The young man was true to his word, seating them quickly at a back booth. There was low lighting in the room.
“You’ll trip with those shades,” Liam told Serena as she groped for the back of the booth while entering. She cast him an evil glare. Once seated, she removed her glasses.
Within a few minutes, they’d made a choice from the wine list. Serena had moved over so far she was practically hugging the wall. She was certain that Liam was aware of her discomfort. She studied the menu while he and Conar talked about a dive trip a group of friends had planned for the next month.
“I’ve decided to go too,” Jennifer told Liam, “but I don’t dive. I know that Conar really hopes you’ll go. We’re going down to Baja.”
“You’re going on a dive trip?” Serena said to Jennifer. “What about the baby?”
“Well, he is nursing. Where I go, he goes.”
“Brent MacVie just bought a real beauty of a boat; it sleeps eight with four separate cabins. Brent isn’t seeing anyone at the moment, so he’s offered us the master’s cabin. Plenty of room for the three of us,” Conar assured Liam. “You can have the aft cabin, bring Sharon if you want, and he and Dave Marshall will take the two side cabins.”
“Sounds good. I’d like to go. If time allows.”
“You should definitely go,” Serena told him. She hated herself for the jealousy she felt. Sharon. Blond hole-digging degree-laden bimbo.
Their wine had arrived; Liam sipped his. “If time allows,” he repeated.
“Time will allow,” she assured him pleasantly. “This is your only case at the moment, I take it, since you’re trailing me like toilet paper glued to a shoe.”
“Oh, look at this, will you?” Jennifer said. “They have a great-looking mushroom soufflé.”
Serena didn’t think Jennifer was particularly fond of mushrooms. She cleared her throat and looked over at Liam. “Seriously, if you’re looking forward to a dive trip, you should plan on going. I can promise you I’ll hang around with Bill Hutchens while you’re gone.”
He gave a noncommittal shrug, looking across the table again. “You know, you have the most stubborn producers in town. You’d think they’d be willing to make serious changes to the plot line. All that stuff about ‘dead by Valentine’s Day.’ It’s not just bad taste—it may be dangerous.”
Conar agreed. “I’ve talked to both Joe and Andy on a daily basis. They keep pointing out the fact that the ‘bible,’ or plan for the season, has included this suspense angle all along. There have been accidents on other sets; and most of the time the show or the movie has still been made.”
Right then Serena was nearly blinded as a flash went off. At first she was simply stunned and couldn’t see. Then she realized that, of course, it was a photographer.
If she had ever wanted to have a tantrum in her life, it was then. She wanted to leap up and sock the stringy-haired busybody in the jaw. Of course, she didn’t.
Leave it to Liam. He almost lunged from the table. Conar, opposite him, half stood quickly, placing a restraining hand on his shoulder. Liam seemed to accept instantly that he couldn’t deck the guy—or break the camera, which seemed to be his desire as well.
“Thanks, Miss McCormack. He’s a good-looking hunk,” the young man said, indicating Liam.
The restaurant’s smooth host was rapidly moving toward their table. “There’s no harassing folks who are peacefully eating in a restaurant, buddy. Come on, move along.”
“Sure,” the photographer told him. “I got what I need. Come on, Dara.”
Serena saw with dismay that he hadn’t been alone. A slim girl with a notepad went hurrying out after him.
“I’m so sorry for the disturbance,” the host told them.
“It’s all right,” Conar told him.
The host smiled and excused himself.
“That’s going to be all over the papers tomorrow,” Serena said.
“Well, hey, that’s what happens when you’re a star, eh?” Liam muttered, his tone annoyed.
He had once made a big deal out of pictures of her that had appeared in papers. Now he would find out what freedom of the press meant. He’d be the one she was supposedly madly in love with.
“Maybe the photo won’t come out,” Jennifer suggested cheerfully.
Liam apparently shook off his tension and spoke to Jennifer. “How’s your mom doing?”
Jennifer plunged in quickly, telling them that Abby was doing great. From there they went on talking casually until the food came.
