THE NEXT TO DIE (27 page)

Avery looked up from his writing. “May twenty-seventh?” He turned to Sean. “That’s only three weeks after my TV movie aired, the one that ticked off so many people. Joanne and I had been seeing Dr. Nathan for about two months. Hell, we could have bumped into her.”

“Do you have a photo of this Lauren Schneider?” Sean asked Brenda.

The frog lady shook her head. “No, I’m sorry—”

“How about her age? Is her date of birth listed?”

Brenda glanced at the folder. “Um, yes, she’s thirty.”

Sean turned to Avery. “Any help?”

He shrugged and shook his head. “Joanne might remember. I—” He caught himself, and tried to smile. “I’m sorry….”

Sean patted his arm.

“She worked part time,” Brenda said. “And she gave us a week’s notice. I don’t show another employer listed.”

“What about her address and phone number?” Sean asked.

Studying the records, Brenda Dreyfus frowned. “I have a Linden Avenue address in Beverly Hills, but it’s no longer current according to this note my assistant jotted down here. Her last paycheck was sent to a post office box in Opal, Idaho.”

While none of the network newscasts yesterday had focused on such a gossipy item as the Dayle/Elsie war, the local affiliates went crazy. Most stations seemed to take Dayle’s side. Channel 8 even had an editorial, blasting Elsie and suggesting that she make a public apology.

As Dayle turned off the shower in her trailer bathroom, she could hear Dennis in the next room. He was singing “Do You Know the Way to San Jose?” in a falsetto.

“Hey, Dionne,” she called, slipping into her bathrobe. “Where’s Ted?”

“Outside, on the phone, making security arrangements for that citadel that used to be your home.”

“Have there been any public rejoinders from Just-Call-Me-Elsie?”

“No, not a peep from The Scary Widow,” Dennis answered from the other side of the door. “I hear from a couple of sources that she’s mega-pissed. Seems no matter how it’s served, fried or fricasseed, Elsie won’t eat crow. You came out ahead yesterday.” She heard him laugh. “‘The widow Marshall,’ I loved the way you kept saying that to the press. They ate it up too.”

“Yeah, it was pretty good, wasn’t it?” Dayle said, emerging from the bathroom. She sat at her vanity and vigorously worked a towel over her wet hair. “Did Nick Brock call today?”

Dennis was ensconced on the sofa with the ever-present clipboard in his lap. He munched on a Kit-Kat bar. “Nope, no messages from Opal, Idaho, and Mr. Golden Buns.”

She turned to him. “Did I tell you Nick was in Opal?”

“Sure did.” He glanced at his clipboard. “Listen, The Hollywood Walk of Fame Award dinner next week, it’ll be packed with press folk. Might be a good idea to attend. John McDunn indicated he’s available, if you’d like.”

She stopped drying her hair for a moment. “I’ll think about it. Thanks.”

“There are several events coming up, and it wouldn’t hurt to be seen with John at your side. It’s good for appearances—for the movie, I mean.”

She caught his eye in the mirror. “I know what you meant, Dennis.”

“Just trying to help.” He consulted his clipboard. “Um, a reminder. I’ll be here Monday, but I’m not working Tuesday. I have to help Laura move. She’s getting an apartment closer to mine.”

“That’s nice,” Dayle replied. “Listen, you can go over all this with me on Monday. It’s late. You don’t have to stick around.”

Dennis stood up. “Oh, before I forget, a friend of my parents is coming from out of town. He’s like an uncle. I’ve cleared it with security and Ted. He’s visiting the set Tuesday.”

“Remind me on Monday. Let me know what time so I can look for him.”

“Midmorning. But that’s okay, Dayle. Don’t make a fuss. I only wanted to let you know that he’ll be on the set. No biggie.”

She shrugged. “Okeydoke. No biggie.” She started to brush her hair and smiled at him in the mirror. “Now, go on. Get out of here before I give you something to do. Have a great weekend.”

