Dial Emmy For Murder Part 19

"Hey, Alex," Danielle Asbury said as I walked into her office. "What brings you over to the compet.i.tion?"

She was kidding, of course. Our shows were on the same network, but the last I heard The Bare and Brazen was a little higher in the ratings. Unfortunately, we were both trailing The Yearning Tide, which-despite my departure-was highly rated.

Danielle was the a.s.sociate producer on her show. a.s.sociate producers do a little bit of everything and a whole lot of other things, including knowing the ins and outs of their respective shows.

"I have a question about an actor named Aaron Summers, Danielle."

Danielle frowned. "I don't think we've ever had an Aaron Summers on the show. At least, not during my tenure." Danielle was in her fifties, and her tenure probably went back twenty years.

"No, you haven't," I said, "but you did have someone by that name audition for a part that he didn't get. I'd like to know when and for what part."

"What's this about, Alex?"

"Aaron Summers is dead," I said. "He was killed in a way similar to Jackson Masters. He was also the same general type."

"Are you playing detective, Alex?"

"I'm . . . just helping the police with their inquiries."

"Because we might ask them for a warrant for this information," she asked with a smile, "but we'll give it to you freely?"

I seriously doubted the police would need a warrant. The information wasn't protected or anything, but I said, "Something like that."

"Well . . . I saw what happened to you at the Emmys, you poor thing. Let me see what I can find out."

"Great," I said, and gave her my cell number.

After hair and makeup I still had some time before going on the set. I decided to call Danielle's counterpart on one of the other shows, The Tears of Tomorrow. I asked for the person I thought had the job and discovered that she had left several months ago.

"She had a baby," the man on the other end of the phone said.

"Wow, good for her," I said. "So, who replaced her?"

"I did," he said. "My name's Eddie."

"Eddie, this is Alex Peterson," I said. "I'm-"

"I know who you are, Ms. Peterson! How can I help you?"

I gave him the same spiel I'd given Danielle, adding that I was "helping the police with their inquiries," before he asked any questions.

"Sure," he said, "I'd be glad to help. Give me your number and I'll call you when I find something out. And what were those names again?"

I gave him all the names.

"Got it. I'll give you a call."

"Thanks, Eddie."

"You're welcome."

I broke the connection just as they called me on the set.

To get information I needed from the other shows, I could call or drive over to their studios and talk to the right people. In my dressing room I decided to do both-first call and then drive over. Unfortunately, I got the same word from both shows. The person I needed would not be in until the next day. If Jakes called me later in the evening-and I fully expected him to-he'd have to be satisfied that I'd made inquiries at two of the four shows and was waiting for the replies.

I didn't notice until I was in my car that there was a message on my cell that had come in while I was on the set.

"Voicemail!" I shouted for my Bluetooth to hear. Nothing. "Voicemail!" I yelled again. Two more times and it finally connected. I pushed in my code.

The message was from Danielle over at Too Late for Yesterday. She said she had the info I wanted and suggested I call her right back, because she had the next two days off.

"Hey, Danielle."

"Hey, Alex. I've got that information for you, girl," Danielle said. "Aaron Summers auditioned for the role of Cole Weathers early last year. He didn't get it, but he came close."

"Who did get it, Danielle?"

"Jed Foreman."

I knew that name. He had been on the show for a few months now.

"And he was the first choice? He didn't get it because Aaron Summers . . . died?"

"Oh, G.o.d, no," she said. "Jed was our first choice as soon as he walked in the door."

"So when you say Aaron was close . . ."

"If Jed wasn't able to take the job for some reason, we would've called Aaron. Does this help?"

I was d.a.m.ned if I knew. I'd found out that Aaron Summers had auditioned for both my old show and Too Late for Yesterday. Did that help? That was up to Jakes to say, but I told her it did and thanked her for the information. I closed my phone and started the engine. I was deep in thought as I pulled out the gate, waving absently at the guard in his little house.

I found out later that if I'd been more aware of my surroundings I could have saved myself a lot of grief.

Chapter 35.

I had dinner with Sarah and Mom.

My mother had been cooking since she got home. I realized how much I'd missed that. I had been eating out often or just preparing something small for myself.

"I think I've gained weight just in the few days you've been home, Mom."

"That's okay, honey," she said. "As usual, you're too thin. You could use a few extra pounds."

"Thanks. Tell that to the camera. What's a couple of pounds, right?"

I had just tucked Sarah into bed when the phone rang. My mother answered it and then held it out to me.

"It's your police detective."

"He's not my-" I started to say, but dropped it. Instead I just took the cordless phone from her.

"Hi," he said. "I see your family's home."

"Yes, they got back a couple of days ago."

"That's nice," he said. "Did you, um, were you able to find out anything for me?"

I told him how the day had gone: that I talked to a.s.sociate producers from two shows, but not the other two. I told him what Danielle had confided about Aaron Summers. While I was talking, I walked to the front window and looked out. There was a big 4x4 truck parked at the curb. Paparazzi? One of Jakes's guys? I didn't think so and watched it pull away.

"I'll try to get some more tomorrow," I said. "Anything on your end?"

"Nothing new or meaningful," he said. "I'll, uh, talk to you again tomorrow night, if that's okay?"

He sounded like a man with something on his mind, something he didn't want to talk about. He hadn't mentioned finding out anything about Randy, and I hadn't asked. That wouldn't make the problem go away, though.

