A First Date with Death (20 page)

The cappuccino swirled in my tummy, making me feel sick. I knew now that Martinez had messed with the information he’d provided me on Scott’s record. He obviously wanted me to pick Paul at the end.

Had Paul been in on that decision?

It didn’t seem to matter anymore.

“I am so sorry I didn’t believe you. You were on the show looking for love?” I asked.

Scott smiled. “Yeah, definitely.” Scott reached a hand across the table and laced his fingers through mine.

My throat felt thick and I found it hard to swallow.

“Did you find it?” I asked.

He laughed. “You can be really dense, huh?”

I pulled my fingers from his and stood. “Now, wait a minute.”

He got up and took me into his arms. “Yes, I found it.” He kissed me, our lips and bodies pressing together.

There was something so right about being in his arms. I must have been afraid of that from the beginning. It was no wonder he was the first one I’d wanted to eliminate from the show.

I was suddenly aware of someone watching us and I pulled away from Scott. Out the window and across the street, I saw him.

“Oh, God,” I said.

“What?” Scott asked, following my line of vision.

Across the street was a photographer.

“It’s the press. The
Enquirer
. I have a feeling I know who was hiding in the shrubbery last night.”

“Now they have their story,” Scott said. “They know who you’re going to pick at the end of the show . . . at least . . . I hope you’re going to pick—”

“Please.” I pressed my lips to his, only pausing to say, “Now who’s being dense?”

A tour bus pulled up in front of the café. I overhead someone saying something about Point Lobos. A jolt surged through my body and I leapt away from Scott.

He frowned. “What? I’m sorry. I . . .”

“Point Lobos!”

“Huh?”

“The sea caves. Becca’s always wanted to go.” I ran out of the café and hurled myself into the tour bus. Scott followed.

“Can you take us to Sea Lion Cove?” I asked the driver.

The driver looked from Scott to me, but before he could answer, Scott pressed a wad of cash into his hand. “It’s an emergency.”

The driver gave a crooked smile. “Well, in that case, get in. I’ve been in love before, too, boy.”

I
t was a short ride to Point Lobos, about five miles south of Carmel. On the ride, I frantically texted the Carmel police, Paul, Dad, and Cheryl. I got various responses, from “We’ll be right there” to “You always have to be right, don’t you?”

The last one being from Paul.

When I grumbled about it, Scott leaned into me and said, “So, are you going to tell me the whole story about that guy or what?”

I flinched. Eventually, I knew I’d have to tell him, but I hated having such baggage.

“He left me at the altar.”

Scott’s eyes grew wide in disbelief and then he whispered, “What an idiot!”

I laughed. “Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The driver pulled into the Point Lobos State Reserve. There was a smattering of trailhead postings along with amazing views of remarkable rock formations. “Where exactly do you want me to leave you?” he asked.

“Get us as close to Sea Lion Cove as you can,” I said.

“All right, there’s a parking lot up ahead. Then you can take a trail down. You want me to wait for you?”

“That’s not necessary,” Scott said. “The cops will be here soon.”

A look of alarm crossed the driver’s face as if he suddenly realized he’d gotten in over his head. “The cops? What are they coming here for?”

“Hopefully to arrest a cowboy,” I said, flicking off my high heels and jumping out of the bus barefoot. “Thank you for the ride!”

Scott and I raced down the trail, the sound of crashing waves calling us. There were barking sea lions and chattering shorebirds, and a mist of fog that almost obscured the turquoise water of the cove.

As soon as I saw the dirt trail, I said, “Thank God I ditched the stilettos. There’s no way I could have made it down there in those.” Then under my breath I mumbled, “I hope I never have to wear another pair in my life.”

Scott nodded. “Right.”

I looked at him, surprised. “You don’t like women in stilettos?”

The trail got narrower and more slick as we approached the cave. Scott grabbed my arm to steady me. “Well, you know, I’m a horror writer. I keep thinking you’re going to get mad at me and bash me in the head with one.”

