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

by Deany Ray

  “Sounds like that could be a motive. Who exactly is he?”

  Torres shrugged. “I don’t know a lot about him. I think his name is John. I was there one day outside of the hotel when he was spewing out all kinds of nasty things about how he’d gotten screwed. He was nose to nose with Amery, like he was about to blow a vein.” He sighed at the memory. “I hung around in case I needed to step in. Yeah, he hates Amery for sure.” Torres thought a minute before he shook his head. “But this is not someone who had access to the set.”

  “What if he was working with somebody else, from the cast or crew?”

  Torres frowned. “I don’t know; that seems way over the top. I know I’ve said people in this business can be tough, but we’re talking murder here.” He looked up at me, his eyes full of curiosity. “What’s up with all the questions, anyway?”

  “I . . . um . . .” Oops. I didn’t have an answer ready for that.

  “You’re in for the reward, aren’t you?” Torres narrowed his eyes at me.

  Okay, there was no way of getting out of this one.

  I put my hands on my hips. “So what if I am? From what I understand, it’s in your interest to clear him too, isn’t it?”

  He ran his hand through his hair again. “I suppose you’re right.”

  I walked to a small window. “Can you think of anything else? Anything that Amery mentioned? Was something new in his life? Someone who made him nervous because of something they said?”

  Torres shook his head. “Really, I’ve got nothing.” He sighed. “I hate to see his name all caught up in this when I know he couldn’t have done it.” He paused. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to be Amery right now.”

  “So there’s nothing he ever told you that could be a lead? Sometimes it’s the small things.” At least on TV.

  “We weren’t together all that long, so we didn’t have those talks about the past, regrets, relationships, intense kind of stuff.” A look of sorrow crossed his eyes, and I thought about that photo he still kept. I suspected the relationship, brief as it might have been, had meant a lot to Torres.

  “What about Victoria?” I asked. “Did she know about you and him?”

  “If she suspected anything, she didn’t say a word. Even when the press started putting her and me together, she never hinted anything. Or when they put her and Amery together. Sheesh, tabloids are a bunch of crap.”

  We let that sink in for a minute. I was thinking about Victoria, and Torres was probably thinking about the lowlifes working at the tabloids. Who, by the way, also offered him the exposure he needed in his career of choice, but I refrained from pointing that out.

  “I’m curious,” Torres said. “Do you believe what you read about guys like me? That one week I’m with some starlet at a ski slope out in Aspen, then with some other actress the next week on a yacht? Because if everything they write on the internet is true, nobody would have time to ever work. We’d all be too busy making moves on everybody else.” He seemed slightly entertained by the idea.

  Again, I blushed, thinking I had probably fallen for too many stories that were absolutely not true. “Mostly I just look at what people have on in the photos, and I think that maybe some of the stories could be true,” I said. I also liked to appreciate the hotness of the male stars as they strolled on the beach or walked down a city sidewalk with their supposed latest flames. I kept that to myself as well.

  However, Torres seemed to read my mind. He smiled at me and winked. “So you did read about me in the press.”

  I think my burning cheeks just got to the darkest shade of red.

  “You know, I don’t even bother to deny anything,” Torres continued. “That just gives them a reason to put another picture of me on their site. It’s all just as much a story like the ones we act out in the movies. As for our real lives, they have no idea.”

  Obviously not.

  “Could Victoria have been the target, do you think?” I asked. “With Amery just a way to divert the blame from whoever switched the gun?”

  “That doesn’t sound right to me.” He stretched his arms in front of him and clasped his hands together in a kind of exercise. “Everyone I know here thought Victoria was cool. She kept to herself, was nothing but professional in the way she treated people. I never knew Victoria to have enemies on set.” He brought his arms back in. “Hey, look, I really need to head out for the gym. I can’t miss my training.”

  “Right. Sure. Thanks for talking to me.”

