Killing Kelly

by Heather Graham

  Kelly gave Lance another Scotch on the rocks.

  “You took a taxi, got out at an empty house and just waited?” O’Casey said.

  Lance glared at him, lifting his hands. The ice in his glass rattled. “I told you, I came to say hello.”

  “Finish your drink. I’ll give you a ride home,” O’Casey said.

  Lance grinned suddenly. “You won’t freak out in the driver’s seat? Who’d have figured the dance teacher for a tackle in another life! Man, I am bruised top to bottom.”

  “Want me to make you a doctor’s appointment?” Kelly asked.

  “Hell, no. I don’t go to the doctor for bruises,” Lance said. His glass was empty again. He looked hopefully at Kelly.

  “It’s late. Kelly worked hard today. I’ll take you home,” O’Casey said.

  Lance shrugged, then rose, wincing.

  “Try a long hot bath,” Kelly suggested.

  He looked at her, grinning again. It was a look that made her uneasy. His words, as he stared at her, didn’t help any. “A long hot bath, huh?”

  “Come on, this taxi is heading out,” O’Casey said. He looked at Kelly. “Lock up good when we’re gone, right?”

  She nodded. “I’ve got Sam, you know.”

  “Yeah. He should be with you at all times,” O’Casey murmured. He set a hand on Lance’s shoulder, directing him toward the front door. When he had the singer out on the porch, he turned back. “Are you all right?”

  “Perfectly,” she assured him, then added softly, “I really shouldn’t have screamed. I was just so startled.”

  He didn’t reply to that, and his gaze was fathomless. “I’ll get him out of here,” he said.

  She nodded. “Tomorrow at…?”

  “How about I pick you up?” he suggested.

  She shrugged. She’d been humiliated that day. She really wished she could tell him she’d just meet him at the studio at four, as had been planned for the week. But screw humiliation. She’d been terrified when the figure had emerged from the shadows. O’Casey was welcome to come and get her. That way, she wouldn’t be coming back alone in the darkness again.

  “What time?” she asked him.

  “Noonish?”

  “Fine.”

  “Hey, taxi man, are you coming?” Lance asked.

  “Lock up,” O’Casey told Kelly.

  She heard the footsteps of the men as they receded down the walk. Sam whined and looked up at her hopefully. “I hope you did what you wanted when you were out there, young man, because there is no more walk tonight!” She scratched his ears, very glad that she had him.

  She was feeling all right as she picked up Lance’s glass and the remains of her own Coke. She was even okay as she brushed her teeth and washed her face. But when she went into her bedroom, she discovered that she couldn’t stand the darkness. She lay down with the lights on and turned on the television, calling for Sam to hop up by her feet. Eventually, she fell asleep.

  She woke to the cold dampness of Sam’s nose pressing against her fingers. It was morning and he wanted out.

  “Okay, Sam, I’m getting up,” she murmured sleepily.

  The television was droning away with the morning newscast. The day was going to be smoggy. Big surprise. The dry weather would continue. Another big surprise.

  “And in the case of Dr. Dana Sumter, Gerry Proctor, attorney for the defense, has announced that he will prove beyond a doubt his client’s innocence.”

  Kelly cracked open her eyes, then sat up. The defense attorney came on briefly, claiming that his client was being railroaded and maligned just for having been married to the woman. As she stared at the television, the husband himself came on. “She was the mother of my children, for God’s sake!” the man protested. He was a decent-looking fellow, middle-aged, mildly receding hairline. “Dana and I had our differences, but I’d never…she was the mother of my children!” he repeated.

  Kelly hit the power button. The screen went blank. She rose and walked into the bathroom, eager for a quick shower before taking Sam out for his morning constitutional.

  Doug had watched the news as well. He was reflecting on the impression Sumter gave in the interview when the phone rang.

  “O’Casey?”

  “Hey.” It was Kelly.

  “Did you have plans for this morning?”

  “Not really. What’s up?”

