Act it Out (A Hailey Webb Mystery, Volume 2)

by Deany Ray

“Well, I would cry,” I said, although I found that detail disappointing. It was not befitting of a man who was always jumping onto speeding trains or slamming into bad guys the size of refrigerators. I refused to believe that in real life, the guy could be a wuss. A killer, maybe, but a wuss? No way.

  Bail, not surprisingly, was denied.

  The press had been a huge presence in Palm Shores since the incident, and curiosity seekers had flooded into the city as well. A number of lookie-loos had come from out of town and even out of state to drive by the set. People could be so weirdly morbid. And yes, I was aware this came from someone working in the news industry and right now gawking at an airfield, waiting for the murderous superstar to arrive. The location of the set was supposed to be a secret, but someone had leaked the information, and crowds flocked to it every day.

  The story had brought a new energy to the newsroom. Mike, of course, was on the main story, but reporters from features were contributing as well, doing profiles on both the victim and the accused, seeking out anyone who had spent time or, even better, had an intimate acquaintance with either Fleming or Fitzgerald. Jerry, editor in chief, and my boss, was running around half-crazed but also thrilled with the mounting page views we were getting. Murder was really good for business; murder with celebrities was every holiday rolled up in one to a guy like Jerry.

  Now waiting at the airfield, I turned to Mike in disbelief. “How could he steal a plane? Isn’t he supposed to be locked up?”

  “He was, but he escaped.”

  Unbelievable. “How did he escape? The most important prisoner they could have had in, like, forever? And they let him escape?”

  “Yeah, someone will pay for that.” Mike gave me a wry smile. “I heard he was out of his cell for something—questioning or some kind of testing. That’s another thing I need to ask once I can get an official source to talk. And so anyway, they took him to the bathroom, and he never came out. He was gone.”

  “Gone? How could he just be gone? Don’t they have steps in place to . . . you know, keep them in the place? Isn’t that the basic thing that jailers are supposed to do?”

  “Yeah, and apparently they sucked at it today.”

  “When was all this?” My mind was kind of blown.

  “Two hours ago maybe. What happened was Fitzgerald climbed up through an air vent, got out in the back lot of the police station, ran for a couple of blocks, then hailed a cab to the airfield. He probably didn’t pay the driver because he has nothing on him. He found a private jet in one of the hangars and flew away.”

  “Holy crap,” I said.

  “That is correct.”

  “No, no. Holy crap—as in that is the exact plot in Revenge, Be Sweet. How awesome and how wild is that?”

  Mike raised an eyebrow.

  “You know what I mean,” I said.

  There was a twinkle of amusement in the way his lips turned up just a little. “You do know this is a different guy from the hero you moon over on the screen, right?”

  Yes, and I had a hard time believing that.

  I sighed. “I don’t care. He’ll always be Amery Fitzgerald, hunk of the century.”

  “Jesus,” Mike mumbled beneath his breath.

  I wasn’t ready quite yet to let go of the fantasies that unfurled in those darkened movie houses. Plus, this case wasn’t even solved yet. There were always twists and turns before you got to the end.

  “You know a lot, considering he just escaped,” I said to Mike, brushing some curls away from my eyes.

  He grinned.

  “Yeah, okay, of course you do.” I laughed. Then I looked up. “Okay, so I get why he has to land somewhere soon, but how exactly do we know he’s heading back our way?”

  “He was spotted changing course and heading back in this direction.” Mike told me he overheard some of the talk among the crew there at the field. Now the word had spread that the runaway movie star was expected to return.

  “Hmm. And he can fly a plane too? That’s so awesome.”

  Mike gave me a sideways glance.

  In addition to the press, Fitzgerald’s fans had gotten word there was something going on and had driven out to look. It felt like being at an open-air festival.

  By now, the lively chatter of the crowd had died down, and people had grown mostly silent as they anxiously watched the sky. Some of them had wearily sunk down to the ground to sit down while they waited.