When it was time to leave, Serena remembered that her car was at the studio. Liam told her to forget it; he’d just drive her in the next morning. Almost immediately, Jennifer and Conar departed in Jennifer’s car, and she was ashamed to realize that they were getting away before she could persist in an argument.
“You’re going to drive me home, watch me lock up, and come back in the morning?” she asked.
“Something like that.”
“You’re going to sleep in your car,” she accused him.
“It’s where I’ve been sleeping.”
The valet arrived with his car; Liam tipped the man, who then ushered Serena in. As they started down the street, she turned on him. “Just how long have you been following me around?”
He was quiet so long she thought that he hadn’t heard. “Just how—”
“Since the night Jane Dunne died,” he said.
She sucked in a breath. “Since she died?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been spying on me all that time?”
“I’ve been tracking your movements.”
“You were spying on me.”
She was startled when he suddenly swerved the car off the road. He twisted in the seat to face her. “No, I haven’t been spying on you. I was hired to make sure you didn’t go the same way as Jane Dunne. It’s a job, Serena, one I’ve been hired to do, and whether you like it or not, I’m going to do it. So go ahead, let’s have it out now.”
She stared at him for several seconds, furious. “What did you discover, spying on my house? Have you been peeping in my windows, too?”
“No.”
“And why would I believe that?”
“Why would I want to peep in your windows? I know everything in that house—including you—inside and out.”
“Did Joe say you should spy on me?”
“Dammit, I’m not spying on you.”
“We have different definitions of the word.”
“If you’re upset, I’m sorry. Take it up with Joe.”
“I intend to.”
He reached into the glove compartment and produced a phone. “Go ahead.”
She shoved the phone back at him. “On my own.”
“May I drive without you leaping to your death on the pavement?”
“I wasn’t about to leap to my death on the pavement!”
He turned away from her, revving the engine, guiding the car back onto the road. They drove in tense silence for several miles. When they reached her house, she got out of the car and slammed the door as hard as she could.
He followed. She didn’t stop him. When she entered, she made no attempt to close the door behind her. Instead she stepped aside. “I assume you’re going to check out the place?” she inquired.
“Yes.”
He walked through the house while she stood by the patio doors, waiting. No wonder she had felt as if she were being watched—she was. He reappeared in the living room.
“You keep wearing different clothing,” she told him. “Are you changing in the car, too? Giving the neighbors a chance to peep back?”
“Your neighbors are at quite a distance, but no, I haven’t been changing in the car. There’s been a black-and-white watching your house at times.”
“Great. I feel all warm and cuddly.”
“Yes, well, you should appreciate the fact that both the police and your employers are interested in keeping you alive. Excuse me, will you? I’d like to get
some sleep.”
He waved a hand in the air and started for the front door. “Lock it and set the alarm,” he told her.
Then he went out, closing the door tightly behind him. She stood by the plate-glass windows and the door to the patio, staring after him, still frustrated, at a loss. If he wasn’t being such a jerk, she’d have suggested he sleep on the sofa in the den, or even in the spare bedroom.
She picked up a pillow from the sofa in the living room and threw it against the door as hard as she could. Oddly enough, it did make her feel better. She walked to the door, picked up the pillow, and started beating it against the door.
The door suddenly opened, and the pillow hit Liam right in the face. A lock of dark hair fell in dishevelment over his forehead.
Gasping, she stepped back.
He just stared at her, then at the pillow in her hand, then into her eyes. She thought that the smallest twist of a smile tugged at his lips.
“You didn’t lock the door or set the alarm,” he said quietly.
“I—will,” she said.
“Beat up the door often?” he inquired.
“Only when you’ve just departed through it,” she admitted. “That means you shouldn’t just open my door like that.” She smiled, hugged the pillow to her. “Good night,” she said, and closed the door firmly. She immediately locked it and set the alarm.
“Good for me,” she said softly, but her hands were shaking.
