by Deany Ray
Was Victoria dead because of her? No, this was absurd. I was utterly exhausted and weaving stories in my mind. Trembling, I smiled and tried to steer the conversation back to the old reality—the reality I longed to keep in place with Cocoa as the friendly boss and not some threatening presence.
“The quinoa salad was a hit!” I told her stupidly, my cheerful voice sounding out of place in the somber, darkened room.
She stared. The not-so-Cocoa smile remained; there was evil at its core.
“They ate that stuff right up,” I added desperately, willing her to morph into the Cocoa who would nod and smile and hint at some ingredient that gave the salad extra zing.
She crossed her arms and stared. “So,” she asked me with a sneer, “you’ve got it figured out?”
“I don’t know, the recipes were always a mystery to me. Oh wait. Lime! Did I smell lime?”
Her eyes grew darker, even more so than before.
This was not about a salad.
“You.” She spat out the word. “I always knew you were a smart one. You were my one mistake. My plan fell into place, and then Kat walks in with you, and I was desperate for help. At first you seemed okay, but the more I watched you work, the more you made me nervous.” She stuck a finger in my face. “I just knew you’d be the one to figure this thing out.”
I was 98 percent terrified for my life—and 2 percent weirdly flattered. “But, Cocoa . . . I don’t understand.”
“I’ve been watching you.” She moved a little closer, and I backed away. “Don’t you think I do background checks on anyone who works for me? I know where you work by day, Ms. Hailey ‘Traitor’ Webb.” She glared. “I know your interest in this catering work does not involve the money. You’re hoping for some scoop to feed back to the Gazette.”
And what a scoop I had—if I lived to tell it.
“But why the hell would you ever want to . . .”
“Because that jerk Fitzgerald had it coming.”
So. It was Fitzgerald, then, and not Victoria who had been the target of her rage.
From behind her back, she produced a gun and pointed it at me. I had just become target number two. I gulped and almost couldn’t breathe, but I had to stay calm and think.
Keeping my tone soft and steady, I stood very still, trying hard to look like the kind of person she wouldn’t want to shoot. “What did Fitzgerald do?” I asked, my voice almost a whisper. Curiosity trickled through the waves of fear.
“That worthless piece of hot air ran his stupid mouth and caused me to lose it all! Every single cent of my hard-earned savings. All those nights on my feet, chopping, boiling, frying, just to lose it to a fool. Do you know how many radishes I cut into stupid flowers? Enough for a whole damn garden. Then a sweet-talking liar slithers in and leaves me penniless almost.”
Now, I understood. “The real estate in Singapore. He talked you into it too.”
“Yep! You’ve put it all together like I was afraid you would.” She looked at me in disgust. “You are a nosy one. What I needed was a girl to keep her mind on her business, drive the damn van to the set, put out the food, wipe up the spills, then drive the van back.” She moved closer with the gun.
Crap. I had to stall for time while I thought of something. Anything!
I tried for a sympathetic tone as if I were on her side. “I know what you’re saying. Movie stars and their big bucks, right? They should know other people can’t afford to lose that kind of money on a whim.”
Cocoa’s face was red. Her hands were shaking so much I was afraid she’d pull the trigger by mistake if not out of a desire to blow me the heck away. “Yes, he used those acting skills to make his money-sucking scheme seem like manna from the sky,” she said. “Money would be raining from the treetops, to hear Fitzgerald tell it, and so I said okay, and I invested—big.” She glared and moved closer with the gun, as if I were the bad guy in this tale of woe. “Then when I tried to get some updates, he was nowhere to be found! He took my money and avoided me.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “That’s when I got suspicious. The snake pocketed my money! Not one cent of my money went into this supposedly fabulous real-estate nonsense.”
He hadn’t even invested the money she’d turned over? This was a new twist. “How do you know?” I asked, trying very hard to look away from the gun. My voice came out as a squeak.
“I can’t prove it, but I know it. Because he is just that greedy.”
