Someday Soon

by Janelle Taylor

  “This version is that someone’s going to lock her in a room and asphyxiate her.”

  “Nice,” Cammie said with a grimace.

  “This is strictly hush-hush. We’re all signing contracts to the effect that we won’t give away the surprise.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “Dr. Moran finds her, so it leaves room for her to be resurrected,” Paul added. “That’s always good.”

  Dr. Moran—affectionately known as Dr. Moron around the set—was the show’s most egocentric character. He was played by a British actor with a flair for comedy, and just thinking about leaving everything she’d grown so comfortable with sent another wave of nostalgia cascading over Cammie.

  She hung up as quickly as possible, unwilling to talk to her ex any longer than need be. She’d just settled back into her swinging chair when the doorbell buzzed.

  Muttering a frustrated oath, Cammie went to answer the summons. She peered through the peephole.

  Samuel Stovall stood impatiently outside.

  Cammie couldn’t prevent a choked gasp. Oh, no, she thought. What does he want?

  Reluctantly, she opened the door. Her ex-stepfather had never come to see her before, so it had to have something to do with either Ty, or Rock Bottom, or both. Whatever the case, it wouldn’t be pleasant. Her heart plummeted to her toes.

  “Hello, Samuel,” she greeted him with just the right inflection of surprise.

  “Camilla.” He inclined his head.

  She suddenly remembered he’d always addressed her by her full name—a name she loathed. Her mother had named her after camellias, but it had always sounded stuffy and out-of-date to her ears. Paul, being a bit stuffy and out-of-date himself, was the only other person who refused to use her nickname.

  “What brings you to my neighborhood?” she asked lightly, stepping back and therefore silently inviting him inside.

  He strode across the threshold, casting a disparaging glance around her small, homey living room and kitchen. Cammie followed his gaze. It wasn’t grand by a long shot, but it was all hers and she resented his tacit disapproval.

  “I was wondering how you’re coming with Tyler,” he said.

  “Isn’t everyone?” At his frown, she said, “Paul just called and asked me the same thing. I hope this project isn’t hanging on my success, because I don’t have the faintest idea where to start looking. Have you tried private investigators?”

  “Yes,” was the shocking answer.

  Cammie gaped at him. “Truly?”

  “Well, of course I have. He’s my son!”

  His arrogance never ceased to amaze her. “But he’s a grown man. An adult. If he wanted people to know where he was, he’d tell them.”

  “Is that your stand, then?”

  “What do you mean?” Cammie asked.

  “You’re not actively looking for him?”

  “Oh. No…I don’t know. I’ve asked around, but nobody seems to know anything.”

  “I’ve asked around as well,” Samuel said. He stood feet apart, challengingly, as if he were about to do battle with her. Cammie gazed at him and could reluctantly admit he was still a very good-looking man. His hair had silvered, but it looked as thick and lush as it had been in his youth, and his eyes, in that fantastic shade of gray he’d passed on to Ty, were still his most attractive feature. He was lean and tough, and though Cammie guessed his age to be near sixty, he could easily pass for midforties.

  “Well, then you must know how difficult it is to find him.”

  “I do,” he admitted, rubbing his jaw in a curiously nervous way, as if he were struggling through this conversation as much as she was.

  Then he glanced up at Cammie, pinning her with those famous eyes. “I do, because I’ve been searching for him for a long time. I know where he is, Camilla. And I want you to go find him for me!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “What?” Cammie’s lips parted in surprise. “You know where Tyler is?”

  “I’ve known for a while,” Samuel admitted. “I didn’t want to reveal that I knew because I’d hoped you would find him for me.”

  Cammie gazed at him in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “Tyler doesn’t want to see me,” he explained tersely. “I’ve thought it all out. It has to be someone else who approaches him.”

  “You knew all along? How did you know all along?”

  “I have—had—an investigator.” Samuel waved a hand in the air as if he were physically brushing aside an annoying insect. “What matters is that you go after him.”

