Killing Time

by Leslie Kelly

  Mick patted his shoulder. “You hanging in?”

  Daniel shook his head. “I just officially took a leave of absence.”

  Jared eyed him. “Bad move. That leaves Chip and Skip in charge.”

  “Chuck and Skip,” Daniel interrupted.

  “Whatever,” Mick said, knowing where Jared had been headed. “Dumb and dumber are now in charge of a murder investigation? God, didn’t Skip do enough damage throwing up all over half the evidence? I can’t imagine how the coroner felt about that one. As if the fake blood wasn’t bad enough.”

  Daniel merely shrugged. “I don’t even want to hear about it because I can’t be unbiased. I won’t be part of an investigation that turns its eye toward Sophie. But don’t worry, the state guys are taking over the case, not Skip and Chuck.”

  Jared cocked a brow. “State doesn’t usually get involved with local crimes.”

  “I asked them to.” Daniel looked resolute. “They can look for the real killer while I focus on keeping Sophie out of this mess.”

  Mick nodded in appreciation, but couldn’t completely erase his frown of concern. “And while you keep Sophie away from the eye of the police,” he said, thinking about Caroline’s job, “I’m going to focus on trying to keep Caroline away from whoever the hell killed Miss Hester.”

  “THEY FOUND THE GUN.”

  Mick hadn’t even heard Caroline enter his office until she spoke. He immediately looked up from the closing documents he was preparing for a sale and dropped his pen onto the pile of papers. “What?”

  She shut his office door behind her. “They found the gun they think was used to kill Hester Tomlinson.”

  Noticing that Caroline looked visibly shaken, Mick stood, walked around his desk and took her hand. He led her to a chair and sat beside her. “Where?”

  “There’s a small door accessing the attic of the inn hidden in the closet of the room where she was killed. The gun was in the attic, lying in some insulation. There were some pieces of paper with it, but the police didn’t say whether they were connected.”

  He shook his head, wondering how the police could have let the weapon remain hidden for three full days. “Okay, so they found it. Now maybe they can find the real killer.”

  She nibbled her lip. “Mick, I recognized the gun. It was the one Louise Flanagan was holding on you the first day I came to town.”

  His jaw dropped. “You gotta be kidding! Are you saying you think Louise did it?”

  She ran a weary, shaking hand over her brow. “I don’t know. All I know is, it looked like the same gun. I was so shocked, and the policeman noticed, so he questioned me about it.”

  Mick frowned. “You told them about Louise?”

  “I had to, Mick. I hated to do it, but I was worried. Because your fingerprints could very well be on that gun. At least this way, they’ll know why.”

  He thought about her words, then stiffened. “Wait a minute, you were up at the Little Bohemie Inn when they found it?”

  She nodded.

  “Damn, Caroline, I hate you going up there while some psycho killer is on the loose.”

  She gave him a look that said she appreciated his concern, but also telling him she was a big girl. “There are security guards all over the place. Nobody goes anywhere alone.”

  “I thought the inn was off-limits due to the crime investigation.”

  “It was. But the chief investigator decided to open up the bottom two floors of the inn so we can resume shooting.”

  Resume shooting. In spite of everything, the network was going to go ahead with Killing Time in a Small Town. He shouldn’t be surprised—he’d half expected it, after all. But he had been hoping it would take longer.

  The longer the show stayed around, the longer Caroline would. Not that he’d admit that aloud, and he’d certainly never have wanted anyone to die just so she wouldn’t leave. But he wasn’t about to question any decision that kept her in his life just a little longer. He was already dreading the day she’d leave again.

  “When’s the last time you saw Louise’s gun?” she asked.

  Mick shrugged, hardly remembering. “That day. Here in this office.”

  “Didn’t you pick it up? Remember, you told her to drop it. That’s why I was worried about your fingerprints.”

