Death in Daytime (21 page)

"I told you," Thomas said. "I didn't break in. I found the side doors open."

"Yes, I know," Jakes said. "I guess she should have put a revolving door in there instead of French doors." Thomas didn't know what to say to that, so he said something that took no imagination.

"Don't I get a lawyer, or something?"

"You're not under arrest, Mr. Williams," Jakes said.

"I could arrest you, though, and then you'd have to call a lawyer. . . ."

"No, no," Thomas said, "I don't need--I didn't do--I was just looking for . . . something."

"Something worth killing for?"

"No!" Thomas said, sharply. "Just . . . something Marcy had that . . . that could be . . ."

"Could be what, Mr. Williams?" Jakes said. "You know, I'm in a rotten mood because I was supposed to be home having dinner right now, like my boss and my partner are. Instead, I'm here dicking around with you. So you better start telling me something that makes sense."

Thomas's shoulders slumped and he said, "All right. Marcy had something that would be . . . embarrassing to me if it fell into the wrong hands."

"Whose wrong hands?"

"The network, the press, you name it."

"So Marcy Blanchard had something on you, but you didn't kill her."

"That's right," Thomas said, "but once she was dead I knew I had to find it."

"So you went to the house this morning, and when Alex surprised you, you hit her on the head and took off."

"Alex?" Thomas looked surprised. "I never--I'd never hit Alex. I--I wasn't at the house this morning, just tonight."

Jakes turned his head and looked at me--well, at the mirror, but it looked like he was looking at me.

"Is Alex all right?" Thomas asked.

"So far."

"I thought she was your prime suspect."

"She isn't, anymore. Somebody tried to kill her two nights ago. They called it a suicide attempt at first, but then they got it right. I'm surprised you didn't read it in the newspaper."

"I did," he said. "I just didn't know that took her off the hook."

"And you read about Andy McIntyre being arrested?" Jakes asked.

"Yes, but that's ridiculous," Thomas said. "Andy wouldn't hurt a fly."

Thomas, I thought, no imagination. But I had to admire the fact that he had regained complete control of himself. You would have thought he was sitting at that table with a staff of writers and not a police detective.

"Are you saying you'd make a better suspect than Andy?"

"I would," Thomas said, "but I didn't do it."

"Wasn't Marcy pushing to get Andy dumped from the show?"

"Yes, she was."

"And you don't think that was motive enough for him to kill her?"

"I'm not saying he didn't have a motive, Lieutenant," Thomas said.

"Detective," Jakes said.

"Detective . . . I'm saying he doesn't have the nerve."

"I see. And you do?"

"Again," Thomas said, "I do, but I didn't."

"Why not?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said, why didn't you kill her if she had something on you?"

"I didn't know where it was," Thomas said, "and killing her wouldn't find it. Then, once she was . . . gone, I figured anyone going through her things might come across it."

"Did you know her ex-husband, Henry Roswell?"

"I'd met him once," Thomas said. "Wait, you said . . . did I know him?"

"He was killed, too. That's been in the paper and on TV."

"Good God, you don't think I had something to do--"

"And why did you wait until now to go to Marcy's house?" Jakes said.

"I--I had to work up the nerve," he said. "I've never done anything like that before."

"You just finished telling me you'd have the nerve to kill somebody," Jakes said. "Now you're telling me you didn't have the nerve to break into her house?

Your story is starting to sound a little strange to me, Mr. Williams. I don't know if I want to let you go home tonight."

"Detective," Thomas said, "all I meant was that I have more nerve than Andy McIntyre. Almost anyone would. But whatever I'd do, I'd have to work up to it. There'd have to be good reason."

"And there wasn't good enough reason to kill Marcy?"

"No, there wasn't," Thomas said. "With her alive she was the only one who knew my dirty little secret. With her dead, it could turn up anywhere."

"Okay, Mr. Williams," Jakes said. "Now I'm going to ask you the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, and if I like the answer I'll let you walk."

"A-all right."

"Just what was this dirty little secret that Marcy knew about?"

