A Bad Day for Romance (18 page)

“OA? What’s that?”

“Overeaters Anonymous? You know, the twelve-step program?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t heard of that, ma’am. She sure looks awful skinny, though.”

Stella nodded sagely. “Oh, I know, she looks great now. But you should have seen her a couple of years ago—topped the scales at three hundred pounds.”

“You don’t say!” The young woman cast an astonished look back toward the door to the cells. Stella squinted at her nametag: Officer J. Pinkerton.

“Oh, yes, she’s very sensitive about it. You know how she can get a little testy sometimes?”

“Gracious, yes,” Officer Pinkerton said in a heartfelt tone. Stella could only imagine the abuse she’d suffered from Divinity.

“Well, she does that when she’s feeling vulnerable, and she can’t get access to her usual self-comforts. Why, I’ve seen her eat a dozen tacos from Taco Bell in one sitting. She’ll shoot Cheez Whiz straight out of the can when she’s really struggling. It’s a self-protection response. I’m working with her on overcoming it, actually. And I was wondering… I know this is irregular, and I’d certainly be happy to come back tomorrow if necessary, but do you think I could have just a few words with her? In private?”

Officer Pinkerton blinked. Stella could practically see her weighing the infraction against suffering more of Divinity’s bad mood.

“I think we could swing that,” she said in a low voice. “I mean, maybe it would be best if, you know, Officer Simmons didn’t find out about it. But she’s off interviewing the head ranger over at the park right now so it should be okay. And her boys aren’t in today, they got the weekend off.”

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” Stella said. “I’m just going to pray with her a little, and maybe talk her down a bit.”

In no time Officer Pinkerton had dragged a chair up to Divinity’s cell and excused herself, leaving Stella alone with a very disgruntled young woman as well as the only other resident, a drunk man who was lying on the floor of his cell humming in a surprisingly sweet voice.

“Okay, I’m going to make this fast,” Stella said.

“Whatever,” Divinity said, examining her nails under the fluorescent lights. “Mom got me some lawyer who’ll have me out of here soon. And then we’re going to sue everyone.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Stella said, her temper already piqued. She didn’t bother pointing out that the lawyer had come courtesy of
her
, a favor she figured she’d pass out holding her breath to be thanked for. “Given the state of the county budget, that ought to get you a hot dog and a root beer.”

“I’ll have a beer,” the drunk called out hopefully.

Divinity sighed. “Unless you’re here to tell me that
The Bachelor
called, I’m afraid I’m a little tired, and I would prefer to be alone. Not to be rude.”

“Huh. And yet your poor mama is out there, sitting on a vinyl couch and drinking machine coffee, just hoping for a chance to see your face. Don’t that make you feel bad?”

“Would you want to be stuck in an eight-by-eight room forced to listen to my mother with no way to escape?” Divinity demanded.

“Point taken. Okay, like I said, we don’t have a lot of time here. I know about the audition tape y’all were making out in the woods. Where is it?”

Divinity stared at Stella, the wheels turning behind her icy blue eyes. “I would be interested to know how you found out about that,” she finally said.

“And I’d be interested in getting my hands on Gary Oldman’s phone number, but neither of those is very likely to happen.”

“What do you care, anyway?”

Stella’s patience was close to snapping. “Honestly? I don’t care much what happens to you. You were a spoiled, wrinkly little baby who grew up into a spoiled girl who doesn’t seem to care about anyone else. I’d leave you here to rot, except my best friend is getting married and it’s very important to her that your parents be there, which is another mystery, but I guess she’s got her reasons. Meanwhile, my assistant had a brush with misfortune last night that I am not about to stand for. Someone killed Bryant, and that someone seems bent on keeping it a secret. The fact you’re in here lets you off the hook, but you can bet I’m not leaving until I’ve found out what I want to know.”

Divinity’s mouth twisted into a not-very-nice smile that Stella recognized from her publicity photos. “And how exactly are you going to get me to tell you? All I have to do is holler and that girl cop will come running. I’ve got everyone around here eating out of my hand.”

Stella didn’t bother to point out that the staff was acting out of a sense of self-preservation rather than any sort of affection for Divinity. Instead, she closed her eyes for a moment, took a few calming breaths, and forced a smile on her face.

