Note of Peril

by Hannah Alexander

  “You smile a lot more lately,” she said.

  He squeezed her hand. “I’ve been spending more time with you, so I have more to smile about.”

  He knew as soon as he said it that he shouldn’t have. She cast a glance toward the road and gently withdrew her hand.

  “Okay, what’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “I keep expecting to look around and find Jolene Tucker stalking us with her camera and recorder.”

  “So? It isn’t as if we’re doing something wrong. People won’t be surprised to see a picture of us holding hands.”

  She looked away.

  The disappointment went all the way to his heart. “I get it,” he said. “You prefer to be ‘just friends.’”

  She stepped across the sand. “I don’t want to live a romance for the media. I think that would destroy a friendship faster than anything. I’m discovering lately how much I value my privacy.”

  He followed her. “Let the media create their fiction.”

  “They don’t create fiction, though. They manipulate the truth to titillate readers. I never realized how malicious gossip was until I became the focal point of it.”

  “You can’t ignore the gossip?”

  She waved her hand impatiently. “You’ve been in the public eye long enough to know that what people believe about your life becomes almost as much of a reality as the truth. How many people think you really were driving under the influence, simply because Jolene reported it wrong?”

  “I haven’t taken a poll.” He heard the impatience in his own voice.

  “Jolene isn’t the only enemy. She wasn’t at Friday night’s meeting—she only reported what someone else told her. I can’t help wondering who’s been spying on us.”

  “Do you see any cast members hanging around watching us?”

  As if taking him seriously, she turned and studied the shoreline, then the dock, then shook her head. “Something else that’s been bothering me since Friday—what if Jolene gets wind of the ugly note?”

  “What if she does?” he asked. “As I said, you could just come clean. It isn’t as if they’re going to make a big deal over something you did eight years ago. Do you mind telling me why you’re giving Jolene the power to influence whether or not we’re able to have a meaningful relationship right now?”

  She folded her arms across her chest and studied the shoreline again. “Want to go for a swim?”

  She was an expert at changing the subject. “Have you suddenly turned suicidal?”

  She laughed. “At least let’s go wading.”

  “Oh, yeah, I remember now. You’re the kind who likes to walk barefoot in the rain.”

  “It isn’t a crime. Later we can go canoeing. Come on, Michael, the sun’s warm, the sky is clear and we need to take time to enjoy it. I came down here to get away from everything, not argue about work and publicity nightmares.”

  Without warning, she knelt in the sand, untied her shoes and pulled them off, along with her socks. She rolled up the legs of her jeans, then looked up at him. “Coming?”

  “It’s practically winter. The water’s cold.” Grace was nothing if not impulsive.

  She shrugged and stepped into the lake, then squealed with laughter at the apparent iciness of the water.

  Michael enjoyed the show from his safe spot on the sand. Grace was challenge enough. He didn’t need pneumonia to make things more interesting.

  Chapter Five

  Delight smiled up at the waiter and handed him her menu. “I’d like stuffed mushroom caps and a frozen strawberry daiquiri.” If she was going to spend an evening with Denton Mapes, she might as well have some fun with it. She’d try a piña colada next.

  “Make that a virgin daiquiri,” Denton said as the waiter turned to walk away. At Delight’s scowl, the lines of his face deepened with amusement. “Contrary to what you’ve probably heard about me, I’m not the kind of man who provides alcohol to minors so I can take advantage.”

  Delight blinked at him. Whoa, baby, talk about blunt. “I never thought—”

  “I seldom have difficulty finding female companionship, and I never become desperate enough for it to rob cradles.”

  She couldn’t quite stifle a gasp.

  “I have, however, had cradle dwellers attempt to influence me to help them in their careers.”

  She glared at him. “So you don’t rob cradles and I don’t rob rockin’ chairs. I guess that makes us even.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  She swallowed hard. Now she’d done it. She’d never work in Branson again.

  He leaned forward and smiled at her, then laughed.

  So the guy was demented. And she wasn’t sure she trusted him. Too many men had sworn to her they weren’t interested in just her body, then proceeded to prove themselves liars.

  Denton gestured toward the western horizon through the plate-glass window. “This place has some of the most beautiful sunsets in the area. That was one reason I wanted to get here early, so you could see it.”

  If Michael Gold were sitting across from her, the evening would be complete. “So when are you going to get to the point?” she asked. “I mean, we’ve got the soothin’ music, the food’s comin’, all that.” Watch the accent, Delight.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Could you relax for a few minutes and just soak up the ambience?”

  She swallowed. Way to go, Delight-big-mouth. Keep it up and he’ll be asking for the check before the appetizer arrives.

  His gaze traveled back out the window to the pink-and-gold sunset. He didn’t look angry; in fact, he suddenly looked sad.

  Delight took a long swallow of her water. That could mean only one thing. Denton Mapes really was getting ready to fire her, and he felt sorry for her. Of course, if she hadn’t made that stupid remark about rocking chairs…

  “It’s okay,” she said at last. “I can take it. I know Henry hates me and wants me off the show. I even heard him practically say so today.”

  Denton’s attention shifted back to her. “You heard that?”

