Nancy swung around to face Ned. “Are you thinking seriously about acting?”
“I’m going back to Emerson to finish my degree,” he said. “But I might take an acting course next year. Emerson has a good drama department. It’s always smart to keep your options open.”
“So you are thinking about it,” Nancy said.
Ned nodded emphatically. “Sure!” he exclaimed. “All of a sudden people are telling me I could make a ton of money, be a star, all that stuff. Of course I’m giving it some thought. Why does it bother you so much?”
“I don’t know,” Nancy said, avoiding eye contact. How could she tell him that she saw their lives spinning off in opposite directions? That she’d hoped this vacation would bring them closer together, not farther apart?
The rest of the drive went by in silence.
They walked into JZA to find that much had been accomplished in less than a day. The front room was clear of debris, though still unusable. A small back office had been made into a temporary reception room, drab and bare. Holly sat at a small desk, looking unsettled and out of place.
“Is Jane free?” Nancy asked.
Holly wheeled her chair over so that she could see into Jane’s office. “It looks that way,” she said, adding, “The intercom is out. We’re operating with the bare necessities.”
Nancy and Ned found Jane and Evan hunched over a table covered with papers. Open cartons were stacked throughout the cramped space.
“Hi,” Jane said. “Like our new look?”
“Casual—yet cluttered,” Ned teased. “Nice.”
“Well, it’s just temporary,” Nancy replied.
“The place will be as good as new in a day or so. Make yourselves comfortable,” Evan said, pointing to some folding chairs by the wall.
Nancy told them about Marty’s note to Ned and their visit to Top Flight.
Jane scowled. “I have to admit it, Marty doesn’t let grass grow under his feet. What was your impression?” she asked.
“He’s smooth, and he didn’t make overt threats,” Nancy said. “But he implied them. There are a couple of things we should discuss.”
“Such as?” Jane asked.
“First of all, we saw Tina coming out of Top Flight as we arrived,” Nancy reported.
Jane shrugged. “What of it?”
“Isn’t she a client of yours?” Ned asked.
“As I said before, she’s registered here,” Jane said. “She’s free to register with other agents, as long as she isn’t under contract.”
“I see,” Nancy said. “She also said Marty was angry with her for telling the police about him. He hinted that she’d be sorry.”
“That sounds like Marty, all right,” Jane commented dryly.
“The other thing,” Nancy went on, “is that Marty claims Ursula Biemann had decided to leave you and sign with Top Flight.”
Jane and Evan gaped at Nancy. “That’s ridiculous,” Jane said.
“You weren’t aware of her plans?” Ned asked.
“There were no such plans,” Jane insisted. “Ursula knew we were doing a good job for her.”
“The thing is,” Nancy continued, “Marty has a letter of intent, signed by Ursula, saying she was switching.”
Evan’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. “You saw this note?” he asked.
Ned nodded. “He said her death hurt Top Flight, since she was going over to them.”
Jane shook her head. “That letter is a fake.”
“A forgery?” Nancy shrugged. “It could be. But was it possible for Ursula to make the switch? When was her contract with JZA due to expire?”
“At the end of the month,” Jane replied. “But she had no reason to leave JZA.”
The room was completely silent.
“You don’t believe me?” Jane’s eyes flashed. “You take Marty’s word over mine? Whose business was torched? Whose card was in Ursula’s purse?”
“We don’t know how Marty’s card got there. And speaking of the fire—” Nancy was interrupted by Holly, who stood in the doorway.
“Lieutenant Antonio and Inspector Matsuda are here to see you,” she said.
Jane sighed, tossing aside a photo. “I can see we won’t get much work done today. Send them in, Holly.”
The tall, thin lieutenant and the fire inspector strode through the door as Evan set up two more folding chairs.
Ned stood up. “We’d better go.”
“Stick around if you like,” Antonio said. “Ms. Drew is working for you, Ms. Zachary?”
“Yes.” Jane frowned. “At least, I hope so.”