  I, too, watched the drifting clouds as the curious set of facts sunk in. Fitzgerald had taken a huge risk by adding escape and theft to his list of crimes. In my mind—and I hated to admit it—this bizarro stunt made the god of movie screens look even more like a guilty man. If he really hadn’t done it, it made sense to stay put and let his lawyer make his case. He wasn’t even convicted yet, for crying out loud. They didn’t even get to court yet.

  “How did you get out here?” I asked Mike, to pass the time.

  “I got an Uber, but I figured I’d need to have the truck. There’s probably going to be a follow-up as soon as your beloved lands.” He gave me a wink.

  “Big story. That makes sense.”

  Mike waved at some others who were there from the Gazette. A couple of reporters had shown up while we talked, along with Ben Addison, one of our photographers.

  “Where did you park, anyway?” Mike asked.

  I pointed a finger toward the truck.

  Mike squinted his eyes to see that far, and I heard him half groan.

  “Well, you know I needed your truck for stuff,” I said sheepishly. “That’s stuff.”

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “How much stuff could you buy? You weren’t gone all that long.”

  “It’s not that much; you can still see to drive.”

  “That makes me feel so much better,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.

  I stuck out my tongue at him. Yes, very mature of me.

  The Gazette crew had now joined us. Ben the photographer bumped fists with Mike. “This is something, huh? Jerry is gonna get nuts about these pictures.”

  “Wait until the man of the hour makes his appearance,” Grace Hopper said. She’d been interviewing lookie-loos, whose number had increased.

  “You know what?” Mike said to me. “I think you need to unload my truck first. I can get a ride with Ben. We’ll both be heading to wherever this story leads us.” He looked to Ben for confirmation and got back a nod.

  “Are you sure? I didn’t mean to leave you truckless.”

  “No, no. It’s fine.”

  “Thanks, I’ll bring back—”

  Before I could finish, people all around me gasped.

  “Here we go!” Grace yelled.

  Those on the ground jumped up, and a buzz moved through the crowd as a zillion cameras pointed to the sky. And then there he was, flying toward us, getting closer. Police, fire personnel, and paramedics were stationed on each side of the runway, ready for his landing. We were all behind the fence watching the spectacle.

  OMG, this was so exciting. I was so glad Mike called for his truck. Too bad Kat wasn’t here. She was going to absolutely die.

  I watched as the plane flew nearer. And nearer. Then it veered.

  “What the hell?” Ben said.

  “What’s he doing?” I asked in disbelief.

  “Uh-oh,” Mike said.

  “What 'uh-oh'?”

  “He’s not landing on the runway.”

  “What? That’s crazy!” A curl flew in my eye and I blew it away.

  “I think we’re beyond crazy now,” Mike said.

  “He’s flying away from the cops,” Ben said. I heard him clicking his camera like there was no tomorrow.

  In my excitement, I grabbed hold of Mike’s arm.

  “What a nut,” he said.

  The plane was heading straight toward us. People ducked and screamed, while some of the more intrepid journalists kept filming.

  Mike grabbed my back protectively as we both landed in a crouch. My heart was racing now. I knew whe
re Fitzgerald was going to land. It was going to be either on the roadway or straight into the woods. Either way, as Jerry would proclaim, the page views for the Gazette would “just explode.”

  Chapter Two

  I watched in disbelief. The scene seemed straight out of the movies, but the gasps and whispers surrounding me were real.

  “Whoa.” Mike let out a breath.

  “Oh!” Grace clapped a hand across her mouth.

  Shrieks and murmurs filled the crowd, and many simply stood, jaws wide open in surprise, as they watched the sky.

  We all held our breath as the plane flew over us and touched down on the road, where there was, thankfully, no traffic. The area, for the most part, was industrial, so at least no passing drivers had received the shock of their lives—a movie star dropping down on them from the clear blue skies.

  I stood up from my crouch to get a better look as the plane veered right, then left. Heads moved in unison, following the action, as the plane jerked wildly to the right again. Finally, it came to a hard stop, halfway in a ditch.

