Али Брэндон - Double Booked For Death

“It’s not your fault, Jake. You told her to stay away. It was her choice to come back,” Darla protested in a voice that was little better than a gasp.

The small exertion of hauling the barricade combined with her earlier light-headedness, so that she felt as if she’d just run a marathon. She felt perilously close to collapsing onto the asphalt in a puddle of tears. Jake, who likely had seen such reactions around accident scenes before, took note of Darla’s faltering composure and promptly pointed her back toward the shop.

“Kid, you’re not going to do me a damn bit of good if you pass out here on the street,” the woman told her, not unkindly. “Get your butt back inside and let Valerie and her people know what’s happened. They can finish up with the girls already in the store, but we’ll be shutting things down after that. Besides, more help than we’ll ever need will be here in a minute.”

Right on cue, a pair of highway patrol cars with their distinctive high-rise light bars on their roofs nosed past the stopped traffic and joined the first police vehicle parked now alongside the van. A minute later, two motorcycle officers roared up, the rumble of their Harleys echoing off the buildings. Thankfully, they’d all shut off their sirens, but their blue and red lights continued to strobe off the rows of brownstones on either side of the street. Their headlights further illuminated the area, so that the entire accident scene now was visible in harsh relief. The ambulance hadn’t yet arrived, but under the circumstances, there was no big hurry . . . not anymore.

Darla took a deep, steadying breath and nodded. “I’m okay now,” she insisted. “But you’re right. I’ve got to tell them what’s going on.”

She headed at a quick pace back toward the shop, hearing behind her the sounds of the uniformed police taking control of the situation, while still more sirens howled in the distance. Pushing her none-too-gentle way past the girls camped out on the steps, she all but stumbled into Everest, who was still keeping guard at the door.

“Bad news, ma’am?” he asked in a resigned voice that said he already knew that answer.

His height, combined with his position on the stairway, would easily have given him a bird’s-eye view of the accident scene. Darla glanced back in that same direction to see another police car had arrived, while the ambulance was now at the end of the block. The boxy vehicle eased its way through the street with the occasional pulse of its siren to clear the way. She noted that the news truck, which earlier had been parked across the way while the reporter interviewed the waiting fans, had returned. In another fifteen minutes, news of the accident would be all over television, not to mention the Internet. Hell, doubtless most of the girls in line were already Tweeting comments and pictures that were being read and seen by millions.

Darla bit back a few choice curses. Horrible as she felt at the knowledge that a young woman had died almost on her doorstep, she couldn’t suppress an equal surge of dismay at the realization that all this was going to be very, very bad for business. Death had a way of scaring off paying customers. Why in the hell hadn’t the girl pulled her stunt over at Barnes and Noble?

Tamping down that unworthy thought, she turned back to Everest and nodded. “The girl who was protesting the autographing was hit and killed by a van. I need to tell Valerie and the others. Don’t let any more fans go inside the store, okay?”

Everest grunted his assent, his stern dark features settling into grim lines. No doubt he figured this was bad for his business, too, no matter how peripherally he was involved. Leaving him to stand guard, Darla slipped past the door and into the shop.

Mary Ann was right there, and her small soft hand promptly clutched Darla’s arm. “My gracious, what’s going on?” she whispered in alarm. “We heard all the sirens and could see the flashing lights through the windows.”

In fact, the emergency lights still flashed like blue and red lightning beyond the glass, while the muffled sounds of a distant siren and the brief bark from a bullhorn could be heard even inside the store. “I’m afraid there was an accident,” she replied, gently prying the old woman’s fingers from her wrist. “Come with me, and you can hear the details when I tell Valerie and her people.”

Sidestepping the maze, she took the direct route toward the back of the room, swiftly assessing the small crowd as she passed them. The fans murmured restively as they waited in line, aware that something was amiss but not knowing what. Darla spotted Callie, looking very young in her severe black cape as she clutched her copy of Valerie’s latest novel. The official entourage had returned from their respective breaks, and everyone was in his or her proper place around the table. The only one still missing was the author.

“Where’s Valerie?” Darla asked Hillary, who was busy checking her iPhone.

“Still outside polluting the air,” she replied with a shrug. “What’s going on out front?”

Darla eyed the nearby fans and pulled Hillary and Koji aside. “There’s been a bad accident. Let me run and get Valerie, and I’ll make the announcement to everyone in the store at one time.”

She hurried toward the back door, Koji on her heels. Like Everest, he doubtless considered any incident part of his job.

The pungent odor of cigarette smoke assailed her as they slipped outside. “Valerie? Ms. Baylor?” Darla softly called as she peered about the small courtyard, “Can you come in for—”

She broke off at the twin realizations that the darkened enclosure was empty and that the gate leading into the alley was wide open. Very slowly, she turned to Koji and said in a small voice, “Are you sure she didn’t come back into the store?”

The publicist gave her a stricken look. “She said she wanted a cigarette. Sh-she does that a lot.”

He stood there uncertainly, but Darla didn’t hesitate. Pushing past him, she rushed to the gate and went running into the small alley. The faint odors of old garbage and recent urine assailed her, but she ignored them as she ran the short distance to the street and then hooked a turn back toward Crawford Avenue and the kaleidoscope of emergency lights. The ambulance was there at the accident scene now, its two EMTs preparing to make what likely was a perfunctory check of the victim still sprawled prostrate on the road.

The same earlier voice of doom was shrieking in Darla’s head again. No way , she tried to reassure herself, even as she knew with sudden dread and certainty where her missing author had disappeared to. She reached Jake’s side just as one of the paramedics rolled the still form to one side, and the array of headlights illuminated the victim’s face, along with a pair of red Manolo Blahnik pumps that lay nearby.

Darla’s reflexive scream was muffled by her hands as she clamped numb fingers over her mouth, but half a dozen of the closest fan girls were not so inhibited. A collective shriek of anguish rose from the direction of the sidewalk. Louder still was a single heartrending cry from one of the girls who’d also caught a glimpse of the dead woman’s slack features.

“Oh my God, it’s Valerie Baylor!”

SEVEN

THREE EMPTY TISSUE BOXES SAT IN THE CENTER OF THE table, while the tiny wastebasket Darla had commandeered from the restroom overflowed now with soggy Kleenex. The refuse served as mute testament to the torrent of emotion that had washed through the store a couple of hours earlier, right after Darla announced in somber tones that Valerie Baylor had just been killed after stepping into the path of a van while outside taking a break.

Darla sighed, remembering the reaction to her pronouncement: total pandemonium. A communal shriek rose from the three dozen or so fan girls there in the store. A good third of them collapsed onto the floor upon hearing the news, causing Lizzie and Mary Ann to rush to their collective aid with motherly words of comfort. Most of the remainder simply gave way to noisy sobs, though a few of the girls hurried for the door, apparently intent on mourning at their idol’s dead feet.