by Shirley Jump
Allie headed off, feeling first pride that she’d managed the kind of one-liner that had once escaped her, then regret that she’d stooped to Lisa’s level.
“Bitch,” Lisa muttered behind her.
Allie shot Lisa a smile, then made a mental note. She’d just found her first murder victim for the movie.
Allie noticed a few guys from high school, some looking exactly the same as the day they’d graduated. Jimmy Sullivan stood to one side, strumming an air guitar along with the radio playing between the band’s sets. Mike McLaughlin chatted with a very pregnant woman, clearly his wife. Harry and Henry Messinger appeared to be conspiring some mischief, same as they had all through school.
Many of the men in Tempest shot her an appreciative glance, starting at her neck and working their way down to her legs, never even bothering to look at her face. The women sent cool, dismissive looks at her—the thin blonde attracting all the attention—then went back to their chatter about preschools and meatloaf recipes.
Hidden by Allie Dean’s confident stride, Allison Gray had never been more invisible.
She glanced back at Duncan as he did a live report on camera. Heat twisted inside her, a familiar burning from years before, but very much grown up, coupled with the knowledge of a sexual woman. Oh, she knew what a man like Duncan Henry would be like.
And knew how much she wanted him, even as she knew how very bad he’d be for her heart. And still, she wanted him, like the very foods that had been so bad for her waistline.
Out of the corner of his eye, he met her gaze, and a smile quirked up on one side of his mouth. A knowing smile, exchanging the same heat.
Allie glanced down at the table of homemade cookies before her, pretending to study the selection. A little sign said they’d been baked with love by the ladies of the Presbyterian church. A whole tray of frosted cookies had been decorated with the Ten Commandments, as if warning the teens at the dance against committing mortal sins.
Allie figured Lenny Dunne had missed those particular treats, considering he’d diverted from his path toward her to opt for a quick beer stop. Thank God. Especially considering he was now spraying beer from the keg into his mouth and yukking it up with Paul Hostler and another guy Allie didn’t recognize.
“I’ll fight you for the peanut butter ones.”
Allie’s head popped up at the sound of the familiar voice. Vanessa Whitman, who had been Allie’s best—and often only—friend throughout those torturous years in Tempest public schools. A smile exploded on Allie’s face and she opened her arms, then quickly remembered where she was—and who she was supposed to be—and dropped them down to her sides. “Vanessa!” She drew her friend to the side, slipping the two of them through the plastic sides of the tent and out into the inky darkness.
“Are you in the witness protection program or something?” Vanessa said. “I haven’t seen you in two years and the first thing you do is haul me outside like I’m contraband goods?”
“No one here knows who I am,” Allie said. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Well, no shit. I almost didn’t know who you were and I just saw you two years ago.” Vanessa drew back, her hands clasping Allie’s arms. “You look awesome.”
“Thanks.”
“What are you doing here? And how come you didn’t tell me you were coming?” Vanessa gave her a friendly swat.
“I didn’t know until yesterday. I planned to call you tomorrow, see if we could get together and catch up on old times.”
“Only if you promise to kick me in the butt and remind me to get to the gym. I really admire your dedication, Allie. You did it.” Vanessa patted her waist. “I still have twenty pounds left from my third rugrat. Thanks for that drum set for Joshua, by the way. I owe you a tuba when you have your first kid.”
Allie laughed. “I think I’ll wait until I go deaf before I have any kids.” Either way, she had no plans for children. Not in the near future, anyway. She’d need a relationship first, and she didn’t have one of those.
“I should have thought of that.” Vanessa’s good-natured grin was as friendly as that day in sixth grade when she’d plopped her tray down next to Allie’s in the lunchroom and declared Allison Gray her new best friend. “How’s L.A.?”
“Sunny, smoggy, filled with too much money and people in a hurry.” Though Tempest wasn’t so bad at this time of year. Spring had always been her favorite season. The fresh air, scented with a chorus of flowers, carried a promise of new possibilities. Hope.
