Unscripted

by J. S. Marlo

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The sinister timeline on the table churned Riley’s stomach. She wanted to run from the suite and hide in the bathroom until the nightmare lifted from their lives. On the loveseat, Blythe’s loving arms held her close to his chest, but they didn’t stop the bitter taste of bile from rising into her throat. Whoever had orchestrated the cold and deadly plot had set to ruin his life long before she joined the studio.

  “Someone killed Claire and framed you for her murder while using me as your motive, but the fire gave you an alibi.” By talking it through rationally, like she would the story line of a script, she hoped to settle her nauseated belly and get an insight into the killer’s mind. “This looks like revenge, Blythe, and revenge is personal.”

  When Mother Nature took her ranch, it’d spared Blythe additional hardship, and it uncovered an elaborate scheme to destroy him. The unforeseen outcome of the fire gave meaning to her loss and strengthened her desire to rebuild the ranch with him.

  “But if you’re right, and the killer targeted you and Claire to hurt me, he won’t stop until…” Blythe’s voice trailed off, and she didn’t need to look at him to see the horror on his face, not when it permeated each of his words.

  “He won’t stop until he achieves his goal, which means he’ll come after me again,” she finished. Claire’s fate awaited her, unless the man sitting across the table from them managed to arrest the killer before he struck again.

  His hands clasped over his knees, Jackson leaned forward, glancing back and forth between Blythe and her. “That is our assessment as well, but we doubt that person will attempt anything until we clear Mr. Huxley, not after spending that much effort planting incriminating evidence.”

  “You mean as long as you treat me as a suspect, Riley is safe?”

  Riley didn’t understand why the detective had presented them with a theatrical version of the events, unless he meant to prepare Blythe for his role as a suspect.

  “There’s no guarantee, but if you’re willing to play along while we investigate the other leads, it’s an option to consider.”

  “You have leads?” That should have been the first thing Jackson mentioned after telling them about Claire’s bullet matching hers.

  “No, Mrs. Kendrick, we don’t, but I was hoping you and Mr. Huxley could bounce some names off me. As you can see…” With a sweep of his hand, Jackson encompassed the timeline. “The person responsible knows a lot about your and Mr. Huxley’s lives and has access to Mr. Huxley’s desk at the studio. To your knowledge, who has motive and opportunity to orchestrate such an elaborate scheme?”

  One name popped in Riley’s mind as it gushed from Blythe’s mouth like venom. “Paul Winchester. He’s a writer with the show. Last fall, at the Studio’s Halloween Party, he assaulted Claire, and he’s been attacking Riley’s reputation ever since she joined the team.”

  ***

  Curled up in the hotel bed after Jackson’s departure, Riley looked like a lost child. Blythe sat on the edge of the mattress and stroked her hair. Exhaustion had taken its toll on both of them, physically and emotionally, and he wanted to join her, to lose himself in her arms, but they didn’t have the luxury of time.

  “When Paul came into my hospital room, he told me you had confronted him. He looked genuinely upset that you accused him of pulling the trigger. I believed him when he said he was innocent. I know he said lots of things to me, but I thought they were empty threats. It never occurred to me he could act on them, not until you told the detective about the Halloween Party. I feel like such a fool.”

  “I shouldn’t have kept Claire’s assault a secret, but she made me promise not to tell.”

  “Why?” Her voice was softer than a whisper as she looked at him with big, green eyes.

  Less than two weeks before Claire was shot, the drunken weasel had cornered her in an empty office while she’d made a phone call. When Blythe heard a muffled scream coming from down the hallway, he’d rushed inside the office. Claire’s blouse was ripped, and she’d been recoiled against a desk while Paul crouched in front of her.

  “Claire was mad at herself for not handling the situation with better tact. I never understood why, but she felt guilty for hitting him when he was drunk, and she felt even worse after I punched him. In any case, she insisted he got what he deserved.” Pressing charges might not have resulted in anything more than a slap on the wrist, but it would have left a blemish on Paul’s record. “She didn’t feel pursuing the issue was worth her time or effort. I’m guessing she wanted to forget the embarrassing episode.”

