Murder Take Two (16 page)

“You said somebody pushed you.”

“Did I?”

“Who?” Yancy slouched against the door frame and crossed his arms.

Robin popped open the Coke and took a long drink, giving himself time to think, or because he was thirsty. “I don't know.”

“You see anybody?”

He started to shake his head, grimaced, and thought better of it. “I wasn't exactly in top condition.”

“Why would anybody push you in front of my Jeep?”

“Nice guy like me?” Robin shrugged. “I can't imagine.”

Yancy was getting a little irritated. “You loved Kay Bender, right? If you had anything to help, you'd give it to me, right?” Yancy paused. “Who'd you see?”

“Could you, maybe, not talk quite so loud? I don't know.” He tipped up the can and swallowed. “A kid, I think. And—oh, yeah, another guy.”

“The kid, male or female?”

“Male.”

“What do you mean by kid? Ten, twelve?”

“Seventeen, eighteen.”

“What'd he look like?”

“I don't know.”

“The other guy, it was a guy? Male?”

“Yeah.”

“What'd he look like?”

Robin closed his eyes, kept them closed so long Yancy wondered if he'd gone to sleep. “Somebody who came out of the hotel.”

“Describe him.”

“You're asking an awful lot, man. Medium. Medium everything. Not tall, not short. Kinda stocky, maybe. That's it. You think I was studying him?”

That description would fit any number of males, including his old friend, Howie. “Age?”

“Youngish. My age or so.”

“Who else?”

“Only you.”

“Why do you think Sheri killed Kay?”

“I don't.”

“You wanted to talk to her last night. Just a few minutes ago, you did talk to her. Why?”

“I need to get back to work,” Robin said.

“Not until you lay it out for me.”

“It's nothing, okay? It's only a feeling. You ever heard the expression the cat who ate the cream? That's the way she looked, Sheri. Like she knew something and she was going to use it to her advantage. Okay? That anything you want?”

“You're reading an awful lot into an expression.”

“I told you.”

“What else?”

Robin hauled in half the air in the room. “She was singing. ‘Take what comes and use it your way.'”

“That's a song?”

“Yeah, man. A line from the theme song for this movie. I gotta go.”

*   *   *

From the bedroom window, Sheri looked out at the tennis court and watched Laura hit the ball back to Nick. It should be her out there. She'd be much better. And she could play tennis, for God's sake. None of this holding the ball up and serving and then cutting in the stunt double. Laura was hot and sweaty and not at all sexy. Sheri hoped she'd drop over from the heat. Sheri patted at moisture on her own forehead. It was so hot. Even when they managed to get the air-conditioning going, it kept breaking down. Fifer would yell and they'd fix it again.

Maybe this might have been some house when it was new, but now it was a dump, falling down and moldy. Even if it was all remodeled it wasn't practical. She was nothing if not practical. She knew what was important, like the right script, the right money, a limo and driver. She should have a trailer of her own. Not that little crummy cubby she was stuck with. She'd tell her agent, her own trailer from now on.

She liked things to be right. If they weren't, she would make them so. Like her name. She'd been born Martha Gutlet in Newark, New Jersey. As soon as she got to California, she knew immediately that wouldn't do. Gutlet was impossible and Martha was a plain, obedient kind of name. The whole name just didn't have a euphonious—her high school English teacher would be surprised at the use of that word—ring to it.

The way she found her name, she was taking the bus home to this shitty apartment that she shared with another girl and somebody'd left a paperback book with this handsome guy on the cover. It turned out to be this really sweet story about this girl who fell in love and the guy loved her too only she didn't know it and the girl's name was Sheri Lloyd. Then and there she knew that was her name. Her best friend from high school laughed and said it was just like her to choose such a dumb name. Well, she got the last laugh. She made it. And her best friend wasn't her best friend anymore, she was a housewife. Sheri knew the name was right. She knew a lot of things. It was just a matter of figuring out how to use them. She wasn't as dumb as people thought.

