Murder Take Two (3 page)

“Laura Edwards wanted you to come to her trailer. Why?”

“No idea.”

“Cop business or because you're tall, dark, and handsome?”

Yancy smiled. “Much as I'd like to think it might have been the latter, I doubt it.”

Yancy was tall all right and dark-haired; handsome didn't say it. He was soft-spoken, with soft brown eyes, and a smile as sweet and soothing as a summer night. Trim and fit in his blues, he was dynamite. She could see even Ms. Big Hollywood Star being interested.

“I assume you asked her what she wanted.”

“Yes, ma'am. She said she'd tell me later.”

“Where is she now?”

“In her trailer. At the base camp. I went to check.”

More movie talk. Base camp was the place where all the trailers, cars, trucks, et cetera were set up. In this case, the field a quarter mile back.

“You go baby-sit. I'll be right there. I want a word with Dr. Fisher. Oh, and Yancy, have somebody move the newspeople back.”

Owen Fisher, a man of solid bulk, wasn't able to tell her any more than she already knew. He brushed straw from his dark trousers and peeled latex gloves from his hands. Those hands always fascinated her; they were perfectly shaped, delicate, and long-fingered, a total mismatch with the rest of him, which was thick and bearlike.

“Well?” she said.

He peered at her from under dark heavy eyebrows, a sharp contrast with his white hair. “Yep, she's dead all right.”

“Anything else?” she asked dryly.

“Just what you can see. Newly dead. Body temp not even lowered yet. Course it is hot in here. Lividity just beginning. Mucous membranes just beginning to dry.” He bent over and snapped his instrument bag shut. “Something might show up when I get her on the table.”

Susan clambered up the wooden rungs to the loft and found Osey on his hand and knees sifting through straw. Needle in a haystack. When she stepped off onto the loft, Osey unfolded his tall, thin body in a series of jerks. Hair the color of the straw he was fingering through, guileless blue eyes that were deceptively naive, hands and feet that seemed to get in his way, brown pants and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tie askew. The impression—harmless country boy, not too bright. Reality—mind like a gin trap.

“Anything of interest?”

“Naw.” He whacked at his pants legs. Dust filled the air and sunlight slanting through the small window under the peaked roof sparkled on the motes. “Not yet anyway. People all over the place. Up here, down there. Now that railing there. That's maybe a mite interesting. I'm going to have to get both pieces together and see. They got a rail that's rigged to break. It's part of the action. But this one was supposed to be solid. Was solid right before they all took off for lunch. Now it looks like it was cut most of the way. Then with weight on it, it just gave.” He showed her the spot where the rail gave way.

Damn, Susan thought. Murder? Accident would have been bad enough. And who was the intended victim? Stunt double Kay Bender? Actress Laura Edwards? Any hint of an attempt on Laura Edwards's life and the media would be all over it.

“Where's Parkhurst?” she asked. Ben Parkhurst was her most experienced officer. She used him to sound out data and surmise, he pointed out the difference. They made a good team. At least, they had until personal stuff started leaking over into cop stuff.

“On his way. He was up in Topeka dropping off some water samples at the lab, from the Sackly well.”

“When he shows, I'm at Ms. Edwards's trailer.”

*   *   *

Pale green. Laura my beloved. The universe is pale green. The spirits are worried. I know you're in there. I know you're not hurt. I saw you go in. You're afraid. I can feel your fear. Don't be afraid. Everything's going to be wonderful. I'm here. Near. My love, my light. The light of truth. Sweet and lovely. I'll watch. I'll wait.

He watched the tall, black-haired policewoman knock on the trailer door. He didn't see Her inside, but he sent love.

*   *   *

Yancy opened the trailer door at Susan's tap and she walked into welcome coolness. The only sound was the hum of the air-conditioning unit. The kitchen area had sink, cabinets, and a table with a green padded bench. The living-room area, carpeted in pale blue, had two blue-tweed couches at a right angle to each other with a large round coffee table in the bend, two end tables, large television set, and a VCR. Watercolors hung on the walls, flowers done with intricate detail.

