Fadeout

by Rolynn Anderson

  “Fine,” Roman said.

  “Badly,” said Walter.

  Roman and Jan turned to him.

  The old man stood, the legs of his chair scraping against the cement patio floor. “Mr. Keller still believes his grandfather’s bad traits overshadowed his good ones. He’s planning a negative eulogy.” Walter shook his head. “I can smell insubordination a mile away. This man’s not going to do what Bella wants or needs. He’ll destroy the service for her and other people who liked Sidney.”

  Jan put her fist on her hip. “What am I supposed to do about it? Throw him in the brig? Slap him with a dishonorable discharge?”

  Walter ignored Jan’s sarcasm, glaring at Roman. “I’ve given him everything I know about Sidney, but he hasn’t softened.” He tilted his head toward Jan. “You’ve got more influence on him than I do.”

  “Me? How do you figure that?”

  Walter waved his hand at Roman, clearly disgusted. “He’s been more interested in watching for you than listening to me. Since you’ve already captured his attention, I leave him to you.”

  Roman was too stunned to speak. Could the old guy read minds?

  Walter opened the door to the garage and peered out. He pivoted and drilled Jan with a look of pure satisfaction. “Appears you didn’t accomplish your objectives, either. Not one package in my old Volvo. Not a single stick of furniture ordered, right?”

  Jan’s face reddened with embarrassment and she fiddled with her keys before she stuck her chin out and said, “I browsed and I got some ideas.”

  Roman felt the need to come to her defense. “So many choices. Bella’s ready to help out. In fact she needs a project—”

  Walter’s glare cut him off. “You’ll see me later.” The man about-faced smartly, marched out and slammed the door behind him.

  Jan’s perturbed expression and a growl from Elwood reminded Roman of all his recent failures. He had upset Walter and their friend, Pete. Add a grandmother sorely disappointed in him and a producer begging for his finished script on Senator Johnson and Roman felt like growling, too. But it was Jan’s coldness that gave him the pit-in-the-stomach hollowness. Their kiss might have been accidental, but the warmth and the passion were real, weren’t they?

  He said, “I’m off to Santa Barbara.”

  Jan let Elwood out into the fenced yard and got busy washing off the kitchen counters. “I’ve got a full day ahead of me, too.”

  “I’ll try to get back tomorrow or the next day.”

  She shrugged as if to say she’d given up on him. He hesitated at the door, wishing she’d say something. Anything. But when she and the almost empty room remained silent, he left, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Chapter Eight

  “Dead on,” the producers called Roman Keller’s documentaries. As in probing and thorough, regularly pulling in massive TV audiences, high ratings and a huge number of responses. True, viewers might not always like the details Roman dredged up on his subjects, but they watched his documentaries anyway.

  Roman thought about his reputation as he raced his old blue Beemer along Highway 101, heading home. With an eye on the rear view mirror for cops, he cruised at eighty-five miles an hour, feeding off the end of an adrenaline rush. While he was eager to work on Senator Johnson’s story, he realized he was distracted by two new projects: Jan Solvang and Cliff Barker, connected in a weird way she could never know about.

  The stink of the Barker story had made him kiss her.

  Everyone knew of Cliff Barker’s holier-than-thou reputation on the Central Coast. Roman smelled something rotten in the big man’s life and he couldn’t wait to follow the trail.

  He tapped the steering wheel, a little puzzled at himself. A little embarrassed. Strange that the thrill of a new chase had propelled him to grab the nearest woman and kiss her until he ached from wanting more.

  No. Not true. Jan wasn’t merely close at hand. When he’d been on the phone with the police, she’d stopped moving and stared at him, seeming to see him more fully, appreciate him, female to male. This from a woman who moved constantly, her blur of activity making him wonder if she had time to see anyone—anything—clearly.

  He liked looking at her face when she wasn’t bustling on to the next thing. Soft skin, full lips, liquid brown eyes. Short, blonde hair that left her delicious neck wide open to him. He’d had a taste of her backside pressed to his body, yet it was the feel of her breasts against his chest that had his whole body thrumming with need.

