Dying to Have Her

  “Right now, we’re just trying to get at the truth of whatever is going on here.”

  “You don’t believe Jeff did send that candy, do you?” Allona asked.

  “No.”

  “Then who did?”

  “Someone who knew she liked that kind of candy,” Liam said.

  “That would be anyone involved with the show,” Allona said. “Back to square one.”

  Liam shrugged, watching them all. “Not necessarily. It would have to be someone who didn’t know that she doesn’t like chocolate-covered cherries.”

  “Well, that leaves me out,” Doug said, pleased. “I knew she hated them.”

  Allona was silent, then said, “Well, I didn’t know, but I ate the damned things.”

  “The right damned things,” Doug pointed out.

  “Hey, boss man, watch it!” Allona told him.

  “That was close to an accusation, Doug,” Jay Braden pointed out politely. “Coming from Liam … it’s his job. Coming from you … it’s close to an accusation.”

  “It was not. And you be careful what you say to me—I’m the head writer. I’ll shut you up in an Egyptian tomb for the next two weeks.”

  “And I’ll have a fit, naturally, about not being on set often enough,” Jay said pleasantly. “I am, after all, Verona Valentine’s latest ex. She’s probably carrying my child.”

  “I’ll lock you both in a tomb,” Doug said.

  He glanced at his watch. “I have to go:”

  “Yeah, I guess we’d all better get going. Places to be, people to see,” Allona said.

  “You’ve got a date?” Doug asked her.

  “Yeah. Me and my pillow,” she said.

  “What about you, Jay?” Doug asked.

  “I, unlike the rest of you exhibitionists, keep my private life private.”

  “Are you heading over to see our little Jinx by any chance?” Allona asked.

  “Why did you say that?” Jay asked quickly.

  “As our good ex-cop pointed out, you are with the sweet thing a lot.”

  Jay shrugged. “I’m trying to be a friend.”

  “She can look darned good,” Doug said.

  “Cute little figure,” Allona agreed.

  “Yeah, she washes up nice,” Jay said. “But my every evening is not spent as a charity event. In fact, I’m out of here now.” He rose, waved a goodbye.

  Liam waited, watching him, finishing his beer.

  “Jay is a good-looking guy,” Doug pointed out to Allona. “The two of you—”

  “It would be like dating my brother!” Allona said in horror.

  “Well, I guess,” Doug said with a shrug. “Don’t worry, though, the right guy is out there, somewhere. Of course …”

  “Of course, what?” Allona demanded.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be quite so opinionated.”

  “The right guy would appreciate a woman with opinions. And by the way, I didn’t ask for yours.”

  “I’m always willing to give it—without being asked. And I’m right, don’t you think Liam? Especially when it comes to the way you felt about Jane Dunne.”

  “I’m honest!” Allona argued.

  “What do you say, Liam?” Doug demanded.

  “I say it’s time I leave,” Liam said, rising.

  “Cop-out!” Doug accused him.

  Liam grinned. “Thanks for the company.”

  “You off to watch over Serena?”

  “Something like that,” he said vaguely. “Good night.”

  Liam started to his car. As he neared it, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned quickly as he reached the vehicle.

  Jay Braden had followed him. “You mentioned Allona’s arrests. You didn’t mention my record,” Jay said flatly.

  Liam leaned against his car, ready to listen. “I thought I’d bring it up privately,” he said.

  “Good of you.”

  “Battery, Jay. Against a woman.”

  “In my wild younger days. We were both struggling. She was a bit older, sophisticated, living off my rent, and sleeping with a cinematographer. She threw a drink in my face. We’d both had a few too many. I slapped her, and she called the cops. I was hauled in. There was nothing vicious or dangerous about it—except, perhaps, the woman involved. Look, I’ve been as honest with you as I can be. I’m telling you I’d never hurt Serena. I’ll answer any question I can about anything.”

  Jay was speaking earnestly, but Liam found himself staring at the guy’s head of thick dark hair.

