Free Death in Daytime by Eileen Davidson Page B

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    "alienation of affection," and "mental cruelty," but that obviously did not fly with the judge, who gave Roswell custody. A closer look at the dates told me that Marcy and her family had moved to California three years ago, and divorced just a year later. There was more to read, but I needed to get moving if I wanted to squeeze some interviews in that day and still get home in time to have dinner with Sarah. I began with Roman Stroud. He was one of the younger studs on the show--the stud who apparently had been forced to sleep with Marcy in order to keep his job. He started out playing a stable boy on the Benedict family estate. It must get pretty hot in those horse stalls, because Roman was sweaty and shirtless just about every day. Alas, he got Tiffany's younger half sister, Cicely, pregnant (on the show, remember) and in true soap opera fashion worked his way up from the tack room to the boardroom.
    Roman's character, Tyler Sullivan, went from shoveling horse poop to becoming a high-powered executive in the land development empire in record time, but that hadn't stopped him from taking his shirt off. His executive offices apparently had a shower and a steam room. Lots of opportunities for shirtlessness. We had had a few scenes together, mostly me screaming at him to get away from my sister, but I really hadn't gotten to know him very well. I found out he lived in Venice Beach, not far from where I lived, but in a funky apartment complex, inhabited by a lot of young twentysomethings like himself.
    "He's not home," some very tan beach bunny said as she passed by me as I was knocking on Roman's door. "He's at the beach, working out in the pit," she added as she shifted her laundry to her other hip.
    "Aren't you that lady on Romy's show? My mom watches you every day."
    "Thank your mom for me." I wondered if she'd heard of skin cancer.
    I headed out to find Roman. Apparently he was honing his "skills" at Muscle Beach, just a short walking distance from where he lived. Muscle Beach was an outdoor workout area where bodybuilders went to see and be seen. I rounded the corner and sure enough, there was Roman, in all his sweaty glory. He was wearing a tight spandex number that left little to the imagination. No wonder the writers wanted to keep him in a towel.
    "Alex, what are you doing here?" he asked, dropping a huge barbell on the mat.
    "Looking for you," I said.
    "Slumming?"
    I was taken aback.
    "Why would you say that?"
    "You don't talk to me very much when we're on the set," he said. "Makes me wonder why you would show up here. I mean, I'm not really in your circle of friends." He moved over to the heavy bag and started to punch it softly.
    "Roman, as far as I know I don't really have enough friends at work to make a circle. I'm sorry. I had no idea you felt slighted. I'm kind of curious though. I mean, why are you so defensive?"
    Now he was taken aback. I really had to work on my bedside manner.
    "Why would I be defensive? You're the one everyone thinks killed Marcy." He started punching the heavy bag a little harder.
    Now that pissed me off.
    "That's exactly why I'm here. I didn't kill her. And I was wondering if you had heard of anyone else who might have a motive, you know, some hidden agenda involving Marcy?" I looked at him pointedly. Now he got really uncomfortable. He stopped punching and just looked at me.
    "You heard, huh?"
    "Heard what?"
    "Come on," he said, "you heard about me and Marcy, and you're gonna tell the cops! To get the focus off you!"
    I decided to soften my approach.
    "Roman," I said, "I'm not going to tell the cops anything. Let them find out their own information. I just--
    I'd like to know some things for my own benefit."
    It sounded stupid even to me, but he seemed to buy it.
    "Well, you must've heard the rumor that I--that Marcy and I had a . . . thing." He resumed punching in a steady, rhythmic motion. Some of his sweat flung off and hit me in the face.
    "I didn't hear it was a thing,