Dying to Have Her (8 page)

“How could the light come down?” Liam asked.

“It shouldn’t have,” Dayton said. “The grid is permanent, fitted together. If the Fresnel spotlights were properly clamped, their weight could never have dislodged the fittings.”

“But it did?” Liam said softly.

Emilio shook his head. “The way I see it,” he said quietly, “a clamp had to have been loosened!”

“Unless someone had messed with it,” Dayton said. “Not us. I’m telling you, we’re more thorough here than you can imagine.”

During the whole conversation Liam had been watching them closely, sizing them up. They both seemed genuinely distressed.

Dayton said, “This could have meant our jobs. Or God knows we could still be charged with something. Manslaughter through negligence or something like that.”

“The detective, Hutchens, thinks it was an accident,” Emilio said, shaking his head.

“Well, I guess it’s kind of hard for him to figure that someone would tamper with lighting equipment. I mean, the studio was open, right?”

“Yeah, but … this is usually a closed set,” Dayton said.

“Tell me, who was down here, on the set, when the two of you left that morning?” Liam asked.

Dayton looked at Emilio bleakly. Then he looked at Liam.

“No one,” he said.

“What time was it?” Liam asked.

Dayton looked at Emilio again. “Seven-fifteen, seven-thirty?” he suggested.

“About that.”

Seven-fifteen, seven-thirty. According to Jim Novac, the first scene had been slotted for taping at nine. More than an hour for someone to slip in …

“You’ve got to find out what happened,” Emilio said earnestly. “Please. I know that Detective Hutchens is doing his job the way he sees best, but …” He paused, lifting his hands. “What he sees is an accident.”

“I promise, I won’t stop until we know the truth— whatever the truth may be,” Liam assured them.

Standing by the side of the set, Liam looked down at the tape where Jane Dunne had fallen. He could still see the marker tape that had delineated the actors’ positions. And even from this distance, he could clearly see the name marked on the tape closest to the position of the body.

Serena McCormack.

“That one … now there’s a good-looking guy,” Doug said.

It was Saturday, a perfect day, though it seemed strange that they could be sitting at a cafe so casually, just people-watching, after the week that had passed. But Serena had always enjoyed Doug, and she couldn’t stay in her house forever. Allona had come, too, though Jennifer had begged off—the baby had an ear infection.

As Doug spoke, taking the “man-hunting” part of their luncheon seriously, he didn’t point. He inclined his head, looking across the expanse of the sidewalk.

Serena adjusted her sunglasses, looking over the man in question. He was tall, with a head full of sable hair very cleanly cut, and nicely dressed in casual khakis and a print shirt.

“Yes, very good-looking,” Serena agreed. She studied the man from a distance. He was wearing dark sunglasses—common in Hollywood. He wore them well, but they absorbed his eyes. There seemed to be something vaguely familiar about him, but she wasn’t sure what. She shrugged to herself. Handsome, clean-cut, attractive. Tanned, well dressed. How many men did that describe in Hollywood?

“I think he’s for me,” Allona said. “Nope, that boy’s for me,” Doug argued. “How on earth can you tell?” Allona demanded. “I know.”

“I’ll bet you’re wrong. He’s for me.” “Maybe,” Serena pointed out, “he’s married.” Doug stared at her. “I assure you, he’s not married.” “Or,” she added firmly, for Doug’s benefit, “maybe he’s already involved in a serious relationship with a male partner.”

“Maybe,” Doug argued, “but I don’t think so.” They were on Sunset Boulevard, at a table out on the sidewalk. Tapping the table idly, Serena marveled that it could be such a beautiful winter’s day. There was a tremendous bustle of people going by. At the House of Blues, just blocks down the street, a gospel group was performing. People were out in large numbers, headed for the show, out for brunch, or out just to cruise the many boutiques that lined the boulevard. Despite the beautiful day, she was distracted, uneasy. She had been since Jane’s death, always having the eerie feeling that she was being watched.

Both Doug and Allona were still studying the man.

“Cute. Very cute,” Allona said. “I’d like to write for him. In fact, I’d like to write myself right into the scene.”

Serena groaned, stirring her coffee idly. She didn’t know why she was stirring it; she drank her coffee black. “Why doesn’t one of you just get up, go over to him, and ask him for a date?”

“You can’t just walk up to someone like that,” Doug said.

