Dying to Have Her (33 page)

“She’s on vacation. Leave her alone,” Joe told Doug.

Doug was excited; he thought he had a great plot twist planned for her. “Sure. I’ll leave her alone.”

He hung up and called Jinx. “I need to reach Serena.”

“Sorry. Liam dragged her out of here without a word after the incident with the sarcophagus.”

“Yeah, but I thought for sure she would have contacted you.”

“Doug, she’s trying to get away from us.”

“So she really hasn’t called you?”

“Nope.”

“Liar.”

“Honest, Doug. I don’t know where she is.”

“You know that in a thousand years I’d never hurt Serena.”

Jinx sighed. “Let me see if I can find out.”

Jinx hung up and pondered the question. She called Melinda. Jeff answered the phone.

“I was just trying to reach Serena. Do you know where she is?”

“No,” he said crossly, then she heard a pause on the end of the line. “Why?”

“Doug needs to reach her.”

“I don’t think we’re supposed to know where she is.”

“She must have called Melinda. Doug is one of her best friends.”

She could hear Jeff pausing. “Yeah, well, thank God I wasn’t on the set the other day. I’d be guilty of attempted murder—no, I wouldn’t have been. I’d have made sure that box was working right before she ever got in it. Wait a minute. Maybe I do know where she is. Melinda was scribbling something on a paper here … yeah. Well, hell, nice vacation she’s getting. She’s in Hawaii, I think. Probably at that place where they filmed on location one time.”

“Thanks, Jeff.”

“Sure.”

Jinx wrote down “Hawaii,” then checked the Rolodex for the name and number of the hotel where the cast and crew had gone to tape their location scenes those few years back.

She called Doug. He scribbled down the number.

Doug tried the hotel, but neither Serena’s name nor Liam’s was listed.

He hung up in frustration. He left his office soon after, leaving the paper by his phone.

Kyle Amesbury’s next big party was a complete success.

Naturally, he had all the right people from
Valentine Valley
—which had become the hottest thing going. People loved trouble. Since Jane Dunne’s death, the soap had enjoyed higher ratings than ever before. People who had never watched a soap opera were tuning in. Now there would be no way Haines/Clark would ever pull their advertising.

Kyle had a huge screening room, where he ran episodes of the show and some outtakes during the party. His guests loved the outtakes. And thanks to the
Valentine Valley
guests, he had more beautiful people. Tonight he even had super-hot new director Eddie Wok. Because Eddie was there, he had a troop of beautiful blond hopefuls.

Sipping champagne and listening to the buzz going on around him, Kyle thought that it was good to be king.

Doug Henson seemed unhappy to be there, but he had come. Allona Sainge was with him. She didn’t appear thrilled either, but she was there to support Doug. And the pretty little redhead, the youngest Valentine sister, Kelly Trent, was there as well. Joe and Andy, as usual, were attracting starlets. Serena McCormack was missing, though, and that was a pity, because she didn’t attend many parties, so when she did, they became newsworthy.

By midnight, the initial tension that everyone felt at a party—who’s here, how do I look, who is watching me, where should I be—had ebbed away. Jay Braden had jumped into the pool; then he’d thrown Kelly Trent in, and Vera Houseman,
Valentine Valley
matriarch, had promised to beat him black-and-blue in the toolshed if he even considered doing the same to her.

That was life, Kyle thought, except that he liked his own life now. He had come to Hollywood with high hopes. Although he’d done what his parents wanted and gone to Clark for an M.B.A., he’d always wanted to try the movies. He’d been told his looks made him perfect leading-man material, and he had gone to audition after audition.

Unlike other aspiring actors, he hadn’t needed to get a job as a waiter or bartender. His degree had gotten him into advertising. Then he found out that advertising was powerful. He took things step by step. And while taking those steps, he learned that the stars attracted fans and money, but the producers and directors were the ones with the power and the real money.

He was learning to wield his power. And he was making big money. Pretty soon he was going to be a big-name producer.

He’d already formed his own company. And he told people about it—on the Q.T., of course. It was tremendously amusing. He had people here all the time now, performing for him.

