Killing Kelly

by Heather Graham

  They hadn’t had a chance to talk, but he could see that Ally remained concerned, and Mel and Kelly had conferred with her briefly before Kelly had done her interview.

  Despite the fact that she had hired him, Doug found himself making a mental note regarding Ally’s age. Where had she been when all of these things had occurred? He planned to find out, just to be thorough.

  Doug had to admit that he was impressed by Jerry Tritan, who believed that the video should be a story, capturing the viewer’s eye just as the song captured the listener’s ear. He talked about the sheer romance of the tango and how Kill Me Quick had managed to capture the absolute sensuality of the dance. And how, as well, love could be as frightening as it was beautiful, since passion was a fiery emotion, evoking the deepest and darkest of human sensations.

  Schedules were handed out with exact locations and cast member requirements. Jerry Tritan was hopping right in; he meant the shoot to be hard and fast. Looking at the schedule, Doug saw that he and Kelly were required to be in every scene being rehearsed and then filmed. They were due in costume and makeup by twelve.

  He wondered if Kelly would still be nervous; she wasn’t. She was happy that Jane had arrived with the barrage of people. Doug was happy, too, because Jane could go where he could not—places such as the rooms reserved for women’s makeup and changing.

  It was a long day that went well into the night, and Doug found himself incredibly proud of Kelly. She would meet his eyes with humor and challenge frequently when they were working. She had an advantage over him; she was accustomed to this type of work and far more patient. Several times he wanted to shout to one of the men holding a light reflector to please get it right; they were doing the exact same thing over and over again.

  Not only that, they filmed the same thing from many different angles. They wanted the exact same footage while it was daytime and while it was night. They wanted footage with the backup dancers and without them. They wanted it with Lance Morton lip-synching his own lyrics and without. They wanted it with just Lance, then with the entire band, with their instruments, then without their instruments.

  Herb Essen stepped in now and then. He had choreographed the tango the way he had wanted it with Doug before they’d had the auditions. For the most part, it had seemed, the man wanted to leave it at that and work with the others. But apparently, from the director’s point of view, there were things to change. This angle, that angle. The position of the backup dancers around them. Herb was kept very busy.

  It was a long, grinding day. Once, Doug turned away, ready to scream, only to discover that both Kelly and Jane were staring at him, very amused. And only one thing kept him from exploding and telling them all just to go to hell. Kelly. There was no way in hell he’d leave her alone anywhere near Lance Morton—or any of the others, for that matter. He was there for the long run, sticking like glue.

  He wasn’t sure why Lance Morton got on his nerves. Except, of course, he was on Doug’s suspect list. But why would the guy have murdered Dana Sumter? If there was a motive, he had to find it.

  Doug was almost certain that Lance had delivered the very strange arrangement of flowers to Kelly. And he was from Ohio. In addition, he had returned to Florida right after his own session at the recording studio, which meant that he could have driven to West Palm and run that woman over. That meant Lance had been in California at the right time, in Ohio at the right time and in Florida at the right time. Doug had checked out Lance’s flights and his hotel. The singer had come into Miami International and spent his first night on Miami Beach. Still, it was only an hour’s drive up to Palm Beach.

  And to make matters worse, every time there was a break, Lance sidled up to Kelly, reminding her that they’d be dancing together in several of the scenes.

  He knew he wasn’t being fair to Lance. Besides, if he was looking for a possible psycho among the video crowd, there were plenty of people to choose from. Marc Logan was a total sleaze. Mel had represented Dana Sumter. Jerry Tritan twitched. And Herb Essen was…a decent guy, Doug had to admit. Had always been. Hard-working, exacting, yet able to be kind to dancers even when turning them down. Maybe Kelly was right; maybe he was too damn suspicious.

  He knew that he was driving her crazy, but he was driving himself even crazier. He had been certain he would feel that Kelly was safer here, but instead he felt more aware of a noose tightening.