In the end Jakes allowed Thomas to go home. I made sure he didn't know I was there watching the interrogation. I didn't want Thomas to find out that I knew his secret.

"Let's get you out of here and back to your friend's house," Jakes said.

"I have my car."

"I'll walk you down."

Actually, he had to ride down with me in the elevator to the parking structure, and then walk me to my car.

"It's been a long day," he said.

"Has it ever."

"I'd invite you to dinner, but I think I'm going to go home and collapse until morning."

"I'm sure Wayne'll have something waiting for me when I get back."

"Wayne?"

"He's my friend George's lover, er . . . life partner."

"Ah."

"And he's a hell of a cook."

"Really? Maybe I should wrangle an invite from you, then."

I froze. I didn't know if Paul would be there when I got to George's house, and I certainly didn't want to walk in with Jakes if he was.

"Naw, that's okay," he said, then, taking me off the hook. "Like I said, I'll just go home. . . ."

"And collapse."

"Right."

"Sounds like a good idea."

"Good night, Alex."

"Good night, Frank."

He turned to walk away as I put my key in the door lock, then swiveled back around.

"Although, if I wanted to, say, invite you to dinner another night, uh, what would you say?"

Again, I thought about Paul, and was surprised to hear myself saying, "I think that would be . . . nice."

"No problems with your, uh, boyfriend?"

"Why would there be?" I asked. "It would only be dinner, right?"

"Oh, right," he said, "just dinner, definitely. Like, after the case is over, as a sort of . . . thank-you for your help."

"So I've been helpful?" I asked, playfully. He hesitated, then said, "Let's just say you haven't been as big a pain in the ass as I thought you'd be, and leave it at that."

"Frank," I said, shaking my head, "sometimes you say the nicest things. . . ."

***

When I got back to George's house, Paul wasn't there. He had called George and told him he'd tried to get me, but I remembered I had turned my cell off at the last minute before going into Marcy's house with Jakes. I turned it back on later and saw that he'd called, but I hadn't had time to call back.

"I'll give him a call later," I said. "I need a shower. Where's Sarah?"

"She's in her room with Julia. She wanted to stay up till you got home, but for all I know they're both asleep," George said.

"And my mom--," I started, but at that point she came from the kitchen, carrying a cup of tea.

"There you are!" she said. She put the cup down, came at me and wrapped me in a tight hug. "I've been worried sick about you. Where have you been? I thought you were hurt."

Suddenly, she was crying.

"Hey, hey, Mom, I'm fine. . . ."

But there was no consoling her. Suddenly, I realized the full impact all of this was having on my mother.

"I'm sorry, Mom . . . ," I said, and we cried together as Wayne came from the kitchen. Immediately, his eyes got wet.

"It's okay, Mom, it's okay."

I put my arm around her and said to Wayne and George, "I'm going to put her to bed."

Wayne hurried over, picked up my mom's cup of tea and handed it to me. I took both her and the tea into the room we were sharing, closing the door behind us.

"I'm sorry, Alex," she said. "I didn't mean to do that. I've been trying to put on a brave face, take care of Sarah while you . . . do what you're doing."

"Play detective," I said. "That's what I'm doing, right?"

"Yes," she said, "play detective."

"Look, Mom, I can't--"

She cut me off with a wave of both hands in front of her, as if she were trying to dispel a fog.

"This is not 'the time' for this--I know that," she said, "but when this is over, you should examine your life, look at what this has done to your life, to Sarah's life. Your little girl needs you."

"I know that," I said. "I need her, too."

"Then don't get killed, Alex," she said. "Don't get killed. Remember what I've taught you about priorities? I think you need to examine yours. Now."

She was right and I couldn't think of anything to say.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," she said.

"I'm going to drink my tea and go to bed. Finish what you're doing, and then we'll talk."

"All right, Mom."

"I love you, Alex."

"I love you, too, Mom."

I went back out to the living room. George and Wayne were seated on the sofa. Wayne stood up.

"I'm going to check on the girls and then jump in the shower."