Oh good. If this is what she was basing this on . . . how do you argue with a logic like that?
“So you made a plan to kill Victoria?” I could feel my voice rising a full octave. I was horrified.
“I know what you’re thinking. I could have simply put a bullet into Amery Fitzgerald, but don’t you understand?” Her eyes grew even wilder. “Killing that son of the devil wasn’t good enough. Oh no! I wanted him to suffer.”
I shivered. “But Victoria . . .”
“Unfortunately had to die for the most effective plan to be put into place,” she said, finishing my sentence. “I wanted him alive to suffer as he lost everything—his adoring fans, his precious reputation—like he took everything from me. It was really kind of brilliant.”
Psychopathic was the word.
I shivered. Cocoa had a motive; she had access to the set, but one piece of the puzzle was still missing. “Fitzgerald’s fingerprints were on the ammunition,” I said, still stunned and confused. “How exactly did you . . .”
“Oh, that part wasn’t hard,” she said with a smile. “I have never seen a man who loved a nap as much as that one does. All I had to do was sneak in while he was asleep, wipe his fingers on the bullets, and slip them underneath the mattress. Easy as could be!” She laughed, delighted at her plan. The woman was pure evil.
“So what is your plan now?” I asked as a chill ran through my body.
She seemed to study me. “You know, once you kill the first time, it gets easier, I think.”
Begging wasn’t going to work. I had to come up with a plan, and I didn’t have much time. My mind was a whirl. Was Vicente in the building still? How about Miranda? The director? What would happen if I screamed? Surely those guards were here at night. At least they wouldn’t leave while any cars—or the van from Cocoa’s—were parked inside the gates. I thought about how far away we were from the guard gate. They’d never hear a scream from here.
From the front pocket of her hoodie, Cocoa produced a purple scarf.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“Pretty, don’t you think?” She held it up with one hand, using the other to keep a tight grip on the gun. “I think it’s your color. I can see it now around your dainty neck, tied very, very tightly.”
I almost fainted at the thought.
Cocoa stared at me, assessing. “That would draw less attention than a gunshot. No blood, no loud noises. A much neater way to die.” Her smirk became a glare. “But I will use the gun if I have to. I only need to move my finger a bit to make contact with the trigger, so you'd better do exactly what I say.”
I nodded, a lump forming in my throat.
Cocoa turned all business now. “First, I’m going to need your phone and keys.”
I pulled them from my pockets. Two of my lifelines, gone.
“Set them on the table.” Cocoa nodded at a small table to my right.
Desperately, I looked around the room, which did not offer much in the way of a defensive weapon against a maniac. I saw a table and a chair, two cabinets, and some cables in a corner.
“Now, sit.” Cocoa nodded at the chair.
I followed her instructions as my heart was pounding in my chest. She moved quietly behind me. The rustling of the scarf was a chilling indicator of what was coming next. I had to act—and now.
Barely conscious of my actions, I leaped up from my chair and threw my elbow backward, jamming Cocoa in the ribs. She grunted and bent over while I flew toward the door leading to the hall, bracing myself for the hail of bullets I knew would su
rely follow.
Once I got into the hallway, I tried to focus on the door leading to the outside and what little safety could be waiting for me out there in the dark. Fueled by desperation, I made it to the door and threw it open, hurling myself out into the night. With all my might, I ran in the direction I thought—I hoped!—would lead me to the gate where the guards could pull me into their protection. The main thing was not to stop, or to find a place to hide.
I could hear the footsteps of Cocoa close behind me. Were they getting closer, or was I outrunning her? It was hard to tell. The bullets, though, could reach me. Any minute they would fly.
A feeling of hopelessness overcame me as I powered on with my sides aching. There was not a soul in sight, and I couldn’t call for help with my cell sitting useless on that damn dusty table. Still, I kept on running, because what else could I do? Hopefully, if Cocoa was more out of shape than me, I could lose her in the dark.