She forced herself to go through the motions, shower, teeth, face, and bed, with the remote control in her hand. She turned to the news.
Surely, shattering events were taking place in the world somewhere. But that night they had on a “Hollywood reporter,” a woman with a lot of hair and makeup and twitchy eyes, and she spoke with one of the anchors, giving “gossip” from around town. Naturally, she brought up Valentine Valley, and the still mysterious accident that had caused Jane Dunne’s death.
“This reporter has it from the inside, however, that this accident was no accident! Further details,” she promised with a wink, “when we have them. In the meantime, keep an eye on Valentine Valley, where the trailers are now advertising on-screen murder and mayhem! Bad taste, ladies and gentlemen? Yes, but what the heck, this is Hollywood, and I’m your one and only Hollywood busybody, bringing you the reel scoop.”
Serena flicked off the television.
And lay awake for a very long time, staring into the darkness.
Melinda Guelph pretended to be intensely interested in the magazine article she was reading on skeletons recently exhumed from the Sahara.
Over the edge of the magazine, she watched Jeffrey.
Same old routine, as it had been for all of her adult life. In the bedroom, he removed his watch, set it on the dresser, and unbuttoned his shirt. The shirt fell in the laundry hamper. His shoes were not tossed off, but removed and placed in the closet. He stripped off his socks, but no more. They’d been accustomed to having the twins in the house, so to peel away any more clothing, he went on into the bathroom.
She heard the shower a few minutes later. She laid the magazine on her lap, telling herself that either she had to believe him—or not. She couldn’t go on torturing herself this way.
They had a good marriage. Every relationship suffered a setback somewhere along the line. They had everything in common. They had two beautiful children.
The shower stopped. She picked up the magazine again. A few minutes later, he came to his side of the bed, a towel wrapped around his middle as he put a comb through his damp hair.
“Melinda?” he said after a moment.
“Hm?” She didn’t look up from her magazine.
“Melinda, talk to me.”
“Sorry, I was just trying to get to the end of this article—”
He reached over and took the magazine from her. She looked at him. He stretched across the bed, meeting her eyes. “No, you’re not. You’re trying to avoid me. God, I’ve said I’m sorry. I’ve begged your forgiveness. You’re my wife, and I love you.”
“I have never said that I didn’t love you,” she responded quietly.
“No, but you’ve been as far away as the moon.”
“I’ve been right here.”
“Melinda, if you’d been sleeping any closer to the edge of the bed, you’d be on the floor.”
“This isn’t easy, Jeff—”
“It doesn’t get better with you pushing me away all the time.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Melinda, I want my wife. I want to make love.”
“Like I said, I’m sorry. I don’t intentionally feel this way.”
“Want to give me a chance?”
She hesitated. He had fine eyes and a gaunt but distinguished face. There were a number of gray strands in his hair now—more than just a month ago, she thought. But she reached out and touched his hair. He rose slightly, letting the towel slide away, and pulling the cumbersome sheets and comforter from her length. He paused, watching her, then slipped a hand beneath the hem of her gown, brushing his fingers up her thigh, directly between her legs. She caught her breath.
She thought some of her feeling for him had died. It had not.
He was slim and tight, and had always been a good lover. She had wondered once if he hadn’t researched sex and the female body as carefully as he studied any other interest. He knew not just where to touch, but exactly what created instant arousal for her. He was still just as able. Her fingers fluttered to his chest. He stroked her; she opened her mouth, ready to protest again, but he kissed her. And this was her marriage. She kept letting him touch her, aware that every second she was giving away more, and that it didn’t matter. A moment later, her nightgown was gone completely.
He was trying to make amends.
He did.
Foreplay was forever.
She wondered if the words whispered so intimately against her flesh were true.
It didn’t matter. She didn’t really care at that moment. Making love was good. An instinct, something needed. She was glad of his flesh, next to hers, the hairy feel of his legs, the panting, the perspiration, the whispers, grunts and groans. She climaxed violently, then felt limp and drained. Usually, she curled next to him and slept that way.
