Dying to Have Her (3 page)

“Are you sure of what you saw, Miss McCormack?” Olsen asked. “Maybe …” He lifted his hands.

“I’m sure of what I saw, because Jennifer doesn’t smoke.”

“Maybe someone removed it, not wanting anyone to speak badly of her now that … now that she can’t defend herself,” Bill suggested.

“And you looked thoroughly through the dressing room?” Olsen inquired. “You’re sure you didn’t miss it?”

The look that Bill gave his superior was eloquent. Of course, he hadn’t missed such a thing. He’d been a cop for more than ten years. He knew his business.

“Well …” Olsen murmured.

“Shall I sit back down, or were you finished with me, Lieutenant Olsen?” Serena inquired. She suddenly wanted to escape. This was really terrible. She had watched a woman die, and she did feel shaky, and she wanted to go home and be alone.

“Just one more thing, Miss McCormack.”

“Yes?”

“You were so close to that light.”

“What do you mean?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be in that spot?”

“I … I think my marker was near where the light fell, yes.”

Olsen nodded, as if he knew something she didn’t.

“Lieutenant—”

“Don’t you see, Serena?” he interrupted, leaning forward. “It could have been you beneath that light. Is there a reason anyone would want to kill you, Miss McCormack?” Olsen asked.

“What?” she asked, startled.

“Is there a reason anyone would want to kill you?”

“No. Emphatically no.”

“They say you can be rather feisty.”

“You’d have to arrest half of Hollywood if that was a crime.”

“Miss McCormack—” Olsen began.

“I have no intention of leaving town.”

“Of course not,” Olsen said. He actually smiled. “But you should be careful as well, don’t you think?”

“I’m always careful.” She locked her doors, she had an alarm, she drove into her driveway backward so that she could escape if someone got in the house.

Olsen riffled through some notes on the desk. “Miss McCormack … your brother-in-law works on the set, right?”

“No, not really. My sister, Melinda, and her husband, Jeffrey, both have degrees in ancient history. Jeff specializes in Egyptology. He has been contracted as a consultant from time to time.”

“Time to time has been lately—right?”

She nodded. “My character on the show is into archaeology. She’s been to Cairo on a dig and brought back a number of artifacts. When she gets angry—or when she’s afraid she’s going to be caught in some evil deed or another—she heads back to Egypt.” Serena offered him a small smile, reminding him that this was a soap opera they were talking about—entertainment loved by many, but not TLC or the Discovery Channel.

“Your brother-in-law was in this morning, right?” Olsen persisted.

She sighed. “Yes. Joe Penny had Jeff in to talk about some props he’s acquiring. We’re going to have an accident occur on a dig. But Jeff was gone before the lights fell. Look, Jeff isn’t a real cast or crew member. He and Melinda are academics. They’re not really ‘Hollywood’ types at all. They’ve been married nearly twenty-five years, and their major interest in life is their twins.” She stopped, aware that she was defending him. “Lieutenant, what does this have to do with anything?”

“I like being thorough, that’s all. This is L.A., and I see lots of things go down.” He waved a hand in the air. “Like today. So you tell me, what do you think, Miss McCormack?”

“Think?” She arched a brow. “Frankly, I’m not thinking. I’m feeling. My heart bleeds for Miss Dunne, and in all honesty, even though I’m feeling really terrible and a lot of pain for a life lost, I thank God that it wasn’t I.I thank Him sincerely for my life.”

“I was just thinking that maybe you should have some protection.”

Serena frowned. “A light fell, Lieutenant. No one was …”

Olsen leaned forward. “How often do lights just fall?” he asked.

“Well …” She’d never seen a light just fall before, but it wasn’t impossible. “This was an accident,” she said. “No one was …”

“Homicides often look like accidents,” Olsen said. “Union people work here. Experts—who know how to work with lights. The investigation will take some time. I hope you’re right, though, that it was merely a tragic accident.” He stood. “Just take good care of yourself, Miss McCormack. Okay?”

“Sir, it’s a promise.”

He smiled. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss McCormack. Oh, I may call you into the station soon for a formal deposition.”

She nodded.

“Great eyes, Miss McCormack.”

“Thanks.”

