“You don’t think Beth fought back?That she didn’t hurt Pamela too?”
“She definitely didn’tkillPamela!”I shifted, my show of discomfort not exactly fake but definitely hammed up a bit.If I could reach the top drawer, I knew Ben had a fancy letter opener in there.He had all of his father’s desk set in there—he’d mentioned it before, ages ago, when I was looking for paperclips.I didn’t think letter openers were very sharp but it was better than just hoping my excellent vibes made me bullet proof.I had to keep her distracted while I inched.“She set Beth’s house on fire.That doesn’t exactly sound like an act of passion.It sounds like she knew what she’d done and was trying to hide it.”
Gwendolyn shrugged one thin shoulder dismissively.“Fire is a great misdirect.If it looks accidental, no one will question it.”She winked.“Learned that while filming.”
I paused.That comment sounded familiar...“Wait, did you work with Donny Rabinowitz too?He’s amazing!He was in charge of the pyrotechnics onFourth of Julie!”I’d been the neighbor boy with a crush on Julie, a teenaged science geek who accidentally cloned herself and then hijinks ensued.“He showed me how to make my own sparklers.”
For just a brief second, her eyes lit up and a true, pleased smile touched her lips.“He was one of the effects coordinators in our final season.Lovely gentleman, very knowledgeable.”
My fingers brushed the drawer pull.“But you’re not an expert.And neither is Pamela.The fire at the Old Yacht Club didn’t destroy the evidence, just made it worse.The arson investigators already have a list of the things she tried to burn.It’s only a matter of time before they get into that laptop, you know.”
I was probably wrong—what did I know about the fire-hardiness of laptops—but Gwendolyn didn’t know that.She froze, face gone cement gray underneath her tastefully applied rouge and dusting of soft powder.“What did Pamela think he had on there?Why not just take the laptop and papers and throw them in a Dumpster somewhere?Take them back to LA and chuck ‘em in the ocean?Leave them in a trash can at the airport.Or—”
“Stop,” she spat.“The only way to make sure no one ever saw what Gerry had was to destroy it utterly.”
“What else did he have, Gwendolyn?I saw the meetings with Pamela where he told her that he knew.She pushed Beth down, Beth cracked her head.She thought Beth was already dead when she left the house but Tubbs saw Beth later.How much later?”I shrugged.“Long enough that she’d gotten up and was trying to function.He said he thought she was drunk but she wasn’t, was she?Beth was dying.She had a head injury and was actively dying when Tubbs went to see her about leaving the show.He left her alone in the house that Beth was setting on fire even as he stood there, trying to argue with what he thought was a drunk woman.She might have lived, if Pamela had called for help.”
Gwendolyn dropped the gun, hands flying to cover her face.“Stop it.”
“What else did he have?I didn’t look at the other files but they looked big.What is it?”
She shook her head.“Proof.Pictures from her autopsy report.A neighbor’s testimony that he’d heard Beth and Pammy fighting on her back deck.Pammy...she paid him nearly a quarter million to tell the police he was asleep when the fire broke out.”
“Money opens a lot of doors and closes more.”
“Just so.”She watched my face for a moment, her expression tired and harassed.“It was me, you know.On the jetty.Not Nate.”
“You’re stronger than you look.”
“I lift,” she shrugged.“Keeps bones strong, you know.”
“Why were you on the jetty?Wait—let me guess.You wanted to get back on Tubbs’ boat.Pamela was still paranoid.”
“The laptop case,” she said with another shrug, this one stiff and annoyed.“She thought he’d left something in it.She’s gone ‘round the bend with her paranoia now.When I saw you, I thought you might recognize me.”
“So you did the logical thing and tried to murder me instead of pretending you were just out for a walk?”
She smiled, thin and a little embarrassed I thought.“I was supposed to be on the boat.I let my hired crew sail her, claimed a migraine from all the stress.I thought you might wonder why I was out and about.”
“You underestimate how much situational awareness I have.”
“Enough,” she sighed, shaking her head.“This is enough.This isn’t how I wanted this to go, but it’s better than the alternative.”She lowered the pistol, stiffening her back and giving me a very manufactured stare of confidence.“You’ll be famous, Damien.Don’t you worry about that.”
“What—” I realized what she was about to do a second too late.I lunged to one side, coming down hard on my broken arm as the butt of the gun met my skull.She swore, rearing back again for another blow only to explode into a howl of pain.She screeched and flailed but I couldn’t focus, the pain bursting in my head and vision swimming.Charlemagne had finally come out of hiding, launching himself at Gwendolyn’s legs and sinking teeth and claws in through the thin fabric of her cotton trousers.Gwendolyn screamed, kicking and scrabbling to dislodge eight pounds of feline fury but failing, Charlemagne only letting go when she threw herself to the floor in an attempt to land on him.Muffin was barking and snarling from the kitchen, the screaming and shouting setting him off but he was trapped behind the door.
I rolled onto my back, Charlemagne pelting past and out the partially open door as Gwendolyn roared to her feet.“This is all I can give them,” she growled.“This is it!”Aiming a savage kick at my ribs with the pointed toe of her Ferragamo pumps, she shoved me to one side, dumping her handbag onto the floor.When I struggled to sit up again, she grabbed the desk phone from above me and slammed it against my broken arm.Everything went fuzzy and white for too long of a moment.When I could focus again, she had set her scene.
“It’s too obvious,” I croaked, gesturing weakly to the set up.A pre-rolled joint, half-smoked, a broken ashtray, and two cheap plastic lighters.One, she broke the top off of as I watched, letting the butane trickle onto the carpet.
The lighter caught the butane speckled wool and started to smolder.Gwendolyn pushed unsteadily to her feet and stalked past the smudgy smoke to grab my broken arm, yanking it to the desk leg and securing it in place with the fabric belt of her trench coat.She frowned down at me, then the smoldering patch on the rug.A weak, shaky chuckle bubbled past the nausea rising in my throat.“Wool doesn’t burn easily,” I spat.“So now what?”
Gwendolyn bared her teeth, sweeping her arm across the desk and sending the papers flying.I struggled to sit up as she shoved them into a loose pile, dousing them with the remains of the small butane bottle she produced from her purse.“Paper does though,” she hissed.
“No one is going to believe this was accidental.”
“They don’t have to.They just won’t believe it wasme.”She chuckled wildly.“Maybe Anmorata will finally come in useful and they’ll look to her!I’m sorry, Damien, but I’m really doing you a favor as well.You must admit, your career is going nowhere fast.At least now, you’ll be famous.”She was limping as she made her way to the door.“You have to understand, this isn’t my first choice.”
“That makes me feel better.”
