A First Date with Death (12 page)

INT. LIBRARY DAY

Ty is seated, his cowboy hat hanging low on his forehead, casting a dark shadow on his eyes. He’s in his late twenties and dressed in jeans and a western plaid shirt.

CHERYL (O.S.)

Hi, Ty, would you like to remove your hat?

TY

Oh. (
He removes the hat and runs a hand through his sandy blond hair.
) Is that better?

CHERYL (O.S.)

Much. We can see your eyes now.

TY

The windows to the soul.

CHERYL (O.S.)

Right. So, what’s in your soul, Ty? Love or money?

TY

Oh, in my soul is definitely love. Lots of love.

CHERYL (O.S.)

Wait. Are you saying you’re on the show for love?

TY

Oh, no. (
He puts his hat over his heart.
) In here there’s lots of love, but right now my life situation is . . . well . . . (
He fingers the brim of the hat.
) Let’s just say the cash prize is enough to warm a man’s heart for a while.

•   •   •   •   •   •   •   •   •

D
ressed in strappy sandals and bright teal capri pants, I waited on the tarmac for Scott.

Becca was directing and filling in for Cheryl, which put her in a bad mood because, I supposed, she’d rather have been back at the mansion making out with Ty or, if the mansion’s stench was too much, lounging poolside and making out with him there.

“Where’s the dragon lady?” I asked.

“She had a hot date, so I’m stuck filling in. Plus,” Becca said, “it’s been a long day so she needed a break.”

“So do the rest of us,” I whined.

Becca waved a hand around. “Preaching to the choir. We shouldn’t have stayed out so late last night.”

A crackle came through Becca’s walkie-talkie. She pressed it to her ear, then said, “He’s here. This is perfect timing. We’ll get some great sunset shots.”

The wind had settled down and the L.A. skyline was filled with orange, red, violet, and even green streaks as the sun was setting low in the sky. Scott appeared in the distance, his gait cool and smooth. He was dressed in jeans and a cranberry-colored striped shirt.

Energy coursed through my body, anticipation tickling my spine.

He smiled broadly when he got close to me, then shimmed right up to me until he was standing directly in front of me, not saying a word and looking sexy as hell.

I looked up at him through my eyelashes, not trusting my voice.

It was like we were having a private staring competition, then he broke the stare by lowering his mouth to mine. I wrapped my hand around his neck and pulled him to me. Electricity shot through me as our mouths connected, his hands in my hair, our bodies pressing together.

“Cut,” Becca yelled.

Thankfully, Scott didn’t release me, only turned his face toward Becca and asked, “What?”

“Cut! You guys can’t be so close together—we can’t film the kiss that way. It ends up just looking like a mash of heads.”

Scott laughed, but I pulled his mouth back to mine, saying, “I don’t care.”

He kissed me again and this time Becca got closer. When she yelled, “Cut!” it sounded like it was coming from a bullhorn, which, contrary to what’d I imagined, was rarely used on set.

“You’re wasting my time,” Becca said. “Your ride is going to get here any minute and I need you guys to focus.”

Scott took a step back from me and kissed me chastely on the lips. He turned to Becca. “Is that better?”

“Yes,” she said. “Continue.”

Scott indicated the tarmac and asked me, “Are we going for a helicopter ride?”

“Would you like that?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I’ve only had one date on a helicopter. In Alaska, we flew over the glaciers.” His voice softened and his eyes glassed over.

My stomach dropped.

He was remembering his wife. He was in pain and there wasn’t really anything I could do about it.

He cleared his throat and the awkward moment between us passed. “Are we going anywhere in particular?” he asked.

“I really have no idea. It’s a surprise for me, too,” I said.

Then we noticed some of the crew tilting their cameras upward. Scott and I both looked into the sky to see three hot air balloons approaching.

“Is that our ride?” asked Scott.

A nervous giggle escaped my lips. “I guess so.”

The pilots landed the first hot air balloon a few yards away from us. Scott and I walked hand in hand toward it. We got a safety lecture while being filmed and then we climbed into the basket. During our safety lecture the other balloons landed and cameramen boarded those along with Becca.

“Is it safe?” I asked as I got on.

Scott chuckled. “Are you kidding me? It’s a balloon!”

“So does that mean it’s safe?” I repeated.

“Let me get this right: You’re scared of Ferris wheels and you’re scared of balloons,” he said.