She was dismissed. She hadn’t seen Bill leaving, much less coming back into the room, but he had done so. He had apparently been assigned to see her out.

He squeezed her arm as he walked her through the door. “A lot more than great eyes, Serena,” he told her. That was Bill—trying to be nice, trying to make her feel better. A nice, even-tempered guy. Why hadn’t she been able to fall for him? In life, not even chemistry seemed fair. She had to go for the uncompromising macho man who gave no quarter.

“Thanks,” she said softly. “Bill—”

“Hey, that was from a friend. Who hoped to be more, but I’m still glad to be a friend. A friend who’s worried about you. Please—”

“Hey!” she murmured. She studied his handsome, too serious face, then gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be very careful.”

He nodded, ready to call in me next person. “Ms. Allona Sainge?”

Allona rose. “Here—right here,” she said to Bill. Then, “Santa Claus—or jugular chewer?” she whispered to Serena.

“Hm. Mostly Mr. Claus. Honestly. But watch out for vein chomping, anyway.”

Allona grimaced. “See you later, baby.”

Serena nodded and watched as Allona elegantly sashayed into the office.

“I guess I’m last,” Kelly said with a shiver.

Serena paused to squeeze her hand. “Want me to wait around?”

“Good heavens, no. Go home. This place is giving me the creeps today. Honestly, I just want to go home myself, sink into a hot tub, and have a big, big drink.”

Serena nodded. She felt like doing absolutely the same.

It was going to be a very hot bath—and a very, very big drink.

Later, Olsen sat looking at his notes. He was done with the first round of questioning. Bill sat in front of him.

“Tragic accident?” Bill inquired. “Or …”

“We won’t know anything until forensics finishes with the rigging,” Olsen reminded him. “Accident. Yeah, it could have been. Such bizarre things do happen. But still …” He scratched his forehead. “You know what sticks in my craw? It’s that Serena McCormack saw something in the deceased’s dressing room that wasn’t there when you went back to check.”

Bill leaned forward. “Maybe she didn’t really see anything. Maybe she was upset.”

Olsen shook his head. “You’ve been a good cop for a long time, Bill. But I’ve been a cop much longer. There was no reason for her to be upset when she went by Jane Dunne’s dressing room. She saw something.”

“Lieutenant, I searched that room after we first arrived. There was no ash-filled saucer in the room, no note.”

“Right. But time passed between the accident and when we arrived.” He tapped his pencil on the desk, thinking. “And what about that producer’s idea?” He looked back at his sheet. “Joe Penny. He thinks Serena McCormack needs some protection.” He shrugged. “He’s right. There’s a possibility that she was the intended victim. Jane Dunne was standing on a tape marking what should have been Serena McCormack’s position.”

“We don’t know that there was an intended victim.” Bill hesitated. “Pearson from forensics said there are no obvious marks that would indicate tampering on any of the lighting remnants they’ve gathered.”

Olsen pursed his lips. “There’s not enough there to warrant police protection. But if Penny wanted to hire someone on his own …”

“Serena’s a friend,” Bill said with quiet vehemence. “I will do my absolute best with whatever resources we have—”

Olsen let out a snort. “Hell, no, we don’t have the manpower to guard her, even if it was an attempt on her.” He looked up at Bill with a shrewd grin. “Look, this is a soap, a highly rated soap, in Hollywood, California. We’ll tell Penny to hire a P.I. Then give Liam Murphy a call.”

Bill hesitated. “Liam Murphy?”

“Is there a problem?”

“There might be some bad blood there.”

“Why?”

“He and Serena McCormack dated for a while. If you’re trying to throw Liam some work, that’s great, but—”

“I’m not throwing anyone anything,” Olsen said irritably. “From what I understand, he’s had more work than he did as a cop since he’s gone out on his own. Liam is the best man I know for the job. He knows this place, and these people—especially after the past trouble here.” He paused as a thought came to him. “Didn’t you date Miss McCormack?”

“Dinners … a few casual dates. Then we became friends,” Bill said.

Olsen grunted. “Then you have a current relationship, even if it’s friendship. I’m not taking you off the case because of that.”

“Serena and I had coffee once, dinner once, and saw one movie. Serena and Liam …” Bill was lost for a moment, then he shrugged. “They
dated.
It was different.”