  Around nine o’clock Jerry Tritan announced that the dinner break he’d delayed now signaled the end of the workday. He applauded them all. “Thanks, folks. It was a long day, but a good day.”

  Doug noticed Ally Bassett talking to Kelly; then she came to him. “I have to leave soon…but Mel will be here a bit longer. I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate you having taken the job. And now more than ever. Is it working out for you?” The question seemed intense.

  “Yes, fine, thank you.”

  “I hope we did the right thing, making her do that interview.”

  “I believe we did.”

  “Well, then…” She looked around, then stared at him again. “You stick close to Kelly, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  She let out a little sigh. “Yes, that’s important.”

  “You trust me that much?” he asked her.

  “You weren’t in California when she had her accident,” Ally said flatly. “Anyway, I’ll keep in touch.” She conferred with Mel and Marc Logan, and then she was gone.

  “Hey!” Lance called suddenly, interrupting the director.

  “What is it, Lance?” Jerry asked, a note of weary patience in his voice.

  “My cell is gone.”

  “What?” Jerry said, frowning.

  “My cell phone. It was on that light base thing over there. Now it’s gone.”

  “Did anybody take Lance’s cell phone?” Jerry asked. There was no reply.

  “Lance, you must have put it down somewhere else,” Jerry said.

  “I didn’t. I put it right there,” Lance said stubbornly.

  “Okay, everybody, let’s stop everything and look for Lance’s cell phone,” Jerry said, his patience at its final limit. But apparently he meant it. Everyone wandered around, looking for the cell phone, but it wasn’t to be found.

  “Someone took it!” Lance accused.

  “Call it in lost and get a damned new one!” Marc Logan said, obviously irritated. “These people have worked long and hard. It’s dinner, folks. Dinner. You’re through for the day.”

  The company split, the cast talking, heading in all directions, the light and camera crews breaking down. Jerry wandered over to talk to Marc.

  “Can you believe that? Someone here is a thief!” Lance said to Kelly.

  Doug joined them. “Do what Logan said. Call it in lost. Here, you can use mine to do it.”

  “I don’t know who the hell to call. We’re not with the same company,” Lance said, obviously sulking.

  “Get a P.A. to help you, then,” Doug said. “Kelly, Sam probably needs to go out, huh?”

  “Sam! Yes,” Kelly said, apparently eager to leave the situation herself. “I need out of this dress, too. I’m going back to costumes to change.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  They left Lance on the beach, his mood obviously dour. In the main section of the hotel, they split to go to their different changing rooms. Doug was impatient as he shrugged out of the elegant tux he’d been given. He hurried, making his way back to wait at the door for Kelly. Then Jane appeared, along with another girl who had been chosen from the auditions and Ally Bassett.

  “Kelly still in there?” he asked.

  “I never saw anyone change so fast in my life,” Jane told him, grinning. “She was worried about Sam.”

  “Thanks,” he said, starting to head for the trail to the back—and to Kelly’s suite.

  “Hey, you coming to dinner?” Jane asked.

  “Yeah. I just want to get Kelly.”

  He hurried to her suite. When she
didn’t answer his bang on the door, he used his copy of her key to get in. She wasn’t there; the back sliding door was open. He hurried through, feeling panic surge through him. Then he spotted her. She was standing on the beach, Sam running up and down on the sand by her.

  “Kelly!” he snapped.

  She turned, startled, and he rushed to her, taking her shoulders far too roughly.

  “Dammit, what’s the matter with you?” she demanded, shaking free.

  “Why did you run off?”

  “I didn’t run off. I came to let Sam out.”

  “Kelly, dammit, don’t be alone here.”

  She backed farther away, staring at him. “I’m not alone. I’m with Sam. You know what? I definitely want to live, but this is getting ridiculous. There are dozens of people here. I’m with my dog. I left California, did an interview denying my character on the show and got far away from the people involved with the soap.”

  “I don’t think we should be staying here,” he murmured.

  “O’Casey! Stop it. Please!”

