Trouble In Bloom (19 page)

But I still couldn't tell if that was my heart or my libido talking. Or both.

"Ahh," Perry said. "Now you're thinking about cookies."

"I plead the Fifth."

"No reason why you shouldn't have a nibble."

Little did he know. "It's complicated."

"You want him, he wants you. You're definitely hitched material."

"You really think so?"

"Sugar, I'm never wrong."

"But you don't even know us."

"Don't have to. Sometimes things just are. No rhyme, no reason. Just are. If you nit and pick and dissect, the magic dies, and if there's one thing I know, sugar, it's the magic you want—and it's the magic you already have with Bobby. You don't need to be wearing a cape and pulling a bunny out of a hat to see it. It surrounds the two of you."

Louisa jogged into the room, pulled up short next to Willie .

"You find him?" Willie asked her.

Red-faced from exertion, she drew in deep breaths. "Not. Here."

I thought maybe I should give her Duke's number.

That'd serve her right too.

"Mr. Sala," Jessica purred. "Give me another chance."

"No."

"But—"

"No." The Channel 18 cameraman moved in. Willie covered the lens with his meaty hand. "Go. Away."

The camera guy backed up, bumping into Carson. I wondered if Ana and he had plans to meet later.

To Jessica, Willie said in short, breathless bursts, "You still want any job, sit down and be quiet. Unless you want to sue me again?"

"Sue him? What's that about?" Perry asked.

I figured it didn't hurt to spill the beans now. "Sexual harassment."

Perry's mouth formed a perfect little o. "No way."

"Way. Trumped-up charges, I'm guessing."

"Not exactly the way to get in the good graces of the boss. I wonder how she got her job back."

I wondered too.

"You're here only because I was desperate," Willie stated to Jessica. "Let's get that out in the open right now."

"Impeccable timing he has," Perry whispered, smiling.

Jessica glared at Willie, and it was easy to see the hatred in her eyes. Her Hollywood dreams must have outweighed her need to lash out because she turned on her heel, strutted to the water bed and climbed in, arranging herself in the middle. A spotlight from above lit her every curve as she leaned her head back against the padded headboard. She blinked against the bright light, squinted. A look of absolute horror came over her face.

"Jessica?" I rose. A chill swept down my spine. "Jessica?"

She tore her teary gaze from above, looked at me and started screaming.

Perry and I made it bedside at the same time as the detectives. No one knew quite what was going on. Jessica was too hysterical to speak.

I shaded my eyes against the spotlights and peered into the maze of catwalks above the studio, where she'd been looking when she'd gone pale.

It didn't take long to see what Jessica had spotted.

Thad Cochran's body dangled from a noose tied to a metal beam.

The local country station played softly in the background as I drove home, a song about a man who'd driven his big rig into a motel when he found out his wife was in it with another man.

Life seemed so cut-and-dried in country songs. Jealous? Just run down your wife, own up to it, and spend the rest of your life in jail. No fuss, muss, or deception needed.

It was one pesky detail that had a way of interfering with reality. People who killed didn't usually want to be caught.

Even if it meant taking their own life.

It sure looked as though Thad had committed suicide. Had he killed Genevieve and couldn't live with the guilt? Had his arrest been imminent?

Bobby didn't think so. We'd been back in the conference room, waiting to be interviewed by Cincinnati police detectives, when he said, "Thad loved himself too much to end his life."

"He's right," Perry added.

Mario nodded. "Thad loved Thad first and foremost."

All true.

The streets were quiet this time of night, and I'd made every light. I couldn't wait to get home, crawl into the sofa bed and try to figure out my life.

Tequila might help me figure things out faster, but that was probably taking the easy way out. The new me wasn't supposed to take the easy road.

I sighed. This self-discovery stuff was hard. Worse yet, I didn't even know if any of it would work.

So far I had a new look, a new diet, sore muscles, clean fingernails, and a whole lot of frustration and confusion. Not exactly a glowing endorsement of self-discovery, was it? I kept hoping that feeling of contentment, of knowing what the right thing to do with my life, would come over me.

