Gaffe Out Loud Read online

  The railing broke away from the rest of the deck.

  I fell face-first toward the concrete beneath me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Joey!” Jackson yelled.

  My arms flailed in the air, and I reached for something to catch myself. There was nothing. Only the sky. The hot-Jell-O atmosphere.

  And me in the middle of it. Suspended. Yet falling in slow motion like I was in some kind of Looney Tunes show.

  Until my hand hit something.

  Wood.

  A post from the deck.

  Somehow, my fingers managed to grab it, and my body jerked to a halt.

  My heart stuttered out of control. I was dangling from the deck.

  Two stories stretched below me. Two stories. That would be enough to crush some bones. Hurt my head.

  Kill me?

  I didn’t know. And I didn’t want to find out.

  Jackson’s face appeared above me. “Joey, I’ve got you.”

  He reached for my arm with both of his hands. But my grip was slipping.

  I knew I should have done more upper body workouts.

  “Can you grab onto me?” Jackson asked, determination in his gaze and his cheeks red with exertion.

  I didn’t want to let go. But my arm ached. My muscles wanted to give up. And death seemed imminent.

  I flung my free hand up and grabbed Jackson’s arm. Once I had a grip there, I slowly released my other hand and reached for his wrist. I squeezed my eyes shut, halfway expecting to fall.

  But I didn’t.

  Jackson had hold of me. That look of steely determination lined his face.

  “We’ve got this, Joey,” he said. I had a feeling he was talking about more than just saving me from a crushing death.

  He jerked his arms and lifted me with a heave.

  Then, in what seemed like one fluid motion, he pulled me again and propelled me upward until I landed on top of him on the deck.

  We both gasped for air as we lay there. I was still alive. In one piece. Safe.

  That had been close. Too close. I never wanted to feel like I was on a Looney Tunes show again.

  “Are you okay?” Jackson asked beside me, his arm still around me.

  I did a brief mental evaluation. “I think so.”

  “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

  I was. The shock of adrenaline had taken a toll. “I know. I can’t stop.”

  Jackson held me as we lay there still. It was like neither of us could move. We had to recover from my near death.

  Or maybe not death. Maiming? Near disabling?

  I wasn’t sure how far it could have gone. I was just grateful that it had only been a scare and nothing more.

  Finally, Jackson pushed himself up on his hands and let out a breath. He stood and walked over to examine the deck. As he squatted beside the post where the railing had broken, he let out a grunt.

  “What kind of sound is that?” I sat up so I could watch him. Not only because he was a lovely sight to see, but because I wanted to read his body language—his estimation of what had happened.

  Had the home inspector somehow missed the fact that the railing wasn’t safe? What exactly had just happened?

  He studied the wood. The sight of him being so close to the edge of the deck made me dizzy. I finally closed my eyes, traumatized enough for the day.

  “It’s a grunt that clearly states this wasn’t an accident,” he muttered.

  My breath caught. Certainly I hadn’t heard him correctly. “What do you mean?”

  “This wood was cut. Someone was hoping an accident would happen here. And, based on the color of the wood, this was recent. The marks are fresh.”

  I shivered as I let his words sink in. “Someone wanted me to get hurt.”

  Jackson’s gaze connected with mine. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

  “It means that I’ve been sticking my nose where I shouldn’t.”

  “Exactly. And you’ve made someone nervous. I need to call this in. And then we need to talk.”

  Two hours later, Jackson and I were still on the deck. One of Jackson’s colleagues had already come and made a report. Before he’d left, he put yellow tape over the opening—as if that would stop anyone from falling off. Still, until I could get either a contractor over here or see if Jackson had time to fix it himself, something needed to mark the area.

  I’d given up on drinking coffee—besides, it was too hot out here. Instead, I downed another bottle of water as I sat in a dining room chair, Jackson seated beside me in a matching one.

  “You did all that today?” Jackson said after I recounted the day’s details, including visiting Michael Mills, discovering that Wesley was still in town, and trying unsuccessfully to get up with Jennifer again to ask her more questions.

  I nodded, feeling rather proud of myself. “I’ve been busy.”

  “And you didn’t tell me until now?”

  I let my head drop to the side as I recounted the reasons why. “Well, I didn’t think you were speaking to me, but I was going to tell you as soon as I got the chance, and I did try to call you—you didn’t answer.”

  “Another domestic situation.”

  “Seems to be in the air.” Jackson had told me before that these situations weren’t all that unusual for the area. Couples with marital problems only found their issues getting worse instead of better after they were cooped inside with each other all day.

  Jackson frowned. “Unfortunately. Anyway, you’re telling me Wesley is in town. His painting is missing. And Desiree was found in the room where the painting was hidden, correct?”

  I nodded. “That sounds right.”

  “The boyfriend followed Desiree here, and two nights ago got into a car accident. He’s on a ventilator and unable to speak.”

  “Also correct.”

  “And her friend Jennifer, who also followed her here, is incommunicado?”

  “Sounds about right.” Desiree certainly had a lot of people following her. Maybe she did have the chops to be an actress.

