PROLOGUE
What was it about the night and the little places where
secrets lurked that caused unease to stir in the human
heart? It was the unknown, of course. Primeval fear.
Something deep within human instinct that all of the
civilization in the world could not change. Dr. Dana
Sumter knew all about the psyche and the innate responses
to stimuli. Yet she didn’t like it one bit that it was
still dark when she returned, sliding her sleek Mercedes
into the driveway. She started to hit the garage door
opener, then remembered that she couldn’t park in the
garage; she was refurbishing the house and the garage was
filled with old furniture that would be picked up by a
charity organization.
With a sigh, she simply parked. The engine now off, she
was suddenly aware of more than the darkness. She heard
the sounds of the day dawning. From somewhere far away,
the shrill whine of an emergency vehicle’s siren mingled
with the distant, deep bark of a large dog. There was a
clattering and a screeching as alley cats fought
somewhere. Then…just whispers in the shadows as the wind
picked up slightly, then died down again. The sound was
slightly ominous, like a deep, menacing breath…right down
her spine.
Dana was irritated to be out at that time of the morning,
irritated that she’d agreed to do the crack-of-dawn news
show. Why had she? Oh, yes, her ratings had slipped
because she’d come down rather hard against a womanizing
drunkard. The switchboard at her daily syndicated show had
gone off the light beam after that. But still, there had
been complaints. A lot of people -- men, mainly -- calling
in to say that she should be shot, or coming up with
various other colorful phrases, all in the same vein.
She pulled down the visor mirror and studied her features.
Good. Maybe her face was a little narrow, a little hard,
but basically, for her age, she was sleek, professional,
attractive. She lived carefully, didn’t smoke, seldom
drank and exercised regularly. She gave a little sniff.
She’d gotten a lot of flak the time she’d given the
overweight housewife the advice to do something about
herself. She knew that people had expected her to say that
the husband was simply a louse for ignoring his wife. But
on that occasion, she’d gone the other way, telling the
woman to buy the South Beach Diet book, or do Atkins, or
get thee to a gym! The phones had rung off the hooks with
people calling in, raging that women were worthy of love
no matter what their size. She’d done one of her best
shows ever after that, saying that being worthy of love
didn’t make it happen, that both men and women were
responsible to keep themselves up.
However, despite the fact that she had definitely improved
herself to an even greater degree, she’d still caught
Harvey red-handed with a young thing half his age. But at
least she’d had the self-respect to follow her own advice!
Yes, she was swift and brutal. The best lawyers in town
had helped her keep what was hers intact. He’d made his
pixie mistress into a trophy wife -- until the trophy wife
had discovered that, without Dana, good old Harvey didn’t
have any money. And suddenly there was Harvey, out in the
cold with his dick in his hand. When asked about her
divorce, Dana was cool and calculated, saying that in any
marriage there could come a time when both parties simply
fell out of love. She forced herself to talk about her ex-
husband with affection, as if they were still friends. She
had survived the dissolution of her own marriage before
the public eye with great esteem, maintaining that,
despite the fact that their children were long grown, it
was important to be friends for their sakes.
Friends, my ass! She never should have married. Men were
all disloyal egoists who used women. She had simply
learned to use them back. Even the one fiasco she had
endured years ago in weakness was something she had turned
to her advantage. And over and over again, at that!
Done with the introspection, she opened her car door,
ready to head into her house. Yet she was surprised to
still feel a faint sense of unease as she sat in her car.
She lived in a gorgeous house on a well-lit main street in
a very fashionable district of Westchester, New York. Even
when it was midnight, or in the wee hours of the morning,
cars went by constantly. She’d never felt in the least bit
of danger, no matter what time she returned to or left her
house. But now…
She looked into the rearview window, but saw nothing.
Still, she waited.
Finally, feeling silly, she got out of the car and walked
to her front door. But she couldn’t help looking over her
shoulder. Then she chided herself. It was ridiculous for a
grown woman to be afraid of shadows and the sound of
leaves rustling in the summer breeze.
At the front door she paused and looked around again. This
was odd, so odd. She felt the hairs at her nape standing
on end. But there was nothing, no one.
Telling herself to stop being an idiot, she slipped her
key into the lock and stepped in. Then she keyed in her
number on the alarm pad as she started to close and lock
the door. But the door wouldn’t close. She frowned,
pressing at it. And that was when it burst back in upon
her.
For a moment, she just stared, stunned, trying to fathom
just what…who… Then she opened her mouth to scream as she
launched for the alarm pad.
But it was too late.
Several thoughts went through her mind. It wasn’t
ridiculous to be wary of shadows, of darkness, of little
whispers of danger. She shouldn’t have been so mistrusting
as to refuse to keep a live-in housekeeper. She should
have been more careful about things she said…and did! She
should have…
From somewhere far away she could hear her dog, Muffy,
barking. Then, with a sudden squeaking sound, the barking
was cut off -- just as every other noise and sensation
faded away.
