Set the Stage for Murder (9 page)

Caroline looked at him for a moment as she struggled to maintain her composure. However, she simply couldn’t contain herself. It started with a twitch in her left eye and slowly but surely crept down her face. When it actually started, it wasn’t a polite high-pitched tinkling or a childish giggle, but rather a full-blown snort that startled all three of them. After that, holding back was a lost cause. In a most un-dame-like fashion, Caroline laughed until tears were rolling down her face. Attempting to lean back in the impossibly uncomfortable chair made her laugh even harder, as did the look of shock on Walter’s face, which was as pink as his “M’lady” teacup.

“Really, Dame Caroline,” Walter sniffed, apparently using her title to remind her of the seriousness of the situation. “I expected more from you. You, of all people, should know what it feels like to be publicly humiliated.”

And with that simple declaration, whether he knew it or not, Walter Boscobel had thrown down a gauntlet of his own. Dame Caroline stopped laughing, sat up straight, and leaned forward, staring at him with eyes that were suddenly dry and steely. Had he not been sitting, Walter’s delicate knees would have buckled on the spot.

“Don’t you dare compare your silly embarrassment with what is going on in my life, Walter Boscobel,” she said, clutching her teacup so firmly that it cracked in her hand. Ignoring the blood that was dripping on the pastel floral upholstery and needlepoint rug, she placed the broken pieces on the table, picked up her bag and headed for the front door. “I apologize for not advising you better. You absolutely should seek justice and retribution. I’m just sorry that your adversary is a nameless coward with a poison pen. In truth, I have it much easier. I know my enemy, and I’ll be dining across from her this weekend. That levels the playing field immeasurably.” She opened the door and started to leave, stopping long enough to add, “Naturally, I’ll replace the china. And please send me a bill for the cleaning.” With that, Dame Caroline Evans Dupree closed the door and headed for the elevator, leaving a horrified Walter and Kirby staring at a trail of blood that ended with a handprint on their gilded front door.

Chapter 8

Connor Cortez sat on the sofa in his darkened apartment quietly hating Rosamund Whiting. What a ruthless bitch. He thought about Julie and how little she had in common with her mother. Jules was a sweet, caring person with an innocence that he was fairly certain Rosamund Whiting never had possessed, even as an infant. Julie truly looked at people and saw only the good, which was amazing when you considered the egomaniacal, self-serving group that had been responsible for her upbringing. Jesus Christ, the combination of Roz and Tony was bad enough, but when you threw in that crazy religious freak Meg Pierce and Dame Caroline, well, the whole thing really was too much. Shakespeare had written great tragedies with less material. Jules deserved better. She deserved to be surrounded by good, honest people. Instead, Connor had been trying to add himself to the list of losers in her life. He still wasn’t quite sure what had happened. He just knew that one day, a few weeks ago, he looked at Juliet Whiting and it was as if he’d never seen her before. Maybe it was her innocence that attracted his new clean and sober self. God knows it was a novelty in his world. Perhaps after all the women and the booze and drugs he needed something pure. And maybe that is why he had taken things so slowly with her. He didn’t want to spoil the very thing that drew him to her. They hadn’t made love. He knew she was still a virgin and oddly enough, he wasn’t particularly anxious to change that. As for her, well, she seemed content just to be with him. She never pushed for anything more, and for some reason that was just fine with him.

