Fame and Fortune and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  Daisy turned off the light and closed my door over, leaving me with my pug to circle and fret and grunt as she tried to find a place that worked for her. It took a long time for her to settle after Daisy left and I finally got out of bed with a cranky growl at her in search of entertainment if she was going to insist on keeping me awake.

  My best friend wasn’t in the living room, but my laptop was. The idea of a movie appealed so I brought it back to bed with me, bare feet padding on the soft carpet, the covers warm and welcoming as I settled in next to Petunia who finally found the perfect place to lie down, her chin on my pillow. Naturally.

  “Let’s see if we can find something to knock us out,” I said to her. She groaned her agreement.

  But, instead, as my fingers hovered, the search engine screen waiting for my input, I had a thought. And tapped Randy Russell’s name in to the bar before hitting enter.

  A moment later, Petunia with her chin now transferred to my shoulder, gazing at the bright screen with her bulging eyes, I scanned articles about the death and subsequent scandal surrounding Skip and Jason that seemed to have been rapidly and utterly swept under the rug. Interesting to read Randy’s blog and the story he told us in his written word, how his primary focus, it appeared, was Skip Anderson and no other topic. When he set out for revenge, he didn’t take prisoners. I would have thought there was enough in the way of chatter, pictures and even the odd video of Skip abusing people verbally, taking drugs and drinking far too much that the team must have seen the writing on the wall. Which was maybe what turned Jason’s death and this last concussion into the icing on Skip’s thanks but you’re fired cake.

  I scrolled past the text in the latest article before spotting an image I hadn’t seen yet on the sidebar, squinting past my dizziness to read the date. When I clicked on it, the photo of a young football player in the prime of his budding career appeared, smiling for the camera, his dark eyes seeming to lock on mine.

  My entire body went cold, muscles spasming with surprise so powerful I locked up a moment. I gasped loudly enough at the sight of Jason Hagan Petunia barked and farted in rapid succession, leaping back from me like I’d scared her.

  Instead of comforting her, I pushed my laptop aside and lunged for my phone. Too fast, Fee, slow down. A dizzy spell washed over me, nausea powerfully commanding, forcing me to lie over the edge of the bed, all the blood rushing to my head as I salivated heavily and swallowed down the bile threatening to emerge while I panted and prayed for it to end.

  By the time the wave of sickness passed I was able to roll back over and stared up into Petunia’s worried, bulging eyes, my heart pounding, entire body slick with a cold sweat.

  “That was dumb,” I whispered to her.

  Two pills went down once I fumbled them from the bottle, a wash of water as I got out of bed at last and headed for the kitchen, dialing Crew on my way to the stairs. I’m not sure why I felt the need to go up to the main house. I wasn’t actually going to see him, just calling him, but moving toward him in a general kind of way helped steady my pulse like nothing else.

  Four rings buzzed in my ear before his answering service picked up. I swore softly as I paused halfway to the top of the stairs and tried again. This time the call went right to voicemail and I knew he was ignoring me on purpose.

  Damn him, of all times to cut me off when I knew who the murderer was.

  Okay, fine. Dad. But I had to find Willow first, and fast. Because if I was right, she hadn’t run for the hills, was nowhere near L.A. and it was very likely her life was in danger. I was sure of it. Had a hint of it earlier, didn’t I? When the person who killed Skip told me he was going to quit his job later that night. Tell Willow in person.

  Olivia answered on the first ring. “Fiona.” She sounded flustered.

  “Just shut up and tell me where Willow is.” I didn’t have time for her crap.

  “How am I supposed to know?” She didn’t get to go on, someone fighting her for her phone before Stella came on. “What’s wrong? You know where Willow went?”

  Her fear sounded real. “Get to Crew Turner right now,” I said. “Tell him to arrest Carter Melnick. And find Willow. I think he’s going to try to kill her tonight.”

  I paused at the kitchen door, the entry already half swung open, and froze as Stella chattered in my head. Dropped my phone, heard Petunia yip and didn’t even look down to see if I’d hit her with it. Because I wasn’t alone.

