Lawrenceton after Robin left. She gestured with one bony finger, and I nodded, glad she’d spotted him for me.
Robin looked haggard, understandably enough, since he’d just discovered his former flame had been murdered, and that she’d spent the night before her death with another man. He’d put on dark glasses and was talking to a middle-aged woman with gray-streaked black hair. Robin pushed his fingers up under his glasses, and I knew he was brushing away tears. I pushed my own glasses up on my nose.
“You and him were tight?”
“Kind of,” I said, feeling unaccountably shy about it. “But we’re talking years ago. Right before I dated Arthur Smith.” I looked down at my hands, and began twisting my wedding band around on the finger it no longer fit.
Angel raised a blond eyebrow. “So, what happened with Robin?”
“I was really fond of him. I think he was fond of me, too. But when he decided to write a book about the murders, and I realized there was no way he could leave me out of the book, I felt pretty unhappy about it. And when he went to Hollywood with his agent to push the book proposal, our connection just kind of tapered off.”
“He call you?”
“Oh . . . yeah. At first.”
“When did he quit?”
“When I told him I was marrying Martin.”
“And then he moved on to that Celia Shaw?”
“That’s what the gossip magazines said. I think they had pretty much called it quits by the time they got here.”
“So he moved from the real you to the play you.” Angel looked amused at my wince. After a second of considering that unnerving idea, I shrugged.
We fell silent and watched the unfolding panorama together. Joel Park Brooks, shaved head flashing in the sun, was being attended by paramedics, by Mark, and by several other people whose names and functions I had not yet learned. He seemed to feel that the FBI should be brought in to investigate the death of an important actress like Celia Shaw. The Hollywood dispensation, I guess.
Robin had found a chair and sunk down onto it, his hands on his knees, lost in thought. I wondered if I should go to him.
Meredith Askew, still looking properly distraught, was resting her face on the shoulder of Chip Brodnax, the tall young man who was portraying Robin. His back was to me, so I had a good view of Meredith’s face. As I watched, I saw her expression change to one of intense speculation. She was staring into the distance, unaware that anyone was observing her. As if she’d turned to me and spoken her thoughts out loud, I could tell that she was wondering if she had a chance of replacing Celia in the main role.
This was depressing. If anyone in this crowd (besides possibly Robin) was simply grieving for Celia Shaw, I could see no sign of it.
“Let’s us go,” I suggested to Angel.
“Won’t the police get us?”
“I have a feeling I can get around that.”
I made my way through the crowd to Arthur, who was issuing instructions to three other cops. I waited until he’d finished speaking, and as soon as they scattered to do his bidding, I knew he would turn to me.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
“Can Angel and I go home?”
“Will you stay at your house until I come later? Will you not talk to anyone else?”
“I promise.”
“Okay, then. You and Angel can go.”
“Thanks.” I tried to dredge up a smile for him, but I couldn’t.
I trudged back to Angel and gave her the thumbs-up. We made our way to my car and climbed back in. Though it was only nine o’clock, it seemed like a lifetime since we’d gotten to the set. The day was getting hotter by the minute. The car was stuffy. The streets around the movie site were almost chaotic; I had never in my life seen traffic this disordered in Lawrenceton. I figured all the police had been grabbed off traffic control and shifted to the murder scene. It wouldn’t take the news crews long to get there, especially with all the busy cell phones on the set. I was willing to
Robin looked haggard, understandably enough, since he’d just discovered his former flame had been murdered, and that she’d spent the night before her death with another man. He’d put on dark glasses and was talking to a middle-aged woman with gray-streaked black hair. Robin pushed his fingers up under his glasses, and I knew he was brushing away tears. I pushed my own glasses up on my nose.
“You and him were tight?”
“Kind of,” I said, feeling unaccountably shy about it. “But we’re talking years ago. Right before I dated Arthur Smith.” I looked down at my hands, and began twisting my wedding band around on the finger it no longer fit.
Angel raised a blond eyebrow. “So, what happened with Robin?”
“I was really fond of him. I think he was fond of me, too. But when he decided to write a book about the murders, and I realized there was no way he could leave me out of the book, I felt pretty unhappy about it. And when he went to Hollywood with his agent to push the book proposal, our connection just kind of tapered off.”
“He call you?”
“Oh . . . yeah. At first.”
“When did he quit?”
“When I told him I was marrying Martin.”
“And then he moved on to that Celia Shaw?”
“That’s what the gossip magazines said. I think they had pretty much called it quits by the time they got here.”
“So he moved from the real you to the play you.” Angel looked amused at my wince. After a second of considering that unnerving idea, I shrugged.
We fell silent and watched the unfolding panorama together. Joel Park Brooks, shaved head flashing in the sun, was being attended by paramedics, by Mark, and by several other people whose names and functions I had not yet learned. He seemed to feel that the FBI should be brought in to investigate the death of an important actress like Celia Shaw. The Hollywood dispensation, I guess.
Robin had found a chair and sunk down onto it, his hands on his knees, lost in thought. I wondered if I should go to him.
Meredith Askew, still looking properly distraught, was resting her face on the shoulder of Chip Brodnax, the tall young man who was portraying Robin. His back was to me, so I had a good view of Meredith’s face. As I watched, I saw her expression change to one of intense speculation. She was staring into the distance, unaware that anyone was observing her. As if she’d turned to me and spoken her thoughts out loud, I could tell that she was wondering if she had a chance of replacing Celia in the main role.
This was depressing. If anyone in this crowd (besides possibly Robin) was simply grieving for Celia Shaw, I could see no sign of it.
“Let’s us go,” I suggested to Angel.
“Won’t the police get us?”
“I have a feeling I can get around that.”
I made my way through the crowd to Arthur, who was issuing instructions to three other cops. I waited until he’d finished speaking, and as soon as they scattered to do his bidding, I knew he would turn to me.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
“Can Angel and I go home?”
“Will you stay at your house until I come later? Will you not talk to anyone else?”
“I promise.”
“Okay, then. You and Angel can go.”
“Thanks.” I tried to dredge up a smile for him, but I couldn’t.
I trudged back to Angel and gave her the thumbs-up. We made our way to my car and climbed back in. Though it was only nine o’clock, it seemed like a lifetime since we’d gotten to the set. The day was getting hotter by the minute. The car was stuffy. The streets around the movie site were almost chaotic; I had never in my life seen traffic this disordered in Lawrenceton. I figured all the police had been grabbed off traffic control and shifted to the murder scene. It wouldn’t take the news crews long to get there, especially with all the busy cell phones on the set. I was willing to
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