  There was somewhere else he still had to go, and he was anxious to get back to Serena.

  “Thanks. I appreciate that,” Liam told him.

  The phone rang. Serena let the machine pick up.

  Silence played over the line, then a tiny click.

  She had left the drapes over the patio windows and sliding doors closed. She walked over to them now, pulling the drapes just enough to see out in the darkness.

  One of the pool lights had burned out. The area seemed very shadowy. Serena saw tree limbs dip and wave, creating more shadows. Shapes seemed to dance between the shadows.

  She let the draperies fall closed, and walked around the house, turning on every light. She was fine, she told herself. She had locked herself in, and the alarm was on. There was nothing to worry about.

  Liam had things to do.

  She had lived here alone for many years. She had never been afraid before. That wasn’t entirely true, but she had trusted in her own intelligence—and in her alarm. She hadn’t wanted anyone guarding her every second.

  She’d been brought home by a cop. A homicide detective, who had checked her house with the same thoroughness as Liam did. She had grown too dependent on Liam.

  She was safe in here. It was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, to have someone watching out for her every minute of her life.

  The phone started to ring once more, causing her to jump.

  It’s the telephone, for God’s sake, she told herself.

  The answering machine would kick in.

  Again she waited, with growing tension.

  The machine picked up. Silence from the other end, then … a click.

  “I hate people who do that!” she said aloud. “Just say something, anything!”

  She clenched her teeth as she heard a thud against the rear of the house.

  “Branches,” she murmured. “Branches hit the house all the time.”

  Tonight he’d had things to do.

  He had broken it off with Sharon, or so it appeared. Maybe he had needed to talk to her. Maybe she was waiting for a man who was never coming back, not even for the time it would take to get through all this. What if they never got through all this? What if threats just kept coming, and people started dropping like flies all around her, and they never found out what was going on? She had to learn to live with this again, to trust her alarm system, and her house.

  She walked into the kitchen, and poured herself a glass of white wine. The label on the bottle said VALENTINE VALLEY, SPECIAL VINTAGE, SAINGE VINEYARD. Allona’s family had bottled the limited-quantity white Bordeaux especially for the show’s five-year anniversary. It really was excellent wine. Each cast member had received a half case. It seemed an ironically good time to crack open a bottle of it.

  She sipped the wine. She’d been tired; she’d wanted to come home. Now she wished she’d gone home with Conar. She could be talking to Jennifer, playing with the baby.

  Thinking, of course, that her own life was a disaster compared to her friend’s, and that was before strange warning flowers, Valentine’s threats, and poisoned chocolates. Jennifer had Conar, a fellow actor, for a husband, a man who knew the pressures of the business. She had her mom and her baby.

  While she herself had a failed marriage—whatever had induced her to marry Andy!—no children, a career on the rocks with all the strange things happening, and an infatuation with a man who had walked out on her.

  “Here’s looking at you, kid,” sh
e told herself softly, lifting her glass. Then she was angry with herself for the fear and the pity. “You do have a life!” she reminded herself. “And a career, and a home, and a sister who loves you in spite of everything, two great nephews, and really fine friends.”

  Again, the phone began to ring.

  This time she didn’t hear silence or a click. She heard a voice, husky, strange, saying her name. “Serena, Serena, Serena …” There seemed to be no gender to the voice. “I can see you, Serena, I know that you’re there. I watch you, Serena. Take care. Roses are red, soon you’ll be dead, violets are blue, I’m coming for you.”

  She stood frozen for a moment. The voice had been eerie. Purposely so, she told herself. Someone was trying to scare her.

  Someone was doing a good job.

  She squared her shoulders, then went striding from the kitchen out to the living room. Standing by the machine, she took another sip of wine—meant to be small, but it was half the glass—and reached for the call return button on the phone.

  Before she could hit it, the telephone started to ring again.

  She hesitated. The machine picked up.

