Aurora hid her surprise. She'd known that sooner or later he would check out her background. She hadn't expected him to do it before they met.
"Did you check out Marsha and Duncan, too?"
She was rewarded by the upward sweep of his eyebrows.
"Did you find out Marsha Chambers bio isn't really true? She didn't grow up in a loving home, but in one where she was battered until she was twelve-years-old."
He sat still, his eyes steady, a technique people use when being given surprising information they have no knowledge of and don't want the bearer of the news to know they are making a revelation.
"Finally the state stepped in," she went on. "They placed her in foster care. She grew up in the system. Her social worker helped her get into college, and the day after graduation she reinvented herself."
"You seem to know a lot about her," Coop interjected.
"Inquiring minds..." She smiled. "I like knowing as much as possible about people who dislike me, and Marsha Chambers has placed me at the top her list.”
"What did she do to reinvent herself?"
Again Aurora suppressed her smile. "She disappeared. When she emerged she went to Hollywood and worked at bit parts until she got a break. The rest of her bio is accurate."
"How do you know all this about her?"
"I have contacts. The same as you."
"And they told you this?"
She did smile this time. "They're very good at what they do." She paused. "I wondered what it was about me she disliked so much though she wanted me on the set. I made a few calls and found out.”
"What have you done with this information?"
"You mean am I going to blackmail her with it?" She stopped. "Marsha doesn't know I'm aware of it. It's my plan to keep it that way."
He looked away from her. The light from the street-lamp highlighted his thoughtful profile.
"There's power in understanding, Coop. If I can understand Marsha, even if she doesn't know it, maybe one day we can be friends."
"You want to be friends with Marsha? If that's true, you're the only person in the world who would want that."
"I'm not sure I want it. Right now she angers me. As days go by I'm less and less angry though. I think she needs friends and understanding. I don't think she ever learned how to reach out and be a friend. She covers her need for companionship and common interests by controlling every situation."
She was quiet for a long moment. He stared through the window. Minutes went by. She could feel the softness in him. He was a big man. He looked tough, acted tough, and had a tough job to back up the facade. Slowly his head swung around and he looked at her.
She might want to analyze Marsha. Coop wanted something else entirely.
***
"Damn you!" Marsha ranted. "This is your fault. Why is it every time I turn around something else happens? I thought we had security. I thought they were intelligent people. They let a stranger onto the lot After the incident with the kidnapping, how could they let a man in who poisoned me? I want that guard fired."
She was back to normal, Duncan thought. He stood at the foot of her bed. Two days in the hospital, and only the drugs had kept her silent. Now that she was due for release she couldn't talk enough.
"Marsha, Greg Finch has been a guard since the first show was aired."
"Then he should know better. I want him off the lot."
"Marsha," Duncan said, holding his temper. "We've had this conversation before. The answer is no. End of discussion."
Marsha pushed herself up in the bed. She was fully made up as if she were about to walk out on the stage. With her white lace nightgown that was certainly not hospital issue, they could be doing a show on the latest styles in lingerie.
"Duncan, you leave me no choice."
"Marsha, before you say anything let me remind you of your contract terms."
"I am aware of them. And as of now, I am on sick leave."
"You're not sick."
"I am mentally distressed and the medical insurance will pay for three months rest in a sanitarium. Until this maniac is caught I will not set myself up as a target.”
"You can be sued for a move like that. It's against all the terms of your contract.”
"No, Duncan," she sneered. "These are specifically the terms of my contract I'm giving the police plenty of time to catch this fool."
She was scared. Marsha Chambers was really scared. Duncan didn't think he'd ever seen her like this. Her image made people think of her as a tower of strength. She wasn't strong. She was frightened. The woman in the bed was like a scared little girl.
"What makes you think he won't find you in a sanitarium? Why is that a safe haven? If he can get onto the lot, where we have strengthened security, then he can certainly find you in a high-class hospital."
"I don't care. Find another host I won't be back until the police catch the culprit."
Duncan wanted to kick the end of the hospital bed. Even more, he wanted to kick Marsha, but his upbringing forbade him. She had him with the loophole in the contract, and she knew it. She could stay off the set for the next quarter and there was nothing he could do about it.
"All right, Marsha, you win." He headed toward the door.
"Wait a minute. What do you mean by that?"
"It's what you wanted. You're off the show. For the next ninety days we'll show reruns. Ratings will fall. We'll try to run the best shows, but who knows? By the time all of this is over you could be back to doing one night stands in Las Vegas, if you're lucky. If you're not lucky, it'll be Seattle."
"You know you can't do that. According to my contract—"
"Yeah, yeah," he said. "I know the contract says no reruns during the regular season."
"I'll sue you."
"We could argue that this isn't the regular season." He strolled to the window. "We could also mention that the plaintiff who brought the suit is herself ill and confined to a sanitarium. You might not be able to have a say, in your present state of mind."