  “I thought I’d come by for you.”

  “Yeah, that’s fine. Didn’t we agree on lunch yesterday, before practice?”

  “Yes, right…but you were coming for me just before twelve. I thought that I’d come for you instead, since you don’t know the city the way I do. I thought we’d have lunch maybe a little earlier, then practice. I’ll bring clothing to change into, then we’ll head back to your hotel and straight over to dinner. They’re expecting us around eight. Of course, there’s no pressure. If you’d rather just stick with the original plan…”

  She added the last in a rush, as if afraid she’d been too forward. Times and mores might change, but people didn’t. Even with something as simple as dinner or deciding who was driving meant putting oneself out on the line. No one liked rejection. It was a matter of pride.

  “That would mean you’d be dropping me off, and I should be seeing you back to your house,” Doug rationalized.

  She hesitated just a fraction of a second. “It’s all right, really. I intend to get one of those little cans of pepper spray for my key chain today.”

  “I’ll pick you up,” he said.

  “But—”

  “You can tell me where we’re going. How’s that? Look, it will just make me feel better to get you safely back to your place, Kelly. Let’s pretend that none of this is happening. Pretend we just met in a bar.”

  “I really don’t go to bars.”

  “Okay, we met at the bowling alley.”

  She laughed. “I don’t bowl.”

  “Okay! We met in a Pilates class and I asked you out to dinner. I’d still feel better about picking you up and seeing you home safely. I’ll be there in half an hour, all right? That way, I’ll get to see Sam.”

  She laughed then. “All right.”

  He hung up, stared at the receiver and shook his head. “You’re getting in too deep, kid,” he said aloud. It’s exactly what Quinn would have said to him. Hell, it was like being caught in a current. There was nothing to do but ride it out, and hope that you eventually made it to shore.

  CHAPTER 13

  Kelly climbed into close-fitting knit workout pants and a T-shirt for the day, then packed a shoulder bag with dress and sandals to change into for the evening. Sam watched her as she walked around the house, and she was careful to stop and give him a fair amount of attention as she got ready. As a puppy, he’d consumed a fantastic number of shoes, seasoned a few floors and gone through one couch, but now he was a perfect gentleman. They’d gone through training classes together and he’d gotten over his urge to consume leather. She didn’t like the fact that she’d be leaving him alone for long hours that night, but he was a good boy and he’d deal with it.

  “We’ll go out again before I actually leave,” she told him. He cocked his head and looked at her as if he knew exactly what she was saying and still didn’t like it.

  “Sam! I’m taking you to Florida, you know. You’ll love it. I think. I have to get you to like Lance Morton, but then again, I’m working on that myself.”

  The doorbell rang. O’Casey was there, his sunglasses giving him the look of a fictional spy, despite the fact that he, too, was in casual clothing—short-sleeved tailored shirt and Dockers.

  Sam woofed excitedly.

  “I take it he wants a walk?” O’Casey said.

  “I promised him a good one,” she said apologetically. “Come in. I’ll take him, then we can go.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I don’t, either.”

  “We’ll go together.”

  She got Sam’s leash and started out. Doug was
still on the porch when she was halfway down the walk.

  “Kelly.”

  She paused, turning back. “Yeah?”

  “What are you doing?”

  She waited, wondering what on earth he could be talking about.

  “I’m walking the dog.”

  “You’ve left the door open.”

  “I’m just walking the dog. I’ll be right back.”

  He groaned. “Kelly. Once again, if there were no hint of danger and we were living in Utopia, you’d still need to lock your door!”

  “But we’re just going around the block.”

  He groaned again. “It would take someone split seconds to slip in and wait. Damn, do you do this at night?”

  “No.” Well, she hadn’t lately. She’d not even gone out at night since she’d returned from Florida. He’d taken the dog, and last night Sam just hadn’t gone out again.

  “Kelly.” O’Casey said her name flatly.

  “All right, all right.” She hurried back, handed him the leash and went back in for her keys. As they left then, she locked the door. “Happy?”