  “Serena, Serena, Serena, I see you … the cops are not so good after all, are they? ’Cause you’re trying to find out who I am, where I am. Well, you’re about to find out, Serena. The cat is away, and so the mice will play. I’m inside the house, Serena. Inside the house.

  “Have you got that. I’m inside the house.”

  Chapter 18

  KYLE AMESBURY, PERFECTLY POLISHED, as usual, opened the door himself. He didn’t invite Liam in; in fact, he stood blocking the doorway. He was wearing dress trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned. His chest was well muscled and clean as a whistle. Totally devoid of hair.

  “Well, hell. You’re Liam Murphy, aren’t you?” Tonight, Amesbury was smoothly hostile. “What can I do for you? I’d invite you in, but …” He shrugged. “You see, I’m in the midst of a private party.”

  “Who are you ‘starring’ tonight?” Liam asked him.

  Amesbury gave him a rueful smile. “None of your business.”

  “You know, secretly taping people is illegal,” Liam informed him.

  Amesbury waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Secretly? My cameras are all obvious. I have a right to protect my property. There are priceless antiques in every room of this place.”

  “You’re pushing a fine line there.”

  “I have excellent attorneys.”

  “Amesbury, you’re throwing threats at Valentine Valley about pulling out when they’re doing their best to uncover a crime. What does your company think of your lifestyle?”

  “Hey, Murphy, my lifestyle is private. And you’re infringing on my personal free time right now. Do you think you have something on me? Have you come over here to try to blackmail me in some way?” Amesbury seemed amused by the thought.

  Liam forced an easy smile. “No, I’m simply warning you that I’ll be watching.”

  He laughed. “You think I’m after Serena. Sorry, buddy, not my type. All I ever try to do is make amends with our soap queen.”

  “You’re involved with this somehow, Amesbury. You suck people in—”

  “I’m a player. And yes, bless the Lord! I attract people here.”

  “What people, Amesbury? And what are you trying to get out of them?”

  “Murphy, the people are my friends. I protect them. I let them play, indulge in their fantasies. What I know about anyone stays secret with me.”

  “You’re involved, and I will find out how and why.”

  “You’re going to get me arrested—for being kinky perhaps? In Hollywood? I don’t think so, Murphy.”

  Liam shifted his weight from foot to foot. Obviously, Amesbury wasn’t as confident as he pretended, for he jumped backward in the doorway. “Hey, you touch me, Murphy, and I will have you arrested. I have friends at the station, too, you know.”

  Liam smiled. “I don’t think I’d dirty a knuckle on you, Amesbury. Just remember, I will be watching you.” He took a step toward the man. “But if I ever catch you—”

  “Catch me what? Turning your precious little girlfriend into a porn star?” Amesbury whispered.

  Liam caught him by the collar of his designer shirt, coming nose to nose with him. “I catch you threatening a hair on her head, and you’re a dead man.” Amesbury went pale. Liam turned and started down the walkway. Amesbury slammed the front door. Liam paused for a moment. The front draperies were open.

  Kyle Amesbury flipped a minute phone from the pocket of his perfectly pressed trousers and spoke angrily into it. He looked up the stairs. Someone had called him. He started up the steps.

  Liam returned to his car, headed for his next stop. Amesbury had dark hair. Thick, wavy, dark hair.

  “In your house, close, in your house with you, coming closer …” the husky, rasping voice continued in Serena’s ear.

  Serena didn’t think; she bolted.

  She raced to the door, throwing it open. It occurred to her, even in her panic, that by running out without keying her pad, she would set off the alarm.

  She burst out of the house and across the yard, heading for the street. But as she did so, a huge shadow swayed before her from the front. In the darkness of the night, she could make out nothing at all about the form; all she saw was a shape.

  Dark and menacing. She was blocked from reaching the street.

  Now the door to the house stood open. Someone waited within.

  Someone … something … waited outside as well.