I laughed. “Oh, God, we’re never going to make it as a couple.”

He smiled wickedly. “Are we a couple?”

“Yeah, a couple of knuckleheads, rushing in for a rescue unarmed.”

“Right, what’s our plan here?” he asked.

“I don’t have a plan.”

“I was afraid of that,” he said.

“I just hope we find her.” When we reached the cave, I called out, “Becca! Becca!”

The cave was cold and dark, and my voice echoed off the rocks. The tide was coming in and we slogged through ankle-deep water, calling her name over and over again as we searched the recesses of the cave.

“Becca!” I called out again, my voice hoarse from screaming. Then suddenly a lump near one of the rock formations moved. Tears sprang into my eyes.

It was Becca, bound and gagged.

Scott and I raced toward her in the ankle-deep water and unbound her as quickly as we could. Her eye was blackened and her lips were blue. She was soaked from sitting in water, the tide coming up all around us. But she was alive.

Thank God, she’s alive!

She stood and hugged me, crying and trying to speak at the same time. She was shivering and her teeth were clattering so much we couldn’t make anything out.

I hugged her to me. “It’s okay, shhh, honey. It’s okay. Let’s get you out of here and get you into some warm clothes. We’ll figure everything out.”

“Ty,” she wailed.

“I know. Can you walk?”

She nodded, but her knees buckled under her. Scott and I hooked our arms and carried her out of the cave in a two-person fireman carry. Hiking the narrow trail in that fashion was out of the question, so Scott put her over his shoulders and walked ahead of me.

When we reached the parking lot, emergency response vehicles were already there: a police cruiser with its lights flashing and an ambulance. Scott and I brought Becca over to the ambulance, where the crew immediately started treating her for hypothermia.

Sitting in fifty-five-degree water will bring on hypothermia in about an hour, and death in three. I shuddered to think how long Becca had been in the cave.

Cheryl came racing toward us, clapping her hands in delight. “You found her!”

Dad was right behind Cheryl, encircling Scott and me in a bear hug. “They got him!”

“What? How? Who?” I asked.

“The bus driver!” Cheryl said. “Apparently, the car they’d rented wouldn’t start up again and Ty’d been hiding out in the parking lot looking for a way out, and when he saw you two, he knew he didn’t have much time left, so he tried to hijack the bus.”

“But the driver put two and two together,” Dad said. “Gathered from what you all told him that Ty was a wanted man and clobbered him with one of your shoes!”

Scott, his eyes as wide as saucers, said, “I told you!”

I looked over at the police cruiser. The officer was taking a statement from the bus driver. We’d have to give our statements, too. I could make out a hatless, bandaged head in back of the cruiser. “Is that him?” I asked.

Dad nodded.

“He lost his hat, huh?” Scott asked.

“On the bus,” Cheryl said. “That’s how the driver knew it was him.”

Another vehicle pulled into the lot.

“Oh, no!” I said, burying my face into Dad’s shoulder. “It’s the press!”

Cheryl’s head swung around so fast, I feared it actually did a full three-sixty. “Scott, get into my car! We can’t ruin our finale. Or our tell-all show and, boy, are we going to have one tell-all show! We’re going to top the charts.”

I didn’t have the nerve to tell her they’d already got a shot of us together at the café, but I did muster one comment. “They’ve been hiding outside my Prevost.”

Cheryl marched over to the reporter and exchanged terse words. When she returned, she ordered Dad and me to return to the set via the tour bus, which was still parked in the lot. She didn’t want to chance Scott and I being seen together again.

The ambulance took off with Becca, the crew assuring me that she would be fine and released in twenty-four hours.

Dad and I climbed onto the bus and waited for the driver to finish with the police. When the driver finally got on the bus, he said, “Sorry, folks, I guess I have to drive you over to the police station so you can give your statement.”

O
nly one champagne glass remained. It was delicately laid out on the same small butler tray covered in red velvet, only this time it was oceanside instead of poolside. For the finale, Cheryl had made arrangements for us to film the scene on a balcony that overlooked the Pacific Ocean and I would be joined by each remaining contestant individually.