No such luck.

I didn't know what to make of that. Do I keep on keeping on? Or go back . . . ?

Almost home, I decided to wait for the tequila to think about it.

Yeah, it was easy, but after the night I'd had, I needed it. A girl could take only so much.

As far as I knew, Thad's body remained dangling from the catwalk on the set of
Hitched or Ditched
. The police had been waiting for the arrival of the medical examiner before cutting him down.

And I couldn't help but wonder . . . If he didn't kill himself, how'd he get up there? It's not as though someone can lure a person onto a catwalk, slip a noose around their neck, and give a little nudge.

I rolled down my street, breathed in relief at the FOR SALE sign still up across the street, and slowed to a stop when I noticed the cars parked in front of my house. My mother's, Maria's, Ana's, Brickhouse's, Tam's . . .

Ah. Would this be the "later on" Tam had mentioned? Now I understood my mother's cleaning frenzy and the cream puffs.

Slowly, I pulled into my driveway. The shades were drawn, the inside dark, but I could see the flicker of the TV set.

Glancing next door, I noticed Mr. Cabrera's house sat ablaze in light, and through his picture window I could easily see him and Riley playing a game of cards.

Not sure what to expect, I climbed out of my truck and up the front steps. I pushed open the front door, and the scent of popcorn, cream puffs, and strawberries filled my nose.

"Um, hello?" I said to the group gathered around the TV.

"Shh!" It was my mother who hushed me.

My couch had been pushed back, nearly into the kitchen. My living room, littered with pillows, sleeping bags, popcorn bowls, and margarita glasses, was a mess.

No one bothered to turn my way. Five pairs of eyes remained glued to the TV set, on the image of Carson Keyes, reporting from the parking lot of HoD.

" . . . examiner will have preliminary autopsy information by week's end, though by all accounts it appears as though
Hitched or Ditched
host Thad Cochran took his own life. No word from Cincinnati's finest on whether this tragedy is in any way related to the untimely death yesterday of Genevieve Sala, the show's hostess. For now, a source close to producer/director Willie Sala reports
Hitched or Ditched
has been put on temporary hiatus as the investigation continues. This is Carson Keyes, and I'll keep you informed and up-to-date. Back to you, Del."

Ana fanned herself. "Isn't he the cutest?"

"You should see him in person," Maria chimed in.

A smile crept across Ana's face. "You should see him naked."

Maria squealed and clapped. She'd been a cheerleader in high school. Old habits were hard to break. "Tell all!"

"I couldn't."

"You could too," my mother said, sipping her margarita.

"And has." Brickhouse chuckled. "Tell Maria about his tattoo."

Tam tossed popcorn into her mouth, talked around it. "A tattoo! No! Not Carson Keyes!"

Ana leaned forward, her breasts nearly spilling out of her V-neck nightshirt.

Wait. Whoa.

I took a good look around. Pillows. Sleeping bags. Sleepwear . . .

It was an honest to goodness slumber party.

At my house.

On a work night.

"It's a tiny pink ballet slipper on his right hip."

I noticed someone had put a piece of tape over the
Hitched or Ditched
camera in the living room. Probably my mother—she wouldn't have wanted anyone to see her clean.

Maria frowned. "A ballet slipper?"

"I know," Ana said. "Weird. He wouldn't tell me what it was about."

"Probably a tribute to an ex," Tam pointed out.

"Girlfriend or boyfriend?" Brickhouse clucked.

Ana drew herself up. "He is not gay! I can attest to that."

More clucking. "If the ballet slipper fits."

"Hi," I said again, still standing in the doorway. I thought it a good time to jump in, seeing as how Ana looked like she wanted to shove popcorn down Brickhouse's throat to permanently end her clucking.

"You're home!" Tam cried.

My mother smiled as though she hadn't shushed me minutes before. "Welcome to Tam's slumber party!"

"Nina!" Maria shrieked.

Oh no—I'd forgotten the earplugs.

"You look . . . you look . . . amazing! Are your eyebrows plucked? Are those highlights? Oh. My. God! Do you have a manicure?"

