The funeral had generated a media blitz, which in turn had generated another sellout for the show last night.
Michael rubbed his face wearily, then looked at the clock on the wall—the one set in the replica of the backside of a donkey. Show time in thirty minutes. His brain felt like mush. He’d slept a total of three hours at most last night, and he knew fatigue would be apparent in his voice.
Something still bothered him about all this, and though he knew it could just be wounded pride, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Henry hadn’t been that sick Monday when they’d been arguing, had he? He’d been even grumpier than usual, and yes, Michael had threatened to take his vitals, but decided not to.
Definitely wounded pride. Silent heart attacks happened all the time. In med school he’d heard horror stories about missed diagnoses. The human body was unpredictable.
The sound of rushed footsteps echoed up the stairwell outside the office door. “Michael, you here?”
Grace. “I’m here.”
She rushed around the corner and through the door wearing a buckskin split skirt and vest, with fringed suede boots. Her hair, styled and sprayed for serious hold, curved around her face in spiky tendrils. She’d already applied her makeup for the show and carried the inevitable water bottle in her hand.
Her expression reminded him of a stormy day after a tornado warning. She carried some folded-up pages of newsprint beneath her left arm.
“What’s wrong?”
She slapped the pages onto the desk and set her water bottle down. The bottle toppled onto its side, spattering droplets across the desk.
“This is the worst day ever!” she exclaimed as she snatched the bottle from its side. “I haven’t even broken the seal on it yet.” She shoved it aside and pointed to the top headline. “‘Local Star Victim Of Childhood Abuse.’” Her voice held an unsteady tremor. “It’s today’s copy of Across the Country.”
Oh, no. “Have you read it?”
“Of course I’ve read it! Delight brought it to me a few minutes ago.” She sank onto the chair in front of the desk, and he couldn’t help noticing she avoided eye contact.
“Delight brought it to you? Just before a show?”
“Ladonna’s already given her a good chewing out.”
Grace continued to study the page on the desk. “I can’t understand how Jolene could have gotten this information. It isn’t as if I go around talking about my past.”
He reached for the top sheet, but before he could touch it, she’d snatched it up again, as if unable to sit still and let him read it for himself.
“Here in the second paragraph it says, ‘If you’ve ever noticed that Grace Brennan walks with a limp when she’s tired, pay close attention to her autobiographical song “Daddy, Don’t.” This interviewer wonders why her hyperreligious mother didn’t leave the bully sooner. After some checking, I discovered that Grace’s father spent time in prison.’”
Grace slapped the page back onto the desk and glared at Michael. “This is going to devastate Mom! And the rest of the article doesn’t get any better. The article implies my mom was part of the abuse.”
“Knowing Jolene, I’m not surprised.” He reached for the paper to read it for himself.
“Where did the information come from?” Grace asked again, this time catching his gaze and holding it firmly.
Michael flinched at the accusation he saw clearly in her eyes. “Grace, what are you saying?”
Her full lips tightened into a firm line. She leaned forward, elbows on the edge of the desk. “I bared my soul to you the night Henry blasted me. I told you that the song was autobiographical, and that my father spent time in prison. I don’t think Jolene had time to chase down information about him, and she doesn’t know his name.”
“I agree.” He couldn’t believe she was implicating him.
“And I haven’t told anyone else.” She crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes with a sigh. “Nearly everything I told you that night is in the article.”
He held his breath and waited. This couldn’t be happening. And yet, he had to put himself in her place. How would he feel if he were in her position?
She stood up and stepped across the office to stare out the window that overlooked the theater auditorium. “It’s already filling up.”
“Grace, tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking this article will for sure hurt Mom.” Grace glanced over her shoulder at him, then turned back to the window. “Did you…” She shook her head and sighed heavily. “I can’t bring myself to ask.”
Michael closed his eyes. The question she wasn’t asking plunged deep into his heart. “You really, truly think I would talk to Jolene about you?” He found it hard to keep his voice gentle. “You’re willing to believe I’ve suddenly discarded every scrap of integrity within me to bare your soul to a woman I don’t even like?”
“If I hadn’t read and reread those words in that trash column—”
“Maybe you should be more concerned about who might have overheard us talking in your dressing room that night.” He heard the resentment tightening his voice. “Maybe you should have asked a few more people a few more questions before you came barging up here to accuse me. Do you also think I was the one who reported the details of the meeting last Friday?”
Grace’s shoulders slumped, as if she wished she could curl up into a ball and hide from the world. “No way, Michael.”
“Ask Jolene yourself, Grace. You know me better than that.”
“I’m afraid to get near her right now,” Grace said. “My hands may go for her throat before I can control them.”
“Maybe she interviewed your mother,” he said.
“No. Mom would never—”
“Neither would I,” he snapped. “But you seem willing to believe it of me.”
She flinched as if he’d slapped her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, turning once again to stare out at the crowd through the window. “I’m not willing to believe it. I’m just doing my best to find out what’s going on, Michael, and I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.”
