Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 130, No. 1. Whole No. 791, July 2007

Serious Money by John Morgan Wilson

John Morgan Wilson won the Edgar Allan Poe Award for Best First Novel in 1997 for the debut of his Benjamin Justice series. His seventh and latest Justice mystery, Rhapsody in Blood, was published by St. Martin’s Minotaur in March, 2006. Like Rhapsody in Blood, the following story revolves around the world of Hollywood filmmakers. Mr. Wilson is also a veteran journalist and writer of fact-based TV programming.

Moments after he discovered the girl unconscious, Ryan Stark heard knuckles rap on his motel room door. He patted her pretty face, trying to rouse her. The knocking on the door grew louder.

He slapped the girl several times and shook her by the shoulders. She didn’t move. A meaty fist pounded outside, followed by a deep male voice.

“Police! Open up!”

“Dear God,” Ryan muttered, and felt panic engulf him.

It was a cheap motel along a two-lane highway in North Carolina, the only rental rooms for a hundred miles in this godforsaken place, except for a few ramshackle cabins up the road. The Pine Haven Motel, with a sputtering neon sign out front, an all-night coffee shop next to the office, and a swimming pool with pine needles and oak leaves at the bottom in a puddle of dirty water from the last rain.

The only reason Ryan was staying here was the setting. Pine Haven was a small town—no more than a gas stop, really—with a Blue Ridge Mountains backdrop that was ideal for some crucial scenes in the movie he was shooting. Passing Through — possibly the most important film of his career. He wasn’t just the star this time but also the executive producer. He’d put up half the money himself, the script was that good. It offered him an incredible leading role, the kind that might catapult him from the ranks of pretty-boy star to serious actor. The kind that could generate Oscar buzz, maybe even a nomination. The kind that could seriously elevate an actor’s career and keep him out of the dustbin of has-beens or the wasteland of the daytime soaps, where the has-beens went to die. The soaps—he shuddered just thinking about that possibility.

“Police! Open up, or we’ll kick in the door!”

The girl was in her panties and bra, a pale blonde, slim but nubile. A few of the pills he’d given her were strewn about the bed. Not all of them, though—and the vial was empty. He figured she must have taken the rest. He’d only intended her to take one or two, enough to help her loosen up, get in the mood. That had been around midnight, when he’d left her alone to take a shower and get himself ready for a brief romantic interlude that would help him relax and sleep better, so he’d look and feel his best for the next day’s shooting. He’d brought her back to his room after she’d made eyes at him in the motel coffee shop, fully intending to have his fun and send her on her way within the hour. But after his shower he’d lost track of the time in front of the mirror getting his face and hair right. He always made himself presentable for the ladies, even if they’d never see him again. He was Ryan Stark, after all. People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive, not once but twice. He had an image to uphold, a reputation. Applying his skin toner evenly took several minutes all by itself.

But all that was a mere afterthought at the moment. Nothing mattered now except this unconscious girl and the impatient cop at the door.

“I’m coming,” Ryan shouted, hearing the tremor in his voice. “Just a moment!”

His stricken eyes darted about the room, looking for a place to hide her. It was a single room, with a bathroom and a closet. All the rooms were like this, housing the cast and crew for three nights until they had the footage they needed and could move on to the next location and more luxurious quarters. He swept the pills off the bed with his hand and deposited them into a pocket of his robe. Then he rolled the girl to the edge of the bed and hoisted her over his shoulder. Moments later, he had her propped up in the shower stall, her long blond hair draped over her narrow shoulders. That’s when he noticed that her blue eyes were open wide in a dull, blank stare. His panic soared to a new level. He wanted to check for a pulse but there wasn’t time. He could hear the heavy fist again, pounding on the door outside. Then that threatening male voice.

“Last warning! Open this door now!”

Ryan jerked the shower curtain closed and dashed back into the room, his eyes searching wildly for incriminating evidence. For a moment, he caught sight of himself in the cheap glass of a full-length mirror: Ryan Stark, lean, muscular, darkly handsome, flawless face sculpted by the best cosmetic surgeon in Beverly Hills, and looking a lot younger than his forty-two years. A look worth twenty-five million a picture, plus more at the back end, when the profits were divvied up and the writers were screwed out of their share. He briefly wondered how much of that Hollywood bounty he’d give up to have just one respected critic pronounce him one of the finest actors of his generation. He’d have to give that more thought—the possibility of buying off a big-name critic—when he got himself out of this mess and back to L.A. If he’d learned one thing during his fifteen years in Hollywood, it was that just about anyone could be bought if the money was right.