“Honey, I feel like we got going in a wrong direction there. Really, I just want what your mom wants, which is to clear this up and get you out of here. But I can tell you’re tired. You need your rest. I can respect that. I’ll just be going, and maybe if you’re feeling better tomorrow I can come back and visit again. But here, sweetie, at least I can give you something to pass the time.”

She reached into her purse for the novel she carried with her everywhere, in case she found herself stuck in line with nothing to do. It had come in handy at doctors’ offices, carpool lanes, and the Walmart checkout at the holidays. This particular one was by the fabulous J. D. Robb, pen name of her most favorite author in the world, Nora Roberts.

She handed it through the bars of the cell, but when Divinity reached for it, Stella dropped it and grabbed her wrist. Then she executed a maneuver she’d learned from Mr. Hou that involved using her own weight as leverage to twist it backward and up, and in seconds Divinity’s face was as white as a sheet and she was on her knees, attempting to scream.

There are certain kinds of pain so sharp and immediate that they take your breath away. Stella had been the victim of such pain, so she knew she had only seconds before Divinity got hold of herself and started to scream.

“Make a sound and I’ll break your wrist,” Stella said. “I’ll tell them you done it to yourself in a fit of remorse. Who you think they’re gonna believe, a nice friend of your mom’s or a stuck-up skinny little bitch with a voice like George Michael on helium?”

Tears were forming in Divinity’s eyes, and her face was turning from white to purple.

“Now nod your head that you understand me, and I’ll loosen up here. I’m not going to let go, though, and if you don’t tell me what I want to know, I can separate your radiocarpal joint in two seconds flat.”

Divinity nodded energetically, and Stella relaxed her grip.

“Get up now, honey,” she said, and with a minimum of protest Divinity got to her feet, and they stood eye to eye, holding hands like teenagers on a date.

“What really happened? Big picture’s fine, you can save the details for the biopic when you get famous someday.”

Divinity ignored Stella’s snide rejoinder and spoke fast, all the attitude absent from her voice. “Bryant had me climb up in a tree. He was filming. He has this little minicam he uses. I was supposed to be shooting rabbits. Well, there weren’t any rabbits, but I was shooting arrows into this bush.”

“With your little pink girlie bow.”

Divinity blinked. “How’d you know that?”

“Well, you were dumb enough to pick the worst hiding place in the woods. Even these fuckups were able to find it, and that’s saying something.”

“I was dazed from the fall!” Divinity protested. “I couldn’t think straight, I had a concussion!”

“Keep talking.”

“Bryant was filming, and he was giving me all these directions, do this and do that and find my light and don’t let leaves block the view and I could hardly focus. I hadn’t shot any arrows at all and I was trying to figure out how to bring my arm back without running into a branch. Anyway all of a sudden he lets out this yell and scared me so bad I fell out of the tree. I didn’t mean to kill him, Stella, I really didn’t, but I must have let go of the arrow while I was falling, because when I woke up from being knocked out there he was dead with it sticking out of him.”

Stella stared incredulously. The girl actually believed she’d killed Bryant. “You… shot him?”

“Well, yeah, how else do you think he ended up dead? Anyway, you can’t blame me for being scared and all confused, I mean, I’m pretty sure if those idiots in the hospital knew what they were doing they would have found signs of severe disorientation or whatever you call it. And Bryant was dead and I’m really sorry about that but it wasn’t like there was anything I could do for him except get help so they could come collect him. And I knew they’d never understand how it was an accident and all so, yeah, I hid the bow and then I just kept walking until I found that ranger.” She frowned in distaste. “Also a moron, and he didn’t smell too good either.”

“Well,” Stella said. “Huh. Okay. Listen here. Your attorney’s going to tell you the same thing, but you need to keep all of this to yourself.”

“I
know
that, Stella, I’m not stupid.”

“I want you to just sit tight and don’t say anything at all. No more bossing the staff around. No more demanding special privileges. And just to make sure they don’t get the wrong idea, you be nice to your parents and aunt.”

Divinity rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to—”

Stella jerked up on her wrist. The cartilage shifted, making a little popping sound that Stella could feel more than hear, and Divinity’s breath left her in a pained whoosh.

“We got an understanding?” Stella demanded, tugging just a little harder. “I said, are you going to behave?”