She frowned, then consciously smoothed her face. Frowning caused wrinkles.

And she was not only fulfilled as an actress, she was a right-thinking member of society, advocated the right causes. She was against pollution and offshore drilling and oil spills. And for endangered species, saving trees, and AIDS research. Women who wore fur coats deserved to have red paint thrown over them. People who picketed abortion clinics should be dragged away and shot. Except, of course, that would be capital punishment and she was against that.

And then there was religion. Religion was all right, even though it was the opiate of the masses—see, Miss Strickler, I was paying attention—and everybody had the right to worship in his or her own way, but the God squad wasn't satisfied with choosing for themselves, they wanted to ram their choice down everybody else's throats. You couldn't even talk to them, because they wouldn't hear and you might as well be talking to a brick wall, or they made you feel like the biggest sinner since Pontius Pilate. Or they wanted to pray for you. She hated it when they wanted to pray for you.

And that time on the
Tonight Show
when she said she was for abortions. Of course, she didn't mean that. She meant for choice. Picketers followed her around for days. Good Lord, you'd think she'd recommended slaughtering whole nurseries full of babies. Most people didn't have the scope to transcend their own narrow horizons.

She swung the crystal on the gold chain around her neck. Wasn't it ever anything but hot and sticky in this godforsaken place? Even at night, it was hot. Dreadful place. She watched Nick out on the tennis court smack a ball that Laura missed completely. She wasn't even graceful about it. Not that it mattered, the finished film would only show what Fifer wanted, the stretch and the hit and the bouncy flouncy. Sheri studied Nick and wondered how she was going to get him in bed again. And get him she would. It was only a matter of working it out.

Laura ought to understand. Good God, they weren't even married, and these things happened. Sheri knew Nick was much more suited to her than to Laura. Look at how they were fighting all the time. If that romance wasn't already dead, Nick wouldn't have been interested in the first place.

Out on the tennis court, Fifer called a break. Everybody rushed like commuters to the mansion. If Laura's fans could see her now they wouldn't think she was so sexy. Her face was red and she was sweating like a pig.

“People!” Fifer called after them.

Sometimes Sheri thought Fifer didn't appreciate her. She'd mentioned it once, tried to bring it right out in the open like you're supposed to do for good relationships, but somehow they'd ended up talking about team playing and the good of
Lethal Promise.

“I want everybody in the ballroom,” Fifer said. “That means everybody.”

13

Sheri took tiny sips at her drink. The moment of silence was turning into a cocktail party. It had started out all quiet with everybody in the ballroom and kind of avoiding looking at each other, and Fifer making that sweet speech about the stuntwoman. How Kay Bender was one of us. What a tragedy it was. How sorry we all were. How good she was at her job. How much we'd all miss her. How we were a family and what happened to one affected us all. Everybody had shuffled their feet and looked at the floor, but Sheri thought it was touching. After he finished, alcohol was poured. Ice cubes tinkled and glasses clinked, hors d'oeuvres on a long table were being perused and eaten. Sheri liked cocktail parties. People tended to drink too much and say things.

The sound level rose. Eighty people in one room with alcohol and food and you had a party. Sheri was drinking rum and Coke. So what if it was sneered at? She liked it. She usually tried to limit herself to one drink unless she felt really comfortable and knew what was going on. She didn't know what was going on here but something was. There was a really bad aura, and she kept feeling somebody was watching her. She couldn't catch anybody, just people standing around wondering how soon they could leave. It was tense in here. Really tense. She was sensitive to these things.

She didn't know why Fifer picked this room. It wasn't like it was nice or anything. Just this one huge empty room, nothing in it but the folding table brought in by the caterers. There wasn't even anyplace to sit down or anything. It was scummy, cobwebs on the ceiling and patches of wallpaper missing.

