Curse of the Kissing Cousins

by Kelner, Toni, L. P.

  “He didn’t have a motive,” Tilda said. “At least, not at first. It’s all about slanting stories.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know that reporters can slant the same story for multiple markets because different people read different things into the same set of facts.”

  “Freelancer’s 101. So?”

  “Apparently Lawrence read something into “Curse of the Kissing Cousins” that I never put there. He was a killer, in his fantasies if not yet in reality, and when he read about the two deaths, his first thought was that there was a killer at work. Or rather, another killer.”

  “Another killer? Then the first two Cousins were killed by somebody else?”

  “Nope. Both deaths were accidents, just like the cops said. Lawrence only interpreted the deaths as murders.”

  “I read that article—you don’t even hint that those men were murdered.”

  “I don’t say anything about a curse, either, but that’s what my editor saw when she read it, and that’s why she came up with that title. People read in what they want to, or what they’re sensitive to, or whatever.”

  “And what Lawrence read was that there was a killer going after the Cousins?”

  “I think so. Remember that he’d been hunting Mercy for years, but he’d run out of leads long ago. He followed all the news about the cast members, and even lurked on the Kissing Cousins Listserv, just in case something gave him a clue. The man was obsessed. Who knows how many fantasy scenarios he’s whacked off to.”

  “There’s a vivid image.”

  “I am a writer. Anyway, he was afraid that this imaginary killer would get to Mercy before he did, and he just couldn’t stand the idea of somebody else killing her instead of him.”

  “That’s sick.”

  “He’s one twisted son of a bitch,” Tilda agreed. “He may also have seen it as an opportunity. He could kill Mercy and let the other killer take the blame.”

  “Assuming he could find her before the other killer, that is.”

  “Right. Since he was getting desperate, he did the same thing I did—he went to the other cast members, starting with Holly. Only he wasn’t content to just ask questions, not when he could beat the information out of her. Of course, she didn’t know where Mercy was, but he wouldn’t believe her. Either he killed her while trying to make her talk, or he realized she didn’t know anything and killed her to cover his tracks. Then he came to her funeral, hoping Mercy would show.”

  “She wanted to,” Sophia said. “I talked her out of it.”

  “And saved her life again. That’s where he met me, and became convinced that I was onto something.” Tilda cleared her throat. “I may have implied that I knew more than I actually did.”

  “Again, Freelancer’s 101,” Sophia said. “Never let the competition know what’s really going on.”

  “He was getting more and more desperate, so he started keeping an eye on me. It was no accident that he showed up here in New York when I was here.”

  “He was here?” Sophia said.

  “I let him take me to dinner, but passed on his offer of dessert.” Remembering that she’d actually been tempted sickened her. “I don’t know if he was trying to pick my brain or my laptop when he tried to sweet-talk his way into my hotel room, but he didn’t get a chance at either. The next day, when he found out I was on my way back to Boston but would be busy for a good while, he hopped onto a plane so he could go to Malden and break into my apartment.”

  “I didn’t know you’d had a break-in.”

  “At first, I didn’t realize it myself. I saw traces of somebody snooping, but I thought it was my roommate’s latest boy toy. Fortunately, I hadn’t left any paper notes to be found and Lawrence couldn’t get into my computer. So he couldn’t find out what I was up to.” Tilda ruefully added, “Not that I was up to anything useful at that point.”

  “But he didn’t know that.”

  “No, because I’d exaggerated my progress. So he was starting to panic. On one hand, he hoped I’d smoke out Mercy so he could get to her, but on the other hand, he wanted to get to her first. He hung around Boston, dogging my steps, trying to find out what I knew. When that wasn’t working, he decided to go after more of the cast members to try to smoke Mercy out, going by the timeline a fan came up with to predict the killer’s next move so he could preserve the illusion of a serial killer. Since he was still trying to stay reasonably close to me, he mailed the poisoned candy to Noel Clark instead of going after him directly. The son of a bitch even used my name on the package!”

