by Sara Rosett
“What? What are you talking about? I gave you the photos. You have them. We’re done,” I said.
“Oh, I think not. I can’t let you go, not when there’s the possibility of you selling your story to the tabloids.”
“But I don’t want to sell my story. I won’t—we won’t—say anything,” I said with a quick glance at Ben. He nodded, but his face was grim, as if he knew my arguments wouldn’t change Dwight’s mind.
“Sure. That’s what everyone says. I’ve been around Hollywood long enough to know that everyone sells out eventually. But I’m not unreasonable or unduly cruel. I’m letting your children live,” he said with a cocky grin.
I stood there motionless, not believing this was happening. Where were our reinforcements? Why didn’t Mitch and Jenson do something?
“They’ll have your husband,” Dwight continued. “Your children will be fine, I’m sure.” His tone changed as he said briskly, “Down to the dock with both of you. Once you and your brother take your tragic little boat ride, I’ll call off my friends, and your kids will be safe.” He stepped close to us and motioned with the gun for us to move around the fountain.
I glanced at Ben, and he nodded. I raised my eyebrows. Ben wanted us to go along with this scenario? I wasn’t walking calmly down to the dock at the bottom of the gardens and stepping into a boat, gun or no gun.
Before I could think too much about it, I swatted at Dwight’s hand, the one with the phone.
The phone flew through the air and landed in the fountain with a plop. No one moved for a beat. Dwight’s face was a mixture of shock and disbelief. He looked like I’d pushed his firstborn over a cliff.
Then, in the next second, everything happened at once, and the whole scene descended into chaos. Ben lunged for Dwight, knocking his hand with the gun up into the air. The gun sailed off into the darkness. There was a thud and scrambling of feet on the shell path as Mitch and Jenson joined the melee on the ground. I stepped back as Ben landed a punch that knocked Dwight out, then fell back onto his knees, shaking out his hand. Jenson tossed a pair of handcuffs to Mitch, who snapped them on Dwight’s wrists while Jenson located the gun in one of the flowerbeds.
Ben looked back at me. “The phone? You go for the phone when he’s got a gun in his other hand?”
I shrugged. “I was thinking of the kids. If he didn’t have his phone, he couldn’t call his guys.”
I sagged down onto a bench as Monica clambered down a trellis attached to the gazebo. “I got it all,” she said, a smile splitting her face.
Jenson shifted the gun toward Monica, but I quickly said, “That’s Monica, the reporter.”
“I’m going to need to see that tape,” Jenson said, and Monica’s face fell.
“Hey,” I said, sitting up straight and peering into the darkness of the gardens. “Where’s Lee?”
“Probably ran at the first sign things were falling apart. We’ll pick him up when we round up Suzie Quinn and Nick Ryan. I need to question them all,” Jenson said as he pulled Dwight, who was blinking and coming around, into a sitting position. “Including you,” he said, nodding at Ben.
Ben leaned close to Jenson and said, “You need to ask Suzie about an envelope of powder in her bathroom.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Ellie told me about the powder that you found on Angela’s things. I saw that envelope when I searched the hotel room. The envelope is small, like the little envelopes that come with flowers from florists. It’s propped up behind her makeup and perfume on the bathroom counter.”
“Did you touch it, smell it?”
“No. Sounds like it’s potent stuff. I opened the flap with a pair of tweezers, saw it was a powder, and put it back exactly like it was. I didn’t want to mess with it.”
“We’ll check it out,” Jenson said, then pulled Dwight to his feet. As he marched him out of the gardens, he called, “I’ll need to talk to each of you, too.”
The police didn’t find Suzie or Nick at the hotel or at Club Fifty-two, which is where they actually were when the whole scene in the gardens went down. Since it was after midnight, Jenson had sent officers to their hotel room first, assuming that they’d be there. He’d forgotten they were twentysomething celebrities who had a slightly different schedule than normal people.
