RiverTime

by Rae Renzi

  “Oh, whoops! Celestial Productions—I forgot. I was with Jack.”

  “Oh. Right. Nonetheless.”

  “Do we still have time?”

  “I believe so. They’ll be there until five o’clock. It’s only two now. If we move quickly, we can accomplish something.”

  Casey scurried to change into more suitable clothing—as if anyone in L.A. cared—then she and Ditsy raced out of the hotel.

  “Are they expecting us?” She waved frantically at a passing cab. It ignored her.

  “Yes, between two and three. Good job you showed up when you did.” Ditsy glanced down the street, raised her hand and let out an ear-splitting whistle.

  A taxi pulled to a stop near the curb, and Ditsy hopped in. Casey walked around to get in on the street side.

  As she opened the door, an engine raced and tires screeched. The cab driver jerked his head around toward the noise. “What the hell? What the hell!”

  A car careened across the traffic lanes, directly toward them. Casey froze, transfixed by the sight of the juggernaut hurling in their direction. “Move!” the cab driver screamed. “Move!”

  She tried to leap into the taxi, but it was too late—the racing car rammed into the rear of the cab. Casey’s face slammed into the open car door. An explosion of pain, and she crumpled to her knees onto the pavement. Blood dripped down her face and splashed on the ground around her splayed fingers. Her ears rang and all she could see was a pulsing, dark tunnel. A wave of nausea washed through her, and she started to retch, but was jerked into fleeting awareness by an engine roaring, another screech of tires, people screaming.

  Instinctively she flattened on the ground and rolled under the taxi as the attacking car jumped forward again. Casey clapped her hands over her ears. The car sideswiped the taxi, ripping off the door with a shriek of metal-on-metal. Then the car sped away, tires squealing. She dimly registered someone shouting, “Get a bloody ambulance!”

  Dozens of feet milled around by her face, a whole army, it seemed. The pavement was warm on her cheek, its acrid smell sharp in her nose. All those feet danced by her face to a pulsing, throbbing beat. She thought she should join them, but it was too hard, so she closed her eyes and let the pain slip away.

  “Casey.”

  A familiar voice wriggled its way into her consciousness. She groggily turned her head toward the voice and struggled to open her eyes. They did not cooperate.

  “I can’t see,” she tried to say—her mouth didn’t cooperate much, either.

  “That’s because you have two of the most beautiful shiners I’ve ever seen,” said another voice.

  “Justin, your bedside manner could use a little work, you know?” said a third voice.

  Casey peeked out through slitted eyes. She was in a small room with pale green walls. A metal stand next to her bed held a bag of some liquid connected to her by a tube that disappeared under a bandage on her arm.

  Jack sat on the edge of a chair pulled up to the bed, gently stroking her un-tubed hand.

  Justin stood at the foot of the bed, hands in pockets, and Nocona leaned on the door to the room. No one looked happy, not even Justin.

  “You’ll be okay, baby,” Jack said. “Nothing cut or broken, but you got banged in the face pretty bad.”

  “Ditsy…is she okay?”

  Justin laughed. “Oh, she’s fine. The doctors who tried to treat her might be feeling a little flayed, along with the rest of the hospital staff who came in contact with her ladyship. But she’s fine. She just left to get some food.”

  Jack leaned toward her. “Casey, can you talk? There’s a detective outside who wants to speak to you.”

  “Why?” she mumbled. Her tongue seemed to be running into too many teeth. That was good, wasn’t it? It meant she still had teeth…

  “The guy who hit you was either a very, very bad driver, was very drunk, or was deliberately trying to take you out, Casey. The speed the son-of-a-bitch put on after nailing you doesn’t really support the first two options,” Justin explained.

  “Oh.”

  Jack nodded to Nocona, who opened the door.

  Through her almost-closed eyes, Casey watched a whip-thin man with thinning hair and sunken cheeks walk in. He was very still, except for his eyes, which swept the crowded room like blue lasers, lingering on the twins. He nodded to them. There was no indication that he recognized Jack as Dylan Raines.

