Double Booked for Death

SIX

TWO OF THE FAN GIRLS REACHED OVER THE BARRICADE and grabbed at the Lone Protester’s poster. The tug-of-war that ensued was over almost before it began, however, for Jake was already headed in that direction.

As Darla watched in relief, the woman swooped down upon the girls and promptly broke up what might have turned into a small melee. Darla was too far away to hear what was said afterward, but from the resulting pantomime, it was clear that Jake was laying down the law to the two who’d instigated the incident. As for the protester, Jake didn’t let her off unscathed, either, but was pointing her back toward the opposite side of the street.

Let this night be over, and soon, Darla found herself praying to the gods of literature.

She waited awhile longer to see if any other disasters might befall the crowd. When relative peace seemed to be reigning, however, she went back inside, only to discover that the earlier snail-like pace of the line had slowed to positively glacial. The party atmosphere, however, had not abated. She noticed with an inner grin that Callie, who was now halfway through the line, was busy snapping a covert picture of her sister, who had bent to look at another fan’s tattooed ankle.

“Why did the line quit moving? Is everything okay?” Darla asked Mary Ann.

The older woman nodded. “Ms. Baylor said she needed a break.”

She glanced around to see if the girls nearby were paying attention; then, in an exaggerated stage whisper, she added, “I think she went out back to have a smoke.”

“She just had one!” Darla pointed out and shook her head. If Valerie was going to take a smoke break every hour, it would make an already long night longer.

She headed toward the back and found the signing table abandoned except for James. As for Lizzie, Darla thought she saw her at the front of the line, chatting with a couple of the teens. Of course, since everyone was cloaked and hooded, it was hard to know for sure. Neither Hillary nor Koji were anywhere to be seen. Probably on a bathroom break while the boss lady was doing her thing, she guessed. Mavis had vanished as well . . . hiding upstairs away from the crowds? Darla stood tapping her foot for a few minutes longer. Tempted as she was to head out to the courtyard and drag the author back inside, she knew that tactic would not go over well. Better she head out front again and let Jake and Reese know they might be in for a longer stint than they’d anticipated.

As she opened the door, another welcome breeze swept past her, carrying with it the familiar shrieks of laughter and waves of chatter. Passing traffic and the incessant flash of phone cameras lent a strobe effect to the scene. Darla was reminded of those horror movies deliberately filmed to look like home videos taken by someone with a bad case of the shakes. She could feel a headache coming on; fortunately, she had an almost full bottle of aspirin tucked under the counter.

Darla had just popped two tablets and squeezed her way past Everest, when over the ambient noise, she heard a single, earsplitting squeal of rubber.

It took her only a heartbeat to realize what that sound meant. By then, a small passenger van was stopped about halfway down the block on the side of the street closest to where Valerie’s fans were gathered. Behind it, half a dozen other cars had plowed to a halt, horns blaring. Reese was sprinting from one direction toward the van, while Jake was rushing from the other. Vaguely, Darla was aware that the crowd noise had faded to a murmur, while the sound of her heart beating double time seemed suddenly louder than even the honking horns. She was running toward the van now, while a frantic voice in her head cried, Don’t let it be that, dear God, don’t let it be that.

Some of the teens had spilled over the barricades, and Darla had to shove her way through them. Only then was she close enough to see what the light from the van’s one unbroken headlamp revealed upon the asphalt. Her step faltered. For a moment, she feared she might sag to the sidewalk.

She managed to keep her balance by focusing her attention on Jake, who had her cell phone to his ear and was shouting something into it. Darla noted that the van’s front two doors had sprung open, with the driver and several passengers now huddling behind the twin shields of steel as if warding off the sight before them. Darla didn’t blame them. Just like them, she didn’t want to gaze at the motionless figure tangled in a long black cape that lay sprawled a few feet in front of the van, one limp arm pointing toward a rectangle of white cardboard farther down the pavement.

