Deadlines

by Camilla Chafer

  I looked around, searching for Richard, but he was nowhere to be seen. With a fashionable ten minutes late on my watch, I figured he was inside already. Giving my makeup a last once-over, I grabbed my satin purse and exited my car, relieved that the evening was still warm. If there was one thing in LA I could definitely get used to, it was the weather. It knocked the socks off those chilly days on the east coast. Not that anything could replace the warmth of a cozy evening with my Gran as snowflakes flurried outside, while the smell of hot chocolate and melting marshmallows toasted us inside.

  Pushing aside homesick memories, I walked towards the restaurant, hoping that the slinky, black dress was proper attire. I wanted to pull off sexy, yet elegant. Mike’s vote was for slutty. What did Richard like? I wondered. Anyway, did it really matter? So long as I felt comfortable in what I was wearing?

  Pausing in the doorway of a closed shop, I quickly reassessed my outfit. Dress fitted in all the right places? Check. High neckline balanced by above-the-knee hem to show off my legs? Check. Nice heels to compliment said legs? Check. Pretty drop earrings and elegant clutch? Damn, I truly had it. I was still smiling at myself as I walked into the restaurant, a smile that only got broader when Richard looked up, and his mouth opened with anticipation as I walked across the room toward him.

  "You look sensational," he said, rising to greet me with a kiss on the cheek. "Great dress."

  "Thank you. You look very handsome too."

  "Very? Not just a little bit?" he joked.

  "Very," I confirmed as we sat down. I wasn't just being polite. Richard was nicely dressed for the occasion in smart ,black slacks and a striped shirt, left open at the neck to keep it casual and provide balance to the formal, double cuffs. His watch was moderately expensive without being flashy. I would have taken a peek at his shoes, but the crisp white tablecloth hid them from view. I guessed he was wearing loafers, in a smart, casual style. Within seconds, I was reasonably sure he must’ve put a lot of effort into not looking like he put in a lot of effort. That made me wonder if he were nervous too.

  "How have you been since I last saw you?" he asked as we took our menus from the hovering waiter.

  "Gosh, it's been so long, let me see..." I teased, wondering where the hell the prices were on the menu. Everything looked divine; and divine meant costly. How was I supposed to politely opt for a mid-price entree if I didn't know what mid-price was? "I've been great actually. Settling into my apartment, even though it still needs a lot of work, and getting used to my new office."

  "You made a lot of changes in a very short time. Are you feeling homesick yet? Or are we Californians keeping you too busy?"

  "Actually, I suffered my first pang of homesickness today," I admitted.

  "Oh?"

  "It was silly really. I was thinking about how nice the weather is here and how cold it can get back home."

  "It can get cold here too," Richard warned.

  "But not snowy cold."

  "No, not snowy cold. Unless it's fake snow with huge fans to blow snowflakes."

  "People do that?"

  "Out here, nothing is too crazy. So that's what you miss most about home, the cold?"

  "No, I definitely don't miss the cold, just the feeling of snuggling up indoors with a mug of hot chocolate."

  "What about your family? Are they missing you?"

  "Ah..." The awkward conversation about my family. It never failed to make a date feel like a jerk for asking. Over the years, I learned it was better to get my family history out into the open as fast as possible before quickly changing the topic. "Please don't feel awkward when I say this..."

  "I'm sorry, obviously I stumbled onto an uncomfortable topic. Did they cut you off for moving out here? Are they mad at you?" Richard's brows knitted together with concern.

  "No, it's not that. Actually, they'd probably be very supportive of my move out here; but my parents died in an accident when I was twelve." I stopped, waiting for the inevitable, embarrassed silence. Instead, Richard reached his hand across the table and placed it on top of mine.

  "I'm so sorry," he said. "I lost my mom when I was fourteen. I still miss her."

  "I miss my parents too."

  "So what did you do after they were gone? I still had my father, but what about you?"

  "I moved in with my Gran. She was my dad's mom and he was an only child. My mom didn't have any siblings or parents left alive, so it was just me and Gran."

  "Your gran sounds pretty awesome. I lost my mom to cancer. It was pretty quick. I don't know if it ever stops affecting you."

  "I don't know either," I told him.

  "So here you are, in a new state, a new job, and a new apartment. Are you finding your feet?"

  "I am, but slowly," I replied, grateful for the change of topic. It wasn't that I didn't like talking about my parents, or even that I relived their passing whenever they came up in conversation, but I didn’t consider it “first-date friendly.” Conversations like that were better timed in the future. That made me wonder, was this the first date of many? Excitement swelled up in me at the prospect. "My apartment wasn't what I expected. Actually, it was a lot different from what I was told. I've been cleaning it like crazy and trying to furnish it as cheaply as possible. I was promised a pool in the complex, but when I moved in, the only thing the pool could accommodate amongst all the floating scum was a family of plastic bath ducks."

  "So I know not to pack my swimsuit when you invite me over."

  "Not unless a miracle happens." I cringed, hoping he didn't take that throwaway remark the wrong way. "The miracle being: a clean pool," I clarified.

