aced her audition? Despite my dislike for the woman and a strong wish to forget I knew her, I could still recite her cell phone number from memory. And it wasn’t the number on the screen.
Curious, I slid the unlock bar on the screen to answer.
“Liz? This is Forrest Huber. Laycee’s husband.”
I eased back in my chair. “Forrest, it’s been a while. How are you?”
“I can’t find Laycee. Do you know where she is?”
Damn her for using me as her excuse.
“I don’t. I’m sorry. She doesn’t answer her cell?” Laycee wore her cell phone like a lifeline. She may have been born holding one.
“No,” he said, clearly irritated. “I haven’t heard from her this morning. I tried her cell several times. She’s not at the hotel. I thought she was spending the day with you. Are you meeting her later?”
I closed my eyes and sighed, reminded again of Forrest’s possessive hold on Laycee. It would be so easy for me to blow her cover. Such great revenge to tell Forrest his wife lied to him, that she was probably running around somewhere with Kyle or auditioning for a reality show. I really wanted to tell Forrest his cheating tramp of a wife would be the last person I would spend my time with. Forrest didn’tdeserve being the target of my wrath, however. So why upset him more?
“I saw Laycee yesterday…” I hesitated. If I mentioned last night’s ball game, he might ask for details. “…morning. She said she’d call me though I haven’t heard from her today. If I do, I’ll tell her to contact you right away.”
“Please do.” The distance between Atlanta and Los Angeles didn’t temper the annoyance and suspicion in his voice. He hung up without saying good-bye.
I ate enough to satisfy my hunger then called my answering service. Three messages came in overnight—all hang ups. Rare but not unusual. My outgoing office message instructs clients to leave a message or, in emergencies, hang up and dial 911. Occasionally one or two hang ups preceded a call, a day or two later, from a nervous new client seeking an appointment.
My next stop was at Ralph’s Market on Ventura and Vineland for supplies. Then, with my trunk loaded with milk, coffee, fresh fruit, and cat food in every fish-related flavor, I headed for home to face the task of emptying boxes.
Seeing my old tub in Stan’s truck bed encouraged me. Progress. I carried the bags into the house and put away the groceries. As I finished stacking cat food by label color in the pantry cupboard, I heard my cell phone ringing in my purse in the foyer and went to answer.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Oh, thank God you’re all right.” She sounded breathless.
“What’s wrong?”
“Turn on your television. Hurry.”
My stomach clenched, unnerved by the urgency in hervoice. I ran into the den and picked up the remote. “What happened, Mom? Are Daddy and Dave all right?”
“They’re fine. You’re alive. Beyond that, I don’t know. Just turn on the television.”
“What channel?” I fumbled with the buttons.
“Any channel.”
The TV flickered on. A headline flashed across the bottom of the screen:
BREAKING NEWS: WOMAN FOUND DEAD AT HOME OF DODGER PITCHER.
Chapter Six
T he brunette reporter spoke into a microphone from the middle of the upscale residential street. Behind her, I saw the iron fence bordering Jarret’s house and driveway. I increased the TV volume and sat on the den couch, watching the screen in a stupefied daze as Mom fired off questions over the phone.
“Should we call Jarret? What if something happened to him? Should we call your brother Dave?”
Onscreen the reporter said, “We don’t have a confirmed victim name or further details. The West Valley Division captain will make a statement at noon. This is Shazia Kapoor for Channel Seven Eyewitness News. Back to you in the studio, Jim.”
“We have to call Jarret,” Mom said. “Maybe we should go up there. Do you know who—”
“Slow down, Mom. What else did you hear
Curious, I slid the unlock bar on the screen to answer.
“Liz? This is Forrest Huber. Laycee’s husband.”
I eased back in my chair. “Forrest, it’s been a while. How are you?”
“I can’t find Laycee. Do you know where she is?”
Damn her for using me as her excuse.
“I don’t. I’m sorry. She doesn’t answer her cell?” Laycee wore her cell phone like a lifeline. She may have been born holding one.
“No,” he said, clearly irritated. “I haven’t heard from her this morning. I tried her cell several times. She’s not at the hotel. I thought she was spending the day with you. Are you meeting her later?”
I closed my eyes and sighed, reminded again of Forrest’s possessive hold on Laycee. It would be so easy for me to blow her cover. Such great revenge to tell Forrest his wife lied to him, that she was probably running around somewhere with Kyle or auditioning for a reality show. I really wanted to tell Forrest his cheating tramp of a wife would be the last person I would spend my time with. Forrest didn’tdeserve being the target of my wrath, however. So why upset him more?
“I saw Laycee yesterday…” I hesitated. If I mentioned last night’s ball game, he might ask for details. “…morning. She said she’d call me though I haven’t heard from her today. If I do, I’ll tell her to contact you right away.”
“Please do.” The distance between Atlanta and Los Angeles didn’t temper the annoyance and suspicion in his voice. He hung up without saying good-bye.
I ate enough to satisfy my hunger then called my answering service. Three messages came in overnight—all hang ups. Rare but not unusual. My outgoing office message instructs clients to leave a message or, in emergencies, hang up and dial 911. Occasionally one or two hang ups preceded a call, a day or two later, from a nervous new client seeking an appointment.
My next stop was at Ralph’s Market on Ventura and Vineland for supplies. Then, with my trunk loaded with milk, coffee, fresh fruit, and cat food in every fish-related flavor, I headed for home to face the task of emptying boxes.
Seeing my old tub in Stan’s truck bed encouraged me. Progress. I carried the bags into the house and put away the groceries. As I finished stacking cat food by label color in the pantry cupboard, I heard my cell phone ringing in my purse in the foyer and went to answer.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Oh, thank God you’re all right.” She sounded breathless.
“What’s wrong?”
“Turn on your television. Hurry.”
My stomach clenched, unnerved by the urgency in hervoice. I ran into the den and picked up the remote. “What happened, Mom? Are Daddy and Dave all right?”
“They’re fine. You’re alive. Beyond that, I don’t know. Just turn on the television.”
“What channel?” I fumbled with the buttons.
“Any channel.”
The TV flickered on. A headline flashed across the bottom of the screen:
BREAKING NEWS: WOMAN FOUND DEAD AT HOME OF DODGER PITCHER.
Chapter Six
T he brunette reporter spoke into a microphone from the middle of the upscale residential street. Behind her, I saw the iron fence bordering Jarret’s house and driveway. I increased the TV volume and sat on the den couch, watching the screen in a stupefied daze as Mom fired off questions over the phone.
“Should we call Jarret? What if something happened to him? Should we call your brother Dave?”
Onscreen the reporter said, “We don’t have a confirmed victim name or further details. The West Valley Division captain will make a statement at noon. This is Shazia Kapoor for Channel Seven Eyewitness News. Back to you in the studio, Jim.”
“We have to call Jarret,” Mom said. “Maybe we should go up there. Do you know who—”
“Slow down, Mom. What else did you hear
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