Death in Daytime (22 page)

"You can put Sarah to bed and we'll go after that. They'll be safe here with the police right outside the door," George said. "Come on, what do you say?" Wayne asked. "We'll get dressed up and go out on the town tomorrow night."

"Are you going into work tomorrow?" I asked George.

"Honey, I don't get the big bucks the actors get," he said. "I have to go to work. Besides, they'll all look like they're in fright wigs if I don't. But I'll come home early and we'll go out."

"I wasn't sure about going in, but I can call Thomas in the morning and tell him the police don't want me to. Then I can go to the hospital and see what's happening with Andy."

"Doesn't he have any family?"

"No, he doesn't," I said.

"Don't forget his life coach," George said.

"Maybe we should get a life coach," Wayne said to George. "That sounds like fun. Somebody else to make all the decisions for a while."

"We're doing just fine with our lives," George scolded Wayne.

"You're right," Wayne said. "Well, I've got to go do some work before I turn in, so night-night, you two."

He took his wineglass with him into his office.

"What's he working on?" I asked.

"Don't ask me," George said. "He's very secretive about his work. Doesn't like me to see it until it's done. So we're on for tomorrow night?"

"Definitely," I said.

"Good. I'm going to start the dishwasher and then read awhile before I turn in. You have the run of the house."

"I don't know how to thank you, George--"

He patted my hand and said, "Just don't do it every day, hon. Wait until this is all over. Then I'll make you buy me a fattening dinner--which, of course, certain people will know nothing about." He pointed toward Wayne's office.

I put my finger to my lips, drained my glass and gave it to him. He went off to the kitchen and moments later I could hear the humming of the dishwasher. I got up and walked to the window, looking out to check on our watchdog. Still there. I had my cell in my robe pocket, where I'd put it after hanging up with Paul, and now it vibrated. I picked it up and checked the readout. I was surprised, but pleasantly so.

"Detective," I said, "I thought you were going to collapse."

"I called the hospital just to check on our boy," he said. "Looks like they're going to want to keep him for some more tests."

"Oh, so you won't be able to drag him downtown and frighten him some more."

"Frighten him?" he asked. "I hadn't even got started when he keeled over."

"Okay if I go and visit him at the hospital? He might want to see a friendly face."

"Sure, why not," he said, and then after a long pause added, "I, uh, just might see you there."

"Good night, Frank."

"Night, Alex."

I closed the phone, smiling. I didn't for a minute think he had called just to tell me about Andy.

Early the next morning I called Thomas's cell phone and told him I wouldn't be in.

"You'll be putting us behind again, Alex, just when we were about caught up from the whole Marcy . . . thing."

His attitude didn't sound any the worse for wear considering what he had gone through the night before. I wondered how he'd react if I told him I knew everything.

"Thomas, the police don't think I'm safe," I said. "I don't want to endanger everyone else."

"Well, if they'd just catch this killer quick instead of harassing--" He stopped short.

"Yes?"

"Never mind," he said. "We'll tape around you for a few days, Alex."

"Thanks Tho--," I started, but he'd already hung up. I stared at the phone. If Marcy had dirt on Thomas, who was to say she didn't have dirt on some other people, as well? I knew she didn't have any on me, because there was none to be had. That's what happens when your entire life has been laid bare by the tabloids. I had nothing to hide.

But there were plenty of people connected to the show who did.

After breakfast I headed for the hospital. I didn't bother checking in with our bodyguard. I assumed Jakes would have already called him and warned him about me.

During the drive I thought about Jakes's call the previous night, and also about the way he was feeling me out in the parking lot about dinner. I knew Paul would hit the roof if I went to dinner with Jakes, so why had I indicated that I would?

There was some press still in front of the hospital, but not a lot, and they weren't looking for me anymore. I was able to drive past them into the parking lot and get inside without incident. I knew which room Andy was in, so I took the elevator to his floor and went directly there. A uniformed policeman in his forties was standing right at the door, a chair next to him.

"Miss," he said, as I approached.

"Detective Jakes said I could visit Mr. McIntyre," I explained.

"Your name, miss?"

