You Belong To Me (21 page)

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Authors: Patricia Sargeant

BOOK: You Belong To Me
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Malcolm had his suspicions about the identity of the film-industry rumor mill. Bracing himself for her answer, Malcolm leaned back in his chair. “You've known me for more than four years, Eunice. Do you suspect me?”
Her hesitation was answer enough.
“All right. I admit I'm disappointed, but I don't want you involved in a project you aren't comfortable with. Thanks for the call.” Malcolm recradled the receiver.
It hurt that a longtime associate would think him capable of killing his best friend. But Malcolm couldn't allow that pain to distract him. He rubbed the back of his neck.
Tyrone's death. Nicole's stalker. The problems with the
InterDimensions
movie. They were all coming to a breaking point at the same time. Malcolm was tempted to put the project on hold. But he knew if he did, the film-industry rumor mill would announce he couldn't handle the movie without Tyrone. No, he had to keep moving forward. He also had to bring Tyrone's killer to justice and find Nicole's stalker before she was hurt.
 
“What kind of threats?” Derrick's voice, as it carried over the phone, was remarkably calm under the circumstances. Rigid and forced perhaps, but otherwise calm. For that Nicole was grateful.
“The latest letter implies bodily harm.”
From her position on the love seat, Nicole studied the cloudless blue sky through the arches of her living room window. It was an odd juxtaposition to the conversation she and Derrick were having. She'd debated telling her younger brother about the letters. She didn't want to worry him. But on the other hand, she didn't want to keep such an important thing from him. Putting herself in his position, she would be very agitated if he kept similar information from her.
“Why is someone threatening you?” Tension increased in Derrick's voice.
“I don't know. The letters demand I leave the person's family alone. But I don't know who he or she is talking about. I haven't interfered with anyone's family.” Nicole stretched her legs on the love seat, crossing them at the ankles. Its tweed material lightly scratched the backs of her thighs.
“Have you told the police?”
“Yes. They have the letters, but I've kept copies.” Nicole swung her legs over the side of the love seat and propped her elbows on her knees.
Derrick's questions started picking up speed. “What are they doing about it?”
“There isn't much they can do right now. There aren't any prints. The letters are typed. But the postmark is Los Angeles.”
“Well, that narrows it down to about four million people,” Derrick noted with sharp sarcasm.
“I have a feeling he lives nearby.” Silence met Nicole's comment.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because one of the letters was slipped under my door late one night.” Nicole braced for Derrick's reaction.
“I thought you lived in a security building.” Derrick sounded startled.
“I do,” Nicole replied ironically.
“And you're still living there?”
Nicole stood and paced the length of the phone cord. “Yes.”
“Nicky, I think you should come home.” Her little brother's voice was inflexible.
“D, I can't leave now. I found out a couple of days ago Ty's death wasn't an accident.”
“What do you mean?”
Nicole rubbed her forehead with her free hand. “The police believe Ty was forced off the road.” She explained everything she knew about the case so far, including Malcolm, and Joyce's accounts of their police interviews.
“Oh, man.” Derrick groaned. “That's bad. That's really bad.”
“I know. I just can't leave Mal right now.”
“Okay. I understand,” Derrick said. “But you should at least leave that building. The stalker knows where you live. He knows which apartment is yours. He probably knows you live alone. Is Mal aware of these threats?”
“Yes.” Nicole dropped back onto the sofa and crossed her legs.
“And what is he doing to protect you?” Derrick demanded.
Nicole combed back her hair with her fingers. This cross-examination made her feel cornered. “He slept on my couch last night.”
“He can't continue to do that. It's not fair to him.”
Nicole tried again to rub the tension from her forehead. “I know. He wants me to move in to his house.”
“And you're still in your apartment?” Derrick's voice rose with incredulity.
Nicole fought against a feeling of idiocy. “D, if the stalker wanted to hurt me, he could have done it by now. Like you said, he knows where I live.”
“That theory doesn't comfort me. Let's not tempt him any more. Nicky, you're my sister. I want to make sure you're safe.”
“I know.”
“I think you should move in with Mal.”
“I'll think about it.” Nicole thought she could hear Derrick grinding his teeth.
“Think really fast.”
 