  He took a deep breath, aware that he was pushing too hard, aware that it was his own fear of inadequacy that was prompting him.

  “Kelly, that dancer I was involved with was killed in front of a crowd of hundreds. She was tricked into too much alcohol that had been laced with drugs. It looked like an accident, but it was anything but.”

  “O’Casey, you’re driving me crazy,” she said, almost at her breaking point.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I know that I pressured you out of California and out of the show. Away from the past. But there’s a lot now to indicate that maybe…”

  “Maybe what? That the killer planned for me to be hired for this video?” she asked impatiently.

  “All right, maybe that does sound a little preposterous.”

  “That he was able to rig a set in California, then manage to be on the crew of a video?” she asked.

  He set his jaw stubbornly. “Kelly, listen to me. Dana Sumter was killed in California. Your accident was in California and you were nearly run over in California. Now you’re here, and a woman was killed in West Palm Beach.”

  “Yes, but Sally Bower died in Ohio and I sure wasn’t there.”

  “But Lance Morton was.”

  “Why don’t we just go ask him if he was in Florida, then?” she demanded.

  “He was.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I tracked his flight.”

  “Right, that’s what you do on the cell phone all the time, right? Have your brother check out every little incident and movement.”

  “Yes, Kelly, that’s what I do.”

  “Kelly?” They both spun around, hearing her name called. It was Mel. Apparently, he’d tried her door, then come around the building to the beach side.

  “Hey, Mel, over here!” she called back, then said softly to Doug, “It’s Mel. May he join us?”

  “Sure.” Doug grated his teeth. “But you should know this. Mel came in early, too.”

  “What do you mean, he came in early?”

  “His flight to Miami came in the day after ours.”

  “Oh! Now you’re suggesting that Mel wants to kill me?” Kelly demanded incredulously.

  “I’m just telling you certain people have been in the same area when things have happened, Kelly. That’s all.”

  She walked up to him angrily, her voice a hissed whisper. “Guess what? Mel sure as hell wasn’t in Ohio!” She turned away from him, hurrying to her agent, giving him a hug. “Hey! It was pretty good, wasn’t it, Mel?” she asked anxiously.

  Mel beamed at her, then at Doug. “It was great! Kelly, I was behind Logan, watching the camera. You looked stunning.” He glanced at Doug, shrugging ruefully. “You looked pretty good, too, O’Casey.”

  “Aw, shucks. Thanks.”

  “Are you two coming to dinner?”

  “You bet. I’m starving,” Kelly said. “Let me just get Sam back in.”

  They walked back to the open rear of Kelly’s suite, and Doug damned himself. He’d come running out, leaving that back door open in his anxiety to reach Kelly. Leaving the door open for anyone to slip in.

  CHAPTER 23

  O’Casey was definitely her shadow, Kelly thought wryly. And it should have been fine. She knew she was growing more and more dependent on him, or on his being with her at least. And she loved the moments when they weren’t discussing her situation, loved it when they were in the heat and tumult of passion, when they laughed, when she just lay beside him and studied his face, feeling his breath, his warmth, the beat of his heart….

  If they were an actual couple, she realized, he’d be driving her insane. But then again, she was fairly certain he wouldn’t be acting so crazy if the world were just…normal. O’Casey had confidence. He wasn’t the type to need assurance every other second or to be irrationally jealous. If he were really in her life…not that she knew exactly what her real life was anymore.

  At dinner that night, he was particularly intense. When she rose to grab a napkin off another table, his eyes followed her the whole way. Anytime anyone talked to her, his eyes narrowed as he listened to every word. And his brow furrowed tightly anytime Lance Morton talked to her. She could almost see hackles rise on the back of his neck.

  Kelly was very grateful for Jane Ulrich, who kept the conversation going at their table. She was light and cheerful, talking about the area to Mel, informing him that he really needed to swim with the dolphins while he was here. Jane managed to make it all seem so…normal.

