Long, Lean, and Lethal Read online

  Liam’s dark eyes met Jennifer’s. “They know she was murdered in her home,” he said simply.

  “I understand that you’re joining us tonight, Detective Murphy.”

  “If you’ll have me.”

  “Of course, Liam, you know that. I’m very glad you’re coming. An old friend of mine is coming who might interest you.”

  Jennifer looked sharply at her mother.

  “Drew Parker. He was my real estate agent when I bought the house, and he knew the old magician who had the place built. If there is anything missing in your inspection back here, he might be able to help you.”

  “I look forward to meeting him. He must be a fascinating person.”

  “He is.”

  “Thank you for allowing me to come. Excuse me for the moment, will you?”

  Abby followed his departure with her eyes as he left to converse with one of his men.

  “Mom …” Jennifer reached a hand out to her mother.

  Abby squeezed her fingers. “I’m fine.”

  “I think we should cancel the party.”

  “Not on your life, dear. You just heard—I’ve done some inviting here myself. We can’t cancel, Jennifer. The cast and crew of Valentine Valley are expecting a welcome for Conar.”

  Conar looked as if he could be one of the cops. In jeans and a tailored shirt, tall, stalwart, brows knitted in a frown, he was listening to one of the forensics men as he explained something to Liam, drawing patterns in the air with his hands.

  “Of course.”

  “You two are getting on all right?”

  “Just peachy,” Jennifer murmured. She bent down to scratch her dog’s neck. “Get him, Lady, eat him up, devour him.”

  Lady whimpered and wagged her tail.

  “Mom, you need to rest.”

  “Soon.”

  “It’s time for some of your medications.”

  “Edgar will have them directly on time, you know that.”

  Of course. She looked up. Edgar was standing a few feet behind her mother, a bit to the side. He was like a good old guard dog himself.

  Abby sighed suddenly. She lifted a hand toward her mouth; her fingers were shaking. “I guess it’s time to go in. I do need some rest.”

  Jennifer jumped up, taking her mother’s arm.

  Both Edgar and Conar instantly turned, as if they had special radar for Abby’s distress. The two men nodded at each other. Edgar held his ground—protector of the property. Conar came forward to take Abby’s other arm.

  “I can probably manage just fine,” Jennifer murmured, trying to sound friendly and cheerful.

  “I’m sure you can,” Conar said, smiling at Abby. His eyes touched Jennifer. “But I’d like to be here with you. May I?”

  Abby laughed. “Conar, you may be with me anywhere.”

  “Well,” Jennifer said, “if you’re going to help Mom in, I just may keep my eyes on Lady and the guys out here.”

  “If you think it’s necessary, dear.”

  “Can’t hurt,” Conar supplied. He had slipped on a pair of sunglasses.

  She wondered if she could blink her eyes and make him disappear forever.

  “I’ll check on you in a bit, Mom,” she said.

  “Thanks, dear.”

  They left, Abby leaning heavily on Conar, but Conar making it look as if she were not having any difficulty.

  Jennifer turned away from the pair, wondering why her eyes suddenly stung so much. This illness had been going on a long time now. And she knew people who suffered greater tragedies—sick children, cancer, severe accidents, murder …

  The breeze suddenly seemed to turn cool. She jumped when she realized that Liam Murphy was standing behind her.

  “She does very well, you know,” he said softly.

  “She suffers so much. It’s so debilitating …”

  “She’s bright and smart. And you have help now.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Conar,” Liam said.

  “Oh, yes, of course.”

  As he grinned, she flushed, remembering that he had been witness to her tirade against her mother’s stepson last night.

  “He does love her. Very, very much, you know,” Liam said.

  She lifted her hands. “Maybe.”

  He watched her steadily. “I spent some time talking with your mother this morning, in the house.”

  “I know.”

  “And you disapprove.”

  “I don’t think she’s up to your questioning about Brenda Lopez.”

  “We didn’t talk about Brenda.”

  “Oh?”

  “We talked about you.”

