"Let's get the hell out of here." "No."
"Kansas—" But when he looked at her he saw more than the shock and fear. He saw what was missing on so many of the other faces that crowded the room: grief.
"Whatever her motives," Deanna said quietly, "she helped me once. And whoever did this to her used me." Her voice broke. "I can't forget that."
Neither could he. That was what terrified him. "It would be better if Dan Gardner doesn't spot either one of us."
Deanna nodded, spotting him at the front of the room, accepting condolences. "He's using her too, even though she's dead. It's horrible."
"He'll ride her press for a while. She'd have understood that."
"I suppose."
"An interesting scene, isn't it?" Loren commented when he joined them. He gave Deanna a hard, searching look, then nodded. "You're looking well."
"No I'm not." Grateful for the lie, she kissed his cheek. "I didn't think you'd come."
"I could say the same." He warmed her chilled hands between his. "It seemed necessary somehow, but I'm already regretting it." His expression changed to one of disgust as he looked over his shoulder at Dan Gardner. "Rumor is he plans to air clips from this viewing along with the special Angela taped for next May. And he's demanding another five thousand a minute from sponsors. The son of a bitch will get it, too."
"Bad taste often costs more than good," Deanna murmured. "There must be five hundred people in here."
"Easily. A handful are even sorry she's dead."
"Oh, Loren." Deanna's stomach clenched like a fist.
"I hate to admit I'm one of them." Then he sighed and shrugged off the mood. "She'd have gotten an ego boost out of that piece of news." To clear the emotion from his voice, Loren coughed gently into his hand. "You know, I can't decide if Angela deserved Dan Gardner or not. It's a tough call."
"I'm sure she didn't deserve you." The tears burning in her eyes made Deanna feel like a hypocrite since they weren't for Angela. "We're not staying, Loren. Why don't you come with us?"
"No, I'm going to see this through. But I think you should avoid any publicity here tonight. Slip out quietly."
When they were back in the alcove, Deanna turned into Finn's arms. "I had no idea he still loved her."
"I don't think he did, either." He tipped her face up until their eyes were level. "Are you all right?"
"Actually, I'm better." She turned her head until her cheek rested on his shoulder. Most of the fear had ebbed, she realized. That jittering panic she'd nearly grown accustomed to feeling in her stomach had quieted. "I'm glad we came."
"Excuse me." Kate Lowell's sultry voice had Deanna turning her head. She stood in the doorway, sleek and somber in black silk, her hair waves of flame over her shoulders. "I'm sorry to interrupt."
"You haven't," Deanna responded. "We were just leaving."
"So am I." She glanced over her shoulder toward the sounds of voices and music. "It's not my kind of party." She smiled slightly. "She was a bitch," Kate said. "And I hated her guts. But I'm not sure even
Angela deserved to be used quite so blatantly." She sighed once, moving her shoulders as if to shrug it all away. "I'd like a drink. And I need to talk to you." She looked at Finn and frowned. "I suppose it'll have to be both of you, and it hardly matters at this point." She watched Finn's brow rise, and smiled again, with more feeling. "Really gracious, aren't I? Listen, why don't you find us a bar? I'll buy us all a drink and tell you a little story you might find interesting."
Chapter Twenty-five
"To Hollywood," Kate said as she raised her glass of scotch. "Land of illusions."
Puzzled, Deanna nursed her wine while Finn stuck with coffee.
It wasn't the sort of bar where one would expect to find one of Hollywood's major stars. The piano player was glumly noodling out the blues so that the notes rose sluggishly on air thick with smoke. Their corner was dim, as Kate had requested. On the table scarred with nicks their drinks rested near a chipped amber glass ashtray.
"You came a long way for the funeral of someone you didn't like." Deanna watched Kate's elegant nails tap the table in time with the piano.
"I was in town. But if I hadn't been, I'd have made the trip. For the pleasure of making sure she was dead." Kate sipped her scotch again, then set the glass aside. "I don't imagine you cared for her any more than I did, but this might be rougher on you, since you found her." Kate's eyes softened as she stared into Deanna's. "As the story goes, it wasn't a pretty sight."
"No, it wasn't."
"I wish it had been me," Kate said under her breath. "You're a softer touch, always were. Even after everything she did, and tried to do, to you. I know a lot more about that than you might imagine," she added when Deanna studied her. "Things that didn't make it into the press. Angela liked to brag. She hated you." She inclined the glass toward Finn. "Because you didn't come to heel when she snapped her fingers. And she wanted you for exactly the same reason. She figured Deanna was in her way, from all manner of angles. She'd have done anything to remove you."
"This isn't news." Noting that Kate's glass was dry, Finn signaled for another. The lady, he concluded, was stalling.
"No, it's just my little prelude." She stretched back, but the sinuous gesture was all nerves. "I don't suppose you'd be surprised to know that Angela went to some trouble and expense to dig up that business from your past, Deanna. The date rape. It backfired, of course." Her lips curved into a lovely smile. "Some of her projects did. That's what she called them. Not blackmail." She sulked a moment, fingers tapping, tapping, tapping. "Rob Winters was one of her projects. So was Marshall Pike." She didn't glance at the waitress, but nudged the glass aside even as it was set in front of her. "There are plenty more. Names that would astonish you. She used a P.i. named Beeker. He's in Chicago. Angela kept him very busy documenting data for her projects. It cost me five thousand dollars to shoehorn his name out of Angela's secretary. But then, everybody has a price. I had mine," she added quietly.
"You're saying Angela blackmailed people?" Deanna leaned forward. "She traded secrets for money?"
"Occasionally. She preferred trading secrets for favors. Her terms again." Absently, she reached into the plastic bowl of mixed nuts. ""Do me a little favor, darling, and I'll keep this tidbit of information all to myself." "Your wife has a drug problem, Senator. Don't worry, I won't breathe a word if you just do me a favor." What multi-Grammy winner was a victim of incest? What popular television star has ties to the KKK? Ask Angela. She made it her business to know what skeleton was in what closet. And if she was confident she had her hooks in you deeply enough, she might tell you what closet. It was a way of flexing her power. She was confident she had her hooks in me."
"And now she's dead."
Kate acknowledged Finn's comment with a nod. "Funny, now that she's no longer a threat to me, I feel compelled to do what she always threatened to do. I'm going public. Actually, I'd decided to do so on the very night she was murdered. The police might find that convenient, don't you think? Like a bad script. I saw her that night." She read the horror in Deanna's eyes. "Not at the studio. At her hotel. We argued. Since there was a maid in the next room, I imagine the police already know about it."
She lifted a brow at Finn. "Yes, I can see at least you knew about it. Well then. I'm going to go in and make a statement before they come to me. I believe I even threatened to kill her." Kate closed her eyes. "There's that bad script again. I didn't kill her, but you'll have to decide whether to believe me when I'm finished."
"Why are you telling us?" Deanna demanded. "Why don't you go directly to the police?"
"I'm an actress. I like the chance to choose my audience. You were always a good one, Dee." She reached out then in a quick, fleeting gesture of friendship. "And, in any case, I think you're entitled to know the whole story. Didn't you ever wonder why I backed out of coming on your show? Why I've never been available to appear on it?"