Тесс Герритсен - I Know a Secret

I stand at Victoria’s left side, moving things along, flipping open the books to the title page, sliding them in front of her. She signs with a flourish, a big swirly VA in purple ink. The men ogle (there’s a lot to ogle, because she’s about to spill out of her low-cut bodice), and the women linger to chat, chat, chat. It’s my job to bring the conversations to a quick close and nudge the fans along; otherwise we’ll be in this bookstore all night. Victoria probably wouldn’t mind that, because she feeds on adoration like a vampire, but I’m anxious to get this evening over with. Though I can’t spot Everett among the crowd, I know he is patiently waiting for me to finish the event, and I feel the familiar tingle of anticipation between my legs. Maybe it’s a lucky thing he stopped by to see me tonight. Sex is just what I need to relax me after a night of catering to this demanding bitch.

It takes two and a half hours for Victoria to greet all her fans. She’s autographed one hundred eighty-three books, signing faster than a book a minute, but when we’re done there’s still a stack of sixty books left unsold. This of course makes Victoria unhappy. She wouldn’t be Victoria if she was ever, for a moment in her life, satisfied with anything. As she signs the unsold stock, she whines about the venue (“more people would come here if they didn’t have to drive into Cambridge!”), the weather (“it’s too damn cold tonight!”), and the date (“everyone knows tonight’s the final episode of Dancing with the Stars !”). I let her complaints roll off my back as I keep sliding her the books to sign. Out of the corner of my eye I spot Everett watching me with a sympathetic smile. Yes, this is what I do for a living. Now you understand why I’m really, really looking forward to that bottle of wine you brought me.

As Victoria signs the last book, I notice one of the store employees walking toward us with a bouquet of flowers in his arms. “Miss Avalon, I’m so glad you haven’t left the store yet. These just arrived for you!”

At the sight of the bouquet, Victoria’s pout instantly transforms into a thousand-watt smile. This is why she’s a celebrity; she can turn it on and off like a switch. All she needs is a proper dose of adoration, and here it is, in the form of a plastic-wrapped bundle of roses.

“Oh, how lovely!” Victoria gushes. “Who sent them?”

“The deliveryman didn’t say. But there is a card.”

Victoria peels open the envelope and frowns at the handwritten message inside. “Well, this is kind of weird,” she says.

“What does it say?” I ask.

“ Remember me? That’s all it says. And it’s not signed.” She hands me the card, but I scarcely look at it. My gaze is suddenly riveted on the bouquet itself. On the foliage tucked in among the roses. This is not the usual fern leaf or aspidistra, bundled into bouquets by florists everywhere. While this bit of greenery means nothing to Victoria, who wouldn’t know the difference between a hydrangea and a hydrant, a palm leaf does mean something to me.

Symbol of the martyr.

The card slips out of my fingers and flutters to the floor.

“These must be from one of my old admirers,” Victoria says. “How weird that he didn’t sign his name. Oh, well.” She laughs. “A gal does love a little mystery in her life. He could have just come up and said hello. I wonder if he’s here right now?”

I glance wildly around the bookstore. I see women browsing the shelves and three studious-looking young men hunched over their textbooks. And Everett. He notices I’m rattled, and he’s frowning as he comes toward me.

“Holly? What’s wrong?”

“I need to go home.” I snatch up my coat. My hands are shaking. “I’ll call you later.”

Through the closed door of the Crazy Ruby Films studio, Jane and Frost heard a woman’s terrified shrieks, and Jane snorted. “If those kids want real nightmares, they should spend a night with us.”

The door opened and a dazed-looking Travis Chang stood blinking at them. He was wearing the same ratty SCREAMFEST FILM FESTIVAL T-shirt he’d been wearing on their first visit, and his unwashed hair stood up in black tufts like greasy devil’s horns. “Oh. Hey, you’re back.”

“Yeah, we’re back,” said Jane. “We need to show you something.”

“Uh, we’re right in the thick of editing.”

“This won’t take long.”

Travis cast an embarrassed glance over his shoulder. “I just want to warn you, it’s kinda ripe in here. You know how things get when you’re, like, totally in the zone.”

Judging by the condition of the studio, in the zone was not anyplace Jane cared to ever be. The room was even more disgusting than when they’d first visited, the trash cans overflowing with pizza boxes and Red Bull cans. Every horizontal surface was covered with wadded napkins, pens, notebooks, and electronics. The air smelled like scorched popcorn and dirty socks.

Slouched on the sofa were Travis’s colleagues, Ben and Amber, who, judging by their sallow faces, hadn’t been out of the building in days. They didn’t even look up at their visitors but kept their eyes locked on the big-screen TV, where a buxom blonde in a low-cut T-shirt was desperately barricading a door against something that was trying to pound its way in. An ax blade splintered the wood. The blonde shrieked.

Travis hit the PAUSE button, freezing the blonde’s face in mid-scream.

“What’re you doing, man?” Ben protested. “We’re up against the clock here.”

“We’re trying to make the deadline for horror-film festivals,” Travis explained to Jane and Frost. “ Mr. Simian needs to be submitted in three weeks.”

“When can we see it?” asked Jane.

“Not yet. We’re still editing and the soundtrack’s in progress. Plus we’ve got a few special effects to tweak.”

“I thought you guys ran out of money.”

The three filmmakers looked at one another. Amber sighed. “We are out of money,” she said. “So we all took out loans. And Ben sold his car.”

“You kids are really going to gamble everything on this?”

“What else are we going to gamble on, if not our own creation?”

They were probably going to lose their filthy-looking shirts, but Jane had to admire their confidence.

“I watched I See You, ” said Frost. “It wasn’t bad. It should’ve made money.”

Travis perked up. “You think so?”

“Better than a lot of horror films I’ve seen.”

“Exactly! We know we can make as good a movie as any big studio. We just have to hang in there and keep telling good stories. Even if it means risking everything.”

Jane pointed to the blonde on the TV screen. “I think I’ve seen that actress before. What else has she been in?”

“As far as I know, this was her first acting gig,” said Ben. “She just has one of those universal faces.”

“Standard hot blonde with perfect teeth,” observed Jane.

“Yeah, they make the best victims.” Ben paused. “Sorry. I guess that was in bad taste, considering...”

“You said you wanted to show us something,” said Travis.

“Yeah. We want you to look at a photo.” Jane glanced around the room for some open space to set down her laptop.

Travis swept away the pizza debris from the coffee table. “Here ya go.”

Avoiding a clump of cheese that had congealed on the table, Jane set down her laptop and opened the photo file. “These are screen captures from Cassandra’s memorial service. We had a surveillance camera set up at the entrance to videotape the faces of everyone who attended.”

“You recorded the whole thing?” said Amber. “That’s really creepy, recording people without their knowledge. It’s like Big Brother watching us.”