A few girlish screams promptly rose from those closest to the scene. The cries echoed down the length of the line and were punctuated now by the repeated pulse of a police siren, no doubt courtesy of the traffic-control cop. One of the caped fans, more responsible than the others, had already leaped into the street to check on the fallen girl. Reese pushed the fan aside and knelt beneath the headlight’s harsh gleam. After a quick check, he glanced back up at Jake to give a swift shake of his head.

Darla stared in disbelief. Shouldn’t he be giving her mouth-to-mouth or chest compressions or something? But when Reese scrambled to his feet, she realized that the girl must already be past saving.

She watched as he stripped off his black denim shirt, revealing a tight black T-shirt printed with the words NYPD and POLICE, as well as a gold badge that dangled from a lanyard around his neck. The sight spurred her back to action. She shoved her way to the curb and caught his eye.

“Can I help?” she called in a tremulous voice, hoping she could be heard over the hubbub.

He shook his head but tossed his long-sleeved shirt in her direction. She caught it and tucked the garment under one arm, not sure whether to be insulted or relieved that apparently her only role in this catastrophe would be to serve as valet.

Reese, meanwhile, raised his badge at the crowd, the metal gleaming as it reflected the van’s single headlight beam.

“Quiet down!” he commanded, his free hand making the universal take-it-down-a-notch gesture. “This is now a police investigation. I need everyone to back up and take a seat on the sidewalk. No talking above a whisper, and remain in line until we say you can go. Anyone who saw the accident or what happened beforehand, we’ll be coming by in a bit to take your statements.”

He swiftly moved down the line repeating the same instructions, his voice all but drowned out by the shriek of still more sirens and the occasional blast of a horn from someone who hadn’t yet figured out that traffic wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Luckily, the majority of the fan girls appeared too stunned by what had just occurred to do anything other than obey orders. Sitting cross-legged and tightly wrapped in their cloaks—the evening had taken on a distinct chill now—they huddled in small groups.

Jake, meanwhile, was dragging some of the barricades from the sidewalk to block off the accident site. Tying Reese’s shirt around her waist, Darla rushed to help her.

“I can’t believe this happened,” the older woman exclaimed in a low tone as they maneuvered another sawhorse into place. “I sent that girl back across the street not ten minutes ago. What in the hell was she doing back on this side?”

“It’s not your fault, Jake. You told her to stay away. It was her choice to come back,” Darla protested in a voice that was little better than a gasp.

The small exertion of hauling the barricade combined with her earlier light-headedness, so that she felt as if she’d just run a marathon. She felt perilously close to collapsing onto the asphalt in a puddle of tears. Jake, who likely had seen such reactions around accident scenes before, took note of Darla’s faltering composure and promptly pointed her back toward the shop.

“Kid, you’re not going to do me a damn bit of good if you pass out here on the street,” the woman told her, not unkindly. “Get your butt back inside and let Valerie and her people know what’s happened. They can finish up with the girls already in the store, but we’ll be shutting things down after that. Besides, more help than we’ll ever need will be here in a minute.”

Right on cue, a pair of highway patrol cars with their distinctive high-rise light bars on their roofs nosed past the stopped traffic and joined the first police vehicle parked now alongside the van. A minute later, two motorcycle officers roared up, the rumble of their Harleys echoing off the buildings. Thankfully, they’d all shut off their sirens, but their blue and red lights continued to strobe off the rows of brownstones on either side of the street. Their headlights further illuminated the area, so that the entire accident scene now was visible in harsh relief. The ambulance hadn’t yet arrived, but under the circumstances, there was no big hurry . . . not anymore.

Darla took a deep, steadying breath and nodded. “I’m okay now,” she insisted. “But you’re right. I’ve got to tell them what’s going on.”

She headed at a quick pace back toward the shop, hearing behind her the sounds of the uniformed police taking control of the situation, while still more sirens howled in the distance. Pushing her none-too-gentle way past the girls camped out on the steps, she all but stumbled into Everest, who was still keeping guard at the door.

“Bad news, ma’am?” he asked in a resigned voice that said he already knew that answer.

