After She's Gone (West Coast 3)

“I just want to know about the prop gun.”

“You and the whole damned world. Including me.” Rather than keep shouting, Ineesha yanked out one of her ear buds.

“Somehow it was exchanged.”

Ineesha, struggling on the elliptical, shot her a no-shit-Sherlock look. “Duh.”

“But you were in charge—”

“Of the prop closet. Yeah, I know.” She kept on pumping. “God, don’t I know. But I have no idea how it happened, okay? I followed protocol. The cupboard was locked. I double checked. I always double check.”

But she didn’t seem to be as sure.

“Who else has a key?”

“To the cupboard? No one . . . unless I specifically loan it to an assistant, but no, I didn’t that day.”

“What about to the room?”

“Several people in the department and the producers,” she said, thinking aloud and then caught herself up short. “Oh for the love of Jesus, why am I talking to you?” Her eyes were fierce. “My lawyer told me to say nothing to anyone without him, so this interview is O-V-E-R! I wasn’t kidding about calling security. I mean it, Cassie, leave me the hell alone!”

“What about Sig?”

“Masters? That moron? You think what? He exchanged the guns? Even he isn’t that stupid. He couldn’t switch batteries and get away with it, much less firearms.” Ineesha rolled her expressive eyes. “The man’s a twit. IQ of fourteen, I think. Well . . . okay, maybe he’s just dumb enough to exchange the weapon, real for fake, and shoot, almost kill Lucinda Rinaldi.” She snorted through her nose. “No, that doesn’t make a helluva lot of sense, but I suppose that’s not surprising, coming from you.” Breathing hard, she sent Cassie a pitying look. “Again, what is it you want from me?”

“I’m just trying to find out what happened to my sister.”

“Oh, save me. Like you care what happened to her! The way I heard it she was after your husband.” A little smirk.

“I don’t think so.”

“Whatever.”

“So what do you think happened?”

“How many times do I have to say, ‘I don’t know’?” She grabbed her water bottle from a cup holder, twisted off the lid without breaking stride and took a long swallow. “Your sister didn’t show up that day, right? Have you ever wondered about that? Like maybe she knew something might happen?”

Cassie didn’t reply. Of course she had.

“Okay, so I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ ” She put the bottle back in its holder just as the landscape on her monitor flattened out again. “Look, this is over. I said more than I should. My lawyer told me not to talk to anyone and that includes you.” Visibly irritated, Ineesha turned off the machine, grabbed her water bottle and towel, and stalked toward the center area where there was a wide desk manned by several trainers and reception people.

Rather than risking making a scene and being thrown out on her ear, Cassie, frustrated and discouraged, feeling as if she was getting nowhere, made her way between two rows of treadmills, some occupied by runners, others standing idle.

She hadn’t learned much more than that Ineesha was definitely testy, but it was no use to try and stick around. Ineesha, if she did know something, wasn’t going to crack, and Cassie doubted if she did have any idea what had happened to Allie anyway.

But while she was in LA, Cassie wanted to talk to as many people as possible, hopefully glean some information about Allie, and talking to Ineesha had seemed important. She had been in charge of the prop room and cupboard. And somewhere, despite “protocol,” the weapons had been exchanged. On Ineesha’s watch. No wonder she was so defensive. Did she know more than she was saying?

Someone knew something. Cassie only hoped she could locate that someone who might eventually lead her to Allie.

Unless she’s already dead.

A chill raced down her spine and her thoughts started to turn down a desperate, painful path, but she fought the fear that it could be true and turned her thinking around. For now.

She left the gym and headed home, parking near the bougainvillea hedge again. After stopping at the main house and picking up a new set of keys from Doug, she hauled her purse, mail, and a bag of fish tacos she’d picked up on her way home, to her apartment. As she was unlocking the door, her cell phone chimed with a text. The key stuck a little, then the lock twisted open.

Hallelujah!

Inside she dropped her things on the counter, then checked her messages.