  I don't think anybody breathed until the plane was finally still. Ben rushed forward, and Grace gasped, her hand still on her mouth as the crowd around us shuffled off for a better view. We were about five hundred yards away from the landing spot. I could see the plane had come to rest with its nose against a tree just at the edge of the adjoining woods.

  The eerie silence was broken by a chorus of sirens as police cars flew toward the plane. I wondered if Fitzgerald was hurt. I mean, surely, he had to be hurt. He landed with a jolt, and I imagine he broke some bones. He was not Superman. Although he had the physique of Superman. What if he died? But there were no flames like I had feared, so that was good at least.

  Some of the officers were energetically fending off the crowd, keeping us too far away to see if the wayward pilot had already climbed out of the wreckage or been pulled out perhaps. There seemed to be even more cops than before.

  Near the front of the crowd, Ben was focusing and clicking as if his life depended on it. The photographers next to him clicked away as well.

  “If we could get just one photo of Fitzgerald, that would be the money shot,” Mike said. “This is what you call a big news day on double steroids.”

  “Amazing stuff,” I said, gazing toward the woods, where blue uniforms now dotted the greenery and shrubs as far as I could see.

  There also seemed to be a new energy among the officers next to the downed plane.

  “From the way they're moving up there, I have a feeling something new has happened.” Mike craned his neck to see, and I could sense a new energy about him as well. His eyes looked more alert as he stared hard at the scene. “Maybe they freed him from the wreckage,” he continued. “I wonder if they're about to pull him out from the plane.”

  “Do they really think he'll try to run with the cops right there?” I asked, confused.

  “They're not taking any chances. That much is clear at least. Anywhere Fitzgerald runs now, he'll find a line of blue waiting, ready for him.”

  “That's assuming he can run,” a man behind me said. “We still don't have an update on what condition he’s in.”

  Mike frowned at the scene. “I hate not knowing what’s going on.” He was frustrated now. “I wish they'd let us get closer.”

  “How far could he get?” Grace asked.

  Again, I had the feeling that real life had been momentarily suspended.

  For the next ten minutes, I found myself surprised at how still a crowd could stand as we watched the cops confer and move around the plane. Their movements became hurried, and more of them ventured into the woods. Shouts and whispers made their way through the crowd that the man of the hour had indeed escaped. Again.

  “The police are everywhere,” I said. “How in the hell could he escape?” Maybe he really was an action hero in real life too.

  “That means he’s not hurt too badly,” I heard a woman say. “Lucky bastard.”

  “He won't get too far,” Mike said to me. “Guy just keeps on buying more time behind bars for himself.”

  Once the speculation had died down about what would happen next, I could hear some of the crowd discussing Fitzgerald's storied life. Two reporters behind me were debating which of his pictures was the best. Others joined in the conversation and were calling out their favorite lines from their favorite movies in which he starred.

  Mike turned to me. “You know, you don’t need to stick around if you’ve got stuff to do. You really can have the truck.”

  Was he even kidding?

  “I can't leave now,” I said.

  He shot me a wry grin. “No, of course you can't. I don't know why I asked.”

  Some people sat down to wait while others milled about, moving from one group to the next to discuss the situation. Some of the photographers kept shooting, staying as close to the action as the cops would let them get. Mike called Jerry on his cell, keeping him updated on the (non) progress of the search.

  “I can't believe they haven't found him yet.” I stared out into the woods. “There are so many of them, and there's just one of him. Plus, he can't be at his best. You have to know he's shaken up at least.”

  “I'll give the guy some credit,” Mike said with a shrug. “Not for character and not for common sense, but he can run and hide like nobody's business.”

  “He's had practice. Sort of.” I watched the woods, fascinated. I supposed it helped that in almost every movie, he was on the run. Someone had stolen his identity, kidnapped a small child, was out to destroy the world. Maybe he got confused about what was screenplay and what was real life.

  As scenes from those movies replayed in my mind, I still couldn't grasp that, suddenly, in real life, Fitzgerald could be the evil one. If you looked at the facts, they clearly pointed to him as the killer; there was no other way to see it—and I'd really, really tried to see it another way.