"That's fine, Jakes," I said. "Talk to you tomorrow."

He hung up.

Tuesday was much like Monday, except for the fact that I ended up having to work late. There had been some kind of a malfunction with the videotape machines, and all the scenes that had been taped that morning had been erased! We ended up having to retape fifteen scenes and still finish the rest of the show.

I was beat, and why wouldn't I be? When taping finally ended, it was a little after one a.m. As I was heading down the stairs toward the parking lot, I ran into one of our cameramen. He was a great guy I'd known forever. We'd worked on different shows together and went way back. Shel-I a.s.sume that was short for Sheldon-had recently married a woman with two children. We chatted as we walked, and he told me the whole way how he adored both of them-especially the little girl, who was six.

"But that's not right, is it, Alex?" he asked. "Favoring one child over the other?"

"It doesn't sound like you're favoring anyone, Shel. And besides, it's that daughter-dad thing. Even though you're a stepdad, it still applies, don't ya think?"

He was quiet for a few seconds as a slight smile crept over his face. "Yeah, that's right. I am a dad now. I guess it does apply. Thanks for pointing that out." He hugged me good night. "See you tomorrow."

Dads and daughters. What trauma was my own daughter suffering because of her father not being in the picture? Maybe I had to let bygones be bygones with Randy. Even though I couldn't stand the thought of sharing custody. Maybe I had to. For my daughter's sake.

I pulled out of my spot and drove around to the guard's post. There were more cars than you'd think still in the lot at that time of night. The guard stuck his head out, took a look at me and then waved as I left-deep in thought again.

I'd heard from Eddie over at The Tears of Tomorrow hours ago. I had found a message on my cell during a break so I called him about Mason Stone and the part he'd auditioned for but didn't get.

"Not even close," Eddie said when I got him on the phone. "Looked the part, but he just wasn't good enough. At least, that's what somebody wrote here."

I was going to ask how Mason had taken it, but Eddie wouldn't have known.

"Thank you so much, Eddie."

"Sure, Alexis. Anything else I can do to help, just let me know."

I had managed to get hold of someone at the other two shows-The Best Days Are Ahead and The Depths of the Sea. They were looking for the information I needed and hopefully would get back to me tomorrow.

There were three other messages left on my phone between nine p.m. and one a.m. One was from Sarah, saying good night and she loved me.

The second message was from Jakes, wanting to know if I had any information for him.

The third message was from Randy. My stomach did a flip when I heard his voice. "Hey, babe. Heard your mom and Sarah are back home. Time for me to see my little girl again-and don't think you can stop me."

d.a.m.n it, what was he planning? I hadn't planned to answer the other messages. It was just too late. But the message from Randy made me rethink calling Jakes back.

I jumped on the 10 and headed home. As is always the case when you're driving late and there are only a few cars on the road, one idiot gets right behind you with their bright lights on. And even if it's not their brights, they're blinding. I especially hate the bluish lights people are getting now-and SUVs are the worst. I should talk-I do have my kid car-but still! They're so high you can't escape them. They come at you from your rearview mirror like laser beams.

There was a truck behind me with the pain in the a.s.s lights, and I was just thinking how they were worse than SUVs when it closed on me fast and b.u.mped me. The impact made my head jerk back, and as I fought the wheel we went hurtling past my exit. I turned my head to look. He had dropped back but was still there. It was obvious he'd hit me on purpose, but why? I started looking for a place to get off and turn back when he suddenly appeared in my rearview mirror and hit me a second time. My head jerked again, and in order to try to get away from him I had no choice but to drive onto PCH.

Even in LA at that time of night, the Pacific Coast Highway was almost empty. There I was with the truck chasing me, feeling so alone. And he was chasing me. Of this there was no doubt. I pressed hard on the accelerator, wis.h.i.+ng now that I'd been driving my beautiful, powerful Porsche instead of my kid car, the Ford Explorer.

It was a joke thinking I might be able to outrun him. I didn't know if he was trying to scare me or hurt me but, I realized it was time to get help. I yelled at my Bluetooth, "911!" Nothing. "911! 911! s.h.i.+T!" Still nothing. "911! 911!"

My cell phone had fallen down to the floorboard. I reached to grab it just as the truck came up behind me and rammed me again. This time it was so hard that my head jerked and I screamed. The impact sounded impossibly loud to me. I tried to catch a look at the driver. That's hard enough using a rearview mirror, but the truck also had dark tinted windows.

I switched lanes, weaving back and forth as I tried to avoid being rammed again. I knew if he hit me any harder, I might lose control of the Ford.

As I looked in the rearview mirror and watched the road ahead of me, hoping to see a police car, I couldn't stop thinking about my little girl at home in bed. What if she woke up in the morning and found out her mother was gone? "Please, G.o.d. Please. No!"

There were few headlights coming southbound on PCH. The truck could have tried to ram me into an oncoming car, but for a while he seemed content to just follow me. Then, when he started to catch up again and I realized where we were, I knew what he wanted to do.

We were at a deadly section of PCH where there were no houses or guardrails, and a treacherous cliff was only a few southbound lanes over. A plunge over the side would be fatal.

No sooner had I thought it than I saw the headlights coming up behind me fast.

I braced for the impact even as I swerved to avoid it.

Chapter 36.

. . . slow motion . . .

. . . no, stop-action . . .

. . . flas.h.i.+ng lights . . .

. . . actual lights? . . .

. . . or was it . . . my eyes? . . .