  “Very good, Fee,” Carter said, Willow in a headlock against him, a needle pressed to her throat. “But I wish you hadn’t made that call.”

  ***

  Chapter Forty One

  I stared at the pair of them, Willow ever so pale, Carter’s handsome face as kind and worried as I’d ever seen it. And those eyes, those beautiful dark eyes of his.

  “Your brother had your eyes,” I said. Maybe a silly thing to blurt out while he held his former employer at needlepoint and what had to be a lethal dose of Quexol in the barrel.

  “I guess he did,” he said. “But Jay was a hundred times the man I ever was.” His face crumpled, moisture forming in his lashes. “I was a waste of space from day one, never made anything of myself. Got into drugs and petty crime while he set his heart on football. And he made it, Fee.” That smile. I’d fallen for the curve of it, the gentleness behind it. How had I misread him so badly? “He was making something of himself.”

  “Carter.” Willow choked out his name. “I’m so sorry about your brother.”

  It was the very first time I saw the man he used to be. Or maybe the man he still was, honestly, hidden behind a façade of polished professionalism. A flare of utter rage like a bursting volcano, a shift in stance barely noticeable, a flash of energy so intense she cried out though he didn’t visibly hurt her in any way.

  “Shut. Up.” This was the Carter who killed Skip, I guess. The Carter—if that was even his name—who almost killed himself getting high on a regular basis. He met my gaze again, the rage draining out of him, and shrugged a little, the end of the needle pricking her thin skin, making a dent in her flesh. It had to have gone in. And her jugular pulsed beneath it. “I wasn’t talking to you, Ms. Pink. I was talking to Fee.”

  Her huge eyes begged me to do something. But I could barely focus, let alone act. My head throbbed, though from the concussion or my own self-doubt I couldn’t tell.

  Carter spoke before I could come up with a single thing to say that wouldn’t emerge in an incoherent gurgle. “I thought I could trust you.” He looked away a moment, lips thinning to a disappointed line. “I thought we had something special to build on, Fee. I guess I was wrong.”

  “Carter,” I whispered. “You tried to kill me.” Forget Skip Anderson. Screw that asshole. Carter hit me with the handle of my own damned shovel and almost took my head off. Anger built, and I know it had to show on my face, because his own, rather than going hard and furious, reflected his regret.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I never meant to hurt you, I swear. I had to shut him up.”

  “Who?” I realized then I already had that answer. “Randy.”

  He nodded while Willow shifted ever so slightly in his grip. Did he feel her movement, the way she settled her weight in his hands? I saw it, tried to ignore it, was grateful he was locked on me and not her at the moment and hoped I didn’t give her away in my screwed up state.

  Then again, what exactly did she have planned that wasn’t going to end up with her dying of an overdose and me likely bludgeoned to death by the man I thought I could fall in love and share my life with?

  “Russell knew me,” he said then. “I did my best to avoid him, keep my head down. He never made the connection, but he was clever. And I figured the longer this wound out, the more chance he had of recognizing me.” Carter smiled, tremulous and sad. “You’re right, by the way. I do have the same eyes. But thankfully Jay took after Mom and I look enough like my father I got away with it.”

  “Almost did, you mean,” I said. “Wo
uld have, Carter. If you’d just let Willow go.” Then again, I guess I proved that wasn’t the case. But he could have run, could have hid himself away in the old life he used to live and no one would have found him, I was positive of that.

  “How could I?” His hands shook, the needle trembling where it pricked Willow’s skin. She sagged further, eyes never leaving me, though he didn’t seem to notice. “It was as much her fault as his. She just let him do it, didn’t argue, didn’t fight. And, in the end, it was her lawyer who advised Skip to settle.”

  Willow gasped softly. “You weren’t there.” She seemed suddenly ashamed and I was glad. “You can’t know that.”