Offended was such a tidy word. He felt more as if she’d sucker punched him in the gut.
“That woman is wicked,” Grace said.
For the first time, Michael glanced at the other folded sheet of newsprint and recognized the name of the local paper. Curious, he picked it up and unfolded it.
A large square outlined in black in the middle of the sheet stated, “FROM THIS VALLEY THEY SAY YOU ARE LEAVING, GRACE BRENNAN. WHERE WILL YOU GO FROM HERE?”
“What’s this about?” he asked.
Grace’s eyes darkened. She shook her head. “At this point I’m almost hoping Sherilyn put it in there for publicity, maybe to put pressure on me about the contr—” She glanced at him briefly, then looked away.
“About the what?”
She checked her watch, then gathered the papers she’d brought with her. “It’s almost show time.”
“Are you talking contracts with Sherilyn?” He stood up and followed her from the room.
“I don’t think I should say anything about it yet.”
“Afraid I’ll spill my guts again?” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice.
She preceded him down the stairs. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly over her shoulder. “I should have known better, okay?”
Actually, no. It wasn’t okay. He was still smarting from her accusation, but before he could say more, they encountered the rest of the cast on their way to the stage. The show was about to begin and, ready or not, the stars had work to do.
The moment Grace stepped onto the stage she felt the effects of the tension between her and Michael. They moved awkwardly as they interacted, and their voices didn’t blend as smoothly as usual. Their smiles to each other lacked the typical teasing warmth and playfulness. It was so subtle she doubted the audience would pick up on it, but she did. Big-time.
Worse, either she was imagining
things, or their mood was contagious, because at one point during a number she turned to find Delight with her head down, frowning. Delight usually saved her brooding for offstage.
Why couldn’t music be fun again?
And what about that snide little ad in the paper? Surely Sherilyn wouldn’t do that. But someone had. Could it possibly be the same person who had sent her the music box? But how could that person know about the contract offer?
Halfway through the show, while singing backup for a sixteen-year-old girl with braces on her teeth and dynamite stage presence, Grace caught sight of the black hair and angular face of her photojournalist nemesis sitting at the far right end of the third row, camera in hand.
Why did Jolene find Star Notes so fascinating lately?
The song ended to wild applause, and the talented teenager skipped off the stage with a smile that revealed every bend of wire in her braces.
After a final glance in Jolene’s direction, Grace decided to save her angst for after the show. Tonight she would be willing to talk to the reporter, and she would have some questions of her own.
Michael stared at the golden highlights of Grace’s hair as he and the others followed her to the lobby for a casual meet-and-greet with tonight’s audience.
Maybe Grace had been right. Maybe the added strain of maintaining a romantic relationship on this show was too much. She wasn’t the only one who had become ultrasensitive lately. Particularly when the press was involved, Michael’s hackles rose automatically.
And now Jolene had damaged his relationship with Grace. And Grace had allowed it. And he was allowing it.
As they entered the cavernous lobby, Grace turned suddenly and raised an eyebrow at him, then nodded toward a familiar figure at the far end, near the gift-shop entrance. The wicked witch of Branson, with pen and camera instead of the traditional broomstick.
“I’m going to ask her a few questions,” she said, and separated from the rest of the cast.
Michael grabbed her hand before she could get away. “Wait a few minutes, okay? Then I’ll go with you.”
Grace tried to tug herself free. “No, you’ll beat her up, and that won’t look good in front of witnesses.”
He held firm. “I have never hit a woman.” Yet. “Talk to the crowd first. They’re waiting to meet you.”
Grace gave Jolene a final glare, then strolled toward the press of people with an obviously forced smile. Michael knew she would soon relax and begin to enjoy herself.
Three minutes later, with Michael and Grace surrounded by a crush of fans, a man dressed in cowboy garb parted the crowd and presented Grace with an ornately carved wooden music box. Before she could open it, he launched into a stylized rendition of “Red River Valley.”
Michael shook his head. Only in Branson. At least the guy had waited until after the show was over.
When the cowboy finished his song and parted the throng of applauding onlookers, Michael recalled the notice in the Branson paper Grace had brought to Henry’s office. From this valley they say you are leaving. A line from the song. And the notice in the paper…River…
Could it be a coincidence that this was also a song about a river? He caught Grace’s attention and frowned. She shrugged and continued chatting with the fans. Maybe she hadn’t yet made the connection. At the edge of the crowd stood Jolene, engaged in an apparently fascinating conversation with her hand.
Michael couldn’t help wondering what would appear in next week’s column. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he left the reception line and approached Jolene.
She clicked off her voice-activated recorder and looked up at him expectantly. “Well, hello, Mr. Gold. I thought you weren’t speaking to me.” She had a deceptively mild voice, and she looked almost friendly.
“I only wanted to ask you one question.” He decided not to warn her that Grace would be joining them in a few minutes, and she would most likely have more than one question. “What have we done to offend you?”
The angular lines of Jolene’s face creased in growing amusement and surprise. “Absolutely nothing. You’re the hottest thing going right now.”