  Mick shook his head, wondering how in the hell he could have overlooked something as big as a pistol on the floor of his office. Of course, he’d been a little distracted that day. He and Caroline had gone on their house-hunting trip right after the incident and he hadn’t thought about the gun since. “Sorry. I didn’t remember to look for it. It certainly wasn’t lying around for me to see, and I eventually forgot about it.”

  “You left a loaded gun on the floor of your office?” She sounded shocked.

  “I don’t know if it was on the floor. Like I said, it wasn’t when I got back, or I’d have seen it. Besides, I’m sure it wasn’t loaded. Louise wouldn’t have threatened me with a loaded gun.”

  She frowned. “You sure dropped your pants pretty quick that day, so you must have thought it was at least possible it was loaded.”

  “I dropped my pants to scare her off.”

  With a quirked brow and a barely suppressed smile, she said, “I wish I had a tape recorder. You’d have sooner shot yourself than said something like that back in college.”

  He chuckled with her. “You’re probably right.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re lucky your plan didn’t backfire and Louise didn’t leap on you instead.”

  “Would you have stormed in and saved me?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. I probably would’ve walked away, thinking you were getting exactly what you deserved.”

  He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her over to his chair to sit on his lap. “Evil woman.”

  “Wicked man.”

  They kissed, long and sweet and wet, as if they hadn’t just made love in his bed that morning. When their lips parted, Caroline rested her head on his shoulder. “Someone must have found the gun here on the floor that morning. Do you have any idea who was here?”

  He thought about it. “Tons of people came in and out of the office that week. People from the show looking for rooms, a developer I’ve been working with. Friends. My mom. Sophie.”

  He stiffened, unable to help it when he thought of the rumors he’d overheard about his kid sister.

  “What?” she asked.

  He quickly explained the latest speculation on the murderer, not even trying to keep the anger and frustration from his voice.

  “That’s ridiculous,” she said with a disgusted frown.

  “Of course it is.”

  Then she shivered slightly in his arms. “I still can’t believe Sophie’s R. F. Colt. Those books scare the pants off me.”

  He responded with a lascivious lift of his brows. “Oh?”

  “Don’t get any ideas. We’re in your office, remember.”

  “Mmm, office sex. My desk is awfully strong.”

  “Your front door is awfully unlocked and your assistant is right out in the reception area.”

  Too bad. Making love with Caroline was probably just about the only thing that could distract him from Sophie’s situation.

  He still couldn’t believe that someone—anyone—could think his kid sister capable of murder. Sophie had been the town sweetheart last week. The nicest, gentlest, friendliest girl from the most respected family in town. And now the piranhas were calling her a murderer, just because they found out she had an imagination and writing talent. “It’s so damned unfair.”

  She gave him a sympathetic look. “Sophie?”

  He nodded. “So she had a fight with Miss Hester and happens to write horror fiction. There’s no evidence, no real motive, nothing. But the rumor mill has already convicted her.”

  He didn’t say it aloud, but the idea of being judged and found immediately guilty made him think of his past with Caroline.

  “If everyone who fantasized about k
illing their boss was accused of murder, a lot of us would be in jail right now,” Caroline said. “Heaven knows I’ve been tempted. Especially today, with the pressure.”

  Her voice had softened and she looked away, not meeting his eyes anymore. He had the feeling he wasn’t going to like whatever she was about to tell him.

  “Pressure?”

  She nodded, then got up from his lap. In a stall for time, she wandered over to his desk, straightening some papers, putting a few scattered pens into a cup.

  “Tell me.”

  She turned and leaned her hip against the desk, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “They’re elated about the murder.”

  He shook his head. “Nice.”

  “Not that somebody’s dead, of course, but my God, you should hear the execs and Renauld. They’re already filming new commercials tying the real murder into Killing Time. Inside Edition, Entertainment Tonight and some other tabloid shows are scheduling on-location interviews and the debut is going to be a two-hour special, instead of one.”

