“Can I go now?” the man asks.
“Sure,” Martha says, waving him away. “I’ll be in touch if I have any further questions.”
The man scuttles away, obviously eager to escape Martha. Totally understandable, she can be a bit… well, let’s just say, intimidating.
“Shall we all catch up?” Martha says, though it’s more statement than question. “So, Charlie, has Jack told you about the director arguing with Cate?”
We both nod.
“They aren’t filming here today, just running through some scenes,” she continues. “Denver is free now if you want to go through and talk to him.”
As Charlie follows Martha back out of the room, I get the feeling Martha didn’t extend that invitation to me as well. I head outside to take in the view and compose my thoughts. Through the wall of glass doors, I find myself on a slate terrace with steps leading down to a lawn area and a low wall with the most jaw-dropping view across the water. It’s even better than I’d expected. The scenery draws me towards the wall and I stand, taking it all in, arms folded against the cool breeze.
“Fantastic view.” Dan steps past me and sits on the edge of the wall, looking at me rather than the water, woods and hills. Dan’s here too? I thought he was stuck with interviewing friends and family of the deceased.
“It is.” I carry on staring, watching a distant boat bobbing on the waters of the harbour. Ominous-looking clouds are gathering behind the mountains, waiting to spill their contents over the city. “I thought you’d been assigned duties elsewhere.”
“All done. I didn’t want to miss out on the fun down here, so pitched up to see what was going on.” Dan turns slightly to take in the view behind him. “So, have you talked yet?”
I know what he means but, trying to avoid the question, I attempt to crack a joke. “I talk all the time. I’ve been doing it ever since I was little.”
Playfully Dan swings a foot out so that it nudges my leg. “You can stop with the distraction tactics. Doesn’t work with me.”
Shifting my gaze from the view to Dan, I sigh. “I know it doesn’t.”
“Subject off limits. I get it. Look, will you do me a favour?”
“Depends what it is.” I make the mistake of looking into his deep brown eyes. I mean, properly looking. And wish I hadn’t. Dan has wavy, chocolate brown hair which some might say is a little too long. His skin reflects his Spanish heritage, meaning it’s the colour of a light tan all year round.
“When you guys do get around to broaching the subject of whether you’re getting back together or not, can you let me know the outcome?” he asks.
I nod slowly. Dan wants to be more than a colleague and a friend. He made that perfectly clear when we worked together last week on a case in France. Yes, he’s handsome, smart and can be incredibly sweet and thoughtful, but he’s also trouble. Big trouble. Dan likes to stir things up. Especially where Charlie is concerned. A few days ago, he told me things about Charlie and a woman called Sarah which I don’t know whether to believe or not. Sarah just happens to be Dan’s ex. And we’re not just talking ex-girlfriend territory here. Dan and Sarah were engaged, the wedding all planned, invitations sent out and everything.
Charlie and I have been together now for over six months. It was amazing. Then my jealousy, our joint stubbornness, and working for the Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency got in the way. I know Charlie still cares about me, but he’s never actually said he loves me. I wanted him to, so much. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so riddled with insecurity and jealousy if he’d said those three magic words back to me when I’d told him I loved him. But I can’t lay all of the blame for our on-a-break relationship at Charlie’s feet. I know that my trust issues, stemming from a bad relationship a while back, aren’t easy to live with. Charlie once said he trusted me unconditionally and struggled to understand why I couldn’t trust him.
“Amber!”
My name snaps me out of my reminiscing and soul searching. Dan and I both turn to see Charlie standing on the terrace. He doesn’t look very happy. Is that because I’m out here when I should be inside, involved with the investigation, or because I’m out here with Dan? Probably both.
“Looks like the boss is demanding your presence,” Dan mutters under his breath.
“Can you come over here please?” Charlie shouts across the lawn. “I want you to be part of the interview with Denver.”
I walk over, feeling a bit like I’m balancing on a tightrope with Dan at one end and Charlie at the other.
“Got your notebook?” Charlie asks when I reach the terrace.
“No. With all the rush to get out here I forgot to buy one,” I reply.
Charlie nods and wipes a hand across the stubble on his jaw. He looks tired and grumpy and frustrated. Is that all because of the case or am I in the mix as well? “Yeah, sorry about that. You didn’t really get chance to pack properly or anything. We kind of whisked you straight off to working on the case.”
“It’s fine,” I say, forcing a smile. “I just wanted to get straight to work anyway.”
Charlie swivels his gaze to meet mine. He knows I’m lying. “You’ve got jetlag to contend with as well, haven’t you?” He checks his watch. “You must be shattered.”
“I’m fine. Really.” I straighten up and drag that smile onto my face again. “I’ll see if I can find some notepaper to borrow. Won’t be a minute.” Before I can hurry off inside in search of said paper a hand closes gently around my upper arm. I gulp. Charlie removes his hand as those he’s been scalded, and my arm instantly feels cold and shivery, already missing his touch.
“Sorry.” He rubs at the stubble on his face again. “Forget the search for notepaper. Let’s just get on with this interview. Then I think you’d best call it a day. I’ll run you back to your apartment so you can get some sleep.”