  "Duly noted. I have a small pool at my place. Why don't you try it out this weekend? I could make us brunch?"

  "Richard, are you asking me out on a second date already?"

  "If I say yes, would you say yes?" he countered, smiling.

  I nodded. "Yes."

  "Great. Let's order."

  Over dinner, I found myself relaxing more. Richard was charming and funny, scarce, but pointed with his compliments, and wildly entertaining. Unlike me, he grew up on stage sets and playing in the studio back lots between script reads and on-set tutoring sessions. He casually threw in names of huge actors and directors and replayed anecdotes about pranks that happened behind the scenes. As far as dates went, he was skyrocketing up my private chart. Eat your hearts out, Allen Hemming and married Thom! Also, take that, Mike! Not to mention Ben... and the thought of Ben involuntarily evoked the dizzying image of him wearing a tuxedo and waiting at the end of the aisle. It just popped into my head. I quickly scrubbed his face out, replacing it with Richard’s instead.

  "Are you okay? You're frowning?"

  "Oh, sorry, I just remembered a work matter."

  "Something bothering you? Is it the Chucky story? You know, his will was read earlier today. I heard there was some big news that now has the police worried."

  That made me sit a little straighter, suddenly intrigued. "To do with his will?"

  "That's right. You must have spoken to your contact at LAPD already, so this is probably old news."

  "No, I haven't."

  "You mean, I scooped the ace reporter?" Richard laughed, apparently surprised.

  "Completely," I admitted, "but I won't hold it against you."

  "I guess I better tell you fast so you can add it to your story. Chucky left everything to his sister. His house, money, investments, the whole lot."

  "That makes sense, since she was his only close relative."

  "Yes, she was. But it's a huge amount of money once you add up the estate. Chucky was always sensible when it came to financial considerations. He was never the flashy, splash-the-cash kinda guy. He was more a live well, but always save for a rainy day type."

  "Jenna said the same. Did she expect to inherit everything?" I asked, struggling to remember if I added anything about his will to the murder board. I was sure I did, and I recalled a similar conversation with Jenna. She told me Chucky was a
lways generous to her.

  "Sure. She and Chucky shared just about everything. She would have known how much he was worth, and if he died without being married, or having any kids, she got everything. From what I heard, that's why the police are worried."

  "Don't tell me they think she killed Chucky for the money? That's pretty crazy."

  Richard held his hands up in a don't-shoot-the-messenger pose. "That's just what I heard."

  "He already bought her a house, and her income relied on him working."

  "She doesn't need to work now, not with her inheritance."

  "Does Jenna know she's a prime suspect?"

  "I think so, but I don't know for sure. I thought about calling her, but I didn't want to intrude. And if she did..." Richard trailed off, looking sadly uncomfortable. "She was Chucky's sister, but I always counted her as my friend."

  "I have to verify this. Can you remember who told you that?"

  Richard shook his head. "No, I think it might have been one of the interns, or maybe one of the executives. At the time, I was getting called to set; and when I went back later to ask, there was no one around. I just hope the gossip didn't spread too far. I would hate for it to hit the front page."

  Me too, I thought. Especially since it was supposed to be my front page. However, I just couldn't see Jenna being a murderer and definitely not capable of killing her own brother. But maybe... maybe... could Jenna have manipulated Chucky into taking those pills? It would have taken brute force, which she didn't possess. She would have needed some help, perhaps from someone like Will. It would have been easy for her to plant evidence that suddenly appeared. All the same, I couldn't picture Jenna and Will as a murderous couple. I knew only two things. One, it would be totally irresponsible to run a story on hearsay, rather than from a solid source. And, two, I needed to speak with Detective Smith about Chucky's autopsy. I had to know whether he had the kind of bruising that would come from physically being forced to swallow the pills that killed him; and if a woman was capable of wielding such force.

  "Do you have any other leads?" Richard asked. "I need to hear something more positive than my friend killing my best friend."

  "I do, and maybe you can help me with it," I told him. "Chucky met up with a woman right before he died, but no one has been able to identify her. Do you have any idea who she is?"

  "No. Chucky would have mentioned if he were seeing someone."

  "She might have been a friend, or a work colleague, rather than a date."

  "And they met the night he died?" Richard paused, concentrating. "No, I don't remember. I'm sorry. I wish I could be more help."

  "Don't be sorry, you're doing the best you can for your friend in a horrible situation. Why don't we talk about something else? What's happening with the show?" I asked, steering the conversation in another direction. The concern shadowing Richard's face worried me. I would have hated to be in his position. Coming to terms with his best friend's death was one thing; but wondering if your other friend, his sister, was rightly placed at the top of the suspect list was quite another. Since I couldn't investigate further at the time, I had to inject some lightness into our date instead. Richard looked like he needed far more cheering up than just an offer to share my dessert.

  By the time Richard walked me to my car, more than two hours had passed. Our conversation volleyed from the best places to eat to where to spot the stars, and there was a lightness to our repartee that gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling. "Have you heard of a place called Aria?" I asked him as I opened my door, wishing the date weren't already ending.