  Jennifer sighed. “There’s no reason to associate this with me. Brenda was someone I worked with a few times, nothing more.”

  “She died horribly.”

  “I know that. And I’m very sorry.”

  “You didn’t see the body, Jennifer. Maybe you should. Then maybe you wouldn’t mind people wanting to protect you so much.

  “I can take care of myself, Detective Murphy. I don’t go into dark alleys. I know the trouble spots of L.A. I carry pepper spray, I have a very loud alarm on my key chain. I think I’ll go in and lie down for a while. Excuse me.”

  She walked away.

  She felt him staring at her.

  Abby took a good long nap from the afternoon into the early evening. Jennifer had thought to help her get ready for the party, but Abby wanted a really festive occasion and she told Jennifer she wanted to look her best. She’d called Thorne McKay, Jennifer’s makeup man from the show, to come help with her hair and face. That left Jennifer to her own devices. She found herself dressed and ready way ahead of time, and downstairs in the den staring at the bottles on the bar.

  Extra help had been brought in for the kitchen, and young men and women, dressed in tux-like uniforms, had been hired to do the serving. Saying hello to a few of them, she saw fresh, eager faces—young hopefuls. Like thousands before them, they had come to L.A. to become stars—and like thousands before them, they would do stints as waiters and waitresses.

  She shouldn’t drink, she told herself. It was going to be a long night. She needed to be on the lookout for Abby, ready to sweep her away if she looked the least bit uncomfortable. She prowled the room. She paced in front of the bar, wondering why she was quite so tense.

  It was a tense situation.

  “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof?”

  She spun around. Conar had come into the room. He was in a black sports jacket, tieless tailored shirt, and black pants. His hair was freshly washed, sleek as a raven’s wing.

  She hadn’t expected to see him so soon. The police had only wrapped up in the backyard at about four o’clock, and after that, he had left with Liam Murphy.

  She exhaled slowly, holding his gaze, determined to be civil. “I’m hoping this isn’t going to be too much for her.”

  Conar moved behind the bar. He poured himself a soda, squeezed a lime in it.

  “May I have one of those?”

  He looked up, arching a brow slowly. “Um. I think something a bit different.” He lifted the glass to her. “You look as if you need a real drink.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “No, I don’t. Not at the moment. God knows, I may soon enough. But right now … yes, you definitely need something with a bit of a bite.”

  She didn’t reply, keeping her eyes fixed on his. He smiled grimly, then fixed her a drink.

  With bite.

  She sipped it. Strong. Very strong.

  “A drink, maybe. Not ten in one,” she murmured.

  “It’s already been a long day,” he said.

  He seemed strange. Casual with her, ready to get on with the party.

  She grimaced suddenly, leaning on the bar. “I feel as if I’ve hit a brick wall today.”

  “You look it.”

  “Thanks.”

  His lip curled just slightly. “Miss Connolly. You know that you are a striking young woman, and I am refer
ring to the fact that you appear frazzled rather than anything less than entirely beautiful.”

  She arched a brow to him. “How kind. I think.”

  “It’s not a compliment. Just a comment.”

  She started to move away from the bar, but he set a hand on hers. “She’s so worried about you, and you’re so worried about her.”

  She stared at his hand on hers. He didn’t release her. She could jerk away, but she had a strange feeling that his mood was irascible at the moment, that no matter how pleasant he was—no matter that he was drinking plain soda—he was far more tense than she.

  “Naturally I worry about her. And this party. She is so uncomfortable when she starts to shake in front of people.”

  “Yes, she is. She hides. She shouldn’t. She’s still a beautiful and gifted woman. I’m glad she’s having company tonight. Even if the circumstances today have been more than a bit grim.”

  “Mother has handled herself admirably.”

  She managed to extract her hand from beneath his.

  “Yes, she has.”

  “I wonder how long she’ll stay down here tonight,” she murmured.

  “There’s the surgery.”

  She felt her breath catch in her throat.

  “What if her heart isn’t strong enough? What if it kills her?”