At a stoplight on the way back to her office, Sean glanced over at Avery and caught him gazing at her. He smiled tentatively, then turned toward the window. The light changed, and she moved on. They were tired, and hadn’t said much for the last few miles. As the streetlights flickered on against the darkening sky, Sean didn’t want this car ride to end.

Avery had talked to his wife’s doctor this afternoon. Apparently, Joanne was better, eating more and responding to the nurses. In a strange way, this news made Sean feel sad, and more alone. Avery was due back on the set Monday. He’d asked if she needed his help over the weekend. Sean had said that she didn’t know yet. She found herself trying to think of an excuse to be with him tomorrow or the next day.

But there wasn’t much to do. They’d uncovered enough circumstantial evidence to establish reasonable doubt. Actual proof of a conspiracy now depended on what Nick Brock could find in Opal, Idaho. Unless Sean decided to join him in Opal, all she and Avery could do now was wait.

She should have been happy tonight. They were on the verge of exposing these criminals and proving Avery’s innocence. But she was on the verge of losing him too.

Sean switched on her indicator and began to slow down as they approached the parking garage where Avery had left his car this morning.

“Don’t stop, keep going,” he said urgently.

He didn’t have to explain. Sean glanced at him, and out the passenger window, she saw a white Corsica parked across the street. Two men sat in the front seat. Sean stepped on the gas.

“We’ll go back to my office,” she said. “We’ll call a taxi to meet you around back.” She checked her rearview mirror. The Corsica hadn’t moved yet. “This weekend, I want you start shopping for a bodyguard, okay? What time are George and Sheila expecting you tonight?”

“They have theater tickets. I’m going home.”

“Alone?”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I have a dozen reporters and a lynch mob camped out by my front gate. I won’t be lonely.”

Sean turned into the alley by her building, then parked around back. As they climbed out of the car, she let him carry her briefcase. They started up the back stairwell. “Listen, Avery,” she said. “I want to apologize for snapping at you this morning—you know, in the car?”

He paused on the landing and smiled at her. “It’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that I have it a lot worse off than you. What you said was right. Our situations
are
similar—in many ways. I don’t know why I was so disagreeable.”

“Maybe you were just setting some boundaries,” Avery said. They started down the hallway to her office. “I probably had it coming. I was a bit too familiar last night.”

Sean gave him a questioning look. “When?”

“Here. After we read the fax, I hugged you. It was inappropriate.”

She opened her office door. “It felt nice, Avery,” she admitted. “I think I just got a little scared.”

For a moment, he gazed at her in the darkness of her office. He set down her briefcase, then touched her arm. “All this time, you’ve never been unfaithful to him, have you?”

Sean shook her head. Her first instinct was to step back, but she didn’t.

“And he hasn’t been able to hold you or kiss you?”

“Not for the last fifteen months.”

He sighed. “Jesus, what a waste.”

She let out a sad little laugh. “That’s what Dan says.”

“Sean, do you think it would be okay if I—put my arms around you? Just for a little while?”

“I think so,” she whispered.

Avery gently pulled her toward him, and she gratefully sank into his embrace. He stroked her hair. She couldn’t keep from crying. He kissed the tears on her cheeks, then his moist, soft lips slid down to her mouth.

Sean trembled at the feelings awakening inside her. She kept thinking that this wasn’t supposed to happen, it was wrong. Yet she surrendered to every sensation.

He whispered her name and kissed her neck hungrily. His beard stubble was scratchy, but felt wonderful. It seemed like forever since she’d heard her name spoken in the height of passion. His warm breath was swirling in her ear. Sean ran her fingers through his wavy black hair. Avery’s mouth met hers again, and she parted her lips against his. She clung to his shoulders. It was as if a giant, warm wave had washed away that huge wall of protection she’d built around herself and her feelings.

Sean’s head was spinning. They sank back on the sofa together. He kissed the hollow at the base of her throat, and she sighed with pleasure.