  “I don’t blame her. I’d also want to crawl under a blanket and forget everything.”

  He felt a twitch pull on the corners of his mouth and allowed it to blossom into a smile. He liked how she sided with Claire, how she allowed their past to coexist peacefully with their future, one not a threat to the other. From the day he met her, she’d transformed his life, and now, it was his privilege, and his duty, to protect her. He owed it to Oliver and Chad.

  Until the police interrogated Paul and asserted his guilt or innocence, Jackson had suggested they leave the hotel before anyone learned of their presence, drive a few hours outside the city, and check into a small motel under a false name.

  “We need to leave, Shamrock.” His hand traveled from her hair down her neck, slowly parting the bathrobe. “Would you like to take a quick shower before getting dressed?”

  “Would you join me?” A coy smile eclipsed the weariness from her face. “It’d be quicker if we shower together.”

  He wasn’t sure about quicker, unless she gave the word a new definition, but sharing would definitely be more enjoyable.

  ***

  With its slanted ceilings, wooden beams, and hardwood floors, the bed and breakfast resembled his grandparents’ cottage where, as a child, Blythe had spent his summers.

  If Riley’s life weren’t at risk, he’d enjoy spending the weekend exploring the trails winding through the backcountry with her, going for a picnic by the lake, or taking advantage of the hot pool in the moonlight. The bed and breakfast would make a great honeymoon destination. One day, hopefully in the near future, he’d bring her back here.

  “You’ll wear down the carpet.” Propped against a pillow, Riley sat in bed with her computer on her lap.

  After he’d talked to Jackson, Blythe had begun pacing the room. Fifteen minutes later, he still hadn’t wrapped his mind around Jackson’s desperate plan or Paul’s airtight alibi, and he still paced.

  Riley had listened to every word of his conversation with the detective, and yet, she’d remained as calm as a summer sea.

  “I still can’t believe the obstetrician corroborated Paul’s alibi at the time of your shooting.” As much as he racked his brain, he couldn’t come up with another suspect.

  “I doubt the obstetrician would tell the police she was with Paul if it wasn’t true.” When he glanced her way, Riley gave him the same motherly smile she’d used on Rowan while chatting on Skype earlier that morning. “Are you sure you didn’t ruffle anyone else’s feathers last fall?”

  “I ruffle lots of feathers, Shamrock, but Paul is the only chicken whose neck I wrung.”

  “Then we need to trust the plan Jackson concocted.”

  Except I don’t like Jackson’s desperate plan. “Using you as bait isn’t a plan, Shamrock. It’s a bad idea.”

  “Waiting for him to kill me isn’t a better alternative.” Her hand patted the mattress beside her. “Come here. I have something to show you.”

  “More ranches?” Grateful for the distraction, he climbed into the four-poster bed and snuggled against her. Being cooped up inside gave them time to look at different designs and floor plans. “What did Rowan say about your choices so far?”

  While he’d done his best not to eavesdrop on their conversation, he hadn’t been able to resist peeking at the screen. A pretty redhead, Rowan looked like a younger version of her mother, down to her speech pattern and sh
amrock-green eyes.

  “She liked the low-pitched roof with deep-set eaves, but she’s not sold on the front.”

  Little Shamrock showed great discernment, and he agreed with her. “Then let’s see what else you found.” As they looked at more designs, an icon flashed in the corner of her computer screen. A new e-mail had entered her in-box.

  Riley clicked on it, and the e-mail opened instantly. “It’s from Martin.”

  In light of the tragedies that have struck the cast and crew in the last few months, I decided to start the new season with a two-day retreat at the lake. It will allow all of us to get reacquainted with Wild Rescue’s characters in a more relaxed atmosphere before returning to our grueling production schedule. Retreat begins at 6 p.m. on Monday night at the Deer Lake Lodge and ends at 3 p.m. on Wednesday. Everyone is responsible for his/her own transportation.

  The detective hadn’t wasted any time contacting the producer and setting the plan in motion.