"Alex Peterson," I said, looking at his name tag,

"Officer Sorrentino."

"Oh yeah, I got the word that it was okay for you to visit."

"Has Detective Jakes been around yet this morning?" I asked.

"No, Ms. Peterson."

"Thank you."

I went into the room. Andy looked as white as a sheet, with an IV bottle by his bed and tubes in his arm and up his nose. Something was clipped to the end of his finger.

"Hey," I said, approaching the bed.

He turned his head and smiled when he saw me.

"At last," he said. "A friendly face."

"I told Detective Jakes you'd need one, so he let me come in." I leaned over and kissed his cheek. He grabbed my hand.

"Jesus, Alex, I was so scared," he said. "I'm so glad you were there."

"I'm glad I was there, too, Andy."

"Do they really think I killed Marcy?" he asked. "And her ex-husband? Jesus, why would I kill him? Marcy I could see--she was a royal bitch. But I didn't even know him."

"You never met him, Andy?"

"I don't know . . . maybe once. I don't really remember. But I didn't know him well."

"Well, that should work in your favor, then."

"Do you think so?"

"That and the fact that they found Thomas ransacking her house last night."

"What?"

I couldn't help it. It just came pouring out. But I didn't tell Andy what Thomas's secret was. I drew the line there. After all, if neither of them killed Marcy, they'd still have to work together.

"I can't believe it," Andy said when I was done. "I mean, Thomas would make a better suspect than me, but I don't think he'd kill her."

"Neither do I."

"Well, if you didn't do it and I didn't do it and Thomas didn't do it, who did?"

"I don't know, Andy, but it seems like we're eliminating people, huh?"

Out of nowhere Andy said, "I'll bet it was a woman."

"I've been thinking the same thing, but who? I was the best female suspect they had." I
had
been thinking the same thing, but thought I was grasping at straws. I mean, there was no evidence one way or another, and the person in my garage was a man. So I had nothing to go on but a hunch--and the fact that the men I had been talking to had me believing them, including Andy.

"Marcy must have pissed off all the women who work on the show at one time or another," Andy said.

"I'll bet you're right."

"Alex, are you still asking questions?"

"I'm still poking my nose where it doesn't belong,"

I told him, "but I'm getting tired of people hitting me on the head."

"What?"

I told him about what happened in my garage, and then again at Marcy's house.

"Are you sure it wasn't Thomas?" he asked. "Either time?"

"Fairly sure," I said. "In my garage I got the impression of someone . . . bulkier."

"That would leave out a woman." "Unless she has an accomplice."

"I think maybe you better lie low for a while."

"Apparently that's what you're going to do," I said.

"They want to do more tests, huh?"

"I don't like being in here," he said, "but I think I prefer it to going to jail. They can run all the tests they want."

The door opened then and we both looked to see who was coming in. It was Jakes.

"Good morning," he said.

"You come to give Andy another heart attack?" I asked. "They haven't finished doing tests after the first one."

Jakes walked to the bed.

"Look, Mr. McIntyre, I'm sorry you had a heart attack. It certainly wasn't my intention--"

"I know that, Detective," Andy said. "You were just doing your job."

"That's right, I was."

"Well, I suppose you'll have to wait until I get out of here to continue doing it."

"I talked with your doctor," Jakes said. "You're safe for a couple more days, but once he cuts you free, I'm afraid we'll have to finish our . . . conversation."

"Could you finish it without being quite so scary?"

I asked.

He looked at me with a straight face and said, "I'll see what I can do."

I had to admit my amateur investigation was stalled. My intention had been to go back and talk to everyone I'd questioned the first time around. That meant Andy and Thomas, of course, but in my mind I had already cleared them. There was also Henry Roswell, but he was dead, and Julia, but she was with me now. That left a bunch of people connected to the show: Linda the makeup girl; Amanda, Roman and Lisa, actors with the show; the unhappy director, Sammy . . . and I had never even talked to the writer, Dave Ballwin. Could he be the wild card? But I'd have to go into the studio for that. I'd already called in to cancel my scenes for today, so that would have to wait until tomorrow.