Avery pulled back for a moment to unbutton his shirt. She ran her fingers through his chest hair. She could feel his heart racing. Avery had a movie star physique, but what captivated her most were his beautiful hands—manicured, masculine, and so skillful in the way they caressed and aroused her. Sean brought those exquisite hands to her mouth, kissing his fingertips, sucking on them. It had been so long since she’d experienced a man’s touch. She couldn’t help thinking about how Dan’s hands had become bloated, pale, and hairless—deadened by disease. Suddenly, a panic swept through her.

Avery kissed her again. Sean fiercely clung to him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, crying. “Please. I’m sorry, Avery. We have to stop. I’m so sorry.”

He just held her, his face pressed against her breast. He rocked her in his arms. “I know,” Avery replied, his voice raspy. “It’s okay.”

Sean realized he was crying too.

From a window in the back stairwell, she watched Avery climb into the taxi. Looking up, he gave her a melancholy smile, then shut the cab door.

They’d spent the last hour and a half on her office sofa, just holding each other. Occasionally, he’d kiss her forehead, or bring her hand up to his lips. Neither of them said anything. They huddled together in the darkness, listening to the traffic outside. There were moments when she remembered how it been with Dan, and she could feel Dan’s arms around her again. But she never forgot that it was Avery rescuing her from the emptiness of the past fifteen months. With his tender kisses and caresses, he’d resurrected those feelings in her.

She’d missed dinner with her family. But she wouldn’t have given up one minute of intimacy with Avery—not even for Dan and her children. It had scared her to realize that.

Sean had been the one to say it was getting late. She’d phoned for his taxi, and given him a fleeting good-bye kiss in the stairwell.

She watched the cab pull away; then she wandered back toward her office. She didn’t want to go home right now. Maybe she should have made love with him tonight. She couldn’t imagine feeling any more guilty and torn than she was now.

If only she could go away for a couple of days, and not have to face Avery or her family. Right now, she felt such an urgent need to put some distance between the people she loved and herself.

Her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness in her office. Without turning on the lights, she found Dayle’s fax from Nick Brock on her desk. Sean sat on the edge of her desk for a few minutes.

Finally, she picked up the phone, dialed Debbie’s Paradise View Motor Inn, and asked for Tony Manero’s room. He answered after two rings. “Yeah?”

“Is this Nick Brock?” she asked.

“Who’s calling?”

“I’m Sean Olson, Dayle’s attorney friend. We talked the other day.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re the one who said you wouldn’t hang up on me, though you were tempted. What can I do you for, doll?”

“I just thought you should know,” she said. “I’m flying out there tomorrow to work with you.”

After a three-and-a-half-hour drive over snowy mountain roads, Sean arrived in Opal to find the post office closed. She’d been trying to reach Nick Brock since this morning. She’d phoned from LAX, Portland, and Spokane. No Nick. No one even picked up at Debbie’s Paradise View Motor Inn.

Last night, he’d been surprisingly agreeable to having her work with him in Opal:
Might be a couple of days before I nab these creeps. In the meantime, this burg is dullsville, I could use some company, doll
.

Sean didn’t need the company. She made reservations at another hotel, a mile away from Debbie’s. But she wanted to touch base with Nick Brock today. She knew his motel was on the same street as the post office, but almost drove past the place. The sun had set an hour ago, but no one had switched on the illuminated sign yet. Sean turned into the parking lot. The two-story modern stucco stretched a quarter of a block. It didn’t appear deserted. Lights were on in the lobby, and plenty of cars were parked in front. But yellow police tape sectioned off the back part of the lot. Sean drove up to the tape line, and stepped out of her rented Chevy. She didn’t see anything unusual. Still, she felt uneasy.