Quickly, he straightened the bed and tossed the girl’s outer garments underneath, kicking her shoes after them. He faced the door and pulled his plush white robe together, letting just enough chest hair show to accentuate his masculinity. Just before undoing the security lock, he drew himself up erect and got into character, exuding nonchalance but also confidence. When he opened the door, he found himself facing a cop in a uniform bearing the insignia of the Pine Haven Police Department.

“I’m afraid you caught me napping.” Ryan offered his famous smile. Not the killer smile he used in sexy romantic roles on the big screen but the winning smile he favored on TV talk shows for broader appeal, when promoting his pictures. He glanced at his watch and yawned. “My, look at the time. What can I do for you, Officer?”

“We had a report of a young lady coming up to this room.”

“A young lady?”

The cop cupped a hand to one ear. “Do I hear an echo?”

A smart-ass, small-town cop, Ryan thought. He looked the guy over, sized him up: on the short side, pushing fifty, balding, paunchy, shoes that needed polishing. Even the badge was tarnished. Hick town, hick cop. Ryan took a moment to steal a glance down the second-floor landing in each direction. He saw no one out and about. There was an early cast and crew call at dawn. The others were apparently all getting some shuteye, like he’d be doing if he didn’t have to deal with the stupid girl in his bathroom and the annoying situation she’d caused. His eyes came back to the cop, who'd folded his arms belligerently across his chest. Trying to look bigger, Ryan thought, fighting the urge to laugh out loud. Trying to feel important behind his small-town badge.

“A number of people have been in and out,” he said, turning on the charm. “As you probably know, we’re shooting scenes for a movie. It might have been the script girl. She dropped in briefly to check some notes. What’s the problem?”

“The girl we’re looking for is local. Just turned sixteen, out past her curfew.”

“Sixteen?” Ryan heard his voice catch, felt his pulse quicken. The girl had told him she was twenty. Twenty was an annoyance; sixteen was real trouble. He worked hard to prop up his smile. “No one that young here, Officer.” He opened the door wider and took a step aside. “As you can see, I’m alone.”

“Just the same, a witness saw the girl come up to this room.”

“Perhaps it was another door. Easy to mistake one for another.”

“The witness gave us a room number—this one. You want to tell me what the girl was doing here, Mr. Stark?”

Ryan beamed. “You recognized me.”

“Just answer the question, Mr. Stark.”

“Now that you mention it, I do recall a young lady knocking on my door about an hour ago. She wanted an autograph. I obliged her and sent her on her way.”

“Funny you didn’t think of it until just now.”

“As I said, you woke me up. I’m still a bit groggy.”

“Slim, long blond hair, blue eyes?”

“I didn’t pay close attention, but that sounds about right.”

“That girl never got home, Mr. Stark.”

“Perhaps she’s out having some fun. You know how teenagers are.”

“It’s a school night. This girl’s a straight-A student. Never misses her curfew.”

“I wish I could help you, I really do.” Ryan shrugged apologetically. “If she comes back around, I’ll certainly let you know.”

He started to close the door, but the cop stopped it with the flat of his hand.

“Her father reported her missing,” the cop said.

“Awfully soon for that, isn’t it? It’s barely past midnight. She could have had a flat tire driving home, fallen asleep studying with a boyfriend. All kinds of possibilities.”

“Just the same, her father asked us to check.”

Ryan laughed lightly. “Does her father really have that kind of clout? To send out the local gendarmes just because his daughter’s out past midnight?”

The cop’s face remained implacable. “Her father’s the mayor. Duly elected by the good residents of Pine Haven. Yeah, he’s got clout.”

“The mayor?”

“There’s that echo again,” the cop said. “You have a problem with me looking around your room, Mr. Stark?”

“Really, Officer, this is getting out of hand.”

“It sounds like maybe you do.”

“It’s late, and I have an early call in the morning. Perhaps you’d like to drop around tomorrow, watch us work. Bring the wife and kids if you’d like. Autographs for everyone, photos with the cast.”

The cop kept his hand firmly on the door. “A minute or two, Mr. Stark, and that should do it.”

“Not to be uncooperative, but don’t you need a search warrant for that?”