  “Casey, this is Detective MacElroy. He needs to ask you some questions,” Justin said. “Detective, you know Nocona, and this is our brother Jack Raines, a friend of Casey’s.”

  The detective shook hands with Jack and turned his attention to Casey.

  “Would you like us to leave, Detective, or may we stay?” Jack asked.

  Detective MacElroy’s gaze darted to Jack briefly, then back to Casey. “Miss Lord?”

  “Stay, please?”

  “That’s fine. I’ll be brief. We think the attack was deliberate. A handful of helpful people snapped photos of the car’s license plates. The car was stolen. We found it abandoned in a parking lot, but it had been wiped for prints so we have to do this the hard way. Who might try to hurt you?”

  “Don’t know.”

  The detective looked intently at her. “Are you married?” His eyes flicked to Jack.

  Casey nodded, barely.

  “Where’s your husband?”

  “It wasn’t him. He wouldn’t…”

  Nocona touched her blanketed foot lightly. “It’s a routine question, Casey.”

  The thought of Reed being dragged into this was repugnant. He’d be appalled. “Washington, D.C. That’s where I live.”

  “Any reason for someone to have a grudge against you?”

  Casey shook her head and started to say no when the thought of Jack’s wife slipped through her mind like an eel. Just as quickly, she dismissed it. “No.”

  The detective looked up at Jack, who, from the frown on his face, had also recognized that she was holding something back. Well, as he’d pointed out, poker wasn’t her game. She tried to look as if she’d just had a spasm of pain.

  “As I understand it, you and—” he looked at his notes, “—Ms. Tarkington were getting into a taxi—”

  Casey’s eyes darted to the twins. “Taxi driver—is he okay?”

  “Broken arm, wrecked car,” Nocona said. “He’ll be okay.”

  MacElroy continued. “The two of you were getting into the taxi. Where were you going?”

  “To do research…Celestial Productions.”

  MacElroy made a note, then turned to Jack. “I have to ask you this. What’s your relationship to Ms. Lord?”

  “We’re acquaintances. I was with her earlier today for an interview on the topic of her research. It has to do with film and politics.”

  The detective nodded. “And where were you when the accident occurred?”

  Jack smiled tightly. “In front of a camera. I’ll give you the name of the director and studio.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “It’s not your fault,” Nocona said.

  Jack sat at the kitchen table in Justin’s apartment, staring out the window, cold anger radiating from every inch of his body. They’d been there a while, Nocona and Justin trying to talk to him. Their voices were just noise, background to the black feeling in his gut.

  He blinked, shifting his gaze to Nocona. They locked eyes. Jack had never been able to hide his feelings from Nocona, so he didn’t even try.

  Nocona frowned, as if he didn’t like what he saw.

  Apparently, neither did Justin. “You don’t even know who did it. You assume it has something to do with you, but why? Do you think the rest of Casey’s life is so dull that this attack couldn’t possibly have anything to do with her—it has to be all about you?”

  The cold anger in Jack’s belly started to grow legs. He clenched his fists and glared at Justin. Nocona shifted slightly.

  Justin stared back, disgust on his face. “You think the world rev
olves around you just because you make teenage girls cream their panties?” His voice was taunting. “I think those tabloids have gone to your head, kid. The world is bigger than Dylan Raines, superstar.”

  He heard Justin’s words, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Jack knew what was happening, but right now, a red rage had a grip on him. His face went numb and he needed to tell Justin to stop, but he couldn’t speak.

  His brother was relentless. “This may come as a shock, but this attack on Casey doesn’t have to be about you. She has a life outside of your orbit, kid.”

  Jack launched out of his chair. Justin met him halfway. Jack went for his knife instinctively, but in an instant, it was gone, snatched out of his hand by Nocona.

