More pieces fell into place. The script page, the vision … Paige was calling my attention to Diana Del Mar’s movie. A movie that had never been made — not by a real director, anyway.
But the Hollywood Killer had given it a try. After all … where better to find a forgotten Diana Del Mar script than in Diana’s own house? And who would have better access than the man who lived in the house?
Don’t jump to conclusions, I scolded myself. All of this information could have been collected from the news. Maybe Jonathan is interested in the murders the way Wyatt is. And Wyatt isn’t the murderer.
For a moment, I froze and listened, sure I could hear footsteps coming down the hall toward me. Then I realized that it had been the sound of my own heart, thudding against my chest. Nausea came over me in a wave, and I leaned back in the chair, staring at the dark wood beams on the ceiling.
This isn’t happening.
There had to be another explanation. There had to be.
But there was one way to know for sure.
My heart in my throat, I opened the file again — following a hunch I prayed was wrong.
But it wasn’t wrong.
The row at the very bottom of the chart was labeled Lovelock.
And the columns that followed it read MD, 0424, D20.
Marnie Delaine. Yesterday’s date. Then I got a sickening, poisonously bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I rose out of the chair and walked down the hall to the library. To the shelf full of movies that started with D.
There it was — an empty space, about twenty discs in. Right between Deterrence and Devil in a Blue Dress.
The perfect place for a movie called Detour.
I turned to walk out of the room, but before I made it three steps, everything went white.
I can’t stop crying.
“Tori,” he says, and I can tell he’s running out of patience. “Tori, listen to me. You’re supposed to be an actress. How can you expect to have any kind of career if you can’t control your emotions?”
I try to tell him I don’t care about acting anymore. I just want to go home.
But I know he won’t let me. He gets frustrated and turns away, muttering angrily to himself.
I gaze at the line of razor-thin light high in the corner of the room. I don’t remember how I got here — he drugged me, after we met at the abandoned building he’d claimed was his office. But now I know the room as well as my own bedroom. I’ve been here for days, with nothing to do but sit and look around … and cry.
I should stop crying. Not because it makes me a bad actress, but because it makes him mad. Still, he can’t hate me that much, can he? He gave me a present — a necklace. It’s gold, with a little half-moon charm hanging down from it —
Willa?”
The touch on my arm tore me out of the vision. I realized I was on the floor in the hallway, and Reed was standing over me.
“What happened?” he asked, frowning. “I kept calling your name, but you look so dazed.”
“I fell,” I said, wincing as I stood up. Judging by my aching tailbone, it must have been a pretty hard landing.
Reed insisted on helping me to the kitchen and getting me a glass of water. I thanked him, but I was too distracted and upset to make conversation.
All I could think was the granite-hard truth: Jonathan is a murderer. My stepfather is the Hollywood Killer.
I had this horrible feeling that I was being watched and forced myself to turn around. When I looked out the window, I almost fell over.
The pool was filled with brilliant red liquid, swirling so dark and thick that you couldn’t see past the surface.
I balled up my fists, thinking, It’s not real. The pool isn’t full of blood.
It was Paige, sending another sign. Of course she’d be sending the warnings fast and furious, now that I knew her killer lived in the house with me.
“Willa? You sure you’re okay?”
The voice snapped me out of my reverie, and I turned to see Reed standing a few feet away, watching me with concern.
“I didn’t mean to come in the house without knocking….” He spoke carefully, self-consciously. “But you didn’t answer the door, and the alarm wasn’t set. It seems like something’s wrong.”
“No,” I said, though my voice sounded like it had been run through a cheese grater. “I’m … fine.”
I glanced back at the pool water. Now it was perfect, pale aqua. Reed spoke again, but I didn’t quite hear his words.
“What?” I said. “Sorry. I’m a little … out of it.”
“I said I won’t keep you, but now I’m wondering if I should stay for a little while. Do you think you might have a concussion?”
“I’m fine,” I said blankly.
“I’m sure you are.” He shot me a smile and took Jonathan’s laptop off the kitchen counter. “Any big plans for your parent-free weekend?”
I glanced at him without smiling. I didn’t feel like pretending to be normal or okay. “No,” I said. “Not really.”
“I’ll just go, then. Seems like you want to be alone.” Reed’s cheerful expression faltered and he headed for the door.
I started up the stairs, but as I approached the second floor, I became aware of a static quality in the light behind me.
When I glanced down, Reed was looking up at me from the doorway, biting his lip. “This is going to sound odd, but were you by any chance … looking at some of Jonathan’s files?”
“What?” I asked.
Balancing the laptop on his left forearm, Reed turned it toward me.
The Development Notes folder was still open.
“Oh, um, yeah,” I said. “I didn’t realize right away that it wasn’t my computer. I clicked on the files without really looking.”
He glanced at the screen. “Oh. Okay, then.”
I went back down to the foyer. “But … I found something kind of strange.”
“Strange?” His eyes cut sharply up to meet mine. “How do you mean?”
I had to tell him, even if he wouldn’t believe me. “Um … Brianna Logan,” I said. “She was the Hollywood Killer’s first victim. And the agency name the police found in her calendar was Scales. Do you remember reading that in the news?”
“Possibly.” He blinked. “I’m not sure. What are you trying to say?”
“Um,” I said. “Nothing, really. Just that I found this chart …”
He leaned back against the doorframe, looking up at me with concern in his eyes. “I do know that Jonathan has been working with his agent to try to get the film rights for the story. I mean, so is everyone else in town. But that’s what you found, I’m sure.”
I nodded.
Reed didn’t seem willing to let it go. “He wasn’t even here when the last girl disappeared. He was in Connecticut.”
Suddenly, he frowned.
“Although he came back for one day,” he said. “At the beginning of the week. But I’m sure there’s no connection.”
Except he didn’t sound sure. He sounded distinctly unsure. And he was acting really unhappy and flustered all of a sudden.
“Reed …” I said.
He shook his head. “Listen, it’s nothing. I’ll figure it out, okay? I mean, it has to be nothing.”
I nodded.
Looking at me, Reed visibly relaxed, even cracked a smile. “What are we even talking about? This is crazy. Jonathan couldn’t be a … I’d better get going. I’ll talk to you next week, okay?”