Free Dying to Have Her by Heather Graham

Emilio again. “Seven-fifteen, seven-thirty?” he suggested.
    “About that.”
    Seven-fifteen, seven-thirty. According to Jim Novac, the first scene had been slotted for taping at nine. More than an hour for someone to slip in …
    “You’ve got to find out what happened,” Emilio said earnestly. “Please. I know that Detective Hutchens is doing his job the way he sees best, but …” He paused, lifting his hands. “What he sees is an accident.”
    “I promise, I won’t stop until we know the truth— whatever the truth may be,” Liam assured them.
    Standing by the side of the set, Liam looked down at the tape where Jane Dunne had fallen. He could still see the marker tape that had delineated the actors’ positions. And even from this distance, he could clearly see the name marked on the tape closest to the position of the body.
    Serena McCormack.
    “That one … now there’s a good-looking guy,” Doug said.
    It was Saturday, a perfect day, though it seemed strange that they could be sitting at a cafe so casually, just people-watching, after the week that had passed. But Serena had always enjoyed Doug, and she couldn’t stay in her house forever. Allona had come, too, though Jennifer had begged off—the baby had an ear infection.
    As Doug spoke, taking the “man-hunting” part of their luncheon seriously, he didn’t point. He inclined his head, looking across the expanse of the sidewalk.
    Serena adjusted her sunglasses, looking over the man in question. He was tall, with a head full of sable hair very cleanly cut, and nicely dressed in casual khakis and a print shirt.
    “Yes, very good-looking,” Serena agreed. She studied the man from a distance. He was wearing dark sunglasses—common in Hollywood. He wore them well, but they absorbed his eyes. There seemed to be something vaguely familiar about him, but she wasn’t sure what. She shrugged to herself. Handsome, clean-cut, attractive. Tanned, well dressed. How many men did that describe in Hollywood?
    “I think he’s for me,” Allona said. “Nope, that boy’s for me,” Doug argued. “How on earth can you tell?” Allona demanded. “I know.”
    “I’ll bet you’re wrong. He’s for me.” “Maybe,” Serena pointed out, “he’s married.” Doug stared at her. “I assure you, he’s not married.” “Or,” she added firmly, for Doug’s benefit, “maybe he’s already involved in a serious relationship with a male partner.”
    “Maybe,” Doug argued, “but I don’t think so.” They were on Sunset Boulevard, at a table out on the sidewalk. Tapping the table idly, Serena marveled that it could be such a beautiful winter’s day. There was a tremendous bustle of people going by. At the House of Blues, just blocks down the street, a gospel group was performing. People were out in large numbers, headed for the show, out for brunch, or out just to cruise the many boutiques that lined the boulevard. Despite the beautiful day, she was distracted, uneasy. She had been since Jane’s death, always having the eerie feeling that she was being watched.
    Both Doug and Allona were still studying the man.
    “Cute. Very cute,” Allona said. “I’d like to write for him. In fact, I’d like to write myself right into the scene.”
    Serena groaned, stirring her coffee idly. She didn’t know why she was stirring it; she drank her coffee black. “Why doesn’t one of you just get up, go over to him, and ask him for a date?”
    “You can’t just walk up to someone like that,” Doug said.
    “Why not? Neither of you is overly shy,” she said, her sarcasm subtle and teasing.
    “Is she insinuating that we’re brash!” Allona asked Doug.
    “Oh, she wouldn’t!” Doug said.
    “Well, if you’re that interested, just go talk to him.”
    Doug looked at her, a smile on his lips. “And what if he comes over here and realizes despite that school-marm’s bun into which you’ve twisted all that glorious red hair of yours—and the deep, dark