“Why not? Neither of you is
overly
shy,” she said, her sarcasm subtle and teasing.

“Is she insinuating that we’re
brash!”
Allona asked Doug.

“Oh, she wouldn’t!” Doug said.

“Well, if you’re that interested, just go talk to him.”

Doug looked at her, a smile on his lips. “And what if he comes over here and realizes despite that school-marm’s bun into which you’ve twisted all that glorious red hair of yours—and the deep, dark shades you’re wearing—that you’re
the
Verona Valentine of television’s most popular soap?” Doug demanded.

“What if handsome over there—ordering an iced cappuccino, skim milk, please—is a reporter?” Serena inquired. Maybe that was why he was familiar to her.

“He’ll pin you to the chair. Maybe he’s just a fan, and he’ll scream your name, and all these people will come running over?” Doug taunted in return.

Serena pulled her glasses down, eyeing him coolly. “If Clark Gable arose and came walking down the street, people would come running over. I just saw the kid from that new teen band that’s got the entire country in his hands walk on by, and no one screamed and came running over. I think a soap actress is fairly safe in a city of hundreds of top box office performers, don’t you?”

“You never know,” Allona said. “One-hit wonders and instant stars shine and fade—a soap star lives in the heart of the American household forever.”

“Or at least while the show is on top,” Doug said cheerfully.

“If he’s a reporter, he’ll pin the both of you to chairs as well,” Serena said.

“I
doubt it. You’re the performer. We merely put our words of incredible depth and wit into your mouth,” Allona said. She waved a hand in the air. “Writers. We’re a dime a dozen.”

Serena pointed past him. “Your golden boy is about to tip the waiter and leave.”

“Do something, Doug!” Allona demanded. “He is about to get away. At the least, we have to know if he was my prospective date—or yours.”

Doug started to rise.

“Wait just one second,” Serena said. She touched Doug’s arm. “Is he familiar to either of you? I could swear I’ve seen him before.”

They both sat still, watching the man again. Then Serena shrugged. “Maybe, but …”

The man took his coffee from the waiter at the counter, and turned toward them. “Doug!” he called, walking their way.

“I don’t believe he’s yours,” Serena murmured to Allona, still confused as to who the man was as he came toward their table, smiling now.

“Kyle!” Doug stood, ready to greet him.

The man reached the table and shook Doug’s hand, and Doug looked down at Allona and Serena, smiling. “Girls, it’s Kyle Amesbury, with Haines/Clark.”

“Oh, of course!” Serena said. Kyle Amesbury—how could she have
not
known? She hadn’t seen him in some time, perhaps, and he had changed quite a bit. He was in the publicity department at the company that was the main sponsor of
Valentine Valley.
Haines/Clark produced soap products; just as it had been at the very beginning of soap opera days, they were sponsored by a soap company. Haines/Clark made products that cleaned just about everything, from the human body to clothing, floors, appliances, rugs, drapes, and furniture.

The last time Serena had seen Kyle, his hair had been much longer, and his clothing hadn’t had such an expensive cut. He’d rubbed her the wrong way then, she suddenly remembered. He didn’t like her, and she knew it, though she wasn’t sure why. The one time she’d been at his place, he’d wanted to show her all the bedrooms, and he’d suggested that Andy come along. She felt he was always up to something. What, she wasn’t sure.

But he had cleaned himself up since she’d seen him last. He’d acquired an air of sophistication since the party when the
Valentine Valley
cast and crew had gotten together with Haines/Clark employees.

“Kyle … Amesbury!” Allona said. She meant to sound pleased, but there was just a slight edge to her voice, and her smile appeared to be a little pained.

“Join us,” Doug suggested.

“Sure, I’d love to. Let me grab a chair.”

There had only been three chairs at their table. As Doug and Kyle both looked about for a seat, Allona leaned forward to whisper quickly to Serena. “Didn’t you hear? He’s gotten promoted—he is in
charge
of their ad budget now.”

No, she hadn’t heard. Joe Penny and Andy Larkin were always worried about their position in the ratings. Every weird, foolish, or eccentric thing they ever did was aimed toward staying on top. There was always the threat that if the show didn’t do well enough, their sponsors would pull out.

Doug found the first available chair, and both he and Kyle sat.

Kyle immediately looked at Serena. “Thank God you’re all right.”

