by Diane Rapp
After the performance, Steven joined Kayla and Paula. They laughed at a lame chicken joke and Steven picked up something from the floor. “Looks like you’ve lost one of your earrings, Paula.” He held up the glittering green bauble and Paula blanched. She snatched the earring and fingered her empty lobe.
“I wonder how that could happen,” she said. I guess I’d better have a jeweler check them out. She pulled the other earring off and placed both into her handbag. As they wandered toward the exit, Vincent stepped from behind a pillar.
“How dare you!” His wild eyes flashed with anger. “You never told me you had those—”
“What!” she interrupted. “You thought you knew everything about me? Well, Vincent, if you leave me alone, anything can happen.” Paula stood her ground defiantly.
Kayla felt a twinge of pride. Sure, Paula didn’t know she tempted a possible killer by standing up for herself, but Paula looked tall and proud. Kayla admired her nerve.
“Let’s go, Paula,” Kayla said.
“Yes.” Paula lifted her chin and turned away from Vincent. “It wouldn’t do to make a scene. You might reduce your box office appeal,” she said and strutted out the door.
They walked silently down the hall until Paula laughed. “Did you see his face? I really got to him! He didn’t expect me to come to the theater looking so great. Thanks, Kayla. With you at my side, I finally had the nerve to tell him off. He’ll think twice about leaving me. This is so great!”
Kayla met Steven’s stern glance. She said, “It’s been a long day, Paula. Can you get on by yourself?”
“Oh sure! I’m drained. Maybe we can have lunch together.”
“Lunch would be fine,” Kayla said, feeling Steven’s fingers tighten on her waist. “You want to meet at noon in the dining room?”
“You bet!” Paula’s smile transformed her face. She looked like a teenage girl, sharing secrets with her best friend. As she walked down the hall, Kayla half expected her to skip.
“Are you bonkers?” Steven demanded. “Keep involving yourself and he may target you as well as Paula!”
“What?” Kayla peered into Steven’s worried eyes.
“If you align yourself too closely with his victim, he may decide to eliminate you as well. He might think you know too much.”
“I can take care of myself!” she huffed.
“Absurd! The last time you took care of yourself you nearly drowned and ended up in hospital with a bullet in your shoulder!” Steven growled. As tears filled Kayla’s eyes, his voice softened. “I nearly lost you. Please don’t make me worry like that again.” His fingers stroked her cheek and her defiance melted.
“Lunch will be our final meeting. I promise that I won’t become a target.” Kayla couldn’t keep her gaze trained on his, afraid he’d see she already hid another secret. How could talking with Buster and Sheila place her in danger?
Chapter 7 ~ Checking Backgrounds
Curled uncomfortably in an overstuffed chair, Kayla woke with a start and found Natalia leaning over her frowning. “Lot of good you two are at keeping surveillance! Vincent’s already on deck.”
“Not to worry,” Steven said. “I followed Vincent out at six this morning, heard the photographer outline their schedule, and decided to come back for a lie in. I didn’t wake Kayla.”
Natalia shrugged acceptance. “Emily’s watching the photo shoot so I brought Kayla a packet that was delivered this morning.”
Kayla took the manila envelope. “Buster asked me to rewrite some press releases for the film.”
Steven arched an eyebrow.
Kayla said, “I’m a writer! Buster’s got contacts and might help my career. I could even start writing my mystery novel.”
“I’m off to join Emily,” Natalia said. “We ordered a basket of rolls and a pot of coffee if you’re hungry.”
Steven popped to his feet. “I’m starved, lead the way.”
Kayla rubbed her sore neck. “I prefer a very hot shower in my own room. I’ll join you later if you don’t mind.”
Steven grinned. “Don’t take too long or we’re liable to eat everything.”
Leaving the surveillance room, Steven and Natalia turned left, heading aft, and Kayla walked briskly in the opposite direction. Kayla waved and Steven blew a kiss, making her feel guilty. She hated keeping things from Steven. An interview with Buster and his secretary might be helpful.
After the hot shower, Kayla felt alert enough to read through the press releases. No wonder Buster asked for help. This stuff was terrible! Taking out a pen, Kayla started redlining. Soon it looked like she’d bled all over the pages.