“Witness saw the girl enter your room. That’s probable cause.”

Ryan felt a trickle of perspiration under his robe. He tried to relax, to get the confidence back in his voice. “I think I should speak with your supervisor. Perhaps he’ll understand. We’re spending quite a bit of money in your little town, you know.”

“My supervisor is a she, not a he. And I’ve already called her.”

Ryan was relieved to hear he’d be dealing with a woman. He hadn’t met one yet who hadn’t melted a little when he’d fixed her with the killer smile. The cop turned at the sound of a vehicle rolling into the parking lot below. It was a white, unmarked Crown Victoria, the type detectives often drive.

“That would be her now,” the cop said.

The driver pulled into a space near the stairs and parked. A trim, attractive woman of about forty climbed out. Her auburn hair was pulled tight in a bun and she wore a well-cut business suit that showed off her figure nicely.

From the second landing, Ryan stared at her wide-eyed, his mouth agape. “Is that Felicia Farwell?”

The cop looked at him curiously. “You know the chief?”

“Felicia’s the police chief?”

“Since last year, when our previous chief retired.”

“You don’t say.” Ryan watched Felicia mount the stairs with a sense of strength and resolve that surprised him and made him feel vaguely uneasy.

“I heard you were in town, Jack, shooting a picture.” Felicia faced Ryan across the doorway’s threshold, discreetly surveying the room behind him. “Frankly, I didn’t expect to run into you. Not if I could help it.”

“The name’s Ryan now. Ryan Stark.” He found his smile again, along with his composure. “Changed it when I got to Hollywood.”

Her smile was less pleasant. “You’ll always be Jack Gluck to me.”

“It’s been a long time, Felicia.”

“Fifteen years.”

“I never figured you for police work.”

“You always underestimated me, Jack.”

“Still, a bump in the road like this. Not really your style, is it?”

“Pine Haven suits me. The people here treat each other with respect. I needed some of that when I landed here fifteen years ago, on my way to nowhere.”

He flinched at that, not expecting her to be so tough. Then he looked her over, hoping to keep things light. “So, it’s Chief Farwell now.” The holstered gun caught his eye. He grinned, raising his finely tweezed eyebrows. “Wow—you’re even packing heat.”

“Chief, detective, and watch commander, all rolled into one,” she said tersely. “We’re a four-person department. I was on duty tonight. That’s how I caught this call.”

“Quite a coincidence, you ending up here, me stopping to shoot a few scenes. Life can be funny, the way it sometimes brings people back together.”

“Let’s not forget that report that came in, Jack.” Her eyes were as steady as a camera lens in the hands of a master cinematographer, searching his eyes for the truth. “The one about a missing girl last seen entering your room.”

He swallowed drily, tried to meet her gaze. “Yes, the officer mentioned something about it. There’s obviously been a mistake. I tried to explain that there have been no young ladies in my room tonight.”

“That would be unusual for you, wouldn’t it?”

“Really, Felicia, you shouldn’t believe everything you read in the tabloids.”

She glanced at her watch, suddenly impatient. “We need to take a look inside, Jack. If she’s not here, we’ll be on our way.”

He held his ground. “I don’t see why—”

“I’m not kidding about this, Jack. We’re not leaving until we have a look around.”

Her green eyes were fierce, unblinking. He felt himself running out of options and decided to take a more confrontational approach. He set his jaw and squinted slightly, glowering like Eastwood in his early Italian Westerns. “You’re just doing this because you’re still angry over the way we broke up. Frankly, I expected better of you, Felicia.”

“We didn’t break up, Jack. You left me.”

“People change,” he said. “They grow apart.”

“We didn’t grow apart until the day you got that phone call from Hollywood and took off without me.”

“Not every relationship is meant to last forever.” He shrugged sympathetically. “I’m sorry if it was painful for you.”

“It lasted until you didn’t need me anymore, after I’d supported you for years in New York while you took acting classes and made the audition rounds.”

“I seem to recall that you took a few acting classes yourself.”

“When I wasn’t working as a waitress fifty hours a week to support the two of us, along with your career. The expensive haircuts, the facials, the Pilates classes.”

“I was always more ambitious than you, Felicia. More serious about the craft.”

Her emerald eyes flashed like hot gems. “You never sent for me, Jack. Never offered to help me get a break after all the years I sacrificed to help you get yours.”

