Wake Up to Murder (A Ricki Rydell Mystery Book 2)

by Abby Matthews

  “I know, right? What are the chances?”

  “How did this even happen?”

  “I don’t know how she got the job. I don’t know any of that. Yesterday, I had a dinner meeting with the new host so we could get to know each other before the show tomorrow, and she showed up. Taryn wasn’t there, so I had to deal with her all my own.” Ricki raked her fingers through her hair vigorously. “And I have to tell you, it wasn’t pretty. I made a total fool of myself.”

  “Did you punch her? Please tell me you punched her.”

  “Do I look like a puncher? No, it was worse. I screamed at her in the middle of the restaurant.”

  Once Becca stopped laughing, Ricki told her all the dirty details of what transpired that evening. She always believed that most things looked better the next day, but, in this case, she was wrong. It sounded worse than when it happened.

  “I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. It’s about time.”

  “What are you talking about? I do stand up for myself, when needed. I hate confrontation. But let’s not forget I was face-to-face with a killer in Asbury Park, so that’s proof I can’t stand up for myself and for the murder victim.”

  “Right, right, I forgot you’re a regular Colombo. Where was Marty in all of this?”

  “She said he was out of town on assignment and didn’t know about the meeting.”

  “Keeping secrets from the partner. That sounds like a healthy relationship.”

  “Anyway, after talking with my agent this morning, it turns out I can’t get out of the interview. Begging didn’t work. The publishers are expecting it, pushing for it. Do you think I can borrow one of your outfits?”

  Becca crinkled her nose. “You want to go on a talk show looking like a rocker chick?”

  “Well, no, but yeah. Kari, as in car, said I dress like a frump.”

  “Honey, sometimes people say things to make you feel bad about yourself, true or not. Consider the source. This is Marty’s fiancée we’re talking about. I don’t know what mirror you’ve been looking in, but you have nothing to worry about. Sure, you don’t look anything like her, but you’re beautiful. And for someone who never goes out of the house, you dress fine, but if you want to borrow something of mine, you can. I don’t think you need to, though.”

  Trust Becca to make Ricki see things in a different light. She was grateful for that. She needed that no-nonsense advice that only Becca could give. “Can I borrow your pants with all the zippers?”

  “Why those?”

  “Judging by the set of the talk show, it seems like they’re trying to appeal to a younger demographic. Definitely millennial, definitely edgy. I figure if I wear your zipper pants, I would look like I have some fashion sense.”

  “If you say so. So, now what?”

  Ricki fished the list of interview questions out of her purse. “Can you help me practice these?”

  Becca took the list from Ricki and read over them. “These are pretty standard, aren’t they?”

  “True, but writing them out in an email is different from answering them on live television. I don’t want to make a further fool of myself.”

  “Don’t worry about what she thinks of you. She’s no one.”

  “I know.” Ricki exhaled loudly. “It’s just that when your replacement tells you about yourself, especially when she doesn’t even know you, you know where it came from.”

  “Marty.”

  “And if he thought so little of me—”

  “Stop it. Stop it, now. Don’t let her in your head. Or him. It sounds to me like she was trying to establish her territory because she feels threatened by you.”

  “You think?”

  “Come on. When they were living in Chicago, she didn’t have competition from the ex. Now that she’s here and sees how much of a hottie you are, well, she has something to worry about.”

  Ricki took a moment to think about what Becca said. While she never thought of herself as a hottie, she understood marking territory. Mostly because she had a dog who liked to pee on everything to let other dogs know this was his turf. Kari was only a dog marking her territory. The image of her doing such a thing gave Ricki something to smile about. Maybe if she could hold onto that image, she could get through the show with no problems. Something about having a secret joke gave her a sense of empowerment.

  “If you let her in, you’re never going to get her out. So, let’s work on these questions so you can make her even more nervous.”

  Ricki liked the way her friend thought.

