Third Half Read online

  "He has to be lying," Mary Catherine said, trying to sit up, but weakly submitting as Liane pushed her back against the pillow. "Why else would Jack have called him?"

  "Maybe he was just calling for information about the man's agency," Liane sought for an excuse.

  "Then why did I remember that name? Why bother putting his name in his address book if he was only getting information?" Mary Catherine asked, her voice trembling shrilly. "There has to be something wrong! And why would the man lie? Liane, we have to do something."

  "First things first. I'm calling your doctor," Liane insisted, as she returned to the phone. But it was too late, the doctor had already left the office. Her concern growing by leaps and bounds, Liane tried to coax her sister to go to the hospital.

  "I do feel terrible," Mary Catherine admitted. "But as much from worry about Jack."

  "Look, if it will set your mind at rest, I'll get to the bottom of this," Liane promised, knowing that she also had an ominous feeling about her brother. "Somehow I'll find out what's going on. Now, will you go to the hospital?"

  Finally Mary Catherine agreed. As she helped her sister to the door, Liane wondered about her promise, and what her next step in finding her brother should be.

  They were nearly to the door when her intercom sounded, letting her know she had a visitor downstairs.

  Liane pushed the button and heard the familiar voice of her friend and producer, Martin Sloane. "Martin, I'm so happy you're here," she said.

  "We had a date, of course I'm here," he replied cheerfully.

  "There's been a slight chance in plans," she said, biting her lip and looking at her sister. "We'll be right down."

  It seemed like a long night. Two doctors examined Mary Catherine and both were in agreement her reaction was exactly as she thought, an allergic reaction to her inoculations. Still they wanted her to be admitted. Liane and Martin stayed with her until she was finally settled into her room, but before Mary Catherine dozed, she reminded Liane of her promise.

  She wouldn't have had to. All the while they waited a plan was already forming in Liane's mind.

  After Martin and she returned to her apartment, Liane explained their predicament and asked for his help.

  As a producer, Martin was well known. She had no doubt his popularity stretched from coast to coast – at least she was banking that it did. She asked him to call Ralph Devereaux and make an appointment for her the following day. "Make up a name," Liane said, then explained about her previous unsuccessful call to the man.

  She was certain that no agent in the country would deny Martin Sloane a few moments of their time. Ralph Devereaux proved to be no exception.

  Liane felt certain once she saw the man he would recognize the photo she carried of her brother. There was also the actors' union. Nearly every entertainer belonged to one. She was sure her brother also could be traced through them.

  When her flight landed she was more confident she'd soon know where to find her missing brother. She had gone over all the facts during the long flight and knew exactly what she was going to say to Mr. Devereaux.

  I

  She felt secluded standing in the lonely corridor as she knocked on the door of the second floor office. The old brownstone building was smaller than she had expected, older too. Certainly not possessing the glitz she would have expected for an agent.

  There were very few other offices on the dingy upper floors. "Doesn't anyone work on Saturdays around here?" She mumbled as she knocked again. There was certainly no hub-bub of activity going on around here.

  Her parting words to her sister returned to her as she waited. Mary Catherine laid weakly in her hospital bed, worried about their brother and the mysterious package of money he had sent her, yet too ill to continue trying to locate him herself.

  "Don't worry M.C.," Liane had assured her. "I may have to fly all the way to L.A. to do it, but I'll find out what's going on."

  Irritated, she finally tried the knob and found the door unlocked. Slowly she stepped into the room, glancing around the outer office. There didn't seem to be anyone around. Across the room, the door to the inner office was slightly ajar. She assumed it was the agent's personal office. As she went further into the room she thought she heard movement from inside the inner office. "Hello," she called out loudly.

  Everything was going wrong, the man thought as he sifted through the heap of papers on the huge oak desk. The plan that had been put together so carefully had definitely gone awry. The last thing he expected when he came here this morning was this.

