Dying to Have Her Read online

  You don’t really know Serena, Liam thought.

  “Just one other small detail,” Liam said, leaning forward and staring hard at Joe.

  “Go on,” Joe told him.

  “If it wasn’t an accident, then someone on that set was behind the death.”

  “Obviously,” Olsen said.

  “When do I see the set?”

  “Now,” Olsen told him. “Right now. And as to watching out for Miss McCormack …”

  “Don’t worry,” Liam said. “I’m on it.”

  “Subtly, right?” Joe said anxiously.

  Liam shook his head. “No way.”

  “But she hasn’t been told yet—” Joe protested.

  “Okay, Joe. I’ll give you the weekend to tell her. She won’t know I’m anywhere near. But after that … if you haven’t told her, I sure as hell will.”

  Chapter 5

  THE FUNERAL WAS HUGE. When Serena arrived, it was already under way.

  Despite her best intentions, she had run late. She had called a taxi, knowing there would be a shortage of parking. During the drive from her hilly, forested neighborhood in the residential area of Glenwood, she watched the landscape changes in the town she loved so much, coming from winding, quiet heights down to the commercial bustle along Van Ness.

  St. Brendan’s was already crowded when she arrived, with police holding back the throngs who couldn’t fit into the church. She was stopped herself, and though she didn’t think that the young officer who halted her mad dash down the street had ever watched a soap opera in his life, he studied her and at last seemed to believe she was who she said she was, an actress in the daytime serial Valentine Valley, a coworker and friend of the deceased.

  Friend. She had said the word friend.

  She wasn’t too certain about the last herself. She’d thought about Jane a lot in the few days between her death and the funeral. She had known her better than some of the staff, but she still hadn’t known her very well. Jane had only come on the set as a new character when Jennifer’s baby had been born. She had been pleasant enough during her appearances for discussions with the producers—pleasant enough to Serena. On the set, though, she’d been very demanding, a prima donna. Andy complained that they were looking at an “attitude problem” right from the get-go.

  St. Brendan’s looked spectacular. Jane’s ornate coffin was down by the altar. The priest was already conducting the service. The smell of the candles and flowers mingled with that of expensive perfumes. Serena stood still for several seconds, trying to get her bearings. Her long view gave way to the backs of men’s well-groomed heads, some long, loose female hair, and a variety of hats in all colors, shapes, and sizes.

  She sneezed.

  “Serena!”

  Her name was hissed softly as an arm reached for her.

  Jennifer Connolly—no, she kept forgetting. Her friend had married and taken her husband’s name—Jennifer Markham. She had slipped from the Valentine Valley pew to grab Serena up like a lost puppy and pull her into the fold. Gratefully, she followed, whispering an “Excuse me!” each time they stepped past someone to reach the middle where Jennifer had been sitting.

  She knew that people had turned to watch her arrive. Who was she? How important? What was she wearing?

  There were press people everywhere.

  Lord, but Jane would have loved this, she thought.

  Jennifer sat to her left, with her husband, Conar, at her side. He nodded to Serena, a small, welcoming grin before he turned back to the priest and his handsome face sobered in reflection of the occasion.

  Turning slightly, Serena saw that the row behind her was filled with crew members from Valentine Valley. Lighting, makeup, set design. Allona was with the crew; she arched a brow with a shrug, indicating that it had been suggested that she come. Jinx sat next to Allona. Thorne McKay, from makeup, was next to Jinx. She gave them all a weak smile.

  When she turned to face the front again, Serena realized that she had squeezed past Joe Penny and Andy Larkin. Though Joe was the main producer on the show, Andy held tides as both producer and actor. Andy was also her ex-husband. On the show—and in real life.

  Watching him, she realized that she did still feel a fondness for Andy—she always would. He was tall and good-looking and usually very pleasant. She had once thought that he really loved her, that he couldn’t bear to stop looking at her anytime they were out, especially at the beach. She had been so flattered, so certain that he really cared for her, that he had eyes for no one else but her.