  She flew around the side of the house, not looking for the gate, but reaching for the top of the privacy fence and leaping over it into the backyard. She heard her heart racing, and the sound was so loud it drowned out all others. She didn’t know if she was being pursued or not. In the backyard, she raced for the huge old oak, stretching to the darkness of the sky. She reached the tree, slipped around it, leaned against it, and breathed shallowly, so as not to make a sound. She waited. How much time had passed? Seconds … minutes?

  The alarm had not gone off.

  She hugged the oak, trying to remember that she could hide in its dark shadow. She needed to still the racing of her heart, be silent, and listen, not give away her position with the ragged storm of her breathing.

  Time passed …

  She turned, staring around the yard. There was the pool, the swaying palms around it. The barbecue, the lounge chairs. The foliage that made the yard so beautiful …

  And so dangerous now.

  Then, at the corner of the house, by the bushes at the wall, she saw movement

  Was it just the breeze? Branches everywhere were dipping and swaying.

  A twig snapped.

  She nearly screamed aloud. Then she saw a squirrel racing pell-mell from the oak. She had scared the creature as much as it had scared her. The sound of her heart was growing louder once again.

  The backyard held nothing, she thought.

  Nothing but shadows …

  Trying to breathe very deeply and slowly, she realized that dashing into the backyard was the worst mistake she could have made. Here she was trapped. A killer could do anything, protected by the wooden privacy fence. She needed to make her way back to the front, somehow, keeping to the shadows herself.

  She stared at the next large tree, to the right of the pool.

  She began thinking about all she had learned from movies.

  Scream.

  The killer calls the house and unnerves the victim. The victim searches for the killer, the source of danger, and runs right into …

  Death.

  Fool! she chastised herself.

  The phone call had come. She had panicked and fled. Her house had been sealed. Now the door lay wide open. And she was in the darkness and shadows, and every tree was moving and whispering in the darkness, seeming to chant her name.

  She waited, tense as a bowstring.

  At last she made a move.

  She sprinte
d to the next tree, sliding against the bark. She watched and waited again. Now her backyard seemed silent.

  Then …

  A thump. Not a rustle. A thump!

  Somewhere on the other side of the yard.

  She was just fifty feet from the wooden wall to the front of the yard. She held her breath, realized she was doing so, expelled it, and breathed deeply.

  She broke from the tree, rushing for the fence. She jumped over it. Even as she did so, she heard rustling again, running, someone coming after her. In the seconds it took her to skim the wall, she was thinking. Don’t return to the house. Run like hell. Get to a neighbor’s house, beat on the door, scream loud enough to wake the dead.

  She slipped over the side of the fence, hit the earth with her knees bent, ready to run again. She started tearing across the lawn.

  Her heart slammed hard against her chest. Headlights beamed on the street A car was coming. All she had to do was reach the road, scream, shriek, stop the driver …

  A shadow stepped out from one of the huge hibiscus bushes that flanked the walkway, directly in her path.

  She turned and ran again, into the darkness of the rear of the yard.

  Shadows in front, shadows to the rear. She had trapped herself.

  She inched into the darkness, hit brick with her back.

  Trapped!

  Idiot!

  The night was alive with rustling, sounds … whispers.

  And shadows that moved.

  The room was dark except for the glow of light that streamed from the computer screen. Liam stood behind Oz Davis, the wiz kid of his senior year in high school, a man who had gone on to become a technical master of film and video in every variety, and computers. He’d taken me tape, honed in, enlarged, and defined the picture to every length possible by science.

  But staring at the man with Jane Dunne—honed, defined, and enlarged as he might be—Liam was still frustrated.

  “It was almost as if this man knew there were cameras in the room,” Oz said with disgust, shaking his head. He pointed to the screen. “I’ve gone through the entire tape, over and over. I’ve digitized and asked the computer for help. But you can never get a clear picture of even an angle of the face; the best you’ll get is here—if you can recognize a man by his shoulders. Maybe I can give you something—the guy doesn’t have a wisp of hair on his shoulders or back. That suggests an actor, body-builder—or just a guy who’s had a great laser removal done because he was embarrassed by the hair on his back.”