  Jack didn’t even slow down. He slammed into Justin, and they crashed to the floor, swearing and scrambling to gain the advantage. Jack tore into Justin with his fists, but Justin spun away, grabbing him. They smashed into the table, knocking cups over. Jack was on top now and reared back to take a swing, which Justin ducked again by rolling sideways. Jack’s fist hit the floor with a loud crunch.

  “Ouch,” Nocona said. “That hurt.”

  Uttering a stream of oaths, Jack dove at Justin, who, lying on his back, caught him in the chest, but not before Jack landed a glancing blow on his cheekbone. Justin kicked sideways, trying to get him in a scissor-lock, but Jack had wrestled with Justin too many times to get trapped. He rolled forward, slammed into a chair and sent it flying across the room to knock over two others. Then he spun around and pinned Justin across his body, trying to get his head into a lock. Justin blocked him with his elbows. Jack’s murderous rage began to drain away.

  Nocona slipped behind him and, locking his arms through Jack’s, pulled him off Justin. Giving Jack the benefit of the doubt, he released his arms as soon as he was on his feet, then ruffled his hair. “You haven’t lost your speed, little brother. Once a street fighter, always a street fighter, eh?”

  Jack stood glowering at Justin, who calmly stood and dusted off his jeans. “You know, I kinda wish there was a punching bag around here…other than me.”

  The tension suddenly dropped out of Jack’s shoulders. He ran his hand down his face. After a long moment he looked up at Justin. “Sorry. Thanks.”

  Justin put his arm around his shoulders to give him a quick hug. “Okay, now that we’re all here, let’s figure this thing out. I’ll send you a bill for the chairs.”

  They draped themselves over pieces of furniture in the living room, Justin on the sofa, Jack in an easy chair, and Nocona on the long bench near the fireplace.

  “Ramona?” Justin asked. “Could she have done this?”

  “It’s a stretch. Ramona doesn’t give a shit about me, only her reputation, so it’s not jealousy. Those photos are all she needs to keep me in line, so it doesn’t really make sense for her to hurt Casey. I mean, Ramona’s devious and clever, but that’s a little Byzantine even for her.”

  “Not to mention self-defeating,” Nocona noted. “If she’s going for divorce, she should dream of finding Jack with another woman to use as evidence against him in court.”

  Silence all around.

  “Casey’s husband.”

  “First on the list,” Nocona said. “MacElroy called his workplace. Got the number from Ditsy. He didn’t talk to the guy, but the office staff verified he’d been at his desk at the time of the attack.”

  Jack stood and paced to the window. “I need to see her.”

  “Oh, right. You managed to slip in there right after the accident without drawing attention. That won’t happen again. You’ll have every newshound in L.A. camping out there.”

  Jack leaned back and eyed Justin. “Unless they don’t see me.”

  After Ditsy left to change clothes and shower, Casey sipped her orange juice and flipped through television channels, searching for a distraction. A tall strapping woman wearing tight jeans and a high-necked T-shirt and carrying an oversized purse walked in. She had big blond hair and heavy makeup, a look somewhere between country-and-western singer and streetwalker. Casey had never seen her before.

  “I think you have the wrong room,” Casey croaked. The woman smiled at her and pointed to the bathroom, as if asking to use it. Casey was perplexed, but nodded her permission.

  Five minutes later, Jack stepped out.

  Casey spewed orange juice over her bed. After a few seconds of therapeutic coughing and Jack patting her back, she wiped her face and laughed out loud. “Oh, my God, that is so amazing. But…?”

  Jack grinned and sat in the chair next to the bed. “To ditch the press. Pretty sure you don’t want them messed up in this.” He lost the smile and took her hand, his eyes traveling over her face inch by inch. “Who did this, Casey?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

  “I don’t think it was Ramona, if that crossed your mind.”

  “It did. But it wouldn’t make sense.”

  Jack leaned back. “None of it makes sense, so let’s focus on something else. Has anything strange happened to you recently, anything at all? Because this had to come from somewhere.”

