Bitter Retribution

by Rachel Sharpe

  “No.” When Heather stared at me, I added, “No, thanks.”

  She frowned before offering it to Jon. He was still in the armchair staring at the television. A silent infomercial offered the miraculous wonders of a rubber cell phone. When he ignored her, she cleared her throat. “Care for some cocoa? It might relax you.”

  “We need to talk,” he declared, jumping to his feet and grabbing me by the arm. He dragged me out of the suite and into the hallway. He used such force by the time we were outside and the door clicked shut, my nerves and tendons screamed in agony.

  “Ow!!!” I exclaimed, massaging my arm. “You do remember I was shot in this arm, right? Ugh! What is it with you and injuring me!”

  “I don’t like that shrink.”

  “Join the club.” I winced in pain.

  “I’m serious!”

  “So am I!” I retorted, rubbing my shoulder in a circular motion. “My physical therapist is going to love this.”

  “I don’t trust her,” he continued as he began to pace the hallway. “The way she talks . . . the way these people act around her . . . something’s off.”

  “Right? Why would a television show need to have an on-set psychologist? How stressful can it be to read lines?”

  “I know you did not just say that,” Jon retorted, his brow furrowing. “Acting can be very stressful. You put your soul into it – you have to believe what you’re saying and doing or no one will. It’s a wicked intense experience.”

  “So you think they need a shrink?”

  “No!” He rolled his eyes. “This is a sitcom, as in situation comedy. Nothing bad ever happens in a sitcom that can’t be fixed in twenty-one minutes. The plots are dull and formulaic. And Schooling Dad is among the crappiest and most cliché—”

  “My best friend’s the head writer.”

  “All I’m saying is these people don’t need a psychologist on the set. Now dramas . . . that’s a different story.”

  “How?”

  “Remember that guest spot I did on Breakdown Lane? I played that guy whose girlfriend was killed during a drive by shooting in Jamaica Plain? That was intense. I really got into that role. It took a lot out of me.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I started to smile. He didn’t.

  “You did watch it, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Those weren’t eye drops rolling down my cheeks,” he frowned. “Those were real tears.”

  “Seriously?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Was that really necessary?”

  “Director thought so,” he nodded. “Told me I had to feel the despair my character felt or the whole episode would be a wash.”

  “So how’d you do it?”

  “He told me to think of the most horrible scenario I could imagine . . . that absolute worst thing that could happen to me,” Jon swallowed hard, staring past me. “It had to put me in such a bad place that the audience would believe my pain was real. Only someone who had reached the breaking point would try to blow up a courthouse full of innocent people because his girlfriend’s murderer was set to cop a plea deal.”

  “Wow,” I blinked. “I had no idea . . . I just thought it was like a light switch – you could turn it on or off.”

  “Not if you’re serious about your work.”

  “Wow,” I repeated, brushing my hair behind my left ear. Unzipping my jacket as hot air began to blast through the vents above, I asked, “So . . . what’d you think about?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said you had to think of the worst thing you could imagine. What’d you think about?”

  “I – I thought about London,” he muttered, staring down at his shoes. “I thought about if—if that guy had . . . if he had killed you, I . . . that’s the worst thing I could imagine.”

  My face flushed. “Well . . . that’s, uh . . . Alson! You found Alson, right? What happened? Did you steal that maid’s keys?”

  “Um, yeah, that wasn’t really thought out.” Jon scratched his head. “I found him in our room hopped up on something . . . kid was foaming at the mouth and puking! Anyway, I knew I needed to get him help and I heard some voices down the hall and the way that room and that hall looked . . . he destroyed that place.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Anyway, I knew we had to get outta there. I took the keys thinking I could find an empty room and we could hide out there while I called for help. As soon as we got off the elevator, though, there’s Dr. Nosy. She started giving me orders and crap. I almost told her to shove it, but then that producer showed up . . . didn’t wanna cause you any more trouble. I did what she said.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered. “What else happened?”

  “Nothing.” He shrugged. “We went to her place and put Alson on the couch. That producer was freaking out about Alson . . . he looked really bad . . . and then Dr. Nosy starts talking about script revisions. Kid could be dying for all we know and she’s worried about fixing the script!”

  “That is weird,” I agreed. “But maybe she was trying to get everyone’s minds off what’s happened.”

  “She’s just a wacko. What kind of freak is worried about a stupid script when the show’s star is practically overdosing on her couch?”

  “Definitely weird,” I repeated. “But you’re making a woman who looks like Heidi Klum and talks like Sigmund Freud sound like a psychopathic killer.”

  “I don’t trust her. And I never went for blondes,” he grumbled. “Maybe my cousin Sophie can look her up? You know, see if she’s even a real doctor.”

  “All right, fine,” I sighed. “Ask Sophie. Just don’t get tunnel vision on this, okay? We need to stay focused. Speaking of focusing, we’ve really got to get it together with this case. We’re totally derailed—”

  “What’re you talking about? We’re doing our job.”

