong.
Sure, there would be officers set up in the woods. But things could spiral out of control. There were a lot of variables here.
But I didn’t want to show my fear, so I put on my best actress face. “I’m ready.”
I glanced up at my temporary “boyfriend.” Jackson had been surprisingly transformed into the role. He wore baggy jeans, an old sweatshirt, and a baseball cap with aviator glasses.
He looked good. Then again, he looked good however he dressed.
“Let’s do this,” I announced. I hoped he couldn’t see my nerves, because they’d captured me like opening night of a big play. Like Romeo and Juliet, if I had to choose. Except they’d both died at the end.
Lexi, I remembered. I was doing this for her. For justice. To let people who took advantage of others know they couldn’t get away with it.
Jackson led me to a car the police department had loaned us and helped me into the passenger seat before climbing in himself. I tangled my fingers together in my lap as we started down the road. Octopus fingers, as Eric had called them.
“So the police aren’t going to simply arrest this guy as soon as he shows up,” I said, rehashing what I already knew.
“No, get him talking. We need to know this is the right guy first,” Jackson said. “You remember the script we went over?”
“Of course.”
“Any time you want out, just say that you’re not feeling well. I’ll get you out of there.”
“Got it.” No sooner had I said the words did we pull up at the small parking lot near the public sound-access point.
I wore the mermaid top and boy-short bottoms beneath a sweatshirt and seashell leggings. Once I got on the shoreline, I’d tug on the mermaid tail. I’d taken special care to curl my hair in more of a mermaid style and to do my makeup, careful to add a little glitter on my face just for effect. I’d even found a mermaid necklace at one of the souvenir shops this morning and had donned that as well.
For right now, I wasn’t Joey Darling or Raven Remington. I was Ari White, an overeager, giddy southerner living across the water in Hyde County. I wanted to enter a modeling contest and needed some new shots.
“Okay, let’s do this.” I extended my hand. “Boyfriend.”
Jackson only hesitated a split second before grabbing my hand. We were now in full acting mode. I threw my bag with my mermaid tail over my shoulder, double-checked that I had my cash in my purse—five hundred dollars, as requested—and we walked onto the sand.
I liked holding Jackson’s hand a little too much. It was strong, rough, and thick. It made my heart slow and my shakes cease slightly.
“Lo and behold, I think the photographer is already here,” I mumbled, nodding toward the man in the distance.
That had to be a good sign, right? If this man was guilty, would he really show up? Wouldn’t he be hiding right now?
I quickly observed him. He was a fairly tall guy who I guessed was in his early thirties. His dark hair was slicked back from his face, his white shirt unbuttoned a little too much, and he wore multiple gold necklaces. All together I got a Fabio vibe from him.
He definitely looked big enough to take someone by force, if necessary. Was he the guy from the gas station? I didn’t think so.
I was glad Jackson was with me.
I paused in front of Andre. But his gaze only remained on me a moment before fluttering to Jackson and darkening.
“Andre?” I started, using my best Valley girl voice. “I’m Ari.”
He sauntered over, held me at arm’s length, and gave me a once-over. “Beautiful. Just beautiful, ma cherie.”
He kissed his hand and then exploded his fingers in the air. His French accent made me cringe. That couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t be.
But his gaze darkened again when he looked at Jackson. “And who’s this garcon?”
“And this is my boyfriend, Sheldon. But I like to call him Shel. I think it’s a nice name. Like Shel Silverstein. You know, the guy who wrote The Giving Tree. He doesn’t think it’s very masculine though.” I let out a purposefully thin giggle and rested my hand on Jackson’s chest. “I say he’s a hubba hubba hunk, even if his nickname makes him sound like a conk. Isn’t that right, Shel?”
Jackson smiled, looking surprisingly affable. “Whatever makes you happy.”
Andre nodded, acting like he couldn’t care less. “I see, even though I prefer to work alone. Boyfriends are . . .” He scowled at Jackson. “La distraction. I need you to promise me you’ll be yourself. Be free. Embrace your inner siren.”