“He won’t be taking her to a high school prom.”

“No, of course not.”

“This may be a tricky case, Bill. It looks like an accident; it might have been a murder. If Penny wants to be extra careful about the talent, it couldn’t hurt.”

Bill lifted his hands in resignation. “Yeah, all right.”

“I need to see both of the producers. Penny and Larkin. Get them in here for me.”

“Sir, you’ve spoken with them both—”

Olsen glared at Bill. “And get hold of Liam. We want to try very hard to keep whatever happened here down to just one … accident.”

L
IAM TOOK ONE LAST
look in the hatch of his black Jeep, marking off the contents. Fishing poles, skis, food boxes, tools, Miller Lite, and—the one major change in this trip’s packing—a few packs of Seagram’s wine coolers. Staring at them, he felt the slightest twinge of unease. He loved the wilderness, a rushing stream, the mountains. California was a great state, filled with boundless natural wonders.

All his life, he had been fond of the wilderness. All his life, he had been fond of women. He’d just never tried to mix the two before.

He liked being alone, with the natural world around him, though he didn’t always go alone. Once or twice a year he met Charlie Eagle, a member of the Nez Perce tribe, and they fished, hunted, drank too much beer and shot up tin cans together, discussing the fate of the world. As yet they hadn’t managed to do too much about it.

Today, though, he’d be taking off with Sharon. Twenty-eight, platinum blond, long-legged—and the toughest little tomboy he’d ever met. She was studying ancient man, and she had visited a number of sites that had been found recently, proving there had been settlements in North America long before what had been previously believed. They’d met when, in the pursuit of a missing person, he’d found human remains in the desert. The remains were those of a murder victim, but as an L.A. medical examiner and his team of experts discovered, the poor fellow had been beheaded before the time of written history on the continent. As it happened, his story had been recorded in a nearby cave drawing, found after the discovery of the body had created an academic frenzy. Sharon and Liam had hit it off right away, which had been nice, since he’d still been lying awake far too often at night, recalling what almost was—and then wasn’t—with Serena McCormack.

He should have known better, from the beginning. Serena’s world wasn’t real, and his was far too much so. She had been the most incredible woman he had ever seen. Coming close to her had been like throwing gas on a fire, truly explosive. And falling out with her had been the same.

He slammed the hatchback with far greater vigor than necessary. He told himself that he was going to go and have a good time. He walked back into the house, sliding his fingers through his hair. He was supposed to call Sharon and tell her when he was leaving. He strode into the kitchen and reached into the fridge. Sparse, he thought, surveying the contents. He selected a large bottle of orange juice, shook two aspirin out of a container, and downed them, drinking the juice right out of the bottle. Then he headed for the living room.

His place was small, a fine old house in Laurel Valley, carved into a canyon. Cowhide in front of the hearth, dark leather sofa and chairs. There was a lot of stonework in the house, and some paneling. A large elk head was flanked by a gazelle and a deer—not animals that he had killed but trophies that were in the house when he bought it from an attorney, who told him that the heads had been there when he had bought the place as well. So, they stayed. They were kind of like friends.

There were a few pictures on the mantel. One was from his stint in the service, another from when he graduated from the police academy. In another he stood with Conar Markham, who was as avid a diver as he was himself. They had been involved with diving for the force at that time.

Conar had gone on to acting; Liam had stayed with the police. He had liked his work. Curious, though, even to himself, that soon after the Hitchcock killings, which had involved the cast and crew of
Valentine Valley
last year, he had suddenly decided to leave the force. Maybe it had even been Serena. He had wanted to change his life, to branch out on his own as a private investigator. It was interesting work. He refused cases that had to do with wives spying on their husbands or vice versa. Most of what he took on were missing persons cases.

Of course, a few of them had turned out to be wives— or husbands—who had gone off with their lovers. And in a few cases he had been too late. Two had involved kidnapping victims who had been killed almost immediately after being abducted. The best he had been able to give the families was closure, and that was hell. It was, even after all these years, heart-wrenching to tell someone that a loved one wasn’t coming back. But on the positive side, he’d twice found the victims of kidnappings: a woman buried alive in a coffin behind her abductor’s home and a child tied up in a closet. That had felt good, damned good. Rewarding.