  He ran his fingers roughly through his sandy-brown hair as he glanced around the room. Everything was as it should be. Except one thing, he looked at the body on the floor. He knew it would take a medical examiner to tell exactly how long the body had been there, but judging by the condition of the body, his guess was it wasn't that long, an hour, maybe two.

  Maybe he'd find a clue here, he thought as he lifted the appointment book, pausing as he heard a faint knock on the outside door. "Damn!" He muttered, hoping whoever it was would go away.

  He heard another persistent knock, then a woman's voice from inside the outer office. Why didn't I bolt the door? It took him only a moment to close the gap between the desk and the door, skirting the body laying in the middle of the room.

  "Can I help you?" The tall, bearded man said as he stepped through the doorway into the reception area, carefully closing the door to the office behind him. "Are you looking for someplace in particular?" And why do you look so damn familiar?

  "I am in the right office." Liane forced a smile, noting how this man seemed different from any agent she had ever met. Dressed in his brown, leather flight jacket, he looked more like an outdoors man than a man who spent most of his time behind a desk. Even his voice sounded different, warmer, deeper than it had seemed when she talked to him on the phone the day before.

  "What I'm wondering is if I have the right man? I have an appointment with Mr. Devereaux. My producer, Martin Sloane, made it for me, Ann Page." She forced back a smile as she recalled Martin quickly choosing a false name for her off a package of cookies.

  "I see." The man glanced down at the appointment book still in his hand. "Yes, Ms. Page, referred by Martin Sloane. . . . What can I do for you?" He crossed the room and placed the book on the secretary's desk, then turned back to face his companion, hoping to get rid of her as quickly as possible.

  She bit her lip, remembering how irritated this man had been on the phone the previous evening. She suspected he'd be no less gracious once she told him she was here under false pretenses.

  "Excuse me, Miss . . ." the agent started. "I'm really in a hurry. This is a Saturday."

  "I'm well aware of what day it is," she snapped. "I'll try not to take too much of your time." She reached into her purse and pulled out the photograph of her brother and held it out to him. "If you could just tell me if you know this man, and if so where he might be, I'll let you get back to your Saturday schedule."

  He merely glanced at the photograph, then back at her. "Sorry, can't say I know this man." So, that's who you are.

  "Look again, closer," she persisted, shaking the photograph in front of his face. "His name is Jack Spencer . . ."

  The man firmly grasped her hand and lowered it, looking into her face instead of the photograph as she wanted. "I think you should try listening to what people tell you, Ms. Page . . ."

  "But Mr. Devereaux, I believe my brother is indeed one of your clients. Possibly under another name. Please, just look at his picture before you throw me out of here." She again held it right in front of his face.

  "I can't help you. Now, if you'll please . . . I was on my way out." This is the last thing I need to complicate things further.

  "No!" She stared at him in growing anger. "Not until you take a good look. I promised my sister I'd make certain, before we take further steps in trying to locate him."

  Further steps. That definitely got this attention. He knew he had to pr
event that. "Is there a particular reason you're going to such great pains to find him?"

  "He's our brother!"

  "I see." He took the picture from her hand. "Well, it seems to me he may not want to be found just now. Looks like a handsome fellow . . .. Probably off with a lady-friend someplace."

  "Oh. . ." She sighed, her frustration accented by the creases on her forehead. "Please, trust me. I have a good reason for being worried about him."

  "Ms. . . .Page, please trust me. You might be better off staying out of things like this," the man said, holding her green gaze as he spoke. "This fellow in your picture here, looks far from a little boy who would need a sister to chase after him. I'm sure he's capable of taking care of himself.

  The agent's manner was annoying, adding fuel to Liane's mounting anger. She wouldn't stand for his condescending attitude. "Since you feel certain you don't know my brother, I suppose I'll have to take your word," she said through clenched teeth as she reached into her purse trying to find her cell phone.

  "That's a very bright idea." His sarcasm was too obvious.