  Casey ran through the various odd things that had happened to her recently. A couple stood out, including Reed’s odd behavior before she left. She decided to skip that one. “It might not mean anything at all, but just before I came to the conference I got some weird emails. One was about Celestial Productions, where Ditsy and I were going.”

  “Celestial Productions?”

  “Yes, it’s an independent film company. Let’s see…it went something like ‘Celestial Productions awaits your deductions.’ I think that was it. The other one had a name in it. ‘Trixie Starr, she went far’ or something like that.”

  “You don’t have any idea what the emails mean?”

  “None. I thought the one email was from someone trying to covertly help me with my research. That was one of the reasons Ditsy and I were going there, to try to see if we could find something that would explain the email.”

  “Did anyone know you were on your way to Celestial? Casey, think hard—this could be important.”

  “I don’t remember mentioning it to anyone, but Ditsy made the arrangements. We had an appointment so, of course, the people at Celestial Productions knew we were coming. I don’t know who else she might have told.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Well, I don’t see how it can be related, but there was also a strange thing with my brakes the week before I came here.” Casey related the event, telling him the only reason she didn’t have a bad accident was because she left work earlier than usual. “Jack, do you think…?”

  “I think someone’s trying to hurt you, and I don’t like it. Not one bit. We need to do something about that.” He pulled out his phone to call the twins to arrange for around-the-clock security.

  “Don’t you think that’s a little excessive?” Casey was beginning to get a three-ring-circus feeling.

  “No, I don’t. Look, someone tried to hurt you and we have to find out who and why. Until we know, I don’t want to risk you being hurt again. Okay?”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Jack was distracted to the point of irritability when he left the hospital. Too many things to worry about—the attack on Casey, the threats from Ramona, and the pain in his hand from hitting Justin, or rather, not hitting Justin. Needing a dose of calm, he called Nocona and asked him over for a drink.

  His mind turned to Casey’s husband. Had he been so far in denial about his relationship with Casey that he overlooked one of the most obvious possibilities for her attack? Was her husband one of those obsessive types, jealously guarding his property? Had he found out about the river and jumped to the conclusion that Casey’s trip to L.A. was related?

  Still deep in thought when he arrived home, he breezed through the security gate and parked his Honda in front of the house, ignoring Ramona’s highly developed regard for status. Childish, he knew, but then children usually knew how to make
themselves feel better, didn’t they?

  Nocona was already there. He slid his lanky body out of his truck as Jack flipped his car door shut.

  “Thanks, ’Cona. I need someone to bounce ideas off, and Justin—”

  “Bounces too hard sometimes. I know.” Nocona clapped him on the shoulder. They walked through the front door and stopped in amazement.

  The house was empty. Clean as a whistle. Not a piece of furniture, not a rug, nothing.

  “I’d say Ramona’s declared herself. What do you think?”

  “Either that or she wants your attention.” Nocona slid his hands in his pockets and surveyed the room. “She must’ve had a moving crew on call waiting for you to leave this morning.”

  “Yeah, well, if she intended to wound me, she missed her mark.”

  They wandered from room to empty room, ending up in the kitchen. Jack migrated to the refrigerator. “Hope she at least left some beer,” he said, opening the door and peering in. “Ah, good.”

  Nocona nodded toward the back door. “She overlooked the outdoor furniture.”

  “Well, it is more than a year old.”

  They drifted into the garden. Jack ran his suspicions about Casey’s husband by Nocona. With Ramona’s purpose more clear, Reed had jumped to number one on the suspects list, but something still didn’t feel right.

  Nocona put his finger on the problem. “For her husband to use an attack on Casey to control her, she has to know he’s behind it. He hasn’t claimed it yet. I don’t think he will.”

  The slam of a door echoed inside the house, followed by the staccato click of high-heeled shoes. A moment later Ramona appeared in the doorway with a large manila envelope in hand. She hesitated when she saw Nocona, but only for a moment, then she strode through the door and flopped the envelope on the table in front of Jack. “I didn’t expect you to be here, but since you are, I’ll leave you this.”