She spotted a 7-Eleven across the street. Ducking back into the warm car, Sean steered out of the lot and pulled up to the convenience store. From a pay phone outside, by the store entrance, she dialed Debbie’s Paradise View. After six rings, a woman picked up. She sounded young, and frazzled. “Uh, yeah, Debbie’s Motor Inn.”

“Yes, hello,” Sean said. “Nick—I mean, Tony Manero’s room, please.”

“Oh, um…,” the girl replied. Sean heard her talking to someone else, the words muffled.

“Hello?” Sean said. “Are you still there?”

“Can I help you?” a man piped up on the other end of the line.

“Yes, could you connect me with Tony Manero’s room, please?”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Um, this is his employer,” Sean said. “Is he there or not?”

“I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”

“What kind of accident?” she asked. Across the street, through the naked trees, she could see the motel lot and the yellow police tape fluttering in the breeze.

“From what we can figure,” the man said. “Mr. Manero must have been smoking in bed. I don’t know why the smoke detector didn’t work. The only damage was to his room and a vacant room next door.”

“How badly is he hurt?”

“He was burned up pretty bad. He—he was dead before the firemen even got to him. Happened around seven this morning. Tony Manero doesn’t seem to be his real name. The police are trying to track down a next of kin. Perhaps you could help, ma’am—”

Sean hung up before he finished. She gazed at the motor inn across the street. The cold November wind kicked up, and she started to shiver.

The people in the room next door could probably hear her crying. So Sean switched on the TV and cranked up the volume to a
Dukes of Hazard
rerun. Then she went on sobbing.

The Opal Lakeside Lodge wasn’t so horrible—just cheesy enough to keep her wallowing in remorse, loneliness, and fear. Screwed to the paper-thin wall were two framed faded prints of rabbits in a grove. The carpeting was an ugly brown shag—with beige stains by the bathroom door. On the desk with all her paperwork was a plastic turquoise ashtray with burn marks.

She hated being alone in this place. Part of her wanted to jump in her rental, drive to Spokane, and fly home. But she’d be going back to Avery and Dayle with nothing.

Dayle had no idea she was even out here—and for that, Sean felt guilty. They were supposed to be friends, yet Sean still couldn’t confide in her about Avery. She couldn’t explain her urgent need to get away. Even now, with Nick dead, she didn’t want Dayle knowing she’d come here. Dayle would only send in the police—or insist that she fly back home immediately. And Sean felt duty-bound to stick it out here—at least through Monday, so she could see who was picking up mail for this group. Also she needed to track down that nurse, Lauren Schneider.

She missed Avery. She would have given anything to have him with her right now. Last night, she’d been in such a hurry to get away. She’d wanted time alone. Now Sean kept thinking about that tired, old saying, “
Careful what you wish for….
”

Even though they hadn’t carried it any further than some kissing and hugging, she and Avery were still guilty of betrayal. He’d just placed his wife in an institution days ago, and she was the voice, hands, and legs for her disease-paralyzed husband. Last night, the idea of working here in Opal with Dayle’s detective seemed like the perfect escape from guilt and temptation.

She couldn’t afford to let Dan know this junket was anything more than a boring weekend away—chasing down a lead. Last night, she’d made it back to Malibu just after dinnertime. She’d sat out on the deck with Dan, watching the kids play along the beach with her sister-in-law, Anne.

“What’s going on?” he’d asked silently, the constant
whosh-whosh
from his portable respirator competing with the sound of the ocean waves. “You’re acting funny. Did something happen while you were in the city?”

Her eyes watering up, Sean had shrugged and managed a smile. “Oh, you know me. I always get blue before a plane trip. That’s all, honey.”

She’d gazed out at her kids playing with their aunt on the beach. Sean had told herself that if anything ever happened to her, Danny and Phoebe would have a good surrogate mother.

She’d phoned Malibu an hour ago, and the nurse had conveyed Dan’s concerns: “He wants to know if you’re still feeling blue.”

“Tell him I miss him, but I’m doing okay,” Sean had replied. She’d talked with the kids, then hung up and burst into tears.