“So you want to cool us down a few degrees?”
Her dark eyebrows formed a V across her forehead. “Don’t you know anything about publicity, Mr. Gold?” She gestured toward the crowd that continued to linger around the cast, particularly Grace and Delight. “Does this look like my column is hurting anyone’s reputation?”
“Who’s to say what the crowd would have been without your poisonous input?”
She pursed her lips and gave a disapproving shake of her head. “Why, Michael Gold, I thought Christians were supposed to turn the other cheek.”
“Since when did you decide I was a Christian? Was that after your insinuation that I was pulled over for drunk driving?”
“I only reported what I saw as I drove by. Would you like to comment on the cowboy’s song? What’s this about Grace leaving? And what’s with the recent river theme?”
“Who’s your inside source here at the theater, Jolene? How did you know to be here tonight of all nights?”
The reporter lowered her dark, mascara-coated eyelashes.
“I see. You’re obviously a person of high integrity.” He made sure sarcasm dripped from every word. “I knew you didn’t have time to do the research you implied you did on Grace’s father.”
“I’d be willing to bet you a couple of season tickets to Silver Dollar City that business will soar for the rest of the season after today’s column.”
“So you’re trying to tell me that you’re attacking us in that trash magazine to boost our ratings?”
“Hey, Across the Country magazine is not a trash magazine.” Jolene’s suddenly shrill voice carried across the lobby. “It informs country fans about the intimate details of their favorite entertainers. It performs a service.”
Michael glanced toward Grace, to see her looking in their direction. She did not appear happy, especially when Jolene excused herself and escaped out the side door.
Grace glared at Michael across the lobby as she made her way toward him. He’d apparently had a change of heart about talking to Jolene.
Michael met Grace halfway. “As I expected, she’s not willing to give up anything about her informant.”
Grace studied his expression carefully, hating the prickle of distrust generated in her gut. Never in the years she’d known him had she found any reason to doubt Michael’s word.
She forced herself to shrug and turn back to the cast, who meandered toward the corridor that led to the dressing rooms. “Hey, everybody, don’t forget our Christmas dinner two weeks from today,” she called to them. “I have a lake-view room reserved at the Chateau, so you don’t want to miss it.”
Two years ago, when the show first began, Grace had taken cast members to lunch from time to time to get to know them. Last year for Christmas she’d had them all over to her place after the final show of the season. This year she’d decided to have an event catered at Chateau on the Lake.
She glanced up at Michael, who walked silently beside her. “What did Jolene have to say?”
The moment he looked at her, she realized he’d picked up on the suspicion in her voice. She couldn’t help it.
A muscle flexed in his square jawline, and disappointment shadowed his eyes. “Just that she’s proud of her work.”
Grace couldn’t miss the brooding gaze of those dark eyes. “Let me guess—she thinks she’s doing us a favor.”
He nodded.
She swallowed her frustration. Since when had Michael become a man of so few words? “Please tell me she didn’t catch the significance of the song that cowboy sang a while ago.”
“So you did pick up on that?” he asked. “And don’t tell me you suspect me of that, as well.”
She winced at the sarcasm. “Okay, you can back off now. I apologized, and I’m truly sorry I even gave a thought to the possibility that—”
“How about a late lu
nch?” There was no gentleness in his tone. “We need to have a talk.”
“Make that an early dinner and you’re on. I have a call from my mom on my cell phone, and I want to see what’s up. Want to meet someplace in an hour?”
“How about the new Thai place on 76?” he suggested. “I could use something hot to match my temper right now.”
Chapter Ten
Grace checked her watch as she strolled out into the parking lot, glad to escape the stuffy theater but also relieved to see that other cast members and theater staff continued to linger in the parking lot. She had become far too jumpy lately, even during daylight hours.
Though clouds hovered so low they obscured the distant hills, the air smelled fresh and was stippled with snow that drifted gently to the ground, then immediately melted.
The weather had curbed activity in the entertainment section of town. Grace knew the grocery stores would be packed with people buying winter supplies and extra food, in spite of the fact that Branson seldom experienced a major snowstorm. Certainly none had been in the forecast for the next few days.
Welcoming the feel of the cool air on her skin, she dialed her mother’s number on her cell phone and strolled around the perimeter of the parking lot. Having grown up in Southern California, she loved to play in the snow—something she’d done as a child only on the rare occasion her parents had taken her to the mountains.
Her mother answered on the second ring, her soft alto voice sounding unusually quiet, even hesitant. “Hi, Grace.”
“Mom, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how Jolene got that information for her article, but it sure wasn’t from me.”
“Of course it wasn’t, honey.” Still the subdued voice. Kathryn Brennan barely sounded like herself.
“I know it must have been a shock for you to read that.”
“I worked through all those accusations years ago. I believed I was doing the right thing, and what’s past is past.”
Grace frowned. “You don’t sound right. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Believe me, that article is the least of my worries right now.”
Note of Peril Page 9