Dial Emmy for Murder (11 page)

I was sort of stuck between the wall and his chest. Very close. I tried to look away but he held my chin and looked me in the eyes.

“Let me help you. I know you need someone to listen.”

I was desperately trying not to cry. But despite my best efforts, a tear slid down my cheek.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why this is so fucking hard for me. . . . I hate putting this on you,” I stammered.

“I want you to put it on me, Alex. I want you to. Let me help.”

I just looked at him, blinking back my tears. I surrendered. “It’s my ex-husband. Sarah’s father. I never told you. He embezzled some money from me years ago and then took off. I haven’t heard from him since. Until a few weeks ago. He called to say he was coming back to the States and wanted to see Sarah. That piece of shit!”

“How is that a bad thing?” he asked. “You can press charges, maybe get some of that money back.”

“He wants to see Sarah,” I said again, and then I added, “He threatened me.”

“Why would he threaten you? Did you provoke him in some way?” He had shifted into cop gear.

“Hell, yeah, I provoked him. He can’t just stroll back into our lives like nothing ever happened. He’s a sonofabitch motherfucker! And I told him so.”

“Do you think he would ever try to hurt you? Did he ever abuse you when you were together?”

“Never physically. His was a more subtle psychological kind of abuse.” I sighed. “I don’t know who he is anymore. Maybe he’s desperate. I don’t know what to do.” I started sobbing.

“It’s okay. Give me his name and I’ll talk to the Feds to see if his passport has been active. I’ll track him down one way or another.” He looked at me like he knew what I was thinking. “Sarah will be fine—don’t worry. I’ll make sure of it.”

“How are you going to do that?” I asked him a little skeptically.

“When are they due back?” he asked.

“In a couple of days.”

“I’ll make sure she has someone following her. All the time. Everywhere.”

“You can do that? Without getting into more trouble?” That’s all he needed was more flack from upstairs because of me.

“Don’t worry about it. People owe me favors. Enough said,” he answered when I tried to interrupt.

“Thanks. That means a lot. Okay, then.” I looked at him gratefully. We were so close I could smell his breath. It smelled sweet like strawberries. I was looking down and then looked up to meet his bluer than blue eyes.

He reached out his right hand and touched my mouth. His fingers moved from my lips to my cheek. I don’t know what he meant to do—stroke my cheek and leave, maybe—but suddenly his hand went behind my neck and he was drawing me forward with strong but not forceful pressure, his eyes holding mine the whole time. I could have stopped, but I didn’t, and when our lips touched it was too late.

He tasted like strawberries, too.

Chapter 21

He was a good kisser. And he kept doing it. He had his hands around my waist, firmly but not too firmly. You’d think he’d want to move them up or down or into more interesting territory, but he seemed content to just leave them there and keep kissing me. Slowly and deeply. He took one of his hands and moved it to the small of my back, gently pressing me toward him a little. I could feel every part of his body, and he was muscular in all the right places. I put my hands on his butt. Yep. Muscular there, too. Then he started kissing my face. All over. Sweet, sexy kisses that trailed from my forehead to my cheeks and down to my neck. He was taking his time. It could have been an hour, but I think it was a minute. I even forgot where I was.

Then it kind of dawned on me that I had a boyfriend. He must have sensed what I was thinking because he gently stopped. He didn’t pull away. I was breathless and a little self-conscious. He was looking at me with such an earnest expression, it was disconcerting.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” I asked after a few seconds.

“What is there to say?”

“I don’t know. I mean . . . there’s Paul and everything. This isn’t right.” I was stammering and not proud of it.

“Yeah. It
feels
right, though, doesn’t it?” It wasn’t really a question. More a statement of fact.

I couldn’t argue with him. It really did. Our lips were almost touching as we spoke, and his breath stilled smelled like strawberries. His beard was a little scratchy, too, but in a good way. I was dying to kiss him again, but instead I said, “I’ve got some thinking and sorting out to do.”

“Yes, you do,” he said simply. I thought he would go in for another kiss. I was hoping, anyway, but he gently took his hands away from around my waist and opened the door.

“By the way, don’t worry about me and my job, okay? I’m a big boy. In fact, you’re not bringing anything into my life I don’t want right now.”

I wished I could say the same to him. I wasn’t sure what I wanted and that was the problem. He started toward his car and then I thought of something. “Are you heading out to see Aaron’s family tomorrow?”

He turned back to me. “Yeah. I’ll be at work and then go over in the late morning. Why, Alex?” he asked me pointedly.

“Just wondering!”

He looked at me skeptically. “You have a good night. And don’t worry about your ex. I’ll handle it. I’ve got it covered.” He turned and got into his car. I wanted to run after him, jump on him and kiss his sweet face, but instead I nodded and closed the door. I felt something sticky on my upper lip and licked it off. Strawberries.

Later, with a warm feeling inside, I called George.

“What’s up, sweetie?” he asked.

“This time,” I said, “I
am
in trouble.”

George chuckled and said, “That’s what I wanted to hear!”

It’s nice to have friends.

George told me to come right over for martinis and gossip. I went, even though I knew I was to be the subject of the gossip.

“It’ll be just us,” he said, indicating that Wayne would be there, too.

When I got there George answered the door and let me in with a hug. We went into the living room where Wayne—with impeccable timing—was putting a tray of martini glasses and a shaker on the table. “Some trendy things aren’t worth the time of day. Chocolate martinis aren’t one of them!” He shook that shaker and poured a mocha-looking liquid into a glass and handed it to me.