Then bathing suit season arrived and Allison Gray had realized there wasn’t any hope to be found, especially not in anything made by Speedo.
But Allie Dean…she had learned to love summer and the freedom she’d found in her new body, as if she’d finally been released from a self-imposed prison.
“And your boss?” Vanessa asked. “Still the warm and fuzzy teddy bear I remember from that one time I met him?”
Allie chuckled. “Of course. But he finally managed to see past my breasts, which is why I’m here.”
The two of them settled on a grassy spot beside a tree. “You have to tell me this one. I always love your stories and to hear them in person is even better.”
Allie tucked her skirt beneath her legs. Vanessa had always been a great audience for Allie’s imagination, listening to her stories, back in the days when Allie had been little and just telling them. Then when they’d gotten older and Allie had started writing, Vanessa had read them and encouraged Allie to pursue her screenwriting dream. “All right. Twenty-four hours ago, I’m in L.A., sitting at that fake cherry oval conference table at Chicken Flicks.”
Vanessa snickered. “Love that company name.”
“Jerry Wiggs, company founder and full-time dictator, has just finished his Thursday morning temper tantrum. Apparently, someone at the dry cleaner didn’t put enough starch in his shirt and the maid didn’t suck up to his ego while he was eating his grapefruit.”
“I can’t believe people like that actually exist.”
“They do, in multiples.” Allie straightened, getting into Jerry-mode, giving Vanessa the full act. “He glares around the table, asking if anyone with more than two brain cells has a location idea for his next film. ‘A place that screams horrible death. Pain. Sex and violence,’ he says.”
“Ooh. You do him so good.”
“So I said, ‘Tempest, Indiana.’”
“You did not. You’ve worked for him for what, almost four years and never said anything besides how do you want your latte?”
Allie shrugged. “I got tired of him looking at my breasts. And my ass. This time, he looked me in the eyes. And he gives me this smile. You know that condescending smile of his.” Vanessa rolled her eyes, then gestured for Allie to continue. “And he says, ‘You think you can find me a better location, Sugar-pie—’”
“He needs a sugar-pie up his ass.”
“The day I quit, believe me, I’ll have one ready. He asked what made me think I could find a better location than Scotty.”
“Who’s Scotty?”
“Jerry’s scoutmeister. Who’s about as good at his job as a monkey doing brain surgery, but Jerry keeps him on the payroll because he’s Jerry’s wife’s nephew. In Hollywood, the only thing easier than sleeping your way to the top is marrying it.”
“Which didn’t work so well for you.”
“That’s because I married a bottom-feeder. Geoff was shallower than a puddle.”
Vanessa, who had been her maid of honor but like a good best friend, had been a great support throughout the whole awful marriage, laid a hand of sympathy on Allie’s, then brightened. “But you’re rid of him.”
Allie nodded, grateful she’d gotten out of the short-lived marriage when she had. Why had she thought Geoff would be different from any of the other men she’d met since her weight loss? That he would see the true Allison? “The divorce is final in four days.” But the scars…
Allie shook off the thought. “Anyway, I ig
nored Scotty’s death rays. I was, after all, usurping his useless position. The whole room is silent, Jerry is glaring at me, letting his latte get cold—never a good sign. I’m thinking I’m definitely getting fired, so I decided to hell with it, why not go out in flames? I reminded Jerry that Scotty had set his last three films in Bucharest. Apparently Scotty has a thing for Romanian men. Something about the way they stay bundled up and how he likes to unwrap them.”
“Oh.” Vanessa’s eyes widened. “Oh. Eww.”
Allie laughed. “I told Jerry that if he wanted a cheap location with lots of atmosphere and plenty of crazy extras, I knew just the place for filming Sorority Slumber Party Slaughter. Tempest.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing, at least not for a while. I think he was shocked someone finally stopped sucking up to his ego.” Although Allie sounded like she’d been full of bravado now, in truth, she’d been holding her breath that day. She’d taken the job as Jerry’s production assistant because she’d believed Jerry when he said it was the smartest path to becoming a producer. He’d promised to take her under his wing, to teach her everything he knew.