That Yancy police person stood by the wall looking like he was watching everybody. Laura was holding court in the middle of the room like the Queen of Sheba. Sheri tipped a teensy bit more rum in her Coke and plopped in another ice cube. Nick was standing by the fireplace. Kind of a nice fireplace. Stone, sort of massive, all the way to the ceiling. She weaved around through people, wedged herself between Clem and a makeup girl, and slipped her arm through Nick's. He gave her a smile and tried to step sideways. She stayed with him.

Laura glared at her. Sheri smiled. Stupid bitch. When would she realize Nick and I are meant for each other?

“Excuse me, darling.” Nick tugged his arm loose and set off for Laura.

“You shouldn't do that.” Clem fingered the locket at her throat.

“Do what?”

“Upset Laura like that.”

“Poor Laura. She just won't admit it's over between her and Nick.” Sheri turned to make her way to the snack table and found Robin McCormack standing beside her.

“I'm so sorry about Kay.” Sheri put her fingertips on his forearm so he'd know she really meant it. She was sorry she'd been so short with him earlier. After all, he'd suffered a Loss.

“Yeah? Then help me.”

“Help?” What did that mean? Of course, she would make allowances because of his grief, but what did he want? No way would she sleep with him if that was what he was working up to. That's usually what they wanted, starting with her stepfather. “What?” she asked in a voice that slipped a little from sympathy.

“What do you know about Kay's death?”

“Oh.” She was relieved. “I told you earlier, I don't know anything.”

“I'm not in the mood for coy.” His voice was awfully cold for somebody who was grieving.

Her hand closed around her crystal. Too many bad feelings were coming from all around. This movie just had bad karma. She needed to meditate, to get herself centered. And call her astrologer. Her astrologer would tell her what to do. Sheri concentrated on putting out good thoughts. “I don't know anything.”

“It's not smart to play games with me.”

“Really, it's true. If I did, I'd tell that police person. He's supposed to help if we need anything. Although when I asked him for one teensy favor he said he was too busy.”

“Things happen,” he said menacingly.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means”—he spoke very slowly like she was an idiot or something—“that you could find yourself in a situation your conniving little mind won't be able to get you out of.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Just a warning.”

How dare he talk to her like that? She left the snack table and went all the way across the room. With her back toward the wall, she peered around for Nick. He was over there with Laura. Sheri elbowed through to him and stood on his other side. Her arm slid through his, just where it belonged.

“Fifer seems to be trying to get your attention,” Laura said with sweet poison.

Sheri, fingering the crystal dangling between her breasts, glanced over at the director.

“I doubt that will help you any, darling,” Laura said.

What was she talking about? All of a sudden it seemed everybody was talking from pink pages that she didn't get. “If you have the idea—”

“Sheri, darling, in all the time I've known you I don't believe you've had a single new idea. Or a single old one either.”

“Now just listen here—”

Nick detached her arm and gave it a little pat. “See what Fifer wants, sweetheart.”

“Sheri.” Fifer beckoned with one finger. She couldn't believe it. Like she was some kind of underling. Oh, this had to be straightened out. Hayden Fifer didn't appreciate her at all. Dialoguing was the only way to clear this up. She had to work really hard and make sure he listened to her this time. Well, of course, she was all for team playing and the good of the film, but there was such a thing as making her own needs known.

He just walked out like she'd follow and didn't even look back to see if she was. People parted for him as if he were Moses at the Red Sea. Or whoever it was, she couldn't remember. By that big wide stairway, he studied her and said, real quietlike, “My hotel room. Eight o'clock.”

Then he left, just like that. Back inside the ballroom, she searched out Clem and caught her arm. “What does Fifer want with me?”

“I'm not always in his mind, but I'd say he wants you to stop getting our star all ruffled by trying to steal her boyfriend.”

“But that's just silly. Nobody steals anybody. He wouldn't be interested if he still loved her. I didn't do anything. It just happened.”

“Great line.”

Sheri looked at her, puzzled. “Maybe I should talk to Laura. I mean, just explain that Nick loves me and we need to be together.”

“You really believe that's going to happen?” Clem asked curiously.