  “I was at the theater, and I overheard him talking to Michael.”

  His gaze chilled. “Henry can’t always get what he wants.”

  Oh, really? “So you’re not taking me out to dinner to break some bad news?”

  His gaze lingered on her a moment longer than was comfortable. “You really don’t know how to relax, do you?”

  “If you were me, and the owner of the theater where you worked asked you out to dinner, wouldn’t you be a little curious? How’m I supposed to enjoy a beautiful sunset when I’m too busy wonderin’ what’s going to happen to my career?”

  “Take your elbows off the table and lean back in your chair. Sip your drink, pretend to enjoy the sunset and the warmth of the fire in the fireplace. If you can’t learn to find some enjoyment in each moment while you’re young, by the time you’re my age you’ll be burned out.”

  Delight gritted her teeth and did as she was told. Tonight she was finding about as much enjoyment in the sunset as she’d find staying inside the lines of a child’s coloring book. And Denton Mapes made her feel like a child.

  Grace trailed her fingers in the cold lake water as Michael steered the canoe to the dock, then stepped out to moor it.

  The sun had dipped below the horizon, dropping the temperature at least ten degrees in the past thirty minutes. Her jeans had almost dried where she’d accidentally soaked them in the wading incident, but sand continued to irritate the tender places between her toes.

  Michael reached down to help her from the canoe. She stumbled against him. He caught her in his arms, laughing. When she looked up at him, she saw him studying the shore, his gaze flitting in scan mode, a movement she recognized easily.

  “Michael Gold, you hypocrite,” she said, laughing and drawing away. “You’re as paranoid as I am.”

  “Who, me?” he asked with exaggerated innocence, his focus narrowing to a group of teenagers at a nearby gazebo.


  “You’re looking for signs of a particular photojournalist—or maybe spying cast members—mingling with the real people.”

  He grinned. “I know we’re not worth a drive to Hideaway, but I can’t break the habit of looking over my shoulder. Besides, I know those kids. Blaze Farmer, Justin Cooper, Fawn Morrison—”

  “Fine, but if Jolene did just happen to be down here and saw me stumbling from the boat—or worse, wading in the lake this afternoon, with you right there beside me—I can imagine what she’d write about it. She’d be questioning my sanity or my alcohol intake.”

  “So? Everyone knows you’re a little on the weird side.”

  She made a threatening move toward him.

  “Okay, I hate that gossip column as much as you,” he said. “But I don’t intend to let it run my life, or guide my decisions about things that are important to me.”

  Uh-oh. That thread of conversation again. This time she didn’t feel like wading into the frigid water to avoid the subject. “My point is that I can’t forget how much it hurt to read that article today,” she said. “I know how much worse it would hurt if our friendship were to develop into something deeper—”

  “Which I think it already has.”

  “—and then your name and picture would inevitably turn up with some other woman hanging on to you, and the caption would announce our impending breakup. It’s the nature of the media to want to keep things stirred up.” She sat down on a concrete bench at the edge of the shoreline. The concrete chilled her. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

  He took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders as he settled beside her. “That’s a lame excuse to avoid an important relationship, but at least it means you’ve considered the possibility.”

  She looked up at him and got lost in his warm gaze. What are you really afraid of, Grace? “I’ve seen ugly publicity ruin too many celebrity relationships.”

  “Did you ever think that if they were taking cues from the media, they lacked something to begin with?”

  “So what if we did became romantically involved, then decided it wouldn’t work?” she asked.

  “We know each other better than that.”

  She drew the jacket more tightly around her and shook her head, staring across the deepening shades of silver on the water’s surface, hearing again her mother’s words, spoken so long ago, right here on this shoreline. Grace, it’s better to live alone your whole life than to marry the wrong person and suffer for it. Best not to get married at all.

  Best not to get married at all…

  Michael sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m willing to take that risk. Obviously, other things are more important to you.”

  She couldn’t look at him. Oh, Lord, why now? Michael’s nothing like my father. Why can’t I enjoy this relationship? What’s wrong with me?

  The trill of his cell phone interrupted the silence. Michael didn’t respond.

  “You’d better get that,” she said.

  “It’s probably Sherilyn trying to lure me into her web again.”

  Grace reached into the pocket of the jacket he’d wrapped around her and pulled out the offending device, then checked the screen. It was the theater.

  Without thinking she flipped it open. “Yes?”

  “Hello?” A slightly familiar voice wafted across the space between them. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who I’m calling. I’m with the cleaning service for the Classical Impressions Theater, and—”

  “Barb? This is Grace.”

  “Thank goodness! I saw this number on a pad in Mr. Bennett’s office. I just finished calling 911.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “I think the poor guy’s dead.”

  “What poor guy? Barb, who are you talking about?”

  “Mr. Bennett. He was lying on the floor downstairs in the auditorium, white as mashed potatoes, when I came into the theater to clean. I touched him to wake him up, and his skin’s cool. Oh, Grace, it’s horrible! Can you get Michael Gold? I know he and Mr. Bennett are friends.”

  Shock washed over Grace. “It’s okay. We’ll be there.”