CHAPTER 1
“There’s only darkness…shadows… Kelly, remember that you
start off confident, then begin to feel the menace of the
night, of something not quite right,” Joe Penny directed.
“Four…three…”Grant Idle, the assistant director, mouthed
the last two numbers in the countdown, his fingers raised.
Kelly Trent could barely see him. Because it was supposed
to be night, there were areas of pure darkness surrounding
the intricately planned lighting. She knew, however, that
beyond Grant, Joe and the camera, sound and lighting
personnel, there was still something of a crowd. Matt
Avery, one of her least favorite people in the world, was
there with some of the other executives from Household
Heaven, the giant mega-cleaning-product corporation that
was the major sponsor behind the show. There were guests,
friends of Joe Penny, as well as a few people her agent
had brought.
Videotaping a popular soap opera was surely one of the
strangest ventures in a world that was already strange.
Sometimes the sets were closed. Other times it seemed as
if they were having a party and anyone could attend.
Usually they filmed in the studio; it was cost-effective
to do so. Tonight, however, they were out at Hibiscus
Point, a man-made private development where they had been
all day, filming every exterior shot they could in a
matter of hours.
They weren’t on anything that resembled a high-traffic
public street, because the first houses hadn’t even been
sold. In fact, many of the high-priced lots remained
empty. And the property they were using was high on a
hill, rather remote. Still, it seemed as if they were at a
busy crossroads, though many of the cars and people
hovering behind the cameras had nothing to do with the
actual production. Kelly didn’t mind one way or the other.
She’d been a part of this world for far too long to do
anything other than go with the flow and, for the most
part, enjoy herself. However, she did find it strange. The
producers had put out a gag order regarding the shoot, so
presumably, no one but those involved should have known
that they would be working outside the studio. But given
the number of people around, they might as well have
posted an announcement in Billboard.
On cue, she exited the driver’s seat of the BMW parked in
the driveway, decked to the nines as Marla Valentine. She
allowed the car door to slam behind her. And though Marla
was supposedly doing nothing more than returning to her
home, she paused, adjusted her skirt and straightened her
hair. After all, Marla was a Valentine. To the Valentines,
appearance meant the world. She was one of the three
redheaded sisters who ruled the valley, through scandal
after scandal, affair after affair.
A few steps across dirt and she reached the tiled path to
the door of the cliff-side bungalow. For a moment --
without batting an eye or displaying so much as a hint of
a smile -- she felt a certain amusement. Marla Valentine
should have been fair play for criticism just for the
shoes she chose to wear. The stiletto heels weren’t so bad
in the studio. But here, on location, they were murder
themselves. She had to take great care with every step.
First, because if she didn’t, she’d sink right into the
earth, and then because they’d be as loud as an exploding
bomb on the tile. But whatever Marla Valentine’s shoes,
she reflected, she loved her job. Melodrama was simply
fun, most of the time. Hard work, but fun. And when they
finished here tonight, they were on a three week hiatus.
Which didn’t actually mean she was off next week, though,
for a number of the actors were going to be guests at a
theme park for Soap Week.
She paused, just as she had been directed, and acted out a
niggling feeling rising in Marla at the first hint of
danger -- the slightest tightening of her brow, the
faintest frown indicating that she was perplexed.
She looked ahead at the door. The front light, which
should have been on, was off. And despite the camera
lights, it seemed dark. There was the softest whisper of a
breeze that night, just enough to ruffle the trees and
give a strange, barely audible whistle to the air. She had
to admit, she was having fun being Marla Valentine now.
After many seasons in which Marla had been the nice
sister, the shy sister, the used sister, she had developed
a streak of nastiness that was pure entertainment. And now
Marla was finally facing danger. She’d gotten very tough,
so surely she would face it well and come back fighting.
Kelly took a step, then played up her character’s sense of
unease. She squared her shoulders, as if she had put down
the demons of hesitance and fear. She started walking
again, keys in her hands. She wasn’t going to run away
from her own front door. But then she paused, as if
uncertain once again. From the corner of her eyes, she
could see one cameraman moving around to her left, the
other to her right. The focus was on her, then on the
door, the bushes, the shadows…
Lights stung Kelly’s eyes for a moment, but Marla
Valentine convinced herself that there was nothing there.
Just as Kelly had been directed. Just as she had
rehearsed.
She climbed the steps in her stiletto heels. Then, on cue,
her attacker appeared from the shadow of the bushes to her
right. Hugh Thompson was the ultimate pro. Stuntman for
dozens of shows and movies, he was a solid six foot four.
Tonight, he was clad in black from head to toe, a ski mask
covering everything but his eyes, a black coat concealing
the rest of his frame. Standing perfectly still, he might
have been taken for a shadow.
