Checked Out for Murder, page 11
Dirk let out a false laugh. “In our business, egos can get easily bruised. Tempers flare. But deep down we movie people are practical realists. After any burst of emotion, we move on and work together as a team to create a movie our audience will love. That’s our job. Our purpose in life.”
Wow. He’s as good a spin doctor as he is a director.
“I see,” the reporter said. “So you don’t think anyone Miss Reingold knew might have murdered her?”
“Of course not! We all loved Ilana.”
The reporter turned to Serena. “Do you feel the same way, Miss Harris?”
Serena frowned. “I feel the deepest sorrow for Ilana and her family, and frankly fear for my own safely. I am terrified that a crazed serial killer is going around murdering women. What kind of a place is Clover Ridge? Poor Ilana was the second woman to be killed in two days. I’ve asked your police chief to place an officer outside our hotel, but he claims there isn’t enough manpower to do that.”
Serena glared at Dirk. “I’m hoping the studio will provide a private guard until the murderer is apprehended.”
What a diva! But I couldn’t blame her. I’d be petrified in her situation.
“Are you planning to continue filming your movie?” the reporter asked Dirk.
“There is the possibility that we will. A good deal depends on whether I can find a suitable replacement for poor Ilana. It won’t be easy, but I have started interviewing actresses for the role.” Dirk released a deep sigh. “Tomorrow morning we’re holding a brief memorial to celebrate Ilana’s illustrious life. Sadly, none of us will be attending her funeral, as it’s being held in her home state of Pennsylvania.”
He put on a brave face. “But movie people are resilient. Firestone Productions hopes to carry on with this project. If I can find the right person for the part, I intend to see it through.” He glanced at Serena. “As does everyone involved. We’ll soldier on as usual.”
I chuckled as I clicked off the TV. Dirk made his cast and crew sound like a troop of Marines ready to go into battle. Though most of it was blatant PR, I found it interesting that he was already on the hunt for Ilana’s replacement. Despite Dirk’s claim that they were quick to get past personality clashes, it was obvious that Ilana had had a volatile personality. She might have offended someone grievously.
She’d broken off her engagement to Tom, which meant I couldn’t leave him off the list of suspects. Especially if she happened to have rebuffed him a second time.
At six fifteen my mother appeared. She’d changed into another blouse and pants and looked well rested.
“That’s a great bed you have in your guest room,” she said. “Much more comfortable than the one in the house Tom and I were renting.” She grinned. “Maybe I’ll stay here indefinitely.”
My expression must have revealed the shock her words had given me, because she burst out laughing. “I’m only teasing, Carrie. But that nap was the best sleep I’ve had in ages.”
I hesitated, then said what I was thinking. “You and Tom haven’t been getting along?”
“Not for some time. I thought it was because he wasn’t getting any parts. Oh, a bit part here, a commercial there, but nothing like this movie. I even broached the possibility of his going back to his old job.” She grimaced. “That blew up in my face. And then he was asked to audition for the role of Luke in this movie. He was thrilled, but it didn’t help things between us. When I heard he’d be playing opposite Ilana—frankly, I was worried.”
“Why? Did you think Tom was still in love with her?”
My mother shrugged. “The truth is, until recently, I’d never given it much thought. I met Tom a few years after their relationship had ended. After she ended it.”
“I figured it would be her doing,” I said, not wanting to tell my mother that I’d Googled Ilana. “Did Tom ever say why she broke it off with him?”
“Only in general terms. They had a whirlwind romance. The successful financier and the beautiful actress. They got engaged and were planning their wedding when Ilana got cold feet. She grew more and more distant. She finally told Tom she wasn’t ready to get married—though she was no kid at the time. He was devastated, but he insisted he was over her. And we were happy!” My mother said the last sentence emphatically, as if she wanted to convince me—or herself.
I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her tight. “I’m sorry, Mom. Stay here as long as you like and decide what you want to do with the rest of your life.”
