Southern Star: Destiny Romance (7 page)

‘I can handle drunks,’ she shouted after him as he turned his horse towards the road.

‘Call me.’

Blaze didn’t have to deal with any drunks that night, but it did occur to her that, even with Paddy’s committed defence, she was pretty exposed out here. If there was a threat, even if she could get to the phone, it would take an absolute minimum of fifteen minutes for anyone to arrive from Rosmerta – and the best part of an hour from town. Country Queensland tended to be quite peaceable, but sleazebags might think she was fair game after the newspaper article.

With that in mind and Paddy trotting at her heels after breakfast the next morning, she went hunting for Gramps’ old rifle in the hope that if she found it, it would be in better condition than the car. Much to her parents’ annoyance, Gramps had actually taught her how to shoot when she’d been about twelve, and she’d been an okay shot. Her social-climbing parents hadn’t thought shooting an appropriate skill for a pre-teen girl, but Gramps had been tickled pink.

Putting on the dog. That’s what he’d always said when his daughter-in-law, Blaze’s mother, Diana, had insisted her name be pronounced Dee-arna. Usually, his complaint had been grumbled below his breath, accompanied by a roll of the eyes if Diana wasn’t looking.

Blaze hadn’t understood at the time, but neither Gram nor Gramps had approved of their salesman son, Elliot, or his marriage to Diana. Both had had big ideas but little interest in living within their means. Nothing had been too good for Elliot, whether they could afford it or not, and Blaze had been his little princess. Ultimately, though, their illusory world of success had cost them their entire remaining family – first Gram and Gramps, sidelined for being too comfortably provincial, and then Blaze, when she rebelled against being forced to fit a mould of their making.

Shaking off the oppressive thoughts of days long gone, Blaze stood in the corner of the barn that had served as Gramps’ shed. Objects hung from hooks of every shape and size: hammers, power tools, a saw, a shovel. No gun. She supposed she could always bash any creeps over the head with a hammer or shovel, but she’d prefer not to get that close. The work bench held dozens of tiny drawers, filled with nails and screws, bolts and coils of wire. She even found a stack of bullets, but the drawers were too small for the rifle itself. It definitely wasn’t in the house, so Gramps must have got rid of it. Unless . . . Blaze swivelled around. The only other thing in the barn was the car. She popped the boot and bingo!

The chamber was empty, but she wasn’t planning to actually shoot anyone. Hadn’t she read somewhere that often victims trying to defend themselves with a gun had their guns seized by their attacker, who would then use it against them? No, she only wanted it as a deterrent. Remembering her grandfather’s instructions, she checked the action, which seemed smooth enough even after this time, and took it back to the house, where she hid it in the study between the door and filing cabinet.

Macauley Black might want to think twice about bursting into her house next time, even though the front door was so pathetic it almost invited breaking and entering. To give him his due, he had seemed genuinely concerned about that Pete guy, and it was a definite point in his favour that he hadn’t asked her whether what the newspaper had written was true. Of course that could be just because he’d assumed it was, or most likely, he didn’t care one way or another.

The article had been mortifying, a sensationalist exposé woven around Rick Beatty’s malicious month-old claims and a shadowy, jerky amateur movie of a woman’s body writhing as she was pleasured by a series of men. Blaze loathed having no control over what people said or thought about her, and it made her sick to her stomach to wonder what people like Stella and the girl at the market, Marianne, were thinking of her now. If this was the price of fame, maybe it was too high.

Blaze brooded some more, taking out her mood on a piece of dough that was to be her first attempt at homemade bread, from a recipe in one of Gram’s vintage cookbooks. By the time she set it aside to rise, she was in a feistier mood. The media might have had their say, but that didn’t mean she had to sit here and take it without response, even though it might be more dignified to ignore it. There was someone who might listen to her side, as long as she made it worth printing.

Replaying her phone message from the
Inside Hollywood
reporter, she went into the study and made a few notes, before calling the number he’d left on her voice mail.

‘Cal,’ she said when Marsden answered. ‘It’s Blaze Gillespie. I appreciate your call the other day, and the offer to hear my side. If the offer’s still open, you have my word that this will be an exclusive. I won’t be making any other comments about the matter.’