The woman sitting on a couch brought a split instant of surprise before Susan's mind caught up. A stunt double would of necessity be made to look like the star. Laura Edwards wore the same form-hugging black pants, white knit scoop-necked shirt, and black ankle boots with fringe.

She sat perfectly still, legs crossed, hands palm up in her lap with the fingers loosely curled, staring blankly ahead. She took no notice of Susan.

Even frozen in shock, Laura Edwards was stunning. A thick tangle of hair the color of pale gold curled away from a smooth forehead and high cheekbones, it fell in loose swirls along her neck and shoulders. Long dark lashes over blue eyes that tilted up slightly. Perfectly shaped nose, generous mouth.

“She won't say anything,” Yancy said. “Hasn't even moved. She didn't answer when I knocked. I'm not even sure she knows I'm here.”

Uh-huh. This stricken beauty had aroused protective instincts in Yancy the cop. Susan could understand it, even she felt a tug to protect the vulnerable maiden. Laura Edwards was as still as a stone sculpture.

Let us not forget here, the woman is an actress.

“Ms. Edwards?”

No response, not even a focus in Susan's direction. Kneeling in front of her, Susan took one of her hands. Cold and limp. “Laura.”

No reaction. Susan put the hand back in Laura's lap and rose. “We'd better get a doctor in.”

There was a tap on the door. Yancy opened it and Parkhurst stepped inside. He nodded curtly to Yancy and said to Susan, “You wanted to see me?”

Laura blinked her beautiful blue eyes, shiny with unshed tears. “Ben?” Her voice, low and husky, caught on a sob.

Parkhurst's face went hard. Laura hurled herself at him, wrapped herself around him, and nestled her face against his neck.

Yancy's jaw dropped. Susan's eyebrows shot up.

3

Laura's muffled sobs and the hum of the air-conditioning blended together for a stretched-out moment. Parkhurst, arms around the actress, held himself board stiff, a muscle ticked away in the corner of his jaw the way it did when he was angry. Susan, startled by the woman's actions, was even more startled to discover tiny seeds of jealousy. What's all this?

Confusion. She'd known Parkhurst a little over two years. They'd gone from suspicious dogs snarling at each other to grudging mutual respect to just recently something else that she didn't want to admit to but had attraction thrown in and would, if not stomped, lead to trouble. So why was she getting all prickly around the edges because Ms. Movie Star was sobbing all over Parkhurst's chest, and acted like she'd done that very thing before?

Why Parkhurst? If Susan were the flinging type, given the choice between Yancy and Parkhurst, she'd choose Yancy every time; any limpet would. Yancy had a gentle look, with “pliable” and “kind” thrown in. Parkhurst looked dangerous. Everything about him was hard, from his dark eyes to his tight back, and when he lowered his voice it wasn't soft, it was menacing. So what the hell?

She eyed Yancy and gestured with a thumb. He slipped out the door without protest. His curiosity was probably as high as hers, but she was the boss. Parkhurst peeled Laura's arms from his neck and held both her hands in one of his. He put an arm around her and edged her to the couch. She dropped, not at all gracefully, and clutched his hand tight when he tried to pull it loose. Short of a clip to the jaw, his only choice was to perch at an angle beside her and allow her to keep the hand. Which she did, clasping it to her bosom.

Every male's fantasy. Parkhurst's? She never could tell what he was thinking; he had a great ability at self-concealment. Thick dark hair, medium height, mid-thirties, he was self-assured, self-contained, intelligent, and a good cop. Just lately, she'd learned that stuck back there behind the air of reined-in violence was a sense of humor.

Laura kept her eyes fastened on him, as though he might disappear if she so much as blinked. Tears glistened and left smeary trails through the heavy makeup. This did not detract one whit from her beauty, if anything it made her more attractive by throwing in vulnerability and an appeal for help. Susan poked around in the tiny pale-rose bathroom and found a box of tissues. She plunked it on the coffee table and backed over to the padded bench in the kitchen area, out of Laura's line of vision but able to watch her.

Laura snatched a tissue, then another, wadded them together, and rubbed at her eyes. Susan reminded herself again that this woman was an actress. Yet the crying was real, red eyes, splotched face, and runny nose. Even Susan wanted to help; any red-blooded male would grab his lance, leap on his horse, and gallop to her defense. Susan caught Parkhurst's eye and gave him a short nod. His show. She pulled out her notebook.