My mother reached up to kiss my cheek. “Thank you, Carrie. I never expected that you would turn out to be my safe haven.” She glanced down at her watch. “Oh my! Enough of this chitchat. Dylan will be here soon. Let’s have dinner ready when he arrives.”
She had made some wonderful selections at Gourmet Delight—fish baked in what smelled like heavenly sauce, a platter of asparagus covered with slivered almonds, whipped potatoes, and a salad of baby greens with honeyed walnuts, strawberries, and goat cheese. There were Italian pastries for dessert.
“What a treat,” I exclaimed.
“Let’s not forget the mini croissants.” She gestured with her chin. “They’re on the counter.”
“I love these!” I removed them from the paper bag and slid them into the toaster oven to warm up.
Dylan showed up a few minutes later. He took me in his arms and kissed me, then gave my mother a peck on the cheek, which pleased her no end.
Who is this woman and what has she done with my mother?
Dylan handed me a bottle of wine. “A chilled Chablis,” he said.
My mother lifted it deftly from my grasp. “I’ll do the honors. You and Dylan sit down and start on the pâté.”
“I didn’t know—” I shut up as I watched her remove a dish of pâté from the refrigerator.
Dylan’s eyes were gleaming. “Is that from Gourmet Delight? I love their pâté.”
“I do too,” I said, “though it’s so expensive.”
My mother waved the corkscrew in her hand. “An occasional indulgence is good for the soul.”
“Why are you in such a good mood?” I asked. “You spent the morning being interrogated by the police and you’re taking a break from your husband.”
“The truth?” She paused to fill our three wineglasses. “Because I feel free. As though I’m on vacation. All the stress that built up this past month is gone—at least for now. My lawyer assured me that they can’t charge me based on my outburst, and I believe him. As for Tom—I’m very hurt and disappointed, but maybe it’s time to call it quits on our marriage. He was very sweet when he drove me here, but I think he’s secretly relieved that I decided to move out of our rented house.”
Dylan lifted his glass. “Here’s to you, Linda—er, Brianna. You’re one hell of a brave woman.”
“To you, Mom.” I sipped my wine.
“Thank you both,” my mother said. She smiled at Dylan. “Linda will do. I’ve decided my Brianna days are over.”
I giggled. “Whatever made you change your name in the first place?”
My mother shrugged. “I thought it made me sound … younger. Silly, isn’t it?”
I smeared pâté on a croissant and took a bite. Ah, heaven!
“My lawyer also said my best chance of avoiding all future charges regarding Ilana’s murder will be when her killer is found—the sooner the better.”
“Lieutenant Mathers is an excellent detective,” Dylan said. “He’s recently solved some homicide cases.”
My mother grinned. “Imagine my surprise when Phil told me that my own daughter had played a major role in solving those cases.”
I glanced at Dylan, who was frowning. To downplay the situation, I said, “I only did some checking; asked a few questions.”
“Linda, Carrie isn’t a trained investigator,” Dylan said. “She came close to getting herself killed when she tracked down one of those murderers.”
“You’re a trained investigator, Dylan. I’m sure you can give my daughter some advice on how to stay safe while chasing down clues.” My mother looked at Dylan, then at me. “I’d feel so much better knowing that someone close to me was actively looking for the person who killed Ilana Reingold.”
Chapter Fifteen
As quickly as my mother had opened the subject of wanting me to investigate Ilana’s murder, she closed it by serving the rest of our meal. We were too busy eating to say much besides how wonderful everything tasted. That is, my mother and I commented on each dish. Dylan remained silent. I knew it bothered him that my mother, who was supposed to care for and protect me, didn’t hesitate to put me in harm’s way.
But how could I not get involved? Regardless of what her lawyer had told her, my mother was a suspect in Ilana’s murder. I didn’t want to see her brought up on charges if she was innocent. And if I’d told Billy Harper I’d try to find out what I could regarding Daphne’s murder, how could I do less for my own mother? Besides, the two cases might very well be related.