“You see, you are angry. That’s why you’re doing this.” He dropped the Eastwood look and switched on the George Clooney, showing his perfect teeth. “Why don’t I get into some clothes? We can go down and get a cup of coffee, patch things up. You don’t want old wounds to affect your professional judgment, do you, Felicia? You’ll only regret it later.”

“Nice reading, Jack. Your delivery was impeccable.”

“Felicia, please—”

“Step aside, and let us into the room.” Her hard eyes pinned his, and her hand went to her gun. “I won’t ask again.”

He swallowed with difficulty and reluctantly stepped back. Three times he’d been voted Most Popular Male Star at the People’s Choice Awards. Maybe the critics didn’t like him, he suddenly realized, but the people did, and that’s what counted. But a scandal involving an underage girl could ruin him at the box office. The soaps might not even want him after this. He felt a part of himself shrivel as fear ran through him like a shiver during a nude scene on a cold set.

Felicia brushed past him with unmistakable authority. Ryan’s knees trembled and his mind raced, trying desperately to figure some way out of this.

“I don’t know how it happened, Felicia. I came from my shower and found her on the bed, passed out like this. I never thought she’d take so many pills.”

Ryan stood outside the shower stall, wringing his hands and looking on anxiously as Felicia pressed two fingers to the girl’s throat, trying to find a pulse. She’d posted the uniformed cop at the front door the moment she’d discovered the unconscious girl, telling him to keep any strangers from entering the room. She held the girl’s wrist, then touched her cheek with the back of her hand. When she stood to face the man she’d once known as Jack Gluck, there wasn’t a flicker of sympathy in her cold eyes.

“Forget unconscious, Jack. This girl’s postmortem.”

His eyes opened wide with shock. “What?”

“No pulse, no breath, cold to the touch. Beyond saving now.”

“Oh Jesus.” He turned away, feeling as if he might throw up.

“Maybe if you’d called nine-one-one when you first found her—”

He faced her again, still queasy, glistening with sweat. “My God, what am I going to do?”

“If you’d been truthful with us at the outset, she might still be alive. We could have induced vomiting, given her a fighting chance. As it is, you could be looking at second-degree murder.”

“It was an accident!”

“Voluntary manslaughter if you’re lucky.”

“I didn’t force her to take those pills.”

“She’s sixteen, Jack. You’re old enough to be her father.”

“She doesn’t look sixteen. She told me she was twenty.”

“I’m sure your attorney will convey all that to the jury.”

“Felicia, for God’s sake!”

Felicia stared down at the innocent-looking face. “She’s a very popular girl around here. Good student, never a hint of trouble. Her father’s one of the most respected men in the county.”

“The mayor,” Ryan said dismally.

“The unpaid mayor,” Felicia pointed out, “who works hard for Pine Haven and runs a gas station to make ends meet. On the other hand, you’re a Hollywood big shot who makes buckets of money and dabbles in drugs, with a history of womanizing and a taste for young girls. I don’t imagine this is going to go your way, Jack, when it gets to trial. You’re facing a stiff prison stretch for sure.”

“I’m too good-looking to go to prison!”

She smirked. “Maybe your attorney can bring that up, when it’s time for sentencing.”

Ryan slumped against the sink, his face in his hands. “This can’t be happening.” He looked up, desperation distorting his handsome features. “I’m at my peak, Felicia. Everything’s going my way. I’m signed with the biggest agency in Hollywood. Producing my own pictures now. I’ve even found the perfect script. Passing Through, the one we’re shooting. I’ve been looking for years for a script like this that would launch me to another level. I paid a million dollars to take it off the market.” He glanced at the corpse in the shower, shuddering pitifully. “And now this.”

“A million dollars,” she said. “For one script?”

He nodded bleakly. “The script is everything. That’s where it all starts. Without a great character and a great story as a foundation, all the rest doesn’t mean much.”

Her voice got tougher. “If a script is worth a million bucks, how much is a life worth?”

He stared at her imploringly. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

She sneered with disgust. “You haven’t even asked her name.”

“I’m sorry.” He studied the lifeless figure in the shower, deeply ashamed. “Of course, I want to know.”

“Rebecca. Her friends call her Becky. Her parents call her Beck. Her hard-working, churchgoing parents, who just lost their only child.”

He stared miserably at the tiled floor. His words came softly, full of remorse. “I’m sure they’re a fine family. Apparently, you know them pretty well.”