  “Only if you intend to keep it up. Don’t you ever go to neighborhood crime-watch meetings or anything?”

  “No, actually,” she murmured.

  “There’s paranoid and there’s common sense,” he told her.

  “Right. Except,” she argued, “Sam would know if there was someone in his house.”

  “Probably. Would he know in time, though? This is a ridiculous argument. I’m right and you know it.”

  “I should have just let you walk the dog!” she murmured, hurrying on ahead. She noted that he was studying the yards as they walked along. “What now?” she asked him.

  “Lots and lots of foliage,” he said. “And trees.”

  “They’re big yards, irregular. Some of the newer places have been built around the trees,” she said. “Why are you wondering about the foliage?”

  “Lots of places for people to hide.”

  “Will you stop, please!”

  “Just observing,” he said. He gazed at her but she couldn’t see his eyes. “Were there any repercussions over Mr. Morton’s appearance last night?”

  She shook her head, smiling. “He must have talked to someone, because I got a call from Mel this morning telling me to be in the studio Monday morning to do some vocals. He apologized. Apparently he knew, but he’d forgotten to tell me. A call from Lance had jogged his memory. Mel said that he’s been so busy with me—which he has been—that he’s gotten into some serious work regarding his other clients. I don’t think Lance Morton even mentioned that there had been a run-in of any kind. I’m glad.”

  He shrugged.

  “Okay, you were in the right again. But don’t you want to continue this rock video?”

  “I’d never kowtow to Lance Morton.”

  She grinned. “He could be really famous one day.”

  He looked at her, but she couldn’t read his expression. “You’re really famous.”

  “No, I’m not. Soap stars aren’t really famous. Now, a hot rock star—that’s famous.”

  “No matter how famous he gets, he’s still an idiot.”

  Kelly laughed. “Back to my original question,” she said. “Don’t you want to do this? You agreed to it, and I keep thinking that it isn’t just the money.”

  “Sure. I’m having fun. And,” he added a little gruffly, as if it took some effort, “it was really decent of you to stand up for me, even though I was right to tackle the guy.”

  “I seem to be learning the tango,” she murmured, and gave her attention to the dog. “Sorry, Sam, it’s time to go in.”

  O’Casey watched her every move as she locked up. Then they got into the car.

  “Where to?” O’Casey asked her.

  “Back to the Sunset area near the studio, I guess. Do you like sushi?”

  “Why did I know that you would?”

  “People usually love it or hate it. Well?”

  “I eat just about anything.”

  She let out an impatient sigh. “But do you like it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Back to Sunset, then.”

  As he drove, he asked her questions about Mel, the soap, her life. They seemed casual enough, so she answered them quite freely.

  They parked in the studio lot and walked down the Strip. The weather was beautiful, so they opted to sit outside. Apparently he did like sushi. They got into a long discussion on whether to get a large boat or not, on which rolls were the best and just exactly what they should order.

  “What about you?” Kelly asked.

  “What about me?”

  “No ex-wives, kids. Family?”

  “My dad passed away. My mother lives in north Miami. I have a brother who’s also in South Florida.”

  “No nieces or nephews?”

  “I imagine I’ll have one or the other or both soon enough. Quinn is married. To my boss, actually.”

  “To your boss?” Kelly wasn’t sure why, but she found that amusing. “Competitive dancers have bosses?”

  “Shannon owns the studio where I usually teach. She hasn’t a mean or autocratic bone in her body. I’m here because your manager, Ally Bassett, approached me through Moonlight Sonata studios. According to Mel, you’re the easiest person in the world to accommodate. No demanding posse to deal with.”

  She laughed. “No, I don’t have a retinue. I’m not even picky about makeup or hair.”

  “Well, I guess you don’t need to be, do you?” he asked.

  Her Boston roll nearly stuck in her mouth. It was quite a compliment, coming from Doug.

  “Thanks,” she murmured.