  "Sure. It's a nice spot for food or drinks. Did you want to go there and get a nightcap?"

  "Now?"

  Richard looked up at the darkening sky. "It is night," he pointed out.

  I paused, thinking quickly. It would have been nice to extend the evening and Richard was very good company. Yet, it seemed silly to drive to another place for a nightcap since I would have to drive home later anyway. Perhaps it could achieve another objective though? What if I could find someone who recognized Chucky's mystery woman? No, I couldn't keep investigating when my attention was supposed to belong to another man tonight. Eventually, I shook my head. "Another time?"

  "I'll call you tomorrow and we'll try to work something out."

  "Sounds great." I paused, uncertain. How did dates end here? Were they the same the world over? Should I jump into my car and wave cheerily or... oh! Richard was kissing me! Soft, smooth, and with just the right amount of tongue before he pulled away, leaving me momentarily breathless.

  "Until tomorrow," he said softly, still holding the car door and allowing me to slip into the seat without having to say anything awkward.

  "Until tomorrow," I agreed. I switched the engine on, willing myself not to fumble the controls, and pulled away, waving to him as he waited on the sidewalk.

  On the way home, I found my mind drifting towards Chucky again. Was leaving his estate to Jenna really a good enough reason for her to kill him? It didn't sound plausible to me. Chucky and Jenna were far closer than most siblings and they only had each other. Although I tried repeatedly to envision some type of scenario, I just couldn't see Jenna offing her only living relative.

  I could have let my ideas spin around in my head, or I could call the one person who might possess some answers.

  "Yes?" said the voice, answering on the third ring.

  "Detective Smith?"

  "Yes. Who's this?"

  "Shayne Winter."

  "The reporter?"

  "The same. I called to ask you about Chucky..."

  She sighed. "I should have guessed."

  "I'm calling to verify a source who told me that Jenna Barnard is currently a prime suspect in her brother's murder case."

  "Who's your source?"

  "I can't tell you. So, it's true?"

  "I can't tell you."

  "I don't buy it."

  "Terrific. I'll let the DA know."

  "So she is a suspect."

  Detective Smith sighed deeper this time.

  I continued before she hung up on me, "Jenna had a good lifestyle, thanks to Chucky. She didn't have any reason to kill him. He bought her a house, and she was his manager, earning a percentage of his annual income."

  "That doesn't explain why she was overheard threatening to kill him a week before he died."

  "What?"

  "Damn it!" said Smith just before she hung up.

  Chapter Fifteen

  "I don't know what to say," Jenna commented as she passed a teacup to me before taking her own and sitting down on the couch with a puzzled look on her face. "Detective Smith did question me yesterday, but she never outright accused me of murdering my brother!"

  "But she hinted at it," said Will. Worry lines puckered the corners of his eyes, but he remained tight-lipped from the moment I knocked on their door. I had several worrying questions to pose. "She asked you if you would benefit from Chucky's death."

  "What did you tell her?" I inquired.

  "That I knew all about Chucky's will, and that he left me everything, but my will reciprocates his. If I died before him, and I wasn't married and didn't have kids, he would inherit everything I had. We drew up our wills years ago. It's no secret."

  "Detective Smith pointed out that Jenna would inherit a lot more than Chucky, since Chucky would only get back what he had already given Jenna," added Will.

  Jenna nodded. "Will was somewhat livid at that aspersion."

  "I suggested we test the theory: I’d put Jenna in my will and see if she tried to murder me." Will laughed for the first time, the little lines easing. At the absurdity of the suggestion, I had to join him in laughter, not that any of us sounded actually amused.

  "I bet Detective Smith didn't go for it," I said. "Although it would be pretty incriminating if you did kill Will after that."

  "I'm not going to murder anyone, ever, wills or no wills. Except this Will. I'd probably kill for him."

  "Best keep th
at to yourself, honey," said Will.

  "Did you ever threaten to kill Chucky?" I asked, bracing myself for the kind of response I was sure Detective Smith had already received upon asking that question.

  Unexpectedly, Jenna laughed. "Sure, around once a month!"

  I wrinkled my eyebrows together. "Seriously?"

  "Seriously, but not, you know, seriously. It’s like a thing with us. He does something that drives me crazy and I idly threaten to kill him. I'd never actually do it!"

  "My source told me that you were overheard threatening to kill Chucky one week before his death. Can you remember where you were? Or what that conversation was about?" I pressed, knowing it was a long shot. I was hoping to get ahead of Detective Smith. I could only help Jenna if I cleared her name. Even more, if I could track down the actual killer. That should please Smith a whole bunch! I was pretty sure she wouldn't mind who the killer was just as long as they'd actually committed the murder.

  "Hmm, let me see," Jenna mused, her eyes thoughtfully cast down. "I think we were out to lunch and Chucky confessed that when he borrowed my car, he scraped the right wing and messed up all the paintwork. I said to him, 'This is the third time you've scraped my car, Chucky. I'm going to kill you!' Then he told me he already booked it into the body shop and intended to pay for the repairs, adding he was really sorry."

  "Where were you eating lunch?" I asked, making a note.

  "Is it important?"