Dial Emmy For Murder Part 21

"Did you get the license plate?"

"I tried to get a look when he, I a.s.sume it was a he, was following me. There were no plates, at least not in front."

"Had you ever seen the vehicle before?" he asked. "Following you, maybe?"

"Not that I noticed," I said. "But . . ."

"But what?"

"I did notice a truck outside my house when I was on the phone with you the other night. For a second I thought it might be paparazzi. I didn't think much of it."

"Same one?"

"I . . . I can't say."

"Same color?"

"I think so."

"Didn't see a driver?"

"No, but it doesn't feel like something Randy would do. He's capable of a lot of things-but murder? I don't think so."

"I tend to agree with you. This has to do with the actor murders. Someone is p.i.s.sed."

Silence settled over us again. Then he said, "You know, you should probably stay out of this from now on."

"Yes," I said, "I probably should."

"But you won't, will you?"

I looked at him. He was staring straight ahead.

"I'm going to give it some serious consideration," I said.

He pulled up in front of my house and turned off the engine. He was looking out his window, thinking about something. Then he turned to me and held my hands.

"Look, I don't know what this is between us. I do know it's pretty amazing." I was about to jump in when he said, "Let me finish. I care too much about you to lose you. So if you stay involved in this case, I'll be stuck on you like glue." He held my eyes. "You got a problem with that?"

I absolutely did not have a problem with that. Jakes being stuck on me in any way, shape or form only felt like a good thing. To all different parts of my body.

"I can't say I do," I answered.

Suddenly he grabbed me and kissed me so hard it took my breath away. After a long moment he pulled away and whispered, "You want me to walk you in?" His lips were still touching mine.

"No," I stammered. "I'll, um, be fine. I-I have enough to explain to Sarah and my mother."

Still with our lips slightly touching, he added, "And I think you have something to explain to Paul, don't you?" We were looking into each other's eyes.

"I do. Yes, I do." I took a deep breath and we kissed again.

When we pulled apart, he said, "So, about tonight-the truck, you getting hit-we agree it was deliberate, right?"

"No doubt about it. That s.h.i.+thead followed me from the studio and must have planned the whole thing," I said. Just thinking about it was p.i.s.sing me off.

"Uh-oh. This is bad."

"Yeah, it's bad. Some a.s.shole tried to run me off the road."

"No, this. You're gettin' mad."

"So what?" I asked. "Shouldn't I be mad?"

"Your life probably flashed in front of your eyes as you were skidding across the highway," he said. "And you probably thought about Sarah."

"I did." I blinked at him. "What's your point?"

"And you might have even said a prayer. 'G.o.d, get me out of this, let me see my baby again, and I promise I'll forget all about this business and leave it to the police.' "

"Jakes-"

"But now you're gettin' angry, and by tomorrow you'll be livid, and you'll forget all about your promise to G.o.d or to yourself."

"I'll be careful. And you're going to be stuck on me, right? Like glue?" I even liked the thought of it.

He turned back so that he was facing front again.

I reached out and touched his arm. "I really will be careful. I want a chance to find out what this is with us as much as you do. And you know how I feel about my daughter. I won't do anything stupid, I promise."

"You better not." He gave me another kiss.

"I'd better go inside now or I won't go at all."

I opened the door, started to get out.

"Alex!"

"Yes?" I looked at him over my shoulder.

"I'm glad I was there for you. When you needed me."

I took a moment to really see him. "So am I."

Chapter 39.

Jakes was right. I woke up p.i.s.sed.

After he'd left I had to convince my mother I was all right, that the hospital had released me, not seeing fit to give me a bed for the night. Thank G.o.d I didn't have to see Sarah-or, more to the point, Sarah didn't have to see me-right away.

When I woke I went into the bathroom to look at myself. What I saw made my mood worse. I was angry as h.e.l.l at whoever had been in that truck. Neither Jakes nor I had asked the obvious question last night-why me? It was obviously because I was nosing around in these murders. The question I had was, why me and not Jakes? He was the danger. He was a detective, for Pete's sake.

Jakes had been right about the black eye not showing up. But my head was sore. I took the bandage off to see how it looked. Three st.i.tches is really nothing, not in the scheme of things. Fifty st.i.tches-now that would have been something.

I put a fresh Band-Aid on the eye-the small cut bisected my eyebrow. I'd worry about that later. Maybe I'd have to switch my career path and start being a character actress. They found more interesting roles to play, anyway.

"She didn't notice," I said to my mom after breakfast, as Sarah went to her room to put on her little wet suit for surf camp.

"Good," my mother said. "I'm glad." Her tone was clipped and cold. She was still upset with me-not because I'd gotten hurt, but because of how and why I'd been involved. I didn't blame her, but I was still too mad to just walk away.