Lowering the volume on
The Dukes of Hazard
, she wandered into the bathroom, plucked a tissue from the dispenser, and blew her nose.

A car pulled up outside. She glanced at her door—all the locks securely in place. A moment later, another car pulled up. She heard the car doors opening and closing; a man and woman talking. The voices grew faint. Sean sighed. She wouldn’t let herself forget what had happened to Nick Brock.

She also had to keep in mind her mission here.

The Opal phone directory incorporated a score of surrounding towns and cities—along with their Yellow Pages, yet it was no thicker than the average issue of
Time
. The skimpy volume listed four Schneiders; two of them lived in Opal, none with the first name Lauren.

She tried Mr. and Mrs. James Schneider of Birch Lane, and an answering machine picked up. Their toddler read the cutesy announcement and kept screwing up and laughing while they corrected him in the background. Listening to it was sheer torture. Sean hung up before the beep. She dialed T. A. Schneider of Meadow Drive, and a woman answered. “Hello?”

On the desk in front of her, Sean had the list of employees from the lab and fertility clinic. “Yes, my name is Grace Casino,” she said. “I’m trying to locate a Lauren Schneider. I wonder if you could help me.”

“Well, I know a Laurie Anne Schneider,” the woman said. “That’s my daughter. But I don’t know any Lauren.”

“Was your daughter a nurse at the Adler Clinic in Beverly Hills?”

“That’s right. But her name is Laurie Anne, not Lauren.”

“Is Laurie Anne around thirty years old? And did she used to live on Linden Drive in Los Angeles?”

“Yes,” the woman replied. “Who did you say you were again?”

Sean quickly scanned the listing. “Um, I’m Grace Casino. I used to work in the clinic with Laurie Anne. I’m trying to reach her, and I don’t have a current address or phone number.”

“Why do you need to get in touch with my daughter?” The woman’s tone suddenly became edgy. “She doesn’t work at that clinic anymore.”

“Um, well, the clinic owes Laurie Anne some money.” Sean figured this kind of news would make Mrs. Schneider more cooperative. “There was a—a mix-up in accounting, and Laurie Anne has over eleven hundred dollars in back pay owed her. I volunteered to track down her current address. Do you know how I can get a hold of Laurie Anne, Mrs. Schneider? I sure wouldn’t want her to miss out on eleven hundred dollars.”

“Well, neither would I!” Mrs. Schneider agreed. “But Laurie Anne is moving again next week, so the Los Angeles address I have is only good for a few more days. She’s always on the go, that one. I’ll tell you what, why don’t you have them send the check here?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t do that. But if you gave me Laurie Anne’s current address and phone, maybe I can catch her before moving day.”

“Well, all right. Hold on while I get my address book. Don’t go away.”

“Oh, I won’t, Mrs. Schneider,” Sean said. “I’ll be right here, waiting.”

Sunday morning, Sean decided to go to mass. But according to the Yellow Pages, the closest Catholic church was in another town forty miles away. No Episcopalian, Presbyterian, Lutheran, or Unitarian centers either. And no synagogues. Apparently, there were no Jews in Opal. Come to think of it, in her wanderings around town since yesterday afternoon, she hadn’t noticed a single black person, Hispanic, or Asian.

The only house of worship in Opal was the God’s Light Christian Faith Church. Sean climbed in her rental and drove by the place—a beautiful, pristine, modern white structure with gold trim, located at the edge of a winding brook. It looked like a smaller-scale Kennedy Center, and probably cost almost as much to build. She watched the congregation pour out at the end of the service. They were gussied up to the nines—the way people used to dress for church. At first glance, there was something very sweet about it.

On her way back to the hotel. Sean stopped by Flappin’ Jack’s Pancake House. Apparently, the chalet-style restaurant was the Sunday morning hot spot in Opal. The place was already gilded with cheesy Christmas decorations, including a big plastic nativity set by the front entrance. Beneath a red garland and blinking lights on the atrium ceiling, all those churchgoing families waited for tables to open up. But single folks and strangers like Sean found immediate seating at the counter.