The silence that followed lasted longer than the usual trans-Pacific delay.

‘Good Lord!’ Cal’s shocked voice finally said. ‘This has to be a first. A movie star who returns her phone calls personally.’

‘So are you interested?’ Blaze pressed.

‘Is the Pope a Catholic?’ came the murmured response at the other end. ‘Yes, yes. Thank you. When do you want to do this?’

‘How about now?’ She heard the rustle of paper and imagined he was hunting for a notebook or a list of questions. ‘You can always get back to me if there’s anything else you need later.’

‘And what about your PR’s approval?’

Blaze expelled a breath. ‘I don’t have one. I was dropped by my publicity agent, Monica Tesoriero, after the Rick Beatty thing and the festival shooting. She was nice about it, but she handles some big names, so I can understand she was worried that the stain on my reputation might transfer to them. But you’ve always been fair in the past, so no approval necessary.’

‘Well, thanks.’ The reporter’s dry tone reminded Blaze why she’d taken to Cal Marsden more than some supposedly more respectable journalists. ‘Okay, let’s get this thing moving. Can I ask you where you’re calling from? Jaxon said you were . . . having some time out.’

‘Very diplomatic and, yes, it’s true. I’m back home in Australia for a while, but I’d prefer to keep my precise location private. I was struggling after Mitch’s death and the movie festival tragedy, plus all the speculation and scandal surrounding what I may or may not have done during the shooting of
Bad & Co.
I needed to escape to get my head straight, and . . . to grieve.’

‘To grieve . . . for Mitch?’

‘Yes.’ Blaze’s voice was husky. ‘For Mitch. And for Bethany, the young woman at the film festival. We spoke for a moment, and in that short time she came across as very genuine, perceptive and kind.’

‘What did Mitch mean to you?’

‘He was my friend. Probably my best friend in the business.’

‘Were you lovers?’

Blaze had been expecting the question.

‘No. Our relationship was platonic.’

‘You were seen together a lot,’ he prompted.

‘Yes, we enjoyed each other’s company, and had fun together. We made each other laugh.’

‘Your body language suggested something more.’

‘Deliberately. If the media was busy speculating about us, they probably weren’t speculating about our relationships with other people.’

‘Did you kill him?’ The question, one even the police hadn’t asked directly – yet – came like a short, sharp jab. She still wasn’t ready for it.

‘No, I . . . no.’

‘You’d been with him the evening he died.’

‘Yes. I’d had a heavy day of press interviews for
Bad & Co.
, and went over to his place for dinner. He cooked, and we watched the DVD of
Chicago
, one of his favourites. I left before eleven because I had more media the following day.’

‘Who do you think killed him, and why?’

Blaze closed her eyes. ‘I don’t know. I just . . . keep thinking back. Was there something going on that I missed, something he tried to tell me and couldn’t? But everything just seemed normal; I got no sense that he was feeling under threat. That night, he was singing along to the movie, dragging me off the couch to dance. My last memory is of Mitch just being Mitch, funny and exuberant as he almost always was.’

‘Are you a suspect?’

‘I think so. The police didn’t tell me directly. But as I was – as far as I know – the last person to see him alive, they would be derelict in their duty not to consider me a suspect.’

‘The last person to see him alive would have been his killer,’ Cal said.

‘Yes, yes of course. Apart from . . . them.’ Blaze closed her eyes, willing herself not to think about Mitch’s last moments.

‘The assumption is that the police suspect you had a fight over the
Bad & Co.
scandal, and it turned violent and then fatal.’

‘I can’t really comment on what the police suspect, but it would seem an obvious avenue for investigators to explore.’

‘What is the truth about the group-sex scandal on the set, and this tape that’s just emerged?’

‘It’s not true. There was no such incident on set so there can be no tape. Not of me.’

‘Why would Rick Beatty lie?’

‘Sometimes people become confused between image and reality. I think Rick Beatty may have believed I was the available, easy woman I played in that movie and in other films. When he learnt differently, he felt humiliated and he retaliated. I’m sure he regrets it, and probably is struggling to find a way out.’

‘You’re saying it’s just payback because he propositioned you and you gave him the cold shoulder?’