I had died and gone to heaven! This was actually what I needed. Friendly faces, sympathetic ears and the most deliciously decadent martini the world could ever know. A woman with PMS must have invented these!

“I know I’m crazy,” I told them, licking chocolate off my lip “but . . . the detective stuff, it’s exciting, you know?”

Wayne poked me. “And so is the detective, right?”

“Leave it to Wayne to get right to the point!” George laughed.

“I’m not wasting these martinis on chitchat! Let’s talk about the juicy stuff! Are you going to see him again?”

“Well . . . yeah. I’m helping with the investigation. Or I was.”

“What happened?” George asked.

“He thinks I’m too recognizable to go along when he talks to the families of the victims.”

“Why? Do they watch the show?” Wayne asked.

“All the dead men auditioned for one soap or another,” I said, “so, yeah, maybe.”

“If I know you, Alex,” George said, “you’re not going to let a little something like that stop you.”

He was right. I already had an idea for the next day. “Can I ask you a question, sweetie?” George asked.

“Sure.” I was a little wary of what he wanted to know, though.

“What do you think you would be doing if Paul wasn’t in your life?”

“What would I be doing?” I repeated. “You mean where Jakes is concerned?” They both nodded. “I don’t know. We might be involved somewhat. Who’s to say?”

“Who are you trying to kid? This man is gorgeous, he’s sexy and he has a major thing for you. So what’s stopping you?” Wayne was getting impatient with me.

“Wayne,” George said, “what Alex needs from us is not pressure. She needs us to listen and to just . . . be here.”

“With chocolate martinis,” I added, pouring another. “These are good.”

“They
are
good,” Wayne said. With an enigmatic smile Wayne added, “But hunky detectives are better.”

Chapter 22

I went to Parker Center the next morning and asked for Detective Frank Jakes.

“Can I say what it’s about, ma’am?” the sergeant asked.

“Murder,” I said.

“Who’s been murdered?”

“The detective is working on several murders,” I said. “I have some information that might help him.”

He looked me up and down curiously. I pushed my glasses up my nose with my forefinger and stared at him.

“Please have a seat, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll tell the detective you’re here.”

“Thank you.”

I sort of waddled over to a seat and sat down. When I looked up, he was still staring at me. I was hoping it wasn’t because he recognized me. He looked away quickly when I caught him.

Several minutes later Jakes showed up. He spoke to the sergeant, who pointed at me. Jakes looked over with a puzzled expression and then joined me. I stood and pushed the glasses up again.

“Ma’am?” he said. “Can I help you?”

“You are Detective Jakes?” I asked with a hint of a Southern accent.

“Yes.”

“You’re older than I thought you’d be.”

He seemed mildly amused. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “The sergeant says you have information about the murders I’m working on?”

“Yes,” I said. “The actors.”

“Actors?”

“The soap actors who have been killed.”

Any semblance of amusement left his face. I knew he hadn’t released information that he was working on more than one murder or that all the victims were actors. He was wondering how I knew. And he was wondering who the heck I was.

“Now, ma’am, how would you know anything about that?” he asked.

“What’s the matter, Detective?” I asked in my own voice. “Is absolutely nothing about me familiar to you?”

He stared at me, narrowing his eyes, actually leaned forward to look at my face, and then said, “Alex?”

“I told you I’m playing twins on my show. One of them looks quite different from me—I hope so, anyway.” I turned away from him and took the false teeth out of my mouth. “See?”

“Is that a phony nose?” he asked with a wicked gleam in his eye.

“No, it’s not! Smart-ass.” I poked his stomach with my finger. “That’s all mine. I added the teeth, glasses, contact lenses, gray wig, some body padding and a little bit of a Southern accent. What do you think?”

“I think it’s amazing,” he said. Despite the getup, I could tell he was happy to see me. “Are you trying to impress me with your acting talents, because if you are, it’s really not necessary.”

“Just listen. I want to go with you when you interview the families,” I said, “and I just proved they won’t recognize me. Especially Jackson’s family.”

“Well, won’t they recognize your character from your new show?” Jakes said.

“This was just for your benefit. I know you don’t watch my show. I’ll put on a different wig and mess around with my makeup. They’ll never know.” I got a little closer to him. I wasn’t above using feminine wiles when it served my purposes. On occasion, I mean.

“So, what do you think?” He didn’t smell like strawberries anymore but was still worth a good long sniff.

He sighed. I could tell he was torn. He wanted to be with me and this was as good an excuse as any. I felt the same way.

“All right. Just make a few alterations, though nothing . . . this drastic.”

“I can use the ladies’ room—”

“No,” he said, “not here. We’ll stop by your car so you can pick up your things. You can change on the way.”

He took my elbow and led me out of the room and down a hallway.

“In the car?” I asked doubtfully. “Can’t I go home?”

“No, it’s out of the way,” he said. “We’ll find a place along the way.”

“Hey, Jakes,” somebody yelled, “the boss wants to see you!”

“Say you just missed me!” he called back.

“But—”

We kept walking.

“Don’t you want to—”

“No,” he said. “My boss will tie me up for hours. Let’s just go—we’ll take the stairs. . . .”

He rushed me to his car in the parking lot and then drove us to mine to pick up my makeup kit and extra clothes. Then he took me to a restaurant he knew had a large ladies’ room.

“And don’t ask me how I know,” he said as we went in. “I’ll wait at the bar.”

Chapter 23

When I came back to the bar, Jakes was sitting with an iced tea in front of him and another waiting for me. He looked at me blankly, and then it registered that it was me.

“Jeez! You look completely different again!”

“I know! Isn’t it so cool?” I was having way too much fun with this.