  “Everyone’s been pushing me to find him, and you knew all along,” Cammie murmured in disbelief.

  “I haven’t told anyone else that I know where he is. Tyler wouldn’t want that.”

  “Why haven’t you contacted him yourself?” Cammie demanded.

  “As I said, he doesn’t want to see me.”

  “He doesn’t want to see me, either! I bet he doesn’t want to see anyone!”

  “It’s time for him to get over this and come back,” Samuel declared stiffly. “He needs someone like you to convince him, that’s all.”

  “Someone like me.” She was furious and hurt and she couldn’t even say why. “What does that mean?”

  “Nanette seems to feel that Tyler feels something for you that’s more than—”

  “Nanette!” Cammie interrupted. “You’ve talked to Nanette?”

  “I’ve talked to her for years,” he admitted through his teeth, “for all the good it’s done. Oh, don’t go thinking she’s the one who told me where Tyler is. She’d rather boil in oil first, and I don’t even think she knows for certain. She didn’t tell you, did she?”

  “No.” Cammie was terse. Her head reeled with all this new information. She couldn’t trust this conversation at all. He could be lying to her, just to get her to blurt out something. No wonder Nanette had refused to say anything. Samuel Stovall was sly and tricky.

  “Well, if she doesn’t know yet, she won’t learn from me,” he declared, fuming. “But this role is perfect for Tyler. He’s got to come back. I want him back, and I want him to take this part.”

  Bully for you! Cammie could not believe the man’s arrogance.

  “But if I suggest anything to him, it won’t work,” Sam continued bitterly. “I’m not fool enough to think he’s learned any sense since he’s been gone. He won’t listen to me, but he might listen to you.”

  Cammie had heard enough. “Samuel, I’m through being everyone’s patsy. If you want him, get him yourself!”

  “It’s not that simple, Camilla.” His mouth turned down at the corners. Samuel Stovall was not a man who liked to be thwarted. Shooting her a swift glance, he revealed, “He’s living in a little town called Bayrock in British Columbia, Canada. My sources tell me it’s small enough that you could probably just run across him.”

  “Your sources.” Cammie was ironic.

  “Just go find him. Here…” He pulled a business card out of his pocket and held it out to her. “It’s my travel agent. She’ll get you a flight to Vancouver and you can go from there. I’ll pay for everything, of course.”

  Cammie stared down at the gold-embossed card. Her hand automatically collected it, but then she just held it blindly in front of her. Too much information, too fast. And Samuel Stovall was not to be believed! As the messages sank into her brain, her chest began heaving as if she were at the end of a grueling marathon. She felt used and spent.

  “No,” she told him, attempting to push his business card back at him, but Samuel refused to accept it. With quivering fingers, she set the small white missive on her kitchen counter. “I wouldn’t take your money if I were dying of thirst and it would buy me a drink of water. Don’t count on me to do your dirty work. If you want Ty, go get him yourself!”

  “You’re making a mistake,” he warned through lips that scarcely moved.

  “Probably.”

  Heading toward the door, he glanced over his shoulder. Ange
r and frustration were evident in every twitch of his muscles. “You’ll do it,” he said calmly. “Not because I want you to, because you want to. And what have you got to lose anyway?”

  Cammie would have loved to scream and yell and tell him to go to hell, but his words rang with ugly truths. How he knew her so well, she could only guess. Maybe she was much more obvious than she wanted to believe.

  “Be sure and take a copy of Rock Bottom with you when you go,” his voice trailed after him, the words hanging in the air long after Cammie’s door had closed behind him.

  * * *

  Orren Wesson was half through a Subway pastrami sandwich when the yellow cab turned into his quarry’s apartment parking lot and parked in one of the reserved spaces. A heavyset driver consulted an address book before trudging for the stairs. Chewing thoughtfully, Orren wondered if this might be the beginning of an expected journey. Why he had to keep following her remained a mystery to him, but his client was nothing if not thorough. The man wanted to know that she’d taken the trip to British Columbia, and he wanted Orren to follow.