Of course he was no saint - not yet, anyway. If he were, then he could have avoided this situation. He wouldn’t have been at
Overture
on Friday night and maybe, just maybe, Rosamund Whiting couldn’t have got her claws into him. A stronger man, a
better
man would have ignored Roz’s advances. But he wasn’t strong, and
better
was such a subjective term. She had approached him as he sat at the bar at
Overture
and whispered something in his ear, making sure that her lips brushed his lobe. He didn’t remember what she had said; it wasn’t important. Her message, however, was unmistakable. He paid his tab and made excuses to the impossibly thin dancer perched precariously on the barstool next to his. He left the bar and got into the back of the limousine parked in front of the door. He and Roz had gone to his apartment, and that’s when everything went wrong. That’s when Roz pulled out the photos. Photos some private detective had taken over the past couple of weeks showing Connor with women. Several women. Yes, he was clean and sober, but he hadn’t given up sex. And since he was reluctant to go down that path with Julie just yet, he had seen other women. These photos, these
graphic
photos were undeniable proof. And one of the girls was underage. Goddamnit! Why hadn’t he been more careful? But what was he going to do, ask to see her birth certificate? Well, perhaps he should have done just that, since it was a copy of a birth certificate that Roz had placed in front of him, proving that the girl was just 16. All he had to do was stay away from Julie, and Roz would forget the whole thing. It was that simple. And with her trump card played, she left his apartment without looking back. She didn’t have to; she knew she’d won. How dare she screw up his life like this, just when everything was coming together? God, he wanted to get back at her. He wanted her to suffer. Why couldn’t Roz Whiting just die? For the first time in his life, Connor Cortez hoped there was a God who answered prayers.

***

Sally Crandall was no stranger to manipulation and deceit. She had spent the past eight years of her life on a top-rated sitcom and had been screwed and lied to by agents, managers, directors, temperamental co-stars, and network executives. She’d also been married to Eduardo Cortez for twenty years, who was known industry-wide to be a lying, cheating bastard. In short, Sally was accustomed to treachery. Long ago, she had accepted it as a necessary evil that dwelt along the paths she’d chosen. What she wouldn’t accept was treachery wrapping its tentacles around her child. Especially when it appeared in the guise of Rosamund Whiting.

Sally had spent the morning at Dr. Leighton’s office getting Botox and collagen injections. Now, she was tired and anxious. She’d taken two pills earlier, and some of the edge was starting to disappear. There was a time, years ago, when one tablet would have knocked her out. But that was then. Now, two would begin to calm her, and three would actually allow her to function normally, at least for a while. She pulled a pink faux-fur throw over her legs as she lay back and tried to relax amidst the sea of pillows on Ed’s and her bed. Damnit, she was cold! Did Ed have to keep this place so fucking cold? He just did it to irritate her, just as she had decorated the ornately feminine bedroom to get at him. That was how the two of them operated, pushing each other’s buttons with extreme, infuriating gestures that were never acknowledged or discussed. They had maintained a polite, strained civility at all times as their marriage and family had secretly rotted beneath the glossy nipped and tucked surface. It had always been that way, even before they were married. The façade had been perfected as they raised their child. Affairs, pills, and liquor were never spoken of, which, in the Cortez family left little on the table that was open for discussion.

Now she wondered if she should talk to Ed about Roz and Connor. Yesterday, after taking the right number of pills, she had got up the nerve to approach Connor. God, that hadn’t gone well, had it? She’d only asked him if Roz were causing him some sort of trouble and he freaked out, yelling at her to leave it alone and stay out of his business. She hadn’t seen him behave that way since he got out of rehab. She prayed he wasn’t using again. Still, she knew Roz was somehow responsible for whatever was bothering him. Sally had heard about his following Roz out of
Overture
and getting into her car. What could that possibly mean, except the obvious? He was so clearly upset. What had that bitch done to her son? She wanted to speak to Ed about it, but what if he just laughed it off or told her it was all in her head? After all, it was Roz they were talking about. He wasn’t going to criticize her, not the great Roz Whiting. Sally knew that he’d slept with her while the two of them were making the Altman film. For God’s sake, he would come home reeking of her fucking signature scent,
Fair Rosamund
, which smelled just like those goddamned roses. Sally knew the whole thing had ended when the film wrapped, but she also knew that Roz still held some sort of power over Ed. And that’s why she was so frightened for Connor. Rosamund Whiting could seduce and bewitch people to do whatever she wanted them to do. Sally had seen it before. Hell, she’d lived it. However, that was then. Now her son, who was at a fragile crossroads in his life, looked like Roz’s next victim, and she’d be damned if she’d let that happen. No, Ed would be useless in this situation, just like he always was. This time, it was all up to her, and she had this weekend to get it accomplished.