  He smiled. “It was good to talk to someone. And thanks for your discretion. You seem like a decent person. I get jaded in this business, and it’s nice to meet somebody who is just normal.”

  I laughed. “Glad to be of service.”

  He winked at me again and moved toward the door, grabbing his bag on the way.

  “Wait!” I remembered something.

  Torres turned around.

  “Do you happen to remember the last name of this John guy?”

  Torres thought a minute. “I think it’s Ferguson.”

  “Thanks.”

  After Torres left, I went in search for the restroom again, careful not to trip on any cables. The building was decidedly emptier. Outside I found the tables all cleaned up and Kat waiting by the van.

  “Where have you been?” she asked. “I was thinking you got lost.”

  “Sorry. I’ll tell you all about it once we get on the road.” I fished the van keys from my back pocket. “Sheesh. I can’t believe it’s already nine. I still have to go back to check on my mom and finish some research for work.” This schedule was a killer.

  Thankfully, most of the herd of fans had given up and gone by the time we drove off the set. Once we were on our way, I took a deep breath and began my story. “I had an interesting talk.” I grinned. “With Vicente Torres.”

  Kat gasped. “No way! Why do you always have all the fun? Tell me, tell me, tell me.”

  I filled her in on all the details minus the relationship between Torres and Fitzgerald. It was important to me that I keep my promise. I know I could care less, especially since one of them stole from me, but it just wouldn’t feel right. Kat could keep a secret; I’d trust Kat with my life, but this was someone else’s secret. It was up to them to tell, not me.

  “So first you spot Fitzgerald, and now you discover this new detail about this angry dude?” She grinned. “You’ve got it going on, my friend. You’re way better than the cops.”

  “To be fair, the cops might know about the real estate already. They don’t tell us everything. But, yeah, it was an interesting talk.” I paused. “Still, we’re not even close to knowing the answer to our question: who killed Victoria and why?”

  “It does sound like this John guy did something crazy to get back at Fitzgerald.” Kat got out some gum and passed a piece to me.

  “We should talk to him for sure.” It was convenient we knew where the guy was staying—if he had not checked out. “If we are to believe Torres, he did have a motive, but no access to the set,” I mused. “Not that we know of anyway.”

  After a while, we fell silent, both of us exhausted, as we continued on through the dark night. I wondered if Victoria knew the truth about Torres and Fitzgerald. Could Fitzgerald have put a bullet through her so she wouldn’t tell? According to what I had learned from Torres, that kind of information could have ruined his career. So many possibilities! That was the problem with this murder.

  Twenty minutes later, we were pulling into the back lot at Cocoa.

  “Drive safe,” Kat said with a tired smile. “I think you’ve had enough excitement for today.”

  “Amen to that,” I said. I climbed into my Jeep and pulled my seat belt across my chest. I couldn’t believe my day wasn’t over yet.

  After the drive to my mother’s, I felt the aches in my legs as I climbed the short flight of steps that led to her door. The two falls I had yesterday and today had done a number on me.

  I was greeted by Maria, who looked like her day
went just like mine. “Your mother’s doing fine,” she said, giving me a look that was full of meaning.

  I lightly touched her arm. “Thank you so much, Maria. You are appreciated more than you know.”

  I had barely gotten out the words when my mother called to me. “Hailey, is that you? Don’t be so cruel and keep me waiting here. I want to take these things off my eyes. If I’m blind, I want to know now so I can begin to process that tragic information.”

  “For Christ’s sake,” I mumbled underneath my breath.

  “What did you say?” my mom asked.

  I cleared my throat. “Nothing. Your vision is going to be better than mine and Maria’s!” I assured her as I walked into the living room. “That’s why you had the surgery, remember?”

  “Yes, that was the intent,” she said with a sigh. “Take them off now. I am just so anxious.”

  “This is true. She is anxious!” Maria whispered to me.

  I reached for the bandages.