  Then she had realized one day that he was studying his own image in the reflection of her sunglasses, and bit by bit, she had begun to realize that the man on the surface was the only man there was. He was still her friend. She loved him like … a brother. A spoiled, willful brother. Or perhaps the child she didn’t have—and had thought that she had wanted with him.

  Andy looked her way, smiled, squeezed her hand. She felt guilty. In his way, Andy was a really good guy. He still wanted to get remarried. He brought it up now and then. Hey, Serena, want a cup of coffee? Hey—how about getting married again? Man, it would be so good for the show’s ratings!

  “You okay?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes, of course. In fact …”

  “In fact?”

  “I’m feeling a bit guilty,” she admitted. “I barely knew her.”

  “Well none of us knew her that well. She was just starting with us. But … well, it was terrible,” Andy said. He waved a hand in the air and spoke softly. “An act of God.”

  An act of God! She had heard that term so many times now. But the police had been crawling over the set since the event, so she had heard.

  Seated in the pew behind Andy, with others in the cast and crew of Valentine Valley, Jay Braden sniffed loudly. It was, in fact, Serena decided, a snort.

  “An act of a merciful God!” he muttered.

  “Jay!” Kelly, seated next to him, chastised him swiftly. Serena was surprised; she had seldom heard Jay make such snide comments.

  “She’s dead!” Jennifer whispered to Jay. “Don’t be terrible.”

  “I’m not being terrible. I’m being honest. You guys should never have hired her!” Jay continued, tapping Andy on the shoulder. His voice seemed loud; Serena prayed that it hadn’t carried.

  “Hey! This is a funeral, for God’s sake!” Serena reminded him.

  “She was on a roll. She seemed a good choice at the time,” Andy said dolefully, still looking forward.

  Silence fell over them, and Serena heard the funerary liturgy of the priest, smelled the death-room smell of too many lilies, and breathed in the smoke from the candles that filled the church.

  Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes.

  There was a brief eulogy, given by an old acting teacher. That surprised Serena. If she had been the one killed in an accident, her sister would have spoken for her—or Jennifer. Or even one of these guys. They might have been crude, but their words would have had some emotion in them.

  Soon the service ended. They all stood up and started filing out to the center aisle.

  “A great funeral. Jane would have loved this! Will you look at the crowd!” Joe said.

  “Hey,” Andy murmured, “everyone loves a good funeral.”

  “Everyone loves a good wedding, gentlemen,” Jennifer cut in. “Will you people please behave!”

  “Of course, Jennifer, of course. You’re so right,” Andy said and immediately fell into a semblance of gravity and dignity.

  “What on earth is this going to do to our plot line?” Jim Novac said as they were walking out.

  “We’re not changing anything,” Andy said. “Much.”

  “That’s not what I heard,” Serena said, kicking herself. This was a funeral. And here she was, getting drawn into the conversation. “Allona said on the phone last night that she was going crazy rewriting everything—”

  “Every scene that had Jane in it,” Jim murmured.

  “Our big deal is
love and death by Valentine’s Day. The other soaps will be pointing fingers at us, saying, ‘Death—they really mean it over there!’” Serena pointed out.

  “Maybe we should change things,” Andy said.

  “We can’t!” Joe Penny insisted suddenly. “All of our teasers are out already in the soap magazines, the women’s magazines, and newspapers. We have Valentine’s Day contests going on—Who’s the Killer? Who’s the Lover? It All Comes to Light on Valentine Valley!”

  “Who’s the victim has already happened,” Serena said dryly.

  “She isn’t a victim. There was an accident. A very sad accident,” Andy told her. His voice was full of the proper pathos. He doesn’t mean a word of it! she thought. The three of them! They’re all just worried about how a death was going to affect their livelihood!

  Accident. They were all saying accident. It was what she believed herself, right?

  “We have to just live the way we want to live,” Jim said. “There was Jane, torturing herself to quit smoking so she wouldn’t die of lung cancer. And there she is, dead from a spotlight. I quit smoking myself. She was a bitch, but I wish I could have rushed her one last cigarette.”