  Roman gripped the steering wheel and tapped the brake, slowing to seventy miles per hour, questioning his impulsive act. But the miracle was she hadn’t jumped away when he’d kissed her and the sound she’d made showed she liked it.

  Why the hell was he thinking about kissing Jan Solvang after she and her father had literally kicked him out of their house? Christ, she wasn’t even his type. The intelligent next step was to take the damn kiss off the list of unfinished business.

  “What’s next on the list?” he asked the wide Pacific Ocean racing past him as he got close to Santa Barbara. Work on the Johnson script: interview Jan about the Senator, and wheedle an introduction to Georgette Johnson out of her. Don’t let Jan read the draft. Finish writing Sidney’s eulogy. With Jan. Find out more about Barker. Get that thick file on the guy from Jan. Investigate the funeral industry. Check on the cops’ investigation of Tess Barker and make sure Jan was protected against another attack by the fruitcake.

  By the time he pulled into his driveway, he’d re-prioritized his list. Number one: apologize for the kiss and promise Jan it would never happen again.

  ****

  “I’m fine, Dad,” Jan said to the General, when he hesitated in her doorway.

  “But Roman and I agreed you shouldn’t be left alone at night.”

  “Ha! You can’t stand the guy. Why would you honor an agreement with him?”

  The General puffed up his chest, trying to look tough. “I never saw the crazy woman or talked to the police, so how am I to know how serious this is? Roman said—”

  Jan gave her father a gentle push out the door to stop him from talking. “The police assured me she’s got no record. I didn’t press charges and they let her go after giving her a stern warning. The police will investigate further and be sure to drive by my house more often. That’s enough, Dad. I’ve got deadbolts on every door, which you installed yourself years ago. I’ll keep the house locked tight, I promise.” She gave him a pat on his arm to show how much she appreciated his concern. “Remember, you called Roman insubordinate. Trust me, not Roman.”

  The General checked up and down the street where neither person nor car were to be seen. He stepped off the stoop. “Talk to Pete. Tomorrow you and I figure out what to do with Barker.” With a final glance at the empty street, he said, “Call me if anything spooks you. Promise?”

  “Absolutely. I’ve got Elwood.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Who only growls at Roman.”

  Head tilted, she said, “I rest my case. Elly’s a good judge of character, as you are.” Putting her hand to her lips, where phantom tingling reminded her of Roman’s kiss, she cleared her throat and said, “So am I.”

  “Don’t let a soul in this house, understand?”

  “I won’t. Go.”

  “Talk to Pete, Janny. He’s got an in with the police, plus he could help us figure out what the problem is with this Barker bunch. Will you do that?”

  “Yes, Dad. Get a good night of rest, okay?”

  No sooner had she shut and locked the door, when Elwood clickety-clicked over the bare wood floors to the patio door, whining to get out.

  Jan shook her head, thinking how stupid her promise to her father had been. How do you stay locked in a house with a dog who has to pee?

  She opened the patio door eight inches. Elwood shot out and disappeared into the dark back yard where he liked to do his business as well as search out rabbits in the underbrush. Hoping he’d leave the rabbit-rousing for daylight, sh
e waited, tracking his position by the rustling bushes.

  Her mind wandered to Tess Barker, the woman’s haunted eyes freeze-framed in Jan’s brain. If Tess was demented, Jan felt sad for her; if the woman’s father was as horrible as she had indicated, Jan wondered what Tess Barker expected a funeral planner to do about it.

  “I do not speak for the dead or about them,” Jan reminded the quiet, warm night air.

  Quiet?

  She should be hearing Elwood searching under the bushes.

  “Elwood?” she called.

  “Elly!” she demanded.

  No response.

  She heard a noise way to her right and relaxed, knowing Elwood favored that side of the yard. But before she could call out to him, the bushes on the left side of the lawn sent a sound of furious agitation her way. Something was coming out of the yard toward her door and it was much larger than Elwood. A coyote? A human?