After a few inquiries, the police had tracked them to Club Fifty-two, where it was reported that a harried man in a Hawaiian shirt had rushed into the club and dashed upstairs to their table. After a few moments of intense conversation, Suzie, Nick, and the man—who had to be Lee—had departed. They didn’t return to their hotel. The police were still looking for them.
Mitch and I had talked about it this morning and decided they were probably holed up in a hotel somewhere, waiting for the publicity storm to blow over. After giving Jenson a copy of the video, Monica had filed her story. Instead of waiting for the print edition of the magazine to come out, Celeb had posted some of the photos online, a teaser for the full article that would be out next week. By late this morning, the soft drink company issued a statement saying that they were “rethinking” Suzie’s endorsement deal. The Park Palms was awash in police and paparazzi alike.
I patted the sand on my corner of the castle, reinforcing my tower, then dusted my hands and sat back to watch my kids. Livvy was laboring over the moat. She was determined that we’d have a complete circle of water enclosing our castle. The wind, blowing steadily in from the ocean, pushed her hair up and tossed it in the air, exposing her thin, delicate neck. I shivered when I thought about how close Dwight’s “friends” had been to my kids.
About fifteen minutes after marching Dwight away in handcuffs last night, Jenson had returned and told us the two men at Summer’s condo were in custody and being brought in for questioning. I hadn’t slept much in the few hours left of the night after Mitch and I finally returned to our hotel. We had spent several hours with Jenson, then returned to our hotel because we didn’t want to show up on Summer’s doorstep at three in the morning. Mitch convinced me to wait until ten o’clock this morning to pick up the kids.
We’d updated Summer on everything that had happened, which took quite awhile, then decided to dive back into our vacation plans. We’d taken a boat tour of the coast and seen dolphins swimming alongside the boat. The kids were excited to see the dolphins, but they enjoyed sitting in the captain’s seat and “steering” the boat even more than they enjoyed the wildlife. We’d decided to round out the afternoon with a few hours at the beach before the sun went down.
“Are we going to the fireworks tonight?” Livvy asked.
Mitch and I exchanged glances. “I don’t know. We’ve had a big day. Maybe tomorrow. They have fireworks every night, all week. But I don’t think Suzie Quinn will be there.”
Livvy shrugged one shoulder. “That’s okay. I really want to see the fireworks, though.”
“We’ll see how we feel after dinner,” I said. I had too much parenting time under my belt to make any specific promises.
“Here, Mom,” Nathan said, handing me a bucket. “We need more sand.”
“Back to work, huh?” I asked, giving him a quick hug, drawing his gritty shoulders close for a second and inhaling the scent of sunscreen.
“You’re squishing me,” he complained.
“Better get used to it, bud,” Mitch said as he formed a tower on the other side of the castle. “I think Mom is going to be hugging you a lot for no reason.”
“She always hugs me for no reason,” Nathan said in a matter-of-fact tone. “When will Uncle Ben come out? He’s been asleep forever.”
“Later. He had a big day yesterday and needs to catch up on his rest,” I said, then screeched as a rogue wave surged up around us like a tsunami and deflated our sand castle.
“Come on, let’s swim,” Mitch said quickly, catching the kids’ hands before they could get too upset about the destruction of their sand masterpiece.
We grabbed boogie boards for the kids and made our way th
rough the crowd of athletes gathering for a Twilight Triathlon that began on a cordoned-off section of the beach near us. The triathletes looked so serious with their game faces on, their numbers inked on their arms and legs. They were quite a contrast to the lazy sunbathers on the rest of the beach. “They look like bugs,” Livvy said with a giggle, studying several women with swim caps and goggles.
We splashed through the see-through shallows into the deeper, waist-high turquoise water. We floated awhile, watching the kids ride the waves to the shore on their boogie boards, then swim back out to us. The beach was thick with people today, but I could easily pick out Nathan and Livvy in their bright swimsuits.
“What are you worrying about?” Mitch asked.
I sighed. “There are so many things,” I said as lightly as I could. Worry was my specialty. I did it often, and I did it well.