It was amazing what people would do if they thought it would get them a part in a movie. Sick, surely, some of the executives at his company would think. But he really didn’t care anymore. He was just about ready to quit anyway.

Doors throughout the house were already closed. What some of his high-flying guests didn’t know about were the cameras throughout the place. He got some really great stuff on film. Married studio executives with girls younger than their daughters. Sports figures, writers—and a few big-name stars. Maybe he’d write a book one day about the corruptible. And maybe even those who couldn’t be corrupted or compromised. They were actually more interesting. They presented a challenge.

He excused himself from a pretty young girl who had stopped him, and slipped into his control room, a full bottle of Puerto Rican rum in his hand. He hit the remote control, bringing up the hidden camera screens. Drinking deeply, he started watching what was going on in different rooms. Joe Penny, you bad boy! he thought, catching the first guest room.

“Ridiculous underwear, Joe,” he said. He watched for a while, then grew impatient. In the upstairs garret, he honed in on two men. Stud types, tsk, tsk. Why didn’t they just come out? The third room had a ménage à trois going on. The girls were pretty, and only performing because the old guy was a director, he thought. Hell, he was keeping these tapes! You never knew when something like this might come in handy.

He was startled when his door suddenly opened. He had thought that he’d locked it. Careless. Maybe he was getting a little too cocky.

He turned in his swivel chair. Then he smiled. It was Jay Braden.

“You asshole,” Braden said.

“What? You’re no fool. You’ve seen the cameras.”

Braden shook his head, furious. “You know, it would be one thing if you preyed on those who were already corrupt. But you’re real slime. And you know what? The cops will come after you one day.”

Kyle shrugged. “The cops can’t touch me.”

“Then you know what?”

“No, what? Are you going to threaten me, big boy?”

“Someday, someone will kill you!” Jay said, and slammed the door on his way out.

Kyle took another long slug of rum and turned back to his screens. Finally he tired of watching and returned to the party. It was winding down. They had all either gotten what they had come for or decided that they weren’t going to get it.

At three, he said good-bye to his last guest. He went out to the pool and looked over the water and his beautiful cabana. He looked at the bottle of rum he was still carrying. He’d managed to go through most of it.

His butler came out, asking to be excused until the morning.

He waved a hand in the air. God, he was ready to pass out himself. He slid into a lawn chair. Only then did he realize he wasn’t alone. There was someone standing by the shadow of a hibiscus.

“You? Why don’t you go home.”

“You made me promises, Kyle.”

His face ticked with annoyance. “You didn’t do anything you didn’t want to do.”

“Is everyone in Hollywood a prick?”

“No. And everyone doesn’t put out and doesn’t get pissed off and screw people because they’re pissed off at someone else. Hey, you’re a gnat. Go home.”

“You’re mistaken. I’m not a gnat. And you know what, Kyle? You could really hurt the wrong people.”

“Someone you care about, huh? But you’re a fool. Because no one really cares about you. You’re a gnat.”

“I’m not!”

Kyle got up, staggering toward the remaining guest. “You’re a gnat. A roach. A pathetic little bug. Get out.”

“I’ve entertained you.”

“Yeah, but you know what? You’re not good enough.”

“You don’t know how good I am.”

A hand came out, whacking Kyle in the face. He’d had so much rum, he couldn’t even feel the blow. He reflected on that for a moment, then realized that he couldn’t really feel his feet either, but he was stumbling backward.

Then he was teetering on the brink of the pool. “Help me!” he cried.

His guest didn’t make a move, just watched him coolly.

Kyle keeled over, into the pool. His hands wouldn’t move right. His legs wouldn’t kick.

“Hey—”

“I’m just a gnat, Kyle.”

“You’re not capable of this.”

“Oh, you just don’t know what I’m capable of.”

He’d gone in at the deep end. The water came over his head. His limbs wouldn’t move right. He struggled, growing desperate for breath. He managed to break the water once again and give out a pathetic cry for help.

“Damn you, help me—you’ll never work in this town again, if you don’t.”

“Oh, Kyle, you are just full of Hollywood rhetoric, aren’t you?”