Duncan picked up his coat and left the room. It did him good to hear Marsha screaming his name over and over as he casually went toward the elevator.
***
Marsha Chambers will get her release from the Princeton Medical Center tomorrow but her medical problems aren't over. . ..
He listened to the entertainment news. She hadn't died. Damn, he thought. What had gone wrong? He'd given her enough sleeping powder to kill her. Then he'd added the poison to her food.
He should have known she was too tough to succumb to mere food poisoning. Well, he had time. She couldn't hide. He'd find her and he'd finish her and then they could all suffer, like he'd done. Then he could look at them, watch careers topple, and no one would ever know he'd had anything to do with it. He'd be sympathetic, even send flowers to the funeral. He laughed. The strong sound came up from his toes. He felt it throughout his body and liked the sound, the feeling, the exhilaration and power of life and death.
***
Cooper Dean, big man on the force, known for solving the most baffling cases, stood outside a hospital room sweating. He'd been there for five minutes, and soon the staff would begin to get suspicious of him. He'd spoken to the guard and produced his identification, and now it was time for him to push the wide door inward and go inside.
He took a deep breath and walked in. The room was semi-dark. Only a lamp on a dresser crowded with flowers illuminated the area. The rest of the available space, including the floor, also held flower arrangements. Coop was glad he wasn't allergic to pollen. The room smelled like a florist's shop the week before Mother's Day.
Marsha looked beautiful in the bed. He hadn't expected that. He thought she'd be pale and disoriented, but her eyes were clear as they focused on him.
As he went toward her she looked up at him.
"Cooper Dean," he said. "Princeton Police Department." He pulled his ID out and flipped it open. This wasn't how he wanted to introduce himself. He had no choice. His visit
would look official, but he was here because he was concerned for her.
"I remember you," she said. "You're—" She stopped.
"I'm Duncan's friend."
She frowned and turned away. "Go away."
"I take it Duncan has been here."
"He has."
"And his leaving was not under the best of circumstances?"
"I wanted to wring his neck."
Coop thought this might not be a good time to talk to her.
"What do you want?" she asked.
He pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down. Her back faced him. He laid a hand on her shoulder and she rolled over. Her eyes were watery and Coop's heart twisted. He'd been bluffed before, though, and he wasn't sure Marsha wasn't doing it now.
"I want to ask you some questions, but they can wait."
He wanted to cradle her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right. He wasn't sure it would be. He was too used to seeing things that didn't work out to make promises he couldn't keep.
"How do you feel?" he asked. "Is there anything I can get you?"
Marsha frowned at him. She raised herself up on her elbows and stared at him. "What is going on here? You didn't come to ask about my health."
"You're wrong. That's exactly why I came. I wanted to make sure you were all right."
"I'm all right. Now go away."
"You're used to people jumping when you say something, aren't you?" Coop almost stood up. It was a reflex action for him to use his height, to tower over someone and make them cower and give him the information he needed. He didn't want to do that to Marsha. He wanted her to trust him. He knew her history, knew that she had a lifetime of not trusting. It was going to take some time for her to learn to trust.
"Yes, I am. So if you have no questions for me that can't wait, go away."
"All right," he told her. "I will go away—in a moment."
She rolled her eyes.
Coop produced a paper from his inside pocket. "In case you're interested, we found the real driver of the food truck yesterday afternoon." Her glance didn't move. "He's bruised, but unhurt I know you're grateful to hear that.”
Marsha turned her head to face him. Tears shone in her eyes. "I am glad to hear that," she said, and Coop believed her.
"The guard helped draw this sketch of the man who drove the truck that delivered the food. Take a look and tell me if you recognize him."
She took the paper and picked up the hand control that could summon the nurse. A button turned on the light over her head. She looked at the sketch for almost a minute.
"I haven't the slightest idea who this could be. He reminds me of no one I've ever seen."
Coop took it back. Aurora and Duncan had already seen it and could not identify the man in question. Coop had hoped things would be easy, that one of them could put a name to the likeness, that he'd be able to begin a search for a specific person. As it was, he was still at square one.
Chapter 6
Busy. Duncan crossed the fifth name off his list. He couldn't believe every possible person who could host a talk show had another job at like moment. Television and the movies were unemployment havens. Today's hot property could be looking for scripts tomorrow. If he didn't know better, Duncan would have thought Marsha was intentionally manipulating things so she could have her way.
He'd threatened to put the show into reruns, but he knew better. He was too much a "keep-your-promises" kind of guy. A contract stood, and no matter how much she wanted to bend the terms of it, he wouldn't.
So what was he going to do? He couldn't set up reruns and he didn't have a replacement host to put on during her absence. They were already three days behind. He had to do something in a hurry.
