Read To Have and to Kill Online
Authors: Mary Jane Clark
P
iper caught sight of Quent Raynor. He was talking to Glenna and he didn’t look happy. Nor did she.
It must be killing Quent that Glenna’s leaving the show,
thought Piper.
Quent was the mastermind behind
A Little Rain Must Fall
. A total control freak, who needed to be on top of everything, Quent had led
ALRMF
to countless daytime Emmys, including nine for himself for writing and directing, as well as three for Glenna. Quent’s story lines had made Glenna a star. And now, just as all the soaps were in serious danger of cancellation, Glenna was deserting the show.
Quent Raynor couldn’t be a happy man.
Piper considered going over to say hello to Quent and rescuing Glenna. As she started toward them, she watched in disbelief as Quent grabbed Glenna’s arm, the unexpected gesture spilling Glenna’s drink all over the front of her green dress.
Quent dug into his pocket for his handkerchief, but Glenna didn’t wait. She turned and walked away.
As if he could feel Piper’s eyes upon him, Quent glanced her way. Piper was surprised and a bit apprehensive when he waved for her to come over.
“Hi, Quent.” Piper held out her hand.
“I can’t believe what I just did.”
Piper wasn’t sure what to say. Reassuring Quent that accidents happened didn’t seem appropriate. He had deliberately grabbed Glenna’s arm. Piper decided not to take it on. “How have you been?” she managed.
“I was just thinking about you the other day, Piper.”
“You were?”
Quent nodded. “Yeah. We’ll be needing you on the show again. Next week, actually.”
He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The gesture gave him away. She remembered that whenever the director was angry or frustrated that things weren’t going smoothly on the set or that the ratings were down, he’d take off his glasses and rub at his nose. All the cast and crew recognized the sign and braced themselves for the inevitable outburst to follow. His diatribes could be vicious.
Piper cocked her head to the side and a puzzled expression came over her face. “Really? Is Mariah Lane coming back from the dead?”
“The entire writing department has been working on a huge dream sequence for the last week of episodes we shoot in New York before we move out to the West Coast. We’ve just decided to include as many of our past characters as possible. It’s just a few days’ work, but hopefully you’ll be available?”
“I’ll
make
myself available!” answered Piper, her pulse racing. “I’d love to come back.”
“Great,” said Quent, replacing his glasses. “Gabe Leonard is your agent, right? Have him call the casting office to work out the details.”
Piper was so happy that she didn’t let it bother her when Quent downed the rest of the wine in his glass and said he had to go out for a cigarette. In fact, she was relieved. She didn’t want to be around if Quent had one of his tantrums.
T
ime was running out.
If it was going to be done, it had to be done right now. In a few minutes, it would be too late. Soon the guests would be moving from the grand lobby toward what was once the ballroom of the mansion, for the auction.
A wide stage had been constructed along one wall and now the scene of so many dances and parties served as a theater and assembly hall. In the middle of the stage was a podium with a microphone. A small table next to the podium held a glass and a pitcher filled with water.
Now. You’ve got to do it now.
Donning gloves, mounting the steps, grabbing the pitcher, and taking it behind the curtains at the left side of the stage was done in just seconds. Removing the cyanide from its hiding place, pouring it into the water, and replacing the pitcher on the table took only a few more.
But the short pause to watch the crystals dissolve was a mistake. In those few seconds, a figure with white hair rushed past the entrance to the ballroom.
T
he guests began streaming in and selecting the gilded ballroom chairs that were arranged in neat rows facing the stage. Piper took a seat at the back of the room. Phillip Brooks sat a few chairs away.
Piper noticed that Phillip was a little grayer than he was in the photos that had appeared in the New York tabloids at the time of his arrest for embezzlement. There had been no trial. A plea deal had been reached. He had served only a few months in jail but had been ordered to make restitution to the clients he had cheated. Glenna told Piper that it would take years.