  “Gentle, Hailey. Very, very gentle!” my mother urged before I had even touched a bandage.

  Then they were off.

  My mom let out a weak cry. I almost had a heart attack. No way was she really blind. Maria and I traded nervous looks.

  “It’s perfect,” my mother pronounced.

  Maria and I let out a relieved collective sigh.

  “I can see.” My mom looked around in amazement. Then her eyes landed on me and she frowned. “Hailey, what do you have on?”

  I kind of missed the bandages.

  “I already told you, Mom. I had on my clothes for work. And, speaking of work, I still have some things to do, so I really have to run. But I promise I’ll come back soon to check on you and your eyes.”

  “If by ‘very soon,’ you mean tomorrow, then you’re right. I will see you then.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. “What? Tomorrow?”

  “For my recheck, of course.”

  Mental forehead smack.

  “It’s standard procedure, darling,” my mom said. “You don’t expect me to get behind the wheel and drive there myself, do you?” She settled back against the expensive pillows on the couch and closed her eyes wearily. “I only have two eyes, you know?”

  I counted to three to calm myself down.

  “Fine. I’ll take you there.” I was way too tired to attempt to sound cheerful—or to mention that I had a life and a job and maybe, just maybe, I need some information a little earlier next time.

  Back at home it was after 1 a.m. when I at last hit “send” on my research project and crashed on the foldout couch. Between my regular job, looking into the murder of Victoria and driving Miss Daisy to the doctor’s, something was going to give.

  A mishmash of images lulled me to sleep; dogs and sudsy water and the sexy eyes of Vicente Torres flashed through my fitful dreams.

  Chapter Eleven

  I groaned when the alarm blared its cringy wake-up call. I felt like I had just drifted off to sleep five minutes ago. I threw on some capris and a silky, flowy top, then grabbed my favorite flats. No way was I wearing heels today. There wasn’t much for breakfast, but I poured the last bit of cereal I had into a bowl with milk. I ate that standing up, then I stopped to get a bagel on the way to work. Those two small bites of cereal would hardly be enough to last me until lunch, and I was getting tired of this whole business of not making time to eat.

  Takeout bag in hand, I dragged into the office, already feeling tired. I didn’t even try to coax a smile from Sandra. After dropping my stuff on my desk, I noticed Mike was in, his fingers moving quickly across his keyboard, a look of concentration on his face. I headed over to check in.

  “Looks like a story taking shape,” I said as I approached.

  “I wish.” He gave me a rueful smile. “How you doing, Hailey?”

  “Feeling tired today.” I stifled a yawn. “I just thought I would wander over to see if anything was new with our favorite maniac.”

  “Nothing to report.” He frowned. “Which makes it kind of hard on me when it’s my job to report the news—and news on Amery Fitzgerald is all that anybody wants to hear.” He stared at his screen. “I’m trying to come up with some new angles on this thing until something breaks.”

  “Which I hope is very soon.”

  He took a sip of coffee. “Perhaps I should be asking you if there is any news. You’re the one who seems to make a habit out of making contact with the elusive Amery Fitzgerald.” He gave me a grin. “While they’re searching for him at the airfield, he’s leaping at you from my truck.” His voice took on a dramatic tone. “While I’m looking for some hint of where he could be, you’re downtown chasing after him, stirring up a bunch of dogs in the process.”

  “Ha, ha, very funny,” I said sarcastically, “but I won’t provide you any drama today.” A pang of guilt swept through me because I did have news—news I couldn’t tell.

  Mike made it even worse by smiling back at me with a look of warmth and trust I wasn’t sure I deserved.

  “One thing I know for sure is that I got one hell of a headline out of your last adventure. Lots of reader views. Jerry was ecstatic.”

  “Gee, glad to be of service. Let me know if anything new pops up.”

  I returned to my cubicle for whatever tasks were waiting for me. Research and errands weren’t as exciting as movie stars and murder, but they were definitely more relaxing, which is what I needed today.