Still, I couldn’t help wondering if she’d known all along that I’d investigated murders in the past and had arranged to stay with me so she could urge me to find Ilana’s killer. For once, I didn’t mind her scheming. I was eager to solve this case.
When we finished eating, I helped my mother clear the table. She loaded the dishwasher while I put on a pot of coffee and arranged the Italian pastries on a platter.
“Let’s have our dessert and coffee in the living room,” I said, “while you tell us everything you know about the people in the cast and crew and their relationship to Ilana,” I said.
I placed cutlery, napkins, mugs, and dishes on a tray and asked Dylan to set it down on the living room table. I followed behind, carrying a tray of milk, sugar, a fresh pot of coffee, and the pastries. “Don’t worry,” I whispered. “I won’t do anything stupid. I promise.”
“You better not,” he growled back. “As for her—it’s one thing for you to decide to look into a case; it’s another for a mother to deliberately put her daughter’s life in danger.”
We sat down on either side of the table—Dylan and me on the sofa, my mother in a chair—and I poured coffee into our mugs.
My mother bit into her cannoli, sipped her coffee, then said, “Tom was thrilled when he got a call from his agent that Dirk Franklin, who is based in New York, wanted him to try out for the role of Luke in his next indie film. Now that I look back, I can only wonder if Ilana asked Dirk to call him.”
“She’d worked with Dirk before?” Dylan asked. At last he was no longer pouting and was showing interest in the case.
My mother cocked her head. “They’d all worked with each other before—Serena, Charlie, Ilana, the crew.” She laughed. “The men had their own special connections with Ilana.”
“How exactly?” I asked.
“Interludes. Affairs. Whatever you want to call it. Tom said she’d been with Dirk and Charlie. Even Ronnie Rodriguez, the cameraman.”
“What about Serena Harris?” I asked.
“From what Tom told me, there was no love lost between the two women, though years ago, when Ilana first started in films, they were friends.”
“What was Ilana into—what did she like to do when she wasn’t working on a film?” Dylan asked.
My mother pursed her lips. “She liked to party and have a good time.”
“Was she on drugs?” I asked.
My mother shrugged. “I have no idea. She liked to gamble. Tom said she had him go with her to Las Vegas for three, four days at a time. He’d get bored and go back to the room while she stayed at the tables till the wee hours of the morning.”
“Ilana and Tom were engaged once. Do you think she was trying to get him back?”
“It sure looked that way, though now that I’ve had time to think about it, I’m not so sure.”
“So what do you think she was up to?” I asked.
My mother sipped her coffee. “Years ago Tom told me he doubted that Ilana was capable of love. He thought she’d learned to pretend to have feelings but never actually felt anything.”
“Then why was she making a play for Tom?” Dylan asked. “Was it a game for her? Out of malice?”
My mother finished off her cannoli. She appeared to be deep in thought as she chewed and swallowed. “Those are good questions. I’m sorry, but I don’t have an answer for you.”
“Did she need money?” I asked. “Maybe she thought that Tom was wealthy since he’d been in finance.”
My mother laughed. “He was—years ago. Sure, he still kept his hand in the stock market, but we’ve been living on what he earned in previous years. We manage to pay our bills and not much else.”
Dylan leaned forward. “I hate to ask you this, but do you think your husband killed Ilana?”
“I doubt it, though Tom was out when I woke up this morning. He claims he went for a walk, but the car felt warm when we got into it to drive to the precinct. I have no idea where he went or why he lied to me.”
“Had they argued?” I asked.
My mother shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“What about Charlie Stanton and Dirk? Did they have any issues with Ilana that you know of?”
“I heard her arguing with Dirk yesterday afternoon, but I think it was about something in the script.” She shook her head. “Surely no director would kill off one of his actors because she had a complaint about her lines.”
“I would hope not.”
The landline phone rang. I headed to the kitchen to answer it.