“I am,” Nancy answered.
Antonio nodded. “I called River Heights yesterday,” he explained. “They say that you don’t get in their way and that you’ve actually been of help now and then. I stand corrected.”
Nancy smiled. “No harm done.”
“Nasty business here last night,” said the lieutenant. “Good thing it wasn’t worse.”
“It’s bad enough,” Jane replied.
“Inspector Matsuda and I think there might be a connection between the fire and the death of Ursula Biemann,” Antonio announced.
“The fire was definitely arson,” the inspector said. “Funny thing, though. Whoever did it cut power to your alarm and sprinkler systems, which implies knowledge and experience. But the fire was started by gasoline-soaked rags, which are easily detected. No pro would do that—unless they wanted it to look like arson.”
“But why?” Ned asked, looking mystified.
Lieutenant Antonio fixed Jane with an intent look. “We understand your insurance on this place comes to quite a bit more than the offices and furnishings are worth. Why?” he asked.
“Because we’re more than just offices and furnishings,” Jane said.
Seeing the beleaguered look on Jane’s face, Nancy found herself feeling sorry for the agent, despite her own suspicions.
“Not everything can be put into ledgers,” Jane explained. “Our files, photos, contact lists, demo tapes—if we’d lost all of them, we would have had to shut down for a while. Many of our clients would have looked elsewhere for representation, and we’d probably have been finished. What’s your point?”
“Motive is our point, Ms. Zachary,” said the inspector. Nancy thought his style was gentler than the lieutenant’s, but he was just as tough underneath. “That fire was meant to destroy this place, and it was set up to look like arson. Did you start the fire as a way to get out of a bad hole by collecting the insurance money?”
“And cast suspicion on your biggest rival, Marty Prince?” the policeman added. “I hear Top Flight Artists had persuaded Ursula Biemann to sign with them just before she died. I can see why you might want to get Prince out of your way.”
“I think you’ve been misinformed about Ursula’s plans.” Jane looked from one man to the other, and Nancy saw that her hands were clenched.
Nancy had an idea that put Jane in a somewhat less sinister light. “There’s another way to look at the fire,” she said. “Maybe someone wanted the arson to look obvious so it would be hard for Jane to get compensation. As long as she’s a suspect, the insurance company won’t pay a cent, right?”
“You have a point,” admitted the inspector.
Jane gave Nancy a brief smile. Then, with icy politeness, she turned back to the men. “Other than telling me I’m a suspect, is there anything else? I still have a business to run.”
“Not right now,” Lieutenant Antonio said. “We know where to find you if need be.” He turned to Nancy. “Let me know if you learn anything.”
“Of course,” Nancy replied.
The two men got up and walked out.
Jane breathed deeply. “Thanks for bailing me out,” she said to Nancy.
“I’m on your side,” Nancy assured her.
Just then Holly stuck her head through the door. “Message for Ned from Freddy Estevez.”
Ned took the note, read it, and groaned. “I repo
rt for work tomorrow morning at six.”
Evan laughed. “Welcome to the wonderful world of show business.”
• • •
“Ned—” Nancy paused with her chopsticks in midair—“have you heard a word I said?”
Ned swallowed a mouthful of fried rice, his eyes darting over to Nancy. “Sure, Nan. I’m just kind of tired of talking about the case—and a little nervous about the commercial tomorrow.”
Since Ned had to be up at the crack of dawn, Jane had suggested that he and Nancy catch an early dinner in Chinatown, a famous village of tiny restaurants and apartments crowded into a few hilly blocks.
When Ned and Nancy had walked under a huge red archway that marked off the neighborhood, Nancy had thought that colorful Chinatown would be the perfect place to talk things out. But once they were settled at a table with an array of rice, dumplings, stir-fried vegetables, and shrimp before them, Nancy could see that Ned was a thousand miles away. Instead of talking, they concentrated on eating.
“I’d better call it a night,” Ned said, yawning as their plates were cleared away.