Divinity nodded even more vigorously than she had before, and Stella let go. She patted the girl’s cheek and smiled. “Good girl.”

On her way out, she glanced at the title of the paperback on the floor.

Betrayal in Death
.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

BY THE TIME STELLA GOT BACK
to the resort, the autumn sun had warmed the interior of the Jeep until she had to shrug out of her sweater and roll the windows down. It felt good to have a breeze in her hair, and she drove past the golf course with her hand trailing in the wind.

Then she spotted Goat. It was hard to miss him, since he stood several inches taller than Leif and two other unremarkable men on their way back to the clubhouse, their bags trailing. Stella had always been dubious of men who rode in carts—her own father, Buster Collier, had carried his own clubs the few times a year that he went out on the links. He’d never gotten bit by the bug, but he did occasionally take Stella and her sister, Gracellen, down to the range, where they’d hit a bucket of balls, few of them going in the direction they were aiming.

Stella had fond memories of those outings. Her dad’s friends would stop by and compliment every shot the girls took and joke about how they’d soon be beating the tar out of the club pro. The fellows on the neighboring tees would sometimes pretend they’d been hit when one of the girls’ shots went especially wrong, falling to the ground and yelling that they’d broken a rib or lost an eye. And the waitress in the clubhouse always served them Shirley Temples, which to this day was secretly Stella’s favorite cocktail in the world, even if the only other living soul who knew lived several thousand miles away in California.

The driving-range trips stopped when Stella got to be twelve or so and decided golf was for boys, a decision she’d kicked herself for a hundred times since then. Maybe she’d take up golf again. Maybe, she thought, as she watched Goat’s biceps in the golf shirt that was inadequate to contain those broad shoulders and well-defined muscles, she’d get Goat to give her a few pointers. He’d stand behind her, and wrap those hard sun-brown arms around her, and steady her grip and—

Stella was suddenly pitched against the door as the Jeep hit something and bucked. Stella bit off a little shriek and pulled hard at the steering wheel, noting too late that she’d drifted off the road and run clean over a rock. The Jeep’s original suspension was nothing to write home about, but she’d had Potter Auto outfit it with gas shocks and linear springs and it took the correction like a champ, the only lasting effect being the racing of Stella’s heart.

But she was no stranger to back roads that petered out to nothing. On more than one occasion she’d had to hunt down some weasely woman-smacker who figured he’d ride out the law by hiding in a cabin or shack or trailer somewhere until the fuss passed and he could return and start up the cycle all over again. On these occasions, Stella was fueled by the fury of a woman who knew what it was like to wait for the bruises to heal or the stitches to come out, the man who gave them to you skulking about like a skittish cat until the evidence of his wrongdoing was gone and he could convince himself you’d overreacted. Before he died, Ollie had forbidden Stella to drive the Jeep, which had been less than a year old at the time, and which he used to buff in the driveway with a fussy little chamois square like it was the Hope Diamond. Now she took great relish in driving his pride and joy like it was on fire, and if it had picked up a few dents and creases, she figured the adventures more than made up for them.

Once she got the Jeep back in the proper lane, she passed the foursome at a good clip, not wanting Goat to see her before she’d had a chance to do a little repair on her appearance. There wasn’t time for a shower and change, as she’d hoped, or she’d miss their spin through the clubhouse. She figured she had about three minutes tops as she parked out front, and got busy with the Hello Kitty cosmetic bag that Noelle had given her for Mother’s Day.

Concealer, eyeliner, and lipstick were easy enough to touch up, but there wasn’t a damn thing Stella could do about her hair, which swirled around in a windswept do that she would have killed for back in the eighties. She unbuttoned a few buttons on her top and rearranged the camisole underneath to lie prettily along the north slope of her breasts, and headed into the shop with her head held high.

Right away, she spotted Chrissy and Ian. Since they’d only recently gone public with their relationship, they were still cautious with PDA, so only their hands were entwined under the table, but they were staring into each other’s eyes as though attempting a Vulcan mind meld. Stella was about to call out a jaunty hello when the doors to the dining room opened and the golfers walked in, Goat in the lead and looking like a well-seasoned Adonis sent down off the mountain with the sun lighting up his handsome face with gold.