Gemma Halliday - Scandal Sheet aka Hollywood Scandals

I complied, slowly easing upright, hands up in a surrender motion. I squinted through the colorful lights, trying to make out the face behind the menacing weapon, but it was obscured by the shifting shadows. All I could tell was that the voice was female.

“What do you want?” I asked, even though the gun leveled at me was a pretty clear signal she didn’t want to play Parcheesi.

“I want you,” she said.

“You want me to what?”

“Shut up.”

My gaze darted around for Cal. I caught his retreating back as he protectively put an arm around Aunt Sue, leading her out the exit. God bless him, he was still worried about her getting caught.

Unfortunately, that left me high and dry.

“Back up,” she said, taking a step closer, the gun jutting into my chest. “Behind that tower.”

I glanced behind me, a looming tower painted in sparkles and glitter with a handful of dolls wearing fruit on their heads on top, still dancing and singing.

If I had to pick my least favorite place to die, this would probably be it. Could there be a worse fate than the strains of this stupid song being the last thing on earth that you ever hear?

However, considering I wasn’t the one with the gun, I had little choice. I backed up, praying that one of the ladies in the cheery blue uniforms would see us.

No such luck. Between herding tourists, the colorful lights, the singing dolls, and the boats backing up one after another behind us, no one even glanced our way.

I walked slowly backward, deliberately veering to the left, where a stream of pink light shone down from overhead. As my captor followed me, the light played across her face.

I sucked in a breath. “You! You’re the one who’s been threatening me?”

Lani Cline chuckled. “Gee, what tipped you off, Sherlock?”

I narrowed my eyes at Jennifer Wood’s co-star. Hey, you try being brilliant when you’ve got a gun pointed at your tatas.

“You killed Hattie Carmichael,” I said, the gears in my head churning overtime.

“Who?” she asked.

“My neighbor.”

“The old lady in your condo?”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure she could see me through the darkness.

“Look, I swear she was an accident,” Lani said, in her perky fake-teen voice. “All I meant to do was trash your place, scare you. But this nosy old hag comes barging in like she owns the place, yelling about the TV being too loud. I didn’t have any choice. I had to shut her up.”

“So you killed her,” I said, my throat thick with emotion. So Mrs. C. hadn’t been my favorite person in the world. In fact, she was kind of a pain in the butt. But to hear her talked about as if she were nothing more than an inconvenience grated on my nerves.

“I just meant to shut her up. That old thing had a set of lungs on her like you wouldn’t believe. So, I grabbed a bookend and hit her on the head.”

“But why?” I asked, taking a small step back, my butt coming up against a wall. I tried to feel around behind me for anything I could use as a weapon. Unfortunately, dolls are notoriously safe. I shifted to the left slightly, trying to get a good look around the tower for any sort of escape route. To my right, Lani stood holding the gun. To my left was a line of dolls glued to the floor. If I could distract Lani long enough, I might have a chance of jumping over them…“I mean, why threaten me in the first place?” I asked. “I never even wrote about you ?”

Suddenly Lani’s perky little face scrunched up into an ugly mass of anger. “That’s the problem! Three years I’ve been on that moronic show, having to play second fiddle to some nitwit teenager. I’m a classically trained actress. I played Ophelia at Harvard!”

I squinted through the darkness, getting my first real close-up look at Lani. Unlike her character, I realized she was much older than I’d thought. Early to midtwenties at least. And by the way her eyes were taking on a wide, feverish look, I could well imagine her playing the crazed Shakespeare heroine.

“I have a masters in fine art,” she went on, “I studied under the finest acting coaches of our time. And what do I get in return? Does anyone recognize my talent? No! Instead, you print stories about that twit Jennifer flashing her boobs!”

“So, you threatened me to make the stories about Jennifer stop?” I asked. I shifted to the left again, closing the gap between me and escape. Just a few inches more. I just had to keep her talking and wait for my opening.

“Exactly. Why should some trashionista get all the press?” Lani smiled, a creepy expression that never quite reached her eyes. “And, to kill two birds with one stone, I framed Jennifer. The first step was making the phone call from her production company’s offices. Of course, I had to disguise my voice, but I was sure you’d be able to trace the call. Then, when no one was looking, I snuck into the hair and makeup trailer and grabbed Jennifer’s hairbrush, leaving strands of her long blonde locks all over your place when I trashed it. Total DNA dump.” She frowned. “Didn’t you find the hair?”

“DNA takes ten days to process,” I said. Then took another tiny step to the left. “Even if the police found it, their lab won’t have results back for another week at least.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “That’s crap. It only takes a couple minutes on CSI .”

“ CSI is a TV show.”

She gave me a blank stare, not getting my point. “You were supposed to be freaked into quitting. You were supposed to stop printing those stupid stories about Jennifer.” She frowned again. “Only you didn’t stop.”

“Oops, my bad,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

“Shut up!” She took a step toward me, waving the gun at me.

I’m no dummy. I shut up.

“When it became clear you were going to be a problem, I went with plan B.”

I hated to ask. “Plan B?”

She nodded again, her sleek hair shimmering a twisted blue in the pastel lighting. “Up the stakes. That’s what my acting coaches always say to do when a scene is lagging. I upped the stakes by framing Jennifer for not only threatening you, but your murder. If Jennifer was arrested, guess who’d be in line as the new star of Pippi Mississippi ?”

Personally I had a hard time picturing the show going on without Jennifer. Lani the Loon just doesn’t have the same ring to it. But it was clear this chick had passed sane thought at least one dead body ago.

“That’s when you planted the bomb on my bike?” I prompted, glancing to my left. One more step, and I’d be close enough to leap over the line of dolls.

Lani shrugged. “It was easy enough to boost some items from the pyrotechnics division on the lot.” She did a short laugh. “Besides, what kind of freak drives a pink motorcycle anyway?”

If she hadn’t been holding a gun, I would have given her the finger. As it was, I just gritted my teeth in the dark.

“And now,” she added, “it’s time to finish this act.” She took a step closer, closing the precious gap I’d created between us. “As much as I’ve enjoyed ad-libbing with you, Tina, this scene needs to come to an end so our heroine can finally get what’s coming to her.”

Her eyes took on a cold, determined look, glazing over, void of any type of emotion. Her fingers tightened on the trigger.

And I swear it was all I could do not to pee my pants. I dragged in a deep breath, inhaling the scents of recirculated water and dusty displays. Unless I wanted to die among the children of the world, it was now or never.

I jumped to the left, diving over the three-foot-tall line of singing dolls, landing headfirst on the other side. I scraped my elbow on a fake burro, but I hardly even noticed, my entire being focused on the sound of Lani swearing behind me, tripping over the dolls, coming toward me, gun drawn.