She screamed. It was a damned good scream, she reflected
ruefully, but then, in truth, his appearance was rather
frightening. He lunged for her and she spun around. Though
they were often able to do their takes without so much as
a run-through, they had rehearsed this scene several
times. She didn’t come straight down the steps, but headed
for the mound of earth on the side.
Hugh should have caught her. And she should have been
there to catch. Instead, the pile of earth gave way. To
her astonishment, she had no footing whatsoever. In
sneakers, she might have had a chance. But in the stiletto
heels, she went down. And with nothing to stop her, she
began to roll.
For a moment, pure panic seized Kelly. The house was on a
cliff. If she kept rolling and rolling… She was vaguely
aware of screams coming from the rest of the cast and
crew. Hugh was shouting. They all seemed very far away.
Dirt and grass were tearing at her. She felt a sharp pain
as her elbow hit something, then her knee. She saw a
branch and made a mad grasp for it. The rough limb burned
her palms, but she held fast. Her impetus halted, she was
able to inch along and catch hold of the tree with the low-
hanging branch. One of the stiletto heels was already
gone. She kicked off the other and struggled to her feet.
Turning around, she saw the edge of the cliff, not very
far away at all, deceptive in the darkness. Her knees
nearly gave on her again. Her fear was so deep that it
truly seemed her heart leaped to her throat and a chill
weakened the length of her body. Sheer physical reaction
to the manner of her near-death raked her limbs.
Hugh Thompson reached her first.
“Kelly!” Despite the knit ski mask, his voice boomed with
concern.
“I’m fine!” she called quickly, shaking like a leaf.
He caught up to her and pulled her back toward the house,
half lifting her. “Kelly, jeez!” he breathed.
“Hugh, please, put me down. I’m fine, really. I just don’t
understand…that little mound by the porch was solid as
rock before!”
“You can never trust the ground in California!” Hugh said,
shaking his head. “Oh, man, Kelly, I about had a heart
attack there, watching you go down!”
By then Joe Penny had reached them, his perfect silver
hair nearly standing on end. He looked as white as a
ghost.
“Kelly…Kelly!” He threw his arms around her, shaking.
Camera and light crews followed him, along with people
from costume and makeup, and the two extras with whom
Marla Valentine had recently conversed.
“Joe, everyone, please, I’m fine. Of course, I must look
like muddy hell, but hey, I can wash up!” Then she heard
the sound of a siren and looked at Joe with
concern. “Please tell me you didn’t call an ambulance!”
“Kelly, you might have been killed!” Joe said, shaking his
head, his face still ashen. “My God, I went over all this
myself. What on earth…?”
“Like Hugh says, it’s California!” Kelly said cheerfully.
“You’re bleeding,” Hugh said.
She looked down at her knee. “It’s just a scratch. Really,
I’m fine.”
“You could be clamoring for workmen’s comp!” one of the
extras called out, attempting a note of levity.
“A paid vacation in the Caribbean,” Hugh agreed lightly.
“But I’m fine!” she protested again. “Please, guys. Thank
you all so much for your concern, but I’m not hurt!”
“Oh, my God, Kelly!” That came from Matt Avery, who had
just made his way through the crowd surrounding her. She
was glad that she wasn’t gasping for air -- she certainly
wouldn’t have gotten any! And then…Matt.
He reached for her, drawing her into the shadow of his
arms. Matt Avery was tall and good-looking, with a smooth
manner, a deep, rich voice and an easy charm that
attracted women of all ages. Women just tended to
gravitate to him. But as he tilted her chin upward, she
fought very hard not to let him hear the grinding of her
teeth.
“Kelly, good God! Are you all right?”
She tried to extricate herself politely. “Please, please,
everyone. I swear to you, I’m fine.”
“The ambulance is here,” Joe said firmly.
“But I don’t --”
“Kelly!” Her agent, Mel Alton, burst through the crowd
then. She smiled because she knew that his concern was for
her and not his ten percent.
“She’s getting into that ambulance!” Joe insisted.
“I’ll hop in with her,” Mel said tersely.
“Look, we can finish the scene --” Kelly tried.
“Are you crazy?” Joe demanded. “Kelly, you’re bleeding!”
He hesitated. “Besides, the scene actually…well, what
we’ve got on camera is amazing. But you! You’re getting
checked out, and then you’re going home!”
“My knee is scratched!” she protested. “I don’t need to be
checked out.”
“Kelly, we may not know what else is wrong right now. A
doctor must see you,” Matt Avery said firmly.
“She could probably sue,” someone from the crowd muttered,
and an uneasy silence followed.
Joe quickly managed a dry laugh. “Kelly, you’ll need to
get checked out…for insurance purposes, all that.” He
suddenly looked stricken. “I hope you’re all right! You’re
due in Florida, at the theme park, on Tuesday!”