  When they returned to her suite, O’Casey reminded her of a caged cat. He was distracted, absentminded, and couldn’t stop pacing around the room. It was late and she was exhausted. She just wanted to lie down with him and actually voice her pleasure in the work that day. She was proud of herself. It had been real challenging remembering to keep all her body parts in the right position at the right time. But she fell asleep before he ever came to bed.

  She woke up in the middle of the night. He wasn’t beside her. She assumed that he must be out on the balcony, on his cell, but he wasn’t. She rose, slipped into one of the resort robes and tiptoed to the landing, then down the stairs. She found him in the rear area, behind the kitchenette and in front of the beach-side porch doors, where there was an Internet station. Sam was lying by his feet.

  “Before you ask, it’s a chart I’ve been keeping,” he told her.

  “A chart?”

  She looked over his shoulder and was startled to see the extensive detail of the report. He had names, dates and places. A little flutter of anger seized her when she noticed Mel’s name. O’Casey had been following his movements all the way from the date Dana Sumter had been killed.

  “You know,” she told him, “suppose the person doing this is none of the above? It’s not usually that easy, is it? In most cases of serial murder, there’s a profile.”

  He spun the chair around, looking at her. “Did you ever see clips of Ted Bundy? He wasn’t just normal in appearance, he was a good-looking man, intelligent and articulate.”

  “But he targeted a type of woman, not an occupation!”

  “Still, a type of woman. He was after young women with long brown hair. This fellow is out for those who give advice.”

  Kelly shook her head again. “Those involved with this video have been living rather normal lives for years. Wouldn’t something have to cause a mental snap to suddenly plunge a man—or woman, for that matter—into murder?”

  O’Casey was silent, and she knew that he agreed with her question.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” he murmured.

  “What?”

  “It’s not just a matter of tracking who was where, it’s a matter of finding out what might have happened in someone’s life to cause a…breakdown of some kind.” He switched off the computer suddenly. “Early call tomorrow,” he said.

  She smiled. “I have an early call tomorrow. The scene with Lance. You don’t have to be there, you know.”<
br />
  “Yes, I do.”

  “Do you really think he could be a psychotic killer?” she asked.

  “Doesn’t matter. I don’t intend to leave him alone with you.”

  “We’re hardly going to be alone. There will be a whole crew there.”

  “I told you, I saw someone killed once—”

  She lowered to her knees, touching his face. “I know. Someone was killed in full view of others. And I’m so sorry. But O’Casey…”

  His features were so intense. He responded to her touch, catching her hand, kissing her fingers and then her palm. She had never known that the brush of lips against her hand could be so erotic. Or that someone could make her feel so very cherished with such a light touch, then set her on fire as his fingers moved beneath the robe, stroking her collarbone, sliding around her breast. He drew her up onto his lap and into his arms. His kiss fell upon her lips with tenderness, then an eager hunger. He rose, holding her tight, his lips still welded to hers. And when they broke, his voice was husky, the tenor and depth of it setting fire to her just as his touch had.

  “I’ll be there with you,” he said.

  She smiled, leaning back, and curled her arms around his neck as they moved toward the stairs, knowing where his kiss would fall when they reached the top.

  Hours later, he was back at the computer. There was one person missing from the picture—in Florida, at least.

  The bio for Matt Avery under Household Heaven was typical PR schmaltz, but there were some interesting facts to be gleaned from it. He’d been raised by an adoptive father, a high school teacher, but he’d gone to the best schools, expensive schools. On a teacher’s salary?

  His parents had been killed in an automobile accident several years ago. They’d gone right off the Pacific Coast Highway, and died in a fiery heap just inches from the ocean. Somehow, with the death of his parents, he’d inherited something of an estate. Again, Doug thought, an estate? On a teacher’s salary? Money had come into that house from somewhere, but from where?

  Again, he couldn’t help thinking about Dana Sumter’s missing year, and the fact that she might well have had a child. He pulled out his chart. Lance Morton. Matt Avery.