Glenna insisted that the marriage had frayed long before her husband got enmeshed in his legal problems. Her theory was that because Phillip was a cheat, he didn’t trust others not to cheat as well. Phillip was insanely jealous, wanting to know everything Glenna did and everyone she talked to. Piper remembered Phillip’s repeatedly showing up at the soap opera set, as if letting Glenna and everyone else know that he was protecting his “property.”
He was constantly accusing Glenna of being romantically involved with her costar. Glenna wasn’t, and denied it, but Phillip never believed her.
Glenna had confided in Piper, recounting the jealous rages Phillip flew into at night, fueled by his insecurities—and scotch. Glenna worried about what it was doing to Susannah, yet she hung on, not wanting her daughter to come from a broken home.
The notoriety surrounding Phillip’s embezzlement only exacerbated an intolerable marital situation. For their daughter’s sake, Glenna was helping him pay back the money he owed his victims. But, in the aftermath of her breakup, Glenna had taken up with Travis York, the man Phillip had accused all along of romancing his wife. The affair hadn’t lasted long.
Piper stole a glance at Phillip, who was craning his neck to see the stage. His facial expression was grave and his jaw rippled as he clenched his teeth at the sight of his ex-wife. Glenna, now wearing a red silk dress, was standing at the platform, holding the first item up for bid. Travis adjusted the microphone, wearing his tuxedo with the ease of a man who was confident in his appearance and accomplishments. His rugged good looks and Glenna’s sparkling beauty held the attention of every person in the room.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Travis began, looking around at the audience and flashing a blindingly white grin. “Ready to take out those checkbooks?”
The audience chuckled politely.
“What a good-looking crowd you are,” Travis continued, “all ready to bid heartily and generously, knowing that every dollar you spend is going to better the environment in which your daughters are educated.”
The applause was enthusiastic but Piper noticed that Phillip Brooks’s hands remained still. In spite of herself, she felt sorry for Phillip. He had really made a mess of his life. Once, he had had it all, with a beautiful family and a big job. Now, he was an admitted felon with a broken marriage, his personal and professional life shattered. He had to be miserable.
“Let’s hear it, ladies and gentlemen, for one of our most talented parents here at Metropolitan, Miss Martha Killeen. We’ve all marveled at her work in
Vogue
and
Harper’s Bazaar
. There’s no one in the world who has more creativity—and not only will she be documenting our event tonight, she has donated her time and talent as one of tonight’s auction items.”
After the audience finished enthusiastically applauding, Travis cleared his throat.
“So let’s get started,” he cheered. “The fabulous Glenna Brooks is holding up the first item. What do I hear for the man’s TAG Heuer watch?”
One by one, the items listed on the program were auctioned off as the audience paid rapt attention to the action on stage, whispering to each other and straining to see who was paying what for each luxurious item. Almost $1 million had been raised by the time the heated bidding began for the photography session with Martha Killeen.
Piper saw Martha snapping pictures of the audience and of what was happening onstage. Piper was definitely impressed. It must have been difficult for Martha to show up in support of the school when everyone and their mother knew she was going through such a financial nightmare.
“Come on, ladies and gents,” Travis urged the bidding upward. “You can go to Martha’s studio or she will come to you. Don’t you have a special event coming up that you’d like to have recorded by the best photographer in the world?”
Eventually, the bidding came down to Quent Raynor and Glenna, who called out from the stage.
“I bet you want it for your upcoming wedding, don’t you, Glenna?” asked Travis. “Go for it, baby.”
Glenna beamed her dazzling smile and gazed out into the audience at her fiancé. He shrugged his shoulders. She closed her eyes and said, “Fifty thousand.”
Everyone turned to look at Quent Raynor.
“One hundred thousand dollars,” he called out defiantly.
The spectators let out a collective gasp and turned their attention to Glenna and her next move. The actress executed an exaggerated bow to her boss.
“It’s all yours,” she said.
I
t was a bargain, really. You couldn’t put a price tag on all the publicity that would be garnered for
A Little Rain Must Fall
when Martha Killeen worked her magic. Quent was certain that many of the top magazines would be interested in running a story, with Killeen’s photos attached. He was thrilled that he had been successful in obtaining the precious prize and confident that he could find a way to pay for it by juggling the
ALRMF
budget.
