CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It’s no wonder I feel so tired, Casey thought. It’s after three. Where the hell did the night go? And where had the young man gone, who could drink all night and still survive a dawn patrol over the German lines in Flanders?
“If this is about your contract,” said Straebo from the doorway, “I’m terribly sorry but there’s nothing I can do.” Desiree, who had found and fetched him, stood behind him—conveniently blocking his line of retreat, Casey realized. She has a good sense of tactics, too.
“Relax,” said Casey. “I don’t want to talk to you about the contract. It won’t bother me if I never set foot inside the Monarch studio again.” He gestured at a chair. “No, I want to talk to you about something else. Please sit down, Mr. Straebo.”
The director’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t have time for this,” he said. “I was about to collect Eve and go home.”
“Is Eve here tonight? That’s good. She should probably hear this as well. Perhaps you could go fetch her for us, Desiree?”
“Oh, no you don’t, Casey.” Desiree turned and said something to someone in the hall. “I’m not going to miss any of this,” she said when she returned. “Kerry is looking for her.”
“I have had quite enough of this,” Straebo said. “Stand aside, Miss Farrell. I’m leaving.”
“Aren’t you in the slightest bit curious about what I wanted to talk to you about?” Casey asked. “Or have you already guessed?”
“Not only am I not curious, I am prepared to have you charged with assault if you try to prevent me from leaving. I am sorry, Mr. Casey, that I ever had anything to do with you.”
“Really? And here you were so concerned Friday night to keep me under contract. Or was it really that you just wanted me where you could keep your eye on me, learn how much Desiree and I had discovered?”
“You’ve got me curious,” Desiree said, “even if Jerry isn’t. What exactly have we discovered, Casey?”
Straebo turned, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Out of my way, Miss Farrell,” he said.”
Desiree stood her ground. “Do you intend to charge me with assault, Jerry?” She looked past Straebo at Casey. “Well?”
“For one thing,” Casey said, “I’ve learned that, in spite of my first thoughts, you didn’t actually have Lily killed.”
Straebo’s face turned the colour of raw pork. “You,” he shouted, “are going to hear from my lawyer!”
“What, because he said you didn’t kill Lily?” Desiree said. “You have a strange idea of what constitutes slander, Jerry.”
“You still have a lot to answer for, though,” Casey said. “A court might find you an accessory to the murder. At the very least you contributed in a material way to Lily’s death.”
Straebo whirled and, with a wordless roar, launched himself at Casey. Should have got out of the chair, Casey thought before the beefy director slammed into him, knocking the two of them and the chair into a heap on the floor.
Straebo was angry but he was no fighter. He didn’t try to immobilize Casey’s arms, nor did he get his own hands around Casey’s throat. He got one weak punch in at Casey’s nose before Casey, with a cross-punch aimed at Straebo’s chin, snapped the man’s head back and knocked him over. As he fell, Straebo’s head hit one of the chair legs. He flopped, stunned, onto the Persian carpet.
“Gosh,” Desiree said. “You really know how to bring out the animal in our Jerry.”
“If I harbored any thoughts at all that he’d killed Lily,” Casey said, “they’re gone now. He’s not a strangler-type.”
Jeff Cunningham appeared in the doorway, at the head of a gaggle of party guests looking, Casey guessed, for some impromptu entertainment. “What’s going on?” Cunningham asked Desiree.
“Casey’s playing detective,” Desiree said. “Doing a nice job of it, too. You should have been here, Jeff.”
“Well, I’m here now. What’s up?”
“Can I tell them?” Desiree turned to look at Casey. She actually asked me instead of just going ahead and doing it, he thought. That’s got to mean something.
“Why not?” he said, getting his breathing back under control. “The more people hear this, the better. But let’s make sure that Straebo’s awake first. And get Eve Adams. Anyone know where she is?”
“You’ve just missed her, Casey,” came Brett Kerry’s voice from somewhere in the crowd. “I gather she’s gone home.”
“She came with Straebo,” Casey said, unease growing in him. “When did she leave?”
“Just now,” Kerry said. “She’s going to have breakfast with the Harlows, I gather.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus.” Casey grabbed for the papers and stuffed them into the envelope. “Who knows where Miss Harlow lives? I’ve got to catch her.” He pushed his way through the crowd and down the stairs.
“I’m sure I’m going to regret this,” he heard Desiree say behind him, “but I’m coming with you.”
Next Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five
Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen
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