I fixed him with a glare. After what we’d witnessed together on the Golden Gate Bridge he could hardly blame me, but he sidestepped the issue, asking, “Are you scared of falling in love?”

Why did this guy know how to hit my buttons?

“Wait, don’t we need a pilot?”

“I’m a pilot,” he said.

“You are? I thought you were a writer.”

He chuckled. “So being a writer makes me incapable of knowing how to do anything else?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He gave me a look. “Maybe not out loud, but that’s what you meant. I was in the air force right out of school. Stationed at Beale.”

“Well, all right.” I shrugged. “But do you even know how to navigate this thing?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Scared as you are, and you didn’t even listen to the safety instructions.”

“I listened!”

He folded his arms across his chest. “What does the propane valve do?”

I blinked at him.

“How about the parachute valve?”

“Okay, so it sounds like you know what you’re doing,” I said, dodging his questions. “Let’s get this puppy off the ground.”

He smiled at me, then obliged by throwing out the sandbags.

In the balloon basket was a bottle of champagne and two glasses. There was also some sparkling water. The rules stated that if I offered Scott a glass of champagne on a date, then he was safe from elimination at the next ceremony.

“Are you sure you know how to handle this thing?” I asked.

“Piece of cake,” he said.

We rose into the air. I must confess, the feeling was actually exhilarating. I grasped the edge of the balloon, my knuckles turning white. I bent my knees slightly, lowering my center of gravity; still the sensation in my belly as we got airborne was enough to make me feel light-headed.

“We’re in the air!” I screamed.

Scott laughed. “You don’t have to yell, I’m right here.” He came closer to me and, as he did, the weight in the balloon shifted slightly so that my side tipped a bit.

“No! Get over there to balance us out.”

He smiled wickedly as he saw the panic on my face. “Over there? All the way over there? Then I can’t kiss you.”

He leaned in, but I pressed my hands to his chest and said firmly, “Over there! You can’t navigate or whatever if you’re kissing me.”

“Okay,” he said, still grinning. As he moved away, the weight distribution rebalanced the balloon.

I felt my shoulders relax.

The view of the L.A. skyline was breathtaking. We watched the sun setting lower over the ocean in silence for a moment, the wind lightly buffeting my hair.

Scott rubbed his shaved head. “I love to feel the wind in my hair,” he joked.

I laughed. “Why do you shave your head?”

My guess was Scott was in his late twenties or early thirties at the most, but a lot of the men I’d served with at the San Francisco Police Department were already balding, even in their late twenties.

“My hair gets super bushy,” he said, “kind of like that penguin you got yesterday.”

I laughed, a warm feeling spreading in my chest.

“And,” he continued, “when Jean got sick and had to have treatments . . .”

“You shaved your hair because your sick wife was losing hers?”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “It was a stupid thing to do. It didn’t make her any better, but . . .” He shrugged.

“I’m sure she appreciated it,” I said.

He glanced away from me. The cooler with the champagne between us was calling to me, an unspoken reminder of the goal of our date.

“Would you like to toast?” he asked.

“Why not?” I replied.

He nodded and reached for the bottle of sparkling water.

“No!” I said. “I want the good stuff.”

He eyed me, a small smile playing on his full lips. “I see. The lady would like a glass of champagne.”

I winked at him. “Exactly.”

He replaced the bottle of bubbly water in the ice cooler and pulled out the champagne. He uncorked it and poured some into a flute for me. He handed to me.

I was keenly aware of the cameras positioned on the hot air balloon next to us and could even see Becca’s ponytail flapping in the wind.

“What about you?” I asked.

“Hm?” Scott asked.

“Aren’t you going to pour yourself a glass?”

He smirked. “You know I can’t do that. You have to offer it to me or it doesn’t count.”

I took a sip of my champagne. “It’s delicious,” I teased.

He snaked a hand around my waist. “I’m glad.”

“Hey, hey!” I said, panicking as the balloon tilted.

He retreated to his side of the balloon, laughing. The balloon with Becca and the camera edged closer. Scott directed our balloon away from them. Then a power line came into view.

My breath caught.

Oh, God, we’re going to crash right into the power line!

My hand flung up over my heart, and for a sickening second I thought I’d scream, but Scott smoothly lowered the balloon under the line until we sailed right below it.