  “We’re running around in circles, Jon. Someone was murdered this morning,” I whispered, glancing around to make sure the hallway was still empty. “The cops should’ve been called on this, but they weren’t. Whatever evidence might’ve been at the crime scene is long gone by now. We both know that. We need to figure out what we know and go from there. In less than twelve hours, someone’s been murdered and someone else poisoned.”

  “Hold on. I agree with the murder, but poisoned,” he shook his head. “I don’t buy it. There was no one there. I don’t think someone shoved that stuff down his throat and took off. Besides, who could’ve given him those pills anyway? His bodyguard?”

  “No, I don’t think it was Tox. I was with him when he thought Alson was kidnapped. He was hysterical. Something tells me that guy isn’t a great actor. He couldn’t have pulled that off if that wasn’t how he really felt. But someone did give Alson those drugs, Jon. The L.S.D. or whatever it was . . . someone gave him that. We just have to figure out who and if the two incidents today are related or not.”

  “Maybe Dr. Nosy—”

  “Heather!” I exclaimed when I saw her open the door and stare at us suspiciously. Jon frowned. “What’s up?”

  “What’s up with you?” she replied, raising an eyebrow as she turned the mug around in her hands.

  “Just shop talk.”

  “Hmm. Well then, this might interest you,” she said. “I just got a call from David. He gave me the name of the guy who threatened Alson yesterday. Turns out it was Perry Holcombe.”

  “And who’s that?”

  “He was the stunt coordinator for the show,” she explained, yawning. “Honestly, I thought he still worked for the show, but Nancy said he was fired two days ago for something that happened on-set.”

  “What happened?” Jon asked, suddenly interested.

  She shrugged, staring down at her cocoa. “She wouldn’t go into specifics. Said it w
as confidential for legal reasons, but the way she was talking, I think Alson was involved.”

  “Is there any way to find out what happened from the crew?”

  “Maybe.”

  “So you think Alson got this guy Perry fired?”

  “Maybe,” she repeated.

  “Tell me about Perry. What’s he like? Who did he hang out with? Was he married, single, what?”

  “Jordan, there are at least one hundred crewmembers on this show.” When I just stared, she rolled her eyes. “People usually hang out with their cliques, you know? I hang out with the writers and producers. I know who Perry is, but that’s about it.”

  “Oh. Did David say anything else? You know, about the death threats?”

  “Sorry.” She stared down into the mug’s dark brown liquid with billowing steam rising from it. “I think his meds were kicking in or something. He started slurring his words and stuff.”

  “Oh,” I repeated, still frowning. At a loss, I glanced over at Jon. He was typing on his phone, his green eyes narrowed with curious intensity. “Well, I guess . . . we should look into Perry then. Probably should start with the stunt crew. Jon, you coming?”

  “In a minute,” he muttered, his eyes still trained on the phone’s illuminated screen.

  Heather shook her head. “I’ve gotta stay here and try to salvage this script. Again,” she groaned, shutting her eyes. “I swear, if I’d known just how stressful this stupid job would be—”

  “Where’s Alson?” a familiar, gruff voice bellowed. I turned around and found myself staring up at Tox. He didn’t look happy.

  “How’d you—”

  “Nancy called. Something about allergies. Where is he?”

  “Inside,” Heather offered. When he rushed at the door, she brazenly blocked his path. His large hands tightened into fists and the veins in his neck bulged as he glared down at her.

  “Move it, girlie.”

  “No.” He stopped cold. Apparently her response surprised both of them. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “Tox, you really need to calm down. You don’t need to . . . aaahhh!”

  Her reaction was not based on what he said next, but what he did next. Instead of arguing, he picked Heather up and physically moved her out of his way. Before she could say another word, he kicked open the door with such force, it banged against the wall and everyone inside the room jumped. He then hurried into the room, his attention focused on Alson.

  “Alson!” he barked. Alson didn’t move. Tox called his name again, louder. No response. He was about to grab him when Rosalyn stepped in front of him.

  “I wouldn’t recommend that.”

  “Lady, I don’t give a rat’s—”

  “You can’t force him to wake up,” she continued, crossing her smooth, thin arms and offering a slight smile. “He needs time. He needs rest.”

  “He needs a doctor!” Tox argued, rage lighting up his eyes.

  “I am a doctor,” she replied, her voice eerily calm. When he glared at her, she smiled.

  “You’re a frickin’ quack.” Pointing at Alson’s motionless form sprawled across the couch, he added, “I ain’t no doctor, but even I can tell the kid needs medical attention.”

  “Not necessarily,” she shook her head. “Perhaps he took sleeping pills.”

  “Do sleeping pills make you puke your brains out?” Tox demanded. Suddenly, he turned around and pointed at me. “Hey, Nancy Drew! Get over here and show her what you found. Show this quack those pills.”

  “That’s not my name.” I frowned up at him.

  “Do I look like I care?”

  I glanced at Jon before reaching in my pocket. I felt the Altoids box, but hesitated. Something told me not to let Rosalyn Grace get her hands on those pills. The way she stared at me solidified my position. Pretending the check all my pockets, I shook my head.

  “I . . . can’t find them,” I lied.