Mitch drifted closer. “There’s something specific that’s bothering you. I can tell. You’ve got that crinkle between your eyebrows. I can see it even with your sunglasses on.”
I pushed my sunglasses higher on my nose and tried to unwrinkle my brow. “Dwight was in Monica’s pictures, the ones she took when Nick and Suzie were having lunch yesterday.” I kicked lazily and floated into the curve of Mitch’s arm. I waited until a woman on an inflatable raft bobbed by, then said, “Which means that neither Dwight, Suzie, nor Nick killed Angela. All three of them had a lot to loose if those pictures went public, but I think they all have an alibi, a very public alibi.”
“I’m sure Jenson will sort it out,” Mitch said, pulling me closer into his side. “He’s got the traces of powder from Suzie’s bathroom, and he said her prints were on the envelope. That will link her to the crime.”
“Not if she’s got an alibi. I thought she and Dwight were in it together, but I guess I was wrong,” I said, barely noticing that Mitch had begun to drop kisses on my neck.
“Mom! Dad!” Livvy yelled. “Come see!”
I waved and shouted, “In a second” to her. “Could it have been Lee?” I muttered to Mitch. “He seemed too inept to do anything as complicated as murder someone, but he’s certainly devoted to Suzie.”
Between kisses, Mitch said, “True, but not our problem.”
“Devoted enough to pull a gun on Ben, knock him out, and drag him up to the hotel room,” I said, working it out as I spoke.
“Mom, Dad,” Livvy and Nathan called in unison.
Mitch sighed and said, “I’ll go, since someone is too preoccupied with their thoughts to enjoy . . . the beach.” He kicked away, sending a shower of water over me that drenched my face.
“I’ll get you for that,” I called.
“Looking forward to it,” he shouted back.
I watched Mitch emerge from the water and stoop to look at the kids’ sand castle. Something looped around my ankle. I kicked out hard to shake the tendril of seaweed off, but instead of loosening and falling away, it tightened and yanked me down.
The world disappeared in a swarm of bubbles. I kicked out, flailed around, and managed to get my face above the surface of the water. I gulped in air, but a heavy weight settled on my shoulders and levered me under. The water distorted and deadened sound as it closed over me. I twisted and writhed, panicking as my lungs burned.
I needed to breathe. I needed air.
I thrashed in the muted underwater world, fighting toward the light. I bobbed up for a second. Sound and light assaulted me.
Noises came rushing back—kids yelling, gulls crying, water surging. I blinked the stinging saltwater out of my eyes as I kicked and clawed at water, trying to get away from whatever was behind me.
My foot connected with something. Something solid. The touch spurred a fresh wave of adrenaline.
I splashed, crashing through the water to the beach. I caught a glimpse of Mitch and the kids, still bent over the sand, and of several people, fully clothed in dark uniforms, moving around the beach, before an arm slid around my neck and hauled me backward.
I was on my back, being towed away from the beach. Part of my brain registered that it was a person who held me, that it was an arm around my neck, but I wasn’t relieved that it wasn’t some sea creature intent on dragging me underwater for an early dinner. I was too focused on trying to break away, raking my fingers over the slippery skin of the arm. When that didn’t work, I arched my back and grabbed, straining to twist around. I connected with a slick plastic material and pulled with all my strength.
A silver swim cap and set of goggles came away in my hand as a voice said, “Agh. Stop that.” We’d slowed, and I struggled to break the grip on my neck, which was so tight that I couldn’t breathe. I twisted and saw Suzie Quinn’s face.
“Stop moving,” she said, squeezing my neck harder.
I stopped and the pressure lessened enough that I could get a shallow breath. “Let me go,” I managed to wheeze.
“I don’t think so.” Suzie clamped her arm tighter across my throat and ripped her cap and goggles out of my hand. She tossed them away, then resumed her one-armed crawl. She was a powerful swimmer. Even using only one arm, the water was rushing over us as she cut through it. We were on the outer edge of the moderately deep water. The crowds were thinner here. The nearest people were several feet away, two teenagers, their bodies so entwined that they looked like some exotic sea creature. No help there. I doubted they’d notice if Moby Dick swam by them. The mass of triathletes was too far away to call to, and they were focusing intently on their own swims.