  “In other words,” he said with a distinct frown, “they’re going to capitalize on somebody’s murder.”

  She nodded.

  Mick stood and faced her beside the desk. Caroline didn’t pull away and kept her gaze steadily on him. “How do you feel about that?” he asked, gently brushing a wisp of hair off her cheek and tucking it behind her ear.

  “It’s horrible, of course.”

  She said the words, and he knew she meant them. There was something in her voice, though, some measure of excitement, that told him she had more to say. “Be honest with me, Caroline.”

  She lowered her eyes. “I am being honest. It is awful to exploit someone’s tragic death. But…?”

  “But?”

  Her voice dropped lower. “But I can’t help thinking of what it could mean for the show.”

  With those words, Mick felt a thin veil of something drop between them. Caroline, his Caroline, had become such a Hollywood insider that she didn’t mind using someone else’s tragedy to get ahead. He took a step away from her, studying her face, her big blue eyes, her beautiful lips, the bottom one trembling slightly.

  “Do you think that’s easy for me to admit about myself?” she asked. “I know how ugly it is. Logically, I’m disgusted and appalled and know I should take the high road and walk out before I let myself be involved with this.”

  “So why don’t you?” he asked softly, trying hard to keep any hint of condemnation from his voice. In truth, he wasn’t condemning her, he just couldn’t understand her position.

  “I can’t. That would be professional suicide.”

  “There are other studios.”

  She ran a frustrated hand through her thick, dark hair. “Who’d blackball me in a minute for bailing on a production that is doing exactly what any other network would do—capitalize on publicity any way they could to make a hit.”

  He could concede that point. Her job meant a lot to her—hadn’t she left their relationship behind so she could go out to California and pursue it? But she was a different person now. And he couldn’t help wondering—if her career suddenly changed, might their future look a little different, too?

  “There are plenty of jobs you’d be capable of, Caroline.”

  “So you think I should quit?”

  He didn’t answer because he wasn’t sure he could answer unselfishly. His logical side understood her goals because he was ambitious enough to know how she felt. His emotional side wanted her to tell them to take the job and shove it. He remained silent.

  “The show is good, Mick. It’s really good. I’m damn proud of it. Do you know how rare it is to be involved in something in L.A. that shines with uniqueness? I don’t want to give up my chance to be part of that.”

  There was no hint of hidden feelings in her expression. She meant what she said. He still didn’t agree with what the studio was doing, but he was at least beginning to understand Caroline’s dilemma. It would be pure hell to put your heart and soul into something, then have to make a choice to watch your efforts result in something fantastic, or walk away due to your morality code. He didn’t know that he’d feel any differently than she did, in the same situation. He finally nodded that understanding. “I do get it.”

  Relief and gratitude flashed in her eyes.

  He quickly added, “But there’s one more big problem with you staying on the set.”

  Her relief faded. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. There’s the little matter of a killer running around up at the Little Bohemie Inn. I don’t want you anywhere near that place.”

  “Mick, I can’t be an on-site producer if I’m not on site.”

  He gave her a measured look that he hoped convinced her of just how serious he was. “You’re spending twelve hours a day with that group of people, any one of whom could have killed Hester Tomlinson. You’re telling me you’re not the least bit worried?”

  “No, I’m not telling you that. I’m scared out of my shoes.”

  He quirked a grin. “Good thing you have such cute little feet.”

  She ignored him. “But I swear, nobody’s doing anything alone. We’re all working in teams.”

  “What about the lucky person whose teammate is the killer?”

  She gave him a look that accused him of being a pessimist, but didn’t even try to argue the point.

  “Well, there’s just no other way around it. I’m going to have to step up my part-time job into a full-time one,” he said, leaning over to his desk to gather up the papers he’d been working on. “You have a spare table in that trailer of yours, right?”

  “What?” She stared at the papers he was shoving into his briefcase, then at his face. “What are you talking about?”