  She bit back a retort trying for politeness instead. "I seem to have left my cell phone at home. Would you mind if I use your telephone? I'm sure it's the least you can do for a stranger in your city."

  He nodded, stepping aside so she could reach the phone.

  She dialed for information then immediately requested the number of the National Actor's Guild, but before she could finish the bearded man stepped forward and took the phone from her hand.

  "I suggest you give up and take my advice," he stated firmly as he grasped her by the shoulder. His dark eyes bored right into her blazing emerald ones. "Leave things well enough alone."

  "Who do you think you are?" She jerked out of his reach. "I don't take orders from you, or anyone, Mr. Devereaux. I've come here to find my brother, and I intend to do just that! I won't be leaving your fair city until I do!" she lied.

  "In fact," she continued, fabricating a tale as she went. "I've booked a room for an indefinite amount of time. So if you don't want me to call the guild from here, fine. I'll call from my hotel."

  "I think you would be far better off . . ." the man started, but Liane didn't listen as she rushed out the door.

  "Damn," he groaned as he watched her leave. As if things weren't bad enough, now I have to get her out of the picture. Slowly he lifted the telephone and dialed Nine, one, one.

  Outside, Liane stormed toward the corner, nearly falling as she ran into a tall uniformed man. "Oh damn!" she grumbled as the contents of her purse spilled to the sidewalk.

  "Here, let me help," the young officer said as he knelt down beside her.

  "Oh my," she said, biting her lip as she realized the russet-haired man she had carelessly run into was a police officer. "I'm sorry . . .. I'll do this." She grabbed her personal belongings and shoved them back into her purse.

  "You're certainly in a hurry." The officer laughed as he spoke, looking her over from head to toe, his wide toothy grin showing obvious pleasure at what he saw. "I haven't seen you in the neighborhood before."

  Liane blushed, all too familiar with the look in the man's pale eyes. Men often found her attractive, but she carefully avoided relationships, preferring to put all her efforts into her career. It seemed that being a police officer didn't change the fact that he was a man.

  "No, I'm not from around here. I'm just here trying to see my brother."

  "Oh, I see. And who might he be?"

  "No one you'd know . . .. I mean, it seems that nobody around here knows him."

  The officer's expression suddenly changed to a more professional one, as he squared his shoulders and took a stance of authority. "Do you need any assistance?"

  "Well . . .as a matter of fact, yes. You could show me where I could find the nearest public phone."

  The man's cheerful smile returned as he pointed across the street to a tiny delicatessen. "And while you're in there, in case you're interested, the food is very good."

  "Thank you," Liane said fumbling to close her purse as she turned on her way. She didn't want to waste any more time. As it was she'd have to hurry to make the call and still return to the airport in time to catch her plane.

  The moment she heard the recording she knew her time had been wasted. She would have to wait until Monday and make the call from New York. Hopefully by then she would no longer need the information because Jack would already be found.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Liane!" Mary Catherine's blue eye's opened with surprise when she saw who was coming through the door into her hospital room. "How did you get here?"

  "By cab." Liane laughed, as she threw her purse onto the chair and crossed to the bed where she leaned forward and gave her sister a quick kiss on the cheek. "Why in the world do you look so shocked? I told you I was planning to fly back today. Remember, I called you early this morning, before I left."

  "You mean you haven't heard? You don't know?" Mary Catherine asked as she propped herself up on her pillow. "What in the world did you do in Los Angeles?"

  "Do? Exactly what I set out to do. At least I tried. Unfortunately Mr. Devereaux was impossible. He still insists he doesn't know Jack."

  "He said that? Then he was speaking when you saw him?" Mary Catherine's eyes opened wide in amazement.

  "Of course he was! M.C., why are you talking so strangely? And why are you asking such ridiculous questions?"

  "Oh my God!" Mary Catherine sagged back against her pillow, rubbing her hand over her temples. "Things are getting worse instead of better."