Suzie’s breathing wasn’t labored as she said, “Everything will be so much easier with you out of the way.”
I was exhausted from all the fighting and twisting. There was no way I would get away from her. Her grip was too tight and, even if I did manage to break her hold, she was a much stronger swimmer. I couldn’t even get enough air to shout for help. I could barely whimper, her choke hold was so strong.
Even in my panic I could hear the satisfaction in her voice. I managed to choke out a few words. “You sound pleased with yourself.” I thought I saw a swimmer out of the corner of my eye. He—or she, I couldn’t tell which—was several feet away, drifting in our direction. Suzie either wasn’t concerned about the person or didn’t see them.
“Oh, I am pleased. It’s all going to work out fine. In fact, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. I’m smearing you. I’ll call a press conference this afternoon and release e-mails showing that you stole the photos from Angela and tried to blackmail me.”
I tried to protest, but no sound came out.
“What’s that? You didn’t e-mail me? Oh, yes, I know. But by the time it all gets sorted out, there will be a cloud over you. It’s one of the first things I learned from Dwight—character assassination. Of course, you’ll be dead so you won’t be able to deny it. I’ll also announce I’m going into rehab. You know how much America loves to watch a train wreck, right? Well, they love a comeback story almost as much. I’ll emerge clean and sober in a few months, ready to tell my story. God, I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. I’ll be on the cover of every tabloid for months.”
The swimmer was closer, but I had to wait. A few more strokes. I could still see the beach where Mitch was looking around now, searching the water, but we were farther out, much farther than where he was looking for me.
I managed to get out Dwight’s name.
Suzie said offhandedly, “Oh, Dwight.” She paused to tread water as she spoke. “He’ll do anything, say anything, if the price is right. He’ll back up my story that Lee gave Angela the drugs and put her in the pool. Fortunately, I have enough money to pay Dwight whatever he asks. Lee, on the other hand, will be cheap. He’s so in love with me that I don’t have to pay him anything. He’s going to commit suicide after writing a full confession of how he murdered Angela, which, of course, will leave Nick and me in the clear. Oh, except for your troubling brother, but Nick and Lee are taking care of him right now.”
The swimmer startled Suzie, and she
forgot to keep her viselike hold around my neck.
I sucked in a breath and screamed, “Shark!”
The swimmer was a woman. She’d been doing the traditional side-to-side breathing, her strokes steady and smooth, but at my voice, her head popped up. “Shark,” she echoed, catching sight of Suzie’s discarded gray swim cap, floating on the water. The swimmer let out a second, stronger scream that carried to the beach. “Shark!”
The word spread along the beach, accompanied by flailing and splashing as everyone surged for the sand. Suzie cursed and pushed me underwater again. I’d had a rest, floating along being towed, and I struggled with everything I had. Her grip on my shoulders and neck slipped. I kicked hard, angling away from her.
I broke the surface and swam sloppily, sending cascades of water in every direction.
“Out of the water,” a voice called through a bullhorn.
Trying! Believe me, I’m trying.
I put my head down and made for the beach, all the while expecting to feel Suzie’s hand clamp on my ankle or shoulders and pull me under, but after a few clear strokes, I risked a look and saw I was surrounded by the triathletes, who were sprinting for the beach.
I limped along with the athletes until I felt Mitch’s arm come around me and support me into the beach. I crumpled onto the sand as Livvy, her eyes huge, said, “Did you hear that, Mom? You were swimming with a shark.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
Chapter Twenty-two
“How much longer?” Nathan asked, wiggling on the blanket in an effort to stay awake. Ten o’-clock at night was pretty late for him, but he was making a valiant effort to stay awake to see the fireworks, which had involved running in circles around our picnic blanket and eating as much sugar as he could con his Uncle Ben into buying for him from the food vendors.