Each word sounded guttural and was proceeded with a little spit.
“I’ll send all those sailors to their death,” I said.
Andre scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion.
“You know, in Greek mythology the sirens would sing and lead sailors to wreck their ships on the coasts,” I explained. “They were originally not half-woman, half-fish at all, but half-woman, half-bird.” I stopped and waved a hand in the air. “But we don’t need a lesson on that, do we?”
Jackson snaked an arm around my waist. “Beneath this bubbly facade is a straight-A student.”
Andre smiled, though it looked forced. “Even better. Jolie and smart. My contacts in New York are going to amour you.”
“I got a full ride at Yale, but all I want is to be a mermaid.” I was improvising. Which could be good or bad. I had been an honor roll student, however. Book smart with no common sense. That was what my guidance counselor had told me once.
“You brought your mermaid costume, oui?”
I nodded. “Of course. It’s like my second skin. I think I was a mermaid in a past life. Do you believe in mermaids, Andre?”
“I like mermaids. I think the idea is fascinating.”
“Well, I think your pictures are fascinating. I love what you can do with the light.” I’d looked at his fake website.
“I always say anyone can take a picture, but it takes a professional to know how to work the lighting.” He kissed his fingers and waved them in the air with flourish again.
“I’d agree. Wouldn’t you, honey?” I rested a hand on Jackson’s chest and batted my eyelashes.
Jackson touched the tip of my nose. “Whatever you say, sweetie.”
“Okay, what do you want me to do?” I looked around, knowing I had to break eye contact with Jackson before my pupils did that telltale dilating thing. “I think this is the perfect location.”
“I like it here. It’s très magnifique. It’s easy to get to the water, and a lot of people don’t know about it, so it’s fairly private. I understand you want some shots for a portfolio? You’d like to do some modeling?”
I nodded. “It’s my dream.”
He squinted. “You look a oui bit familiar.”
I wondered if he was trying to use the French word “oui” or “wee.” “Oh, I get that all the time. I guess there’s some actress that I resemble.”
He shrugged, seeming to buy the excuse. “Okay then. Let’s get started. You want to go ahead and get into costume?”
“Do I ever.”
Feeling the slightest touch of self-consciousness, I kicked my flip-flops off, pulled off my leggings, and lowered myself onto a towel on the sand. I pulled my mermaid tail from my bag and shimmied into it.
My throat clamped with another rush of nerves as I took off my sweatshirt. I’d been like this on set also. The good girl who still valued modesty. My colleagues had made fun of me all the time.
Andre’s eyes warmed with approval, but he tried to look away before I could see it.
“All right. Why don’t you take your place by the water? I think it’s going to be a splendide day to get some pictures.”
I nodded, and Jackson took my arm to help me to the shoreline.
Andre arranged my fins in the water, where gentle waves lapped them. Then he arranged my hair and arms, down to the last detail. Jackson stood in the background with his arms crossed, watching everything and trying to appear like an overprotective boyfriend. I was pretty sure his gaze never left me.
“So you have connections in New York?” I asked, giving the camera my best runway stare.
Andre peered into his camera. “That is right. I worked there for eight years. Now I help models make the connections they need. I think you’ve got what it takes. Those cheekbones are magnifiques.”
“That’s great. All I’ve ever wanted to do is to be a mermaid and book gigs like this. Instead of paying, I want to get paid though.” I raised my shoulder and peered over it, trying to look sassy but feeling ridiculous in the process.
He snapped another photo. “Well, I think you are on your way. You are une naturelle. And you’ve got great abs.”
I sucked in again, not feeling at all like I had great abs. “Thanks. It’s amazing what some lemon juice and cayenne pepper can do.”
“Now let’s get some with you on your stomach. Lift your feet up so we can see the fin.”
I did as he directed.
“So do you do this a lot?” I asked.
He shrugged and snapped another picture. “I get around.”
“Mostly here in the OBX?” I continued, trying to get more information out of him. “I have to admit that I’m kind of fascinated by you and your work.” I glanced at Jackson. “No offense, Shelly Belly.”