Feeling antsy, Blaze went to stand by the window. The vast outback spread as far as the eye could see, and she immediately felt calmer. ‘If he felt I gave him the cold shoulder, I’m sorry. My recollection is that I just said no.’

In truth, she’d barely registered Beatty’s interest, beyond feeling a moment of pity for his Australian girlfriend, Emily or Emmaline something, whom she’d met briefly at the wrap party when filming finished.

From the way the poor girl had been clinging to Rick, she’d clearly been desperately infatuated. But he hadn’t had eyes for anyone but Blaze, to the extent that it had been a little embarrassing and Blaze had quickly excused herself. She’d wanted to tell the girl that Beatty was a creep, but it just hadn’t been the time or place for that kind of conversation – if there ever was one – and later in the powder room, the woman had just brushed past Blaze without a word.

‘What about the other men involved in the alleged incident?’ Cal was asking. ‘One has apparently backed Beatty up. The others haven’t commented.’

‘I don’t know. To be honest none of them were people I regularly came into contact with on set, but there were no problems, so I’m not sure how they became involved.’

‘Beatty said you seemed high. Couldn’t get enough of them.’

Blaze struggled to stay calm. ‘Yes, I know. But it just didn’t happen.’

‘You had ample opportunity to refute Beatty’s allegations earlier,’ Marsden pointed out.

‘That’s true, but both the producers of
Bad & Co.
and I felt that addressing the matter would give it credibility and longer life. The media I spoke to at the time had to agree to ask questions only about the movie.’

‘And the tape? Beatty says it’s you. People who’ve seen it say it looks like you.’

‘I don’t need to see it to know it isn’t me.’

‘Will you sue?’

Did she want to take on a legal fight as well as everything else? ‘No. I don’t think so.’

‘Why?’

‘It won’t undo the damage. And in any case, it’s Beatty’s word against mine. I can only hope that at some point he feels able to set the record straight, and I appreciate that it would take an enormous amount of courage to do so at this stage.’

‘What about the impact on your career?’

‘What career?’ Blaze dredged up a laugh from somewhere. ‘The good thing is that I have to trawl through far fewer scripts these days! I don’t know. In time, I hope producers and casting agents will look past recent events and consider what I can bring to a role. But at the moment I’m not even thinking about work. I’m just trying to get through each day and not miss Mitch too much.’

‘Buzz is starting to build for your performance in
Bad & Co.
from the people who’ve seen the rough cut.’

‘All publicity is good publicity in the movie business.’

‘I’ve seen a couple of scenes and, for what it’s worth, I think you handled the balance between comedy and pathos extremely well,’ Cal said.

‘Thanks.’

‘The premiere is coming up. Will you be attending?’

‘I . . . I’m really not sure.’

‘Rumour has it you were being considered for
Siren
, but that it’s gone to Natalie Portman.’

‘I had heard the first part but not the second. Thanks.’

‘Sorry.’ Cal sounded genuinely regretful to be delivering bad news. ‘If it’s any consolation, I think you would have been great in that role. I hear it’s a terrific script.’

‘I’m sure Natalie will do a wonderful job.’

‘What do you say to the people who figure that, guilty or not, you’ve brought much of this on your own head because of the image you promote?’

‘I’d have to take some responsibility there,’ Blaze said quietly. ‘All I can say is it wasn’t deliberate. I was young and it seemed to be an easy way to carve out a career for myself in a tough town. But the path of least resistance isn’t necessarily the right one. Having said that, we have to remember that two people are dead, and others were injured at the film festival. Someone else picked up the knife that killed Mitch and the gun that shot Bethany. I hope their killers are brought to justice.’ Her voice began to wobble and she shut up.

‘All right, that’s great,’ Cal said. ‘We can wrap it up there. I’m sorry I put you through the wringer with some of those questions.’

‘People want answers. I know that, and I wish I had them all.’

‘My editor will want to run this in the next edition, which goes to press in two days,’ Cal told her.

‘You’ll have to use old imagery, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t use anything that would make things worse for Bethany’s family. Or Mitch’s.’

‘Got it. I’ll send an advance copy to Jaxon.’