Instead, he’d sent her for coffee and forgotten she existed. She was tired of being a glorified stewardess, even if the job paid pretty damned well, probably because no one in their right mind wanted to work for Jerry.
But after two years of knocking on doors and waiting tables to pay her rent, Allie had been desperate. L.A. was a tough town, and finding a job in the competitive film industry had been harder than she’d expected. She had a degree from film school, an internship at Twentieth Century Fox, but no connections.
What connections she might have had Geoff had gone and burned anyway. There was nothing like divorcing a former entertainment lawyer to kill your name in Hollywood.
“Finally,” Allie went on, “Jerry said, ‘You’ve got till Friday. Bring me a goddamned miracle and I might even let you produce Bikini Zombie Babes: Back in Doubles next year.’”
Vanessa made a face. “You really want to produce that kind of thing?”
“Hell, no. But it’s a start. And I need something on my resume besides latte-maker. That’s about the only thing Jerry’s ever let me make. So that’s why I’m here, back in hell.”
“Oh, Tempest isn’t that bad.”
“It wasn’t that good either, Vanessa.” Allie got to her feet, brushed off her skirt, and the two of them started walking back toward the dance. “That’s the real reason I’m here. To…” She paused. “Get even, I guess.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going all Stephen King.” But a smile of understanding spread across her face.
“No blood and pig guts at the dance, I promise. Although I considered a Carrie sequel when I ran into Lisa Connelly.”
“Oh, her.” Vanessa sighed. “She’s still the witch we all remember. She now owns Curl Up ’N’ Dye, inherited it from her aunt, and thinks that gives her the right to pass judgment on everyone she sees.”
“Still gets her perm rods all in a twist about a fashion faux pas, huh?”
Vanessa laughed. “Oh, yeah. Judging others is a part-time job for her. So are you planning on getting back at her for all those awful things she did and said?”
“Maybe. This all happened so fast, I haven’t had time to come up with a plan.” Allie shrugged. “Except…I would like to give Duncan Henry a taste of his own medicine.”
Vanessa’s brows popped upward in surprise. “Wow, you have changed. All bold and brazen now.”
“It’s the waistline,” Allie said. “It’s a lot easier to be bold when you’re a size six. Something happened that day in the conference room, Vanessa. It’s as though all that dieting and working out and all those changes I made to myself suddenly turned on a switch inside me. I realized I was the one with the power and I was finally ready to take charge of my life. Which also meant coming back here and dealing with all that crap from before.” She met her friend’s green eyes, the ones that had always known her best. “I’m here, not as Allison Gray, but as Allie Dean, so that people see me, not my looks, but just me, who I am on the inside.”
“Aw, Allie,” Vanessa said, her gaze softening, “you were always fine, no matter what size you were.”
Allie drew her friend into a hug. Nevertheless, she knew the truth. “If I’d been fine just the way I was, people would have noticed me back then, talked to me. A man would have fallen in love with Allison Gray. And I think that if people find out that’s who I really am, that’s all they’ll still see, because I think they’re blind.”
Vanessa just shrugged, as if she disagreed, but didn’t want to say anything.
“Anyway,” Allie went on, “I’d rather not revisit the old days or talk to anyone from high school. So please don’t tell anyone it’s me.”
“No one’s figured it out?”
“Are you kidding me? Believe me, all they’ve seen is this.” She ran a hand over her figure. “Especially people like Duncan. Speaking of him, what do you know about him now? Besides the fact that he’s only gotten sexier with age?” Allie and Vanessa began to stroll along the perimeter of the tent. Inside, the band launched into “What’s New, Pussycat?” with a high-pitched version of Tom Jones.
“I don’t know much,” Vanessa said. “Hardly anyone sees him around town anymore.”
“Really? He was like the poster boy for social butterfly.”
Vanessa shrugged. “Ever since the car accident, he’s been kind of reclusive. Sticks to himself and doesn’t hang out at the Wild Hare anymore.”