“Help me! Damn you!”

The killer watched impassively as Kyle Amesbury drowned.

He struggled, gasped, turned blue, went down, came up …

Went down.

A fitting end to such a man.

The killer sipped Kyle’s champagne. This had been incredibly easy. An accident, of course.

The killer smiled. Another one down. Death could be so easy
…

The killer waited a few minutes, then went into the now quiet house. The cleaning staff had already picked up a lot. The killer headed straight for Kyle’s video room. Never a fool, not when it came to being careful, the killer slipped on a pair of medical gloves.

It took a few minutes to find the right tape.

The killer took it.

It was so late then. The killer paused, then drove to see
him.

He was furious.

“
I told you never to come here!”

“But I have something for you.” The killer produced the tape. He snatched it away. “What is this, where did you get this?”

“It’s you
—
acting like an asshole.”

“Amesbury gave you this?”

“I took it. Amesbury is dead.”

He froze. “What? People know you, someone will begin to suspect you.”

“He was drunk, and he drowned.”

“Oh, God, now this will never end. I should
…”

The killer was scared. Trying so hard to please, and yet scared.

“No, you shouldn’t. Because if something happens to me, I’ll see that you’re found out.”

“Oh, yeah? What if you are dead?”

“You have to keep me alive! I thought, I thought that you
…”

“That I loved you?”

His face gave it all away.

The killer turned to leave.

“Wait!”

The killer started to run.

Sharon Miller woke to find that she had fallen asleep with her half-filled suitcase at her side. She glanced at her watch. Well, sleep early, rise early. She still had plenty of time to pack. The dig would be good for her. Get her away.

She showered, slipped into a robe, and headed for the kitchen. After making coffee, she paused again. She needed to leave, yes. She needed to get away from the city. She was hurting.

But she still needed to talk to Liam. She didn’t know why she had hung up when the actress had answered the other night. Yeah, she had hung up because it had hurt. Dumb though. She should have talked to Liam then. It was early. Maybe she’d go ahead and call him now.

She hesitated, though, going out to her bookcase. It was handsome walnut, a center piece that—totally filled with volumes, as it was—created something of a wall between her entry and living room. From the living room side, she looked through the volumes until she found her college yearbook. As she took it down, her doorbell rang. She walked to the door. Without the least thought of danger in mind, she threw it open.

Her eyes widened; she nearly gaped when she saw her early-morning guest.

“Hi! Got some coffee for an old friend?”

Cheerfully, her unbidden guest swept on in past her.

“Sure, sure! Coffee,” Sharon said, hurrying on in, her only thought now to rid herself of this person. The book, the yearbook … what had she done with it?

“Great place!”

“Thanks. I’ll get the coffee.”

Her guest followed her to the kitchen. Sharon poured coffee, nervously saying, “It’s early for a drop by, huh?”

“Well, you know, we keep saying we’re going to call, we’re going to get together … and then, well, you know. We never do. And I’m working in such a crazy place now … I had hoped that you’d be up, and that you wouldn’t mind.”

“Mind, of course not.”

Her guest started toward the living room. Sharon thought of dialing a quick 911. Her uninvited guest turned back to her, smiling, then exclaiming, “Oh, will you look at that! You’ve got the old yearbook out!”

Sharon followed her guest to the living room. She sat in the chair in front of the heavy wood bookcase. “Yeah, the good old days!” she murmured. Her guest was starting to pick up the book. “I—um—wow, it’s great to see you, and I’d love to take time having coffee, but—I’m going on a dig in about an hour.”

“Oh, sorry. It’s … Murphy. And Serena, right?”

“Well, I do like to go on digs.”

“Sure.” Sharon’s guest swilled the cup of coffee. “Call me when you get back. We’ll really get together then.” Sharon started to rise.

“No, no, I know where the door is! Sit, drink your coffee, have a great dig—and call me!”

“I will!”

Her guest went around the bookcase to depart.

Sharon sat still, ready to hop up and get a hold of Liam, one way or another, as soon as the door closed.

She heard the door close. She started to rise.