  So be it. And it was certainly a break from tailing oversexed, underloved husbands, or bored, neglected housewives meeting lovers on their lunch hours and carefully orchestrated weekend trysts.

  Setting down the sandwich on its wrapper, he waited. Within moments, Cammie appeared with the taxi driver who carried her one, soft black overnight bag.

  Orren waited until the cab had backed out of its spot and turned right at the street in front of the building. Twisting the ignition, he eased out behind it. If she were heading for Bayrock, she sure as heck was traveling light.

  He lay back a long way, and noticed her head turn around a couple of times, as if she were looking for someone. Her surreptitious movements convinced him she was indeed on her way to find the missing Tyler Stovall, and she didn’t want anyone to know. Fine. He could keep the information to himself for a while. His current client gave him a long leash.

  And if he lost her, so what? He could pick her up at the other end.

  With one hand, Orren picked up his half-eaten sandwich as he settled in for the ride.

  The miles sped by beneath the wheels of her rented red compact as Cammie tore up I-5 from Seattle toward the Canadian border. She was angry. Angry at herself and the fates and most of all Samuel Stovall. She’d refused his plan, even refused to fly into Vancouver, a city closer to Bayrock than Seattle. She’d ranted and railed and made a pretty big stink about the whole plan—and then she’d gone and done what he’d expected.

  Fool, she berated herself, pressing on the accelerator in her fury. Moments later, she retreated from the gas. What was the point of getting a speeding ticket over a petty burst of emotion?

  But her motivations bothered her. She was such a sucker when it came to Ty!

  Glancing in the rearview mirror for about the millionth time, she could only see the faint images of cars behind her. She’d sped away from the pack she’d been engulfed in, and now was amid a new grouping. Traffic flowed full and freely on this stretch of I-5, but it was growing less congested the farther she pulled away from the Seattle environs.

  For three days she’d stewed over the information Samuel had given her. Was it real? Could it be trusted? She’d considered calling Nanette and asking for verification, but then she feared Ty’s mother might head straight for the telephone and warn her son.

  And Cammie didn’t want that. She wanted to see Ty on her terms, and now that she knew Samuel possessed his address, well, the hourglass was running out.

  So, here she was. Doing exactly as she’d sworn she wouldn’t. But call it a failsafe or just plain stupidity, she’d elected not to bring Rock Bottom with her.

  Roaring past a huge semi, she glanced at the driver and received a toothy, appreciative grin in return. Cammie managed a smile in return, then shifted her concentration to the road in front of her once more. What did she think this was really going to get her? Ty was bound to have a fit when she invaded his privacy. And just because she’d purposely left the script on her bedroom nightstand didn’t mean she was being noble. Her motives weren’t that pure! Ty could easily think Cammie had simply been scatterbrained, should the truth ever come out. It would be the flimsiest excuse of all. Still, toting Rock Bottom along with her would only aggravate her own misgivings about this trip. She was questioning her sanity already, and at least this way she could be honest enough with herself to admit that seeing Ty was for herself, pure and simple. He might not like it any better than being approached with a screenplay, but if he believed she’d come after him to better her chances professionally she had no prayer of connection at all.

  Night had fallen. Cammie squinted at the flickering red taillights ahead of her. She wasn’t certain how long it would take her to reach Bayrock. She had a map, but she hadn’t glanced at it yet. She wouldn’t until she was past the Canadian border patrol. She had too much filling her head already.

  The day after Sam’s revelation was the day she’d been called in to the set to “finish off” her character on Cherry Blossom Lane. At first Cammie felt she’d done a terrible job. She’d moved through the scenes by rote, her thoughts far removed from the trials and tribulations of the soon-tobe “late” Donna Jenkins. Luckily, no one had complained. The director gave her lots of time to get the feel of things again, since she’d been away from the job for nearly a month. It probably didn’t hurt that her character was supposed to be at the end of her rope. Donna would act like an automaton, a feeling Cammie could certainly relate to these days.