Kayla sighed. She should retype the entire mess but had no computer. Buster’s cabin number was scrawled on the envelope, so she decided to drop by. In the hallway she felt apprehensive. Would Buster’s secretary feel insulted if I rework the pages? No. Buster asked for my help. Kayla knocked briskly on the door and waited.
Sheila answered. Dressed in a silk kimono with droopy eyes and messy blond hair, she hardly looked the picture of an efficient secretary. Kayla motioned with the envelope saying, “I need to retype these sheets for Buster. Do you have a laptop and printer?”
Sheila yawned. “Buster’s got one. Come on in.” She stepped back and Kayla entered the suite. “It’s on the coffee table. Help yourself.”
Opening the laptop, Kayla fingered the switch and the screen flickered to life. Sheila sauntered into the bedroom, emerging a few minutes later dressed in crisp black slacks, gray silk shirt, and high-heeled boots.
“You want coffee?” Sheila asked.
“Sure. I take cream and one sweetner.”
“We’ve got a complete supply of condiments,” Sheila said, pouring water into the coffeemaker’s lid. Soon the smell of fresh coffee permeated the room and Kayla’s mouth watered. At the mirror Sheila brushed her long hair into a slinky loose style and applied mascara, lipstick, and sprayed a fine mist of perfume. The coffee maker sputtered to a stop. Sheila poured two cups and carried them to the coffee table on a tray filled with jars, spoons, and napkins.
“You want rolls or fruit? We’ve got a gigantic basket full.” Sheila hefted a basket filled with fruits, cheese, plastic wrapped rolls, candy, and crackers from the sideboard to the coffee table. “Buster works odd hours. He’s hypoglycemic so he keeps plenty of food in the room.”
With little room left to work, Kayla sipped the steaming coffee and leaned back against the sofa pillows. “Have you known Buster long?”
Sheila grinned. “We’ve been living together for seventeen years but he calls me his secretary. I guess he thinks it’s safer to have an affair than admit we’re in a relationship.”
“Don’t you mind?”
“He makes it worth my while.” She wriggled jewel-covered fingers. “My private safe is filled with bonds, jewelry, and cash. Buster says he’d rather give them to me than the government. It’s legal you know—payment for services rendered from his corporation. I’ve got health insurance, a retirement account, and I file my taxes every year.”
“Were you on the cruise when Roman Courtship finished filming?”
“Sure. I go everywhere with Buster.”
“So you knew Vincent’s first wife, Celeste?”
Sheila flinched. “That witch? She made life miserable for Vincent and Buster. Frankly, we were relieved when she took the big dive.”
Kayla’s mouth popped open but she forced it shut before Sheila noticed. The brusque response made her feel bewildered. “You weren’t surprised by her suicide?” she asked a minute later.
“Actually I was shocked. I never figured Celeste for suicide, because it spoiled her fun.”
“I don’t understand.”
Sheila’s eyes narrowed. “Celeste’s life was one big tragedy after another! And she sucked everyone into the drama, made us feel sorry for her. She couldn’t get pregnant. We all suffered along. When she got pregnant, we rejoiced. Then we heard every boring detail of morning sickness, af
ternoon sickness, and evening sickness. When she miscarried, it knocked Vincent for a loop. He could hardly remember his lines.”
“Celeste couldn’t be blamed for that.”
Sheila frowned. “Buster decided Celeste wasn’t happy unless she was miserable and everyone else, too. He talked to Celeste’s doctor on the QT and discovered she never was pregnant, couldn’t even have kids! She pretended to be pregnant then pretended to miscarry so people would feel sorry for her. Celeste staged several suicide attempts to get attention but made sure someone stopped her in time. Celeste was sick, mentally. Buster was furious when he found out about her deception but kept the information from Vincent until the film finished shooting.”
“Buster was afraid the truth would affect Vincent’s performance?”
“Sure. Buster’s money was all tied up in that project. If the movie bombed, he’d go bust. Since Vincent was already on the edge emotionally, he couldn’t afford to tell him. Buster cooked up a plan to distract Celeste until the film wrapped.”