  The two spent the rest of the day working through the interview questions. Becca gave advice when needed. Not being an author and not being a public figure allowed her a different perspective, giving Ricki a fresh spin on tired questions. Even if she went home that night feeling prepared for the next day, she still would have given anything to get out of doing it. She wished she could have come down with the flu or some stomach bug just so she didn’t have to see that woman’s face again.

  Why her? Why did the host have to be her? Why couldn’t it have been Taryn, who seemed like the logical choice anyway? She could only imagine what Kari was going to say to Marty, if she actually said anything at all. What Kari saw of Ricki was not the person she was when she was with Marty. Maybe she was too laid-back, not adventurous enough, not social enough, but there wasn’t anything wrong with that. Maybe Ricki just picked the wrong man. Maybe the problem didn’t lie with Ricki but with Marty. She never wanted to be the one who cast blame onto the other person when all relationships were a 50-50 endeavor. She wasn’t perfect, she knew that. Marty wasn’t perfect, but maybe she thought too highly of him and didn’t see him for who he really was. At the end of the day, she settled on that explanation. But it was late, and Monday would bring its own set of troubles without her mind adding more to them. The interview was only supposed to last for about twenty minutes. If she could get through those twenty minutes, she could get through anything.

  Six

  Ricki was a ball of nerves that morning. She hardly slept the night before, and it showed in her puffy, bloodshot eyes. Even after a couple of shots of Visine, they were still a disaster. Knowing Kari, she would take one look at Ricki and assume that she had been up all night crying because someone came along and stole her boyfriend right out from under her.

  Inside the studio, the place was a hive of activity. Busy bees buzzing here and there from one station to the next, voices loud, people frantic. Ricki felt like she was in the way. There was no sign of Kari anywhere, not that she was looking. Taryn seemed to be missing in action as well. Getting ready for the show, she imagined. It was probably a good thing Taryn wasn’t around because Ricki was still angry at her for setting up the meeting with Kari.

  “We’ll give her another ten minutes, and that’s it,” Ned said to a woman wearing headphones around her neck.

  Ricki wondered who they were talking about. Within a few seconds, Jim came rushing out of his office and headed straight for her.

  “Great. You’re here.” His face was flushed and sweaty. “It’s probably best if you go straight to makeup.” He raised a hand in the air and snapped his fingers several times. “Sheila. Sheila, get over here.”

  A woman with messy brown hair and bangs that fell over her eyes, sort of like Chrissie Hynde, rushed over. “I checked everywhere.” This she said to Jim. “Did you try calling her?”

  Who were they talking about?

  “Never mind that,” Jim said, forcefully. “Get her ready, just in case. I’ll try calling again. Don’t look at me like that. Just do as I say.”

  Sheila held her arm out, gesturing to Ricki to the hair and makeup area across the studio. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that something wasn’t right about the situation this morning. Sooner or later someone was going to let it slip out, and Ricki would do her duty and keep her ears and eyes open and her mouth shut.

  “Is that what you plan on wearing?” Sheila asked.

  Ricki borrowed Be
cca’s pants with all the zippers and a black leather vest to wear for the show. She figured it would make her look young and trendy and not boring and frumpy. Yeah, maybe she picked this outfit to impress Kari more than trying to create an image of an edgy romance writer. Still, the way Sheila asked the question made her wonder if the clothes looked stupid on her. “I hope it’s all right.”

  Sheila sorted through her makeup kit. “It’s great. I can give you some accessories to wear. I have a necklace and matching bracelet that would go perfectly with it.”

  “That sounds fine.” Ricki gloated a bit, knowing she had done something right for a change. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail so Sheila could work on her face. Behind her, the commotion picked up once again. She hoped Sheila was the gossipy type and would tell her what on earth was going on.

  “We can’t do the show without her,” Ned said.

  “What are you talking about? We spent too much money and too much time on trying to build this rinky-dink show up just because some failed newscaster wanted to strike out on her own.”