  “She had her one last cigarette,” Serena said.

  She was startled when they all turned to stare at her. A flush touched her cheeks. Olsen had told her not to mention the note.

  She wouldn’t mention the note—or scrap of burned paper—she had seen. “She was smoking before she went on the set. Using a saucer for an ashtray. She did have her last cigarette, Jim.”

  He nodded gravely, as if that meant a lot.

  They came out to the walk that surrounded the church and ambled around to the parking lot behind it. Others also headed to their cars, talking all the while. Serena overheard the usual comments.

  “What a tragedy!” came from a lovely young woman.

  “Um. Cuts down on the competition, though, eh?” That from a jaded dame in a wide-brimmed hat.

  “Think someone did her in?” queried an older man.

  “Whatever for?” asked the woman.

  ‘To cut down on the competition?” the young woman suggested.

  “For pure meanness!” the man said.

  The woman laughed softly. “A mercy killing—for the rest of the cast?” she said, and they moved on.

  Standing alone, away from the others for a moment, Serena felt a real and terrible sadness for the woman who had lost her life. Where were Jane’s real friends? Did playing in the world of pretend too much mean that she didn’t have any friends who were real!

  Too many people let the struggle to be on top become the entire focus of their lives.

  “Somebody did her in, you can bet. Murder. And someone on that set did it!”

  She jumped as she heard the words, spoken in a hiss. She spun around to see who had spoken.

  No one seemed to be really near her, although dozens of people stood in clusters, not at all far away.

  One word ricocheted in her mind.

  Murder.

  She saw Conar Markham. Realizing that she had stopped walking with the group, he and Jennifer had come back for her. “What’s wrong, Serena?”

  Leave it to Conar. He was studying her with both curiosity and real concern. She smiled. She was lucky. She did have real friends. She shook off the unease that had gripped her. She wasn’t about to tell Conar that she had felt a sudden panic.

  “Nothing. I was just—feeling sorry for Jane. Not even so much for the fact that she died, but … I can’t help wondering about her life.”

  “I know,” he said softly.

  She smiled. “How’s the baby?”

  He started to answer her, but someone tapped him on the arm. It was one of the funeral attendants. Conar was a tall man, and he lowered his head as the funeral home employee spoke to him in a whisper.

  Conar then said, “I’m a pallbearer.”

  “What?” Jennifer said, puzzled.

  Conar shrugged. Jane had had no real friends! They were calling on the cast and crew of the soap to bear her coffin, Serena thought.

  “Oh, of course,” Jennifer said.

  “Ride with Serena?” Conar said.

  “We’ll be with Andy,” Serena said quickly.

  Conar nodded and left them. Andy, coming up, sniffed. “Serena, I’m a pallbearer. Doug will drive you, all right?” Doug Henson was the head writer on the show. Handsome to a fault, gay, funny, talented, self-mocking, and as irreverent as Allona was cynical. Serena loved him.

  Serena looked at Jennifer. “Of course.”

  “Well,” Serena said, then smiled at Jennifer and repeated the question she had earlier put to Conar. “How’s the baby?”

  She was referring to three-month-old Ian, who was home with Jennifer’s mother.

  “He’s wonderful. Wonderful! I love every minute with him. You should see him smile. He’s going to be a heart-breaker. He looks just like Conar, except his eyes are bluer, just like mine. But his hair is dark, and he has so much of it.” Jennifer’s eyes lit up when she talked about the baby. She came alive in a way Serena had never seen before. “And you should see the way he watches and listens to everything—” She broke off suddenly, flushing. “Okay, I’m gushing. You just wait. You’ll see what it’s like,” Jennifer told her.

  “Jen, you can gush to me anytime you like, you know that. I adore the little angel. I just wish he were mine.”

  “You’ll have your own.”

  “Not if I get much older,” Serena commented, looking around and assessing the display of the funeral once again. Um, but people were dressed. They milled about and chatted in the sunshine. The young and beautiful sidled up to the old and powerful. Lunch dates were made. Photographers snapped pictures with a fury. Lights flared, even in the sunlight of the beautiful, powdery blue day.