She wished that she’d never signed on for this project. She sure as hell didn’t need the money. Still, work had been scarce since the sitcom ended, because, as she was being forced to realize, she would forever be thought of as Sandy Langston, the zany next-door neighbor. And Ed and Connor had wanted to do the play. Ed needed to work, because he got into so much trouble when he didn’t. He convinced Sally that it would be good for Connor to be working “in a safe, protected environment with his parents” after getting out of rehab. What she didn’t say, but wanted to, was that there was no such thing as a “safe, protected environment” in the theater, especially when all those around you, including your parents, are piranhas.

But now contracts were signed and they were starting rehearsals in a couple of weeks. And then there was this weekend at Teddy and Vicki’s place. What was it called? Lenore’s Folly? It sounded like such a lovely, pleasant place. Too bad it was about to be contaminated by so much treachery, she thought as she drifted off to sleep. As she dozed, she had a dream in which she watched from the shore as a monstrous sea creature rose out of the water and grabbed Connor. She stared expressionless and silent, her hands bound, as the creature dove back under the inky black surface with her son. She awoke with a start, grabbed the other pill on her bedside table, and swallowed it with what was left of her vodka on the rocks. It didn’t take a psychologist to figure out what the dream meant. Dr. Leighton’s needles may have rendered her expressionless, but she’d be damned if she remained quiet and immobile any longer. It was time for action. And with that decision made, Sally Crandall arranged an overstuffed, silk pillow behind her head, adjusted her pink, faux-fur throw, and passed out cold.

***

“Kid, are you okay? You don’t look so hot.” Ed Cortez watched his son for a minute and then turned to look out the window. He saw the same guy on the street that he always saw selling pretzels and roasted nuts from a rusty metal cart with a torn striped awning. Ed had been meeting Connor at the diner two or three times a week since his son had been released from rehab. He felt it was important to be there for him. God knows he and Sally had failed miserably as parents. He wanted to try and get it right now that God had given him a second chance.

Connor stared at the steam rising from the cup of coffee his hands were wrapped around. He could hear the concern in his Dad’s voice and it made him want to tell him everything. About Jules, the young girl and Roz, everything. But would he understand or would he just think that Connor was screwing up, once again? His Dad was usually pretty cool, more of a buddy than a father, really. However, right now he was in trouble and he needed a father. He needed someone to make everything better or at least tell him that everything was going to be okay. In the therapy sessions at rehab, they told him he needed to “share his feelings.” It sounded like such psychobabble bullshit, especially considering that he’d been raised in a household that viewed the airing of
real
feelings about
real
things with total disdain. The less said, the better, could have been the Cortez family motto. He could see it emblazoned on a crest depicting the three monkeys covering their eyes, ears, and mouth, respectively. He smiled and laughed gently.

“What is it?” Ed asked. “What made you laugh?

“Dad, did you ever do something you wanted to take back?

“Oh God, kid, we’re going to be here all day and all night if you want me to go down that path. Sure I have.”

“Can you tell me just one of those things?” Connor had looked up from his coffee and was staring at Ed. “Can you tell me just one thing you wished you could take back?

Jesus, thought Ed, I’m sweating like a whore in church. What the hell was this? Was the kid deliberately playing with him, trying to make him uncomfortable? He stared back at his son, looking to see if the kid were lashing out, but there was no anger or malice in his eyes, only pain, confusion, and disillusionment. Ed recognized the look from seeing it in the mirror.“

“I didn’t step in and take charge when I first saw you getting into trouble, years ago. I wish I could change that. I’ll never forgive myself.” He looked back out the window at the pretzel man and blinked several times. “What about you, kid?” he said, looking back at Connor. “What is it you wish you could take back? Tell the old man. Maybe he can help.”

Connor smiled miserably as he stared back down at his coffee and slowly rubbed his finger around the rim of the cup. “I’ve slept with a girl. A young girl - too young. I didn’t know it at the time but I guess I’m not too surprised. The point is that I’ve totally messed up any chance of being with Julie.