  The derision and anger in Jim’s voice startled Ricki. The first time she met him, she couldn’t get enough of him. His dreamy eyes mesmerized her. His cologne intoxicated her. But now, his attitude made her want to yell at him for being so rude. Just who were they talking about? Taryn or Kari? She looked up and saw that Sheila was watching her, smiling. She flicked her eyebrows and continued putting foundation on Ricki’s face.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Taryn said, rushing in to the makeup area, out of breath.

  “And where have you been?” Jim said, marching up to Taryn.

  “I told you I was going to be late. What’s the problem?”

  “Look up,” Sheila said, getting ready to put eyeliner on Ricki’s eyes. “I think a nice plum will really accentuate the green in your eyes.”

  Of course, Sheila would have to talk about makeup right when Jim was about to answer Taryn’s question. Not to respond to Sheila would have been rude, so she said, “Perfect. I use plum on occasion myself. Speaking of eyes, yours are stunning.” Ricki had never seen such deep blue eyes before.

  “Thanks. I get them from my father.”

  “We can’t do the show without a host.” Ned threw his hands in the air, sending the clipboard he was holding flying, as he walked away. “I knew this whole thing was a mistake.”

  “Where are you going?” Taryn said. “This wasn’t a mistake. We’ve worked so hard only to give up now.”

  “We’re going on no matter what,” Jim said. “If I have to do it myself, we’re doing it.”

  “HA! That would ruin the whole show,” Ned yelled from across the studio. “I’ll be in my office.”

  Ricki couldn’t keep her mouth shut any longer. The curiosity was killing her. She had to know what was going on, and Sheila was the only person standing in front of her. “Do you understand any of this?”

  “Kari hasn’t shown up yet. That’s all I know. One of the tricks of being a successful makeup artist is to listen and keep your opinions to yourself.” Sheila put her hand under Ricki’s chin and lifted her face to get a better look. “I’m going to use individual lashes to give you a more natural look.”

  While Ricki sat in the makeup chair waiting for Sheila to get the false eyelashes and glue ready, she saw the reflection of Taryn coming back over, and she didn’t look too happy. Now probably wasn’t a good time to confront her about the meeting. She was sure Taryn didn’t make the connection between Kari and Ricki since she had been living out of the area for over a decade. It wasn’t like the breakup was plastered on some tabloid magazine sitting on a rack by the grocery store checkout.

  “How are you doing? Nervous?” The questions sounded forced, but at least she feigned interest in spite of everything that was going on around her. She was trying so hard to keep it together, it seemed. If ever a person looked like they were about to have a nervous breakdown, it was Taryn at that moment. “Your outfit is perfect.”

  “That’s what I told her,” Sheila said.

  “I should be asking how you are. You look flustered.”

  Taryn waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, everything’s fine.”

  “Taryn,” Jim shouted. “Come here.”

  Without even saying goodbye or wishing her good luck, Taryn high-tailed it out of there as if a dog obeying her master’s command.

  “Get ready to do the show,” Jim said.

  “What, me? I…I… I guess I can.” Taryn waltzed over to hair and makeup, biting her lip, failing miserably at hiding her excitement. “Well, Sheila, it looks like I’ll be doing the show. I don’t have anything to wear, so you’re going to have to work your magic when you’re done with Ricki.”

  “While I finish up with her, go pick out an outfit in wardrobe.”

  Taryn placed a hand on Ricki’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t you worry about a thing. We’ll get through this together.”

  Actually, Ricki was relieved. Kari was nowhere in sight. She was prepared for the interview. She was going to be interviewed by an old acquaintance from high school. What could possibly go wrong?

  The heat from the overhead lamps made the makeup on Ricki’s skin feel like melting wax. She only wore foundation on special occasions and wasn’t used to the mask-like feeling on her face. She wanted to reach up and scratch it off. Instead, she distracted herself with the dangly bits on the bracelet Sheila had picked out for her. It was either scratch the skin off her face or barf or play with the bracelet.

  “We’re live in five, four, three, two, and go, Taryn,” the production assistant said.

