Sketch a Falling Star (25 page)

Where to next? Helene was talking to Adam Caspian and three of the Players who weren’t with them in Arizona. Given that she had a limited amount of time before everyone headed home, Rory needed to make the best use of every minute. Since Adam was the only potential suspect in that group, he would have to wait. Instead, she turned her attention to Greg and Amy Renato, who were laughing about something Richard Ames had said. Since Rory knew little about the young, married couple, this seemed like a good time to remedy that. Sometimes a casual meeting like this loosened people’s tongues, and they said things they would never reveal in a more formal setting. She ambled over to them as if she had no particular agenda in mind.

They all greeted her warmly. “You’ve won my husband’s loyalty forever,” Amy said. “Or at least until someone else brings in doughnuts.”

Greg swallowed the last bite of a custard-filled one. “Thank you sooo much,” he said, hamming it up. “All the food in our house is healthy and boring. I know it’s because she wants me to live forever, but I’m just not convinced it’s worth it.” That bought a round of laughter, and after it faded, Amy asked how the investigation was going.

“Making progress,” Rory said. Judging by their faces, they were all interested in her answer, but not heavily invested in it. She’d already decided she’d have to push the conversation in the right direction if she wanted to learn anything of value tonight.

“You know,” she added lightly, “from what I can tell, you and Greg may be the only ones who
didn’t
have a motive to kill Brian.” Her statement didn’t appear to trouble the Renatos in the least, but she could swear she saw Richard blanch a bit. Of course, she’d just called him a suspect to his face.

“I imagine, as motives go, there are a wide range of them,” he said, “some more pernicious than others.”

To Rory he sounded like he was trying to defend himself. She shook her head. “You’d be surprised. Vengeance, it turns out, is a very personal thing, and everyone has a different threshold. One person might only be compelled to take a life for a life, while another will kill over a broken heart or financial ruin.” She watched Richard carefully, but he was prepared this time, and his face told her nothing more.

“If we managed to stay out of Brian’s web, all the credit goes to my wife,” Greg said proudly. “She has this sixth sense about people, and the day that man joined the troupe, she told me to steer clear of him, that he was nothing but trouble.”

“I’m afraid my fan club here tends to exaggerate things,” Amy said. “I’m far from always right.”

Rory would have liked to take Amy aside right then and there to ask who she’d finger as the killer. Of course, it would be purely academic, since a sixth sense was hardly enough to indict, let alone convict, someone. “Maybe you should go into the PI business,” she suggested.

Amy laughed. “No thanks, I’ll stick with teaching. Fifth graders are about as much danger as I can handle.”

Rory felt a tap on her shoulder. Zeke was finally back in town. Another tap, this time harder and accompanied by a woman’s voice. “Excuse me?”

Rory turned around to find Dorothy Johnson standing there. “I just wanted to thank you for the surprise doughnuts, dear. Such a thoughtful thing to do.” She leaned in to touch her cheek to Rory’s. “Time for this old lady to be getting home. You take care. Night all.”

After Dorothy left, the rest of the impromptu party started to break up, some of the actors grumbling about having to get up early in the morning for work. With the exception of Stuart Dobson, everyone made sure to thank Rory for the doughnuts; several voiced the hope they’d see her opening night.

“You couldn’t keep me away,” Rory assured them as she and Helene cleaned up and tossed the empty doughnut boxes into the garbage. But the more important question, she thought, was which member of the cast would not be there when the curtain rose on opening night?

Chapter 24

Z
eke was standing near the living room window when Rory and Hobo came in the front door. “I was about to go lookin’ for you,” he said.

Rory unhooked Hobo’s leash from his collar, and the dog trotted off to the kitchen. A moment later she heard him slurping up water from his bowl. They’d taken a long walk to enjoy the first truly mild day of the month. The air had finally lost its bite and lay as gently against the skin as a baby’s breath. Hobo had been so pleased with the weather that he’d strutted beside her with all the nobility of a dog trailing a long pedigree.