  And the main and final scene was short anyway. It had been little more than Cammie standing in a windowless room with the sound of gas hissing through a vent. She’d stood in frozen shock and muttered almost soundlessly, “Carbon monoxide.”

  So went the asphyxiation death of Donna Jenkins, may she rest in peace.

  Cammie had left the studio feeling strangely uplifted, as if a burden had been taken off her shoulders. Though she’d lost the role, she was on the road to new adventures where anything could happen. Literally speaking, she was on the road to Bayrock, British Columbia, and Tyler Stovall.

  Her heartbeat quickened in spite of her intentions to keep things in perspective. Optimism was her enemy. Her upcoming meeting with Ty was bound to be anything but pleasant. Still, a hopeful, girlish part of herself wouldn’t quite believe what her rational adult self was telling her: Tyler Stovall was more likely to throw her out on the street than welcome her with open arms.

  Oh, well…

  The only person who had an inkling of her plans was Susannah, whom Cammie had phoned before she left. “I’ll be gone for a while,” Cammie had revealed. “Don’t let anyone know my whereabouts.”

  “Whereabouts? What whereabouts?” Susannah responded, all innocence.

  “I mean it. I don’t want anyone to know where I am.”

  “You mean, like Samuel Stovall? Cammie, he’s bound to guess.”

  “If he pesters you, tell him you don’t know.”

  “Sure, and will he believe me?”

  “It doesn’t matter what he believes. Just don’t confirm anything.”

  “Your wish is my command,” she answered with illrepressed delight.

  Susannah was quietly thrilled about Cammie’s decision. Of course, she didn’t know that Cammie had purposely left the screenplay at home. And though Susannah’s motivations were pure—she only wanted the best for Cammie—they weren’t in line with Cammie’s own.

  After a few mundane questions that nevertheless sent Cammie’s pulse into overdrive, as if she were some highly dangerous criminal, the border patrol waved her through without incident. Driving a bit farther north, Cammie exited the freeway and pulled into the well-lit parking lot of a McDonald’s to examine the map. Bayrock was just a bit east on the north side of a small bay that separated the U.S. from Canada. It appeared that Canadians could look across at Washingtonians and vice versa.

  Trepidation filled her soul. She rubbed her t
ired eyes and seriously considered turning right around, tail between her legs and driving all the way back to Seattle, maybe even Los Angeles. She tried to imagine what her first meeting with Ty would be like—and failed completely.

  But she could sure remember the last one. She’d been depressed about the way things had ended between them. Though she’d tried to blame it all on the deterioration of Claire’s marriage to Sam, she’d known at some level that it was her relationship with Ty himself that she’d wanted to restore. It had also been at the time when Claire’s illness, an aggressive pancreatic cancer, was just beginning to develop. Claire kept the facts of her approaching death from her only daughter, and Cammie had believed her mother’s growing frailty derived from her ill-fated love for Samuel Stovall. In truth, it was probably already too late to do much more than wait out the inevitable, but Cammie, at the time, was ignorant of the facts. That unhappy truth still hung in the stars, so Cammie fretted over her mother’s well-being, which she believed depended upon Ty’s father. This, then, was the excuse she gave herself for turning up unexpectedly on Tyler’s doorstep.

  She had a heck of a time getting past the gate of his home, the same property where he’d driven the paparazzi into the lake on his riding mower. But fate was with her, for after ringing and ringing him from the gate buzzer to no avail, she slammed a foot against the wrought-iron fencing in frustration and the darn thing swung inward as if pulled open by ghostly hands.

  The latch hadn’t quite caught from the last visitor, a stroke of luck that seemed to herald positive things. Cammie had chosen to think of it that way at the time, though, as it turned out, Tyler wouldn’t feel the same way…

  So, armed only with the knowledge that “blood was thicker than water,” even if theirs wasn’t strictly the same type, Cammie drove up the slate drive to the rear of the house where Tyler’s black Land Rover sat outside the garage. She parked beside it, swallowed back her rising misgivings and strode with forced determination to the back door.