After She's Gone (West Coast 3)

“Get her out of here,” she gritted.

“Lucinda, wait.” Cassie stepped farther into the room as Lucinda made it to the far end of the bars and with the aide’s help nearly fell into a waiting wheelchair.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Really?” Cassie was flummoxed and tried to skirt the thin woman in nurse’s scrubs who was attempting to block her access.

“I think you should leave,” the woman said firmly. Her name tag read Louise-Marie and she was tough-looking, her expression brooking no argument.

Ignoring her, Cassie said to Lucinda, “I just wanted to see how you were doing, that you were okay.”

Lucinda shot her an oh-sure glare. “I was nearly killed, all because your stupid sister didn’t show up on the set again, and they thought they could get away with shooting the film without her, meaning using me. Shooting around her,” she stressed, her lips curling as if she’d just tasted something foul. “And I get shot in the process. Ironic, don’t you think?” She caught a glimpse of herself and frowned. “God, where’s Laura Merrick when you need her?” she muttered, mentioning the makeup person who’d been on the set of Dead Heat. Another glance in the mirror and she blinked quickly as if fighting a sudden spate of tears. “How could anyone do this?”

“It was an accident.”

Again, the dark glare. “I was almost murdered, but I think they meant to shoot Allie. Or maybe even you. Not me, for God’s sake!” Reading the protest forming on Cassie’s lips, Lucinda held up a hand. “I’m not talking about that Neanderthal Sig,” she said, meaning Sig Masters, the actor who had fired the prop gun on the set. “He was just a pawn. Like me. In the wrong place at the wrong damned time.” She yanked the headband from her hair and mopped her forehead. “Y’know he actually sent me flowers. They came with some kind of sympathy note that said ‘Sorry.’ Can you believe that?” She rolled her eyes. “I mean who does that? Almost kills someone and sends them roses and carnations and shit?”

Cassie shook her head. The truth was no one, not even the cops, thought Sig Masters was behind the accident. His record was clean and he had no ax to grind, no motive to harm Allie or Lucinda or her.

“I just want to find my sister,” Cassie said.

Lucinda snorted through her nose. “I didn’t think you two ever got along. I heard that the only reason you had a bit part in the movie was because she threw you a bone, or that she thought it would be good for publicity or something.”

“Wow.”

“Oh, come on. Everybody knows.” Lucinda lifted a dismissive shoulder, then wiped her forehead with her sleeve. “As for trying to find your sister, she’s probably already dead somewhere.” Cassie made a sound of protest but Lucinda went on without a hint of emotion, “I kinda thought you might have an idea of what happened to her.” She unlocked the brakes of her wheelchair and began rolling closer to the doorway where Cassie stood, still blocked from entering farther by the intractable Louise-Marie.

“Why would you think that?”

Lucinda gave a humorless laugh. “Everyone knows you were jealous as hell of her success, and then after she goes missing and I get shot, you end up in the nuthouse?” She was close enough now that Cassie didn’t have to shout. “That’s convenient.”

“What’re you saying?” Cassie asked, stunned. “You think . . . that I know where she is?”

“If the Manolo Blahnik fits . . .” she said tartly as the wheel of her chair caught on the corner of a mat sticking out from where it had been tucked under the parallel bars. Lucinda had always had a chip on her shoulder the size of the Rock of Gibraltar. “Jesus,” she growled, irritated, before she was able to push around the obstacle. “I don’t know what you’re doing here,” she said, rolling to the door and edging out the aide.

“I want to know where Allie is, that’s all.”

“Really? She stole your husband, didn’t she?” Lucinda reminded, and Cassie felt as if she’d been slapped. But she couldn’t deny it. Heat stormed up the back of her neck as she thought about Trent, whom she’d once considered to be the love of her life, her husband, her damned soul mate, and then his jarring betrayal. Deep inside she felt something break, the dam holding back her raw emotions. She didn’t want to but she thought suddenly of Trent’s rugged good looks, his strong jaw, deep-set eyes, and thin lips that could twist into an irreverent smile with little provocation. She’d loved him. Wholeheartedly. Stupidly, and as it had turned out, wretchedly . . .

Forcing his image from her mind, she focused on Lucinda’s avid gaze. “Trent and I were already over,” she lied.

“You know, I’m surprised the cops aren’t looking at you for Allie’s disappearance. You’re the logical choice.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with—”

Lucinda cut her off. “Yeah, right. Of course not.” She let out a short laugh.

Cassie’s fingers tightened over her keys and she tried vainly to tamp down the wave of emotion that had started deep inside and was boiling upward. Anger and rage, fury and fear, all threatening to erupt.

“You know what? I’m tired of this,” Lucinda muttered, as if she sensed the change in Cassie’s mood and didn’t want to witness the storm. “I’m not supposed to talk to anyone associated with Dead Heat. My lawyer’s advice.” To the aide, she said, “Can we go now?” then pushed past Cassie and rolled indignantly down the wide tile corridor.

“This isn’t a legal thing,” Cassie called after her.

Lucinda stopped and deftly turned her wheelchair a hundred and eighty degrees. “What planet do you live on? Hellooo. This is Earth, for God’s sake! America. Everything is a legal thing.” Then, with a quick movement, she was rolling away again, her head held high, as if she’d just won a chess match.

Check and mate.

Great, Cassie thought, her jaw sliding to one side. She considered storming after Lucinda, demanding answers, but knew it would get her no further than being tossed out of Meadow Brook Rehab on her ear. Besides, Lucinda probably had no better idea than she about what had happened to Allie.