The coffee-shop midmorning scents weren't pleasing any longer. Instead, the muffins, bagels, mocha, and latte combined to make Malcolm nauseous.
He frowned at the article in the industry weekly, one of the
Silver Screen Previews
's competitors. It updated readers on the police investigation into Tyrone's death. The article explained that police had found evidence indicating the young, up-and-coming movie producer had been murdered. This wasn't the way he wanted Tyrone to be remembered. His partner's accomplishments and successes would be overshadowed by the media's sensationalizing his murder. He folded the magazine, covering the gossip on his friend's death, and left the restaurant.
As he walked toward the parking meters where he'd left his car, Malcolm saw a familiar figure come out of the novelty store farther up the block. Frank DeCaprio clutched a brown bag, his head tilted downward as he walked an intersecting path toward Malcolm.
“Hi, Frank. How are you?” Malcolm called.
Frank's head jerked upward as though he were coming out of a daydream. He stopped an arm's span from Malcolm. “Oh, hi, Malcolm. I didn't see you there.”
“I could tell. What brings you to this neck of the woods?” Malcolm asked, surprised to find the Beverly Hills resident in Inglewood.
Frank nodded back in the direction of the sci-fi/fantasy novelty store. “Oh, I wanted to pick up a few things. Have you talked to Nicole recently?”
“Yes. I spoke with her yesterday.”
Frank flushed pink. Malcolm's concern that his friend's son may have a crush on Nicole returned. He was on the verge of telling the college student he was too young for Nicole. However, he had a feeling his ex-wife wouldn't appreciate his belaboring that point. Besides, he was certain she could deal with Frank and the awkward situation. Malcolm's involvement probably would only serve to embarrass Frank.
He glanced at the store Frank had just left. “A Different World,” he read. “I haven't been inside that store in years.”
He and Tyrone had satisfied their inner children with frequent trips to the novelty shop. It was a treasure trove of specialty items, including comic books, graphic novels, posters, model kits, and collectible toys. They'd invested a lot of time in that store. But their trips had become less frequent as their company had grown. Then Tyrone had fallen in love with Joyce, and he'd spent the little free time he'd had with her. Now Malcolm couldn't conceive of going to the store by himself. At least not for a very long time. Too many memories.
“My mother introduced me to A Different World when I was a kid,” Frank was saying.
“Does she like sci-fi memorabilia?”
“Oh, no.” Frank's smile softened his features. “But she knows how much I like anything to do with science fiction. She used to take me there just to spend time with me doing something I enjoy.”
“Your mother's a very special lady.”
“Yes, she is.” Frank's obvious devotion to his mother touched a cord in Malcolm. He felt the same way about his mother.
“But somehow I can't imagine Leo in A Different World.” Malcolm smiled at the imagery.
“No. My father isn't big on science fiction.” Frank's voice cooled just a bit, taking Malcolm off guard. “That's one of the reasons I was so surprised by his enthusiasm for the
InterDimensions
movie.”
Malcolm felt an automatic need to defend the father to his son. “Perhaps he's changing. Perhaps he wants to share this interest with you.”
“Then he's going about it the wrong way. He's never even read an
InterDimensions
book. I've tried to get him to read one, but he won't do it. Supporting the project doesn't make you a fan.”
“That's true. On the other hand, I've read the books, and I am a fan.”
“I'm not denigrating your skills as a movie producer, Malcolm. I'm just saying that my father and I have different interests. And that's fine.”
Malcolm had a feeling it wasn't fine with Frank. Somehow he couldn't shake the image of a disappointed little boy. But he didn't want to get involved any further. This was a family matter, something father and son would have to work out themselves.
“I'd better head into the office.” Malcolm took a step back and turned toward his car.
“But it's Saturday.”
“I've got a lot to keep up with.” Malcolm was used to the long hours, which were made even longer now without Tyrone's help.
“Oh. Well, it was good to see you again.”
“It was good to see you, too. Give Leo and Ava my best.”
“I will.” Frank gestured toward the meter next to Malcolm's car. “I'm parked next to you, so I'll wait for you to pull out.”
Malcolm looked at the black Lexus SUV, glancing briefly at the license plate. “That's some vehicle.”
“It's my mother's. She lets me drive it sometimes.”
“I thought Leo bought you a car last year.”
Frank walked toward the SUV. “Yes, but I like Mother's.”
“Who wouldn't?” Malcolm climbed into his Honda. He drove away thinking about fathers and sons and unrealistic expectations.
 
Eight hours later, Malcolm sat in Tyrone's office thinking about budgets, production schedules, and unrealistic expectations. They were almost a month behind schedule, and each day cost more money. He didn't know how to make up that lost time.
He pushed the chair away from the desk and rose to pace the office. The business accounts were kept on Tyrone's system, the financial papers filed in Tyrone's cabinets. It only made sense he reviewed the accounts in his partner's office.
What would Ty have done? They'd had trouble with scheduling before and talked it through to come up with a solution together. He really needed someone to talk it through with now.
Malcolm circled Tyrone's office, pacing off the circumference. Accounting books and marketing texts shared shelf space with
Lord of the Rings
action figures. Community-service certificates and project awards hung side by side with movie posters. Each item brought memories to the forefront. Some memories stung his eyes; some made him smile. It had been almost five weeks since Tyrone's death, but Malcolm and Joyce weren't in any hurry to pack up his office.
He returned to Tyrone's desk. What would Ty do? How could he make up the time? Restlessly, he pulled open the center drawer and caught a whiff of mint from the open roll of original-flavor Certs. Writing pads, spare change, and individual packets of salt joined the Certs. The top-corner drawer yielded rubber bands, paper clips, and an extra box of staples.
Malcolm rifled through the notepads and napkins and came across an envelope. The postmark was Los Angeles, less than a week before Tyrone's death. It was directed to Tyrone, but it didn't carry a return address. The hairs on the back of his neck stirred in an uncomfortable foreboding. He opened the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper.
Leave my family alone,
the typewritten note read.
This is your one and only warning.
“Shit,” Malcolm breathed.
Ice tumbled in his gut. He stared at the note, seeing in his mind's eye the notes Nicole had received and hearing what he thought had been a misdialed phone call on his cell phone. What in God's name did this mean?
He snatched the phone from its cradle and dialed Tyrone's home phone number. Joyce answered on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Joyce, it's Mal. Did Ty ever tell you about receiving any strange letters?”

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