  “Paulie told me,” he said. “Your favorite body guard.” The one that disappeared? Carter said one vanished and he got the job thanks to the temp agency. “Right before I killed him.” Oh my god. “Funny thing, this was only about Skip, you know. To that point you weren’t even on my radar. I was going to let you live.” He whispered that admission into her ear. “Until you took part in their plan to screw over my parents. And then you had to go, too.”

  My mind flashed to the carriage and Skip’s slip, disjointed thoughts coming together in a rush.

  “You drugged him out on the street,” I said. “Right in front of everyone.”

  Carter nodded to me, though he didn’t seem happy or proud of his success. “He was so wasted by then I decided to chance it. I was going to wait and dose them both later, make it look like a murder suicide, like he’d finally snapped. But he just pissed me off so much, Fee. And I couldn’t resist.” He shook his head, looked down at Willow’s face beneath his, arm tight around her neck. “A mistake. I should have had more restraint and they’d both be dead and I wouldn’t have to kill you, too.” He met my gaze as he finished, chill washing down my spine at his sad and yet casual admission.

  “You know, plotting to kill them was the motivation I needed to get clean. Ironic, right?” That chuckle, so gentle, so Carter. “I stopped cold turkey the day Mom died, swore I’d make them pay. Started eating healthy, gained weight. Found out it was easy to get a job as a bodyguard with my old looks still intact.”

  The scar on his wrist, his long sleeved shirt and jacket he was never without. “You worked hard to hide who you were.” And not just his identity, but the person he used to be.

  “Easier than I thought,” he said. “I used my middle name and my mother’s maiden one, her dead brother’s social security number and Joey Hagan was dead in a fire in a squat and Carter Melnick was born.”

  Did he burn down that house with those people inside? I decided I didn’t want to know.

  “That was a lucky break,” he said like he knew what I was thinking and needed to tell me everything. “Already in progress when I got there. So I took advantage and dumped my old life and never looked back.”

  Okay then. Yes, he’d killed the body guard and Skip, but at least he didn’t burn three drug addicts or street people or whoever they were alive. Guy had some sense of honor. Except he didn’t try to help them either, did he?

  Fee. I needed more drugs.

  “It wasn’t supposed to end this way,” Carter said. “I was supposed to take them both out at the same time and disappear, and no one would ever know it was me. I’d find somewhere to hide, live out the rest of my life and do good, in Jay’s name.” There wasn’t much I could say to that. Because he honestly believed he’d done the right thing. Carter cleared his throat, his face settling into a mask of cold determination. “I should have known better than to come back, but I wanted to see you one last time. I should have just killed her and run.”

  “You planted the syringe and bottle in the third floor bathroom to implicate Evelyn,” I said. “Then the one under Willow’s bed after Crew and Dad already searched to make sure we thought it was her.”

  He shrugged. “Pathetic. I was pretty sure at that point she’d get off, so I had to try.” Carter twitched ever so slightly, regretfully. “This is a mess, and I’m sorry you’re going to suffer for it, Fee. But I can’t let you go. You have to know that.”

  “I didn’t do anything to your brother,” I said. “Carter, you can turn yourself in. Skip’s dead. It doesn’t have to end this way.”

  I had to try. But my usual persuasiveness was obviously defective thanks to the concussion or the drugs or my weakness. Regardless the reason, he looked away from me, body tensing as he prepared to inject Willow with the contents of the syringe.

  “Say goodbye, Ms. Pink,” he said.

  As Willow collapsed utterly, one foot lashing out to impact his knee and dragging him down to the floor with her.

  ***

  Chapter Forty Two

  I leaped toward the pair without thinking, head blazing with pain I fought to ignore, and landed on the two of them like some kind of ridiculous superhero who’d lost her cape along the way. My fingers skittered for the syringe, impacting Carter’s hand and tearing at the plastic tube. While my intentions were good, my aim was off, my own grasp too slow to save the day while Carter fumbled the prize. It went flying across the tile despite my efforts to nab it, spinning until it came to a halt against the side of the fridge. Carter grunted under my weight, Willow squirming beside me, her slim body writhing for purchase and leverage.