  Just then Elwood zipped through the door opening, tongue out and whining. She shut the door fast, locked it and closed the shutters, too scared to face whatever monster sought entry. Then, feeling foolish about her fear, she stooped to soothe the Scottie. He hopped into her arms and wriggled against her chest, seeming to search for comfort there.

  “Okay, Buddy. You’re safe, but now I’m the one seeing shadows.”

  Relieved when she felt the dog’s body settle, she prepared to rise. He suddenly jerked his head toward the front door, barked, jumped out of her arms and raced to the foyer.

  “Dammit, Elly,” she muttered, her skin tingling from fright. “Don’t do that.” She walked to the peephole, not convinced she wanted to put her eye to it. Why look when whatever was out there could scare the bejesus out of her?

  She’d already berated herself for slamming the shutters on the patio door before she had a chance to identify her so-called assailant in the back yard. Why couldn’t she look through the tiny peephole to figure out who was attacking from the front yard?

  “You chicken,” she mumbled at the same time she braced her hands on the door and leaned in to look.

  The door chime sounded and she jumped back, her hand covering her eye.

  “Jan? Are you there? It’s Roman.”

  She decided in that moment she’d never heard a more comforting sound than Roman’s voice. Still, she looked through the peephole to make sure he was the person standing on her stoop. The magnifier thinned out Roman’s face and exaggerated his expression of concern.

  She took a breath to collect herself. “Just a minute,” she yelled before she put Elwood in the master bedroom. When she unlocked the door and opened it, she tried for a casual smile.

  Met by his sheepish grin.

  Her eye caught a suitcase sitting on the stoop. Under his arm he held a pump and a blow-up bed. When he strained to look over her shoulder, he said, “You drove out the General, didn’t you?”

  She shrugged, pretending it was no big deal, but realized she was pleased the General had gone home. Jan had unfinished business with Roman, best handled without her father’s presence. “He’s got a special bed at home for his back.” She waited a beat. “Looks like you can sleep on anything,” she said, tilting her head toward the folded bed.

  The sheepish look, again. “I’d like to be near Bella as well as work with you on the thing for Sidney. Got a folding table and chair in my car. If I could set up to work in one of your bedrooms, I’d be pleased.”

  Leaning against the door, she put her hand on her hip and debated. She’d be bunking on the couch and he’d be rustling in the bedroom, working all night. Would his noise and his presence keep her up? After all, he’d be trooping back and forth to the kitchen to get coffee where he’d have a view of her sleeping on the couch. More important, where did the kiss fit in with Roman’s overnight offer?

  “I’ll protect you from the madwoman, gratis,” he added.

  The angry bushes in the yard came to mind, but with Roman at her door, his bulk filling the entryway so that no intruder dared to enter, she decided her imagination had played tricks on her earlier. She chalked up Elwood’s whining and mad dash into the house as typical doggie behavior. Roman didn’t need to know how she and the dog had let their imaginations run amok.

  Why the hell hadn’t she bought a bedroom set so she could at least close herself off in her own room?

  Knowing she couldn’t let the man stand on her stoop all night, she stepped aside to usher him in. “Last room on the right. Sheets and pillows in the linen closet next to the bathroom.”

  He looked surprised, probably wondering why she’d purchased bedding before she’d bought the beds to put them on. “How would you—?” he interrupted himself. “I’ve got a sleeping bag in the car. Easier than putting sheets on a blow-up bed. But I did forget a pillow.”

  While he went to work laying out the bed and Jan covered a pillow, she silently asked herself the questions he would eventually pose.

  “I knew both beds would be king-sized,” she wanted to point out. She’d bought her favorite brand of sheets when she saw they were half-price in a local department store. Four sets of king-sized linens, still folded tightly in their zipped plastic cases.

  When she walked into the spare bedroom, his pillow pressed to her chest, she realized the bed business was taking on a life of its own, becoming a giant distraction. She should have protested Roman’s decision to bunk at her house, leading her to playing out silly chicken/egg arguments about bed linens and bed buying.