While I got dressed for the day, I figured all I had to do was stay alert from now on, watch for a dark truck and continue to try to get the soap information that Jakes wanted. I still had two shows to work on.

Sarah and I left, my mother's disapproving glare following me to the garage. I could feel it burning a hole between my shoulder blades. I pulled my Porsche, Marilyn, out of the garage and let Sarah in, and then closed the garage door. I pulled out onto the road and looked in my rearview mirror to make sure Sarah's police shadow was right behind me. There was no way my little girl was going anywhere without someone watching her every move.

Sarah chattered the whole way. When we got to surf camp she kissed me good-bye, grabbed her lunch and started to step out of the car. Suddenly she turned, looked at me and asked, "What happened to your eye?"

"I b.u.mped it, sweetie," I said. Which was the truth.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not very much."

"Is that why we're using Marilyn?"

"Yes, honey, that's why."

"Don't b.u.mp it anymore, Mommy."

"I won't, sweetie. I love you. Don't forget your towel. And eat the carrots I put in your lunch." I grabbed her Hawaiian print towel and gave it to her.

"I love you, too, Mommeeeee," she said as she skipped away, looking every bit like a little black seal in her wet suit. The car that had followed us to the beach pulled up along side me.

"Hi, ma'am! I'm Officer Kavanaugh. A friend of Frank's. I just wanted to introduce myself." This impossibly strong, muscular, not to mention good-looking cop was my daughter's protector? How nice.

"I appreciate that, Officer. You make sure Sarah is safe, okay? Are you going in the water, too?" I laughed.

"I hadn't planned on it. But if it's necessary . . ." And he held up a pair of brightly colored swim trunks.

"Wow. You come prepared! I'm impressed." I chuckled. And then more seriously, "Thank you for what you're doing. I truly appreciate it."

"It's my pleasure, ma'am. Actually I should thank you. I owe Frank a lot. It's nice to be able to do something for him for a change. He's a good guy." He looked in the direction of the water, "Uh-oh! They're getting ready to go out. I gotta go! You take care!" And he drove off to park.

He wasn't kidding. Frank Jakes was a good guy. The more I learned about Jakes, the more I was sure of it. They don't come any better.

When I got to work I had to talk to the producer, Sean Peters, about my eye.

"You can't tape your scenes that way, Alex," he said. "Any suggestions?"

"Not a problem. I talked to the hairdresser and I'll just cut some bangs. That should cover everything." The show must go on and all that, after all.

"I appreciate that, Alex. You're a professional. The last thing we need are any delays. Budget issues, you know?" he said.

I knew all about the budget issues. It seems that every soap opera is plagued with them these days.

"Happy to help." I ran off, changed my clothes and cut some bangs. I taped my two scenes and was out the door in an hour and a half.

I called the a.s.sociate producer of The Depths of the Sea again and got his voice mail. I got through to the a.s.sociate producer of The Best Days Are Ahead right away.

"Come on over here, Alex," Tilda James said. "I'll have the information by the time you get here, and then we can have lunch."

Lunch? Well, why not? You can always make new friends, right?

"Okay, Tilda," I said. "I'll be over there in a half hour."

"Great," she said. "I'm a big fan. I've always wanted to meet you."

Wasn't that nice? You never know when you might need another show to fall back on. It sure came in handy after The Tide dried up for me.

Chapter 40.

The Depths of the Sea and The Best Days Are Ahead were both taped over at the UBM studios in Silver Lake, about a fifteen-minute drive from my studio. I drove up to the gate and gave the guard my name, and they let me right in. It's always fun to go to another studio and see how they do things. It kind of feels like new possibilities. I found my way up to the production offices of The Best Days Are Ahead. They had large black-and-white photos of their cast members on the walls. A lot of them I knew; some I didn't.

The receptionist walked in. "May I help you?" When I turned around she said, "Oh, hi! You're here to see Tilda, right? She's expecting you. One second!" And she exited down the hall.

Tilda turned out to be younger than I had thought over the phone, probably in her late twenties. And, as she had promised, was a big fan of mine. She was actually kind of gus.h.i.+ng as we walked from the studio to a nearby cafe. By the time we were seated, she was practically offering me a job. It looked like lunch was a good idea, and I had a feeling it was going to get even better. Hopefully she had the information I wanted.

We both ordered salads before we got down to the reason I was there.

"So, you gave me some names to check and see if they auditioned for us," Tilda said, taking notepaper from her purse. "We had a Mason Stone audition a couple of months ago."

"Why didn't he get it?" I asked.

"Well, that's just it," she said. "He did get the part."

"What?"

"Yeah," she said. "There were about a dozen men who came in for the part, and Mason Stone was our pick."