  "Are you feeling worse?" Liane asked stepping closer to her sister, immediately worried. "Shall I call for a nurse?"

  "Not that. Oh . . .It's all my fault. I'm the one who started everything, so I guess I'm the one who may as well tell you."

  "Tell me what, M.C.?" Liane looked even more puzzled.

  "That you're wanted by the Los Angeles' police."

  "I am?"

  Mary Catherine nodded. "For questioning about the murder of Ralph Devereaux."

  "Murder!" Liane gasped, "You mean he's dead! I just talked to him."

  "I heard it on the six o'clock news. They found his body this morning. They said they're looking for a mysterious woman who had been in his office," Mary Catherine sighed. "The report said she had an appointment under the name Ann Page."

  The name no longer struck Liane as humorous. She was relieved she hadn't used her real name.

  Her relief was short-lived as Mary Catherine informed her of the rest of the news report.

  "Before they went off the air they named you as that woman. Apparently they checked it out with Martin and found out who you really are."

  "Oh no!" She frowned. "Martin's name was on the appointment calendar. I showed up and surprised this Devereaux guy. We ended in an argument over the whole thing. Are you sure he didn't die of natural causes?"

  "You can listen to the news yourself. He was shot," Mary Catherine explained. "I hope you don't own a gun."

  "You sound like you think . . .M.C., you don't." Liane was stunned at the possibility of her sister suspecting her of the crime.

  "No. I know better than that. At least no one has contacted me yet. But if they do come, I know you were there to see Mr. Devereaux."

  Liane tried to think what she should do next. "I'd say the police will more than likely go to my apartment first, if they haven't already. I need some time to work this out. It may somehow be tied in with Jack's disappearance. This Devereaux guy did sound pretty strange when he spoke to me. Sort of suspicious.

  "He kept warning me to stay out of things. I'm beginning to think he does know Jack. I mean, he did know him," she corrected. "He may have also known all along where Jack really is."

  "You have no choice but to go to the police and explain everything." Mary Catherine said, as if it was the obvious next move.

  "I'm not so sure I should do that." Liane hesitated. "This whole thing has been crazy from the start. I may
be some sort of scape goat. M.C., I think it's best that I don't go to them."

  "Liane, you'll get into worse trouble if you don't."

  "How can I get in worse trouble than being framed for murder?"

  "I wish there was something I could do to help you."

  "Maybe there is." Liane stepped closer to her sister, a strange light entering her green eyes. "It's only an idea, but it just might work." She looked intently at Mary Catherine, almost pleading. "I know Martin wouldn't have told them any more than he had to. But he may eventually have to. They'll come here and talk to you sooner or later."

  "Oh Liane, I think you should go to the police," Mary Catherine said, watching Liane's frown deepen, and knew it would be senseless to try and change her mind once it was made up. "But if you're not going to do that, you better leave before they come here."

  "I was thinking . . .If you were to go to them, they wouldn't bother coming here, would they?"

  "I don't understand. Do you want me to go see them?"

  "No, you're not well enough yet . . . But I am."

  "Liane! You're not planning to do what I think you're planning to do!" Mary Catherine took a deep breath and shook her head, her strawberry blond shoulder length hair sweeping across her shoulders as she did. "You can't!"

  "I have to. I have to buy some time. This is the best way I can think of for me to hide and still move about freely. This way maybe I can find out what is going on. Besides, how else will I go to my apartment and check on that letter from Jack?"

  "But my habit is sacred . . .I can't let you," Mary Catherine pleaded weakly. "I know I started all this. I'm as worried about Jack as you . . ." She put her fingers against her temples and rubbed. "I'm worried about you too. But what you want to do is wrong."

  "M.C., it may be the only way." Liane frowned, observing he sister's distress. She went to the bed and took her hand. "Listen . . . We were taught God is forgiving. I'm sure he will forgive us for this. I don't see any other way."

  The look of distress changed to resolution as Mary Catherine quickly whispered a prayer before blessing herself.