I stared at him, my mouth agape.

He winked at me, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Well, you’re not boring. I’ll give you that,” I said.

He laughed quietly to himself. “Thank you. I’d rather be dead than boring.”

“Would you rather be dead than having some champagne?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you offering me a toast?”

I nodded.

A smile splashed across his face. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, pouring himself a glass.

We toasted, our flutes clicking together.

“Cut,” Becca yelled from the other balloon. She gave me a thumbs-up. “Very cute, guys.

“Bring the balloon down now. We have to get over to the mansion and film the elimination scene.”

T
he dress I had on for the elimination ceremony itched. It was a designer number with only one sleeve and an open back, but the front had a pink lacy section that was scratchy. Either it was the dress or I was developing hives because of the show.

I’d have preferred the silver dress Ophelia had just had me try on, but she said the coloring was all wrong. Either that or she purposely wanted me to suffer in the itchy dress as payback for tackling her earlier. Now she was doing my makeup, while complaining about having to work late.

“It’s against union rules, you know, to have me here all day
and
night.”

“Why are you stuck here? Where’s Teresa?” I asked.

“Who’s Teresa?” Ophelia asked.

“I mean Florencia.” I’d known she knew her as Florencia, but part of me had been hoping I’d catch Ophelia in a lie.

“She had to go up to San Francisco. Visit her mother in the hospital or something like that,” she said.

I grunted, annoyed at having to work so late myself.

What was Florencia really doing in San Francisco? Was she even in San Francisco? Maybe she’d left the country.

As I tried to figure out how I could verify Teresa/Florencia’s story about her mother without a cell phone, laptop, or computer access, Ophelia took a step back and evaluated my face.

Perhaps I could get time alone with Paul and let him know about Teresa/Florencia’s trip to San Francisco.

•   •   •   •   •   •   •   •   •

T
he stench from the leaking bathrooms was immediately evident upon entering the mansion.

“We’ve got to get the cast out of here,” Becca complained to no one in particular.

“It was worse yesterday,” a cameraman answered her.

“I can’t see how it was worse yesterday,” Becca said. “It seems like it’s getting more awful by the minute. Maybe I can convince Cheryl to do another outing. Maybe Carmel.”

“I’d like to go to Carmel,” I offered.

Becca turned to me with a smile. “Right, we’d be close to the city again.”

“Then I can go check in on Aaron,” I said. Although I was thinking about Teresa and hoping to check in on her, too. “I heard Teresa took some time off to head to San Francisco.”

Becca gave me a strange look.

I realized Becca probably didn’t want me to say anything about Teresa in front of the cameraman.

Was there a way I could interview the crew and find out what they knew about Teresa without raising eyebrows?

Becca and the cameraman led the way to the living room of the mansion, where the men were lounging around on the couch waiting for us. They jumped to attention as we entered.

“Hello, everyone,” Becca said, immediately taking control of the crew and directing them in a way that would make Cheryl proud.

Edward came forward and embraced me.

It was very awkward now to see men I was developing real feelings for all together in the same room.

Paul stepped between Edward and me and said, “Evening, Georgia.”

I hugged him and whispered into his ear, “Florencia has gone to San Francisco. She has to be Teresa, right?”

Paul pulled away from me and looked into my eyes. “How do you know?”

“Ophelia, the other makeup lady, told me.”

“I’ll look into it,” Paul said.

I nodded, but before I could say anything Paul pressed his lips to mine and in between kisses said, “Will you ever forgive me, G?”

A mix of emotions threatened to overwhelm me and I broke away from him.

I’d actually been considering letting him go tonight. Fighting my volatile emotions every time I saw, touched, or smelled him was becoming difficult, but I needed him around to find out what had happened to Aaron and Pietro.

Scott stood behind Paul and shuffled his feet, apparently not knowing how to approach me after Paul and I had just kissed. He was holding the champagne glass I’d given him a few hours before. Someone had refilled it and he held it up in my direction, in a silent toast.

I smiled and winked at him.

“Everyone take your places, please,” Becca said. “We’ve had a long day. I need to move the scene along.”

The crew and cameramen got into position.

The champagne tray had already been set up. I felt awkward as I looked out toward the men all nicely dressed and lined up, waiting for my judgment.

As if I’m anyone to judge!