  Jennifer grabbed Serena’s arm, swinging her around to oblige a photographer. “LA. Times,” she whispered.

  “This is a funeral,” Serena reminded her, smiling for the camera, then remembering it was a somber occasion.

  “Thanks!” the photographer said.

  “Certainly,” Jennifer told him.

  He nodded and moved on. There was a B-movie queen ahead of them on the sidewalk. Other photographers were beginning to gather.

  “You know, this is a funeral,” Serena repeated.

  “Um. But we aren’t rich and famous enough to be nasty when that decent fellow from the LA. Times is giving us a photo op.”

  Serena groaned. “Jennifer! That does not sound like you. And I’m willing to bet that the diva up ahead never met Jane Dunne.”

  “Well, you know, it’s sad but true: a funeral does remain a photo op,” Jennifer said with a shrug of her shoulders.

  Doug Henson stepped up between them. He really was incredibly good looking. Everyone assumed he should want to be an actor, but he loathed acting, loved writing. And though he mocked his soap writing himself, he was excellent at it. Still he longed to do his own great American novel. He kissed Serena’s cheek. “A funeral for a bitch. The goddamned Wicked Witch of the West, and that’s not gossip but a major consensus. And you’re not old.”

  “What?” Serena said.

  He grinned. “Couldn’t help but eavesdrop.”

  “You’ve been eavesdropping for a long time!”

  “Trying to reach you. I even got stopped by the paparazzi on this one. I’m your designated driver, you know. And besides,” he said to Serena, suddenly indignant, “I’ve been around you charming ladies often enough. I know you wouldn’t dream of shopping for any important occasion without my advice. Now that should include a husband, and you’re quite right, I haven’t seen Mister Perfect around yet myself. Not for you, anyway.”

  “Well, thanks. I wouldn’t want to snag Mr. Wrong again.”

  “You almost had Mr. Right,” Doug told her.

  She felt a strange warmth seize her; her tongue felt suddenly dry. She knew to whom he was referring.

  “No, he wasn�
�t Mr. Right at all.”

  “He sure as hell looked damned good.”

  “Looks are deceiving, and I don’t want to discuss this.”

  Doug decided to back off. He grinned and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “If you want, and you’re free this weekend, we can have lunch on Sunset and watch the men go by.”

  She didn’t answer him right away. His comments had made her feel unnerved, opened a wound that was just beginning to heal. Yes, I’d thought that he was Mr. Right, too! she might have said. And she still felt that same hurt and loss when she thought about … him.

  Her almost Mr. Right.

  She wasn’t going to allow him to torture her mind and soul. Especially now.

  “Please?” Doug said hopefully. “It would be fun. We haven’t done it in a long time.”

  His endearing look was sincere. She couldn’t help but smile and laugh. “I don’t know. You’re too good looking. You always get a guy, and I don’t.”

  He winked at her. “We’re looking for different things in a fellow, remember?”

  Serena slipped her arm through Doug’s. “We’ll have lunch this weekend because I love you to death and we haven’t had lunch together in a while, how’s that?”

  “Maybe I’ll come, and bring the baby,” Jennifer suggested.

  “I would love to have you, but we’re going on a hunt!” Doug told her. “A man-hunt. Men don’t coo-coo over babies the way that women do.”

  “We’re not going on a man hunt. Jen, you’re coming to lunch,” Serena said.

  Doug sniffed. “We’ll attract nothing but women with Serena’s own nesting instinct,” he said with a sigh. “But if that’s the way you want it …”

  “Doug, you cannot pick up good men by watching people go by on Sunset,” Serena said.

  “Speak for yourself, my poor dear sweet!” Doug told her.

  Doug caught her arm, hurrying her along again until they reached his car. It was a brand-new sporty Mercedes in metallic silver. Once in the driver’s seat, he revved the engine, and a smile lit his face, as if he were in heaven, just listening. “God, I love that sound. Just hearing it … I almost feel as if I just had some great sex.”