Attempting to lighten the mood I reply, “Is that a polite way of saying I look exhausted and a complete mess?”
Charlie shakes his head. “No. It isn’t. You do look tired but…”
But what? I hold my breath.
“But you don’t look a mess. You look great, as always.”
My heart soars. He thinks I look great! There’s hope yet. Maybe he’s not going to ditch me permanently when we finally get around to having our little ‘chat’.
“Thanks.” I look down at my jeans, taking in my well-worn sneakers and wrinkled shirt. Tucking a strand of hair self-consciously behind my ear I add, “I think, in the circumstances, you’re being more than generous with your compliments but… thank you.”
“You never can take a compliment, can you?” he says quietly.
He’s right. I can’t.
I follow him across the terrace towards a doorway where Martha is standing. She’s clearly been watching the two of us. I avoid looking at her as I walk past and into the room. It takes me a few moments to adjust my eyesight. A man I assume to be William Denver is sitting at a desk, paperwork strewn across it in front of him. He looks up when he hears us and gets to his feet.
“You guys are from the agency, right?”
“That’s right,” Charlie says. “I’m Charlie and this is Amber.”
I nod a greeting. William Denver has blond hair which flops over his forehead, and trendy wire-framed glasses. If I had to guess his age, I’d say he’s in his late forties.
“Well, take a seat then. I’ll answer any questions you’ve got but I’m on a tight schedule here, guys. We really need you to crack this fast. The bad publicity is ruining us.”
“Don’t they say any publicity is good publicity, William?” Martha says, following us into the room and perching on the edge of Denver’s desk. I guess Martha doesn’t need introducing, she’s already on first name terms with William Denver.
Denver shakes his head. “Not in these circumstances. We’ve lost three of our key actors. Stars of the show. That’s understandably upset the fans. You’ve seen all the flowers outside, right? It means our filming has pret
ty much ground to a halt. We have to show respect for those who have died, so we stopped filming for a day or so. Then our other actors got all worked up, worried they might be the next victim for this crazy killer.” He lets out a long breath. “My nerves are in pieces.”
“We’ll catch your murderer, don’t worry,” Charlie reassures him. “Right, shall we make a start?”
Denver nods and reaches for a jug, pouring what I assume is chilled water into a glass. He doesn’t offer any of us a drink. Impolite, or is he pouring himself something more nerve steadying than plain old H2O?
“We’re obviously working in conjunction with the city police and have read through all of their reports so far.” Charlie consults his notebook. “Their feedback does not make for comfortable reading.”
“I know.” Denver gulps down the rest of the contents of his glass and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.
“The deaths all happened so close timewise. All at different locations around the city. All very different methods of ending a life. Car crash. Drowning. Suicide,” Charlie reels off.
Denver looks confused. “Look, I don’t mean to offend you but we’ve been through all of this before. Well, I have. Am I missing something? Are you trying to make a point or what?”
Charlie takes a moment before speaking. “I’m just clarifying things,” he replies calmly. “And I’m wondering if anything links these three victims, other than being actors on North Shores. Would you have any thoughts on that, Mr Denver?”
“No, at least, nothing comes to mind.”
“Mutual friends? Mutual acquaintances? Mutual weaknesses?” Charlie ponders.
A flash of discomfort appears on and then, just as quickly, disappears from Denver’s face.
Martha gets up and walks over to the window, stops and looks straight at Denver, her piercing blue eyes almost pinning him to his chair. “And by weakness he means… affairs, drugs, gambling, or addictions of any kind.”
Denver fidgets in his seat and starts to look a tad hot and bothered. He pours himself another drink.
“Any ideas?” Charlie prompts.
After drinking back the contents of his second glass in one go, Denver clears his throat. “I’m just the director around here. I don’t know the actors personally. What they get up to away from the set is their own business.”
“Is that so?” Charlie says with a smile. “I’m sure this industry stereotype about what happens on the director’s couch is all rubbish and not relevant where you and the actresses on North Shores are concerned.”
Denver fingers the collar of his shirt. I notice his face is growing flushed.
“I mean, people talk, don’t they? Runners, cameramen, even other actors who might, for whatever reason, have an axe to grind,” Charlie continues. His phone rings and he fishes it from his pocket. He addresses Denver, “I need to take this.”
As Charlie heads for the door he adds, “Martha, I might need your input on this call.” Martha follows him out of the door.
Leaving me in the room with Denver.
Whether or not that phone call was planned, I know Charlie is using it as a way to give me the opportunity to chat informally with the man sitting across the room from me. People have a tendency to tell me things. I don’t know why. Maybe they don’t see me as a threat or as an agent, just the admin person, taking notes, gathering evidence.
“Could I trouble you for a drink?” I ask. “I’m really thirsty. I only flew in to Canada today, have diabolical jetlag and have spent the last few hours traipsing round with those guys.” I flash what I hope comes across as a disparaging look towards the door and then roll my eyes.
“Sure.” He gets to his feet and heads for a small fridge in the corner of the room. “Water? Juice?”
“Water would be great, thanks.” My eyes swivel to the jug on the desk. Why can’t he pour me a drink from that? “But I’m not keen on chilled water. The water in the jug will be fine.”