  “She’s young enough now. Let it go, and she gets older every year. The disease progresses every year.”

  “She could die from the surgery.”

  “Is she really living now?”

  “How can you be so ready to take a chance with her life? You see …”

  “You see—what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You were about to tell me that I don’t care as much as you do, that you’re really her daughter, I’m just the son of a man she married once.”

  “No—”

  “Why not? It’s the truth. You are her child.”

  “Look, I’m not ready to argue this—”

  “I’m not arguing. I’m agreeing.”

  “Fine, you’re agreeing, but making me feel like … like you know more.”

  “Maybe I can just see more clearly because you are closer. But I do know Abby. And I know how much really living means to her. I think she’s more than willing to try the surgery.”

  “And I’m holding her back!”

  “Aren’t you? I know I’d take that chance if it were me.”

  “That’s easy for you to say—because it isn’t you!”

  “It’s not easy at all. I do love Abby.”

  She wound her fingers around her glass. The doorbell suddenly rang. She nearly crushed the glass. She started when his fingers curled lightly around hers.

  “You may need ten more drinks,” he said in a tone that both teased and warned. “The stage is set—the players have arrived. It’s all happening, so breathe deeply and enjoy it the best you can. Trust me in this—Abby will do well.”

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  “She has us.”

  Escaping his hold, Jennifer started out of the den and by the huge great room to the foyer. Joe Penny had just arrived with Vera Houseman, the actress who played Marina Valentine, the matriarch of the Valentine family, mother of the ever-straying girls, and wife to the ever-philandering Angelo Valentine, patriarch of their daytime dynasty.

  Vera hadn’t been on call all week. She had been vacationing in the Caribbean.

  “Jennifer, dear, thanks so much for having us!”

  Vera, with silver-blue hair and brilliant eyes to match, as lean and put together as a refurbished supermodel, swept into the foyer, doffing her fur stole, spinning to survey the house. “It’s magnificent! Thanks so much for having us!”

  “Thanks for coming. It is my mom’s house, though. She gave out the invitations.”

  “Well, we couldn’t be invited if it weren’t for you. And Conar.”

  So Conar was standing behind her. She should have known it. Here a day, and he was master of the house.

  “Dear, dear Conar,” Vera said.

  “Vera, how are you?”

  He took the hands she had offered, and took a hint as well, kissing her on the cheek she inclined his way.

  “Thrilled that you’re here, darling, just thrilled.”

  “Well, thank you,” Conar said.

  “It is a thrill, isn’t it?” Joe said smugly.

  “Joe, Vera, what can I get you to drink?” she asked.

  “Something strong, darling, very strong,” Vera said. “Joe was just telling me that Brenda Lopez was found dead in Laurel Canyon.”

  “Can you imagine?” Joe said.

  “You hadn’t heard?” Jennifer asked Vera.

  “No … I was truly on vacation, at a spa.”

  “Drinks are in the den,” Jennifer announced, turning to head back. They followed behind her.

  “The poor girl,” Vera said. “Oh, but she was a hardhead. I never worked with her, but I met her at a charity event last year. She refused—absolutely refused—to be in the dunk tank, and the whole thing was for such a good cause. She wore a bathing suit without blinking, of course, but she wasn’t about to have her makeup jeopardized. Still … such a little daredevil, too.”

  Jennifer slipped behind the bar. Something strong for Vera. Hm …

  “Wild Turkey on the rocks, dear, that will do nicely,” Vera said. She swung around, facing the men. “Tell me the whole story, I still don’t understand. Maybe they have it all wrong. Maybe it was an accidental death.”

  “An accidental death!” the exclamation came from the den doorway—Andy Larkin had arrived. Solo, it appeared. He had paused dramatically in the doorway. “Accidental?” he repeated, shaking his head. “Vera, my good woman, I do not think so!”

  “Vera, she was stabbed over sixty times,” Joe said.

  “Oh, dear Lord! Make that a double, dear, will you?” Vera said. “Over sixty times …”

  Jennifer was startled to find Conar standing beside her behind the bar, his manner suddenly tense, controlled, and impatient. “Joe, Andy, what can we get you?”