“You look beautiful,” Nathan shouted, seemingly disappointed that I hadn’t had a moment to greet him off camera.

“Thank you,” I said.

Ty stood next to Nathan and wiggled his fingers at me. I waved back as Becca ushered in Harris Carlson.

“Hey, wait a minute,” I said to Becca. “What about a conference with my dad?”

“Your dad?” Paul asked, suddenly alarmed.

I laughed, realizing the men didn’t know that my dad was my special guest and that he was the last person Paul would want to face.

“We’re not doing a consultation tonight,” Becca said.

“Why not?” I asked.

Harris cleared his throat. “Look, we’re all punching the OT clock now, can we get on with it?”

Becca nodded, putting on her headset and calling, “Action.”

We ran a similar version of the elimination scene we’d done only that morning. It seemed a blur to me already. Harris asked me about the date on the Santa Monica Pier and then the hot air balloon ride. He indicated that Scott had already received a champagne toast and was therefore safe from elimination.

One of the cameras panned the other men in line, who seemed to scowl at Scott.

Today I would need to get rid of one bachelor.

I called out, “Edward.”

Edward approached me.

“Will you accept this glass of champagne?” I asked.

He smiled. “Gladly.” He took the glass of champagne and returned to his place in the line of men.

“Ty,” I called out.

Ty blew out an exaggerated sigh as he walked toward me. He tipped his cowboy hat at me. “You called, Miss Georgia?”

I smiled. Becca would be very happy I was keeping her handsome cowboy around. “Will you accept this glass of champagne?”

Ty nodded and took the glass, then returned to his place in line.

Harris took a step forward. “Gentlemen,” he said, staring into the camera instead of at the men, “there are two of you left and only one glass of champagne.”

It was a tough call between Nathan and Paul, and I hesitated, evaluating my options. Nathan looked sharp in dark pants and a white jacket. His straw-colored hair was combed down with gel and his eyes danced. As always, a smile played on his lips. He looked jovial.

Paul stood stoic next to Nathan. His stiff stance betrayed him—at least to me. The cop in him would always be there, watchful, guarded, and, worst of all, cynical.

I took a deep breath. “Paul,” I called out.

He gave me a strange look as he accepted the champagne. A cocky smirk crossed his face as though he always knew I would keep him. He hadn’t understood how difficult the choice had been for me. I looked across the room at Nathan. His face was downturned and somehow his hair had escaped the confines of the gel and flopped into his eyes, making him look pitiful.

My heart broke.

“Nathan, please say your good-byes,” Harris said.

Nathan seemed stunned as one by one he shook hands with the other men.

Ty pounded him on the back and said, “Good luck, man.”

Nathan approached me and I said, “I’m sorry, Nathan, but you know I have to ask. Were you on the show for love or money?”

His shoulders dropped. “I was on the show for love, Georgia.”

The air rushed out of my lungs. I felt completely defeated. I’d made a mistake.

I wanted to take it back. Send Paul home instead.

Now, of the four remaining bachelors I had only one shot. The rest were looking for the money.

I looked around the room and everyone seemed to be giving me the “wrap it up” look. We’d all had a long day and the sewer stench in the mansion was suffocating.

I felt foolish for letting Nathan go. I would’ve had a better chance at the prize money by keeping him but at this point finding out what had happened to Pietro and Aaron seemed more important than any prize money.

I swallowed back my regret.

“Can I walk you out, Nathan?” I asked.

He looked up at me. “Yeah, sure.”

We walked out into the corridor, the camera following us. The awful sewer smell in the mansion seemed to mix with mold. It was difficult to breathe in the corridor and I raced toward the exit.

When we emerged out on the cobblestone path, I turned to Nathan. “I’m so sorry to let you go. It’s nothing personal,” I said. “It’s just that I don’t think we’re a match.”

He grabbed my hand. “Why not? Why does this keep happening to me?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, Nathan, but it’s not you. It’s me. I’m so sorry.” I gave him a hug. “You’re going to find the right girl. I’m sorry to say, it’s not me. But, please believe me when I say, you’re amazing and whoever lands you will be one lucky woman.”

When I returned through the corridor back to the main room the men were drinking their champagne and looking happy, despite the overwhelming stench.

Edward wrapped a hand around my waist. “Thank you for selecting me.”

I smiled.

Paul grumbled at Edward’s closeness and stepped toward us. Edward released me.