  Well, at least he didn’t have possession of the deadly weapon anymore, either.

  There should have been shouting or cursing or some kind of noise aside from the anxious yips of my pug as she circled and tried to get to me. But the three of us struggled in near silence, only the soft moan of my pain escaping my lips when I tried to pin Carter’s arms, his faint grunts when he shifted sideways to slip out from under me, Willow’s gasping breath while she lashed out with both feet, trying to kick him hard enough to incapacitate him.

  Such silence held more weight than stone and I felt my breath stolen from my chest, terror rising like a tide inside me, swallowing my courage and reducing me to an animal like state while I bit and punched and grappled with the man I knew, if we let him up, would kill both of us.

  In the end, it was Willow who took care of our assailant, gaining her knees while I wriggled and fought to keep Carter pinned, landing hard on my side when his superior strength bucked me off. I rolled over, ready to throw up from the nausea and agony, to see the starlet hit him hard in the sternum then undercut his jaw before round house kicking him in the side of the head.

  He spun toward me as he went down, eyes rolling back into his head and collapsed on his face while Willow sprang to her feet, bouncing on her toes and I was grateful—oh so grateful—she learned to do her own stunts.

  Willow hurried to me, tried to help me up. “Fee, are you all right?”

  Petunia chuffed as I shook and did my best not to cry, her words sounding so loud after the quiet intensity of the fight. “You’re awesome,” I said.

  She didn’t get to respond. Petunia barked once sharply and I gasped at her, breathless still, tried to warn Willow but too late, as Carter lurched upright. Petunia barked again and Willow spun, taking Carter’s fist to her face. Her turn to go down, twisting sideways from the blow’s momentum while I scrambled, stomach heaving, back away from him.

  Slow motion never felt so much like a horror movie. Nothing seemed to gain me the kind of control I needed, pushing with both feet across the tile, trying for purchase and failing to stand. Skidding like I was in a pool of cold molasses, caught in the grasp of desperation for speed and unable to find it. When my back hit the fridge, the hum of the big stainless steel appliance vibrated between my shoulder blades like a warning I didn’t need as time wound down toward the tick-tick-tick of infinitesimal anticipation of the end.

  Carter approached slowly, face twisting into something I didn’t recognize while my mouth dropped open and a scream finally escaped. Petunia skirted him but stayed out of his way, smart pug, and I prayed once I was gone he’d leave her alone. Just don’t kill my dog, I beg you. I think I actually said it, the last word trailing out of me in a whisper
as the shriek of my terror died in my mouth.

  My heart pounded so loud I couldn’t hear anything after that, had to force air into my lungs, my head the one shrieking now, pain overwhelming me, hands grasping at the tile under me for a weapon, the means to fight, anything, anything at all to keep him away and not let this end how I knew it had to.

  Even as my fingertips found plastic and steel.

  I froze, the syringe in my hand suddenly, time turning forward so fast I was numbed by its return to normal. Hands hidden behind one hip, I waited, the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life. My world was Carter, a black tunnel of focus leading only to him as he finally kicked Petunia away and lunged for me, hands reaching for my neck.

  And then I was choking, his grip cutting off my air, instantly and with a hideously agonized look on his face.

  The kind of look you remember for the rest of your life. Especially if it was about to be over.

  I knew my arm moved, and I knew my thumb found the plunger. I didn’t know, though, not then, if I’d managed to inject him somewhere that I’d make a difference. If the drug could possibly take him down in time to save my life. And as the darkness closed in, my breath cut off, to the distant sound of Petunia barking and barking, I figured I wouldn’t live to find out after all.

  There was light and air when I was sure none would ever return and I was coughing, someone pulling Carter away from me, the sound of a fist impacting a face, and Crew stood over me, the now fully unconscious murderer at his feet while I clasped at my aching throat, my throbbing head, and wept in relief.

  Crew crouched next to me, pulling me against his chest while the kitchen flooded with people.

  “My hero,” I managed through tearing sobs.

  “You first,” he whispered.