  I spent the morning looking for statistics on the rising costs of weddings, along with other facts, like the kind of venues couples choose the most and the average lengths of today’s engagements. My thoughts, however, wouldn’t stay on the cost of rings and bouquets. They kept wandering to the Fitzgerald situation. I was focused especially on the angry real estate investor. Somehow, I had to talk to this John Ferguson. Yet that was difficult to do when my days (and nights) were already way too full.

  Feeling overwhelmed, I tracked down Cecil and convinced him to accept some extra tasks while I dealt with family stuff. “I’d consider it a favor. I have some drama with my mother.” I rolled my eyes and smiled. “I need to drive her to the doctor, and she didn’t inform me ahead of time.”

  He laughed. “Oh yeah. I get it, Hailey. I have a mother too. You owe me one,” he teased.

  I was gathering my things to pick up lunch at Banyon’s when two of the reporters flew past me at a run. I startled. What the . . . ? One of them had a heavy camera and equipment, and I had to jump back to avoid him. One second later I heard Jerry scream into his phone as if his beard had just caught fire, and I strained to listen. I turned to look for Mike and saw him grabbing up his things and rushing for the door as well. Several other people hurried out at the same time, almost colliding with each other. You would have thought the end of the world was announced and it was every person for himself!

  As he passed my desk, Mike managed to huff out, “Fitzgerald! He’s been spotted!”

  “He was spotted? Where?” I cried. There went my relaxation for the day.

  “He was supposedly heading into the baseball stadium! Just now! So most likely he’s still there.”

  “See you there!” I said. I couldn’t stay away. I hoped I’d have enough time to catch some action at the stadium and still be a decent daughter. I could almost hear my mother in my head: We should arrive earlier than planned. It’s only proper and polite to build ten extra minutes into your schedule, Hailey, so you don’t keep people waiting.

  Sometimes I swear she must think I am ten years old.

  As people zipped out of the parking lot, Mike waved to me from a rented Hyundai. “Want to ride with me?”

  “I can’t stay for long, so I’ll take my Jeep, but thanks.”

  I spent the short drive there wondering why he would choose the stadium. Even if the Palm Shores Pelicans had no game in progress, there would be employees coming in and out. It was not exactly a super-private place. Especially today. As traffic backed up near the scene, I took in what appeared to
be a mile of flashing lights blinking red and blue.

  After I found a place to park and got closer to the crowd gathered at the scene, it felt like a déjà vu. It was the airfield display once again but with a baseball theme instead of planes. Officers were blocking all of the entrances while reporters shouted questions at them.

  Wielding microphones, spiral notebooks, and TV cameras, members of the media pressed against each other at each of the doors that led inside. I could sense an air of confusion, because who really knew which door would be the one that was closest to the action? Every so often a reporter would fly from one door to the other with more reporters and camera people on her trail, shouting to each other. Mostly, though, I sensed that no one knew anything at all, and any rushing to door number one or two was no more than a guess.

  “At least there wasn’t a game on,” a cameraman remarked as I watched the crowd. “Easier to park, although parking was a pain with all the roads they’ve blocked.”

  I looked around to see that barriers indeed were placed at many of the roads around the stadium, and cops were setting more up as I watched. Officers were doing checks of cars before drivers could proceed.

  “Do they know why he even came here?” I asked the group around me.

  A woman behind me shrugged. “He could be sleeping here, I guess.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “I suppose you never know,” I said in a small voice. Despite my fury at him, the thought of Fitzgerald curled up in some nook in a stadium at night made me kind of sad. Desperation could lead to some dark places that I didn’t care to contemplate too deeply.

  After around twenty minutes of nothing going on—outside the stadium, at least—I knew it was time to go. With all the commotion, I parked what felt like miles away, and I had to allow for time to get through the police checks that now seemed to be set up for any of the cars exiting the area around the stadium.