“Marshal, we have to talk,” Rory said as she also headed to the kitchen. Zeke was leaning against the center island when she reached the sink. She ran the cold water and filled up a glass from the cabinet. The walk had left her as thirsty as the dog.

“Sounds serious,” he said.

Rory drained her glass before speaking. “It is.”

“Tell the hangman I’m ready,” Zeke said with a wink.

Rory leaned her back against the edge of the sink so that they were facing one another with only three feet between them. “You were in my bedroom a couple of nights ago.”

“Yes,” he said although it hadn’t been a question. His directness bought him some points in her regard but not nearly enough to table the subject.

“I thought I could trust you.” It was an effort to keep her tone and temper even. She’d purposely waited a couple of days to broach the issue in the hope that time would mellow her anger so they could have a discussion instead of an argument.

“You
can
trust me.”

“I’m afraid I have a problem believing that now.”

“Look,” he said, “I could tell you it was an impulsive mistake, but that wouldn’t be true. I knew damn well what I was doin’, thought hard about it, and I knew you’d be madder than a bear in a circus wagon.”

Rory shook her head, temporarily at a loss for words. “Then why…why in hell would you do it?” she sputtered finally.

“You needed the comfort of another soul,” he said without melodrama.

“In your estimation.”

“In my estimation.”

“That’s not good enough,” she said. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me.”

He looked her directly in the eye. “If I’d asked permission to be there, what would you have said?”

She took a minute to consider her answer, wanting to be truthful with herself as well as with him. “I’m not sure. That night was difficult; I might have opted for the company.”

She saw the skepticism flash across his face, but he didn’t try to argue the point. “Then you have my apologies,” he said stiffly. “It won’t happen again.”

With a start, Rory realized there was nothing more he could say. It was up to her to either accept the apology or pack her things and move out. Although that had once been a much easier option, the past year had made it gut-wrenching. She loved the house, and in spite of the difficulties in living with the marshal, she loved her life there. Case closed, at least for now.

“I appreciate your honesty,” she said, “and I’m going to take you at your word. But my patience has its limits.”

Zeke nodded. “It’s been my experience that everythin’ does.”

Rory had no idea what he meant by that, but she suspected it might lead down a road from which there was no returning, so she let it go.

“You might want to check that there answerin’ machine,” Zeke said as he slowly sifted away into the ether.

J
essica arrived at precisely two o’clock. The message she’d left on Rory’s voice mail was a simple “Please call me,” along with her phone number. When Rory called her back, she’d been no more forthcoming. She’d requested a meeting but refused to say why.

From her office, Rory heard the car pull up, followed by the staccato tapping of stilettos crossing the driveway. She opened the door before Jessica could knock. Their greeting was restrained and somewhat awkward, since their last time alone together hadn’t ended under the best of circumstances. Rory was tempted to ask how the dental appointment had gone, but common sense prevailed and she kept her mouth shut.

The actress’s arm was still in a cast, but other than that she looked as flawless as ever in black leggings and an emerald green tunic that skimmed her body and set her red hair on fire. Rory wondered if she had a professional makeup artist and hairstylist on retainer—or chained up in her basement.

Jessica was about to take a seat on the couch but abruptly changed her mind and chose the armchair instead. Rory didn’t understand why until she noticed a few strands of Hobo’s hair on the couch. She almost apologized but decided she’d rather start their conversation from a position of strength. And allergies aside, a little dog fur never hurt anyone.

“So how can I help you?” she asked once the actress had settled herself.

Jessica took a deep breath and squared her shoulders as if she were about to launch into a lengthy soliloquy. “I’ve been troubled by our last conversation,” she said. “I was in a hurry that day and I hadn’t been expecting you. As a result I may have come across as…difficult. I’d like to correct that impression.”

Rory had imagined half a dozen reasons why the actress might want to speak to her, but that hadn’t been one of them.

“I know ex-lovers are traditionally suspects in a murder investigation. I’ve seen it so often in screenplays that it’s actually become trite.”

Rory didn’t bother to point out that, trite or not, in real life ex-lovers were still committing murder. Apparently Jessica kept up on current events by way of screenplay plots.