“I’ll be there,” Kelly said.
“Not if it jeopardizes your health!” Joe said.
She was fairly certain that he was sincere. Joe was a
character. So were most of the people with whom she
worked. Still, they’d been together a long time, and she
believed that he did care about her.
Once again, Kelly tried to reassure everyone. “I’m fine.”
But it didn’t seem to matter. The police had arrived along
with the ambulance.
“Kelly, this is the way it has to go,” Joe said.
She knew that he was right. The show couldn’t afford a
lawsuit, so the least minor accident required an
investigation.
A gentle officer with graying hair and a kindly manner
quizzed Kelly as she was seated in the ambulance. Mel
hopped in with her. Like Joe, he was more than a co-
worker. He was a friend, almost a father figure to her. He
grinned, but looked a little worried.
“On the bright side, it will be in all the magazines,” he
told her.
“The rags,” she said dryly.
“There is no such thing as --”
“Bad publicity, I know.”
“Miss, please lie down and relax,” the emergency medic
said gently.
“But I’m fine. And whatever you do, please don’t put the
siren on --”
But it blared, despite her protests.
Despite the obvious legal repercussions, Joe Penny wasn’t
worried about the future of his show. After all, accidents
happened. This one, however, was baffling. They’d chosen
the place specifically for the cliff-top scenes. He’d been
delighted to get the property for the price they’d paid
for the day. He hadn’t been forced to pay travel bills to
create the look of an island. Yes, they’d had to shuffle
things around from the set -- the cameras, the lights,
costumes, trailers -- but it had been a song compared to
what they would have paid to find the right look on a
Caribbean island. Everything had gone smoothly…until now.
The crowd had been dispersed. The officer in charge of the
investigation, Ben Garrison, was a fellow with an easy
manner that kept everyone calm. He and his men had asked
dozens of questions of everyone involved, from the set
director to the lighting personnel and camera crew. Even a
few of the bystanders had been asked about what they’d
seen. Waiting to speak with the officer himself, Joe
suddenly groaned inwardly. He loved his show. It was a
good show. It held its own in an ever-changing world --
and an ever-changing market.
He’d been through serious problems on the set before --
murder could definitely be considered a serious problem --
but the show had prevailed. And that was all in the past
now.
He could feel himself sweating though the air was cool. As
he waited, he stared at the house on the cliff, suddenly
hating the edifice as if it had human qualities. Matt
Avery walked up behind him.
“I don’t produce or direct,” Matt said quietly, “but we
are vested in this show just as deeply as anyone else. And
I have a suggestion, because this was one of the
scariest ‘accidents’ I’ve ever had to witness.”
Joe turned to look at the man and forced a smile. The show
had prevailed through its problems because of Household
Heaven -- and the company’s advertising dollars. Matt
Avery was the man with the power to say how Household
Heaven would continue to spend those advertising dollars.
And Matt was a businessman first and foremost -- and a
very rich and powerful one at that.
“Your suggestion?” Joe asked, knowing what Avery was going
to say. And understanding his concern.
“If it had been any other cast member, I might be inclined
to think it was an accident,” Matt said.“ But it was Kelly
who fell. She could have gone over that cliff. The very
landscape that meant so much to us as a location could
have killed her.”
“The police are investigating.”
“But you rehearsed that scene. Over and over.”
“Maybe that’s what dislodged the earth,” Joe mused.
“Maybe one of those hundreds -- or thousands -- of people
sending in hate mail meant for Marla Valentine to die.”
“Matt! We kept this shoot hush-hush.”
“There was a crowd here tonight.”
Joe waved a hand in the air, looking around. Matt Avery
and some of his crew had been invited. There was the
fellow he’d met through another executive on the show who
was looking to do a rock video. The guy in the shades was
the rock star. And one of the cameramen had asked if his
visiting sister could be there. As to the others…he didn’t
know. No one had pushed forward out of the crowd. The
curious and the fans that had gathered around had politely
kept their places out on the street.
“Matt, Kelly is an actress,” he said.
“Yes, and one we care a lot about. Come on, Joe, you don’t
want another scandal with this show.”
“Actually,” Joe said uneasily,“ scandal can be good. The
audience thrives on who is doing what -- and who,” he
added dryly.
“We’re not talking about the sex lives of the stars,
here,” Matt said. “We’re talking lethal scandal, and I
don’t believe you want any kind of that ugliness tingeing
the show again. I know that I sure as hell don’t.”
“What are you saying?” Joe demanded.
“We’ve got to take care of Kelly.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Joe demanded.
“Well, Mel will have to be in on this, and Kelly’s manager
also. But this is very serious. We have to work this out,
for the sake of the show. And for Kelly, of course.”
Copyright © 2005 Heather Graham