His height, combined with his position on the stairway, would easily have given him a bird’s-eye view of the accident scene. Darla glanced back in that same direction to see another police car had arrived, while the ambulance was now at the end of the block. The boxy vehicle eased its way through the street with the occasional pulse of its siren to clear the way. She noted that the news truck, which earlier had been parked across the way while the reporter interviewed the waiting fans, had returned. In another fifteen minutes, news of the accident would be all over television, not to mention the Internet. Hell, doubtless most of the girls in line were already Tweeting comments and pictures that were being read and seen by millions.

Darla bit back a few choice curses. Horrible as she felt at the knowledge that a young woman had died almost on her doorstep, she couldn’t suppress an equal surge of dismay at the realization that all this was going to be very, very bad for business. Death had a way of scaring off paying customers. Why in the hell hadn’t the girl pulled her stunt over at Barnes and Noble?

Tamping down that unworthy thought, she turned back to Everest and nodded. “The girl who was protesting the autographing was hit and killed by a van. I need to tell Valerie and the others. Don’t let any more fans go inside the store, okay?”

Everest grunted his assent, his stern dark features settling into grim lines. No doubt he figured this was bad for his business, too, no matter how peripherally he was involved. Leaving him to stand guard, Darla slipped past the door and into the shop.

Mary Ann was right there, and her small soft hand promptly clutched Darla’s arm. “My gracious, what’s going on?” she whispered in alarm. “We heard all the sirens and could see the flashing lights through the windows.”

In fact, the emergency lights still flashed like blue and red lightning beyond the glass, while the muffled sounds of a distant siren and the brief bark from a bullhorn could be heard even inside the store. “I’m afraid there was an accident,” she replied, gently prying the old woman’s fingers from her wrist. “Come with me, and you can hear the details when I tell Valerie and her people.”

Sidestepping the maze, she took the direct route toward the back of the room, swiftly assessing the small crowd as she passed them. The fans murmured restively as they waited in line, aware that something was amiss but not knowing what. Darla spotted Callie, looking very young in her severe black cape as she clutched her copy of Valerie’s latest novel. The official entourage had returned from their respective breaks, and everyone was in his or her proper place around the table. The only one still missing was the author.

“Where’s Valerie?” Darla asked Hillary, who was busy checking her iPhone.

“Still outside polluting the air,” she replied with a shrug. “What’s going on out front?”

Darla eyed the nearby fans and pulled Hillary and Koji aside. “There’s been a bad accident. Let me run and get Valerie, and I’ll make the announcement to everyone in the store at one time.”

She hurried toward the back door, Koji on her heels. Like Everest, he doubtless considered any incident part of his job.

The pungent odor of cigarette smoke assailed her as they slipped outside. “Valerie? Ms. Baylor?” Darla softly called as she peered about the small courtyard, “Can you come in for—”

She broke off at the twin realizations that the darkened enclosure was empty and that the gate leading into the alley was wide open. Very slowly, she turned to Koji and said in a small voice, “Are you sure she didn’t come back into the store?”

The publicist gave her a stricken look. “She said she wanted a cigarette. Sh-she does that a lot.”

He stood there uncertainly, but Darla didn’t hesitate. Pushing past him, she rushed to the gate and went running into the small alley. The faint odors of old garbage and recent urine assailed her, but she ignored them as she ran the short distance to the street and then hooked a turn back toward Crawford Avenue and the kaleidoscope of emergency lights. The ambulance was there at the accident scene now, its two EMTs preparing to make what likely was a perfunctory check of the victim still sprawled prostrate on the road.

The same earlier voice of doom was shrieking in Darla’s head again. No way, she tried to reassure herself, even as she knew with sudden dread and certainty where her missing author had disappeared to. She reached Jake’s side just as one of the paramedics rolled the still form to one side, and the array of headlights illuminated the victim’s face, along with a pair of red Manolo Blahnik pumps that lay nearby.

Darla’s reflexive scream was muffled by her hands as she clamped numb fingers over her mouth, but half a dozen of the closest fan girls were not so inhibited. A collective shriek of anguish rose from the direction of the sidewalk. Louder still was a single heartrending cry from one of the girls who’d also caught a glimpse of the dead woman’s slack features.

“Oh my God, it’s Valerie Baylor!”