  They'd surely catch him soon, but even if they didn't, I could not imagine what he would even do. “If by some crazy chance, he makes it through the woods and into the city,” I said to Mike, “he'd have no money, no supplies, no nothing. I’m guessing they took all that when they booked him into jail.”

  Mike sighed. “The guy was desperate, Hailey. I don't think he thought ahead.”

  “So what’s going to happen next?” I asked him.

  “I’m thinking they’ll bring in some dogs if they don't find him soon,” Mike said, “but I don't think it will get that far. I'm betting officers are stationed in either direction down the road. I don't think Fitzgerald is going to leave the woods with blue lights everywhere. He can't hide in there too long.”

  “It looks like a lot of woods,” I said, suddenly feeling doubtful.

  After about twenty minutes, some of the crowd began to leave, and I didn't sense any progress being made. My legs had begun to ache from all the standing. I stared into the woods a bit longer, then I turned to Mike. “You know what? I think I’m going to head on. I'll get the truck unpacked and get it back to you tonight like we planned before. Something tells me this truck is going to see a lot of action.”

  Mike laughed. “I’m definitely going to be a busy man this week.”

  Okay, I admitted, I was a little jealous. I'd be back to my usual routine when the next week rolled around: picking up the lunches, making calls, putting together background for some of the stories.

  “Clean my truck out good,” Mike teased. “Don't leave any frou-frou frames or vases or whatever rolling underneath my seat. I have a reputation to uphold as a manly man.”

  I winked at him. “You know I don't do frou-frou. I'm more of a minimalist kind of girl.”

  “See you tonight,” he said, his mind already back on the situation at hand. I could see him eyeing two of the policemen on the periphery of the crowd, and I knew what he was up to. He was working up a plan to turn on the charm and see if one of his acquaintances on the force would reveal a useful tidbit. He knew most of the cops, whic
h gave him an advantage over most of his competitors. And I knew Mike worked hard to keep good relationships with his sources. Which was not always easy.

  I lifted my hand in goodbye, then wove my way through the crowd and walked along the road opposite the frenzy until I reached the truck. For almost the whole walk, I was second-guessing my decision to get out of there. If it turned out that Amery Fitzgerald came out of the woods right after I had taken off, I'd never stop beating myself up for missing the whole thing. On the other hand, if I stuck around, it could be hours of just standing around. It would take me a while to unload my stuff, and Mike was going to need his truck tonight.

  Plus, I might have to take a longer, winding route to get back into the city. The road behind me was now closed. I unlocked the truck and climbed inside, suddenly feeling tired.

  With the cars lined up so close together, I had to be very careful as I pulled onto the road. Because of the stupid closure, I would have to head away from my apartment, taking the first detour I could find. I sighed and glanced in the rearview mirror as I drove away. Wondering what I could be missing, I kept glancing in the mirror as I drove—until the crowds, the cops, and that grounded plane grew smaller and smaller still and finally disappeared. Blue lights flashed along the road as officers watched the traffic and the woods.

  The urge to talk to Kat was physical almost, but she was out of reach. Kat would not believe this; she was going to be so jealous. At that very moment, she was likely zoning out as someone droned on and on about assets and balance sheets and whatever else it was that financial types of people would drone on about. Kat had been doing that while I had been watching the heartthrob of the universe crash a plane into a ditch.

  We’d spent a lot of time speculating on the shocking crime Fitzgerald had been charged with. We debated hard about him having or having not intentionally killed Victoria Fleming. Now, this steal-a-plane-and-run thing was a big one for the “guilty” column. I couldn't wait to hear what Kat's thoughts were on that.

  After a short drive, I came upon a detour and turned on some music as I continued on the route toward home. As the rural area turned into subdivisions and then into the city proper, I pondered whether evil could—for real—have been lurking all along behind those gorgeous, gorgeous eyes of Fitzgerald. Eyes that had softly gazed at so many women on the screen, his hand resting lightly on their cheeks. I’m here to tell you it was the kind of look to give you fantasies forever. Yeah, sure, that was all acting, but still. Could this man be a killer? This whole crazy case seemed like a big mistake.