No One Needs to Know (22 page)

“Hey, you two . . .”

Laurie looked over toward the order window. It was the production assistant, Danny. “I wouldn’t take it personally,” he said. “She flips out like this at least twice a week. We all hate her guts. If it’s any consolation, she left her trailer door open, and I could hear her screaming. She’s ripping that weasel-assistant of hers a new one.”

“So, you don’t think we’re in trouble?” Cheryl asked.

“Oh, God, no,” he said. “Even if she had the power to get you guys fired—which she doesn’t—there’d be a riot. A lot of people are saying this is one of the best lunches they’ve had on any set. Just keep on serving up that fantastic food.” He started to walk away.

“Thank you!” Laurie called.

She went to the sink and washed her face, splashing water on her eye. She glanced over her shoulder. No one was at the order window. Cheryl was putting food away in the refrigerator.

“So, do I still have a job?” she asked meekly.

“Of course,” Cheryl said, pausing in front of the open refrigerator. “After what just happened, I should be asking if you still want to work here. I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you. But I just thought it better to defuse the situation . . .”

“No apologies necessary.” Laurie started to dry her face off with some paper towel.

“Which one of you ladies got the spinach salad in the kisser?” someone asked.

Laurie glanced over toward the window. Dolly Ingersoll peeked back at her. Nipped and tucked many times over, the CNN gossip queen had big, square glasses and blond hair that was probably a wig. She pointed at Laurie. “You’re the one . . .”

Laurie shook her head and backed into the sink.

Dolly stepped aside, revealing the cameraman behind her. “Get a shot of her,” she urged him. “I want her just like that, with her face still wet . . .”

Horrified, Laurie turned away and darted into the corner of the truck, out of his camera range. “No, I’m sorry,” she said. “Please, leave me alone . . .”

“Don’t be silly! You’re going to be on TV!” Dolly exclaimed.

But Laurie wouldn’t even look at her.

Dolly must have turned to her cameraman. “I can’t believe we had a celebrity meltdown right here, and we didn’t capture it on camera,” she said. Then she must have turned away and called to the people by the tent. Her voice was raised, but slightly muffled. “Did anyone get that on their iPhone . . . anyone?”

Laurie stayed in the corner of the food truck, her head turned away. She held the paper towel to her face. “Please, get her out of here,” she whispered.

“My God, what’s wrong?” Cheryl asked.

“I don’t want to be on TV,” she said under her breath. “I don’t want to be online. This can’t happen. I—I had a stalker in Ellensburg, a very dangerous man. I’m scared he’ll find out I’m here.” She started to cry. “He’ll come after Joey and me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before . . .”

Cheryl stroked her arm. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Hey!” Dolly called, poking her head in the order window again. “Listen, I want to interview you! A major meltdown by Paige Peyton, this is gold! What’s your name?”

Laurie just wanted a hole to open in the floor so she could drop down into it and disappear.

“I’m the one who was waiting on Ms. Peyton,” Cheryl said, moving toward the window. “My name’s Cheryl. This is my truck and catering service, Grill Girl. It’s really a thrill to meet you, Ms. Ingersoll. I’m a big fan . . .”

“You’re a big liar, too,” Dolly replied. “Nice try. I’m not blind, you know. I could see your partner in there had a wet face and a splattered apron. Now, I heard Paige Peyton threw a salad at one of you, and obviously it was her.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but you heard wrong,” Cheryl said. She stood at the order window and blocked Dolly’s view inside. “Ms. Peyton came back here to—to hand me her empty container so it could be recycled. And I accidentally dropped it. That’s all.”

Laurie noticed the door to the food truck was unlocked. She imagined Dolly’s cameraman, any minute now, flinging the door open to get her on film.

“Okay, so if that’s really how it went,” Dolly was saying. “I want to confirm it with your coworker there. Why won’t she talk to me? Is she an illegal?”

Laurie dared to inch over to the door and lock it.

“No. She’d just rather not be on TV. I hope you’ll respect that. But
I
don’t mind being on TV at all. I’ll talk to you . . .”

All at once, someone started tugging at the food truck door. With her back pressed against the refrigerator, Laurie watched the door handle jiggling.