“Of course I’m all right, but thank you.”

“Serena, it’s been in all the papers—it might have been you the other day.”

She smiled grimly. “Right. Yes, I am grateful, and so incredibly sorry about Jane.”

“We’re all sorry,” he said very seriously. “There’s talk that …” His voice trailed off as the three of them stared at him. He shrugged. “There’s talk that the show is jinxed.”

“We’ve definitely had some terrible things happening around us,” Allona murmured.

“Serena, if it had been
you …
” Kyle said. She wondered if his tone of regret was sincere.

“What? Haines/Clark would have pulled out?” Doug demanded.

Kyle leaned forward slightly. “I guess I should tell you—we’re getting worried as it is. Bad press, you know. One of our biggest new products is a baby shampoo, friendly to tiny scalps.”

“So?” Doug said.

“New moms get queasy about bad things happening.”

“That’s true,” Kyle admitted.

“Then …” Allona prompted.

“There’s just talk at Haines/Clark. About being associated with
Valentine Valley.”

“Kyle,” Doug said, sitting back, a rueful grin curling his lip, “at this particular minute, as far as we’re concerned, you
are
Haines/Clark.”

“And you
are Valentine Valley,”
he returned to Doug.
“The
writer.”

“Hey!” Allona protested.

“Sorry, Allona,” Kyle said. “Doug is the head writer for the show.”

“Yeah, and that gives me a pile of headaches, arguing with the producers for days on end, arguing with the actors, and telling my very talented associates that we have to write plots and dialogue that are totally outlandish and at the moment …”

“In totally bad taste,” Allona finished for him.

Doug shot her a warning glance. Allona shrugged.

“Last time we had an …
incident
at
Valentine Valley,”
Doug said, “Sherry Marlborough was the senior exec in publicity and marketing at your company, and she said that all the press was great.”

“Um. But Sherry is gone,” Kyle said, and something in his voice warned him that he was, indeed, the top gun now. “And last time, the show itself wasn’t at fault.”

“Are you telling us that you’re pulling out?” Serena demanded. She thought about the screen test she had done for the movie, now suddenly wishing more than ever that she would get the role, but she was incredibly defensive about her soap as well. She did love
Valentine Valley,
and her associates.

Kyle smiled at her.
Very cute, and sharp as a razor,
she thought. His looks would disarm people. She didn’t know why she didn’t like him—there was just something slimy about him.

“No. We’re not planning on pulling out—now.” The “we’re not” really meant “I’m not,” she thought. And the “now” had definitely been stressed.

“Gosh oh golly,” Doug murmured, a trace of sarcasm in his voice. “We’re going to have to make more of an effort to stop terrible tragedies and accidents, girls,” he said.

“Of course,” Kyle said placatingly. He stared at Doug then, abruptly changing the subject. “I’m having a small get-together at the house tonight. Why not stop by?”

Allona glanced at Serena with a small shrug that said,
“Okay, so it turns out that we know this guy
—
and he’s definitely for Doug. The head writer wins out.”

Kyle looked at the two women. “You’re invited, too, of course.”

“Thanks,” Allona murmured politely. Certainly, they could come; Doug was the one who was really wanted.

“That’s very nice of you,” Serena said. “I’m still a bit shaken by events. I mink I’m going to spend my evening curled up in bed, probably watching Nick-at-Nite reruns. I’d love a rain check, though.”

“Sure. You’re always a delight, Serena,” Kyle said, smiling. “How about you, Doug?”

Serena was certain that Allona kicked Doug under the table, warning him he definitely should go.

“I’ll be there,” Doug agreed pleasantly, shooting Allona a quick—but totally filthy—look.

Kyle Amesbury rose then. “It is a great soap. And we’ve always been glad to be a sponsor. Keep yourselves safe, huh?” he said, looking at Serena again.

She didn’t know why she shivered.
Because of that feeling she’d had. That strange sensation of being watched. A silly hunch. Caused by things
—
like this
—
that people kept saying to her. Caused by the fact that Kyle Amesbury was slimy.

By Sunday night, Liam was wishing that he had said no. He’d trailed Serena, but learned precious little for his effort. All he’d really been doing was watching her. Yesterday at the cafe, smiling, laughing, sipping coffee, easy and at home with her coworkers—and all of them studying the guy at the window.