He looks at the jug, then at me, then opens a cupboard next to the fridge. I can see a shelf full of bottles of mineral water and juice inside. Right. He stores them here and then pops them into the fridge to keep that stocked up. “Still or sparkling?”
“Oh, er, still please.” So much for trying to sample what’s in that jug. If he’s so reluctant to share it, then it must be something alcoholic.
Twisting off the top of the bottle, I thank him for the glass he offers me, noticing the flash designer watch on his wrist, then add, “What’s it like being a director? It must be exciting.”
Pushing a hand through his hair, which immediately flops back across his forehead, his features seem to relax just a fraction. “It’s tough, but rewarding. Dealing with actors who behave as though they deserve everything delivered to them on a silver platter demands many varied skills, which fortunately, I have. Basically, I spend very long days juggling everything from giant egos to technical stuff, and not forgetting the dreaded budgets.”
I sip my drink. “Not all the actors are like that though, surely? Some of them must be more down to earth, right? I’d have thought they’d be grateful for the opportunities they’re getting, especially working on a top show like this.”
He nods and the corners of his mouth turn up in a half-smirk. “Yeah, some of them are.”
“You probably get so many people through here you can’t remember them all. I have a friend whose sister appeared on the show. Just a minor role…”
“Oh?” He leans forward, looking interested. “What was her name?”
I dig into my recent memory to recall the name of Brad’s sister who he’d told us had worked for a season on North Shores. “Annie Worthing.”
“Annie Worthing… Annie Worthing….” He taps a finger against his desk as he tries to recall the face to fit the name. “Oh, yeah, the sister of that model guy Brad, right?”
“That’s her!” I say with fake enthusiasm. “She loved working on the show. It was her dream, getting to be part of a series like North Shores and meeting all the stars.”
Denver turns wary eyes on me. “You said a friend’s sister worked on the show. That means your friend is Brad Worthing.”
Is it my imagination or does he not look very happy at this piece of news. What should I say now? If I answer yes, he might clam up. From the expression on his face, I’m thinking he dislikes Brad for some reason. The only common denominator that I know of is Cate. Did Denver dislike Brad because he was dating Cate and Denver liked her and was jealous? Could well be. But I have no idea if Brad and Annie have any other siblings. What if I make one up and Denver knows it’s a lie? I’m going to have to go with the facts. Well, my version of them. “Yes, that’s right.”
“How do you know Worthing?” He’s watching me closely.
Come on brain, think. How would I, fresh off a plane from England, know a Canadian male model?
“My cousin, back in the UK, is a photographer, she’s worked on campaigns with Brad a couple of times. She introduced us.” I hold his gaze, knowing that looking away could alert him to my hasty lie.
He nods, seemingly satisfied with my answer.
“What shows did you work on before this one?” I ask, wanting a change of topic. “Any other soaps?”
“Yeah. A few. Like most, I started at the bottom and worked my way up. Getting this role on North Shores has been a personal goal of mine.”
“I don’t know much about the film and TV industry. Don’t the same directors usually stay with a show right through all its seasons?”
Denver shrugs. “It varies. I got a job here because one of the other guys died.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” I swirl the remaining water around in my glass. “What happened?”
“Not sure of the details. It was all a big shock apparently.”
“Sad.” I sigh and then lean forward conspiratorially, pasting a confide-in-me expression on my face. “So, I love gossip. Are there any behind the scenes tidbits you can share with me?”
&nbs
p; Denver narrows his eyes at me, as though he’s assessing me in terms of being a threat or not.
“Please…” I wheedle. “Just between you and me.” Hastily, I cross the fingers of my left hand behind my back. Of course, anything he tells me will be duly reported to the agents working this case. It’s only a little white lie, for the greater good.
“Well, that stuff the guy said earlier…”
“Charlie?”
He nods. “Yeah, him. He said about the casting couch thing. Well, it is true. Even in this politically correct age.” He straightens the collar of his shirt as though he’s preening himself.
“You mean you… and somebody on the show?”
He nods again, a smug smile on his face. “Well, several somebodies, actually.”
Ewww. I fain excitement at this uncomfortable piece of news. “Really?” I gasp. “Can you tell me who?”
“I shouldn’t…”
I can tell he’s itching to gloat. A few moments ago he was berating actors for having ego issues. Looks to me as though he has some of his own.
“I promise your secret will be safe with me…” Another lie. But again, hopefully in a good cause. I cross the fingers on my other hand for good measure.
“Well, there is one name I can reveal because, well, sadly, it can’t harm her career anymore.”
I freeze. Cate? He’s referring to Cate? Saying it can’t harm her career anymore because she’s dead. Oh, that is so horrible. Didn’t Jack mention something earlier about how he’d been talking to the tech guy on the show and they’d said they’d seen Cate and Denver arguing.
“Marianne Campbell.”
My head jerks in his direction. Not Cate, then. I recall the details of the actress’s career. “Marianne Campbell. She’s quit the business now, hasn’t she?”
Past Perfect: A Fun and Flirty Romantic Mystery (Amber Reed Mystery Book 4) Page 4