  “What?” Tox growled, his face turning bright red.

  “I think I left them in the room. You know, the guys’ room. I could go back, but—”

  “Aren’t we supposed to check on . . . what’s his name . . . Perry?” Jon interjected.

  “Perry?” Tox interrupted, crossing his burly arms. “What about Perry?”

  “Nothing.” I took off my parka when I could no longer stand the blistering heat billowing out of the luxurious suite’s large vents. Handing it to Heather, I asked, “Could you hold onto this for me?”

  “Yeah, fine,” she nodded, taking the jacket with her free hand and draping it across a chair beside Charlotte. Sighing, she took another sip of cocoa.

  “Heather, shouldn’t you be working on the script?” Rosalyn suggested. Swallowing a mouthful of cocoa, Heather nodded. “You’re absolutely right.” She placed the mug on the table and took the empty seat beside Charlotte. Rosalyn smiled as she listened to Heather and Tom brainstorm while Charlotte typed away on her laptop’s chrome keyboard, her long red fingernails clacking with each stroke.

  “Uh . . . Heather?” I called after several long moments of awkward silence. “Any advice for us?”

  “Hmm?” Her eyes remained focused on Charlotte’s computer screen.

  “Where should we look for the stunt guys?” A strange feeling was welling in the pit of my stomach. “Heather?”

  “Maybe the gym.” Waving her hand at Charlotte’s computer, she said, “No, no. That won’t work. Roch’s going to have to already be at the lift when the girls arrive. Right. Like that. Now we need to think about—”

  “Uh . . . okay. Thanks.” Suddenly, Alson let out a low moan. It was the first sign of life I had seen in him since we found him almost half an hour earlier. Instead of everyone turning to check on their show’s star, the writers continued to work on the script, Nancy continued to sip her cocoa and stare into space, and Rosalyn continued to watch them all with strange interest. Only Tox rushed to Alson’s side. I felt Jon elbow my side. I glanced over at him and nodded.

  I followed Jon out of the suite and back into the quiet hallway. As I let the door close, I watched Heather until it shut. Her behavior was off to say the least. When Trip died, she was upset, which made sense. When Alson was missing, she was worried, which I understood. But, when a set psychologist told her she should rewrite the script in the midst of all this chaos, she agreed? What happened to her?

  “Your friend’s lost it.” Jon whistled. “They all have. Did you see them in there? They were so worried about that spoiled brat and now . . . nada. They’re acting . . . I don’t know . . . weird. Something’s going on. I don’t like it.”

  “Me neither,” I agreed. “But we can’t let it distract us. We’ve gotta keep focused. Let’s go downstairs. See if the stunt guys are in the gym.”

  “Why’re you looking for Perry Holcombe?” Tox interrupted, the hotel room door shutting behind him. “That’s who you’re talking about, right? What’d he do? Did he have something to do with this?”

  “No.” I had absolutely zero intention of involving a burly bodyguard with a short fuse in any case, let alone one that could cost my best friend her job. Although I had been trying to avoid his gaze in the hopes he would just go away, his intense stare finally got to me. I looked up. Despite my best efforts, I knew in an instant my expression gave me away.

  “Right,” Tox snorted. “Well, if you decide to start lookin’ for him, he’s in the bar.”

  “He’s what?”

  Tox raised an eyebrow.

  Smooth move, Jordan, I thought. Why not give him a detailed report of your investigation and suspects, too? You are so off your game right now.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded, a deep frown creasing his tan features as he took a step closer.

  “Are you sure you saw Perry Holcombe, Perry Holcombe the stunt coor
dinator for Schooling Dad, in the bar downstairs?”

  “I don’t repeat myself, girlie.” He sneered, cracking his knuckles. “Now, you gonna tell me what’s going on here?”

  I stared at him, but said nothing. Instead, I turned to Jon. He motioned toward the elevators and I nodded. As we hurried to the nearest one, I silently prayed Tox would lose interest in our activities and turn his attention back to Alson. No such luck.

  When the elevator to the far right chimed and the doors opened, Jon and I rushed inside, only to find Tox climb inside, too, before either of us could protest. From the look on his face, I knew arguing with him would be pointless. Instead, I pressed the button labeled ‘Lobby’ and taking a deep breath, tried to prepare myself for whatever awaited me on the ground floor.

  18

  The elevator ride was slow and tedious. When the doors finally opened, I rushed out as fast as my sore feet would allow. Opening the doors to the Black Diamond restaurant and bar, I hurried past the smiling hostess. I stared across the dark room at its slim selection of patrons. Instead of the delicious aromas that pervaded the night before, at that moment, my senses were inundated with the musky scent of rich leather and warm whisky. There were very few people inside the Black Diamond at that odd hour. Of those there, I noticed the largest majority had congregated around the bar with its sleek flat screens displaying various sports channels in pristine high definition.

  I took a moment and counted the male patrons. In total, there were six. It was then I realized I had no idea who Perry Holcombe was. Just as I leaned in to express my sentiments to Jon, Tox pushed past us with such force I was thrown into a nearby table.