The set looked amazing and I was astonished at how professional the crew was. Everyone was going about their business rigging up lights and sound as if a murderer hadn’t been on the set for the last week.

Ophelia had flown up from L.A. when she’d heard about the commotion. She said it was because she didn’t want to miss my final choice, but I suspected she wanted to be part of the gossip.

This evening, I was dressed in a midnight blue jacquard dress with silver accessories. My hair was pinned in a French twist and for the first time in a long time I felt pretty. It was probably knowing that the show was coming to a close and that I’d found someone I could count on.

Harris Carlson joined me on the balcony. He was chatting, unlike his usual business self. “Heard there was a lot of drama last night,” he said.

“Yup. We got the bad guy.”

He smiled. “I’m glad. It was terrible what happened. I hope he rots.”

I looked at him, surprised. Harris had always been the epitome of control and yet, here he was showing real emotion.

“I think it was because of you,” he said. “If you hadn’t figured things out, the police sure wouldn’t have, and that poor girl . . . she would have died in that cave.”

“Well, that’s what he wanted, that’s for sure. He was hoping she’d be carried off when the tide returned and no one would be the wiser.” Goose bumps rose on my arms and I immediately felt grateful for all the people in my life that I loved. “I’m just thankful we got there in time.”

“What did she know?” Carlson asked. “Why would he want to hurt a lovely girl like Becca?”

“She been trying to reach him the night before, just for a date, you know. It turned out he was sleeping, or that’s what he told her anyway, but when she started pressing him on stuff, like where he’d been the night Aaron died in the hospital . . . well . . . it turned out he didn’t have an alibi and she put two and two together and that set him off. From what I gather it’s the same thing that happened with Pietro. He must have been asking Ty a lot of questions and Ty figured he had to get rid of him.”

Carlson shook his head, disgusted. “What a waste.”

“He made a mistake though,” I said, “by quoting Scott’s book in the suicide note. He’d done it as a ploy to throw the police off in case they starting really investigating, but in the end it cost him.”

Cheryl popped into view from behind one of the glare screens.

“Are you all ready?” she asked.

We nodded and she called out, “Action.”

Harris smiled into the camera even as he addressed me. “Well, Georgia. Tonight is the final decision. We’ve traveled across California, from San Francisco to Los Angeles, Solvang, and now Carmel-by-the-Sea. You’ve had your share of extraordinary and rather dramatic dates.”

“That’s right,” I said.

“Do you feel like you’ve made a final decision?” Harris asked.

“I have,” I said.

Harris crinkled his brow at me. “Do you need to have a final conversation with your father?” he asked.

“It’s not necessary. My mind is made up.”

Harris gave me a well-rehearsed patriarchal smirk. “Are you sure Daddy will approve?”

I laughed so as not to punch him in the nose.

“Well, I think my father just wants me to be happy,” I said.

“Of course, of course,” Harris squealed. “So, Georgia, as you know, we have only one glass of champagne and two bachelors. One has come on the show looking for love, the other money. Should you select a bachelor who was on the show for the monetary prize, he will win it altogether, and should you select a bachelor who was on the show to find love, you’ll receive an all-expense-paid trip to an island of your choice and split the prize money.”

“Right,” I said, becoming a little impatient with the proceedings.

“Because this is the final elimination ceremony, you will be able to address each bachelor separately. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Harris nodded. “All right. I’ll bring out your first bachelor.” With a dramatic wave of the hand he called out, “Paul?”

Harris disappeared and Paul stepped before me. He had a serious expression on his face and he eyed the glass of champagne cautiously. “Georgia,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

I suddenly wished that I’d had an opportunity to talk with him at the police station after Ty had been arrested. I knew Paul had given a statement, too, but Cheryl hadn’t allowed me to be seen with either him or Scott for fear that paparazzi might photograph us.

“Paul,” I began nervously and then stopped.