"And a pedicure."

She squealed.

Everyone launched into a discussion on my new look

as I set my backpack and keys down and made my way to the margarita pitcher. Tequila in its best form. If I'd had any hesitation about taking the easy road, it'd been washed out by the presence of five crazy women in my living room.

"This is just what I needed," Tam said. "A night away. Listen." She cocked an ear.

I listened. The news anchor waxed on, outraged at the cost of heating bills.

"It's quiet. No crying." She sipped her margarita, smiled. "It's heaven."

Okay, so I'd been put out by my own plans being thwarted. I'd been looking forward to the quiet night in bed, the chance to sort things out, but seeing Tam so happy . . . It was worth a little inconvenience.

"You don't seem all that upset by Thad's death," I said to my mother.

"
Pah
. I was over him the minute I heard about him and Genevieve. No one likes a slimeball."

"Amen," Maria said.

"Was he blue?" Ana asked. "Did his eyes bulge out? Had he wet himself? I've heard that when you're hung, you lose control of your bodily functions. True?"

I gulped my margarita.

Brickhouse clucked. "Thad Cochran would hate it to get around that he wee-weed on himself."

Maria nodded. "Most egotistical man I'd ever met."

My mother looked aghast.

Tam looked enthralled.

"So?" Ana asked.

"I didn't see him," I lied.

"But you must have heard."

"Nope, not a thing. I was locked in the soundproof booth." My fibbing skills never ceased to amaze me.

"Hmmph," she grunted, clearly disappointed.

Gingerly, I plopped down onto the cushion of sleeping

bags. Ibuprofen had worked miracles on my aching muscles. "Is Riley gone for the whole night?"

"Sleeping at Donatelli's." Brickhouse stretched out her legs. She wore a two-piece Tinker Bell flannel pajama set. I didn't know if I'd ever be able to look at her the same way again.

Maria examined her pedicure. "He mumbled something about too much estrogen before he bolted out the back door."

Can't say I blamed him.

Tam frowned. "Do you think she misses me? Maybe I should call home. Do you think I should call home?" She tugged on her roomy Beatles T-shirt. Plaid lounging pants and floppy-eared bunny slippers completed her pj's.

My mother patted her hand. "You know where the phone is, c
hérie
."

Tam sprinted into the kitchen. She moved really well for a woman who'd recently had a baby.

"Oh look! Look! It's Carson again." Ana sighed.

I'd never seen her so giddy over someone. Could it be that she was finally ready to settle down? Or did she just have stars in her eyes?

I hoped Carson wasn't hurt in the cross fire. He seemed the sensitive sort, especially if he'd succumbed under pressure to have a ballet slipper tattooed on his hip. He'd never see Steamroller Ana coming.

Brickhouse aimed the remote at the TV, turned up the volume. I refilled my glass.

"Sources on scene have confirmed Sherry Cochran, the widow of
Hitched or Ditched
host Thad Cochran, has been taken to University Hospital following a collapse after hearing the news of her husband's death."

The screen cut to footage of an ambulance pulling up to the front door of the HoD building, then flashed ahead to Sherry being wheeled out of the building.

I hadn't realized Sherry was there. Did she arrive after hearing the news about Thad? Or had she been there all along?

I took another strawberry-filled sip.

None of my business. The detectives were quite capable of sorting this all out.

"Who's that?" Maria asked, squinting at the TV. She was nearsighted but refused to buy a pair of glasses.

I put my glass down, reached for the popcorn. The cream puff plate was empty. "Who?"

"The blonde with the pixie cut. That style is really all wrong for her. Who does she think she is, Twiggy?"

"Her name is Jessica Ayers."

"She looks familiar."

"She was the hostess of
Hitched or Ditched
for two years, before Genevieve came in."

Maria shook her head. "No. Never watched the show before you were on it."

"You probably met her at some charity shindig or another."

"Nope. I'd have remembered that hair."

Brickhouse clucked. "Ach. Perhaps she probably wore it in a different style when you met her."