“How?”
“He hired a swami, flew the guy in from Brooklyn and introduced him to Celeste. She fell for the guy’s baloney and spent time exploring the spirit world while Vincent finished his work. It was touch and go. The swami got fed up and threatened to leave. It cost Buster a fortune until the film wrapped.”
“What happened then?”
“The swami kissed Celeste off and went back to Brooklyn.”
“I heard she got upset by newspaper reports about Vincent and Angela Hearns?”
Sheila nodded. “Papers run stories like that all the time. Vincent tried to explain how it goes to Celeste but it was useless. She just had another tragedy to milk, if you ask me. I remember a big scene in the dining room the night Celeste died. She slapped Angela’s face and stormed out. Vincent apologized to Angela and ran after Celeste.”
“You don’t think Angela and Vincent were an item?”
Sheila shrugged. “I wouldn’t blame Vincent if he needed a normal woman, one with her head screwed on right.”
“It still doesn’t sound like enough to drive Celeste to suicide.”
“That night Buster finally told Vincent about Celeste’s fake pregnancy and fireworks flew. Maybe that’s why she jumped, her scam was blown.”
“So you think Celeste jumped overboard?”
“That was the captain’s verdict. But no, it still didn’t seem likely. Celeste had years of tragedy left to torture everyone.”
“If she didn’t commit suicide it had to be murder.”
Sheila shrugged. “Celeste made everyone feel wretched but it was easier to avoid the woman than bump her off. Vincent was playing cards with the captain when it happened. Frankly, I’d bet she tried another fake suicide and accidentally fell overboard. Vincent felt devastated.”
“I’d better finish these changes,” Kayla said, draining her cup. She finished typing in silence while Sheila thumbed through a magazine. As the printer hummed, Kayla wondered, Could a crazy woman become a crazy ghost? Could a famous actress kill a woman who slapped her in public?
“Looks like you’re done,” Sheila said. She took the pages from the printer and handed them to Kayla. “Buster’s on the pool deck watching the photo shoot.”
“Good. I’ll take them up for him to review.”
“Buster will be happy to have some help.”
“He’s pretty happy about the new film,” Kayla said.
“Yeah, but Paula is aggravating Vincent and Buster’s afraid it will hurt the production. Vincent sure can pick ’em, can’t he? Saw you at the show last night with her.”
Kayla nodded. “I felt sorry for her.”
Sheila laughed. “You see? Vincent attracts pathetic women. Buster says she can really make trouble for the film, maybe screw up the financing.”
“I thought it was all settled.”
“Investors get fidgety over bad press but Buster always brings them around,” Sheila said as she closed the door.
Kayla’s heart pounded. If Paula threatened his film, could Buster become desperate enough to kill? Maybe he helped get rid of Celeste for the same reason. Arriving at the pool deck, Kayla walked over to Buster’s chair, ignoring her friends.
Handing him the fresh pages, Kayla said, “I did a complete rewrite, see what you think.”
“Good. Sit down.” Buster motioned to vacant chair and started reading.
Kayla scrutinized the photo shoot. Angela laughed and leaned her forehead against Vincent’s shoulder as the photographer posed them, adjusting arms and heads like mannequins. Satisfied, the photographer stepped behind his camera. Bored spectators wandered the fringes of the deck, and gazed longingly at the glimmer of cool blue water in the empty pool.
Paula scowled from the shade of an enormous pink floppy hat. Kayla recognized Paula’s flamboyant beach outfit as one that recently hung in the ship’s most expensive boutique. Paula took revenge through Vincent’s pocketbook.
“This is wonderful, my girl,” Buster said. “You’ve a delightful turn of phrase. I’ll fax it to my publicist right away.”
“I’m happy to help.”
“You’ve done a fabulous job. Let me buy you a drink.” Snapping his fingers, Buster summoned a waiter. “What do you fancy?”
“A tall orange juice,” Kayla said.
“Rubbish! You should drink a mimosa! Yes! That’s just the thing. Bring a mimosa for the young lady and another G & T for me.” Buster rattled the ice in his empty glass.