He gripped both my hands in his and stared into my eyes, reading for himself what I had to say. The edges of his eyes were red rimmed and swollen.

Has he been crying recently?

“Well,” Paul said, “are you going to give me the boot or the champagne?” He smiled to let me know he was teasing, but the look in his eyes was all heartbreak.

I was heartbroken, too, and my eyes welled up with tears.

He released my hands and peace settled over me.

I had made the right decision.

Letting go of someone you’ve loved is hard, but we both knew it was over for real this time.

A tear rolled down my cheek and Paul reached for me, wiping the tear with his thumb and cradling my face.

“I’m sorry, Paul, I can’t offer a toast today.”

He released my face and bowed his head, his shoulders slumping forward. “I understand,” he mumbled.

I cleared my throat, certain that my voice would crack. “I have to ask you if you were on the show for love or money.”

He sighed, a look of misery on his face. “Money.”

A gasp involuntarily left my mouth.

“Cut,” Cheryl said. “Thank you, Paul. It’s a wrap for you.”

He grabbed my hand. “Not me, Georgia. You know that. You gotta know that. Aaron came on the show for money. As part of the rules I agreed to replace him, but—”

I pulled my hands away. “Martinez faked the report about Scott.”

Paul was silent.

“Did you know that? Did you ask him to?”

Paul bit his lip, then said, “I had to try everything I could think of to get you back.”

He grabbed at my shoulder but I shrugged him off. I knew for certain that what had happened with Paul was for the best because the people that mattered in life were the ones who always had your back.

“Come on,” he said. “Don’t be like that.”

“Good-bye, Paul.”

•   •   •   •   •   •   •   •   •

O
phelia stepped up to redo my makeup—crying in mascara on camera can really be brutal on a girl. She powdered my nose and cooed at me. “He was nothing to cry over, honey. I’m glad you picked the sexy hunky writer. Where will you go on the vacay?”

Cheryl appeared in my line of vision. “Great scene, Georgia. Those tears will be gold in our promos.”

“Oh, my God,” was all I could muster.

“Now,” she said, ignoring my comment, “Scott doesn’t know you’ve picked him, so give us a little to work with here. Make him sweat a bit. We can really use that kind of footage.”

As soon as Ophelia finished freshening up my face and hair, Cheryl called, “Action.”

Scott came onto the set and my body began to buzz and tingle just seeing him. He wore a serious expression but his aura emanated confidence. He glanced at the remaining flute of champagne on the small table then back to me. A slight smile played at his lips.

“Hi,” I whispered, barely able to get the word out. My throat was dry and I longed to sip the champagne, but I knew I had to get through the scene first. “I read a really good book last night.”

He laughed. “Really?”

“Yeah.
Death Thief
, have you heard about it?”

“I think I’m familiar with that book.”

“The guy cheats death. And he ends up stealing the girl’s heart in the end.”

Scott studied my face, looking, I was sure, for confirmation of my decision. “I’m glad you liked it,” he said.

“It’s like what happened here.”

He shook his head, clearly not knowing where I was going. “What happened here?”

“Guy stole my heart.”

His eyes flicked to the champagne flute again, then back at me. “Which guy?”

My hands were shaking as I reached for the glass, praying I wouldn’t drop it or I knew Cheryl would make me do the whole thing over and, really, once was enough.

“Scott,” I called out, my voice warbling, “will you accept this glass of champagne?”

A huge smile broke out across Scott’s face and he leapt toward me, picking me up in his embrace and pressing his lips to mine. The champagne sloshed out of the flute and down our legs, but I didn’t let go of him.

I shook in his arms, glad to be done with the show, glad to have chosen right . . .

I’d thought coming on this stupid show was the worst decision of my life and now it turned out maybe it was the best.

“Scott, Scott,” I said. Tears flooded my eyes and I fought to get the question out.

“What?” he asked.

“I have to ask. Were you on the show for love?” My breath caught. “Or money?”

“I came looking for love, silly, and I found you!” He kissed me again as confetti came down all around us.