He knew exactly when he wanted Martha to come to the set: it would be perfect when they shot the dream sequence. Afterward, there would be a few weeks before the show debuted from Los Angeles. During that period, the pictures would get all sorts of play, in print and on the Internet, luring viewers to tune in and watch as the soap opera continued. It could only help the ratings.
As he watched Glenna Brooks walk over to the table next to the podium and pour a glass of water, Quent was happy for another reason. He was glad that he had foiled Glenna by making sure she didn’t get the photo shoot she wanted so much. She had been calling all the shots lately, and it angered him. Glenna was acting selfishly, as if her personal life was paramount. What about all the people who needed
A Little Rain Must Fall
to succeed? Their livelihood depended on the show. And for Quent, the show
was
his life.
Glenna was putting his life in jeopardy.
F
ollowing the bidding, Glenna was looking out at the audience as she put down the pitcher. Not paying attention to what she was doing, she misjudged the space on the tabletop and knocked over the glass of water she had just poured.
“Oh, I’m such a klutz,” she exclaimed.
Someone rushed out with a roll of paper towels, cleaned up the spill, and took away the broken glass.
“I’m gonna try to get it right this time, folks,” said Glenna, smiling as she picked up the pitcher and poured water into the remaining glass.
Glenna was just about to take a sip when Travis turned his head away from the microphone for a spate of coughing.
“Here you go, Travis. Drink this,” she said, passing the glass to him.
“I can wait,” said Travis unconvincingly.
Another cough.
“Okay, thanks.” He turned to the audience. “Hold on a minute, everybody,” he said, holding up his index finger. Raising the glass to his lips, Travis took a long gulp, followed by another. He ignored the funny taste.
Maybe it’s the building’s old pipes,
he thought.
The auctioneer continued to cough. He took another swallow.
“You want to take a break for a few minutes?” whispered Glenna.
“No, I’ll be all right.”
Travis brought the glass to his mouth again and drank. Afterward, his face reddened and he began to hack uncontrollably. He brought his hand to his forehead.
“Dizzy. I feel dizzy,” he sputtered as he staggered forward. “I can’t catch my breath.” He winced in agony, clutching his stomach.
Glenna reached out as Travis collapsed into her arms. The force of his weight led them both to the floor as someone in the audience shouted, “Call 911!”
M
artha Killeen rushed toward the stage and began taking pictures. Her camera lens captured Glenna fumbling to loosen Travis York’s tie and unbuttoning the top of his shirt. Martha took pictures of Travis writhing in agony on the stage floor. As Casey Walden and Quent Raynor climbed onto the stage, Martha turned to take general shots of the audience, who sat filled with horror yet driven to watch what was happening right in front of them.
It took less than ten minutes for the paramedics to arrive, but by then Travis was comatose.
“He’s still got a pulse,” shouted the emergency worker to his partner.
Martha got pictures of Travis being intubated, as well as shots of Travis, his face a bright cherry-red, being lifted to a stretcher and rolled out of the room.
P
iper’s first instinct was to move to the stage, but a man identifying himself as a doctor had run up and started administering CPR. She decided to stand aside and not add to the crowd that had gathered.
Thoughts of her father and his emergency preparedness kits flashed through her mind. She wondered if he had anything in them that would have helped Travis York. As it was, Piper cursed herself for changing to her small clutch tonight from her big shoulder bag, which contained the basic kit her father had made her promise to keep with her at all times. This thing was sure to make the news, and Piper knew her dad was going to grill her about what she had done to help.
Even in her state of horror, Piper couldn’t help observing that Martha Killeen was taking so many pictures of Travis as he struggled to survive. There was something gross about it. She also noticed that Phillip Brooks had risen to his feet but sat back down again when he saw Casey Walden running to the stage to be with Glenna. In the bedlam of the ballroom, while men shouted and women cried, Piper could feel her heart pounding and the heat rising in her cheeks. She had never before witnessed a man fighting for his life. She feared that Travis York had already lost his battle.