  Dylan, your wife is welcome to join us, but not the kids.

  Bella, try packing hiking shoes instead of high heels.

  Hux, now that your wife is dead and you’re no longer a suspect, you’re out of excuses. Don’t be late.

  Kendrick, take an early flight.

  The producer could have shown more consideration when he’d worded his sentences, but being sensitive had never been Martin’s style.

  One or two-bedroom cabins are available, some near the lakes, others isolated in the woods. Please specify your cabin preference. RSVP by 8 p.m. Sunday.

  Martin.

  The e-mail was sent at 12:38 p.m. Martin had given the twenty-six individuals listed on his recipient list less than eight hours to respond.

  “Vacations don’t agree with Martin, do they?” Riley passed him her laptop. “You’re the one who talked to Jackson, you answer.”

  Blythe clicked on “Reply All” and composed his message.

  Riley and I will share a one-bedroom cabin in the woods.

  Hux

  P.S. If we’re late, feel free to start without us.

  The only people who knew enough of his and Riley’s private life to frame him for murder belonged to that list of recipients. One of them had to be the killer.

  Chapter Forty

  Deer Lake Lodge loomed ahead, rustic and ominous, and as dusk settled in, the vest Riley wore constricted her chest. Under the protective layers, her heart pounded like a jackhammer, loud and erratic. She closed her eyes and slowly breathed in and out. Now wasn’t the time to experience an anxiety attack, not when she was minutes away from rubbing shoulders with a cold-blooded killer. When the vise released its grip, she reopened her eyes.

  From the driver’s seat, Blythe looked at her with concern.

  “Shouldn’t you be paying attention to the road?”

  “Are you all right?” He placed a hand on her thigh, and she found comfort in his touch.

  “I don’t know.” Maybe Blythe was right, and Jackson’s plan was a bad idea. “I’m no actress. What if the killer realizes it’s a setup?”

  “Just be yourself. I’ll make sure we don’t stay any longer than necessary.”

  A lone gravel road led to the resort, ending in a makeshift parking lot where someone had sprayed yellow lines on the hard-packed dirt. Blythe parked in the shadow of a tall jack pine, between a truck and a minivan. Farther down the parking lot, the trunk of a white car was popped, and someone with a gray shirt leaned over it.

  “Shamrock?”

  She diverted her attention from the white car to Blythe. “I can’t stay inside the car, can I?”

  “I’d love to spend some time with you on the backseat,” he teased, “but I doubt Jackson would see the humor in it.”

  “You’re bad.”

  As soon as they exited the car, they were met by a man with dark, cropped hair. He wore a gray polo shirt sporting the name, Deer Lake Lodge embroidered in red.

  “Good evening, Mr. Huxley, Mrs. Kendrick. I’m Officer Duncan. You’re in cabin 11C.” The undercover officer presented Blythe with a map and two keys. “The entire cast and crew have arrived, and Mr. Martin is waiting for you in the cafeteria of the main building. If you leave me your car key, I’ll take care of your luggage and carry it inside your cabin for you.”

  Keys were exchanged, but Blythe refused the map. “I’ve memorized the layout of the resort. We won’t get lost.”

  “Very well. You have a good evening.”

  According to the resort website she’d perused with Blythe during their stay at the bed and breakfast, the cabins were lined along the shore of the lake or scattered among the trees, and the only other man-made structure was the main building adjacent to the parking lot.

  Blythe took her hand in his. “Ready, Shamrock?”

  No, but she didn’t have a choice, not if they wanted to catch the killer. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Her fingers twined with his, she held on to his hand like a drowning woman clutching a life buoy. While they walked toward the building, she took deep, cleansing breaths, and by the time they crossed the hall, she was as composed as a frightened chickadee with a broken wing. The killer is bound to see right through me.

  They entered the cafeteria and paused. Around them, the conversations stopped, the clatter of utensils died, and the guests turned their heads in their direction. Some, like Nick and Andy, stared more brazenly than others.

  Two empty seats remained at the rectangular table, one between Nick and Bella, the other between Andy and Paul.