“Me, too,” Paul said. “Thank you for selecting me as well.” He gave Edward and me a nasty look.

I searched for Becca. “Am I allowed to announce the Carmel thing?” I asked into the bright lights.

Ty quirked an eyebrow. “Carmel?”

“It’s not for certain,” Becca said as she stepped out of the lights and into my line of vision. “I still have to clear it with Cheryl. Why don’t we end the scene on a toast?”

“Good idea,” Harris said, glancing at his watch. “I have to get out of here. I’m already into overtime and I won’t even mention the smell.”

Everyone grumbled about the smell.

Becca held up her hands. “Doing what I can, people. Doing what I can.”

“Where’s Cheryl?” Harris asked.

“Hot date,” one cameraman said with a snicker.

“That’s the second one in a row,” the other cameraman said.

“Who is she with? Who’s the lucky guy?” Paul asked.

Becca shrugged and made a face. I got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Where exactly was Dad?

•   •   •   •   •   •   •   •   •

I
was awakened by pounding at my door. I jumped out of bed, glancing at the clock. It was six in the morning.

“Who’s there?” I asked.

“Becca,” came the reply.

“What’s up?” I flung open the door of the trailer.

Becca was standing there, in jeans and a white top, her auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“What?” I asked. “Why are you here so early? I haven’t even had a chance to get coffee going,” I said, hobbling over to the kitchenette and pulling out the coffee beans.

“I have good news and I have bad news,” she said.

I waved her into the trailer, groaning. “Start with the bad news,” I said.

She plopped down into my kitchen booth. “No, I know you. You’ll get wrapped up in the bad news and right now we need to move.”

“What? Move where?”

“We’re going to Carmel, via Solvang,” she said.

“Great. I love Carmel and Solvang,” I said.

“And hopefully I can get a day off and get to see—”

“Hey, if you get a day off maybe we can get up to San Francisco.”

She wrinkled her nose at me. “San Francisco? What are you talking about? I want to get to Point Lobos and see the sea lion coves. That’s been on my list forever.”

“Well, I was hoping if we got up to San Francisco, maybe I can check in on Aaron.”

She held up a hand. “That’s my bad news.”

I looked up from preparing the coffee and stared at Becca. Her expression was somber.

“He died last night. Passed away at the hospital,” she said.

The weight of what Becca was saying hit me full force in the chest. I gasped and pressed my hand over my heart, feeling as if it might stop. “What! How? What happened? I was hoping to talk to him.” Tears sprang to my eyes and Becca leapt to her feet.

Her arms were around me in a second and she rubbed my back. “I know, honey, I know. It’s terrible.”

I separated myself from her. “Teresa was there yesterday in San Francisco. What if she pulled the plug?”

Becca made a face. “What? How could she do that?”

“I don’t know. I’m grasping at straws here, but it seems so fishy. Why all of a sudden does she have to go visit her mother in the hospital? What hospital is she in? Do we know? Was it the same one as Aaron?” I demanded.

“Seriously, that’s your theory? That Teresa snuck up to S.F. to kill Aaron in the hospital? Why would she do that?”

I shrugged, collapsing into the booth. “Maybe she thought he could identify her. Maybe he saw her fussing with the bungee cords . . . or . . .”

It sounded pathetic even to my ears.

“But if he saw her fussing with the cords why would he jump? He jumped off the bridge voluntarily, remember? Would he have taken that chance if he’d seen her fussing with the cords?”

“I’m glad I didn’t get rid of Paul now! Does he know about this? How did you find out?” I asked.

“Cheryl told me. She got a call from the hospital. I don’t know if Paul knows. I haven’t been to the mansion yet.” Becca stepped into my kitchen to finish the coffee preparation.

I held my head in my hands and racked my brain for answers.

Could Aaron’s death have anything to do with Pietro’s?

Had Pietro seen anything? Were the two deaths even connected?

I sprang from the table. “I have to talk to Paul. Is Cheryl going to make any announcement to the cast?”

“Not likely,” Becca said. “She doesn’t think it has anything to do with the show now. She told me not to tell anyone, so please don’t—”

“I won’t mention it to anyone. Only Paul—”

Becca was about to protest, but I held up my hand. “He won’t say anything to the other members of the cast. I can tell he doesn’t like them and, you know, he’s not the chatty sort.”