“Hi honey,” my father greeted me. “What the hell’s going on in Clover Ridge? Two murders in two days! I sure hope you’re not trying to solve them.”
“Hi, Dad. It turns out I knew both victims. Mom was questioned about the second one. Ilana Reingold was in the movie playing opposite Tom. In fact, years ago Tom and Ilana were engaged to be married.”
My father whistled. “Some coincidence, eh? But why were they questioning your mother?” He sounded concerned.
I explained why, then added, “Mom’s pissed at Tom. She’s staying here with me.” I lowered my voice, though my mother couldn’t possibly hear me from where she was sitting in the living room chatting with Dylan. “I think that marriage is over. Kaput.”
“That’s too bad,” my father said, not sounding sad at all.
“Ilana kept coming on to Tom. I saw for myself how he was eating it up. Of course Mom was upset, but Tom didn’t seem to care. I can’t blame her for wanting at least some time apart.”
“But why did you invite her to stay with you? You and your mother have never gotten along.”
“She asked to stay with me. I suppose I felt sorry for her, so I said she could.”
“Caro, I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Me too.”
For a minute, there was silence. “I’m worried about you—and your mother, strange as it may seem.”
“You are?”
My father exhaled a lungful of air. “I’m thinking Linda needs me there—for moral support.”
I felt my blood pressure rise. “I don’t think so, Dad. Bad idea.” Where is this coming from?
“It’s the right thing to do. Your mother’s really hopeless in a crisis.”
“But why do you care? And—and what about your girlfriend?”
“What girlfriend?”
“The one you’ve been seeing? The one—never mind.”
My father laughed. “Now don’t you go concerning yourself with my love life. I’ll check out flights and get back to you, let you know when I’ll be arriving.”
“But Dad—you can’t stay here!”
“Of course not, honey. I’ll bunk down at Dylan’s house. Talk to you soon.”
As soon as I returned to the living room, Dylan knew I was upset about something.
“Um, Dylan, can I speak to you—in private?”
My mother shot me a questioning look. “Is it about Ilana’s murder?”
“No, something else.”
Dylan followed me into my bedroom. I closed the door and in whispers told him that my father was flying to Clover Ridge and planned to stay with him.
“Sounds like he still cares about your mother.”
I sat down on my bed and held my head in my hands. “That’s all we need! My mother’s married, remember?”
Dylan laughed. “Right! To Tom, who she’s thinking of leaving.”
“It isn’t funny. It’s as screwy a plot as the movie they’re making—if they ever finish it.”
Dylan took me in his arms. “We’ll straighten it all out. I’ll call your dad and try to head him off.”
“Meanwhile, let’s not say anything about this to my mother. She deserves a peaceful night’s sleep before Jim Singleton shows up.”
Dylan left, and after straightening up the kitchen, I told my mother I was off to bed. She said she’d stay up and watch some TV, then go to sleep.
The phone didn’t ring, so I had high hopes that Dylan had been successful. Then, just as I was drifting off, I heard a ping on my cell phone and read Dylan’s text.
Sorry only managed to delay his arrival one day. Sweet dreams, my love. Talk to you in the a.m.
* * *
I woke up the next morning and checked on my mother. She was in the kitchen, making herself a cup of coffee with the Keurig machine, which I hardly used anymore.
“Morning, Mom. How did you sleep?”
“Fine. Where do you keep your paper towels?”
I pointed to the pantry. “In there. Have you seen Smoky Joe?”
“The cat? I let him out.”
“You what!”
“He was scratching at the front door, so I let him out. Why? What’s the problem?”
“Smoky Joe isn’t allowed outside.”
“Well, excuse me! How was I supposed to know?”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I never got to mention it with everything going on.”
“When we had Jasper, he always went outside.”
“And got into cat fights and nearly got run over twice.”
“It’s so isolated here, there’s no danger of a car hitting him. Don’t worry, Carrie. He’ll be back soon.”
