“I know, I know, he’s an egomaniac,” Cherise said, reading Cassie’s expression. “I felt like such a traitor going to work for him, but it’s really been good, I think. And I kind of see things from his perspective now.” She glanced out the window then added, “You know your sister wasn’t exactly easy to work for.”
“Yes.” If Brandon McNary was an egocentric male, Allie was his female counterpart. “Do you know if she was ever in Santa Fe, or if she knew or contacted someone who lived there?”
“Santa Fe?”
“Maybe in 2007?”
“I wasn’t working for her then.”
“But she might have talked about it?”
She rolled that around in her mind and scowled thoughtfully all the while slowly shaking her head. “Don’t know. Maybe? But geez, wouldn’t she have been a teenager and your mom have to give permission, or something?” After taking a final sip from her cup, she crumpled it in her fist. “I don’t remember her mentioning it, but she certainly didn’t tell me everything.” Cherise’s cell phone rang musically and she answered, then turned her head away for a little privacy. The conversation was one-sided. Cherise barely said a word but hung up and turned back to Cassie. “Sorry, duty calls.”
“Brandon?”
“Uh-huh.” She was standing, clearing the table of empty sugar packets and her cup. “So I’ve got to get going.”
“He’s in LA?” Cassie just wanted to confirm.
“Flew in late the night before last, I think.”
That jived.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “He’s not easy to work for, either, but the only other job offer I got was from Whitney Stone, and it didn’t pay as much. She’s working on some shows for a mystery week at a cable company. Even asked about Allie—not just what’s happening now, but what happened in the past, when your mother was stalked by that sicko up in Oregon.”
Cassie’s heart froze. “She told you that?”
“She mentioned it just this morning. Can you believe she called me at six thirty? Who does that? Like I would work for a woman that anal. And all of a sudden she has an interest in the nutjob who killed people who looked like Jenna Hughes.” Cherise gave a shudder.
Cassie’s vocal cords felt as if they’d seized up. She tried to respond, but there was no need as Cherise went on blithely, “All the buzz surrounding Dead Heat must’ve resurrected interest in your mom’s story. Whitney was trying to pick my brain, see if I knew anything, y’know, unique. If Allie had said anything to me. She acted like it was kind of a rush job, said something about already having the footage and wanting to air the program during mystery week. It was a little over the top, y’know. Not that tragedy hasn’t been used as a means to promote a program before.” She glanced at her phone and noted the time. “Look, if I think of anything, I’ll call ya,” Cherise promised, obviously in a hurry. “But don’t hold your breath.” With that she turned and racewalked to her car. She drove off with the same pedal-to-the-metal attitude that she’d come in with.
It was almost as if she’d met Cassie because of some kind of duty, like getting through a hated obligatory chore. Odd. But the bare fact of the matter was that as refreshing and energetic as Cherise was, Cassie didn’t trust her and felt Cherise might be holding back. Cassie swallowed cold coffee and replayed Cherise’s words. “Not that tragedy hasn’t been used as a means to promote a program before.” Or to promote a movie. Like Dead Heat.
The gears in her mind ground. Was it possible? Could some of the strange occurrences that had been happening be a means to create a buzz around the film? She was so lost in thought she nearly jumped when she heard someone clear his throat. Looking up, she realized that a twentysomething was hovering nearby, a cup of coffee in one hand, an iPad in his other, waiting for her table. Quickly, she picked up her trash and left the shop. It was after eleven by now and she wondered if, when she got home, Trent would still be waiting. A little jolt of anticipation filled her heart and she told herself she was being an idiot.
Again.
But then wasn’t she always about her husband? She figured it was a character flaw. One of far too many.
CHAPTER 19
As Trent waited in Cassie’s apartment, he figured he might be stood up.
Or, more likely, played for a fool.
It was a chance he’d decided to take.
He’d found breakfast and coffee at a deli six blocks away, returned his rental car, then taken a cab to the apartment to find that Cassie still wasn’t home. Her place was small and compact, three half-packed suitcases flung open on her bed, her closets virtually stripped, the bathroom nearly empty of products, the refrigerator not much more than
a bare lightbulb.
It did appear as if she were leaving, that she’d returned to LA to grab her things. And play private detective. Trent wondered about that, her quest to find her sister. Maybe it was natural but he doubted a would-be actress, sometime writer, recent mental hospital patient would have more luck finding out what had happened to Allie than the police with their manpower, sophisticated technology, and training. Allie and Cassie had always had a love/hate relationship, hate being the best-stated emotion recently.
He’d been the cause of that.
Hell, he’d been the cause of a lot of friction in Cassie’s life.
While he’d been at her place he’d snooped a little and didn’t feel all that bad about it. She was his wife, he rationalized, and she’d just walked out of a psychiatric wing. He hadn’t found much of interest except for the single keepsake from their wedding, a picture of the two of them in Las Vegas, the glass covering the photo broken, the frame placed facedown as if she hadn’t wanted a reminder.