Read Online A First Date with Death by Diana Orgain - Free Book Online
Authors: Diana Orgain
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skin-tight jeans. “I don’t have my ID. I don’t have anything on me—”
Paul waved a hand. “We all know who you are, Thorn.”
I bit my lip. I was no longer Georgia to him, sweetheart, fiancée, whatever. I was back to my cop nickname. Always the surname, and usually a shortened version or derivative of it. Mine was Thorn and, at this moment, Paul had a pained expression on his face as if my presence were literally a thorn in his side.
I took a deep breath. “All right. Well, then, fire away. What can I help with?”
The LAPD officer pulled out a black notebook and asked me a string of predictable questions. When had I last seen Pietro? How well had I known him? Did I know if he was severely depressed or suicidal?
“Is that what you think? He killed himself?” I asked.
The officer said, “We don’t know anything yet. I’m only covering what’s in the realm of possibility. People who go on these reality shows . . . well, no offense, but most of ’em don’t have their head screwed on properly.”
Paul seemed to laugh a little too gregariously at the joke and I felt like I was about to lose what little patience I had left.
“What about the other guy? Aaron. Seems to me maybe Pietro knew something about the bungee-jumping accident and that maybe—”
The officer held up a hand. “Right, right. Everyone’s got theories. We’ll see what the coroner says.”
“Don’t cut me off,” I snapped.
The officer shrugged. “Look, whatever happened in San Francisco could be related, but S.F. isn’t my jurisdiction.” He glanced at Paul, who nodded in agreement. “I’ve got techs in your dressing room right now. What I’d like you to tell me is if anyone else was in there today with you.”
“Kyle, the makeup guy; no one else that I know of.”
The officer made a note while the walkie-talkie on his shoulder beeped. A series of police codes went off from dispatch, which he ignored. Apparently a burglary on the east side of town and a domestic violence call downtown weren’t as exciting to him as the call he was on now.
Paul leveled a look at me. “Georgia, did Scott or Dr. . . . whatever his name is come and see you in your dressing room?”
There was something in his look. Was it jealousy?
Yes!
He is jealous of the others!
My heart did a stupid little fluttery thing.
“No one came to see me,” I said.
The officer and Paul exchanged glances, disbelief wafting off of them.
“Really?” the officer asked, then snickered.
I frowned. It wasn’t fun being on the outside of a joke. What the heck were they snickering about? “You can ask the makeup guy if you don’t believe me. We were alone. Why are you guys pressing me on this?”
“Both of those two were gone from the mansion for a while this morning and, come to think of it, so was the cowboy. But it’s not that—”
“We found something in your dressing room—” The officer stopped himself short and glanced at Paul.
The walkie-talkie chirped again. The officer was needed. Which was a good thing. I wanted to grill Paul in private.
The officer excused himself and walked out of the room.
“What did you find?” I asked.
“A note.”
“A note? From whom? What did it say?”
Paul leaned close to me. “‘Your indifference to me has made all the difference.’”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but you need to watch your back, G.”
Nine
INT. LIBRARY DAY
Pietro is looking into the camera, his dark hair gelled back away from his face and his eyes gleaming. He has a stubby beard and is dressed in a cerulean blue silk shirt with a red and white scarf around his neck. His legs are crossed and a bright red Italian leather shoe peeks into the frame every three seconds as Pietro shakes his foot around.
CHERYL (O.S.)
Hi, Pietro, can you tell us a little about yourself?
PIETRO
(
shrugs
) Of course. What would you like to know?
CHERYL (O.S.)
How long have you been in the
Paul waved a hand. “We all know who you are, Thorn.”
I bit my lip. I was no longer Georgia to him, sweetheart, fiancée, whatever. I was back to my cop nickname. Always the surname, and usually a shortened version or derivative of it. Mine was Thorn and, at this moment, Paul had a pained expression on his face as if my presence were literally a thorn in his side.
I took a deep breath. “All right. Well, then, fire away. What can I help with?”
The LAPD officer pulled out a black notebook and asked me a string of predictable questions. When had I last seen Pietro? How well had I known him? Did I know if he was severely depressed or suicidal?
“Is that what you think? He killed himself?” I asked.
The officer said, “We don’t know anything yet. I’m only covering what’s in the realm of possibility. People who go on these reality shows . . . well, no offense, but most of ’em don’t have their head screwed on properly.”
Paul seemed to laugh a little too gregariously at the joke and I felt like I was about to lose what little patience I had left.
“What about the other guy? Aaron. Seems to me maybe Pietro knew something about the bungee-jumping accident and that maybe—”
The officer held up a hand. “Right, right. Everyone’s got theories. We’ll see what the coroner says.”
“Don’t cut me off,” I snapped.
The officer shrugged. “Look, whatever happened in San Francisco could be related, but S.F. isn’t my jurisdiction.” He glanced at Paul, who nodded in agreement. “I’ve got techs in your dressing room right now. What I’d like you to tell me is if anyone else was in there today with you.”
“Kyle, the makeup guy; no one else that I know of.”
The officer made a note while the walkie-talkie on his shoulder beeped. A series of police codes went off from dispatch, which he ignored. Apparently a burglary on the east side of town and a domestic violence call downtown weren’t as exciting to him as the call he was on now.
Paul leveled a look at me. “Georgia, did Scott or Dr. . . . whatever his name is come and see you in your dressing room?”
There was something in his look. Was it jealousy?
Yes!
He is jealous of the others!
My heart did a stupid little fluttery thing.
“No one came to see me,” I said.
The officer and Paul exchanged glances, disbelief wafting off of them.
“Really?” the officer asked, then snickered.
I frowned. It wasn’t fun being on the outside of a joke. What the heck were they snickering about? “You can ask the makeup guy if you don’t believe me. We were alone. Why are you guys pressing me on this?”
“Both of those two were gone from the mansion for a while this morning and, come to think of it, so was the cowboy. But it’s not that—”
“We found something in your dressing room—” The officer stopped himself short and glanced at Paul.
The walkie-talkie chirped again. The officer was needed. Which was a good thing. I wanted to grill Paul in private.
The officer excused himself and walked out of the room.
“What did you find?” I asked.
“A note.”
“A note? From whom? What did it say?”
Paul leaned close to me. “‘Your indifference to me has made all the difference.’”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but you need to watch your back, G.”
Nine
INT. LIBRARY DAY
Pietro is looking into the camera, his dark hair gelled back away from his face and his eyes gleaming. He has a stubby beard and is dressed in a cerulean blue silk shirt with a red and white scarf around his neck. His legs are crossed and a bright red Italian leather shoe peeks into the frame every three seconds as Pietro shakes his foot around.
CHERYL (O.S.)
Hi, Pietro, can you tell us a little about yourself?
PIETRO
(
shrugs
) Of course. What would you like to know?
CHERYL (O.S.)
How long have you been in the
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