I gasped for air as I whipped around a corner to a line of trailers with the stars’ names on the doors. My heart lifted a little. There could be phones inside those things! At the very least, I could slip into one and hide. Finding refuge in a trailer seemed like a better plan than my current status as a sitting, fleeing, out of options, duck. I was pretty sure no actors would be hanging out this late in their small trailers, but wouldn’t it be nice to find someone inside to help? Perhaps these were the scenes of the late-night romantic trysts the tabloids splashed across the headlines.
The thought of safety gave me the boost of energy I needed to pick up my speed until I could open the first door I came to. A. Fitzgerald, said the sign. Well, there was no chance of finding someone there to help. It was the only trailer I was sure would not be occupied.
Except it was.
As I shut the door behind me, I looked around desperately for a phone, seeing only a kitchenette, a small couch, a table, and a chair. Then I saw the bed in the rear bedroom part of the trailer, with a human-shaped lump beneath the covers.
That set my heart to pounding once again, but this was a good thing; the lump could have a phone! Cautiously, I moved a little closer so as not to startle whoever was asleep. A part of me understood it was weird to find a person sleeping on the set, but so many stranger things had happened, I didn’t give it much thought.
I moved closer and peered down at the bed. I was about to say, “Excuse me,” when I recognized the man who shifted in his sleep.
It was freaking Amery Fitzgerald. I had found his hiding place. If the things that happened weren’t totally absurd until then, they were now. I shook my head so hard, it almost hurt. That son of a gun Amery Fitzgerald was snoring softly in his bed in his trailer, while I was being chased by a crazy woman. I should have slapped him right then and there. Only I needed him.
He was definitely not my first pick for a savior, but surely he could help. I touched him lightly on the shoulder. “Amery!” I whispered urgently. “Amery, wake up!”
Groggily, he sat up and looked up at me, confused. Then he recognized me, and his eyes grew wide. He threw his legs out from underneath the covers, touched his feet to the floor, and was about to bolt when I touched his shoulder once again.
“Listen, you doofus.” I put my finger to my lips to indicate the need for silence. “You need to be quiet now.”
He stopped, staring at me saucer-eyed. He was dressed in a white T-shirt and . . . nothing else at all.
Sheesh. I tried not to look. “Okay, man, come on. Please put on some pants!”
Apparently having none close by, he pulled off his top sheet and wrapped it around his waist.
I moved closer and whispered, “You need to pay attention now. Cocoa is somewhere outside, and she has a gun.”
Fitzgerald frowned like he didn’t believe me.
“I’m not kidding. Cocoa is the one who framed you. I can tell the cops I know you didn’t kill Victoria. I can tell them Cocoa confessed to me. But first we have to somehow get away from the crazy woman!”
Fitzgerald’s jaw dropped, and he opened his mouth but nothing came out.
Then the main door to the trailer opened slowly.
Crap.
With my heart pounding, I motioned for Fitzgerald to hide on one side of the bedroom door while I hid on the other. I formed a gun with my fingers to remind him this was deadly serious.
“You stupid, stupid girl,” my tormentor called out. “You think you can hide from me? I heard you moving in here.”
I caught Fitzgerald’s eye. He nodded, and all his grogginess was gone. He was probably more awake than he had ever been in his entire life.
I heard Cocoa’s footsteps moving closer to the bedroom. “You’re not going to get away from me,” she said.
I felt my heartbeat going into skyrocket mode. But I had one advantage Cocoa didn’t know about. Fitzgerald. I made eye contact with him again and nodded. He looked super alert now and nodded back.
The next part was a blur. As Cocoa entered the bedroom part of the trailer, I lunged at her from the right while my new partner hit her from the left. We landed in a pile with me at the bottom.
“What the hell?” Cocoa screamed.
The gun! Where was the gun? I almost couldn’t breathe, but I used all my strength to climb out from under the other two, looking wildly for the weapon.
“In the corner! Over to your right!” Fitzgerald shouted over Cocoa’s shrieks. He had a firm grip on our nemesis as he called out to me. He was the right man for the job, easily holding the flailing figure down with one hand.