Felicia shrugged. “It’s a small town. You know how that is.”

He glanced up, studying her keenly. “It still seems strange, finding you here.” His smile was small, wistful. “You were so crazy about New York. All the theaters. So many plays, so many musicals. You always dug that scene.”

“Like you said, Jack, people change.”

“You’re really happy here, so far away from everything?”

She hesitated. “I have to admit, a small town has its drawbacks.”

He heard something in her voice, a shift in tone. He perked up a little. “Not the quiet paradise you thought it was when you came here fifteen years ago?”

She steadied her shrewd eyes on him. “Maybe it’s begun to wear on me a little.”

He chose his words cautiously. “That can happen, I guess.”

“Lately, I’ve had an itch to travel. Maybe even relocate. Live another kind of life.”

His heart raced with renewed hope. “We all need a change of scenery now and then.”

“Not so easy to do on a cop’s salary. Especially not in a little burg like Pine Haven, where the pay’s at the low end. When I retire, my pension won’t add up to much.”

“I guess you start thinking about things like that as you get older.”

“I’m only forty, Jack.”

It was the perfect opening, just the line he’d been waiting for.

“Young enough to still do all the things you’ve dreamed of doing, Felicia.” He paused with skilled precision, the way he’d seen the great ones do it—Brando, Olivier, Streep. De Niro, before he’d started making all those second-rate comedies for the big paychecks. Ryan added carefully, “That is, if you had a way to finance it.”

Their eyes met. Maybe they hadn’t seen each other in fifteen years, he thought, but he could still read Felicia Farwell like a cue card. That had been her problem as an aspiring actress. No subtlety. Always too obvious, too on the nose. He’d never told her that. He’d been careful not to bite the hand that fed him. He certainly wasn’t going to tell her now.

“Maybe we should cut to the chase,” he said.

“You’ve got a problem, Jack. Problems need solutions.”

He finally had a reason to smile again, for real this time. “How much would it take to make my problem go away?”

“You mean get the body out of here, dispose of it, and help you cover your tracks? Make sure there’s no connection to this room or to you?”

Ryan’s voice rose with expectation. “Can you do that?”

“Shouldn’t be that difficult, seeing as how I run the department.”

“How much?”

“Exactly what you paid for that script—a million dollars.”

“A million dollars?”

“There’s that echo again.” The uniformed cop stuck his balding head through the bathroom doorway.

“Jack and I were just discussing a possible business deal,” Felicia said.

“I guess he’s used to making deals, being a famous Hollywood actor and all.”

“A million dollars is serious money,” Ryan said.

She glanced at the dead girl in the shower. Her voice was grim, her eyes unforgiving. “Homicide is a serious matter, Jack.”

He spread his hands plaintively. “Still, a million bucks—”

“Your beach house in Malibu is worth ten times that.”

“How would you know?”

“Entertainment Tonight. We may be out in the sticks, but we still get satellite.” She smiled at his discomfort before pressing on. “To make a movie, you must have millions at your disposal. I’m sure you can find a way to cover it as a production expense. Don’t the studios do that kind of creative accounting all the time?”

“You always were smart about money, Felicia. I’ll give you that.”

Her voice was flat, all business. “Do we have a deal, or not?”

He laughed bitterly. “That’s what you meant when you asked me how much a life was worth, wasn’t it? You weren’t talking about the girl. You were talking about me.”

“You taught me a few things, Jack. Most of all, how to take care of Number One.”

“I didn’t realize I’d hurt you so badly, making you so hard like this.” He glanced regretfully at her left hand, looking for a ring. “I see you never married.”

“I’m tired of the chitchat, Jack. We need to close the deal. Or else I read you your rights, and take you in.”

He sighed deeply, like a broken man who realized he’d destroyed not one life but two, and had some atoning to do. “I’ll get on the phone while you’re getting rid of the body. I should have the bank transfer taken care of before noon.”

Felicia nodded toward the uniformed cop. “Jack, meet Charlie. He’s been on the force longer than I have. He’s got a daughter the same age as Rebecca.”

“The wife and I would like to set up a college fund for her,” Charlie said affably. “College costs an awful lot these days.”

“I can take care of that,” Ryan said.

“She needs braces, too.”

Ryan stared at him with exasperation. “Fine, braces. Let me know how much, I’ll write a check.”