  He shrugged and explained. “Well, if you’re spending all your days on the set of Killing Time in a Small Town, so am I.”

  “MS. WINCHESTER, will you tell us, please, where you were at the time of Hester Tomlinson’s shooting?”

  Sophie had, of course, anticipated the question and wished she had the kind of answer that could put this whole ridiculous investigation to rest. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Daniel murmured.

  The investigator from the Illinois Department of Law Enforcement, Detective Willis, shot him a stiff stare. “She hasn’t been charged with anything. We’re just asking questions here.”

  “I know, and I want to be as forthcoming as possible,” Sophie said, giving Daniel’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

  She knew she was lucky they’d allowed him to stay. But since she’d refused to talk to them if he couldn’t, they’d really had no choice. She hadn’t been charged with anything, hadn’t been taken into custody. They were sitting at the kitchen table in Daniel’s own house, for heaven’s sake. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  “As I said earlier, I had ripped my costume. Some graceless dancer stepped on my hem.”

  Daniel didn’t even crack a smile though she’d been trying to lighten the moment.

  Willis wrote a note on his pad, tapped his pencil, then looked up. The pause was long and deliberate, straight out of mystery novel writing 101. “And you were looking for your cousin’s wife to see if she had a needle and thread.”

  “Exactly,” Sophie replied. “Someone told me she was in the kitchen, so I went looking for her. A few people were milling around, but no Gwen.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I went upstairs to look for her.”

  “Alone?”

  She nodded, wishing she’d just taken off the stupid costume and returned to the party. If she’d been in Daniel’s arms when the shot was fired, they wouldn’t be asking her these questions. It was like something she’d have written in one of her books—the wrong person being investigated for the crime because he or she was unlucky enough to have no alibi.

  “What next?” Willis asked.

  She lifted her hand to her face and rubbed her eyes, trying
to remember every moment of Sunday night. “I’m thinking.”

  “You couldn’t find your cousin’s wife in the kitchen…” Willis prompted.

  “Right. So I went to her room, knocked, but no one was there.” She cast a quick look at Daniel and winked. “Did you know Gwen and Jared have an enormous waterbed with a mirrored headboard?”

  His lips barely twitched.

  Willis gave a nearly inaudible sigh of irritation. “Did you go into their room?”

  She shook her head. “Just peeked inside, saw it was empty, then decided to go upstairs to one of the guest rooms. Gwen once said they keep sewing kits in the bedside tables of all the rooms.”

  “You went up the main stairs?”

  She shook her head. “No, there’s a back stairway off the hall behind the kitchen.”

  Something sparkled in the investigator’s eyes. He shifted his gaze away and exchanged a look with his partner, whose name was Lyons. He hadn’t said a word since the questioning had begun.

  Willis continued. “Was anyone else on the stairs?”

  Sophie shook her head. “Very few people use them. They’re horribly dusty. I know about them because I’m friendly with Gwen.”

  Willis nodded, exchanging one more look with his partner. Sophie didn’t have time to wonder about that before he moved on with the questioning. “And then?”

  “Then I went to the second floor, knocked on a couple of doors, but didn’t get any response. The door to one room was wide open, and it didn’t look like it was occupied.”

  Lyons finally broke in. “I thought none of the rooms were occupied because everyone was at the party.” He bent over the table, standing over her right shoulder in a pseudo-threatening manner, almost pouncing as if he’d caught her in a lie.

  Bad cop.

  No way was she falling for that one. A quick glance at Daniel confirmed that he, too, had pegged the game these guys were using. He gave her a reassuring little wink.

  “No one answered at any of the rooms, and all the doors were closed. This particular room, I believe it was the Bonnie Parker Boudoir, had an open door. There was no luggage, no unmade bed and no personal items were in evidence. I therefore assumed it was not being occupied by anyone staying at the inn.” Sophie almost applauded herself for sounding just like the kind of credible witness she often wrote about in her court scenes.