I quickly grabbed the gun and closed my eyes briefly in relief.
“It was you all along?” Fitzgerald asked Cocoa, looking a little shell-shocked.
Cocoa smiled a wicked smile. “You got what you deserved.”
Another chill went down my spine. This woman definitely had some issues.
“The real estate investment,” Fitzgerald said, more to himself, letting it sink in. He turned to me. “I know why she hates me, but why is she after you? How did you get her to confess?” Once again, he was almost naked. The sheet had come untied and fallen off during our attack.
I allowed myself to breathe, surprised how little it mattered to me what he was, or wasn’t, wearing. I could carry on as if the man had on a three-piece suit. Sure, he was a former heartthrob, but Fitzgerald and his goods were not worth a second look; a doofus in the nude had zero sex appeal for me.
“It’s kind of complicated.” I pointed the gun at Cocoa, keeping my eyes trained on her. “And we don’t have time for that right now. Get security in here! Get the cops in here! Now!”
Fitzgerald glared at Cocoa. “My time as a suspect is about to end right now. It’s time they locked up the person who deserves to be in jail.” He ran toward the door, mooning me and Cocoa.
“Pants! Please find your pants!” I sighed. “Or reattach your sheet. I don’t think they want a show.”
As he left in his white sheet, Cocoa’s wicked laugh filled up the trailer.
I frowned. I looked down at my hands. I still had the gun. Why was Cocoa laughing? She really was demented.
“You think you’ve won,” she said, scrambling to her feet. “It was foolish sending him away. This isn’t over yet.”
“I believe it is,” I said. Shaking, I kept the gun pointed at her face.
She moved toward me, still laughing.
I backed away to the main part of the trailer. “Stay still or I will shoot.”
But she kept on coming, which was nuts. Seemingly, this woman had no plans to stop.
Just as she lunged at me, I had no choice but to pull the trigger. One of us had to die, and it would not be me. With my heart pounding in my chest, I did it, bracing myself for the blast to follow—but absolutely nothing happened.
The realization hit me like a sickening wave. Just as Cocoa’s hands did when she grabbed my throat.
“It was the prop gun, stupid!” Cocoa said.
OMG! This whole time, Cocoa was threatening me wit
h basically a toy gun? But I couldn’t think about that right now. All I could think about was getting air. Cocoa’s hands squeezed my throat tighter and tighter until I could barely breathe. Panic filled my chest. How close could the guards be, or the cops? Was Fitzgerald getting help, or had Fitzgerald run? Someone had to get here fast.
Desperately, I kicked to get out of her grip, glancing hopelessly around the trailer for something I could throw or jam into her skull. Anything to help.
The only thing within reach was a tiny lamp. With all my remaining strength, I grabbed it and smashed it into the side of Cocoa’s head.
Amazingly, it worked! My nemesis fell to the floor. The maneuver with the lamp had bought me time at least. My throat felt like hell, my heart rate was still in skyrocket mode, but I was alive.
I flew to the door, threw it open, and ran for my life.
But I didn’t run too far, though. I didn’t even run two steps into the night. I ran straight into a thick chest, colliding with it hard.
Ummpph.
Cautiously, I looked up and was flooded with relief at the sight of a guard. Better yet, he had a gun. He looked back at me, as startled as I was.
I bent down, hands on my knees, and took in big sips of air. “In there!” I nodded to the trailer. Then I glanced at the guard. “I sure hope that gun is real.”
Chapter Nineteen
The next morning it was noon before I made it to the office. Gamely, I waved at Sandra, earning the slightest movement at the corner of her lips. It was just enough to count as a smile. Almost. Wow. That only seemed to happen after escapades in which I nearly died. She was a tough one to impress, and, look at me, I’d done it. I gave her a full-on smile and headed to my desk, accepting high fives on my way there.
“Way to catch a killer!” Jim from Sports called out.
“The cops sure couldn’t do it,” the guy beside him mumbled, and some of the staffers broke into applause as I passed by.