“Listen,” she heard Cheryl say in a cool, businesslike tone. “I want to keep my job here, Ms. Ingersoll. Wouldn’t you like to continue here, too—as a welcome presence on the set? Is it worth alienating the producers to cover a silly little incident that will be forgotten the day after tomorrow? No one even has it on video. Think about it, Ms. Ingersoll. Why don’t we just stick to my side of the story? No one threw anything at anyone. Paige Peyton returned a container to be recycled and I accidentally dropped it. That’s all, end of story. No big deal.”

The truck’s door knob kept clinking. No one said anything for a few moments.

“Charlie!” Dolly bellowed. “Forget it!”

Suddenly, the doorknob stopped twitching. He’d given up.

Laurie let out a grateful sigh. She couldn’t believe Cheryl’s gutsiness, talking to Dolly Ingersoll that way. If she hadn’t stood up for her with Paige earlier, she’d certainly made up for it now with Dolly. But a part of Laurie still felt it wasn’t over yet.

“You think you’re really clever, don’t you?” she heard Dolly growl. “Well, like I said,
Cheryl,
Miss
Grill Girl,
I’ve had my eye on you this morning. I’ve seen the way you’ve been snooping around, hanging out by the stars’ trailers. I saw you trying to sneak a look at the associate producer’s copy of the script when you thought no one was looking. You aren’t fooling me for a minute. You’re not here just to serve up food. You’re after something. I can tell.”

Laurie watched Cheryl take a step back. She wondered if Dolly had hit a nerve.

Cheryl was shaking her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m wise to you, honey,” Dolly said. “You’re the one whose food truck blew up the same day you signed on to cater this movie. Talk about a curse. Didn’t someone die in that explosion? You’re bad news, honey.”

Laurie heard Dolly’s voice fade a little, as if she were walking away. “I’m going to get the goods on you if it’s the last thing I do . . .”

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

Thursday, July 3, 4:40
P.M.

T
hough exhausted, Laurie still wanted to spend some time with Joey. So she put him in the car with his stroller, and they drove the nine blocks to Volunteer Park. The shoot had wrapped early for the July 4th holiday weekend. A lot of the cast and crew were catching afternoon flights back to Los Angeles.

For the last two days, she’d managed to duck out of sight whenever Dolly Ingersoll and her cameraman passed the food truck. Cheryl seemed to be avoiding her, too. Cheryl took over the order window both yesterday and today when Paige’s snooty assistant came by to pick up the actress’s lunch. The witch must have liked the spinach salad after all, because she’d ordered it again—both days, along with the tofu wraps today. No walnuts and no onions, of course.

As far as Laurie was concerned, the true “curse” on the
7/7/70
film shoot was Paige Peyton. She wouldn’t have been surprised if those death threats Paige received were from former colleagues.

Any concerns she’d had about Paige getting her fired had been quelled by quitting time yesterday. After wrapping up the lunch service, she and Cheryl had set out three big trays of her lemon bars on a table in the tent. The bars had disappeared within forty-five minutes. Laurie had even spotted Paige’s assistant stuffing his face with one, and wrapping up two more in a napkin to take with him. The slices of orange cake this afternoon had gone just as fast. Between the lunch menu and the specialty desserts, everyone seemed happy.

Laurie should have been happy, too. She was fond of Cheryl, but like the poor woman who last held this job, Laurie couldn’t completely trust her. Dolly had been right. Cheryl seemed to be up to something. Before the lunch rush both yesterday and today, she had once again stepped out of the food truck for several minutes at a time. She’d explained that she just wanted to stretch her legs.

At one point this morning, Danny had stopped by the truck, and called to Cheryl, hovering over the grill. “Hey, I’ve asked around, and there’s no way I can get you a copy of the script. You know, it’s a big, guarded secret. The crew just gets what we’re shooting the next day—and nothing more. Even Paige and Shane are only getting sections of it at a time . . .”

“Just a sec,” Cheryl had said. “Hold on . . .” She’d left several sandwiches on the grill and hurried out of the truck to talk with Danny privately. Laurie had abandoned her prep work to make sure the sandwiches didn’t burn.

When Cheryl had come back inside the truck, Laurie had asked, “Why did you need to see a copy of the script? I thought we were working from the shooting schedule. Isn’t that enough?”