"I'll have dinner waiting for you when you get out,"

Wayne promised. "I made some chicken marsala. You'll love it." I was sure I would. No matter what it sounded like, when Wayne cooked it, it was always delicious. I checked in on the girls and they were awake, but just barely. I gave Sarah a big hug and a kiss, listened while she sleepily told me a story and thought about what my mom had said. I made a point of staying in there, holding Sarah for an extra-long time. I had some thinking to do. I kissed her again and tucked her in. I went to the other bed and Julia asked, "Have they found the person who killed my parents? I saw on TV that they arrested someone."

"They did, but I don't think he did it. Anyway, he had a heart attack before they could question him, and he's in the hospital."

"He's not the killer?"

"I know him, Julia, and I don't think so. We can talk about it more in the morning."

"Sarah really tired me out today," she said. "She's like the Energizer Bunny."

"I'm sorry," I responded, "it should be me she's tiring out--"

"No, it's okay; I don't mind," she said. "I think I already love her."

"I'm sure she feels the same about you."

Impulsively I leaned down and kissed her forehead and tucked her in.

"Nobody's ever done that for me before," she said sleepily. "It's nice. . . ."

They were both asleep before I left the room.

The dinner Wayne had prepared was wonderful. After I checked on my mother and found her asleep, I sat down and ate at the kitchen table. After dinner I touched base with Paul on my cell.

After I finished he was silent.

"Paul?"

"It sounds like you're having the time of your life, Alex," he said.

"Well, I have to admit--"

"You do remember that somebody tried to kill you, right?"

"Well, of course," I said, "but that doesn't mean I'm going to stay cooped up--"

"That's what it should mean," he said. "That you'll stay inside where it's safe until the cops find the killer."

"Paul," I said, "you keep interrupting me--"

"I know. I'm sorry," he said. "I'm worried about you. I couldn't get a hold of you all day and I kept getting . . . bad vibes."

"I'm fine, Paul," I said.

"Don't get hit on the head anymore, okay?"

"I'm going to try not to."

"What's Jakes going to do with poor Andy in the morning?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said. "Drag him downtown if the doctor lets him, I guess."

"And you really don't think Andy or Thomas the producer did it?"

"No," I said, "I can't see it."

"Then who do you like for it?"

"I don't know," I said. "I'm starting to realize how over my head I am."

I waited for him to offer to help. He didn't. He was waiting for me to ask. That was fair. I just had to figure out how. Paul was a resource I'd been wasting.

"Are you going to work tomorrow?"

"I'm not sure."

I wasn't so sure I wanted to see Thomas again, so soon after hearing his great secret.

"I'll decide in the morning. I probably should. I don't want to put the show any further behind schedule."

"Think of your safety first," he advised.

"I will, I promise."

We talked a little more and then we said good night. I looked up from the sofa and saw George watching me.

"What's going on, girl?" he asked.

"With what?"

He came over and sat down.

"Something's going on between you and that detective," he said.

"What makes you say that?"

"I can see it on your face when you talk about him and I can hear it in your voice when you talk to Paul."

"Really?" I asked. "Do you think Paul can hear it?"

"Honey, he's a man," George said. "That means he only hears half of what you say to him, and he's oblivious to the other half."

Wayne came walking in with three glasses of white wine and handed them out.

"This time I'm going to stay and gossip," he said.

"What are we talking about?"

"Alex and her men," George said.

"Ooh, the TV guy and the hunky detective."

"Paul's a forensic scientist," I said. "He's not just any TV guy."

"You sound very defensive, missy. I know what you need," Wayne said. Then he looked at George and said, "I know what she needs."

"What?" George and I asked.

"A night out," Wayne said, "with us."

"You want to take me to a bar?"

"Not just any bar, a gay bar." George said. "I think it's a good idea. Some drinking and dancing."

"Girl, you will be adored there," Wayne said, "and you won't have to worry about anybody wanting to have sex with you."

"It'll just be some harmless fun and it'll take your mind off things for a few hours."

I laughed and said, "That does kind of sound like fun. But . . . what about the girls, and Mom?"