“Anyway, I was thinking about the case, trying to figure out who could have killed Brian, but it was impossible. I mean, the troupe is like a second family to me, so it’s hard to imagine one of them being a killer. And that’s when it dawned on me that I could help you narrow your list of suspects.”

Rory’s interest scooted up a notch. “Okay, you’ve got my attention.”

“I have a witness who had me in sight the entire time we were in that godforsaken canyon. If I had killed Brian, she would have seen me do it.”

Rory was skeptical. It was hard to put much stock in an observation by someone who was stoked by adrenaline and literally struggling not to drown.

“Well, aren’t you going to ask me the witness’s name?” Jessica asked impatiently, as if she’d already forgotten that she wanted to correct a bad impression.

Rory realized she wasn’t playing the role of the PI the way the actress had scripted it in her mind. “Well, sure, of course.” She tried to pump some enthusiasm into her words. “Who is it?”

“Dorothy Johnson,” Jessica said, as if she were announcing an Oscar winner.

“Dorothy?” Rory had a memory flash of Jessica and Dorothy seated off to the side of the theater, their heads together, deep in conversation.

Jessica seemed irritated that her news hadn’t immediately brought her a round of applause or a chorus of thank-yous. “Yes, Dorothy,” she said tossing her head so that her long hair danced around her shoulders. No doubt a winning technique with men.

“You’re saying she had you in sight the whole time you were in the flood waters?”

“Yes. Why are you having such a problem with that?”

“A person in that kind of situation isn’t generally a reliable witness,” Rory said, barely managing to contain her own temper with this diva. “They’re way too busy struggling to stay alive to be keeping tabs on someone else.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe you should speak to Dorothy, because that’s what she said to me.” Jessica was becoming huffier with each word.

“I will. I most definitely will,” Rory assured her. In fact, she intended to make that call the minute the actress left. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

Jessica stood up abruptly, her posture stiff and formal. “Isn’t this enough? I thought you’d be thrilled to eliminate me from your list.”

“You’ve certainly given me something to think about,” Rory said with as much sincerity as she could muster. She knew it wasn’t close to what Jessica had hoped to hear, but then she wasn’t in the business of coddling suspects with bruised egos.

Jessica left with a frosty good-bye, their relationship worse than it had been when she’d arrived. Rory sat down at her desk and dialed Dorothy’s number.

R
ory’s second meeting with Dorothy took place in the older woman’s home, a neat, little Cape Cod in East Northport. The house had a cozy, country feel that seemed a lot like Dorothy herself. As soon as Rory stepped inside, the smell of cinnamon wrapped itself around her.

“I thought some coffee cake would be nice,” Dorothy said when Rory commented on the lovely aroma. “I was up early, and you know what they say about idle hands.”

Rory didn’t know what they say, but she nodded as if she did. No point in wasting time when there were more pressing questions to pursue. She followed Dorothy into the kitchen, where the table was set for two, the cake starring as centerpiece.

Dorothy poured the coffee and cut the cinnamon ring, placing a large piece on Rory’s plate and a much smaller piece on her own. “I had to start cutting back,” she said with a sigh. “Lately, I gain weight by just being in the same room with cake. I still cheat a little from time to time though,” she added in a whisper, as if the calorie police had the room bugged.

Rory cut off a forkful of cake, thinking that if it tasted half as good as it smelled, she’d be hooked for life. The moment it hit her tongue she knew she was in trouble. “I’m not leaving here without this recipe,” she said.

Dorothy preened as if she’d just won first prize at the county fair. “Why, thank you, dear. Most folks do seem to enjoy it.”

Rory took another few bites before she forced herself to put the fork down. There was work to be done. “I saw Jessica yesterday,” she said to get the conversation rolling.

Dorothy speared a piece of cake and popped it into her mouth. “Yes, she mentioned she was going to see you.”

“She says you can attest to the fact that she couldn’t possibly have killed Brian, since you had her in sight throughout that whole, terrible ordeal.”

Dorothy took a sip of her coffee. “That’s right. I did.”