  By the time Delight finished her pumpkin spice bread pudding, Denton had relaxed with three glasses of wine. Maybe he’d get soused enough to give her the keys to his Jag so she could drive it back to Branson.

  “Tell me, Delight, why aren’t you in college?” he asked. “You seem like an intelligent young lady to me.”

  “You sound like my parents.” Hard as she’d tried to get him to spill his guts this past hour, he’d been disgustingly zipped up, wanting to hear all about her, how she’d gotten into the Branson music scene, and what her plans were for the future.

  “Then it sounds as if your parents have some sense.”

  “I went to College of the Ozarks for a year, but that’s such a load. It’s a work-study program. I had to work fifteen hours and take fifteen hours of school. Luckily I got a job backstage in the drama department and made friends with a guy who got me an audition for Star Notes, and here I am.”

  “You dropped out of school for a Branson show?”

  She grinned. “I promised my parents I’d go back when I was twenty-one if I couldn’t make it.” At this rate, in a year she’d be back in school. For her, that would be like dying.

  Denton picked up his half-empty wineglass and swirled the dark red liquid around as he stared into it. “Education is important. Maybe ‘making it’ wouldn’t be the best thing for you right now.” He said the words softly, as if talking to himself.

  “Sure it wouldn’t,” Delight teased.

  He looked up at her then. “But maybe you’d be interested in an extra song or two on the show?”

  Delight snapped to attention. “You’re kidding, right?” Delight, calm down. Don’t go hyper.

  “I’m not kidding. Maybe a duet with Cassidy or Blake.”

  She nearly squealed out loud. “I’d love it!”

  “Come to the theater an hour before practice tomorrow.”

  Delight gave him her brightest smile. She could have danced on top of the table!

  Denton’s cell phone chimed, and he pulled it from his pocket. He frowned as he glanced at the caller identification, then flipped open the top. “This is Denton Mapes.”

  He listened, then his expression turned stony. “When?”

  Again he listened. “Who found the body?”

  Delight gasped. “Body?”

  Denton held up his hand for silence. “I’ll be right there.” He pressed a button and disconnected.

  “Somebody’s dead?” Delight asked.

  “Our director.”

  “Henry?” Her voice squeaked, drawing the attention of diners at a nearby table.

  “Control yourself, Delight. The police are involved. It looks like there’s going to be an investigation.”

  “They think he was murdered!”

  Silence descended around them. Denton gave her another irritable glance. “You don’t have to blurt the news for the whole world to hear.” He pulled out a credit card and motioned for the waiter. “It’s time to get you home.”

  Michael preceded Grace through the emergency entrance of Skaggs Community Hospital and saw Henry’s family in the far corner of the waiting room. Henry’s sister, Fran, waved Michael and Grace over. Her eyes were red, her nose pinched from crying.

  “Oh, Michael, Henry’s dead.”

  The shock hit Michael hard. All the way here he’d prayed that Barb had been wrong, that there had been some mistake. “I’m so sorry, Fran.” His voice caught. He reached for Henry’s sister and hugged her.

  He had known this troubled family almost as long as he’d known Henry. Though Henry and his wife were divorced, she, too, stood in the corner with others in Henry’s family group.

  “Did they say what happened?” Grace asked.

  “It looks like he fell from the catwalk above the auditorium,” Fran said. “Or maybe from his office window, though how that could h
ave happened, I have no idea. To get out of his window, he would have had to jump.”

  “We’ve had problems with one of the spotlights lately,” Michael said. “He might have gone up onto the catwalk to see if he could do something about it.”

  “But he’s so surefooted, and the catwalk has a railing,” Fran said. “It’s not like he would lose his footing and fall.”

  “He’s been under a lot of stress,” Michael said. “Maybe he had a bad spell with his blood pressure and grew dizzy. He might have had a heart attack.”

  “The policeman who spoke to me explained they have to investigate something like this to be sure,” Fran said. “That means there’ll be an autopsy, which means no burial until it’s complete. That’s going to make it harder on everyone.”

  Fran touched Michael’s arm. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine.” He patted her hand and released it. “Will you let me know if you need anything?”

  “I will.” She hesitated. “You don’t…know of anyone who’d want to hurt him, do you?”

  Michael hesitated. Some people were still upset about the conference Friday night, but to think someone might have killed Henry over it? Crazy.

  “I can’t imagine anyone I know doing anything to hurt Henry,” he said.

  “The woman who found him told me she saw a rip on his shirtsleeve,” Fran said. “Like maybe it had snagged on something.”

  “Did she have any idea what caused the rip?”

  “No, it’s just one more thing they’ll follow up on during the investigation.”

  Michael spoke with Fran and the rest of the family for a few more moments. His offer to pray with them or call a minister was politely but definitely refused. He said goodbye and walked back outside with Grace.

  She surprised him by taking his arm and falling into step close beside him. “You don’t look too great. You all right?”

  No, he wasn’t. “Henry’s dead.”

  “I know.” Her voice was soft with compassion.

  “Did you ever talk to him about your faith?” he asked.

  “Yes, Michael, I did, and I know you did, too. We both pushed for songs that stressed the foundation of our lives.”