I decided to go back to George's house and spend some much-needed time with Sarah and my mom. Once again, Jakes walked me to my car.

"I've got to get into work; my partner's waiting,"

he said, "or I'd buy you a cup of coffee."

I turned and stared at him.

"If I ask you a question, will you tell me the truth?"

"I'll try," he said, "but remember, I'm a cop." "Is this an act?"

"Is what an act?" he asked.

"This turnaround," I said. "When we first met, and for days after that, I had the distinct feeling you didn't like me. Was that only because you thought I might be a murderer?"

"You want the absolute truth?" he asked.

"That would be a novelty," I said, and almost added, "from a man." But I held my tongue.

"The truth is I liked you from the start, even when I did think you might be a murderer. I thought you were beautiful, intelligent, feisty, all the things I find attractive in a woman. I think you smell good and, if I kissed you right now, I bet you'd taste good, too. Does that answer your questions?"

Answered them and set me back on my heels!

"Well," I said, "all but one."

"And what's that, Alex?"

"Do you even have the slightest doubt now about my innocence?"

"No," he said. "Not the slightest. I don't think you killed either Marcy or her ex-husband. Furthermore, if Andy McIntyre didn't do it, and the killer is out there, I think you're probably still in danger."

"But, why? What possible reason--"

"You'd still look good in the tabloids for this, Alex,"

he said. "If the killer made one more try at making you look like a suicide, I think people would accept that you did it out of remorse."

"I see."

"So do me a favor," he said. "Keep people around you, and try to stay where my officer can see you and your family? Stop running around acting like an amateur detective?" He grabbed my arms and for a moment--one light-headed moment--I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead he just squeezed and said, "Stay safe."

Stay safe? That was the best he could do?

"I will," I said. "I promise."

"I'll call you," he said. "We're running down leads on other people, so--"

"What other people?"

"Go to your friend's house, Alex," he said sternly.

"All right."

"I want to watch you get in your car and lock the doors."

"Yes, sir!"

I opened my car, got in and locked the doors. He smiled and waved as I started the car and drove off. I could see in the rearview mirror that he was still watching me.

Okay, so I lied again. I decided not to go to George's, but to go to the studio after all. Today was the weekly writer's meeting and since I hadn't yet had a chance to talk to Dave Ballwin, I felt it was a piece of unfinished business. The last bit of this amateur investigation of mine, and then I would do as my mom said and examine my priorities.

On the way into work I started thinking about what Jakes had said. I also thought about how I had told Paul that we were fine. If we were fine, would I be standing there, letting Jakes say those things to me?

For a change I got through the front gate without any awkward moments, despite the fact that I looked nothing like a soap star, that day.

Writers usually did their writing from home, but had to come into the studio for production meetings on occasion. Sure enough Dave was upstairs and the meeting had just ended. He was there with one other person, an old-timer named Ray Williams, who had been writing for soaps as long as there had been soaps. I had heard Marcy say at a meeting once that Ray was hardly relevant anymore, but he had supporters who kept him on the show.

"Hey, Alex," Ray said. "Lookin' . . . relaxed."

"Thanks, Ray."

Given the way I was dressed, he'd been looking for something nice to say, and I thought he'd done a pretty good job.

" 'Scuse me, hon," he said, as he slipped by me, leaving me alone with Dave.

"Hey, Alex," he said.

"Dave." With Marcy gone I had the feeling that Dave would be able to create a decent story line for our resident stud, Roman. Hmm, wouldn't that thought make them good suspects for Jakes? Maybe Dave and Roman planned the murder together? One of them dropped the light as the diversion, and the other one killed her. What I still couldn't figure out was why the same person who killed Marcy would kill her ex. Maybe Henry Roswell's murder was a coincidence, and had been perpetrated by a different person entirely?

"What brings you upstairs?" Dave asked. He did not look anything like Roman Stroud, which is probably why all Marcy stole from him was his talent. He wore thick glasses, carried a backpack and always had a video game with him. He looked like your cliche geek, but was very talented. I'd heard him talking once about a novel he was working on. It was my bet that he'd eventually be a published author.