The problem was still bothering him two hours and six calls later. Soon word would begin filtering through the industry that The Marsha Chambers Show was in trouble. Duncan got up and stretched. He'd been sitting in the same position for hours and he was tired. Adjoining his office was the studio control room. Entering it through the connecting door, he glanced over at the silent equipment. Through the large window he saw workmen repairing broken seats and some of the lights. Opportunity had presented itself and the maintenance group used it to refurbish the set.
He smiled. Marsha would never notice. She only saw things when they were wrong, not when they were right. At that moment Aurora walked across the room. She stopped at the two steps that led up to the platform and said something. Duncan didn't have the sound on, so he couldn't hear her. Her hair swung about her shoulders, reminding him of the hostess he was seeking.
When she lifted her foot to step onto the stage the thought struck him.
Flipping the switch that let his voice be heard in the studio, he called her name.
Aurora jumped at suddenly hearing her name broadcast over the large set. She spun around, looking for the speaker.
"I'd like to speak to you, please."
She looked toward the dark windows across from her. Squinting, she saw nothing. Then the lights went on and Duncan stood on the other side of the glass. She went toward the door and he opened it.
"You scared me," she said as she came in.
"I didn't mean to."
"I want you to do me a favor."
"Sure," she agreed readily.
"Sit down."
Aurora took the seat he offered. The control room was small, soundproof and crowded with equipment. She knew that during tapings many people worked the magic buttons on the control panel and backup cameras that ultimately delivered images into the homes of millions of viewers. This was the first time she'd been in it.
Duncan sat on a high stool in front of her. She waited for him to begin. For some reason he looked nervous.
"Is something wrong?" she asked. "Has something else happened to Marsha?"
Duncan linked his fingers together and then leaned forward, elbows on knees. He shook his head.
"You look like you're trying to tell me something I'm not going to like. Is it my work? I'm not coming up to par and you're going to fire me."
He leaned forward and took her hands. "It's nothing like that I'm not trying to fire you."
"Then what is it?" Her hands suddenly went cold, then just as fast began to burn with heat
"I want to move you from the editing department."
"To where?" She eased her hands away from him. They were becoming too warm and she didn't want him to feel the elevated pulse that accompanied his touch. Duncan didn't look at her but stared through the window over her head. Aurora waited but he said nothing. Finally she turned to see what he was looking at. There was nothing there. The workmen who'd been fixing some of the seats were gone. The studio was brightly lighted, its royal blue walls curved around a huge conversation area that sported a sofa and armchair in front of a coffee-table holding a plant that nearly covered all its surface. The area seemed to be waiting for the theme music to begin and Marsha Chambers to walk onto the stage to the applause of a waiting audience.
"Duncan, where do you want me to work?"
He nodded toward the window.
She looked again. "I can't work here. It would take me forever to learn what all these buttons do. I like the editing room, and I'm finally beginning to get the hang of how things work."
"Not in here," he said. Again he focused on the area through the window. "Out there." Aurora swung around and looked at the studio. It took a moment, but she finally realized what he was saying. She knew about Marsha, about him looking for a guest hostess.
"Oh no," she said, getting up. "I told you I wanted nothing to do with going before the camera again."
"Why not? There's nothing to it."
"I told you I was out of show business."
"Aurora, I'm in a bind. You know Marsha refuses to return, and I've been trying to find a replacement all day. Everyone I called is tied up."
She felt sympathy for him but held her ground. "That's not my problem. You're the producer. It's up to you to dea
l with these kind of glitches."
"I am dealing with it and I'm glad I haven't found anyone."
"Why?"
"Because I finally realized you're perfect for the job."
She took a step forward. "Because I look like Marsha?" Anger made her voice level increase. "I could fool the audience. Not only can I walk like her and talk like her, but I can pull off the best scam in talk show history. And it would be a scam, Duncan. I won't go on as a Marsha Chambers look-alike."
"Hold on," he said. "I'm not proposing that you go on as a look-alike. That would be fraud."
She let her breath out, glad he didn't want her to do anything illegal, but when she looked at him again she could almost see the wheels turning in his head. He was planning something and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what.
"I think you should go on as yourself."
"No," she said. "I don't want to go before the camera." She folded her arms over her breasts and stared at him.
"You haven't told me why." He kept his voice quiet.
Aurora sighed. "Because I don't want to become her—overbearing and hated by everyone I come into contact with. I don't want to interview people I detest, smile into a camera when I know I can't wait to get off-stage. Believe me, Duncan, you put me on the stage and you'll find out how awful I can be."
“I saw you on the tape of the look-alike show and you were comfortable with the cameras. You far outshone all the guests that day. The others were not as photogenic, and didn't know how and what to do. I don't believe it's the camera and I don't believe you'll become another Marsha."
"I'd be too nervous. This is not my idea of having a good time."
"What is?" He abruptly changed the subject. Aurora didn't know how to answer.
"What?" she hedged.
"What job is your idea of having fun? What did you do before you became a professional look-alike?"
Mirror Image (Capitol Chronicles Book 4) Page 8