Wrapped in their own thoughts, they walked to their rental car.
When Ned and Nancy arrived at the Chandlers’, Nancy decided to call Lieutenant Antonio to see if he had learned any additional information about the case.
“Any news on Ursula’s killing?” Nancy asked when the lieutenant was on the line.
“I’ve got some background on Sean McKearn,” Antonio said. “Two arrests for assault and battery. The first time the victim wouldn’t testify against him. The second time McKearn got probation. He’s a wrong number for sure.”
“Did the mallet in Ursula’s wastebasket belong to him?” Nancy asked. “It had his initial, and it might be something a sculptor would use.”
“It was Sean’s,” the lieutenant said. “He uses it to drive a chisel into wood. He says he doesn’t know how it got to Ursula’s place. The stain on the mallet was blood, but we haven’t identified the type yet. Sean is a prime suspect. But there are still many unanswered questions.”
“Did you find the typewriter that was used to write the notes to Ursula?” Nancy asked.
“No luck,” said the lieutenant. “None of the typewriters at Top Flight matched.”
“Any other news?” Nancy asked.
“Her death was caused by a blow from a blunt instrument, probably that mallet. It happened between nine in the evening and six o’clock the morning you found her. Also, we’re pretty sure she wasn’t killed in that alley.”
Nancy nodded. “The scuff marks on the backs of her shoes suggest she was dragged, right?”
Antonio chuckled. “Right you are.”
“I think it’s more likely she was killed the evening before we found her rather than that morning,” Nancy said.
“How do you figure that?” the lieutenant asked.
“Her clothes,” Nancy replied. “She was dressed for a night out. Not even an actress would wear an off-the-shoulder gown to work.”
Lieutenant Antonio sounded impressed. “That’s a good observation, Nancy. I’ll keep it in mind.”
Nancy told the lieutenant she’d keep in touch and hung up.
Checking her watch, Nancy said to Ned, “I’m going to take a quick walk around the block. It’s still early.”
“I’d join you, but I’m totally wiped out,” he said. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him.
Ned shrugged, then nodded. “Okay, Nan. See you in the morning.” He went upstairs.
He didn’t even kiss me good night, Nancy thought, her heart aching as she walked down the quiet, tree-lined street.
The Chandlers lived a block from the edge of the bay, near the marina yacht basin. Nancy headed that way, noticing how the fog made the headlights of passing cars look ghostly. If there were other pedestrians around, she couldn’t see them. It was as if the mist had wrapped her up in a private world.
Lost in thought, she walked slowly toward the bay. The damp air chilled her and began to soak her jacket, but she hardly noticed. She was as far from solving her case as when she had started. Things were still not right between her and Ned, and she didn’t know how to deal with it.
At the water’s edge, waves lapped the shore and boats rocked at anchor. A foghorn echoed out in the bay. Surely she and Ned would—
Footsteps sounded in the fog, from somewhere nearby. Nancy looked around, but the mist was too thick and she couldn’t see a thing.
As she peered around, the footsteps stopped. A man’s voice chuckled, just loud enough to be heard. It was a nasty, menacing sound.
“Who’s there?” Nancy called out.
“Just me,” the voice said. She still couldn’t see the speaker, but she heard footsteps approaching. Icy panic shot through her.
“You know what curiosity did to the cat?” the voice growled. Nancy swung around to her left. A hulking shape loomed.
Sean McKearn stood a few feet from her, an ugly smirk on his face. “Surprise,” he murmured.
How did he know where to find me? Nancy thought frantically. What does he want? She looked around, trying to decide how to escape. This guy was huge and extremely dangerous.
Swiftly, his right hand shot out, and Nancy’s arm was clamped tight.
Sean brought his face to within inches of hers. His eyes were wide and fiery.
“You’re messing with the wrong dude,” he growled. “Now I’m going to teach you a lesson.”
Chapter
Twelve
NANCY SQUIRMED, trying to break free. But Sean had an iron grip, and she couldn’t slip away.