  “You’re really not at all what I expected,” he said. “Want to walk?”

  “Sure. I’ll get the check today.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  “O’Casey, haven’t you been living in the modern world?”

  “Sure. I just turn the checks in for expenses, so it makes more sense that I get them, right? Saves face, too.”

  “There are lots of decent guys out there willing to lunch Dutch treat. Even to let the woman pick up the tab now and then.”

  “I’m sure there are,” he said, but his credit card was out.

  When the bill was paid, they wandered down Sunset. Kelly pointed out some of the strange new fashions in the windows. She had paused to study some knit workout clothing that looked as if it might suit the Florida weather when she realized that he hadn’t caught up with her. He was about fifty feet back, paused just beyond the seating area of one of the restaurants on the Strip.

  “O’Casey, do you mind if I run in here for just a moment?” she called.

  He didn’t turn to her; he might not have heard her. She walked back to him. He took her by the shoulders, leading her in front of him, then pointing into the restaurant.

  At a table together were Matt Avery, Marc Logan and Joe Penny. As they watched, Joe looked at his watch and rose, excusing himself. The minute he was gone, Marc Logan and Matt Avery moved in over the table. It appeared their words were hushed and intense.

  “What do you make of that?” O’Casey asked softly.

  “Matt Avery is probably telling Marc Logan that he should be firing me for my own good,” Kelly told him.

  Joe Penny came walking out, then stopped short, seeing them. “Kelly! Mr…. uh, O’Casey.”

  “Hi, Joe.”

  “Hello,” O’Casey said.

  “I guess that you two are on your way to…dance, or whatever.”

  “Yes.”

  Joe stared at Kelly. He looked a little sick every time his eyes touched hers. “I miss you on the set, Kelly.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It won’t be that long.”

  She laughed. “Joe! This is hardly a tragedy! I love what I’m learning. I’m really excited about the video. Who knows, I may not want to come back!”

  He looked stricken.

  She shook her head. “Oh, come on,
Joe. Face it. Avery wants me to lose any popularity whatsoever while I’m gone. He wants me out.”

  “It’s my show,” Joe said indignantly.

  “His money.”

  “Well, it’s Household Heav—”

  “His money,” Kelly repeated pleasantly.

  “How did Marc Logan wind up in that lunch group?” O’Casey asked.

  Startled, Joe looked from Kelly to him. “Oh, well, he comes around. He’s got his boys here, recording now. I guess he had this dream about Kelly being in the video for some time. Seems a decent enough guy. Anyway, I’ve got to get back to work. Kelly…”

  Impulsively she hugged him. “I love you, too, Joe. We’ll just see how things go, huh?”

  He nodded and they parted. “Nice to see you, Mr. O’Casey. Kelly, take care. And keep in touch.”

  Kelly nodded.

  “Strange,” O’Casey said.

  “What? People having lunch?”

  He shook his head. “Never mind.”

  “What?”

  “Logan and Avery. That conversation.”

  Kelly shrugged. “Are we going to analyze every word someone utters? They’re both slimy money men. Anyway, do you mind if I run into a store for a minute?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Are you going to keep staring at the restaurant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Suit yourself!” Kelly said impatiently.

  Shaking her head, she went into the shop. She took longer than she’d expected. The salesgirl was a fan of her soap. They talked, Kelly explaining she’d be off the show for a while. She told the girl about the rock video, which made the young woman more excited. Kelly thanked her and left the store, her purchases in hand.

  O’Casey was leaning against the wall. He looked at her, arching a brow. “Just a minute or two?” he said.

  “Sorry. What, no one else to spy on in the restaurant?”

  “They left a while ago.”

  “Did the three of you chat?”

  “They didn’t see me.”

  “You were right out here!”

  He looked at her. “I didn’t want to be seen.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t particularly like either of them,” he said.

  “Well, that makes sense,” she murmured. She lifted her bag. “Clothes. For the island, or whatever it is exactly that we’re shooting on.”