“That’s Chelsea Gee and Jacob Reynolds.” Harvey waited a moment for recognition.
The names did sound vaguely familiar—like someone Nola might have talked about. Maybe Chelsea was a classmate? I shook my head. “Just tell me already. I have no idea.”
Harvey stared hard at us for a moment as if to make sure we weren’t joking. “Those are the actors playing the two of you.”
Jack and I looked at each other, then back at Harvey. “But they look young enough to be our children,” I said.
Marc smiled smugly. “Then it’s a good thing that I’m in charge and not you. Sex sells in the entertainment industry, and nobody wants to see old people having sex on the big screen.”
Jack affixed on his face a smile that was neither pleasant nor friendly, but meant as a warning. “But isn’t sex with minors illegal?”
“That’s not funny,” Harvey bit out. “They’re both thirty. They just look younger.”
“No, it’s not funny,” Marc agreed. He lowered his voice. “And if I see one more inflammatory news article about my book or this production, I’m going to consider our contract null and void.”
“I don’t think that’s allowed,” Jack said, shoving his fists into his pockets in an effort to appear casual. “Especially when everything is true. Especially the farb part.” He chuckled, but I’d seen his jaw throbbing and knew how tightly he was holding on to his control.
“Don’t test us,” Harvey said, stomping back toward the house. “And keep those vandals away from my car!”
With one look back at us, Marc strode away and began shouting at the crew. “Break’s over. And nobody’s going home until we finish this scene.”
I took hold of Jack’s arm and began walking toward the house. “Let’s get inside. It’s almost dark and you know things always get a little weird around nightfall. Especially when Louisa sees what Marc has done to her story. Most respectable women don’t like to be falsely portrayed as child-abandoning adulterers.”
He looked down at me, raising an eyebrow, the familiar light in his eyes having returned. “I don’t know much about respectable women, so I’ll take your word on that.”
I blushed, wondering if he was remembering our kiss at the bottom of the stairs, too. “Very funny.”
We both stopped and turned around at the sound of another vehicle pulling up in front of the house. The too-familiar Hard Rock Foundations truck signaled the arrival of our handyman on call, Rich Kobylt, who apparently was now also on Marc’s speed dial.
Jack grabbed my hand and hurried me toward the side of the house. I doubted either one of us had the energy to deal with another problem. Or the rear view of Mr. Kobylt.
We passed Harvey’s Ferrari again and I backtracked, feeling light-headed. I shivered at the chill emanating from the car, the glass once again frosted from the inside. And there, on the windshield, were the same words, written backward, that I’d seen before. The girl is in danger. Watch for the tall man.
Jack touched the glass, then stood facing me. “It’s on the inside.”
“I know.” Behind him I saw Harvey hurrying in our direction. Grabbing Jack’s hand, I said, “Come on—I’ll explain later.”
We ran the rest of the way to the kitchen, trying to escape Harvey’s loud and inventive cursing, the unexpected weight of my tote bag reminding me of the tiny iron coffin and its inhabitant and all the unanswered questions that taunted me almost as much as the unresolved status of my marriage.
CHAPTER 20
The following morning, I woke with a start, the words on the windshield dancing behind my eyes. The girl is in danger. Watch for the tall man. The Rolodex in my brain was flipping through all the men in our lives and their approximate heights. Harvey couldn’t be described as tall by anyone except a small child, so he was quickly eliminated. But there were so many other contenders that I needed to make a spreadsheet. At the top of the list would be Marc Longo.
I sat up, feeling disoriented until I remembered that today was Saturday, which was why my alarms hadn’t awakened me. I squinted at my bedside clock—nine twenty-two—and then at the empty cribs on the baby monitor. Even General Lee was missing, presumably fed and walked while I slept like a dead person. Or like a very tired person, I corrected myself. The dead didn’t always sleep.
I quickly showered and dressed, then went in search of Jack and the children, assuming they’d be together since today was Jayne’s day off. The crew was still filming the outside fountain scene, so I went downstairs without tiptoeing for the first time in over a week, for once not fearful of interrupting a scene or running into Marc or Harvey.
When I reached the bottom stair the distinctive sound of the grandfather clock case snapping shut caught my attention. I froze, wanting so badly to ignore it—especially if it was the specter of the girl with the melted face. But the sound was quickly followed by a very solid and very real footfall on the hardwood floor. With a deep breath, I slowly walked toward the parlor.
I almost didn’t see anyone at first, only the movement of the drapery panel alerting me that I wasn’t alone. I marched to the window and threw the curtain back. Marc Longo stood behind it, facing the Plexiglas wall panel I’d had installed to protect Nevin Vanderhorst’s childhood growth chart made by his mother, Louisa.
“What are you doing?” I asked, although I was fairly sure I already knew the answer. “Aren’t you supposed to be outside filming?”