“Oh, I was just curious, that’s all,” Cheryl had answered. “Could you cut up some more avocados for the chicken burgers?”

Laurie had let it drop. How do you press your boss for a truthful answer when she was being deliberately evasive? Cheryl hadn’t pressed her about her stalker situation in Ellensburg. Laurie figured she had no right to point fingers. She still hadn’t been totally honest with Cheryl about her relationship with “Uncle Gil” Garrett. But yesterday, she’d sent him a container of lemon bars—along with a note about her new catering job in Seattle:

Dear Uncle Gil,

It’s been a while since I’ve been in touch. I’m glad you enjoyed the treats last Christmas.

Thanks so much for the lovely card. I’ve recently moved to Seattle, and am working at a catering business with a marvelous, versatile chef. I hope you’ll keep us in mind the next time you throw a party. For my famous godfather, I’ll see you get a discount! I hope you like the lemon bars.

Affectionately,

Your goddaughter, Laurie

She’d written her e-mail and phone number at the bottom of the note, which had gotten Cheryl’s thumbs-up.

Though they probably wouldn’t get a reply, Laurie had sent the dessert package out overnight mail. She figured it was the least she could do—after Cheryl had done so much for her. She’d been right about the apartment. It was ideal for Joey and her. Still, Laurie couldn’t help feeling a bit disconcerted whenever a stray bill or piece of mail for Maureen Forester ended up in her box. And the police never did find those two missing teenagers.

For now, she wasn’t going to think about it. She wasn’t going to think about the movie shoot or the Elaina Styles murders or Ryder McBride. She had the next three days to spend with her son and work on getting the new apartment looking the way she wanted it. Maybe then it would seem more like Joey’s and her home—and not some dead woman’s place.

The weather was beautiful outside, sunny and in the high 70s with a light breeze. After spending most of her morning in that cramped, hot food truck, she relished the outdoors. She felt reenergized pushing Joey in his stroller along the park’s winding paths. She’d dressed Joey for July 4th—one day early—in blue shorts with a red-and-white striped T-shirt. Kicking and cheerfully babbling in his stroller seat, he looked so cute with the sun shining on his curly hair. Nearly everyone who passed him waved or made a fuss over him, and Joey waved back. He lapped up the attention, and so did she.

“Look at the dog, Joey!” she said, pointing to a man playing fetch with his golden retriever on the lawn beside the park’s thirties-era Asian Art Museum. People were sunning themselves on beach blankets. Two teenagers tossed around a Frisbee. On the other side of the museum, the old, round, dark-brick water tower loomed over the sprawling park.

She took Joey around to the promenade in front of the museum. “Look at the big donut, honey!” she said, pointing to a modern, nine-foot-tall ebony granite sculpture. According to the plaque on the pedestal, it was called Black Sun, by Isamu Noguchi. Several people were sitting on the pedestal. A teenager was helping his friend curl up inside the sculpture’s donut hole. This was the heart of the park, with cars cruising by and people strolling about. Laurie stood near the pedestal, looking over a large man-made reservoir—and beyond that, in the distance, the Space Needle, Elliott Bay, and the Olympic Mountain range.

She took it all in, and told herself that she was doing all right. This was a big improvement over Ellensburg. She still felt homesick—but mostly for Brian. Her memories with him were there—and in Europe.

Laurie wasn’t sure how long she was standing there, staring at the beautiful urban vista, but Joey started to kick and make a fuss. He wanted to get moving again. Pushing the stroller, she started down a path to a large, round fish pond nearby—with lily pads and goldfish. The pond was surrounded by a circular gravel walkway. Bordering that was a neatly trimmed hedge. Laurie hoisted Joey out of the stroller and kept her arms around him while he perched on the edge of the pond. He got a thrill looking at the various sizes and colors of goldfish swimming by. He kept pointing to them, and babbling happily. After a few minutes, Laurie was about to put him back in his stroller, but he started to cry. So even though her arms were tired, she propped him back on the edge of the pond and let him look at the fish some more.

She glanced up toward the ebony granite “donut” sculpture again. A skateboarder zoomed past several people milling around near the pedestal. One of them was Cheryl.