Deja Who (Insighter #1)(65)

FORTY-ONE


Leah turned impatiently toward her front door when the doorbell chimed. Finally! She felt as if she had been waiting forever for her killer to show up and murder her. And so she had, for over two decades. An entire life wasted waiting. If Archer was here, he’d laugh and—

Do not think about Archer.

“About time, thank you!” She stomped to her door, observed all the secured locks, and peeped through the aptly named peephole to observe Tom Winn of Winner’s TalentTM (ugh) blinking at her from the other side of the door.

“Go away, Tom, I’m waiting for my—never mind.”

“Gotta talk to you, Leah. About your mom.”

She hissed out breath. Tom had the tenacity of a bred-in-the-bone Hollywood agent; he would never quit until he’d talked to her about Nellie. This was no doubt the “but Hollywood loves when famous relatives of famous murder victims do reality TV” pitch. Or the offer to play herself in the Lifetime movie inevitably written about her mom, New Life, Old Murder. Or perhaps Hushed Killing. She could send him away and have him come back and back and back, or she could deal with it now, be rid of him forever, and hope he didn’t scare the killer off.

Of course, he might be the killer. On TV it always seems to be the one you never suspect. However, TV has gotten nothing right this month.

But still.

“Make it quick,” she warned, unlocking the three security locks and swinging the door wide. “I’m a little pressed for time.”

“Yeah, me, too.” He shuffled inside, past her, and she closed the door.

“You missed the reading of her will,” he told her with gentle disappointment.

“Her last performance? Yes. Well. I was, at that time, in jail for her murder, talking Celia into judging our Oddest Place You’ve Ever Done It contest. But it’s not like it’s a lot of trouble to hit rewind on the disc.”

Tom’s wispy blond hair always looked like he was in a gale, even inside, and his big wet eyes got bigger and wetter. “Yes, I—yes. I knew that. That’s what the police—yeah. They said. Um, I know you didn’t do it, Leah.”

“How very kind. You did not swing by to reprimand me about missing the will.”

“No.”

She ground her teeth. “What. Is it. Tom?”

“The cops. I had to talk to them while you were in jail. They’ll check my alibi.”

“Yes, and?” He couldn’t be worried about negative press. The only press that could hurt an agent was embezzlement coverage.

“I’m almost done here.”

Hopefully that includes this tedious meeting. “That’s fine.”

“She lied,” he whined. He hadn’t taken off his trench coat (trench coat? in summer? really?) and sweat was beading his forehead and running down his face like tears. Wait. Those might be tears. Well, he had just left his biggest client’s last performance. He had been a part of Nellie’s life for so long, perhaps he could not imagine his without her. Certainly he had also been a part of hers; some of her earliest memories were of Tom coming over to their overpriced Beverly Hills condo with contracts for Nellie to sign. Distracted pity rose in her and she stomped on it. Absolutely no time, not for any of that nonsense. She had her murder to get on with, dammit. “She lied about you.”

“Who? It?”

“You shouldn’t call her that,” he said in mild rebuke. At five, she had bent an attentive ear to such rebukes, since he gave her far more attention than Nellie and she wished to please him. By the time she was in her teens, her contempt for the man and her mother had long smothered her need for his approval, or hers. “It’s very disrespectful and the press wouldn’t like it.”

“Yes, it’s almost as bad as stealing your only daughter’s childhood and then all the money you forced her to make. And trust me: the press did not give a shit.”

“She was disrespectful, too. About you.”

“That. Is. So. Fascinating!” She smothered a groan. Ninety seconds, that’s what he could have. A minute and a half and then out he would go.

“But the lie, that was the worst. I couldn’t forgive that.”

Leah softened at once. Holy God, she had never considered this. That Nellie’s death would force him to reexamine her life, Leah’s life, and his complicity in the ruin of her childhood. That he might feel regret. Perhaps he always felt regret. Perhaps he could never admit it while It breathed and dominated and terrorized as she walked the earth in her pink satin kitten heels.

“I . . .” She could not believe the words about to leave her mouth. “I appreciate that, Tom. Which lie? When she told the casting director for A Thousand Rapes that I was eighteen when I was fifteen? When she told the casting director for The Huggies Musical that I could play two when I was eighteen months? The lie to the judge, so she could keep my money?” He opened his mouth and she held up a hand. “Whichever lie you regret, I’m grateful. Well, not grateful, but I despise you somewhat less now.”

“I’m tired. I’m tired all the time.”

“Well, it has been a stressful week for us all, Tom, and you really must be going.” She started toward the door. “But thank you for stopping by and being sorrowful and vague, I guess.”