  “Scotch and soda,” Andy said.

  “Skip the soda,” Joe told him.

  Jennifer, still plopping ice cubes into Vera’s Wild Turkey, was surprised that Conar’s fingers brushed hers in his haste, and that he barely seemed to notice. In fact, he seemed oblivious to her being beside him.

  “Jennifer!”

  Serena had arrived. Prodding Andy gently through the doorway, she approached the bar. “The place is magnificent! Conar, hello, how are you?”

  Serena was gorgeous and gracious, leaning over the bar to kiss Conar’s cheek. He welcomed her warmly in return.

  Jennifer gave Serena a look. Traitor.

  Serena shrugged with a helpless grimace. “Can I help you back there? I’ll just run a few glasses out, how’s that?”

  “I’ll help you.”

  Andy was suddenly right beside Jennifer.

  Serena was never, ever getting back with Andy. Andy, however, didn’t seem to realize that. He had hurried over the moment Serena had gotten close to Conar.

  Interesting, Jennifer registered.

  “Fine, we’ll both help. Kelly just got here—I know she’ll have white wine; she never has anything but. Who’s that handsome old fellow who just arrived?”

  “It’s Drew!” Jennifer said with pleasure.

  She came around the bar, hurrying to the slim, steely old man with the iron gray hair who had just entered the room, chatting with Edgar, who had led him here. He saw Jennifer, and his bright hazel eyes widened and sparkled.

  “Jen, Jen! You’re a sight for sore old eyes,” he exclaimed.

  She came forward, grasped his hands, kissed his cheek, then let go and hugged him.

  Drew Parker was seventy years old and still built like a bull. He was handsome and sweet, shy and retiring; an amateur magician, now taking an occasional role as the grandfather in a movie, an actor who hid from the limelight. People always recog
nized him, though they never knew exactly why, or what it was they had seen him in. Years ago, wary that sustaining roles might not come along as he got older, he had gotten his real estate license. It was a perfect job for him—people might not always recognize him, but he knew everyone in Hollywood. He knew who wanted secluded property and who wanted to be in the limelight. He knew who was suddenly floating in money, and who was spiraling on a downward trend, who had invested, and who had blown it. He could keep his own counsel like no one else, and so he was always entirely discreet. He had, in his youth, known David Granger, and knew the truth behind some of the legends regarding the house. He was the agent who’d made the deal when Abby bought the house fifteen years ago from Granger’s daughter. He’d helped her see to the restoration and refurbishing of the place, and he had remained a good friend through it all.

  “Drew, it’s so good to see you. Mother is going to be so glad you were able to come.”

  “I would never refuse an opportunity to see your mother,” he told her. “Or you. Jen, you’re looking magnificent.”

  “And you’re …” She broke off laughing. “You’re gorgeous.”

  “Old as Rip Van Winkle,” he said.

  “Ageless,” she told him.

  “Where is your mother?”

  “I’ll go down to her room for her soon,” Jennifer said. She hesitated. “She only lasts so long. I think she wants the party to be in full swing before she makes her grand appearance.”

  “Jennifer!” Serena called.

  She turned. Serena still stood by the bar. She motioned to the door. Thorne McKay, bald head glistening, was standing there. He motioned to her.

  “Excuse me, will you? I think Mom is about ready.”

  “Go ahead, Jennifer, please. I’m just fine here.”

  “It’s the soap crowd here tonight, you know.”

  “Mostly. I see Hugh Tanenbaum over there.”

  She hadn’t realized the movie director, close friends with Joe Penny and Andy Larkin, had arrived. He was chatting with Kelly Trent and Jay Braden. There were a few strangers in the room now, and a lot more of her soap associates from props, camera, lighting, and sets.

  “I’m all right—just fine to mingle,” Drew insisted. “You go on.”

  She started toward Drew, but moving away, he smiled.

  A second later, before Jennifer could reach the doorway, Abby made her grand entrance.