It had been all there but not quite.
She twisted, her back to him. Let it lie, she thought. Let tonight be the start of healing. But she couldn’t quite let it lie.
“Melinda?” he inquired gruffly.
Her back to him, facing the dresser where his watch lay, where it had lain all the many nights she could remember, she couldn’t help but ask:
“What was she like?”
Chapter 11
JOE PENNY LOVED A GOOD party. He loved well-cut clothing, fine dining, and an excellent vodka martini. All were offered that evening at the home of Eddie Wok, up-and-coming Hollywood director and movie mogul.
Actually, he knew Eddie through Serena. She had met him while giving a class at the film institute years ago, and believing in his passion and ardor for his subject, she had introduced him to a number of friends and gotten him his first job as a production assistant.
Eddie had gone far. Not yet thirty, he had directed two of the biggest box office hits of the last two years. He was young, down-to-earth, a Chinese Dominican with a mastery of four languages and a deep appreciation for the opportunities to be found in the United States. He now attracted beautiful people like flies, and his parties were the best.
Tonight Joe arrived very late, and Eddie said hello with the warm pleasure that was natural with him. Joe saw that Doug was in attendance, as were Jay Braden and Allona Sainge. To his surprise, Jay was with Jinx, the timid young assistant they had recently hired. She looked good, though the party seemed to be overwhelming her a bit. Joe made a point of talking to Jay and Jinx. He tried to make her feel comfortable, and he was pleased, thinking she was glad of the recognition.
He noted then that Doug Henson and Allona Sainge seemed to be with Kyle
Amesbury. Good or bad? He wasn’t sure. He made a point of talking to them as well. Allona was trying to tell Doug the real lowdown about growing grapes for wine. He didn’t really want to hang long with the three of them. He didn’t want Amesbury to start his pretentious guff about Haines/Clark pulling out on the show. Amesbury would do it, too. He liked an audience.
Joe waited too long. In the middle of listening to Allona talk about types of red wine, Kyle suddenly turned to Joe. “So you’re holding up?”
“Of course,” Joe said. He really hated the little snot.
“Terribly tragic,” Kyle said.
Joe saw Allona clench her teeth. Kyle couldn’t see her. She caught Joe’s eye, winked, and put her finger to her head as if it were a gun, then blew the tip of her finger as if clearing smoke. He concealed a smile.
“The company is terribly nervous,” Kyle continued.
“Hey, Doug, Allona, can a company be nervous? I mean, does that work, grammatically?”
“A death on the set,” Kyle said with a tinge of anger. “Then your reigning queen in all the newspapers, tête-à-tête with her old flame, the cop.”
“Maybe it’s love,” Joe said flatly.
“Maybe. But the headlines suggest that Valentine Valley is a dangerous place to be, in truth. I think the article read, ‘Miss McCormack may be looking to new associates to guard her against very real danger.’ ”
“No one has ever been able to control the papers,” Allona injected. “There’s freedom of speech here, you know?”
“Well, you all could be more careful.”
“Yeah,” Jay Braden said, joining the group. He wore a pleasant smile. Joe knew that smile too well. “We could all watch out who we hang around with. Guys known to offer pleasure palaces in their own homes. Oops … that could be you, couldn’t it, Kyle?”
Kyle stared at him. “Why, really? What have you been up to at my place, Jay?”
Joe looked at his head writer. Doug wasn’t happy. Joe wasn’t sure why, but he had a feeling Amesbury was pressuring him and he didn’t want to be pressured.
“Right. I’m damned sorry. Damned sorry. But I can’t turn back time. But I’ll tell you what, Kyle. If Haines/Clark wants to pull out, hell, what can we do? They’ll have to go. Valentine Valley is on top of the ratings, and we will stay there. If you all leave, I’ve got a gut feeling there will be other sponsors out there. Didn’t mean to dampen the party here. I’ll move on.” Jinx was staring at him with her eyes really wide. “Honey, you look like a , million bucks tonight,” he told her.