Carrie Alexander - Coming Soon / Hidden Gems - Coming Soon

Lorraine looked into the bathroom, making sure they weren’t being overheard. “Did you know that Danny Austen had something going on with Geiger?”

“No he did not.”

“I swear.”

“Something sexual?” Mia asked, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“So I’ve been told.”

“I thought he was trying to get tight with that actress. You know, the redhead?”

“Yeah, Nan. I met her. She seemed sweet and all, but she wasn’t shy about Danny Austen. Paul saw her in Austen’s trailer wearing his bathrobe.”

“So if Danny is with Nan—”

Lorraine shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose if you’re famous enough, you can have everybody. Maybe for them it doesn’t matter what the sex is as long as it’s sex.”

“Still, Danny Austen with Geiger? I find that difficult to believe. Geiger was a parasite. Danny could get anyone he wanted.”

“You’re probably right. Although…”

“What?”

“Jeff Crown, the guy from accounting? He said there were some pretty suspicious charges coming from Danny’s room.”

“How would he know?”

“Yeah. You’re right. I think everybody wants to be on the inside, you know? He’s probably full of crap.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

“I gotta go,” Lorraine said. She closed her locker. “See ya.”

Mia hugged her backpack as she stared at her locker. That business about Danny Austen made no sense. But then, she didn’t really know a lot of famous people. She wouldn’t have believed Geiger having drinks with the director, and that turned out to be true.

Or was it?

No, it was true. Andy, Theresa’s room-service source, wouldn’t lie about that. Mia had no idea if Jeff Crown would. She’d best take it all with a big grain of salt. She’d keep her ear to the ground. That’s all. She’d just listen.

A few minutes later, she was going out the back door to make a beeline to the subway, hoping to get past the paps without tripping or being trampled. Only she didn’t have to worry because there was Bax, sitting on the pony wall in the garage, looking rumpled and tired and wonderful. Not a paparazzi in sight.

“What are you doing here?”

“Driving you home.”

“You don’t know where I live.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I’m in Connecticut.”

He looked a little startled, but then his unflappable face came back. “Then we’d better get going.”

“I’m kidding,” she said. “You don’t have to take me home. The subway’s right over there,” she said, pointing to her right.

“My car’s right over there,” he said, pointing to his left.

“I live in Brooklyn Heights.”

“Great,” he said, standing with a distinctive knee pop. “It’s right on my way.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why do I doubt that?”

“Because you’re a suspicious woman. Come on. Let’s do this.”

She followed him to a somewhat new Ford Taurus that she would have immediately pegged as an unmarked police car. He held the door for her, and she wasn’t surprised to find the inside was impeccably clean.

Watching him as he came around, she wondered if he was just being nice, or if he had more on his mind than simply seeing her home.

He didn’t seem the kind of guy that would want more. Especially now that they’d established their working relationship. But then, maybe he didn’t see a problem with that. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit the idea had its merits.

How long had it been since she’d been this interested in a guy? It felt like forever, but it was actually about eight months. Jean-Jacques had been nice enough. Certainly his European charm had seduced her and his accent had made her giddy. But in the end, they were both too caught up in their work worlds to have anything meaningful.

“Brooklyn Heights,” Bax said as he settled in the car. He started it up and they drove slowly through the pack of photographers lying in wait. He said something low that she didn’t quite catch.

“What was that?”

“A subliminal message.”

She laughed. “You think it worked?”

“Nope. They’re still there.”

For a while, she just sat back and watched him drive. It was still rush hour, so traffic slogged. She didn’t mind. She liked the way he maneuvered the car, not shy, but not in a death match, either. It would take them a while to get to the Brooklyn Bridge and across. For once, she was glad she didn’t live closer to Midtown.

“Where do you live?” she asked, as they made the last turn before the bridge.

“Park Slope.”

“Oh.”

“I told you.”

“I’m not right on your way.”

“Close enough.”

“You live alone?”

He looked at her as if the question surprised him. “Yeah.”

“Not me. I have two roommates. Luckily, I don’t see them too often. One has a boyfriend and the other works nights. It’s not bad.”

“Roommates. I don’t think I could do that again.”

“You had a bad experience?”

“I’m not easy to live with.”

“Good to know.”

He looked at her again.

She could hardly believe she’d said that out loud. My word, wasn’t she the brave one. Which reminded her. “I heard something.”

“When?”

“In the locker room.”

“Okay. I assume it was about the murder.”

She told him everything she could about her conversation with Lorraine. He seemed quite dubious about the Geiger-Danny Austen connection. Not at all about Geiger’s wife.

“How reliable is this source of yours?”

“She’s not one to make stuff up, but she did say it was all second hand info. I think the rumor mill at Hush is on overdrive, but you might want to check into those room charges.”

He nodded as they inched their way across the bridge. “I’m not shocked about Sheila Geiger. I got the impression she wasn’t all that upset that her husband was dead, although damn, she put on a good show.”

“I wonder…”

“What?”

“What her rationalization is.”

“For what?”

“Her life. Her husband. No one does something they know is wrong. People rationalize the most horrible things. The paparazzi, they all believe they’re not doing anything wrong. They say the celebrities want their pictures taken. The public wants to buy those pictures. I guess I can’t argue with that.”

“Only?”

“It feels so wrong to me. I’ve seen them at their worst, like a pack of wolves. There’s no mercy, no quarter given. Everyone and everything is fair game.”

“What do you think is behind her suing the hotel?” he asked.

“She’s thinking about her bank account. With hubby gone and unable to take those money-making pictures, a gal has to do what a gal has to do.”

“And a job is out of the question.”

“I think in her mind, yes,” she said. “It is.”

He sighed. “Boulder sounds better every day.”

“I’ve never been to Colorado. I hear it’s just gorgeous.”

“Yep. Green everywhere you look. Great skiing. The English department is top notch. It’s quiet. A man can think. See the stars.”

“Big change.”

“Welcome change.”

“I would imagine so. All that death. All those rationalizations.”

He reached over with his right hand and touched her left. He didn’t hold it or squeeze it. He just touched her. Then he was gone.

“Where to?”

She realized they were approaching the Brooklyn side of the bridge. They hadn’t talked all that much, but there had been pauses. Long ones. Now she was almost home.

“It’s a right on Henry Street, a left on Remsen.”

The traffic didn’t ease up until they were almost at her building. Should she ask him up? Would he assume?