“I was thinking an even million,” Charlie said. “In addition to the million the chief's getting.”

Ryan looked at him like he was crazy.

“And another million to spread around if we need to,” Felicia said. “In case the witness or anyone else threatens to raise troublesome questions. That would be three million altogether. You can put it all in one check. We’ll handle it from there.”

Ryan grimaced incredulously. “Three million!”

“There’s that darned echo again,” Charlie said.

Two days later, with local shooting completed, the cast and crew of Passing Through packed up its cameras and other gear and moved on to the next location.

At that point, Felicia informed Ryan, the mayor’s daughter was officially listed as a runaway. The locals were concerned but not that surprised, Felicia added, since the girl wouldn’t be the first teenager to flee Pine Haven for a more exciting life elsewhere. Charlie reassured Ryan that he’d dug a sufficiently deep hole for the body, twenty miles out of town on private land he owned that wouldn’t be disturbed for decades, if ever. The months would pass, Felicia said, and then the years, and eventually the girl named Rebecca would be forgotten by everyone except her family. By then, Charlie and Felicia would have retired and moved far away, and the missing-person case would be filed deep in a drawer somewhere, unlikely to ever be reactivated.

“I won’t forget her,” Ryan said, his eyes troubled.

He looked drawn and haggard. His concentration was shot and his performance the past two days had been second-rate. He couldn’t remember his lines, and his delivery was inconsistent, off the mark. Rumors were circulating among the cast and crew that he must be on drugs. Only this morning, his director had warned him that if he didn’t shape up fast, Passing Through would go straight to cable and DVD, without a theatrical release. Simply put, his life had become hell.

“Her face haunts me,” he added pitifully. “Especially when I try to sleep.”

“I’d suggest you count your blessings,” Felicia said curtly, as they completed their business transaction in his room at the Pine Haven Motel. “At least you won’t be facing justice. I’d also advise you to stay away from drugs, as well as young women. It’s time to grow up, Jack. Let this be a wake-up call.”

He nodded morosely and handed over the cashier’s check he’d promised them. Awkwardly, without quite meeting their eyes, he thanked them for their help and grabbed his bags. Then he scurried down the stairs to a private helicopter waiting for him in the empty motel parking lot, like a rat running for its life.

As the chopper disappeared into a cloudless sky, Felicia and Charlie drove back to their motel cabin a few miles up the road, where they paid their bill and checked out. They climbed into the white Crown Victoria they’d rented in Boston and took off for the long trek back to Provincetown. Charlie took the wheel for the first leg of the trip, remarking on what a fine day it was for a drive. Rebecca, his eighteen-year-old daughter from his first marriage, was asleep in the backseat, and they were careful not to wake her. As they left the little town behind, Felicia unfastened the bun at the back of her head and shook her hair loose, the way Charlie liked it. Then she slipped on her wedding ring. It felt good having it back where it belonged; she’d missed it the last few days.

“Drive safely,” she said. “We wouldn’t want to get pulled over by a member of the Pine Haven Police Department.”

Charlie chuckled. “I don’t imagine Pine Haven is big enough to have its own police force, dear.”

“Or even a mayor,” Felicia added, giving him a wink.

“Three million,” Charlie said, whistling softly. “That’s a lot of money.”

“Certainly enough to build our playhouse,” Felicia said, “and fund our theater group for many years to come. With enough left over to put Beck through just about any drama school she wants to attend. I guess all those years I spent with Jack Gluck weren’t wasted after all.”

Charlie glanced lovingly at his wife. “You were very good as the police chief, sweetie. Wonderful improvisation when it was needed. Not that I expected anything less.” He imitated her voice and look, getting the hardness and cynicism just right. “'Homicide is a serious matter, Jack.'” Charlie grinned. “All in all, I’d say it was the performance of a lifetime.”

“You weren’t exactly chopped liver as the cop.” Felicia glanced back at her sleeping stepdaughter. “And Beck had her part down cold.”

“So to speak,” Charlie said, and they both laughed. “Still, it was your excellent planning that made it all possible. You mapped out every twist and turn beautifully, and wrote some great lines.”

She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. “It’s like Jack said, honey.”

“What’s that, baby?”

Felicia smiled contentedly, gazing out the windshield at the road ahead as it led them home. “It all starts with the script.”

© 2007 by John Morgan Wilson