  “That may have been his biggest mistake,” Sophia said. “That’s what put you on his trail, isn’t it?”

  “Probably. I might have given up if it hadn’t been for my being so damned mad. Anyway, it was obvious that the one thing that could bring him out into the open was Mercy, so I announced that she was going to be appearing at the collectibles show, knowing that he’d hear about it. The rest was just window dressing. I wasn’t planning to go Jessica Fletcher on him, but events overcame me.”

  “Sounds more like Scooby-Doo than Murder, She Wrote.”

  “Yeah, the trap and pulling off the disguise is more Scooby-Doo . Jinkies. Just tell me I’m Velma and not Daphne.”

  “How about Velma’s brains with Daphne’s looks?”

  “I’ll accept that.”

  Juan came in to let them know that their dinner was laid out. “Maybe I should pay for dinner this time,” Sophia said as they sat down.

  Though Tilda was tempted to accept, for the historical value if nothing else, she shook her head. “This is on Entertain Me!”

  “You mean you haven’t written the story yet?”

  “Of course I have. But the trip is going to get folded into my expenses somewhere—Nicole will take care of it.”

  “Nicole? The one who hates you.”

  “More importantly, the one who’s been feeding information to Lawrence. When the cops checked the history on his cell phone, they found a number of calls to and from her extension, so they pulled her in for questioning.”

  “She was helping him?” Sophia said, shocked.

  “Yes and no. She didn’t know about the murder. She just thought he was trying to steal the story out from under me.”

  Sophia sounded even more shocked when she said, “She was helping him steal a story?” As a former editor, she probably found that idea even more appalling.

  Tilda nodded. “He mentioned her name when I met him—they’d met at some party or another. I don’t know if she was a notch on his bedpost or not, but he knew her well enough to know how to manipulate her. He said if she helped him get this story, he’d use his connections to get her a better job at a bigger magazine—I think he was dangling Entertainment Weekly or People in front of her.”

  “And she fell for that?”

  “She may or may not have believed him, but the temptation of scooping me was more than she could pass up.”

  “That’s outrageous. I mean, helping somebody steal a story from her own magazine. And putting you in danger, of course.”

  “A double helping of sin, to be sure.”

  “Did you get her ass fired?”

  “Where’s the fun in that? No, I’m keeping her dirty little secrets, just as long as she behaves herself.”

  Sophia cackled, but asked, “Won’t her role come out at the trial?”

  “It might, but that could be a year or more, and she might come up with a better excuse by then. In the meantime, I’ll keep milking it.”

  Sophia cackled again, and Tilda couldn’t resist a cackle or two herself.

  They took their time over dinner, with Sophia asking for more details. It wasn’t until dessert was over and they were back in the living room that Tilda asked the other question she’d come to New York to ask.

  “You know where Mercy is, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do. I’ve known all along.” Sophia hesitated. “I didn’t like lying to you, Tilda, but I gave her my
word.”

  “You mean you put her safety above the needs of a fangirl reporter? For shame!” Tilda said mockingly. “Hell, you know I’d do the same thing in your position. It’s just that . . .”

  “What?”

  “Is she happy?”

  Sophia smiled. “Yes, she’s happy. She has a very nice life. Not in the industry, of course, but she’s loved and she’s safe. That’s more than a lot of us ever get.”

  “But it’s over now, right? She can come out of hiding.”

  “Not yet,” Sophia said. “The bastard could make bail, or even manage to get off. He’s still got money, which means he can still afford the best lawyers. She’s waited this long—she can wait a little longer, to be sure.”

  Tilda thought about it. Now that she knew that Sophia had been in recent contact with Mercy, she was reasonably sure she could find her if she tried hard enough. She could even use a bit of emotional blackmail—if Mercy had spoken out about Lawrence years back, Holly Kendricks wouldn’t have been killed. Entertain Me! would pay handsomely for the story, or she could pitch it elsewhere as a cautionary tale about how even the famous can be abused.