  Jackson shook his head and let out a light chuckle. “You really know how to stir things up.”

  “I don’t mean to. I just followed the evidence. I’m sure you’ve been doing the same. Except our paths haven’t crossed. Which is a little strange.” I took a long sip from my sweaty water bottle.

  Jackson shifted beside me, and his smile disappeared. “Desiree was strangled, Joey.”

  I tried not to show that I knew that fact, even though I did. I didn’t want to throw Loose Lips under the bus. “Doesn’t that usually indicate that it was a crime of passion?”

  “It certainly makes her boyfriend look guilty. I talked to his parents—”

  “Wait, you knew about Michael?”

  “Of course. What kind of detective do you think I am?”

  “How did you know about him?”

  “I looked at the accident reports from this week and saw that someone from Georgia was in an accident. I followed up to see if there was a connection.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “Not really. It’s just police work. Anyway, Michael Mills’ parents seem to think everything was rosy between their son and Desiree.”

  I frowned. “When things are rosy between couples, one doesn’t follow the other to a different location.”

  Take me, for example. I’d driven past the police station earlier when I was thinking about Jackson and he hadn’t answered my calls. Why had I done that? Because things weren’t rosy between Jackson and me.

  I really, really needed to rethink my strategy or I might be the one who ended up looking unstable later.

  “I’m inclined to agree,” Jackson said. “I also tried to call Jennifer to ask her some follow-up questions, but she didn’t answer for me either.”

  “Where did she say she was staying?” I asked. “I mean, I thought everything was booked.”

  “It is. She told me she managed to find a room at some place that operates similar t
o Airbnb that had a last-minute cancellation,” Jackson said. “I went there, and they said she never checked in.”

  Another person with a secret. There were a lot of those going around. “She’s looking guiltier and guiltier, isn’t she?”

  “Moving to the top of the suspect list.”

  “And if Desiree and Michael were having problems, Jennifer would know that.”

  “I agree,” Jackson said. “I need to locate her somehow.”

  Before I could respond, my phone rang. I saw my agent’s name on my phone screen and sucked in a breath. What was she calling about? Because she only called if she had something important to say.

  Either way, seeing her name reminded me of just how little time I had left here before I became Joey Hollywood again.

  And I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Could you excuse me for a moment?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  I slipped around the corner, toward the other side of the deck so I could focus—or, better yet, to brace myself for whatever she might say.

  “Hi, Tasha. What’s going on?”

  “I have good news!” Her voice was tinged with excitement. “Fred Compton wants you to star in his next movie!”

  The air left my lungs, and I leaned against the house. “Fred Compton does?”

  Every movie Fred Compton made was nominated for Oscars and Golden Globes. He was known for making people stars. Not just stars, but serious stars. The elite of the elite. I was talking George Clooney and Julia Roberts status.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “I have the offer in writing. He wants you for his next project. It’s called The Invincible. It’s about a tough-as-nails assassin who returns home and finds her biggest challenge is family. It’s a wonderful story—a mix of drama and action. I think you’ll really love it. Bradley Cooper has already signed on to play the male lead.”

  “Bradley Cooper?”

  “Yes, and they’re talking to James Earl Jones about playing one of the other lead roles.”

  “Wow. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes. What’s there to think about?”

  A lot. I squeezed my free arm over my chest as my mind raced. “I’m just starting to film Relentless.”

  “And Fred knows that. That’s why he’s agreed not to start production until six months from now—after Relentless is finished filming. He wants you that much.”

  “I’m . . . I’m flattered. But . . . where is filming? For how long?”

  “Fred estimates it will be about six months up in Canada. So you’ll still have time to work on Relentless if it’s picked up for another season. Isn’t this great news, Joey?”

  My racing heart slowed. “It is, but. . .”

  “But what? There shouldn’t be any buts here.”

  “I . . . I just bought a house and . . .” I glanced behind me, thinking of my boyfriend waiting around the corner of the balcony. “It’s a long time away. I was just feeling normal.”

  “Why feel ordinary when you can be extraordinary?”

  I was being handed the opportunity of a lifetime. But . . . what would my life look like if I said yes? How would I ever see Jackson? How would our lives meld?

  “Joey?” Tasha said.

  “I just need to think things through.”

  “I’m going to send you the script in a few minutes. You only have three days, and Fred needs an answer. But, Joey, you’d be a fool to say no. It would be the biggest mistake you could make, as far as I’m concerned. No one says no to Fred.”

  Her words caused my heart to race with anxiety. That was a big, bold statement she’d made.

  But was she correct?

  “Okay, I’ll be in touch,” I finally said. “Thanks.”

  When I walked back toward Jackson, I was surprised to see that Adam from next door had wandered over.

  I arrived just in time to hear him say, “Wow, what happened?” while staring at the deck.

  I observed Adam a moment as he stood there. He wore his bathing suit and no shirt, unashamedly showing off his very defined abs. He looked like he’d just come from the beach, based on the sand still sprinkled across his skin and his sun-kissed face.