“Car accident?” A memory tickled in Allie’s head, a conversation with her mother that she’d cut short because she’d been running late for work or something.
“It happened years ago. The Henrys, of course, kept it pretty hush-hush. You know how John Henry was. More power than God over Tempest.” She rolled her eyes at the thought. “All I know is Duncan’s sister was hurt and another girl was killed. Rumor has it there was a carload of teens, coming back from or leaving a party. Drunk and driving. Not the best combination.”
Allie absorbed that information, trying to fit it with what she already knew about Duncan. “He’s the last person I’d expect to become a recluse. Maybe he’s just working a lot?”
Vanessa shrugged. “Maybe. He’s on WTMT-TV, doing the weather.”
“Weather? He didn’t tell me that part. Just that he was on TV.” So Duncan hadn’t fulfilled his true dream after all. Allie didn’t know whether to be disappointed for Duncan or in Duncan. Why hadn’t he gone after the reporter job he’d dreamed of, the secret career he’d shared with her once? Had he been too scared? Not good at it? Or had his father’s dreams once again taken precedence over Duncan’s? “When he told me, I think he expected me to be impressed.”
“And were you?”
Allie trailed a hand along one of the ropes keeping the tent staked to the ground. The rough fibers chafed at her skin. “It wasn’t what I expected.”
“He gets it right ninety percent of the time, which means even I watch him. Indianapolis Monthly did a feature on him and named him, get this, ‘one of the most desirable bachelors in the state.’” Vanessa put little air quotes around the phrase. “Apparently he has a lot of fans in the cornfields.”
Allie laughed. “Same old Duncan.”
Vanessa cast a glance toward the tent. Inside the yellow-and-white striped canvas, human-shaped shadows danced. “I don’t know about that, Allie. I mean, I really only see him on the news, but even when he’s telling us how much rain to expect or whether that cold front will move in, he seems…different.”
Allie scoffed. The real Duncan Henry had showed his colors years ago. The chances of him having an epiphany in the years since high school were slim. Particularly given the outrageous way he still flirted, as if he was God’s gift to female-kind—and a side of cake to go along with his personal entrée.
“I’m glad you’re back, though. It’ll be fun to catch up.” Vanessa gave her a smile. “
Just like old times.”
“I don’t think so. Old times are the one thing I definitely don’t want to revisit.”
Vanessa laid a hand on her friend’s arm. “Somehow, I doubt you’re going to be able to leave town until you do.”
Chapter 6
Allie pulled the rental car onto the gravel shoulder of State Road 89 and shut off the engine. She’d spent the entire day driving around Tempest and its outlying areas, with Jerry calling her hourly, screaming for updates.
Finally, she’d found it.
The perfect location for Sorority Slumber Party Slaughter.
She’d missed the house on her drive into town yesterday, too focused on her return really to look around. But here it was, a half mile past the welcome sign. Exactly what she’d been looking for.
Allie lingered in the driver’s seat for a second, just looking at the land. On one side sat what had once been a cornfield. Probably pretty lush and thick in its day, but the field had decayed, the plants nothing more than dried stalks sticking out of the ground like skeletal fingers giving one futile last wave in the wind. One the other side, grass, six inches high, thick and green. Two hundred yards back sat a farmhouse, a big one by Tempest standards, two stories, Georgian-style, with a long, wraparound porch and wide white columns.
Or at least they had been white at one time. Now they were as gray as a cloudy day, and peeling, like the rest of the house. The brown paint had faded to a dark tan, and several clapboards had peeled away, as if trying to make a break for it before the house collapsed.
It was ugly and pitiful.
And perfect.
Allie flipped out her cell phone and punched in Jerry’s number. “I found your location.”
“It better be scary as crap. And it better damned well be available. We need to start shooting in two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” Allie squeaked. “Why so soon?”
“Sugar-pie, I got bills to pay and nothing pays the bills like a hit. If we can get Sorority Slumber Party Slaughter wrapped up in the next forty-five, I’ll get a Christmas release date. Put that in your stocking, Wes Craven.”