  Riley expelled a shaky breath. Despite knowing Paul had been cleared, she had no desire to sit beside him.

  “Huxley and Kendrick.” Glaring like a hungry wolf, Martin spat their names out. “Dinner started forty minutes ago.”

  “We took the scenic route and stopped for a quiet interlude.”

  Someone in the room had killed Claire, and yet Blythe remained poised and articulated. She envied his discipline.

  “How charming, Hux.” The producer speared something green with his fork. “I guess I overestimated the grieving period when I scheduled the retreat.”

  The cheap shot hurt Riley more than anything Martin had ever dished at her.

  “You go sit with Nick, Shamrock.” As Blythe nudged her forward, she relinquished his touch and advanced toward the empty seat between Nick and Isabella.

  Always a gentleman, Nick got up and pulled the chair out for her. “Are you all right?”

  “No.” Her knees shook like a flag in the wind, and her stomach rolled like a dinghy in the middle of a storm. “I’m-my ranch burned down, and I’m still a bit rattled.”

  “How devastating for you, honey.”

  Chilled by the lack of emotion in Isabella’s voice, Riley turned toward her neighbor and met her cold gaze. “Yes. Very devastating.”

  “It’s so sweet of Blythe to take pity on you. You know he’ll dump you for someone younger and more beautiful as soon as he grows tired of your charms, don’t you?”

  A brush on her shoulder cut off Riley’s retort, prompting her to divert her attention from the actress to the young man standing next to her with a plate in his hand. “Excuse me, ma’am.” She hadn’t ordered anything, and she wasn’t hungry, but it didn’t stop the server from placing a platter of seafood in front of her.

  “Thank you.” A glance around the table confirmed everyone was eating the same thing, though some people were emptying their plates faster than others.

  Beside her, Nick dabbed a piece of bread in the creamy, white sauce. “What is Blythe trying to accomplish?”

  Baffled by Nick’s remark, she followed his gaze. Blythe towered over Paul, an empty glass in his hand. Amber liquid dripped from Paul’s hair onto his white shirt. She wished she’d heard what Paul said to deserve a shower within minutes of their arrival.

  “What’s your problem?” Paul yelled as he wiped up the spill with his napkin. “Not getting enough sex?”

  An impassive mask cloaked Blythe’s face
.

  “Hux! Get a grip or get out.” The producer’s ultimatum carried into the room louder than thunder, sending a chill through Riley’s bones.

  “That sounds like a great suggestion for a change.” Blythe stuck the glass in the middle of Paul’s plate and walked away. The incident gave them an excuse to leave the oppressive room, and relief flowed through her body.

  “Doesn’t Hux care about his career?” Nick mumbled under his breath.

  Not as much as he cares about bringing a killer to justice.

  A deadly silence followed Blythe’s progression across the room. As he drew nearer to her, his gaze locked with hers, and she found strength in his gray-blue eyes. He stopped beside her and offered his hand. “Ready to call it a night, Shamrock?”

  More than ready. Eager. She pushed her chair back and stood. “Can we go home? Please?” The plan was in motion. It was too late to call it off, but a part of her couldn’t resist asking.

  “We’ll leave in the morning. I promise.” His voice sounded loud and steady. “Let’s go to our cabin.”

  ***

  Wood-chipped trails snaked from the main building into the woods and toward the lake. With Riley’s hand secured in his, Blythe led her through the woods at a fast and steady pace. As the stars lit up the sky, the night claimed the resort. Shadows danced among the trees, and murmurs whistled through the foliage.

  Cold and clammy, her hand trembled in his. “How are you holding up?”

  “My nerves are fried. My stomach is twisted like a pretzel. Martin is probably going to fire us by the end of the week. And according to Isabella, you’ll dump me for a younger woman. Aside from that, I’m having a wonderful time.”

  He was glad to hear her sense of humor had remained unscathed. “I see Bella’s delusion isn’t abating.”

  “Blythe?” A tug on his hand forced him to slow his pace. “Could she be the killer? She’s obviously infatuated with you. Her motive could be jealousy.”