Dying to Have Her by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online

It’s a great neighborhood, she told herself.
    But that night, she had an awful nightmare. She was looking down at Jane Dunne. Jane’s eyes were still open. Jane was dead, but she spoke to Serena. It should have been you! Jane’s gaze stayed fixed on her. The red rose slipped through her fingers.
    On the ride to her pleasant ranch house not more than a mile from Serena’s home, Melinda Guelph was quiet, sitting close to Jeff, holding his hand as he drove his crimson Volvo, staring straight ahead at the road.
    When they reached their house, the home where they’d lived for twenty-some years together, where they had raised their two boys, shared interests, been a family, they held each other close inside the foyer for a very long time.
    She offered to cook. Neither of them was hungry.
    He wanted a long shower. She took a hot bath.
    And so it wasn’t until late that Melinda brought up the issue of what had happened.
    “Frankly, I’m worried. I still don’t understand. The police called you in to the station?” she queried.
    “Yep. Caught me on the cell phone, right when I was buying some new tools.”
    “Why did they call you?”
    “I was on the set before it happened,” Jeff explained. He sounded very casual. “They wanted to know if I had seen anything strange, if I had been around the lighting or the set for any reason, or her dressing room.”
    “And?” she asked softly.
    He stared at her in the darkened shadows of their bedroom, frowning. “And what?”
    “Were you near any of those places?”
    He looked at the ceiling. “I was with the writers. I barely passed through the set—and no, I was nowhere near any of the dressing rooms.”
    “And did you see anything—strange?”
    “Nothing. Nothing at all. I told you, I was nowhere near any of the dressing rooms.”
    “Why—why did you come for me at Serena’s?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
    “You weren’t home,” he said flatly, “and I was sure that you’d heard about what had happened by now. I knew you’d be upset.”
    She was silent.
    “Dammit, I love you, Melinda,” he said, and despite the words he spoke, his voice was angry.
    “Yes, of course. I love you, too,” she said. But she made no move to touch him. She didn’t even look his way.
    He reached out to touch her. She shrugged his hand off her shoulder and turned her back on him.
    “Melinda—”
    “I’m tired, Jeff. Really, really tired.”
    She felt him draw away. She didn’t know when he finally slept. She only knew that she lay awake hour after hour after hour.
    It was late when Liam got down to the station. He stopped to say hello to Morna Daily, the duty officer manning the front desk. Before he could exchange more than a few pleasantries, Olsen appeared and led him past a habitual prostitute who waved a friendly greeting and a drugged-out teen throwing a tantrum about who his daddy was and what was going to happen to the cops. It was prime time—for television and for the crazies at a metro police station.
    Joe Penny was already seated in a chair in front of Olsen’s desk. Liam shook hands with Joe, who looked exhausted. Olsen shut the door and began a quick briefing on what had happened. When he was done, Liam stared at his old friend. “Let me get this straight—a spotlight fell, in full view of at least a dozen people?”
    “Yeah. In full view of a lot of people,” George said.
    “Why are you so convinced that it might be something other than an accident?”
    Olsen hesitated, then shook his head with a rueful smile. He inclined his head toward Joe Penny.
    “I want to be cautious,” Joe said. “In all my years in television, I’ve never seen a light fall on a set like that.”
    Olsen riffled through his notes. “The two fellows responsible for lighting are Emilio Garcia and Dayton Riley. They’re both union, and both have been with the show since it began. Between them, they have thirty-five years of experience. Both of them swear that every light is