  Standing at the doorway of his room, she tried to decide if it was too late to throw him out. Roman had his back to her, stomping on the foot pump while he watched the bed fill up with air. He looked like he was fiercely keeping time to fiddle music only he could hear.

  She couldn’t help but laugh at his antics, even while she felt manipulated. Roman had played on her fears and brought up her anti-bed flaw because he wanted the Barker story. She might like his sense of humor and the way he kissed, but his tactics for getting into her bedroom were underhanded, a means to an end that had nothing to do with her.

  The man was too smooth, by far.

  He plopped the bed in the middle of the floor. Even full of air, it looked like a postage stamp in the big, empty room. With the bed’s plastic surface reflecting the light, as did the shiny wood floors, her spare bedroom was cold and uninviting. Jan visualized a rug on the floor in earthy browns, greens, and yellows. A dark green armoire over there, a king-size sleigh bed in a warm brown wood against that wall, decked with elegant beige and brown linens. Topped with a half dozen pillows in shades of green, brown, and cream.

  Blinking at the image, she wondered how the room got furnished in her mind so perfectly. Then she looked at the man standing in the middle of the room, wrapping up the pump. He’d changed clothes at home, she surmised, and replaced his polo shirt and khaki Dockers for a green and brown plaid camp shirt and dark brown wash pants. She knew the green would bring out his eye color, but she doubted he was conscious of the match. The thing was, he exuded warmth and masculinity in her cold-looking room. He even gave it a damn color scheme.

  His very presence highlighted her flaws, she realized. How could she sleep easily with a man in the next bedroom who made money off judging people?

  Judging her.

  Her business.

  Throwing the pillow at him, she said, “One night, Roman. I’m off to put the finishing touches on Grace Weather’s ceremony. I’ll talk to Pete about Tess Barker early tomorrow when I help him with grocery shopping. You and I will work on Sidney’s memorial in the morning around eleven, then I have errands to run.”

  “And Barker? Will you let me in on his story?”

  She frowned. “Dad and I are thinking of dropping Madeline Barker as a client.”

  “Don’t be hasty,” he said, stepping closer to her, his pillow still in hand.

  Squinting at him, she said, “You believe Tess after you’d written her off as nuts?”

  He tossed the pillow on his bed. “Let’s not judge her
until we have all the facts.”

  Jan wanted to jab him in the arm for throwing her argument back at her, but she couldn’t bear to give him the satisfaction of knowing she’d caught the irony. “I’ll talk to the widow Barker tomorrow after I discuss the problems with Pete. My contract is with her, by the way; not the children.”

  He nodded, seeming pleased she hadn’t made up her mind. With a wry look at his blown up bed, he said, “Won’t use this much tonight. Don’t be surprised if I’m up most of the night.”

  Right. Murdering the reputation of Senator Johnson. Throwing stones at the funeral business. No, she’d rather have him busy skewering Cliff Barker.

  Could she? Would he? She thought fast. What might she say about Barker to drag Roman away from Senator Johnson and other none-of-his-business projects? She’d checked on the timeline for moving Johnson’s bust from inside the building to the front of the building. If she could keep Roman’s documentary from being aired…

  “Real or decaf?” she said, making her way to the kitchen, her brain churning.

  “Leaded. I’ll make it,” he said, following behind her.

  “No, I—”

  He touched her arm when she reached for the coffeepot. “I’m not a guest.”

  Jan’s brain buzzed with strategies. If she made friends with Roman, he might trust her word enough to be fair about Senator Johnson. She’d work that angle, along with plan B: to subtly distract Roman by denying him access to the Barker story. Pulling in a breath, she conjured a slug, a sloth, something slow-moving she could emulate. It killed her to keep her hands quiet, her head from turning from one task to the other, her feet planted in one spot.

  While she was striving for calm and planning out her next words, he touched her arm. “I need to explain why I kissed you.”

  “No, I already—” She tried to pull her arm away, but he tightened his grip.

  When he put his hands on her neck and anchored his thumbs to her chin, she was eye-to-eye with him, astonished to see lust swimming in his dark green eyes.