There were no other people in sight, and Nancy knew that passing motorists wouldn’t be able to see them in the mist. But if she could just break loose and scramble away, she had a chance of losing him in the dense fog.
“What are you trying to do to me?” snarled Sean, shaking Nancy.
“Do to you?” Nancy repeated, puzzled as well as scared. “I didn’t do anything.”
Sean pulled her close enough so that she could feel his breath on her face. A muscle twitched in his cheek. “I heard otherwise!” he barked. “How did you get it out of my studio?”
Now Nancy was totally confused. “Get what?”
“ ‘Get what?’ ” he mimicked. “My hammer, that’s what—as if you didn’t know. I should’ve worked it out myself. I catch you poking around Ursula’s place, and then the cops find my hammer in her garbage. They say it’s the murder weapon. You planted it! Who are you working for?”
Through a haze of pain, a phrase Sean had used echoed in her mind: I heard otherwise. “Sean, did someone say I set you up? If they did, they were lying! They’re using you to get at me!”
It made sense; someone was using Sean as a weapon against her.
“I’m tired of playing games,” he said, grabbing her coat collar with his left hand. His right hand still held her forearm like a steel band. “Tell me who put you up to it!”
“No one!” Nancy insisted, writhing. Her jacket collar slipped out of his hand, and in a flash Nancy realized that the damp cloth was slippery.
Summoning all her concentration, she wheeled back, jerking her body away from him. Although she couldn’t break free, she felt Sean’s hand slip along the sleeve of her jacket.
The instant his grip relaxed, Nancy pulled away, but Sean came lunging toward her.
Leaping back, she had no time to think before she landed a karate kick to Sean’s chest. The blow shocked him momentarily, giving her a chance to escape.
She dodged to her right and began to run, knowing that safety was only a block away.
Bellowing, he hurled himself at her, hands outstretched. She felt one hand close around her ankle, then slip away. The jolt made Nancy stumble forward, and she felt her head graze the pavement as she landed.
Don’t stop now, she told herself. Within seconds, she was back on her feet, racing off. As she ran, she looked back over h
er shoulder, but could see only the fog.
His hoarse voice rang out from the mist, “We aren’t done yet! I’ll get you!”
Panting, Nancy reached the Chandlers’ door and pounded on it.
Laurel opened the door and gasped. “Nancy! There’s blood on your face! What happened?”
In a hall mirror, Nancy saw a trickle of red on her forehead. It was a small cut—minor compared to what could have happened. “I must have scraped it when I fell on the ground,” she said as Laurel motioned her into the kitchen.
“Sean McKearn found me,” Nancy added, sagging into a chair. “He thinks I’m trying to frame him for murder. I managed to get away.”
“Why does he think that?” Laurel asked.
Nancy suddenly felt very drained. “Somebody must have planted the idea in his mind.”
“Let me get the first-aid kit,” Laurel said.
While she was gone, Nancy considered Sean. Did this mean that he was innocent? Not necessarily, she decided, not with his temper.
Laurel came in and cleaned and bandaged the slight cut. “Evan’s still at work,” she said. “What are you going to do? You’re in danger!”
“I must be getting close to some answers, though I still don’t see what they are.”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Laurel said. “Someone from the production office called for you and Ned early this evening. Evan had told me you were going to Chinatown, so I passed it on. Did the caller find you?”
Nancy sat up straight. “Who was it?”
Laurel shrugged.
“Was it a man or a woman?” Nancy asked.
Laurel paused, thinking, and laughed. “It’s funny, but now that you ask, I’m not sure. The voice was strange. It sounded like the caller had laryngitis or something. Does it matter?”
Nancy realized that the caller might have been Sean, trying to locate her. Maybe he followed us from the restaurant, Nancy thought. But she saw no reason to upset Laurel by telling her.
“No, it doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’m going to turn in. It’s been a long day, and I want to see Ned before he leaves in the morning.”
A Talent for Murder Page 7