Kayla laughed. “Okay. If I fall asleep in this chair it’s on your head.” She thought, Buster starts drinking pretty early in the day.
“If you nod off, I’ll consider it my duty to wake you.”
When the drinks arrived, Kayla raised her glass and said, “To the success of your film!”
“How kind,” Buster responded. “I do hold great hopes for this project.”
Kayla nodded at Vincent and Angela. “Was their last film successful financially?”
“Oh yes. We hit the market just before Valentine’s Day. I prefer opening a romantic film in early February. If our luck holds true, we may earn a fortune on this venture.”
“Will Vincent’s marriage problems interfere?”
Buster shrugged. “Bad publicity is never good but divorce doesn’t spoil an actor’s image the way it once did.”
“Did the suicide of Vincent’s first wife affect your film adversely?”
Buster stiffened. “Who told you about that?”
“It’s in the ship’s records. Any death is recorded.”
“Yes, I suppose it is.” Buster glanced around and lowered his voice. “But we really don’t need to rake up that kind of story, my dear.”
Kayla shook her head. “Of course not! I was curious, since I don’t remember the suicide in the news.”
“We managed to keep it quiet.” Buster sipped his cocktail thoughtfully. “Celeste’s people wanted to avoid publicity and cooperated. She had a history, you know, of mental instability and attempted suicide.”
“Then you weren’t surprised when she jumped overboard?”
“On the contrary, I was quite surprised—not about her suicide, that was almost expected—but it was difficult to believe she jumped! Celeste was afraid of heights. She made a great fuss about getting a cabin on the lowest deck, one without windows, and she had to take tranquilizers to climb the gangway. You’d think a woman with a phobia like that would take another way out—pills or slit wrists—don’t you think?”
“No one mentioned her phobia during the inquiry.”
Buster shrugged. “Didn’t they? It must have slipped Vincent’s mind and no one bothered to interview me.”
“Really? Why not?”
“I retired early with a dreadful migraine. I’m prone to such headaches—they strike at the most bothersome times. The only cure is complete quiet and codeine-induced sleep. Sheila went out with Angela for the evening so I was dead to the world by the time she returned. I heard about the tr
agedy the next morning.”
Tragedy—yes, Celeste’s life was filled with tragedy. She made life miserable and threatened the success of Buster’s film. Had Buster manufactured a migraine to execute a perfect murder? Kayla shuddered.
“Are you chilled? I’ll send Joshua to get a sweater.” Buster stood.
“No thanks. I promised to join my friends.” She glanced at her watch. “I should be going. Do you need any more help with press releases?”
“These should do the trick. I’m ever so grateful. Send me a bill for your time and let me know when your mystery manuscript is ready. I’ll make a few calls on your behalf. I’m keen on helping young people get started.” He handed her a business card.
“Yes, I’ll do that.”
As Buster sauntered away, his assistant tapped Kayla’s elbow lightly. She turned to face a six-foot skeleton with shaggy black hair and somber brown eyes. “Miss Sanders,” he mumbled. “Sorry to intrude but I overheard you asking about Celeste.” He blinked rapidly and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
“Yes. I’m curious about her suicide.”
“It wasn’t suicide! She’d never jump overboard.” His eyes darted toward Vincent and he sneered. “I’m sure her husband did it!”
“Please sit down—”
“Joshua. I’m Joshua Barnes.” He slumped onto the chaise lounge, pushing a mop of hair back with long bony fingers.
“Did you know Celeste well?”
Joshua nodded. His cheeks flushed and his eyes brimmed with tears. “Celeste was kind. Sheila spouts unkind remarks whenever her name is mentioned, says that Celeste relished her troubles, but it’s not true! Someone deliberately caused Celeste’s miscarriage.”
“But I heard Celeste faked her pregnancy.”
The muscle in Joshua’s neck bulged. “I was Celeste’s driver in Rome. We went to a special clinic, one that helped barren women. Those same doctors treated Sophia Loren and she got pregnant. I was driving on the day she learned the treatment worked. She was pregnant!”
“You think someone caused her miscarriage?”