Jackson’s eyes narrowed, but only for a split second. Then he smiled, looking lovelorn again.
“Up and down the coast, really.” Andre continued working, which seemed like a convenient excuse for avoiding eye contact.
“But admit it: the Outer Banks is the best location ever.”
That got a smile out of him. “It is a great place for pictures.”
“I’m so curious about your career. Do you scout out models?”
He shrugged again. “Kind of. I’m very selective about whom I choose.”
There it was. I heard it! It was a break in his accent. This man was not French. That fueled some kind of internal flame in me.
“What’s the market like for mermaids?” I continued, pausing with my hand raked halfway through my hair.
“It is good. The market is pretty small, which actually opens up more opportunities for people who are good. People like you, ma cherie.”
“I see. That’s very exciting.”
“I don’t do very many shoots like this, but when I saw your photo, I knew I could not pass up this opportunity.”
This was my opening! “It’s funny because someone told me they saw another girl in a mermaid costume over at the preserve in Nags Head just a couple of days ago,” I said. “She was having her pictures taken also.”
“Is that right?” he asked, stiffening slightly.
I nodded. “And the strange thing is, she hasn’t been seen since then.”
“I see.”
“I heard you might have been her photographer,” I continued.
Fear flashed on the man’s face. In the next instant, he took off in a run.
Chapter Eight
Just as Andre tried to pass me, I swung my legs out. My mermaid tail tripped him, and he tumbled into the water. With his camera.
Even if he was a criminal, it kind of hurt to see the expensive equipment get ruined like that. Technology and the beach weren’t good bedfellows.
Jackson jerked Andre to his feet as other officers emerged from the shrubs and dune grass around us. Andre would not be getting away now.
“You need to start talking,” Jackson growled.
The man raised his hands, all signs of cockiness—and Frenchness—gone. He took a step back and looked over his shoulder. His head snapped forward. He’d probably realized he was surrounded.
“I didn’t do nothing,” he said.
His accent d
isappeared right along with his fake persona. Not only was he not French, but he also had a deep southern drawl. Fascinating.
“If you didn’t do anything, why are you running?” Jackson growled, flashing his badge.
“Because something feels fishy here. Something besides a wannabe mermaid.”
“I have no desire to be a mermaid, thank you very much.” I leaned closer. “And I sold my role as the White Mermaid. I sold it.”
Why did he have to bring a personal insult into this? Some people.
“Where’s Cora Day?” Jackson demanded.
“Who?”
“Don’t play dumb.” Jackson leered at him. “You took pictures of her two days ago, and now she’s gone.”
He raised his hands higher. “I promise. I didn’t do nothing. She was alive and kicking when I left her after our photo shoot.”
Jackson bristled. “So you admit that you took pictures of her?”
“Yes, I did. Okay. I admit that.” His words came out faster and faster. “But I didn’t hurt her. Why would I do that?”
“You tell me.”
“I’m innocent!”
“Then start talking before I take you down to the station,” Jackson growled.
“Look, Cora wanted me to take some photos of her. So I did. I told her I’d have some images ready for her in two weeks, we said goodbye, and I went to my car. Job done.”
“You left her at the beach, is what you’re saying?” Jackson asked.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. She said she wanted to stay for a few minutes and enjoy the beauty around her. Her words, not mine.”
“And nothing funny happened while you were there? Nothing that raised any red flags?”
“No, nothing. It was quiet. Peaceful. Beautiful.”
I managed to get to my feet—no easy task, mind you—and made my way over toward them. I had some pressing questions of my own, despite my undocumented—I’d deny it if anyone asked—keep-my-mouth-shut clause.
“Why Nags Head Woods?” I asked.
“Because that’s the location she requested. She said she’d always wanted to see that area.”
“You really don’t have any connections with New York,” I muttered. He was running a scam. A very expensive scam. No doubt, he made promises he knew he couldn’t keep.
Safety in Blunders (The Worst Detective Ever Book 3) Page 6