  “A little accident.” Jackson sat up straight, suddenly going into professional mode again.

  “I just saw the deck was messed up and thought I’d come over and check on things,” Adam continued. His gaze turned toward me and something akin to an apology lingered there. “I know we got started on the wrong foot, and I’m sorry about that. I’m trying to work while away from home, and it’s been stressful.”

  “What do you do?” I asked, curious about the couple and still trying to put together a mental picture of their lives together.

  “Commodities trader.” Adam shoved his hands into his pocket. “It pays well, but the stress level can get high, if you know what I mean.”

  “I bet,” Jackson said.

  Adam glanced at the yellow caution tape before looking back at me and Jackson. “I hope no one was hurt.”

  I shook my head, remembering dangling from the boards there, and shuddered. That had been close. Too close.

  One never got used to almost losing her life. I could be a case study for that.

  “Thankfully, no,” Jackson answered.

  “I’ve heard about stuff like this happening when people party on these decks, and the old wood can’t hold the weight. Just never thought I’d be anywhere close to witness it. Hopefully, you have some insurance.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. Insurance was the least of my concerns at the moment. Besides, I couldn’t get over the change in Adam’s personality. He almost seemed likeable right now. Was it because he hadn’t been drinking? Did alcohol make him a different person?

  I didn’t know. But I did know that people were complex. Most of the people I knew on a deep level weren’t all black or all white. Their personalities were a meld of something that met somewhere in the middle.

  Kind people could be mean. Mean people could be kind.

  Which one defined who a person really was? I didn’t know.

  He shifted and threw his towel over his other shoulder as he seemed to search for words. “Look, I actually came over for another reason also. I remembered something that I thought might be significant. You were asking about if I saw anything over here . . . said a crime happened? I’ve been contemplating whether or not I should share. It might be nothing.”

  “Please share,” Jackson said. “You never know when a detail might lead somewhere.”

  Adam nodded but still seemed hesitant. “I told you I saw a woman, but I didn’t tell you I saw her fighting with a man. I didn’t think about this until later, but earlier today I saw some drywall guys working at the house on the other side of me. When I saw their clothes and the splatter there, it triggered a memory. The man she was arguing with had some paint splatter on his jeans. I almost didn’t notice it but, when he stepped away, the moonlight hit him.”

  I exchanged a look with Jackson. I knew what this meant.

  It meant that Wesley and Desiree had met.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jackson pounded on Wesley’s door as Dizzy and I stood at the base of the stairs. I hadn’t told Jackson about the movie offer yet. I needed just the right time, and this wasn’t it. Besides, I wanted to chew on things for a while.

  I had only three days to decide, and I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I supposed that I would try to help solve this mystery in the meantime. I knew one of the worst things I could do was just sit around and think all day. That would only make me as miserable as Paul Sheldon in Misery. I didn’t need Kathy Bates to trap me. My thoughts were a prison all of their own at times.

  A moment later, the door opened and Wesley stepped out. After Jackson said something undiscernible to him, we all went downstairs to the living room and stood in a tense little circle.

  “Wesley . . .” Dizzy muttered,
clucking her tongue. “You said I didn’t need to do a background check.”

  “And you believed him?” I asked her. “Never believe people. Criminals aren’t going to tell you they’re criminals.”

  I could be so logical when I was dealing with anyone other than myself. It was kind of a shame . . .

  “I’m not a criminal!” Wesley threw his hands in the air, a little bit of the Italian—or fake Italian—appearing again.

  Seriously, if he started saying Mamma Mia or talking about cannoli, I was going to have to call him out. A last name like Twigg didn’t exactly seem authentically Italian.

  “A witness placed someone resembling you at the scene talking to Desiree on the night she died. Said the man was arguing with her,” Jackson said. “Do you know anything about this?”

  Wesley’s face paled, which made the smear of red paint across his cheek even more noticeable.

  I had to say that between Dizzy’s blue eyeshadow and the red paint on his face, the two made quite a landlord/tenant pair.

  “I stopped by the house earlier in the evening—probably at 8:30,” Wesley said, his words coming faster and faster—and his accent gone again. “Yes. I wanted to get that painting. But then I found that woman sitting there in the dark. I think she was sleeping outside on the porch. I had always heard that there was riffraff in the area who liked to camp out at abandoned houses when they thought no one was there. I just never thought I would see that at my house. I mean, she didn’t look like riffraff. She was clean and stuff. I just didn’t understand why she was trespassing.”

  Jackson edged closer. “And what did you do?”

  I sucked in a breath, feeling like progress was within reach. If I could figure out who killed Desiree, maybe I could reclaim my house—and my life here, for that matter. At least figuring out this mystery felt tangible. Figuring out my life? Not quite as much.

  “I asked her what she was doing there,” Wesley said. “She clearly wasn’t Joey Darling.”

  “And she said?” I prodded.

  “She had the nerve to ask me what I was doing there. Said I didn’t look like Joey Darling. Then she threatened to call the police, even though it was officially still my house.”