  Nick had once asked if she’d ever found anybody who didn’t want to be found, and she’d told him there was no such animal. Now she knew different, and the question she had to ask herself was would she try to find somebody who had a good reason not to be found.

  The answer was no.

  So she sighed and looked disgusted with the situation. “Fine, but if she ever decides to come in out of the cold, I get the first crack at her. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Sophia said.

  They rehashed events for most of the rest of the night, but there was one part of the story Tilda didn’t tell Sophia, and didn’t intend to.

  Chapter 30

  “It’s always sad to see a show end,” our beloved Mercy admitted,

  “but nothing can take away the joy of having touched

  people’s lives in some small way.” When asked about her plans,

  the sable-haired star would only say, “The world is full of

  challenges—I don’t know what’s next, but I do know that I’ll

  never forget my fans.”

  —“THE COUSINS’ GOOD-BYE KISSES,” TEEN FAVE

  IT happened when Tilda was on her way out of the expo center. Though she knew that Nick and Dom would be waiting for her, she couldn’t resist taking a few minutes to check out the exhibit of Kissing Cousins memorabilia, including Rhonda’s collection, minus two pieces. First, Tilda had bought the issue of Teen Fave with Nick’s picture to give to him. And second, Tilda had bought the album with the photo that had led Tilda to Lawrence—it was in her car, ready to take to the police, along with printouts of the photos Miss Flax had sent. The cops could keep the printouts, but the album was only on loan. Tilda was keeping it for herself.

  Before she left, she went to take a look at the stage that had been dressed for the Kissing Cousins’ upcoming appearance. Vincent, Rhonda, and Javier had worked for hours to create a reproduction of the Cousins’ rec room—half in school pennants and cute puppy posters and half in Goth trappings and a Harley calendar—and they’d done an amazing job. The security guards were letting fans walk through, one or two at a time, to look more closely and even take photos of themselves in front of Elbert’s lab equipment or holding Brad’s football.

  Tilda hated to miss the moment when the Cousins came on stage, but the Entertain Me! photographer would be there to capture it, so she wasn’t needed. She already had her story. Besides, she was just as glad she wasn’t going to be there when Cooper had to announce that Mercy wasn’t there after all. People were going to be disappointed. She was disappointed herself, but wherever the woman was, at least now she was safe from Lawrence.

  As if in answer to her thoughts, one of the many Mercy clones stepped onto the stage and sat in the black velvet-covered womb chair that Mercy had favored. Tilda wished the Entertain Me! photographer were handy. The woman’s dress was perfect, so she lifted her cell phone camera to take a shot herself. It wouldn’t be good enough for the magazine, but Vincent would like it.

  She was trying to focus when the woman lifted her veil. Tilda was impressed. Other than a scar on her chin, the woman strongly resembled Mercy, though she was too old for the part. She was closer to Mercy’s current age than to the actress’s age when the show was filmed.

  The woman caught Tilda’s eye and smiled a crooked Mona Lisa smile. Just like Mercy.

  Exactly like Mercy.

  For a moment Tilda couldn’t breathe, and though the room had been too noisy a second before, suddenly she couldn’t hear a thing. The camera was still in her hand, aimed and ready, but she didn’t even push the button. She just stared at the woman, knowing that it was really her. After all those years, it was really Mercy.

  Tilda didn’t know how long they’d have stayed like that if the exhibit guard hadn’t come up and gestured for the woman—for Mercy—to leave and let somebody else have a chance.

  Mercy lowered her veil and stepped off the stage and into the crowd. Freelance reporter Tilda Harper should have been right on her heels, demanding to know where she’d been and why she was there, but Matilda Harper, the gawky teenager who’d idolized the character, just stood there with her mouth half open until somebody elbowed her aside to get at a bin of posters. By then it was too late to go after Mercy, even if she’d wanted to.

  She hadn’t told anybody yet—someday she might tell Nick, or June, or Vincent, or Sophia—but, for now, she wanted to keep it to herself that she’d finally found Mercy.