Inside Flappin’ Jack’s Pancake House, she had a closer look at the clean-scrubbed, well-dressed Opal citizens. She heard snippets of dull conversation—mostly about Pastor Whitemoore’s sermon, which maintained that “diversity” meant “perversity.” The minister’s words must have fallen on welcome ears in this little Aryan township. Sean couldn’t help thinking about
The Stepford Wives
as she studied the women. But these robots seemed aware of their own misery. Despite their Sunday dresses, they looked tired and frayed. The husbands perfectly fit the mold of Eisenhower-era Family-Values Dads by saying very little to their spouses and children and drinking way too much. Still, some of the kids seemed happy—at least on the outside. One thing for Opal, it seemed like a good place to raise children—if they were white, the correct religion, and didn’t try to be different.

The pigs in blankets at Flappin’ Jack’s were delicious. Sean returned to The Opal Lakeside Lodge with a full stomach and a copy of
The Quad City Register
—the local newspaper, a thin weekly that came out every Sunday. She hunted through the front section and found a story on page six:
CALIFORNIA MAN DIES IN OPAL HOTEL FIRE
. The article was brief, focusing more on the damage to Debbie’s Paradise View Motor Inn
(still open for business!)
than the thirty-four-year-old guest from California who apparently had been smoking in bed. Nick’s identity was withheld
pending notification of next of kin
. Plans for a church raffle and Whitemoore’s Special Thanksgiving Services received more coverage.

The telephone rang. Sean almost jumped out of the desk chair. No one knew she was here except her family; and they wouldn’t call this early in the day unless it was an emergency. She snatched up the phone. “Hello?”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“Avery?”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

She sighed. “I came here to work with Dayle’s detective, but he’s dead.”

“I know. Dayle got through to the hotel last night, and they told her he died in a fire—after smoking in bed. Dayle says the guy didn’t even smoke. For God’s sake, get out of there before some accident happens to you too.”

“I’m all right,” Sean said. “How did you track me down? Did you call my family? Please tell me you didn’t upset them—”

“Yes, we called them, but we didn’t let on anything was wrong.”

“We?” Sean asked.

“Dayle and I. In fact, your brother-in-law had us say hello to Dan, because he’s such a movie nut. He also gave us your the number at the Opal Lodge. Now check out of there and come home. We’re sending in the police—”

“No, wait. Not yet. I’m making some headway here, Avery. I found out that nurse’s address in Los Angeles, Laurie Anne Schneider on Franklin Avenue, the Ulta Vista Apartments. But we shouldn’t move in on her just yet. We can’t tip them off that we’re on to them. Besides you and Dayle, who else knows I’m here?”

“No one else. Just your family. That’s it.”

“Don’t tell another soul,” Sean said. “Give me until Tuesday. If I don’t come up with anything else by then, you can send in the troops—”

“Dayle and I already discussed this. It’s a matter for the police.”

“You’ll have to convince Dayle that I need more time.”

“Convince her yourself,” Avery said. “She’s right here.”

After a moment, Dayle came on the line: “Sean, are you nuts?”

“Are you guys together? Or is this a conference call?”

“No, Avery’s here at my place. What’s this about giving you more time? Good God, Sean.” Her voice started to crack. “I hate to admit that I actually liked Nick, but I did, damn it. I still can’t believe he’s dead. I won’t go through this with somebody else again—not after Leigh and Hank. You get your ass back here. This is a police matter now.”

“The cops are too busy stacking up a case against Avery. Do you think some pie-in-the-sky conspiracy theory will change their minds at this point? They don’t want to prove he’s innocent. Besides, how can we be sure the police aren’t in on this? A cop shot Hank—and Bonny. And I certainly wouldn’t trust the police around here.”