“It's good to see you, Ben,” Laura said. “You look great.”

Parkhurst knew Laura Edwards. That was a little like the sun rising in the west. The whole Hollywood circus had been in town almost a week and he never mentioned he'd known the famous Laura Edwards.

Susan wished she could read him better. Whatever was going on inside, he had it under control—face set, eyes flat—but he had to work at it. His jaw muscles were so tight, she wondered if he'd ever be able to speak again.

He worked his hand free. “Likewise.”

They were mouthing platitudes, Susan thought, while they fought off the emotions of the underlying situation. She noted the pulse beat in his throat and judged his heart was banging around inside his chest.

Laura smiled. “You haven't changed, have you?”

“No,” he said, “and right now I need to ask you some questions.”

“Still the cop. You have a title?”

“Lieutenant.”

“Really? I expected by now you'd be chief, or commissioner, or whatever is at the top.”

A tiny bit of hostility oozed through here.

Parkhurst responded with raised hackles. “Don't tell me you've forgotten my personality. It always did get in my way.”

“All right, Ben, ask your questions.” Tears overflowed again and Laura grabbed another handful of tissues. “I know you have to. I just didn't want to think about it.”

“How well did you know the dead girl?”

“I've worked with her several times. She looks a little like me. Basically same height and weight. Not that it really matters. The camera takes great care to protect the deception. You know, dreams of shimmering illusions.”

This seemed to refer to something Parkhurst knew about. “Cut the crap, Laura. It doesn't have to be me. If you'd rather talk to somebody else—”

“No.” For a moment she looked panicked, then as though she wanted to challenge his getting down to business, then she dropped it and sighed. She drooped. “Oh, Ben, unbend a little. I'm nervous. Aren't you?”

It was a direct appeal and Susan could see Parkhurst try to ease up on his tight emotional hold. “I know this is awkward, Laurie, but—”

Laurie?

“Would you ask her to leave?”

He tucked up the corners of his mouth in a wry smile. “She's the boss.”

Laura's eyes widened in a parody of surprise and her mouth rounded into an O as she looked around at Susan, then flattened into a tiny smile.

It was quick, but Susan caught it. I don't know what you're working here, lady, but there's a plan rolling around in your mind.

The smile vanished and was replaced by bewildered sadness as she turned back to Parkhurst.

“Tell me about Kay Bender.” His voice was quiet with underlying anger.

They stared at each other, squaring off for battle. “Still hostile,” she said.

“It's what I do best.”

“You're an insensitive prick!”

“Good. Now. How old was the stuntwoman?”

Laura took in a breath; tears filled her eyes; she scrubbed at them with balled-up tissues. “I don't know. Twenty. Twenty-one. Around there.”

“How well did you know her?”

Laura hesitated, either to collect her thoughts or to sort through and pick and choose. “Not very. When I try to think I guess I really don't know anything at all.” Look of remorseful sorrow.

“What about her family?”

“She's from San Diego, I think. I guess she has a family. I don't recall her ever saying anything about them.”

“Boyfriend?”

Susan studied the woman's hands, small and shapely with tapering fingers, they were in constant motion twisting and untwisting the tissues, crumpling them into a ball, smoothing them out—nervous movements that didn't seem a deliberate way of stalling or evading answers, but a try at controlling the shock, and maybe grief, that sat waiting just beyond the mind's focus.

“Boyfriend,” Laura repeated. “Yes, I think so.”

“Name?”

She shot him an angry look. “For God's sake, Ben, soften up a little. I'm trying to think— I don't— You're treating me like a suspect. There are always romances on a shoot, especially on location. It happens. It's like not real time, you know? Away from home, temporary, and the place doesn't seem real either. It's like it doesn't count. It's aside from life, part of the make-believe. Kay is—was a professional. She did the job. It's a risky job. No matter how careful, stunt people get hurt. Accidents—”

A horrified expression came over her face. “It was an accident,” she said very carefully with more statement in her voice than question, as though by sounding positive she could make the answer come out the way she wanted it to.