  “Wake up, Somerset,” Taryn said with the confidence of a seasoned professional. “Welcome to our new show, and thank you for inviting us into your living rooms and on your mobile devices.”

  It was like turning on a light switch. The Taryn she knew from high school, and the one she got reacquainted with over the past couple of weeks, turned into this Katie Couric clone within a matter of seconds. “We are live. With us today, on our very first show, is the famous romance writer, Ricki Rydell.”

  Ricki smiled and waved at the camera. Maybe that was too much. She was going for cute not delirious.

  While Taryn read off Ricki’s publishing credits, she twirled one of the charms on the bracelet to keep herself from wanting to throw up. There was something about that red light sitting on top of the camera that made her feel naked and exposed.

  “Now, Ricki, let’s dig into this. Your latest book is part of your Wild Hearts series, correct?”

  “It is. It’s been a lot of fun to write, not to mention challenging. I really pushed myself as a writer with this series. The fans have been pleased.”

  “That’s wonderful. But is it true?”

  “I’m sorry?” Ricki cupped her ear and leaned in toward Taryn. “Is what true?”

  “Is it true that your fans have been pleased with your writing lately?”

  This wasn’t one of the questions she had been given beforehand. She wasn’t prepared for such a detour, but maybe Taryn was going off script to give the interview a more natural, spontaneous feel. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “We’ll get back to that. Now, is there any chance that this series is going to turn into a television or movie deal?”

  “I haven’t heard anything like that. Although, it would be nice. It’s every writer’s dream.” Ricki yanked too hard on one of the dangly bits on the bracelet, flinging the beads right at Taryn’s face. She ducked out of the way before taking one in the eye. The other dangly bits spilled onto Ricki’s lap then onto the chair then onto the floor. Someone offstage groaned. She scrambled for the beads as they scattered about her.

  “That’s the beauty of a live show. Wardrobe malfunctions happen all the time. And thank goodness for vacuum cleaners, huh?” She laughed then cleared her throat gently. “So, what’s next for you?”

  Ricki’s face burned hot. This time it wasn’t because of the stage lights. She took a deep breath
to calm herself. “I’m sorry? What?”

  “What’s next for you?”

  Focus on the question, Ricki, she thought. Now was a perfect opportunity to let her fans know she was going to switch genres. She knew this could possibly be career suicide, but the sooner she alerted her fans of this change, the better. “Actually, I’m going to be shifting directions in the future.”

  “That sounds exciting. Tell me more.”

  “After I finish the last of the Wild Hearts books, I’m going to start writing mysteries.”

  “Cozy? Hard-boiled? Procedural? What kind?”

  “Probably cozy. My agent and I haven’t ironed out the details.”

  Taryn leaned back and placed her arms on the armrest of the chair, looking like a queen on a throne. “Is this because you hate writing romance?”

  Ricki’s mouth dropped open.

  “I mean, why else would you stop writing in a genre that made you filthy rich?”

  Ricki searched offstage for one of the producers to come and stop the show. These weren’t the questions she was given. These weren’t the question she prepared for. In fact, she wasn’t prepared for this at all. Not only did the makeup feel like it was melting on her face, she felt like she was melting into the chair.

  “Are you all right? I can get you some water.”

  “I’m fine.” Where she found the mental space to even utter those words was amazing. “I’m not sure where you’re getting your information from, but I’m not filthy rich. Most writers aren’t.”

  “These are just some of the things I’ve picked up in my research. So, why do you hate romance so much?”

  “I, uh, don’t know what you’re talking about.” She leaned forward, and whispered, “I thought this was supposed to be a talk show, not an interrogation panel.”

  Taryn flashed a smile at the camera and laughed nervously. “Well, it looks like that’s all we have time for. Thanks for stopping by, Ricki. We wish you all the best on your mystery writing career. Don’t go away, Somerset. We have more for you after the commercial break.”

  “Five minutes, everyone,” the P.A. said.