“Turn on your television. Hurry.”
My stomach clenched, unnerved by the urgency in her voice. I ran into the den and picked up the remote. “What happened, Mom? Are Daddy and Dave all right?”
“They’re fine. You’re alive. Beyond that, I don’t know. Just turn on the television.”
“What channel?” I fumbled with the buttons.
“Any channel.”
The TV flickered on. A headline flashed across the bottom of the screen:
BREAKING NEWS: WOMAN FOUND DEAD AT HOME OF DODGER PITCHER.
Chapter Six
The brunette reporter spoke into a microphone from the middle of the upscale residential street. Behind her, I saw the iron fence bordering Jarret’s house and driveway. I increased the TV volume and sat on the den couch, watching the screen in a stupefied daze as Mom fired off questions over the phone.
“Should we call Jarret? What if something happened to him? Should we call your brother Dave?”
Onscreen the reporter said, “We don’t have a confirmed victim name or further details. The West Valley Division captain will make a statement at noon. This is Shazia Kapoor for Channel Seven Eyewitness News. Back to you in the studio, Jim.”
“We have to call Jarret,” Mom said. “Maybe we should go up there. Do you know who—”
“Slow down, Mom. What else did you hear on the news before you called me?”
“I was watching The View. I was about to turn off the set and start preparing your father’s lunch when the news—”
My shoulders began to twitch. “Details, Mom. What did the news report say?”
“They led with the story about the dead woman in Jarret’s house. Dear God, I panicked. I thought of you and ran for the phone. I thought maybe you were with him. Thank God you’re all right.”
“Sit down and breathe. I’m fine. You’re fine. Keep the news on and see if you can learn anything else. I’ll try to reach Jarret,” I said.
“Call me back.”
I fell back into the cushions, my mind spinning with worst-case scenarios. Did Jarret have it in him to kill someone? My instincts told me no. He had a temper but he never resorted to violence, especially toward women. Not possible. Was the woman an intruder? Did Jarret walk in on a robbery? I dialed Jarret’s cell and got voice mail, and then tried his home phone number and got an answer on the sixth ring.
“Yeah.” The raspy voice belonged to Ira Ryback, Jarret’s sports agent.
“Ira, this is Liz. I just saw the news on TV. What’s going on up there? Is Jarret all right?”
“He’s a freaking nervous wreck, but he’s alive,” Ira said.
“What happened?”
“Someone broke into the house this morning and murdered a chick in the bedroom.”
My breath hitched. I was at Jarret’s house hours ago. Alone. “What time? Was Jarret home? Who was the victim?”
“Some woman he brought home last night. He left her asleep in his bedroom and went out for his morning run. He got back home, found her dead, and called me to come over. We notified the cops when I got here.”
“He called you and then waited for you to arrive before he dialed 911?”
“I told him to wait for me. He sounded too shaken to cope with the authorities alone.” Ira added carelessly, “The woman was already dead from stab wounds.”
Jarret had sat at home with a dead or dying woman, waiting for his agent to make the twenty-minute trip from Beverly Hills to Encino before he called for help? I shook my head in disbelief, though well aware of Jarret’s tendency to panic in an emergency. His cocky attitude and self-assurance only applied to situations under his control. He left the remainder of his major decisions up to Ira, the slick business lawyer and promoter who protected Jarret’s assets and career.
“Do you know the victim’s name?”
“Laycee something.”
My stomach flipped. “Laycee Huber?”
“Yeah. Don’t tell anyone I told you that. The police have to notify her family before they release her name to the press. Listen, I need to get off the line. Jarret is with a detective, and I don’t want him talking too much without me. I’ll tell him you called.”
As soon as he clicked off, my phone rang again.
Robin heaved a deep sigh. “I’m so glad you’re there. I just heard the news about Jarret. I got worried. I thought maybe—”
“No. It wasn’t me,” I said, curious why I topped everyone’s victim list. “It was Laycee Huber.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. Jarret’s agent just told me on the phone. Jarret is with a detective now. Apparently he left Laycee asleep in his bed when he went out for his run this morning. She was dead when he got home.”
“What was she doing at his house?”
“I don’t want to guess. Do you want to hear something bizarre?”
“Worse than Laycee Huber dead in Jarret’s bed?”
“I went to his house this morning to pick up a box. I must have missed the intruder by minutes.”