“I don’t know, but I’m really sorry.”
“Sure, sure. Everyone’s sorry.” Lucinda waved in the air, as if she were shooing away an irritating mosquito, but her face changed slightly as she looked up at Cassie. For an instant, she almost appeared evil. Or was it, again, Cassie’s mind playing tricks on her? She didn’t think Lucinda could be her half-sister, but there was something about her, a familiarity she noted once more.
It’s all in your head. Cassie’s fingers clamped over her drink and the headache that had been threatening began to pulse behind her eyes.
“So,” Lucinda was saying, “if you end up writing the script, will I be in it?”
“What?”
“I wouldn’t want to be portrayed in a bad light, y’know. Be sure to run it by me. Or my lawyer.” Her smile was intact but her eyes glittered. “The way I see it, this”—she swirled her hand to encompass the room, the guests, the scenes from the movie, and everything else in the room—“this is my story to tell. To write. I’ve been approached by a publisher, so I’ll let you know if the book will be turned into a movie. My movie.” Again she patted the arm of her chair. Her saccharine smile never faltered. “I figure I’m owed.” She turned and hit a button, the wheelchair whirred into motion.
“Sweet gal,” Trent observed as Lucinda, chair and all, was swallowed by the crowd.
“She has a reason to be pissed.”
“I guess, but it seems like she’s milking it.”
Cassie glanced around the noisy room. Conversation was a hum punctuated by laughter, the score of Dead Heat playing in a loop, a musical undercurrent to the cacophony of voices rising from every corner of the expansive room. “Everyone here has an agenda, including me. I guess Lucinda has a right to hers, bitterness and all.”
More and more people had arrived, the room was getting crowded, the temperature rising, a few people becoming tipsy and louder than the rest.
Cassie was well into her second drink. She and Trent had wandered out to the cool night air of the verandah. Her throat was a little raw, her nerves stretched thin, and she was certain she’d waded through enough small talk to last her a lifetime. Her headache was a low thrum and she thought if she had to answer one more question about Allie or fend off questioning looks aimed at her and the husband she’d accused of being unfaithful, or just keep a damned smile pinned on her face for another second she might explode. Worse yet was her clash with Brandon McNary. To her surprise, he’d accosted her as she’d left the ladies’ room half an hour earlier.
“Thanks a lot,” he’d said, pulling her into a pillared alcove.
“For what?” She’d yanked her arm away from him.
“For the cops, and what you told them about the text message. From Allie.”
“I told them about a message you received, that you thought was from Allie. Who knows who it’s really from, but don’t blame me.” She’d been furious, already sick of the party. “I had to tell them. God, where have you been? Brandi Potts was murdered that night. Not far from where we’d met.”
“And I had nothing to do with it. Didn’t even know the woman. Was she involved with the movie? I don’t know.” He’d shrugged. “The extras? Come on. I had no reason to kill her and I don’t even think I should have to explain it.” He’d shoved stiff fingers of both hands through his hair in frustration. “The deal is that I don’t need some detective crawling up my ass. I’m on a publicity tour, for fuck’s sake.”
“Whoa. Wait! Aren’t you the guy who said, ‘There is no such thing as bad publicity’?”
“I wasn’t talking about murder. Jesus Christ, Cassie, use your brain, would ya? I’m already a major suspect in her disappearance.” When she’d looked at him as if she didn’t know what he was talking about, he’d added, “Oh, fuck! You didn’t know that? Come on! The on-again, off-again boyfriend who had public blowups with the missing woman? Of course I’m a suspect. That’s basic. Homicide 101.”
